In Jonathan’s room, among the Lord of the Rings books, the nintendo 64, empty soda cans, fast food wrappers - crinkled up and thrown in the bin under his desk, among the hoodies in his closet, piles of records from artists from the 80s, a backpack with an eighth, loose lighters he always lost and found, among the everyday objects of his life, were secrets.
Except with Ian.
When Ian came over and they found themselves in various states of undress on his childhood bed, there were no secrets. When Ian came over, they liked to lay across from one another, smelling the other’s natural perfume mixed with sweat. Bodies like magnets, finger against belt buckle, unhooking, unzipping, undressing, until there was nothing left between their naked skin but air.
Ian came round on Saturdays after basketball. Let himself in the front door, took off his shoes at the entrance, and waved hello to Mrs. Roman like a proper house guest.
He always knocked twice at Jonathan’s door but never waited for a response before entering. When Jonathan was playing video games by himself, Ian always said “who are you kidding?” It became their thing. When Jonathan tried on high heels, when Jonathan stole a pair of his sister’s panties. “Who are you kidding?” Ian would say, and they’d both bust out laughing. Like, hysterical man.
“My mom would straight up kill me.”
Picture this: Ian playfully pushing Jonathan down until he was on top of him, straddling him, kissing his neck like he was ravenous for boys. Or a man.
The more time they spent together, the more Jonathan craved - not any singular thing but the sum of Ian: the storm of energy he caused when he busted in the bedroom door, the constant taste of cashews on his lips, the way he always order cheeseburgers when they got high, the bikes rides to Coney Island but really to nowhere in particular, the fact he never told him to be more masculine, more like a man. In fact, Ian was one of the few people who saw Jonathan for who he really was. Who saw him so far away from the boy he was born as and never unwished it for him.
“Bro, you gotta do something about this room,” Ian would say. “You can’t fool anyone with all this dude shit.” And then he’d tell Jonathan to stop laughing, stop smiling, to close his eyes, and as Ian turned off the light, just for a moment, Jonathan forgot his secrets.