"You are worthy of love," his lips pressed softly on my nose. "I'm here, always have been, always will. You know that right?"

2012

"JUST BECAUSE MOM AND DAD are putting up at grandma's, doesn't mean you're allowed to do anything behind their backs. They left me in charge tonight, and you're not going anywhere," Victoria crashes on the couch, placing the bowl of microwaved popcorn next to her before using the remote to change the channel.

She always was the good child. The one who obeys every little command. It's no wonder dad loves her.

"If they were to somehow show up before tomorrow and find out that you're not here, it'd be on my ass," she tosses a single popcorn into her mouth.

"I doubt dad's ever hit you like he does to me, Vic," I respond. She glances slowly toward me, holding her words because she knows I am right. "Besides, what's the big deal? It's just a sleepover. It's not like I'm going to the club or something. You and Max had gone for many of those, but I haven't. It's my first invitation, and I want to go."

It's the fourth anniversary of grandpa's passing. Like the previous years, mom and dad are at grandma's, accompanying her on probably one of the most challenging days she hates to face alone, even with her twelve chinchillas. I was never close with my grandparents or any other relatives as they all favored the elder child of the house. Or maybe it's because Max and Vic are skilled in communication, and that's how they're easily loved by many.

I'm not. And undoubtedly never will.

That's alright. My cousins are a bunch of dumbasses, anyways. Not being able to associate with them is a blessing.

If I'm right, mom and dad are probably preparing dinner by now, while grandma will be out by the deck, cleaning her pets. I'm pretty sure they won't be heading back anytime soon.

I don't know about Alex's folks, though.

She leans back onto the couch, crossing her arms against her chest, eyes darting from place to place, contemplating.

"Alright, I'll cover for you if they return," she finally says, smiling. "I owe you anyways for getting me Selena Gomez's perfume for Christmas."

"I knew how much you wanted one."

"Yeah, thanks," she nodded slowly before meeting my eyes again and then made a single clap. "Do you need transportation? Money? Anything?"

"No, his house is just a few blocks down," I assure, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. "I can walk."

"Okay, be careful. Call me if you need anything," she tossed another piece of popcorn into her mouth; the crunch in the first bite was satisfying. "Have fun."

"Thank you."

And with that, I exit through the front door without hesitation, climbing down the porch and heading toward Alex's house. I don't know what to expect as it really is my first sleepover. Most people would've experienced their first sleepover before entering high school. I guess I'm a late one. I'm curious and paranoid at the same time, knowing the activities we'll be doing later. The stereotypical activities performed during sleepovers are pillow fights, playing games, telling stories, and eating. Is Alex's sleepover any different than those?

Regardless, something tells me that it will be an unforgettable night.

...

"One question," I raise my index finger, catching his attention. "Why do you need me to bring an inflatable pool when you have an eighty-foot-long pool in your backyard?"

His eyes dart to the pool next to us, the one I'm referring to, and then to mine. He then sets down the pillows and blankets we'll need over the outdoor sofa. Heading over to me, I hand him the inflatable pool, which had been blown to its full size as he tosses it over the larger pool, effortlessly floating, creating ripples.

"Because we'll be sleeping in that," he keeps his hand on his waist, staring at it as if he's just gazing down from climbing Mount Everest. He keeps his right leg in the pool to prevent it from drifting away and sets the blankets and pillows in it as I stand where I am and watch. "I'm pretty sure you've never slept in one of these before."

I shake my head, agreeing.

"Trust me, you'll love it," he releases the pool, and it drifts to the middle like a floaty. "Besides, I'm there with you."

"Won't our weight, including the other stuff, sink us?"

"Nah," he's so confident. I can't relate. I won't be surprised if I drown in my dreams, only to jolt awake and find myself lying at the bottom of the pool. I'll strap on a life jacket, just in case.

It's remarkable that Alex's parents trust him to stay alone while they're off on a business trip in San Diego. Apparently, Mrs. Beau received an interview session for a dream job that she couldn't refuse. I should be happy for her, for all of them. Instead, I'm not. If his mother were to get the job, there's a high chance of them moving to the country, and that's the end of my life with Alex after we've only just begun. As clingy and cliché as it sounds, I'm afraid to face life without him.

