Icarus, p.9
Icarus, page 9
“People notice everything,” he said. “I don’t know why you thought you’d get away with it. Everyone else probably just decided it wasn’t worth it to push.”
“People push,” he admitted.
“And I assume you punish them in some way for it? It’s very unsatisfying, if you’ve ever wondered how you make people feel,” Julian snapped.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Julian bit his lip and looked out the window over Icarus’s shoulder.
“Yeah whatever,” he huffed. “Sorry for assuming you’d fuck up our group project, for whatever it’s worth.”
Icarus shook his head. “No, it’s fine, it . . . makes sense that you’d think that. Sorry for . . . not noticing you . . . caring.”
Julian didn’t smile, but his face softened a bit. The table got really interesting to him, suddenly.
“Just. Don’t be weird about it. Try not to waste it.”
Other people in the library were still staring. Icarus put his head in his hands and pressed his temples until they hurt.
Dry
He tore the drawing of Julian out of his notebook and trimmed the rough edges. He dated it and signed it.
Titled it Art Shit.
He folded it into quarters and slipped it into the vent of Julian McPherson’s locker.
Meat
He could feel his father watching him as he went straight from dinner to his room. He never asked if Icarus was okay. Ever.
But Icarus could always tell when Angus was concerned about him, because he would begin to stare and would only stop when he felt the issue had passed.
Icarus wanted to go to the roof to mope, but he needed to sleep a bit before he went to see Helios. Julian’s words still burned. He thought about Julian’s disappointed frown. He thought about Luca and Celestina and Sorrel too.
Their soft gestures, the hurt in Luca’s eyes, Celestina reaching across the water. Sorrel’s translucent lashes and pink cheeks, looking away to gather the bravery to ask him to come to his home.
And Icarus wanted. It boiled under his skin.
He had never felt so lonely in his life.
He curled his fingers into his sheets and gripped them hard, shut his eyes and squeezed them so tight that light burst behind them in red and orange. Tensed every muscle in his body until everything hurt.
When he let go, his breath wet and hot panting, it felt like being dropped from a great height. Or being dizzy with hunger.
Svelte
The thermos was hot under his shirt as Icarus scaled the Black mansion, burning a scalding rectangle into his skin. He wondered if he could find some kind of silicone holder that would make this less excruciating.
Helios opened the window before Icarus even had to knock, reaching down to pull him up and into the blue-dark of his room.
“Hey.”
“I have something for you,” Icarus said immediately, ducking his head out of the lanyard and presenting the thermos to Helios. He bent down to take off his shoes as Helios shook it curiously.
“Soup?”
Icarus grinned sharply. “Mmm. No. Open it.”
Helios grimaced at him in mock irritation and twisted the cap hard. He sniffed it, then groaned low in his throat, rolling his eyes back dramatically.
“Fuck. Coffee. You brought me coffee,” he rasped. “I thought you were fucking joking, dude.” He sniffed it again and let out another incredible noise. “Fuck, man. What the fuck.”
Helios put the thermos down on the nightstand without trying it at all, and instead Icarus found himself being held very tight.
His cheek was touching Helios’s neck, his face buried in the curve of Helios’s shoulder. That blinding red hair was brushing his ear, warm and close, and Icarus felt weak and his heart was screaming and he could smell everything at once: cotton and Dove soap and something sharp and animal like the smell of Helios’s bed. But fresh from the source.
When Helios pulled back, he clapped a hand on the back of Icarus’s neck and squeezed.
For the first time ever it quelled that urge to reach out, like blowing the light off a candle. Icarus wanted to bite his lip and groan.
“Was that . . . okay?” Helios asked. He looked concerned.
“Yeah, yeah it was fine.” Icarus knew his face was red. How could it be anything else?
“You look like I just punched you in the stomach.” Helios laughed dryly. He glanced back at the thermos. “I can probably get some cream and a mug from downstairs. Do you mind waiting?”
