Golden Autumn - Part Fourteen
This episode is part of a larger story, Soft Touch. If you haven’t yet, you can go back and read it from the beginning right here.
Late night at the Fling Thing. The sky has turned a deep shade of navy. The music has gotten quieter, and so has the crowd. People are drunkenly laying back and talking on their picnic blankets, sending up slow, lazy puffs of smoke at the stars. Most people are swaying to the music instead of dancing by now, but there’s still a rowdy party going on closest to where the speakers are set up. And the bonfire is still blazing, a warm glow at the center of everything.
Most of our group is piled up on our mosaic of shared picnic blankets, with a few exceptions. Angie was up late last night at the vet clinic, so she fell asleep a little while ago. Rasheem and Des took off to bring her home, after making sure to get a photo of her passed out with one of her shoes in one hand and an entire bottle of champagne - which she’d tried to fit into a beer koozie - in the other. Will and Kasey are floating together as they talk, relaxing in midair above the bonfire.
I’m cozied up with Aiden, struggling to hold in my laughter as I listen to the drunken conversation going on between Noah and Calla.
“I picture you living in some totally sick lair, Calla,” Noah is saying, with heartfelt eagerness in his very stoned voice. “You’re in Port Sitka, so I bet it’s like... it looks like an abandoned lighthouse, but when you go in it’s full of traps, with like saw blades that pop out of the walls, and chop the hands off of people who try to steal your stuff, and-”
“I live in a beach cottage with my grandparents,” Calla interrupts gently, then trembles with silent laughter at the startled expression on Noah’s face.
“That so?”
“Mhm. And I’m sorry to tell you, but there are no abandoned lighthouses in Port Sitka.”
“No?” Noah considers that with a troubled frown, then immediately brightens up. “Well, hey, don’t let that stop you! I’m sure there’s somewhere else you can set up shop. Or you could probably ask Ralph to take care of whoever’s living in the lighthouse right now. Bet he’d totally do it if you asked.”
“I’m not in the market for a lair, actually. But if I ever do get one, Noah, you can be the first to try out the saw blades. How does that sound?”
Apparently that sounds like exactly what Noah was hoping to hear, for whatever reason, because he absolutely beams at Calla.
“Do let me know if there’s some lighthouse keeper you want me to take care of,” Ralph tells her very seriously, only the faintest hint of laughter revealing itself in his eyes. “I’m no stranger to making real estate opportunities where there are none.”
“Psh, yeah, and some old lighthouse guy - that’d be a cakewalk for you, dude, after some of the people we’ve taken on,” Noah says confidently, then pauses like he’s considering the matter further. “Actually... I guess those lighthouse guys have a lot of experience in fighting off all manner of beasts ‘n creatures, tentacle-having monsters and whatnot. Suppose there’s a risk of being harpooned, going up against a pro like that.”
“Dude, what exactly...?” Raj begins, then dissolves into helpless laughter.
Ralph sits there with a shadowy smile on his face, biting his lip until he can’t help it and he lets out a stoned little laugh as well, dropping his forehead onto his arms.
There’s some laughter coming from my other side, too, where Aiden and Ripley are talking quietly. Ripley is both a little drunk and very stoned, so his words are melting together, but that’s having no dimming effect on the enthusiasm in his voice.
“-like, all completely independent, which means it’s all going to be low-budget and low-profit, too, right?” he’s saying eagerly. “But that’s fine, because the artist collective I’m picturing isn’t about making money. That’s more what the workshop business is for. So long as I can afford to keep myself taken care of and keep the workshop going, I’m fine without too much money. The point is in the name, y’know? Transgressive. That’s the point, to get real fuckin’ weird, and real fuckin’ punk, and say exactly what we want to say, regardless of what anyone thinks about it.”
“So... that’s why you brought in Tristan?” Aiden asks quietly. “Because I’ll be honest, his art... don’t get me wrong, I can tell that he’s got serious skills, but the stuff he makes - it’s, um - it’s really fucked up in some way I can’t figure out or explain.”
