"It's hard to believe it
Even as my eyes do see it
The very things that made you live,
They're killing you"
- "Shelter" by Ray LaMontagne -
*****
Samuel
A familiar voice slices through the air, punctuating the conversation that Matty and I are currently having. "Samuel!" I pull my attention to the left where Wilma, my supervisor, strides toward us, her face lit up with a grin that could rival the sun. Her brisk steps send her ID card dancing on its lanyard with each bounce. "You're here early."
"Hey, Wilma!" Rising from the bench to meet her halfway, Matty trailing behind. As Wilma reaches us, I share a warm hug with her, our laughter mingling with the ambient sounds of the park.
Wilma's eyes flicker to Matty. "And who do we have here? Thinking about lending a hand as well?"
He bats away the preconception, subtly raising his paws. "Oh, no, I'm just here to drop off my friend."
"Ah, no worries." Wilma accepts his explanation with a simple tilt of her head.
Indeed, back in February, Matty and my EngLit friends rejected my invitation to join Monteverde Action Group for Inclusive Care, or Magica for short. It's a local NGO that focuses on aiding homeless and marginalized communities. My decision to pursue this opportunity stemmed partly from the mounting pressure of my scholarship commitments. Choosing an external organization over any student's organization was a deliberate choice driven by my longing to break free from the monotony of staring at a screen. During the interview, I expressed interest in roles like Street Outreach Worker or Food Program Assistant, envisioning hands-on involvement in community activities. However, reality veered from my expectations when I was appointed as the Community Liaison Officer due to quotas being filled for the roles I preferred.
Although mildly disappointed, I'm thankfully a pro when it comes to sucking things up. But since then, there have been instances where I've found myself exceeding my daily quota of social interaction.
Take today, for example, when I'm tasked with overseeing Magica's annual summer charity bazaar after a slew of technology-driven duties. Engaging with people, both online and in person, is inevitable. While I appreciate Magica's flexibility, the constant demand for interaction can be draining. Fortunately, this stint will only last until the start of the third semester. Wilma's exceptional kindness towards other volunteers also makes me wonder if she's the one volunteering or the one in charge. Technically, it's both. Still, hopefully, I'm just required to oversee the tenants today.
Matty keeps glancing over his shoulder, clearly itching to leave. Finally, he vocalizes his desire, "Well, I'm gonna go now. You gonna need a ride later or...?"
I hum, contemplating his offer. "Thanks, but I'll give you a call if I do. If not, I'm good on my own."
"Alright then. Take care, Sam. Wilma." Matty nods before striding off toward his car parked in the distance.
We wave our paws at him. Once Matty's out of earshot, Wilma suddenly nudges me. "That your buddy?"
I nod. "Yeah. My roommate too, actually. We live in the same apartment now."
"He's hot AF."
I knit my eyebrows at her. "Excuse me?"
"What? Look at him! Lean, the right amount of tall, quiet..."
"You don't know him, though. He's not quiet once you get to know him, plus—"
"I know he's hot, though. And younger than me."
"Uh, right." I swallow thickly. "But to entertain you, yeah, he's technically hot. But can we please drop the topic and just—" Before I can finish my sentence, Wilma smacks my back, prompting a wince. I rub the pain away, leering at her, "What was that for?!"
"ARE YOU GAY?!"
My heart sinks instantly. Suppressing the blush creeping up my cheeks, I groan. "I'm just being objective, alright?! By society's standard of beauty, he falls into the category of 'handsome.' Hell, he and I even had the talk! And since when is complimenting a guy on his handsome looks makes you automatically gay?"
"Since you're blushing right now."
Shit, am I?
"I'm blushing because it's embarrassing to hear you talk about my roommate like that, Wilma, and now I feel sick!" But I'm lying through my fangs. It's kind of flattering that Matty is... hot, but thankfully, I don't have any romantic feelings for him. If I did, I'd rather off myself. He's like a brother to me. And... it's comforting to have someone who watches out for me.
Thankfully, Wilma doesn't push further, merely chuckling at my bashful demeanor. As we approach the bazaar entrance, she begins outlining my tasks for the evening. "I know we still have thirty minutes until the bazaar officially begins, but there are some things I still need you to take care of. I need you to ensure all the tables and booths are arranged correctly. D some final checks to make sure everything aligns with the layout, and all that."
