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summer then
change is always difficult, but more so when you’re young. the thing that ryan struggled most with was the loss of permanency; how could something he was so sure he’d have forever be gone in the blink of an eye?
brianna called him dramatic, planting a maternal kiss on his forehead and smoothing the downturn of his mouth. “it’s only for a season,” she said. “he’ll be back next summer.”
ryan still frowned, still pouted. he wanted to stomp his foot, but he held himself back. this was the first summer that his parents were letting him and his siblings stay at the beach house without them; he didn’t want to ruin this newfound freedom by acting like a baby. he didn’t want to waste the last of his time with his brother.
𓂃 ོ☼𓂃
he was skipping stones on the beach when john found him, sliding his thumb over the smooth surface, making mental bets with himself for how far he could throw it. seven skips this time, he thought, cocking back his arm and chucking the stone with all his might.
plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, sunk.
from behind him came the stick of the sliding glass door, the creak of the third step from the deck. “that was a good one,” john said. ryan could smell his cologne as he came closer, something spicier than the body spray he used to use just until the beginning of that year. he’d given all of his old stuff to ryan, who had wasted no time spraying it all over himself and everything in his bedroom, not because he liked how it smelled but because it smelled like john.
ryan’s cheeks heated as he searched the shoreline for another flat stone to throw. “no it wasn’t,” he grumbled. “i got six the last time.”
john’s laugh was soft, airy. he bent down and picked up a stone, handing it to ryan. “try this one,” he said.
ryan’s thumb traced the stone, a ritual in his muscles. it felt light in his hand, evenly round, perfectly smooth. he threw it hard, john counting out loud as it skipped, eight then nine then ten before it finally sank under the water.
a smile beamed across ryan’s face, excitement making his heart flutter like beating wings in his chest. john grinned back, already plucking up another stone for ryan to throw.
that stone skipped eleven, the next one twelve. alyssa called them in for lunch, then, but john had already handed him another stone. instead of skipping it, ryan put it into his pocket, and when he went to bed that night, he slipped it under his pillow.
𓂃 ོ☼𓂃
ryan’s sisters spent all of their time laying out in the sun in chairs on the beach, sunglasses perched on their noses. ryan didn’t understand it, how they could lay there for hours and not get bored, but he just shrugged his shoulders and left them to it. the longer they laid there, the more time ryan got to spend with john, just the two of them.
they played basketball in the driveway, went fishing off the dock, went digging for seashells after the tide went out. they went on bike rides and john bought him ice cream, rolling his eyes and swiping his thumb across ryan’s chin when his cone melted too fast for him to keep up.
ryan loved spending his days with john out and about, but his favorite thing was when they’d get back after sunset, when john fired up the ps4 and popped in nhl 15, ryan watching rapt as john’s thumbs flicked over the joysticks, the players racing up and down the ice.
exhausted from a long day, sleepy from the sun, ryan nodded off against john’s shoulder. he woke only when john picked him up off the couch and carried him into his bedroom, tucking him under the covers before climbing in on the other side. ryan rolled and john lifted his arm, tucking him in close. he was shirtless, his skin was warm and smelled like his new cologne, but the blankets still smelled like his old body spray, like ryan.
ryan took a long breath in through his nose, taking in the scent of both of them intertwined. “g’night, bubba” he murmured, “love you.”
he felt the gentle up and down movement of john’s chest as he breathed, even and slow. john pressed a soft kiss to the top of ryan’s head. “goodnight, ry,” he said, voice low. “love you, too.”
𓂃 ོ☼𓂃
“the sleepover thing is cute,” alyssa said, popping open the tab on her can of soda. “but you don’t have to keep letting ryan sleep in your room, y’know.”
she probably didn’t think ryan could hear her from where he was sat out on the deck, but he left the sliding glass door cracked a little bit. he liked eavesdropping—he was good at it—but something about this conversation made something unpleasant settle in his tummy.
“it’s fine,” john said. “he just wants to spend time with me before i leave. i don’t mind.”
“aren’t you just the best big brother?” alyssa teased. john didn’t say anything back, but it made ryan smile, a little thing just to himself.
