Archive of Our Own

“Valentine’s Day is such—”

“A superficial consumerist holiday designed to make money and alienate single people?”

Josh sinks further into the couch and glances sidelong at Chris. “I was going to say bullshit, but I guess that works too.”

Chris laughs, and they turn to the Valentine’s Day commercial playing on the TV. Jewels sparkle on the screen, and a smooth voice informs them that it’s the perfect time to buy a beautiful gift for that special someone. It’s the third holiday advertisement they’ve seen in the past hour, and Josh has totally lost his patience. They’re supposed to be doing homework—the TV is “ambient noise”—but it’s difficult to focus on math when the world keeps reminding him that the object of his affections is right here, and he’s done fuck-all about it.

Josh’s annoyance must be palpable, because Chris lowers the volume to a murmur and faces him. An amused smile plays on his lips, and Josh thinks—for the millionth time—that he’d really like to kiss Chris. He’s imagined the endless ways it could happen, and he’s almost gone for it on so many occasions. What’s there to lose? he thinks.

And then he thinks, A lot.

“Honestly, man, you’ve been calling bullshit every year since middle school,” Chris says, interrupting Josh’s thoughts. “I’m down with all your criticisms, but why does it bother you so much?”

Because I’m madly in love with you and it’s eating me from the inside out, HA HA.

Josh shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Chris’ gaze lingers a few seconds longer, like he’s waiting for Josh to elaborate. When Josh doesn’t, Chris shrugs too. “Maybe something will change your mind,” he says.

“Doubtful,” he scoffs. “What are your Valentine’s Day plans anyway? Hanging out with Ashley?” Her name comes out sharp, and Josh hates that it tastes like acid on his tongue. Being mean to Ashley is like being mean to a puppy, but Josh can’t help how his stomach boils when he thinks about her. He imagines the way Chris’ face lights up when she’s around, and it makes Josh want to puke.

“Uh, no?” Chris says. “Why would I be hanging out with Ashley?”

“I don’t know,” Josh repeats. Chris squeezes the bridge of his nose between his fingers, and Josh holds his breath. This wouldn’t be the first “Why don’t you like her?” conversation, and it probably wouldn’t be their last—but Chris must be as sick of them as Josh is, because he sighs and lets it go. Josh exhales as Chris raises the TV volume back to normal, and they fall silent.

A few minutes later, Chris nudges Josh with his foot. “You know, I could make a similar consumerist argument about Halloween…”

Josh nudges back, hard. “Listen,” he snaps. “You come into my house. You insult my holiday…” Chris opens his mouth to defend himself, but it’s too late; the damage is done. Josh reaches for a couch pillow and smacks it down on Chris’ head, mushing his meticulously styled faux-hawk. Chris makes a scandalized noise and reaches for a weapon of his own. They devolve into a full-scale pillow war faster than they care to admit, and papers scatter across the floor. It carries on until Mrs. Washington requests—in a weary voice—that they please not use the good pillows, and Chris and Josh call a truce.

They slump against the couch, their breath ragged. They ignore the mess they’ve made, and Chris tries—mostly in vain—to return his hair to its original state. He’s so distracted that he doesn’t even notice his glasses are askew, and Josh reaches forward to straighten them. Chris freezes.

“What?” Josh asks.

Chris just smiles. “Nothing.” He messes Josh’s hair, and Josh’s chest swells in response. They’re close enough to breathe each other’s air, and if Josh would just lean forward—but he doesn’t.

“If you say so,” he says instead. He shifts away and tells himself the disappointed look on Chris’ face is just in his head. He tells himself, This is fine.

This is enough.

Valentine’s Day falls on a weekend, and Josh is more grateful than usual not to be stuck in school. The halls have been plastered with pink paper hearts since the beginning of February, and if one more person asks Josh if he’d like to buy a carnation, he’s going to explode.

Josh did buy some, actually. It went without saying that he bought one each for Hannah and Beth, and he sent a pink one to Sam. He hand-delivered a red one to Mike, just to watch him squirm, but he couldn’t bring himself to get one for Chris. White would have been the perfect “no homo,” and pink was a bit more serious, but still acceptable. He thought about giving the red one to Chris instead of Mike, but he feared the joke would fall flat—that Chris would see Josh’s real feelings buried underneath and sprint in the opposite direction.

In the end, Josh didn’t take the risk at all.

Now, he rolls out of bed and checks his phone. It’s nearly 11 a.m., and he’s missed a shitload of group texts, each one proclaiming, “Happy Valentine’s Day!” with varying levels of excitement. Chris’ text has the most exclamation points, and Josh wonders if he finally found the courage to ask Ashley on a date. Josh’s stomach twists at the thought that he might’ve been the one to plant the idea, but he shakes the feeling away and shuffles downstairs.

The kitchen smells amazing. Hannah and Beth have always been great cooks, but breakfast is their specialty; it’s probably the main reason Chris sleeps over so much. Their voices drift in from the other room, and a plate of scrambled eggs and toast sits on the counter, waiting for him. Josh’s stomach growls, but first he needs coffee. Coffee is Josh Washington’s vice.

Rephrase: It’s one of his many vices.

Josh reaches mindlessly for the handle of the coffee machine, and something crumples in his grip. He grumbles, annoyed that anything dare to come between him and his caffeine, but he’s too curious not to look. Attached to the handle is a white envelope. In bold, black ink is Clue #1, and underneath is a smaller message. For J, it reads. The adventure begins…

“What the hell?” Josh mutters. He peels the envelope free and stares, as though waiting for something to happen. Nothing does. “Hey, is this you guys?” he shouts.

Bare feet pad across the floor, and a moment later Hannah and Beth poke their heads into the room. “Is what us?” Beth asks.

“Whatever this is,” Josh says, holding up the envelope.

Their eyes widen simultaneously, and Hannah squeaks. “Open it!” she insists. “We’ve been waiting for ages for you to wake up.”

Beth rolls her eyes. “We’ve been waiting like half an hour,” she clarifies.

“Nice,” Josh says. He flips the envelope over. Its flap is closed but not sealed, and he toys with it nervously. Hannah and Beth huddle around him, and Josh eyes them suspiciously. “You didn’t answer my question, by the way.”

“It’s not us,” Hannah says earnestly. “Cross my heart. We found it when we came down. Someone must’ve left it without us noticing.” Beth nods her confirmation, and Hannah grabs his arm, bouncing with excitement. “Come on!” she urges.

Josh gives in, and two papers fall into his open palm. The first is a puzzle piece. He turns it around in his hand, but there’s nothing on it. The other is an index card with a short message.

Sometimes beginnings start at the back. I am where it began.

Be there by noon.

The three of them read the message in silence. Josh is too embarrassed to read it aloud, and even more embarrassed by the fact that he has no fucking clue what it means. Beth mumbles it under her breath a few times, and Hannah’s grip on his arm tightens.

“Josh, do you realize what this is? You have been blessed with a Valentine’s Day scavenger hunt,” she breathes. Her voice is reverent, and she touches the envelope like it’s a holy object. “Do you think it’s from—”

Beth gasps softly from Josh’s other side, and she covers her mouth. “I got it.”