"Got it."
"And I also need you to check in with the vendors. Make sure they have everything they need. Maybe also address any last-minute questions they might have. Think you can handle that?"
There it is. The dreaded "interacting with others" part. I had hoped she might assign someone else. "Again? Why not Yvette?"
She gives me a pleading look. "Please? I've asked her to focus on the sponsors."
I sigh. "Fine, fine. Anything else?"
"Well... It does involve socializing too. But yes, it's still your responsibility. Once the crowd starts pouring in, I need you to welcome the guests and guide them to different booths and attractions. And pay special attention to the attractions, because there will be lots of children tonight."
Ah, yes, the attractions. I recall gazing at the rental Ferris Wheel during the site re-survey three days ago, when I and some other volunteers were tasked with determining where to place the decorations after most of the booths and attractions were set up. I can't help but wish I'd get a chance to ride it later. My inner child is practically begging for it. But alas, my inner child would probably prefer to be hiding under a bed right now, trembling at the mere thought of socializing. But professionalism prevails. So I click my tongue and I respond to Wilma, "I don't exactly have a choice, do I?"
She stifles a chuckle. "True. But let's hope this year doesn't flop like last year's. We lowered the fundraising goal from three thousand dollars to only two thousand for a reason, you know?" With a pat on my shoulder, she continues, "Well, I'm off to check on the others. Good luck, Sam." She strides off in the opposite direction, adding, "And don't hesitate to text me if you need anything! I'll be checking my phone every five minutes or so!"
"Good luck to you too, Will!" I straighten my posture consciously. With that, I head toward the furthest booth manned by an elderly couple, a picture of churros displayed on the front banner. The wife is arranging wooden sculptures on a rack while the husband is tending to the equipment. Consulting the list of vendors on my phone, I announce my presence to the couple. "Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Gresham. Can I assist you with anything?"
The elderly couple exchanges a glance before Mr. Gresham responds with a weary smile, "Actually... we seem to have misplaced the extension cord for our churro maker. Do you happen to have another one?"
I furrow my brows, mentally running through the inventory checklist. "Let me... Let me check real quick." I pull up the digital inventory log on my phone and scroll through the list of supplies. "Oh! It looks like we have a spare extension cord. I can go and grab it for you."
Mrs. Gresham nods gratefully while her husband offers a tired chuckle. "Thank you. We'd appreciate that."
"Oh, no problem. I'll be right back." With that, I make a beeline toward the storage tent near the entrance, weaving my way through the growing crowd of volunteers and vendors. As I reach the tent, I quickly locate the spare extension cord and return to the churro booth. "Here you go." I hand the cord to Mr. Gresham.
"Thank you again, kid." Mr. Gresham accepts the cord and resumes working on setting up the appliances. With the churro maker now up and running, I move on to the next booth, mentally preparing myself for the interactions and tasks that lie ahead. It's going to be a long night, but hopefully, this charity bazaar ends up a success. Or else, it will not look good on my CV.
*****
"Thanks for coming guys. It, uh... means a lot." I offer a hesitant chuckle directed at my EngLit friends, as well as Caleb, the blue wolf who has become Poppy's official boyfriend since their encounter in Provo.
Alfonso represents the group. "Don't sweat it, man. We got your back. Well, we're gonna explore the booths now and—"
"Actually, Caleb and I are thinking about trying out the... Ferris Wheel? If it's okay with you guys?" Poppy blushes shyly, leaning into her boyfriend's side as he flashes a grin at the Appaloosa.
Elodie shoots the couple a knowing look, teasing, "Gotta get that kiss-kiss, huh?"
Without missing a beat, I lightly kick the lynx in the kneepit, causing her to wobble momentarily. We share a laugh at her expense, though she shoots me a glare. I defend, "You know you deserved that. Plus you'd probably do the same if you have a boyfriend."
"Yeah, sure," she retorts dryly.
"But seriously, guys, please enjoy yourselves while you're here. And don't pass up the eomuk-guk booth. The fishcakes are surprisingly good." Saying our goodbyes, the group leaves me at the bazaar entrance to either play guide for lost attendees or promote various stalls to the traffic of people.
