Donny had a habit of climbing. First trees, then fences, and now rooftops - especially the flat one above the gym, patched with moss and occasional graffiti. It felt private in a way nothing else did. Sky above, secrets below.
So when Donny invited Christopher and Benjamin to meet him there after school, he brought snacks, a speaker, and three mismatched blankets. The sunset was already sneaking between clouds.
Christopher climbed hesitantly. Benjamin scrambled like he belonged. Once they were settled, Donny played a playlist full of half-hidden feelings - songs that said what he couldn't yet. Cigarettes After Sex. Mitski. Old Coldplay.
They didn't talk much at first.
Then Christopher said, "I keep thinking that if I say the wrong thing, whatever this is might disappear."
Benjamin looked at him. "You've never said the wrong thing to me."
Donny whispered, "Me neither."
It settled like warmth in their chests, but also woke something deeper. If they were all feeling something, who would name it first? What if not all names matched?
Later, Christopher leaned his head on Benjamin's shoulder. Donny watched it happen like a poem forming mid-air. The speaker played "Sunlight" by Hozier, and no one said a word.
But their hearts - those reckless things - beat louder than ever.