Chapter 12: 12 – Our Picture

I hate questions like this. No matter what you say, the answer is always wrong. He could have also asked me if I thought he was stupid or if he looked fat. If I answered 'Yes,' he would hate me. And when I said 'no,' he wouldn't believe me, even when this is what I'm thinking.

So I responded with an indistinct "I don't know" because I really didn't. How can he ask me to have an answer to that so fast? This whole thing was new to me. I mean, kissing a guy was something I had never even thought about. I can count many girls I find hot, but I never even thought about it that way with another dude—except for him. When we were in the swimming pool and showering, I knew there was something. But everything happened so fast. This isn't easy to process right now.

As I anticipated, Conor put on a gloomy face and loosened the arms he had tightly wrapped around me seconds ago.

"Maybe I am gay now," I laughed and snuggled deeper into Conor's arms, forcing him to carry on with what he had started.

"You said to me before: Let's not think about it too much. Take advantage of the moment because it is all we have. So let's not torpedo that while I still try to figure out what this is or… could be. Maybe I am gay, or maybe I am just… gay for you. Who cares?"

His expression softened, and after thinking about it, he barely visibly nodded.

"I do enjoy being with you. I know that."

I leveraged my neck as much back as possible, so he could see the smile I had put on just for him without having to stop being close.

"Is it okay if I need a little bit more time?"

"I enjoy being with you, too," he said and leaned his chin on my forehead. "I just wish we had more time."

And here I was, the idiot who just asked him to have more time to think about everything when time was the only scarce resource.

It was getting close to midnight, and there were still 7 to 8 hours to go. But what are 8 hours? In less than a half-day, there will be 2500 miles between you.

Conor pulled me closer to him, which helped ease the bitter reality that was about to bite us in the ass tomorrow morning. There's nothing else you can do about it. Just enjoy it.

The more I let myself fall into his warmth, the more everything around me became present. The white lights in the hall made sure everyone was safe. The shops on the other side of the corridor closed their doors and, one after another turned off the lights. A moving walkway in front of them rustled as it waited for people to use it again. And the storm howled outside as if there was no tomorrow.

Within the blink of an eye, I thought I had gone blind.

Everything turned dark—no lights shining in the airport or outside. I could feel Conor twisting his head and tightening his grip.

"What happened?" I asked. In the distance, people turned on the flashlights built into their smartphones, shining them in every direction, accompanied by a growing murmuring.

"Power outage, I guess," he answered. "Probably will be back any second." I wanted to lean myself up, but Conor didn't let me.

Why do you keep clinging to me? I wanted to ask, but I felt that he was slightly shivering. Wait. Hasn't he always been afraid of the dark? He kept a nightlight on every time we had a sleepover at his place. When he stayed at our house, he insisted on keeping the blinds open so the streetlight could shine into my room. And except for some smartphone flashlights, it was now pitch dark. I guess things like that don't get easier the older you become.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah," he said, but I knew he was lying because his voice was shaking. His shivering increased as if he feared I could judge him for that, as we weren't children anymore. But everyone is scared of something. With a sudden push, I freed myself from his grasp, and before he knew it, I wrapped my arms around his chest, now holding him as tight as I could.

"Better?"

"Yeah," he said, and this time the shivering subsided.

"I never asked you, but you are not good with the dark, are you?"

I immediately regretted asking as Conor started to breathe heavily.

"Let me turn on my flashlight too."

"No, not, it's okay. The others are just fine…."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sorry, it's… hard to explain…" he stuttered, and it was like someone turned a switch, and brave, strong Conor turned into the 8-year-old from our sleepovers.

"Something bad had happened, huh?"

The blizzard outside howled, and with all the smartphone flashlights inside, it almost looked like a scene out of a horror movie. As if a presumed dead monster would crash through the window every second, attacking everything that dared to move.

"I'm sorry, I asked. You don't need to tell me. I'll fight every evil thing that tries to attack us," I said as I gently squeezed his hand.

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"Thanks, Ash."

