Page 7 of Up In Flames

Will

O ren was easy to be with. He still got quiet sometimes, but I let him have his moments without drawing attention to them.

I’d never been through anything close to the hell he’d been through, but it wasn’t hard to reason that it was still fucking with his head.

Every so often, Oren would crack a joke, or deliver a snarky comment, and I was left with the impression I was seeing the authentic Oren.

The one not weighed down by grief and guilt.

“All you guys are missing is a Ferris Wheel.” Oren walked with his hands tucked in his pockets. Our painted faces had garnered some attention from the other guys, and I noticed a few of them head off in the direction of the face painting tent.

“Rides are a hazard.”

“Spoken like a guy who’s probably had to rescue people from a Ferris Wheel.”

“Not yet, thankfully. But I’ve been on the internet. I’ve seen how wrong carnival rides can go.”

“Ferris Wheels only come off their frame and roll through the city in the movies. They’re perfectly safe.” Oren paused. “Probably.”

“Probably is very reassuring, thank you. We might not have carnival rides, but we have a photo booth.”

Oren paused again for a half second, then shrugged. “Why not? Lead the way, Dorsey.”

It was stupid for me to like the sound of my name in his mouth.

Everyone called me Dorsey. There was nothing special about it.

But I liked hearing my name in his voice.

It meant that we were friends, that maybe I’d get to keep him around for a while.

My regular brain cautioned me to at least try to not crush on him so hard.

I ignored that bit of advice, of course, in favor of throwing my whole body right into full-blown Oren Obsession.

“It’s back this way.” We started toward the booth, and I caught sight of one of the guys he worked with. “Will you get in trouble for not hanging with your coworkers?”

“Nah. Attendance wasn’t mandatory or anything. Merely encouraged.”

When we reached the photo booth, we had to wait for a group of teenagers. They were taking turns ducking in and out of the booth in various combinations of people. More than a couple of them came out red-faced and smug. Oren caught my gaze, and we shared a knowing smile.

Oh, to be a young, horny teenager again. Except I was never out, so I’d never have wanted to duck into a photo booth with a group of my peers. I didn’t want to kiss the girls, and I couldn’t kiss the boys. My heart clenched at all the opportunities I’d lost out on growing up queer and closeted.

Two teenaged boys ducked into the booth together.

Well, one boy dragged another boy inside the booth, much to the amusement of their friends, who all cheered and whistled and made all kinds of comments outside the booth.

It healed something inside me to watch these two boys come out, obviously having kissed in the booth judging by the redness of the taller one’s face, and the way the shorter guy clung to his hand, grinning from ear to ear.

I’d never had that as a teenager, but at least these kids got to have it.

The group of them moved on, and the booth was now available for Oren and me.

Oren approached the curtain, then looked back at me. “Are we sure it’s sanitary? I can practically smell the lingering hormones.”

“There’s hand sanitizer around here somewhere, I’m sure.”

“Good enough.” Oren slipped inside the booth.

Sucking in a deep breath, I followed. I squished in next to him and grimaced.

“I didn’t realize how small these things were on the inside.”

“They’re not small. You’re just built like a firetruck.” Oren fed a bill into the machine. “You ever done this before?”

“Nope.” I knew he meant the photo booth, but I’d never done any of it.

I’d never walked around a park with a guy I couldn’t help but be attracted to.

I’d never bought him ice cream and went face painting.

Logically, I knew it wasn’t a date, but the lonely teenager inside of me wanted desperately to pretend it was.

“Neither have I, but the instructions are pretty clear. We just have to decide if we want normal pictures or silly ones.”

“Why not both? We’ll do two sets.”

“Okay, then we’ll do regular pictures first.” Oren pressed a button to start the picture taking process, then flung an arm around my shoulders.

The heat from his body seared into me. My dick twitched, and I begged it not to get hard.

Popping wood just because a gorgeous man smiled at me, touched me in the most casual of ways, was mortifying.

I endured the fleeting mortification because Oren’s arm around me was too good to not enjoy. We took four normal enough pictures. The photo booth was small, and we were crammed together, which would make for good pictures.

The silly pictures were on me, and I fed my money into the machine.

The first picture was just us making faces. Oren had been adorable with his cross-eyed expression and his tongue sticking out. The next one, he held his hands up by his head, making antlers. His hand ended up in my face and I pretended to bite him.

“Feisty.” Oren flashed me a smile and the camera went off again. “Shit, we’ve only have one picture left.”

We weren’t horny teenagers and Oren was straight, so there was no way I could haul him against me and crush my lips against his and capture that moment in time forever. It was a stupid thing to want so badly that I couldn’t breathe or move or think.

“Will?” Oren said my name, and the last picture was taken. “You okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just a tight fit in here.” It was a stupid excuse.

