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Gordie never took care of Chris.
It was always the other way around, and the very few times he managed to sneak in some sort of help to the other boy he was simply brushed off as though he hadn’t helped at all.
It made sense, though. Gordie could write a million stories, a thousand poems, a shit load of stand up comedies—but he’d never be good with words.
Not like Chris.
He’d known this since the first time his best friend pulled him into his side, after he had another breakdown over Denny, and said all the right things. He’d known since the day he tried to do the same, after Chris got kicked out for the night, and said all the wrong things.
To make matters worse, Gordie had only seen Chris cry twice. Chris, on the other hand, had seen Gordie cry his eyes out too many times to count. Gordie wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Was it not fair, or did they both just have different emotional needs?
He understood Chris to an extent. He understood enough to get through the day and at least enough to never be confused. But even so, there were some parts of Chris that he never let slip out. Parts that Gordie knew were there but never commented on; because from his experience, some things were hidden for a reason.
Now, as Chris stared out the treehouse window with an empty gaze, Gordie couldn’t help but feel curious. It was a sort of expression he hadn’t seen on Chris, not since the body, not since Gordie saw him bleeding out on his bedroom floor the day Eyeball fucked him up for stealing from his candy stash (because of course Eyeball fucking Chambers had a massive sweet tooth. That just made sense). Chris said it was worth it. Gordie said he was being stupid.
“Why are you here?” Gordie asked.
Chris shifted, still staring away from him. “You’re usually here on tuesdays.”
That was the first confusing thing Gordie had heard from Chris in a long time. “So?”
“So what? You’re here on tuesdays.”
“It’s Wednesday.”
Chris finally turned to look at him, lips quirking into a half smile. “You know it’s not, asshole.”
“Well,” Gordie started, “ I’m here on tuesdays. You’re not.”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m here now.”
“Isn’t your day, like, Friday or something?” They had decided on their own days since the group split up. Although, Gordie was sure that by now nobody other than him, and now Chris, actually remembered that the treehouse existed.
Hanging out wasn’t an option anymore, not with school and everyone’s lack of effort when it came to actually staying together. Gordie had barely acknowledged Teddy when they had to do a presentation together, though it wasn’t as if Teddy had actually tried to do anything (they ended up failing, but Gordie supposed it was bound to happen anyway with how rough classes were going for him). Plus, Vern was so easy to lose in the hallways Gordie always had trouble remembering they went to the same school.
Growing apart wasn’t on the group’s agenda. It just happened, and Gordie never tried to stop it from happening. Vern and Teddy weren’t exactly cooperative either so, in the end, nobody cared to stay.
“Thursday,” Chris corrected. “I don’t even come up here anyway.”
No, the others didn’t bother staying.
But Chris did.
Chris bothered to ask Gordie for the homework when he missed classes. Chris made sure to wave at him in the halls. Chris cared enough to hang around during lunch. Chris stayed . And unlike Gordie’s impassive attitude towards the other two, he put in the exact same effort.
However, despite Chris’s cooperation, hanging around each other outside of school felt sort of taboo. Chris knew it too, so finding him actively seeking Gordie out was truly a sight.
As much as Gordie should have cared, the reason for Chris being there wasn’t important. He was there, and he had the intent of seeing Gordie. That was enough, that was all he needed to know.
He shrugged indifferently. “You mad Bunny dumped you?”
Chris scoffed. “Nah.”
“Yeah?” Gordie smirked. “You looked a little beat yesterday.”
“Yeah, ‘cause now everybody thinks I’m a douche.”
“They already thought that,” Gordie pointed out.
“No,” Chris retorted, making a face. “They think I’m a Chambers kid.”
Gordie understood. Being a Chambers was a reputation in and of itself—not really in any particular way, such as asshat or unpopular; just the sort of thing that was grimaced at when coming up in a conversation. Chris pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and set it between them, a silent offer. Gordie didn’t take it, he rarely did these days—but he appreciated yet another thing that Chris bothered to do.
“She made the biggest deal about it,” Chris recalled. He lit the cigarette between his lips before taking a huff and slowly blowing out as he spoke again. “Acted like I was the one who cheated and ignored her whole existence. Called me every name in the book. But you know what?” he blew out more smoke, “She didn’t lie.”
