May 07, 2016

"Atticus, do you even understand what you're going to be doing?" Chris asked him Saturday afternoon.

They were sitting in a coffee shop for lunch. Atticus was picking at the fries that came with Chris's sandwich. The lid to his mocha was sitting on the table, and he was dipping the salty fries into the drink before eating them.

Chris wrinkled his nose. "Please stop. That's disgusting."

Atticus just shrugged. "Nothing's even happening tomorrow."

"Ace, no, this is a big deal!" Chris exclaimed. "Do you even realize that you could get laid tomorrow?"

The people at the table next to them looked over, and Atticus was quick to set his elbow up on the table and hide the side of his face with his hand.

"First of all, we're in public. Second, he's not my boyfriend. Third, I am not going to have sex with him. And fourth, did I mention that he's not my boyfriend?"

Atticus subconsciously tugged on his sleeve, and Chris's eyes followed every twitch of Atticus's fingers.

"Have you been cutting, Atticus?" Chris asked, breaking the light-hearted conversation.

Atticus didn't say anything. He just swirled another French fry around in his mocha and refused eye contact. That was enough of an answer for Chris. Atticus wasn't expecting the abrupt question, even though his responses warranted it. Chris had known him long enough to be aware of how busy Atticus was in college, even without a serious relationship. 

"I don't think he would lie to you," Chris said.

Atticus glanced up. "What?"

"That boy. Whoever he is. He wouldn't compliment you all the time if he didn't believe it."

"I don't know. Maybe he's just really flirty. He seems to be."

"A lot of people have tried, you know."

"Tried what?" Atticus asked.

"To get to you," Chris clarified. "He's the only one who got through."

Atticus rolled his eyes.

"Come on. You're young. You're a lawyer. You have tons of money. You're not ugly."

Atticus scoffed. "Wow, thanks."

"Atticus."

He sighed and put the lid back on his mocha. He took a drink so he wouldn't have to answer.

"Don't you want a pretty boyfriend? Maybe you'll be happier."

"I don't think so," Atticus said, tucking his pinkies under the cup. He didn't think he deserved to be happy.

"What, is he not attractive?" Chris asked.

"He's beautiful," Atticus barely whispered.

"What's that?" Chris questioned, even though he heard very well what his friend had said.

"Nothing."

"What if we make him jealous?"

"Christopher, I don't want—"

"I have a plan. Let's have a little fun."

"I don't have fun."

Chris rolled his eyes. The waitress walked over and placed the check on the table by Atticus, along with a small slip of paper with her phone number. She winked at him and walked away.

'Call me. Xo, Mandie'

"I told you so," Chris taunted, grabbing the paper and reading it with a smirk. "Are you going to call her?"

"Of course not," Atticus replied, taking the note from Chris's grasp and crumpling it.

"Why not? She's pretty. Didn't mess up our orders. Seemed nice, too."

"I don't want to go out with her. I'm not looking for anyone."

"What're you gonna do when what's-his-face wants to date you?"

"He doesn't, and he won't."

"Can you at least tell me his name?"

"No."

"Please?"

Atticus sighed. "Can you promise me that you won't hunt him down and harass him?"

"Fine. But only because I owe you since you're paying for lunch."

Atticus rolled his eyes. "His name's Jake. And he's really pretty and so nice to me all the time. And... I don't know."

"That's more than what I asked for."

Atticus sighed, tapping his fingers against the side of the foam cup. Maybe he did want Jake. At least a little bit. But he barely knew him. He didn't want to say he liked him. He was too used to getting hurt. He always fell too fast, and no one was ever there to catch him.

May 08, 2016

"Afternoon, Atty," Jake said happily when Atticus opened the door. "I've missed you."

"I didn't realize you knew how a door worked," Atticus muttered.

"Neither did I." Jake rolled his eyes and went inside, and Atticus shut the door behind him. "Are you hungry?" he asked, uncovering the plate he was holding.

"You made me cookies?"

"Yeah, here, try one," Jake said, shoving one in Atticus's mouth. "I cook and bake a lot. Is it okay?"

"It's good," Atticus admitted, eating the other half.

