It didn’t hurt. Jave wished it did, but it didn’t. Maybe in the beginning of it all, when it seemed fun and harmless, maybe then did he feel the hot prickling on his brown skin, having it swirl inside him like ice cream and poisoning his veins.

Jave wished to return to the beginning. Right when his mother had screamed at him to leave, that she never wanted to see his disgusting face ever again, that he should go to Vietnam just so he can die there and be forgotten like everything else she had ever loved.

He knew she wasn’t that upset with him. His mother, who was called Priscilla, was known for having a bad temper- a temper that destroyed kitchenware, broke bedroom doors, and once killed the family dog.

It wasn’t her fault.

It was never her fault.

It never would be her fault.

Perhaps it was because Jave was impulsive. Jave was notorious for making purely awful decisions. Things he liked, he would just take, whether it was free or not. Things he wanted, he would just do, whether he was allowed to or not. There were numerous cuts lining up and down his long brown legs, most from wood fences littered with splinters, others from the weeds behind the neighborhood pool, some were from his mother’s anger.

So when Jave saw him for the first time, he did what any sensible teenage boy would do- he reached forward and sort of plucked the boy out and claimed him as his own.

Jave didn’t even know his name.

Secretly, Jave thought the boy was named Christian, partially because he was, in fact, Christian, but also because he had blonde hair, fair skin, and pink cheeks, much like an angel. Albeit, his hair was dyed and his cheeks were always hinted pink because he was seemingly constantly embarrassed about something or other, Jave liked the name Christian for this boy.

In reality, his name was Adrian.

“My beautiful Adrian,” Adrian’s mother would coo.

Jave used to think his own mother would rather shoot her foot off than call her son beautiful. In Priscilla’s defense, it was hard to not think Adrian as beautiful. He was the perfect specimen of teenage boy: punctual, always curious, yet still willing to be dragged along by Jave to get into some sort of midsummer trouble.

Jave trusted Adrian. He probably trusted Adrian more than anyone else he had ever met. Sometimes Adrian would joke that Jave was like a dog, for Jave was sincere and loyal and listened to everything Adrian said. Jave listening to anyone seemed purely impossible for him. So much so that Priscilla’s most common phrase was “When I say jump, you say how high,” which was usually followed by some spanish insult Jave never really understood. Jave would usually ignore her, proceeding to roll his eyes or not even flinch when Priscilla would throw her shoe at him. Yet for Adrian, he could tell Jave to roll over and Jave would start before Adrian could finish his sentence.

So once Priscilla had slammed the front door so hard the entire neighborhood shook, Jave was unfazed. He was kicked out of his house for the first time in two months (which was a new record). It was a Wednesday evening in the middle of June. Jave’s street was silent except for the occasional twittering from a distant bird or the sound of a car engine revving to take off. Although summer, where Jave lived was always sort of dead. He wasn’t exactly sure who his neighbors were, if there were any other children his age, or if there was anyone living in the houses surrounding his own at all.

Just a few block north seemed like a completely different world.

Jave lived in the outskirts of the city like most Puerto Ricans. He liked to think that Puerto Ricans were banned from living in the city with everyone else. Either that, or the city banned Priscilla from living inside it, hence Jave too.

Jave loved the city. Unlike his suffocating neighborhood in Middle-Of-Nowhere, California, the city was living and breathing and constantly in motion and something was always happening. The city was alive.

Jave found himself loitering in the streets for longer than necessary. By this point, the sun had slipped below the horizon. He knew Priscilla wouldn’t care where he was. She had said that she never wanted to see him again. Jave decided to be home by at least midnight.

The walk from Jave’s neighborhood to the city took about a half an hour. Jave had walked much further distances so he didn’t mind the stroll. Time had never felt real to him anyway.

He shivered and was tempted to pull his hood up, but stopped himself before doing so. He had heard stories of brown boys being shot in the city. Most of them were Puerto Rican.

Out of all places to find an angel, the place Jave ended up was the least likely. Located between a barber shop and an abandoned drugstore with anti war posters plastered over its walls was a small opening. Above a flight of stairs was a neon sign that read No Minors in an annoying green. Jave took the sign as a welcoming.

Stumbling down the rusted stairwell, Jave found himself stood in the back of a busy bar with old white men milling around with dark liquor in glasses. But what had drawn Jave’s attention was a soft voice that drifted through the bar. The voice was like silk, contrasting against the loud guitars and heavy baseline and sporadic beat of the drums.

We had it all and it fell apart at the reservoir.