“You figured it out already?” Josh balks.

Beth ignores Josh’s question and looks at Hannah instead. “You’re gonna lose your shit,” she says.

Hannah nearly loses her shit right then. She pleads for Beth to tell her, and Josh glares at the pair of them as Beth pulls Hannah aside to whisper conspiratorially. Hannah’s mouth forms a round O as she listens, and her eyes look like saucers behind her thick lenses.

“That’s so freakin’ cute,” she whispers.

“Still standing here,” Josh says bitterly. “Still clueless.”

Beth wears a shit-eating grin that could rival his own, and she steps closer to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Think it over, bro,” she says. “You’ve got this.”

She drags Hannah from the kitchen, leaving Josh to himself. He tries to ignore his sisters’ giggles, shooting daggers at the dividing wall as he devours his breakfast. The message repeats in his brain, and the answer starts to click—but he resists it at every turn, even as the clock ticks closer to noon. This is probably just a joke—Mike’s revenge for the red carnation, maybe—and Josh will be damned if he walks into this trap with open arms.

It isn’t until he’s in the shower that he remembers Chris’ words: Maybe something will change your mind. And Chris was at his house last night…

Josh’s stomach fills with unwelcome butterflies, and he scrubs his hair clean before hopping out and checking the time. Twenty minutes to noon. Before he can think too much about what he’s doing, Josh throws on clothes and grabs his keys. He stuffs the envelope into his pocket and heads for the garage. Beth and Hannah spot him just before he leaves, and Josh blurts, “The school.”

Hannah claps, and Beth grins knowingly. “Chris tells that story to everyone he fucking meets,” she says.

Josh doesn’t know how to respond to that. He swallows his nerves and salutes. “The adventure begins.”

Josh feels like a massive creep. He circles the elementary school a few times before finding the right classroom, and he parks close enough to ensure a quick getaway. He’s terrified that some responsible citizen will spy him and rightfully ask what the fuck he’s doing. Josh has done more than his fair share of shady shit, but this is weird.

The clock on his dashboard reads 12:02 p.m.

Josh tries the nearest school entrance and—unsurprisingly—finds it locked. He moves to the window next, cupping his hands around his face to peer inside. The classroom looks different that it did almost ten years ago, but the desks are the same, and Josh’s gaze drifts to the back row. Part of him hopes he’ll find Chris sitting there, and he can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment when the room is empty and dark.

Minutes pass, and no one comes. Josh checks the walls and windows; he peers into corners and crevices. While he discovers some alarmingly ancient gum, he doesn’t find the second clue.

It’s 12:18 when Josh decides to shove himself through the window. It’s ridiculous, but if there is another clue, it has to be in there—and he has to know for sure.

The hinges creak in protest, but apparently the windows are so old (or California is so hot) that no one bothers to lock them anymore. Josh doesn’t have to try more than one; it lifts open rather than out, and he purses his lips, wondering if he can fit.

Only one way to find out.

He does, just barely, and he’s shimmying his ass in when someone calls to him.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Josh’s flight instinct kicks in, and he rights himself so quickly that the back of his head bangs hard against the glass. The window slat slams down on his ass, and he curses. For one, that hurts like hell, and for another, he recognizes that voice.

It’s Mike.

“Damn it,” Josh curses under his breath. Then, louder: “Look, I’m sorry about the carnation, okay? I don’t have the hots for you. It was a dumb fucking joke.”

The next time Josh hears Mike’s voice, it’s much closer. He peeks out the corner of his eye and sees Mike leaning against the window. “Everyone’s got the hots for me, Washington,” Mike says. “It’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

Josh groans and struggles to lift the window off his sore backside. It’s awkward work, and the window feels much heavier than it did five minutes ago. Mike chuckles, lifting it with one hand, and Josh slides out. He slumps to the floor—not helping the soreness—and runs a hand through his hair.

“So was this your grand idea, or is anyone else in on the joke?”

Mike furrows his brow. “Why do I never understand what you’re saying?”

“This!” Josh shouts. He pulls the first clue out of his pocket and tosses the envelope on the ground between them. “Was this you? Trying to pretend like—you know—”

“Whoa, wait,” Mike says. “You think this is me? Jesus, Josh. How much of an asshole do you think I am?”

Josh decides not to answer that. He nudges the envelope back in his direction. “So this is legit?” he asks.

“Yep,” Mike replies, as though that’s not the greatest and most terrifying thing he’s ever said. He holds out his hand. “Ready for your second clue?”

Josh definitely isn’t, but he accepts the help anyway. “The message said to be here by noon,” he notes, wiping the back of his jeans.

“Yeah, I’m kind of late,” Mike admits. He rubs the back of his neck nervously, but then his face brightens and he pulls out his phone. “Got a pretty good picture of your butt, though.”

Josh declines to view the butt photo, and Mike leads him to the back of the building, where it’s not quite as deserted as the front. A few cars are parked—none of which Josh recognize—and Mike breaks the silence by clarifying, “I know someone who cleans the school, and they can let us in. This isn’t as shady as it looks.”

“The Mike Munroe motto,” Josh quips. He follows willingly, though, and Mike’s story checks out. His friend meets them at a back door and lets them in without question. Mike assures his friend they’ll only be a few minutes, and Josh leads the way to their old third grade classroom. Ms. Jacobson’s name is still on the door, and Josh remembers what a good teacher she was. A bit frightening, but then again, so were all of Josh’s favorite teachers. She saw through Josh easily—knew when he wasn’t trying simply because he didn’t feel like it—and Josh earned countless lectures about "applying himself." In hindsight, Josh wonders if Ms. Jacobson moved he and Chris together on purpose, thinking Chris would be good for him.

She was right.

Josh pushes the door open, and they step inside. Josh flicks on the light.

“This is weird,” he breathes.

“Do you know what you’re looking for?” Mike asks.

Josh eyes his old desk. “Yeah, I think so.” He pauses, surveying the room. “Do you remember anything about third grade?”

“Are we seriously going down memory lane right now?” Mike asks.

“Why, do you have a hot date?” Josh teases. Mike glowers, and Josh adds, “Touchy.” He walks in between the desks, his fingers trailing over the smooth surfaces. Everything looks so…small.

“I remember you were quiet,” Mike says eventually, “before Chris broke your shell. I miss the quiet times.”

Josh glares over his shoulder. “I did not have a shell.”

“You were the biggest turtle I’d ever seen, dude,” Mike says. “Still kind of are. Just in a different way.”

Josh makes a noise that’s meant to sound dismissive, but his heart isn’t in it. Mike’s too close to the mark. “Since when were you all deep and shit?”

“I have many layers,” Mike argues, gesturing proudly to himself.