“No, but that’s the thing! That’s the thing!” Ripley grins enormously at Aiden, like he’s getting it. “It’s nonconforming, it’s weird, it’s a little sick. It goes against all the rules, doesn’t have any type of mass appeal. But for some twisted freaks out there, Tristan’s art would be like comfort food. He’s felt it, which means it has to speak to someone else. And the freaks deserve their comfort food.”
I bite my lip, resisting the urge to exchange a little smile with Aiden. For all Ripley complains about having Tristan around the workshop now - and he does - it’s increasingly obvious that he’s done a lot of thinking about Tristan’s art. That despite himself he admires it. There’s an undercurrent of professional respect to his voice that he can’t quite hide.
“Tristan’s stuff actually makes me think of Twisted Issues, and that movie is a perfect example of the kind of artistic freedom I’m hoping-”
“Okay, wait,” Aiden laughs, his deep voice cutting gently into the flow of excited talk from Ripley. “This is all cool to hear about, and I want to hear the rest, but - the question I asked you was about Alix.”
“No, yeah, but that’s what I was getting around to, like - she gets it,” Ripley says earnestly.
He turns his head to look at Alix, who’s slowly and carefully making her way back across the field towards us. Going at a speed that indicates she knows very well that her clumsiness doubles and then triples when she’s fucked up.
“She got it right away,” Ripley says, with warm adoration in his voice. “She understood everything about what I want to do before I even really explained any of it to her. It actually felt more like she was explaining my own idea to me. Which makes sense, ‘cause she does that a lot, and it’s incredibly helpful. Half the time I’m tempted to write down what she said.”
Aiden breathes out a laugh, and Ripley does that same, fidgeting with one of his windblown green curls.
“She gets me. Weirdly I feel like she always has, even before we ever talked... And I really feel like I get...”
He trails off, then lets out a fond laugh as Alix stumbles a little, stops to regain her balance, and sets off again.
“Kind of get the feeling like there are lots of things you love about her,” Aiden says, watching Ripley’s face intently. “But you keep it mostly to yourself. It shows, definitely, but you don’t say anything about it.”
Ripley blushes deeply, suddenly nervous. He glances sidelong at Aiden, then drops his gaze to the beer in his hand, the shy expression he always used to have around us flickering across his face.
“I - I mean, obviously, yeah. There are tons of things. I just don’t see why we all have to talk about it, you know? She knows how I feel, and that’s enough for me.”
Aiden is looking at Ripley now like he sees something familiar. I see it, too. I recognize it from Aiden. I know from experience with him that being quiet about something may seem like indifference, but sometimes it means the opposite. Sometimes the depth of passion or love is the actual cause of the shyness and silence about it.
From the expression I caught in Ripley’s eyes I feel certain that this is one of those situations. That’s why, I think, he moved the conversation off of Alix and onto the workshop instead. He has a fierce passion for that, too, but not one so overwhelming he can’t talk about it.
“You love her?” Aiden asks, watching Ripley with a knowing smile playing around his lips.
“Yeah,” Ripley sighs, immediately and whole-heartedly, his dreamy eyes fixed on Alix. Then he blinks hard and twists to stare at Aiden, blushing harder as he realizes what he said. “What - why are you asking me about this?”
“Because, man, I’m trying to decide if I should talk to her about - what I talked to you guys about. And soon. Before I did that I just wanted to hear you say it. Now I have, so.” Aiden grins widely at Ripley. “You love her, huh? I knew it. Have you told her?”
“Shut up, first of all, and s- wait, really?” Ripley stops still, staring at Aiden with hopeful eyes, twisting the strings of his Thrasher hoodie between his fingers. “Soon I won’t have to keep it secret from her? The truth about you?”
“Mhm. I just wanted to talk to you first, hear from you where you two were at. Now the only reason I still haven’t told her is... I’m just tired of doing it, to tell you the truth. It’s kind of an emotional, stressful, scary experience every time, even if it feels good to have it off my shoulders once it’s over.”