“No . . . uh, no, that would be good.”
Helios smiled, shy, and slipped out of the room.
Wheat
Helios only brought one mug.
He shrugged at Icarus’s curious gaze and didn’t explain himself.
The room filled with the scent of French roast, woody and strong. Helios closed his eyes and let the steam caress his face, breathing in long and hard. His eyebrows pinched like he was about to cry.
It felt too intimate to watch.
Icarus got up and took off his sweatshirt. He slid across the floor and put it at the bottom of the door to cover the gap and block the scent from getting into the hallway.
When he turned to head back to the bed, Helios was taking a long drink.
“What do you think?” Icarus whispered.
“If you had brought me instant swill, worse than the kind they have at the airport, I’d still be fucking jazzed. But this tastes like . . . it reminds me of Intelligentsia but smoother. Sweeter,” Helios said.
He pushed the mug into Icarus’s hands. Icarus looked down at the rim, still wet from Helios’s mouth. His eyes flickered up without his permission, and Helios was watching him. His gaze liquid in the dark.
Icarus took a sip and it was . . . coffee. Bitter, smoky, rich from what had to be full fat cream, but he wasn’t a connoisseur of these things. He didn’t swallow it slow, like liquor. Like Helios.
He handed the mug back.
Helios took another sip. They traded the mug back and forth until it was empty and Helios put it on the nightstand. Then he closed the thermos even though there was still some coffee left inside.
“Can I . . . keep it and give it back to you the next time you come?” Helios asked, hopefully.
“It’s yours. It’s . . . this is for you.” Icarus cleared his throat. “I’ll uh . . . I’ll refill it when you’re done.”
Helios smiled.
“I . . . keep thinking about . . .” Icarus started then stopped. He twisted his fingers together in his lap.
“It’s okay. What are you thinking about, my friend?” Helios whispered.
Icarus’s heart kicked up and sweat broke out on the back of his neck. But the time seemed right and there was no going back from here. Not when he’d started so strong. Not when he was being looked at like this.
“I keep thinking about when we met. For the very first time.”
Helios grinned, amused. “Oh? What about it?” He crossed his legs and put his chin in his hand.
“You said, ‘How long have you been doing this?’ and you weren’t scared at all. Why?”
Helios watched him for a second before answering. “Because I recognized you. And I’m stronger than you.”
A shiver of some feeling Icarus didn’t have words for slammed into him so hard he had to hold back a gasp. Because I’m stronger than you. I’m stronger than you. I’m stronger than you. He’s stronger than you? He thinks he’s stronger.
“No you’re not,” Icarus said hotly.
Helios laughed quietly. “We could test it. Bet on it. Arm wrestle?”
Icarus could hold up his entire body with the strength of one hand.
“Fine. But if I win you can never say anything like that to me again,” Icarus hissed.
Helios’s amusement filled the room, like a cloud.
Torch
Helios pulled the art book from under his pillow and placed it between them. There were new bookmarks sticking out.
They both sat in the middle of the bed, legs crossed, elbows on the edge of the book.
“You ready?” Helios asked.
“Shut the fuck up.” Icarus clasped Helios’s hand firmly, squeezing it in warning. To his surprise and delight, Helios squeezed back, possibly harder.
“Okay! One, two, three, go!” Helios said, then crushed Icarus’s hand in a steel grip, pushing with surprising force.
Icarus was caught off guard. He fought the incredible pressure, pulling their combined hands further toward his side. Helios seemed pleased. He wasn’t straining at all, which felt so strange. Helios wasn’t stocky and athletic like Icarus was, he was willowy and graceful.
But Icarus remembered the way Helios’s arm had felt across his throat, remembered his hands being wrenched behind his back, and . . . wondered. Helios’s grin widened, and he brought their hands back from Icarus’s winning side toward the middle and then a few centimeters in his direction.
