I've been high since I got up, technically since before I got up, and I keep getting lost in the details. The sounds are gentle here and the air's velvet and honey, already warm by the rise of morning, even in November.
Finn wanders in, no shirt, no shoes. He's beautiful, still, perhaps even more now. Nomadic life agrees with him. His hair growing out, his skin darkening in the sun, mark the weeks and months as we follow the weather around the world. Fine white lines adorn his chest and shoulders. A pattern, a project, a part of me I thought would shock him before I discovered his depths.
"When did you get up?" His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles and I fall in love with every part of his face for the thousandth time. Everything about him is warmth and comfort.
"I don't know. Early. I had some coffee and a smoke, and I was going to go for a walk on the beach while the sun came up, but I fell asleep again."
He sits down beside me on the couch. "So, where to next?"
We've been starting this conversation for days and this is the first time I have an answer. "North. Somewhere with ice and snow, where it's dark all day in the winter. The opposite of this."
"Don't you like this?"
"I love this, but I want something different. Also, I want more coffee."
"Your wish is my command. Frozen darkness, but first, caffeine." He kisses the top of my head and goes to the kitchen.
On my way outside, I lift a joint from the huge glass table. I must have had a fit of organisation at some point because there are three rolled and waiting. There's a lighter where I left it by the door. Things are starting to find their place here and we're getting ready to leave.
I take a seat next to the glass barrier that edges the outcrop of rock where the house perches above the beach below. When Finn arrives with the coffee, the joint's half gone. He nods towards it. "Is that for sharing?"
"Always." I give it to him and take my coffee. We sit in silence, but it's a good silence. I used to be scared that silence held secrets, but not anymore, not with us. Whatever we were before each other, whatever we did, whoever we used to be, none of it matters. Now, silence is just silence.
He puts the joint out and reaches across the table for my hand. It should be a mundane connection by now, but it isn't. There's a chill in the air, but there's something of sunlight in him and it bleeds through my skin from his fingers.
YOU ARE READING
Winter FollowsGeneral Fiction
One month, one city, five lives colliding with the forces of fate. A thrill-seeking tech genius with an appetite for dangerous extremes. A retired contract killer fighting to escape his past and himself. An underworld driver tempted deeper into a li...