Archive of Our Own

A string of cheese chases his lips as he bites into and pulls away from his sandwich, the note his mum placed in his lunch kit fluttering in the breeze. Naim hastily reaches out and grabs it, embarrassed by the juvenility of the sweet message and his mother's crude attempt at drawing a heart.

Have a good day! Remember sunscreen :)

- Love Mum

She started writing the notes recently, which Naim supposes has something to do with the pamphlet he saw tucked in the center console of her car, titled "Connecting With Teenaged Children and Your Faith." He'd prefer her taking fewer hours at work and spending more time with him over the sticky notes slipped into his bags and twenty dollar bills left folded on the counter for him, but he supposes something is better than nothing.

As he tucks the now grease-stained note back into his container and takes another bite of his food, Jess lowers her book from her face and speaks.

"Holy fuck she's applying sunscreen. How does she make applying sunscreen hot?"

Naim exhales laughter, shaking his head. He glances to the lifeguard tower where the object of Jess's thirsting sits, face hidden by her sun visor as she glides lotion over her legs.

"I mean just look at her. She's so beautiful." Jess says, voice nearly breathless and body visibly melting into her lounge chair from pure adoration.

"She's gonna catch you staring." Naim hums, mouth full of food.

"Nah, I'm wearing sunnies."

"Yeah, but you've been staring at her for the past twenty minutes like a perv." Naim says, earning a pointed look from Jess, visible in the twitch of her lips if not her obscured eyes. "Why don't you just talk to her?"

"Cause that'd be weird!" Jess rebukes. Naim shakes his head, knowing this line of conversation to be completely futile after months of dealing with Jess's helpless crush on Marnie.

Moving to Bandee at the beginning of the third term left him helplessly behind, both academically and socially. Somewhere in between failing his first maths quiz and the pastor's son shoulder-checking him into a locker, Naim was paired up with Jess in a biology lab.

The teacher handed the dissection tools to Naim and the bundled up report to Jess, and Naim could immediately feel the gendered implications. Naim held the scalpel in his clammy hand and stared at the frog, limbs pulled apart and pinned down, belly ready to be cut into, and immediately had to close his eyes to stop himself from gagging. The sharp and pungent smell of the formalin soaked frog and the thought of its shrivelled little organs and the congealed blood sitting still in its small, cold veins was too much for Naim to handle.

Suddenly, the lab report was being put into his gloved hand and Jess was securing the goggles on her face, reaching for the scalpel which he gave to her with a deep sigh of relief. From then on, they sat together in Biology, and when Naim saw Jess sat alone at lunch, he mustered up the courage to sit across from her.

It took about a week and one joint shared together in the woods during their shared lunch hour for Jess to tell him outright “I don’t like you, y’know.”

And for Naim to reply, confused and hurt by the bluntness, “Okay?” and then, after a pause, “Like, in general or?”

Jess had snorted and reached for the joint, “No you idiot. Romantically.”

“Oh. Well me neither.”

“Good.” A second, “I don’t like blokes at all, really.”

Naim had paused, watching as Jess tapped her pointer nervously against the side of the joint, ashing it onto the ground.

“Well,” he had begun, voice cracking, “I don’t really like birds.”

Fourth term ended up going much better than the third with Jess by his side. Her bravery balanced out his cowardice, and with the weight of his secret held by four hands rather than two, the fear which had plagued him his entire life — whilst not defeated — felt more manageable. He listened to Jess lament about her eight year long crush on Marnie and the two weeks they shared a cabin during summer camp which sparked the whole thing. In turn, she patiently let him muster up the courage to get to the point where he could call Heath Ledger hot during a Ten Things I Hate About You movie night, eventually asking her sheepishly to watch Brokeback Mountain with him.

In between hating Bandee and hating his mother for moving them here, he could feel some of his anger overtaken by a new-found appreciation for the woods behind the school and Jess’s cluttered and overwhelmingly purple bedroom. He still hates it and he’s still angry, but if nothing else, at least moving here gave him her.

Summer break approached with haste and he finally lugged his canvases and paints from deep within his closet with the hope of relearning the medium in his time off, only for Jess to inform him over the phone that Marnie had a job as a lifeguard at the Bandee Community Center. This information was quickly followed by her demanding he get into his swim trunks.

“I can’t swim.” he responded dryly, chipping away at the years of caked on paint overtaking his palette.

“Naim. Please. For me.”

“What if I get pushed in and die?”

Jess paused for a moment, as if weighing the risk versus reward of Naim’s possible death.

“Well. It’s a risk we have to be willing to take.”

And so, instead of enjoying his break painting in the coolness of his bedroom, he has spent every day of the last two weeks (minus a three day period of rain which Jess moped endlessly throughout) in the sweltering sun, roasting as he listens to Jess helplessly doting and the shrieking of kids splashing chlorinated pee water at each other.

He finishes his sandwich and wipes his hands on his swim shorts before pulling his baggy t-shirt from where it’s sticking uncomfortably to his back. The air smells of banana scented sunscreen and over-chlorinated pool water, and the sun feels as if it’s cooking him alive. Naim shuffles uncomfortably, sweat and heat fusing the back of his thighs to the lounge chair.

“Fuck, she’s climbing down the tower. Must be her break time.” Jess mutters, snatching back up her abandoned book as Marnie waves at the lifeguard switching with her.

“You literally sound insane.” Naim responds, reopening his sketchpad and watercolours, but his eyes remain upwards, trained on the lifeguard taking the rescue tube from Marnie. He can’t help but stare at the way the boy's blonde curls rest on his tanned forehead, his smile ridiculously attractive and laugh carrying over the water of the pool. His biceps flex as he pulls the floatation device around his torso, fist bumping Marnie and climbing with ease to the top of the seat.

Naim knows the boy from school and church. With the size of Bandee and the quaint congregation his mom moved here for, it’s hard not to know half of the town and most of the people in his year. And yet even if they didn’t share classes and their parents didn't share a faith, Naim doubts he could’ve missed Ryan Whelan.

Ryan is the textbook definition of mysterious — quiet, sullen, uniform always rumpled and pierced right ear glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the class. For the entirety of their fourth term he showed up to their first period English late, often without a backpack, and by the afternoon he was nowhere to be found. Teachers loved to comment on his absences, drawing attention to him and sarcastically calling out ‘Look who made it in today whenever Ryan sauntered in late, earning them an even more sarcastic smile from the blonde boy.

These traits weren’t anything new or endearing to Naim, the disinterest and lack of care demonstrated by Ryan more offputting than anything. He could tell exactly what kind of guy Ryan was. Standoffish, ambitionless, rude. His blonde curls and blue eyes and broad shoulders and ringed fingers would not forgive his faux attempt at mysteriousness.

It took only a few weeks for this image to begin to crumble.

It started with a run in in the bathroom, Naim exiting the stall to find Ryan washing his hands at the sink. Ryan had glanced back over his shoulder, Naim pausing as if caught doing something wrong, before hastily averting his gaze and approaching the empty sink beside Ryan.

He squeezed the pink cherry and almond scented soap onto his hands, lathering them and watching the running faucet, too aware of Ryan’s presence beside him. He glanced up as the other boy turned to the paper towel dispenser, pulling out one piece, and then another. And then another. And then even more.

Naim watched as Ryan stood, pulling piece after piece of paper towel out until the dispenser was emptied. Then, the boy turned his gaze to Naim as he stood helplessly confused as water dripped from his hands and into the basin.

“Oh. Did you need some?” Ryan had asked, glancing towards the empty dispenser and then back to Naim.

Naim blinked.

Ryan had looked down into the garbage, full of his discarded crumpled paper towels, and reached for one of the pieces on the top. He lifted the dry but ruined sheet, straightening it out, and offered it to Naim. Naim, absolutely bewildered, had accepted the piece. Ryan smiled then, something akin to a smirk, before disappearing through the bathroom door into the bustling hallway.

Naim stood stalk still, paper towel still in his hand as he watched the door swing in place. Like coming out from a spell, he had abruptly swung his gaze around the bathroom in search of any hidden cameras or laughing onlookers, and finding nothing, he hesitantly dried his hands with Ryan’s discarded piece and walked to class in a daze.

After this, it was small things. Ryan asked him for pencils in English and then didn’t use them, returning them silently before disappearing into the halls. He started showing up to afternoon classes, albeit reeking of weed and obviously paying no attention. At some point, Naim thought he saw him approaching him and Jess’s table in the lunch hall, only for Ryan to turn at the last moment and make a beeline for the door.

It was nothing significant — nothing he could tell Jess without sounding absolutely insane — but Ryan quickly went from being a faux-mysterious jackass to a real mystery that Naim was desperate to solve.

“Talk about me staring.” Jess mutters from beside Naim, his gaze jolting away from Ryan.

“I’m not staring.” Naim responds weakly, blaming the heat flushing his face on the harsh sun.

“Why don’t you just go talk to him?” Jess says, voice high-pitched as she mimics him crudely.

“Oh fuck off.”

“You’re the biggest hypocrite I know, Naim.”

“It’s not the same at all. I don’t even like him.”

Jess laughs, “No, for sure.”

“Come on! I mean, I don’t even know the bloke. And he’s a dickhead.” Naim defensively stutters, face drawn into an expression of disgust.

“I’m not here to judge. Maybe that’s your type.” Jess hums, gaze still on her book as Naim glares daggers at her.

He looks down at his sketchbook, purposefully ignoring Jess as he lightly runs his eraser over a sketch of a magpie perched on a jagged, nearly broken branch. He grabs his wired earphones, clicking onto his summer playlist and listening to the crooning of Leonard Cohen as he wets his water colours.

Despite his pointed attempt at focusing, he can’t stop himself from glancing upwards every few moments. It doesn’t help that Ryan’s voice, amplified by a megaphone, keeps making itself heard over the music in Naim’s headphones, muffled but audible as he shouts at kids to stop running on the deck or pushing in the pool.

