Darko's POV

Something is seriously up with Taylor.

It's midnight. Taylor and I have been chilling in the lounge room, watching TV and eating snacks. He's just left to pee. I caught him staring off into space about three or four times during one of the movies he picked. Taylor never does that. Especially if it's a movie he loves. He's just so far away.

I know since the accident with his father, things haven't been the same for obvious reasons, but tonight he seemed really in his head. Like, he'd laugh when something funny happened in the show, or he'd respond with a grunt or something when I made a comment about a scene, but something just doesn't feel right. He normally has a good handle on things that involve his mum. Ms Ferguson has been unstable for a while now, but Taylor always puts a brave face on.

If he's upset, he'd say something, right? Or if he's hanging on by a thread, maybe pressing him isn't the best idea. Note to self; don't press on it. Or, maybe, he does want to talk about it, but doesn't know how to bring it up? Is he just waiting for me to ask him if he's okay? Note to self; press on it.

Ugh, this is confusing. Maybe he just needs a good old-fashioned distraction from his best mate. Yeah, if I can make him laugh, maybe that will help. Now, if he'd just get out of the bathroom...

I check the time on my smartwatch. He's taking so long in there, it's been like fifteen minutes. Not that he's missing much anyway, the episode of American Horror Story we're watching is dragging on. This newer season is not for me.

I'll give him five more minutes.

I prop my head on my arm, leaning it on the couch's armrest. I start counting in my head the number of seconds that pass as my eyes glaze over. I miss Sarah Paulson being in the show. Shit, I lost count. Thirty seconds? I'll start from there. Thirty one, thirty two, thirty three...

My blinks get heavier and heavier, until...

I jolt awake. Nope, that's it. I'm calling it a night.

Staying up past midnight is normally not that big of an issue for me, but fuck, it's been a long day. I did cardio in the morning at the gym, I had an exam after that, and another assignment due at lunch that I hadn't started until last night. Then, I had to run to another deli to get food because the local deli near campus was closed, making me late for my weekly hang-out sesh with Taylor in the theatre room.

My bed... I can hear it calling my name.

I turn the TV off and walk to the kitchen. Opening my pantry door, I throw in the leftover snacks. Wait. Is that...?

Ooh yeah baby, pandan-flavoured Poki sticks. Taylor is going to absolutely lose it when he sees this. It's his favourite snack. I thought he ate the last of his stash last time he was here – he sometimes keeps his best snacks at my place, otherwise Ana will eat them.

As I grab the box, I hear a footstep behind me. Then, something small and hard pokes into my side, making me jump in both pain and shock. I smash the back of my head against the bottom of one of the cupboard's shelves. "Oof!"

Quickly recovering from the surprise, I turn around, scrambling behind me for something to swing at my assailant. Ooh, a stale loaf of panini bread, I could crack a concrete slab with this. I throw it forward, hitting someone with a thud.

Taylor recoils. The bread bounces off his head and down to the floor, and I worry for a second it would crack one of mum and dad's tiles. He's half laughing at me and half wincing in pain.

"Got ya! Oh my God," Taylor says between giggles, "the sound you made when your head hit the shelf! I should have been filming that! Fuck me, I'm crying."

I want to punch him. I totally should. My head hurts something proper. And, I should have seen it coming, he always plays these kinds of startling jokes on me, and he knows I react quite shitty. But, he's just about toppled over in laughter. Seeing him laugh flips my gut, and I can't help but forgive him and laugh with him too. It's the first time he's laughed all night — I don't want it to end.

"You're an ass! To believe I was gonna give you these," I say, dangling the Poki box in front of him. He stops laughing immediately, eyes wide, before snatching it from me, ripping it open and stuffing a hand inside. "You pig. Chew them at least, last thing I need is for you to choke and die."

"They're so—mmmph—good! I thought I ate them all!"

I smile as he enjoys the Asian snack. "Sure. Take it to my room. I dunno about you, but I'm exhausted. Time to crash."

Taylor nods and I start walking out of the kitchen. I look over my shoulder. Taylor's not following me. He's just standing there, holding the box, staring in front of him.

"Taylor?" I ask, taking a few steps toward him. He doesn't budge. Gently, I tap his shoulder, and he flinches, eyes blinking wildly. I'm tempted to make a joke about me scaring him back, but the thought dies down when Taylor looks at me, all traces of the laughter and happiness gone from his expression.

"Is everything okay, man?"

He goes to say something, but stops himself, nodding. He gathers his thoughts, then opens his mouth again. "Yeah! Everything's fine. Sorry, was just lost in thought."

"What were you thinking about? Has it got to do with what happened today?"

He shrugs.

"Look, since you got here, things have been weird. What happened? What's wrong?"

He doesn't answer. I shake my head. "It's fine. Let's just go to bed."

He pulls out another Poki stick and walks closely behind me to my bedroom. I flick on my bedside lamp, illuminating the room with a warm orange glow. The overhead light is off – just how I like it. Ambient lighting is elite.

As I fluff up my pillow, Taylor puts the snack down on my bedside table, sitting on the already blown-up inflatable mattress. I left a set of pillows and a blanket at the edge of his mattress, and he makes quick work setting up his bed.

