Chapter 7
Dmitri
Maybe he’s relieved to be with me, away from all the other distractions.
Eric’s playlist blasts through the speakers, and there’s no rhyme or reason to the songs. Classical arias roll into lo-fi indie folk, and he cranks up the volume, swearing a song ‘captures the exact vibe of spring in North Carolina.’ He sings along, and I listen, soaking in these peaceful moments.
The music finally settles into a long string of metalcore that we both gravitate toward, and he belts those out, too. The growling verses, the heavier chorus, and even some of the fry screams and harsh vocals that have him scrambling for a drink afterwards.
He remembers every word. I can hear a melody and replicate it easily enough, but Eric has never met a song whose lyrics he can’t remember.
He throws out dramatic hand gestures like he’s on some imaginary stage, then grins sideways at me every time he nails a run like he’s hungry for my praise.
I give it to him, of course, but when he gets too cocky, I sing along off-key on purpose and drag his pristine harmony into chaos.
“Admit it,” he says during a break between tracks. “This is better than your usual silence-and-contemplation commute.”
“It’s… certainly a lot louder than my usual drive.”
“Oh, stop it. You’ll have plenty of time to be contemplatively broody later.”
“Since when am I the broody one?” I demand.
He smiles again, so widely his eyes crinkle at the corners. “We’re all terrible at self-assessment, D, but don’t worry. I’m here to keep you honest. No tall, dark, and mysterious on my watch.”
I snort. “No, your watch involves a private concert from someone who thinks he’s already famous.”
He clutches his chest. “Harsh. I’m wounded. Deeply wounded.”
“You’ll survive,” I tease, reaching over to jostle his knee. “Eyes on the road, superstar.”
He laughs and dials the volume down just enough for real conversation.
Mid-week traffic is light, and soon the landscape shifts from strip malls to rolling green hills dotted with pines.
Eric’s as excited as a puppy, bouncing in his seat and pointing out random landmarks like he’s seeing them for the first time.
We’ve both driven this route before, we’ve just never done it together, and that difference feels significant.
“Is this weird?” he asks after a quiet stretch.
“You’re going to have to be way more specific than that,” I say. “When you’re around, the answer is almost always a guaranteed yes.”
He swats my leg with a chuckle. “I dunno… everyone else was heading to the beach or the city to spend the week in a drunken haze, and we’re hiking at the lake.”
“And?”
He casts me a sideways glance. “I just… this felt more like us, even if it is a little different.”
Sunlight shifts across his profile, catching the golden strands of his hair, and the nervous way he bites his lip is so endearing it hurts my heart. “If it’s weird, it’s in a good way, I think. Do you really see us enjoying ourselves at some giant beach kegger?”
“No,” he agrees as he drums his fingers on the wheel. “Good weird, then.”
Another ache tears through my chest at his quiet affirmation. “Yeah, Eric. Good weird.”
We pull into the park entrance around midmorning. The air is cleaner than the city, laced with pine and the faint metallic tang of lake water. Eric parks near a trailhead that hugs the shoreline, where a wooden sign points toward the start of the five mile loop.
We grab water bottles, sunscreen, and the small daypack Eric claims holds our lunch, then start down the path.
The ground is soft with pine needles, and sunlight casts dappling shadows through fresh green leaves.
Mid-week keeps it quiet, and there are only a few others here.
Bird-watchers and the occasional jogger, with long stretches of just us.
Eric is adorably excited when he spots a great blue heron in the shallows.
He launches into a rambling explanation about their seasonal patterns and how it affects the ecosystem.
His hands fly around as he tells me about a river island near his hometown that serves as a migration stop, then explains how his family would take an annual day trip to watch hundreds of them fly in at once.
“How did I not know this?” I ask, grinning.
“What, that you needed this fascinating heron intel?”
“No, that you watch nature documentaries like it’s a compulsion.”
He laughs, a little self-conscious, then shrugs. “Guilty. My mom used to put them on when I couldn’t sleep as a kid. Guess it stuck.”
“That’s actually kind of sweet,” I say, bumping his shoulder.
“I’m always sweet,” he argues.
I hum, unconvinced, and he laughs as he playfully shoves me away. My toe hits a root and I stumble, but he catches my hand and stabilizes me with a cheeky grin.
“That was the universe telling you to agree with me.”
“Fine,” I say, squeezing his hand before releasing him. “You’re always sweet, even if you have a few nerdy secrets you’re keeping from me.”
