Alfie was losing his mind.

He had no idea what to do with himself, or with Wynn. He felt as though, his entire life, he'd been reaching out in the dark, feeling around blindly for something he wasn't sure was there.

But at last, his hand had found something in the darkness, and it felt a lot like hope.

Alfie was laying on his bed, staring up at his ceiling with his headphones in. He had the music turned up inadvisably loud, but a little deafness in a few decades seemed like an easy trade for a few moments in drowning his thoughts in the angry squeal of power chords on electric guitars.

Alfie knew his head was well and truly fucked, in a way it hadn't quite been before. Loving Wynn had been as much a part of his life as having brown hair or a shellfish allergy. But things were shifting now, and Alfie learned that having a sliver of hope was a much more acute pain than having none at all.

Alfie's U.S. History textbook had been languishing under his bed for months—he'd barely used it even when he was in U.S. History, but now he rolled over and stuck one skinny arm underneath his bed to feel around in the dust of the elephant graveyard of his old textbooks. He dusted it off and flipped it open to a current map of the United States, looking down at it thoughtfully.

His world had been so, so small, confined to the bounds of the Wilson County line. But, at last, Alfie's future was opening up before him. He had hope, and he had Wynn—or, at least, he thought he might—and that was all he needed.

He didn't know much about the rest of the United States—most of his knowledge of other states and regions was based on whatever stereotypes he'd cobbled together from TV and music. But he knew there were places for people like him, for people like them, where they could be happy.

He traced his finger down the California coastline, reading the tiny, neatly-printed town names. Eureka. Santa Rosa. Monterey. Morro Bay. Something about California kept speaking to him, as though some undiscovered part of his soul was there, calling out, waiting to be found. He knew most of the little dots on the map represented shitty, boring little towns that weren't much better than Niobrara. But somewhere out there, he'd find a new home.

Or, rather, he'd find a place that felt like home for the first time.

He was studying the San Francisco Bay, his face so close to the book his nose kept brushing against the page, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Alfie yelled and jumped, twisting away from the hand and yanking his headphones off.

"Wynn—" he gasped. "Jesus H. Christ."

Wynn was laughing hard.

"Sorry," he said, not looking particularly sorry at all. "The front door was unlocked."

"Right," Alfie said, putting a hand over his rapidly-beating heart. "Jesus. Sorry. I lost track of time, I think."

Wynn dropped his backpack on the floor and sat on Alfie's bed beside him. It had been a cold day, and his nose and cheeks were pink from the wind.

"Studying?" Wynn asked skeptically, nodding at the textbook.

No, just planning out our life together, Alfie thought.

"Never," Alfie said, tossing the book aside. "So, uh, how was practice?"

Wynn rolled his eyes.

"Eh, okay. I mean, we're doing really well, and I think we're gonna win our next game, which is really good because it's Carson High, you know? So if we win, that's gonna be a big deal. But—"

Wynn started chattering about sports, and Alfie's brain immediately shut off. He tried to pay attention when Wynn talked about this stuff, because it was important to Wynn, but Alfie also suspected he himself had a near-lethal sports allergy.

"You're not listening, are you?" Wynn said, smiling fondly, and Alfie blinked, turning a little pink.

"Er—I was trying," Alfie said. "You were saying… a thing about… Trevor Porter and… a play… with… a ball?"

Wynn laughed.

"Close enough," he said.

"Wynn, where does your dad think you are right now?" Alfie asked suddenly, and Wynn flinched, looking away quickly. Alfie hadn't meant to take such a hard left in their conversation, but the words had flown out of his mouth almost before he'd even thought them.

"At the Starlite with the team," he mumbled. "Which, I mean, I was—I went there with them and left early and said I had to go."

Alfie could hear a strange, tinny voice from somewhere near his pillow, and he realized he'd forgotten to turn his music off. He paused the CD and looked back at Wynn. Wynn hung his head.