𓂃 ོ☼𓂃
the beach house was so quiet at night that even the smallest sound woke ryan up out of his sleep. he was used to the crash of the waves on the shoreline, the cries of the seabirds, the gentle chirping of crickets, but anything else had his ears pricking and eyes opening into slits, still blurry with sleep.
john’s bedroom had an en-suite bathroom. it was small, just a half bath, and if the door was open, the whole of it was visible from the vantage point of the bed. when ryan woke up to the dip of the mattress and the sounds of john’s socked feet shuffling over the carpet, he watched with sleepy eyes as john tiptoed into the bathroom. he didn’t close the door all the way; when he flicked on the light, it cast a thin sliver of gold across the bottom of the bed. ryan could still see him, with both of his hands braced on the sink, staring at himself in the mirror.
ryan closed his eyes, waiting to hear the pitter patter of john relieving himself then the flush of the toilet before the light went off and john padded softly back to the bed. when a few seconds ticked by, timed by the rhythmic chirping of a cricket just outside the bedroom window, ryan cracked his eyes open again.
john was still leaning against the sink but was braced with only one hand. the other was down the front of his pajama pants, moving up and down in a frantic, jerky motion. his eyes were closed, lips parted, his panting breaths leaving a foggy splotch on the mirror.
heat rushed into ryan’s cheeks. he’d heard the older boys in the locker room after practice talking about jerking off before, but he’d never done it himself. it looked almost violent, the way john was handling himself, with quick, sharp jerks of his arm. but john’s face was blissful, his skin flushed all the way down his chest, shiny with the dew of the sweat he was already working up, glistening in the glow of the bathroom light.
ryan slipped his own hand into his pajama pants, his eyelids drooping. he was soft and small even in his own palm, cupped entirely by the embrace of his fingers. he imagined it was john touching him, how it would feel different if it was someone else’s hand, someone who knew what they were doing, who had done it before, versus him and his fumbling inexperience.
“fuck, ryan,” john gasped. ryan flinched, tearing his hand out of his pants, sure that he’d been caught. he opened his eyes expecting to see john staring back at him, but john’s eyes were still closed, his hand still moving up and down but slower now, like he was savoring the feeling of it.
i’m right here, bubba. ryan wanted to call out. he wanted to throw off the blankets and tell john that he’d seen him, that he’d heard him. he wanted john to slip back into bed with him and tug him close, wrap his arms around him and press them together until ryan couldn’t tell where he ended and john began. he wanted to slip into john’s skin, to be so close that nothing would be able to separate them, not ever.
he wanted to, but he didn’t. instead he rolled over, burying himself under the blankets. he waited and he waited for the bed to dip and the heat of john beside him to return, but he nodded off again before john came back.
𓂃 ོ☼𓂃
the next night, john asked ryan to sleep in his own room. ryan fell asleep staining his pillow with tears, clutching the stone with trembling fingers.
𓂃 ོ☼𓂃
there was a small diner just down the road from the beach house. a local little mom and pop place, with worn checkered floors and a milkshake so thick it couldn’t be sipped through a straw, rather eaten with a spoon. they stacked their pancakes a mile high, slathered them in butter and warm syrup. it was ryan’s favorite thing on the menu, and the thing alyssa ordered for him when she knew he needed cheering up.
“you can have a sleepover with me instead,” she offered.
ryan poked at his pancakes. they were soggy on his plate; he hadn’t even taken a bite. “it’s not the same.”
𓂃 ོ☼𓂃
it didn’t rain often at the beach house, but when it rained, it poured. the sky had been dreary and gray all day, thick clouds shrouding the sun and casting everything in a ugly, low-lit sheen. the waves were choppy, the wind whipped, the raindrops slammed hard against the roof and the deck. it was cacophony, made even worse by the flash of lightning and roaring claps of thunder.
ryan laid awake in his bed, heart beating fast in his chest. he hated storms, always had. his mom used to soothe him by telling him to count the seconds between the lightning and the thunder. that’s how many miles away the storm is, she’d say, running her fingers through his hair, giving him a soft kiss on his forehead. something so far away can’t hurt you.
the beach house lit up, an electric streak across the sky. ryan counted up to five before the thunder crashed; five miles away, but the storm still scared him silly.
he clutched his blankets tighter to his chest. he didn’t want to be alone during the storm—he hated it. he gathered his quilt into his arms and, mustering every ounce of courage he had, he got up out of bed, left his room, and padded down the hall to john’s. he had the sudden thought that maybe he should knock, but he’d never knocked on john’s door before a single time in his life.
with a shaking hand, ryan wrapped his fingers around the door knob and gave it a twist. the door cracked open, dark inside save for the sliver of moonlight coming through the windows. john was fast asleep, half-tucked under his blankets, wearing nothing but his pajama bottoms. john wasn’t scared at all, sleeping soundly like there wasn’t a storm raging outside, shaking the house, rattling ryan’s nerves.
