Page 63 of Icarus

They sat in silence for the rest of the time, until Icarus bottled his paint in a small silver tube.

Until his glass pane had been washed, rubbed with alcohol, and washed again. Until he had brought the pane, linseed oil, and glass muller to his father’s side. There, he lingered for a moment.

“Can I . . . buy something from you?”

Chateau Latour Bordeaux

Icarus carried the bottle of wine from his father’s workroom to his closet.

He wrapped it in gauze and placed it at the bottom of his backpack.

Rush

It was midnight when he arrived. Backpack full of clothes and proper climbing gear.

Icarus thought for a moment about using the front door, wished this once he could. But he didn’t.

Helios was sleeping when he got there, back to the window and snoring lightly. Icarus slipped into his room, quiet, thief-like, and took off his climbing gear. He put on a T-shirt and black sleep-shorts.

“Helios.”

Helios didn’t move, just sighed in his dream.

Icarus crawled into bed beside him, close enough to touch but not bridging the divide. Curled toward his warmth and closed his eyes.

“I’m here,” he whispered.

Helios turned over and breathed into the dark.

Orion

The light was different, behind his eyelids. Icarus’s room was always dark in the mornings, but Helios’s room in the Black house was awash with sunshine. More than he ever imagined this room would get. He could almost smell it in the air.

Icarus stayed heavy and lax, sinking into the blankets like a warm snowdrift. The mattress was too soft beneath him, but the difference was good. It was how he knew he wasn’t home.

“Sweetheart.”

Icarus opened his eyes all the way.

Helios was brilliant in this sun. He had to shield his gaze against it. Had to look at the space beside him through the shadow of his own hand. Helios’s hair spilled across the pillow, violent, sanguine, eyelashes flax-gold. He was blood in milk, he was the skin of a Pink Lady apple, he was honey warmed in a hot spoon over tea. He was looking at Icarus lazy and indulgent. Not surprised in the least to wake up not alone.

He was three and a half inches away from Icarus’s shoulder.

And like a rush, the thought occurred to him: he had never seen Helios during the daytime.

“Here you are,” Helios whispered.

He reached across the forbidden space, fingertips hesitant. Icarus held his breath. Helios’s lips were chapped, he had a hangnail on his index finger, his T-shirt was gray, he had sleep in his eyes, and he was still . . . so much.

Icarus could feel himself breathing too hard. Being embarrassing, as Helios grazed his cheek.

“Am I allowed?” Helios asked, voice still rough from sleep.

Icarus closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded.

The Sky

Helios touched him tentatively. Brushing the pads of his fingers, kitten-like, over Icarus’s face.