Medellín

The weekend with Yeison had changed everything. Well, not everything, but a lot.

 

We were different now – more now. That hesitant space that had existed between us, filled with all my questions, doubts, and fears, was gone. In its place was something solid. Real. I had no more excuses. No more distance to hide behind. We weren’t just two boys fooling around under the covers anymore. We were boyfriends. Officially.

 

I finally gave in, albeit a little reluctantly.

 

And everyone in our group knew it. And pretty soon, everyone in the school would probably know.

 

The moment we stepped onto campus Monday morning, hand-in-hand, we might as well have been wearing matching T-shirts that said We Had Sex and It Was Emotionally Transformative. Zack immediately looked at us and raised both eyebrows.

 

“Damn,” he said. “Is Yeison walking a little funny, or is that just the swagger of a man in love?”

 

Ricardo burst into laughter. “You’re not wrong,” he said, smirking at Yeison, who just rolled his eyes and muttered something in Spanish I was probably better off not understanding.

 

Ricardo did look a little put out, though. “So that means I officially lost my soccer partner, huh?”

 

Yeison threw an arm around him. “I’ll still play! Just… maybe a little less now. And maybe we can find another cute boy to play with you!”

 

Ricardo laughed and rolled his eyes, then glibly remarked that, “He needs to be super cute then and can’t run away scared the first time he sees ‘the monster!’”

 

“Then what am I?” asked Ferney, looking totally put out.

 

“You’re only here half the time. Dump your other friends and just hang out with us, and maybe I’ll change my mind,” snickered Ricardo.

 

The rest of us glanced at each other and laughed uncomfortably when we heard that.

 

I would be totally fine with that, as long as Ferney never let slip around Yeison that we had fucked like bunnies while Yeison and I had already been moving in the direction of something more serious.

 

Ricardo was no longer the scared boy he’d seemed on my bed – bandaged and vulnerable after the shooting. He was healed, back in action, and more outgoing than I’d expected – and I liked it. It gave our group more energy, better vibes, like he was willing our friend group – our parche – into something solid and cohesive.

 

I shook my head, blushing, but I couldn’t stop the glow spreading across my face. This – whatever this was – felt like happiness. The teasing, the banter, the easy laughter. We were becoming something real. A group. A gang. A we. I’d never had that before, not really. Sure, I’d always been surrounded by people – acquaintances, classmates, kids who liked orbiting my world, guys who just wanted me to fuck them. But real friends? The kind you could talk to about anything? Trust with the stuff that actually mattered? No. I thought I didn’t need them.

 

I had had Rory, and that felt like enough. Except it wasn’t. And when Rory and I fell apart, I was left with no one to sit beside me in the wreckage. No one to hug me or tell me it would all be okay. No one to cry to on the phone at midnight when the silence got too loud.

 

And one of the great perks of having real friends, people I could vent to, or just hang together silently … the darkness grew weaker. The out-of-control mental spiraling happened less frequently. And when I did find myself starting to feel depressed, overly anxious, or just wanted to hide away from the world, the feelings didn’t last nearly as long.

 

Everything seemed to be going right with the world.

 

And then, a few days later, someone new surprised us by showing up.

 

It was during lunch. We were all in our usual spot in the courtyard, perched under our favorite tree. The sun was warm, and I remember thinking how perfectly normal it all felt. There had been very little reaction to my holding hands with Yeison, but Zack remarked that, again, it was probably because I was a gringo. Miguel hadn’t bothered me for a while. So, everything was basically going great in our little group.

 

Until this new boy appeared, casually dribbling a soccer ball with the kind of smooth, practiced ease that made it impossible not to watch. He was of medium height, athletic, with light brown hair that kept falling into his eyes – eyes that were dark, expressive, and impossible to look away from. His light skin caught the light like polished bronze, and everything about him seemed sculpted for movement – broad shoulders, strong legs, lean muscle across his arms and chest. His face was striking: youthful, unblemished, with a small constellation of freckles dusted across his nose like a secret only a few would notice. But what stopped me – what really stopped me – was his smile. It was the kindest, most honest, and open smile I’d ever seen. Completely genuine, like he had no idea how beautiful he was. Just… pure and good. Just being in his orbit, no matter how temporarily, made me feel alive and happy.

 

There was a part of me that was ready to get on one knee and propose to him right then and there. Maybe I would have if Yeison hadn’t been right there, but there was just something so special about this boy, and I was entranced. I had to get to know him.

 

He walked right up to us like he already knew he belonged.

 

“¿Alguien juega fútbol?” he asked, eyes scanning our circle. “Anyone play?”

 

Even his accent in English was adorable, very subtle, like maybe he’d spent a considerable amount of time overseas, which would not be surprising for a wealthy Colombian kid.

 

Yeison, Ricardo, and Ferney raised their hands without hesitation.

 

I just rolled my eyes and laughed under my breath. I honestly didn’t understand how Ricardo could sprint around in those tiny soccer shorts with that massive thing flopping around so obviously. It wasn’t exactly subtle. But he didn’t care – not even a little. Total zero-shame energy. I figured the new boy would find out soon enough anyway.

 

The boy grinned, sat down like it was the most natural thing in the world, and unwrapped his lunch. “I’m Carlos,” he said. “I can hang out with you guys?”

 

There was a pause. I think we all glanced at each other, trying to figure out what just happened. Zack nodded casually. Ricardo looked like Christmas had come early. I was drooling.

 

Yeison… did not look thrilled.

 

Carlos caught that. “Something wrong?”

 

Yeison’s voice was low, skeptical. “Why aren’t you sitting with Miguel and his amigos?”