I know it's wrong, and I do feel bad for it, but sometimes, being a little selfish is a good thing, and hoping Mrs. Beau would not get the job is my little selfish request. She is a good person, both of them are. They always treat me like family, more than my own ever did. And wishing this upon her is really hard, but I did it, anyways.

I had to.

"You've barely eaten; you sure you had enough?" Alex was done setting the pool bed, dusting the invisible dust off his palm as he strolled my way. It's a chilly night today, perhaps a relative to Winter, and he still sweats.

I nod.

"Yeah, I think four slices of pizza and a whole lot of Ben and Jerry's were enough for tonight," I respond, holding his hand that was cupped on my cheek. They were warm, comforting as a thick blanket on a cold day.

Since arriving at his place a few hours ago, we've been doing nothing but playing Mortal Kombat on his Xbox, munching on the takeaways on every loading screen. We kept playing one-on-one with each other, and no surprise that he kept winning. I don't own any gaming console to practice, and using a controller took more work. Memorizing the buttons was like learning rocket science. I got bored of it quickly and he was tired of constantly winning anyways. We took a shower—separately—I was conflicted in choosing a proper pair of clothes for tonight. Back home, I'd only wear shorts or even boxers to bed because everyone was used to seeing the imperfections of my body. Both natural and bestowed ones from dad. Alex hasn't met them before, and maybe he will never.

I slipped into plaid pants and a blue striped long-sleeve t-shirt and headed to the backyard to see him preparing our little waterbed. It's already past one in the morning.

And here we are.

"Alright then," he gently pulls his hand back, grabbing my hand and leading me to the pool bed. "You first. Don't worry; if you fall, I'll laugh and then catch you."

I scoff at his honesty. I placed a single leg into the pool, adding a little force to ensure it could take more. I then step inside completely and carefully sit crossed-legged on one end, waiting for the pool to lose balance and sink.

It really didn't.

I should've given mom some credit when she chose this pool instead of the ones I chose when we were in Walmart, shopping for an inflatable swimming pool for Ryan. It's sturdy even as I rock it, not to mention spacious. Over six people could fit in here.

I never understood his obsession with sleeping in water. Often times I'd come over to see him napping in the bathtub, dressed in regular house clothes with a single pillow supporting his head and a blanket hovering on the surface as if it'll keep him warm. The water was filled to his chest, and I wondered how often he must've slipped beneath it, accidentally burning in his nostrils.

He described it as sleeping in the air, the body weightless and free from the chains bounding one to land. He feels freedom, something I yearn to feel often too, but it's as rare as the appearance of an eclipse.

Most lights had been shut off, and only a few were on, so it was partially dark. He then activates the backyard roof to prevent the nosy neighbors from stealing a peek. According to him, his neighbors love sticking their noses into places they don't belong. They have no shame as they stood by the window and watch Alex and his family play in the pool. I bet they stuck around longer whenever his mother was sunbathing. Hence, they installed a massive four-side shade that surrounded the entire backyard, completely cutting out the view from every angle, excluding the roof where we could get a view of the starry night sky. It's like a huge tent but with an open roof.

He then flings me some Cheeto packets, gummy worms, and other snacks we'll have for later and finally joins me.

I held on the sides, preparing for us to sink when he came aboard. Instead, he crashes on his rear so effortlessly, and we're still floating.

"Thanks for the pool, mom," I said in my mind.

He didn't hesitate as he lay on his back and made himself comfortable, intertwining his hands at the back of his head and staring into the night sky. I crawled to his side, where a single pillow was laid for me. The pool was snug but in a good way. I felt the water moving under the pool, like we were on a boat, rocking us to sleep. In a way, sleeping on water is relaxing, I wouldn't say free as Alex would, but it's definitely comfortable.

