Ethan didn’t know how long he cried.
The tears eventually stopped not because the pain vanished, but because his smaller body had simply run out of strength to feel so much at once.The sobs had long faded. What remained was a soft silence, broken only by the rustle of the hoodie in Ethan’s lap and the slow, steady rhythm of Jack’s breath beside him.
Ethan blinked blearily, his eyes puffy and cheeks damp. He felt hollow, as if all the big adult feelings he used to bury so skillfully had poured out of him in one great wave. Now there was only the lingering ache and a quiet hum in his chest.
Jack gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “You okay?”
Ethan nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just… drained.”
Jack leaned back, rubbing at his own eyes with a sleepy groan. “You’re not the only one. This whole day’s been like running a marathon in clown shoes.”
Ethan snorted softly. “Except we’re twelve. I don’t think we’re built for staying up past midnight anymore.”
Jack stretched with a yawn that cracked his voice halfway through. “Definitely not. You got a bed in here, or are we building a pillow fort on the floor?”
Ethan gestured to the massive bed behind them—the same one he’d curled up in as a kid after every nightmare, every bad dream, every lonely evening.
“I used to pretend it was a spaceship,” he said with a tired smile. “Sometimes a boxing ring. Depends how much sugar I had.”
“Tonight, it’s a crash pad for two very exhausted superhero preteens.”
The two boys stood slowly, both yawning, rubbing their eyes. There was no bravado left. No witty banter. Just two tired boys in hand-me-down uniforms. They stripped off the scratchy school clothes, one piece at a time, each casting quick, blushing glances at the other and trying not to let their eyes linger too long.
Ethan hesitated before opening the dresser drawer—then pulled out two pairs of snug little briefs from his old childhood stash. One was pale blue with a tiny lightning bolt near the waistband. The other was forest green with a stitched pine tree emblem—how fitting, Ethan thought, handing that one to Jack.
Jack accepted it with a little smirk. “Matching our themes now, huh?”
Ethan looked away, cheeks pink. “Only thing left that isn’t moth-eaten.”
They changed with backs half-turned and faces red. The briefs were a snug fit—perfect for their new size—but still left them feeling strangely exposed. Bare legs, bare arms, no layers to hide behind. It felt more vulnerable than any fight they’d ever been in.
Jack scratched the back of his neck. “This is...weird, right?”
Ethan nodded, toes curling against the rug. “Really weird.”
“Also kinda… I don’t know.” Jack shrugged, stepping toward the bed. “Nice?”
Ethan looked at him. “Yeah. Nice.”
They climbed under the old comforter, stiff with age but warm. It smelled faintly of old detergent and a younger version of Ethan’s unique scent. The mattress dipped slightly beneath their weight. The room was quiet again.
Moonlight painted silver streaks across the ceiling as the boys lay side by side, still and silent, only inches apart.
Jack let out a slow breath, eyes closed. His messy dark hair flopped across his forehead, and the soft rise and fall of his chest gave Ethan something to anchor to.
Ethan watched him. He couldn’t help it. There was something about Jack’s face that felt so peaceful now. Unarmored. Unafraid. His cheek rested gently against the pillow, his lips slightly parted in sleepiness, and in the dim light, he looked more like a boy dreaming of treehouses than a man who used to chop villains in half with a hatchet.
Ethan shifted slowly under the blanket, inching a little closer. Just enough to feel the warmth radiating off Jack’s side. He didn’t want to wake him—just to be near him.
But as soon as his arm barely brushed Jack’s, Jack blinked open one eye and turned toward him.
Their noses almost touched.
“…Hey,” Jack whispered, voice low and unsure.
“Hey,” Ethan whispered back.
They looked at each other, the air suddenly charged with something tender and terrifying.
Then, with the gentlest, most uncertain motion, Jack lifted one arm and, after the barest pause, curled it around Ethan’s waist, pulling him into a slow, cautious hug.
Ethan’s heart was pounding again, but not with fear.
He slid closer, arms wrapping around Jack’s narrow back, the embrace full of soft elbows and bony shoulders and all the awkwardness of boys who had forgotten how to act like grown men—and didn’t care.
Their foreheads touched. Their cheeks burned. Their legs tangled shyly beneath the blanket.
“I always thought you were cute,” Jack murmured, barely audible. “Even when we were all gruff and macho and pretending to be untouchable.”
Ethan’s breath caught.
“You did?”
Jack nodded against him. “You were all sharp angles and cocky smiles and big words. I figured it was just a work crush. You know. Partners. But... now?”
Ethan swallowed, his throat tight in the quiet.
“Now I can’t stop thinking about you,” Jack said, “and I don’t even know how to hide it anymore. Not in this body. Not with this brain.”
Ethan was quiet for a long moment. Then he whispered, “Same.”
Jack pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “Really?”
Ethan nodded. “I think... we’re just too little now to pretend we’re not feeling everything. You ever notice how when you’re a kid, your feelings are just... big? Like, you can’t shove them down?”
Jack smiled, slow and sheepish. “Like this.”
And before Ethan could answer, Jack leaned in and kissed him.
It wasn’t perfect. Their noses bumped. Ethan’s lips were dry. Jack’s breath hitched halfway through.
But it was sweet. Soft. Earnest.
A little-kid kiss, full of fluttery nerves and heart-pounding warmth and the thrill of something brand new.
When they broke apart, Ethan couldn’t help giggling—part nerves, part joy. Jack buried his face in the pillow, laughing too.
“This is the weirdest night of my life,” Jack muttered.
“Same,” Ethan agreed, already snuggling closer again. “But also maybe... the nicest.”
Jack’s arm draped over him. Their foreheads touched again.
“Let’s just... not think about tomorrow yet,” Jack whispered.
“No thinking,” Ethan mumbled, his eyes already closing. “Just... this.”
Two boys. Too small for their old world. Too tired to hold it all in.
And in the soft darkness of that childhood bed, hearts fluttering and bodies tangled in sleepy affection, they drifted off together—blushing, smiling, dreaming.