By Casey Garcia
Jack’s eyes glimmered under the moonlight as he watched the planet that lit up his nights. He often snuck up to the roof with his friend to take in its shifting phases, the crescents, even the eclipses. Every night, it was the same. It never changed.
“I was born on a full moon,” he whispered, eyes fixed on the sky.
The familiar voice beside him chuckled. “Nice way to start a sentence,” Ian said, his pitch slightly higher than usual, laced with amusement.
“Thanks, Ian,” Jack replied with sarcastic flair, shooting him a sideways glance. Ian rolled his eyes, but Jack caught the twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips. “I brought it up for a reason- do you ever feel like your life is influenced by nature?”
The question made Ian pause, his brow rising in curiosity. Jack wasn’t sure if he should’ve said it aloud.
The truth was, Ian could listen to Jack talk about anything. His thoughts always felt like pieces of the universe, like they mattered more than they seemed to.
“I mean, I do get in a good mood when I see those blue flowers you buy me,” Ian offered, his smile brightening the starlit night.
“No, not like that, idiot,” Jack scoffed, giving his shoulder a playful swat. Ian gasped dramatically, rubbing the spot as if Jack had really hurt him.
“I mean… on days that flowers bloom, does that mean it’s YOUR best day? And then, some days, the flower is dry, does it feel like everything is crumbling. Or when the flower dies, and suddenly, you can’t even get out of bed.” Jack’s voice softened as the words fell out. He fidgeted with his hoodie strings, suddenly unsure.
Ian didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned against Jack, their shoulders touching. Jack tensed, then slowly let himself relax into the warmth.
“No… I don’t think I’ve ever felt that way,” Ian said quietly. “But I know someone who has. Someone who feels as empty as the moon in its new phase. Someone who spirals when it’s barely there.”
Jack turned toward him, confusion flickering in his eyes.
“You, dummy,” Ian said with a teasing smile, but his gaze was soft and knowing. Jack exhaled a quiet laugh. “Ah- gee, thanks.”
Silence followed. Not even the crickets stirred. The only sound was the rhythm of their breathing and the quiet hum of the night.
“But… that’s what makes you perfect,” Ian said, breaking the stillness.
Jack’s breath caught. The moon’s glow seemed to calm, as did the noise in his head. He turned to Ian so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.
“I am not… that,” Jack whispered. His voice carried something heavy.
“You are,” Ian replied, steady.
Jack scoffed. “As if- ”
“I remember that night,” Ian said, cutting him off gently. “The night you came up here, crying so hard you couldn’t breathe. It was hot- way too hot for that hour. And you weren’t looking for help. You weren’t even looking for me. You were looking for the moon.” Jack tensed at the memory.
“But it wasn’t there. You didn’t care about your pain. You just wanted to see the moon again.”
Ian’s hand slipped into Jack’s, grounding him.
“You were scared to show me that side of you,” Ian continued, his voice now a whisper. “The side you wouldn’t even show your parents.”
His hand tightened in Jack’s, as if to shield him from the storm inside.
Jack’s chest ached. Vulnerability was never easy. He’d spent years hiding. But Ian always saw through him.
“But do you know why the moon is perfect?” Ian asked.
Jack blinked. “Why?”
“Because even when it’s at its weakest, it still exists. Even when it’s not whole, it still tries to shine- tries to light up the sky.”
Jack looked up. The moon wasn’t full tonight. But it was still there, casting a soft glow.
“That’s why I think you’re perfect,” Ian said. “Because you show your true self- even when it’s raw. . it’s vulnerable. Just like the moon, I get to watch you go through every phase. But no matter what, you’re still Jack.” Ian paused for a moment
“I don’t really focus on much- like global warming or all that stuff. But… if the sun and the moon could be together without destroying everything, they’d be happy. Because the sun has seen the moon in all its phases. And it still loves it, even when it’s not whole.”
Jack pieced it together, his head snapping toward Ian again. “What?”
“What?” Ian said innocently, though his eyes were fixed on him.
“Ian… I’m not- ”
“Perfect?” Ian cut in, pointing toward the crescent moon. “Yeah, well, neither is that.” Jack stared at it, the silence stretching between them.
“But look how bright it is,” he said softly.
“You are equally as bright,” Ian replied, his voice sincere and gentle in a way only Jack would catch.
Jack turned to him, warmth settling deep in his chest. “I like to think everyone has their own moon- the one who lights up their night. And that person… is you. For me.”
The air between them stilled, like the night itself was listening.
“And you’re my sun,” Jack whispered. The words made Ian’s eyes soften.
He tried to joke. “Hey! At least we won’t cause a catastrophe like the sun and moon.”
Jack laughed, but Ian froze, realizing what Jack had said. “Wait… what?”
“I’m not repeating myself,” Jack said, eyes on the moon, a teasing smile forming.
Ian’s face flushed red. “I- I hate you,” he said, though his voice trembled with something deeper.
Before Jack could reply, Ian grabbed his collar and kissed him- soft, fleeting, real.
They pulled apart slowly, the night air still and heavy, as if the world itself was waiting. The moon hung above them, casting soft light over everything, but it wasn’t cold. It was warm, like the kind of warmth you feel when something familiar and constant is just within reach.
Jack stared at it for a moment, the moon, with all its phases- waxing and waning, always coming back no matter how many times it was hidden. He thought about the world- the heat, the storms, the way everything seemed off- balance lately. But here, in this moment, with Ian next to him, it didn’t feel as heavy.
“It’s funny, isn’t it?” he murmured. “Even when people think it’s gone, but the moon will always be there”. Ian said nothing at first, just looked up alongside him, their fingers still laced.
“Yeah,” he finally said. “Just like .”
Jack let that settle in the silence. Maybe the world was chaotic. Maybe things were falling apart. But here, under the moon, that didn’t matter.
The moon was still there. Tonight, that was enough.
Casey Garcia is a proud Afro-Latina born and raised in the Bronx. They write, “I’m a creative writer passionate about storytelling that reflects and reimagines the worlds I create. My writing focuses on fiction, often exploring fantasy, horror, and slice-of-life genres. Currently, I’m pursuing a Creative Writing degree at LaGuardia Community College, with the goal of becoming both an author and a journalist.” This story is a winner of the 2025 The Lit LGBTQIA+ Fiction Award.
Image by Shubham Bombarde. CC 2.0.
