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“Call him, dude, all this pining and moping is getting so boring.” Thomas smacks at Teresa’s shoulder without looking at her.
“I will, later. You know we’re both busy.”
Thomas is good at ignoring things–or, when it comes to feelings, not realizing what they mean.
“Better do it soon, then, or he’ll be asleep.”
“No, he won’t.” And he’d wake up when Thomas’s call came through. He’s done it before.
“Why didn’t you just tell him at the bonfire?”
“Because I didn’t know how. Didn’t want to change things right before we both left town.” They could have gone to the same school–nearly had, in fact–but they’ve been attached at the ankles, knees, hips, and shoulders since Thomas and Teresa had moved in.
“I can’t believe it took me kissing Brenda to get you to figure out that looking at Minho and thinking ‘I wonder what kissing him would be like’ wasn’t platonic.”
“I can’t believe you’re still bringing it up. Don’t you have a wedding to plan or something?”
“Not until after college. That’s what I promised Mom, at least.”
“Wait, is that why she made me swear I wouldn’t follow Minho to college if it really wasn’t the best option for me?”
“You’re so stupid. I’m going to move out and leave you here and you can figure out how to pay the rent by yourself.”
“Sure, Teresa.”
“I will. I can go follow Brenda to her school.”
“Say hi to Newt for me when you do.”
“You’re no fun to pick on anymore.”
“Should’ve just kissed him anyway.” Teresa tosses the words and her hair over her shoulder as she passes his desk to sit on his bed. “And you know I’m right.”
Now that he’s aware that actively wanting to kiss his friend whenever he smiled, or laughed, or won his tenth consecutive race, or any of the million other little times, isn’t a typical friend experience, Thomas thinks about it a lot. All of the times he should have kissed Minho, and didn’t.
He has a couple of those moments with Brenda, before he realized Teresa liked her. Gally, too, but they butted heads too much in high school for it to matter. None of their friends would have ever let them date. Someone would have ended up in prison or the hospital, and it wouldn’t even have been on purpose.
(Thomas still refuses to admit that some of the dares he and Gally did were ‘too dangerous’.)
Minho’s on another level entirely.
Minho and Newt had dated for a few months, before Alby finally got jealous enough to do something about his crush on Newt. Thomas had thought about crawling into Minho’s window and asking what he thought he was doing, when everyone knew that Alby was gone on Newt.
Maybe he’d been a little jealous, too.
Had Minho been waiting for him to do something after that?
Instead of talking to Minho about it, he’d gone and kissed Harriet and Aris and Sonya and Frypan.
Had he been trying to make Minho jealous?
“I can see you overthinking from here. You think this about your homework?”
“Most days, yeah. It’s just when you come in that I don’t.”
“You can’t kick me out now, I just sat down.”
“Sounds like a you issue.”
“Thomas,” Teresa’s more serious now. “I can help you decide what I say. I mean, I’d go for ‘I want to crawl inside your skin’ since that’s what you were trying to do in high school, but–”
“I cannot tell Minho that.” Maybe he can, though. Minho will probably think it’s funny.
“Last year, one of you made a weekend trip every month.” It had kept him sane. Minho has a key to their mom’s house; he’d been climbing in Thomas’s window before that.
Before moving for college, they hadn’t gone more than eight hours without seeing each other, and that’s a generous estimate.
“This year, you’re not seeing each other until the holidays. What if he goes and finds someone to date?”
“He won’t.” But Thomas can’t be sure. He knows how drawn to Minho people can be. Maybe he will. Maybe he’s already given up on Thomas, and that’s why he hasn’t said anything.
“He might. And I think that would kill you, Thomas. Ask him before it’s too late. You’ll still be friends even if I’m wrong, and you’ll have your answer. I did it with Brenda, and it’s worked out for us.”
But that’s different. Teresa and Brenda had been friends, yeah, but they hadn’t been surviving on shared oxygen like Harriet would always tease him and Minho about.
“It’s not the same.”
