It's amazing how quickly something fantastic can settle into mundanity. The fireflies, once they'd spent their cinematic brilliance, made drunken, wafting patterns in the air, came to rest on the highest strands of the tall grass, or vanished into the sky. Now, they were Christmas lights left out too long, stray embers that never went out.

The two teens had climbed aboard the tank, Double-Dee identifying it as an M551 Sheridan, and joined the ranks of men who somehow managed to get comfortable atop one. Fortunately for them, a prior visitor had somehow gotten a school-bus bench seat up there, level with the top of the turret, a perfect loveseat crowned and buffeted by the twisted mound of earth and metal. They'd put their jackets beneath them to protect from the general dirt and grime as well as the likely stray screw or nail.

They sat close, both trying to seem casual about the situation without touching. Double-Dee was lamenting the fact that the new moon's brilliance meant the stars were not visible. Kevin tried to cheer him up by pointing out a pulsing light far off in the distant sky, though Double-Dee, in short order, explained that it was likely an airliner, as stars don't pulse or blink, nor travel perceptibly. The silence that followed wasn't unpleasant, but it was silence.

In the silence, Double-Dee rediscovered his shyness and uncertainty, pulling his legs in and hugging his knees.

"This is a rather beautiful place, Kevin, very… secluded."

Kevin perked up and nodded, standing and taking a few shaky steps along the stubby main gun of the Tank. "Yeah, I'd heard a lot about it from kids that moved to Peach Creek from Lemon Brook, they talked about it like it was Neverland."

"I imagine this is an ideal spot for revelry and mischief."

"Why do you talk like that?"

"How, Kevin?"

"That, all proper." Kevin turned and hopped back onto the turret a few inches away from Double-Dee's feet, "It's just you and me here, no one to impress."

Double-Dee raised an eyebrow, "What makes you assume my vocabulary is tied to some kind of need for praise and attention?"

"I dunno… just always wondered."

"Proper speech and pronunciation is important, Kevin, it opens a lot of doors."

Kevin squatted so that he was nearly eye level with Double-Dee. "You're the last person to need doors opened for them."

Double-Dee couldn't meet Kevin's eyes, and so focused his attention on a bicycle pedal sticking out of the earth near him, flicking it. "Achievement is no excuse for complacency."

Kevin groaned and sat back down, also drawing his knees in close. "It's like talking to a dictionary."

"Well if my mannerisms bother you so, feel free to return me home."

"I didn't mean anything by it."

Double-Dee mulled over a response. Was he hurt? No, not really. More than anything he was frustrated. The question, 'what is this?' came back into his mind. If it was a date, regardless of his own lack of experience, he doubted part of the itinerary was haranguing the other party over their choice of words. They'd shared a beautiful moment together just a few minutes ago, complete with an appreciative kiss and an embrace. They'd gone from a textbook romance to schoolyard teasing.

He decided to take the initiative and shift the momentum. He let go of his knees and slid his hand into Kevin's, squeezing it. "Let's start over, I'm Eddward Vincent, but you can call me Double-Dee, and… I'm enjoying this date." He'd said it, let it out into the world, into the air, for the multitudes of insects, field mice and decrepit Russian satellites passing overhead to hear.

Kevin felt like someone'd struck the base of his spine with a cold lead pipe. There it was. Why was he surprised? Had he not just spent half a day working up the courage to even speak coherently to the boy beside him? Had he not given himself heat stroke just trying to outrun his anxiety, his fear, to be around him? They'd kissed, more than once, of his own free will. He'd even set the time and date for this… date.

"You're sweating."

"It's hot out."

"You're sweating profusely."

"You're right…"

"There's no one here to impress."

Kevin turned and saw Double-Dee suppressing a laugh. He couldn't help but grin.

"There's no one here period, and I still feel like I'm, I dunno, breaking the law."

Double-Dee watched Kevin for a moment then shifted in closer, laying his head on the other boy's shoulder.

