Declan had only just settled in at the outdoor bar and ordered his drink, when Kevin appeared like a conjurer’s trick, sliding onto the stool next to his.Which, Declan supposed, answered the question of whether the man could feel that tug at his soul, the way Declan could.
Kevin smiled with his whole face, bright and easy, as if he had a hundred things to grin over.Muscular and tan, in a venue full of like men, as was the standard in Declan’s experience of beachfront parties.
“You’re pretty,” Kevin said, all sun-kissed skin and laugh lines, a good head and a half foot taller than Declan, even with Declan’s boots and Kevin’s boat shoes.“Hey.I’m Kevin.”
“Does the ‘you’re pretty’ line actually work?Truly?”Declan asked, amused despite himself.Large men trying to loom never failed to give him a laugh.One doing it by accident while unironically wearing a fitted, canary yellow shirt withSun’s Out, Guns Outslapped on, even more so.
Kevin laughed, his head back until it wasn’t, his grin aimed at Declan.His soul, when Declan allowed himself to reach for it, taste it, sang of oilskin, fresh rain, and cedar.The man himself smelled of his mug of craft beer, mild soap, and cigarettes.
“Not really,” he admitted, though the way he smiled said otherwise.Declan suspected those charmed had less to do with the pickup line and more to do with thosearms.“But that doesn’t mean it’s not true.What’s your name?”
“Declan.”Declan raised his newly arrived drink in greeting and took a sip.Kevin watched his mouth, the press of it against the rim and the subsequent curve of Declan’s midnight purple smile.“May I ask you a question, Kevin?”
The smiley face betweenOutandGunstwisted with Kevin’s swig of beer, fabric stretched tight.Declan floated in thoughts of misting forests and protective coats over small shoulders.Blunt-teethed kisses and painlessness.
“Go for it, Declan.”Kevin said his name likedak-lahn.Hard to start, trailing soft and long, almost twisting to end in ay.Declan, being more of a dek-luhnsort of man, kept smiling.
“Do you consider yourself a nice person?”
“I-” Kevin blinked at him from over his drink.Then he laughed, lowering it to the bar top with aclink.He leaned in, so Declan couldtastethe cedar and mist.“Fuck, dude, if anyone tells you they’re a nice person or a ‘nice guy’, you run for the hills.That’s a major red flag, the capital N, capital G nice guy.”
“Oh?”
“It’s like saying, ‘I’m great at my job’, but my job isn’t a personality trait, you know?”
“Do other people think it is?”Declan wasn’t a nice person.The lack, somehow, did count as a personality trait.He was very much like his mother in that, personable but not nice.
“Assholes think it is.”Kevin shrugged.“I’m a person.I try to be a decent one.My friends say I’m shit at conflict.Does that count?”
Declan considered the question.Took the moment to drain his tumbler.“Not in the capital-N, capital-G nice guy fashion, no.But a standard, maybe normal nice person manner, I’d lean yes.”
Kevin laughed again, carefree and unfettered.And hewasnice.Kevin felt like the sort of man to be sunshine on a dim gray day, bright as the voids-riddled shirt he wore over a chest that looked made for biting.
Faerie would eat him alive.Declan, too.Or Kevin would burn him with his light, too loud and too vibrant for a man who knew kindness as a danger when not offered by family.
“Can I buy you another drink?”
Declan smiled again, the kind that showed teeth, a flash of white against dark.Small, human teeth, rather than the sort to haunt the man’s nightmares.
“I have to go,” Declan said apologetically.He held out his hand, with its short, rounded black nails.“May I have your number?”
“IfIdon’tseethe entire establishment burn before you perish, I will be very disappointed in you, Declan.Do you hear me?”That had been Aisling’s requirement of him, when he suggested this.
Declan remembered his response to her demand.The not-quite promise made.“No need to worry on that front, Mother.I’ve every intention of spreading the ashes myself.”
A changeling would mean something different.
Thus:abenchinsome random park.The early morning light shone thin and gray, reminding him of similar mornings halfway across the world.
Florian eyed the bench with some distaste, the look only deepening when Declan dropped into it without flinching.
“I believe this is considered stalking,” the old wisp informed him, that lined human glamour pulled into a mask of disapproval.“You’re stalking your future demise, changeling or no.”
“Very likely,” Declan agreed, smiling up at him.He showed teeth, this time.A few of them.“Do you think this one’s shirt will proclaim that he’s ‘totally tubular’?”
Florian snorted, glancing down the lane where a slight, pretty man and a small dog were just out of plain sight if one were human.“I bet my rooms he does not.I’m getting coffee.”
“Cream in mine,” Declan called after him, turning to watch Florian hunt down a coffee stand.The surly wisp said something in turn that sounded rude, though the words were unintelligible.Declan shrugged, resettling just as the man jogged down the sidewalk, out of the trees.
