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October, 2003.
The autumn breeze swept through the streets of Peoria, Illinois, scattering brittle leaves across the manicured lawns and sidewalks. Brady Gallagher sat in the passenger seat of his dad's spotless Lexus, staring out the window as they passed row after row of houses. The bright reds and golds of the trees blurred together, and his thoughts drifted as his father, Joe, launched into yet another spiel about college prep.
"Brady, junior year is critical. Northwestern is great for Megan, but you don't have to follow her lead. With your grades, you could aim for something even bigger," Joe said, his tone firm but encouraging.
"Sure, Dad," Brady mumbled, knowing the answer was expected. In truth, he wasn't even thinking about college. His mind was elsewhere, wrapped up in thoughts of his best friend, David Sanchez.
By the time they pulled into the circular driveway of the Gallagher home, Brady had decided to bike over to David's place. The Gallaghers' house was pristine, two stories of perfectly curated affluence. Inside, their maid Rosa was dusting the living room, and his mother, Ellen, called out from the kitchen, "Dinner will be ready at seven!"
"Not staying," Brady called back as he grabbed his bike from the garage and pedaled toward the neighborhood where David lived.
The Sanchez home was a single-story house, worn but warm, with flower pots on the porch and the faint smell of fresh tortillas lingering in the air. Brady didn't even knock. He pushed open the screen door and called out, "David!"
David emerged from his room, wearing an old T-shirt and gray cotton shorts. His dark hair was slightly messy, and he grinned when he saw Brady. "What's up? You're early. Thought we were meeting up after dinner."
"Couldn't wait," Brady said, shrugging. He tried to keep his voice casual, but his chest tightened when David clapped him on the shoulder as they headed to his room. When David turned around, Brady couldn't help but notice his round latino butt. The fabric of his shorts had gotten stuck between his ass cheeks.
David's room was small but cozy, a mix of posters of Latin pop stars and cluttered bookshelves stacked with programming manuals. A gaming console was hooked up to the old TV in the corner, and Brady flopped onto the bed while David sat cross-legged on the floor, controller in hand.
"What're we playing?" Brady asked.
"New shooter," David replied. "Really violent. You'll love it."
They played for hours, laughing, shouting, and jostling each other. But Brady couldn't really focus. He kept glancing at David--the way his dark eyes lit up when he laughed, the way his hair fell over his forehead, the faint sheen of sweat on his skin. It wasn't the first time he'd noticed these things, but recently it had felt... different.
Brady's stomach flipped when David leaned over him to grab a drink from the nightstand, their arms brushing. It wasn't unusual for them to bump into each other, but this time, Brady couldn't stop the flush creeping up his neck.
"You okay?" David asked, pausing the game.
"Yeah," Brady said quickly, shifting on the bed. "Just tired."
The following weeks were a blur of school, late-night gaming sessions, and quiet turmoil for Brady. Every time he was around David, his heart raced. He started noticing everything--his subtle teenage B.O. smell, the way his shoulders and back rose and fell when he breathed, the way his voice softened when he spoke in Spanish to his sister, Maria. At night, Brady lay awake, his mind filled with images of David--his smile, his touch, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. When he could get to sleep, he even had dreams about David. Dreams of kissing him, of exploring his naked body, of sucking his uncut dick. When he woke up in the morning, Brady's underwear was filled with half-dried semen. He didn't understand what all this meant. He'd been friends with David for 2 years, since they met in freshman year of high school. Why was he having these feelings now? Was he gay? He'd liked girls for a while though. David and him had talked about girls in class or celebrities they thought were hot. Maybe he was bisexual? He'd never been attracted to any other guy though.
Brady felt like he was going crazy. He couldn't concentrate in class, couldn't shake the dreams that left him breathless. He didn't even tell David when they hung out, instead retreating into himself, afraid that if he said anything, he'd ruin everything.
"You've been weird lately," David said one evening, breaking the silence as they sat on his porch. The streetlights cast a soft glow on his face, and Brady swallowed hard, his throat dry.
"What? No, I'm fine," Brady said, too quickly.
David gave him a look, one eyebrow raised. "Seriously, man. You've been quiet, distracted. Did I do something?"
"No," Brady said, his voice barely above a whisper. His chest felt like it was about to burst. "You didn't do anything."
"Then what is it?" David pressed. "Come on, Brady. Please, talk to me."
Brady stared at his hands, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "I can't stop thinking about you David. I'm crazy about you. I'm in love with you."
The world seemed to stop. Brady felt like he couldn't breathe, the silence stretching between them like a chasm. He stared at the ground, too afraid to meet David's eyes. "I know it's stupid," he said quickly, his voice trembling. "I just--I had to tell you. I can't keep it in anymore. If you hate me now, I get it, but--"
David cut him off by leaning forward and pressing his lips to Brady's. Brady froze for a moment, stunned, before kissing him back. The warmth of David's mouth, the softness of his touch, was everything he hadn't dared to imagine.
When they finally broke apart, David was grinning, his cheeks flushed. "Took you long enough to say something," he said, his voice teasing but soft.
Brady stared at him, wide-eyed. "You--wait, what?"
David laughed, leaning his forehead against Brady's. "I was waiting for you to figure it out. Guess I was waiting too long."
Brady's heart soared, the weight he'd been carrying for weeks lifting in an instant. For the first time in weeks, he let himself smile.