I jerk when my leg accidentally brushes against his, but I keep it there and turn to my side to marvel at his godlike side profile. He's practically a changed boy since we met at the ice rink. His baby nose is now sharp and aligned with freckles and a chiseled jawline. His ginger hair reaches down to his eyes, blocking those sky-gray eyes that baggage many accusations. There are times when the kids in our school—teachers even—would accuse him of wearing colored contact lenses, which was prohibited. Though I'd always back him up at the principal's office, they'd always disregard my words because I'm a nobody and call his parents only for them to repeat my words. Ultimately, it's just a colossal waste of time for everyone. I mean, hey, who can blame him for being born with such luminesces eyes?

No matter how often he was accused, he always took it as a compliment, figuring there was no point, nor trying to speak to stupid people.

"You're staring," he said, eyes fluttering open before craning his neck to face me, smiling softly.

"How can I not when we're lying so close?"

"Would you prefer I slept outside the pool?" He suggests.

"No!" I blurt a little too fast, grabbing his elbow. "I mean, no, stay here."

"I'm just kidding," he laughs, shifting in my direction and having my hands in his. He lightly kisses the top of my hand, like a gentleman before guiding the maiden to the dancefloor. "What do you see when you look at me?"

"A new beginning, forgiveness, my guiding star that leads me back home," I rest my opposite palm on his cheek, cool to the touch as my thumb gently caress it. "A boy who fell in love with someone who's never worthy of it. My light in the dark. My love."

"You are worthy of love," his lips pressed softly on my nose. "I'm here, always have been, always will. You know that right?"

They say the first love a child is to receive comes from their parents. The moment they're brought into the world, held in their mother and father's arms, they will feel their parents' loving gaze. And when they open their eyes for the very first time, they know instantly that they are their first love. Unfortunately, I'm not one of those fortunate ones. Sure, mom loves me, Victoria, and maybe Max too, but their love was bland, the kind of love where it's an obligation rather than wanting to.

I was self-thought that the world is forever against me, that I was born a mistake and I do not deserve even a drop of love. The good people I met were only temporary, and the bad ones stuck around longer as they were the only ones who gave me the feelings I deserved.

"You wouldn't say that if you knew the real me," my fingers comb his hair to the back of his ears.

"Then show me the real you," he says. "Show me the Jonathan before and after the world got to him."

"Do you want to leave me?"

"Never," he said immediately.

"You will," I looked away from his eyes; mine were starting to glisten red.

"I've seen you during your worst times, Jon," he laughs. "There's the time when you had explosive diarrhea for one whole week. I stayed even though you look and smelled like shit. Let's not forget you literally puked on me when you got food poisoning at the arcade. You're damn lucky I had a strong stomach; if not, I would've returned the favor. Or the time you had a broken arm, and I've always stood by your side even when you told me not to. I've even seen you crying multiple times or at least trying to hold them back when your clumsy ass fell off the stairs or god knows where until you bled. I even lifted you on my back to the hospital whenever you refused to go to the hospital."

He didn't know. It's nothing to do about being clumsy. That was an excuse because I never expected us to come this far. I wonder how he'll react if I were, to tell the truth, or should I even reveal it?

"The last seven years were the best times of my life because you were in it. And there are more days ahead of us; no matter the obstacles we face, I'll be there with you. Okay?"

"I'm sorry I kept this from you," I exhale. "I just never thought we'd come this far."

"What do you mean?"

"First, I need you to swear you won't do anything about it," I sat up, and soon he did too.

"You're scaring me, Jon. What is it?"

Seven years we've been together, and he deserves the truth. As he said, there are more days ahead of us and more challenges, but from here on, it's also a new beginning for us, regardless of whether the world likes it.

You hear that, Universe? God or whoever is up there. Please, let me have him, the one good thing in my life. You don't owe me anything but please, just let me have him.

I got to my feet and climbed out of the pool while pondering if I was making the right decision. I stand with my back facing him with my eyes close, reminding myself that it's now or never.

If there's one thing I learned about life, it is that chances are rare to come by.

And now it's my time.

I pull my t-shirt off my body, then my pants, everything. I expose my imperfections that hide under these fabrics. In my mind, I can only picture his reaction as he sees the scars given by dad's belt, the sewn cuts from his vodka bottles, the bruises from the tip of his boots, everything.

"Jon," his voice, soft with sad, a tone he rarely uses.

