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Iggy is orange pop and grasshoppers.
Huddled low in the grass with their fingers in the dirt. Waiting for the tell-tale sproing of one taking flight.
Then leaping. Leaping.
Iggy’s hands clasp around it first. He tumbles forward. Lets out a shriek. But it must get away because then he’s scrambling. Eyes scanning the thistles and weeds.
Genzou sees it, though. And his hands come down on top of it like a fleshy net, slapping down against the dirt. He can feel it kicking against his fingers. The damn things are strong. But he manages to cup his hands, lift it from the ground, kick, kick, kick. Brown grasshopper juice on his palms.
Iggy crawls over, entranced. You got it? His knees are streaked with green and brown.
Genzou nods, parting his thumbs to allow Iggy a peek. Iggy’s fingers curl around his like doughy nubs. It’s a small one. The grasshopper promptly leaps out and into Iggy’s hair.
Shit!
But despite their renewed pursuit, it manages to bounce away, both of them sprawled in the dirt, knees and hands smarting.
Iggy’s mom brings them orange pop upon their return and they sip at it, legs hanging off the porch. The summer sun is brilliant overhead, nothing but a slight breeze to wick away the sweat. School will be starting back up soon. But right now, it’s just them and this porch and their half-imbibed cans of soda.
Genzou finishes his first. He always does.
You want the rest of mine?
A nod. Iggy’s can tastes sweeter but he doesn’t know why.
Iggy is a pretzel.
Studying in Iggy’s room. Except Iggy’s the only one who’s really studying. Genzou has given up, instead chomping noisily on a bag of pretzels he’d nabbed from the pantry for brain food.
He holds one of the sticks above his head, backdropped by the overhead light.
Then snaps it in two with a flick of his finger. Snap snap snap. It barely takes any effort.
Are you just gonna lie there the whole night?
I’m taking a break.
You’ve been taking a break for an hour. I’m almost done already.
Perfect, I can just copy yours, then.
A sigh. Genzou snaps another pretzel. This time, he flicks the broken pieces in Iggy’s direction.
Hey, stop that. My mom’ll make me sweep.
Snap snap. Genzou eats one. Then flicks another. And another. He can see Iggy’s eyebrow twitch.
I said stop it.
OK.
Genzou shoves two of the sticks under his lip like a vampire instead, staring up at the ceiling lamp until the oval of light stains itself blue across his eyes.
He wants to make Iggy’s eyebrow twitch again.
Snap snap.
Stop it already!
This time, Iggy comes at him. They’re rolling on the floor, math homework crinkling beneath their backs. Genzou has him easily though. He always does. He wrenches Iggy’s arm behind his back with a triumphant grin. Iggy squeaks and wriggles beneath him.
Iggy’s arm is so skinny. Like it could snap at any second.
Snap snap.
Like a pretzel.
Genzou lets him go immediately.
The thought terrifies him. Iggy’s so stupid. Putting himself in danger when he could snap so easily.
Genzou needs to protect him.
Keep him from snapping.
He might just die if Iggy snapped.
Let’s just finish this stupid homework… Genzou grumbles and rolls back over towards his math book, pretending he doesn’t care.
Iggy is a butterfly.
Not a real one, mind you. That would just be silly.
No, he’s the god damn one fluttering around in his stomach and making his insides feel like they’ve just been dusted by the mother-fucking fairy godmother or something.
He has no idea when the butterfly first appeared. No idea why. It’s just there.
And fuck if it doesn’t make his life miserable.
If Iggy says his name, it’s there.
If Iggy sits next to him, it’s there.
If Iggy’s mentioned in a conversation, it’s there.
Fuck, Iggy doesn’t even have to be around! It’s there when he’s lying in bed at night, uncomfortable warmth gathering just beneath his gut.
He forms a picture of Iggy in his head. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to forget what he looks like. But he doesn’t do it with anyone else. Doesn’t try to imagine what anyone else’s hair would feel like between his fingers. What their cheeks would feel like beneath his thumbs.
It scares him.
And so he fights it.
The sarcastic quips.
The cruel jokes.
They keep the butterfly at bay. Still its wings. Cage it, if even for a moment.
Strap it down until he’s back in bed wondering what Iggy would feel like lying next to him, curled up against his chest.
Iggy is a full moon.
Gone from his life. Leaving him in darkness. Until the darkness becomes his life. Only to return a month later, so fucking bright and warm, a taunting glimpse, making Genzou wonder how he ever could have survived without the moonlight, before disappearing again just as quickly and taking the light with him.
I’m back in town this weekend.
