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Title: Summer
Series: The Cycle of Seasons
Rating: PGish
Word Count: 684
Summary: We met in the summer.
Notes: Second part of the series.
We take a walk together in the hot summer sun. It beats down hard upon us and drops of sweat slide down my spine like a fingertip, raising goosebumps on my arms. You lift your hair from the back of your neck and then drop it again once, twice, a dozen times, maybe, before we're out of sight of the house. I lose count almost immediately but keep watching. It irritates me as much as it fascinates me and I make a vow to cut your hair, or perhaps find a tie for it – just something, anything, to make you more comfortable.
These thoughts are determined, but somehow blunted. They have no edge to them, and some part of me knows immediately it would never happen. Many of my plans have that feeling, and have had for as long as I can remember – not that that's any great stretch of time, mind. They all seem impossible even if they're as simple as tying back a friend's hair. There's no reason for it, but I know they won't happen.
“I've had a thought,” you say, as we reach the crest of hill. I glance back, quickly, and note that we can once again see the grove in which the cottage which I presume to be ours sits, though the cottage itself is not immediately in evidence. Probably hidden by the foliage, I think, and return my gaze to you. You've paused but say nothing more. I stop as well, and watch you think.
“Are you going to share it?” I ask, perhaps a little unkindly.
You frown. “Yes,” you say. After another pause, rather lighter then the last, you ask, “Where are we going?”
You look up at me and I find myself completely unable to meet your eyes.
“Out,” I tell you, turning away to face the forest that begins here. I fold my arms tightly across my chest. “Around. We're just walking. Why does it need to be to some place in particular?”
“I doesn't,” you say, promptly. “It just feels as though it should be.” You interrupt yourself more effectively then I ever could and I have too look back at you. “No! Wait.” You chew your lower lip. “It feels as thought it is.”
Again you look at me, deep and imploring. Irritation and guilt threaten to overwhelm me so I'm obliged to turn away, once again.
“It isn't,” I say, firmly. “We're just walking. Come on, let's go.”
I begin, again, and you hurry after, still a little puzzled, but trusting me utterly.
“We're just walking together,” you say. “Just you and me. Walking.”
Through gritted teeth, I almost manage to smile in return to the sunny one you're sending my way.
“Yeah,” I say. “Just you and me.”
We keep going. As the trees thicken and the shade thickens and the air becomes not quite so thick, your hand steals to the back of my neck and stay there, hot and heavy and uncomfortable. I leave it be.
We make it to the rock cliffs beyond the trees, this time, farther then we've ever been before, but the day can't yet be even half over. It's hot – painfully hot, and the dust from the rocks mixes with our sweat so soon our bare skin is coated in grime. We keep going, over and around the boulders and when you call out, “Hey, wait,” I'm ready for it.
We stand, for a moment, facing each other on adjacent rocks, and then you say, “Where are we going?”
I start to step forward, to join you, but stop myself. I start to look away, but find that I can't. So I stay still, right where I am, and I meet your gaze head on. Feel myself smiling, a little, in spite of everything.
“Nowhere,” I tell you. “It's just you and me and we aren't going anywhere.”
I hear it, then, stone striking stone behind us and when you reach out your hand to me, I take it. And then I just close my eyes and listen to the rocks fall.
Series: The Cycle of Seasons
Rating: PGish
Word Count: 684
Summary: We met in the summer.
Notes: Second part of the series.
We take a walk together in the hot summer sun. It beats down hard upon us and drops of sweat slide down my spine like a fingertip, raising goosebumps on my arms. You lift your hair from the back of your neck and then drop it again once, twice, a dozen times, maybe, before we're out of sight of the house. I lose count almost immediately but keep watching. It irritates me as much as it fascinates me and I make a vow to cut your hair, or perhaps find a tie for it – just something, anything, to make you more comfortable.
These thoughts are determined, but somehow blunted. They have no edge to them, and some part of me knows immediately it would never happen. Many of my plans have that feeling, and have had for as long as I can remember – not that that's any great stretch of time, mind. They all seem impossible even if they're as simple as tying back a friend's hair. There's no reason for it, but I know they won't happen.
“I've had a thought,” you say, as we reach the crest of hill. I glance back, quickly, and note that we can once again see the grove in which the cottage which I presume to be ours sits, though the cottage itself is not immediately in evidence. Probably hidden by the foliage, I think, and return my gaze to you. You've paused but say nothing more. I stop as well, and watch you think.
“Are you going to share it?” I ask, perhaps a little unkindly.
You frown. “Yes,” you say. After another pause, rather lighter then the last, you ask, “Where are we going?”
You look up at me and I find myself completely unable to meet your eyes.
“Out,” I tell you, turning away to face the forest that begins here. I fold my arms tightly across my chest. “Around. We're just walking. Why does it need to be to some place in particular?”
“I doesn't,” you say, promptly. “It just feels as though it should be.” You interrupt yourself more effectively then I ever could and I have too look back at you. “No! Wait.” You chew your lower lip. “It feels as thought it is.”
Again you look at me, deep and imploring. Irritation and guilt threaten to overwhelm me so I'm obliged to turn away, once again.
“It isn't,” I say, firmly. “We're just walking. Come on, let's go.”
I begin, again, and you hurry after, still a little puzzled, but trusting me utterly.
“We're just walking together,” you say. “Just you and me. Walking.”
Through gritted teeth, I almost manage to smile in return to the sunny one you're sending my way.
“Yeah,” I say. “Just you and me.”
We keep going. As the trees thicken and the shade thickens and the air becomes not quite so thick, your hand steals to the back of my neck and stay there, hot and heavy and uncomfortable. I leave it be.
We make it to the rock cliffs beyond the trees, this time, farther then we've ever been before, but the day can't yet be even half over. It's hot – painfully hot, and the dust from the rocks mixes with our sweat so soon our bare skin is coated in grime. We keep going, over and around the boulders and when you call out, “Hey, wait,” I'm ready for it.
We stand, for a moment, facing each other on adjacent rocks, and then you say, “Where are we going?”
I start to step forward, to join you, but stop myself. I start to look away, but find that I can't. So I stay still, right where I am, and I meet your gaze head on. Feel myself smiling, a little, in spite of everything.
“Nowhere,” I tell you. “It's just you and me and we aren't going anywhere.”
I hear it, then, stone striking stone behind us and when you reach out your hand to me, I take it. And then I just close my eyes and listen to the rocks fall.
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