Supermarket - 1. Chapter 1

The summer air in the grocery store always felt synthetic, a canned, frigid breeze that did nothing to cut the oppressive, heavy heat waiting just beyond the automatic sliding doors. Chad Boudreau stood at the end of register four, staring blankly as a conveyor belt of canned beans, generic pasta, and discounted cat food rolled toward him. He felt, as he often did, like a collection of spare parts haphazardly glued together. He was all elbows and knees, a gangling polecat of a teenager who had somehow shot up to six-foot-two without his coordination receiving the memo. His green polyester apron hung off his skinny frame like a tarp over a fence post.

He bagged the groceries with a mechanical rhythm, his mind drifting toward the impending, terrifying horizon of University. It was only weeks away now. The dorms, the independence, the sheer overwhelming expectation of having to forge an entirely new identity away from the safety of this rundown suburb. He was terrified.

"Paper or plastic, Mrs. Gable?" a voice rumbled from the next lane over.

Chad glanced sideways. Jake Ryan was leaning against the edge of his register, looking like he had just stepped out of a gritty, black-and-white indie film, albeit one set in a depressing regional supermarket. Jake was everything Chad wasn’t: solid, broad-shouldered, perpetually glowering beneath a messy mop of dark hair. He was the classic bad boy, the kind of guy who smoked out back by the dumpsters and looked at the world with a permanent, defensive sneer. He had been a terror in high school, a popular bully whose academic record was a disaster zone because, as far as the rumor mill went, his home life was equally disastrous. No one gave a damn about Jake Ryan, so Jake Ryan gave a damn about nothing.

Now, high school was over. The crowds had dispersed, the cliques had dissolved, and Jake was realizing that this was it. He had peaked. He was staring down the barrel of a dead-end job in a grocery store for the rest of his life, resigning himself to a fate of mopping aisles and listening to royalty-free pop music.

Yet, for some reason, the older women who frequented the store adored him.

"Oh, plastic is fine, Jacob," Mrs. Gable cooed, adjusting her thick-rimmed glasses and giving Jake a look that was entirely inappropriate for a woman who remembered when Thatcher was in power. "Though I wouldn't mind if you carried them to the car for me. You've got such strong arms."

Jake didn't blink, didn't blush, didn't even crack a smile. He just took the lusty joke with a slow, brooding nod, packing her items with effortless efficiency. "Sure thing, Mrs. Gable."

Chad watched them go, feeling a strange twist in his stomach. It was weird, this proximity. For years, Jake had been a source of terror, a guy who shoved Chad into lockers and mocked his lanky frame. But the grocery store was a great equalizer. When you’re both making minimum wage scraping crushed grapes off the linoleum, the social hierarchy of high school evaporates. They had become friends simply because there was no one else left. All their classmates had scattered to summer trips or better jobs, leaving them behind in the purgatory of shared, agonizingly slow evening shifts.

Hours later, the store finally closed. The neon lights buzzed overhead as they pushed the long, clattering line of metal carts across the cracked asphalt of the parking lot. The night air was thick, suffocatingly hot, smelling of hot tar and the faint, sweet decay from the dumpsters out back. Chad struggled, his sneakers slipping against the pavement as he tried to steer the unwieldy metal snake of carts. Jake, meanwhile, made it look entirely effortless, his muscles flexing under his t-shirt as he guided the front of the line into the corral.

"You're overthinking it, Boudreau," Jake called out over his shoulder, his voice raspy. "Stop fighting the wheels. Just push."

"Easy for you to say," Chad panted, finally locking the last cart into place. "You're built like a tank. I'm built like a wet noodle."

Jake snorted, pulling a battered pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He tapped one out, cupping his hand against a non-existent breeze to light it. The flare of the lighter illuminated his sharp jawline and the dark, exhausted circles under his eyes. He exhaled a plume of gray smoke into the muggy air, gesturing with the cigarette toward the curb behind the store. "Come on. We're waiting on your mom, right?"

"Yeah," Chad sighed, checking his phone. It was past eleven. "She said she'd be here in twenty."

They sat on the curb by the dumpsters, a spot that had become their unofficial sanctuary. It was a terrible neighborhood, all flickering streetlamps and distant sirens, but Jake always stayed. He claimed it was just practical. You're the type to get your ass mugged if someone doesn't keep an eye on you, Jake had told him a few weeks ago, blowing smoke into the night. It was an excuse, obviously, but Chad couldn't deny that he liked it. He liked that this guy—the same guy who used to terrorize him—was now fiercely, quietly protective of him.