Naim paints in a pattern of a stroke and a glance, making very little progress before he gives up and snaps the pallet shut, pulling his headphones out and climbing from his lounge chair.

“Where are you going?” Jess asks, book lulling in her hands.

“Bathroom.”

“Kay. I’m gonna take a nap I think. Wake me when Marnie’s back on.” she says as she pulls her bulky noise cancelling headphones on.

Naim rolls his eyes, smiling despite himself, “Whatever.”

He slides his sandals back on, walking around the edge of the pool and towards the building. A kid rushes by him, nearly slamming into him, and he fights the urge to curse at the little twat. Distracted by his annoyance, he hears the voice of warning at the exact same time he feels the inflatable ball hit him in the shoulder.

For an inflatable ball, it hits surprisingly hard. His balance is immediately set off kilter, a short cry escaping his throat before he’s tumbling sideways. He reaches his arms out, flailing as he stumbles backwards, foot catching against the edge of the pool before he’s no longer in contact with the ground. Suddenly, he’s engulfed. He inhales in a panic, water filling his mouth and noise as he lets out a strangled noise. He flails wildly, trying to pull himself to the surface but instead just thrashing in place.

He’s going to die, he thinks. He can’t believe that this is how he goes — drowning at the Bandee Community Pool on a busy January day. He can almost hear Hunter and Macca's laughs, and the humiliation seems to sink him further beneath the water.

Suddenly, he feels an arm wrap around his torso, yanking him upwards with ease.

Naim’s face emerges from the water, and he immediately begins coughing, spluttering as a lifeguard floatation device is placed beneath his arms. The arm wrapped beneath his arm and across his chest moves to his back, rubbing circles as he coughs.

“You okay?”

Naim realizes through all of his coughing that the hand on his back is Ryan’s. Drowning would’ve been better than the humiliation of choking up pool water in front of Ryan Whelan.

“Y–” he cuts out, coughing more, “Yeah. M’good.”

“C’mon, let’s get you out.” Ryan says, the hand on Naim’s back firm as he guides Naim from the deep end of the pool and towards the shallow end. Naim looks over to Jess on the poolside, completely oblivious to his peril as she dozes off listening to her music.

Finally, he looks at Ryan, trying not to stare at the way water droplets trickle down his face from his wet curls, shoulders bare and red life-guard tank clinging to his chest. He tries not to pay attention to the palm pressed to him, nor the strength that Ryan guides him with.

When Naim’s feet finally reach the pool floor, he expects Ryan’s hand to drop, but it doesn’t. Naim has stopped coughing for the most part, and by the time Ryan has guided him to sit on the side of the pool he’s sure (most) of the water he swallowed has made its way out. His t-shirt clings uncomfortably to his skin, and he’s sure he looks like a disaster with his hair plastered against his forehead and veins bulging in his forehead from his aggressive coughing fit.

“Thanks.” he mutters to Ryan, the boy's hand finally falling as he stands directly in front of Naim, pool water up to his calves.

“Can you not swim?” Ryan asks.

Naim feels oddly defensive, straightening his back and meeting Ryan’s eyes “Obviously not.”

Ryan smiles at this for some reason, “You can’t swim?” he reiterates, which pisses Naim off even more.

“I think we’ve established this, yes.”

“You come to the pool every day and you can’t swim?”

“It’s not exactly my choice.” Naim responds, glancing over to Jess. He tries not to cling onto the fact that Ryan has noticed his presence.

“Your girlfriend, then?”

Naim bursts out laughing at the assumption, shaking his head forcefully, “Nah. Just my friend.”

Ryan hums at this, eyes scanning Naim in a way that makes him squirm.

“Y’know the pool offers lessons?”

“Lessons?”

“Swimming lessons.”

“Nah, I’m alright.” Naim immediately says, “Probably expensive as shit and full of ten year olds that are better than me. Not worth it.”

“Might be worth it.” Ryan says, tilting his head with an amused smile, “I mean, you almost drowned in seven feet of water today.”

Naim scoffs, “Just keeping you employed, mate.”

“Well. I mean. I could teach you.”

Naim opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again “Why?”

“I thought you were tryin’ to ‘keep me employed.’” Ryan responds cheekily, and Naim narrows his eyes, endlessly irritated by the boy in front of him. “Come tomorrow night. The pool closes at eight. I can give you a lesson after.”

Naim lets the offer sit between them for a moment, rolling it around in his head. The entire situation is disorienting and baffling, like every other interaction he’s had with Ryan, but Ryan is looking at him with a small smile as he pushes his curls back and shakes the water out with his hand and Naim can’t deny the swoop in his stomach. It’s an awful, terrible, astronomically bad idea — probably a cruel joke and most definitely destined to end in disaster and hurt — but he finds himself nodding anyway.

“Fine.” he manages to croak out, rubbing his sniffling nose.

And when Ryan’s small smile breaks into a grin, Naim finds it hard to regret his choice.

He regrets his choice.

As Ryan opens the gate, greeting him with a fist bump which Naim weakly returns with a grimace, Naim feels the nerves that have been bubbling in his stomach since last night rise into his chest.

The sun is midway through the sky, although as night approaches its rays cast a golden hue over the tips of the Eucalyptus trees and the top of the red-brick community centre. The sky is the colour of the mango and peach ice cream sold at the petrol station near his house, melting away with the fading heat and making him realise belatedly that he should’ve eaten before biking here. The golden castings of the sun don’t help his nerves, giving Ryan’s tanned skin a surreal glow, the red of his uniform and blue of his eyes so vibrant they look like oil paints.

“So, your parents never took you swimming growing up?” Ryan asks, breaking the awkward silence and Naim’s unintentional ogling.

“Nah,” Naim’s voice cracks embarrassingly, “I grew up in the city — I mean we were close to the coast, but we just never really went to the beach. Mum’s a nurse so she was always working or sleeping, and my dad preferred shit like playing guitar and watching films to sports.”

Naim immediately feels as if he’s overshared, but Ryan nods as if genuinely interested “Yeah, my family never really went on trips either. Lot’s of creeks around, though, if you’re not too scared of the leeches.”

Naim is terrified of leeches. He chooses not to mention this fact.

Ryan kicks his sandals off, approaching the steps into the shallow end, “Alright. Let’s get started.”

Naim follows behind, stopping at the top step as Ryan wades into the water. The water gets to Ryan’s waist before he turns to face Naim, apparently entertained by his hesitation, “Y’know, you have to get into the water to learn how to swim.”

“I’m getting there.” Naim mutters, shuffling out of his sandals and toeing the water tentatively.

“It doesn’t bite.”

“Fuck off.” Naim bites, continuing to test the temperature of the water another moment before finally sinking to the first step. Ryan watches with visible amusement as he wades to his knees.

“You look terrified.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be teaching me? Like, doesn’t that involve being supportive and kind?” Naim asks, glancing up at the suppressed joy on Ryan’s face.

“You complain a lot for somebody who’s getting lessons for free”

“Well, the price is reflected in the value.”

Ryan laughs audibly at that, shaking his head. “C’mon, just get waist-deep at least.”

Naim grimaces, wading further out until he’s at the same depth as Ryan, his t-shirt pooling around him like the skirt of a jellyfish. “What now?”

“Today’s just about getting comfortable in the water. Clearly you need some extra time getting there.” Ryan says, eyes pointedly on Naim’s arms which are raised above the surface as if he’s scared to touch the water with them.

Naim bites back another quip, instead settling for simply maintaining an expression of annoyance. Ryan’s smile doesn’t falter, instead seemingly growing wider.

“Start with putting your hands under the water.”

Naim does, letting the warm water envelope his arms as they lower to his side. He moves them in the water, appreciating the weightlessness and smoothness of the motion.

“That’s it.” Ryan hums, and Naim swallows harshly, ignoring the way the praise immediately curls in his abdomen.

Abruptly, a splash of water hits Naim in the face. He splutters, instinctively splashing back.

“What was that for you cunt!” Naim splutters, wiping the water from his face with one hand as he uses the other to continue splashing water defensively at Ryan.

“Oi!” Ryan shouts, leaping backwards in the water with another splash of water directed at Naim, “I’m teaching!”

“Was this all some ruse to get me alone and drown me in the Bandee Community Center pool?” Naim asks, watching Ryan swim around him. He’s joking, of course, but he can’t help but hold onto the possibility of this being some fucked up prank. He almost expects Hunter or Macca to jump out from the Lifeguard hut with water guns and grins, ready to drown him in the shallow end.

“Nah. If I wanted to kill you I’d do it somewhere more secluded.” Ryan responds, circling Naim in the water like a shark, “Somewhere like the old Mill by my house, where nobody would hear you scream.”

The thought of him and Ryan alone in a secluded area should not make him flush, especially when the thought experiment is accompanied by Ryan’s hypothetical murder of him. It especially should not make him wonder what weapon Ryan would use, nor should it make him swallow at the thought of no murder weapon being involved at all. He does not stare at Ryan’s hands as they move through the water, and he does not imagine those hands anywhere near his throat.

“What happened to teaching me how to swim?”

“Are you still scared?”

Naim finds, surprisingly, that he feels quite comfortable standing in the water. The discomfort he feels comes from Ryan’s intense gaze, observing him as the blonde stops his circling and remains submerged in front of Naim.

“I was never scared.”

Ryan's eyes glint, and he shakes his head slowly, smiling as if at a joke, “Of course you weren’t.”

There’s a pause then, where Ryan looks into Naim’s eyes and Naim manages not to look away. Ryan’s chin dips beneath the surface of the water, tongue flicking out to lick at his lips. Naim’s eyes follow the movement instinctively, and when he glances back up, Ryan’s expression is unreadable. Ryan lets his feet meet the ground of the pool, standing full height in the water a few feet from Naim. Finally, after a stretch of time Naim is sure the sky has visibly darkened during, Ryan glances down at the water. When his eyes meet Naim’s again, Naim can’t help but notice how their shade matches the water almost exactly.