Gordie frowned a bit. “You cheated?” It was unexpected. Chris Chambers was definitely something ; not cruel, or selfish, or particularly nice—but he was something. And that something was far from the label of ‘ Cheater’.
Chris looked at him incredulously. “No. Why would I do that? I already had the prettiest girl in our grade.”
Gordie, relieved, thought back to the last time he’d seen Bunny, remembering her short blonde curls that bobbed around her face, her blue eyes and curled lashes. Most guys would say she was cute. Gordie definitely saw it, understood why they’d think that; but he just couldn’t feel it. When it came to girls, cute just felt like an adjective.
“She looks like how I imagined Jojo Narwhale to look like,” he remarked, the image of her round face shimmering in his mind.
“Which one’s that?” Chris asked, brows furrowing. “The dancer?”
“No, the girl that turned into her biggest fear.” Gordie grinned, bangs falling out of place and into his eyes. He blew the strands away, shrugged when Chris gaped at him. He was fully aware of his past words, the ones that described the main character of his most recent story: She was shaped with an awful sense of crookedness. Ugly, and she looked like a human version of a pig.
Chris shoved Gordie’s arm with a laugh, and soon Gordie was laughing along with him. “That’s cruel, man.”
Gordie lifted his head after having ducked it to hide the amused tears in his eyes, and gazed at Chris curiously. “So you didn’t cheat,” he said flatly; because if Chris said it didn’t happen, it didn’t happen . It wasn’t an unspoken rule. Believing everything Chris said wasn’t a rule at all—it was just common sense. Chris had nothing to lose if he lied, but he didn’t have anything to lose if he told the truth, either.
Chris shook his head. “That’s not what she was right about. It was everything else.” He tilted his head a bit, staring outside again. “It wasn’t like I actually tried to keep up with her.” Another puff of cigarette smoke. “I wasn’t the best boyfriend.”
Gordie watched his friend carefully. Scanned his apathetic expression, scrutinized the way he loosely held the cigarette between his fingers. That wasn’t what Chris was upset about. “You didn’t come up here because you got dumped by some girl, did you?”
“Nah,” Chris replied quickly, and it was the exact response Gordie had expected.
“What’s up, then?” He asked, watching as Chris looked away again.
“Nothin’,” Chris said, sighing. “Just thought I should stop by today.”
“Your day is Thursday,” Gordie reminded him, and Chris groaned.
“Well, yeah. But yours isn’t.”
“So you’re not mad at Bunny,” Gordie said.
He recalled the empty look from when he’d first seen Chris curled up against the treehouse wall. A position he hadn’t seen Chris in for a long time; because, well, he hadn’t really seen Chris. “It’s gotta be her though.”
“Nah,” Chris repeated, voice flat.
But something about it seemed off. More off than the normal lack of emotion when he wasn’t feeling all too well, the sort of detachment that made Gordie’s insides squirm. Despite such a strong sense of pretend, one thing was clear and true as ever: Chris Chambers wasn’t a liar. Not in that sense, not when it was Gordie. Chris lied when he said his dad wanted him home in order to cancel a date with Bunny. He didn’t lie when he told Gordie the reason.
He lied about the cat that lived down the street; told the younger neighborhood kids it was adopted by someone who lived out of town. Really, someone had just killed it. Chris didn’t lie when he told Gordie that, either.
All in all, Chris wasn’t a liar.
But he was being one now.
“You’re upset,” Gordie told him, because if he had said ‘ you’re lying ’ Chris would’ve tried to convince him otherwise. It was different when it came to things like this, because Chris would lie a thousand times over about a black eye but never shut his mouth when it came to how he felt about something.
“I’m alright,” Chris replied, his gaze falling on something on the wall. Gordie was surprised. Such a blunt answer for something that usually made Chris run his mouth.
“What’s wrong?” Gordie asked. “It’s not because Bunny dumped you, or because everyone thinks you cheated. So why?”
