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Spring, Hayden.
“So, all I heard from Adeline was that you’re an adventurer. She refused to tell me more, said I oughtta hear it directly from you!” Hayden exclaimed with a chuckle, removing his gloves to wipe some sweat from his brow. “You seem to know your way around the soil well enough—you got a history in farming?”
Monroe enthusiastically took this to indicate a small break, shucking his own gloves off of his scrawny, sore hands, and falling back into the freshly tilled soil with an exhausted sigh. For Hayden’s money, he was certainly starting to look the part of a farmer; his new neighbor’s sky-blue hair clung to his forehead by the strength of sweat alone, strands of pulled weeds practically braided into his long locks, and mud stains covered every inch of his boots and worn denim overalls.
“Um… it’s not much of a history. My grandparents had a big garden that I’d sometimes help out with as a kid…” Monroe fell quiet, fussing with the loose patches of dirt on his knees. “…I needed a refresher. Thank you for coming to help.”
Hayden smiled brightly. “Well, thank you for accepting the help! Wasn’t sure if I’d scare you off, barging in like this. You didn’t need much of a refresher, though, I feel like I ended up being here just for show, ha! It’s impressive how well you hung onto the basics—your grandparents oughta be proud!”
This gave Monroe a real pause. His eyes fell to the neat and uniform rows of seeded soil before them.
Hayden wondered if Monroe even realized when he started smiling. He wondered if he ought to tell Monroe it suited him.
“Thank you,” Monroe said softly. Then, with a small huff of contentment, he got back to his feet, pulled his gloves back on, and extended a hand to Hayden. “Come on, I’m ready for the next row if you are.”
Hayden felt his heart do… something peculiar.
Maybe he’d ask Valen about that later.
✧ ✧ ✧
Summer, Monroe.
There was little in the way of light on the beach at night, especially the further away one got from Terithia’s shack. It made activities such as hunting fireflies much easier—but watching where you were going much, much harder. And so it happened that as he chased the floating spec of flashing yellow, and the dune shrub beneath his feet gave way to sand, that Monroe’s foot caught on something solid and he fell back with a startled yelp.
“ Woah —easy there, partner.”
He blinked a couple times. Something strong and soft and considerably not sand had broken his fall. Brunette hair. Dark eyes. Patched yellow shirt. He gasped, mortified to find he had practically fallen into the lap of a very familiar neighbor. Met with Hayden’s curious smile, Monroe shot to his feet and quickly brushed himself off.
Hayden was sat comfortably alone in the sand next to the fire pit, which seemed only recently extinguished. Some pleasant warmth still radiated from the glowing coals, and the smell of wood smoke mingled with the evening sea breeze. It seemed like a wonderful place to pass time in solitude.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you, I was—sorry,” Monroe said briskly, eager to leave Hayden to his well earned peace. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Hayden smiled easily. “Hey, no harm, no foul, and certainly nothing to intrude on,” he said, “in fact, I was just hoping for some company. Stay?”
Monroe considered asking, “ Are you sure?” or, “ I won’t be a bother? ” But there seemed little point; this was Hayden, the world’s most hospitable rancher. He already knew the answer. He laid his net down carefully and took a seat beside Hayden.
“Taking care of your tools, good man!” Hayden said, giving him a clap on the shoulder. “That’s how you make ‘em last! Catch anything good today?”
“Just fireflies,” Monroe mumbled in reply, still a bit flustered. He briefly wondered if he ought to apologize for not catching anything more interesting, or at least justify what must have seemed like childish endeavors.
No, this was Hayden .
With a little more ease, Monroe continued, “I used to catch them back home… put them in a jar, watch them all night, and let them go in the morning.”
“That sounds awfully nice. One of summer’s best light shows, ain’t they?” Hayden’s fond smile suddenly curled into a rather unserious smugness, and he sniffed with faux-elitism. “Since you’re here, though, I bet I can do you one better.”
Monroe quirked a brow. “Hmm. Big talk,” he sniffed back. “Nature did a pret-ty good job with these guys.”
The playfulness of his own tone caught him off guard. Such nonchalant ribbing came sparsely these past years, in favor of making himself as invisible and as little of a problem as possible.
Actually, how long had it been since he last felt comfortable enough to chat casually like this?
“Admittedly, mine can't be put in a jar, but I think I can still make good on my word,” Hayden said. “It just started an hour or so ago. Here, Monroe, look up for me.”