“Sure,” Josh says. He winds his way to back row, eyes glued to the two desks. The world seems to shrink around him as he moves, and his heart beats faster in his chest. He sits in the tiny chair that once belonged to him, and his knees bump against the desk. He bends to look inside, but both desks are stuffed with messy school supplies, and Josh knows that Chris would never put anything in there. He slides his hand under the desk instead, and sure enough, there’s an envelope taped underneath. “Bingo,” Josh says. He tries to keep his voice light and casual, but it wavers in excitement, and his fingers fumble trying to remove the tape.

Inside the envelope is another puzzle piece—as blank as the last—and another message.

We made it to the top, but it was a long, bloody road.

The clue is short and obscure, but Josh’s head swims in his childhood memories, and the answer comes to him almost immediately.

“Figured it out?”

Josh startles and looks up to find Mike hovering nearby. Josh almost forgot he was there. “Yeah,” he says. “I think I got it.”

“Can I…?” Mike gestures to the empty chair next to him—Chris’ old chair—and Josh nods. Mike squeezes himself into the seat. “Not as big as they used to be, eh?” Mike says. Josh hums in response, and Mike reads the clue over his shoulder. “No idea,” he concludes, “but it sounds ominous as hell.”

Josh barks a laugh. “It does, doesn’t it?” His skin prickles with embarrassment all of a sudden, and he stuffs the second clue back into the envelope without bothering to explain. Keen to change the subject, Josh asks, “So what are your big Valentine’s Day plans?”

Mike immediately deflates. “Nothing special,” he says. His shoulders sag, and Josh almost feels bad.

“If it makes you feel better, Emily would have walked all over you.”

“I know,” Mike says wistfully. He drops his head onto the desk and groans.

“Hey, Em or no Em, I refuse to believe the great Michael Munroe has no Valentine’s Day plans. I think the universe might implode.”

“Well, prepare for implosion,” Mike says. “I’m just hanging out with Matt later. Us single bros gotta stick together, am I right?”

“Stick together, eh? I guess that’s one way of putting it.” Josh waggles his eyebrows, and Mike shoots him a dark look.

“Listen, not everyone in this group is gay, okay? Only like…” His voice trails off as he counts on his fingers, and his eyes widen. “Holy shit. I am so outnumbered.”

“We’re slowly achieving world domination,” Josh says casually.

Mike stares at his fingers, awestruck. “Seriously, when did this happen?” he demands.

“When you were mooning over unattainable women,” Josh says. Mike groans, louder this time, and Josh bumps his shoulder. “Come on, straight boy. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Mike agrees, still looking a bit alarmed. He thanks his friend when they get back outside, and they head to the parking lot. “So you know where you’re going?” he asks, when they’re ready to part ways.

Josh nods. “Thanks for doing this or whatever. Even though you were twenty minutes late and took a picture of my butt.”

“Ah.” Mike pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps it, grinning mischievously. “Thanks for reminding me to send that to everyone.”

“Fuck off,” Josh says lazily. He heads toward his car, and he’s pulling the driver’s side door open when Mike calls to him.

“Hey,” he says. Josh turns, and Mike averts his eyes, jingling his keys in his hands. “I’m glad this is working out for you. Or whatever.”

Josh pauses. His hand tightens around the top of the door. “Me too. And I’m pretty sure you’ll find another lady who catches your fancy. Probably in like 48 hours.”

“Here’s hoping,” Mike jokes. He unlocks his car with a click and waves over his shoulder. “Catch you later, Washington.”

The arcade is a dump. It was a dump when Josh and Chris were there almost every afternoon after school, and it’s a dump now. It’s tucked into a small corner of a vast mall, and Josh makes his way to the door, unlocking his phone as he goes.

His phone buzzed like crazy on the drive over, and Josh opens the group message to find that Mike wasn’t joking about the picture. He sent it with the caption “#thatbooty,” and Josh scrolls through everyone’s responses.

Sam: work those glutes
Matt: A++
Ashley: i did not need to see this
Jess: TAP THAT ASS
Emily: do not tap that ass
Beth: can we get this printed and framed
Hannah: i want one for my wallet
Mike: i’m on it, kiddos

Josh sends a quick winking emoji and opens the door to the arcade. A bell chimes above him, and he’s struck by how different everything is—how empty it is. It might’ve been a shithole, but at least it had been a popular shithole. Josh remembers long twisting lines, kids pouring scraped allowances and leftover lunch money into the machines. Josh never wanted for money the way Chris did, and when Josh unveiled a pouch full of quarters, Chris looked at it like it was the most valuable thing in the world. His eyes lit up bright blue behind his glasses, and they ran around for hours, until they were too broke or starving to go on. Once they snuck pizza into the arcade, missed the last bus home, and had to use the store phone to call Josh’s parents for a ride. It wasn’t their finest moment.

Josh still stands in the doorway when a familiar face emerges from the back room. “Hey!” Matt calls, far more enthusiastically than usual. “You’re here!”

“Uh, you’re here,” Josh notes. “I thought you quit ages ago.”

“Nah,” Matt sighs. “Thought about it, but where else is someone gonna pay me to sit on my phone all day? It’s boring as hell, but at least I don’t have to do shit.”

“That’s the spirit, son,” Josh says. He flashes Matt a thumbs-up and wanders around, trying to get his bearings. He recognizes so few of these games.

Matt watches him with a knowing smile. “We have a classics section in the back, if that helps,” he says. Josh nods gratefully and follows Matt’s instructions. The area isn’t marked in any way, but Josh finds it easily. He spent so many hours—and so much money—on these games when he was a kid, he’s surprised he hasn’t tried to buy them from the store. That’s an idea, he thinks, and tucks it away for later. For now, he scans the section until he finds Ultimate Mortal Kombat 3. Josh searches the sides and swipes the top, but all he comes away with is a handful of dust.

“I’m afraid it ain’t so simple,” Matt says from behind him. He holds out a fistful of quarters. “Gotta make the high score board.”

“Are you serious?” Josh says. He and Chris dominated the high score board when they were kids—using the initials JAC—but it’s been years since Josh touched the arcade version. He figures he's rusty at best.

“Very serious,” Matt confirms. “I’d help you, but I’m under strict orders. Hands are tied, bro.”

Josh grumbles in the back of his throat, but his competitive nature kicks in and he takes the quarters from Matt. He stuffs two into the machine and the rest into his pocket. Gripping the control stick in one hand, he whispers, “Let’s do this shit.”

Josh picks Reptile, because he always picks Reptile, and he spends the next fifteen minutes engrossed in pixelated violence. He’s jerky at first, but soon enough Josh’s muscle memory returns. By the end of it, he kicks some serious ass. Blood splatters across the screen and Matt cheers him on, but Josh is unsurprised when his final score still isn’t high enough to make the board. He reaches for more quarters, and Matt chuckles.

“Should I pull up a chair?” he asks.

“Make some fuckin’ popcorn,” Josh replies. Matt disappears while Josh starts another round, and when he comes back, he actually does have popcorn. Josh’s eyes don’t leave the screen, but he smells the butter, and his mouth waters a little. “Jesus, dude, I was joking.”

“I know,” Matt says lightly. “Want some?”

“Little busy,” Josh grouses.