“bubba?” ryan called, voice tiny, shy. “bubba, are you awake?”
john didn’t stir. ryan crept closer, until his legs bumped the side of the bed. there was enough space that he could crawl right in, tuck himself up against john’s side just like he did before. he clutched his quilt tighter, and when the next flash of lightning made his heart skip a beat, he slipped into the bed and hid his face against john’s chest, counting the seconds. thunder crashed and ryan startled hard, the top of his head knocking against john’s chin.
“wha-huh?” john grunted, his voice gravelly from sleep. ryan tucked himself closer, like if he could make himself small enough john wouldn’t notice he was there, and then he would get to stay. “ry, what’re you—?”
“the storm,” ryan whimpered. his lips brushed john’s bare collarbone, the skin smooth and warm, smelling like spice and musk and sea salt. “don’t make me leave, please, bubba, ‘m scared.”
john sighed, an exasperated sound, but his arms came up to wrap around ryan anyways, an instinctual need for him to comfort ryan when he was distressed. “it’s just rain, bud,” john murmured.
ryan supposed john meant it to be comforting—it’s just rain, it can’t hurt you—but the words hit sharp in ryan’s chest, like the prick of a needle straight into his heart. it felt like rejection—it’s just rain, ryan, grow up.
a hitching sob worked its way up ryan’s throat, and before he knew it he was crying. fat, heavy tears rolled down his cheeks and he whimpered a miserable breath, tugging his quilt up to cover his face. john made a concerned sound, trying to pull the quilt away, but ryan held steady. “woah, hey,” john said, sounding much more awake now. “ry, what’s wrong? why are you crying?”
“you hate me!” ryan wailed, utterly inconsolable. it felt like the world was coming down around him, falling with the heavy rain. john nudged ryan’s jaw, trying to get him to lift his head.
“why would you say that?” john asked. he sounded genuinely wounded. his heart beat fast behind his ribs, his pulse fluttering like hummingbird wings against ryan’s cheek. ryan shook his head, clammed up, his own anguish making his throat feel tight. “hey, bud, talk to me. why would you think that?”
“you k-kicked me out,” ryan sniffled.
“that’s what this is about? god, ryan, i don’t hate you,” john pressed his fingers against ryan’s jaw again and ryan finally gave in, lifting his head just enough to meet john’s gaze, so dark in the near pitch blackness of the room. “i just—i needed some privacy for a few nights, that’s all.”
ryan remembered the open bathroom door, the way john’s head was tipped back, his hand in his pants, arm moving frantically, the way he moaned fuck, ryan. a coil of angry heat twisted in ryan’s belly.
“you just wanted to jerk off,” ryan spat. “i saw you do it. i heard you.”
even in the near pitch dark of the room, ryan could see how john’s face went white. his eyes widened, lips parting on words he couldn’t form. ryan sniffed, fighting against john’s arms until he could turn his back to him. his shoulderblades still pressed against chest, but john kept his hips pulled away, purposely keeping space between them. ryan hated that space. he wanted it gone.
“ryan,” john said, low and serious. “buddy, i’m sorry, you shouldn’t have seen that. it wasn’t—i shouldn’t have done that with you so close by.”
“why did you say my name?” ryan asked. john stiffened behind him.
“i didn’t,” john said, after a long beat of silence.
“yes you did,” ryan huffed. “i heard you say it. i’m not dumb.”
“stop it,” john said harshly. ryan’s cheeks went hot, indignation making him bratty.
“you said it, you said it—”
“ryan, no i didn’t.”
“yes you did—”
“shut up!”
