Harper blew on her hot chocolate, looking up at the first glimmering star, before giving Riley a side-eye that was almost affectionate. “You’re not wrong.”
Ethan stared at the flames. The memory pulsed through him, half pride and half agony.
Riley’s eyes danced. “I gotta ask, because I’ve literally been wondering since we all skinny dipped—how big is he? Was I right about him being a grower? Or is he really that small? Not that it matters to be small of course.”
Harper snorted. “For the record, men talk about cock’s way more than women ever do.”
Riley grinned, unashamed. “There’s nothing like a beautiful cock.”
“He’s big,” Ethan said. “Not like holy shit big, but certainly above average, thick and veiny.” He looked up and saw Riley and Harper both delighted. He found himself smiling, embarrassment mixing with a strange pride. “And uncut. Which… was new.”
“Damn,” Riley said, eyebrows up. “Lucky you.”
Ethan blushed. “It’s perfect.”
Harper set her mug down and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Look, whatever Cole’s dealing with, it’s not on you to solve. You can be there. Be honest. But you can’t drag him into the light.”
Riley nodded. “Give him time. Space. He’ll come around. Or he won’t, and it sucks, but at least you get to be honest now. He’ll either work through it, or he won’t, but pretending you can fix it will drive you crazy.”
Ethan looked from Riley to Harper, amazed at the ease with which they talked about this—like it was just another day, another problem, another human mess. “How did you guys get so good at this?”
Harper smirked. “We fucked up in every possible way first.”
Riley laughed. “I still fuck up twice a week, minimum.”
The warmth of their laughter, the solidarity of their shared disasters, filled the little hollow where Ethan’s shame had been. He felt lighter than he had in years. The pain was still there, but it was edges and shadows now, not the whole world.
Above them, the sky faded to velvet, the stars leaking in so fast you could almost hear them pop into existence. The mountains stood guard, ancient and indifferent, and the fire crackled on, an anchor in the dark.
“I always thought I’d end up with someone like Cole. Or, you know, a clone of myself, just with different genitals. Instead I’m here with you disaster queers.” Harper shot them both a look of fondness so pure it stung. “I regret nothing.”
Ethan reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Thank you.” The words came out thick.
Riley bumped Ethan’s arm. “Can I tell you something cheesy?”
“Always.”
Riley lowered his voice. “It’s going to sound dumb, but… you’re braver than you think. Most people never even get close to what you just did. I’m proud of you.”
The compliment hit Ethan like a punch, but a good one—a punch that knocked something loose. He let the compliment settle into the hollows he hadn’t realized were empty. “I never thought I could be this person.”
Harper grinned. “Nobody ever does. Then you wake up one day, and you’re still alive. And the world keeps spinning.”
Ethan tried to hold onto the feeling—the clarity, the acceptance, the lightness in his chest, the brittle, beautiful sense of being known and still welcomed. Even if Cole never came back, even if it was just this, it would be enough.
A voice echoed from the far side of camp—Jack, trudging up from the fishing hole, the metallic clank of his tackle box slapping against his leg. “You pansies save me any dinner, or are you all on the cock-and-balls diet again?”
Harper groaned, “Here comes the buzzkill.”
Jack flopped onto the log next to Harper, eyes red and hair tangled. He looked at the three of them and immediately zeroedin on Ethan. “You look like you’ve been crying. What the hell happened to you?”
Ethan shook his head. “Nothing you’d understand.”
Jack grinned, sharp and mean. “Trust me, I don’t want to.”
Ethan glared, but Jack’s smile made it impossible to stay mad. “Shut up, Jack.”
Harper clapped Jack on the back. “Go clean your fish, jackass. You smell like ass anyway, I can’t tell if its you or the fish.”