We're both settled in. I'm about to turn on my bedroom TV when he starts speaking.

"Look, don't worry about me," he says, looking toward the blank screen, "mum and me are fine. We will be fine. I'll manage. Pick whatever you want on the TV, I don't mind."

Was he trying to convince me, or himself? Either way, there's no chance I'm going to leave that half unpacked. He brought it up, so I know he wants to talk about it but doesn't know how to (It's his M.O.). I know him well enough to make that safe assumption.

"Tay, don't take this the wrong way, but I know you and when you say that things with your mum are fine, I know that's a load of BS. Whatever happened clearly affected you or something. What happened tonight?"

"Nothing."

"I don't believe you."

"Well, believe me. I don't wanna talk about it."

"I'm concerned, man. My gut is telling me something's wrong, and my gut's never wrong. We're best friends, for Christ's sake — talk to me."

Taylor shakes his head, before exhaling slowly. "Fine. Mum got drunk again, shattered Dad's favourite mug, told me she wasn't taking her meds and bloody stroked my face as she told me I looked like him," Taylor croaks, his voice trailing off. He wrings his hands together. "Happy?"

An uneasy feeling settles in my gut. He's told me time and time again how sick he is of people telling him he looks like Mr Ferguson. "Of course not. I didn't want to upset you all over again, it's just... I don't know. It's hard seeing you not yourself. I know it's been really shitty for you all since the accident-"

As soon as the word 'accident' left my mouth, tears began to fall from Taylor's face.

"Oh, crap. Taylor..."

I move off my bed and sit next to him, slowly rubbing his back. He refuses to look at me. He rips off his glasses, throwing them across the room, and tries to wipe his face dry.

"Maybe if I just told him not to go, he'd be... maybe if... maybe if I just..."

He trails off, his voice choking into a sob.

"I-I miss him so m-much, D-Darko. W-why did he have to d-die?"

My heart splinters.

His body shakes with every whimper, his emotions swallowing him. My heart throbs under my chest, growing heavier and harder as the seconds tick by. I pull him over and wrap him in my arms. He cries into my shirt. Inching closer, he wraps his arms around me, adjusting himself so his face rests on my shoulder. I lean my head onto his shoulder as I attempt to rub his back in soothing circles.

It's been a year since the accident. I don't know exactly what happened, but I know Taylor's father drove to the shops late at night, and a truck driver fell asleep at the wheel and crashed head-on into him. It was all over the news. Both died at the scene.

The funeral was one of the lowest points of my life. I had known Mr Ferguson my whole life, he was like a second father to me. It felt so unfair, so shitty that he was gone. Nobody understood that more than Taylor, and he seems to think that he had something to do with it. Like he could have stopped it.

"I promise Taylor," I whisper, "things will get better soon. I promise."

It feels like a lie saying that. Things have been terrible for months for him and his family. I don't know the extent of it, and frankly it's none of my business, but Ms Ferguson is basically a shut-in now. Whenever I visit Taylor, his mother's either at work or locked in her room. At least Ana seems to be doing okay.

He pulls himself out of the hug and finally brings his face up to look at me, a tiny gap forming between our faces. Tears streak his tawny brown skin, barely illuminated by the orange glow of my bedside lamp.

It took every single ounce of self-control to not lean forward and kiss him.

If it wasn't obvious enough - I'm in love with Taylor. I've always been in love with him. As hard as I try to deny it or suppress my gayness, the damn feelings don't go away, no matter what.

Right when high school started, when puberty was hitting everyone like a bus, was when I knew I was crushing on the idiot. I always suspected I was gay; boobs had never done anything for me, and the idea of kissing girls was honestly repulsive. Straight porn made my dick shrink into my pelvis — God, women in porn can be annoyingly loud — but the moment thirteen-year-old me typed 'man nude' into Google, I knew my life would never be the same.

After I had that sexual awakening, I started to notice boys at school were different. Their deodorant, their tousled hair, their slicked-with-sweat skin, and the way their bodies looked drove me insane. While it was fun to stare, Taylor started feeling like less of a best friend and more of a crush.

And, for an extremely long time, I hated it. Hated the fact that I wasn't the perfect straight boy my parents wanted me to be, hated the fact that I was – and probably still am – prepared to ruin my life for the boy crying in front of me.

I still hate myself, but have just learned to live with it. Why? Because I can never, ever be with Taylor, and it's killing me.

I've never told anyone I'm gay. My family, especially my pain-in-the-ass conservative brother, is super religious and thinks I'm going to marry a beautiful woman some day and have a million babies. My male friends at the motocross club treat me like one of the guys, and the girls there fall over themselves trying to get my attention; if I ever came out, things would be so different. I feel like I'm in this hole, and it keeps getting deeper and deeper with every lie and there's no way out.

For a few seconds, Taylor's eyes skim my face, and my brain almost propels me forward so our lips meet. But before I can do anything stupid, he pulls away, wipes his tears with the back of his hand, and steadies his breathing.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have cried. So embarrassing."

I lift an eyebrow. "Are you kidding? Don't be sorry about that; you know you can talk to me about these things. Crying is normal. Please, vent and cry and let it all out rather than bottle it all up."