Monroe obeyed, following Hayden’s skyward pointing finger. He had to blink a few times to even begin to comprehend what he was seeing.
During his adventuring days, when he and his parties had to camp by the roadside, he’d often spend evenings quietly watching the stars and dreaming of a better life—but the sky he had seen back then had nothing on the sky he saw now. Rather than small pockets of nebulous, inky black framed by treetops, this sky stretched uninterrupted across the ocean and seemed alive with vibrant purples and blues. Freckled across the night were millions, and millions, and millions of stars, all twinkling pleasantly like tiny opal fragments lodged in a velvet blanket. The moon was nowhere to be seen, illuminating the swaths of the cosmos even more so. Monroe even recognized a couple of the constellations he had made up along his travels to keep himself busy; there was The Biggest Cat, The Baron’s Shield, the Caldosian Bull…
As he admired the view, something caught the corner of his eye. It was bright white and lightning fast, gone before he could blink again.
He gasped out loud, eyes wide and heart racing. “I saw—!” He exclaimed, “I just—I think I saw a shooting star!”
He turned to Hayden, who was watching him with a wide grin. “Keep your eyes to the north,” he said with a laugh. “You picked a good night to come out, a meteor shower like this only happens once or twice a year.”
Monroe’s jaw dropped and he craned his neck back once more. It took a couple minutes to readjust, but before he knew it zoom! Another one. Another one. Another one! The sky was alight with falling stars, their trails like little drops of silver in the ocean.
For a long while, Monroe could only watch in stunned wonder. He was struggling to figure out what exactly he was feeling; his body and head felt so light, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. He would even laugh and comment as he saw multiple stars darting in different directions, keenly aware that he was probably subjecting Hayden to a stream of consciousness to rival Dell’s when she found a frog, yet unable to contain himself.
He was happy, he thought hesitantly. It felt a little scary. Thrilling. Wonderful .
The two sat in that quiet space for quite some time. Monroe had no idea how much time had passed when Hayden pulled his attention away:
“Monroe, you said you used to catch fireflies ‘back home’.”
Monroe tore his gaze away from the sky. It had gotten much darker now; he could just make out Hayden’s silhouette, but couldn’t read his expression. He couldn’t even tell if Hayden was looking at him or at the stars. “Yes…?”
After a heavy pause, Hayden finally said, “What can I do to make this feel like ‘home’?”
When Monroe didn’t reply, Hayden quickly added, “No need to answer right away! Or at all. I just thought—well, if you’re gonna be living here, I wanna make sure you really feel like you belong. Oh! There were three shooting stars at once, you see that?”
Monroe didn’t.
For as much as he was enjoying watching the meteor shower, he suddenly felt it difficult to look away from Hayden, too. Choosing the more polite option of not staring holes into Hayden’s skull, he returned his eyes to the sky.
Yet, his attention remained split for the rest of the night, and he wondered if Hayden was equally aware of the way their pinkies were brushed against each other in the sand.
✧ ✧ ✧
Fall, Monroe.
“Thanks for making time to meet with me,” Hayden said cheerily. “Come on in to where it’s warm! Henrietta, be a dear and make space on the couch, would you? The tea will just be a minute, and then I can give you the low-down on adoption.”
Monroe awkwardly shuffled over to the living room, where Henrietta was trilling busily and pulling blankets and pillows in order. She clucked sternly as he approached, ordering him to vacate the area until it was in a more acceptable state.
Monroe awkwardly shuffled to the kitchen instead.
It was impossible not to notice how broad Hayden’s back was, even when he was hunched over a little stove and kettle. Monroe subconsciously straightened his own bony shoulders a bit as he approached the counter.
Hayden glanced up at him with a smile. “Green tea okay with you? I got some fresh lemon and honey to go with it.”
Monroe still wasn’t quite used to it; the honest pleasantries, the abundant eye contact, the smiles. He averted his gaze to the two mugs by Hayden’s hands as he nodded.
Even Hayden’s hands were broad. They dwarfed anything he worked with, be it kitchen utensils or farm tools. His knuckles were tanned by a life outdoors and mottled with small scars and sun freckles, pleasantly wrinkled with age and experience, and Monroe was suddenly filled with the inexplicable urge to touch them.
Would they be soft? Tough? Warm? Dry?
Maybe he ought to sit down. Or go home.
“Hey, hey,” Hayden called softly before he could turn to leave. “Monroe, you ever brew fresh tea? You can make it with tea leaves you grow yourself; these are my own, saved from this summer. C’mon, I’ll show you.”