No one else in the bar seemed to care about the performance on stage. It was like white noise for the men who felt too important to be listening to such music.

Jave didn’t recognize the song. He shoved his way through the busy bar. The smell of sweat and alcohol and weed filled the air. Jave managed to find a spot at a table in the back of the room. From there, he was able to see the stage clearly, but he was also hidden from the rest of the men.

There stood on the tiny bar stage was what seemed like an angel.

The singer would sway back and forth, causing his hair falling over his eyes. His shirt hung loosely over his thin frame and his jeans clung tightly to his long legs. It was like the musicians in the background were creating music for him and not the other way around. His eyes were shut tightly as the lights beamed up from behind, making his silhouette a mix of a heavy black and a soft gold.

Jave’s mouth went dry.

When the boy’s eyes slipped open, they were a bright, icey blue and they were focused right on Jave in the back of the sleazy bar. They bore into his soul, seeming to rip Jave open from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head and leaving him empty and confused.

Jave was shoved out of his trance by a tall, stocky man with an awful pompadour.

“Did you not read the sign, hot dog? No minors,” the man growled. Jave blinked, processing what the man was saying, before responding.

“I’m with the band, dip,” he said, his voice unwavering.

“Like hell you are. You’re just a kid,” was the swift response. Jave rolled his eyes.

“So is the lead singer. I was just coming out to the bar for a drink, but if you will excuse me, I need to get back with the team.” Jave pushed his way past the heavy man, attempting to stride cooly to the back of the stage. He didn’t look back.

Once he had slipped back behind the thick purple curtain, he let out a loud, somewhat embarrassing cackle. He scanned the empty backstage before his eyes landed on a lone green backpack with clothes strewn on the ground. Jave figured they belong to the lead singer. He looked around before making his way over to the deserted belongings, figuring he could poke around a bit to see what this glamor kid owned and if any of it could be sold.

Jave picked up a loose white shirt from off the ground. The shirt was a size too big for Jave, meaning that it would be large on the singer. He furrowed his eyebrows when a sweet scent of lavender and weed drifted off of the article of clothing. When Jave lifted the shirt closer to his face, a small crumpled piece of paper fell from the breast pocket. Jave immediately dropped the shirt and snatched up the object before turning sharply. Yet, before Jave could make his escape, he ran head first into the lead singer.

“What’s up, flake,” were his first words before the singer’s fist connected to Jave’s jaw, the force of the blow causing Jave to stagger backwards, but still clutching tightly to the blunt.

Like most things for Jave and Adrian, an odd sort of relationship formed between the two after their previous mishap. Adrian, after seeing that Jave’s mouth was bleeding, decided to let Jave keep his blunt, but only if Jave would let Adrian clean the blood off his face.

Unlike Jave, Adrian had a full nuclear family: a beautiful mother, a compassionate father, and a charming younger brother. Unlike Jave, Adrian actually attended school, rarely fought with his parents, and chose to buy things from the store. And unlike Jave, Adrian lived in the city.

Jave should’ve hated Adrian. Adrian was the exact person Jave would trip on the street or pickpocket or slash the tires of.

Jave liked to think he tried to hate Adrian. He liked to think so. He never really did.

Perhaps to an outsider, Jave and Adrian were lovers. They were constantly touching one another by holding hands or having their arms slinged around shoulders; even while they sat at the dinner table, their knuckles would touch ever so slightly.

Yet, the two boys were not lovers, nor had they ever thought of becoming such a thing. Their relationship was fuzzy, but they felt that they wouldn’t want it any way else.

Once when Adrian was so drunk he couldn’t walk properly and Jave, who could never even get tipsy no matter how much he drank, had to carry Adrian home was when the two truly began to ponder their relationship. Although drunk and weary from a long performance from Adrian, there was a soft electricity between the two of them- a feeling Jave couldn’t quite place his finger on, but knew was there.

Jave had seen the electricity before. There was a quiet electricity between his parents, who were never married. That same electricity that Jave grew up with caused his heart to be that much more delicate than the other boys his age. It’s what made him love his father and his mother and their family dog and all of the toys that filled his tiny room and every hug and kiss he received.

That was before Jave’s father went to war. Long before his father was lost and killed in Vietnam. Long before a deep shift occurred in Priscilla, causing a once loving mother to be a bitter and distant being.