“liar!” ryan flipped around, and with his open palm, he smacked john hard on the chest. the sound echoed loud in the room, loud enough that ryan thought for a quick, frightening second that his sisters might have hear it. it didn’t stop him though, his anger at john superceding any anxiety he had about waking alyssa or brianna. “you’re a stupid liar!”
john’s hand smacked down on ryan’s mouth, warm and clammy. ryan struggled, fighting against it, kicking at john’s legs. john grunted, trying to pin ryan’s legs down with his own, but ryan was squirming too hard to be held down. ryan swatted and bucked but john was still bigger than him, still stronger than him, and eventually ryan was wrangled against john’s chest, his face smushed into the crook of john’s neck.
heavy breaths sawed out of both of them, the air tense between the almost nonexistent sliver of space that separated their bodies. the longer he kept his face tucked into john’s neck, breathing in his scent, the more ryan felt himself start to relax. it was involuntary, like a programmed response—the smell was distinctly john and john was safe, john would take care of him. ryan’s whole body went lax, drooping into john’s hold. john’s arm’s tightened, tugging him impossibly close, a momentary lapse of judgement that lasted just long enough for ryan to feel the hard swell between john’s thighs where it pressed against his belly.
“oh,” ryan squeaked.
“fucking—jesus,” john groaned. he didn’t pull his hips away, rather rolling forward to use his weight to pin ryan to the mattress. ryan shivered at the size of him. “just couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”
“‘m sorry, bubba,” ryan murmured, feeling like jell-o that had been left out in the sun too long, all goopy and melty. he wanted more, wanted john even closer. he barely even noticed the storm still raging outside anymore, only paid attention to the lightning when it flashed in the window and illuminated john’s face.
“no you’re not,” john said. he stared down at ryan, his pupils wide, like a black hole. ryan had learned about those in science class just that year, how they sucked up anything and everything around them. that’s what it felt like, laying there pinned by john’s body and john’s gaze; ryan was being drawn in by him, pulled in headlong by an unrelenting gravity, hurtling towards an inevitable ruin. ryan squirmed, pressing his belly upwards between john’s hips. john sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “ryan.”
“will you do it again?” ryan asked, blinking owlishly. “right here, with me?”
john shook his head, teeth gritted like he was in physical pain. “you don’t know what you’re asking for.”
maybe ryan could blame the storm, or blame the darkness, for the feeling that time had stopped between them. it didn’t quite feel real there in john’s bed with john pressed against him, the rain still beating against the roof, the crash of the waves against the shoreline. ryan felt like he could do anything he wanted to in that moment, because nothing was real anyways. maybe that’s to blame for the way he reached down, worming his hand between their bodies and pressing his little palm against the big, hard line of john’s dick in his pajama pants.
john jolted like he’d been shocked, his mouth dropping open, chin tucking to his chest. “ryan,” he gasped, hips jerking unsteadily into ryan’s unsteady, exploratory touch. “fuck, ry, don’t. i can’t—i can’t stop.”
“don’t,” ryan whispered. he petted at john again, then john’s hands were suddenly everywhere, all over him, and ryan felt like he was being swept away by a riptide. he wanted it. he wanted john, all of him, as much as he could take, before summer ended and john moved so far away.
the quilt was tugged away, kicked to their feet. john’s breath was hot on ryan’s neck. his hands trembled as he pulled ryan’s shorts off his hips, down his skinny legs. fingertips pressed divots into ryan’s soft, pale thighs, playing connect the dots with his freckles. ryan watched with wide eyes and shallow breaths as john lowered the waistband of his pajamas. “c’mere,” john panted. ryan snuggled closer and john cursed, staring where ryan’s small penis pressed against his. john was so much bigger, throbbing with his pulse and wet at the tip. ryan was still mostly soft, but it felt so good to have john’s bare skin on his.
john’s hands fumbled between them. his palms were hot, clammy as he gripped ryan’s thighs, squeezing them hard enough to make ryan flinch, a little pained whimper slipping out of him. “i’m sorry, baby, sorry,” john breathed, his voice ragged. ryan wondered if he was apologizing for having hurt him or for the way he pushed his dick between ryan’s thighs.
john’s arm slid under ryan’s back, his hand fisting in ryan’s shirt, yanking it upwards to bare his belly while his other pressed down on the outside of ryan’s leg. “bubba,” ryan simpered, smooshing his face into john’s chest, his heart hammering behind his ribs. john cursed as he thrust forward, dragging his cock through the tight space he created between ryan’s thighs. ryan’s cock smushed against john’s belly, having finally gotten fully hard. it felt so nice, being held like that.
it was a hot, foggy back and forth. john’s grip on ryan’s body never wavered, only growing tighter as he thrust faster, his breathing going erratic as he drove his cock between ryan’s legs, over and over again. heat was everywhere, inside and out; it reminded ryan of his uncle’s cottage and the old hot tub he had, the memories of dunking his head under the too-hot water and feeling like he was going to cook from the inside out.
fingernails dug into ryan’s back as john let out a choked groan, another “fuck, ryan,” as his hips stuttered. ryan felt it then, something hot and wet spurting over his inner thighs. his cock jerked against john’s belly, and he nearly shouted when john’s hand wrapped around him, covering the entirety of him in his fist. john pressed his lips to the crown of ryan’s head as he stroked him, and ryan orgasmed in a matter of only seconds, just a small dribble of mostly clear fluid over john’s knuckles.