“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Chris mumbled, but the only time Gordie bothered to pay such a phrase any attention was after someone had done him a favor. Chris was doing everything but favors for him right now. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t bullshit me,” Gordie warned.
Chris just shrugged.
“Come on, man—“
“Her birthday was last week,” Chris interrupted. Gordie didn’t mind all too much, because at least he was talking. “I came over, for once. She snuck me in, her parents would have freaked if they knew she was dating me.”
He put his lips to the cigarette again, briefly inhaling. He let out another breath of smoke. “We went to her bedroom, hung out for a bit. And then she kissed me.”
Gordie grinned, but it fell when Chris didn’t smile back. “That’s new,” he said. He still didn’t see the problem.
“It was okay,” Chris admitted. “It’s just…she wanted to do more… you know.”
“You did more?”
“Kinda.” Chris blew out another puff of smoke. “We didn’t get very far ‘cause she got mad I wasn’t there.” He frowned at himself. “I mean, I was there, but I wasn’t… there, you know.” Before Gordie could respond, he continued. “Makes sense too. I had a girl all over me.” He took a long breath of cigarette smoke. Slowly blew out. “And all I could think was, ‘I wonder what Gordo’s up to.’”
Gordie, unlike Chris, wasn’t very good at admitting things. Not unless he was straight up confronted with it, but even then it was hard. His heart had done a jump at Chris’ words, but did it really happen if Gordie ignored it?
He shrugged away the fluttery feeling in his chest.
“Oh,” he said. He shifted awkwardly. “Is that what’s been bothering you?”
Chris nodded. It seemed genuine enough, and Gordie relaxed. No more lying. No more secrets. There was a beat of silence. Chris spoke again.
“Sometimes….” He paused. Then, he put out his cigarette, pressing it into a plastic bucket beside him. “Nevermind. Forget it.”
Gordie shoved his arm. “No, tell me!”
“Nah.”
“Don’t be an ass.”
Chris shrugged and Gordie groaned. “Come on, man,” he said again.
Chris moved his gaze from Gordie to the wooden floor. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t wanna…say something bad.” Chris hesitated. “To you.”
“Just spit it out,” Gordie pushed, and Chris grimaced.
There was more silence, until finally Gordie’s intent stare seemed to have gotten through to him, and Chris gave a long sigh. “I wish that summer was it.”
He didn’t continue. Gordie knew what he meant—he felt the same.
In a way, that summer was it. When it came to Vern and Teddy, that is. Nothing would ever be it when it came to Chris and Gordie. The end would be for everything else, but the only thing cut short from ending would be them. It had been them. It would continue to be.
Such a bond almost became a nuisance, though, as if Chris had melted into Gordie’s life. Became a part of the word Life. He was the sort of thing that clung to you, wouldn’t let go unless burnt or clawed off.
Everything Gordie did. Every word he spoke, every step he took, every person he met, every girl he blew off. It always led back to Chris.
But Gordie would never burn him off. He didn’t exactly want to, either, and he knew that the refusal to do so was mutual.
“It’d just be easier that way.” Chris looked up, evidently guilty. “Sorry, man.”
A pause. Then, Gordie put a hand over his heart. “You’re breaking up with me?”
Chris spluttered. “What?”
“This is it then?” Gordie tried to hide his smile, but with Chris staring at him with a grin that yelled ‘Seriously, man?’, it didn’t take long for him to let out a laugh.
“Yeah,” Chris said, “But I’d still like for you to come to my next wedding.”
Gordie laughed again. Laughed hard. Once he managed to get a breath in, he added, “I’ll go, only if I can join you guys in bed—”
A snort came from Chris’ end, and eventually they were both laughing. They laughed until nothing was even funny anymore, but the sound of each other's laughs just made them laugh harder. Gordie, especially, laughed until he was sure he’d throw up if he didn’t force himself to stop. And once he did manage to get a hold of himself, he realized how long it’d been since he’d even come close to a feeling like that.
“That’s not funny,” Chris said between chuckles, but his grin was saying otherwise. “We aren’t twelve anymore.”
“See,” said Gordie, “that’s what makes it funny.”
“That’s what should make it not funny.”
“Teddy would be laughing his ass off right now.”