They sat in silence for a while, watching a stray cat dart across the empty lot.

"So, what's the real deal, Chad?" Jake asked suddenly, breaking the quiet. He took another drag, his dark eyes sliding over to study Chad's profile. "Name like Chad, looks like yours... why no girl swinging off your dick?"

Chad felt his ears burn, immediately looking down at his scuffed sneakers. He instinctively deflected, leaning into the self-deprecating humor that was his primary defense mechanism. "Are you kidding? Look at me. I'm a walking stick insect. I trip over flat surfaces. Girls don't exactly line up for a guy who looks like he's going to blow away in a stiff breeze."

Jake called bullshit instantly. He leaned over, his hand shooting out to grab Chad's chin. His fingers were rough, calloused from the manual labor, and surprisingly warm. He turned Chad's face toward him, taking a closer, scrutinizing look under the sickly orange glow of the streetlamp. Chad’s breath hitched in his throat, his heart doing a sudden, erratic stutter against his ribs as Jake’s dark eyes flicked over his features.

After a long, agonizing moment, Jake let go and shrugged, leaning back. "Girls are fucking dumb."

Chad blinked, his skin still tingling where Jake had touched him. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady. "What about you? You were like... the king of the school. You could have anyone. Why are you always sitting out here with me?"

Jake scoffed, staring out at the empty lot. "Girls are just after status and bullshit. There's nothing real there. I learned that the hard way." He took a deep, bitter drag of his cigarette. "Like, okay, you tell a dude your problems, right? And it's humor, jokes, and support if they're your friend. You can be messed up and they just roll with it. But you tell a girl? They hold it. They keep it like a weapon, and then they use it the exact moment your back is turned. Soon as they figure out you're not the perfect, unbroken badass they wanted, they're out. Fuck chicks. They're awful."

Chad frowned, recognizing the deep, unresolved pain beneath the bravado. He knew, loosely, that Jake had tried dating a couple of the popular girls in sophomore year, but it always ended in explosive, messy rumors. He didn't push it. Instead, they just sat there, letting the silence bridge the gap between them.

When Chad’s mom finally pulled up, her headlights cutting through the dark, Chad stood up and brushed the dirt off his jeans. He looked back at Jake, who was already standing, tossing his cigarette butt onto the asphalt and crushing it beneath his boot.

"See you tomorrow, man," Chad said softly.

"Yeah. See ya, Boudreau," Jake muttered, turning and beginning the short, bleak walk toward the run-down apartment building nestled directly behind the strip mall. Chad watched him go until he disappeared into the shadows, a small, undeniable connection taking root in his chest.

Two nights later, the routine shattered.

The heat wave had broken into a torrential, miserable summer downpour. They were huddled under the minimal awning at the back of the store, the rain hammering against the corrugated metal roof like a drum machine. Chad was furiously texting his mother, his anxiety spiking as the little three-dot bubble appeared and disappeared. Finally, his phone buzzed with a call.

"Mom? Where are you?"

"Chad, honey, I am so sorry," her voice crackled over the terrible connection. "The truck's alternator completely died on the interstate. I'm waiting for a tow. There's no way I can get you tonight. Can you get a cab?"

Chad looked at his wallet. He had four dollars and a crumpled receipt. "Uh, no. It's fine, Mom. I'll just... I'll walk."

"In this rain? It's over three miles!"

"I'll figure it out, just stay safe with the tow," Chad said, hanging up before she could protest further. He shoved his phone into his pocket and stared out at the sheets of rain. He was going to be soaked to the bone before he even made it out of the parking lot.

"Truck?" Jake asked, lighting a cigarette and keeping it shielded from the damp wind.

"Dead alternator," Chad sighed, rubbing his temples. "I'm walking."

Jake frowned, looking out at the deluge. The streets between the grocery store and Chad's house were barely lit, and half the sidewalks were currently masquerading as rivers. "You're not walking in that. You'll catch pneumonia or get jumped, or both. Just crash at my place."

Chad turned to him in surprise. "Your place? Seriously?"

"It's nothing, come on," Jake said, already stepping out into the rain and gesturing for Chad to follow. "It's right behind the store. Beats drowning."