Three hours into the bazaar, and my only remaining task is to make a fool of myself. Yet, it's a welcome reprieve from the stress of micromanaging each booth. Time ticks by relentlessly, my feet protesting the endless standing, urging me to find a seat. I shoot off a quick text to Wilma, asking if I can steal a fifteen-minute break, citing the strain of constant standing and unnecessary running around. Surprisingly, she greenlights it, even suggesting I take a longer break or explore the bazaar. Without hesitation, I slip out of the bustling venue and find solace on a nearby bench by the entrance.
Utah's stringent laws and the presence of two rented off-duty cops deter me from lighting up a cigarette in this public space. Instead, I occupy myself with my phone, commiserating with fellow volunteers in our group chat. We also share selfies of our tired faces and NSFW stickers to pass the time. My attention flits between the screen and the bustling crowd until a familiar silhouette entering the venue catches my eye. It's Foster.
"Foz?"
Foster directs his gaze at the person calling his name. "Oh, Sam!" He strides toward me, prompting me to rise to my feet. His gaze zeroes in on the lanyard circling my neck. "So, you are a volunteer here, huh? Matty told me."
"Yeah, but I'm on a break right now. Been on my feet way too long." I give the elk a once-over, half-expecting another familiar face to appear beside him. None does. "What brings you here? Just to say hi?"
The elk raises his hooves in defense. "What? N-No, I mean—"
"Relax, I'm just messing with you. But you should swing by the donation booth near the staff tent up front. I mean, It's mandatory for every guest anyway."
"Actually, I've been coming to this event since my second year, you know? So I guess you could say I'm a bit of a regular."
"Well, you're fashionably late, but the bazaar runs until nine. Plus, there's a performance in about thirty minutes, so—"
"Actually, I do come for you too. Well, in a way. I just figured you'd be inside."
His words furrow my brow. What could Foster possibly want from me? We rarely hung out unless when Tyson was around, and we hardly ever exchanged more than a few words unless necessary. The most memorable conversation we've had was during last year's Halloween trick-or-treating. "So, when you say Matty told you I'm volunteering here, you asked him on purpose?"
He tilts his head from side to side. "Pretty much. But anyway. The bazaar's open until nine, huh?"
I search his eyes for any hint of motive, paws planted on my hips. "Yeah... why? Is there something—"
"Well, I'm gonna head inside. Good luck with the event, dude." Without waiting for a reply, he strides off, leaving me puzzled. If I were suspicious, I'd wonder what he's up to. But there's no birthday to plan a surprise for, none of my friends have birthdays coming up until Matty's in August. As for group activities, the volunteers and superiors are gearing up for a trip to Salt Lake next week. But for now, it's just the event tonight. Realizing I've wasted a good twenty minutes out here, I shake off my reverie and head back inside to resume my duties at the entrance.
The performance kicks off shortly thereafter, and while I crave a chance to unwind and enjoy it, my responsibilities hold me back. The melodic strains of a local band covering a pop song waft through the air, and I can't help but envy my friends who landed roles as Event Photographers or the Sanitation Crew. At least they get to enjoy the show while being productive. Meanwhile, I'm stuck here, playing glorified usher.
As if the heavens heard my silent complaints, Wilma appears before me about twenty minutes into the performance, now manned by a hippo doing stand-up comedy. "Sam, why are you still here?"
"What?"
"Dude, check the group chat."
I open WhatsUp, and a wave of relief washes over me as I see that the superiors have given us the approval to leave our posts five minutes prior. They encourage us to enjoy the final hour since we've been hustling for the past five hours, with only one more hour left until the bazaar wraps up. Gazing out at the bustling crowds checking out the booths, I turn to Wilma. "Do you know where I can sneak in a smoke?"
"Hmm... You could head over to the designated smoking area near the parking lot, I think. It's just around the corner," she suggests, gesturing in the direction.
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"In that case," I slip off my lanyard and hand it to Wilma, "Could you hang onto this for a bit?"
Wilma sighs. "Fine." She takes it reluctantly, looping it around her neck.
"Thanks. I'll be there if you need me."
