The summer sun baked the yard behind the big house, speckling the light green grass with patches of dried yellow-brown. Resilient wildflowers poked up across the sloping hill; starchy blue cornflowers and cheery yellow dandelions, stubborn purple thistles and shy swathes of clover. Closer to the tempting shade of the treeline, tiny dog violets turned the grass purple between lines of yellow creeping buttercup and soft, white, mossy mats of pearlwort. A landscaper might've said the lawn was poorly cared for. Ari would've said it was loved.
Ari walked barefoot across the prickly grass, a slow saunter that enjoyed the sun. Storm walked close behind, slouched and squinting. Looking over his shoulder, he glanced back at the house. On one side, the siding was scrubbed and half-painted light yellow and white, canvas drop clothes and paint cans laying underneath. From the large, fenced garden near the house, the wire fence mostly kept intact by creeping jenny, scents of saffron, thyme, and sage wafted down the hill, mixing with the smell of earth.
"So this is some kind of gay hideout? In the middle of the woods?" Storm said. He eyed Ari's bare, blackened feet once, but decided it was pointless to ask—bare feet was far from the strangest thing about Ari.
"I guess so. It used to be just my hideout," Ari responded, nearing the edge of the woods. "I was all alone out here. For many years."
Storm scoffed. "Sounds nice. Why'd you want a bunch of brats in your house?"
Ari slowed as the forest shade slipped over their shoulders, waiting for Storm to walk beside them. "I got lonely. I got sad."
Storm glanced at their green-flecked brown eyes, but didn't respond. Ari didn't expect him to. Most people didn't know how to respond to naked truth and bare emotion nowadays, or ever. Especially boys. If a boy wanted to grow up in a man's world, there wasn't any room for feelings.
Storm and Ari walked on through the forest, vines, leaves and mud squashing under Ari's feet, sticks snapping between their toes. New plants appeared between the thick trunks and bramble; the thick, umbrella leaves of may apples, stretches of white arrowhead, yellow trout lilies, delicate purple-white spring beauties and thick, dark purple dame's rocket. Mosquitoes and deer flies buzzed past, making Storm swat around his head. Ari walked on, undeterred.
"I love the summer here. It's so beautiful." Ari drank in the fresh, wet taste of the forest.
"It's buggy," Storm remarked.
"Yes, that too. Look." Ari pointed to a leafy patch between spreads of yellow trout lilies. A taller plant shot out of the lilies, not quite ankle-high, a single stalk with elegant leaves and breathtaking, star-shaped, pure-white flowers. "It's a trillium."
Storm swatted a mosquito on his arm. "Whoa. It's a flower. There's only eight-million of those."
"Not just any flower." Ari squatted down near the white star, running their black nails along a soft petal. "You see all of these?" They gestured to the swathes of yellow lilies. "And all of these?" Then to the stands of taller, purple dame's rocket. "There's lots of them. But the trillium. It's rare. It's different." Ari stood, their head tilting, contemplating the impeccable white flower. "It almost disappeared. Crowded out by other flowers. Plucked out. Cut out. But it remains."
Storm looked down at the flower. "Is that like a metaphor?"
Ari looked at him. "Do you think it is?"
"Like people, right? Different people. They get cut out. Cut down."
Ari glanced down at Storm's slashed arms. "Cut up?"
"Tch." Storm shook his head. "I'm not one of your precious pansies, okay?"
Ari was quiet a moment. "Do you think honesty makes you gay?"
"What?"
"No. It's expression you're uncomfortable with. It's okay. Many people are, especially young men. Authenticity, honesty, showing who you really are and what you really feel—then someone can hurt you, right?" Ari paused. "But probably not worse than you hurt yourself."
Storm scoffed again. "Now you're gonna psychoanalyze me? You're only like the fifth person to try."
Ari extended a hand. "Come here."
Storm stepped back, glaring.
"I'm not gonna hurt you," Ari said quietly. "Come here, come closer."
Storm stepped cautiously closer.
"Look." Ari raised their arm.
Storm squinted down at Ari's arm, looking under the ancient, cryptic symbols inked on their skin. "That's not—" Storm looked closer. Underneath the black-blue lines were thinner lines cutting through Ari's skin. Scars. Storm looked up at Ari.
"Anger. Shame. Control," Ari said. "That's a lot of feelings, huh? Too many. But it's easier to bury them in your skin than feel them, isn't it?"
Storm studied Ari's scars, saying nothing.
"I was alone. There was no one—no one—who really knew me. Who saw me. I wanted to be like..." Ari gestured to the expanse of identical white arrowhead flowers. "Like everyone else. Just so I didn't have to be alone. But I wasn't—like them. I..." Ari smiled, half sad and half wistful. "I'm a trillium."
"How long?" Storm said quietly.
"How long did I do it for? Or how long ago?"
Storm shrugged.
"Years. Years of it. And years ago."
The young man's voice dropped to a whisper. "How did you stop?"
"It took a long time. And sometimes..." Ari looked away. "I get angry. I feel weak. I feel like a deviant and a monster and I hate myself. I shut myself away and hide and I lash out at the people I love and I feel so much worse. I want to hurt myself for being awful and to not feel awful. It feels like madness." Sighing, Ari crouched down next to the trillium. Storm crouched down next to them. "But then I let the people I love in. And and tell them how I feel. And they listen. They usually don't know what to say, and that's okay. But I realize I'm not alone.
"They don't think I'm awful. Then I don't feel so awful either."
Storm was quiet. Ari gazed down at the star-shaped flower, feeling the silence settle like the shade around their shoulders. Then, Storm sniffed. Ari studied his face, his eyes scrunched tight, brows drawn down like a broken cliff over his eyes. Tears fell down his face.
"Storm." Hesitating, Ari laid their fingertips on Storm's shoulder.
A tight sob choked out of Storm's chest. A slip on the wet leaves turned into a stumble and he fell into Ari's arms.
"It's okay." On their knees in front of the trillium, Ari pulled Storm against their chest, trying to soothe their sobs. "It's going to be okay."
...
Author's Note:
A trillium, for anyone who cares to know, is (imho) the prettiest flower.
Some types of trilliums actually are endangered (not all of them). So, if you see them, don't pick them. Trilliums don't belong in vases, just like beautiful people don't belong in boxes.
Hope you all are staying safe and treating yourself to some chill time (reading, I mayhap? lol). Remember to practice self-love, and to treat yourself like you'd treat your friend. Not just during a time like this, but all the time. :)