"What?" Alfie said. "Do you want to go back? We can totally do this another night—"

"No—" Wynn said quickly. "I was serious about this. I really wanna watch Return of the Crab or something with you. But—I'm just… god, I'm sorry, Alfie, you know? And I feel like I keep apologizing to you and then I turn around and fuck up again, and I don't know how to stop doing it, but I know that—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa—" Alfie said, scrambling across the bed and kneeling beside Wynn, grabbing Wynn's broad shoulders. "What are you talking about? Where is this all coming from?"

Wynn looked up at Alfie, his brow furrowed as usual.

"I mean… lying to my dad about hanging out with you. You deserve better than that, y'know?"

"What do you mean?" Alfie said with a frown.

Wynn sighed.

"You deserve a friend who's not such a fuckin' coward," he said heavily. "I feel like I’m always… sneaking off to hang out with you, and I'm sure it's making you feel like shit, like I don't wanna be seen with you, or that I don't care about you, and I just hate that—"

"Wynn, stop," Alfie cut in. Alfie's heart was nearly bursting, and he fought back a smile. He was supposed to be comforting Wynn, not jumping around cheering that Wynn cared so much about what—and who—Alfie deserved. "I don't think you think that. And I don't feel like that. Obviously I love spending time with you—but I know it's complicated. You don't have to act like it isn't."

Wynn's worries seemed mollified, and he gave Alfie a small smile.

"It really is complicated, isn't it?" he said, and Alfie nodded.

"It's not always going to be like this," Alfie said fiercely. "I promise."

Wynn raised an eyebrow.

"You think?" he said, and Alfie hated how sad, how resigned, he sounded.

They were only eighteen—Wynn was too young to sound so hopeless.

"I know," Alfie insisted. He drew a deep breath, and it was only the fact that he was still gripping Wynn's shoulders that kept his hands from shaking. "After graduation. We'll get out of here. Go somewhere different. Where the people don't… suck so much."

"Argentina?" Wynn said. "Finally get a pigeon farm?"

"Well, I was thinking California again, but, hell, Wynn, if you want Argentina—wherever you want."

Wynn laugh's was sad and heavy.

"That sounds really good, Alfie," he said softly. He shifted, pulling away and lying back on the bed. He closed his eyes. Alfie watched the gentle rise and fall of Wynn's chest, and he longed to lay his head there and listen to Wynn's heartbeat.

"We could though, you know," Alfie said. "Leave, I mean."

Wynn opened one eye and let out a helpless little laugh.

"God, I wish."

Alfie decided right then that he hated being in love. It was too exhausting, he thought, to have his heart constantly pulled in a hundred different directions.

Maybe Wynn wasn't ready, Alfie thought. Alfie's own sexuality had been so obvious to him, so concrete and banal, from such a young age that Alfie had never even had to come out to himself. But it was different for Wynn, he knew, who had never been very good at introspection and had grown up in a home where being a homosexual was on par with being a cannibal.

Alfie knew he had to be patient.

They sat in silence for a moment, Wynn's eyes still shut, and Alfie simply watched him breathe, traced his eyes across where Wynn's dark hair fell across his forehead, along the lines of Wynn's hands, currently folded on his chest.

After a while, Wynn sat up.

"I asked Rebecca to the dance," he said.

Alfie tensed, his chest turning to ice.

"And?" he said casually, looking away.

"She said yeah," Wynn said.

"Oh."

Wynn said nothing.

"You… don't seem very happy," Alfie said, sounding a little more hopeful than he meant to.

"I am," Wynn said quickly, his head popping up. "I mean, it's exactly what I wanted. And Rebecca's super nice and is, like… hot or whatever."

Alfie raised an eyebrow.

"Stop giving me that look," Wynn said.

"Stop lying to me then," Alfie said with a grin, unable to resist, and Wynn reached over, punching him in the shoulder.

"Oh, kiss my ass, Alder," Wynn said, but he smiled, too. "I guess I'm just nervous, you know?"

"Why are you nervous?" Alfie said. "You're friends with Rebecca. You know you're going to have a good time."

Wynn looked unconvinced, and Alfie had to turn away and busy himself with winding up the cords of his headphone, because he didn't trust his face not to reveal the dozens of emotions currently zooming at top speed through his brain.

