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The party was at someone’s cousin’s house — Per didn’t even remember whose. The floor was sticky, the lights were too dim, and the music was vibrating through his teeth, but none of that mattered. He’d lost count of how many drinks he’d had, but he remembered exactly where Tar was in the room.
Always.
Tar was laughing at something — chin tilted back, cheeks pink, his smile easy in that way it always was when he felt safe. He wasn’t drunk, not really, just warm around the edges. Per could tell. He always could.
They weren’t sitting together. Not like they usually did. Per had wandered to the other side of the room sometime between drink three and four, trying to shake off the twisting in his stomach every time he looked at Tar tonight. But distance wasn’t helping.
And then someone called for Truth or Dare.
Of course.
Per sank into the floor circle out of habit. Tar joined too, ending up across from him, knees drawn up to his chest, still nursing the same bottle of soda he’d started the night with. Per stared at the rim of that bottle like it had personally wronged him.
The dares started light — harmless, stupid, noisy. Per pretended to laugh. His eyes kept drifting.
And then it happened.
Tar, who never played to win, who never asked for attention, smiled and pointed to the guy sitting beside him. “Dare.”
Someone — Per didn’t even care who — leaned forward and smirked. “Kiss someone you’ve never kissed before.”
The circle howled. Classic dare.
Per’s stomach dropped.
Tar raised a brow, amused. “Easy.”
And he started to turn — not toward Per, but toward some tall guy on the couch. Some background extra with a nice face. A guy whose name neither of them would remember tomorrow.
Per’s vision tunneled.
He was on his feet before he thought.
“No.”
The music was still pounding, but the circle went quiet.
Tar blinked up at him, confused. “What?”
“You’re not doing that,” Per said, voice too loud, too rough. “You can’t just—just give your first kiss to some guy.”
Tar frowned. “It’s not that deep, Per. It’s a dare.”
Per’s heart was pounding. “You told me you wanted it to be special.”
“I was sixteen when I said that.”
Per’s mouth opened — and then closed. The ache in his chest burned through his ribs. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. He hated how close Tar was to that stranger. He hated how easily Tar could throw something like that away.
Something that mattered.
To Per, at least.
So he did the only stupid thing his drunk, hurting brain could come up with.
He crossed the circle in two steps, leaned down, and kissed him.
Tar’s lips were soft, still, stunned — like the rest of him.
Per didn’t know how to do this gently. His hands were trembling, his lips too firm. He kissed Tar like he was trying to make a point, like he was proving something, like he was asking something and apologizing for it all at once.
Tar didn’t kiss him back.
And that silence spoke louder than any crowd.
Per broke the kiss and pulled back, eyes wide and glassy. “I—I’m sorry.”
And then he bolted.
Out of the house, into the night, heart splintering with every step.
He didn’t look back.
...
Tar didn’t move for a full thirty seconds after Per left.
People were whispering, laughing, murmuring things he couldn’t process. He felt frozen — not embarrassed, not angry, not even shocked. Just... numb.
The taste of alcohol lingered on his lips, unfamiliar and confusing. His first kiss — if that’s what it even counted as — had just happened. And it wasn’t how he thought it would be. Not with some stranger. And definitely not like that.
But it had been Per.
Per, who always made things a joke before they got too real.
Per, who always stood a little too close, who always looked away too quickly when Tar smiled at him.
Per, who had kissed him like it hurt.
Tar’s throat tightened.
He stood, grabbing his jacket as he slipped outside without another word. The music faded behind him. The air was cool against his skin. He didn’t know where Per had gone, but the ache in his chest was growing too loud to ignore.
He didn’t understand what happened.
Or maybe... maybe he did.
And that scared him more.
...
Per sat on a low wall a few blocks away, hoodie pulled over his head like he could disappear inside it. His hands were clenched into fists in his lap, jaw tight, stomach churning.
He kissed Tar.
He kissed Tar.
He hadn’t meant to do it like that. Not without asking. Not without making sure Tar wanted it too.
But the second he saw Tar lean toward that stranger, something inside him snapped. The thought of someone else getting that moment — Tar’s first kiss — made him sick.
He knew it was selfish. He knew it wasn’t his to take.
But he had anyway.
And now... he couldn’t face him.
What if he hates me?
Per blinked hard, eyes burning. He hadn’t cried in years. Not for real. But now, sitting alone on a crumbling wall under a flickering streetlamp, it felt like the only thing left to do.
“I ruined everything,” he whispered to no one.
And for once, he didn’t make it a joke.
...
Tar sat on the steps outside the party, staring down at his phone.
No new messages.
He hadn’t called Per. Didn’t know what he’d even say. What the hell was that kiss? Did it mean anything? Did you mean it?
He hugged his knees to his chest.
He thought about how often Per found excuses to touch him. How he always got weird when Tar talked about other guys. How he looked at Tar like he wanted something he could never ask for.
And then Tar thought about how he had felt.
About the way his chest had fluttered when Per leaned in. How he hadn’t pulled away. How his heart had leapt before his brain could catch up.
Maybe he didn’t freeze because he didn’t want it.
Maybe he froze because he did.
And that terrified him.
Because now, Per was gone.
And he didn’t know if he’d come back.
...
It was the first week of school break.
Per didn’t leave his room unless he had to. He stayed under his blanket with the blinds half-closed, his phone face-down beside him on the bed, like it was a loaded weapon.
He had typed out messages more times than he could count. “I’m sorry.” “I was drunk.” “It didn’t mean—” No, it did. “It did mean something.” Delete. Type. Delete.
He didn’t send any of them.
Every time his phone buzzed, his heart jumped, hoping. But it was never Tar.
He couldn’t decide if that was better or worse.
Sometimes he’d stare at the ceiling and whisper to himself: “It was just a kiss. He didn’t kiss back. That says enough.”
But it never helped.
He had kissed Tar like it meant something — because it did. Because it always had.
And now he was alone in a room that felt too quiet, replaying it over and over.
...
On the other side of town, Tar was doing the same.
He kept the curtains open in his room, hoping the sunlight might fix something. It didn’t.
He stayed in bed with his headphones in, playing music too loud to hear his thoughts, scrolling through TikToks he couldn’t laugh at, skipping over the ones that reminded him of Per.
Which was most of them.
He hadn't told anyone. Not about the kiss, not about the party, not about the way his chest had cracked in half when Per pulled away and ran.
He should’ve stopped him. Should’ve said something.
But he didn’t even know what he felt.
Only that he missed him.
Tar pulled out his phone more than once. Opened their chat. Stared at the last message from Per: “are you coming to the party?”
He never answered it.
Now it stared back at him like a question that still hadn’t gone away.
He typed once — “why did you do it?” — and stared at the blinking cursor until it disappeared.
Backspaced. Locked his phone.
Turned over and buried his face in the pillow.
He didn’t want it to have happened like that. But the truth sat heavy in his chest now — he had wanted it. Just... not like that. Not when Per was drunk. Not when it felt like a dare of its own.
And now the silence between them was a wall neither of them knew how to break.
So they stayed in their rooms. Apart.
Waiting.
Hurting.
Wondering.
Almost saying something.
But not yet.
Not quite.