Dylan

∥scar tissue∥

The first time Jake went to Dylan's house, they played pool in the basement and it just came up.

"What does your dad do?"

It was innocent, like brushing against a forming scar that was hidden beneath a layer of clothing. The person who did it had no idea they were causing harm. Dylan picked up his cue stick. "He...um, he was a pilot. He flew for a commercial airline."

The past tense was enough to ward off further questions. Dylan expected the usual clamming up, the stutter, and the awkward apologies, but Jake's eyes swiped over the airplane tattoo on Dylan's right forearm before he spoke again.

"What was he like? Were you close?"

Jake had an easy manner that bordered on insensitive before it tipped over to something like earnest concern. He wasn't scared off by the topic. He asked question after question between shots, like he cared for the answer.

For once someone didn't mutter "sorry to hear that" before they changed the subject, and Dylan was surprised to find that he didn't mind. As he started to talk, he realized that he wanted to talk about it, especially since he was seldom offered the chance, and he also realized how little he actually spoke of his dad. He spoke of him less than homework and school and breakfast cereals and basketball practices, like a scar he tried to hide.

"My dad was...you know how some people are like, I never want to turn out like my parents?" Dylan aimed at the ball. Without the eye contact, it was easier to talk, and it added a casual air to the conversation instead of making him feel like going through a therapy session. "Well I've always thought I'd be lucky to be half the man he was."

"Sounds like an awesome guy," Jake said. "Wish I had the chance to meet him."

Some friendships grew on you, bit by bit, like taking one step further into a warm lake. Some were like bungee jumping. Jake had only been in his life shortly, and already it seemed like he had always been there, like when that convenience store opened around the corner, Dylan couldn't for the life of him remember what was there before it.

Jake just fitted. Meeting him felt like a reunion. Dylan didn't tell him about the cancer though, not right then; Jake's aquamarine eyes held no room for unpleasantness like that. Jake was so positive and perpetually happy, Dylan thought it would be best to focus on the brighter memories, since those were all he wanted to remember anyway.

The first time Dylan went to Jake's house, Jake was playing basketball with his dad and his sister in the driveway. The dad was head of a small company but still made time for his kids, and the sister looked like she just stepped off from a magazine cover, which she literally did—Emily took part time modeling jobs between her college courses. They were all laughing.

Watching them reminded Dylan of one of those bank ads about quality of living. Jake's life was as perfect as the guy himself. He was close to his family but not embarrassingly dependent, he was well-off, always able to afford a new phone or the latest video games, but not so much he became out of touch with the real world. He was also obnoxiously blond and gorgeous. It was natural to assume he never had issues with body image or fitting in or girl problems, and judging from the way he threw the ball, his future was pretty much mapped out for him too.

Jake was like the Baby Bear in that Goldilocks story—everything about him was just right. It would be so easy to hold that against him, but Jake was like the sun and you don't compete against the sun. You just bask in the warmth and be content about being in his company.

"That's not true," Jake said later that afternoon, after Dylan called him carefree. "I actually worry about a lot of things."

"Like?"