turps

Pete stares at him, the changed contours of William’s face. He’s a man now, not as different from the boy Pete met, and someone Pete sometimes thinks he doesn’t know at all. His face has lost its baby fat, thinned and then filled out. His chin still has the deep cut groove in it, his Kirk Douglas chin or, as Carden always said, his buttface. His eyes are different set above the slash of cheekbones, dark and knowing and not afraid anymore.

“How’d you get here?” Pete whispers. He wants to know the secret. He thinks he’s been waiting a lifetime to figure it out.

William unknots the tie and tugs it, letting slither from beneath the collar of his shirt. He loops it over Pete’s head and against the nape of his neck, pulling him in closer. “You showed me the way.”

“No,” Pete shakes his head, surprised at the emotions rising up in him. Pride and fear and hope warring, pistols at sunrise. “You would have done it without me.”

“Maybe.” William knows that disagreeing will just make Pete more adamant, so he hedges. He was always good at that. “But you made it better. Easier. Doing what we love with friends is a hell of a lot better than doing it on our own.”

Pete swallows and lets William tug him closer. “I’ve always wanted this for you. From the beginning.”

“I know.” William nods and leans in, brushing his lips, feather-light, across Pete’s. “From the beginning. So please stop looking like we won’t want you here until the end.”

“You don’t need me anymore.”

“It’s not about needing you, Pete.” He kisses Pete again, slower, firmer, tongue playing along Pete’s lips like a promise made years ago. “Haven’t you figured that out yet?”