Still, as Jave placed Adrian’s sleeping body down on the grass in front of Adrian’s house, as Jave studied the way Adrian’s chest rose and fell, he felt the silent surges that erupted through his body. Slowly, he leaned down, pressing his lips delicately against Adrian’s, so softly it was almost as if it had never happened.

Yet, just like that, it had happened.

Soon enough, Jave was catapulted into the unknown, much faster than he would have preferred, yet all at once nonetheless.

In some deep part of his mind, he had always known these feelings were there. Now, however, Jave was that much more aware of them.

He felt like he couldn’t stop. He wanted to hold Adrian, feel their bodies intertwining, feel what Adrian’s soft breath would taste like against Jave’s tongue.

He couldn’t stop. There was no possible way he could stop.

He shouldn't stop, he shouldn't stop, he shouldn't stop, he shouldn’t stop, he shou-

The first time Adrian kissed Jave, Jave’s nose was dripping with blood.

It was embarrassing, really, but not an uncommon occurrence.

Adrian, who had just successfully turned 18, had draped himself over the counter of the moldy gas station at the edge of the city, failing to bribe the cashier to gift him a free pack of cigarettes.

When Adrian sulked out and met up with Jave on the street, his face immediately lit up, for Jave had swiped a defenseless box of Marlboros while Adrian was talking. Adrian swung his arm around Jave’s shoulders as the two began to walk back to Jave’s house. Jave watched Adrian rip the pack open, sliding the stick between his teeth before pulling out his bright pink lighter and lighting the end.

“I never understand why you smoke,” Jave said, the smoke curling out of Adrian’s mouth dancing across Jave’s face. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

Adrian shook his head.

“Why would it hurt?” He grinned at his friend. Jave shrugged before kicking a rock.

“I dunno. You’re breathing in smoke. Sounds like it’d hurt.”

Adrian snickered.

“Well, maybe I like that it hurts.”

“You sound entitled.”

“Well, maybe I am.”

“They’re cigarettes, Adrian.”

“Okay, and you weren’t the one who was snorting cocaine off of my guitar last week?”

“And you weren’t the one snorting cocaine right next to me?”

Adrian scoffed before turning away and laughing giddily. Jave reached up to scratch his arm, pushing his sleeve up to reveal a gash on his lower shoulder. It was a dark, angry red and it stung when it was touched by cool air.

“Where the f did that come from?” Adrian exclaimed suddenly, instantly dropping his cigarette to grab Jave’s shoulder so he could get a closer look.

“Ow! Be careful, dumbass.”

“Where the f did this come from? Are you going to answer me?”

Jave pulled his arm out from Adrian’s grasp.

“Priscilla. Where else?”

Adrian rolled his eyes.

“What’d she throw at you this time?”

Jave went quiet for a moment. He wanted to choose his words carefully.

“A, uh, knife,” he said quietly.

Adrian snorted.

“A knife? You really think I’m gonna believe that?”

Adrian practically tackled the taller boy to the cement. He yanked Jave’s collar closer to his face. Jave’s face immediately turned red. He had never been this close to Adrian before. Well, not since that one night when-

“How f’ing stupid do you think I am?” Adrian growled, his eyes narrowing. Jave swallowed hard.

“Pretty f’ing stupid,” was the rebuttal.

“You should be glad I don’t punch you in the face right now.”

“We’re talking about my mother.”

“She’s thrown her hairbrush, a plate, a pillow, and God knows how many f’ing shoes at you. But a knife? Jave, don’t f’ing lie to me. Where did you get that mark from?”

This time it was Jave’s turn to glare. He grabbed hold of Adrian’s grip on his shirt before ripping it away, forcing Adrian to stumble backwards.

“You really want me to tell you, flake? It was two nights ago at one of the shows at the Beach House. Some dipshit said something nasty about you during intermission.”

Adrian rolled his eyes, his collar still crumpled in Jave’s fists.

“Okay, and? Unlike you, Jave, I couldn’t care less what others think of me.”

Jave promptly let go of Adrian, letting him stumble backwards.

“You don’t know me,” Jave spat.

“Really? You think so?” Adrian stepped forward. “Who’s the one that let go of my hand the other day when there was someone walking our direction down the street? Huh? Who’s the one that won’t let me meet their mom ‘cause they’re afraid she might think something weird about us? Who’s the one who kissed me that one night five weeks ago and got too embarrassed and never brought it up even when I told you I knew and I told you I wanted you to do it again? Which one of us, Jave? Which one?”