“What the fuck,” Icarus breathed, gripping the side of the bed hard for leverage.
Helios wasn’t bracing against anything. His other hand lay inert on his thigh. There were bruises around his wrist.
“Oh, darling,” Helios breathed. “You’re very good.”
“Don’t call me that. I didn’t say you could call me that,” Icarus huffed, straining.
“Hmm,” Helios said. Then he slammed Icarus’s hand onto the bed in an easy win. Clearly, he had been holding back.
Icarus gasped, snatching his arm to his chest. He cradled it close. His fingers burned like Helios had ground the bones together. Careless, careless for someone who had to climb back down a wall.
“Oh, shit, are you okay? Here—let me . . .”
Helios tugged Icarus’s arm to him very gently and stroked between Icarus’s fingers. Too much feeling was bouncing around Icarus’s chest, so he just let him. Icarus sighed, discordant and raw.
“I don’t understand you,” he whispered.
“Hmm?” Helios rubbed Icarus’s joints like he knew what he was doing, and the pain was beginning to subside.
“I think about this . . . all the time,” Icarus confessed. “I don’t understand you. Everything about you throws me off guard and I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing. I never feel like that.”
“Never?” Helios seemed amused again. “Well. That sounds lucky.”
“You know what I mean,” Icarus said seriously.
Helios tucked his grin back into the corner of his mouth, like a secret, and looked up into Icarus’s eyes.
“I’m a dancer. I lift a lot of people.” Helios raised one shoulder, clearly trying to be casual. Clearly trying to brush it off. “Ballet, you know. People don’t really think of us as strong, but we kind of have to be. Don’t feel bad or anything. I’m sure if you spent the last couple years tossing around all your friends, you’d blow me out of the water.”
He pressed into the webbing between Icarus’s thumb and pointer finger and worried the skin until the throbbing faded to a warm glow.
“Thanks,” Icarus said.
“Don’t sweat it,” Helios replied. He lay Icarus’s hand down on Icarus’s knee, and then folded his own in his lap.
“So. What do you want?” Icarus asked. “What did you win from me?”
Helios tilted his head back to gaze at the canopy above them.
“You bring me so much already,” he sighed happily. “What more could I ask for?”
Icarus waited patiently in the silence. He wasn’t a sore loser and he knew when it was important to be quiet.
“Can . . .” Helios started, then stopped, hesitant. “Can you hide with me under here?”
Flow
It was even darker under the comforter.
Icarus could feel Helios’s breath on his face, even though they were more than a foot away from each other. The proximity was dizzying. It was indescribable.
He was like a sunflower stretching toward the light.
“When I was a kid, I always used to imagine someone with me under here,” Helios admitted. “When things got really bad.”
Icarus stayed quiet.
“It would have been easier if I had siblings, I think. At least we could have talked to each other about it, or hid together,” Helios whispered.
“If I had been there, I would have hid with you,” Icarus moved closer.
Helios laughed softly. “Thanks. And thank you again for the coffee. It was a really nice gift.”
“It’s nothing,” Icarus said, swallowing hard.
“It’s everything,” Helios insisted. “Some friend I am. You bring me coffee and I almost break your hand.”
“I underestimated you. You just taught me never to do that again,” Icarus said dryly. “But anyway, now I know you’re a ballerina, you’ll have to show me all of . . . that.”
It was like he could feel Helios raising his eyebrows. “You’d watch me dance?”
“It’ll either be very pretty or very funny, both of which appeal to me,” Icarus said.
Helios laughed and the puff of air against his face made Icarus feel like he was drunk.
“Whatever, man, I’ll knock your socks off.”
“I don’t even know if you could do it quiet enough for your dad to not burst in here like a maniac,” Icarus said. “I’ll probably never see it.”
“He does leave sometimes. The hard part is letting you know when he’ll be gone without a phone.”