Alfie felt as though some ugly little goblin had been lurking in his mind for months now, and it was turning Alfie into a masochist, apparently. Thinking about Rebecca and Wynn together made Alfie sick—he'd gone home and punched a pillow until it had come apart after that conversation in the art room.

And yet—the little goblin wouldn’t stop poking and prodding at the wound, insisting that Alfie bring Rebecca up around Wynn whenever he could, and so Alfie found himself, again and again, picking himself raw and making himself miserable.

But there was another part in Alfie which knew that, as idiotic and cosmically unfair as it was, if Wynn went to the dance with a girl, especially with one his father approved of, it would go a long way towards making Wynn's life easier.

Alfie had gone through his whole life with a target on his back—he didn't want that kind of pain for Wynn, too.

When he glanced back, Wynn was still sitting there looking miserable.

"You don't have to go, you know," Alfie said softly, and Wynn's dark eyes met his.

"Yeah I do," Wynn said, his voice sadly.

There was no point in denying this, it seemed. This was their world, where two boys weren't allowed to be in love.

All the more reason to leave, sooner rather than later.

Wynn heaved a sigh and hunched over, burying his face in his hands.

"What?" Alfie said gently, putting his hand on Wynn's back and rubbing slow, comforting circles.

"I feel like there's something wrong with me," Wynn said. "This stuff seems so easy for other people and… I feel like my wiring is all wrong, or something."

He trailed off.

"What kind of stuff?" Alfie asked after a moment.

"Girls and dating and all that," Wynn said. "When I hear the guys on the team talk about girls, it's like they're talking in a whole other language or something. Or like girls are some foreign country and I never got a passport."

Alfie grew very, very still, his hand still resting on Wynn's shoulder blade, hope thrumming in every cell of his body.

Say it, Wynn, he thought. You can tell me. You can trust me.

Not that he'd ever been able to say the words out loud either.

"Rebecca was so happy when I asked her," Wynn said, picking his head up. He braced his elbows against his knees, gazing glassy-eyed at the Talking Heads poster tacked up above Alfie's dresser, a present from Alfie's mom on his fourteenth birthday. "She started talking about how she'd been hoping for weeks that I'd ask her, and then she got all embarrassed for telling me that, and it was kinda cute, I guess, but—like, how did I not pick up on that sooner?"

"I mean, you're not exactly the most observant with this kind of stuff," Alfie said.

"You mean girls?" Wynn asked, glancing over at Alfie.

"No," Alfie said. "Picking up on when someone likes you."

Wynn stared blankly at Alfie.

"Oh," he said. "Really?"

Alfie wanted to bury his face in his pillow and scream.

But, instead, he scooted away from Wynn, needing to place any kind of distance between them to keep himself from falling to pieces.

"Well, whatever," Alfie said, his voice flat. "You asked her, she said yes, and so you're good to go."

"I'm not though," Wynn said, the furrow in his brow deepening. "What if she wants to… like, kiss or something?"

Alfie's fist clenched in his comforter.

"Then kiss her," he said.

"I don't know how," Wynn burst out, looking, for some reason, as distraught as Alfie felt.

"Wynn, calm down," Alfie said. His heart felt raw, like it was trapped in brambles—the more he tried to free himself, the deeper the thorns sank. "Take a deep breath. You're getting too caught up in your head. It's just kissing, not rocket science."

"What do you know?" Wynn said, a little hysterically, and Alfie realized Wynn really was panicking about this. "Who have you kissed?"

Alfie rolled his eyes.

"Fuck off," he muttered. "I don't kiss and tell."

Of course, Alfie didn't kiss at all, but that was beside the point.

"Bullshit," Wynn said, the ghost of a smile reappearing, and Alfie flipped him off.

"I kissed your mother, asshole," Alfie said. "Really gave it to her last night."

"Gross," Wynn said, laughing as he swatted Alfie across the back of the head. He still looked a little skeptical as to whether or not he believed Alfie was really the authority on kissing, but he clearly decided to let it go.

"But really, kissing isn't hard," Alfie said, as if he knew what the hell he was talking about. "Just reach over and stick your mouth on hers and go from there."

