They go because it’s their anniversary. Or as close to it as either of them can remember. Brad’s mom is pretty sure it’s in October. Whenever it is, it’s a good excuse to go to Jamaica for a week.
Nate’s well-traveled, but he has to admit that Jamaica is amazing. It’s green and lush, like a dream.
“Yeah,” Brad says, cutting a sharp line through the shallow pool. “A dream that smells like wet weed.”
Nate laughs, taking a picture of Brad’s buttered-toast brown back as he swims away. It’s been three days and Brad’s tan is swelling darker every time the sun touches him. Nate’s just got burned shoulders and an army of freckles.
The water is blue-green and warm around the dips behind Nate’s knees. He winds the camera strap tighter around his wrist and changes the setting to black and white instead of colour.
“You don’t dream about drugs?” Nate teases. “What do you dream about?”
Brad’s reached the far edge of the pool, where an upper layer opens up to let the water stream down, ripples swarming Brad, reaching out toward Nate’s shins.
Brad shrugs. “All kinds of shit.” He ducks under the waterfall, laughing as water slips down his face and through his hair. He scrubs his fingers over his skull, tipping his face back, smiling at Nate.
Nate takes a picture of him like that, just because they’re on vacation and he can. Brad shakes out his hair like a dog, wiping his eyes before he closes them, plunging under the surface of the water.
Nate leans back, holding the camera up to his face. He keeps leaning until he’s flat on the warm tiles. It makes his burn sting but he stays, taking slow photos of the sky and palm trees swaying off-centre until Brad’s fingers wrap around his ankle, tugging gently, beckoning him to put the camera down and slide into the watery circle of Brad’s arms.
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Nate’s well-traveled, but he has to admit that Jamaica is amazing. It’s green and lush, like a dream.
“Yeah,” Brad says, cutting a sharp line through the shallow pool. “A dream that smells like wet weed.”
Nate laughs, taking a picture of Brad’s buttered-toast brown back as he swims away. It’s been three days and Brad’s tan is swelling darker every time the sun touches him. Nate’s just got burned shoulders and an army of freckles.
The water is blue-green and warm around the dips behind Nate’s knees. He winds the camera strap tighter around his wrist and changes the setting to black and white instead of colour.
“You don’t dream about drugs?” Nate teases. “What do you dream about?”
Brad’s reached the far edge of the pool, where an upper layer opens up to let the water stream down, ripples swarming Brad, reaching out toward Nate’s shins.
Brad shrugs. “All kinds of shit.” He ducks under the waterfall, laughing as water slips down his face and through his hair. He scrubs his fingers over his skull, tipping his face back, smiling at Nate.
Nate takes a picture of him like that, just because they’re on vacation and he can. Brad shakes out his hair like a dog, wiping his eyes before he closes them, plunging under the surface of the water.
Nate leans back, holding the camera up to his face. He keeps leaning until he’s flat on the warm tiles. It makes his burn sting but he stays, taking slow photos of the sky and palm trees swaying off-centre until Brad’s fingers wrap around his ankle, tugging gently, beckoning him to put the camera down and slide into the watery circle of Brad’s arms.
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Ditto. But I don't even get freckles. I just get awkward farmer's tans :///
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...until Brad’s fingers wrap around his ankle, tugging gently, beckoning him to put the camera down and slide into the watery circle of Brad’s arms.
Awesome last line!
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And there's teasing, and happy relaxed boys, and... Delicious, this!
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SOMEONE has to keep up with these things. It might as well be her!
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