“Well,” said Trent. “Bridget Jones, Spongebob Squarepants, National Treasure, or Alexander.”

Conner shot him a look. “Did you really just include Bridget Jones in that list?”

The two of them stood in the cinema foyer, studying one of the screen giving information. Conner, trying to be polite, had asked Trent what films he would like to see.

Bridget Jones?

Trent just shrugged. “It looks funny. I’m guessing you don’t want to see it?”

No. And he didn’t really want to watch some dumb cartoon either. “No. Or Spongebob Squarepants.” He stared at the remaining two choices, wishing he’d bothered to look them up on the internet before coming. The posters included weapons, which at least meant he wouldn’t feel embarrassed going in, even if they turned out to be crap. “I don’t care about the other two.”

“Really?” If he’d been paying more attention, he might have thought more about Trent’s look of surprise.

“No. I’m going to get some popcorn, okay? You decide.”

Trent nodded as he walked away. The queue was short, but by the time he got back Trent had tickets. “Here,” he said, pulling out money to give to Trent.

Trent started to shake his head. “I’ll pay, I don’t—”

“No.”

Thankfully, Trent didn’t argue any further, taking the money and giving Conner the ticket. Alexander, Conner noted. Hopefully Trent wasn’t going to want to discuss how historical it was or anything.

“You ready to go in?” he asked.

Trent nodded. “Let’s go.”

--

Conner resisted the impulse to tell the ticket guy that they were going to join their girlfriends, and tried not to walk more than a meter away from Trent. Mostly because the corridor wasn’t that wide, and Trent gave him strange looks if he started lagging behind.

“Are you alright?” Trent asked him.

“Yes.” Conner sped up, to walk ahead of Trent. “Look, there’s our screen.”

Aware he was being silly—no one was going to look at them and think they were on a date—he held the door open till Trent got there. He headed straight for the back row of seats, but couldn’t help flinching away slightly when Trent sat beside him.

Stupid, he told himself. You’ve sat next to a guy in the movies before.

It was just that he’d normally had a girl on his other side.

“So,” said Trent, “Have you heard much about this movie?”

“About Alexander the Great?” He fished out a bit of popcorn.

“Yeah. Anything else?”

“No.” Conner paused, popcorn half-way to his mouth, wondering if there was something he should know. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Oh. Good. Want some popcorn?”

--

So far, Conner hadn’t been overly impressed. Too much talking, especially from that old guy. And while watching Angelina Jolie play with snakes wasn’t all bad . . .

Well. He still wished they’d just hurry up and start doing some fighting. He snuck a sideways glance at Trent, who looked engrossed. Figured. Trent had spent the time before the film giving Conner a history of Alexander’s life, which to Conner seemed to involve a lot of fighting and dying young.

And for some reason, Trent kept giving him strange looks. Conner didn’t know why, but he wished Trent would stop.

When Alexander and Hephaistion started doing all but kissing, Conner figured it out. “They’re gay?”

“Um . . .”

“You couldn’t, like, tell me?”

“I didn’t think you’d care!”

Conner gave him a look. Trent sighed, then rolled his eyes. “I didn’t realize you didn’t know, okay? I mean, everyone’s been talking about it! And then, when I realized you didn’t, I thought—well, it’s not like you should care.”

Conner watched as the conversation between Hephaistion and Alexander continued, feeling uncomfortable as it grew more intimate. Resisting the urge to cover his ears, he said, “It’s just weird, that’s all.”

“How enlightened of you.”

Conner was going to hit him in a moment. “Look, I just didn’t expect it, okay? Give me a break. I mean, I think—”

Trent hit his arm as one of the ushers appeared, looking up towards them. Conner sat back in his seat, feeling sulky at not being able to tell Trent what he thought.

So he settled for pinching him instead.

“Ow!” yelped Trent. The usher moved a step closer towards them, but seemed content not to investigate when Trent didn’t say anything else.

Conner smirked at him, leaning as far away as he could. Which, given that they were sat next to each other, wasn’t very far.

Still, he managed not to make any noise when Trent poked him back. The usher took one last glance around, and left. Feeling bold, Conner shifted over to place his mouth against Trent’s ear. “There’s hardly anyone in here.” About ten other people, mostly sitting near the front.

“So?”

“Dude, have you ever actually been on a date to the cinema before? You’re not supposed to watch the movie.”

On the screen, some old guy had started pulling intestines out of a rabbit. Conner could just see a smile on Trent’s face, but the other boy shook his head. “Weren’t you worried about getting caught?”