“I’m full of secrets,” he deadpans.
I nod toward a painted turtle basking on a log. “What do you know about that guy?”
“Right off the bat, he’s a total pro at chilling.”
I bark out a laugh, and the heron flaps its wings, eyes darting in our direction before determining we aren’t a threat.
“You’re so loud,” Eric teases, unsuccessfully fighting his grin.
“Says the guy who just gave me a ten-minute TED Talk on migration routes.”
He shrugs, unrepentant. “You loved it. Admit it.”
“Maybe a little,” I concede, letting my arm brush his as we keep walking. “Tell me more, nature boy. What else do I need to know?” He launches right back in, and I let myself relax into the sound of his voice and how it always makes the world feel smaller and safer.
The trail rolls gently, dipping close to the shore then rising again to offer glimpses of Lake Norman. Crystal blue water glitters through the trees, surrounded by shockingly bright greenery and flowers of every color blooming over grass and branches.
Every so often Eric bumps my shoulder when the path narrows, or his hand brushes mine as we step over roots. For as long as we’ve known each other, Eric has always been very touchy with me, but this feels different.
It feels deliberate.
Each contact sends a small spark up my arm, and I fight to keep from touching him back. More than once, I catch him watching me, but he only glances away.
I don’t call him on it. The air feels too good, and this feels too easy to interrupt.
After a couple miles we find a perfect clearing near the water. There’s flat ground, privacy, and plenty of shade from the overhanging oaks. I spread out one of the towels we brought while Eric swings the pack off his shoulders.
“Behold,” he says, unzipping it with ceremony. “The masterpiece.”
He starts unpacking, and my heart stutters at the things he pulls out of the bag.
They’re cheap and easy, nothing fancy. But they’re all things he knows I like, even if I’ve only mentioned it once or twice in passing.
Turkey club sandwiches on sturdy bread, but with no mayo or tomatoes because he knows I hate the texture.
There are a few individual bags of those spicy chips we both crave during late-night study sessions, and sliced apples with the same peanut butter packets I’ll scarf down in place of a full breakfast on early mornings.
There’s even a bag of the little chocolate-dipped pretzels he caught me binging on in the practice room one day.
I stare at the spread, throat suddenly tight. “You remembered the pretzels.”
He busies himself arranging paper plates. “Yeah, well. I pay attention. Sometimes.”
“This is really thoughtful, Eric.”
His ears pink up and he avoids my eyes for a beat. “Don’t get sappy on me. Eat before the ants stage a coup.”
We sit and eat, legs stretched toward the water as the lake laps softly against the shore.
Conversation drifts like it always does, shifting between complaining about our latest obscure assignment, to him mocking how predictable my taste buds are, and to me ribbing him for the landscaping gig that’s leaving him with permanent dirt under his nails.
Then it turns more serious, and Eric shares how guilty he feels about not being able to visit his family often, while I tell him how phone calls with mine feel like walking a tightrope.
After we finish and pack the remnants, Eric stands and stretches. “Swim time. You in?”
I eyeball the swimming beach in the distance. It’s a sandy, roped-off area with the bathhouse nearby, but it’s deserted. “Are you sure that water isn’t freezing?”
“Freezing would mean ice, D, so yes, I’m sure it’s not freezing.”
“Ass,” I mutter as we strip to swim trunks. “It’s going to be so cold.”
“Nah,” he says as we pull the towels out of the daypack and drop everything on the sand. “It’ll be perfect.”
Eric stops at the edge of the waterline, and I let my eyes trace the broad expanse of his back.
He’s been outside more lately, and his upper arms and torso are noticeably paler than the deep golden tan on his lower arms and legs.
He twists to face me, and my gaze travels down his frame.
Golden hair bisects his chest and forms a trail under his navel, and though his pecs are well defined, there’s a noticeable layer of softness covering all that strength.
His eyes follow mine, and he shifts under the scrutiny. He’s always too hard on himself about his body—always trying to fix what he sees as flaws.
“C’mon,” he complains as he nods at my stomach. “If you’re not careful, I’m going to start comparing myself to you, and then I’m going to get jealous.”
I toss him a wink, hoping he doesn’t notice how shaky I am. “Don’t act coy now.”
“You’re just so…” He trails off, gesturing vaguely at me.
“I’m so what?” I demand, taking a few strides closer.
“Hot,” he says, loud enough to echo over the water.
