(Hudson)
"Jasper, what's wrong? You're scaring me." I tried again to hold him, and then I noticed a wet spot on the front of his boxers.
"Oh… it's just a wet dream. It happens to me too sometimes," I said gently.
He half sobbed, half exclaimed, "It hasn't happened while you're in bed with me! I don't want you to hate me for it."
I took his hand and squeezed it. "It has, but I wake up first and take care of it. Dad says wet dreams and morning erections are normal at our age. We're best friends — it's nothing to freak out about."
He stared at the wet spot. "I didn't even know this could happen."
I realized how sheltered he was. He hadn't been to public school, and movies at home never discussed anything like this. "It happens to every teenage boy. You can't control it, and there's nothing to be embarrassed about. One of my friends at school brags about it all the time."
"Jacks off?"
"Yeah, you know… uses your hand until you come. Don't worry, it'll happen when you're ready." I thought about how different his life had been. He was fifteen, but so behind in normal stuff.
I left to grab some clean clothes for him and came back with one of my longer shirts. It went almost to his knees. He looked adorable.
Adorable? Are guys allowed to think other guys are adorable?
He clutched his wadded-up clothes to his chest. "Let's take these to the laundry," I said. "We can sneak some ice cream and watch a movie too, even if I'm going to be dead for practice tomorrow."
We tiptoed down quietly, washed the clothes, and soon we were sitting side by side on my bed, eating ice cream and watching Tangled.
Jasper never said he loved Disney movies, but I knew this was one of his favorites. I had probably seen it a dozen times myself.
By the time the movie ends, Jasper has passed out, his glasses crooked on his face. I carefully take them off and set them on the side table. Then I carry our empty ice cream bowls down to the kitchen and transfer the laundry into the dryer before heading back upstairs.
When I get to my room, I see Jasper has edged onto my half of the bed, his hand stretched out like he's trying to find me. I don't even try to move him over. I just crawl into the small space left and pull the covers over both of us. He clings to me immediately, his fingers pressing into my back like he's afraid I'll disappear.
I'm exhausted, but my mind keeps replaying Jasper crying in the bathroom. I try to make sense of everything I'm feeling. I'm fifteen, lying in bed with my best friend. During the summer, we sleep together more than apart. Deep down, I know this isn't a "normal" friendship, but I can't push him away, and I don't want to. Jasper has been my lifeline since Owen died. I'm ashamed to admit that losing him would hurt even more than losing my brother.
I kiss the top of his head and close my eyes, hoping tonight's cuddle will take some of the sadness and tension off him.
---
My alarm goes off shortly after I finally fall asleep. Groaning, I drag myself out of bed and tuck the blankets up to Jasper's chin. He usually wakes when my alarm goes off, but he didn't, which shows how tired he must be. I throw on some clothes and rush downstairs to eat breakfast.
Mom has a plate ready for me, and I shove some scrambled eggs into my mouth.
"What were you two doing up in the middle of the night?" she asks.
I pause mid-forkful. "Jasper was upset… he needed ice cream and a movie."
"Upset? Did you finally figure out what's wrong?"
"I'm not really sure, but don't ask him about it, okay?" I don't want Mom bringing up last night.
She gives me a careful look. "Is it something I need to know about?"
"No! God, no, Mom! Some things are private. This is one of them."
She holds her hands up. "Okay, okay. I'm glad you were there to help him through it."
I groan inwardly. The thought of Mom knowing about Jasper's wet dream makes me want to throw up.
After breakfast, I grab the clothes from the dryer. Mom notices me carrying the basket and raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. I run upstairs, fold his clothes, and leave them on the bed.
He's still sleeping, hugging my pillow to his chest. I lean over, kiss his forehead, and brush his hair back from his face. "I love you, buddy," I whisper.
---
Halfway through football practice, I glance over and see Jasper sitting under the tree with his book. My tension melts away just seeing him close by. We skip ice cream after practice and head straight to the tree house. At fifteen, a tree house should be silly, but we still love it. It's our little hideaway where the rest of the world disappears.
It doesn't take long for me to realize that Jasper is still keeping something from me. He's moody and withdrawn. Something is bothering him, but I don't know what.