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“Of course, I did,” I say with a shrug.
Unexpectedly, Lucas kisses me. When he pulls back, his eyes are warm. It’s only now that we’re together that I can appreciate how warm his eyes are, like a tiny, cozy fire is burning behind them. It’s only now, when I think back, that I can see how cold and empty his eyes used to be. I always thought he was smug, that he had an air about him that suggested he had everything. But now I see that his eyes were hungry, and not in a greedy way, but as if he was desperate. Longing. Lonely.
When I raise my brows, Lucas grins. “I couldn’t help myself,” he says by way of explanation. “Alright, try to unlock the safe.”
“I already tried.”
“Yes, but you’re going to try again.”
I huff, pretending to be annoyed and failing to suppress my smile. “Fine. But you’re going to have to give me a hint.”
“You want a hint?” Lucas reaches out and brushes his index and middle finger over my lips, slowly dragging them down and making my lips part in the process. “There,” he murmurs. “That’s your hint.”
I stare at him for a moment, before looking down at the lock. I turn the numbers. First, a six. Then an eleven, for November. My birthday.
The lock unlocks with a click, and I have to take a moment to process the fact that those numbers actually worked. I pull the door of the safe open.
There are two items inside. First is a photograph, printed on glossy paper. It was taken on a sunny day — the sky in the background is pure blue and cloudless. Waves a few shades darker tumble calmly in the background, and the sand shimmers with summer daylight. But those are all periphery details; the subject of the photo is me, lying on a towel on the beach, eyes closed, face relaxed.
Lucas has pulled himself close, so he’s looking at the photograph over my arm.
“Do you remember that day?” he asks.
I do. The day we went to St Kilda Beach. “I forgot you’d taken a photo.”
“I didn’t plan to. I just did it,” Lucas says. “I thought to myself, I need photographic evidence of you being happy in my company.” He glances away. “I thought it’d be only a matter of time before I made you hate me again.”
Oh, Lucas. I put the photo down and touch the back of his neck, bringing him close and pressing my lips to his.
“What’s this?” he murmurs, breath tickling my mouth.
“I couldn’t help myself,” I echo his earlier words.
After we pull away, Lucas nods at the second item, a folded piece of paper. It looks ancient, yellowed with time. “Open that.”
I quickly learn that while the paper looks like it’s come from the seventeenth century, it’s only thirteen or so years old, and the reason it’s so yellowed is because two six-year-old boys stained it with coffee. The handwriting, in black ink, is so messy it’s almost ineligible, half of the letters lowercase, the other half uppercase. The illustrations, which I probably thought were spectacular feats of visual art at the time, are nightmare inducing, but also ridiculous enough to make me laugh.
Then, at the bottom of the handmade map, is something that makes my eyes prickle with tears. For a moment, I can’t breathe, and my heart feels like it’s being squeezed by a fist. It’s not because what I’m looking at is bad. No, not at all. The opposite of that.
There are two wobbly stick-figures with big smiley faces holding hands. And, above them, in jagged handwriting, are the words:
Charlie + Lucas.
Bestest friends forever.
