“In the woods,” he said. His hands slipped into his pockets, and his pace slowed. “You were you.”
I didn’t quite follow. “Who am I now?”
“I’m trying to figure that out.”
“When you’ve got it, can you let my therapist know?”
“Calling your tattoo artist a therapist doesn’t count.”
My head whipped around, eyes narrowed. He grinned. Every time his lips turned up, I had a moment of satisfaction. For how little time we had spent together, he shouldn’t be this capable of calling me on my bullshit. A night together by the campfire, and we had skipped all the awkward conversations and getting to know one another. It fast-tracked us to… well… whateverthis was.
“I think this is a pot calling the kettle black situation.”
His smile faded. “Maybe.”
He pointed to a tent toward the end of the row. The bright blue canopy covered a table and a solitary gentleman. His table was covered in milk crates, each one filled with small plasticpackages. Even from here, my mouth watered at the thought of nursing on salty meat.
One question continued surfacing, the one he had refused to answer by the campfire. He didn’t owe me an answer, but it felt like the root of him being in Firefly.
“Can I ask a personal question?”
“After spooning all night, I think you’ve earned it.”
The thought of him naked and pressed against my side pushed my cock against the zipper. I didn’t try to hide the reaction.
“The ex breaks up. You get revenge.” I knew one of his darker moments, but I didn’t know if he liked his coffee black or with cream. A night under the stars, and we had progressed to the big topics. I debated asking him his favorite TV show or color, but a nagging question came out instead. “Is that the curse?”
With every step, his shoulders slumped further. His toes dragged along the cement, and his stride slowed. The Nick I first met emerged, or was it more like the version from the woods was swallowed? I didn’t want to be the one who sent him spiraling into a dark place.
“Favorite color?”
He stopped. The weight pressing down on his shoulders didn’t relent. I could almost see the boulders trying to crush him. I’m sure if I glanced over my shoulder, I’d see my own. The guilt about Pops, the reluctance to come back to town, the shop closing, and the weight of reality tried to crush us.
“Crimson,” I said. As he retreated into himself, I cast the lifeline. “Everybody thinks blood. Sure. But crimson in the sunset? That’s beautiful. It’s got this bold, sultry feel to it, but at the same time, it’s confidant. It’s erotic.”
Nick snorted.
Without knowing it, he reached out, taking hold of the lifeline. The Nick from the woods could be rescued. I moved infront of him, arms crossing my chest. I gave him my sternest face. If anybody saw us, they’d think I was prepared to throw fists.
“Are you saying it’s not erotic?” My frown turned scalding. “You’ve never said, ‘Damn, that’s a fuckable color?’”
His eyes had gone wide enough that they might pop out of his head. “You’re serious.” Statement, not a question. The snort returned, but it turned into a soft chuckle. I had revealed my chromophilia, and the punk laughed. I’d take it as a victory—not just for him, but for me. That lifeline worked both ways. I tried to alienate myself from everybody in this town, but not him.
“Blue.”
I rolled my eyes. “Nobody is turned on by a generic crayon. Give me specifics.”
He chewed his bottom lip while he glanced about the green. It was such a nonsense conversation, but it’s what he needed. I still wanted to know about the curse, but he’d tell me when he was ready. For now, we could focus on which color in the crayon box got us stiff.
“There. That color.” Nick pointed to the tablecloth hanging from a vendor’s table. Covered in jars of pickles, the banner had a bold blue with white letters reading, “Tickle My Pickle.” It took a moment before the pun set in. My arms dropped as I spit out air and laughed at the same time.
I struggled to breathe.
Either he thought I was the funniest man alive or he read the sign, but Nick joined in the snorting. Tears formed in my eyes, working their way down my cheeks. It wasn’tthatfunny. Between our conversation, the sign, and the tension, the stars aligned, and we didn’t hold back. Nick needed this. Fine, me too.
“Cer-cer-cerul-ean,” I managed while gasping.
While the laughter faded, I spotted the glances from the vendors. It hovered somewhere between curious and annoyed.My back straightened and shoulders squared. I brushed away the humor, reinforcing the armor plating. While we shared a private moment, they watched. That’d have been fine, but I could almost hear the whispers.
