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Tyler didn't like tomatoes. In fact, he hated them; despised them, even. With their squeaky outsides and watery, seed-addled innards, little to no actual flavor - Tyler's words - and nature of being red, it was no wonder. This was something Josh had known about him since the first meal they shared in Trench.
Tyler was helping Josh with his tomato plant, anyway. And Josh felt a completely acceptable, normal amount about it, because this was what they did now. They shared a tent, a bed, and cooked dinner together, and bathed in the lake naked because that's how bathing worked. Of course, Josh's heart could handle that. Of course, the simple act of Tyler planting and caring for the tomatoes he wouldn't even eat - Josh didn't tear up, not one bit.
If Tyler claimed to see Josh's lip quiver when they knelt together in the garden… well, that was between them and whatever God remained after all this time.
"This one's tipping over, poor thing," he muttered to himself now.
He relieved the growing stem of one of its larger unripe fruits, one too high up that caused the whole plant to wilt. There was no way its vines would twist and climb in this condition.
"Gotta help it along sometimes, no?" Tyler asked from over his shoulder. "I don't really know what I'm talking about. Just spit-balling."
Biting at his lip in thought, Josh replied, "No, you're right. Could probably tie it to the… uh… the thingy."
"Thingy?"
"Yeah, the… um—"
"Trellis?" Tyler offered, and Josh couldn't see his face, but he was almost definitely smiling ear-to-ear when he said it.
"Yeah, that," Josh agreed. "I think there's twine in the toolbox. Could you grab it?"
There was no answer, just the soft patter of footsteps in damp dirt as Tyler walked away. Josh stayed crouched where he was, beginning to manually wrap some smaller stems around the trellis, his touch as gentle as he could keep it. The plant already seemed to curl in a few places, which gave him hope. Tomatoes weren't native to this region of Trench; he'd picked up a taste for them as a young escapee, picking through the edible flora of the South and Southwest. If he could manage to keep some alive further north, he wouldn't have to go years without them. Maybe he could finally get Tyler to eat them, sometimes. Once would even be an accomplishment.
"Joshua?"
The whole name. That pulled him out of his fond little daydream.
"Yeah?" he called back.
"What are you hiding in here?"
He cocked his head and furrowed his brows to no one, slumping a little as he pondered.
He settled on a pathetic, "What?"
"Come here," Tyler commanded in his not-quite-scary but definitely-not-relaxed voice.
That voice was very familiar to Josh. It usually meant he was concerned. Sometimes it meant he wanted to chew Josh out for something dumb. Either way, Josh was sure he'd have to abandon his garden to address it.
"Can I finish this first?" he tried regardless.
To his surprise, he heard Tyler make his way back. His steps were far heavier, and he didn't say another word the entire way, but he returned. Gracelessly, a ball of natural fiber string landed beside Josh.
"Oh, thanks," he said. "Are you gonna bite my head off? Should I be worried?"
"No. Just wanna talk to you when you're done here."
Josh turned to look at him, then. The sun framed his head like a halo, highlighting the silhouette of his very pull-able fluffy hair, and he would have looked angelic if it wasn't for the absolute annoyance dripping from him. That freaked Josh out a little bit; maybe a lot bit, definitely some amount of bit.
"Of course," he promised, trying his best to meet Tyler's eyes through the sunlight. "Would you help me? It'll go faster that way."
Without a word, Tyler knelt next to him.
They dealt with the tomato plant in silence. It was uncomfortable, not unbearable. Josh wracked his brain for what in the world Tyler could have been talking about, but nothing came. The only thing his mind supplied was warmth when their hands brushed, a smile or two despite the tension, and a satisfied sigh as he sat back to admire their work. Stems now snaked along the limbs of the trellis, tied loosely in place with twine he'd made himself. He pictured the whole vine covered in big, vibrant tomatoes, and he really was proud of that potential.
There wasn't much time to fawn over the progress, though, because Tyler was gripping him by the wrist and hauling him away.
"Alright, you've got some explaining to do," he told Josh.
