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“Absolutely.”

Ma is going to lunch with the pastor and his wife, and Mav’s dad is taking him some place fun where he can be a kid away from all this sadness. Rowan and I go to Sonic and eat ice cream and Coney dogs in his car like old times. Even after those pancakes at breakfast, I’m still hungry, so I eat two dogs and half of Rowan’s ice cream while he giggles and gives me hisI love you, dorklooks.

“Music?” I ask with a mouth full of Rowan’s cookie dough ice cream.

“Pick your poison.” He sticks that dated ass aux chord into his phone like this is 2014.

“Play me some of your shit. Like, uh—what do you like? JPEGMafia.”

Rowan snorts a laugh that tickles my nearly full belly, and he taps at his phone screen until the car fills with the sweet sound of Rowan’s taste.

Swirling my spoon in Rowan’s cup, I ask, “Are we gonna jerk each other off after I finish this?”

Rowan grins madly. “If that’s what you want.”

“Hmm.” I roll the vanilla and toppings around in my mouth, letting it all melt on my tongue and chill my teeth. “As much as I love your hand, it’s not my fave body part of yours to stick my dick in.”

“Just tell me what you want, baby boy. Anything. I’ll give it to you.”

I touch my cheek to the headrest and stare into Rowan’s dark, dreamy eyes. The eyes of the boy who called mefaggotwhen he was at his lowest, and the eyes of the man who calls mebaby boybecause he needs me to be his just as badly as I need to be his. As badly as I need him to be mine.

“Don’t spoil me,” I tell him, skimming my palm along his thigh and wishing he was wearing his flimsy running shorts. “You’ll turn me into a brat.”

Expression soft, he lifts a hand to brush his fingers along my jaw. “If you turn into a brat, I get to punish you.”

A scared little moan escapes me, and I shift my hips to soothe my dick as it swells in these uncomfy pants. Like a real baby, I whimper, “You punish me enough.”

Rowan’s eyebrows flicker with a moment of confusion.

“I just miss you so much.” My eyes go misty again, and I hate that I’m doing this. Hate that I’m being this way, but I can’t help it. Not today. Not for the past eight days.

“I’m right here.”

“I mean when you’re gone,” I cry, the words gurgling from my throat like muddy water. “I miss you so much when you’re gone. I try not to, but I can’t help it. I need you.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” His large, warm palm pets the side of my head, over my ear and down my neck in gentle swoops. “That’s gonna change. The next time I leave, I’m taking you with me. I’m not leaving you again. You hear me?”

“Mhmm,” I whine, but it comes out some pitiful, anguished cry. I turn and keel over, and Rowan somehow slips my tray off my lap before my forehead touches the dash. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” His hand is on my back now, stroking my spine. “You’re allowed to feel what you’re feeling.”

But my feelings don’t make sense. Why do I miss Rowan so much it physically hurts, even when he’s sitting right next to me? When he’s been with me nearly every hour of every day since last week? When next week, we’re loading up my truck and convoying to San Jose together, finally?

He’s right here.

But it fuckinghurts,and the only explanation for the pain my mind can fathom is thatI miss him. I need him. Where is he?

Oh… This isn’t really about Rowan, is it?

I suck in a harsh breath, allowing my lungs to fill fully for the first time in minutes, and I slump back in my seat.

“Breathe, Tommy,” I hear Rowan say, and I have a feeling he’s been repeating that phrase for a while. His palm presses my chest, rubbing me there, right over my heart, and I breathe against it as evenly as I can while holding back the tears.

“I’m sorry,” I heave. “That wasn’t about you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he implores, another hand on my forehead, smoothing away the sweat and my bangs that stick to it.

Even though it’s okay, I’m overtaken by shame that I let my emotions run rampant like that. Sobbing to JPEGMafia at a Sonic Drive-In is about as embarrassing as it gets.