“Just because you’re the only other homosexual I know doesn’t mean I’m going to fall for you.”

Aiden looked up. “What?”

“Just because I’m gay, and you’re gay, and we don’t know any other gay guys doesn’t mean I’ll fall in love with you by default.”

He just smirked at me. “Shawn,” he said smoothly, “You might not fall in love with me because I’m gay. But I do think you’ll fall in love with me because I’m me.”

I’d stomped off. That was four years ago, when we were fourteen. In those four years, I tried to avoid Aiden. I really did. But something about him—his blue eyes? His black hair? The way he never failed to say hi to me if we passed each other in the hall?—drew me back to him time and time again.

I was the paperclip and Aiden was the magnet. I couldn’t help but be attracted to him. I met other gay guys. I figured it was only a matter of time before Aiden stopped seeming like the only guy in the world. It was only a matter of time before I really fell in love.

Sad bit is, the first time was never coming and the second had already come.

I told myself I was still hung up on what he’d said to me. About me loving him. That it was just my imagination because Aiden made me feel like it was inevitable. Truth was, though, that Aiden and I just got each other. Yeah, there were other guys like us, now. But they weren’t really like us. They were gay, maybe, but they weren’t Aiden-and-Shawn gay. Not Shawn-and-Aiden gay.

When his first boyfriend dumped him, who was there? That’s right, Shawn. Me. He came to my house and we sat on my porch, and he described to me how he felt. How at the pit of his stomach, there was a rock. How in his chest, there was a hole. How inside his head, there was a force so strong attempting to break through his skull. How his hands were cold and shaking, and how much he wanted to cry but couldn’t. He said it was like having the water shut off in your eyes. His shoulders shook and his voice was choked, but he was right. There were no tears.

I remember smoothing down his dark hair softly. He turned his head to look at me. And for maybe the first time in my life, I told Aiden the truth. “You’re too good for him.”

That was when we were fifteen. After that, I swore to myself—find a boyfriend and end whatever strange attraction there was between Aiden and me. But I couldn’t do it. Every available guy just wasn’t good enough. This one’s eyes weren’t blue enough, this one’s hair was too light. He didn’t laugh loud enough, and he didn’t smile the right way. It all came down to the fact that none of them were Aiden.

I seriously contemplated dating girls.

On my sixteenth birthday, Aiden gave me a cookie. That was it. Just your average, 4-inch diameter cookie. With an S on it. In pink frosting. And I thought it was the stupidest dorkiest, most ridiculous thing in the world. I loved it. My mother gave me her parents’ wedding rings (though I couldn’t get married here in California), and my father gave me a baseball glove (though I’d never played a game of baseball in my life.) My little sisters gave me flowers (though I was allergic) and my paternal grandfather gave me a car (though I didn’t yet have my license.) But Aiden gave me a cookie. And that was what mattered.

I didn’t like how he made me feel. It wasn’t good. It was only proving the point I was trying so desperately to fight against. I couldn’t like Aiden. It would just prove that since he was the first gay guy I’d met, we had a connection. Or maybe Aiden was right. Maybe it wasn’t because of that. Maybe it was just who he was, and just who I was. It couldn’t be any other way. Someone like me needed someone like him. I was stubborn, a little bit insane, and I wore things like skinny jeans and fedoras. No, not things that scream “I’m a gay kid, come beat me up!”

Well, maybe just a little.

But he was softer, quieter. More open. He had the loudest voice I’d ever heard, despite his introverted demeanor. And he liked me. I mean, he didn’t like me. But he liked me. I was his friend. Kind of. His friend who was in love with him.

“Shawn,” Aiden said, walking up to my locker, the day before winter break in senior year. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What are you on about?” I snapped.

Aiden rolled his eyes. “You’re such a drama queen.”

“Can I help you with something, Aiden?”

“You’ve been in love with me for years. Aren’t you going to do something about it?”

“I’m not in love with you.” I said stiffly.

“Then how come you avoid me all the time? How come you turn red every time I touch you?” to prove his point, he put his hand on my forearm and I felt my heart go faster and my face heat up.

“I don’t avoid you. And I don’t turn red.” I pulled my arm away from him.

“Shawn, you’re crazy.” He was shaking his head.

“I’m crazy? You’re the one who came over here to torment me with what you think is the truth. You’re just full of yourself. You only think I’m in love with you because you want me to be.”

He looked as though I had slapped him. And I realized that this was exactly what we did to each other. We hurt each other with maybe-truths and half-lies that neither of us wanted to face or correct. He didn’t know I was in love with him. But he said it anyways. I didn’t know he wanted me to be in love with him. But I said it anyways. Because the truth was, I was in love with him, and he did want me to be, and neither of us knew that until the moment it left our mouths. The lie was that we were both too stubborn to admit anything. “Shawn…”

“Look, Aiden,” I sighed. “Let’s just… forget it. Let’s just go home.”

For the first time in what seemed like ever, I saw anger on Aiden’s face. “I won’t forget it. You tell me the fucking truth right now. Do you love me or don’t you?”

I swallowed. “What difference does it—”

“The TRUTH, Shawn.”

“Mmhmm,” I mumbled.

“‘Mmhmm?’” he repeated. “Mmhmm what?”

“Mmhmm, I do.”

“Dumbass,” he said quietly before leaning down to kiss me. I fell against the lockers, the pressure from his lips too much. He was several inches taller than me, and apparently a hell of a lot stronger, because he held me to the cold metal surface by pressing my shoulders to it. I felt my shoulder blades screaming at the force pushing them back. But I didn’t care. Aiden was that force.

“Aiden, I—” I tried, but he pushed his lips against mine again, attacking them feverishly. I could feel his shaggy hair on my own skin, and I felt my cheeks flushing. “Goddammit, Aiden,” I said, pushing him off of me. “We’re at a fucking Catholic school!”

“And you know, they like cusswords about the same amount as they like gay men, here, so I’ll bet they just love you.” And he kissed me again.

“Aiden!” I said. “Dammit. Listen to me when I’m talking to you!”

A little smirk came over his face at that, but he made it disappear as he raised his eyebrows at me. “I’m listening.”

“Why’d you do that?”

“Because I wanted to.”

“I mean… why did you want to?”

Aiden shrugged. “Because you love me.”

“Romantic,” I said dryly.

“Because I love you?” he tried.

“Better,” I agreed, pushing down the giddy feeling that came over me as he said those words. God. There was no need to be a girl about this. “But is it the truth?”

“Shawn, I have never lied to you. Except for that time I told you it was okay to like Dido. It is so not okay.”

“All gay men like Dido.”

“I don’t like Dido.”

“Dammit. There goes my theory.”

“Shawn,” Aiden said, leaning his forehead against mine. “You’re crazy.”

Well. Didn’t I know that.