“Teddy’s Teddy,” Chris said, and Gordie smiled a bit.
Even if he didn’t care, even if he never did and didn’t plan to, Teddy was Teddy, and Gordie missed it. “Anyway,” Chris continued once things calmed down, “I like someone else.” He averted his gaze again. Bad sign. “So the break up was all good in the end.”
“Except you lost one of your good shirts,” Gordie stated, imagining the mess of food Bunny had chucked Chris’ way as she screamed at him in the cafeteria.
“Girls are over dramatic,” Chris agreed.
Gordie hummed a response, twirling the cigarette pack in circles on the floor. “So you like someone.”
“Yeah.”
“You gonna confess?”
“I don’t think I should.”
Gordie thought for a moment. “Yeah, I guess dating someone right after a break up would be kind of fucked.”
Chris chuckled. “Yeah.” Then he reluctantly met Gordie’s eyes, and for a second Gordie’s heart jumped.
…Or did it really? He’d ignored it too quickly to tell if it actually happened or not. “Say, Gordo, what would you do if you confessed to someone?”
Gordie shrugged. He’d never had to deal with that sort of thing. “I dunno. Buy her flowers or something. I dunno,” he repeated.
“What if someone confessed to you? ”
“Uh…Depends on if I like them or not,” Gordie said thoughtfully, scratching his neck. “If I like them, I’d date them. If I don’t, then, I’d tell them that.”
“What if they were a boy?” Chris blurted.
Gordie frowned. “What kind of question is that?”
Chris repeated his words. Bluntly, vapidly—Gordie didn’t know how to feel about it.
“I mean. I…” Gordie paused awkwardly. “That sort of thing doesn’t happen, man,” he mumbled, dryly chuckling.
Chris pressed on. “What if it did?”
“Well.” Gordie leaned side to side in contemplation, hands folded together between his legs, lips pressed into a thin line. “Well,” he said again, “If I like him I’ll date him. If I don’t I’ll tell him that.”
A different type of silence was stretching between them now. Not unlike one of confusion.
“You lean that way?” Chris asked finally, and Gordie looked up.
“I don’t know. If I like someone, I like someone,” he replied simply, watching the way Chris’s brows rose in response.
“What if it was a friend?” Chris asked, but before Gordie could respond he quickly continued. “Say, Teddy or Vern. What if it’s one of them?”
Gordie scrunched his nose. “Nah, man. It’d never be. Can’t even think about it.”
“Say it’s someone real close to you. Someone you’ve been through thick and thin with.” Chris had averted his gaze again, and had hunched over his shoulders. His expression was unreadable, not necessarily because it lacked emotion—but rather it lacked anything familiar to Gordie. It was the sort of expression he’d never seen on any of his friends. Chris sighed. “Say he felt something not too right about you.” He glanced up again. Blinked a few times. Looked down. “Then what?”
The only person even remotely close to that description was Chris. The one person who had always been. When people mentioned friends, Chris was the first person who came to mind. Even when the hallways stretched the distance between them. Even when they weren’t really anything anymore, and even when they slowly grew back together. But it wasn’t the same, then. Maybe it never was.
Gordie looked down too. “…That’s different.”
When their eyes met again, the unspoken question of ‘how?’ was shining in Chris’ eyes. Something gentle, curious. The sort of vulnerability he never cared to show outside of their old group, and now only outside of Gordie. “If it—if it’s you… I mean…” Gordie hesitated. Inhaled deeply. It didn’t feel like enough. “If it’s you…”
What if it was Chris? He had never thought about it. He didn’t know it was something he could think about, something that he was allowed to think about. Television said it was gross. His parents scoffed at newspapers mentioning anything along the lines of homosexuality. Hell, he wasn’t a saint either—he wouldn’t deny it—he’d given a few of them side eyes. Agreed with the negative words thrown their way. Whenever he thought about other people in that sort of relationship, it almost made him want to vomit. But if it was Chris…
That was different. He’d said that; but it still made him want to vomit. Not in disgust. More like whatever had been crawling up his throat and pulsing through his veins since the moment Chris started asking these stupid questions. These stupid questions that made Gordie’s head spin and his chest feel airy and his palms sweat. These stupid questions that made him doubt everything and himself and Chris and the friendship—God, could he even call it a friendship?—that maybe wasn’t exactly what he thought it had been.