"I don't think I will, though. And I'm gonna take a break inside the staff tent. Catch you later." With that, Wilma takes her leave. Taking a deep breath as I gaze up at the orange-streaked sky, I saunter out of the venue once again. After a brief stroll, I reach the designated smoking area and feel a rush of relief at the prospect of finally taking a break. Lighting up, I survey the parking lot, filled with vehicles of various colors, from compact sedans to rugged Jeeps. Seems like this year's Marketing and Communications Coordinator really knows how to do his job.
I join the other smokers, drowning out the world with music blaring from my budget earphones that are on their last legs. Though my tired feet ache for a seat, the benches are occupied by elders. But then again, at least I get to enjoy this smoke break. It's funny how I claim to hate alcohol while constantly finding moments to light up. Oh well. At least smoking doesn't leave me stumbling and causing me to brandish a broken bottle on someone's face.
There's a term called "passive-smoker," dumbass!
No longer entertaining the dark notions, I idly scroll through TickTock videos on my phone to kill time. And then, thoughts of my cryptic encounter with Foster flit through my mind, but I shrug it off as my cigarette dwindles to a stub. Amid the calm break, my peace is shattered when some jerk collides with me, nearly sending me and the ashtray bin tumbling. Instead of an apology, he clicks his tongue and mutters something, but I'm still plugged into my earphones.
Hastily yanking them out, I confront the older lion. "What the hell, man?"
The tall lion shoots me a venomous glare. "It's your fault for not watching where you're standing, idiot. You almost spilled my drink."
My fists clench instinctively. Heat surges through me, drowning out reason as anger takes hold. I fail to rein it in. "Why don't you watch it yourself next time, asshole?"
He stares me down. "The fuck did you say to me?"
"Are you deaf or just plain stupid? I said watch it yourself next time, you oversized cunt." And the world has shrunk to just us, locked in a confrontation neither of us is willing to back down from.
The lion's muscles tense as he steps closer. "Got a problem, punk?"
"Yeah, you. You're the problem," I retort. "Now move along before you make a bigger fool out of yourself." I can feel the judgmental gazes of everyone in the shelter boring into us.
He's not having it. "You think you're tough? Wait until I knock that smug look off your face."
Stuffing my phone and earphones haphazardly into my pocket, I flick the still-lit cigarette into the ashtray bin. "I wouldn't mind a good reason to punch you in the face."
He tosses his can of liquid into the bin. "You're asking for it."
Before his fist hurtles toward me, instinct kicks in. My fist connects with his jaw, and a satisfying thud echoes in the air as he staggers back. But any triumph is short-lived as he retaliates with a swift kick in my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. Around us, onlookers are frozen in shock, their leisurely evening shattered by our sudden altercation.
The world blurs as I struggle to regain my bearings, pain pulsing through me, stoking the flames of my anger. With a growl, I launch myself at him, fists swinging in a blind fury, unleashing every ounce of pent-up frustration and rage.
"Bitch! You fucking bitch!"
"Shut the fuck up, dwarf!"
But our brawl is abruptly halted by an intervening figure from outside the smoking area, yanking the lion away from me. Simultaneously, a brave soul from within the shelter pulls me back as I curse, "I'll fucking kill you, you bitch! I'll kill you!"
Amidst the clamor of voices and the pleas for calm, a familiar voice cuts through the chaos. "There's a freaking cop right there, you people! And—" The voice trails off as the owner of the voice locks eyes with me. I cease my struggling, his gaze meeting mine. "Samuel?"
The tension in my muscles eases, confusion replacing the seething anger as I reply, "Tyson?"
As the man holding me realizes I'm no longer rebelling, he releases his grip. Likewise, Tyson's hold on the lion loosens. For a moment, the lion regards us with the same bewildered expression before opting to make a swift exit, clicking his tongue, clearly keen to avoid further drama. Inside the shelter, all eyes are on me and the tiger. The tiger who once confided his plans to pursue law school far from here. The tiger to whom I penned a farewell poem on his graduation day. The tiger I had resigned myself to never seeing again.
Before I can utter a word, Tyson grabs my arm and steers me away from the smoking area, and I offer no resistance. Stares linger on my back as Tyson launches into a paternal scolding. His words follow us even as we stand by the venue's entrance, where he peppers me with inquiries about any injuries, to which I shake my head. Beside him, Foster appears unfazed by Tyson's presence, but his gaze holds a hint of concern as he crosses his arms.
