Jason looks weird dressed in my clothes. It's like he's just picked them up off the floor of my bedroom, and he feels normal and fine but at the same time it's tripping me up. Because I want him to have done this, I want him to have put my clothes on. Just not in the airport, not after we went to hook up in a bathroom together.

Before I can open my mouth to say anything, though, his phone rings again.

It's on top of my case now so he takes a little while to go get it. He's putting his blue jacket on, the one that says that he's in uniform. He grabs it and brings it up to his face. “Hello?”

He listens for a bit. He nods, even though the person on the other end of the line can’t see him do anything. Eventually he rolls his eyes and yawns. “Yep, okay, got it. Of course. I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

He doesn't seem very happy about it though. He hangs up the phone, sighs and rubs his temple. I watch him.

“Is everything okay?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, it is. It’s fine. I'm just a little annoyed because they’re going to bump me to tomorrow.”

“Wait, they’re going to bump your flight to tomorrow?”

“Not my flight, just my spot.”

“What?”

“It’s because I got my tickets at a discounted rate, an employee rate, and they can see that when they look in the system.”

I shake my head. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“People are pissed off because everyone wants to go home for Christmas so I am the one that has to be bumped to the back. It's fine. I kind of knew this could happen, it just sucks because I really did want to be with my family for Christmas.”

“There's nothing you can do about it?”

“Not really. I mean, they need me to work, and I appreciate the discount. But I may not be able to go for a while and we have to rearrange a bunch of stuff because people are always going to want to be on the flights they actually booked. So this is a logistical nightmare.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

He looks at me and his face softens. He shakes his head, his eyes glimmering.

“No, Max, you've already done enough to help.” He grabs my hand, and he squeezes it. “Thank you for this.”

“It’s really no problem.”

“I'll return them to you when we get home. Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah. That sounds fine.” I replied as I smile back at him.

I lean in for a kiss, and I kiss him on the mouth, slowly, softly. He kisses me back. This isn’t like the kiss we had before, since what we had before had turned into something more passionate and quick, but this kiss is sweet and full of affection. The kind of kiss that you would have with a boyfriend. The kind of kiss I’d want to have with a boyfriend, in any case.

The idea of having a boyfriend is kind of scary in and of itself. Especially because I don't know what's going to happen with me. I don't know if I'm going to have to stay home instead of coming back to the city, and I don't know what he's going to do. I'm not really sure where I stand in my own life, and I don't think that I'm going to be able to be in a relationship with someone if I am myself.

I want us to have a talk about this. I want us to sit down and have this conversation because I may be making assumptions about him. I don't know what he wants. Maybe he just wanted to hook up in the bathroom with me.

Maybe that's exactly what he needed. But that kiss, the kiss afterwards, it wasn't just a sex thing. I can tell because of the way that he's looking at me, his eyes shining. “Is everything okay?”

I don't know how to start talking about this. Especially not when he's already this stressed. “Yeah. I'm just worried about you.”

“Don't worry about me. I'm fine. I just got to go to my job.”

“Wait. Before you go, will you give me your phone number?”

“You don't already have my phone number?” he says with a smile.

I shake my head. “I haven’t had your number for a very long time.”

“Actually, you've had it for forever. I haven't changed it since I was fourteen,” he says, his smile widening.

“It’s the same?”

“Yeah,” he says. “It is.”

“Oh,” I reply.

Of course I know his number by heart. I've known it ever since I was a kid, because his was the first phone number that I ever learned other than my own families’ landline.

His was the first number I put into my phone when I got my cellphone, back when I was only fourteen years old. We went to the same store, we got the same plan and we even got the same phone. Just in different colors.

His mom got him a phone and my mom got me a phone. We would text each other for hours every night, so much so my mom took away my phone because she thought it was taking too much of my attention. She said that using my cellphone as much as I was would start to affect my grades. It wasn't and it wouldn’t have. My grades were great. I was a good, careful student. But she was my mom and the idea of not giving my cellphone to her never crossed my mind.

Of course I had to give up my phone to her. Of course I felt a little disappointed at first, but I did get it back eventually.

When I got it back, we kept texting each other a lot, but we had to tone it down a bit so that neither one of our moms would take our phones away again. After it happened, the risk was always there, ever present. My mom was a lot stricter than his mom, but even then, Jason didn’t want to risk it either.

Eventually, when we fell out, neither one of us called the other. I always assumed that he had changed his phone number, especially after I moved.

I changed mine a couple of years after we fell out. We never had a fight, not really, but I kind of wish we had. Because I don't feel like I deserve any of what is happening right now, and I really want some explanation or rather some clarification of what's going on. Not even a clarification, just some reassurance things are okay, that this is actually happening.

Because it still feels like a dream.

He still feels like a dream.

Jason fixes his hair and looks in the mirror after splashing his face with water.

“Anyway. I have to go,” he says, running his hand over his clothes—my clothes—to smooth them out.

I stare at him.

“That means you have to go too,” he says as he looks around.

I look around with him, and then realize we are still in the staff bathroom in the VIP area of the airport. I completely forgot about it, because I’m so focused on him.

I laugh as I shake my head.

“Okay.”

“I'll try to get you on the next flight home.”

I nod. “I appreciate that, but don't feel like it's necessary.”

“Why not?” he says as he shakes his head.

“Because. Lots of people need to go home more than I do.”

He looks at me and cocks his head, his eyes narrowing. “Wait, you don’t want to go home?”

I shrug my shoulders. “No… I do want to go home. I think that something is wrong, too, because I don't think my sister would be acting like this if everything was fine.” I start explaining. He's looking at me and furrowing his brow.

“That sounds like—”

I shake my head. “But there are people with children, and people who want to get home to sick relatives and stuff so I don't want to take their place.”

“I'm sure there are lots of people that aren’t looking forward to going home that are also going to be bumped up to the first flight,” he replies and flashes me a smile. “You’re not going to be taking someone’s place. I don't think that you need to worry.”

“Yes, I hear that all the time. Unfortunately, it's in my nature.”

“That’s funny. I thought you would be over your anxiety by this point.”

“Nope.” I replied shaking my head. “If anything, it's gotten worse.”

“It's gotten worse?”

I nod.

He narrows his eyes. “Do you mind if I ask you why?”

“You can ask me why,” I reply. “But it’s just…”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” I reply. “I think it has to do with uncertainty.”

He doesn’t say anything. “Okay,” he says. “When you bring your cases to the gate, I can put them behind the counter.”

“Right,” I say. “Thank you.”

“Unfortunately,” he says. “I can’t go out with you. I’m not supposed to be hooking up with people in the bathroom.”

I smirk. “That makes sense.”

“But that was wonderful,” he says. “Will you call me so I have your number?”

“Okay,” I say. He kisses me on the lips again, turns around, and walks out. He holds the door open and looks at me as he winks. “Just so you know, you can leave this area without a key card. I wouldn’t leave you stuck in here.”

“That’s good to know.”

He looks me up and down and gets a thoughtful look on his face. Then he whispers, so quietly I almost can’t hear him, because I think he’s saying it to himself instead of me. “I wouldn’t leave you at all.”