“Because Brenda and I aren’t like you, or because you’re scared?”
Teresa knows his answer, even when he doesn’t look at her.
“I’ve got to go talk to my girlfriend. Who I have because I asked her to kiss me.” Thomas rolls his eyes.
She’s so dramatic.
Thomas doesn’t call Minho that night. By the time he looks up from his essay, it’s late–and while Minho would answer, Thomas knows he has an eight am lab in the morning.
So he doesn’t call Minho.
He calls the next day, when he knows they’re both between classes, and a couple of days after that.
They make plans for their longer breaks, and Thomas settles a little. He’s going to see Minho again soon; he hasn’t mentioned anyone else.
He has time.
“So, what have you been up to when you’re not dodging my calls?” Minho doesn’t bother with his key, climbing in Thomas’s window like they’re freshmen in high school again.
Thomas should have kissed him then, the first time he climbed in the window like that. It would have been awkward, and fumbling, but it would have been theirs.
“I’m not dodging your calls.”
“Sure, Thomas.” Minho leans over him, and Thomas should kiss him now.
He almost does, before Minho backs up a little. “I’m not, I swear. I don’t want to wake you up in the middle of the night.”
“I’m up anyway.”
“And I’m supposed to magically know that?”
“You know everything else about me, why not that?” It’s more serious than Minho usually gets–Thomas doesn’t know where his sarcasm went, but he wants it back.
“I’ll just pick up telepathy next semester, then.”
“You better. Long distance, too.”
Thomas has always found breathing easier when Minho’s around. Until now, that is.
“For you, of course.”
“What’s your mom making for dinner?” Minho throws himself over Thomas’s bed, so close to being in his lap, and his breath catches again.
“‘I don’t make dinner for boys who don’t know how to use the front door.’” Thomas does his best to imitate her voice, but it’s harder now than it was when he was younger.
“I know how to use the front door, I just choose not to. There’s a difference.”
“Go ask her yourself, then.”
“No, you have to tell me.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“I don’t, Min. How’s your eight am lab class going?”
“Fuck you, I hate that class and you know it. If you don’t tell me what’s for dinner, I’ll just crawl right back out your window.”
“No, you won’t. I’ve missed you, Min.” Thomas says it softly. Testing the waters.
Minho blinks at him, long and slow, once, twice, three times. Thomas blinks back even as his heart sinks through his stomach and settles into his transverse colon.
(His professors will be happy that he remembers what his transverse colon is, at least.)
Minho’s sitting pressed against his side in between blinks, and it’s like the space between them has never existed at all. “I’ve missed you, too. Phone calls aren’t enough.”
Thomas should kiss him. He’s close enough, he’s right there–
“Minho, I thought I told you to stop coming in the window years ago.” Mom pretends to glare at them. “Thomas, you’re supposed to lock your windows.”
He’s never going to. Not as long as there’s a chance Minho will come in through it.
“I don’t need to, I’m on the second floor. And if there were a fire, it might hinder my ability to get out.”
“Not by enough that it’s a danger. And clearly, people can get into your window. You’re staying for dinner, Minho?”
“Yeah,” Thomas puts his head on Minho’s shoulder. He’s tired; tired of trying to figure out what to do or say, and this is easy.
Minho stays for dinner. Minho stays the night, in a way he hasn’t since they were sixteen, curled up together in Thomas’s bed.
Thomas should’ve kissed him the first time he slept over; one of them probably would have fallen off the bed after but it would have been worth it.
Thomas should kiss him now, but Minho’s whispering before he gets the chance.
“It’s a lot harder than it was last year. Classes, not seeing you, all of it.”
“Yeah, it’s been that way for me, too. There have been a lot of days where I almost dropped everything and drove out to see you.” Thomas hasn’t told anyone that, not even Teresa.
“I don’t call anyone else as much as I call you.”
“Me neither. I talk to Brenda the most, but that’s cause Teresa’s always calling her.” Sonya doesn’t count; they go to the same school. Frypan’s in some of Minho’s classes, though Minho doesn’t talk about him too much. Thomas doesn’t even know if they sit next to each other or not.
