When we get to my room, I head inside, but Dres pauses in the doorway, eyes scanning the space inquisitively. I generally keep my room clean, but I made sure to put clean sheets on my bed today and brought my dirty laundry downstairs.

     "Big TV," he says finally, taking a step into the room. Just one step. Like my room might exile him at some point. Spit him straight out of the window.

     "Birthday present. For optimum gaming." I wince as soon as I say it and Dres looks at me with this squished expression like he doesn't know whether to laugh or smile. "Okay, refrain from commenting on how nerdy that sounded."

     He refrains, instead asking, "When's your birthday?" He moves towards my desk as I walk over to the television, turning that and the Xbox on. I open the tray and exchange Fifa for COD.

     "August 9th," I answer. "And yours?" I grab two controllers and back up till I can sit on the end of my bed.

     "July 12th." He's still by my desk, which is where most of my stuff is, in the drawers, and arranged on the shelves. I've got a lot of books, a combination of contemp Fiction and some classics. "You read?" he asks, picking Scaramouche up off my desk so he can examine the back. Ido read but Scaramouche was thrust upon me by my Lit teacher.

     "Yeah, before bed usually. Helps me fall asleep."

     "Huh," Dres says.

     "Is it weird that I read? Have I just broken the nerd scale? I played football a whole summer when I was like eleven. Does that help?" I pause the game once its finished loading as Dres moves from my desk to my dresser, examining the wall where Grace has taped a bunch of polaroids she's taken over the years.

     "I just didn't know you read like that." He turns around, meeting my gaze as he leans back against my dresser. I hold up the second controller for him but he doesn't make a move to take it so I set it down on the bed beside me.

     "You can keep looking around if you want. I'm ready whenever you are to play." His expression changes by just a fraction, something in the brows. I quickly add, "Video games. To play video games. The game. Call of Duty." My cheeks are flaming hot.

     He says, "Not on the bed."

     "What?" I'm not entirely sure he heard me clarify video games.

     He shifts uncomfortably, crossing his arms. "I'll sit on the floor."

     "Uh okay," I say unsurely, getting up. "Uhm, I've actually got this pretty awesome gaming chair, which we aren't going to comment on. But yeah, you can sit on that." I open my closet door and slide the chair out. It's pretty sick if I'm being completely honest, like a cross between a rocking chair and bean bag.

     I set it in front of my bed and then settle back onto it so I'm lying on my stomach with my head just beside the chair. Dres sits down but is still noticeably stiff. I can't fathom why so I ignore it, handing him his controller and diving into an explanation of how to play the game.

     The first set of zombies are coming to the windows and I take them down as I instruct Dres, "You want to knife them, like this." I lower my controller so he can see how I'm hitting the analog stick.

     When we get to the third round, the zombies pick up their antics. I'm backing my player up towards the door when I look at the bottom screen and see that Dres is still (attempting) to knife zombies in the window that is quickly being overrun. "Okay, no more knifing them. You can use your gun and shoot but you might want to back –."

     Dres's player is taken down by zombies and it is the funniest thing, watching his expression as it happens. I send my player down the stairs to go revive him, but there are zombies everywhere, and I've only got my stupid handgun, which isn't doing anything so unsurprisingly I die, too.

     The screen displays our stats for a minute, so I take the break to explain the basic game plan and how each level works. "When you shoot, it's like this," I say, showing him how to aim and fire.

     A couple rounds later, I find myself saying for what feels like the hundredth time, "You have to aim when you shoot!"

     It's the sixth round now, the farthest we've gotten, and I've long decided to just let him die since I die every time I attempt to revive him. Besides the game brings him back when you finish the round. Not that it really matters since it's the round with the dogs so it's much harder to defeat them on my own and I end up dying.

     I'm getting more and more frustrated, which just happens when you play video games, and  Dres is amused by it.

     "You know," I say as I take us back to the main menu, deciding we'll try a different map.

     I get distracted and Dres prompts me, "You know?"

     "Oh, yeah, uhm, if that chair's getting uncomfortable you're welcome to come on the bed? My ass always falls asleep in that thing."