“Yeah, I’m familiar with that approximate feeling,” Ripley informs him, drawing a huff of answering laughter.
“Honestly, I’d just as rather you tell her yourself, Ripples.”
Ripley considers that for a second, then nudges Aiden’s arm. “I would. You say when, and I will.”
Aiden looks at him in surprise, then with warm fondness, then with laughter in his eyes as Ripley casually adds - “Or I can decide for you when would be a good time to tell her. I don’t make questionable decisions, so you can trust me.”
“Oh, you don’t, Ripples? And what do you call inviting a new artist into your workshop knowing damn well that you two can’t help arguing every time you lay eyes on each other? You guys sound like two suburban lawncare dads who are feuding over their property line.”
“Okay, we don’t argue every time we-”
Ripley breaks off and looks up in stoned confusion as a shadow falls over him. Tristan is standing there, looking pretty drunk, a dark scowl turning down his mouth.
“Ripley,” he growls, in a voice like someone coming face to face with their archenemy after twenty years of hunting them down.
Ripley draws himself more upright, scowling up at him. “Tristan.”
“I didn’t know you were coming to this.”
“I didn’t know you were coming to this.”
“If I’d have known you’d be here, maybe I wouldn’t have,” Tristan says acidly. “Next time let me know, so I know to avoid you.”
Ripley stares up at him incredulously, throwing his arms out wide. “You’re the one who came over here to say hi to me, aren’t you, you fucking blockhead?”
“That’s not why I came over here! Believe me, McKay, your face is the last thing I want to see!”
“Then I’m going to make sure it is the last thing you see, Tristan! I’ll show up when you’re old and on your deathbed, I’ll show up face-first just to spite you!”
Tristan flashes a middle finger at him, turning away and taking a sip of his beer. “I’ll see you in hell, dude, how does that sound?”
“Sounds good, because then you’re getting another eyeful of my face!” Ripley practically shouts, since Tristan has started storming away. “And now you’re running?”
“I’m not running, I just have nothing to say!”
“Thank god, ‘cause I’m sick of hearing you!” Ripley yells back, then adds, in the same furious tone - “Are we still working together at the workshop on Monday? Painting sesh?”
“I’ll see you there!” Tristan snaps, glaring at Ripley over his shoulder. “I’ve been experimenting with encaustics, so there’s some shit I want to show you! And I’d like to see what you did to get that texture on the cobalt teal parts of your last piece!”
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Ripley hollers, cupping his hands around his mouth to be heard. “Well, I’ll fucking show you!”
“Sounds great!” Tristan roars. “It’s your turn to buy the snacks this time!”
With that he vanishes back into the crowd. Ripley shakes his head in disbelief, then cracks a grin as a thought occurs to him. “Hey, does anyone know where you can get those cakes with a photo printed on them? And Ralph, can you get a photo of my face?”
“Don’t get me in it,” comes Raj’s stoned voice from the darkness of the shadows falling across our picnic blanket. “I look like a mess after that water gun blast I took to the face.”
“Actually, Raj, we could use a water gun for you right now,” I tell him. “If you wanted to look like less of a mess.”
“Hm? What’s that mean, brother?”
Aiden, Ripley, and I all smother a laugh. It would seem that Raj is unaware that he has a good deal of sauerkraut on his face from the half-eaten hot dog he’s currently cuddled up with.
“Hang on.” Ripley twists around and picks something up from the picnic blanket. “I stole one earlier. Sit up, Raj.”
Raj automatically sits up, then lets out a startled yelp as Ripley snipes the sauerkraut off of his face with the water gun.
“Nice shot, Ripley,” Ralph approves, as Raj opens his eyes and looks around in bewilderment.
“Yeah,” Ripley agrees, a satisfied grin on his face. “Bet you couldn’t make it, dude.”
Ralph lets out a soft snicker, pushing a wind-tumbled strand of blonde out of his eyes. “Alright, let’s not get carried away.”
“Will you take a cake picture of my face or not, Ralph?”