Atticus usually didn't like cookies, or desserts in general, but Jake's were different. They were golden, and the chocolate chips were soft and gooey. Atticus couldn't cook, and that made up most of the reason that he didn't bother sometimes. He was, however, a fan of anything that he could nuke in the microwave.

"I'm glad you like them." Jake set the plate down on the table and grabbed Atticus's hand, tugging gently. "Now come on. I wanna go outside before it rains. It was so nice all day and I was stuck inside doing my sister's history project."

Atticus let Jake drag him outside, and he felt his heart beating out of his chest from the connection of their hands. Jake's hand was warm, and their fingers tangled together perfectly. Jake laid down in the middle of the backyard. Atticus's knees cracked when he got down, and all it did was remind him that he was a little more than seven years older than the man who was lying next to him in the grass.

"The clouds are so dark," the younger one said. "It's pretty, don't you think?"

"I don't know," the older one said. He wasn't looking up at the sky, but at the one next to him, squeezing tight to his hand. "What I'm looking at is so much prettier."

Atticus couldn't believe that came out of his mouth or that he even let himself think of it. Jake looked over and blushed when he saw Atticus gazing at him.

"You're so sweet," Jake whispered, reaching over to brush his thumb against Atticus's cheek. "I don't get you."

"I don't think you really want to," Atticus replied.

He would've pulled away from Jake's touch, but the hand on his cheek was so gentle, and even though the whole thing felt wrong, he let it happen.

"I wanna get you." Jake's hand moved back so he could run his fingers through Atticus's hair. "Your hair's so soft." Jake bit his lip and looked at him sideways. "You should let me cut it sometime."

"Should I really?" Atticus asked. "Are you any good?"

"I am licensed, you know. There was only one incident, and I swear to God that it wasn't my fault."

"That's what people say when it was their fault."

"No, Atty listen, the lady wouldn't stop moving. Of course it ended up uneven. It wasn't even that bad, and she was screaming at me. I even offered to get my manager and have her come fix it, but that just made her angrier. I still feel pretty bad about it to this day."

Atticus's bottom lip pouted out. "Don't. If it makes you feel better, people yell at me every day. You just have to tune them out."

"How do you do that every day?"

"Do what?"

"Just be a lawyer. It seems so monotonous to me. Especially estates. Why do you do it?"

"Well, I've always wanted to be a lawyer. I always saw crime shows on television when I was a teenager, and I wanted to be a District Attorney. But obviously, I changed course. As for the estates part, maybe one day I'll tell you."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry or anything."

"You're not. It's okay. My job is to pry into people's lives."

"It just seems so morbid to me," Jake whispered, playing with the hair curling over Atticus's ear. "Talking about death all the time, I mean."

Atticus sighed, squeezing Jake's hand. "It's only bad when people start crying in court. But after doing it for so long, you stop caring."

"Are you good at it?"

"I hope so, or a lot of people are going to be really screwed over."

Jake smiled, and that made the lawyer smile. Jake was still playing with Atticus's hair, but the latter didn't mind. He was still holding tight to Jake's hand, even though he should've let go when they got outside. 

"Where are you from?" Jake asked. "You have the slightest accent but I can't place it."

"My dad was from Russia. I lived there until I was six, I think. And I stayed with my family in Moscow during the summers."

"I've been in Philly for twenty years and you aren't even from this country," Jake whispered with a smile. "I can't believe you're so much cooler than me."

"Most people don't notice," Atticus muttered. "I haven't even been there in years."

"I'm good at that, I suppose," Jake mumbled, moving closer. "Noticing the little things."

Their noses were touching, and their eyes fell shut, but neither one could turn their head. Jake wanted Atticus to kiss him. Atticus couldn't bring himself to do it. Jake was waiting for the older one to do something. Say something. Anything.

Atticus didn't know what to do. He felt guilty and horrible. His chest stirred and his heart pounded. His fingers pressed to Jake's jaw. Jake's grip on Atticus's hand tightened. His breath hitched.