𓂃 ོ☼𓂃
guilt was a strange thing. ryan remembered a time when he was younger, maybe only seven or eight, when his mom took him to the grocery store and he stole a candy bar from the checkout aisle. he grabbed it off the shelf and shoved it into his pocket, his lips pursed tight as he waited for his mom or the checkout lady to notice that he had it, but the moment never came. he walked out of the store, hand in hand with his mother, carrying his secret with him all the way home and up into his room where he took the candy out of his pocket and tore into it, eating it to fast that it made his tummy hurt.
it wasn’t until he was staring at the shredded wrapper on the floor, chocolate smeared all over his fingers, that he started to feel bad. how terrible of him, to have taken something that didn’t belong to him, something that cost real money. he could have paid for it—he had a few dollars from his allowance tucked away in his mom’s purse. he didn’t know why he took it, why it had thrilled him so to snatch it off the shelf and slip it into his pocket. he had felt so bad about it for days afterwards, to the point where he’d gone to john and cried when he confessed what he’d done.
john had merely petted his hair and told ryan they could go back to the store if he wanted and buy two more candy bars to make up for it.
laying in john’s bed, completely naked while john snored beside him, he wondered why he’d felt so guilty about stealing a one-dollar candy bar but didn’t feel a single shred of guilt about what he and john had done, and what he wanted to keep doing, for as long as john would have him.
𓂃 ོ☼𓂃
the next morning, ryan woke to the sounds of his sisters cooking breakfast in the kitchen. the sun streamed in through the window. john was already awake, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling.
“ryan,” he said, his voice brittle. “we can’t ever do anything like that again.”
“why not?” ryan pouted. he reached out to touch john’s hand, pleased when john took his and intertwined their fingers. “i liked it.”
john’s eyes flicked to ryan’s face. “yeah?”
ryan tugged his hand away from john’s just enough so he could hook their pinkies together. “yeah.”
john rolled into his side and tugged ryan to his chest. “me too,” he said, burying his face in ryan’s hair, lips pressed to the crown of his head. “i liked it, too.”
𓂃 ོ☼𓂃
from that night onward, ryan slept in john’s bed. he liked to be snuggled up under the blankets before john came in, especially on the nights john showered before bed. they had a fun little routine—john would come into the room, hair wet and skin still glistening damp, with only a towel slung around his waist. ryan would watch, barely able to stop himself from squirming, as john traipsed around, pretending to look for boxers or sleep shorts or pants before he turned to ryan with an exaggerated huff and dropped his towel to the floor. he’d smile slyly when ryan lifted the blankets to show that he was nude, too, then slip into bed right next to him.
john liked ryan on his belly. he liked to push ryan down into the sheets, liked to straddle ryan’s thighs and palm his little ass, liked to spread him open and slip his cock into the soft, warm cleft. it overwhelmed ryan every single time, how all-encompassing it was to have john’s body on top of him, his fingers digging into his skin, his mouth hot on the back of his neck, murmuring a repetitive mantra of “you feel so good, ry, i love it, i love you.”
sometimes ryan got hard right away, sometimes he didn’t, but every single time john still made sure to reach between his thighs and wrap his fingers around ryan’s cock. he’d stroke him until he was a shivering, aching mess, clutching at whatever part of john he could reach and smothering his moans into the pillows as john covered his mouth and told him to be quiet, so quiet, so their sisters wouldn’t overhear.
𓂃 ོ☼𓂃
there was a small corner store a few miles away from the summer house, a locally owned little place with a surprisingly large stock. there was a huge ice cream freezer in the back, and ryan was an expert at convincing his siblings to buy him a treat whenever they had to pop into town to get something they’d run out of or just forgotten to bring with them.
ryan slumped in the passenger seat as john drove back from the store, one hand on the wheel and the other on ryan’s knee. he sucked on the tip of a grape popsicle, eyes drifting down to the bag next to his feet in the footwell. john made ryan wait in the car while he went into the store, and he hadn’t told ryan what he bought. curiosity ate at him; he wanted to know.
he found out later that night, while he was on his back, john between his spread thighs. john tugged the bag out from where he’d stashed it in the nightstand, dumping it out onto the bed. out tumbled a small pack of tissues and a purple tube of something ryan didn’t recognize.