 

Carlos shrugged. “I talked to them. Not really my vibe. Bad attitudes. Stuck up. I just wanna play fútbol and hang out with some chill parceros.”

 

That earned him a few smirks. Okay, very fair point.

 

I observed Carlos carefully. He was beautiful – no question about it. Handsome in a way that felt like danger, or distraction. But it wasn’t just his looks. He had this calm, quiet confidence, like someone who was used to being noticed but never needed to chase the spotlight. It just found him. And yet, there was nothing arrogant about him. He seemed grounded, humble even – like he’d be just as comfortable joking around with the janitor as he would be commanding the room. There was something so real about him. No front. No performance. Just… Carlos.

 

I liked him. And that could be trouble.

 

Ricardo, on the other hand, gave an enthusiastic nod. “He can play with us anytime, ¡Y que coman mierda Miguel y sus parceritos!” he exclaimed, clearly already imagining their next lunchtime match.

 

Zack looked at me. “Straight?”

 

“Probably,” I said under my breath. “But who the hell knows anymore?”

 

“I heard that,” Carlos said, grinning from ear to ear and bouncing his eyebrows teasingly.

 

Great. Now he was fucking charming, too. But I also noticed that he didn’t answer the question.

 

He seemed easygoing. Open. I didn’t feel the usual tension I sometimes felt around straight guys who were trying too hard. He didn’t seem like he was trying at all. So, I guess the jury was still out for now. We certainly weren’t going to press him. We’d be hypocrites for doing that. But now I was really curious, which made me feel really guilty.

 

So, just like that, our tight little group became what seemed like a real parche, a mix of gringos, wealthy Colombian kids, as well as kids with fewer economic means. I loved the diversity of it.

 

In the days that followed, we got to know Carlos better. He drove a really expensive and powerful motorcycle – naturally. His family lived in a large house in Envigado near the canalización. He was an incredible soccer player, well-spoken, articulate, passionate, funny once he warmed up, and surprisingly humble for someone so clearly gifted and well-off. He seemed almost too good to be true.

 

Of course, Juan Camilo ran his standard background checks. Both Carlos and Ricardo came back clean. No surprises. My dad even commented one night over dinner that week. “You’re finding your people down here, Hunter. That’s good.”

 

He didn’t say anything about Yeison. But I could tell he was watching. Evaluating.

 

That Friday, we decided to celebrate. My dad would be back in Bogotá again, so we had the house to ourselves (except for Juan Camilo, Officer Santiago, and Doña Susana, of course).

 

Our group had survived assassinations, awkward crushes, drama, fruit-induced hallucinations, and now we had a new member. We deserved a break. So, we planned a barbecue and a sleepover at my house. The idea was simple: eat a ton of grilled meat, tell dumb stories, and let the new boys, Ferney and Carlos, see what we were all really like.

 

I couldn’t wait.

 

After the final bell rang, I rushed to my locker, my mind already spinning with to-do lists. I was halfway through unloading my textbooks when something fluttered out and landed at my feet on the floor.

 

A folded piece of red paper. Heart-shaped.

 

I bent down, picked it up, and opened it carefully.

 

Te quiero ~~ Migue.

 

My breath caught. The hallway seemed to go quiet all at once. I read the words again and again, not quite believing it. I’d studied enough Spanish by now to know exactly what it said.

 

“I love you.”

From Miguel.

 

A rush of emotions surged through me – confusion, guilt, a strange, aching nostalgia. And maybe, buried deep beneath it all, the faintest echo of something else. Longing, maybe. Or regret. But whatever it was, it didn’t matter anymore. It was too late. Way too late. Miguel was in the courtyard, going after some younger kid – slapping him hard across the face, shoving him down onto the pavement, then kicking him while he was still on the ground. And for what? No reason I could see. Just because he could. A circle of kids had gathered around, watching like it was some show, but not one of them stepped in to stop it. Not one.

 

It made my blood boil. Watching Miguel beat up someone half his size, someone who couldn’t fight back, was sickening. If he wanted to prove how tough he was, maybe he should try picking on someone his own size. Someone like me. See how that went.

 

Being gay never meant I couldn’t fight. I’d trained in Okinawan Isshin-ryu Karate for a couple of years with an old U.S. Marine who’d worked with the founder, Master Tatsuo Shimabuku, on Okinawa in the late ’60s during the Vietnam War. I made brown belt. Beyond the basic punches, kicks, and blocks, we learned the really devastating, traditional stuff – grappling, throws, joint locks, hyperextensions, breaks, and ugly pressure-point shots. Isshin-ryu was built for short range, and it’s brutal. I’m a little rusty, sure, but muscle memory is real; if it came to it, I could defend myself – or someone I care about.

 

In those moments, I realized Colombia wasn’t all that different from the U.S. after all. Bullies come in every culture. He was arrogant and cruel in that aimless, performative way, caring too much about looking untouchable and “cool” and too little about how his actions affected others. And yet – he was hiding something. Something big. A secret I could ruin him with, if I wanted to. But I wouldn’t. That wasn’t who I was. If he really wanted to impress me, cryptic little “love notes” weren’t the way to do it. Trying decency for once might be. But then, I already had a boyfriend, so he was out of luck.

 

I crumpled the note slowly, deliberately, and tossed it into the trash can beside the lockers. Then I exhaled hard and jogged to catch up with my friends. I wasn’t going to tell Yeison about this, though, I decided. He’d definitely freak out. And I was also hoping that Yeison didn’t notice the serious crush I’d been developing on Carlos, or figure out about the hookup I’d had with Ferney.

