5,4,3,2...1

Early December in New York. The late autumn/early winter air was crisp and most of the trees were now bare. It was a magical time of year and now the rest of their day was free. The photo shoot had just ended; Paul and Art threw a last wave to the photographer disappearing down the sidewalk heading to his car.

The pair sat down on the park bench they had just been photographed goofing around at. Art pulled out a joint, lit it, took a long hit before passing it to Paul.

"I like photo shoots. There's no pressure, we can just be ourselves, it's relaxing." Art was smiling, as he stretched his arms out on the back of the bench. "Plus, It's so nice and quiet this time of year."

"Indeed. And it's not terribly cold yet." Paul agreed, inhaling then handing the joint back.

After their fingers touched in the exchange, Paul found himself staring at Art, whose face was now turned upwards with childlike innocence, looking at the bare tree limbs.

Paul found himself frozen, but not from the cold. He couldn't tear his gaze away from Art, who was oblivious and happily toking up. Art's cheeks were glowing from the brisk wind, his hair shining in a frizzy puff under the muted sunshine. All Paul could do was stare.

He'd been doing that a lot lately, staring at Art. No particular reason either. Be it rehearsing or performing, he'd catch Art biting his lip, touching his hair, shifting positions on his stool or leaning on the backs of chairs. These were just little things Art did all the time, innocuous quirks and habits that Paul never really paid attention to. Until recently. Something was changing in the way Paul would look at Art and he couldn't put a finger on it. Until now.

Paul was still frozen in place, his mind racing, analyzing and then, like a bolt from the blue... realizing. Realizing. Epiphany!

That's it. Not being able to put a finger on it was just the problem. He did want to put a finger on it. And in it. But "it" was Art. Why? What was happening? Why this realization now? They grew up together, went through puberty together, were horny teenagers together, hell, were horny 20-somethings now for that matter. This never happened before. In all these years. Why now? Or was it happening slowly and he just wasn't letting it happen, or was he just not paying attention? Attention. He was fully paying attention now. Shit. This was all too much, and Paul started to get dizzy.

"Paul, hey, are you okay?" Art glanced over at Paul, his eyes wide as saucers, seeing the sheer terror and lack of color in Paul's face.

Oh fuck no... Paul's mind was swimming. I can't say anything, he can't know, oh shit!  he thought quickly, as his panic rose.

"I, umm, just realized, something." Paul had to think quickly. "Well, you know, there's so much happening right now, umm", Paul was losing it. "With us, I mean, our music. I'm suddenly starting to feel, umm, overwhelmed."

Thank God he was good at whipping things up and Art believed those things. Art was a feelings-guy. He saw Paul was panicking and was looking at him with nothing but sincere concern.

Paul was now sweating and hyperventilating, near a full-on panic attack. He put his face in his shaking hands, leaning on his knees, trying to think of something else to panic over. Something instead of this revelation he just had about Art.

Ever the sensitive soul, Art edged closer to Paul, reaching out to comfort his friend. "Paul. You're having a panic attack. Here, let's just work through it."

The latest book Art had his nose buried in was on coping with anxiety, where he was learning redirecting and grounding exercises. He started to rub Paul's back, trying to calm him down. He thought that any second now, Paul would scoot away, telling him to knock it off with the touching. Paul always had done that in the past. Art would goof around, tickle Paul, get up in his personal space or act silly, and Paul would always shoo him off. This time, Paul didn't tell him to stop. Something really was wrong and Art jumped into action.