Ryan clears his throat, “We can start with floating, then.”

Naim nods, and as Ryan lays him on his back in the pool, hand pushed against his center back, Naim tries not to pay too much attention to the size of Ryan’s fingers, or the feeling of their callouses through his shirt, or the look of Ryan’s face from below, like the lowering sun has risen once more.

They stay in the pool until the outdoor lights kick in and Naim has managed to learn how to float on his back, albeit for twenty seconds before his legs start sinking.

As he towels himself off by the poolside, shivering from the abrupt coolness of the air, Ryan speaks.

“We can meet again tomorrow after my shift?” his voice comes out somewhat off, and Naim realizes after a moment that Ryan is nervous.

As he balls up the bottom of his t-shirt, squeezing the water out, Naim lets a smile form on his lips.

Ryan, for some reason, wants him here.

“Sure.” Naim nods, speaking as nonchalantly as he can manage, but he cringes at the obvious smile in his voice. His eyes glance towards Ryan, meeting the boy's eyes and catching the smile on his face for a moment before Ryan raises his towel to his hair, hiding beneath the fluffy blue cotton.

When Ryan speaks, despite it being muffled beneath the towel, Naim can tell that he’s smiling too, “M’kay.”

Naim bikes home with damp hair and a grin on his face.

“Sleepover tonight at mine, then? Mum and dad are on some camping trip.” Jess asks through a mouthful of chips, sunnies slipping down her sunscreen slick nose.

Naim laughs, shaking his head, “No wonder people think we’re dating.”

“Ew!” Jess mimes a gagging motion, face pulling into dramatized disgust, “Don’t even suggest something like that. I literally have full body shivers.”

It’s times like these that Naim can see in full clarity just how much of a theatre kid Jess is. He hates to admit how endearing her thespian dramatics are.

His eyes slip from her face to the lifeguard tower, a quick glimpse of blonde being all he needs for his head to drop in shame. Naim doesn’t know exactly why he hasn’t told Jess about his night time swimming lessons yet. Embarrassment, maybe. Mostly, he thinks it’s fear.

After three swim lessons over the course of the past five days, Naim has allowed himself to slip into the routine of it. His nerves haven’t abided, but his apprehension at Ryan’s offer and persistent paranoia of the other ball dropping has faded into simple bewilderment at the situation.

For three nights, Naim has arrived at the pool gate as the sky turned golden, waiting to be let in by Ryan and following him into the water. For three nights, Ryan has asked him questions about his family and Jess as if genuinely curious, humming and nodding and laughing at all of the right parts. For three nights, Ryan has moved his hands over Naim's back whilst correcting his posture for floating and gently bent his fingers to properly cup the water. For three nights, Naim has trusted Ryan to keep him afloat.

It’s a hazy sort of experience. An hour floating in the water and through his mind. Naim lets himself read into things, lets himself steal glances at Ryan’s grin up close and the way the hairs curl upwards at the base of the boy's neck. He holds onto the moments where he catches Ryan looking at him, takes note of the feeling of his callouses against his own hands and the way his hands look absent of rings.

At home, in bed, he lets himself think that maybe, just maybe, this might be something. Naim knows the second that he tells Jess he’ll have to reckon with the fact that it’s nothing.

“So?”

“What?” Naim asks, jolted from his thoughts by Jess’s voice.

“Sleepover? Mine? Tonight?” Jess is looking in between him and where his gaze must’ve idly been drifting, unimpressed.

“Um. I can’t.” Naim responds, cheeks flushed. The guilt of keeping this secret from her eats at his stomach lining.

“Well why not?”

“My mum is ordering us in pizza and we’re having a movie night.” Naim responds, intentionally avoiding Jess’s searching eyes.

“Oh, nice. Didn’t realize she was off of the night shift this week. What movie?” she asks, and Naim can tell by her tone that Jess knows he’s lying.

“Dunno yet… some shitty romance I’m sure. She loves cheesy shit.” Naim picks at the fabric of his shorts, swallowing despite his mouth being completely dry. Suddenly, the sun feels much hotter on his skin, and he wonders if sun-burns can be accelerated by sin.

“Nice.” Jess responds shortly.

“Yeah.” Naim manages, “Super.”

“Take your shirt off.”

“What?” Naim practically squawks, watching as Ryan grabs a swim board from one of the racks and begins wading into the water.

“It’s hard to swim in a full fuckin’ outfit, mate.”

“I’m wearing swim trunks and a swim tee, fuck d’you mean ‘full outfit’?” Naim rebukes, looking down at his clothing.

“Just take the shirt off, Naim.” Ryan says, and the sound of his name spoken by Ryan’s voice waves away whatever argument Naim was previously brewing.

Still, as he embarrassedly pulls his arms through the holes of his shirt he mutters his complaints, “Can’t see what me being half naked has fuck all to do with me learning how to swim.”

“Ever heard of water retention?” Ryan says, voice awfully jolly for somebody being an insufferable twat.

Naim pulls his shirt over his head, chin getting caught and an embarrassing struggle ensuing. By the time he finally manages to rip the tee off, hair mussed and annoyance at its peak, Ryan is laughing softly to himself in the water.

Feeling extremely exposed, Naim tosses his shirt to the ground beside his sandals instead of the much more appealing target of Ryan’s face, and quickly makes his way into the water with his arms folded around his torso. The ring hanging around his neck is cold against his skin.

“We’ll do some kicking drills today, if that sounds good with you?”

Naim shrugs, “You’re the teacher.”

As Ryan instructs him on what to do, Naim struggles to overcome the embarrassment of learning. There’s something utterly humiliating about Ryan watching him hold the side of the pool and kick his legs. Something overwhelming in Ryan’s gentle corrections as Naim struggles and tries and tries and tries again.

“You have to be less tense —”

Naim tries, although he doesn’t think he’s ever been not tense in his life.

“Here, let me—”

It’s all of the warning he gets before Ryan's hands are on him. Gently, as if hesitating, Ryan’s finger tips brush against his stomach. The bare contact causes an instinctive jolt from Naim, his grip on the training board loosening as Ryan finally places his palm to the centre of Naim’s stomach.

“Relax.” Ryan says, voice low. He straightens Naim’s back gently, fingers pushing and pulling. Each brush spreads across Naim’s skin like a rash, gentle and fleeting, but Naim senselessly hopes that they’ll leave bruises.

Ryan’s hands move from his torso to his arms, bending the elbows slightly and readjusting the grip. Naim helplessly floats, letting Ryan move him like a doll. Ryan’s touch lasts less than a minute, but Naim swears the time stretches on much longer.

“There y’go.” Ryan mutters. Naim recognizes the tone from his own experience — that wistful utterance towards a finished piece that he’s proud of. The artist's recognition of their creation. Head completely empty and body abuzz, Naim thinks that maybe creation isn’t just a story from the Bible, but the melting of his skin into clay and the feeling of Ryan reshaping him into something new and right.

Suddenly, the patio lights kick on and Ryan’s warmth disappears from Naim’s side. Naim glances back, watching as Ryan swims backwards towards the pool's edge.

“Where’re you going?” Naim asks, voice coming out weak.

“You did good today. We can move on to new drills Monday.”

“Ryan—”

“D’you smoke?”

A beat.

“What?”

“I have a joint in my bag. Could show you my spot?”

Naim stares at Ryan, open mouthed and blinking as Ryan grabs his towel, drying himself without looking back at Naim. Naim shakes his head, glancing to either side of himself as if an explanation to Ryan’s behaviour will be found laying somewhere on the deck.

“Yeah. I mean, sure.”

Ryan glances back, “Yeah?”

Naim swallows, softening “Yeah. Of course.”

His phone flashlight skirts past the trees unsteadily, propped upright against his handlebars as he pushes his bike over roots and bumps. The sun is no longer visible, the last remnants fading as the navy tone of the sky blackens with the passing minutes.

The two boys move side by side, the sound of their breaths and the clicking of bike gears melting into the noise of the forest around them. Ryan makes a game of naming birds as they call out, but with the setting sun comes their silence, and the game is ended shortly thereafter. The quiet that rests between Naim and Ryan isn’t uncomfortable, but the abrupt end to their lesson and the sensation of skin against skin remains on Naim’s mind, giving the entire evening an indistinct sense of off-ness.

Naim doesn’t realize where they’re headed until they’re cutting from the treeline into a clearing, coming face to face with the large and looming shape of the abandoned mill. Against the deep blue sky, the crumbling building looks strangely forlorn, desertion ragged on its old bones.

“Are you joking?”

Ryan glances over at Naim, “What?”

“Isn’t this where you threatened to murder me?”

“Hm…” Ryan clearly fights off a smile, practicing faux reflection before finally nodding, “Yeah. Guess it is. You’d be a real idiot to come in with me, then, huh?”

Naim shakes his head, ridiculously endeared, “Yeah. A real idiot.”

Ryan walks forwards, sweeping a stick off of the ground and spinning around to face Naim as he walks backwards.

“So…” he points the stick at Naim, “Are you coming?”

Naim just looks at him for a long moment, the dwindling light hiding most of his face but his smile clear as can be. Naim looks over his shoulder into the darkening woods, pretending to think for a moment, and finally sighs.

“I don’t know how to get back to the road from here, so I guess I have no choice.”

“You can’t just admit that you want to follow me into the creepy mill, huh?” Ryan laughs, and Naim just shakes his head.

“Nah. That’s not it.”

As he begins forwards, tossing his bike to the ground and following Ryan to the side of the mill, it hits him that this back and forth they’ve had going on all week seems awfully like flirting. He brushes the thought away with a cough, watching as Ryan pulls himself up on top of a ledge, pushing a piece of cardboard aside and pulling himself through an upper window.