 

Outside, everyone was already gathered around Juan Camilo’s SUV, backpacks and sleeping bags stacked like we were going on a weeklong expedition. Max was barking like crazy, leaping around everyone’s legs, trying to climb into the back seat ahead of us. I told Juan Camilo that it probably wasn’t a good idea to bring him, but he just shrugged.

 

“¡Atrás, Max!” Juan Camilo shouted. “No es tu viaje.”

 

“It is his trip,” Zack said, opening the back door. “He’s part of the family.”

 

We all laughed as Max jumped inside triumphantly, tongue lolling.

 

There were five of us now, and the car wasn’t exactly built for five teenage boys, a dog, and a pile of overnight bags. Somehow, we made it work – though it meant Zack had to sit on my lap.

 

“Don’t get excited,” he whispered. “I’m only doing this because your dog stole my seat.”

 

“Well, you do have a cute butt,” I whispered back to him as he glowered at me, and I gave him a couple of teasing pelvic thrusts.

 

Yeison glanced at us from the front seat, eyes narrowing. Oh well, it looked like Yeison was going to be one of those jealous types.

 

I mouthed Sorry at him, but he looked away.

 

Zack leaned closer. “He’s gonna kill me in my sleep, isn’t he?”

 

“Only if I don’t beat him to it.”

 

And just like that, we were on our way. Six boys. One dog. A house full of secrets. And a weekend ahead of us that none of us would ever forget.

 

***

 

The drive home only took about fifteen minutes, but unpacking everything from the SUV took nearly twice that long. Juan Camilo had driven like he was transporting state secrets instead of five giggling, overcaffeinated teenage boys and a trunk packed like a refugee convoy – backpacks, sleeping bags, overnight duffels, a tote bag full of snacks that Zack refused to let out of his sight, and of course, Max.

 

Max was chaos incarnate. The moment we opened the doors, he launched himself out like a missile, tearing across the driveway, barking at a stray leaf. Then he circled back and immediately began sniffing everyone’s crotches with the intensity of a customs officer who hadn't had a coffee.

 

“MAX!” I yelled, trying to grab his collar. “Stop violating my guests!”

 

“He’s, uh… very friendly,” Carlos giggled, holding his duffel protectively in front of him as Max tried to leap on his chest.

 

“He’s got a very discerning nose, Carlos, so that must mean he thinks you’re a pretty awesome guy,” I blurted out … and immediately regretted it.

 

Carlos just looked at me with a crooked smile as I waited for the Earth to swallow me whole.

 

Ricardo was laughing hysterically. “I think he’s in love with Zack.”

 

“Join the club,” Zack muttered, as Max kept trying to hump his leg.

 

Juan Camilo just shook his head and muttered, “Ese perro es un loco.”

 

Eventually, we herded Max inside and started the Great Room Division Ceremony. It actually went smoother than I expected. Yeison and I obviously claimed my bedroom. Zack grabbed the guest room closest to the bathroom (“small bladder,” he said), which he would share with Ferney (I wondered how poor, straight Zack would handle sleeping next to a gay boy), and Ricardo and Carlos got the second guest room, where they would be stuck sharing a relatively small double bed. In that moment, I couldn’t help but feel jealous of Ricardo.

 

I was quietly bracing for someone to make a crude joke. Some variation of “that’s so gay” or “you two sure about that?” But no one did. No snickers; no side-eyes. Carlos just tossed his bag onto the bed and said, “Cool,” and that was that.

 

It was a tiny moment, but it meant something. Our little group – whatever we were – was working, coalescing. I could say, without hesitation, that these guys were becoming real, genuine friends, and that felt good. I’d never had my own crew back in the States.

 

While everyone got settled, Doña Susana laid out a feast of snacks in the kitchen that looked like it had been catered by both a Colombian grandmother and a fast-food truck.

 

There were hot, golden patacones with tangy hogao sauce and fresh guacamole, arepas oozing cheese (which I avoided with the grace of a practiced actor), mini grilled ham-and-cheese sandwiches, sliders on toasted buns, and enough French fries to fill a bathtub. The kitchen smelled like butter, oil, melted cheese, and heaven.

 

“Is this normal?” Carlos asked, wide-eyed.

 

Ricardo nodded, stuffing a fry into his mouth. “It is now.”

 

We piled into my room to eat and hang out. I told my friends that the only major difference between this room and my old room in the States was that my new room didn’t have wall-to-wall carpeting, which was an absolutely alien concept to them. However, the tile floors actually made more sense in Colombia because of the heat and humidity. I also explained to them that we usually had larger closets, the rooms themselves tended to be bigger if you were middle-class or above, and that we didn’t have bars on our windows. They really freaked out about that one.

 

“How will you keep the bad people and the robbers out?” a frightened-sounding Ferney asked.

 

“Well, home robberies don’t happen as much in the States as they do here. I mean, they do happen, but it’s much less common,” I explained.

 

When I then explained that the walls around buildings didn’t have broken glass bottles and barbed wire covering the top of the walls, they didn’t seem as surprised. “Doesn’t every American have a gun anyway?” asked Carlos. That one was a little trickier to explain, with the 2^nd amendment and the court cases, school shootings, and all.

 

“Well, not everyone does, but a lot of people do,” I explained. “It’s protected in our Constitution, and the idea goes all the way back to our Revolutionary War, although a lot of people think it’s gone way too far and that you don’t need military-style assault rifles for hunting or defending your home.”

