Since We Met

A wintry breeze chaps my flushing face, and I bury myself in my coat. I know Frankie came through here. I look around, exhaling in a flourish and searching for any sign of my best friend.

All around me, sepia stars hang from aching, crimson branches. Bark that had chipped away in blades now lies on a fleshy bed of leaves, squishy under my boot soles. The air smells of aging wood and tastes like true, sweet autumn, as I step onward towards the hushed murmur of a creek.

It’s then that I see Frankie. Behind him, the last glimpses of golden sunlight ribbons through sorry, solemn trees like an anxious dream. At his feet, trickling water worms through slick, smooth stones of Payne’s grey and charcoal.

It’s a familiar place, and one Frankie and I found over the summer. It’s different now, though. In the swirling days of the harvest, its beauty is amplified. Not only that, but the shining aura around my friend has me seeing things in new light.

He’s clad in a dark blue sweatshirt, the hood down, revealing his thick, obsidian shocks, tresses of which are falling into his fair-skinned face. His hazel eyes are trained to his feet, past his holey faded jeans and scraped knees. When he hears my wary walking, he turns and looks at me. It’s in that moment that I know.

Since we met, Frank and I have been friends. Best friends, but friends nonetheless. Or, more fittingly, nonethemore. Now, he gives me this look—a look like I’m the only thing holding him down, grounding him to reality. I step closer, and he pulls his pink, bottom lip into his mouth and begins to chew. I’ve been around him enough to know that that’s his nervous habit.

“It’s so… so... breathtaking,” Frank whispers when he finally looks away.

“Yeah,” I agree, but I’m looking at him and not the woods.

He shivers and peers back up at me. His eyes seem to glitter as he watches me curiously. “I’m cold, Gerard.” He crosses his arms and rubs his shoulders.

If I’m not mistaken, he sounded almost… suggestive. My breath hitches in my throat and I hesitate before taking off my coat. It’s freezing without it, but Frank has a history of catching colds and at this point, he matters more than I do. I drape the black wool fabric across his shallowly rising shoulders. Instead of pulling away, like I otherwise would have, I linger. His head tilts with inquiry, but there’s a slight curving of his lips before he begins chewing on them again.

“Frank,” I try to express my feelings, but can’t find words. He looks so perfect with the light emanating from behind him. It picks up in his eyes, and they seem to radiate. “I… I don’t... know…” Genius. No wonder you reel in so many chicks. But Frank is so much better than a chick, and he’s waiting for me to say something. Anything. “You… beautiful.” There ya’ go. Now he’s yours.

He opens his mouth and closes it again, like a goldfish. “You… think so?”

All I can do is nod. It’s as though Frank has me by the mouth.

We peer into each other’s eyes for a few moments more, before he rises to his tippy toes and takes me by the mouth. His eyes are closed, but I can’t close mine. Is this happening? Am I kissing my best friend?

It’s a very innocent kiss, like a mother’s to her child, simply a pressing of lips to lips. His are warm and soft, mine chapped and most likely cold, because I’m freezing to death. His fingers slide up my arms and rest there, while I bring my hands up just enough to lightly trace the hem of his hoodie.

Frank pulls away and I want to die inside. We look at each other again, only this time Frank is blushing and seems ashamed.

“What’s wrong?” I murmur, raising my hand and tracing his cheekbone with my thumb. I already miss the presence of his kiss. It had brought warmth to me like no coat ever could.

He smiles softly. “Is… was that okay?”

I open my mouth to say yes, but then decide differently, and simply lean down and kiss him. This time, I allow my lips to part, gently massaging his top lip between mine. I close my eyes and find myself tilting into the kiss, holding Frank’s chin with one hand and his waist with the other. His hands are on my shoulders, grabbing at my shirt.

When we release, our breathing is slightly uneven. “How long?” He randomly asks.

“What?”

“How long have you… felt this way?”

I take his hand into my own, and begin walking back toward my house. He follows, watching the ground and carefully stepping over sticks and twigs. The stunning beauty of the streambed seems to be forgotten in the wake of our new relationship. “It’s only recent,” I say, and really, it’s an exaggeration, because ‘recent’ generally doesn’t mean ‘two minutes ago.’

“Well, I like it,” I can hear a grin in Frank’s voice.

“How long for you?”

“Don’t laugh, okay?” I slow in my walking to stare at him. His cheeks are painted pink and his free hand is crammed into his pocket beneath my coat, because he never fully put it on.

“Of course not, Frankie.”

“Since we met.”