He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not... (boyxboy)

...beaucoup

Stoner had a way of making you feel like you knew everything, yet, nothing at all.

"Come to dinner with me and my parents," he asked me one day during one of our walks through the park by the back of my house. 

It's how most of our dates went. Stoner would appear at my door, his adorable little shiba inu, Cassidy, by his side as he asked my parents if I was home. My mother would always enthusiastically let him inside, not caring that a live animal would be coming in with him and risk the chance that the little thing would break something or leave some fur on the rug, heaven forbid.

I didn't understand her reaction at first, but when she would later gush to me about how happy she was that I was making friends with a Wallis, I had my answer why. It wasn't about me actually having friends. She'd met Theo and Tai before, my two only other friends, and her reaction was never as excited.

No, it was always about the name for her, and a Wallis was a winner.

When I'd first heard Stoner's name, I'd assumed it was just a nickname because he probably got high all the time.

But that wasn't entirely the case, as I later found out.

During dinner with his parents, I learnt that instead of double-barrelling his last name, his parents fought it out in what sounded like a very intense game of poker to see whose last name Stoner would take.

"It's the most important one," Ms. Wallis, the evident victor, told me over dinner, giving Mr. Stoner a smug-yet-playful smirk over a feud I'm sure was still being waged 17 years after Stoner's birth. 

It was an important issue, I knew, and Ms. Wallis wasn't wrong either.

In the certain circles that we played part to, your family name was important to your social standing. And in the Wallis-Stoner household, Bunny Wallis was the pedigree, with money as old as time. It would have been social suicide, in some people's view, for her to degrade herself in becoming Mrs. Stoner.

I personally find it all pretty stupid. To care so much about your name and having it be the crux of how others around you see you... it really boggles my mind why these people, my mother included, care so much.

It's the epitome of creating problems for yourself because your life is too easy otherwise.

I didn't say that, of course, just smiling politely as I continued to work through the rather confusing deconstructed taco in front of me, hoping for the dinner to end.

"I'm sorry about them," Stoner later apologised when dinner had ended and we had taken refuge in his bedroom. He pulled me down as I stood beside his bed, manoeuvring me to lie down and face him on his bed.

"They tell that poker story every time I have a friend come over, as if anyone actually cares about my name," me muttered, rolling his eyes at his parents' silliness.

"Oh believe me, Stoner, a lot of people care about your name," I retorted, a small voice in the back of my mind wondering if 'Connor Wallis' sounded as good as I thought it did, or if I was being delusional.

Most definitely delusional.

"Oh really?" he asked, his eyes locking to mine with an eyebrow shot up in scepticism. "Who cares about my name then?"

"My mother, for starters,"I laughed, shaking my head as I thought about what she'd told me not even a week before. "Oh, that Wallis boy is so lovely, I'm so glad you've made a friend with someone as special as him, Connor. It's all about who you know, remember," I mocked, annoyed by how ridiculous it all was.

A name is just a name. Why does it matter so much?

"What about you, Connor, do you care about my name?" Stoner asked, almost breathed, as he moved closer and closer to me on the bed.

"I've never cared about your name," I admitted, feeling the heat of Stoner's face, his lips, so close to mine. "I've only ever cared about you."

"I like you, Connor," said Stoner, looking intensely into my eyes with a sparkle that shone brighter than it ever had before. "I like you a lot."

"I like you too, Stoner," I replied, my heart thumping out of my chest and a feeling as if my whole body was shutting down. This wasn't real. How could this be real right now? I was waiting for the alarm to go off, for this dream to end.

But it didn't come, the feeling of Stoner's lips on mine shooting through my body as my brain went haywire, a muddled mess as Stoner told me, "I think I could love you someday." 

"Me too," was all I could say as we separated, my voice thick with pent-up adoration for the boy in front of me as we stared deep into each other's eyes, finding answers to questions we couldn't bring ourselves to ask.

And although neither of us felt it at that point, I'm pretty sure that night was the first time Stoner and I made love.