The sky was aglow with stars and the moon, skimpily veiled by translucent wisps. Their light shimmied across the river below: a dance admired by two bros on a bridge.
Quin, taller and twunkier, in a fleece-lined bomber jacket emblazoned with the genderfaun flag, leaned his head on Jackson’s. Jackson, whose double-chinned babyface looked even cuter in xyr bi pride beanie, likewise leaned into Quin.
Jackson started it. A peck on Quin’s jaw. Quick and casual.
When Quin realized what had happened, he swooped in on Jackson’s lips. Jackson smiled, and soon the dancing lights were abandoned for another joy.
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