Page 101 of We Are Just Us

“Wait until later,” Rory said. “When the fire dies down, it’s even better.”

They finished eating. Kieran cleaned up while Rory tended the fire.

“You ever camp out here alone?” Kieran asked.

“A few times,” Rory said. “After Britt died, I came out here a lot. Just me and the quiet.”

Kieran looked over at him. Rory was staring at the fire.

“I’m glad I’m here,” Kieran said.

Rory’s expression softened. “Me too.”

Rory stood, stretching. “Come on. Let’s lie down. You’ll see the stars better.”

He grabbed the sleeping bags and spread them out on the ground near the fire, close enough for warmth, far enough that the light didn’t interfere.

They lay down side by side, shoulders touching, faces turned up to the sky.

The stars were everywhere. Thick and clustered and impossibly bright.

Kieran was small in the best way. His problems were small too.

“This is perfect,” he said.

Rory’s hand found his, fingers threading together.

Then Kieran saw it.

A streak of light, quick and bright, slicing across the sky.

“Oh my god.” Kieran sat up on his elbows. “Did you see that?”

Rory smiled. “Yeah. That’s why we’re here.”

Another one. Brighter this time.

“There!” Kieran grabbed Rory’s arm. “That was incredible.”

Rory turned his head, watching Kieran instead of the sky. A kind of fondness in his expression.

“What?” Kieran asked.

“Nothing. You’re in for a surprise.” Rory shook his head, still smiling. “Keep watching.”

They came in waves after that, sometimes one at a time, sometimes three or four in quick succession. Kieran stopped counting after a dozen.

At some point, Kieran realized his cheeks were wet.

He wasn’t sad. He wasn’t even sure why he was crying. It was just the vastness of it. The beauty. The fact that he was here with someone who’d thought to bring him.

He wiped his face quickly, hoping Rory hadn’t noticed.

Rory reached over and took his hand again. Didn’t say anything.

Kieran stared up at the sky, and realized he was breathing deeper than he had in months. Maybe longer.

For so long there had been this invisible weight on his chest, like wires wrapped around his lungs, tightening with every worry, every what-if, every thing he couldn’t control. His mom’s illness. Her death. The move. Starting over. And then Hank disappearing, and nearly two weeks of dread that followed.