“Allow me.” Matt leans against the machine and takes a popcorn kernel between his thumb and forefinger. He squints at Josh, his tongue poking out between his lips. “Alright, open up.”

“Matt, no—”

Too late. The popcorn kernel bounces off Josh’s nose and onto the floor, and Reptile takes a hit from the momentary distraction.

“Come on, Josh,” Matt scolds. “Multitask.”

“Oh my God,” Josh says, but he opens his mouth. Matt’s aim is more precise this time, and with some effort on Josh’s part, he catches the kernel in his mouth.

“Swish,” Matt chimes. He alternates between watching Josh’s game and tossing popcorn into both their mouths. It does nothing to help Josh make the high score board—if anything, it only makes things worse—but the popcorn is good, and so is spending time with Matt. Josh has hardly hung out with him one-on-one, and he feels a pang of guilt at the thought.

Josh hits the board a few rounds later, and Matt puts the popcorn down for a double high five. When they finish celebrating, Josh initials it JAM.

“Hey, I didn’t do anything,” Matt protests. “This was all you.”

“Your popcorn fueled me,” Josh says, “as did your enthusiasm. Ever consider being a cheerleader instead of a football player?”

“Thought about it. The tight pants I can live with—the backflips, not so much.” Matt pulls an envelope out of his back pocket and hands it to Josh. “You earned it.”

Josh opens it without hesitation. Another puzzle piece, and a message that reads, Once you said I would take you to the stars. I never did, but you broke your ankle trying.

This one is easy. Josh wants to excuse himself, but the leftover quarters weigh heavy in his pocket. He forces the clue out of his mind and looks up at Matt.

“Want to play a couple rounds?”

“Golly,” Matt says, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Josh goes easy on Matt until Matt calls him on it, and then they hold nothing back, pummeling each other’s characters until their quarters run out. Matt is a better competitor than Josh thought he’d be: When Josh wins their last round, it’s only by a hair.

“Damn, Matt.”

“I’ve got some skills,” Matt brags. He picks up the empty bowl of popcorn, tossing in the few kernels that landed on the floor. “Man, you should come in more often. I haven’t had this much fun at work in—well, ever.”

“I’m surprised this place is still around, honestly,” Josh says.

“Me too.” Matt pats the machine fondly and heads back to the counter, plopping onto the stool behind it. Josh follows him. “Guess you’ll be on your way now?” Matt asks, a little sadly.

“Yeah,” Josh says, “but hey, I have the Mortal Kombat game for Xbox. Maybe you can come over sometime?”

Matt perks up. “Hell yes. I would love that. Just gotta work on my game.” He flexes his muscles, and Josh laughs.

“Your game is pretty solid, meathead,” he says. “I’ll text you later—and happy Valentine’s Day.”

Matt’s gaze flickers to third clue in Josh’s hand, and he winks. “Happy Valentine’s Day indeed.”

The park is, if nothing else, a change of pace. The afternoon sun shines, and every inch of grass is packed with families and couples. The playground crawls with kids. Josh finds both swings occupied, and he lurks at a distance for a while, trying—for the second time that day—not to look suspicious as he waits for the kids to get off.

Josh hasn’t been here in a long time either, but not much has changed. The playground is a giant plastic contraption that would probably survive the apocalypse, should it ever happen. He and Chris spent their early summers here, and Josh once told Chris that if they swung high enough and jumped far enough, they’d travel to the stars. Chris (always the skeptic) didn’t believe him, so Josh (always the dumbass) tried to prove himself. He ended up breaking his ankle instead. It was almost worth it for the sweet air he got, but still—they didn’t do much swinging after that.

Fifteen minutes pass before Josh loses his patience. It’s 2 p.m. already and he has no idea how many clues he has left to find; plus, these kids don’t show any sign of tiring. Josh walks up to the swings, watching carefully as the girl on the left pumps her legs. She swings forward, and something rectangular and white flashes on the bottom of the seat. Perfect.

“Hey,” Josh calls, feeling creepy and awkward now. He has no idea how to talk to kids. This girl looks about ten, but she might as well be from another planet.

“Yeah?” the girl says, still swinging.

“Can I—uh—can I see that swing for a second?” Josh asks.

She looks at him skeptically. “Why? You’re too old.”

“I’m eighteen,” Josh snaps, more defensive than he should be.

“That’s, like, ancient,” the girl says.

“Okay, I’m ancient. Can I just see the swing? Please?” he adds helplessly.

“Why?” she asks again.

“It’s a secret.”

This gets her attention. Her legs stop moving, and she slows down. “A secret?” she repeats, eyes wide. The wind has blown out her curly hair, and she looks wild.

“Yes,” Josh says.

The girl glances around to make sure no one is listening, and then she whispers, “Can you tell me?”

Josh is in too deep. “No. Listen, kid, I just need to—” He gestures toward the seat, realizing too late that it’s a big mistake. The girl leaps off the swing and inspects the seat, the tip of her nose inches away from it. Finding nothing on the top, she checks underneath and gasps loudly.

“A clue!” she shrieks. “A clue!”

“It’s my clue,” Josh insists. “Can I have it, please?”

He hopes that if he says “please” enough times, he’ll walk away from this unscathed. That’s how kids work, right?

The girl rips the envelope off the bottom of the seat and turns it over in her hand. “I don’t see your name on it,” she says, “and I say finders keepers.”

“Well, that says clue number four,” Josh points out. “How are you going to figure out the mystery if you don’t have the other clues?” He pulls the three envelopes out of his back pocket and spreads them between his fingers, wagging them teasingly. The girl’s mouth opens and she stands, stepping toward Josh like she’s in a trance. Josh opens his free hand, ready to grab the fourth clue as soon as the girl is close enough, but she seems to realize his plan. She casts him another suspicious look, clutches the envelope to her chest—and sprints away.

“Fuck me,” Josh sighs. He takes off after her, trying not to think about how awful this looks and wondering where the fuck this girl’s parents are. Suddenly, someone steps in her path.

It’s Emily.

“Hold up, squirt,” she says. She raises her hand, and the girl freezes. “Did you take something from my friend?” Emily asks.

The girl tucks the envelope into her sleeve and shakes her head.

“I think you’re lying,” Emily says. She wiggles her fingers. “Let me see.” The girl hands it over, just like that, and Emily looks at the envelope with a serious expression. She points to a blank spot with a polished nail and says, “Ah, yes. Right here. ‘Property of Josh Washington.’”

Emily shows it to the girl, who scrunches her nose. “I don’t see anything," she says.

“Oh.” Emily covers her mouth in mock surprise and laughs, small and tinkling. “Silly me. I must’ve forgotten. Only witches can read it.”

The girl’s eyes bulge out of her head. “You’re a witch?” she says, like it’s a bad word.

Emily nods solemnly. “And do you know what witches love eating most of all?” she asks. The girl swallows and shakes her head, and Emily leans down. “Little girls.”

There’s a long, heavy silence, and then the girl lets out an ear-splitting scream. She turns on her heel and runs off, arms flailing. Emily watches her go, a smirk on her face.