They made a mad dash across the flooded alleyway, dodging massive puddles until they reached the brutalist concrete block of Jake's apartment building. The hallway smelled distinctly of boiled cabbage and stale weed, the fluorescent lights flickering like a strobe. Jake led him up two flights of concrete stairs in silence, his shoulders hunched, clearly embarrassed.

When Jake finally unlocked the door and pushed it open, Chad stepped inside and froze.

He had expected a depressing, empty bad-boy bedsit. Jake had mentioned living alone since he was fifteen, kicked out of a toxic home situation. It had been this or a group home in another town, and Jake had chosen the independence of poverty. Chad had braced himself for a mattress on the floor, a few beer bottles, and overwhelming bleakness.

Instead, he walked into a meticulously curated, unapologetically geeky sanctuary.

The single-room apartment was small, sure, with a tiny kitchenette in the corner and a pallet bed pushed against the far wall. But every available surface, every inch of wall space, was dominated by an explosion of pop culture. There were graphic novels stacked in neat, protective sleeves. There were vintage comic book posters framed on the walls. And the figures—good lord, the figures.

Chad stood there, dripping rainwater onto the cheap linoleum, staring at a massive, seven-foot-long plastic structure dominating a low table in the center of the room.

"Dude..." Chad breathed out, entirely forgetting that he was soaking wet. "Is that... is that the G.I. Joe U.S.S. Flagg aircraft carrier?"

Jake flushed a deep, agonizing crimson. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, looking anywhere but at Chad. "I... have a problem."

"A problem?" Chad dragged his eyes away from the aircraft carrier and stared at the opposite wall, which was lined floor-to-ceiling with Funko Pops, all still pristine in their blister packs. There had to be hundreds of them. "That's not a problem, that's an addiction. Like, you literally can't see out of your window there's so many."

Jake sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. The tough-guy veneer was completely shattered, leaving behind a vulnerable, defensive kid. "I was never able to have them when I was a kid. Never had money, never had a room to myself that wasn't getting trashed. And I don't go out anywhere now. So... I spend my paycheck on things that make me happy. It’s stupid."

Chad turned to him, a massive, genuine grin breaking across his face. The realization that Jake Ryan—the terror of the locker rooms, the brooding heartthrob of the grocery store—was actually a massive closet dork hit him like a physical blow. It was the most endearing thing he had ever seen.

"Dude," Chad said, stepping further into the room, "this isn't a problem. This is fucking heaven. I wanted that aircraft carrier so badly when I was eight, I cried on Christmas morning when I got socks instead."

Jake blinked, the defensive tension slowly draining out of his shoulders. "Really?"

"Are you kidding? It has an elevator! A working elevator!" Chad practically vibrated with excitement. "This is the coolest room I've ever been in."

Jake let out a short, breathy laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a rare, genuine smile. "Okay, nerd. Don't touch it. You're wet. Go grab a towel from the bathroom, it’s the door on the left."

Half an hour later, they were sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by comic book boxes, splitting the single warm beer Jake had managed to scrounge from his tiny fridge. They were both in dry clothes—Chad having borrowed an oversized grey t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts. The rain battered against the singular window, but inside, the room felt incredibly warm and safe.

Chad took a sip of the terrible beer, making a face. "So, let me get this straight. You have a reading disability, which the school completely ignored, but you own hundreds of graphic novels?"

"The letters jump around on normal pages," Jake explained, tracing the rim of the beer can. "Dyslexia. Nobody gave a shit to diagnose it. I just thought I was stupid. But comics... comics have pictures. The dialogue is in bubbles, all caps, separated out. I can read them. They make sense. They're the only thing that made sense." He looked up, his expression turning serious. "You can't tell anyone about this place, Chad. Seriously."

"I won't," Chad promised, his voice soft. He looked around the room, the reality of Jake's lonely life settling over him. "But... why were you such a dick to me? If you're secretly this giant geek, why did you pick on me so much?"

Jake flinched slightly. He looked down at his hands, his thumbs pressing hard into the aluminum of the can. "I... I don't know."

"Bullshit," Chad pushed lightly, his curiosity overriding his caution. "You made my life hell in middle school. You used to call me a fag, and kick my ass in the washrooms."

"I was fucking dumb," Jake replied, his voice barely a whisper. He didn't look up. "And it wasn't you being a fag that was the problem. I was scared I was."

