Just One More Second

Jack’s hands are shaking.

“Because I didn’t,” he breathes. “I went my entire life as an awkward, proportional boy that eventually grew into some kind of man-child, with Alex by my side. And that was it, really. He was by my side. Not on top of me, not riding my dick, like I might have enjoyed (but let’s not talk about that), but next to me. He caught me when I fell, and told me jokes constantly about fucking blondes with big boobs, sometimes, even cracking the rare ‘don’t masturbate till I’ve got the tape’.

I never actually thought that Alex and I would be something. And I never knew I was in love with him.

Wow, so next I would write , ‘not until he stepped into my shower naked’, but I’m pretty sure those aren’t the right words. So probably the kiss is what did the trick. And then things went uphill from there. We had our first date. The venue of New Orleans, Louisiana, one of Alex’s favorites. After the show we camped out onstage in the dark, just, well talking. 60% of it was dick jokes, because, well, while we’re both gay as fuck, come on, guys, we aren’t fucking fairies. Stop making us buy each other roses and kiss in boats on the lake. Anyways, a couple of girls had managed to get a picture, so if you saw that, then hey, you have seen real Jalex. Of course, no one would fucking believe those girls, because tons of pictures had been Photoshopped, or even audio clips being edited to make it sound we were talking dirty to each other.

And then the sex. If you’ve written slow, first time bottoming or virginiting or whatever, then you have gotten it wrong. I don’t think I meant to be the bottom, either, actually. Alex is obviously the princess. But we were drunk, and drunk leads to horny, and horny leads to sex. I won’t release any more details, so there you go.

I think I’ve gotten a little off track.”

Jack sighs. Shit. He tried doing one sweet thing, writing a decent coming out letter maybe, but he feels like he failed himself yet again. Something rubs his hand and startles him, but he ignores it and reads the rest.

“Right then. Dear hustlers, dear America, dear Essex, dear world, my name is Jack Barakat, I play in a band called All Time Low, and I’m in love with the lead singer, Alexander Gaskarth.”

And the room is quiet. There’s silence. Silence is nice.

But not now. Jack’s heart speeds up, even though it’s only been a second. He glances at the machine, and watches as the moniter readjusts itself.

The line goes up.

And it goes down.

And up.

And down.

Jack turns around in his seat, eyes meeting another pair, a deep brown window of life.

“Hi,” Alex croaks quietly. The older boy tries to smile, but it really really hurts, so he doesn’t.
Jack is too shocked to speak, so an incoherent sound escapes his mouth. Instead, he leans down and presses his lips to his conscious boyfriend’s, taking in his warmth. But it kind of feels weird. Alex’s lips are a little cracked.

Still, he whispers an “I love you.” Eventually, anyways. After the kissing.

“I love you, too, Jack,” Alex replies, and the skunk haired boy feels his own heart flutter at the sound of his name.

“But,” the elder says, and for a second Jack’s breath hitches.

“Yeah?”

“You’re a fucking fairy.”