“I should, I think. I’ve known them all longer than I’ve known you. But Newt, Alby, Aris, Harriet, Gally, they’re all at the same school, and you’ve just got Teresa and Sonya.”
Thomas has other friends, too. Not ones Minho knows, not ones he talks about–not anyone he wouldn’t drop if Minho said the word.
(That scares him, a little. That he’d drop people for Minho when they haven’t done anything. But he’d do almost anything for Minho.
He’s known that since that stupid lightning storm.)
“But we’ve never been normal friends.”
Thomas should kiss him. Stop him from talking, just–kiss him.
“I don’t climb through anyone else’s window, you know. Just yours.”
“I know.” It feels like a confession–Thomas meets Minho’s eyes, trying to figure out if he’s hoping, too.
He doesn’t figure it out fast enough, because Minho’s settled into sleep before he has anything to say.
Going back to school is harder, colder, than it was before he was around Minho again.
Teresa doesn’t say anything, but he knows she wants to.
They’d spent almost all of their time at home together–Thomas thought about kissing Minho a lot.
And he hadn’t.
He’d tried to say something, let the words build up in his throat until he was choking on them, but they’d never made it past his lips.
They’re fine, though. Calling more than they were before the break, and Minho never sounds off or like anything’s wrong and Thomas can only hope that he can’t tell Thomas isn’t sleeping, throwing himself into classes and homework and extra credit to avoid dreaming of things that he doesn’t have.
“You’re not saving the world, Tom, you’re in undergrad. Go to bed before I start calling Minho.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I can. You’re not listening to me, you’re not talking to anyone else–Sonya hasn’t seen you since we got back, and I know about your weekly gossip sessions. Mom asked me if something happened. Newt texted me about you and you know he doesn’t like me.”
“Sorry, T.”
“Don’t be sorry, take care of yourself. Or I will call Minho and he will drop everything and show up here and maybe try and climb in through your window again.”
“Okay, Teresa.”
He sleeps. He goes to class and he meets Sonya for coffee and calls Mom and texts everyone else back.
He doesn’t self-destruct. He doesn’t have anything to self-destruct over, not really.
Just a bunch of missed chances.
Next time he sees Minho, he’s going to kiss him.
“I’m not coming home for winter break, I got a really good extra credit research opportunity and I need the experience.”
“That’s great, Minho! Think maybe I should drive out to you? I don’t want to miss you anymore.”
“In this weather? Thomas, I always picked you up for school in the winter because you hate driving in snow and ice. I’ll miss you, too, I’ve been missing you, but we can call every day.”
‘What if you come pick me up,’ Thomas doesn’t say. ‘What if I take a bus or a train or walk there? What if I just need to see you?’
“It’s hard to forget that.” Thomas whispers, instead. Because he can’t kiss Minho through a phone and he can’t say I love you, either, not the way he wants to.
Teresa spends most of winter break at Brenda’s.
Thomas knows Minho’s not coming in his window, but he leaves it unlocked anyway.
Thomas is fine when they go back to school. Sure, he hasn’t kissed Minho yet, but spring break isn’t really all that far away and he’ll have his chance then.
If he has to wait any longer than that, he really will drive to Minho, damn the weather, and kiss him anyway.
But then Minho starts talking about someone, during their phone calls. In a way he’s never talked about anyone else, and Thomas–
Thomas has lost his chance.
Minho comes home for spring break, but he doesn’t climb in Thomas’s window. He uses his key in the front door, and Thomas watches him from the corner of his eye and pretends it doesn’t hurt.
Minho doesn’t sit real close to him like he did just a few months ago, joined at the ankles and knees and hips and shoulders.
Teresa makes a face at him behind his back.
Minho hasn’t told him anything, hasn’t said that this someone is his partner or whatever, but Thomas can’t kiss him now only to have all of his suspicions confirmed and break his own heart.
