Prologue

The man’s kiss was clumsy and relentless, tasting of stale beer and desperation. His breath, warm and thick, assaulted Dale’s senses, leaving him fighting the urge to gag. He wished he'd never listened to Kirk.

He should have trusted his instincts, stayed home, and avoided this dumpster fire of an experience. Instead, he’d ended up in a grungy restroom that smelled like mold, regret, and a hint of lemon-scented cleaner—though the cleaner wasn't working overtime.

The man’s tongue darted like a fish flopping on dry land, and Dale was suddenly, desperately aware that this wasn’t how he’d imagined his first time.

Dale pushed back, feeling trapped as the man’s lips pressed harder, his stubble scratching Dale’s skin with the delicacy of sandpaper. Panic rose in his chest, squeezing his lungs. He’d gone along with Kirk’s suggestion to hit up a seedy nightclub, hoping it’d take his mind off the awkwardness between them.

Kirk was, after all, his best friend, even if he sometimes gave terrible advice, like this brilliant plan to get Dale out of his comfort zone. But no matter how much he valued Kirk’s friendship, Dale knew this was too much, too soon.

The man’s hand slid down the front of his pants with all the subtlety of a pickpocket, and Dale felt his stomach churn.

In the glaring, unflattering fluorescent light, Dale looked up and saw himself in the smudged mirror over the man’s shoulder. His face was pale, his hair disheveled, and he looked like he'd aged about ten years in the past three minutes. This was not how he’d pictured losing his virginity, and not in a place that looked like the setting for a low-budget horror flick.

His first time was supposed to be meaningful, with someone he liked—and somewhere with a bed, or at the very least, a cleaner floor. Not in a grimy bathroom with chipped tiles and suspicious stains, with a stranger whose cologne seemed designed to scar Dale’s sinuses.

“Stop,” Dale managed, his voice barely a whisper. He tried again, louder, pushing against the man's chest. “Stop, I’ve changed my mind.”

The man’s expression morphed from surprise to something dark, his eyes narrowing. His grip tightened as his sneer twisted. “You’re not getting out of this so easy,” he hissed, pressing Dale back against the wall, his hands forcing Dale down by his shoulders.

Dale’s heart thundered as he struggled. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice laced with panic.

The man’s breath hitched in irritation. “You fired up the dragon, so now you gotta put him back to sleep.”

Dale shuddered, unable to suppress a dry laugh. He might have rolled his eyes if it weren’t for the way his body was locked in survival mode. “I’m not going anywhere near your dragon. Get your hands off me.”

He wriggled free with a determined shove and reached for the door, but the man lunged, teeth sinking into Dale’s neck like he’d gone feral. A flash of pain shot through Dale, white-hot and searing. “What the hell! That hurt!” Dale gasped, slamming an elbow into the man’s gut with everything he had.

The man released him with a strangled grunt, clutching his stomach, and Dale threw open the door and stumbled out, clutching his bleeding neck.

The pounding music outside hit him like a wall, amplified, every beat feeling like it was rattling his very bones. He staggered through the crowd, one hand pressing down on his wound as blood seeped between his fingers. Around him, people looked up in surprise. Their faces were a blur as they pulled back to avoid his dripping blood. Panic coursed through him, his vision wavering as he searched for Kirk.

“Kirk!” he shouted, his voice swallowed up by the pulsing bass of the speakers.

It felt like an eternity before Kirk appeared at his side, his face a mask of shock and fear. His hands reached out, pressing down on Dale’s neck to help stem the blood flow. “Someone call 911!” Kirk’s voice echoed, sharp and clear. Around them, people’s murmurs rose, the music dimming as the club’s lights flickered on, casting everything in harsh reality.

Dale’s legs felt like they were made of lead, his eyelids heavy as he blinked against the oncoming darkness. He felt Kirk’s hands, warm and grounding, holding him steady, his voice frantic but comforting. If this was it, if he was going to die right here, right now…Dale’s mind drifted to the one regret he hadn’t considered until now.

If he was dying, then he was dying a virgin. The absurdity made him want to laugh, though he barely had the strength to smile. The annoyance he’d felt toward Kirk, the awkwardness of their friendship teetering on the edge of something more—none of it mattered. Hell, he’d have begged Kirk to have sex with him if he’d known his life was on a countdown.

“Kirk…” Dale’s voice was a whisper but audible over the muffled chaos. His mind felt like it was sinking, every thought swirling like he was circling a drain. “Kirk, you have to tell my mom something for me,” he said, words slurring as the edges of his vision turned dark.

Kirk’s face hovered above his, his brow furrowed, eyes wide with desperation. “Anything,” he said, gripping Dale’s shoulder as if holding him by sheer force of will. “Just stay with me. Help is on the way. Don’t you dare die on me, you hear?”

A tiny spark of determination flared within Dale, a glimmer of light against the gathering darkness. He had to hold on and fight to send one last message. He clawed his way through the blackness that threatened to consume him, focusing on Kirk’s voice, on the warmth of his hands pressed against his own.

With what felt like the last of his strength, he managed a faint, breathy whisper. “Tell my mom…” He paused, lips barely moving, although he felt the weight of the ridiculousness in his own words. But he had to say it. He had to. “Tell her I didn’t get to do any gay stuff. It’s okay; she can bury me next to Nana.”

Kirk’s face contorted between laughter and tears, his mouth opening to protest, but Dale’s eyes slid shut as the blackness took him.

His final thought flickered through his mind, comforting and its absurdity.

I’m going to heaven. I can see the light.