Wynn raised an eyebrow.

"That doesn't sound very appealing," Wynn said, but he seemed slightly calmer now. He ran his hand through his hair. "I think it's the whole first thing, you know? Because she dated Joe Mitchell, and they were super serious, and so she probably has way more kissing experience—"

Alfie snorted.

It was getting harder and harder for Alfie to remain kind. He felt like he could barely keep his head above water—every few moments, another wave of want would crash over him again, and with it, pain. He'd truly thought Wynn had been on the brink of telling Alfie something important, something that would change the course of their whole lives—

But instead, here they were, talking about Rebecca fucking Benson's dating history.

"Well, if you're that concerned about fucking things up with Rebecca," Alfie said, examining his cuticles, "just find someone else and kiss them. Judy Tedeschi will kiss just about anyone. There. First kiss over and done with. No more stress."

Wynn made an exasperated noise, clearly not picking up on the sarcasm dripping from Alfie's voice.

"Uh, yeah, because I'm sure Judy will really appreciate me asking me if I can just use her for practice. That's really respectful."

Alfie didn’t think practice-kissing Wynn sounded like a bad way to spend an evening at all.

"Well, what do you want me to do about it, Wynn?" Alfie snapped, running out of patience. His heart ached—this was supposed to be a night for just the two of them, for their friendship and for each other.

But here he was instead, listening Wynn talk about a girl he liked. If Alfie never heard the name Rebecca Benson again in his life, it would be too soon.

Wynn's face fell.

"Did I do something?" he asked, hurt. "Do you not wanna talk about this?"

Alfie sighed.

"You didn't do anything, Wynn," he said, looking away. He could feel Wynn's eyes roving over his face, and he squirmed uncomfortably. "What? Why are you staring at me?"

"Oh my god," Wynn said, his eyes going wide. "Alfie, I'm so sorry. I've been so stupid. I just realized—"

Wynn stopped abruptly, and Alfie's stomach dropped.

"Realized what?" he said slowly.

Time oozed along, and Alfie felt like he was freefalling.

At last, he thought. At last, they were going to talk about it, and then Wynn would know how Alfie felt, what he was—and Alfie would know Wynn knew, and Wynn would knew Alfie knew Wynn knew, and so on and so forth—

Alfie wanted to burst into song and throw up all at once.

"Are you… mad?" Wynn said. "That I'm going on a date and you're not? I'm sorry, I was being really insensitive, I didn't even think about the fact that—"

"God, Wynn, stop," Alfie moaned, slapping his hand to his forehead. Wynn was going to kill him, he was sure—there was no way he could survive loving someone so sweet, and yet so goddamn oblivious. "That's not—I'm not—I don't give a shit, okay? There is literally nothing I'd rather do less than take some girl to the dance, don't you get that?"

Alfie leaned his head back against the wall, exhausted.

"I don't know what you want me to say," Alfie said. "Or do. I don't have any advice for you. Why don't you just talk to one of your football buddies or something? They sleep around plenty, I’m sure they could give you some good pointers."

Alfie was being cruel again, and even though the words had felt good on the way out, he hated the way Wynn curled in on himself as if he'd been slapped. He had done that, had been the one to make Wynn hurt, but Alfie was hurting, too, and he didn't know how to stop himself.

"I can't talk about this stuff with them," Wynn said after a moment, his voice quiet. "I can't talk with them about anything important." He heaved a heavy sigh. "God, Alfie, you know, sometimes I'm so damn jealous of you."

Alfie barked out a harsh laugh.

"I'm sorry, what?" he said.

"Seriously," Wynn said, his brow knit. "You don't give a shit what people think. I feel like I spend my whole life trying to make people happy and it barely even works, but you—you don't do that. You're just… you. Completely yourself. And I really admire that, y'know?"

Wynn trailed off, rubbing at the back of his neck uncomfortably.

Alfie sat there, dumbfounded.

Wynn, jealous of him? Wynn, who was handsome and sweet and popular and athletic, who had money and a nice house and friends?

"I don't know any other way to be," Alfie said. "That's what happens when you spend your whole life as the town pariah. You stop waiting around for other people to like you."