"Well, other than possibly trespassing, I don't think anything we're doing, or have done, constitutes malfeasance."

"I don't mean-"

"I know what you mean. I admit I'm a tad trepidatious about this as well."

"You're giving me a headache with all the wordsmithing."

Double-Dee laughed, loudly, embarrassingly, and covered his mouth.

"What's so funny?"

"Wordsmithing, I'm impressed."

Kevin pressed his fingers into Double-Dee's ribs, making him laugh heinously, squirming to escape his grasp.

"Kevin, p-p-please, s-stop!"

"Or else what?"

Double-Dee slipped his hand under Kevin's armpit and kneaded it, causing him to spasm and pull away. Double-Dee, however, kept up the pressure, and soon the two were practically grappling. Kevin gained the upper hand and scrambled into the dominant position, a leftover from Freshman wrestling. The two were panting, chests heaving, sweat matting hair and glistening on foreheads. It was all rather sensual.

Kevin had Double-Dee pressed to the turret, holding him by the wrists and clasped close to the chest, laying stomach to stomach, legs entwined.

"This is… a particularly uncomfortable… position" Double-Dee panted.

"You give?"

Double-Dee answered by licking the tip of Kevin's nose and laughing, though offering no further resistance.

Kevin couldn't think of a witty retort, so he likewise licked Double-Dee, from the ridge of his Adam's Apple to the underside of his chin. He felt the other teen shudder and tense under him. He then felt Double-Dee's legs slip out and wrap around his waist. The laughter had faded, and now it was just their labored breathing. Small quakes wracked their bodies, every pleasurable neurochemical they could produce, in the unhealthy and copious levels inherent with adolescence, flowing through them.

They kissed. Kevin released Double-Dee's wrists and propped himself up on his elbows. Double-Dee's hands, now freed, explored under Kevin's shirt; slithering across his chest; around to his back; nails trailing just enough to elicit a hiss; then an exploratory delve beneath his beltline. More shuddering breaths. More sweat. More lips. More tongue.

Voices, close and loud, cut off the journey to second base, the two laying still, listening.

"No way."

"Swear to God, fifty yards."

"You can't even count to fifty."

"Don't need to count to throw."

Kevin swore under his breath, sliding off Double-Dee and tugging their jackets off of the bench.

"I know that voice" he whispered, "Erick Monroy, certified asshole."

Double-Dee, still trying to collect himself from the ruins of his passion, straightened out his beanie and rolled onto his belly, mirroring Kevin's movements.

"You have some prior experience with him?"

"Broke his nose, Baseball, caught him square in the face with a fastball that went wild."

"Wonderful, I'm sure he'll be thrilled to see you, especially in such a compromising situation."

The two rose to their hands and knees, hidden from view by the earth and metal mangle. Kevin peered over the top of it, to gauge the distance and get a look at the opposition. Erick was in the lead, six-pack in one hand, cigarette in the other. Shaved head, crooked nose, built like a brick shit house, it was him alright. In total, he had about four cohorts, all of them a full head taller than Kevin and similarly built. He didn't have to smell them to know they'd been drinking ever since school let out for the summer; their voices loud, slurred; their steps clumsy and snaking; belches punctuated every other three-word sentence. They were about thirty yards away and closing.

They'd never make the treeline, let alone the bike beyond. They were in the boonies, the badlands, the closest house was a mile away. The options were few, the outcomes unfavorable. Then there was Double-Dee to think about.

"We're gonna stand up and walk away like they're invisible." Kevin put on his leather jacket, Double-Dee following suit, and the two carefully clambered down.

"I feel as though this plan has more than a few flaws."

"It's the only plan, I just made it up, it's gonna be flawed."

Kevin helped Double-Dee down and the two started walking towards the direction of the bike. Brisk, unhurried, unbothered. Then bother closed the distance.

"Hey!"

Kevin slowed his own pace but hissed at Double-Dee, "Keep walking, I'm right behind you."

