Micah’s head was filled with the implications of the boy they had stumbled across. A hint into the world of adolescent werewolves, far beyond what he witnessed the night before. But Zeke was about to open up for the first time in forever, so Micah forced himself to put the problem aside for the moment. There would be time to address it later...he hoped.

“I was sixteen,” Zeke said with a sigh. “He was seventeen. Almost eighteen. About to age out of the foster system, with no family on the outside. The night I moved in, he beat the shit out of me.” Zeke laughed at the memory, earning him a dubious look from Micah. He caught the look and shook his head, expressing that Micah would have had to be there to understand. “I guess he was planning to kill himself that night. He was terrified of being out in the cold on his own. He didn’t know how to do anything, you know, didn’t...I don’t know.”

Zeke buried his eyes in his hands and rubbed hard, sucking in a shuddering breath. Micah wanted to say something, or touch him, anything to make the pain of the memory go away; but he couldn’t come up with anything that didn’t seem invasive. Zeke finally dropped his hands to gaze off into the trees.

“I was there for six months,” Zeke continued quietly. “I taught him everything I knew. Helped him get a job. Talked the fosters into co-signing his apartment when he turned eighteen. I fell in love with him, Micah. I was going to move in with him as soon as I had some money saved up. Between the two of us, we got him stable. He had his whole life in front of him, and I had a huge party planned for his eighteenth birthday. Stupid irresponsible teen stuff, you know. But it was going to be epic.”

Stars of nostalgia shone in Zeke’s eyes, the bad memories giving way to something bittersweet. Micah held his breath so as not to break the spell; he had never seen Zeke look so magnificent. But soon a shadow passed over his face, and he scowled down at the ground.

“It was all set,” he said darkly. “Then the social worker showed up. Good news, she said.” He scoffed. “Good news. Dad had managed to secure custody of me again. I was going home, the night before Justice’s party. I had two hours to grab my shit.” Zeke shook his head and passed a hand over his eyes. “I made him promise me that he would have fun. I swore that the second I turned eighteen, I’d be with him. He made me swear again, and again, and I did. With all my heart.”

Micah trembled as chills coursed over his body, reacting to the waves of emotion billowing off of Zeke. A single tear slipped down Zeke’s face, but he didn’t seem to notice. He just stared off into the distance, watching something that Micah couldn’t see.

“I woke up the next morning at Dad’s place. First thing I did was call the house to talk to Justice. I don’t know why, I just needed to. I felt sick not talking to him, not seeing him.” Zeke’s voice fell to a flat monotone and he hugged his knees to his chest. “But he wasn’t there. He moved out the night before and left his body behind.”

“I’m so sorry, Zeke,” Micah said through a tight throat. His heart broke for Zeke, but he still needed him to understand. He closed the small distance between them and wrapped an arm around Zeke’s shoulders. Zeke didn’t lean in or move away; Micah didn’t think he was even aware of the moment. “But Zeke...that wasn’t your fault either. You didn’t make that happen.”

“I didn’t keep it from happening either,” Zeke said bitterly.

“You couldn’t have.”

“I could have refused to leave.”

“Then the social worker would have had to call in reinforcements, and it would have caused a big stressful scene, and you would have gone back to your dad’s anyway. Besides, Zeke...love alone isn’t enough to cure a depression that encompassing. He would have done it sooner or later, with or without you.” Micah’s heart thundered in his chest as he made that point; in Zeke’s position, Micah might have taken a swing. But Zeke didn’t move except to swipe a drying tear off of his face and shrug.

“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not. Maybe I could have done something, maybe I couldn’t. Same with Adam. And my grandparents. And....”

“If you say your mom, I’m going to laugh at you and I won’t even feel bad. You were six.”

Zeke inhaled to speak, but let the breath go wordlessly. He shook his head.

“It’s just too much, Micah. I won’t take that risk again.”

The decision in the words hung heavily in the air, planting a barrier between their souls though their bodies touched. Micah wasn’t going to stand for that.

“Have you noticed how fast we heal?” he asked, as if changing the subject. “I cut myself shaving this morning, and it was healed by the time I got my shirt on. I haven’t been sick since that night, and I always get sick the second week of school. Every single year since I was in kindergarten I’ve been sick the second week of school. Have you seen my mom lately? No wrinkles, no weird old lady fat, no blue veins or papery hands or yellow teeth. She looks the same as she did when I was a kid, except for the grey in her hair. I’m starting to wonder if she dyes it.”

“Nervous babbling makes me nervous,” Zeke muttered, looking sideways at Micah.

“I’m not babbling,” Micah said exasperatedly. “I’m trying to tell you something, Zeke. We’re virtually invincible now. Wounds, illness, even old age...none of them stand a chance against this werewolf stuff. What I’m saying....” Micah blew out a breath, trying to arrange his words. “What I’m saying, Zeke, is that I’m not going to die. Not any time soon, anyway. I’m not suicidal, I’m not stupid, I’m not old, and I’m a goddamn werewolf. Do you want me to dress exclusively in bubble wrap and Kevlar? Because I will.”

Zeke was surprised into a bark of laughter, lightening the somber mood. Micah pulled him close and kissed his face impulsively, looking away quickly afterward. A hand on his face brought him back to Zeke’s searching lips, a heart-pounding, groin-melting surprise kiss. Arousal raced down his spine, igniting his every nerve, quickening his breath. It was a long time before Zeke broke the embrace, gazing down at him with dark, molten eyes.