Alfie had meant to say it jokingly, but it came out as a simple statement, and Wynn's frown deepened.

"What?" Alfie asked, and Wynn hesitated a moment before responding.

"It just… makes me so sad," Wynn said. "To hear you say that. Because… I dunno. I just wish… people knew you like I did. Because you're so great, you know? You're funny, and you're freakishly talented, and you're probably the smartest person I know, like how you always figure out the twists in movies early, and—"

"Stop, stop, stop," Alfie said, knowing his face was reddening. He covered his face with one hand and used the other to flip Wynn off.

"No, you need to hear this—" Wynn said, shifting so he was facing Alfie directly. "You're fucking amazing. And eventually, you're gonna get out of here and find some place where people see that."

"Yeah, but you're coming with me, right?" Alfie said, forcing a smile, as if he were joking at all.

Wynn gave him another sad smile.

"We'll see if I even make past the homecoming dance without dying of some stress-induced heart attack," he said. "Cause of death, one first date."

It wasn't a no, but it wasn't a yes.

Alfie wanted to lay down and sleep forever.

"Just kiss me, then," Alfie blurted out. "For practice. That way, when you go out with Rebecca, you'll know you've done it before, and it'll be easy."

Alfie's stomach lurched.

What the fuck have I just done?

He braced himself, watching Wynn's eyes widen suddenly.

Oh god.

Oh god.

Oh my fucking god—

"Really?" Wynn said. He cocked his head. "You'd do that for me?"

Alfie nearly fainted. Wynn wasn't horrified.

Hell, Wynn seemed interested.

Wynn thought Alfie was doing him a favor.

"Whatever," Alfie managed to choke out, pretending to examine a scratch on his arm. "It's not that big a deal."

It was a very big deal.

"You're sure it's okay?" Wynn asked, and Alfie couldn’t quite manage to meet Wynn's eye, looking instead at the pale spray of freckles across Wynn's high cheekbones.

"It's not like it matters," Alfie said, hoping in vain that his face wasn't turning bright red. "It's not even really a first kiss if you're practicing on a friend."

He sat up, his breath shallow in his chest, his throat tight. This was absurd, really—more like something Alfie might jerk off to than anything that would actually happen.

Wynn leaned over, as easily as if he'd done it a million times, and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to Alfie's lips. He pulled back quickly, smiling broadly like he'd just done some cool skateboard trick.

This boy is gonna be the death of me, Alfie thought vaguely, his hand floating up to touch his lips. Wynn's lips had been warm and dry against his, gone almost before Alfie even knew he was there.

"That wasn't so bad," Wynn said, grinning, tracing his own thumb over his lips.

"Y-yeah," Alfie said, nodding, utterly dumbstruck.

Alfie had just kissed a boy. And that boy had been Wynn.

He didn't try to pinch himself—if this was a dream, he didn't want to wake up.

Wynn was looking at Alfie expectantly, like an actor waiting for his cue.

"Can I… Can I try it again?" Wynn asked, a little shy. "I mean, if that's okay."

"Yes," Alfie said, too quickly. "Er—I mean, yeah. If it… if it helps."

"Okay," Wynn said, his smile still brilliant, as though pecking Alfie on the lips had been the greatest gift he'd ever received.

He leaned in once more, and this time, when he kissed Alfie, he didn't pull away immediately. Alfie's pulse was jackhammering in his ears, and he couldn't even tell if he were breathing anymore. All he knew was that Wynn was kissing him, and every cell in his body was trembling with desire and disbelief.

Wynn's eyes were closed, but Alfie couldn't bring himself to shut his own—he needed the confirmation that this was Wynn, this was real. It felt like, if he couldn’t see Wynn, Alfie would go spiraling off into the sky, cast adrift out beyond some forsaken meteor belt.

Wynn broke the kiss once more, still grinning crookedly. He bit his lip, shy once more.

"It was… okay, right? I’m not, like, the world's worst kisser?"