Jave swallowed hard. He knew Adrian was right. The memories of Adrian’s face, sad and solemn, when Jave untwined their fingers when they saw people in the distance coming their way, pushed its way through Jave’s mind. He remembered when Adrian, giggling softly as the two boys shared some drugged high, had asked if he could meet this infamous Priscilla that Jave had talked continuously about. He remembered when Adrian blushed and looked away, cracking his knuckles subconsciously when Jave had told him that his mom was weird around people not like her.

He remembered when Adrian had looked up at him through his long, glittery eyelashes. His face was flushed and sweat laced his messy dyed hair that was slowly turning back into a natural midnight black. Jave remembered sitting with Adrian in the back of Adrian’s truck- their bodies so close, Jave could feel the heat radiating off of Adrian who had just finished a late concert at some dingy restaurant. He remembered leaning back, stretching his thin torso a bit as he searched for the warm bottle of whiskey Adrian had brought when Adrian had spoken up. The words that left his mouth were soft and barely audible and Jave couldn’t process what he had said fast enough.

Remembered that night you kissed me when I was drunk? Why didn’t you do it again?

“I’m not a faggot,” Jave remarked bitterly.

Adrian blinked, a bit puzzled.

“What?”

Jave swallowed hard. “I said- I said I’m not a faggot,” he said, a bit louder.

Adrian lowered his eyebrows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jave took a shaky breath, clenching his fist.

“That’s what the man called you after the concert. It’s what my mom calls boys who look too feminine for her liking. It’s the way I felt after you had asked me to kiss you again.”

The next thing Jave knew, Adrian’s fist had connected with the side of Jave’s nose. A bright, flashing pain shot through his body, but he couldn’t tell if it was from the blow or the words that had just left his mouth.

“Has anyone ever told you to just f’ing shut up?” Adrian growled. “What are you so afraid of, Jave?”Adrian’s breathing slowed as he stepped closer to Jave who wiped his nose on his sleeve.

Both boys were silent. There were birds twittering away in the trees behind them. They could hear cars speeding by one another a few streets down in the middle of the city. There was a faint booming noise from a club that opened early. Jave could hear his blood thudding in his ears.

“I’m scared of falling in love with you,” Jave whispered.

The air stilled alongside the two boys’ breathing. It was a moment that lasted mere seconds, but seemed like an eternity as they stared at one another, each watching the other carefully.

Jave closed his eyes.

And with that, Adrian closed the gap between their bodies and kissed Jave.

Jave’s blood continued to seep down his chin.

When they pulled away, their eyes fluttering open and their lips tinted red, Adrian kept his fingers splayed across Jave’s cheeks.

“But,” Jave began, a bit breathless. “I think- I think it’s too late now.”

Jave should’ve known.

He should’ve known the moment the first leaf fell from the tree in his backyard and Adrian called to cancel their movie date.

He should’ve known when he felt the coolness of the air and decided to dig out his old jacket from the back of his closet.

He should’ve known when he saw Adrian for the first time in what seemed like years when in fact it had only been a few weeks, but Adrian, with bags under his eyes and his bones poking through his skin, looked that much older.

In some ways, Jave did know.  He just chose to ignore it.

He ignored it because in some ways, he wanted it to not be true. When Adrian wouldn’t write him back, Jave would be too nervous to walk to Adrian’s house, knowing that what he would see would be something unreal.

Adrian had told Jave that sometimes, when the sun would go down in the early afternoon, when the leaves would crunch perfectly underneath his Keds, when the wind would whip against his cheeks in a bitter gust, Adrian would fall into himself. Adrian told Jave that he would lock himself in his room for days, refusing to come out for any reason.

It was like the cold would trigger something evil in him and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Jave was terrified, but he never accepted that it could be true.

So when Adrian’s mom called Jave’s house in tears, Jave felt nothing.

He was numb and cold, like his soul was frozen in his body, yet the world kept moving fast around him. He was kicked off, tossed aside and left stranded on the side of the road. There was nothing left to do.

Adrian had shot himself in the skull at 3:21 on a Wednesday morning and there was nothing left for Jave to do.

He wanted to stay by his side for as long as he could. Or at least as long as he was allowed to. Still, even with this boy who might have been the love of his life, there was still some impending sadness lurking in his soul.

There were days where Jave still felt that electricity. Some days it was faint, sort of like a muted tingle of something. Other days, it swallowed Jave whole, dragging him down further and further, choking the boy and creating night terrors so vivid, Jave would wake up screaming.

He would forever remember the days- the days when everything was pink. When everything was soft. When everything was charged with a soft electricity that never killed anyone.