They both pulled back when they felt the rain. It started to pour on them, and they ran back inside, hands separating. Jake laughed and fell into Atticus's arms. The older boy caught him and couldn't help but smile. Jake sighed and quickly broke out of Atticus's grasp. He sat down on the couch and kicked off his shoes so he could tuck his feet under his thighs. Guilt racked his brain, and he nervously crossed his arms over his chest. Atticus took his shoes off by the door and then went to go sit next to Jake. He felt ashamed and kept a cushion separating them.

"I did something wrong, didn't I?" Jake asked, staring at his worn red Converse on the floor. "I'm sorry. I just really like you."

"I like you too," Atticus admitted.

"This is okay, right?" Jake asked, taking Atticus's hand again. "If we just do this here? Friends can do this, yeah?"

"Yeah," Atticus whispered. "Okay."

He didn't think about it. What he was doing. Jake wasn't thinking, either. Not about his boyfriend. Or that he was twenty and holding on for someone who was twenty-eight.

"I'm sorry," Jake muttered.

"For what?"

"I don't know. I just am."

"You apologize a lot."

"Sorry."

"Jacob."

"I just feel like everything's my fault," Jake whispered.

"It's not," Atticus said. "You didn't even do anything."

"How do you do it every day?" Jake asked.

"Do what?"

"You're a lawyer. Don't you get blamed for a lot of stuff?"

"Yeah, but I just got used to it, I guess. I don't really care. I mean, I know it's not my fault. They just want someone to blame. That's all it is. Why?"

Jake shrugged. "I don't know. I just. . . can you keep a secret?"

"Yeah, of course," Atticus said. He was a lawyer. Keeping quiet was the only thing he was good for.

"I don't. . . I don't think I'm happy with Nick anymore."

Atticus had to admit that his ears perked when he heard that. The younger boy had the lawyer's full attention.

"Are you going to break up with him?" he asked, slight hopefulness in his voice.

"I mean, I don't want to. I think I could be happy with him again."

"You can't force yourself to be happy," Atticus said.

Jake's eyes fell to look at their joined hands. Atticus's hand was warmer than Nick's, and their hands fit together so much nicer. Atticus's fingers were slightly crooked on his right hand, like they were all broken once after smashing against concrete. It made them hook gently around Jake's fingers, and he didn't want to let go. Atticus's hand felt safer. It was calloused, but Jake liked that better than Nick's soft ones. Atticus's hand was the one Jake really wanted to hold.

"You can only be happy if you're with someone you actually want. If you have to make yourself feel something, then it isn't worth it."

"How do you know when someone else makes you happy?" Jake asked, rubbing his thumb against Atticus's hand.

"I guess when you only want to be around them. They make you feel safe and special. You get that fluttering feeling in your chest. I don't know," Atticus whispered with a shrug. "I'm not the person to ask. I don't really know what happiness feels like."

"You're not happy?"

"I mean, I'm fine, I guess."

"I'm sorry," Jake whispered.

"What did I tell you about that?"

Jake smiled a little. "Sorry."

Atticus rolled his eyes and squeezed Jake's hand. Jake shifted down on the couch and hugged Atticus with one arm, burying his face in his neck.

It took Atticus a minute to figure out what was happening, but then he wrapped his free arm around Jake. He set his hand gently on his waist so he wouldn't hurt where Jake bruised himself. Even though it was probably healed by that point, Atticus didn't want for Jake to associate him with the way Nick carelessly handled him.

"You deserve to be happy," Jake consoled.

Maybe Atticus just needed someone to hold him. Maybe he was just glad that he wasn't completely alone. Maybe it was both that made his eyes fall shut and his cheek rest on Jake's head.

But he didn't think he deserved happiness. He didn't deserve to have a cute boy that he barely knew hugging him. He almost wished that everything was back to the way it was two weeks ago.

He let his arm drop so he could hug Jake tighter before finally asking, "What're you doing?"

"You need a hug," Jake mumbled. His breath was hot against Atticus's neck. His lips ghosted over his skin. "And so do I."

Atticus sighed, burying his nose in Jake's soft hair. It smelled like strawberries. Nice and sweet. Just like him. And just like sugar.