Naim hesitates, rusty nails and crumbling foundations flashing in the forefront of his mind, and then he climbs. It’s more stupid than it is brave, but as his feet make contact with the concrete floor of the interior, Naim lets himself believe that it’s bravery. The feeling is new.

He runs his phone flashlight over the inside of the building, wiping his free hand against his shorts and taking in the industrial ruins. Chunks of debris lay in piles on the floor, scaffolding abandoned and textiles in heaps. There’s an overwhelming sensation of dampness filling the air, a persistent drip. drip. drip. coming from somewhere within, the noise echoing through the cavernous empty space.

The sound of Ryan’s bag hitting the ground brings his attention back to Ryan, and he watches with idle curiosity as Ryan digs through his bag.

“Do you come here a lot?” Naim asks, kicking a chunk of rock to the side.

“Yeah.” Ryan seems to find what he was looking for, rezipping his bag and shoving it away, “I mean, my parents are almost always home and it’s a tuff place to smoke.”

Ryan walks towards a large plastic tarp, grabbing the edge and pulling it flat. He sits on top of it, the crinkling of the material feeling louder than it is as it fills the otherwise quiet space.

“What do they do for work?” Naim approaches the tarp, taking his time as he continues to examine the shapes and shadows surrounding them.

“What?” Ryan leans his flashlight against a beam, securing his phone with a rock, and Naim turns his own phone’s flash off.

“Your parents. What do they do?” Naim finally settles onto the tarp, sitting down across from Ryan as he fumbles with something in his hands.

“Oh, um,” Ryan opens up a container, and the smell of the spliff is immediate, “My dad was in the Army, but he got injured in Afghanistan, so now he just lives off of pension. Mom didn’t work before his accident, but now she works down at the Coles. She doesn’t need to, but I think she just wants to get out of the house and away from him sometimes.”

Naim hums, watching as Ryan places the joint in between his lips and raises the lighter. The lighter spurts to life after the third try, flame shooting upwards and meeting the tip of the joint. The white papers turn brown at contact, flame lighting Ryan’s face in an orange glow before disappearing and leaving only the tip of the joint painted in colour.

Naim watches as Ryan inhales deeply, smoke pooling out from his lips as he softly exhales. The stillness of the air within the mill leaves the smoke hanging in the air surrounding them. Ryan takes a second hit before handing it over to Naim, their fingers brushing as it goes between them.

They sit like this for a while, silently passing back and forth, haze filling the air. As the weed begins to take effect, Naim’s head growing fuzzy and limbs growing heavy, Ryan finally speaks.

“Why are you at the pool every day?”

Naim takes a second, processing the question as he coughs up smoke, “My friend Jess makes me.”

“Yeah, but why do you go? If you can’t even swim, I mean. It just seems boring.” Ryan takes the joint as Naim offers it.

“There’s never a boring moment with Jess.” Naim laughs, “I mean, I love being around her.”

“But like, why not the park? Why not one of your guys' places? Even she doesn’t go in.” Ryan’s intense curiosity makes Naim smile.

“Whats it to you? Are you trying to get me to stop coming to the pool?”

“No,” Ryan rebukes, forcefully, “I just mean. Like. There’s gotta be something else to it.”

Naim squirms at that, shaking his head, “Nothing to it, really. We just enjoy the scenery.” He realizes the insinuations of the sentiment a moment too late, Ryan already laughing.

“Fuckin’ hell. ‘Enjoy the scenery.’ Whatever that means.” Ryan's smile is lax as he rolls his eyes, head dipping forwards. Naim ignores the flush that crawls from his neck to his face.

There’s a pause as the joint moves in between them once more.

“How’d you get the lifeguard job?” Naim asks, attempting to sway conversation away from himself.

Ryan shrugs, “My mum is kinda friends with Dolly, the manager of the whole thing. She slipped her my resume.”

“Ah, so it was nepotism.” Naim nods, “Makes sense.”

“Sure, it was nepo-whatever. At least I’m getting paid for sitting at the pool all day.” Ryan leans forwards and snatches the joint back from Naim, inhaling cheekily as he leans back.

Naim laughs, shaking his head and sitting upright, “God, you’re really caught up on that, aren’t you?”

“It’s just weird.” Ryan says.

“Says the dude who led me into an abandoned mill, deep in the woods, at night.”

“And you followed.”

Naim can’t really argue with that one. “Maybe I’ve just been waiting for the day that some dumb kids beach ball would hit me and knock me into the pool, setting off a chain reaction that would ultimately end in me being taught, for free, how to swim.”

Naim really, really loves Ryan’s smile. “Ah, so it’s to save money, then?”

“Well what else would it be?” Naim responds, watching as Ryan finally presses the diminished butt of the joint against the pavement.

Ryan looks up, meeting Naim’s eyes. A moment stretches, and Naim swears he sees Ryan’s gaze drop to his lips for the quickest of seconds, but he blinks and Ryan is back to looking into his eyes.

Ryan swallows, “Dunno.” he says, voice too quiet and too sincere to be played off as a joke.

And then Ryan is reaching for his bag and shoving the empty spliff container in, the sudden movement breaking through the haze of smoke and feelings. Naim coughs, throat hurting from the joint and head muddled from the weed.

“Where d’you live?” Ryan asks, standing from the tarp, and Naim manages to tell him the address through his disorientation and broken up coughing.

“That’s just past mine. We can walk together.”

Naim scrambles up, suddenly aware of how cold the air around them has grown.

“Okay. Yeah. Sounds good.” he manages to mutter, running a hand over his goosebump ridden arms.

Ryan glances back, smiling something small and strained, “C’mon.”

Ryan helps him up the scaffolding and back through the window, his high making the entire ordeal more difficult. He follows Ryan back through the woods and into the street, walking his bike with a bit of a struggle. Ryan notices, offering to take it, but Naim shakes his head. Ryan doesn’t fight him on it, but Naim notices how he slows his pace.

Naim is too high and cold and tired to make much sense of the evening, and as Ryan stops in front of his house — a small, one-story building with a singular car parked in its driveway — Ryan gives him very little.

The blonde just pauses, looking at Naim with something inscrutable in his gaze. “See you at the pool tomorrow?”

Naim swallows, grip tightening around the handles of his bike.

“Yeah.”

Ryan hovers a second longer, gaze softening ever so slightly, and then he’s turning away, the crunch of gravel beneath his feet as he walks up his driveway.

It takes everything in Naim to get himself to move. He grinds his teeth, bites back the urge to shout out something just to get Ryan to look at him one more time, and instead turns his head forwards. He begins walking, listening to Ryan's front door creak open and closed, biting down on his lip as he swings onto his bike and unsteadily begins peddling home.

As the cool night time breeze whips at his still-damp hair, the shapes of smoke stacks and radio towers breaking through the night sky and hiding the stars behind smog and wire, Naim feels a sickening curdling in his stomach.

He realizes abruptly, nearly swerving into a ditch, that at some point in the days between Ryan pulling him from the deep end of the pool and Ryan helping him climb down from the window of an abandoned mill, that Naim’s embarrassing and senseless crush has spiralled into something sickeningly all-consuming. He doesn’t dare put a name to it.

He doesn’t go to the pool the next day. He pulls his swim trunks on and grabs his bag, making it to the front door before a voice calls out.

“Naim?”

He jumps, clutching at his chest and twisting to the hallway behind him, exhaling in relief.

“Jesus, mum! I thought you were in bed.”

“I thought we could do something nice today.” she says, cupping her blue coffee mug in both hands “They’re doing a showing of that new movie at the cinema today — the one you said you wanted to see?”

Naim grimaces, glancing at his shorts and bag.

“If you have plans, it’s okay. I’m just happy you’re making—” his mum begins again, but Naim shakes his head.

“No, mum. A movie sounds nice.” he attempts sincerity, pushing Ryan from his mind as shame swallows him whole.

She smiles, something close to how she used to, and Naim feels the guilt clot in his veins.

He sees Ryan the next day at church. He’s sat a few pews ahead, the back of his sunbleached curls like a glowing light in a sea of muted browns and grays and Naim’s gaze like a moth, endlessly drawn towards him.

He chews nervously at his lip, Mr. Mcleod’s sermon fading into background noise as Naim desperately tries to keep his eyes on his feet.

As Mr. Mcleod speaks, a chuckle resounds throughout the room, marking a transition from his biblical speeches and lessons to something more ‘lighthearted’ and ‘fun’ — at least that seems to be the intention of Rod Mcleod and his church.

Naim can still remember with intense detail the night his mother told them they were moving. In the week leading up to the announcement, he could sense something off. When he walked into the living room and found all of their family photos missing from the walls, only for her to brush him off and tell him it was ‘time to get life moving again’ he could feel the ground shake with the beginnings of an avalanche.

Then came the Bible on his mum's side table and their Friday movie nights being replaced by her Hebrew classes. Suddenly she was praying over their microwaved meals and selling her wedding dress. Her favourite colour went from orange to beige, and her toothy smile turned into something polite and timid.

One night, as Naim crawled onto the couch beside her, missing his dad and missing her smile, she had turned her laptop screen towards him. It was the website for a church. Old Faith. New Teachings. and Jesus Heals All Wounds bolded in the center of the screen with a photo of Rod Mcleod right above the Bandee address.

’I think it’s time to get life moving again’ she had whispered, a mantra she had begun to tell herself and Naim to excuse her inability to think of his father.

He hadn’t spoken to her for a week. He only started talking to her again when he found his fathers engagement ring in her bedroom with a quote for a hundred and fifteen dollars beside it, and upon the realization she was trying to sell it, he had screamed and threatened to move in with his grandparents.

She didn’t sell the ring in the end, and in the end it didn’t matter if he gave her silence or gave her hell. They were moved out before the end of the month. In the car, she said it again — ‘It’ll be better once we get life moving again. I promise, Naim.’

It was terrible. It still is terrible.