He let himself be dragged toward their tent. Right outside sat a large steel box - clearly homemade with its bubbling, inconsistent welds, and clearly old based on the rust gathered at the bottom. That thing followed Josh everywhere since he'd built it. Heavy, yes; weatherproof and reliable, also yes.
Tyler pushed him softly to the ground. His hips protested the sudden movement, but he didn't complain. At this point, he truly just wanted to understand what was happening. Legs crossed under him, he looked up at Tyler expectantly, reaching for his hand.
"What is it?" Josh wondered aloud.
Despite his notable frustration, Tyler held onto Josh's fingers. They stayed like that as he lowered himself to sitting.
Plainly, blankly, he pointed out, "There's a false bottom in your toolbox."
Yeah..? Oh. Oh.
"I opened it, obviously. I mean, you're keeping something in there, I wanna know what it is. Found this."
From the very bottom of the box, he revealed a large envelope. A metal tab held it closed, its edges were crinkled and worn with age, and one corner was warped presumably from water damage. On the front, in Josh's nicest - still choppy, still not very pretty - handwriting, was a name.
"Who's Lyra?" Tyler asked.
And Josh sprouted a grin so wide, he felt terrible. He just couldn't help it.
"Oh, darling," he chuckled, "open it."
Tyler, really starting to sound irritated now, stuttered, "What? Why would I—"
"Trust me. Just open it."
Josh watched as those slender, unmarred fingers bent back the metal tab, lifted the flap, ventured inside. It took some digging, but eventually they emerged with a stack of mismatched papers. Their hold was light and careful as Tyler scanned his eyes over the top sheet, a movement so frantic and alluring that Josh simply had to stare.
A gasp, and Tyler began flicking through the stack. Josh recognized all of them. Each one was yellowed by time, creased from folding and repeated handling. All were decorated with the same black ink; or, what used to be black, but had long since faded to a dark gray. It made up the delicate, curling script just one person could ever produce, beauty rivaled only by the words themselves.
"Oh my God," whispered Tyler.
His eyes were wide and so, so bright as he said it. The tears that sprang to Josh's own were inevitable.
"Couldn't have anyone finding us out," Josh explained. "This was the safest way to keep 'em. Hidden, protected, locked, under a name no one could trace."
"Is this—?"
"All of them. Every single one, Ty."
With a shaky breath, Tyler flipped to the very last page - a full-size sheet of paper torn from a notebook, its raw edge flaking off beneath his touch.
"September, 2004," he read quietly. "You— You really kept all of them."
Josh grinned, willing his heart back down from where it had jumped into his throat. That was near impossible with how Tyler looked right now, midday light making his already tanned skin glow, fingers delicately tracing his own writing. The sight was one Josh wanted burned into his eyelids forever.
"I did," he replied, as if he wasn't witnessing Tyler's entire perspective shift; as if there was no reality in which he hadn't held onto every one of those letters he'd received.
"Can I— I want to read them," Tyler sought.
"It's been… awhile since I have," Josh admitted. "And by 'awhile,' I mean years."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Slowly, Tyler tucked all but the oldest page back into the envelope. He was so cautious in each motion. Even as he brought the paper into the light, he held it close, in his lap, protectively.
"September 21st, 2004," he began.
"'Things have been weird without you. School really sucks now. I eat lunch alone again, and go home right after the bell rings. Sometimes I'll stop at the corner store on the way and buy a chocolate milk, like you always did. I have to chug it before I get home and throw away the evidence so my parents don't ask when the habit started. They're worried about me, I think, but they don't know how to say it. I don't really care if I'm honest. All I can think about is what you're up to out there.
Is it green? Are there others, young like us? Have you seen the fire? When will you be back? I can't wait to go with you next time. I'm sure it's better there than here. I wish we could've gotten away with leaving together.
I hope this gets to you. I don't know if you'll reply or if you even can, but at the very least, I hope you see this. And I hope you're okay.
Miss you. Don't die.
Sincerely, Tyler.'"