Chris was being patiently silent. It made Gordie panic even more. Because fuck if he didn’t care about whether Chris wanted to make out with dudes or not. It wasn’t about Chris, it never was. It was the fact it was Chris, and the whole idea of him feeling anything not so platonic towards Gordie made Gordie’s body set ablaze in hot, absolute horror.
“ Sorry,” Chris said, when Gordie failed to allow anything else leave his mouth. “It’s gross, right?”
More silence. Gordie wasn’t one to apologize. Even Chris Chambers, brother of Eyeball Chambers, one of the many kids of the Chambers family that rained havoc on Castle Rock, was more honest, humble, and sensible than Gordie Lachance. The kid who had everything handed to him free of charge since he was born.
Unlike Chris, he didn’t have to pay a single penny for breathing within everyone else's vicinity. Didn’t have to pay for his last name. Didn’t have to pay for existing, and didn’t have to spend so many years proving his worth and still being doubted as the days went on.
So many differences, so many chances, so many privileges. And Chris was still better than him. Chris was good. Too good for all this nonsense he was seemingly throwing Gordie’s way.
“That’s just it.” Gordie let his head fall, shoulders slumping.
Maybe when he was younger he would have understood. Maybe if he wasn’t on the brink of sixteen and failing all his studies and being one upped by everyone around him despite trying his goddamn hardest because of course it wasn’t enough, of course he wasn’t enough. And maybe if he hadn’t turned his back on everyone that needed him, maybe if he’d showed up at his father’s bedside when he suffered from his first stroke, maybe if he hadn’t let all the bad things that happened in his life define him. Maybe then he’d understand. Maybe then he’d understand why someone as good as Chris Chambers cared enough for Gordie Lachance to that extent, because Gordie knew better than anything how hard it was to love someone.
But not Chris. It was easy to love Chris Chambers.
And now he was risking everything they had left, that small bit of anything they had salvaged since that summer. They were close, but Chris knew that Gordie could go and tell the whole school about his dirty little secret the way he’d outed Marcus Brown after overhearing him in the hallway. He knew that Gordie could leave him in a heartbeat the way he’d so easily left Teddy and Vern. Knew that Gordie could make his life worse than it already was in an instant, something he had yet to do but could easily cross off his bucket list. Risked losing something so special and important to him, to both of them, for someone as shitty as Gordie Lachance.
Maybe if they were twelve again and Gordie was just confused and careless and cheerful and not five seconds away from an overdose. Maybe then he’d understand.
Gordie’s eyes were burning with tears, and Chris was watching him with that pitiful look again. He shrugged, saying, “Thought I was going crazy, you know.”
Gordie didn’t respond, the same thoughts running circles in his head: Why me? Why me? Why me?
“All I could do was look at Bunny and wish she was someone else.” Chris had this sort of pained, wistful look on his face. Finally an expression Gordie had seen countless times, on many faces, especially his own.
“It’s not worth it, man,” he said finally. He knew he was just assuming, but nobody asked those sorts of questions—say those sort of things—without it being relevant to themselves. Gordie was more sure of that than anything. He took a deep breath. “Go find another version of Bunny. There’s plenty.”
“There’s only one of you, though,” Chris said softly. His breaths were visibly quickening as he said it, and he gripped the fabric of his jeans tighter, palms flat against his knees.
“That’s not—we—that won’t work.” Gordie swallowed hard. “We’re friends, Chris .”
“But you don’t want to be,” Chris told him, as if he didn’t already know . “I’m not stupid, Lachance.”
“Stop pretending like you know me,” Gordie grumbled. Like he said, they weren’t twelve anymore. Things were different. Things changed . Even though he had tried so hard to keep it all the same. To keep the giddy summers and lake fights, the stupid competitions with no prize other than the irritated frowns of everyone else. But it was hard to keep something you slowly and eventually ended up not wanting. Something you didn’t need anymore. And maybe it wasn’t the chorus of laughs under a single tent in Vern’s backyard, or the unified tunes sung as they hiked through rows of trees and greens. Maybe it was the sense of gratitude and fulfillment he longed for. Not the group, but how he felt in it.