“Sounds like it’s for nefarious purposes, so - sure, I will.”
“I only heard cake picture of my face and nefarious,” Alix laughs as she drops down next to Ripley, having successfully reached the picnic blanket without injury. “I’m gonna recommend against doing whatever this is, although I’m willing to hear out arguments to the contrary.”
“Either way, we should all get a picture.” Ralph reaches for his camera, carefully takes off the lens cap. “I know we got one earlier, but we should also get the late-night crew.”
“I’m not getting up, my feet are tired,” Luca sighs, snuggling deeper into the picnic blanket.
He lets out a startled sputter as Roger, who’s already gotten up, lifts him off of the ground and into a fireman’s carry. The rest of us all stumble to our feet, holding onto each other to stay upright, at one moment coming perilously close to taking each other back down instead.
“Mind helping us out?” Aiden asks a girl walking past, swiping Ralph’s camera from him and holding it out to her.
She lets out a little laugh when she looks down at the picture she took. I can see why once she hands Ralph back the camera so we can see, too.
Ripley posed with the water gun like he was posing for the cover of an ‘80s action movie, and Alix even posed clutching his shirt and gazing off to the side like his co-starring starlet. Noah must have seen her do it, because he struck almost the same pose as her, but against Raj, who still looks bewildered and whose face is still dripping from the latest water gun blast. The remaining half of his hot dog is still in his hand, spilling some onions. The onions are narrowly missing Melanie, who didn’t stand up, but instead posed against Raj’s legs, wrapping her arms around them dramatically.
Luca is very much upside down, slung over Roger’s shoulders. Aiden picked up me with one arm and Ralph with the other, so both of us are trying to kick our way free. Calla is helping Gabby hold up Kent, who based on the blurriness and the shoe up in the air was starting to fall backwards, but threw one hand high in a drunken thumbs-up anyways.
“Fuckin’ perfect,” Ralph laughs, turning off his camera as everyone collapses back down onto the blanket.
Calla turns to look hopefully at him. “Party’s not over yet, though? Right?”
“Nah, no way,” he says eagerly, obviously pleased that she wants to stay longer. “The Fling Thing goes all night. We should stick around, if you’re having a good time.”
“Yeah? You sure you don’t mind hanging out longer?” Calla asks, tracing her fingertip down the side of his face. “I thought by now you’d be missing your little soft friend.”
Ralph’s eyebrows drop low in confusion. “Jamie’s right there. Why would I be missing him?”
Calla bites her lip, laughing with her hazel eyes. “I meant Tycho, but okay.”
“Wow, really?” I complain, then flash Aiden an indignant frown when he starts shaking with silent laughter beside me.
“Hey, I’ve got a hot dog!” Raj says brightly, amazed and delighted by the realization. “Whole half a hot dog, right here! Hell yeah, and it has sauerkraut!”
“Alright, if we’re staying longer I’ve just gotta go get the rundown on our sales tonight from my guys before they take off.” Ralph gets to his feet, then points at Calla, half-joking, half-serious. “You just don’t go anywhere, alright? I’ll be right back.”
“Why would I go anywhere?” Calla laughs, spreading her hands at him in genuine confusion.
Ralph turns away, and as I’m the only one still standing up, I’m the only one who catches the expression of anxious happiness on his face. Like something might appear at any second and take Calla away from him. I can tell he really doesn’t want to leave her and go deal with work stuff at the moment, that he’s forcing himself to.
“You work too hard, Ralph,” I tell him softly as he goes past, shaking my head at him in warm affection.
“Easier to sleep when I’m exhausted,” he explains quietly, his words a little slurred from joints and jello shots. “Or when Calla’s here. Then it’s so much easier. All part of why I’m hoping she might eventually consider...”
He trails off, like he’s only just now realized what he’s saying, then hurriedly takes off again.
“She might what?” I ask brightly, falling into step alongside him.
“Nothing. And quit following me, that wasn’t an invitation. You want to catch an elbow to the face?”