 

My PlayStation 4 – basically a decorative paperweight until now – was finally earning its keep. Zack fired it up, and within seconds, the room dissolved into a chaotic FIFA tournament. Controllers clacked like machine guns, and a mix of Spanish and English ricocheted off the walls. Curses flew fast and free – hijueputa, gonorrea, malparido, marica, and, of course, the ever-reliable fuck and shit (thanks, American cultural imperialism). But it was all hurled with affection, a strange love language of insults and laughter. Shouts of ¡Eso! punctuated the noise, and somewhere in the blur of goals and groans, I realized something beautiful – Carlos had officially been adopted. They were calling him Carlitos now.

 

Something about the whole scene melted the ice around my cold, dark heart, and I couldn’t help but laugh with them. In that moment, there weren’t Colombian kids and gringo kids – there were just kids. Loud, ridiculous, obnoxious (especially the farting contests!), competitive, and alive. And maybe that was the truth grown-ups always missed: no matter where you’re from, kids have way more in common than the world gives them credit for. We tended to be able to get along with anyone our age. Maybe the rest of the world could take a hint from that.

 

At some point, I went into the kitchen to refill my Postobón apple soda and came face-to-face with Carlos.  My knees immediately started feeling weak, and I didn’t trust myself to say anything without sounding like a total moron. “Hola,” I managed to squeak out.

 

“Hey,” he said, smiling. “Cool party.”

 

“Really?” I asked, scrunching up my face. It was more like a little kid’s birthday party in a way.

 

“Yeah, I prefer chill stuff like this to going to clubs or big parties and stuff,” he explained.

 

“Cool. I’m not into clubs or big parties either,” I said.

 

“So, are you still curious?” he asked, smirking.

 

“About what?” I asked innocently.

 

“What some of you guys were wondering about me earlier,” he said, with an unreadable expression.

 

I immediately felt guilty and embarrassed, and found a chip out of the tile floor to stare at. “I’m really sorry about that, dude. We were just kidding around and being stupid. We’ve quite a few gay people in our group, so …”

 

“So what?” he asked. “What difference does that make?

“None, I guess,” I muttered.

 

“Do you really wanna know?” he asked with a mischievous smile.

 

“To be honest, whether you’re gay or straight, you’d still be welcome in our group, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

 

“Good answer,” he said, smiling from cheek to cheek.

 

I just smiled back at him awkwardly.

 

“You’re going out with Yeison, right?” he asked, taking a drink of his juice.

 

“Yeah, I guess so. It’s still really new and I’m not sure how I feel about the whole thing yet.”

 

“Ya veo,” he said, nodding his head.

 

I was feeling as uncomfortable and awkward as fuck now. “Well, I’d better get back to the party; don’t want to keep the guests waiting.”

 

“Hunter!” he called after me as I was leaving the kitchen. “I hope we can become friends. You seem really cool, and I’ve never had a gringo friend before. I need to expand my horizons.”

 

“Yeah, cool,” I said, half-heartedly, and walked out of the kitchen.

 

That conversation with Carlos stuck with me, and not in a good way. I realized that I liked him – more than I wanted to admit – and part of me couldn’t shake the sense that maybe he liked me too. I couldn’t be sure, but the possibility was enough to leave me unsettled. What really messed me up were two things. First, I was kind of regretting how fast I’d committed to Yeison. Medellín was so full of possibilities, and Carlos… well, he seemed like one of the genuinely good ones. Now I worried he’d step back, stop flirting, stop building whatever this almost-friendship was turning into, just because I was already taken.

 

The second thing that got under my skin was when he said he wanted to be friends because he’d never had a gringo friend before. Maybe he didn’t mean it that way, but it hit me like I was some novelty, an accessory, not someone he really wanted to know. It stung. And to top it off, I had the perfect opening to ask about his sexuality, to find out if the vibes I thought I felt were real – and I choked. By the time I thought of the words, the moment was gone.

 

This was supposed to be a night to celebrate our little crew, to feel grateful for meeting such a diverse, cool group of friends. Instead, now all I felt was regret tangled up with insecurity, the kind that gnawed at me long after I left the kitchen.

 

Eventually, Yeison ended up curled beside me on the bed, the two of us sharing a blanket. His head rested gently on my chest, one hand finding mine under the fabric. I could feel the solid weight of him, the quiet rhythm of his breathing syncing with mine. Every so often, he’d let out a soft laugh at something Zack or Ricardo said, and I’d feel the faint tremor of it in my ribcage – subtle, but weirdly perfect.

 

And still my eyes kept drifting to Carlos. He kept catching me, too – looking back with this unreadable look, maybe a little sad. I’d even half-decided to “accidentally” find his gym, just to bump into him more – and, yeah, maybe peep on him changing after or showering. Never mind, I hate gyms. I kept telling myself: don’t screw this up. Don’t screw up with Yeison the way I’ve managed to mess up every boy who got too close. But something about Carlos made me want to let him close anyway – like I could show him the real me and he wouldn’t judge. I wasn’t sure I could do that with Yeison. Carlos made me feel… safe, even knowing him for such a short time. Which only made me feel guiltier – like a sleazebag – because Yeison and I had just gotten together when Carlos walked into our lives.

 

Ricardo smirked mid-game, looking over at me and Yeison, and said, “Seriously, you two need to get a room.”

 

“This is my room,” I replied, with a little irritation in my voice. “And we’re not even doing anything. We’re just lying here and watching you guys.”

 

He pointed at us with his controller. “You know what I mean. There’s a sex motel maybe five minutes away, but maybe they don’t take minors. But we love our sex motels in Colombia! In and out in an hour, only costs a few pesos, and you’re all set.”

 

This concept of the “sex motel” was new to me and kind of gross. I mean, how often and thoroughly did they sanitize those places? No thanks. I wasn’t that horny.

 

Yeison looked up at me with a sly smile. “I mean… we save money this way.”