I leaned my head over his and gave him another kiss. Being this close felt like it was always meant to be this way. Just us two, here and now.

It felt like I finally had a grasp on this thin crumbling straw that I was so desperately looking for—an offered chance to have him in my life again. I want to fight for him. For us. To make things right not only with him but with everyone I wronged. I held him tighter, almost as if I was clinging onto him, as I suddenly realized that if I wanted to make things right, the real battle would only begin once this night was over.

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When the lights came back on, it was still dark outside, even though it was already shortly after 6 am. Conor was asleep in my arms, and I had just spent the last couple of hours feeling his warmth and secretly smelling his hair. I can be pretty creepy, I thought, but I dismissed that quickly because probably everyone has done stuff like this at least once at some point.

When the lights turned back on, it was as if a counselor at a summer camp ambushed the inexperienced youth to teach them a lesson about being ready for everything within seconds. As if we would have to hike 1000 miles home through the snow at 10 degrees without rations, water, or appropriate clothes, starting now. No time to say goodbye.

Conor slowly blinked his eyes open and jumped up hastily as if he was sure that he had overslept and the school bus would be here any minute now, forcing him to shower, brush his teeth, pack his bag and eat breakfast within a minute.

"Shit. Stupid. Fuck."

I busted a gut as seeing him this confused was just a lot of fun.

"I'm sorry, I fell asleep," he mumbled, remorseful. He looked so sweet as he pouted, angry at himself because it must feel like he lost so much time we could have spent together. But to me, this night was a gift. Having him sleeping in my arms was better than anything I could have ever imagined. But I couldn't just tell him that. Instead, I felt the deep urge to do what he enjoyed doing to me yesterday so much: tease him as if there was no tomorrow. Something I wish we could do forever because it was so much fun with him.

"How are you going to make up for it?" I asked, belligerently smiling at him. His eyes almost killed me as if he would insinuate that I had ulterior motives.

"Do you want me to grant you a wish, or what?"

"For example."

He leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. "Was that your wish?"

I clenched my face and shook my head no. "It was a reasonable guess, but I think I have to wish for something else."

He ran a hand through his hair, turned his head to check that no one else was listening in on our conversation, and leaned his mouth close to my ear, whispering, "And what would that be?" His voice sounded so amorous that I got the feeling that his imagination must have run wild.

"Can I have your phone number?"

He widened his eyes, blinking them as if he had just woken up for real.

"Would have given you that for free," he shook his head, rolling his eyes as if seriously disappointed. He snatched my phone from my lap, held it in my face to unlock it, typed in his number, and pressed the green call button. When his phone rang, he smiled and held it up. My name was clearly legible next to a picture of my 14-year-old self giving me a sinister smile like someone had just told me a dirty joke.

"You will probably still have this number in 50 years."

"What? That's easy for everyone."

"Or maybe you just don't like change."

"I like this change," I said and pulled him in for a kiss. He almost fell over and onto my lap, but I held his arms, so he quickly regained his balance.

The moving runway slowly pulled an older woman by. She looked like one of those grandmas who stared out of their kitchen windows all day, watching the kids play. For a moment, I wasn't sure if she would start screaming or fainting any second now as she watched us kiss. I glanced at her, ready for anything, and, to my surprise, a big smile spread across her face, culminating in a heartwarming thumbs-up on her side. Conor noticed my attention was drawn away from him and turned his head to see what was happening. She started waving at us, and after a second of bewilderment, we both waved back while the moving runway kept slowly pulling her out of our sight.

As she left, our faces turned to each other, and chuckling, Conor sat next to me with his head resting on mine.

"How late is it?"

"6:12"

For a moment, we just sat there and stared into the distance in front of us, enjoying the company, trying not to think about what was coming.

"Not even two hours." My voice trembled, not ready for the inevitable.

He grabbed my hand as if he wanted me to know that he thought the same thing. But in the end, it was of no use. A feeling way more painful than the anger I had carried around for all those years came over us. We both had to face the harsh fact that this was only meant to be for one night from the beginning.

"I don't want this to be over, Conor."

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