He does a small, weak, but adorable smile. "Th-thank you, Darko."

Smiling back, I get up and retrieve his glasses for him. He wipes them with the corner of his t-shirt, before putting them back on. His brown eyes are so beautiful, like the afternoon sun shining through a bottle of whiskey, or freshly turned dirt after summer rain.

"What do you want to do? Do you want to go straight to bed, or did you want to play games or watch TV until you fall asleep?"

"Games sounds nice."

#

Since when was Taylor so good at Tekken?

He has beat me four consecutive times now, and I'm giving it my all. No matter how many times I manage to get a punch or a kick in, he drills a massive combo attack that destroys my player. Bloody Yoshimitsu, he's so overpowered with his sword. Who thought adding in a character with a sword in a punching and kicking combat game was a good idea?

As if on cue, Taylor commands Yoshimitsu to sink his blade into my character, Jin, and it's all over from there. Incapacitated and out of health, he falls to the ground and the round is over.

"YES!" he exclaims, throwing two fists in the air, "got you again, loser."

I roll my eyes. "I'm so glad you're having fun."

He turns to me. "Okay, one more match. Let's make it interesting. The loser has to sleep on the inflatable mattress, and the winner gets your big ass king-sized bed."

"That deal sounds entirely unfair to me. You have the most to gain from this."

"Fine, whoever loses also has to make the other coffee first thing in the morning."

I narrow my eyes. "You're on, bitch."

Without hesitation, he picks Yoshimitsu again. My controller hovers over a few of the female characters, and I almost anticipate the teasing. Whenever I would play this game with my father or brother, they'd always take a stab at me for picking the girl. Why'd you pick the weak school girl? Are you trying to tell us something? You're a man, pick a man. Only girls and gays pick girl characters. They'd shut right up when I beat them into the ground, but they'd never learn.

No way I'm losing my bed. I hover over a character and click.

"Nina Williams? Finally, you chose a decent character."

He gets up off his mattress and puts himself next to me, laying on his stomach like I am. "The fuck are you doing?" I say.

"Making myself comfy. Nina is great, but you should just give me the bed at this point, before I embarrass you. She may be an assassin or something, but she doesn't have a sword."

I roll my eyes and shove his shoulder, earning me a laugh, as the match loads on the screen.

Just as the match allows the characters to move and start fighting, I'm suddenly so aware of how close Taylor is to me. He wore shorts to bed, and I can feel his leg hairs bristle against mine. His skin is warm. I glance at him between combos and he's so fixated on the screen, he doesn't seem to notice. The way the bright lights of the game streak across his face with pretty shades of pink and blue almost put me in a daze.

But, the sound of the announcer on the game yelling K.O. brings me back to reality.

"YES, I win again!" He says before turning to me, propping himself on an elbow. "Get off the bed mate, tonight this is all mine."

"Nope, I demand a rematch. A real-life one." I say jokingly as I sit up, putting up my fists. "Come on, unless you're scared."

He furrows his eyebrows. "You're joking."

I shake my head, and lightly knock him on the shoulder, tilting him back. "As serious as a heart attack."

He snickers to himself, before darting a finger at me, jabbing my side, exactly in the same spot he got me before in the kitchen. I wince. "Don't make me humiliate you in real life too."

His snarky tone tips my competitiveness over the edge, and I tackle him into the bed. He tries to squirm out of my grip, laughing and playfully smacking my arms, but I start to count down.

"If I reach one, I win my bed back," I say between breaths. "Five..."

"NO! You're so much—you're so big, get off me!"

All those days spent in the gym finally start to pay off. Taylor has an average body – he has a tiny tummy and I find it so cute - but I definitely outweigh him in muscle mass.

I grab one of his wrists and squeeze my legs together around his waist. "Four..."

"This is SO unfair!!" He reaches lower and tries to jab my side again, but I shimmy away, just out of his reach. I try to grab his other wrist, but he yanks his first arm out of my other hand.

"Three..."

"Aw, come on!" He manouvres his arms so they're in between his chest and mine, and he tries pushing me off. But, it doesn't work, and I easily grab both wrists and pin them down on either side of his head.

"Two..."

He sighs in defeat, his squirming slowly fading.

"One."

And then it hits me. I have him pinned underneath me. He's looking at me, smiling, out of breath, hair a mess, glasses somehow still on. I'm sitting on top of him, my butt on his lap.

The picture of us doing this without clothes flicks in my head and I quickly scramble off him before Darko Jr gives my thoughts away.

"Get off my bed, loser," I say as I get off him. He scrambles up and moves until his back is resting on my headboard. He fixes his glasses, looks at his mattress, then back to me.

"For reals tho, can I sleep up here? There's more than enough room. The air mattress kinda sucks. Plus, it's always half deflated by the time I wake up, and I have to climb out of the bed like I've fallen in one of those foam pools at those trampoline play centres."

Taylor. Sleeping next to me. In my bed. The thought of waking up accidentally cuddling him crosses my mind, and my head spins. "Only if we put a pillow wall between us."

He snorts. "Fine."