RHETT'S EYES FLUTTER open when the time on the digital alarm clock transitions to three-nineteen a.m. Sleep clings to his eyelids as he takes in the room that has become all too familiar to him, basked in the glow of the luminescent moonlight that filters in through the curtains adorning the window.

          Holden's bed is a mess of blankets thrown haphazardly, slipping off the bed and onto the wooden floor below. But, even from his position on the floor, Rhett can see the boy in question is missing. He shakes the sleep from his eyes and locates his glasses to confirm his suspicions, the floorboards creaking upon his every step from the mattress on the hardwood to Holden's bed.

          Rhett's phone still lies in the crumpled sheets from when the two of them were playing a weird version of Truth or Dare they had downloaded. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips when he wakes the phone and sees the picture of Holden against the city skyline.

          It was a dare. Set your recently saved picture as your lock screen until your next turn.

          But they hadn't gotten to his next turn because they both had dozed off before that, their laughs rapidly translating into snores as their dreams gradually provided them with the refuge reality could not.

          "Your recently saved picture is of me?" Holden had whispered then, an incredulous tone dripping from his softly-uttered words. He leaned in closer for a better view. "Oh, that's the one I posted on Instagram last night." His eyes flickered with recognition.

          He smiled slightly, angling himself to see Rhett better, his silence asking all his questions for him.

          "I really liked the view. Saved it as inspiration," he replied, barely hearing his voice over the rhythm of his heartbeat. "My feed needs work."

          He set the picture as his lock screen then, refusing to meet Holden's eyes.

          "Your feed is way better than mine," Holden responded, keeping his voice at a whisper, careful not to awake his parents in the other room.

          Ripping himself from his thoughts, Rhett notices the notification of a message from Holden that was sent an hour ago.

          It's quick, straight to the point, but it's not enough for him: Out. Be back in a few.

          He throws his phone back into the mess of sheets and finds himself entangled within them as well, the heat instantaneously embracing him and providing a haven from the wisps of wind entering from the slit of the window.

          He doesn't know how long he had zoned off for until the sheets shake against him, cool air seeping in through exposed areas.

          "Holden?" He squints, realizing his glasses are still on. It's five-fifteen a.m.

          "Oh, shit, sorry," he winces. "I was checking to see if you were awake. I'll just sleep down there." He points to the mattress Rhett was previously sleeping on. "I didn't mean to wake you. There's still time."

          "Haven't people already started lining up?" He rubs the sleep from his eyes, staring up at Holden, who glows in the moonlight.

          "I passed by the venue on my way back. It's not that many people." He moves away to fix the sheets on the mattress, fixing up the pillows to acquaint his needs. As his back is turned, Rhett notices he's wearing his shirt inside out, the Abercrombie & Fitch logo clearly visible.

          When he turns back, he flashes a smile and says, "You can sleep some more. I want you to feel refreshed enough."

          As Holden settles onto the mattress on the floor, Rhett feels a pang of guilt at how perfectly comfortable he feels on his bed. He wills himself to give the spot back to him, but Holden has already wrapped himself within the sheets.

          "I've been to morning concerts before," he says instead, not wanting the conversation to dwindle to an end just yet. "I don't need a full six hours of sleep to feel refreshed."

          Holden smiles again and Rhett can't help but do the same, the contagiousness of it inevitably spreading to him.

          "Damn, I wish I could say the same." He laughs softly as he stares at him, turned on his side. "I need like ten hours every night, no less."

          A comfortable silence envelopes them and he almost doesn't want to demolish it. But, his silence isn't what got him in this position in the first place. If he didn't decide to speak to Holden sophomore year in the art class they shared, they wouldn't be as close as they are now.

          "Where did you go earlier?"

          Holden sighs, almost as if he was prepared for the question. Rhett sees him close his eyes tightly before he responds with the single name that always manages to break him down.

          "Salice."

          It's a constant reminder of the reality Rhett attempts to hide from, the perfect pop to the bubble he consistently finds himself constructing. But, he doesn't have anything against the girl, he doesn't even know her.

          "Right," he replies, turning the other way, immediately coming into contact with the pictures of Holden aligned on the wall, a timeline of how much he's changed over the years. His hair got shorter, he got taller, his smile even more contagious than the previous year.

          He hears his voice once again when he murmurs, "I know what you're going to say."

          "What?"

          "That I'm leading her on," he says, his voice getting softer, "because I'm not looking to date anyone right now."

          Rhett turns back around to see Holden staring straight up at the ceiling, the softness of his eyelashes clashing against his brown skin.

          "I wasn't—I've never said that." His own voice is merely a whisper, but in the quiet room, it's a scream, pounding into his eardrums until he can't hear himself think anymore.

          "I know," Holden turns back to him to say, "but I can always tell you're thinking it, silently judging me." He lets out an unpretentious laugh. He bites his lip and gradually sits up in his makeshift bed, leaning against the wall behind him for support.

          "I wouldn't judge you."

          Holden smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "I don't know."

          Rhett furrows his eyebrows about to ask him what he means before he continues.

          "I don't know if I, you know," he grimaces as he says the next words, "love her."