The idea that this was a gay movie made Conner feel safer. None of his friends were likely to wander in if they might see two guys kissing. Maybe some of his female friends, but they’d probably be put off by the blood.

“Come here,” he muttered, cupping the back of Trent’s neck in his hand. Trent turned fairly willingly, tilting his mouth to meet Conner’s in a hesitant kiss. His lips felt rough and chapped as Conner brushed over them with his tongue, before slipping it inside Trent’s mouth.

From there, the kiss grew deeper, both of them pulling back for breath when they needed before pressing together again, creating small, wet sounds that Conner prayed weren’t too loud. They didn’t seem to be drowned out by the clash of swords and screams of dying men and horses from the screen. The battle he’d been waiting for, but he didn’t care.

Kissing Trent felt just too good to stop.

--

Conner pulled up down the road from Trent’s house, hoping the trees would shield them from any watching eyes—and that what he wanted to say wouldn’t lead to yet another argument. He turned off the engine, trying to stall for time, but when the sound died it was speak or sit in silence. “Trent? Can I talk to you?”

Trent’s relaxed expression contracted into worry. “About what?”

“No, no, it’s just . . . I wanted to say sorry? About the other night?”

Trent’s frown remained. “What other night?”

That made Conner feel so much better. He’d been obsessing about something Trent had forgotten about. Wonderful. “Nothing.”

“No, what?” Trent’s frown became more thoughtful. “About after Dr. O came out of his coma? You don’t need to apologize, that’s—”

Conner wished he hadn’t started this. “No, I was just in a really bad mood.” He started to finger the steering wheel, hoping Trent would take the hint. “So, sorry.”

“No, really, you shouldn’t be.” Trent paused, then reached out to touch Conner’s knee, and Conner tried not to tense up. He was getting that touching was just something Trent liked doing, but it didn’t make it any less distracting. “Was it just ‘cause of what happened to Dr. O?” Trent asked.

“No . . . I don’t know. I was just . . . I mean, I just felt like I had no idea what to do, you know? When Dr. O was in a coma, and the city was being attacked, and I just couldn’t think of any way to stop it.”

“What do you mean?” Trent sounded genuinely shocked, which surprised Conner. He thought it had been obvious.

“Well, I couldn’t think of anything. And, I was just thinking, if Dr. O hadn’t woken up . . . and then, I felt angry at you guys as well, for not thinking of anything. Which I know is silly, but . . .”

“No, no, it’s not. But that’s why you’re the leader, because you do these things when the rest of us don’t. Red Ranger, remember?”

Conner knew his next comment wouldn’t go down well, but said it anyway. “When Dr. O became White Ranger, he replaced the Red Ranger as leader.”

It took Trent a moment to work it out, and when he did, he gaped. “Conner, you want me to be the leader?”

“Well . . .”

“That’s mad! Conner, I would suck as a leader. And you’re great at it! I mean, just look at this weekend. The rest of us were standing around feeling scared, and you were the one who dragged us out to fight.”

“I didn’t drag you, I—”

“Well, I know, but if you hadn’t gone we wouldn’t have followed.”

Maybe. But, surely if he hadn’t been there, one of the others would have gone. Or they wouldn’t have been waiting for him to say something, so they’d have come up with a better plan that didn’t involve almost certain death.

“I just feel like . . . shouldn’t the Power Rangers be, like, really strong and stuff? I mean, all I do is play soccer, and even that’s not going so well recently. I can’t even get up the nerve to tell anyone . . . you know.” He couldn’t even say it, which was fairly pathetic. “About you and me. I mean, what right do I have to be a Power Ranger?”

“What right do any of us have?” said Trent, sounding logical and unconvincing. “Take that argument, and Kira’s just a musician, Ethan’s just a gamer, and I’m just an artist. But we’re all good rangers— and, Conner, you’re a great leader. Really.”

Conner nodded, looking at his knees. Trent was probably right. He sounded so confident, but wasn’t that the point? He was all passionate and motivated about being a ranger, like it was something he’d always wanted to do. He’d never tried to give his morpher back.

But . . . “Wouldn’t a great leader have told Dr. O about the tyrannodrones?” Instead of letting Trent talk him out of it because he wanted to avoid another argument.

Trent stilled, then pulled away. “Maybe you’re being a great leader by trusting your team-mates.”

But he didn’t sound as sure as before.

--