Naim wonders how an ‘Old Faith’ built upon stonings and lashings can be made fun. Apparently, according to Mr. Mcleod, it’s through song and dance. Naim stands stalk still as his mom sways beside him, the whole room listening to the pastor's daughter sing about devotion and love.

When Naim finally musters up the courage to sneak a glance at Ryan, Ryan is looking at him. They hold each other's gazes a moment, before Ryan is hastily swivelling his head to face the front again.

At the end of the service, Naim’s mother presses her hand to his back and tells him she has to speak with Rod. He nods, slinking from the room of uncomfortable wooden chairs to the outside.

It’s a windy and gray day, the clouds ahead moving as if at a sprint. He sits on the grass beside the building, back pressed against the stone brick as he idly picks tufts of grass from the lawn, rolling them in his fingers. The weight of his father’s ring against his chest feels like a foot pushing down, the humidity of the air compressing on his lungs.

“Didn’t see you yesterday.”

Naim jolts, meeting Ryan’s eyes and dropping the grass from in between his fingers.

“Jesus.” Naim mutters, and Ryan glances behind himself into the doors of the church.

“Careful. Old Rod might come and get you.” Naim drops his gaze to the ground, watching as Ryan’s converse toe at the dirt. Ryan clears his throat, “You weren’t there yesterday.” he repeats, like it matters.

Naim clears his throat, “Yeah, um. My mum and I went to the theatre.” He can’t help but for some reason feel guilty for his absence, “She kept me all day.”

Ryan nods, a stiff mimicry of nonchalance. Naim glances behind Ryan, suddenly aware of the imminent exit of the congregation.

“Where’re your parents?”

Ryan leans backwards slightly, peering into the doorway, “Talkin’ to other parents while waiting their turn for Rod to give them some mind. You’d swear they’re here for Rod more than they are for Jesus.”

A small smile forms on Naim’s face, “My mum moved here for him, so trust me I know.”

“Really?” and when Naim nods, “I mean, there’s not much in Bandee that’s interesting. He’s one of like two attractions.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the other one?”

Ryan grins, as if he’d been hoping Naim would ask him that. “He’s standing right in front of you.”

Naim scoffs, shaking his head, but he silently finds truth to that statement. Ryan is much more interesting than Pastor Rod — much more interesting than anything else that Naim has encountered in Bandee. Naim would much rather worship Ryan than whatever God Rod Mcleod and his mother speak of. He thinks, silently, that he already does.

“Your head has grown three sizes since we started speaking.” Naim mutters, and Ryan laughs, moving beside Naim and pressing his shoulder to the wall.

“Did your mum seriously move here for… this?” Ryan waves an arm towards the squat stone church, the wooden cross on the wall a few feet from them low enough and large enough that Naim could stand before it with his arms outstretched and appear as if he were nailed to it.

“Yeah.” Naim exhales heavily, shoulders sinking with the weight of it. He pulls another tuft of grass from the ground, “I mean, she has this whole idea that after my dad died God like, called to her. Started seeing signs in everything. I mean genuinely everything. Ice cream trucks, bugs, sales, radio stations. She saw an ad on facebook for the church, and I guess she took that as a sign too.”

The wind hardly breaks through the heat, Naim’s flannel too thick for the weather and the humidity too high for a breeze to be of much help. Ryan is silent for a moment, and Naim doesn’t sneak a glance to see his expression.

“I think my mum has a crush on Rod.” Ryan says, and Naim snorts.

“Really?” he asks, glancing towards Ryan as the blonde nods.

“She gets all weird about church. I mean, my dad’s a proper wanker when it comes to the Bible and God and all that shite, but my mom? I mean, she only really started getting into it when we switched churches.”

Naim grins, “That’s terrible.”

Ryan opens his mouth to respond, before abruptly cutting himself off as the first pair of figures exit through the doors of the church. Naim pushes himself up from the ground, keeping his gaze trained away from Ryan as he settles against the brick beside him.

Neither of them speak as more and more members trickle into the parking lot, and Naim realizes suddenly that they’ve only spoken in public once — the time that Ryan saved him. He wonders if the seeming secrecy of their lessons is intentional on Ryan’s part, before promptly accepting that it would be reasonable if it was.

Enough boys have whispered faggot and poofter at him in the halls for Naim to understand that there’s something about him that immediately sparks suspicion. When he was younger, he tried to pin the thing and fix it. He practiced his walk, studying men’s saunters in westerns and action movies and replicating them until he got it right. He tried to lower his voice and get rid of the uncontrollable lilt that seemed to straighten the spines of other boys. No matter what he did or tried to change, people knew. No matter what he did, he remained marked like Cain for all to see.

“Ryan? You ready to go?” Ryan’s mum appears behind him, her eyes landing on and hovering on Naim unsurely as her husband appears behind her. Naim meets Ryan’s eyes as the boy stiffens, standing with his back to his parents a moment longer as his smile drops into something flat and unreadable.

’Tomorrow night?’ he mouths, and Naim gives him a miniscule nod. Ryan looks at him a second longer before pulling away, turning to his parents and passing them as he walks towards their car. Ryan’s father stands a moment longer, watching Naim with eyes harsher and darker than his son's. They move from Naim’s face to his fidgeting hands, running over his oversized flannel and finally stopping on his face once more. There’s something disapproving in his expression, like he’s tasted something bad. Mr Whelan slowly turns away, scrutiny in his gaze, and follows his wife and son.

The Whelans disappear into their vehicle, the engine spluttering to life as Naim’s mum finally appears through the church doors. He watches their car pull from the parking lot, trying to gain just one glance at the silhouette of Ryan through the tinted glass before he disappears onto the pot-hole filled streets of Bandee.

He doesn’t manage a glimpse, and all he’s left with is the sight of Ryan turning his back to him with the silent promise of a tomorrow.

“You’re getting a lot better.”

Naim clings to the board, kicking himself towards the shallow end. He wants to laugh, but his mouth has been stained enough with the disinfectant tang of chlorine. He supposes he’s gotten better — he can float, glide, and kick, and his doggy paddle is decent enough to move him forwards. He’s not going to drown in the pool, he thinks, but he’s certainly not swimming any laps.

“I think tomorrow we can move on to treading.” Ryan says as Naim finally reaches the shallow end.

“How much longer until I actually learn how to swim?” Naim groans, wrapping his pruned fingers around the board and pushing it below the water, watching as it resists and bobs back up to the top.

“When you show me I can go five feet from you without you panicking and drowning.”

Naim frowns, wanting to rebuke but recalling the time Ryan surprised him by disappearing from his side as he kicked forwards on a board, Naim promptly losing the board and swallowing a mouthful of water.

They climb from the pool, completing their ritual of silently drying themselves and packing their bags back up. Naim pulls his pack on, beginning towards the gate where Ryan usually lets him out before going to close up the pool, but Ryan stops him.

“Could you come hold the door to the equipment room open for me? Marnie got trapped the other day — I think the lock’s broken.”

Naim nods, following Ryan across the damp cement and towards the side of the community center building, watching as he opens the door labelled Equipment, flicking on a light switch which fails to produce much light, and moving to a shelf full of similar floatation boards. Naim stands awkwardly in the doorway, using his foot as a door rest and trying not to stare too hard as Ryan struggles slightly with fitting the board onto the already full rack.

“Fuckin’ — ugh — fucking cunt.” He gives the board a rough shove, which manages to get the board slotted into the shelf — only, it also dislodges all of the other boards from the shelf and sends a pile cascading down on Ryan.

Naim immediately jumps forwards, wanting to help and instead catching only one of the falling boards and earning a shout from Ryan.

“Naim! The door—”

Naim twists around, dropping the floatation board from his hands and reaching for the handle, only for the click of the lock to fill the room, immediately followed by Naim’s futile attempt at jiggling the handle.

“Shit!” Naim mutters, throat suddenly dry and eyes clouded. He blinks quickly, hoping his tears of anxiety and frustration will subside before Ryan notices them, or that the dim orange light emanating from a singular bulb above them will be too weak for him to see the humiliating ways in which Naim’s body betrays itself.

“Fuck, my phone’s dead.” Ryan mutters from behind Naim. Naim jiggles the handle again, like maybe something has changed in the last ten seconds, before promptly reaching into his sweater pocket for his phone. He unlocks it, exhaling in relief at his singular bar of data, and bites down on his lip.

“Who do I call?” he twists back to Ryan, eyes on his phone as he opens up the phone app.

“Fuck if I know.” Ryan exhales, and Naim shoots him a look.

“What’s fuckin— Dolly’s number? Or Marnies’?”

“How would I know? My phone’s dead. Couldn’t call ‘em anyways, I’m not supposed to be using the pool after close.”

Naim shakes his head, endlessly frustrated as he begins scrolling through his contacts. He passes by some friends he’s fallen out of contact with since moving, ignores his father’s contact laying dormant like a grave, and hovers over his mother’s before remembering she’s at work until six in the morning and he’d rather stay here until opening than explain his scenario to her. Finally, realizing he has no other options, he clicks onto Jess’s contact.

The muffled sound of Jess moving around on her bed greets him, and then a tired “Sup?”

“I need your help.”

A pause, “O-kay? With what?”

“I’m locked in the equipment room at the pool and I need you to come let me out.”

Another pause, “What?”

“I’m locked in—”

“No, I heard you, I’m just—” Jess sighs exasperatedly, “What are you doing at the pool? Why are you locked in the equipment room? Just, like, why in general?”

“It’s a long story, okay. Can you just come get me?”

There’s the muffled sound of moving again, like Jess has pulled herself from her bed, and then, “Naim…”

“Yes, Jess?”

“Are you with somebody?”

Naim’s grip tightens around the phone in his hand, his eyes instinctively looking up to Ryan. The boy is stood close to Naim, shoulder pressed against the unsturdy shelf as he watches Naim intently. He looks unfathomably good in the low lighting, and Naim can’t help but feel suddenly aware of the proximity that the small storage space is forcing upon them.

“Naim?” Jess repeats, drawing his name out.