 

I answered with, “Let’s not and say we did,” which confused everyone for a while. Carlos, unsurprisingly, picked up on the expression first. And that made me want to kiss him even more.

 

“You guys are gross and beyond horndogs,” Zack groaned. “Max, do something!”

 

Max, clearly invested in none of this, was busy tearing his plush Donald Trump toy to pieces in the corner.

 

At one point, Carlos paused the game and said, “It’s really cool and  sweet that you guys found each other, even among all the shit that’s happened recently.”

 

Yeison answered without a beat of hesitation and was sounding quite territorial: “Sí. somos novios. ¿Y qué?”

 

I was really not digging Yeison’s jealousy and possessiveness. Like, it was starting to piss me off. That was one of the warning signs that Juan Camilo had given me before, and now it was ringing true, and it bothered me a lot more than I expected. Fortunately, Yeison was cute, but if this got any worse, I’d have a decision to make, no matter how cute he was. But I also didn’t want to ruin our friend group after we’d really seemed to be gelling.

 

Carlos just nodded. “Lucky,” he said, glancing between us with a strange softness. It wasn’t sarcastic. If anything, he looked… wistful. And I felt a huge pang of guilt, regret, and self-loathing. The darkness was trying to fight its way back.

 

“Damn right I’m lucky,” I whispered, kissing Yeison on the temple.

 

Yeison snorted and whispered back, “You’re more cursi than a telenovela … but I like it.”

 

“What does ‘cursi’ mean?” I asked.

 

Zack quickly responded. “It means ‘cheesy,’ and not in the sense of a cheesy arepa.”

 

When the gaming finally wore everyone out, it was time for dinner, which was somehow even more ridiculous than the snack spread.

 

Doña Susana had grilled a real man’s dinner in our small backyard grill, although she may have gone a little overboard. It was as if she’d Googled “what do hungry teenage boys eat?” and said “yes.” We had several different cuts of steak, barbecue chicken, thick pork chops, corn-on-the-cob, baked potatoes, and pasta salad, with all the fixings. For the Colombians, she made large arepas, and for the two gringos, she went to the trouble of making a loaf of bread. She’d had her sister over to help, which explained how it all got done.

 

“I think I’m gonna die happy,” Zack mumbled with his third plate in front of him.

 

For dessert: homemade Maria Luisa cake – spongy, slightly tangy from the raspberry filling, dusted in powdered sugar – and a round of hot, rich Colombian coffee served in mismatched mugs. I’d never seen so many boys fall silent that quickly. We were all in some kind of blissed-out food Nirvana.

 

While everyone else sipped coffee and milled around, Ferney tugged me aside. He’d made me nervous ever since he started hanging with us. It was supposed to be a one-time hookup, but I liked him – not boyfriend material, maybe, but not nothing – and since everyone else vibed with him, I wasn’t about to be the guy who iced him out.

 

“Thank you for inviting me,” he said softly. “I really like your friends. And you.”

 

“De nada,” I said, keeping it short.

 

“I’m not gonna say anything about what we did. You don’t have to worry,” he added, still not meeting my eyes. “Es nuestro secreto, de verdad.”

 

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

 

“¿Entonces todo está bien? Between us? ¿Puedo estar en tu parche? I can be in your group?”

 

“Yeah, we’re good. And of course – you’re in.”

 

He smiled and gave me a quick hug. “Gracias. And if you ever want to have some fun again, just let me know.”

 

As he walked off, he wiggled his little butt, which began to cause a stirring down below. I needed to be careful. Between Carlos and Ferney, I could end up in real trouble with Yeison.

 

Post-shower (which took some considerable logistical coordination), everyone emerged in sleepwear that was more “dorm room” than “sleepover cute.” Mostly just boxers, with or without T-shirts. Carlos, predictably, looked like a Calvin Klein model when he peeled off his shirt, which earned him a collective eyebrow raise from everyone in the room. He was buff … and I was seriously drooling.

 

Before we kicked off another movie marathon, there was something I’d been thinking about for a while – something symbolic, maybe even a little dramatic, but important to me. I wanted to do it tonight with the people I now considered my best friends.

 

I slipped into the kitchen, rinsed off a paring knife under hot water, then doused it thoroughly in rubbing alcohol until the metallic scent made my nose twitch. I wrapped it carefully in a clean towel and carried it outside.

 

“Guys,” I said, standing under the dim porch light, “come outside for a minute. I want to show you something.”

 

They followed one by one, all of them barefoot and curious. Max padded along behind us, tail wagging and sensing something was different. The backyard smelled like warm soil and dewy grass, with hints of wood smoke from a neighbor’s chimney drifting through the air. The stars were bright tonight – ridiculously bright.

 

I took a deep breath. “In my country, we have this tradition. It’s kind of old-school, maybe a little intense, but… when a group of guys becomes really close, like brothers, we do a ‘blood brothers’ ceremony. Each of us makes a small cut on our hand, and we press them together. It means we’re bonded by blood. Not just friends – family.”

 

Zack nodded immediately, already knowing, but the Colombians shifted uneasily.

 

Carlos narrowed his eyes at the knife. “You want us to cut ourselves? That sounds kinda… loco.”

 

“Hermano, that’s unsanitary,” Ricardo said, half-joking but not entirely. “Like, actual blood?”

 

“Sí, sangre,” I replied, smiling faintly. “We’ll disinfect the knife with rubbing alcohol every time, if that helps. But it’s not about hurting yourself – it’s about what it means. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. But I hope you will. Because you guys are special to me, my first and best friends in Colombia. I want something real. Something we’ll never forget. Something that ties us together for life, no matter what.”

