Page 39 of Icarus

“It would have been easier if I had siblings, I think. At least we could have talked to each other about it, or hid together,” Helios whispered.

“If I had been there, I would have hid with you,” Icarus moved closer.

Helios laughed softly. “Thanks. And thank you again for the coffee. It was a really nice gift.”

“It’s nothing,” Icarus said, swallowing hard.

“It’s everything,” Helios insisted. “Some friend I am. You bring me coffee and I almost break your hand.”

“I underestimated you. You just taught me never to do that again,” Icarus said dryly. “But anyway, now I know you’re a ballerina, you’ll have to show me all of . . . that.”

It was like he could feel Helios raising his eyebrows. “You’d watch me dance?”

“It’ll either be very pretty or very funny, both of which appeal to me,” Icarus said.

Helios laughed and the puff of air against his face made Icarus feel like he was drunk.

“Whatever, man, I’ll knock your socks off.”

“I don’t even know if you could do it quiet enough for your dad to not burst in here like a maniac,” Icarus said. “I’ll probably never see it.”

“He does leave sometimes. The hard part is letting you know when he’ll be gone without a phone.”

A fingertip grazed the side of Icarus’s wrist. “He comes and goes randomly through the day.” Helios stopped for a full minute, before saying, much quieter: “This Friday he has an overnight trip, though . . . you could come then?”

Icarus pulled back from the questioning touch. This coming Friday was homecoming. He had been trying to push it from his mind.

“I’ll make some time.”

Dawn

Icarus was terribly warm.

Someone was stroking a hand through his hair. He arched into the touch with a sigh, stretching his arms until his elbows cracked.

Gentle laughter puffed against the back of his neck.

“Oh, you’re sweet like this.”

Icarus’s eyes snapped open. He was still at Helios’s house.

He sat up sharply and hopped out of the bed.

“What time is it?” he said groggily.

“Four a.m. You have about a half hour until sunrise,” Helios said. His hair was sticking up wildly, mussed from sleep. “You’re lucky.”

Icarus shoved his feet in his shoes.

“We can’t do that again.”

“Why not?” Helios asked.

Icarus decided not to answer him. He flexed his fingers to make sure they were still good for the climb down, then he wrenched open the window.

“Are you coming back?”

Icarus spared a precious second to really see him. Helios looked scared. Icarus didn’t . . . He didn’t like that look on Helios’s face.