I slowly turn to face him, unaware my eyes were gathering tears this entire time, and now gliding down my cheeks. Apparently, I wasn't the only one, as his were red, not pissed red, sad red. His flooded eyes travel around my punishments and then on mine as a single, heavy tear skates down his cheek.

"T-this—" my voice shakes, and I pause for a second. "I didn't fall down the stairs or on the road or whatever excuses I made you believe were the truth."

"Then how'd you get them?" He drags his arm across his eyes, only for more to leak out. "The truth, truth, this time."

"Dad," I said after a while.

His hand covers his mouth. It's a rare sight to see him in tears. He's always been the opposite of me. The class clown, the guy who sees the good in every situation, even if it's really bad, the one who cheers on others and is always there for them. Maybe he's cried for the romantic comedies he's dragged me along, but nothing like this.

The veins on his forehead show how much he's trying to hold it in. If I wasn't here, he'd be crying loudly.

He got out of the pool, throwing his arms around me, burying his face in my shoulder.

"You're beautiful as fuck; don't you dare say otherwise," his warmth chased the cold off my skin, and I hugged him back. His body was shaking more than mine.

For the first time in my life, I'm living out a scene from the books I've read. The good scenes where I'd scoffed and say, this will never happen to me, and what a load of shit, if only such a person existed in this fucked up world. People say fictions are unrealistic expectations that only disappoint us in the end. However, they didn't mention that not all fictions are like that. Some are bound to be someone else's life story, and even though I've never found my perfect story, I'm plucking out various scenes from every single book, combining them into one, creating a whole new story. My story.

He gently releases me and takes a step back, surveying the abused canvas in front of him again. His eyes, bloodshot red, filled with guilt as his hand reached to my chest where the scar from a leather belt slashed.

"Why didn't you do anything about it? Your dad—no, that lumpy hag should have been locked up in jail years ago!" He's angry now.

"What can I do, Al," I sigh. "My family depends on him to keep the house running. My relatives look up to him for all the goods he's contributed way before he had me. Everyone loves him. And for me to bring up such a topic will not change their mind. They'll never believe me."

"Bullshit, your mother knows about this, right, Victoria, Max?"

"They do, and they've helped me," I defend them. "If it weren't for them, these wounds wouldn't be scars today. Perhaps I wouldn't even be standing here."

"And to think, all these years, I didn't know about this," he said softly, staring into my eyes, crying and suddenly, chuckling. "I'm your best friend, and I didn't know about this."

He's chuckling and sniffing; the smile on his face isn't portraying happiness at all.

"This is so fucked up."

"I didn't think it was important," I said. "Honestly, I never thought we'd come this far. You're the one good thing in my life that's come this far, while many before had crumbled into dust, never to return. You, you're still here."

I cup his shiny cheeks. The mixed emotions fade as he calms down.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," our foreheads touch. "Listen, back at the skating rink, this little boy approached me, quirky, gingered hair wrapped up in a beanie, with an adorable smile on his face, offering to teach me how to skate. Little did he know, he was also teaching me how to live. My family may be the ones who patch up my wounds, but it is you who have brought me back to life. That's something they could never do."

"I'll do better from here on," he squeezes my hand in his.

I shook my head.

"You already are."

When one starts a relationship, there are many stages both partners will step into at their own pace. The important stages are responsibility, respect, trust, and vulnerability. The more stages they venture in together, the stronger their love becomes. Unfortunately, many people out there have given up before even making it to the respecting stage. Without realizing it, Alex and I had passed every stage except vulnerability.

Today, we have finally passed that stage as I reveal my most vulnerable side. He has seen every part of me, and now, he knows everything about me.

He leans in closer, tilting his head as he presses his lips on mine. The soft movements of his lips feel like a miracle. I kiss him back, noticing my desire to go further rising. There we are, kissing and kissing in his backyard, the moon and stars above us, the plants in the area, the barbeque station, the outdoor couch, everything around us suddenly disappears. He pulls his shirt off, and I kiss his neck. Our bodies crash onto the sofa behind me. His chest heaves against mine as I squeeze him tightly. His hands find their way into my hair, slightly tugging backward as his lips trace down my chest.

He is real, both in my story and reality.