Josh folded his hands in his lap and leaned a bit nearer. His eyes flitted across the page, ultimately landing at the bottom, on the name. He followed the lines of a young Tyler's handwriting - tall with big loops, less consistent than now but equally arresting, just as everything about him was. Beside it, a fingerprint smudge of ink that Josh could draw from memory.
"I remember when I got this," he mused. "The bandito who handed it to me asked if it was from my family. Guess what I told her?"
A soft questioning hum, he received in response. That alone was music. Every sound Tyler made could become a melody if given the time.
"I said it was from my favorite person. She asked, 'Like your best friend?' So I went with that, but it still didn't feel like enough, even then."
"You were sixteen."
Wearing a cheesy grin, Josh replied, "That's young love."
"Ugh," Tyler groaned, though it seemed more a laugh than anything. "And here I am trying to be sentimental."
"Sentimental, huh? I can do that."
He scooted closer and positioned himself partly behind Tyler, placing a brief kiss on the man's neck before propping his chin on his shoulder. One of his arms snaked around Tyler's waist loosely.
"I tore this thing open like it was my birthday, Ty. Couldn't wait to hear from you. I wanted to write back as soon as I got my hands on a pen and paper, but they told me I couldn't, that it was too risky. I cried. Man, I cried a lot that night."
"Disgusting," Tyler murmured fondly.
"Well, I missed you. My life had turned on its head and the only person I could talk to about it was out of reach. That sucked."
Within his hold, Tyler turned to gaze at him. Tyler's eyes were gorgeous - deep, rich, wide, threaded with honey gold and speckled with a brown so dark it was nearly black. No one else had eyes like those. They were one of the first things about him that Josh studied and memorized, when he knew they would be apart and he wouldn't be able to see them. That mental image could never compare to the real thing, inches in front of him, darting around his own face like he mattered.
"I missed you, too," Tyler reciprocated. "More than I would ever have admitted, probably. If only we'd known how much worse it could get."
Josh's focus dropped briefly. He should have been ashamed. He wasn't, because as much as he could wax poetic about Tyler's eyes, those lips left him speechless.
"Right. But if sixteen-year-old me could see us now, I think he'd go through it all anyway."
Now, Tyler glanced at Josh's mouth as he spoke.
"If young me could see us, he'd gag at how close you're sitting. Laugh at you for staring. Say something about how this is overrated and he'll never want it the way we have it."
"Little Ty sounds like he's in denial," Josh commented.
"No," Tyler corrected, "Little Ty was emo."
"Big Ty is emo, too. Just a different flavor."
"Shut up," Tyler huffed as he bridged the gap between them.
Their lips met gently; not chaste, not with closed mouths, but soft. Josh pushed himself forward, tried to get as close as possible. Every breath was Tyler, warm and willing, always the slightest bit hesitant. He could live in this moment until all that was left of him was bones and dust. Unfortunately, they had to breathe, and Tyler pulled away slowly to allow the chance.
"If this is what being sentimental gets me, count me in," Josh teased.
Tyler merely hummed and leaned in for one more kiss, shorter this time.
"We should read some more," he suggested. "It'll be a little trip down memory lane. Who knows what we'll find in here?"
"I think that's a wonderful idea."
Reluctantly, Josh removed his head from Tyler's shoulder. The rest of him remained pressed into Tyler's side and back, even as the man began to shift in place, even though the heat of their bodies so close made them both sweat so much. Neither of them appeared to mind. Tyler made no move to separate them; he just gathered the envelope of letters and started to sift through it carefully. He paused at a seemingly random spot in the stack, less than a third of the way from the bottom, and retrieved a small sheet of paper. It was unlined, so the script fell from left to right, and the words were tiny, but it was still undeniably Tyler's.
"December 29th, 2009," Josh read from behind.
"'I've been doing a lot of thinking lately,'" Tyler continued in his stead. "'Usually you would be here to talk me through it. Obviously you're not, so I write. A lot. It's gone on a few months now. It helps. It also makes things complicated.
