Greatest

19: yet let me kiss my lord before I die

Naturally I am absolved of Tessa Kyd's death. My father makes sure of that as he wanted it to happen. No matter how, given the damning evidence I don't need to implicate anyone innocent in that. Bradley does probably think it's me but he's perfect and polite he says nothing at all. And the Winter Formal and Christmas break are soon upon us.
I don't even want to go, but Shane convinces me.
"You want to sit in an airport for another two hours? Just go and say goodbye to your friends," he says.
"You're trying to set me up with Bradley," I accuse.
"Damn straight," Jonesy laughs, "He's going. Dance with him. You're always on about being a good dancer."
"I am an amazing dancer for your information, when I have use of both my legs,"  I say, but in the end I do go.
Everyone at Rose and Swan dresses up enormously. I just put on a black sweater and black jeans and call it a night. Bradley wears a sweater which looks amazing on him.  By everyone else 'dressing up enormously' I mean they wear tuxes and fancy dresses.
Okay it seems Bradley was only wearing the Christmas sweater all day he's got a tux now. Okay. This is fine. He's across the crowded room and I literally don't talk to anyone else.
"You can go and mingle, it's fine, just signal if you're gonna leave the room," I'm lucky Shane is nice to me, I know.
"Yeah, you can stand other places," Jonsey says.
"Yeah, I clearly cannot, so shut up," I mutter, leaning on my cane. I just took a cane tonight. I'm underdressed and frankly dreading the flight home. I am not at all ready for the long winter break and I really, genuinely, just want to be here in school in the usual routine of things. My head doesn't even ache but I'm sure that will change drastically if I start to enjoy myself.
"You're not dancing, Cyrus?" Logan asks, coming up and taking my free hand lightly. She's wearing a deep crimson dress and her hair for once is curled and loose about her shoulders.
"I'm not inclined, I'm here for the food," I say.
"You and Bradley both," she laughs, "He said just the same thing not five minutes ago. Look, I'm sure he's still skulking over by the drinks. Aren't you going to have any fun this evening?"
"No, I turn into a pumpkin at midnight, I've got a flight home," I explain, "But don't let me keep you from enjoying yourself."
"You're not," she smiles.
"I'm just melancholy," I say, "Do ignore me."
"I'm sorry, try to enjoy yourself? They do try with these things," she says, "You did help decorate."
"I hindered that, go on, I'm off soon. If I don't see you, Happy Christmas," I say.
"Happy Christmas, Cyrus," she kisses me cheek before melting back into the crowd of dancers, like so many butterflies in their icy-hued dresses, all over-shown with silver from the chandelier. I tip my head up to look at it for a moment, then go back to watching the way the light shines in Bradley's lovely hair.
Then I lose him. He slips, out the back doors, as if going back to our dorm. I raise a hand, signaling my agents that I'm going to step outside. I don't know if everyone does this with their agents, but since we often do things like this, parties, and sporting events, when they might be in view but not close enough to actually whisper to, we use modified or basic sign language. Just a couple of things, like 'restroom'  or 'let's leave' or what have you. I realize I haven't talked about this much before, but in general I do try to be a good little Searcher and play by the rules. Try. Anyway, doing little things like this, allow my agents to know that I'm going outside, follow me, as opposed to just mingling and going to chat with someone, in which case they wouldn't move from their positions, but as I'm leaving the room they might as well shift on with me. Some people don't do that, they're just dicks about it (I'm referring to my dad if that wasn't clear) and leave their agents to scramble as they stroll out of the room wherever they goddamn please. I try not to do that if I can't help it.
Peter and Micheal and I try not to do that anyway, I'm not listing what our signs are here, because you know, they're still alive and using them theoretically, but it's a simple quick hand-gesture that signals to them what door I plan on leaving from, so they can flank me smoothly and also know I'm just stepping outside, probably to talk to someone, I'm not leaving. All this helps them be as discrete as possible so I can live my life. What's left of it, anyway.
I make my way outside, where snow is falling, softy. It's dark out, with thick dark clouds obscuring any hint of moonlight. Shane and Jonsey stay on the main path, by the door, watching as loyal as sheepdogs as I limp into the snow.
