Hernando’s Hideaway was a Bohemian salon, a place where members gathered to talk about music, art, and literature away from the prying eyes of the Ministry. The proprietor also served a selection of popular beverages. Since the Oracle’s message constituted an official holiday, students and young workers alike had gathered beforehand. Hernando’s, frequently the target of raids, had never been proven subversive, nor did they distribute unauthorized pamphlets. But as a home-away-from-home for nonconformists, it fell under constant scrutiny.
A good-looking young man, shorter and slighter than Nathan, with a boyish face, slick-backed black hair, and soulful brown eyes, slipped through the door. His lips curved into a brilliant smile, and he hurried to jump onto the stool beside Nathan at the polished oak bar. “You made it,” he breathed in relief.
“Of course I did,” Nathan replied, joy pumping in his chest like pistons. He brushed Soren’s arm—inconspicuously—and returned a bright smile.
Nathan knew nothing about art, music, or poetry except what Soren had shared with him, but he liked the people who hung out here. They were oddballs, like him and Soren. Still, he remained vigilant. Any face here could belong to a Cult spy. Appalachia recognized only one religion. Dissenters were treated as if they had a mental illness and, if found out, were sent for reprogramming.
“Hey, Hernando,” Soren said, waving down the proprietor. Even Hernando’s subtle mustache was frowned upon in the city. Many farmers in the commune wore full beards. Nathan realized that city folk, strangled by rules, had fewer freedoms than farmers.
“Hi there, Soren,” the tan man, a decade their elder, greeted. “Nathan, right?”
“That’s right,” he answered pleasantly. “I’ll have a peach fizzy on ice.” Glancing at Soren, he added, “Ice only comes in winter back home.” Harmony Ridge was without the luxury of electricity.
“Hit me with a Glow,” he said, his grin spreading wider, lighting his eyes with mischief.
“You know you can’t use a rationing coupon for those,” Hernando huffed, leaning meaty arms on the bar. “Unity credits only.”
“No problem,” he answered and slapped down the credit.
Nathan frowned. “That glow looks wrong. I don’t like you drinking those. What if it makes you sick?”
“No chance,” Hernando dismissed as he prepared the drinks. “The Ministry would never allow them if they were harmful. Just a dusting of radioactive mushrooms to give them the glow. Honey, mint, lemon balm, and carbonated water.”
“Give me beer any day,” Nathan muttered.
“Not before five o’clock,” Hernando reminded him, and set the two drinks on the counter. “I’m not getting fined.”
“Thanks,” Soren said, and sipped his frothy, green Glow. Turning to Nathan, he murmured, “It’s great to see you. We won’t stay here long. So much to do before the speech. And …” He took a bracing sip of his drink. “We need to talk.”
“That’s for sure,” Nathan agreed. “I missed you. I’m tired of missing you. How’s school?”
“Good. I’ve achieved the second-highest GPA in my class for the first two-year science program at The Institute. Bellamy Trask, that dustlink,” he grumbled. “The bane of my existence.”
Nathan laughed, patting Soren’s thigh, his hand lingering an instant longer than casual. Soren wore the same gray wool-blend trousers and charcoal Nehru jacket as most Clover Hollow residents; he just made them look sharp. His fingers sliding away, he offered, “Steel sharpens steel.”
“I guess.” Soren sighed. “Anyway, we’re supposed to choose which specialty field we want—not that we’re guaranteed to get it, but at least we can bubble it in on the form. I’m waffling between Data Harmonization, like my father, and Developmental Coding, a research field. You know I torture myself over decisions.”
“Pick the one you want, not just what your dad tells you,” Nathan advised. He worried Soren might develop a stomach ulcer because of the pressure he was under. He peered at him cautiously. “Did you talk to him about wanting to pursue art?”
“Yeah.” Soren’s expression drooped. “You know it won’t happen. But I can still paint recreationally for my enjoyment.” He threw back the rest of his drink. “Let’s get out of here. Only a few hours before the main event.”
Polishing off his drink, Nathan slid from his stool and touched his palm to the small of Soren’s back. As soon as he noticed, he dropped his hand. Back on the street, they zigzagged through a few blocks to the entertainment district, with its theaters, music halls, and sports arenas. Here could also be found hidden getaways, secret rendezvous rooms, devoid of cameras and prying eyes. Not as pleasant as a barn, meadow, or pecan grove—but private. They entered agaming establishment—dominion, chess, mahjong, not games of chance. Soren presented his card to the manager, and they were shown to a staircase and handed a key. Nathan’s body thrummed with expectation. He forgot about the monochrome colors, the cold edifices, the tang of ozone and metal, Mozart leaking from the black boxes on every corner pole. For the next few hours, there’d be no looming marriages, no weighty decisions, no foreboding threat from the Core Cult. It was just Nathan and Soren, carving out a moment of bliss, clutching at a lifetime’s worth of pleasure—while tomorrow dangled by a thread.
Lying in the by-the-hour room, bathed in afterglow, Soren’s body still tingled. He hadn’t felt this relaxed in weeks. Nathan’s musky scent of sweat and woodsmoke clung to Soren, assuring him he was loved. He’d do whatever it took to hold on to this feeling of connection.
Soren rolled toward Nathan, who lay on his back, sheet barely draping his lower half, a blissful smile on his lips, closed eyes aimed at the ceiling. It thrilled him to know he’d carved that look onto Nathan’s weathered face. A stirring within told him this was the time to share his plan.
“Nathan, I have an idea,” he began. “Good news, really. I think it’s the solution to our problem.”
Ecstasy fizzled, sparks in his chest sharpening into worry. Nathan opened his eyes, met Soren’s gaze. A work-rough hand caressed his smooth face.
“I like your ideas,” he answered dreamily. “There’s something I want to talk to you about too, but you go first.”
Nathan was always thoughtful, always patient. It deepened Soren’s desire for him. He swallowed, summoning every ounce of his courage. “Father was talking to me about our upcoming birthdays and matching ceremonies. He said we haveto marry women, have children, as the law dictates, but that no rule forbids us to keep seeing each other afterward.”
When Nathan’s smile thinned and the joy drained from his eyes, Soren paused to lick his lips, which had suddenly gone dry. He trailed his fingertips through Nathan’s chest hair, finding comfort in the touch.
“He said it’s commonly done, that he and Mother both have ‘hobbies,’ he called them. Don’t you see?” His hand slid away, and he sat up, peering excitedly down at his lover. “We can keep things just the way they are between us—just with the obligatory wives and children. Everything will work out.”