I'm asking questions. They don't like that, and I know it, I just can't shake it. As wrong as everything has felt before, it's only getting worse. And I'm having to navigate it on my own. I'm writing and singing, but it's not enough. I just wish you were here. You would know what to say.
The longer you're gone, the more it hurts. I want to hear your voice or see your face. But I know that what you're doing is important. I know it will all mean something someday. At least, I hope it will. Then I can join you for good. I can meet your friends, learn how to start a fire, go swimming for the first time. We'll finally be away from this.
I really do miss you. I'm sure we'll meet again soon.
Sincerely, Tyler.'"
They let this one float in the silence for a minute. Josh's arm was still wrapped around Tyler, so he began rubbing his hand up and down his side. Wordless, soothing, a reminder that Josh was there while they processed the moment.
"We knew nothing," he finally whispered.
"Nothing," Tyler concurred immediately. "Twenty-one, and I thought the end could be just around the corner. Damn."
"You couldn't have known. We were kids. That's what kids do - they dream. And you've always dreamed more and bigger than anyone, kid or not."
"Dreamt."
With a tilt of his head, Josh said, "What?"
"It's 'dreamt', not 'dreamed,'" Tyler pointed out, a small smile forming on his plush lips.
"I think either one works."
"Maybe," he shrugged, "but I think 'dreamt' sounds better."
"Alright, Mister Poet."
Tyler was already slipping the page back in the collection, laying it flat so it wouldn't crease, checking to be sure it was in its chronological place. So thoughtful. So very Tyler.
"Let me pick," Josh requested.
Without protest, Tyler handed over the whole bunch. Josh flicked past page after page, cautious, reverent in his motions. Some of them were crispy and crackly, the way paper becomes after it dries from having something spilled on it. Many were thin - nearly see-through - and scarily fragile due to years of handling, folding, and sun exposure. All were composed with the same black ink, forming the same perfect script, written by the same brilliant person.
After maybe thirty seconds of searching, Josh removed a page from the stack. The paper was yellow - smuggled in by the resistance. Its dimensions were specific, smaller than a regular spiral-bound sheet, larger than anything that could fit in a pocket book; and clearly torn at the top, off of a notepad of some sort.
"May 3rd, 2015."
"Right before I made a break for it," Tyler noticed, voice breathy.
Josh nodded with a disbelieving laugh. He began to read it aloud, this time.
"'He's gotten to me. He says I have things to do, responsibilities, that I need to focus. I don't want to find out what any of that means. I can live with it, for now. I can fight him off until we figure something out, like we always do.
And there's a plan now. The correspondence I got said you know about it, too. I'll be outside the walls soon, and I can escape then. I really think we can do it.
I'm terrified. No matter how scared I am, it won't stop me, because I know there's something better out there. I know you found a better way, and I know you'll show me. He won't keep me here forever.
I can't wait to see you. It's been too long and the word-of-mouth updates only reassure me so much. I just need to know that you're okay, and I need to see it with my own eyes because they're the only thing I trust anymore. Then we can do everything we talked about, for ourselves and for the people. We'll do it all together like we should have this whole time.
Sahlo folina, Tyler.'"
On instinct alone, Josh tightened his arm around Tyler's waist, holding him close. He swore he could smell that day - fresh fallen snow, burning rubber, greasy smoke. One of many traumas etched into his brain for the rest of his life; the first significant one, really. That damned car.
"You cried when you were a lovesick teenager," Tyler mumbled. "I cried when I saw you on that cliff, all grown up."
Josh pulled him even nearer, if that was possible.
"Didn't last long, did it?"
"Hey," Josh cooed, "it's okay. We can move on."
"It's alright, I'm alright. It's just… nothing ever went the way we wanted, you know? It's hard to think about. We had all these ideas, and we were so— Everything was hopeful, so certain. When did that stop?"
