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Summary
Five times Isaiah kissed Wes. One time Wes kissed Isaiah.
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It’s been a long, strange, weird year. He’s thought about kissing Isaiah— he’s thought about doing a lot of things with Isaiah, but they’ve mostly just— sat around and talked since the muffins. They’ve stayed up late texting, and they’ve talked, sitting on Isaiah’s loveseat or on the fire escape outside of Wes’ room. They smoke weed sometimes; sometimes, Isaiah watches Wes while he smokes the occasional cigarette. He’s trying to quit.
It’s been— nice. It’s not the sparking, heated way Wes felt when Isaiah first kissed him a year ago. And it’s not the same aching, molten slowness of that second kiss. They’d only sort of talked about that— well, Isaiah had tried. But there’s not much use in talking to Wes about— mostly everything, but especially anything to do with getting romantic with a guy who’s clearly about ten leagues out of Wes’ league. Like, not even in the same ocean of leagues as Wes. Wes’ ocean is mostly dried up and filled with salt and weird looking fossils— and— Isaiah deserves better than that.