As We Burn

Seventeen.

I've never held another boy's hand in public before. Even on the very few dates I've been on, I was always hyper aware of the way I was being perceived by the people around me. It wasn't that I was ashamed of my sexuality, but rather that I didn't know if I could handle any judging stares or hushed comments. I figured it was just best to keep the waters calm, not to cause a scene. It's a strange feeling, causing a ruckus just by existing. But now, with Crispen's firm hand clasped around mine, I really don't give a shit. I know any potential judgments will deflect off the bulletproof energy I feel with him by my side. I can't help but wonder if he does this often - does holding hands mean as much to him as it does to me? I feel electrified as we pass by others, making our way towards the front. If people look, I don't notice, because I'm too busy being consumed by the feeling of overwhelming joy. I can feel the warmth of his hand as it melts away the cool feeling of his rings against my fingers. Crispen stops near the pumpkins, and picks one up off the ground.

"Pick one, we'll put them out by the front steps of the house," he tells me.

I oblige, and grab the first pumpkin I see. I really don't care, I just want his damn hand back in mine. I set it in the cart and Crispen grabs my hand once again, pulling the wagon behind us as we join Cass and Mark at a wooden picnic table. I notice Cass' eyes flicker from our hands and back up again, and can't read the expression on her face. Crispen's mother must know he's gay, right?

"We got you guys some hot apple cider," Mark says, gesturing towards steaming hot cups of dark liquid.

"Thanks," Crispen says, giving him a small but sincere smile. Progress.

"So, Crispen, how's school going?" Cass asks while I take a sip of the delicious cider.

"It's okay. The usual. I'm actually helping a professor out with teaching a class," he tells her. Only I understand the secret reason he's biting his bottom lip to suppress a smile.

"Oh my gosh, that's wonderful!" His mother gasps. "I guess you really are growing up. I think Mr. Finch still has that scar on his jaw." Cass shakes her head and Mark stays silent.

"Mr. Finch?" I ask, turning my head to Crispen.

"He was one of my teachers, in high school. He started it," Crispen mumbles. I can tell it's not something he's proud of, but I'm still surprised that Crispen fought one of his teachers. Yet again, I'm reminded just how little I know about his troublesome past and how I can't get too close just yet.

"What is it you're studying again, Parker?" Mark asks, breaking the awkward tension.

"Photography," I answer. "I'm really loving it so far."

"So you're both creatives," Cass says with a hinting smile. "I would love to see some of your work someday."

"It's incredible," Crispen says. I turn to him once again in surprise. He looks down into his cup, as if the words escaped his lips without his permission. I'm sure the only photos Crispen's seen of mine are the ones on my Instagram, which isn't really much at all. I quietly pray he hasn't gone into the darkroom. Still, I can feel the blush on my cheeks.

"Well, they're nothing compared to Crispen's art. They actually have one of his pieces on display," I tell his mother. "I hope you enter the Creative Minds contest." I kept meaning to ask him if he's ever entered the contest before. Crispen responds with a roll of his eyes, but I can tell from his slight smile that he's grateful for the compliment.

"That sounds interesting. What's the prize?" Mark asks.

"A trip to Paris," I gush. "They even give you tickets to the Louvre. I've always wanted to go."