“Let’s skip breakfast,” he said huskily, raking his fingers through Micah’s curly hair.

“My house is close,” Micah murmured.

It wasn’t much of a house, as far as houses went. It was more of a stand-alone suite, a tiny brick cube painted a medical blue, with one multi-functional room and a bathroom. It was enough for Micah, though, and he didn’t give it a second thought as he fumbled the lock open and pushed his way through. Zeke, hot on his heels, seemed to be spiraling on the edge of insanity. His eyes would darken with lust only to be illuminated by fear. He pulled Micah close only to push him away again, turning in circles like a dog chasing its tail. Finally Micah sat on the edge of his full bed with crossed arms, watching as Zeke battled with himself.

“There’s no reason,” Zeke poorly explained when he caught Micah’s look. “The shift has already worn off. We aren’t....” He waved his hands helplessly.

“Together? Not yet, but only because you’re all the way over there,” Micah said with a grin.

Zeke glared, then relaxed. “What do you want this to be, Micah?” He asked.

Everything, Micah thought. But he only shrugged. “Whatever you want it to be. I’m happy just being in your sphere.”

“Really?” Zeke asked, looking too relieved for Micah to backtrack.

“Sure,” Micah said. “Friends, lovers, whatever. I think you’re being paranoid in avoiding what we both want, but that’s not my call.”

“You’re right, it’s not,” Zeke said without heat. He paced a few more times, chewing his lip, before whirling on Zeke. “But we are friends. And without an excuse for...this....”

“Sex?”

“Yeah. Without a reason, it just muddies the waters. Muddy water is confusing and hard to navigate. It’s volatile. All it’ll take is one of us to be an idiot, and we lose everything.”

Micah cocked his head curiously. “Dude. You’ve screwed me over before. I’ve thrown you under the bus. You don’t get to be friends for this long without stepping on some toes. We always recovered then, what makes you think we won’t recover now?”

Zeke sputtered, gesturing at the bed.

“We’ve already done that.”

“But we had a reason...!”

“An excuse,” Micah corrected with a wry twist of his lips. “Didn’t take much, honestly.”

Zeke’s ears turned scarlet, and Micah suppressed the urge to laugh at him.

“Look, dude. If our friendship can survive the last two months, we can survive anything. Work up some trust, will you?” With this, Micah stood up off the bed and took Zeke’s hand. He moved it to his waist, then slid his own hand up Zeke’s arm to cup his neck. He had craved this for years, touching Zeke just like this. Zeke’s gaze began to smolder as his lips moistened, and as Micah pressed his body to Zeke’s, he felt the front of Zeke’s pants twitch.

“Just think of it as a sport,” he whispered in Zeke’s ear.

Zeke groaned and held him tight, grinding his body against Micah’s, capturing his mouth with eager lips and searching tongue. Micah could feel his doubt and desperation vibrating in his skin, sending waves of uncertainty through the air. With a groan halfway between frustration and arousal, Micah stepped back.

“I’m not going to force you,” he said, raising his hands. “If you aren’t sure, we can just go to breakfast.”

Zeke’s obvious arousal warred with something else in his eyes. Micah waited, outwardly patient but inwardly writhing, as he watched Zeke’s baser instincts override whatever psychological hesitation he still entertained. The conclusion was nearly as satisfying as its implementation was, with two powerful strides, Zeke crossed the room and pulled Micah into him just long enough to steal his breath with a fiery kiss and push him onto the bed.

His weight pressed Micah deep into the bed, his mouth and his body moving in desperate tandem to writhe against him. Micah felt bands of suppressed desire begin to loosen and snap around his chest, until the floodgates of his want burst free in a torrential, grasping, shirt-ripping onslaught. The moments blurred, now almost fighting, now almost making love, their passion thriving in the in-betweens. A bottle of lube in the bedside table allowed them to glide seamlessly from foreplay to interplay with barely a fumble, and with a gasp and a groan, they were one.

“There now,” Micah gasped in Zeke’s ear. “Not so scary, is it?”

“You feel so fucking good,” Zeke groaned into his shoulder, ignoring his gentle sarcasm as he drove deeper.

Micah’s mouth moved of its own accord, from Zeke’s mouth to throat to shoulder, tasting every inch of his slick skin, absorbing his energy. He had always imagined that crossing this boundary, without reason, excuse, or purpose would feel strange and alien; but even on top of him and inside him, Zeke was still Zeke. Micah bucked his hips, pulling Zeke in deeper as his fingers anchored in his muscular back. Years of memories, accumulated moments of closeness and desire, the tingle of deep connection, all tore through his body as Zeke moved over him.

“I love you.”

The words were torn from Micah’s throat before he could stop them. Terror gripped him as Zeke froze in mid-thrust, his heart racing hard and fast against Micah’s shoulder. Micah turned his face away and hid it in his hand, wishing he could take the words back, erase them from the room. They hung in the air, electric and dangerous, buzzing above their naked, sweating bodies.

“Do you know what we need?” Zeke asked, sliding off of Micah and rolling out of bed. “We need some music.”

No eye contact. No acknowledgment. Micah inhaled a deep, shaky breath. Maybe it was better that way. He shook off his mortification and fear as Zeke messed with the stereo, rubbing the moment out of his eyes with the heels of his palms. Conflicting emotions could be dealt with later, he decided; for now, he was only interested in getting Zeke’s golden skin back on his own pale body.