We sat on the cold bench in the park, brown bags in hand, shared a vape that tastes like strawberries. It was freezing, but he didn’t seem to notice. He leaned closer, his shoulder brushed mine. The sky was dull gray, and the grass looked like it had given up weeks ago.
“You can put your legs over mine,” he said, his voice low, steady.
His voice was calm, indifferent. I hesitated but draped my legs over his. His hand rubbed my knee absently, like it wasn’t really me he was touching.
He snorted, a brief laugh. “What’s wrong with you?” He pointed to a pole across the yard. “There’s a camera.”
“I don’t care. I just want to do something. Something stupid. Prove I have free will.”
He looked at me like I was trying too hard. “Not doing something stupid—that’s free will,” he said.
I didn’t tell him about the bike I stole from Parking Structure 3 last week. He didn’t need to know. He wouldn’t get it. He handed me the last of his peach soju.
We sat in uncomfortable silence. The hills of Torrance made the perfect height to see the entirety of Los Angeles and the marina. Daniel likes to see the city skylines, and all I can think of is castles in the air.
“I don’t think you should tell me about your 2 am grievances.” I said as I drank the rest of the soju.
“What?”
“You told me you wanted to make out with someone. I’m not the right person to say that to.” The night he told me that, I cried and drank alone, and I realized that I was not a good friend. I’m not sure if he is aware of this.
“I’m sorry.”
I shrugged, looking out over the city. “This reminds me of Top of the World,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“It’s in Laguna. Guys always say, ‘I know a place,’ and then they take you there.”
He laughed softly. “Is it a sex thing?” He had a soft, silly Mexican man streak.
“When isn’t it?”
“Well, this isn’t that.”
It stung more than it should have. I stared out at the city lights, my stomach twisting. “Do you want to make out?”
His silence stretched too long.
“I told you in March I liked you,” I said. “I still do.”
He exhaled, smoke curling in the cold air. “But you’re always talking about other guys.”
“I was trying to get over you,” I said. “I’m sorry I brought it up again.”
His brow furrowed. “What if I don’t want you to stop bringing it up?”
I didn’t wait. I leaned in.
He kissed me, messy and hesitant, and it wasn’t what I wanted. But I took it anyway. He pressed kisses on my neck, jaw, forehead, and then nose.
When he pulled back, I looked away. “Tell me you don’t think about me. Tell me this doesn’t mean anything.”
He didn’t say a word. We’re just friends.