Because he didn’t miss Vern and Teddy. If he did, he sure as hell wouldn’t have forgotten them so easily. He missed that special sort of innocence he lost on their last adventure that felt so long ago.
Chris scoffed. “Don’t pull that shit. I know you better than your own mother, and you know it.”
“Oh yeah? What’s my favorite color?” Gordie challenged. “Not from then. Now. What’s my favorite color, today, in nineteen-sixty-two?”
Chris opened his mouth, but Gordie kept going, his voice raising in volume. Not out of anger—no, he was afraid. Fuck, he was so damn scared and this was all he could do to avoid it. He couldn’t ignore himself anymore, and it was killing him more than anything else ever had. “What’s my favorite food? What do I wanna be when I grow up? What’s my favorite class? What—“
“It’s fucking green, asshole!” Chris shouted, cutting Gordie’s words short and making him quiet. Chris slumped against the wall, another sigh falling from his lips. “But not neon green. And you like garlic bread, it’s been that way since fifth grade or something, and you don’t have a favorite class. You hate school, even though you used to love it.” The look in his eyes had shifted. “And you wanna be an author. You say you can’t be, but you’ll always want to.”
Gordie blinked away the previous anger, and hung his head in defeat. When he looked up again, Chris was watching him pointedly.
“What about me?” He asked. He asked it like he knew that Gordie couldn’t answer. And maybe he did know, he probably knew. Gordie had never felt so guilty, not since his brother’s death.
“You don’t know,” Chris said flatly, when Gordie stayed quiet. He gave Gordie an earnest look. “It’s okay.”
“You’re right,” Gordie said. “I don’t know shit about you, Chris.” But he wanted to. More than anything he wanted to pick apart every little piece of the boy he used to call his best friend, and understand it all. It had been that way since the beginning.
Chris was waiting again. Giving that sort of silence that made Gordie talk.
“I want to know more,” Gordie said quietly. “Sorry I don’t. I used to, but I don’t try for much of anything anymore.”
“I know,” Chris said, and Gordie’s heart hiccupped when he moved closer.
“You’re how I should be,” Gordie told him. Chris seemed taken aback by it. “You’re everything I want to be and everything I was supposed to be. I’ve had every opportunity known to man, and I still managed to fuck it all up.” He took a shaky breath. “And you know what? I’m too lazy to try and fix it.” He waved a hand at Chris. “You’ve been given everything shitty and more, but you still managed to be better than me. You’re going somewhere, man. Don’t let me ruin all that for you.” He wiped at his eyes, swallowing hard. “If not by..by this…” He paused. He remembered when, so long ago, the same thing was told to him. He wondered where it all went wrong, how he ended up exactly where he was led away from. “Then by everything else that makes me suck.”
“I don’t care,” Chris said, just as softly. “I’m not a fucking saint either, Gordie.” He shrugged. “But hey, if I can make it…If me, fucking Chris Chambers, can make it…then you definitely can.” The way he looked at Gordie, earnest and true, made Gordie almost choke on air. Chris was close enough to nudge Gordie’s hand with his own. “I never doubted you for a second.”
“I know.” Gordie let his head fall again, his gaze planted on the floor. “Thats fucking it. You should. ”
“I don’t.”
Their fingers were intertwined now. Slowly curled together until eventually they were palm to palm. Shockingly, Gordie didn’t mind. No, he was far from minding—if anything he wanted to pull Chris against him as tight as his strength would let him. Maybe, one day, or in another universe—he would do it. He could do it. And he’d never let go. He’d hold on so tight Chris could never float away from him again.
How ironic it was for Gordie to wish such a thing, when at the same time all he wanted was to leave Chris and pretend he was just someone he knew again.
“I’m failing everything,” Gordie mumbled, lifting his gaze. “Got fired from my first job. Rejected a shit load of girls in the worst way possible.”
Chris smiled a bit. “What could be so bad, Lachance?”