     There's a beat of silence before Dres's response. "I'm not getting in your bed."

     It really takes me longer than it should to figure out what's going on here. "Whoa, hey, who said anything about getting in it? We'd be fully above the covers. I don't know where your street clothes have been. Can't have you contaminating my sheets."

     "Still not happening."

     "You know," I start again, slowly. "Anything that can happen on a bed can absolutely happen on the floor."

     "I'm fully aware."

     "My bed's super comfortable is all I'm saying."

     "Is that really all you're saying?"

     "No, I'm fully propositioning you right now, but, apparently, to no prevail. We could go to my mom's bed if that's more your speed? It'd make my 80s romance dreams come true."

     "Shut up and start the game."

     We're three rounds in and zombies are closing in on us as we stand at the elevator. I'm throwing grenades and shooting, which doesn't make any sense. It's the third round for Christ's sake. I shouldn't have had to even open the first door yet. Dres's player is absolutely no help.

     "Dres, I swear to god if you don't freaking aim."

     He's laughing, he's literally laughing at me. "Which button is to aim again?"

     "You suck, you freaking suck." We both die. I lower my controller so it's in line with Dres, and my arms are hanging off the bed. "I swear if I have to show you this one more time..."

     We are seven rounds in. Dres has thrown a bomb inside the elevator. It goes off on us and we both die. "I'm going to kill you," I say.

     "That was an accident. I thought I was aiming."

     "You can't freaking aim grenade throwing! And anyway it was never going to make it between the closing elevator doors."

     "Which button is to aim again?"

     "Literally going to kill you."

     We're getting places. The eleventh round to be precise. We've got multiple doors open and that dumb fucker who steals your gun if he runs into you is out on the loose. Dres, of course, gets his gun stolen. You can get your gun back if you run into the guy. He's fast, though, and knows the map, which we don't. Still, Dres insists on running after him until he dies. There's no way I can manage the eleventh round without him, so I revive him, instruct him to buy a new gun, and then proceed.

     We're surrounded by zombies. It shouldn't be that problematic since we have AK-47s, which can annihilate a crowd. But when I glance down at Dres's screen, he's freaking shooting with the handgun.

     "Are you trying to get us killed?" I ask, my voice low and sort of muffled because I've got a pillow braced under my chest and my chin is resting on it.

     "I'm aiming," he says snippily.

     "With your freaking handgun man!"

     "I don't know how to switch to my other gun."

     "We have gone over this."

     I throw a bomb at a group of zombies and move my player backwards, swiftly lowering my controller so Dres can see me switch guns. I watch him press the same button but nothing changes on screen. He's still using his handgun. "Wait – did you, did you rebuy the gun? You didn't freaking re-buy the gun Dres?"

     Ten seconds later, his player goes down. I manage to stay alive for a minute before I'm like fuck it and die, too.

     "You suck," I declare vehemently. Dres is silent, not even attempting to defend himself. I look over at him. It's really not like Dres to suck at things. It goes against this whole perfect image I've got of him in my head. But he's smiling like...like he...

     "You're doing this on purpose." The smile breaks into a full-sized grin with teeth and everything. I rip the pillow out from under my chest and start whacking him. "I cannot believe you. You've been playing me this whole time for your own cruel enjoyment."

     "It's really funny how much you get into the game," he says in his defense putting his arms up as I continue attacking him. He grabs the pillow but I don't let go, glaring at him.

     "The amount of times I showed you how to aim, are you kidding me?" I exclaim pulling on the pillow. Dres has a vice grip on it, though, and pulls back, taking the pillow and me. "Noooo, no Dres come on, no fair," I start to say but I'm already coming off the bed.

     Dres says, "Let go."

     And I say, "No way, it's my pillow."

     "Yeah, that you were hitting me with."

     "You deserved it. You threw a grenade in the elevator with us, twice."

     "The first time was actually an accident."