I speed up some more as Ralph does, breaking into a trot to keep up with him. “Were you gonna say you’re hoping she might consider moving to Ketterbridge eventually? Is that why you really want her to have a nice time at the Fling Thing, a Ketterbridge-exclusive event?”
“Go away, Keane,” Ralph growls, flashing me a dark glare that I meet with a cheerful grin. “You’re getting closer and closer to that elbow.”
“She really likes it here, you know. I know it for a fact.”
Ralph takes the cigarette he just lit from his mouth and stops where he is, staring over his shoulder at me.
“She told me when we were getting coffee together,” I add.
Ralph hesitates, gazing intently at me. He looks like he’s about to ask me something - he takes a step closer, running a hand over his jaw - then changes his mind and sets off again.
“We’re not discussing this, Keane.”
“Cool, got it, we’ll talk more about it later!”
“Is that what I just said?” he calls back in exasperation. “Get the - just get your ass back to the picnic blanket!”
Ripley and Alix have left the blanket to go rejoin the dance around the fire, along with Raj and Noah. When I get back I pause for a moment to watch the truly mesmerizing sight of Noah dancing with effortless grace while Raj clumsily hops around him and finishes off his hot dog. Then I drop down onto the picnic blanket again, snuggling back up into Aiden’s warmth. He puts an arm around me, kisses my temple.
“Those jello shots you made were so pretty,” Calla is telling Gabby, between puffs on the joint. “Like little pieces of gold.”
“Because they were champagne jello shots, and I put golden sugar sprinkles on them. Got the idea from Melanie.”
“Oh, my god.” Mel sits up on her elbow, letting out an excited, drunken little laugh. “Did everyone hear that? Everyone better have heard that. The City Manager is taking my party planning suggestions. Wow, for some reason that gave me a lot of energy. Does that happen to you, too, Kent? When Gabby takes your sugg-?”
Kent, who’s openly adoring Gabby with smitten eyes as she nibbles on a maple munchkin, cuts in to answer - “Always.”
Mel eagerly springs to her feet. “I’m gonna go dance at the fire!”
“Okay.” Kent gives her a wave as she rushes off, although his admiring eyes stay firmly on Gabby. “Have fun!”
“Hey, where’s Melanie going?” Luca asks, lifting his head from the blanket just in time to see her leave.
“I don’t know,” Kent answers distractedly. “She didn’t say.”
“Speaking of jello shots, and other - consumables,” I begin, turning to Aiden.
He lets out a huffing laugh. “Consumables? You play too many video games.”
I gaze up at him hopefully, taking a handful of his henley. “Are you cooking tomorrow, or...?”
“Yeah, of course I am.” He leans over to stamp a kiss on my forehead. “It’s our anniversary.”
I smile to myself in relief, secretly delighted. Aiden tends to cook unbelievably delicious food for our special occasions, for every meal of the day. I wondered if our anniversary wouldn’t be one of those times, given it coincides with the Fling Thing and we’re not at home. But it sounds like we’ll just be having that day tomorrow instead.
I love Aiden’s autumn cooking, and he’s been making such warm, melty good stuff lately. Poached pear pies, toasty baked brie with brown butter, lemony goat cheese ravioli, garlic roast chicken with stewed apricots... the images all dance through my head. Making me hungry.
“Hey,” I murmur to Aiden, “Should we-?”
“I think-” he begins, at the same time.
We both stop and look at each other. Aiden tips his head to the side.
“Pretty sure we’re thinking the same thing,” I tell him enthusiastically. “I was thinking we may have hit the point where we’ve gone back to the hot dog guy an embarrassing amount of times, but maybe one more time won’t catch the guy’s attention? Maybe if we get chili dogs this time it’ll seem like we’re someone else. Or, I think I saw someone else selling wonton bites.”
Aiden bites back a laugh. “Okay... and I was going to say, I think you... I think you sound so nice that it’s making me feel kind of high.”
I blink hard a few times, then shake my head at him, startled and lost. “What? What do you mean?”
