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Gordie first notices the, well, he doesn’t know what in Chris’ eyes when the taller boy still has his arm wrapped protectively around his shoulders and his eyes are still wet. It scares him, a little. That look. So he makes a stupid joke, trying to clear the crackly, just been crying sound from his voice. Chris laughs and for just one half second, it’s all okay again. Then there’s the voices of the stupid mean boys, Gordie notices that the hat his brother gave him is nowhere in sight, probably already forgotten. That, paired with the way Eyeball is talking to Chris and his friends, lights a spark of anger somewhere in his chest. Chris is too kind to him for Gordie to stand them being spoken to like that.
Ace’s knife is almost on Chris’ neck when the gun goes off. The noise is enough to distract everyone from the fact that Gordie’s hands are shaking. Everything moves really fast then. Lots of threats, both of the thinly veiled or not veiled at all variety, go flying back and forth. All Gordie can hear is the low timbre of Chris’ voice and blood rushing past his ears so fast he thinks that all the world must be able to hear it. They cannot, evidently, because the conversation, if you would call this exchanging of words a conversation, continues and after what seems like a whole damn age, ends with Ace and his group of morons storm off, promising that they will get revenge. Gordie seriously doubts that.
The walk back to Castle Rock is uneventful. Gordie lets his thoughts shift back to that look of something, he still can’t work it out, in Chris’ eyes. That what he starts thinking about anyway. Then his thoughts turn to Chris himself. How he always has good words, always knows exactly which ones to use when Gordie is crying or hurt or angry. How his lips are soft and pillowy looking, mouth framed with the slightest dusting of white blonde peach fuzz. How his cerulean blue eyes sparkle just when they catch the right light, lighting up wherever and whoever he’s standing near every time they do. How whenever Gordie is feeling just so small he might disappear, or feeling like he wants to, Chris has a sixth sense about it, and makes him feel like the tallest man in the world, like the two of them together, would be able to conquer anything.
Four young men who left as boys march past the threshold that separates Castle Rock from all that is not. Their hometown suddenly feels tiny, suffocating. The usual banter, exchanging of rumors and jokes, is back, the mojo of the gang. Gordie has a moment where it’s like he’s looking in on their conversation from another perspective. Like he’s not Gordie but he’s watching Gordie talk and smile and laugh. They wave goodbye to Vern first, promising to see him when they all start Junior High. Vern nearly steps on a penny before picking the coin up proudly and announcing its value. Teddy, Gordie and Chris roll their eyes but it’s good natured. Teddy, now sensing he’s over stayed his welcome in Gordie and Chris’ company, makes a lame joke about his helicopter mother and wanders off home, singing jollily, similar goodbyes are shared. Gordie’s moment is fleeting, suddenly, like it never happened at all, he’s back in his body, standing alone on the sidewalk next to Chris. He feels present, and basks in the warmth of the early morning sun and in Chris’ gaze.
Gordie follows Chris through the empty streets of Castle Rock, past the Church and the barber and into Chris’ backyard. They stand at the bottom of the garden, near the treehouse that was built for Eyeball Chambers when he was a kid, shielded from view of the house by the tall plants in the unruly vegetable garden no one tends to or picks food from.
This time it’s Chris’ insecurities that surface. Gordie steps forward, puts his hand on the warm skin of Chris’ bicep, feeling Goosebumps arise and the hard muscle underneath tense.
“You can do anything you want, man.” He’s having one of those out of body moments again as he says it. He’s looking at Chris and he can hear himself speak, but it’s like he’s listening from another person’s ears. Weird. Chris gives him a half smile, and Gordie knows that the words are falling on deaf ears. His brother told him once that you cannot help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. He supposes that the same logic goes. A person cannot hear words they don’t want to hear. Or believe them.
Suddenly, the look is back in Chris’ eyes. Gordie retracts his hand almost like he’s touched hot coals.
“Can I kiss you, Gordie?” He says, voice very, very quiet.
“I’ve never done that before.” Gordie admits, just as quietly. But it’s not a straight up ‘no’. Chris presses forward.
“I haven’t neither. First time for everything, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah?” It’s a question, and Gordie knows what Chris is asking.
“Yeah, Chris, you can kiss me.” He doesn’t know why, but it feels all of a sudden that Gordie needs Chris to kiss him. Like if he didn’t, it might feel like losing a foot.
Chris places his hand gently on Gordie’s chest, right over where his heart is hammering behind his ribs. He knows that now, if Chris cannot hear his heartbeat, he will surely be able to feel it.
He was right, it turns out, Chris’ lips are pillowy. It’s a brief half-second of contact, mouth to mouth, before Chris pulls back, only enough so he can speak without their noses and lips bumping, close enough still that Gordie can feel the warm puffs of his breath against his own mouth. His lips are tingling like he put popping candy on them and his cheeks feel warm. “Yeah?”
Gordie doesn’t answer this time, instead stepping closer to Chris, putting his hand on the back of Chris’ head, feeling the soft strands of his blonde hair, short enough to be prickly, and Chris’ mouth to his own once more. It is answer enough, and Chris kisses him again, with far more confidence, and far less hesitation. Chris keeps over hand on Gordie’s chest and moves the other to his opposing shoulder, holding him in place. His lips part and he skims his tongue over Gordie’s bottom lip, and after they part immediately, over his front teeth. Gordie’s tongue slides easily into Chris’ mouth, tracing over the ridges of the roof of his mouth. Chris makes a wordless, breathy noise and pulls back. Gordie’s mouth feels oddly cold.
“That tickled.” He says, eyes sparkling and still with that look.
“Sorry, man.” Gordie replies, noticing his own voice is his once again, although it sounds different, scratchy somehow.
“S’okay.” And then his mouth is back on Gordie’s stronger, more forceful and incessant. Their tongues slide and swirl and, at one point, Chris’ front teeth hit Gordie’s and they both laugh at the clash.
“Hey, Chris?” Gordie’s the one that breaks their mouths apart this time.
“Yeah?” He smiles, the ‘yeah’ thing is becoming a Thing now.
“Isn’t this wrong? I mean you kissin’ me, because we both got dicks and stuff. Does this make us faggots?”
To his surprise, both Gordie and Chris flinch as the word ‘faggot’ falls through his lips.
“It doesn’t make us anything, not if we don’t want it to. Besides, how can it be wrong if it feels so good?” Again, Chris has exactly the right words.
“Yeah.” Gordie nods. It’s not an answer, but Chris gets it.
“We don’t gotta do it again if you don’t wanna.” He says gently.
“I dunno, man.”
Chris nods. “Gimme some skin.”
Gordie stands on his tippy toes and presses his lips to Chris’ instead.
Chris smiles, and turns to walk into his house, leaving Gordie standing by himself at the bottom of Chris’ garden.
He is alone, but he is so goddamned happy.