When I was younger I had an obsession with drawing hearts.

Real hearts.

My mum never understood why. Neither did my baby sitters.

They didn't understand where I would have seen one before at the age of six. I knew why, of course, but I also knew that they wouldn't believe me. It wasn't natural for a little boy to draw like that, so it definitely wouldn't be natural if they knew why I drew it.

Yet I was still only a kid, and any kid can be bribed by chocolate.

So I told them, with a mouth surrounded by a ring of chocolate, and a tongue that tasted too sweet. I told them "I want to remember what one looks like so I don't let it break like in my dreams," my words were quiet and innocent, at the time I didn't notice the confused look my parents exchanged, or the raised eye brow of my older brother.

"Honey," My mum started, "Why would it break?" Her voice was soft, like when she sang to me at night, to help me sleep.

As a child I just looked up at them frowning, "The other boy, duh! He said he was fed up of hiding us, and we shouldn't pre..pret…" the word was stuck in my small mouth for a moment before my clouded face cleared and I could finish "…Pretend we're someone we aren't,"

That left them all speechless.

And so started the stream of endless therapy, the gallons of child doctors and the hushed whispers around town. And it stayed like that until i proved them wrong. Until Isaiah moved next door.

I reasearched his name as soon as i could. It was strange so i thought there had to be a meaning behind it, Isaiah. Hebrew for Gods helper. the Lord's salvation.

My salvation? I had dreamed of this guy for my whole life. That had to mean something, right? Of course i'd never told my mum what he looked like, so seeing a teenage boy with dark khol lined eyes and a crooked smirk didn't bother her much.

Neither did the converse or the wayward locks of silver looking hair. Or the band Shirts. No, what bothered her was his open interest in me. Or, open as far as friends, though I'm sure there was something in his eyes that proved he wanted more.

Ever since that morning i told them of my vision things, they had been careful of all boys that came near me. At sleep overs after i reached fourteen the door had to be left open. They were over bearishly protective. My mum didn't want a gay son, my dad wanted what my mum wanted, and my brother wanted...well he didn't actually give a shit, but whatever.

So when we started talking, it riled her like no drugs abuse could.

And so started a secret friendship. Just like i'd dreamed about. I started to wonder if maybe the other part would come true.