“You... you’ve sounded like this all day, Linden,” he murmurs quietly, a shy smile lighting up his face. “Sounds so good, ‘cause you sound so happy. And mine sounds happy, too, more and more the longer I listen to yours, and together...” He lets out a dazed little laugh, rubbing his eyes. “I feel like I’ve been taking a bath in it pretty much nonstop. And I feel comfortable saying that this is a way more powerful magical drug than the magical weed Noah wanted to smoke.”
I breathe out a disbelieving laugh, and Aiden’s eyes briefly flutter closed as he listens. He drops flat onto his back on the picnic blanket and tosses his arms up over his head, looking like someone in the rush of a serious dopamine high. Another laugh bubbles up in me at the expression of pure bliss on his face.
“Is that why all the fireflies, Sugar Maple?”
He opens his eyes, looking sheepish as he turns his head to look at the fireflies. There are still a lot of them, floating softly over the field.
“It’s - it’s not that many fireflies,” he protests. “You should’ve seen the fireflies in Thailand. You can walk along and see ‘em by the thousands, in the right places. And sometimes they all flash together. Mine have nothing on that.”
He’s trying to make it sound like no big deal, but what he actually did is confirm my suspicion that he didn’t mean to make this many. He just couldn’t help it. I wonder if it’s in part because he’s been listening to our song all day, while it’s sounding so particularly - I don’t know. I guess only Aiden will ever know.
Feeling a little drunk with happiness myself, I lean over him and nuzzle my nose into his. “We’ll have thousands of fireflies right here soon enough if you keep up like this.”
“Then don’t sound so good,” comes the indignant answer, as if he can’t believe that I would expect him to even have a chance of controlling this. “You’re the one making it impossible.”
All of a sudden the indignance slips from his voice, and he lets out a dazed laugh, his face glowing as he listens.
“What’s happening?” he asks helplessly.
“I don’t know,” I stammer, suffering badly from how unbearably sweet this expression is on him.
“Regardless, don’t stop doing it.”
I let out a helpless laugh of my own. “But I’m not doing anything!”
With a fierce, visible effort, Aiden seems to pull his thoughts together and regain some control of his facial expression. He opens his eyes again, the vivid blue now inlaid with the reflection of the fireflies drifting past.
“Is that true?” he asks, apparently skeptical, but with a teasing purr to his deep voice. “I don’t know about that, Keane. I’ve got my suspicions. It must be on purpose, to get me all softened up for something. You’ve got me in your crosshairs, don’t you? To what end, that’s my only question.”
“That’s a wild accusation, first of all, and second of all, what end would I possibly have in mind?”
Aiden considers that question for a moment, then opens his eyes very wide as an answer strikes him. “The chickens!”
He looks so thunderstruck by the realization that I feel the laughter spring to my eyes even as I put my fingers over my mouth to hold it back.
“You’re gonna ask me about the chickens, aren’t you?” he asks, in a tone like he’s laying down an accusation against a hostile witness. “That’s why you’ve been playing your pretty music in my ears all day? Well, it’s not gonna work, even with you looking at me like that. Dude, we can’t have chickens roaming around a house where magical explosions happen on the regular. And what are the chickens going to think of our animate saucepan, did that cross your mind? You’re a gorgeous little fool if you really thought that this would work, and I would ever agree to... I mean...”
He lets out a blissful sigh, closing his eyes to listen again. In a dazed, slightly defeated, but mostly awed voice, he murmurs -
“Fuckin’... okay. How many chickens were you thinking? What do we need for them, a - hut, or something?”
I lose the battle against my laughter, falling apart as I lean down to nuzzle my nose against his again. “Oh my god, are you serious? I didn’t know that listening was having this effect on you in the first place, and I had no intention of asking about the chickens tonight!”
“Oh, really?” Aiden asks, with obvious relief. “Nevermind about what I said, then. We’re never ever doing that. The amount of disastrous possibilities involved with that plan is staggering. I can’t believe I almost agreed to it.”
I playfully tap his temple, pretending I’m not blushing. “I guess we just sound that good together, huh?”
