You've Never Seen the Sea

By Grayson Sydney

Johnny calls him Happy.

Johnny says he's got fire in his heart.

Connor's never thought to call it that, when he feels that cautiously familiar swell of have to protect my people in his heart.

It just was. It wasn't fire. Not like the kind he sees haunting Johnny's shoulders when he stalks the halls or hunts him during gym.

But it makes sense in a strange, ironic way.

Because when Johnny pushes him, Connor wants to push back.

-

It all started on the night of December 27th, 1981.

Johnny Burns has never been the nicest guy since he came to town, but after he and Connor get into a nasty fight everything they thought they knew about each other changes. Feelings emerge and a friendship is forged through highs and lows over the following months.

Connor witnesses Johnny at his worst, his most vulnerable, and his happiest—which always seems to coincide with Connor being around. A school assignment forces them to work together, pushing their feelings to the forefront.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Grayson Sydney
• Release date: Apr 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393501169

Book preview

December 27th, 1981. The End.

Johnny calls him Happy.

Johnny says he's got fire in his heart.

Connor's never thought to call it that, when he feels that cautiously familiar swell of have to protect my people in his heart.

It just was. It wasn't fire. Not like the kind he sees haunting Johnny's shoulders when he stalks the halls or hunts him during gym.

But it makes sense in a strange, ironic way.

Because when Johnny pushes him, Connor wants to push back.

If Connor's a fire, Johnny's a kettle over his flame.

Because Connor sees the second a spark flares behind those blue eyes when he pushes Johnny back with a hard shove.

Feels his heartbeat stutter-rush up into rage.

Johnny throws a goddamn mean punch.

But so does Connor.

Connor nails him first and Johnny goes back laughing. He has to shake his hand out because, Christ, the guy's got a melon for a head. His chest heaves in laughter and gurgling breath and then he’s sending Connor back, back, falling crash into the pretty glass cabinet full of ornaments. His vision is all glass stars as he falls to the floor. Down and down he stays.

Then Johnny's on him.

Johnny's fists are just as mean as they look.

One of the kids nails Johnny with the baseball bat Roy keeps by the door.

December 27th, 1981. Later.

Connor’s head feels like a gallon of whole milk. The kids have been dropped back home. He’s been outside wondering just what in high hell he’s going to do about the guy currently passed out a foot away from him.

This is gonna suck.

Part of him wants to just go back to his own house and let Roy deal with it—with Johnny—when he gets back from his date with Missy. But. That would be lazy of him. And more than a little awful.

Johnny Burns is his responsibility now whether he likes it or not. They did just finish beating the living shit out of each other. It’s a miracle Connor’s even up, in his opinion.

Connor sniffs, clutching the side of his head when it sends a twinge through his probably-broken nose. He peeks through the window of the Baler house before reaching for the door. Frowns a little that his responsibility is still very much present and accounted for.

Inside, Johnny’s just as knocked out as he looked from outside. That baseball bat really did some shit, in Andy’s words.

Connor isn’t quiet about letting the door shut behind him. And he’s not shy about stomping over to the fridge to grab something for his aching face. He swivels to regard the unconscious asshole on the floor.

Johnny’s bloody and his cheek is red and raised. Connor at least got a few good hits in before going down. He got that much. Broken glass litters the floor. Connor’s not going to think about potential shards lodged in his scalp where Johnny pushed him into the display cabinet.

Benji’s going to be an absolute nightmare when he sees the two of them and connects the dots at school tomorrow.

Connor sighs and crouches by Johnny’s unconscious form. He picks up a wrist and drops it again, letting it fall with a thump. Nothing. Johnny could be dead if it wasn’t for the lame twitching of his lips in his sleep.

The guy’s getting his beauty sleep and Connor’s just...fucked. Like all his fights tend to leave him.

I’m too sober for this, he mumbles and lifts an arm to smack Johnny in the cheek.

Hard.

Johnny startles awake, rambling nonsense as he comes to. His head flies up, hits Connor’s still-hovering arm and he goes back down, groaning.

You’re bleeding on a perfectly good carpet. Get up and follow me, Connor commands, and stands up, hands on his hips.

Johnny grunts, squinting up at him with mismatched blinking. H—Hapstader?

Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. You’re out of here before Roy gets back.

Johnny scrubs at his face, thumbing over the sore spot on his cheek. You think I’m pretty, Happy?

Connor rolls his eyes at the tired nickname. Kicks at Johnny’s hip. Get. Up.

Not getting it up like this, he grumbles, trying for funny Connor thinks, but slowly starts sitting up anyway. He sways. Holy shit. There’s five of you.

Surprised you’re seeing anything at all.

Johnny slaps at his nudging shoe. Misses and swipes at the air sluggishly.

Burns. Get up. We gotta get you home.

Johnny barks a laugh. I’m a fag. Fags don’t go home. Fags are shitty, failure sons who fuck up and lose their shitty sisters. Another laugh.

Connor raises an eyebrow. Doesn’t kick him again. Man, what?

Gimme a minute. My head, can’t fucking see straight. I’ll be outta your hair. He snorts. Hair. So much goddamn hair, he mutters.

I drove Mel home already. Told your mom you hit a pothole and knocked my mailbox over since you were so upset about Mel missing. Told her I said you could stay over ‘cuz you knocked your head pretty good and I didn’t want you driving. Said I’d drop you off if you wanted. So, guess who’s getting dropped off.

Johnny squints again, confused. Why would I hit a pothole? I didn’t hit any goddamn thing. ‘Sides you.

He smirks, but the accompanying wince cools it some, makes Connor’s red vision cool down with it.

Feels good to smile down at Johnny, mean and meaner when he says, Technically you did. Because Mel hit some shit when she drove it earlier and you got a nice dent in your bumper.

"And she’s—wait, what?"

Connor shrugs. Because why should he have to bother explaining anything at this point is beyond him. He doesn’t actually care. It’s the Burns’ problem they have a daughter who likes taking her brother’s car for joyrides.

Whatever. I covered for you. Least you could do is duck out of here before they get back. I don’t care if you go home or I drop you off at the fucking drive-in.

Johnny mumbles more nonsense, grabs at his hair.

What was that?

She still run?

Who? Mel?

No, he barks quietly. My car.

Oh, yeah. The Firebird’s just dinged up. You could fix it no problem. Connor nudges a littler gentler at his knee this time. Come on, man. You really got to get out of here.

I’m not going home, he states, rolling onto his knees and using the couch to leverage himself up. He tilts before checking himself. Fuck Jeran. Fuck that fucking house. I’m not going back. You can’t fucking make me, fucker.

Jesus, Connor mutters. He holds his hands up, placating. You have anywhere else I can drop you off then?

Johnny points at him accusingly, threat all in