“Yeah.” he responds, looking down at his feet, “I’m with Ryan.”

“What do you wanna do after graduation?”

“I dunno, why?” Naim dismisses, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve.

“C’mon, if we’re gonna be here for another thirty you could at least talk to me. I’m bored and my phone’s dead.”

They’re sat across from each other, wedged between two shelving units. Naim has crossed his legs, the space too tight and too warm for him to find a comfortable position. Ryan is sat with his back to one of the shelves, his knees up and converse wedged beneath the shelf Naim is sat against. His arms rest on his propped-up knees, wrists limp as he fiddles with the rings he slipped back onto his hands after exiting the pool.

“Fine.” Naim sighs, severing the loose thread, “I don’t know what I want to do after school. I mean, I thought I’d go to art school or something, but now,” he pauses, “I dunno. I just want to get out of this town.

“I know what you mean.” Ryan says, voice low and contemplative. Naim waits for him to go on, but he doesn’t.

“You plan on leaving Bandee, then?”

Ryan nods, something small but sure, “First chance I get.”

Naim hums, “What’ll they ever do, then?”

Ryan looks up, waiting for the punchline.

“I mean, they’ll be sad to know one of their two attractions is going.”

Ryan shakes his head and laughs something small and beautiful. Naim re-adjusts, stretching his legs out and pushing his feet against the shelf Ryan is leaning against, holding back his own smile.

“Were you born here?” he asks, earning a nod from Ryan.

“Born and raised.”

“And your parents?”

“Same as me. Born and raised.”

Naim exhales a frustrated laugh “Stop being such a brick wall.”

Ryan’s brow furrows, “What?”

“You ask me all these questions about my life and then when I try to get to know you, you give me nothing. I mean, c’mon. Give me literally anything.”

Ryan opens his mouth and then closes it, shrugging his shoulders as he finally speaks, “I wanted to be an astronaut when I was younger.”

“An astronaut?”

“Yeah. I remember being really little and learning about the planets and stuff in school, and my teacher put on this documentary about space. There was this shot of the night sky with all of the stars, and I remember thinking ‘I can’t believe they’re so bright.’” Ryan pauses and his eyes drop to his feet like he’s embarrassed, “You can’t see any stars in Bandee. I decided I was going to go to space and see them up close. Obviously I know I’m not going to space now.”

Naim watches the way that Ryan nervously tugs at his fingers and ducks his head, “Maybe not,” he says, softly, “But you can still see the stars.”

Ryan glances up, “I know.”

“No, I mean it. Like, really see the stars. We can go to New Zealand or Hawaii or, like, a desert and see them without any smog or light pollution.”

“Yeah? You’ll come with me to New Zealand to see the stars?” Ryan asks, leaning forwards and letting his knees drop, a small half-joking smile on his face as the distance between him and Naim grows smaller.

Naim meets his eyes and nods, fully sincere as he speaks quietly into the air between them. “Yeah. ‘Course I would.”

Ryan looks at him a moment longer, gaze flickering between his eyes carefully as if searching for something. Naim swallows, lips parting as the hot and stuffy air of the storage room closes around them. Ryan’s eyes follow the movement, flickering down only for a moment before shooting back up. Naim understands what’s happening just before it happens, but the shock of the realization leaves him just as unprepared for the press of Ryan’s lips to his own as ignorance would’ve.

Ryan’s lips are soft and firm, pressing against Naim's as his hand gently finds its way to Naim’s cheek. The calloused fingertips that Naim has spent the past two weeks fixated upon graze against his skin, and Naim lets out a strangled sound, pulling away abruptly.

Ryan immediately stiffens and pulls away, staring at Naim with a thinly veiled expression of fear. Naim stares into his eyes, trying to make sense of it all. His mind is one endless droning noise, empty except for the buzzing of his want. Like a deer desperate to be hit by a car, he surges forwards into the road.

When his lips meet Ryan’s, he can feel the relief wash over the other boy in the way his shoulders sag and his hand immediately finds its way back to Naim’s cheek. Naim reaches his hands into Ryan’s hair like he’s been desperate to do for weeks, threading his fingers through the golden threads and sighing as he finally cures his curiosity.

Their lips move against each other desperately, weeks of yearning surmising into this one moment of skin against skin. Naim ignores the discomfort of his position pressed up against the shelf, pulling Ryan closer and closer until Ryan is leaned over him, his hand that was on Naim’s cheek falling to the base of his neck and his other hand pressing itself to the floor beside Naim, caging Naim in and holding himself upwards.

It’s messy and unbelievably clumsy, the shelf knocking against the wall behind Naim as Ryan tries to crowd further and further into Naim’s space despite it being humanly impossible. When Ryan bites slightly at Naim’s bottom lip, causing Naim’s lips to part in a gasp, he uses the opening to slide his tongue into Naim’s mouth.

Naim moans. The embarrassment is immediate, only made worse as Ryan pulls away. Naim shirks his gaze, humiliation hot in his face as he tries to pull away, but the hand resting at the base of his throat moves upwards, gently grabbing Naim’s chin and lifting his gaze to Ryan’s.

The expression on Ryan’s face makes Naim inhale sharply. His eyes are lidded, blue irises engulfed by his pupils and turned dark by the harsh shadows of the room. His mouth is open like in awe and also a little bit like he wants to eat Naim whole. His hand moves from Naim’s chin, thumb brushing over his bottom lip before lightly, as if out of curiosity, pushing in between the lips. His gaze is so intense Naim feels his stomach swoop, and Ryan’s moving touches feel like he’s making a tactile map of Naim’s skin.

As Ryan's thumb moves slightly in between his lips, tentatively prodding, Naim opens his mouth and shifts forwards, taking the tip of it into his mouth. Ryan’s eyes flick over Naim’s face, his throat bobbing as he swallows deeply and breaths through his nose.

Naim sucks, curling his tongue around Ryan's finger

“Jesus Christ.” Ryan mutters, the blasphemy hovering in the air as Naim releases his thumb from in between his lips with a resounding pop. Ryan immediately swoops back in, kissing and crowding and pushing until his nose is burrowed into Naim’s cheek and their hands are gripping at each other's hair and skin and clothing.

They kiss until they can’t anymore, breaking apart to take gasping breaths, Ryan still managing to nuzzle his face into Naim’s before pressing their lips back together. It doesn’t take long until Naim is on Ryan's lap, their chests pushed flush against each other and Ryan’s hands finding Naim’s waist.

The room is sweltering, Naim’s sweater yanked off and discarded into a heap on the floor. They’re entangled in each other, discomfort from their positions overridden by the desire pulsating through the closet. Naim stopped thinking any real thoughts a long time ago, head becoming a muddled mess of Ryan’s hair and Ryan’s eyes and Ryan’s biceps and Ryan's hands—

It’s this dazed state of mind that makes him miss the jiggling of the door handle, his brain catching up only as the door begins to swing open.

He’s off of Ryan’s lap within a second, the blonde pushing him away as he struggles backwards. His shoulders hit the shelving behind him, a beach ball falling off and hitting him in the head. He reaches up, rubbing at his tender scalp as he finally looks through the doorway and meets Jess’ frankly bewildered expression.

“Hullo.” Naim mutters, voice coming out rough and ragged.

“Hi.” Jess responds stiffly, glancing in between Naim and Ryan.

Naim doesn’t dare to look at Ryan — not as the boy pushes himself up from the ground and stands for a moment in awkward silence. He doesn’t look at Ryan as he mumbles a thanks to Jess, then a weak and uninteresting “See you.” to Naim before he promptly rushes from the storage room, disappearing from view.

Jess and him sit in silence for a moment, Naim still on the ground where Ryan pushed him to and Jess still in the doorway where he pushed by her in flight.

“I tried to warn you.” Jess says, finally, voice small, “I mean, I blew up your phone.”

Naim looks to where his sweater was thrown on the floor, reaching for it and fishing his phone from the pocket. He finds a dozen missed messages from Jess and three calls.

“I had to climb the fence to get in. Thought security was going to shoot my ass or something.”

“They don’t have security.” Naim remains seated, head a mess and chest aching. He can feel the indent of Ryan’s palm in the center of the chest where he pushed him away.

“Naim…” Jess starts, and then as if thinking better of what she was about to say, “C’mon. You’re sleeping at mine tonight.”

Naim begins to shake his head, but Jess cuts him off, “No. You’ve been keeping secrets from me and sneaking around and we haven’t actually hung out in ages because apparently you’ve been pashing Ryan. Fucking. Whelan so you’re coming to mine or I’ll never forgive you.”

Naim finally nods, and when he looks up towards Jess her hand is outstretched, ready to pull him back to his feet.

Naim plays with the corner of Jess’s purple comforter, hiding his gaze as she paces back and forth in the center of her room.

“Two weeks? You’ve been having clandestine meetings with Ryan for two weeks and this is the first I’m hearing about it?”

“Jess…” Naim weakly mutters, shame and guilt leaving a film on his teeth.

“Swim lessons? I mean, Jesus. This is insane.” Jess flops onto the bed beside him, lowering her face so he has no choice but to meet her eyes. “You have to tell me something. I mean, I just saw Ryan Whelan trying to hide a stiffy after being locked in a closet with you.”

Naim immediately squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head, “Shut up! He did not have—”

“It was pretty noticeable, Naim. I mean, probably even more noticeable from where you were sat on his lap —”

Naim grabs one of her pillows, shoving his face into it and letting out a prolonged groan. Jess laughs audibly beside him, moving from her stomach to knees and ripping the pillow from his grip.

“C’mon. We tell each other everything.” Her voice has softened, her eyes warm and wide as she peers at him with a small, sincere smile.

Naim sighs, “He kissed me tonight. I mean— tonight was the first time we’ve ever, like… Y’know, made out.” he cringes, resisting the urge to hide his face again, “I didn’t even think he was like that. I thought he just was, like, really passionate about swimming.”