The room went dead silent, save for the rain. Chad stopped breathing for a second, the words echoing in his ears. He stared at the top of Jake's head, his mind racing to process the confession.

"What?" Chad croaked.

"Yeah, surprised?" Jake laughed bitterly, finally looking up. His eyes were bright, defensive, and deeply terrified. "I'm a fucking cliché, Chad. The dick bully who secretly wanted dick. I'm every afterschool special, or Young Adult novel wrapped in shit and tossed in the trash."

"You're not trash," Chad said instantly, the words out of his mouth before he could think about them.

"You're supposed to say that," Jake sneered, though there was no real venom in it. "You're the boy-next-door, all-around good guy. You have to forgive me. Fuck, one day I'm gonna get you naked, covered in sweat, and see you come undone..."

Chad dropped the beer can. It clattered against the floor, spilling a small puddle of foam, but neither of them looked at it. Chad was paralyzed, his brain short-circuiting. "You... you want to have sex with me?"

Jake let his head fall back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling like he was asking God for a swift exit. "I've wanted to do you since seventh grade. Why did you think I picked on you so much? I suck with words, and feelings, and shit. My house was a warzone, and I couldn't talk to you. I didn't know how. So beating you up was... well... me showing you how I felt. Because physical contact was the only thing I understood."

Chad was reeling. Memories flooded back. The shoving in the hallways, the intense glares across the cafeteria. "You punched me!" Chad accused, his voice rising in disbelief. "Like, one second you were all cool in art class, standing next to me at the sinks, and the next I've got a broken nose sitting in the nurse's office, and you've been suspended. What the fuck was that about?"

Jake rubbed his face aggressively with both hands, groaning in embarrassment. "You think you were the only one going through shit? I was fucking scared, Chad! It was... it was literally punch you or kiss you. You were standing there, smelling like clay and cheap body wash, and you smiled at me, and I freaked the fuck out. I'm sorry, okay? But... fuck... I was twelve and confused, and I chose the wrong thing to do."

Jake looked over, his eyes wide and vulnerable. "If I could, I'd go back and actually kiss you... right there, in art class... it'd have been pretty funny to watch Mr. Harrison pitch a fit, and all the other kids' jaws hitting the floor. Fuck, I was dumb."

Chad stared at him. The sheer absurdity of the image—tough-guy Jake Ryan dramatically kissing gangly Chad Boudreau over a sink full of muddy clay while their art teacher screamed—broke the tension perfectly. A laugh bubbled up in Chad's chest, escaping as a loud, incredulous snort.

"That's all kinds of fucked up," Chad said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Jake agreed, a relieved half-smile pulling at his lips. "I used to hate-fuck my hand pretending it was you."

Chad blinked, his eyes going wide again. "You jerked off over me?"

Jake shrugged, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "Yeah. I mean, I thought about other guys, but it was mostly you. I dunno, you're really tall, and you've got a giant dick... I used to sneak peaks in Gym."

"You peaked at me?" Chad practically squawked. "I used to peak at you!"

Jake barked out a laugh, genuine and bright. "You mean if I'd just had the balls to ask, we'd have been boning all through high school?"

"Well, maybe," Chad said, feeling his own face heat up.

"Wait, you're serious," Jake said, his laughter dying down as he leaned forward, searching Chad's face. He looked incredulous. "You actually like me?"

"Dude, yeah!" Chad gestured wildly up and down Jake's seated form. "You're the hottest guy in school! I mean... you were a massive jerk, but honestly? That turned me on a little too. Shit. This is kind of funny."

"Yeah, we were fucking dumb," Jake murmured, the space between them suddenly feeling very small, and very charged.

"Still fucking dumb," Chad pointed out, his voice dropping an octave.

"Why?"

"Cause we still have our clothes on."

Jake swallowed hard, his eyes dropping briefly to Chad's lips before darting away. He pulled his knees up to his chest, suddenly looking very small. "You don't want to sleep with me now, Chad. We get into this, you're leaving for Uni in a few weeks. I'm stuck here in this shithole. We start something... we're never going to finish it. You'll move on, and after you leave the grocery store, that's it."

"Dude, my Uni is right there," Chad argued, pointing vaguely toward the wall. "It's like five hundred meters from your place. You're closer than my mom's place is to it. It's not like we're never going to see each other."

"What if I want to see you?" Jake asked, his voice raw. "Like... for real?"

