"Whoa, dude."

Jude held a small, yet from the glint of the blade, sharp knife. The situation had escalated at the speed of light.

"I just wanna talk."

Jude slashed the air.

"Get away from me," Jude said, his eyes a mixture of fear and rage.

A twig snapped under Malik's foot, and Jude made another slashing motion with the weapon.

"We're both tired," Malik said, "And if we run around with a knife, someone might see us. Then we'll get in trouble."

Jude looked around. The park was too quiet. With the marathon done, the crowd had gone to the other side, where an opening band busted out electric guitar tunes. It could be heard from where they stood.

"Okay," Malik said, "so maybe no one will see or hear us."

Jude's hand faltered at Malik's words. He lowered the knife.

"You're right," Jude agreed." There is no point in running."

To Malik's horror, Jude raised the knife to his own throat.

What happened next was a blur. Malik launched himself at the boy, aiming for the weapon. While slim, Jude's kicks were impressive. He gave Malik several as they both went down in the moss-ridden grass. Jude had the knife in a death grip. It seemed impossible to pry it out of his hand, so Malik resorted to pressing his thumb on Noah's delicate wrist. Jude gasped, turning pale from the pain until he let go. Malik would've let him up—if he hadn't tried to go for the knife again.

"Will you —"

Malik yelped in surprise when Jude used his hips, throwing him off, coming up on top. He tried to get up, but Malik grabbed his foot, sending him down again. They tumbled and thrashed in a frenzy of struggling limbs and grunts. By far, Jude was turning out to be the wildest boy he'd ever met.

When Malik ended up on top of him and pinned Jude's hands behind his back, the boy freaked out. Jude's writhing body suddenly went still. His breath came out in shallow pants. Malik heard something like sawdust clogging his lungs every time he tried to breathe.

"Shit." Malik slid ungracefully off him.

He rolled Jude to his side, half lifting, half dragging him into a sitting position. His skin was too pale, eyes dilated. Malik doubted he saw anything.

"Come on, dude. Breathe."

"I can't," Jude rasped.

Malik tried to remember what he could about panic attacks while praying to God he hadn't given the poor dude a heart attack.

He forced Jude's head between his knees, keeping him in place with one hand while the other moved to the nape of his neck. Malik applied pressure and loosened tight knots. Jude's shoulders responded to the firm yet gentle massage, the tension easing bit by bit.

"Easy now," Malik said. "You're okay. You're safe. Everything is okay."

Jude let out a soft whimper, swaying as a wave of shudders coursed through him.

The sound nearly broke Malik's heart.

Whatever this guy was going through, Malik had no right to bring it to the surface.

He watched Jude shiver. The sun began sinking below the horizon while the wind picked up.

Malik untied his sweater from around his waist.

"I want you to wear this," he said to Jude, who still had his head between his knees. "You're gonna have to help me, though."

Jude gritted his teeth as he lifted his head. His hair was a mess, with bits of dried leaves and debris clinging to them. Malik placed the black sweater on the boy's shoulder and Jude, with his help, looped his arms through the sleeves.

"Let me," Malik said.

Malik knelt before his almost catatonic companion. He took hold of each delicate wrist, rolling the sleeves while being careful not to touch Jude more than he had to.

Moments went by where they sat side by side with Malik listening to Jude's breathing.

"Hold on."

He got up and grabbed his sports water bottle, which had fallen out of his hand during the wrestling match.

"Drink up," he said.

Jude had to curl his fingers around the bottle. The first sip sent him into a coughing fit. Malik patted his back.

"Try again," Malik said. "Shit, man. I'm sorry I took it too far."

Jude didn't say anything, nor did he drink.

"How do you feel? Do you need to go to a hospital?"

"I'm fine." The reply was too quick, laced with panic.

Jude struggled to rise, bracing himself on the trunk of a tree. Malik slipped an arm around his waist, but Jude pushed him back.

He swayed, but then his feet were firmly planted on the ground. "I need to go."

Malik was torn. The boy, still pale, shook as he hugged himself. How did he manage to hurt someone in mere seconds?

He bent to pick up his backpack for him. Jude snatched the arm of it, slinging it over his shoulders.

Malik took a step towards him. "Can I give you a ride home?"

"Why? I told you I don't know anything."

"And I won't ask you about anything," Malki lifted his palms up. "I wanna make sure you're good."

The boy was skittish, Malik needed to gain his trust, asking flat-out questions would cause him to shut down. As exciting as knife fights were, it was too early for a repeat.

"I don't need your pity."

"It's my fault you... you know."

"Apology accepted."

"I wasn't apologizing."

Jude ran a hand through his hair. A yellow leaf fell out of it. "Then go. Leave."

