Page 85 of Drown Me Gently

And fell asleep in the arms of the man he loved, terrified it might be the last time.

Ulric awoke to the sound of gulls and the hot breeze of an open window. His limbs felt heavy, and each breath was harder than the last, like treading water for hours. He breathed deeply, expecting the salty smell of the sea, but there was none. No ocean breeze carried by the wind. No lingering scent of Auren’s skin. Ulric took a deep breath through his nose, but detected nothing. It was as though that very sense was stripped from him.

What would go next? His hearing? His sight?

He tried not to think about it as he rolled over, feeling the faint rays of the sun on his bare back. It was warm already, the kind of heat that promised a good day for drying herbs or letting washed clothes stiffen on the line. A lazy sort of heat that wrapped the cabin like a cocoon.

How dare this world be as beautiful as this, even as his world was falling apart, right before his eyes?

And as he forced himself upright, the most beautiful thing in all of creation turned its head and smiled at him. Auren sat cross-legged on the floor, a peeled orange in his lap and a book in his hands. His red hair caught the morning light and glowed around his face.

“Good afternoon,” Auren said, returning his focus to the citrus.

“Is it that late already?” Ulric groaned, letting the blanket fall from his chest. He didn’t need to look to know it was almost devoid of all tattoos.

“It is. But I figured you needed the rest,” Auren said without looking up.

“Mhm.”

They sat for several silent heartbeats, with nothing but the sound of orange rinds falling to the floor and the faint snap of the curtains.

“You’re staring,” Auren said without looking up.

“I’m allowed,” Ulric replied.

“You’re being creepy.”

“That’s my right, too.”

Auren snorted and threw a piece of orange at him. It hit Ulric’s shoulder and rolled onto the blanket.

“There, eat. I peeled that with love.”

“You peeled it with nails like a savage,” Ulric said, inspecting the decimated orange slice.

Auren leaned over, stealing the piece from Ulric’s fingers with his teeth. “Says the man who once told a room full of nobles I had mistaken a trident for a backscratcher.”

Ulric didn’t even flinch. “To be fair, you were scratching your back with it.”

“I had an itch. And no one was supposed to be watching.”

“You were in full ceremonial garb. On a balcony.”

“And you let them believe I didn’t know what a weapon was.”

Ulric leaned back into the pillows with a smug smile. “I thought it added character.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I love you, too.”

They bickered like that back and forth, eating fruits and talking of nothing. Every time Auren made a sharp remark, Ulric gave one back, even if it took effort. He laughed, even when it made him dizzy. He listened as Auren told stories of his childhood, about sneaking out of the palace to talk to Iska and carve rude words into the coral walls. Ulric taught him human games using cards and dice. By late afternoon, Auren was winning every round.

“You’re losing your edge, old man.”

“Yes, celebrate your shallow victory against a fatigued opponent.”

“Do I detect the smell of—” he took an exaggerated sniff, “Yes, there it is. Smells like a sore loser.”