Ignoring Tyson's question, I turn my attention to the elk. "You knew Tyson was coming?"
"Well... Yeah."
I shoot Tyson a judgmental look. "Tell me this isn't some surprise reunion."
Tyson and Foster exchange a knowing glance, and without a word spoken between them, Foster departs, leaving us alone. The air crackles with anticipation as Tyson's gaze fixes on my bewildered expression. Then, he speaks. "I have something to tell you. Foster does come for the bazaar, but... I come for you, man."
My mind whirls with possibilities as Tyson continues, "I had planned to surprise you, actually. But, well, I guess that commotion kinda ruined the element of surprise." He recounts how he managed to keep his arrival secret, explaining that he approached Foster instead of Matty, knowing Matty's tendency to spill secrets despite claiming otherwise. Foster then sought out Matty, who confirmed my whereabouts.
As he finishes speaking, Tyson reaches into his pocket and retrieves an aluminum wrapper, the one containing the handwritten poem I gave him at graduation. "I think you should hold onto this now. I don't think I'll need this keepsake for a while."
Accepting the wrapper, I gaze at it. "What do you mean?"
Tyson's eyes meet mine as he smiles and reveals, "Because I'm heading back to Hoovensguaard for law school. Unfortunately. But I guess having you and others here is not a bad thing at the end of the day, y'know?"
*****
"I swear I'm fine. Cross my heart."
"But you're not bullshitting me, right?"
I nod, watching the ground recede beneath us as the gondola ascends higher and higher. "Just a bit of a stomach ache. You broke up the fight pretty quickly anyway." Gripping the lap bar that keeps us secure, I glance at Tyson beside me. "But I do hope I punched him hard enough to teach him a lesson."
Tyson chuckles, shaking his head. "You and your temper."
"You know I learned from the best." And he understands I'm referring to my father.
Reflecting on it, even before I was adopted, I had been full of resentment. But I push the thought aside, reminding myself to focus on the present. Right now, I'm enjoying a moment beside him on the Ferris Wheel I've been eager to ride for ages, and now that I'm sitting here, it's even better than I anticipated. After all, moments like these are what truly matter.
After assuring Tyson that I harbor no ill will toward the lion from our earlier scuffle, we sit in companionable silence, taking in the view as the gondola pauses midway. The hum of the Ferris Wheel's electric motor blends with the thumping bass from the stage speakers as professional dancers perform a lively routine to a K-pop track. Below us, the crowd still throngs the venue, albeit less densely as it approaches nine o'clock. I spot Foster queuing up for cotton candy, perhaps indulging his inner child much like I am now. Then, I catch sight of Poppy and her boyfriend, along with the rest of my EngLit friends, engrossed in a booth game where they attempt to pop balloons with darts.
Tyson suddenly breaks the silence. "I remember, by the way."
"Huh?" My ears perk up, swiveling in his direction. "Remember what?"
"That you mentioned missing Ferris Wheels? Back in Denver?" he says. "Have you never been on one since you left for the US?"
I shake my head. "Never even been to night markets or bazaars before. But I did this volunteering that made me visit this really nice beach after graduating from high school. And some others. For scholarship reasons and, well... to get away from home as much as possible."
Tyson's expression remains unchanged. "Not even to an amusement park?"
I chuckle bitterly. "Things at home went to hell less than a year after I moved to the US, remember? We're not exactly the picture of a happy family. Like yours, I guess."
"Yeah, but... my parents still look out for me and Stacy, you know?" There's a hint of pity in his gaze as he looks at me.
"Dude, spare me the sympathy. I'm out of that hellhole, and I plan to keep it that way. End of story. No more dwelling on the past, please."
Tyson weakly smiles at me. "As you wish." He then turns his attention to the view before us, taking in the sight of apartment buildings, twinkling car lights tracing a path through the streets, and the silhouette of the darkening sky.
We both know I despise delving into the past, let alone revisiting it. Especially when it comes to Tyson — his sudden appearance in my life during our childhood, only to vanish just as abruptly. But thankfully, I've grown to detest dwelling on the past. And now, Tyson has reappeared, despite my belief that he would fade away again after his graduation. But he's here, and now I can truly reap the sow of his previous attempts at reconciliation.