“That was real mature,” Josh says. Emily turns to him with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s not like you were doing any better,” she retorts. “Besides, friends don’t let friends get arrested for chasing children." She holds out the envelope. "I believe this is yours.”

“Thanks,” Josh says, taking it.

“No problem. Thanks for crashing my date.”

“Your…” Josh looks around and finds Jess sitting on a nearby blanket. She waves—cheerful as always—and Josh gives a small, embarrassed wave in return. “Oh, God.”

“Yeah,” Emily says. “Well, you want a drink?”

“Uh—”

“Cool.” She grabs Josh’s arm before he can protest any further, and soon he sits on a soft blanket, next to an honest to God picnic basket and an unopened bottle of wine. Emily takes a seat next to Jess, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. “We have a guest,” she says.

“I noticed,” Jess giggles. “What was that all about?”

“Josh likes to antagonize young children,” Emily says.

“Excuse me,” Josh interrupts.

“I also like to antagonize young children,” Emily admits, “but it was in the name of love, am I right?” Jess shoots her a questioning look, and Emily explains, “Chris has sent Josh on a Valentine’s Day scavenger hunt. Mike told me.”

Jess’ eyes pop, and she gasps, nudging Emily in the ribs. “You owe me twenty!” she says gleefully. Emily curses, and Jess turns to Josh. “I always thought Chris would make the first move—no offense—and Emily thought you would. So we made a bet, and now—actually, now I’m realizing I shouldn’t have said that.”

Josh is flustered enough that he doesn’t mind Jess’ (totally justifiable) lack of faith. His cheeks redden, and he fiddles with fourth clue. “It’s fine. Do you really think this is—” he raises his hands in air quotes “—‘making a move’?”

“Honey,” Emily coos.

“Oh my God, yeah,” Jess says. “Do you think it isn’t?”

“I don’t know,” Josh says. “I mean—at first I thought it was a joke. Mike being a dick or something. But he promised it wasn’t him, and now—I don’t know. I’ve been a shit about not liking Valentine’s Day, so I thought maybe…Chris was just trying to make me feel better?”

Emily pops open the wine bottle and pulls two glasses from picnic basket. She pours drinks for herself and Jess, and then takes a sip. “Josh, we’ve never been able to get a word out of Chris, probably because he knows we’ll tell the entire world,” she says. She looks at Jess for confirmation, and Jess nods sagely. “But I can practically see stars in his eyes whenever he looks at you,” Emily continues. “It’s disgusting.”

“It’s adorable,” Jess amends.

Emily passes her glass to Josh, and Josh twists it around to avoid the lipstick stain. The wine tastes sweet and fruity, and he swishes it around in his mouth before swallowing. “How did you guys…you know?” he asks.

Jess flushes. “It was Emily, actually.”

“Really?” Josh leans forward, propping his elbow on his knee. He rests his chin on his knuckles. “Do tell, Jessica.”

Emily snatches the wineglass back and scoffs. “All I said was, ‘I don’t think you’re completely terrible, and I might not hate spending time with you. Also, do you want to kiss my face?’”

Josh looks to Jess for her side of the story and finds her distracted. She looks at Emily with such unabashed fondness, and Josh wonders if it’s even possible for someone to look at him like that. For Chris to look at him like that. Josh coughs a little, and Jess snaps out of it. She plays with the tip of her braid and smiles coyly. “It was something like that,” she says.

“You just have to be direct,” Emily advises, like the prospect isn’t absolutely mortifying. She shrugs and gestures to the fourth clue. “So are you going to open it or what?”

“Oh,” Josh says. Another wave of embarrassment washes over him, but he pulls out the index card and reads the message aloud. “‘I show you new things, but I never change. Maybe I'll show something of yours one day?’”

Chris has made this one painfully obvious, but he could never resist complimenting Josh’s film skills. He ended almost every bad horror movie with a confident, “Yours will be better,” and Josh usually threw something at him in return. That kind of belief encouraged and terrified Josh in equal amounts.

Josh looks up at his friends. Jess’ face is scrunched in concentration; Emily nods, and he knows she’s figured it out.

“Looks like I’m going to the movies,” Josh says. Emily offers him one more sip of her drink, and he accepts it, feeling like he could use a little liquid courage.

“Oh!” Jess says. “I get it now.” Her eyes light up with another revelation, and she adds, “Wait!” She reaches into the picnic basket and pulls out two heart-shaped boxes of chocolate. “Em and I ended up getting each other the same one, so…maybe you could use it?” She hands a box to Josh, grinning sweetly, and he pulls her up for a hug.

“Thanks, Jess.”

She squeezes him back, squealing happily as she does. “You’re so welcome—and when you see Chris, tell him I said, ‘About time!’ With at least five exclamation points.”

“Will do,” Josh agrees. He pulls back and looks down at Emily. “Em? Do you have any messages for our dear Christopher?”

Emily considers for a moment. “Tell him I said, ‘I was right.’” She smirks. “No exclamation points.”

Josh’s pockets have started to overflow with envelopes, so he leaves the clues in his car when he pulls into the theater parking lot. He also wouldn't be caught dead walking into a public place with a heart-shaped box of chocolates in his arms, so he tucks them in the trunk and hopes they won’t melt.

The theater is as crowded as the park, filled with couples on dates. Josh stares at ticket line snaking through the lobby, and it hits him that he doesn't know where to go from here. He scans the immediate area and—finding no clue—teeters at the edge of the line.

“Josh!”

Sam stands behind the ticket counter, and Josh breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of her. She gestures for him to get in line. He obeys, grateful for the direction, and she gives him a thumbs-up over the crowd. When he gets to the counter, Sam flashes her best customer smile.

“How may I help you today, sir?”

“Uh…” Josh casts a nervous look at the board of movie times, and his gaze lands on a horror movie that he and Chris saw here last weekend. “One for The Woman in Black?” he guesses.

Sam’s smile widens, and she taps her screen until a ticket pops out of the slot in front of her. Josh reaches for his wallet, and Sam holds up her hand. “It’s been covered,” she says. Turning to the worker at the next counter, she adds, “Hey, I’m taking my break now.”

Sam’s coworker looks at the growing line and sighs, but waves her away. She rips Josh’s ticket, and they slip between the crowds until they’re outside the appropriate theater. Music drifts from the other side of the door, and Josh looks at the time on his ticket.

“There’s still half an hour left,” he says, figuring his clue is under a seat somewhere inside. “What do you want to do?”

Sam looks at him quizzically. “I thought we were going in? Doesn’t shit always go crazy at the end?”

“This is something you’d know, Samantha, if you actually kept your eyes open during any of my dad’s films.”

“You know I love your dad, but he has one fucked up imagination,” Sam says. “Excuse me if I’d rather preserve my innocence.”

Sam is goading him, and Josh knows it, but it works anyway. He grabs her arm. “Alright, now we’re definitely going in,” he declares.