“Jamie,” Aiden murmurs softly, with sudden, complete seriousness, “You can’t imagine.”
I find myself remarkably far away from being able to find an answer to that. Instead I end up staring shyly down into Aiden’s eyes, the blush in my cheeks growing hotter than ever.
Noah drops down beside us on the picnic blanket, a little out of breath.
“Aiden,” he says urgently. “There’s a guy selling wonton bites.”
“Later,” Aiden murmurs, without breaking his eyes away from mine.
“Did you not hear me, dude? I said there’s a guy selling wonton bites-”
Aiden distractedly flicks a hand at Noah, a soft flurry of magic rising in his eyes. Noah’s voice falls off mid-sentence, like someone muted him. He keeps moving his mouth for another two or three words, then pauses in bewilderment, putting a hand to his tattooed throat.
“Well, some things are easier to understand, knowing we sound good enough to make you feel like this,” I tell Aiden, too distracted myself to pay much attention to Noah as he goes on unsuccessfully trying to talk. “Like how you still wanted to know now whether or not I kissed another boy in the locker room after your soccer game, when that was all the way back in high school.”
Noah tugs on Aiden’s sleeve, mouthing angrily at him, but Aiden doesn’t notice. He rolls his eyes at me, trying to look annoyed, as if he isn’t blushing sheepishly.
“Jamie, we already talked about that, don’t bring it up again! I don’t want to talk about times when I was crazy with jealousy and-”
“Crazy with jealousy?” I repeat in pure delight, as Noah gets to his feet and storms off.
Aiden pauses, apparently realizing just now what he said. He hesitates for a long moment, then breathes out a helpless huff of laughter.
“Alright, yeah. Why lie? I went home after that happened feeling so sure that he kissed you, and I was feeling generally like life had nothing left for me anymore, and everything was pointless and hopeless.”
“No!” I protest, struggling not to laugh.
“Yes, dude. Not that I held anything against the guy. I realize it hadn’t occurred to him that he had a rival in the room.”
“Aiden!” I laugh, more than a little taken aback. “A rival! Is that how you thought of him?”
When this gets a bashful nod I let out another laugh, feeling dazed. For me Aiden is completely without rivals, but he continues to not seem to realize that.
He breathes out a soft laugh, too, reaching up to twirl a strand of my hair around his finger. “You wouldn’t believe how much I-”
I’m prevented from hearing the rest of that intriguing sentence, because right then Noah drops down beside Aiden with a harmonica he must’ve taken from the people a few blankets over with a guitar and tambourine. He puts the harmonica up to his mouth and blows an angry, atonal blast on it that startles both me and Aiden into looking at him.
He catches Aiden’s eye meaningfully, in a way that promises all kinds of violent threats, then points to his own throat.
“Oh-” Aiden hastily sits up, retrieving his snapback and pulling the brim down low over his face. “Sorry, Noosh! I didn’t mean to, didn’t even realize I did!”
As he speaks he gently catches Noah by his elbow. Icy blue light shimmers through his eyes.
Noah is still trying to tell him off, so the first words he says are:
“-with the goddamn wonton bites, how about that? You’ll never look at them or any wontons the same way ever again!” He stops in surprise, touching his fingertips to his throat as he realizes he’s got his voice back, then stabs an angry finger at Aiden. “Should’ve blasted that harmonica right in your ears! Might have, if you didn’t seem like you’ve already got some kinda - sensitive - hearing - problem, or something!”
“I’m sorry,” Aiden repeats, fondly messing up his long hair.
He pauses, observing the resolutely wounded expression on Noah’s face, then lets out another laugh and flings an arm over his shoulders, crushing him into a headlock.
“Do you expect me to apologize again?” he snickers, as Noah begins to put up a fierce, unsuccessful fight to free himself. “For that? After all the trouble you’ve gotten me into basically our whole fuckin’ lives, over and over again, at every opportunity?”