Still, it's as if life, ever the cruel bastard, is playing a twisted game of UNO. But this time, instead of despicable surprises or harsh truths, it's the opposite of those. And if it means a change of scenery, I welcome whatever it is. Hopefully, life is not preparing a clown costume behind the curtains, because right now, I'm so fine with right now.
In fact, I'm so fine with it that I find myself inching closer to Tyson who notices my movement. With a grin, he drapes an arm around my shoulder, and suddenly, sensations I haven't felt in a while come rushing back. The tingling sensation on my furs, the fluttering feeling in the pit of my stomach, the swelling warmth in my heart... each sensation distinct yet intertwined.
And when Tyson speaks, those sensations amplify. "I know there's still a part of you that probably still hate my guts, but... I'm glad we're able to reconcile, dude, despite everything."
I meet Tyson's gaze, my expression softening at his words. "I'm glad I've... moved on, in a way."
Tyson looks down at me, noting the smile on my face. "You're smiling."
I let out a chuckle. "Do you want me to keep frowning at you? I'm truly glad, you know."
"Yeah, well. Same. Though I hope this... physical touch thingy isn't too gay for you," Tyson says, and the smile fades from my face as his words hit me like a ton of bricks. It feels like the world around me is crumbling away. Like my heart is shattering into a million pieces. Like I'm being embraced only to be violently pushed away.
"Don't make it weird," I force out, attempting to joke back, but my laughter comes out strained. Suddenly, everything clicks into place, and I realize why I've been feeling this way since before Tyson's graduation.
I've fallen in love with my childhood best friend.
"Yeah, sorry. Foster mentioned how gay it is that I get overly touchy sometimes," Tyson admits. And there it is, the confirmation that Tyson is affectionate with everyone, not just those special to him. Even though I already knew this, hearing it from Tyson himself is a sucker punch to my gut. And now, the gentle sway of the Ferris Wheel feels suffocating.
Tyson's words echo in my mind, taunting me with their implications. Overly touchy. Meaning he's like this with everyone. Meaning that the warmth of his touch, the closeness we share, means nothing more to him than a friendly gesture. And at first, it is.
But now? Now I hate acknowledging that I'm going to ruin everything. And he's as straight as an arrow, and that arrow is aimed right at my heart. Fucking stupid cupid.
My chest tightens, the ache spreading through me like wildfire. I want to scream into a pillow. Or submerge myself in a bucket of water and drown out the noise. But instead, I force a smile and hollowly reply, "No worries, dude. We're cool."
But we're not cool. Not even close. At least not me.
As the Ferris Wheel continues its slow ascent, carrying us higher into the night sky, I find myself yearning for solid ground, for the blankets of my bed. I don't like feeling this way. Is this what life is throwing at me?
God, I need a smoke.[]
*****
[A/N]:
And... that concludes Act 1 :)
If you have suggestions, criticisms, or tips, don't hesitate to tell me. If you spot any plot holes or grammar mistakes that I don't notice, do tell me that too.
That being said, now that Samuel realizes that he has fallen in love with his best friend, things will get tricky for him. As for Tyson? Well, knowing Samuel... he's probably gonna have an inevitable beef with the Birman. But now there's finally romance, you can expect MORE romance in Act 2, though Act 3 will obviously be the one with the most romantic interactions or scenes. So, expect more gay stuff lmao
But though, I have to disappoint you a bit that this novel will NOT contain explicit sex scenes, but there will be sex scenes. In the end, this book will still heavily focus on drama. So it will not as yiffy as you may want it to be. I hope you can understand that :')
Also, a friend of mine suggested I make a character introduction page, which I will include right before releasing the next chapter. Why am I not putting it in the first pages? Because now I notice there are so many character names, so I'm going to purposefully confuse y'all with who is which, and then once you reach the chara-intro page, your memory will (hopefully) jog, and catching up to the names may get easier. Though it's just me, really. Hopefully, that makes sense cuz idk if it does.
But speaking of characters, will I explore more of these side characters? Hell yeah.
Thx for reading every1! Do vote or leave a comment if you have the time! :3