"It was good," Alfie said, his voice a little strangled. He swallowed hard, wondering if Wynn noticed how flushed and out of breath he was. "I mean, not award-winning yet, but—"

"Hey," Wynn said, making a face. "Fuck you. I bet I'm brilliant."

Alfie laughed.

"Just two seconds ago, you were freaked out that you'd be terrible."

"Well, that was before I realized that it's actually pretty fun," Wynn said.

Alfie's heart skipped a beat.

"You're welcome to keep going, if you want," Alfie said, suddenly deeply interested in tugging at a frayed thread on his comforter.

"You swear you don't mind?" Wynn asked. "It's not, um, weird for you?"

"Is it weird for you?" Alfie asked, meeting Wynn's eyes, and Wynn looked surprised.

"Of course not," Wynn said. "Why would it be weird?"

"Hang on a second," Alfie said. "I'll be right back."

He stood up and, jelly-legged, went out into the hallway, shutting his bedroom door behind him. He staggered into the kitchen and dropped heavily into a chair at the table, putting his head in his hands. His heart was slamming against his ribcage, and he couldn’t quite seem to get enough air in his lungs.

He wanted to laugh and scream and cry and rage. He wanted to be a million miles from here. He wanted to be nowhere else but in his bedroom with Wynn.

Alfie had always been able to read Wynn like a book, but suddenly he'd come to a chapter that was pure hieroglyphics, indecipherable and impenetrable to him. He'd always assumed that, deep down at least, Wynn knew what Alfie was.

After all, it was fairly obvious by now. And, with half their classmates making jokes about it on any given school day, Alfie didn't know how Wynn couldn't realize that Alfie was gay.

Couldn't realize that Alfie was in love with him.

But, then again, this was Wynn, who, for as smart and kind and thoughtful as he was, also still truly believed there was a way to win his dad's approval. Trusted that the kids at their school would like Alfie if they only got to know him. Hadn't noticed Rebecca Benson staring at him moon-eyed for half the semester.

Alfie couldn't take this anymore. He couldn't begin to try to suss out what was going on beyond Wynn's dark eyes. It hurt too much.

A tube of his mother's strawberry lip balm was sitting on the kitchen table, so Alfie smeared some on his ever-chapped lips and went back into his room.

Wynn was sitting on Alfie's bed, looking at the door expectantly, like a dog waiting for its owner to return home from work.

"You okay?" Wynn asked.

"Yeah," Alfie said, shutting the door behind him. "Just, uh, had to grab something."

He sat back down on the bed beside Wynn, not quite brave enough to turn towards him.

Wynn said nothing.

Alfie said nothing.

Alfie wondered how much of this longing a human heart was designed to take. He would have given anything for this pain, this knife's edge of longing, to disappear, but he wouldn't have traded them for the world, either.

"Do you wanna keep going?" Wynn asked.

Alfie made himself shrug.

"Sure," he said. "Don't have anything better to do."

"Okay," Wynn said, and this time, he brought his hand to Alfie's face, cupping his cheek and drawing Alfie towards him. Alfie stopped himself from sighing at the last possible second, leaning into Wynn and offering himself up to his friend.

Wynn's tongue flicked out across Alfie's lower lip, and Alfie damn near fainted.

"You taste good," Wynn said, a little breathlessly, smiling.

"Strawberry lip balm," Alfie said. "You can pretend like you're kissing a girl."

There was a beat of hesitation before Wynn responded.

"Yeah," he said.

He leaned in again, and this time, Alfie gave up holding himself back, gave up trying to control and retain every moment of what they were doing. Alfie's lips parted, and he couldn't help inhaling softly as Wynn caught Alfie's lower lip between his teeth for the briefest of moments.

Alfie slid his hand around the back of Wynn's neck, feeling the soft downy hairs at the nape—Wynn was due for a haircut, but Alfie liked when Wynn's hair was a little longer, a little less tamed. It made him look softer. Freer. Alfie leaned back slightly, pulling Wynn with him, and as soon as Wynn realized what Alfie was doing, Alfie found himself lying on his back, Wynn on his hands and knees above him, kissing him.

