The cicadas hummed their familiar song, filling the warm evening air as Mark lay on the grass, staring at the sky. The sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the clouds in soft pinks and oranges. Next to him, Jackson stretched his arms behind his head, letting out a satisfied sigh.

"This summer’s been good," Jackson murmured.

Mark turned his head slightly, watching his best friend. “Yeah, it has.”

They had been inseparable since childhood—long summer days spent racing bikes down their quiet street, sneaking into the lake at midnight, sharing secrets that no one else knew. But this summer felt… different.

It started with the lingering touches—Jackson’s hand brushing against his when they passed each other a drink, the way Mark’s gaze stayed on Jackson’s lips a little too long when he talked. It was the way Jackson would lean in closer than necessary, testing boundaries that neither of them had acknowledged before.

Mark had tried to ignore it, to tell himself it was nothing. But one night, as they sat by the lake, Jackson broke the silence.

"You ever think about us… as something more?" Jackson’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

Mark’s heart stuttered. His fingers dug into the cool grass beneath him as he tried to keep his voice steady. “What do you mean?”

Jackson turned his head, eyes meeting Mark’s. "I mean… what if we weren’t just best friends?"

Mark inhaled sharply. The air between them felt thick, charged with something unspoken for years.

“I—” Mark started, but Jackson didn’t let him finish.

Suddenly, Jackson was sitting up, shifting closer, his body blocking out the last bit of sunlight. “Mark,” he whispered, voice softer now, “if I kissed you right now, would you stop me?”

Mark didn’t answer, but he didn’t move away either.

That was all the permission Jackson needed.

His lips were warm, gentle against Mark’s, hesitant at first, but when Mark let out a small sigh, Jackson deepened the kiss. His fingers slid into Mark’s hair, pulling him closer, and Mark felt himself melt into it, into him.

The world around them disappeared—just the quiet rustling of the trees, the distant sound of the lake, and the taste of Jackson on his lips.

When they finally pulled away, Jackson smiled, brushing his thumb across Mark’s cheek.

"Guess that answers my question," he teased.

Mark chuckled, shaking his head before pulling Jackson in again.

That summer, beneath the setting sun and whispered confessions, they discovered something new—something that had been there all along, waiting for the right moment to surface.

The summer air was thick with warmth, cicadas humming in the distance as Mark and Jackson lay side by side on the dock, their fingers brushing but never fully intertwining. The lake stretched endlessly before them, reflecting the fading pinks and oranges of the sky.

Jackson turned his head slightly, watching Mark’s profile in the dimming light. He had always thought of Mark as his best friend, the one person who had been by his side through every stage of life. But now—after that kiss by the lake, after nights of whispered confessions and hesitant touches—he wasn't sure where they stood.

“Do we talk about it?” Jackson finally asked.

Mark inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling. “About what?”

Jackson scoffed, nudging him. “Don’t do that.”

Mark sighed, rolling onto his side to face him. “What do you want me to say, Jacks?”

“That it wasn’t just a summer thing,” Jackson said, voice quieter now. “That when we go back home, it won’t be over.”

Mark’s fingers twitched, and before he could second-guess himself, he reached over, gripping Jackson’s hand tightly. “It’s not just a summer thing,” he admitted. “At least… I don’t want it to be.”

Jackson exhaled in relief, his grip tightening around Mark’s. “Then it won’t be.”

Mark chuckled, shaking his head. “You make it sound so simple.”

Jackson grinned. “Maybe it is.”

The stars started to appear above them, flickering one by one, as they lay there, hands clasped. The summer had changed them, reshaped what they thought they knew about each other. Maybe they had been more than friends all along, and it had just taken them this long to realize it.

“Hey, Mark?” Jackson murmured.

“Yeah?”

Jackson turned onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows. “Can I kiss you again?”

Mark laughed, his cheeks warm, but he nodded. “Yeah, you can.”

So Jackson did, and under the summer sky, they made a promise—unspoken but understood. When summer ended, they wouldn't.