     I manage to wrench the pillow out of his grip and immediately swing to hit him with it again. Dres takes the hit, looks at me though like that's all he's going to allow, so when I go in for a second one, he grabs the pillow and pulls with full force.

     I go tumbling face first and have to let go of the pillow to brace myself. Dres has me before my whole body comes off the bed. I'm not even sure how he's holding me up, really the extent of his strength is beyond me at this point, but he manages to help me off my bed so I don't hurt myself.

     I immediately lurch forward, springing for the pillow because he spent rounds insisting on running after that guy who stole our guns even though we could just buy new ones. This was worse than playing with one of my younger cousins.

     We're back in a similar position we were in downstairs when I was trying to get the pictures from him. Dres has my pillow raised above his head and I have no leverage, no way of standing on my knees with Dres sitting in my, what is clearly very small, gaming chair. Instead, I'm sitting on his knees and the best I can reach, with my one hand on his shoulder, is the bottom corner of the pillow, giving me no leeway to pry it from his hands.

     Not that it really matters when Dres tosses it behind him, grips the back of my head and pulls me to him so any protests I'm ready to give bleed off into his mouth. All at once, I'm back to trying to figure out how someone can always be this warm, that their mouth can taste like liquid fire, and conclude that Dres must be an alien from Venus (I'm going to tell him this when I stop kissing him.)

     I attempt to pull away, which, wow, really says so much about my inner strength or whatever. He's still got a grip on the back of my neck so I can only manage enough room to mumble, "Still annoyed with you."

     "Uh huh," is all I get as a response, mostly a noise of disbelief combined with a pant against my cheek that travels down my spine. I'm already leaning back in, dragging my nose across his face till I've got my lips on his because I've been wanting to do this again since I realized like three days ago how long it's been since I've done this and spending the evening with him has definitely not helped in the least.

     I'm so overwhelmed and excited I don't even know where to start.

     I have to pull away and look at him, try and catch my breath, as I decide what's most important to me. He swallows and it is so distracting how his throat contracts and the muscles extend. And yeah, okay, target locked. I lean back in.

     I rub my mouth against his chin deciding I'll start here. Dres has a beautiful profile, all angular jaw that cuts like a diamond into his neck. I've obsessed over this, imagining how I'd trail my tongue along the lines of his face. So I drag my teeth into the corner, that junction where the thickest part of his jaw meets the muscular side of his neck, and I bite down. Not to hurt him, but because I don't know any other way to express myself. I am so damn eager. I want to devour Dres.

     And hands, god, don't forget about my hands. I bring them both up so they're cupping Dres on either side of his face, and tip his head back like he's about to be baptized.

     He is a shrine I am praying to, a gravestone I am littering with flowers as I trail my lips all over his neck. I have dreamt about this for the past seven days, how I'd find that hollow spot in his neck, what looks like the waterspout in the tree from Tuck Everlasting, and how I'd open my mouth against it like I was drinking the elixir of life. Dres makes this little sound, something hard and quiet and desperate all at the same time, that only encourages me. I lick and bite and suck until I'm not sure his tattoos will even cover the mark.

     It is crazy how I can be here with him and be thinking about him at the same time, vividly recalling the way he pressed up against me in my kitchen, how he'd licked behind my ear. I move my mouth to his Adam's apple, which is far more prominent with his head tipped back, and close my lips around it. I suck because it fits perfectly in my mouth, and this time the noise is all desperation nothing hard or quiet about it.

     I bring my lips back to his, only stopping to nip at the underside of his chin. And once I've got his mouth, I don't wait, licking my way across his palate, laving at his tongue. It feels so good, like something gold, bright and burning under my skin, and god, I want this to work. I want it to work more than I've wanted anything – more than I wanted to please my dad, be straight, be okay with not being straight, for my mom to be happy (that's a big one, something I never stop wanting.) Sometimes it feels like we are so far away. If he's Venus then I'm Mars, and there's an earth between us – we're moving on two different orbits and all I get are glimpses of him.

     But I'm holding on to Dres now, I've got him right where I want him with both hands on his face, and I can't imagine a place or a time that wasn't leading up to this.