"Hell yeah," Chad said, leaning in closer. "I mean, think about it. A crash pad right next to Uni, the hottest guy in the world waiting for me? I'd save a fortune not living in the dorms. It's practical. And kind of a great idea."

Jake stared at him, bewildered. "You'd want to stay here?"

"Why not? Bit of paint, maybe move some of the Funko Pops to make room for my textbooks. I've got a proper bed we could bring in. Plus, you once told me you can cook. Fuck yeah."

"Aren't we supposed to date or something first?" Jake asked, his head spinning at the sudden jump into domesticity.

"Fuck, Jake, you said it yourself. We've practically been dating since we were twelve. Just without the good bits. So, you know, we've got stuff to catch up on."

Jake searched Chad's eyes for any sign of a joke, any sign of pity. "Seriously? Like, seriously seriously?"

"I mean, you do masturbate over me," Chad teased, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Fuck off, Chad," Jake groaned, shoving Chad's shoulder lightly. "I only told you that to make you feel better."

"Wanna, maybe, try me out?" Chad challenged softly. "See if I'm as good as your fantasy?"

"That's the cheesiest pickup line. You're so dumb."

"I mean, I have seen you naked already, and you have abs... and I'm very shallow."

Jake let out a breathless laugh, looking up at Chad's towering, lanky frame. "I'm going to need a step ladder to fucking kiss you."

"Wise investment," Chad nodded sagely. "Plus, we can use it to hang my posters on the wall."

"You're already moved in in your head, haven't you?" Jake asked in disbelief.

"I want a potted plant over there," Chad pointed to an empty corner near the window. "And we share laundry. I am really good at the fluff and fold."

"You are such a dork."

"So that's a yes? We're going to try this?"

Jake sighed, a long, yielding sound that seemed to carry years of exhaustion out of his lungs. He surrendered. "Just don't steal all the blankets. And if you fucking snore, I'm kicking you out and dating your brother."

"My brother's an asshole with the IQ of a pencil," Chad scoffed.

Jake nodded seriously. "Yeah, he's the worst. No... I'll stick to the hot brother."

"You know it!"

The tension broke, replaced by a giddy, nervous energy. The reality of the situation—that they were actually going to do this, that they were going to share that tiny pallet bed—suddenly loomed large in the room.

Jake stood up abruptly, clearing his throat. "Right. Well. Bedtime. Let's... get ready."

He turned his back, pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it onto a chair. Chad stood up as well, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He shed his borrowed shirt and unbuttoned his shorts, letting them drop to the floor.

Jake turned around to grab his sweatpants, dropping his own trousers in the process, and Chad completely forgot how to breathe. He gaped.

"That's aggressively yellow." Chad nodded toward the bright, neon-yellow smiley face boxer shorts hugging Jake's hips. It was the most ridiculous, un-badass piece of clothing he had ever seen.

Jake froze, looking down at himself, then glared at Chad, his face burning. "Well, I wasn't expecting to get undressed with you tonight, or I'd have dug out the good underwear!"

"I'm not complaining," Chad laughed, feeling suddenly very brave. "But it makes my Fruit of the Looms kinda boring. Yay, white Y-fronts. See?" He gestured to his own tragically sensible, painfully plain white briefs.

Jake's jaw hit the floor. His eyes dropped down to Chad's waist, tracking the lines of Chad's lean hips, down the long expanse of his legs, and settling firmly on the front of those sensible white briefs.

"W-wow," Jake breathed out, his tough exterior entirely dissolving into blatant, hungry awe.

"What?" Chad turned around, trying to look over his shoulder to see what Jake was staring at. "They're nothing special... just my flat butt and..."

He turned back around, bewildered by Jake's stunned expression, and blinked as he looked back down at Jake's waist. The aggressively distended yellow smiley face on Jake's boxers had suddenly, quite noticeably, grown a nose.

Chad stared at it for a full two seconds before a massive, delighted grin broke across his face. "Okay, that's fucking funny."

Jake swallowed hard, closing his eyes in sheer mortification. He grabbed his sweatpants and hurled them over his shoulder, abandoning all dignity. "Just get in the bed, dumbass, and stop making fun of me."

Chad laughed, a bright, happy sound, and padded over to the pallet bed in the corner. He pulled back the blanket and stopped dead in his tracks.

"You're a total geek," Chad smirked, looking down at the vintage, brightly colored Spider-Man bedspread.

