The Embrace of Evergreen (Unexpected Love #2)

Ethan

Ethan

Blue whistles. It’s a long, piercing noise that threatens my eardrums and stirs jealousy in my chest. I've always wanted to do that for some reason, but despite hours and hours of practicing in my youth - and okay, a few stray moments on long drives even in my twenties - the best I can do is spit a noisy raspberry. It’s not like it’s a skill I need on a regular basis or anything. Even this boat festival crowd, which is far from raucous, isn't anywhere near my normal scene, and when I go out with Blue and Gabriel on Friday nights, I’m certainly not doing anything to draw any more attention to myself than necessary.

Even though I love the way I’m starting to feel like part of their group and have - surprisingly - come to enjoy the chaotic energy of the bars and clubs we frequent, it’s not like finally finding some friends has changed who I am as a person. I still want to watch them from the sidelines and blend into the background as much as possible. It’s a part of me they all seem to have accepted without hesitation, and I’m not quite sure how to process that. While they tease me a bit and ask me to dance or sing with them from time to time, they don’t push hard enough to make me feel bad about the fact I’m so different from the rest of them. They let me laugh and play with them in my own way, and I never feel like the odd man out. Every single time, it leaves me feeling a tiny bit confused and indescribably grateful.

Blue and I had to run down the main street to make it to the performance in time. He’d woven deftly through the thick crowds, our hands clasped tightly as he dragged me behind him, and it was hilarious to watch the expressions of terror on the faces of folks who looked up from their snacks or conversations or window-shopping to see us barreling directly at them just in time to slide out of the way. I have no idea if they thought we were going to run them over, pick them up and take them with us, or tackle them to the ground and rob them. I know I’d definitely panic if I was minding my own business, enjoying a nice fall festival, and two large men came charging toward me.

He got us here on time, though, and now he’s whooping loudly, clapping with the music, and bouncing on his toes as if he's in a mosh pit. He doesn't seem to notice that the dozen folks closest to us are side-eyeing him instead of watching Gabriel and Charlize’s performance. Or, if he does notice, he doesn't care. I watch him too. The way his smile lights up the world and his eyebrow and lip piercings flash in the warm, fading sunset lighting as he dances around like a hyperactive child, the tie-dyed blanket still draped around his shoulders. He's just…free. He lives as if he has no fears or worries or reasons to stress. He lives like he’s deliberately chosen to see only the good in every person or situation he encounters. I don’t know much about his history, but it’s clear from the little snippets I’ve picked up that his life hasn’t been only sunshine and roses, and yet he’s still able to enjoy the beauty the world has to offer. Every interaction I've ever had with him has left me feeling calm and accepted and just a bit happier than I was before we met.He makes me want to see the world the way he does. He makes me want to be happy. Not just existing, but deeply and truly happy.

Something changed between us while we sat together surrounded by evergreens, at least for me. I offered him a glimpse of my soul and he accepted me without hesitancy or uncertainty. He didn’t judge me or patronize me. He hugged me and supported me and told me that I’m a good person. He told me that nothing is wrong with me and showed me that so many more flavors of sexuality exist than I’d ever realized. He told me I’d never be alone, and even though I know those are just words and no one can really promise that - there is no way to know what the future holds, after all - I believe that he meant it. I believe that he likes having me in his life, and for the first time in longer than I can remember, I have hope. Real, actual hope instead of minuscule, shredded fragments barely clinging to existence in the place hope used to live inside of me. I have hope that I might be able to find whatever it is that I’ve been searching for all of my life. Hope that the tiny spark of a thought that believes what I’ve been looking for is a home and a family might just be right .

Blue grabs my hand and pulls me close, his head dropping back in laughter after he winks at me yet again while encouraging me to dance with him here in the middle of a crowded park. And as I watch his vibrant turquoise hair swishing in the copper sunset rays and small wrinkles form beside his eyes as he squints and smiles, I can’t shake the dull ache that settles in my chest as something else seems to change as well. For the first - or perhaps not quite the first - time, I realize that he's gorgeous. Not in the “Yes, I recognize he's objectively striking” sort of way that usually occurs when I encounter attractive people, but in a “Why the fuck is my racing heart trying to escape my chest, and why am I dizzy even though my lungs seem to be working overtime when I look at him?” sort of way. My fingers itch to reach over and trace along the black lines etched into his skin, and for the first time in almost longer than I can remember, I find myself wondering what it would be like to take someone home.