Page 36 of Icarus

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.