“Not so fast,” Sam says. She tugs him toward the concession stand, and the smell of food makes Josh’s stomach growl. They each get a hot dog, and at Josh’s insistence that he’s had enough popcorn for the day, they grab a box of Junior Mints and Sour Patch Kids. Sam waves away his wallet again, insisting that this one is on her, and Josh catches her up on the plot as they head into the movie. He leads Sam to his usual back row seats, and they sink into the chairs just as shit goes crazy.

Sam hardly watches any of it, but she still jumps hard enough to send a handful of Junior Mints flying. The person in front of them clucks as they roll down the rows.

“God, you’re worse than Hannah,” Josh teases. Sam shoves the remaining Junior Mints into his mouth to shut him up. Josh lets out a muffled laugh, trying not to choke.

Sam manages not to fling any more food, and their candy boxes are almost empty by the time the credits roll. Sam blinks as the lights come back on. “That wasn’t so bad,” she declares.

“Oh, no,” Josh agrees. “I’d say only three minor heart attacks on your end. Not bad at all.”

“Shove off,” Sam snaps. She takes the box of Sour Patch Kids from Josh and dumps the last few into her hand. “You know, I should sneak into movies on my break more often.”

“You should sneak me into movies more often,” Josh says. Sam glares, but only halfheartedly.

“My powers are limited, Josh,” she says. “Also, I’d rather quit triumphantly after I graduate college than get fired before I even start.”

Josh takes a gummy from Sam’s hand and pops it into his mouth. “I guess that’s fair.”

They fall silent, watching the moviegoers file out. Sam nudges his arm a moment later. “Don’t you have a clue to look for?” she prods, and Josh sits up straighter.

“Shit, I do,” he says. “I hope—” He turns to look at the bottom of the chairs and sees an envelope just a few seats away, taped to the underside. He’s pretty sure that’s exactly where he sat when he saw this movie with Chris, and Josh is at once surprised and touched that Chris remembered. He hops out of his seat to tug the envelope free and returns to Sam, pulling out the fifth clue.

“Read it to me,” Sam says. Josh looks at her warily.

“Why is everyone so interested in this?”

“Because we’ve only been waiting forever.”

“Stop,” Josh protests.

“It’s true.”

An unwelcome thought worms its way into Josh’s brain, and he makes a small distressed noise. He tilts his head away from Sam, and she rests her hand on his knee. “Hey,” she says, her voice softer. “Did I say something wrong?”

Josh huffs a laugh. When has Sam ever said anything wrong? “No,” he assures.

“Then what is it?”

Josh shrugs. The words sit on the tip of his tongue, and he holds them there, debating. Sam is patient, as usual, and after a minute Josh lets it out. “I’m just—I’m scared, Sam.”

“Of what?”

Everything?

Josh wracks his brain for something a little more useful. “What if Chris wants to be with me, or he thinks he wants to be with me, and then he realizes I’m…not good? For myself or him or—anything, really.”

Sam reaches for Josh’s hand, and he takes it, still not meeting her eyes. “Josh,” she says quietly, “Chris knows you better than anybody, and he loves you. A whole fucking lot. Like, sometimes he could tone it down a bit.” Josh smirks, and Sam continues, “He might not know your deepest, darkest secrets, and he might never. But I think he’s willing to face them. Doesn’t that mean something?”

Josh leans his head against Sam’s shoulder, one hand in hers and the other clutching his clue. “Yeah.”

“You’re good for a lot. I wish you could see that.”

“Me too, Sammy.”

Sam gives him the usual look—a mix of warmth and concern—and squeezes his hand. She offers up her other palm, revealing a lone red gummy. “Do you want the last Sour Patch Kid?”

The cleaners shoot glares at Sam and Josh as they sweep everyone’s trash, and Sam concedes. “I’m pushing my limits here, kid,” she says. “I gotta get back to work.”

Josh nods and tucks the clue away. He gathers their empty food boxes, and the sight of everyone’s popcorn bowls and half-full drinks makes him think.

“There’s a shitload of people here today,” he says. “How’d you keep someone from stealing the clue?”

Sam shrugs. “People are less observant than you’d think, but I checked after every showing, and I had a backup just in case.”

A rush of affection overwhelms him, and Josh uses his free hand to tug lightly on a stray bit of hair poking out of Sam’s bun. “What would I do without you, huh?”

“Wither away or something.”

“Probably.”

Josh walks her back to the ticket counter, and it occurs to him that he still hasn’t read his latest message. He pulls out the envelope and asks, “Still want me to read it to you?”

Sam shakes her head. “It’s your business. I trust you’ll figure it out.” She ruffles his hair and adds, “Don’t be scared.”

Josh tries not to be as he sits on the hood of his car and opens the clue. He shades his eyes from the sun and squints at his new quest.

I’m full of words, but I make no noise. You lost me once—now find another.

Out falls another puzzle piece and—to Josh’s surprise—a folded paper bookmark. He straightens it against his knee. It’s for a local independent bookstore, and Chris has drawn a smiley face next to the name and address. Los Angeles is filled with local independent bookstores, and Josh wonders why Chris is so pleased about sending him to this particular one.

Until he remembers: Ashley works there.

“Nope,” Josh says. “Nope, nope, nope.” He flicks the bookmark onto the ground and gets into the driver’s seat before the guilt of littering weighs too heavily, and he opens the door to snatch the bookmark back. There aren’t any garbage cans nearby, so he tosses it into the passenger seat with an annoyed “humph.” Damn his good conscience.

Josh knows what this is about. He lost his favorite Edward Gorey collection on a recent trip with his dad, and he complained about it to no end—but that has nothing to do with Chris or their friendship. Nothing to do with anything. This is about Josh’s wicked jealousy, and this is Chris saying it needs to stop.

Fear bubbles hot in his gut. He starts the car.

The bookstore is almost empty, of course, because God hates Josh Washington. Ashley sits behind the counter, curling a lock of hair around her finger as she reads, and Josh knows there’s no way he can get in without her noticing. He slinks back to his car and slumps in the seat, tearing the bookmark into small pieces while he waits for her to move.

Ten minutes later, she’s up. Josh sneaks in when she’s out of view, thanking the stars there’s no bell above the door. He hears shuffling a few rows down, and he keeps his distance. Chris’ instructions never said anything about talking to Ashley; Josh will just grab the clue from inside the book and be on his merry way. Easy peasy.

Except Sam was right: Chris knows Josh too well. When Josh finds the art section, there’s a small gap where the book should be. He reaches his hand into the space as though the book will magically appear, and instead he discovers an index card. His heart leaps, and he pulls it out.

Did you really think it would be that easy? You know what you need to do.

“Damn it, Chris,” Josh mutters. He crumples the card in his palm, and he’s so huffy that he doesn’t notice the approaching footsteps until Ashley peers at him from around the corner. Her eyes light up.

“Hey, Josh.” She steps into the aisle, her arms overloaded with books. “I didn’t even know you were here.”

“Must’ve snuck in,” Josh says. He stuffs Chris’ note into his pocket and shifts nervously.

“Must’ve,” Ashley agrees. “So can I help you find anything?” Her voice lilts, and she tilts her head to the side, biting her lip to hide a smile.

