We Could Be Dreamers

20

Sam and I are heading out for lunch when I feel a hand gentle against my arm.

I turn around and, holy fucking shit just shoot me now, there's Jason.

"Hey," he says quietly. His gaze slips over mine, not quite reaching. I realize, with a twisting gut, that Jason looks hurt. 

"Oh, would you look at that?" Before I can say anything, Sam makes a big show out of pulling out her phone and checking her messages. "I'm so sorry, guys. I've gotta go. See you around?" She shoots me a toothy grin and rounds a corner before I can stop her.

And then she's gone.

And it's just me and Jason.

Oh, I'm going to kill Sam. Or owe her forever. Depends on how this goes down, I guess. 

"Hey," I reply, not entirely sure what else to say. 

"Where the fuck have you been?" The words seem to just explode out of him, sharp and loaded. "It's been two weeks, Adam." 

I glance around the crowded hallway. There are too many people here. I... don't wanna do this now. Not like this. Not with people everywhere, potentially overhearing about everything that's happened, finding out that we kissed—

And I didn't like avoiding him, by the way. It was just... he's confusing. And stressful. And he makes my heart beat in ways I'm not used to and my thoughts go in some interesting directions and it's not his fault I'm like this, I know, but part of me wants to blame him anyways. 

"Can we go somewhere else?" I ask softly. 

Jason sighs, a short puff of an exhale. "Alright," he nods. 

I smile a little, before I can stop myself, and he returns it. And I fucking hate how giddy that makes me feel.

We walk in silence though the bustling hallways for a few minutes. Through the stairwells, out the door, and then we're outside. 

Some tiny, ridiculously dramatic part of me is happy we're outside. Easier to escape. 

I'm not sure which of us is taking the lead. Neither of us speaks. Eventually we end up in a small park, mostly empty, and sit down on a bench. He puts his bag down between us and it feels like a punch to the gut. 

"So," he says.

"So," I say. 

There's not really much either of us know how to say.

"Why have you been avoiding me, Adam?" Jason asks quietly. His gaze is trained on a robin a few feet away pecking at the dirt. Probably easier for him to look at than me.

I can feel the guilt, thick and potent. I can also feel his presence like a magnet. I'm scared that I want to crawl into his lap, kiss his lips, run my hands through his hair. I don't want these feelings. 

"I don't know," I lie. I stare at my hands because it feels wrong to look at him when I can hear the pain in his voice. 

"Okay, but clearly you do know, because you've been doing it." He breathes in. Out. Slow and steady. "Look. If you don't want to be around me, just... just let me know, yeah?"

My eyes widen in panic. "That's not what I want!" I say quickly, before I can stop myself. I twist my fingers until they ache. "I don't know—I can't—I'm not—"

Jason's laugh is hollow. "What?" He asks. 

"I don't know how to..."

And then I look at him. 

And god, he's beautiful. 

His gaze lifts slowly. Meets mine. I'm more aware of my own heartbeat than I've ever been. 

"I'm sorry I kissed you," he says. There's guilt there, too, mingling with the pain, and altogether it's excruciating because I know he doesn't deserve any of it. "I thought maybe..." Jason sighs. A sad smile crosses his lips, which I realize I've been staring at. "Guess you're right. I don't know, either. Maybe that's all we have left to say." 

The words sink in slowly and I realize I don't want this to be all we have left. I can physically feel the panic of that possibility. This can't be it. I don't know how, or why, but I want him. 

"Jason." I say his name like a prayer. Like a promise. Like a breath. 

I lean forward. Gently, hesitant. My eyes flutter shut. I'm not sure what I'm doing anymore, but I can feel his backpack between us on the bench jab into my stomach. This might be the dumbest thing I've ever done, I decide. 

Then I feel the soft, warm press of his lips. The gentle brush of his fingers. Sweet and familiar. And this isn't the dumbest thing I've ever done, actually. It's the smartest. 

If anyone were to look this way, they'd see two boys, awkward and clumsy and confused and kissing like they had nothing else left in the world. 

And I don't even care.