“Cussed ‘em out.”
“Damn.” Chris whistled, something he had relearned how to do over the past year after forgetting over a single summer. Gordie had caught him practicing in the school bathrooms and, at the time, wondered if it was God’s way of apologizing for making him fail all those tests. “Which ones?”
Gordie reluctantly responded. “Laura.” Chris was moving noticeably closer. “Bettie.” Their legs were pressed flush together now, and Chris was acting like nothing had changed. As though the air hadn’t begun to tighten around them in a secure dome, and Gordie’s heart wasn’t quickening by the second. “…Angelica.”
Chris whistled again. “Angelica, huh?”
“Yeah. It was a prank, though.” Gordie grimaced. “But I embarrassed her pretty bad.” He inhaled sharply as he felt Chris tug him forward. His breaths felt off, his lungs were deflating as they filled with air.
“Did you date any of them?” Chris asked. Gordie didn’t know exactly how close they were, what was normal and what wasn’t, or how far apart. Just that they were close and it was Chris and not some girl he’s playing seven minutes in heaven with.
“No,” he said weakly.
“This is how it’d be with a girl, I think,” Chris murmured, tilting his head. Gordie didn’t respond. He couldn’t, not when his head was pounding with his heart. He felt a squeeze against his hand.
“Have you been with a lot of girls?” Gordie managed to quietly ask, once the silence had stretched too long. Chris shrugged, shook his head.
In a way, it was almost the same kind of talk that friends had; but the conversation felt rather empty and the only thing Gordie was really paying attention to was how much Chris had grown into his features and, admittedly, how much he’d changed. Back then, Chris had shaved his head at every chance he got. That way he wouldn’t have to wash it or keep it up, and it wouldn’t be a problem when the group got together (because heaven knew how much of a mess they got into each time). Once he began to notice girls to the extent of caring about his appearance, he grew it out.
Gordie could understand why.
With faint freckles coming in, and hair curling around his ears, down his neck, sculpting his face—Chris was very nice to look at. The girls loved it too, but Chris rarely paid them any attention. Over time the original intriguement of girls just became plain curiosity. For both of them.
They didn’t care about girls the way they should. It felt like a small adventure trying to figure them out, always ending up bored with the result. They kept moving forward in hopes it’d get better, more captivating. Similar to the sort of feeling Gordie got when he watched a lame movie. Curiosity really beat anything else, even the strong sense of dislike. Regardless, Gordie didn’t think girls were too bad. Maybe he’d marry one someday.
But it was hard wanting anything else when your favorite was right in front of you.
“Hey.”
He watched Chris raise his brows, poking fun at the situation. “Let's try it.”
A beat of silence. Then, “It’s wrong.” Gordie mumbled it more to himself than anyone. Trying to convince himself that what he wanted was most definitely not worth it. “ Weird.”
“Weird’s a normal thing,” Chris said.
“I still suck.”
“No you don’t.”
“I won’t get anywhere. This shit will ruin your life.”
This made Chris pause. Then, softly, “You can do anything you want, man.”
This sort of reminder made Gordie’s head stop spinning for the first time since Chris began barging back into his life. Really, that thing Gordie had been craving, was hidden in seven simple words.
“Come on, Gordo,” Chris urged, grinning and leaning closer. Gordie didn’t know closer was possible. Didn’t know how much he wanted it.
Despite that, he let go. Chris’ hand fell to the wooden floor with a gentle thump. Gordie chewed on his bottom lip, irritated and confused. This was stupid. Risky. Something was wrong with him, wrong with them both . “I can’t.”
“But you wanna.” Chris smiled again, teasingly. He knew Gordie had always been up for a challenge. That, at least, hadn’t changed.
Gordie squared his shoulders, lifting his brows nonchalantly. “Wanna what?”
Chris mirrored his gaze. “See what it’s like.”
He was right. God, was he right . More than anything Gordie wanted to know. Not in the curious way—he wasn’t curious. That word was reserved for every girl that bothered to look his way.
This was different. He wanted to know .
He exhaled shakily, closing his eyes for a brief, thoughtful moment. When he opened them, Chris was moving toward him again.