It was heaven, it was heaven, it was heaven—Wynn's lips and tongue hot against his, Wynn's arms braced on the mattress on either side of Alfie's narrow shoulders, enclosing and protecting him, Alfie's fingers stroking Wynn's dark, glossy hair as they kissed.

It was hard not to wonder what Wynn's body would feel like pressed against his, lying on top of him, but Alfie felt strangely patient, an unexpected peace creeping through his blood. He didn't want to take things any faster than this. He wouldn't survive it.

And this—tentative kisses, hesitant touches—was enough.

They kissed and kissed, Wynn still on all fours above Alfie, Alfie trying not to writhe on the bed below him as he came apart. They weren't good at it—their teeth clacked together, their noses kept bumping, and every few moments, one of them would start laughing.

Alfie couldn't remember a time that he'd been happier.

Wynn shifted his weight slightly, bringing a hand to Alfie's waist, and Alfie's whole body lit up at the feeling of Wynn's palm warm against him.

Yes—touch me—do whatever you want to me, Alfie thought desperately.

And then the front door opened—Alfie's mom had just gotten home from work.

"Alfie?" she called. "You home?"

Wynn leapt back like he'd been burned, rolling away from Alfie on the bed and sitting up. His hair was a little wild where Alfie's hand had run through it again and again, his eyes were wide, and his lips were pink and swollen.

He was gorgeous, and he definitely looked like he'd just been making out with someone.

Alfie caught a glance of himself in the mirror on the back of his door as he got up, and he looked similarly wrecked. He smoothed his hair down as he opened the door a crack.

"Hey, Mom," he called. He could hear her bustling around the kitchen.

"Wynn with you?" she asked. "I saw his bike."

"Er—uh, yeah," Alfie said.

"You boys get something to eat? Frozen pizza's still here."

Alfie had no idea what time it was, and he was shocked when he glanced over his shoulder at the clock and saw it was nearly ten.

"We got caught up studying," Alfie said. She started to say something, but he shut the door, leaning his head against the wall and letting out a long, frustrated sigh, feeling desperate and needy and on edge.

He heard a sound and looked over to see Wynn gathering his stuff. His heart dropped.

"Are you leaving?" Alfie said, turning back towards Wynn.

"I gotta," Wynn said apologetically as he straightened up, smoothing out his clothes. "My dad's gonna freak if I'm not home soon."

"Oh," Alfie said. "Right, yeah. It's way later than I thought it was."

"Yeah," Wynn said. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and looked down at the carpet, biting his lip and shifting from one foot to the other. He looked more beautiful than he ever had before, his hair mussed, his face flushed, tall and broad-shouldered and solid. "That was… fun."

He glanced shyly at Alfie, expectant, and Alfie realized with a jolt that Wynn was looking to him for approval.

"Yeah," Alfie said, running his hand through his hair. "That wasn't the worst."

Alfie expected Wynn to laugh and tell him to fuck off, but Wynn looked back down at his shoes.

"It was good," Alfie said, swallowing hard. "You're… gonna make Rebecca real happy."

Wynn looked up, brow furrowed once more, and it was only then that Alfie realized that, for the brief time they'd been kissing, Wynn had actually seemed relaxed for once.

"You think?" he said.

Acid sizzled in Alfie's stomach.

"Sure," he said, his voice going hard. "She shouldn't be too hard to impress." He crossed the room and sat on his bed, turning away from Wynn so he couldn't see the look on Wynn's face, whatever it might be.

"Well, um, thanks again," Wynn said after a moment, sounding uncertain. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See ya," Alfie grunted. He heard the door open and shut, and then the muted sounds of Wynn greeting his mother. Alfie wondered if his mom noticed the state Wynn was in—probably not, Alfie decided.

And if she had noticed, Alfie wondered if she would care.

Parents in Niobrara tended to care about that kind of thing. But Alfie's mother, like Alfie himself, had never been much like the rest of the people in their town.

Alfie pulled out his history textbook, opening to the map again. Again and again and again, he traced down the California coastline, his brain trying and failing to process what had just occurred.

He woke up the next morning and found the entire state of California a soggy, drool-soaked mess beneath his head. He felt no closer to understanding anything at all.