The crash and crunch of grass being thrashed by drunken steps; throaty 'urp' and 'brep' half-burps; swears and groans as alcohol sloshed in bellies, in brains, in bottles. Bother arrived.

"I can't believe it, 'Beanball Barr', my old friend from Peach Creek."

They were close, but still trailing.

"I'm talking to you, Barr!"

"He's talking to you, B-buh-Barr!" One of the goons loped in close, coming from the right, reaching out towards Kevin.

"Double-Dee, run!" Kevin leaned into a shove, catching the first kid high, pitching him back headfirst. The rest of them were taken aback, buying Kevin and Double-Dee enough time to clear the distance to the trees. Bottles and insults sailed after them, but they were poor missiles, with even poorer aim. The winding path through the thicket, a slog littered with landmines of glass, jagged cans and used condoms, breezed by in the teen's flight. Then there was a crunch, and Double-Dee cried out.

"What's wrong?" Kevin fumbled with the small flashlight at the end of his keychain and shined it on Double-Dee. He was leaning against a tree, blood on his hand.

"My foot, I cut it on something."

Kevin crouched and inspected the other boy's foot, grimacing when he saw the trickle of blood coming through the shredded sneaker. He clamped the light in his teeth and daintily removed the shoe. Double-Dee groaned, bracing himself on the tree.

He spoke through the flashlight between his teeth "there's no glass in the cut, you're gonna need stitches… here." He fished the bandanna Double-Dee had given him the night before from out of his pocket and fashioned a crude bandage, binding the wound. He stood and wiped the blood on his jeans. "Can you walk?"

A bottle sailed through the air and shattered.

"Barr, your ass is mine!"

"Screw it." Kevin squatted and tugged Double-Dee onto his back, then took off running.

In the dark, on treacherous ground, with an extra 130 pounds on his back, Kevin managed a quick pace. His main advantage over the posse following him was sobriety, though they remained within shouting and throwing distance.

"You're a headhunter AND a Queer!?" Erick had halved the distance, a lumbering shadow among shadows. "I'm gonna enjoy this even more!" He reached out suddenly from the darkness and grabbed hold of Kevin's hair. Immediately, his face made acquaintance with the back of Double-Dee's hand and released his grip.

"Swing away, Double-Dee!" Kevin slowed and scanned the area, able to discern a few shapes in the dark. Their tail had scattered, gotten lost in the pines. "Home free."

They emerged out onto the gravel path, discovering a beat-up sedan at the mouth near the road, likely Erick and his gang's ride. Kevin lost a bit of his steam now that escape was just a few feet away. He set Double-Dee down at the edge of the path and retrieved the motorcycle. The pair donned their helmets and prepared to ride.

"Wait just a moment, Kevin." Double-Dee dismounted and limped over to the sedan, crouching near the wheel. He withdrew what looked like a lipstick tube from his fanny pack and set to work on the lug nuts, the device emitting a high-pitched whining sound.

"Double-Dee, come on, we don't have time for this!"

Satisfied, he made his way back to Kevin and hopped on just as their pursuers cleared the trees. Kevin offered up a one-finger salute, and was surprised to see Double-Dee join in. They sped off, a cloud of dust and gravel in their wake.

"What did you do to their car?"

"A rapid removal of essential parts."

"Like what?"

"Come about and you can see."

Kevin thought on it a moment, then throttled down, swinging the bike around in a lazy arc.

"If they run us down, I'm blaming you."

"I doubt very much their anger is so great that they'd attempt murder, of all things."

The sedan laboriously exited the gravel path, fishtailing once it hit asphalt, and barreled down the road towards the pair. Kevin hit the throttle and swung the bike around quickly.

"Wait, look!"

Kevin looked over his shoulder and watched as the sedan's left-side wheels came flying off, the car screeching to a halt in a shower of sparks that lit up the area like a signal flare.

"No way!"