As he returned his chin to Tyler's shoulder, Josh considered the question. He thought of what had changed, what remained, how different they really were. The naivety of youth certainly had some part in it - they simply knew less then, held no expectations or reservations. Perhaps experience sharpened everything, and they could feel failure more distinctly as the years ticked by. At their cores, though, they persisted.
"I don't think it ever did stop," he decided with an air of finality.
Tipping his head to rest on Josh's, Tyler whispered, "Maybe not. Maybe we just got old."
"Well then, look at us, old and still attached at the hip like we thought we'd be. We got that part right, at least."
Tyler hummed in acknowledgment and reached for the pile of letters. This time, Josh made no effort to remove himself from Tyler's shoulder. The choice wasn't met with protest, so he stayed, watching as Tyler flipped through the top third of the stack.
"They get sparse here," he commented quietly.
It required no response. They both knew why there were fewer as time went on.
"October 5th, 2019," he read, pulling out a page.
"Pretty deep in it, then."
All Tyler did was clear his throat and push on.
"'It's nights like these when I think back on my short time in Trench. I'm exhausted, my knees are bruised, my mouth is bone dry. I'm not sure where I end and he begins. The days have been bleeding into each other for so long, I'm surprised I know the date. But the memories keep me company as best they can.
You tell me I can do it. You remind me that I'm strong. You hand me a slice of warm bread with honey, then watch to make sure I eat all of it. You tap a simple beat on your leg while I hum beside you, the way we melt together how we have forever. You keep a watchful eye on me as I sleep.
I know that if you were here, you'd do it all again in a heartbeat. That's when I feel most content, remembering what it was like to be cared for. To be loved.
And I love you too. Sorry I never said it then. I know it for sure now. When I see you again, I'll tell you to your face.
Don't give up on me.'"
No 'sincerely,' no 'best wishes,' just a man's tired heart poured onto paper. At the very bottom, an ominous signature - the letters C-L-A printed with a shaky hand, only to be crossed out, Tyler written clumsily beside it.
Softly, almost broken, Tyler admitted, "I didn't say it."
Josh leaned in and placed a gentle kiss right below his ear. The hair there was just long enough that it had started curling, and it tickled Josh's nose when he nuzzled closer.
"Not then," he recalled. "That's okay. I already knew."
His lips laid against the skin of Tyler's neck, not pressing, simply resting. This way, he supposed Tyler could feel the words as well as hear them. Hopefully, doubt would struggle to take hold of them. Hopefully Tyler could more easily believe them.
"I thought about those nights, too. Didn't sleep much then. It was anxiety, sure, but mostly I was so happy. Couldn't keep my eyes off of you for too long. And the way you looked at me - God, like I'd hung the moon and stars just for you. I would've. Maybe I have, a long time ago.
I missed it when you were gone again. Missed you so much, I didn't know how many more times I could go through it all. That's why I kept watch over you on the island. Had to be sure you'd make it back to me."
He inhaled deeply through his nose, taking in the pure scent of Tyler. Something cleaner than most out here in Trench - Josh had no clue how he managed it - mixed with the herbaceous tones of his favorite tea. Stunning.
"And you did. You came back. Not when you wanted, not how you wanted, but you made it. You didn't have to say a thing. I could see it all on you, already."
"Read me like a book," Tyler murmured.
Retreating to his place on Tyler's shoulder, Josh said, "I usually can, darling."
It was his turn to pick among the paper. After this previous one, the number of full-page letters thinned; replaced instead by small notes, scribbles from notebooks, scraps with just a few words each. They were things Tyler would leave behind when he departed in the middle of the night or early in the morning, reassurances that he was alive and well enough.
'At the lake this morning. Back by noon.'
'Couldn't sleep. Meet me at the fire when you see this.'
'Wrote this last night, what do you think?'
Some were that concerning 'I love you, I'm sorry,' the sort of message that would send Josh dashing around camp in search of him. He'd turned up in many states, those times. Josh shuddered at the reminder.