“Yeah,” Gordie breathed. Closed his eyes. Kept them closed. “Fine. Okay.”
“Okay?” Chris asked softly. Their noses bumped, and a goofy smile spread across Gordie’s face. It was such a wrong thing, he was almost unaware of it. It all felt so fake, like a dream almost—to the point where the disgust and shame from earlier had almost completely vanished.
“Okay,” Gordie whispered.
Chris closed the gap between them. It was a weird feeling, being kissed by someone like Chris. Not that he was a Chambers, not that he was a good person. Just that it was someone like Chris. Someone who meant so much to Gordie, in every way possible. Someone Gordie thought could never mean something like this.
The first kiss was awkward. The preschool type of awkward. It wasn’t like the party kisses with hot girls, the types of kisses they always talked about back then, or the heated makeout sessions they saw on TV. It was quick, barely a peck, and Gordie felt like he was in elementary school again getting married to his first girlfriend at the playground. It was clumsy and stupid. The funny type of awkward, the kind that made them pull apart merely seconds later and giggle at themselves before leaning in again.
But the second time made Gordie’s heart finally burst from his chest and melt him whole. He felt himself crumble into Chris’ arms, pressing against him more and more until they were too close to really do much else.
And God, it had never been like this, felt like this, with a girl. Gordie was sure it never would.
His whole body was tingling, shocks of thrilled electricity ran up his arms, his torso, his neck—everywhere Chris came in contact with. Just the slightest touch made Gordie’s skin hum with pleasure and his head buzz with want.
Because it was never enough. Even when Chris began to play with Gordie’s hair (Gordie was sure he’d never felt anything so good before), and even with their chests pressed together and their arms tangled and their breaths rapid with desire, it wasn’t enough .
Not until Gordie had forgotten where he was and what the hell was going on, because of course he didn’t know anymore, those sort of things didn’t matter when someone’s hands were up your shirt and pressed warmly against your sides.
And maybe it only lasted ten seconds. Maybe it only lasted twenty. It was the sort of thing that made time blur into itself, being aware that it was moving, just unable to feel it—but it didn’t matter, because when they pulled apart, it didn’t seem like damn near long enough.
Gordie, still in a daze, could barely make out what was going on. Chris laughed, and Gordie drew back in surprise. Chris was grinning widely. “Bunny had nothing on you!”
Gordie beamed, feeling as though his mom had just complimented one of his kiddy drawings. “Really?”
“Yeah, who taught you?” Chris asked. Gordie didn’t know if he was joking. Didn’t know if he should respond with a joke.
“Whaddya mean?” He settled on. “It’s all me.”
“Didn’t anyone tell you lying’s bad, Lachance?”
“Did anybody tell you that, Chambers?”
Chris laughed, warm and genuine. It made Gordie’s insides all warm too. But then he remembered again, remembered the wrongness of it all, the stacks of unfinished homework on his desk, the countless negative words thrown his way by everyone who should believe in him—because really, if his own parents were disappointed, there was no fucking way Chris wouldn’t end up feeling the same. Gordie wasn’t worth the blissful risk they were taking.
Chris seemed to notice the hesitance in Gordie’s movements, in his eyes and his frown.
“We don’t have to date, you know,” Chris said quietly. “It doesn’t always have to be like that. Okay?”
One thing was for sure, Chris had always been much wiser than Gordie. Sure, Gordie could do eighth grade math by the time he was twelve, but he most definitely couldn’t solve the mystery of life. Chris, he was positive, would someday do a thing like that. He was worth a thing like that.
So Gordie didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled Chris in again, letting the confusion and uncertainty be drowned by swift butterflies.
He didn’t understand. He wouldn’t. There were so many things Gordie knew, so many things he didn’t and never cared to—but he knew one thing. Chris Chambers was worth it. There would never be a day where he wasn’t.
Gordie let himself fall into a desire for once. Let himself forget everything wrong, everything that should be and shouldn’t be, everything that wasn’t them and their treehouse and the ghost of a friendly memory.
He let himself forget it all—be taken away by the moment.
And it felt more right than ever.