This is a short story I’m writing for my short story book, Oh So Merry And Gay. So, it’s just a short bit here. Please leave a review if you enjoy. I realize is ends kind of randomly, but that’s how I felt it needed to end, for me. Slash, obviously, with two gay men. I own this, these characters, the story, etc.

James Marshall-Jones and I have been best friends forever- well- our forever. We were born in the same hospital, same floor, and by chance, our parents met, chatted, and set up a future play date. These continued until, eventually, we were both urging for more, bothering our parents about it constantly. We were inseparable. When I realized I was gay, he was the first person I told. And when he came to the same realization, he immediately told me. Ever since, I’ve felt certain closeness to him, something not found in your average best buds combo.

So, when he called this morning, and said his mother, who’d been up in Tennessee visiting family, had died that morning in a car wreck, my “best pal” senses started tingling. I mean, I knew he wasn’t all that close to his mother (she was the reason it took him two years after his discover to fully come out of the closet) but he still sounded torn apart on the phone. With enough nagging, my mom allowed me to stay home from school, and I quickly gathered the necessary supplies: DVDs (chick flicks- hello), popcorn and lots of Dr. Pepper, and headed to his house.

He was an only child, and his dad was out making funeral arrangements all day, so we had the place to ourselves. His mother was one of those crappy ones that worked all the time and had various affairs with her assistants, but she sure brought home to bacon- there house- as I observed every time- was huge.

I knocked, and the door opened almost immediately. Before I could say anything, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me tight. I rubbed his back soothingly, as he sniffed on my shoulder. His eyes were stained red, his cheeks wet from past tears. He looked bad. He pulled back, finally.

“I don’t want to talk,” he said abruptly.

“Then we won’t,” I promised, as he led me inside, “We’ll just…hang.”

“Okay,” he pointed to the kitchen, upon seeing my various snacks, “We’ll hang.” I started unpacking, and he looked at me curiously, wiping the last tears away, “You’re aloud to miss school?”

I smiled, “You’re more important.”

He blushed, the sorrow look he’d had briefly brushed from his face, “Thanks for coming. I wouldn’t have asked you too, but I’m glad you did.”

“You can always ask,” I replied, “and I’ll be here.”

“Thanks,” he sighed, looking sad again.

“Buttered or salted?” I held up the popcorn boxes.

He grinned, “Yes.”

I put the bags in (they had three microwaves in the kitchen) and turned to look in my pile of feel-good junk. “Dr. Pepper…” He grabbed it.

“I’ll get it-”

“No, you’ll pick the movie,” I pushed the pile towards him, and poured the soda. He held up the Wizard of Oz. Okay, so not a chick flick- but a classic! “Good choice.”

The microwaves beeped and I smoothly put the contents and bowls and maneuvered the large amount of food and drink to the couch in front of the big screen TV. I slid a pillow carefully behind his back as he sat down. He glanced at me. “You don’t have to do everything.”

“I want to,” I informed him, as the movie credits rolled through.

We sat silently through the first song, then he looked over at me, “Could you, um, scratch my back? Well I know you can. Will you?”

“Yes,” I gulped, as he turned a little. I ran my fingers up his spine and started scratching, “This the place?” He nodded. Then he turned more, and I assumed I was no longer needed as a back-scratcher, but he caught my hand as I pulled it back. Then he leaned forward, and kissed me.

I was a bit surprised, a little shocked, not at all grossed out, and definitely not about to refuse a recently motherless boy. He didn’t stop; in fact he slid his hand down my back, and sort of laid on top of me. He was an amazing kisser, admittedly.

He eventually sat back up. I murmured lamely, “Thanks.”

“Sorry,” he apologized, blushing.

“That’s alright,” I said, out of breath a little. We both refocused on the movie. Dorothy had just arrived to Oz. He glanced over at me.

“She hated this movie,” he whispered. “And I hated her.”

“She didn’t give this movie a chance,” I tried to joke, “Did she see the munchkins?”

He smiled. It was a painful smile, a hurt one. “She didn’t like you.”

“A lot of people don’t care for me,” I shrugged.

He shook his head, “She didn’t like me.”

“She loved you,” I sighed.

“She loved what I could have been: rich, successful, married to a female. She hated what I was. I want to be an artist, I want to live in a normal house, and I…love you.”

Woah. Wasn’t that a big bomb.

“She hated everything about me.”

“Well,” I said, suddenly angry, “She didn’t know what she was missing.” I pulled him over and kissed him again. “And neither did I.”