“Uh, yeah,” Josh says. He gestures lamely to the gap in the shelves. “I’m looking for Amphigorey? It’s an—”

“Edward Gorey book, I know.” Ashley dumps her pile of books on the floor and waves for Josh to follow him. “Come on.”

She leads the way to the cash register and pulls the book out from underneath the counter. There’s a bookmark nearly three-quarters of the way through, and Ashley jots her page number on a sticky note. She takes her bookmark back—the same one Chris left for Josh—before sliding the book across the counter. Josh reaches for his wallet, his eyebrow raised.

“Do I need to…?”

“It’s taken care of,” Ashley says.

“So I figured,” Josh replies. He drums his fingers nervously on the front cover and flips to the first page. An envelope is tucked neatly into the spine. The front reads The Final Clue, and Josh swallows past a nervous lump in his throat. He’s not sure if he’s ready for this to be over. Ashley ooh’s dramatically, and Josh reads his last message.

Come to the house that’s not on the ground, and there you’ll find what you need.

What he needs? Josh frowns and shakes the last puzzle piece onto the counter. He turns it over more than once, like he’s waiting for a secret message to appear, but—as usual—nothing happens. It’s just as white and blank as the others.

“I don’t get it,” Josh says. “All these fucking pieces are blank.”

“Are you sure about that?” Ashley asks. She sounds like she knows something Josh doesn’t, and he glares at her.

“There’s nothing on them,” he insists.

“Nothing you can see,” Ashley corrects him. “At least, not yet.”

“What’s that supposed to—” Just like that, it clicks. “Oh. Ashley, you’re a genius.”

She shrugs humbly. “Not really. I’m just in on the game.”

“Cheater, cheater,” he teases. He tucks the book under his arm. “Listen, I gotta run.”

“Josh, wait.” Ashley’s voice is soft, and Josh freezes. She looks at him with those wide eyes, and guilt washes over him. He’s knows what’s coming. “Chris is one of my best friends, and I love him to pieces,” Ashley explains. “But he’s kind of like a brother to me. Do you know what I mean?”

Their eyes meet, and Josh nods. “It wasn’t really you I was worried about.”

Ashley says his name again, and she opens her palm on the counter. Josh hesitates before sliding his hand into hers. Her thumb brushes his knuckles. “Put the puzzle together,” she advises. “I don’t think you’ll be worried anymore.”

Josh’s nerves race at the thought, and he fights the impulse to race out the door. He still doesn’t want to do this, but if he doesn’t now, he never will. “Sorry I’m kind of a jerk,” he says.

“Apology accepted.” Ashley’s voice is warm; she means it. “Sorry I didn’t say anything earlier. I thought it was obvious.”

“So did everyone else, apparently.”

“Many bets will be ended this day,” Ashley says seriously. She gives him an even more serious look and adds, “Let me warn you, though: If you harm a single hair on that innocent boy’s head, I will take you down.”

Josh snorts. “Take me down?”

“Take you downtown.”

“Where, to the library?”

Ashley smacks Josh’s hand away. “Jeez, way to ruin the moment,” she complains.

“I’m pretty sure you ruined the moment when you threatened physical violence,” Josh argues.

“Whatever.” She shoos him away. “Begone, heathen. Find your beloved and…kiss his face off, or something.”

“I’ll do my best,” Josh says. He gives her a two-finger salute as he backs away, and Ashley rolls her eyes.

He steps out into the late afternoon sunlight a moment later, his head light and buzzed. The world looks a lot brighter all of a sudden, and Josh hums as he tosses the book into the passenger seat. It’s barely slipped from fingers when Josh realizes: He should really give it back. He scoops it up again, tosses the final clue in its place, and heads back into the store. Ashley has already pulled out another book, and she glances up when the door opens.

“What’s up?” she asks, looking at him quizzically.

Josh lays his book on the counter with a decisive thump and pushes it toward her. “You should finish this,” he says. “There’s a second one, too. You can borrow it when you’re done.” Ashley’s mouth opens and closes, and Josh’s confidence falters. “If you want,” he adds nervously.

Ashley blinks and flicks through the pages with her thumb. “Yeah,” she blurts. “That’d be awesome, Josh.”

“Cool. Talk to you later?”

Josh’s question hovers in the air, and he waits for it to crash down. Instead, Ashley’s face breaks into a grin.

“Definitely.”

Josh tugs nervously on the rope ladder. It’s been ages since he went in Chris’ treehouse, and Josh isn’t as light as he used to be; he’s almost certain the rope will snap, and Chris will come out of his house to find Josh flat on his ass in the yard.

In the end, it’s a risk he’s willing to take.

He pulls himself up the first few rungs, gripping Jess’ box of chocolates awkwardly in one hand. There’s an embarrassing amount of wobbling, but the rope holds, and Josh manages not to let anything slip—himself included. Praying no one is around to snap more unflattering pictures, he lifts himself inside.

The wood is coarse and familiar underneath his hand, and Josh looks around the room. It’s surprisingly bare. Gone are the abandoned comic books and forgotten trinkets; Instead, a pen dangles from the ceiling in the middle of the room. On the wall behind it is a string of Christmas lights, arranged in the shape of a heart.

Josh crawls closer to the pen, and he confirms his suspicions: It’s an invisible ink pen, exactly like the ones he and Chris used when they were kids. Josh was a chronic note-passer in school, and Chris had chronic anxiety about getting caught. One week Josh used his allowance to buy two sets of invisible ink pens, and they spent the rest of the school year—and many school years after that—sending each other messages no one else could read.

The pen sways slightly, and Josh clasps it between his fingers to keep it steady. Taped to the side is a small note. An arrow points to the pen’s light, and next to it Chris wrote, Turn me on. ;)

Josh laughs. He imagines how pleased Chris was when he thought of that: the sly half-smile he wears whenever he does something a little bit reckless; the slight tinge of pink in his pale cheeks. Josh snaps the string to tug the pen free, and he startles when the Christmas lights turn on, emitting a soft yellow glow. His stomach lurches in anticipation, and he pulls the envelopes from his back pockets, dumping the puzzle pieces onto the floor.

It doesn’t take long to fit them together. His hands shake, and when he's finished, he takes a deep breath. This feels like the edge of a precipice, and Josh has no idea what he’ll find when he falls.

He clicks on the light.

I’m kind of in love with you. Whoops?
—C

Josh makes a noise like his chest has cracked open. “Holy shit,” he breathes.

“Is that a good holy shit?”

He whirls around to find Chris propped on his elbows at the edge of the treehouse, resting his chin in his palm. He’s only visible from the chest up, but his body sways a little, and Josh can imagine the ladder wobbling underneath his feet. Josh smiles, and the smile Chris gives him in return quickly turns to a nervous wince.

“Okay, I thought this would be a nice way to greet you, but it’s actually really uncomfortable,” Chris complains, “and I don’t trust this rope ladder for shit.”

The only thing Josh can think to say is, “Me neither.” He stares in disbelief as Chris hoists himself into the treehouse and sits, one leg hanging over the edge. He looks at Josh nervously.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Josh replies.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

“What are the chances?”