Noah’s outraged expression suddenly wavers, then collapses into a wide grin. He slaps Aiden’s arm in surrender and lets out a breathless laugh as he straightens up, his dimples coming out of hiding.
“What are you talking about?” he asks innocently.
That question is met with a stare from Aiden so incredulous that Noah dissolves into laughter, and I do, too.
“I didn’t mean to do that,” Aiden tells him one more time. “Think I’m just getting more comfortable, now that you guys know about me.”
Noah seems surprised, pleased, and touched by that, but he tries to will the pout back into existence. “Well, it’s not my fault you boys were too wrapped up in each other to notice me.”
I wince apologetically at him. “Sorry, Noah! We sort of forgot we were in public for a second.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that, dude.” Noah sweeps his arm out at the party. “Seems to be going around.”
I blink at him in confusion, then lift my eyes to look around for the first time in a while. It very quickly becomes apparent what Noah meant by that. We’ve hit the late hour of the Fling Thing where giggling couples have started slipping off together into the darkness of the trees. It’s colder tonight than it normally would be, but clearly no one intends to let that slow them down. As my eyes sweep the treeline I spot Ripley and Alix vanishing into the shadows, hand in hand. Kent and Gabby have also mysteriously disappeared from the picnic blanket, and so have Ralph and Calla.
Roger and Luca didn’t even bother to head into the forest. They’re tangled up in a very deep kiss just at the far end of the picnic blanket. One glance out at the other picnic blankets is enough to see that they’re decidedly not the only ones.
“The gods of horniness smile upon the Fling Thing,” Noah says solemnly. And then, breaking into a wide grin - “It’s like Van Fest out there, but with no vans.”
“Oh,” I manage, as Aiden breaks into laughter. “Okay. Yeah, nevermind, Aiden. We’re fine.”
“All this going on and you’re worried about the wonton bite guy?” Aiden asks Noah, raising an eyebrow. “There’s plenty of room in the forest. I’m surprised you haven’t swept Mel off somewhere already.”
“Honestly, I gotta recover some stamina. It was a full night at my house last night, bro. You may have already forgotten about the resin, but I never will. Never.”
Aiden breaks into a smirking grin, his raised eyebrow going up higher. “I thought you didn’t see what happened? Weren’t involved at all?”
Noah hesitates for a long moment, then starts fidgeting with his lip piercing. “Right. Yeah, no. I was just, um - look, do you want the wonton bites or not? I just want a few, I’m not gonna eat the whole package. I’ve already had four chili dogs.”
“Share ‘em with your husband and wife,” Aiden tells him, getting up from the blanket. He takes my hand, pulls me to my feet so sharply that I stumble forward and have to catch myself with two fistfuls of his shirt, then firmly wraps an arm around my waist. “I’ve got an appointment in the forest.”
I drop my blushing face into my hand, then blush harder when Noah lets out a long wolf whistle as Aiden leads me off towards the trees.
An evening mist drifts through the forest as we step into it together. Aiden’s glowing fireflies are sprinkled through it, twinkling like tiny golden stars. The mist makes their light soft and fuzzy, their glow dim and gentle. I admire them for a minute or so before it strikes me how many there are. Even out here, in the forest. They seem to have spread out through the trees in all directions.
Aiden practically told me that these are because he was happy listening to our song today, so realizing that there are way more than I first realized makes my heart do a painful little stumble. How far do they even go?
The shadows grow deeper as we walk further into the forest. Out of the darkness we hear an occasional burst of laughter or the crunch of footsteps on autumn leaves off in the distance. At one point we hear what’s undeniably a moan of pleasure, and exchange a laughing little grin with each other.
Aiden playfully catches me and pushes me up against a tree for a long, slow, deep kiss, pressing my body to his. I reach up to put my arms around his neck, and we pass a few perfect minutes in breathless, intimate silence.
But Aiden eventually draws back, kisses my nose, and catches my hand again. Leads me deeper into the trees. He’s got other plans for us.
I smile happily, recognizing the path from last year’s Fling Thing.
We’re going to his Guardian Tree.
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