Jess snorts, “I don’t think it was the swimming he was passionate about.” Naim shoots her a look, and she raises her hands in apology “Sorry.”

“We’d just meet up after the pool closed sometimes and he’d teach me. I mean, we went to the mill once and smoked a spliff, but it wasn’t like… y’know. ‘Clandestine’, or whatever. There were moments where I thought maybe he liked me, but I always thought I was reading too much into it. Then tonight… we were just sitting there and he kissed me.”

“He kissed you?”

“You sound surprised.” he mutters, bitter without reason. He knows it’s shocking — he’s shocked too.

“I mean, was it just out of the blue?”

“No, we’d been talking before.” Naim responds avoidantly, and Jess waits a moment before laughing and smacking his arm.

“O-kay. About what?”

“... The stars.” he shoves his hands over his face as Jess bursts out laughing.

“Are you kidding me? You talked about the stars and then kissed—”

“It’s not even— I mean he’s just— It’s not like anything else is going to happen.” Naim motions wildly towards Jess, exhausted at the line of questioning and aching with every thought of Ryan.

“You’ve been crushing on him forever—”

“No I have not —”

“—And now you’ve got confirmation he likes you back.”

“He—” Naim pauses, shaking his head in frustration, “He pushed me away.” It comes out weak, frustration and defense crumbling with the memory of his back hitting the shelf and Ryan’s wide and fearful eyes meeting his own.

“Naim…”

“I’m being stupid. I know I am. I mean, I was trying to pull away and the door was opening and we’re in Bandee, but— I just. He pushed me away and I can’t stop thinking about how we’ve never even hung out in daylight.” he exhales, blinking away tears. “It’s ridiculous. I know whatever this is would have to be secret, if it even is anything.”

Jess is looking at him with sad, pitiful eyes, and it makes everything worse.

“Stop it. I’m fine. I mean, this is a good thing. At least I got to have my first kiss, albeit in the darkness of a fucking storage locker.”

“Do you want me to kill Ryan Whelan, because I will.”

Naim laughs, something small and genuine. “Thank Jess, but it’s okay.” he sniffles, shaking his hands as if wringing the sadness from his body, “Let’s talk about something else. Like you and Marnie — how’s that going?”

Jess is unusually quiet, and when Naim looks at her she’s smiling bashfully, avoiding his gaze.

“Jess, spit it out!” he shifts, moving closer to her in intrigue, “Did something happen?”

“I ran into her at the library and she stopped me to ask about books, ‘cause apparently she’s noticed me reading at the pool—”

“Oh my God—”

“And I gave her some recommendations and she said she’d get back to me about them, and I may have slipped in a really gay book to test the waters.”

Naim grins from ear to ear, “She digs you, seriously.”

Jess squeals, grabbing Naim’s hands in her own and shaking them before flopping backwards onto the bed. She pats the mattress beside her, and Naim lays down with an exhale.

“Y’know, while I think Ryan is an absolute wanker and the dumbest bag of bricks ever—”

“Jess—”

“No, I mean honestly, trying to listen to him recite Shakespeare in Year Ten made me want to eat the book—”

“Jess!”

“But from what I saw, and will forever see in my nightmares, I can’t see a reality in which he isn’t totally into you. I mean, in my ideal reality you get kidnapped by One Direction and marry Harry, but if Ryan is good to you and you like him—” she turns to her side, and Naim follows suit, facing her, “I think you should go for it. Don’t hide who you are for him, and don’t let him treat you like some sort of secret, but don’t give up on it, Naim. The past two weeks you’ve been secretive and weird, but you’ve also been… I dunno, lighter. You seem happy.”

Naim can’t help the tears that well in his eyes, nor the way his face crumples as Jess moves even closer, tucking her face in his neck and wrapping her arms around him.

“Thank you.” he murmurs into her hair, trying not to dampen it with his tears.

“I love you.” she says against his skin.

“I love you too.”

He shuffles his feet on the concrete, glancing through the thin wiry gate for any sign of Ryan. He wasn’t working today, and the complete absence of him makes something churn in Naim’s gut. He wonders if Ryan will even show up, or if their swim lessons will be erased and forgotten alongside their kiss.

Maybe, Naim thinks, Ryan will simply pretend none of it happened. He’ll stop showing up to their lessons and he won’t meet Naim’s eyes at the pool. He’ll avoid Naim in the halls when school begins again, disappearing from their classes like he always used to.

Naim bitterly thinks of all that Ryan has ruined for him. The colour red — stark and vibrant against tanned skin. Yellow pencils with pink erasers, handed back and forth between them during classes. Frank Ocean, who Ryan once went on a tangent about during their lessons, playing the entirety of channel ORANGE as they swam. Birds, which Naim has always loved and discovered Ryan to have a peculiar knowledge of. He wonders if he’ll have to throw out his sketchbook pages filled with magpies and crows. Ryan’s most definitely ruined swimming for him. Drowning, too.

He waits an embarrassing amount of time, checking his phone religiously until the streetlights finally kick on and he’s forced to swallow his humiliation and hurt. Naim turns from the gate, backpack heavy on his back as he attempts to reconcile with the finality of this. The ending of something that never really began.

“Naim.”

Naim glances over his shoulder, hands falling from his bike lock as he meets Ryan’s eyes. Ryan looks rough — unbelievably attractive — but rough. He’s holding a bike, his hair windswept and chest moving rapidly with his heavy breathing. He’s wearing a flannel over a tank top, although it’s slipping from one of his shoulders, his jeans torn at the knees from wear. Ryan’s expression is something tired and panicked, a mixture of fear and relief in his blue eyes.

Naim stands as if frozen in place, waiting for Ryan to continue, but the boy doesn’t. Instead they just stare at each other, nerves thrumming in the air between them. Finally, Naim speaks, desperate for this staring contest to end.

“Thought you weren’t coming.”

“My dad stopped me— I swear I didn’t mean to be late.” Ryan’s shoulders slump, as if guilt is weighing them down, “I swear, Naim.”

Naim looks him up and down, swallowing his anxiety, “You don’t look swim-ready.” he croaks, and Ryan looks down at himself as if he doesn’t recall what he’s wearing.

“No, I’m not. I just— I wanted to see you.” he takes a deep breath, looking around as if nervous.

The crumbling of his confidence and the control he’s had throughout all of their lessons is refreshing, in a way. Naim has never seen him like this before.

“I needed to see you.” Ryan says finally, meeting Naim’s eyes.

Naim waits, watching as Ryan visibly attempts to sort out the thoughts in his head. There’s too much distance between them, their hands both clinging to their bikes as if ready to flee but desperate to stay. The parking lot is completely empty, but it still feels as if they’re out in the open.

“I just—” Ryan begins, “I mean, yesterday—” he shakes his head, “Fuck.”

“It’s fine, Ryan.” Naim says, scared of rejection and reciprocation alike.

“Just— let me try this. I’m no good at these things — talking or, like, sharing feelings.” he seems to flush at this, embarrassed. It’s as endearing as it is terrifying.

There’s a prolonged moment of silence again, and then, as if tumbling from Ryan’s mouth without him meaning to speak, “I like you, Naim.”

Naim’s eyes widen, his lips parting. He nearly drops his bike, the rack it’s wedged in keeping it upright.

“And I mean,” Ryan exhales, looking at his feet, “I feel like you might feel the same, and I just. I hope I’m not wrong. But I’d like to— I dunno, okay? Honestly, I don’t. But I just know I don’t want to stop seeing you.”

Naim stares.

“Please speak.” Ryan croaks, “You’re freaking me out, Naim.”

“I like you too.” he manages, hands clammy and bike suddenly heavy.

Ryan audibly sighs in relief, “Yeah?” he asks, voice weak and hopeful.

“Yeah.” Naim says, letting a nervous smile rise to his lips.

Ryan nods, straightening his shoulders and glancing around the parking lot. They both stand, unsure of what to do next.

“Do you wanna come back to mine?” Naim asks before he can think too hard about it.

Ryan meets his eyes and nods, “Yeah. I mean, your mom wouldn’t be upset about it, right?”

Naim shakes his head, “She works nights, so she won’t be home.”

“Cool.” Ryan says, the fakeness of his nonchalance widening Naim’s smile.

The door creaks open, Naim cringing simultaneously at the abrupt noise as well as Ryan’s attentive gaze sweeping over his room. As Ryan steps in ahead of Naim, eyes moving from his unkempt and wrinkled sheets to his cluttered desk and finally towards the drawings plastered onto his walls, Naim feels his stomach churn in anticipation. There’s something inherently intimate about inviting somebody into a bedroom — something revealing in his plain comforter and the clothing half-folded, half-sticking-out of his drawers. The intensity of Ryan’s interest is terrifying.

Ryan approaches his desk, hands stuffed in his pocket as if he’s scared of touching anything. “You’re really good.” he hums, nodding towards a charcoal drawing of three soaring birds. Naim thinks idly that maybe he needs to move on from the bird motifs.

“Thank you.” he says instead.

Ryan’s gaze lands on the cross above Naim’s bed, and he laughs something small, looking over his shoulder to meet Naim’s eyes.

“My mum put it up.” Naim explains, “Says it’s for protection or whatever.”

Ryan nods in acknowledgement, looking around the room once more. Finally, he asks, “Can I sit?”

“Yeah, of course.” Naim moves from where he’s awkwardly been hovering in the doorway, watching as Ryan sits on his bed. The blonde sits with his back to the wall, the nervous way in which he shuffles and adjusts himself creasing Naim’s cheeks with the unbelievability of it all. Ryan is on his bed, in his room, having said the words “I like you.” to Naim less than an hour ago. Naim fights the urge to pinch himself.

Instead, he approaches his bed and sits down by his pillows, crossing his legs. The quiet that fills the room is awkward, and Naim suddenly wishes he had thought enough to put music on.