It's quiet. They say, “So…” at the same time, smile sheepishly, and fall silent again. Finally Josh finds his words.

“I guess you like me or whatever.”

“I guess I do,” Chris says.

“That’s pretty gay.”

“I realize this.”

“Just making sure.” The tension builds, thick and heavy. A long moment passes, and Josh adds, “Do you want to kiss my face?”

Chris breathes something that sounds like, “Jesus,” and he closes the distance between them in record time. His hands cup Josh’s face, and Josh has about a millisecond to think oh my God before Chris’ lips press against his.

Their first kiss is hard and impatient. Noses bump. Hands scrabble. Josh has waited too long for this, and now that it’s happening, he wants all of Chris at once. He grips fistfuls of Chris’ shirt, and Chris smiles against his mouth as he pulls Josh into his lap.

When they break apart, they’re both breathing heavily. Chris’ hair is a mess, and Josh smiles, even though he honestly doesn’t remember doing that. Chris’ glasses have tilted, and Josh straightens them.

“That’s turning into a habit,” Chris chides. His voice is rough. Josh likes the sound of it.

“What about this?” He leans forward to kiss Chris again, slower this time. Chris’ lips are soft and warm, and Josh melts like his body has been wound up his entire life, and only now can he relax.

Chris pulls away and whispers, “I think we can arrange that.”

They fall into each other again, and it’s a while before they emerge. Josh’s lips tingle, and Chris looks thoroughly disheveled. They both laugh at the sight of each other, and Chris runs his hand through Josh’s hair.

“Let’s stay here tonight,” he says.

Josh doesn’t even need to think about it. “Okay.”

They race down the ladder and into Chris’ house. They scour the rooms for spare blankets, tossing them into a pile by the back door, and Josh helps Chris carry his mattress outside. Getting it into the treehouse is a job and a half: Josh balances himself halfway up the shaky ladder, waits for Chris to lift the mattress up to him, and they both shove it as hard as they can into the opening of the treehouse. They hear it land on the wooden floor, and Josh lowers his hand for a high five. Chris smacks it, and Josh’s other hand—sweaty from the effort—loses its grip on the ladder. Josh utters an unhelpful “ohshitI’mfalling” before doing just that. He slams into Chris with a loud “oof,” and they tumble to the grass.

Chris is unlucky enough to land on the bottom. He sprawls underneath Josh like he’s making a snow angel, his glasses missing altogether.

“Fuck, are you okay?” Josh asks.

“I’m grand,” Chris wheezes. He looks at Josh with a small smile and adds, “You sweep me off my feet, bro.”

“No.”

“You take my breath away.”

“Stop.”

“You’ve blinded me with your beauty.” Chris lifts his head for a kiss and catches Josh’s eyebrow instead. “Seriously, I can’t see.”

Josh rolls off, and Chris crawls helplessly on his hands and knees, sweeping his fingers through the grass. Josh spies the glasses a few feet away—in one piece, thankfully—and he hands them to Chris. Chris gives an exaggerated bow, whispering, “Thank you, sir,” like some kind of medieval English peasant, and Josh smacks the side of his head lightly.

“Put your glasses on, nerd.”

“I’m so abused,” Chris whispers, this time in his normal voice. Josh helps him to his feet, and they make their way back to the house. Getting the blankets into the treehouse is much easier, though Chris insists that he stand on the ladder this time. He tosses them up, one by one, and then announces he’s hungry. They make mac and cheese—more specifically, Chris makes mac and cheese while Josh watches—and bring their bowls into the treehouse. It’s sunset by the time they make it up again, and they sit at the edge, legs dangling as they eat.

The world is bathed in gold, and Chris watches the sun as it hovers at the edge of the horizon. Josh watches him.

“Food alright?” Chris asks. He sets his empty bowl behind him, and Josh does the same.

“Best mac and cheese I’ve ever had,” he confirms.

“Good,” Chris says, grinning with pride. He reaches over and pinches a bit of Josh’s jeans. “Come here.”

Josh scoots over, and Chris wraps an around his shoulder. They’re quiet in the dimming light, and it’s a long time before Josh finds the courage to say anything.

“Thanks,” he manages, when the sky is a vibrant pink. “For, you know, everything.”

“It wasn’t too much?” Chris asks.

“You’re too much,” Josh says, “but I like it. Even though that heart is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.” He points to the lit up heart behind them, and Chris scoffs, offended.

“Hey, that took a long fucking time,” he says.

“I’m sure it did.” Josh pauses. “Anyway, I think I needed too much.”

Chris laughs a little. “And I thought I was so obvious.”

“Maybe we both were,” Josh says.

The thought seems to please Chris, and he kisses Josh’s temple, humming in agreement. Josh turns his head to catch Chris’ lips and regrets the decision as soon as they open their mouths.

“Maybe,” Josh amends, “we should have brought some gum up here, too.”

“I thought I saw some chocolate back there,” Chris suggests, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Dude, that is not the same thing.”

“Fine,” Chris says. He brings his legs into the treehouse and winks at Josh. “More chocolate for me, then.”

Josh does eat chocolate, because how can he possibly resist, and he does kiss Chris, because—well, same reason. They curl up underneath the blankets and fall asleep at an embarrassingly early hour, bare legs tangled together. The wind tickles Josh’s feet and Chris’ mattress is way too small for the both of them, but Josh sleeps better than he has in a long time.

He wakes up to the sound of Chris’ snuffles. He’s woken up with Chris more times than he can count, but never like this—never with Chris pressed up against him. Chris’ mouth hangs open slightly, and his breath is warm against Josh’s skin. He looks soft and young, and Josh resists the urge to scare the shit out of him. He leans down to kiss Chris on the forehead.

Chris’ eyes flutter open, and he makes a pleased sound. “That’s so nice,” he says quietly. “Can you wake me up like that every morning?”

“No,” Josh says. “You get a free pass since this is the first one. I’ll be wrecking you from here on out.”

Chris’ eyes open in earnest, and he lifts an eyebrow. “Wrecking me, eh?”

“For once, that’s actually not what I meant,” Josh says, “but that, too.”

“This looks to be a most promising arrangement.” Chris disentangles himself enough to stretch, and his hand brushes the heart-shaped box. “Also, chocolate.”

“Do you care about anything besides chocolate?”

“Nope,” Chris says. He flips onto his stomach and inspects the box. There are only two left. He plucks one out and pops it into his mouth before sliding the box to Josh. Josh is probably going to puke after all the shit he’s eaten in the past 24 hours, but he takes the last chocolate anyway. Chris looks at him fondly, and Josh averts his eyes.

“Y’know, I’m sorry I didn’t do anything for you,” Josh says. “The chocolates don’t count. That was Jess’ idea.”

“It’s okay,” Chris says. He’s nice enough to avoid Josh’s mouth, kissing his shoulder instead. “There’s always next year.”

Warmth unfurls in Josh’s stomach. Chris has given him a hell of a lot to live up to, but he’s up for the challenge. Josh laces their fingers together and nods.

“Next year.”