His interest ultimately caught on something just a few pages deep. The text was that exact black ink, same as every one. Unlike the others, though, there was blue and pink and orange - saturated, not the deceptive pastels of Good Day. The colors curled and twisted like ribbon, dotted the paper like confetti, even formed tiny stars and hearts, all scattered about the margins. Clumsy yellow flowers filled the smallest spaces. Normal. Sweet. Carefree. Josh wasn't certain where Tyler would have even found ink of those colors.
Tyler's breath caught in his lungs.
"June 18th, 2024," Josh started with a bittersweet smile.
"'Happy birthday, sunshine. I wish I had anything other than words to gift you. I wish we could spend the day doing anything else. I'm sorry.
At least let me paint you a picture.
This works. We win. I live, not as one of them, but as me. What then?
I imagine sharing a home. I'd like to grow our own food, not rely on the city for simple things. You're good at keeping a garden, I've heard. Good at keeping things alive. I believe it. I'd even let you have tomatoes, if you really wanted, just to watch you look after them.'"
Tears filled Josh's eyes, and he chuckled as their attention pulled briefly to the plants in the yard. The fruits were green and yellow; young, not ready, but full of potential. He laughed again, a little delirious, sniffling once before he continued.
"'I don't know if I've told you this, but I've always wanted a pet. You've written to me about the animals in Trench, and since reading those as a kid, I've wondered. You seem to take a liking toward rabbits. I'd probably like them, too. Maybe we can keep one. We can give it a good life.
Once this is over, I can actually meet your friends. They've taken good care of you and I want to thank them. You can show me how you start a fire so quickly, even though I think it's magic, and even though you swear it's not. I think I'll take you up on that swim, too. Not to get clean or scrub something away, just to enjoy the water. I'm sure you know the best time of year to do that.'"
"August," Tyler whispered. "You said we'll wait 'til August, 'cause that's when it's warm. That's also when the turtles are out. We can swim with 'em."
He was right. That was what Josh told him. It was August, now. He wondered if Tyler knew, or if he finally let go enough to stop keeping track. Instead of asking, Josh slid his hand up Tyler's side, smoothing the fabric of the shirt beneath his palm.
"'I hope we can have it. I hope we make it out. Until then, I'll keep our plans close, as much a promise as I can. We'll figure something out in the end.
I love you, my light. It's been a blessing to grow with you, even if I couldn't see it all. And as long as I can see you on the other side of this whole thing, I'll do my best, whatever it takes.
To the moon and back, Tyler.'"
Silence settled over them. Josh dragged his fingers across the paper, noting the way it indented from the pressure of writing, a tell of how stressed Tyler was when he did it. Even the colorful swirls along the edges had been pressed harshly into the page, as if they would have floated away otherwise.
Then, out of the quiet, Tyler muttered, "I didn't think I could do it."
"You did, though."
"I didn't," he countered sharply. "You know I didn't."
Josh laid the letter off to the side. His now unoccupied hand looped around Tyler's stomach, bringing their bodies together as flush as possible. He turned his head, gazed at Tyler's profile through the small space between them, chin still propped on his shoulder. The easy slope of the man's nose was framed against the setting sun, the length of his eyelashes emphasized in the golden light. His lips pouted naturally, a welcoming curve which gave away their softness, and Josh longed to feel them every day for the rest of his life. The highest points of his cheekbones were warm and tan, littered with faint freckles. His hair fluffed out in all directions in that controlled chaotic way that was so distinctly him. Tyler was, simply put, beautiful. He always had been and he always would be.
"Not right away, not how we expected. But"—Josh nodded toward the stack of paper in Tyler's lap—"you did."
At the gesture, Tyler let his gaze fall. They both looked at the short top page: crisp, pristine, unmarred. It stood out among the mismatched, battered and weathered others beneath. The few words on it were still written with the blackest ink, in the same swooping script, painfully familiar. Josh's chest ached at the mere memory.
"February 17th, 2026," Tyler read, voice low, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
"'Hurry, please. You have to find me. I know you can, you always do. When you do, maybe we can have it all, like we imagined. Just please, hurry.'"