He picks at his sleeve, body facing Ryan but unable to look at him as he speaks, “You… like me?”

Ryan coughs slightly, as if taken aback by Naim’s directness. “Yeah,” he says after a moment, wincing at the confession.

Naim can see the ways that shame has marked Ryan’s body. He can see it in the way that his brow furrows whenever facing anything real and how his shoulders straighten as if bracing himself for impact. His shame isn’t like Naim’s — complete and all-consuming, shoulder-hunching and vomit inducing. It’s something subtle and built up, his guilt like a wood-worm eating its way through the softness of his body and turning it into something unsteady and ready to break or be broken.

In a way, it’s beautiful. The unsureness of it all — the way both of them seem unable to say what needs to be said. The way they nervously sit upon Naim’s bed in silence, hoping that one of them will be brave enough to speak first and condemn them both. It would be more beautiful if there wasn’t all of this rot. It would be more beautiful if there wasn’t all of this fear. It would be something divine if their bodies were shameless and brazen, ready to reach out and take what they wanted.

But their bodies are broken in ways that cannot be seen, and there is nothing shameless or guiltless about this confessional. Divinity is not in this room, despite the cross above Naim’s head, and their hands are unsteady as they decidedly do not reach out to each other.

Instead, they sit avoiding each other's gazes and mapping the ways in which shame has ruined them. Naim wonders if one moment of bravery is enough to cure years of cowardice.

“What does this mean?” he asks, voice cracking.

“I dunno.” Ryan says, and then realizing this is the wrong answer, “I mean— I know how I feel, and I know that I want to keep seeing you and I just,” he exhales, cheeks puffing up, “I want to figure this out.”

“When did you— I guess, when did you realize?” Naim fiddles with the rings on his fingers nervously.

“Realize?” Ryan asks, an obvious attempt at deflection.

“When did you realize that you liked me? As, like, more than a friend.” It all feels so juvenile and meek coming from his lips — like a conversation he’s not supposed to be allowed to have. This entire situation feels so out of reach, even when in his hands.

Ryan doesn’t answer for a moment, and Naim finally sneaks a glance. He watches as Ryan wets his lips with his tongue, something Naim has noticed to be a nervous tick of his, and looks upwards towards Naim’s ceiling, like searching for something or praying to someone.

“I guess,” he begins, slowly, “I mean, I remember seeing you back at the start of Term Three in English and thinking of how ridiculous you looked in your uniform cause it was like two sizes too big.”

“Dickhead.” Naim mutters, helpless to the smile that rises to his lips. Ryan smiles too, and they meet each other's eyes before abruptly looking away.

“I dunno. I felt like I just… wanted to know you. Kept seeing you in the halls and all, and then in classes, and I just thought the reason I kept looking at you was because nobody new ever comes to Bandee. You seemed quiet, and I always saw you drawing during class but I was never brave enough to ask to see them.”

Naim could scream into his pillow. The confession is overwhelming and unbelievable, the softness of Ryan’s voice melting him like butter.

“I started trying to find ways to talk to you.” Ryan’s visibly embarrassed, avoiding Naim’s gaze at all costs.

“The paper towel.” Naim mutters, blinking.

“What?”

“This one time I was in the bathroom and you took all of the paper towel and gave me one of your fucked up dirty ones. That was just to talk to me?”

Ryan blushes, bringing a hand to his face, “...Yeah. It’s pretty humiliating.”

Naim laughs, shaking his head, “I thought I was going crazy and you were like, doing some weird niche bullying method. And then you started taking pencils from me in English but you never even used them.”

Ryan groans, “I’m pathetic, whatever.”

“So what, the swim lessons were another tactic?”

“No, the swim lessons were me being good at my job and trying to save lives.” Ryan mumbles sarcastically. Naim is overjoyed at how flustered Ryan is and how desperately he’s trying to hide it.

“Keep going.” Naim urges, and Ryan shoots him a look, sighing and slumping his shoulder as if this is painful for him to recount.

“I think I knew the whole time what I was really feeling. I mean, I never really thought about it, or I tried not to, but when we started with the lessons… my thoughts just kept spiralling. I knew I wanted to be close to you, and I wanted to talk to you, and I knew that I really liked touching you.” he pauses, swallowing and looking at his hands, “And I knew I wanted to kiss you.”

They sit with that a moment, Naim basking in the realization that his moments of hope were not idiocy.

“Your turn.” Ryan says, and Naim shakes his head sheepishly.

“I spent all of Fourth term confused ‘cause you kept being so weird, and I kept thinking I was just reading into things. That maybe you were picking on me.” Ryan frowns at this, visibly perturbed at the idea of Naim thinking he’d be mean to him, “It only made it worse that I had this stupid, embarrassing crush on you. I mean, I thought you were weird and a bit of an idiot—”

“Alright—” Ryan interrupts, shaking his head with a dumb smile.

“But I also thought you were… I dunno.” He glances down at his lap nervously, “Cute.”

A second passes. “Yeah?” Ryan asks, smile audible in his voice.

Naim risks a glance upwards, meeting Ryan’s gaze and shrugging his shoulders as casually as he can manage.

“Yeah.”

“When did you realize you wanted to kiss me?” Ryan asks, as if being called cute has freed him of all previous sheepishness.

“Who said I wanted to kiss you?”

Ryan smiles mischievously, moving one of his hands from his lap to rest on the comforter by Naim’s knee. He leans closer only slightly, “C’mon,’ he cooes, “Was it during English class? Did you fantasize about it while Mrs. Thompson was talking about nineteenth century poetry?”

Ryan shifts closer to Naim, Naim’s breath catching in his throat as Ryan shifts so that he can place his other hand on the opposite side of Naim’s legs, caging him in.

“Or was it in the bathroom? Did you think about pulling me into a stall? Having your way with me?”

Naim has to lean back on his pillow, Ryan encroaching closer and closer. His breath is warm, his eyes intense as they flicker between Naim’s eyes. Naim’s lips part, as much an invitation as a desperate attempt for air. Ryan’s eyes fall, hovering on the movement.

“Or was it in the pool, my hands on your skin, touching your back and your arms—“

He’s cut off by Naim’s hands grabbing the back of his head and pulling his face in, their lips connecting. Ryan makes a small sound, immediately returning the kiss with fervent intensity. His hands find Naim’s waist, moving beneath his sweater and clutching at his thin t-shirt.

Naim threads his hands through Ryan’s hair, unable to help the small gasping and whimpering noises that escape his lips as Ryan licks into his mouth. Ryan is practically on top of him, Naim’s head knocking against his headboard, and Ryan’s hand immediately raises to cup the back of his head.

The intensity of their initial kiss subsides into something drawn out and languid, lips moving against each other like waves and hands moving against clothing and hair and skin like they’re cartographers mapping the bodies of each other.

When they finally separate, breathless and gazing at each other with dilated pupils, Ryan smiles something small and proud, “What was it that you said about not wanting to kiss me?”

Naim shoves his shoulder lightly, rolling his eyes as Ryan tumbles off him and onto the mattress beside him. Naim’s twin bed is cramped with their two bodies on it, their shoulders overlapping and legs forced to entangle.

“Shut up.” Naim mutters, running a hand over his flushed face.

They lay for a moment, bodies pressed together and skin warm. The night sky outside of Naim’s window is polluted by light and smog, stars hidden away behind the haze of deep blue. He turns his head from the window, eyeing the side of Ryan’s face.

He takes in the curve of his nose, the softness of his jaw line, the lowering of his eyelids. He inhales the sight of Ryan laid on his bed, blonde curls on his pillow. They’re so close he can smell the faint musk of cedar and sweat in Ryan’s neck. He feels the intense urge to nuzzle closer, but Ryan shifts his gaze, head lulling to face Naim.

“Sup?” he asks, lips kissed red and smiley.

Naim scoffs, shaking his head affectionately. He wants to live in this moment. He wants to burrow deep into Ryan’s side and sniff his skin and sew his hands into his hair and never move, but a question remains hovering in the air above them and he knows he has to ask it.

“So…” he begins, earning a snort from Ryan.

“So…?”

“What… is this?” he manages, turning onto his side to better face Ryan.

“This? I think this is called laying on a bed together.”

“No, dickhead. I mean, like, what are we?” he flushes, embarrassment and fear mixing to make a sickening cocktail in his stomach.

Ryan holds his gaze, “I mean, I like you. And you like me.”

“Which makes us…?”

Ryan looks away, up at Naim’s ceiling as his throat undulates like the tide, “What do you want to be?”

Naim inhales a breath, “I want… to keep kissing you. And seeing you. And, I mean, I don’t want you seeing anybody else—“

Ryan laughs, earning a glare from Naim which he immediately shrinks under, “Sorry.”

“I want to be… something.”

Ryan meets Naim’s eyes and turns to his side. He rests one hand beneath his cheek, reaching the other out to rest on Naim's waist. “Are you asking me to be your boyfriend, Naim Reid?”

Naim sinks into the touch, smiling unabashedly, “I mean, if you insist.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, smile wide as he leans in and presses a slow kiss to Naim’s lips. When they pull away, they press their foreheads against each other.

“Okay. I’ll be your boyfriend.” Ryan whispers, grinning as Naim leans back in, kissing him through their helpless smiles.

They lay like that for a long time, trading kisses and whispers in the low light of Naim's bedroom. They fall asleep at some point in the early hours of the morning, and Naim feels as if a splinter has been dislodged from his heart. He forgets about the cross above his bed, instead telling Ryan idly about his father and the ring laying cold against his skin. They tell each other stories that their shame kept quiet — that their weeks of playing friends disallowed.

It's soft and serene, their bodies losing their edges and their voices losing their volume. Their lips hurt but they keep kissing and they grow tired but they keep whispering.

As the sun rises in the sky, their breaths even and limbs intertwined, Naim sees stars behind his eyelids and dreams of a sky full of them.

In his dream he swims through them, and in his dream he doesn't drown.