Oh? Genzou keeps his tone in check. He doesn’t care. He’s never cared. Wanna grab dinner or something?
Dinner is tacos at Cazador’s. Their usual booth. Laughter and convos they started last time, almost like they’d never left.
Walking home, Iggy doesn’t seem anxious to leave. My parents keep getting on my case…
Genzou wishes he could see his face. The meaning behind his words. But he can’t. And the moonlight is all around him. He’s desperate to keep it from fading.
You wanna come back to my house for a while?
Sure.
His house being his mom’s. Because he can’t even live on his own yet. Can’t support himself. Certainly can’t support anyone else.
In his mind, he can. In his mind, he’s got a thriving business. He’s well respected. Got himself a cozy split-level. A dog. A yard. He’s made it. You know? He’s not a failure. The him in his mind wouldn’t be afraid to get down on one knee. To ask Iggy to stay with him. To show Iggy that he’d be able to take care of him. To support him. To protect him.
But the real him sneaks Iggy in through the back door of his mom’s place like some kind of teenage delinquent. The real him shrieks and runs when his mom wakes up anyway, demanding to know why he’d been out after dark and what kind of drugs and other illicit substances he’d surely been abusing. The real him grabs Iggy’s wrist as they escape into his room, the two of them laughing, laughing, laughing in a pile on the floor, their hearts racing and their lungs burning and their adrenaline through the roof.
Least you don’t have to put up with that every night, am I right or am I right?
I suppose.
They don’t even bother to move from the floor. Just lying there on the carpet. Talking for who knows how long. Pieces of unfinished conversations that blend into pieces of unfinished conversations.
Iggy’s words grow noticeably slower. Sparser. His voice a rumbling murmur that stirs Genzou’s belly.
You fallin’ asleep, Iggs?
The only response he gets is a mumble that could be a yes and could be a no.
Genzou rolls over, feels for him. His shoulder is warm beneath his palm.
He gives it a small shake.
You sure your folks aren’t gonna file a missing person’s report if you stay out all night?
Another mumble.
Genzou winces. The moonlight is all around and up through him now. Practically burning him. But he doesn’t care. It makes him feel alive for the first time in weeks.
He moves his hand from Iggy’s shoulder to Iggy’s cheek. It’s soft beneath his thumb. And as he traces it along the other man’s features, he compares it to the image of Iggy in his mind. Leaner. Longer. The bones of his cheeks and jaw more pronounced. But still with that bit of baby-faced roundness to it.
Iggy murmurs again, moving his cheek against his palm, and this time it sends a jolt of something through him. An electric shock. That makes his heart jump and his breath catch and his stomach clench. Because in that single moment, his hope blossoms. Like a fucking kite. Or a. Or a fucking flower on fire with fucking wings bursting out of its fucking stem.
Hope that they could have a life together.
That this could be them on a Saturday morning waking up groggy in bed and Iggy would smell warm, so fucking warm next to him, the only fucking warmth in his godforsaken fucking life. Warmth he could take into his arms. Warmth he could hold against his chest. Warmth he never wanted to let go of. That would fill him up from the inside out and make nothing else in the fucking world matter.
But with the hope comes shame.
Shame that jabs at his heart. Shame that forms a giant stone in his gut.
Because Iggy deserves better than that.
Iggy deserves better than him.
Iggy deserves someone who can provide for him. Support and protect him. Give him a house and a home. A family to call his own.
Iggy deserves someone who can be the light in his life.
Not someone who does nothing but steal his moonlight.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
What is it…? Iggy’s voice is soft, slow. A half-dreaming hum that vibrates against his thumb.
Nothing, Iggs, just… getting your glasses for you. He feels for the frames pushing against the side of Iggy’s face and gently pulls them off. Don’t want you breakin’ ‘em or nothing, eyyy?
He folds them carefully, placing them on the floor above them. Then rolls back, arms crossed over his belly.
Next to him, Iggy’s breath turns into wistful snores.
The light’s starting to fade.
The full moon will be over soon.
But he’s at home in the darkness.
Iggy is so many things.
Iggy is his silent phone, never going off. Even after Iggy moves back. A noiseless brick.
Iggy is the smoke he exhales from his cigarette on another one of his bad nights, a poison staining his lungs.
Iggy is the name clouding his thoughts during another fruitless date, the sharp tone of the guy across the table as he’s asked if he’s even paying attention.
Iggy is the taste of his third beer at the bar. When it starts to turn sweet. Sweet like orange pop on the porch on a hot summer’s day.
But there’s one thing Iggy isn’t.
One thing Iggy will never be.
That Genzou will never allow him to be.
And that’s his.