Bradley stands in the middle of the now snow covered yard, staring up at the falling snow quizzically, letting it settle in his perfect hair.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Yes, that's the most creative thing I could come up with shut up.
Bradley turns, smiling a little at the sight of me in my lumpy sweater, limping out to see him.
"Just thinking things," he shakes his head a little.
"What things?" I ask, stopping part way to him, not close enough to touch, but close enough that the agents can't hear our hushed voices.
"If I knew I wouldn't have to be thinkin' about 'em," he says, smiling a little more.
"Go on, sometimes I'm smart, I have been known to, you know, have a good idea, on occasion. Not many occasions, but enough to be counted, not on both hands mind," I say, making him laugh.
"You're too much, Cyrus," he shakes his head, "It's just that time of year. You want to take chances."
I shrug.
"You're not much one for the holidays?"
"You've not met my family, but I'm sure you've seen clips of them? On TV? There's a rather good YouTube compiliation, 'send in the clones' someone even dubbed it, my mother's Christmas decorations are somewhere at the five minute mark," I say.
"Oh shit," he laughs, covering his mouth again.
"Don't do that," I say.
"Do what?"
"Cover your face. You're meant to be happy," I say, blushing, "Um. Anyway, um—I should go actually. Get on my flight, catch my flight that is. Catch my flight um—stupid phrase, catch a flight, like airplanes are very big and they leave at a very set time it's not like it's some sort of quest um—I'm going to stop talking now. You don't need the dumpster fire that is my brain, the thoughts from it that is, yeah, stopping talking." I just put my hand over my mouth now.
"No, I like it really, I did want to hear all of that," he says, like he's trying not to laugh, "You're right about flights. They do leave at a publicized time. Isn't hunting."
"Thank you, okay yeah that did make sense, some stuff I think does—shutting up um—-I'm not used to talking to humans, obviously, seventeen years, you'd think I'd be good at it—clearly not—um—,"
"Well, first couple of years I figure you didn't get much practice," he says, still smothering a smile.
"No, I'd guess, not, good point, three years actually I didn't talk till I was three, that's why Micheal's so close to me in age, because the doctors told my parents there was something wrong with me right off, so they needed another kid, and anyway funnily enough there is lots wrong with me but—-yeah you didn't need to know all that all right."
"Nothing wrong with you, Cyrus," he says, smiling now.
"Oh, you might be surprised. I realize most people get better as you know them, not me, pretty sure I get worse—-um, anyway—I just, my flight is soon, we're meant to be leaving just now, so um—I didn't want to go without saying Happy Christmas. So. Happy Christmas," I say, taking a step back.
"What—you're leaving right now?" He asks, frowning, "We don't—I figured you'd stay for the dance."
"No it's um—it's now, do you—-," do not say it. Say it. Do not say it. Say it. Do not say it. Say it. "Do you want to come ride with me? I'm sorry I have no idea why I said that you're at a tux in a party with your friends and you'd have to take a cab back you know what we're going to delete the last forty-five seconds of conversation—,"
"Yes," Bradley holds up a hand, interrupting me, "Yeah, this is a very lame party I would be happy to ride in a cab with you and your agents then ride back alone, it would be more fun than this."
"What—really? You would? I mean, cool, yeah, cool, we're um—we're just going then," for context Shane has been so tiredly signaling to me that we do really need to go. Jonesy has been looking so sick of me.
We pack into the back of a cab, Bradley makes polite conversation with the agents asking their plans for the holidays. They are both off so they get to not be with my family, which is a universally acknowledged plus. Bradley and I chat quickly about the holidays, mostly me asking him his plans. He explains that he's flying to see his dad for Christmas, though he'll be back with his mother for New Years.
"You could come if you wanted—-? Sometimes my mother lets me shoot out fireworks over the lake—you and your brothers would be more than welcome," he says.
"Thanks but, my dad would never let us get away," I say. Jonesy looks at me, no doubt surprised by the truth in it. We're supposed to politely decline such invitations not give causes.
"Oh yeah. Well. I'll think about you then."
"Please," Please think of me.
When we get to the airport they drop us off and we and our meager luggage gets checked in. I have enough clothes at home, my carry ons will be sufficient, and the agents have commuting down to an art form at this point.