          Love. It's the last thing Rhett would've expected him to ponder about a girl he's merely hooked up with for the past month and a half, a girl he ran into at the football game of a rival school. But, he doesn't know the full story, so he refuses to say anything.

          "She told me she loves me."

          It feels as if the entire ceiling had unhinged itself from its position and dropped on top of him, providing him with all the burdens it could no longer bear.

          It's such a strong word and it's the one he hasn't been able to understand just yet, the one he couldn't have his characters say in the stories he writes because he doesn't know what it entails and what commences after one utters it.

          "Love?"

          It's a weak whisper, thrown against the silence of the room, carried against the current of the wind that travels in the space that was supposed to be his safe place.

          "Yeah, I mean, I'm moving across the country for college and she... I just don't know how she expects it to work out."

          Maybe she isn't thinking with her mind, but she's using her heart to dictate her path, he ponders. But, Rhett stays silent, swimming in his thoughts.

          Maybe that's what love is. Blindly following the executions of your heart.

          When Holden doesn't say anything, he wills himself to speak, "If you take away the situation, forget about you going to college and moving away..." He maintains eye contact with himself in the mirror across the room, trying not to recoil at the way his appearance shoots back at him. "Do you love her?"

          It takes him a few heartbeats to respond. "Maybe."

          The wind blows stronger, prompting Rhett to sink further into the covers. "She's been a... great support system these past weeks. I feel like I can talk to her about anything." His voice gets higher and he starts speaking faster, giving into the excitement coursing through his veins. "She lets me see things through a different perspective."

          Rhett finally looks back at him, gripping the edge of the bed, his knuckles rapidly dissolving into a white-ish color. "I think you should tell her that."

          At this point, his phone lights up, revealing a message from his mom, asking if he's on line yet for the morning show concert.

          The picture of Holden stares back at him after he's answered the message as if it's taunting him. He doesn't hesitate to open his settings and change his lock screen.

          After all, it's his turn now.

          He stares at the picture of him and Holden standing on opposite sides of the drummer of the band whose concert they had attended mere hours ago.

          The thin film of sunlight his window provides irradiates the picture, which was taken at the cusp of dawn. He hates the way he looks in it; his body fits oddly into the oversized t-shirt and baggy jeans, a stark contrast to the way Holden pulls off his bomber jacket and joggers.

          He stops the smile that threatens to make an appearance upon the sight of him as he recalls the memories of Holden searching through his closet for his jean jacket, only to not find it amidst the mess of articles of clothing. He had finally settled for the black bomber jacket, scrunching up his face after looking in the mirror, and turning to Rhett for his opinion.

          It looked good on him, no doubt. Everything managed to.

          He hovers above the delete button, wondering whether he should trash the memory just because he isn't fond of his appearance in the picture that only captured a fragment of the essence of it.

          He leaves it. Maybe he'll look back on it someday when he can fit into the pairs of jeans hanging in his closet, someday when taking one look at Holden doesn't pull at his heartstrings.

          The slam of his front door jolts him, dragging him back to his surroundings. 

          It's one of his parents making an entrance. They have a habit of showing up when the other isn't home and then disappearing right before crossing paths, communicating with Rhett in frantic handwritten notes and one-sentence texts.

          The concert only managed to provide him with a temporary reprieve from reality, something he'll never be able to gain access to perpetually. He realizes this while crossing the threshold from his bedroom to the small kitchen at the end of the hall.

          A light brown coat enters his line of sight. The figure is hunched over a bunch of post-it notes, furiously scrambling and re-writing words they can't find the courage to speak.

          Rhett hears the shower water running in the bathroom down the hall mingled with the scratch of pen against paper in the kitchen. It's bizarre having both of his parents home simultaneously.

          And it's even more bizarre seeing the bottom of his mom's lip quivering when she notices his presence. She discards the plethora of sticky notes she had used into the recycling bin nearby.

          "Rhett." Her voice breaks on that single syllable as she reaches out to take ahold of him, bringing him close to her like she hasn't done in a while. He can't remember the last time he smelled her perfume this strongly.

          He has a superfluity of questions, but they all die on his tongue.

          Why is she home when his dad is? Doesn't her shift end right when his begins? What is she doing here now, on the brink of crying, scrambling to write a note?

          "I'm leaving for Chicago tonight," she murmurs, touching the ends of his hair gingerly, her fingertips almost hovering.

          "Why?" It's the only word that withdraws his mouth because his heart is lodged in his throat.

          She glances briefly at the bathroom door in the distance. The flow of the shower water has come to a halt.

          His dad will be out soon, his body draped in merely a towel because he always forgets to take a change of clothes with him when he heads inside. He'll laugh about it with Rhett before he tells the latter to fetch eggs from the fridge and start frying them. Then, he'll disappear into his room and clean the tears off his face that have interwoven themselves with the water during his shower, and hope Rhett hasn't noticed them during their hasty encounter.

          "It's just for this week."

          Of course. His dad's Christmas break just so happens to start tomorrow and she would catch a red-eye if it means avoiding him.

          So, he nods as she wraps him up further in her embrace, soaking him in the jasmine odor, just as the bathroom door rattles open.