For Kurt

[little_moons]

It's been a while since I've really been out on the water. Thankfully, it's not something you really forget. The way the board feels under you. The way you feel almost weightless, like you can do anything, all that power roaring beneath your feet. When I drag myself onto the sand, my muscles ache in the best possible why. I'm tired, drained, but I

Comments

[highf]

Although I'd never really had an opportunity to test the theory out before the island, I can freely admit it now: I am, apparently, the world's biggest sucker for a nice beach. Strangely enough, it's not the bone white sand that gets to me, nor the sparkling cerulean of the ocean, or even the sun that beats down against my back. Things would, honestly, probably be easier if the sun didn't rear its head so often and so strongly; one of the drawbacks of having skin as fair as mine is that one burns easier, and following the burn is almost always a period of peeling, of red that doesn't go well with any skin color, especially not when it comes in the form of uneven blotches.

No, it's none of that which keeps me hidden as far back under the shade of a palm tree as possible. Instead, it's the crashing of the waves that keeps me rooted where I am, a lovely and perhaps not quite location-appropriate classic American novel, Gone with the Wind, propped in my lap. I'm distracted enough with Rhett Butler whisking Scarlett off to New Orleans

[little_moons]

"That's a big book," I say, and there's a hint of easy flirtation in it, but he's just a kid, and at first glance, he's prim and maybe a little effeminate and not at all my type.

Taking a swig of water, I toss the bottle back into my pack, pulling out an old Siouxsie and the Banshees t-shirt and tugging it on over my head. It's practically threadbare, one I probably found back when I was with Logan, but it's comfortable and I don't give a shit.

[highf]

I... honestly can't tell if he's flirting or not. I can't. I know, I know, for all the rom coms that I watch, for all of the classic Hollywood romances that I can recite line for line, when it comes to actual human interaction of that sort, I'm kind of inexperienced. I mean, I watch people court one another in McKinley all of the time, but honestly, given their lack of technique and an even greater want of longevity, I'm disinclined to use them as any sort of example set for myself. And, as the only out gay boy from McKinley, and as the only seemingly vocal (and I don't mean singing) gay boy in Dalton, where people are careful about how they breathe, there just hasn't been a lot for me to watch.

I figure that I probably shouldn't read too much in it.

"Gone with the Wind," I speak up, by way of explanation, holding up the novel. "One of my favorites. And yes, long, but you'll find that it's pretty deserving of all of its accolades. You can't really mince words when it comes to the Civil War."

[little_moons]

"Think I remember my mom watchin' that when I was a kid," I say, having only vague memories of Scarlett O'Hara in those big dresses, and that Clark Gable wasn't bad on the eyes.

"Think I was always a bigger fan of the old westerns."

Without any invitation, I sit myself down on the edge of his blanket, probably getting sand on it from the bottoms of my feet, but we're on the fuckin' beach. There's not much avoiding it.

"You're new," I say, a statement and not a question, "I've seen you, eating in my restaurant."