 

They exchanged glances, a quiet stretch of silence between us. Yeison finally looked at me, then at the blade, then back. He gave a little shrug. “If you go first, I’ll follow.”

 

“Same,” Carlos said, his voice softer now. “But only a little cut. I’m not trying to die tonight. Still… I get it. It’s symbolic. Like saying we’ll always have each other’s backs and won’t ever betray each other.”

 

I gave a small laugh. “Exactly. And no one’s dying. I’ll go first.”

 

I unwrapped the knife, poured alcohol over the blade, and drew a breath. The metal was cold in my hand. Then, with one sharp motion, I sliced across my palm. The sting was immediate, quick, and hot. Blood welled up fast, and I winced – but held my hand up, steady.

 

Yeison stepped forward next. “Hijueputa,” he muttered as the blade kissed his skin. His breath hissed through his teeth, eyes watering. But he didn’t back down.

 

One by one, the others followed. Zack with a grin, like this was a moment he’d been waiting for. I knew how important it was to him. He’d never had many friends in his life, always moving around with his family. This meant something to him. Carlos, with his jaw tight, whispered, “¡Mierda! Esto duele,” as he looked away. Ricardo, with the smallest cut of all, flapping his hand like he could wave the pain off. And last, Ferney, who didn’t even flinch. I imagined it would be nothing to him with all his tattoos.

 

And then it was time.

 

“On three,” I said.

 

For reasons I didn’t even fully understand, I tightened my grip around Carlos’s bloody hand, holding on harder than I needed to. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his eyes lifted to meet mine, and for a few suspended seconds the world seemed to narrow to just that connection – his gaze, steady and searching, and our hands pressed together, blood warm and slick between us.

 

The others’ palms stacked over ours, sealing the bond, but it was Carlos I felt most. Messy. Raw. Sacred.

 

“Now,” I said, my voice low, trembling but certain, “we’re brothers. Blood brothers. Always there for each other. No matter what.”

 

For a moment, silence wrapped around us. Even Max sat still, as if he understood. And in that silence, it felt real – like we had stepped across some invisible threshold together, into something that bound us forever.

 

We didn’t know then that oaths, even those made in blood, were fragile things. That time, fear, betrayal, and love would test them and break them in ways none of us could have imagined during that warm, star-filled night. Hearts would be broken, lives would be lost, and new loves would blossom. But in that moment, under the soft Medellín night, we believed.

 

We were brothers.

 

***

 

Back in my room, we made a sort of movie-watching nest. Blankets were thrown over the floor. Pillows were stacked into makeshift thrones. The air was thick with lingering shampoo, body spray, and the unmistakable scent of warm boy. Yeison and I took the bed, obviously. Zack curled up in my beanbag chair like it had grown around him. Ricardo, Ferney, and Carlos lay side by side on their stomachs, close. Very close. Close enough to make me feel a pang of jealousy in my stomach.

 

Yeison nudged me and whispered, “You see?”

 

“Oh, I see,” I whispered back. “Maybe tonight’s the night.”

 

“Or maybe we wait twenty more years,” Yeison whispered, grinning.

 

We threw on The Fellowship of the Ring and settled in. Max, true to form, refused to sleep in his bed and instead made his rounds – first curling beside Zack, then burrowing into the blankets between Ricardo and Carlos (who both instinctively scratched behind his ears), before finally jumping up and flopping at the foot of our bed with a sigh like he’d just run a marathon.

 

Halfway through The Two Towers, most of us had either gotten bored or tired. It was past midnight, and we were all sprawled across the floor of my room, buzzing from sugar, caffeine, and just the thrill of being young and unsupervised. Blankets, pillows, and half-eaten snacks surrounded us like the aftermath of a teenage tornado. Max was curled up near the door, tail twitching occasionally in his sleep.

 

Ricardo tossed a pillow at Zack’s head. “Alright, losers. Let’s play Truth or Dare.”

 

Zack groaned. “¿En serio? What are we, thirteen?”

 

“Speak for yourself,” I said, grinning. “You’re just afraid someone’s gonna ask if you’re gay.”

 

Ricardo rolled his eyes. “No mames.”

 

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Okay, okay. But if we do it, we do it for real. No chickening out.”

 

The lights were dimmed low, and the five of us sprawled across my bedroom floor in a lazy, tangled circle of teenage limbs, pillows, and discarded hoodies. Somebody had queued up a reggaetón playlist, but the volume was turned down to a soft pulse in the background. In the middle, an empty Coke bottle glinted under the lamplight, already scuffed from being spun a dozen times.

 

“All in?” Ricardo asked, grinning like a devil.

 

We all nodded.

 

“Good. Then I call first spin, because I’ve got the biggest mouth.”

 

“Biggest mouth, smallest brain,” Yeison muttered, and we all cracked up.

 

Ricardo ignored him, spun the bottle, and it landed on Zack. He rubbed his hands together. “Truth or dare?”

 

Zack squinted like he was trying to solve a math equation. “Truth.”

 

Ricardo’s eyes lit up. “Have you ever kissed anyone? Boy or girl?”

 

Zack froze. His ears went red. “Um… no. Never kissed anyone.”

 

“¡Hijueputa! You’re serious?” Ricardo screeched. “We can easily find you a grilla from Manrique to take care of that!”

 

Zack just blushed, while Yeison shot Ricardo a withering look. Grilla wasn’t precisely a kind word – it was the way people referred to the “trashy” girls from Manrique, the kind who were known for giving it up easily, sometimes without even asking for anything in return. It was not a particularly respectful term, and Yeison was from Manrique.

 

Ricardo spun next, and it landed on him. He chose “dare.”