Hayden took Monroe’s hand in his.
It was warm, calloused, and gentle.
✧ ✧ ✧
Winter, Hayden.
Hayden had never meant to let it get this far.
He could’ve guessed as much just by looking at the man, but during the early winter, it became very clear that Monroe struggled with the cold. One fateful and snowy day, Monroe had shown up on Hayden’s doorstep even bluer than usual and shivering so violently he could barely move (jumped into the freezing sea in search of ancient artifacts, or something). Hayden had hurried him inside, sat him by the fire, and, for the very first time, Monroe had allowed him to get close—in the sole name of sharing body heat, of course.
One thing led to another, and before he could stop himself, Hayden had invited Monroe to stop by to warm up after work any time he pleased. And so, here he sat: faced with a problem of his own making, and with nothing to fill the anxious quiet except the crackling fire and the beating of his own heart.
He got up from the hay bale that acted as a makeshift seat and padded over to the couch, where Monroe was curled in a tight ball, fast asleep. He was wrapped in a big downy blanket and a sweater Hayden had lent him, and a light dusting of pink on his pale cheeks seemed to indicate he had warmed back up successfully. He looked peaceful up close like this, even despite the consistent dark circles under his eyes; his long, dark lashes rested still against his skin, his loose hair fell in lapis pools against the cushions, and his lips were parted just so.
Hayden would never tell another living soul, but he had made several attempts to put his sketching practice to use in order to capture this recurring scene. Much to his own frustration, it never turned out quite right, though. Maybe he really was better suited to drawing baby animals. They weren’t easy either, but at least they didn’t have overly-complicated human ligaments like hands.
Or… maybe he ought to just practice more.
His eyes flit to the couch. One of Monroe’s hands was tucked away inside the sleeve of the ( his ) sweater, but the other dangled free off of the cushions. After several minutes of heavy deliberation, Hayden gave in. Cautiously, with all the care of handling a freshly laid egg, he knelt down and reached forward.
When their fingers met, Monroe flinched minutely, but didn’t wake. Unable to stop himself, Hayden carefully slipped his hand further up the knuckles, around the palm, and to the wrist, until Monroe’s hand was perfectly cradled in his. As he curled his fingers around Monroe’s thumb in a light grasp, he was struck by how different Monroe’s hand was from his; small and bony, pale with winter, and covered in small scratches, bruises, and bandages. It was also cool to the touch, and although lightly calloused, quite soft compared to his own rough palms.
He ran the pad of his thumb over Monroe’s knuckles and couldn’t help but notice how well their hands seemed to fit together. His heart ached painfully at the thought, and he quickly withdrew, shoving his hand back into his pocket to drown the feeling.
Only, the feelings were getting harder to drown. He could feel his resolve crumbling with every consecutive touch. Every nudge of a shoulder or brushing of fingers, every laugh, every joke, every visit to find warmth and shelter from the cold—every single hint of a chance, no matter how minuscule, was unbearable.
Things couldn’t stay like this, and he knew it.
If this was anything else, he would give it his all. That’s how he approached the rest of his life. No hesitations, no half measures; no giving up before trying. So why should this be any different?
He glanced up at the clock. Time, as it always did, ticked mercilessly forward. He knew that he stood at a crossroad, and if he was going to make a decision, it had to be now.
“Monroe,” he called softly.
His neighbor drew a slow inhale, scrunched up his nose, and squeezed his eyes as he drifted back into the land of consciousness.
“Mm… Hayden?” Monroe yawned. His voice was sweet and rough with sleep, and his eyelids seemed reluctant to stay propped open. “What time…?”
“The sunrise side of midnight,” Hayden replied, fighting to keep his own tone level.
Monroe’s cheeks flushed with dawning awareness. “Already…?” He said, moving to sit up. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even realize I fell asleep… Lemme grab my stuff and get outta your hair.”
Hayden didn’t consider himself a particularly meek or fainthearted soul, yet here he was, drudging up every ounce of courage to ask a harmless question like a damned school boy. His mind was made up, though: if he was going to do this, he ought to do it properly.
His hand slipped back out of his pocket and fell feather-light on Monroe’s.
“It’s gotten really late, and I don’t want to send you back into the snow like this,” he said, hoping against hope Monroe couldn’t feel the tremors through his palm. “Do you want to stay the night?”
End.