"Can we start over?"

"What for? We're done here." Jude turned on his heels and walked away.

Malik fell into step beside him.

"Will you stop?"

"Nope," Malik said. In his oversized sweater, Jude looked cuter. It helped that he wasn't struggling for breath again.

"I saw your tattoo, and it looked weird. That's all there is to it."

"Cool. You got a car?"

Jude kept walking. "No."

"Neither do I. I'll walk with you."

Jude groaned. Though Malik wasn't sure if it was out of annoyance or exhaustion. "It's a boring walk to where I live."

"I'll entertain you."

"Thanks, but no thanks."

"I insist."

He could feel Jude's eyes roll. "Why?"

"Because you're the most interesting person I've met so far."

Malik's arsenal went to flirting. Which in his experience, worked best when it was half-truths. Malik wasn't gay anyway, his attraction to guys was a passing phase.

And Jude had lied. The tattoo made him nervous. Malik had caught the glimmer of fear.

So they walked, crossing the main street, and passed shopping malls, ice cream trucks, and a closed school. Jude kept his head a little bent. He hugged himself tighter whenever Malik moved away, or someone on the pavement brushed his shoulder.

As they walked, Jude hummed an unfamiliar tune. It was melodious, making Malik relax. Though if Jude noticed he was listening, he'd clam up, resuming the silent match.

When Jude stopped before a poster, Malik caught himself before he slammed into him. The poster was by the Windsor Art Gallery, a solid black and white. They were advertising the works of an artist, Patricia Davis, someone Malik had never heard of.

Her upcoming exhibition boasted of a marriage between art and astronomy. The poster promised a modern retelling of star-forming clouds, galaxies, and the milky way.

Malik may have known nothing about art, but planets in alignment, stellar in space, solar systems, or orbits, however, he knew.

"You know her?'

Jude blinked at him. He seemed to have woken up from sleep. His face looked a little drowsy.

"No," he said. He wouldn't look at Malik.

"Do you like art?"

"I suppose."

"What was the event called? The one drawn?" Malik wracked his brain. He used to call it applesauce.

He snapped his fingers. "An appulse."

Jude glanced at him.

"It's when two planets are close, right?"

"Sort of," Jude said. "It's the closest two celestial bodies or more can get. It's happening this year."

"Ah. That's what the poster is about."

"Next time it happens will be in thirty years."

Malik nodded as a woman with a baby stroller went past them.

"Then we have to see it," he said.

Jude fell silent again.

Malik cursed under his breath. He wasn't kidding when he told Jude about his interest. What Malik didn't say was how confusing he found Jude. He'd go from confident to shy, from passionate to stone cold.

And the panic attack. Did it explain his pendulum attitude?

"Uh," Jude said, "I live here."

They were in front of a cluster of old apartment buildings. They lacked the polished state-of-the-art feel of the fancier streets. They were cozier with children running up the stairs while singing.

"Is it okay if I call you? If I can get your number?"

Jude shrugged. "I don't have a phone."

"No cell?"

Jude shook his head. The flurried waves of blond locks got messier.

"How about I give you mine, and you call me whenever you wanna hang out?" Malik patted his pockets. "You got any paper?"

Jude opened his mouth then closed it. He swung the backpack to his chest and dragged out a dog-eared sketchbook. Malik caught glimpses of scribbled words. Another page had drawings of skies, planets, and foreign seas.

"It looks like home," Malik said without thinking.

Jude's fingers tightened on the book. "Home?"

Malik cocked his head to the side. The question was searching. Jude's butter-scotch voice held a hint of a tremor.

"Yeah. My family goes on vacation back home during spring break. Or if we can, we go around November. We head to the beach and pretty much swim or sunbathe all day."

"In November?" Jude asked.

"Yup," Malik said, "it's sunny. Chilly at night, but nothing a sweatshirt can't fix. As soon as the sun comes out, it's summer."

He did it again. He opened his mouth to say something. Then, he bit his bottom lip, looking between the sketchbook to the laces of his worn sneakers.

"Lemme," Malik said.

He picked up the pen stuck by the cap to the sketchbook. In the corner of a blank page, Malik wrote his name and number. "If you wanna chill ring me up."

Jude closed the book and, with care, put it into the backpack. He hugged it close to his chest. For a moment, he seemed smaller, fragile in a way.

"Are you—" It was Malik's turn to clam up. He wanted to ask if he would be okay. If whoever waited for him upstairs knew he needed help or needed to be taken care of.

Malik could help. Wanted to. But... God. Jude had straightened his shoulders. His face had gone blank. Malik doubted he would let him in. He doubted he would call him either.

But it was fine since Malik now knew where he lived.