"Well. Um, see you next year then," Bradley says, smiling.
"Yes, I suppose," I say, twitching, as we stand in the crowded terminal. The agents stand a bit back, waiting patiently for this to be over.
"Have fun then?"
"I probably won't um—Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year," I hold out my hand to him, yes this is as awkward as it sounds.
"Happy New Year, Cyrus," he says my name, letting it slip around his tongue like brandy burning it yet still savoring  the flavor. I never liked my name till it spilled from his lips.
"Safe flight," he says, because I'm still shaking his hand.
"Safe flight—you're not flying, yet—safe drive back," I say, backing away towards security.
"Thanks," he smiles at me again, I have to drag my gaze from his hypnotic blue eyes, hair still damp from snow and forming ringlets nearly brushing his excellent eye brows.
I turn back, finally and shift through security. Jonsey and Shane have the decency not to say anything. Thoughts keep whirling around in my head.
I don't want to wait until New Years to see him.
What if New Years doesn't come?
What if I die here, like I'm going to, and then I'm over and this book just leaves off, and you never know what happened? That would be horrible, wouldn't it? I don't want to end like that. And I don't want it to end here. I already know, I do know, that I don't want to end right here right now I'm not done. But I could die. Any day. We already know that. I'm not getting better nor will I ever. Soon I will be truly over. And this could end at any moment and I'm not ready. I'm so not ready. It's like the clock is ticking down, louder, and louder, and louder, and any second my time could be up.
And I don't want to—I can't miss my chance. I don't know how many chances I have left. And I'm scared, and I don't know how to be me I haven't figured it out yet and it looks like I probably never am going to get the chance to. And that hurts. It hurts bad. It hurts so bad. But I have to try. I am not done. The cancer, the disgusting alien brain goop, it hasn't gotten me yet. Cyrus still has some time left I'm not ready to be a footnote at the bottom of the story of greater men.
By this point we're at the gate. They are getting ready to board. First class (we are) always boards first.
"Want to go get on? Take something?" Shane asks, nicely.
"I'm going back," I say, standing up.
"What?" Jonsey is instantly suspicious.
"I'll be right back, I promise— you don't have to follow," I say, and then I take off as fast as I can. Only one leg works so that's not all that fast. However, I still run, as Shane and Jonsey say something to the effect of "Cyrus, you know damn well we have to follow, Jesus Christ, boy."
I run back through the crowded terminal, barely registering the glass exit doors as I slam into the them the concourse is packed with holiday travelers, and I for a moment can't even place the boy in the stiff tux, standing by the curb in the snow, waiting for a cab.
I limp out, nearly tripping twice on the ice, breathing a bit heavily mostly probably from shock.
"What are you doing?" Bradley asks, almost smiling.
"I wish I knew. I'm so sorry, I really wish I knew," I say, and then I take hold of his white shirt and tug him forward to kiss me.
I've not kissed anyone properly and realize the moment I do it I don't know how beyond mashing our mouth's together, but to my complete shock Bradley kisses me back, locking his lips with mine, his skin is cold but is mouth is so, so warm, and sure against mine.
"You find what you're looking for, Searcher?" He asks, voice rough, as we separate, a soft, smile ghosting his face.
"I'm on my way," I say, wrapping my arms around his neck for support.
He takes that as a cue to pick me up entirely, kissing me again. Mouths locked, he spins us around in the gently falling snow, me with my arms around his neck, feet off the ground, him with his strong arms secure around my waist, holding safe off the slick ice as we kiss.
That moment is fireworks in my mind, exploding, and for one single instant I'm not dying anymore. I'm not cursed. I'm not Cyrus Laine. I'm the boy he's kissing and I am loving every moment of it. I know it can't go on that long, or even forever. I just know it feels perfect for one single isolated moment of infinity. This right now is my forever, and it is all worth it. Every sweaty and tear stained moment.
Bradley sets me down, carefully, on the slick sidewalk. People are staring. People are definitely staring.
"That was what I needed to say so," I pat his chest, "Thanks."
"Merry Christmas, Searcher," he says, grinning now, "Now go catch that plane."
"Yes, yes I have to catch a plane, and yes. I think I—I did find what I'm looking for," I grin. You. But I don't say it. I don't have to.