A fingertip grazed the side of Icarus’s wrist. “He comes and goes randomly through the day.” Helios stopped for a full minute, before saying, much quieter: “This Friday he has an overnight trip, though . . . you could come then?”
Icarus pulled back from the questioning touch. This coming Friday was homecoming. He had been trying to push it from his mind.
“I’ll make some time.”
Dawn
Icarus was terribly warm.
Someone was stroking a hand through his hair. He arched into the touch with a sigh, stretching his arms until his elbows cracked.
Gentle laughter puffed against the back of his neck.
“Oh, you’re sweet like this.”
Icarus’s eyes snapped open. He was still at Helios’s house.
He sat up sharply and hopped out of the bed.
“What time is it?” he said groggily.
“Four a.m. You have about a half hour until sunrise,” Helios said. His hair was sticking up wildly, mussed from sleep. “You’re lucky.”
Icarus shoved his feet in his shoes.
“We can’t do that again.”
“Why not?” Helios asked.
Icarus decided not to answer him. He flexed his fingers to make sure they were still good for the climb down, then he wrenched open the window.
“Are you coming back?”
Icarus spared a precious second to really see him. Helios looked scared. Icarus didn’t . . . He didn’t like that look on Helios’s face.
“Always,” he promised. “I’ll see you soon. Go back to sleep.”
Spell
Icarus wrapped his arms around himself in the early morning chill and jogged quickly across the street. Helios had been a bit off with his timing: the world was already light blue even though the sun hadn’t come over the horizon yet. It was bright enough to see.
“Hey!”
“Hey kid!” Louder this time.
Icarus looked up.
A sweaty-looking man with a comb-over had his keys in the door of the diner. When Icarus made eye contact, he hooked his fingers to call him over.
Icarus gritted his teeth and changed direction.
“Do you need anything, sir?”
The man seemed to rethink what he was about to say, then shook his head resolutely.
“I know how it is. Young love and all that, probably sneaking into your girlfriend’s house all hours of the night. Believe me, I’ve been a teenager, I get it,” he said.
Icarus’s heart raced in his chest but he forced his face into complete blankness.
The man, clearly the diner owner, rubbed a hammy palm across his forehead. “You should be careful with that one. I know she might seem worth it, buddy, I do. But the guy who lives in that house? He’s not a gentleman, that’s for sure.”
“Okay,” Icarus said, with a sharp nod. “Can I go, sir?”
“I mean it. Yous two can see each other at school or, hell, maybe even get a booth in the back here. It’s not worth it.” He shook his head and unlocked the door. “Fuckin’ maniac,” he muttered.
“Yes, sir . . . thanks for the warning.” Icarus looked down the street, then reconsidered and asked, “Do . . . you see him often?”
The owner scoffed. “Oh no, him? He’s banned. Ten years now. Broke a waitress’s wrist, he grabbed her so hard. Just spilled a little coffee on him, once. I mean, it was her fault but y’don’t have to get physical over all that. It’s a matter of respect.”
He pointed a finger at Icarus’s chest. “I says to him, ‘You can’t treat the girls like that. Not in my house, not under my roof.’ Then he broke a few glasses here and there, hollering. But he ain’t been in since. We got a picture in the back so the new girls know not to let him in.”
Icarus grimaced. “Okay. Thank you.”
The owner sighed and reached out to pat Icarus hard on the shoulder. “You have a good day, kid. See you round.”
Lost
Angus wasn’t home when Icarus got in. It was more disconcerting than if he had been there and angry that Icarus was out all night.
Icarus headed straight to the bathroom and took a quick shower. He hoped that if his father had just stopped out for breakfast he’d be able to convince him he’d spent the night on the roof.
Icarus had nearly finished getting ready for school when he finally saw the note taped to the inside of the front door.
“Small emergency, be back on Friday. No visitors. Use the joint account if necessary. —Angus.”
Well.
He let his bag slide off his shoulder, undressed, curled up in his closet, and went back to sleep.