 

Zack dared Ricardo to get completely naked and streak across the entire compound.

 

“You picked dare!” I laughed.

 

Ricardo groaned, ripped off his shirt with unnecessary drama, and stormed to the window. “If the neighbors call the cops, I’m blaming the gringo!”

 

Two minutes later, we were pressed against the glass as Ricardo streaked across the grass, howling like a coyote, Max barking as if he were about to die of excitement. We were doubled over, wheezing with laughter, when Ricardo finally came back inside – goosebumps, panting, red-faced, and swinging his massive junk around like it had its own zip code.

 

It was not just a dick. It was… a freak of nature. Easily eight or nine inches long, uncut (of course), thick, veiny, like it had its own gravitational pull. Of course, I wasn’t going to mention to anyone that it wasn’t my first time laying my eyes on that gorgeous piece of teen meat.

 

“Jesus Christ, what do you feed that thing?” Zack blurted, eyes wide.

 

“Would you like to see what it throws up when I touch it for a few minutes?” Ricardo fired back, puffing his chest like he’d just won a medal.

 

Zack’s face turned pale, and he muttered, “No thanks.”

 

“Bro,” Yeison said, shaking his head, “you could slap someone unconscious with that thing.”

 

We howled again, Ricardo bowing like it was the standing ovation he deserved.

 

From there, the game got wilder. Yeison got dared to lick the 9-volt battery from my alarm clock and yelped so loud he almost woke the whole block. Zack had to slow-dance with Ricardo to a Bad Bunny song, which was mostly Zack looking like a stiff broomstick while Ricardo ground on him like it was prom night. I got hit with a “truth” about my exes that made me want to crawl under the bed and die.

 

Then the bottle spun and landed between Carlos and me.

 

Ricardo’s eyes gleamed. “Carlos. Truth or dare?”

 

“Dare,” Carlos said instantly, voice steady.

 

My stomach flipped. This was dangerous territory, and I had a bad feeling.

 

Ricardo grinned with the smug satisfaction of someone who knew he’d started trouble and couldn’t wait to watch it burn. “Kiss Hunter. Passionately. Five minutes. With tongues. And if it’s not hot as hell, you’ll have to keep doing it over again until you get it right.”

 

Yeison barked out a laugh, but it didn’t sound right. It had an edge to it. “Papi, you better not enjoy that too much.”

 

Carlos arched an eyebrow at him, then looked at me. His eyes lingered. “Five minutes?” he repeated. He seemed very nervous and uncomfortable.

 

“Minimum,” Ricardo said with a wink. “If you really like it, then you can go longer.”

 

My pulse stuttered. My throat went dry, and I was trembling. This was just a game, I had to remind myself. Just a dare. It didn’t mean anything. Except when Carlos’s gaze caught mine – steady, unreadable, almost daring me back – I felt something shift inside me.

 

He leaned in slowly, giving me every chance to pull away. I didn’t. Couldn’t. I was already falling toward him, even though I knew that Yeison would go absolutely ape-shit.

 

Our lips met.

 

For a second, it was just that. A kiss.

 

And then it wasn’t.

 

His mouth moved against mine with this devastating softness, his hand sliding up to cradle the side of my neck. Goosebumps erupted across my skin. I opened to him, and the kiss deepened – hot, wet, slow. His tongue met mine with a question I couldn’t stop myself from answering. My arms wrapped around him without me even thinking about it, pulling him close.

 

This wasn’t a dare. Not anymore.

 

Carlos kissed me like he meant it. Like it was real. And I kissed him back the same way.

My entire body betrayed me – my knees weak, my dick straining against my jeans. I could feel his erection pressed hard against mine. His hand slid down to my waist, grounding me as his thumb stroked the base of my neck, featherlight. My fingers fisted his T-shirt like I was drowning and he was the only thing holding me up. I whimpered into his mouth, shameless.

 

By the time we broke apart, breathless, lips swollen, hearts pounding, the silence in the room was suffocating.

 

Ricardo’s grin had frozen into shock. Zack’s mouth was hanging open.

 

Yeison stood up abruptly. “I’m done,” he muttered, grabbing his phone. “Have fun finishing your game.”

 

“Yeison, wait—” I started, but he was already halfway down the hall, the slam of the front door echoing behind him.

 

I didn’t move.

 

Carlos sat back on his heels, looking just as shaken as I felt.

 

“Well,” Ricardo said after a long beat, “that was definitely more than five minutes.”

 

What the hell just happened? Should I chase after Yeison? He didn’t have a motorcycle or a car, so he couldn’t get too far.

 

“I think the game is over, guys,” Zack said in a serious tone.

 

“I’m really sorry,” Carlos said. “I wasn’t expecting that to happen. I’ll try talking to him if you want, and explain it was all my fault.”

 

“No,” I said. “I need to talk to him alone. And it wasn’t your fault, or anyone’s fault. It just happened, and it suddenly wasn’t a game anymore. I liked it a lot. And I like you. Maybe a little too much. And I don’t know what I’m going to do right now. I just … I need some time alone to think and work through some things in my head.”

 

“I understand. Take all the time you need,” he said, looking at his feet. “I’m really, really sorry about this again, Hunter. I just … I don’t …,” and then he just stopped trying to explain.

 

“And here’s my number,” he said, as he handed me a folded piece of paper. “I’m here if you ever want to talk … just talk. I really didn’t mean to cause any trouble. I just wanted to be friends. I like you; you’re cool.”

 

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Ricardo jumped in. “It was just a stupid game. Yeison is too sensitive and gets jealous really easily. If he won’t talk to you, Hunter, I’ll talk to him …     unless you just want to leave everything alone and see what happens with Carlitos.”