“You think I’m hot, Eric?” I tease.
His cheeks flame, and he crosses his arms over his stomach. “Hotter than me,” he grumbles.
I roll my eyes and grip his wrists, tugging them away from his body. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”
His eyes lift to mine, vulnerable for a second, before he eases his wrists free. He pinches the soft flesh at his stomach, scowling as he jabs at it. “I’ve looked plenty.”
“So have I,” I murmur. His eyes fly back to mine, pupils dilating as I drag a fingertip over his stomach. “If you think this makes you any less sexy, you need to look again.”
I’m toeing a dangerous line with that confession.
His tongue flicks over his lips, then he glances at the water and takes a half step back. I let him go, recognizing the need for space. Predictably, he shifts the focus to something else, and I try not to be disappointed as he dips a foot into the shallows.
“Holy shit, that’s cold,” he hisses.
“You said it would be perfect,” I say with a laugh
“I fucking lied. Or the sun lied… fuck, something lied because this is frigid.” He steps back, arms crossed like he’s reconsidering everything. “We could just imitate the turtle and sunbathe. That’s an option, right?”
“Coward,” I call back at him as I wade in to my calves. The cold hits like a slap, but I keep going, pretending it doesn’t faze me. “Come on. It’s not that bad.”
“You’re lying through your goddamn teeth.” He takes a step in, and goosebumps erupt across his torso all at once. “Not that bad, my ass!”
“Don’t make me do this alone,” I taunt, unable to hide my own shiver.
“You’re enjoying my suffering.”
“A little,” I admit.
“Sadist.” He follows anyway, wincing with every step. When the water reaches his thighs he lets out a dramatic whine. “This is torture. Actual torture.”
“You’re the one who said it was swim time!”
“I was optimistic. Optimism is a disease, Dmitri. I am suffering.”
“You are,” I say solemnly, “and I want you to hear my sincerity when I say this: you’re the least optimistic person I know.”
He laughs as he lunges forward, scooping water in both hands and splashing it straight at my chest.
I yelp—genuinely this time—and splash back twice as hard. “You little—”
Everything turns into chaos fast. He charges over and grabs my waist, throwing his weight into it as he tries to dunk me.
I twist and dig my heels in, and barely manage to stay upright.
We wrestle until we’re past waist deep, then Eric manages to knock my feet out from underneath me.
I loop an arm around his neck, and we both go under laughing.
We surface together with a gasp, water streaming off our faces and plastering our hair down. His grin is wild, eyes bright, and for a second the cold doesn’t exist.
Eric shivers again. “Truce?”
“Not a chance,” I say as I lunge, but he’s faster.
He dodges and hooks my waist, and it pulls me so off-balance that I crash into him.
Our chests collide, slick with lake water, and for a heartbeat neither of us moves.
His hand lands on my lower back, thumb pressed against my spine.
Mine ends up on his shoulder, fingers curling against wet skin.
The laughter dies. The cold is still there, but heat blooms everywhere we’re touching. We’re chest to chest, our thighs brush under the surface, and his uneven breath fans across my cheek. His heart hammers against my skin, or maybe it’s mine.
We’re so close it’s hard to tell.
He doesn’t let go of my waist.
I don’t pull away.
Then he blinks, like he remembers where we are and realizes what we’re doing, and releases me. He steps back half a pace, sending a ripple of water between us. “Okay. Maybe we could call that truce now, before we turn into icicles.”
“Yeah,” I answer, my voice just as rough as his. “Truce.”
As we head back to the shore, I catch myself watching the way water slides down the line of his back and how his shoulders flex as he moves.
Our teeth are chattering as we climb out and collapse onto the towels side by side.
Water drips down my skin as we lie back, and the warmth hits like a blanket over our chilled skin.
Eric turns his head toward me. “You’re shivering.”
“So are you.”
“Am not,” he responds, but he scoots closer anyway, shoulder pressing against mine and leg hooking my ankle like it’s nothing.
Like it isn’t catastrophic to my defenses.
His skin is still cool from the water, but the contact is fire. We lie there, breathing in sync while the sun dries the lake off our bodies bit by bit. His fingers twitch once against my forearm, almost like he’s going to reach over, then he goes still.
The question hangs between us, unspoken and heavy in the quiet, but he doesn’t ask it. He just lets his pinky brush mine once, deliberately.
The tension hums and the afternoon stretches on, lazy and golden, but there’s no rush.
No need for words yet.