This one is dedicated to my friend D. I would flounder in my own insecurity forever if it weren't for her. And, in case you're curious, the title of this story was taken from the hymn version of the Prayer of Saint Francis that asks to be understood, as to understand / to be loved, as to love with all my soul.

David's eyes were piercing and pleading at the same time. Jack wasn't sure which wrenched at him more: knowing David's anger was directed at him or realizing how much he cared. He was aware of how physically close they were and, like the emotions warring in David's eyes, Jack was caught between pushing away and pushing forward. He planted a hand on the wall both to steady himself and pin David in place. Their bodies were inches apart, just like that night weeks ago when David had tried to rescue him from the Refuge. David clenched his jaw, eyes again searching Jack's face for an answer Jack didn't have.

It was the missing answer that made him do it. The not knowing that forced him to find out. In an unthinking instant, he shut his eyes and leaned in, certain of where David's lips were in relation to his own. As their mouths made contact, David released a sound of surprise, but Jack knew it wasn't a protest by the way David's mouth was suddenly working against his. Unable to support his trembling frame with his outstretched arm any longer, Jack collapsed his body against David's without breaking off the kiss. Jack could feel David's chest heaving into his, feel his hips press forward. Eyes still closed, Jack probed David's mouth with his tongue and in response he felt David's hands rise to his sides and grip at his shirt, as if trying to draw him closer. Davey, his whole body seemed to plead. Davey, do you understand now?

Their lips broke contact. Jack's left arm arched on the wall above David's head, while his right hand had at some point traveled to David's neck. He left it there, just as David's palms remained on his sides. They breathed heavily into one another, temples touching. Jack couldn't make his eyes meet David's. Not yet. He was acutely aware of the pulsating at his pelvis—his own and David's—and even though he didn't want it to stop, he knew he had to say something right then. He just didn't know what.

"Dave—" he tried, still not looking into his friend's eyes. "I . . . This—"

"I know," David cut him off. "I know."

And that's when Jack lifted his gaze to David's waiting blue stare. It was piercing in a new way now, Jack thought, a sort of hungry way.

David's heart continued to pound as the corners of Jack's mouth flickered upward. He knew that look, and it meant trouble. He gasped. Jack had shifted his weight, inching his hips up and creating friction that sent burning vibrations through David's whole body. He held tighter to Jack's sides and let his head drop back against the bricks as Jack shifted again, this time down. Some combination of a moan and growl came from his lungs, and he realized that making the noise felt almost as good as what Jack was doing to cause it. The only other sounds in the alley were the drip of rainwater off the fire escape and whisper of trash in the wind.

His eyes were on Jack, whose smile had widened into a dopey grin as he watched the effects of his movement play across David's face. The electric tingling coursing through him kept David from feeling annoyed that Jack was manipulating him. In fact, this time he wanted him to. And Jack didn't disappoint. He writhed up and down against David a few more times, and David only dimly noticed when Jack's hand disappeared from his neck. He knew instantly, however, when he felt Jack's palm press against the stiffening in his pants. David's knees threatened to give way, and he slipped down the wall a little, another moan escaping him.

Minutes ago he'd wanted to tear Jack Kelly's limbs off. Now he wanted to tear Jack Kelly's clothes off. Or for Jack to tear his clothes off. He was unsure where those instincts came from and how Jack seemed to know just what to do, but the fear that flashed through him wasn't nearly as strong as the lightning Jack was producing. David dropped his forehead onto Jack's collarbone as Jack cupped a hand around David's erection through the fabric of his pants and began to rub. One of David's hands flew back to the nape of Jack's neck and forced their mouths together once more, while he hooked the fingers of his other hand through the rope Jack wore as a belt.

It made sense now. Jack's gradual avoidance of Sarah and then of him. His lies and excuses. This was the reason. It was the reason David had kept after Jack, confronting him with questions, and the same reason Jack had kept away from him, dodging answers. But neither of them had known it until now.

When—after minutes more of tangled lips and warm, groping fingers—both boys thought they were going to explode like fireworks, they shoved away from each other, frightened and exhilarated. David doubled over and Jack took shaky steps backward. They both panted, the sweat they'd generated cooling them in the damp night air.

It had been days since they'd had a conversation that didn't end in an argument, a few weeks since they'd sold papers together, over a month since the strike. Each boy knew there was much to say, but neither knew how to say it.

"This don't mean I'm some pansy." It wasn't what Jack meant—wanted—to say.

David weighed possible responses and their possible consequences at the same time. "I know. I'm not either."

Jack unclenched the fists he didn't know he'd made. "I'm sorry about Sarah."

"She's all right," David said, scooping his hat from the ground where it had fallen before rising to his full height.

Jack nodded, then squinted and pursed his lips in thought, recognizing the importance of what he had to say next. "We all right?"

David tugged his cap back on by brim and bill, alert to the fact Jack had used the word we. "Yeah. We're all right."

Jack smiled, just a little. "Earlier, before . . . I thought I was gonna have to soak you."

It was David's turn to nod. "I was angry."

Both boys were silent. Jack looked down the alley toward the street. David studied what little he could see of the cobblestones in the dark.

Plunging his hands in his pockets, Jack took a lanky and slow step forward. There were more questions and more answers ahead of them, and Jack was ready for them, but for now they could wait. He tossed his head in the direction of the street. "Your family's gonna be worried. We should get you home."

David was about to argue that he could walk home alone, but then he noticed the wary set of Jack's jaw and that his brown eyes were defensive and imploring at the same time. He nodded in agreement and fell silently into step with Jack.

Now he understood.