Double-Dee slapped the side of Kevin's helmet three times, "NOW would be the appropriate time to leave."

They'd rode to the boundary of the badlands, where Lemon Brook's orchards, farmland and rails gave way to the open, unplanned, wild countryside of Peach Creek. Pukwudgie Service Station, a 50's holdover that was a beacon of neon and blazing halogen flood-lights, sat right on the boundary line. Inside, truckers and stray motorists could get a hot meal, cold drinks, a shower, useless trinkets and, should the worst come to pass, first-aid kits.

A sympathetic waitress in the 24-hour diner section of the stop let the two teens use the break room to treat Double-Dee's foot. In the light of a cheap flashlight, surrounded by darkness, against weak, pale moonlight, the wound had seemed worse than it really was. Kevin's prognosis, made in the heat of the moment and with danger at arm's reach, was only slightly off. The cut was long, but it was shallow. Kevin washed and sterilized the wound like he had been taught in the Boy Scouts, one of the only things he cared to remember from that dismal experience. Double-Dee numbed and sutured the area quickly and efficiently; three stitches across the center and a bit of derma-bond to seal it up. Just like his mother had taught him.

"You're… pretty good at that." Kevin was winding clean gauze in a figure-eight pattern over the wound.

"Mother would make me practice on pig skin." He noticed the apprehensive look Kevin gave him, "It's the closest to Human…" The look didn't improve. "Well now I just seem strange instead of impressive."

Kevin smiled and taped off the end of the gauze, "I'm impressed, don't worry."

A knock came at the door, the waitress, Laura, poked her head in.

"Hey kids, the next shift is due in about a half hour, you're more than welcome to rest up in a booth, but if they catch you back here it'll be on me."

She closed the door behind her, and the two sat in silence. Double-Dee spoke first.

"I don't know how your prior dates have gone…" They both laughed. It was a good laugh. An honest laugh. A tired laugh. "But I have to say that this is the best I've ever been on."

Kevin took it all in. He had just finished dressing a wound sustained while fleeing a rival with a vendetta against him. They'd sabotaged a vehicle, possibly endangering the lives of the occupants. They were sitting in the breakroom of a diner in the middle of nowhere, covered in a bit of blood, a bit of dirt, a bit of sweat.

"This is the strangest date I've ever been on, for sure."

"I look forward to the next one." Double-Dee extended his hand, Kevin taking it.

"So do I."

An hour later, they pulled into the cul de sac, the loudest thing for miles around. Kevin pulled into his driveway and dismounted stiffly, helping Double-Dee off. The two walked arm and arm across the street to the Vincent house, a bit of the romance gone as Double-Dee hobbled along with difficulty. They came to the door and the two stood a foot or so apart, feeling eyes that weren't there upon them. Double-Dee moved to return the leather jacket, but Kevin waved him off.

"Hang onto it, and the helmet, save me the trouble of remembering to bring it along next time."

"Next time, yes." A pause. Always a pause. "How about in two days, five, and we can leave from here."

"Uh, yeah… cool."

"Very."

Before the dreaded pause could reassert itself, Double-Dee pecked Kevin on the cheek and went inside.

Kevin stood at the doorstep for a moment, smiling, then walked back across the street towards his house. He noticed the lights were on and braced himself for what his father would say. Irresponsible, unaccountable, don't you know there are drunk drivers out, and no call, who's blood is that, why are you covered in dirt? Inside, though, he found his father passed out on the couch, still dressed as he had been when he'd left, surrounded by paperwork, a half-drunk beer on the coffee table. The TV was on, the news, it was about the war, the forever war, but only briefly, they don't want people too upset or they'll change the channel.

He draped a thin blanket from the hall closet over his father, turned off the TV and switched off all the lights. In his room, he stripped everything off and collapsed, dirt and all, onto his bed. Sleep was coming, deep sleep, well-earned sleep, and so he said the magic words before he was lost to REM cycle.

"I look forward to the next one."