 

“Yeah, we’re not ending the sleepover like this, guys,” I said. “Watch a movie or something, and I’ll be back soon.”

 

“Hunter–,” Carlos began, then pulled me into a soft, gentle kiss. “I meant what I said earlier. I like you a lot. But I don’t wanna cause any drama, so I should leave.”

 

“Please don’t,” I said, touching my hand against his smooth cheek and brushing his hair out of his eyes. “I might need you when I get back.”

 

Carlos just nodded solemnly.

 

I caught up with Yeison at the bus stop just as the headlights of the next bus crested the hill. The street was quiet – too quiet. Most of Medellín had gone to bed, and the only sounds were the buzz of a flickering streetlamp and the soft hum of reggaetón echoing faintly from a rooftop party down the block. But this was not a safe time to be outside alone in Medellín, even if it was the El Poblado neighborhood. This was the time of night that bad things happened, and worse things would happen to Yeison if he tried to get back home to Manrique tonight at this hour. Best-case scenario, someone would just take all his stuff (that was pretty much guaranteed). Worst-case scenario, he would get the crap beaten out of him and left on the side of the road. And he knew this, so why was he doing it? Just to get attention?

 

Yeison stood under the yellow light, arms crossed, his jaw tight. His phone was clenched in one hand like he was debating whether to throw it or text someone with a dramatic paragraph. I was out of breath, heart pounding – not just from running, but from everything I didn’t know how to say.

 

“Yeison,” I called, voice low and uneven.

 

He didn’t look at me. “¡Basta! You already said enough.”

 

I stepped closer, trying to ignore how exposed I felt out in the open like this – lit up by flickering streetlamps, the occasional car passing way too slow. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

 

“You kissed him like you meant it.”

 

I winced. “It was just a dare.”

 

He turned toward me now, eyes blazing. “Maybe at first, but then it was something else. Something real.”

 

I looked down at the sidewalk, then back up. “Okay… you’re right. It wasn’t just a dare. I did feel something for Carlos in that moment. But it’s over, it’s behind me. That’s all.”

 

He shook his head like he didn’t believe me, or didn’t want to.

 

“You’re just with me because nothing better came along. But now something better has, hasn’t it?” His voice cracked, shaky, like he was trying hard not to cry.

 

“I still want to be with you,” I said, quieter this time but steady. “But if we’re going to make this work, you’ve got to give me some room to breathe. The jealousy, the constant possessiveness – I can’t live like that. I can’t even be myself. I’m an affectionate guy, I need that connection, and not just from my boyfriend. And yeah, I flirt sometimes, but it’s just teasing, nothing more. You have to trust me. You have to believe me, or we don’t stand a chance.”

 

“You can’t expect me to believe that after everything you told me about your past,” he said.

 

Yeison stared at me, wounded but listening, still not running away.

 

“Maybe we both need some time to think about things. But I really wish you’d come back inside with us, because it’s dangerous to go to Manrique at this time of night,” I pleaded with him.

 

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I just need to think about some things, too. We’ll talk later.”

 

 

The next bus rumbled around the corner, brakes hissing as it slowed. Yeison glanced at it, then at me again.

 

“You sure about this?” I asked.

 

He nodded. “Yeah.”

 

He got on the bus without another word, but not before brushing my hand with his for the briefest second. Not forgiveness. But not rejection either.

 

I watched the bus pull away, taillights disappearing into the night.

 

Part of me felt relief. Part of me felt like I’d just kicked a hornet’s nest and put a Band-Aid over it.

 

If we were already fighting that early, what did that say about us – about me? I’d had doubts from the start, and they were getting louder. A lot of it was on me. I’d been flirting with Carlos, knowing Yeison would see it and hate it, and I did it anyway. What did that make me?

 

Then Miguel crashed back into my mind. He had a long list of faults – probably longer than mine – but that pull between us was still there, no matter how different we were. Maybe that was the problem: I fell for guys like him, the ones who were dangerous and probably couldn’t be faithful. I hated that part of me still wanted the spark. After that night, I knew I couldn’t take more drama. Not then.

 

I knew I had to dial it back with Carlos. With Ricardo, too. And Ferney – I had actually had sex with him, even if it was technically before Yeison and I were official. Easier said than done. Flirting felt hardwired, and the truth was I liked them – all of them – more than I should. I was attracted. So what was the point of having a boyfriend if I acted like that? I didn’t know.

 

Which made me feel like trash. I was with Yeison, pretending I was ready for serious when I wasn’t – leading him on because he was handsome and sweet and, yeah, great in bed. That was shallow and cruel and selfish.

 

But breaking his heart scared me more. That would drag up the old guilt and self-loathing I kept trying to outrun. Yeison had been learning how to carry some of that with me. Could anyone else? Maybe Carlos. Ricardo or Ferney? I doubted it.

 

And even thinking about them like options – like I could swap people in and out – made me hate myself. It was reckless. People got hurt. Maybe that person was me, every time.

 

I still didn’t have anyone to really talk to. I’d tried with Rory; he shut me down. I couldn’t untangle it alone. I felt like I was drowning again, but I had to do my best to hide it. I couldn’t have my new friends think of me as weak and unstable. I didn’t know them well enough yet to be vulnerable with them, to really let them in.

 

At some point, I had to stop punishing myself for Rory and every other screwup. I had to stop living in the past. (Or join the priesthood and go celibate—yeah, right.)

 

Maybe I had to let myself be happy again. I just didn’t know how.

 

For then, I had a slumber party to get back to – assuming everyone was still there. I hoped Carlos was, so we could talk some more.

 

What a mess I’d made.

 

 

 

 

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