SIX MONTHS AGO

David stood with his back to the kitchen counter of his apartment, his phone in his hands scrolling through a new recipe for dinner. A chime came, and a text banner slid down from the top of the screen: Will I see you tonight?

Quickly he tapped on the text, swapping apps to text back: Do you want to?

Three dots floated, then the reply: Depends on how much of you I'll get to see.

David smiled to himself, and responded: You can see, but not touch. The reply made him smile and cover his mouth with his other hand. David sent a reply, and the response made him laugh.

Just then the kitchen door swung open and Jason walked in, dressed in jeans and a sweater. He went to the counter beside David, taking down a glass and pouring himself a glass of water. David's fingers quickly tapped the screen, returning it to the recipe.

"Did you find the recipe?" Jason asked, lifting the glass to his lips, as his eyes slid to David's phone.

David turned to face him, turning the phone in the process so he could not see the screen. "I did," he said, tucking chin-length dark hair with colored under pieces behind an ear. "But we can't make it tonight. I got a text, about a pop quiz, and I have to study. At the school library."

"Okay," Jason said, smiling. "We can do it another night."

David hesitated. "I'm really sorry," he said. "I can make you something before I leave."

"You don't have to," Jason said. "I won't starve to death. I have baking soda, and I think I saw a half-eaten apple on the curb when I came in..." He laughed at David's expression. "It's fine, I swear," he said. Putting his glass down, he stepped towards David. "If you really want to make me feel better, then come here."

He grabbed David, who gave a cry of surprise and then of delight as Jason picked his up around the waist. David quickly put his phone face down on the counter before the man turned with him in a half circle.

"When you need attention..." David said, laughing, arms around the man's shoulders.

"I need all the attention," Jason finished, setting him back on the floor and kissing him. "Don't go too hard tonight, okay?"

David glanced up at him. "I won't," he finally said, with a hesitant smile. "I'm sorry, I'll be back before morning."

"Don't apologize," Jason said. "I'll see you whenever you get home. And this time," he added, holding up a finger, "I'll be awake."

David scoffed playfully and wrapped his hand around the finger. "I doubt that." He laughed as Jason squeezed him and kissed him again. Jason was about to pull away, when David held on to him, prolonging and deepening the kiss, hands behind the man's head. When he finally let go, they were both breathless.

"What was that for?" Jason murmured.

"Just...for being you."

Jason smiled down at him, and they kissed again, softly and briefly, enjoying the closeness of each other for a moment, before David finally pulled away, turning out of the man's arms. Jason let him go reluctantly, with a smile on his face, waving a hand in return to the hurried wave as David grabbed his jacket and bag from the floor by the door and headed out.

**

They lay beside each other on the bed, bare chests rising and falling, covered in a sheen of sweat. David had one arm over his eyes, lips parted in deep breaths, inhaling cigarette-smelling sheets and the scent of sweat and musk. Around them the small apartment—literally just a bed in the middle of an exposed brick room scattered with guitars and other musical appurtenances—was quiet, the only sounds their labored breathing.

After a few moments, once he got his breath back, David pushed the covers away, swung his legs to the floor and began to get dressed.

"You're leaving?" asked the half-naked young man on the bed, going up onto his elbows to watch David. His black hair was messy, his eyes drooping with the serene expression one has after pleasure, with only a well-placed sheet around his waist and hips, leaving his muscular, tattooed torso and legs exposed on the rumpled black sheets. "I was hoping we could go for round three, after I, you know, rest."

"I can't," David said, buttoning his jeans. "I have to get back."

"Why?" the guy asked. "Is your boyfriend starting to get suspicious?"

"No," David said quickly, and irritably, scoping his t-shirt up from the floor. "And I told you not to talk about him."

"Why?" asked the guy, this time with a teasing smirk. "Are you starting to feel guilty?"

David turned his back to sit on the edge of the bed and put on his boots.

"I mean," he continued, "I've never been a stickler about these kinds of things, I'm a love-them-all kind of guy. But for a guy like you..."

"And what is a guy like me?" David asked, lifting his foot off the floor, and tugging on the laces of his boot.

"A decent guy. A guy with a conscience. Or maybe you're not," he added, arching a thick black eyebrow. "Since you keep coming here."

David pulled his laced tight, knotted them off and dropped his foot to the floor with a soft thud. "Yeah," he said, getting to his feet, "Well, I'm about to not be here, so."

The guy chuckled. "But you'll be back," he said, dropping his head back onto the pillow.

"Will I?" David said, looking around for his phone.

"Yeah," the guy said, closing his eyes and settling back for sleep.

"And how do you know that?" David asked, lifting a pair of leather pants off the floor to look underneath.

"Because," he said, a smile still on his lips. "You say the same thing every time before you leave."

David paused, a frown clouding his face. Then he straightened, tossing the pants across the room where it landed on a shiny black and gold guitar.

"Hey!" the guy said angrily, raising up on one hand. "Watch it! Don't take your guilt out on my stuff."

"Shut up and tell me where you put my phone," David snapped. "I told you I don't like when you hide it."

"I didn't hide your damn phone," he said, tossing the sheets back to get out of bed and stride naked across the room to check on his guitar.

"Then where is it?" David said, growing more irritated, and panicked, by the second, as he picked up and chucked things aside in his search. "Get yours and call it."

"God, you're bossy after sex," the guy said, picking his phone up from the floor by the bed. "Is your boyfriend as turned on by it as I am?"

"Shut up and call!" David yelled, a swelling panic in his chest, though he didn't know why.

Brushing messy black hair back from his forehead, he stood with his hand still in his hair and called, putting the phone to his ear. "It's ringing," he said.

"I don't hear it," David said, kneeling to look under the bed, the edges of the colored under part of his hair brushing the white and black and grey checkered carpet.

"Maybe it's in the car," the guy said. "The keys—" He stopped, holding a breath, looking startled.

"What?" David asked. "The keys what?" Twisting to his feet, he looked at the guy, but stopped when he saw the look on his face.

The guy quickly hung up. He looked at David, dark eyes slightly wide, and also slightly apologetic.

"What?" David asked, not sure he wanted an answer, because he already kind of knew what it would be.

"Someone answered," the guy said. "And I think it was..."

"No!"

"Yeah." The guy sighed. "But hey, now you know it's not lost."

**

David was not a runner. He had run maybe a handful of times in his entire life that he could remember. That included gym class, and from a group of older boys when he was in middle school. But he ran now, out of the other guy's apartment, off the bus, all the way up the four flights of stairs, as if getting there just a second sooner would make things better.

But when he burst in the door of their apartment, and saw Jason sitting on the bed, forearms on his knees, David's phone dangling from his fingers, when the green eyes looked up at him, he knew no amount of running would make what he had done better.