Jake crawled onto the mattress, refusing to make eye contact as he pulled the covers up. "Shut up. I just like Spider-Man, and I don't date or bring people back... so... fuck off!"

Chad climbed in beside him, the springs of the cheap mattress groaning under his weight. He propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at Jake. The proximity was intoxicating. He could smell Jake's soap, mixed with the lingering scent of tobacco and something uniquely Jake.

"Please tell me you have a spandex suit hidden somewhere," Chad whispered, completely incapable of stopping himself. "And that you're going to put it on... please."

"It isn't funny," Jake mumbled, his face buried halfway in the pillow. "And I don't own one..."

Chad narrowed his eyes, catching the slight hesitation in Jake's voice. "So you own two?"

"Three." Jake hung his head, the ultimate confession of a broken man. "And a Captain America one. I go to Comic-Con... just... fuck off, okay? You're not allowed to tease me."

Chad was loving this. He was absolutely revelling in it. The big, bad bully of high school, lying in a Spider-Man bed, confessing to cosplay. "Hell no, this is revenge for all the times you dunked my head in the bogs at school and called me a nerd." He pointed right at Jake's nose, his voice echoing in the small room. "NEEEEEEEERD!"

Jake let out a frustrated groan. In a desperate, final attempt to maintain some semblance of a defensive boundary, he grabbed a spare pillow and shoved it firmly between them, creating a barrier down the center of the mattress.

Chad didn't even hesitate. He grabbed the pillow and chucked it over his shoulder. It sailed across the room, landing with a soft splat on a crate of vintage comic books.

"Nope," Chad said firmly, settling back down and looking directly into Jake's wide eyes. "We're talking about this thing now... cause... I said so!"

Jake mournfully stared at his final attempt to not succumb to his urges, watching it lay discarded across the room. He slowly turned his head back to Chad, his expression one of utter, terrifying defeat.

"Oh, we're going to have sex," Jake murmured in dismay.

Chad blinked, the humor draining out of him, replaced by a sudden, heavy rush of adrenaline. "We are?"

Jake nodded in despair, the reality of his vulnerability crashing down on him. "We're going to have sex, you're going to know all my secrets, and you're going to run a mile."

Chad let the words hang in the quiet of the small room, the rhythmic drumming of the rain against the windowpane filling the silence. He looked at Jake. He looked at the guy who had terrorized him, the guy who worked a dead-end job with a quiet, furious dignity, the guy who spent his money on G.I. Joe aircraft carriers, and the guy who was currently lying in a Spider-Man bed wearing smiley face boxers, terrified out of his mind that he wasn't enough.

The banter died away, leaving only the truth. It was like finally coming outside after a violent, chaotic storm. The air was clear, the defenses were down, and there was nothing left but the two of them.

"I'm not going to run," Chad said quietly, his voice losing every trace of the teasing lilt. He shifted on the mattress, sliding across the space where the pillow used to be. He closed the physical gap, letting his knee brush against Jake's under the covers. The contact sent a jolt of electricity straight up his spine.

"You don't know that," Jake whispered, his voice trembling slightly in the dark. "You don't know me, Chad. You know the guy from school, and you know the guy from the store. But this... me... I'm a mess. My head is a mess. I don't know how to do this. I've never let anyone in here. Never. I push people away because it's safer. When they leave, it's because I made them, not because I wasn't good enough."

"You pushed a pillow away," Chad corrected gently, reaching out in the dim light. His long fingers found Jake's calloused hand resting on top of the covers. He didn't grab it; he just rested his palm against the back of Jake's hand, offering a tether. "And I threw it across the room. I told you, I'm practically moving in. You're going to have to do a lot more than be a little messed up to get rid of me."

Jake let out a shaky breath, turning his hand over so their palms met. He interlaced his fingers with Chad's, gripping tightly, like a drowning man holding onto a lifeline. He looked up at Chad, the tough-guy armor finally, completely, irrevocably gone.

"Tell me a secret, then," Chad whispered, leaning in so their faces were only inches apart. "Test me. Tell me the worst thing, and watch me stay."

Jake closed his eyes, the grip on Chad's hand tightening. The rain continued to fall outside, washing the gritty streets of the city clean, while inside the small, cluttered, perfectly nerdy bedsit, two boys finally stopped fighting the world, and started figuring out how to let each other in.