Teresa should have just left him in the dark.
It would have hurt way less than this.
Thomas should kiss Minho anyway.
“I always miss you.” Thomas says. It’s not the first time he’s said it this week, but it’s worth repeating. He doesn’t know how to say ‘There’s an ache in my left kidney when I can’t see you, or talk to you, or touch you. I miss you so much I spend weeks not sleeping and wishing you were around.’ in a way that makes him sound like a normal best friend.
So he doesn’t.
“I miss you, too. We’ll be together all summer, though.”
Thomas should kiss him when he smiles like that, but he can’t.
“We will.”
And Thomas can kiss him then–he’ll have the whole summer to kiss him, the whole summer to find a new version of them.
He leaves the window unlocked, and Minho doesn’t touch it all spring break, not even to lock it back up.
The rest of the semester is smooth. Teresa and Sonya are still watching him, their friends are all still checking in.
But Minho doesn’t know. And he’s stopped talking about that someone, so Thomas relaxes a little. He’s got a plan now.
There’s a little field their friend group used to go to in high school. After homecoming and prom and football games and concerts and competitions, they’d skipped the afterparties in favor of nighttime picnics and stargazing.
Minho won’t climb in his window, but that’s okay. Thomas will take his hand and lead him out of it, and they’ll run to the field like they’re running away, and Thomas will kiss him there underneath the stars.
“The field, Thomas? That’s where you want your first kiss with Minho to be?”
“Yours was in a barn, Teresa.”
“Only ‘cause it was raining!”
“Sure. Whatever you say.”
Thomas has it all planned out. Teresa’s sure Minho won’t say no, and Teresa’s a lot better at reading people than he is.
Even if she’ll never know Minho the way he does, because no one can ever know Minho the way he does.
Thomas is the only one answering his phone, and he knows that because he gets the call.
Because when they turned eighteen, he and Minho added each other to their emergency contact lists.
Because the voice on the phone is telling him that he’s Minho’s emergency contact, and he needs to come to the hospital right away.
Teresa doesn’t let him drive.
He wouldn’t let him drive, either.
Minho’s parents are at work, phones either on silent or off.
It’s okay, because Thomas wouldn’t want them to see their son like this.
Twisted in ways a human body shouldn’t, can’t, be.
“He wouldn’t have felt it.” The doctor/nurse/orderly/whoever it is tries to reassure him. “We do need a verbal answer.”
“That’s him. That’s Minho.” Thomas has to squeeze Teresa’s hand tightly to get the words out.
Thomas should’ve kissed him the day they met.
Should’ve kissed him any of the times he came in through Thomas’s window; the first time he used his key.
The key was in his pocket. It’s not even bent a little out of shape. Underneath the blood, Thomas knows there are scratches on it.
Thomas should’ve kissed him on prom night, in the back of the bus after a cross-country meet, in the field with all of their friends around them.
Should’ve kissed him in the hallway at school, on the bridge they’d gone to get away from everyone else, on the couch in Minho’s basement that his dad always insists he’s going to throw away this year.
Should’ve kissed him the first time Minho picked him up in his car, that first weekend they’d visited in college, the first time he’d realized how much it hurt to not be kissing him.
On the car ride home, he only has one thing to ask Teresa. It’s harder to say than identifying Minho was.
“How many people thought we were dating?”
“Well, no one, because you were going around kissing all of our friends except Minho. But we were all waiting for it to happen.” He knew that part.
Thomas should’ve kissed him, and then they wouldn’t be waiting, and Minho might not be dead.
The funeral is nice. Tasteful. No casket, because Minho wanted to become a tree.
Wanted Thomas to decide where he’d end up.
Thomas can’t take him to college–isn’t sure he’s going back to college, this year. He doesn’t know what to do with a tree.
He gives a eulogy, though he hates every word of it. He can’t make out the face of anyone in the seats in front of him, even though he could name them if he had to.
Thomas thinks about their field.
About the bridge.
Thomas buries Minho and his tree under his locked window.