“what’s that?” he asked. john plucked the tube up, peeling off the plastic from around the cap.
“it’s lube,” john said. he was trying and failing to sound nonchalant. “i wanted—there’s something i want to try. you trust me?”
with his life. “uh huh,” ryan said. “what is it?”
“i wanna finger you,” john said. his cheeks were flushed deep red, his hair mussed, breathing heavy. ryan squirmed under the intensity of his gaze, feeling like a bug under a magnifying glass.
“will it feel good?” ryan asked, peering up at john through his lashes. john gave him a sweet little kiss on his brow.
“it’ll feel good,” john promised, so ryan said yes.
ryan laid back against the pillows. john nudged his legs open, and ryan stared at the ceiling as john fumbled with the lube. ryan gasped when he finally felt john’s finger, cold and slick, push inside of him. it felt weird, uncomfortably full.
john buried his face against ryan’s thigh as he breached him, one then two then three. ryan ached all over, his hole sore as it stretched, but he didn’t tell john to stop. he couldn’t tell john to stop—it made him feel too powerful, watching john rut his cock against the mattress, mouth open and desperate as he came, rocking his fingers inside of ryan’s body.
𓂃 ོ☼𓂃
ryan craved it, after that. he stared when john stripped, his little cock already hard as john climbed naked into bed with him. he spread his thighs and asked for john’s fingers inside, every single night.
after a couple weeks, john had to buy more lube. ryan didn’t go to the store with him, but john still brought him home a cherry popsicle.
𓂃 ོ☼𓂃
john fucked ryan for the first time on a night just a few sleeps shy of their last day at the beach house, when both alyssa and brianna were gone, staying over at a friend’s place. their sisters had bid john and ryan goodbye a few hours earlier, telling them to have fun and behave, they’d be back in the morning.
maybe it should have been a bigger deal, losing his virginity, but it felt like the most natural thing in the world when john notched his cock up against ryan’s hole. he felt soft and syrupy, fuzzy along his meridians from the long, lazy fingering john had given him, so much so that he didn't even realize what john was doing at first.
it hurt, even with the meticulous way john had opened him up. ryan squealed, smacked his hands against john’s chest and tried to squirm away. john held him steadfast, his hands large and heavy on ryan’s hips. “i’m sorry, ry ry,” he panted, his lips smearing across ryan’s cheek. “please let me, just let me.”
“ow, bubba,” ryan whimpered. john pulled him into a kiss, slipping his tongue into ryan’s mouth. he gripped his thigh and kept thrusting, swallowing every miserable sound ryan made.
john came inside him, a hot, wet rush that made his tummy feel strange. john reached between ryan’s thighs but ryan batted his hand away. he was soft, completely, feeling raw and used. he didn’t want john to touch him anymore.
a bath was run and john filled the tub with bubbles. he let ryan soak for as long as he wanted, putting ryan’s towel in the dryer so it’d be soft and warm for him when he got out. they slipped into bed together, naked like always; john pressed a kiss to the back of ryan’s neck and murmured an apology against his skin.
𓂃 ོ☼𓂃
summer now
even when he was younger, ryan understood that the beach house existed in a liminal space. things moved differently there—days were longer, nights were darker, the sun was hotter, and it all existed in a kernel of ephemeral time that he could hold in the palm of his hand.
he hasn’t been back here in years, but it’s all still the same. the white cedar siding, the light blue shutters, the chipped paint on the front door, the brass knob worn from hands twisting it over and over and over. the beach is still only a dozen steps from the back door, the salt air stinging his nose, the sand burning his bare feet. the only thing that has changed here is him.
the sliding glass door still sticks when it’s opened, the third step from the deck still creaks when it’s stepped on. ryan tilts his face up to the sun and it kisses him like it always has, offering extra love to the freckles on his cheeks.
he doesn’t startle when he feels the arms wrap around his waist—john said he was only a couple minutes away much more than a couple minutes ago.
ryan leans back into john’s embrace, and when he tilts his head to the side and feels john’s lips brush the underside of his jaw, he’s just a boy again.