I wasn’t claustrophobic. I ran into burning buildings, for fuck sake.

Climbed ladders to rescue kittens and people and anyone that needed rescuing.

I pulled people from piles of mangled metal.

But I was terrified of Oren looking at me and realizing that I’d gone and developed a stupid crush on him.

Pulling the curtain back, I got out of the booth, sucked in a deep breath, and thanked my lucky stars that my fear of Oren seeing the truth of my feelings kept my dick from getting hard.

Sometimes I wanted to scream to the whole world and let them know who I really was and let the chips fall where they may.

But I didn’t want to lose the guys at the station.

Or my parents. It was a catch twenty-two.

I didn’t have anyone that I was willing to come out for, and I had trouble finding someone because I wasn’t out.

Oren slipped out of the booth, and he grabbed the photos from the slot as they developed.

“I make a pretty good butterfly.” Oren passed me the first row of photos.

The serious ones. We looked like best friends.

If I didn’t know the people in the photo, I’d say they were best friends.

Or lovers. Boyfriends even. Out on a date.

But the truth was it was two guys who were little more than strangers.

Tentative friends hanging out in public, surrounded by people who didn’t know the guy with the tiger face paint wasn’t half as brave as the butterfly.

“These are good pictures.”

The next set dropped into the slot, and Oren snorted a laugh when he pulled them out. “Oh, God. Look at us.”

Oren held on to the pictures but moved closer so I could see too.

I’d never particularly liked having my picture taken, but I’d been willing to step foot in that booth to capture a bit of something I thought I’d missed out on growing up.

The first three pictures on the row were us being ridiculous.

Crossed eyes and scrunched faces. Tongues out or huge smiles.

All except for the last picture that was just us staring at each other.

Me, thinking that Oren might see how much I liked him.

Me, wishing I knew what he was thinking, but knowing it didn’t matter.

“Which ones do you want?” Oren asked. “Silly or casual?”

“We could do half and half.” I suggested, folding the row of pictures in half, sectioning off the top two and the bottom two.

Carefully, I tore down the crease I made.

It took a minute to get it done, but I passed one of the halves to Oren then repeated the process with the other set.

I kept the last picture for myself. It was stupid, but I felt like I needed to have that picture.

It represented all the things I never got to have—and might never get to have as long as I stayed in the closet.

To say I had always been okay with being in the closet was a lie, but it used to be easier. But as I got older and grew into who I was, all the things I was hiding from people had started to crowd my closet.

I tucked the pictures in my wallet and wished that one day I’d have a reason to be brave.

Oren stuck around until the crowds began to dissipate and tents started coming down.

“I should get going.” Oren offered a crooked smile. His hands were tucked in his pockets again.

“Did you want a ride home?”

He furrowed his brow, looking uncertain. “Don’t you have to help dismantle everything?”

“Nah, I helped set it up. It’s like kitchen duty. Whoever cooks doesn’t have to clean. Whoever was here at the ass crack of dawn to help set up doesn’t have to take down.” Realizing how we met, I could have kicked myself. “It’s okay if you’re not comfortable with getting in my truck.”

Oren breathed a sigh of relief and raked his hand through his hair. He looked down at the ground, avoiding my gaze for a beat. “I know I’ll have to get over the whole thing eventually, but I’ve been walking everywhere or taking transit. Right now, I make a terrible passenger.”

“You could always drive.”

Oren shook his head. “Not yet.”

“It’s understandable.”

“Is it?” He exhaled and rocked back on his heels.

“Trauma is trauma. Sometimes it takes a while to overcome the bad things.”

“And what if we never do? What then?” Oren looked at me with shining eyes, like he was desperate for answers but feared what they might be.

“Then you find a way to live with it. I could go with you, if you wanted. When you feel ready to try driving again. The offer is open. I could meet you someplace and you can try it out, and if you can’t do it, you’re not stranded somewhere. We’ll stick close to home or something.”

Oren nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

“Want company for your walk home?” I hoped he wouldn’t say no. I wasn’t ready for our day to end. I had friends, but they were all people I worked with. It was nice to hang around with someone new, even if that someone made me want things I couldn’t have.

Oren looked at me and that lopsided smile of his that I’d immediately loved started to form.

“You have a sparkle…” He reached for me, his eyes focused on my cheek, mine focused on him.

His touch was so delicate it was like being caressed by the wind, but warm.

The brush of a fingertip against my cheek shouldn’t have made me hard.

But it did. It shouldn’t have made my breath catch, but it did.

I prayed for Oren not to notice, but he looked at me a split second after it happened. Sheepishly, he pulled his hand away. At that moment, I felt exposed. Like everything I was and everything I wanted were on display for him.

I was so fucked.