It was signed thrice: N-O-V-A, slashed through; C-L-A-N-C-Y, crossed out tens of times; then, finally, Tyler. Like the act of putting pen to paper reminded him who he was. Like he never would have remembered if it weren't for the possibility of being found.
"It's the last one."
A smile tugged at the corners of Josh's mouth, and his arms tightened their hold reassuringly.
"I found you," he stated plainly, as if it was simple and unquestionable, because to him, it was. "Don't need to be writing and collecting letters when you're right here. That'd be silly."
The laugh that escaped Tyler's lips - it lit up his entire face, despite the single track a tear had left behind. Not conflicted, not heavy in the least; relieved, if anything, as the weight of his whole life eased from his injured shoulders.
"You're right. That would be silly," he agreed oh-so gently.
His own head turned to meet Josh's eyes, tilted down that slight bit because of the difference in height and posture. From this angle, he was even prettier, the need to look up somehow softening his features in all the right ways. Big round eyes, slender nose, barely parted lips, cheeks fuller and rosier than they ever had been.
Josh processed suddenly, then, that he was in love. He knew that. He had known it for a long time. Sometimes, the reality of it crashed over him like the violent waves of the Strait. He was so in love with the man before him, and this perspective was gorgeous, and they were together without shadows creeping through their peripheries.
He watched intently as Tyler's lips moved.
"Do we have it all now?"
His head shook as he answered, "No. Not yet."
Confused, Tyler pulled away a bit. The slight furrow of his brow brought out the wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes, the evidence of a storied life. Josh wanted to kiss each one.
Instead, he removed his chin from Tyler's shoulder, leaning back on his hands, legs stuck out in front of him.
"C'mere," he invited.
Tyler obliged. His baggy pants rustled when he moved to kneeling, then walked that way to Josh. The area between his legs was virtually nonexistent, so Tyler had to resort to placing one knee on either side of his hips, which was absolutely, definitely not his plan since the beginning. And even if it had been, there was no ulterior motive behind it. He just enjoyed the closeness. He loved how Tyler planted a hand on each of his shoulders. He adored the immediate grin this put on Tyler's already perfect face. He craved the view from below, lovingly tracing every line of Tyler's body as if he'd never seen it before.
"I think," he began, "there are even brighter days ahead of us, darling."
His right hand wandered from behind him and landed on Tyler's hip. It seemed only natural to squeeze a little, to notice the way the skin and fat gave beneath his grasp.
"It'll take time, but we'll get there. The home, the animals, the friends, all of it."
"What about you? What do you want?" Tyler asked.
That took him aback. He had thought about it, sure, but he'd never let himself want. Not in a full, expectant way; only in that abstract way, where the future was never certain, where he still had to live as if something would go wrong. When he allowed himself a second to consider it - oh, did he want. Josh wanted so much.
"I wanna hear you sing again. Really, truly sing 'cause you feel it, like it's the thing that makes you happiest. Like when we were kids."
Tyler's fingers pressed tighter into his shoulder.
"I wanna teach you how to cook over a fire. The whole process: foraging, prepping, putting it all together. I bet you'll be good at it."
"J," Tyler sighed.
"And I wanna show you every constellation I know, all the stories behind 'em. I want you to understand Trench's skies the way I do. She's beautiful, Ty, just like you. She'll never let you get lost, as long as you can find Her Eastern Star."
Without warning, the space above him shrank to nothing, and Tyler's lips were on his. He opened instantly, drawing the moment out as long as possible, because he really could live and die right here. His mouth was pliant, waiting for and accepting whatever Tyler offered. It was slow and worriless. They had time, and Tyler knew it, and Tyler knew Josh knew it, and nothing else mattered. Just lips on lips and skin on skin, the warmth of it all drowning any sorrow that dared remain.
Alas, they had to breathe.
Right as they separated, Tyler whispered, "I want that. I want all of it - anything with you. I love you, sunshine."
Josh stole another kiss. It wasn't long, but he closed his eyes anyway.
"I love you, Ty. I love you."
Another, another, another, until Tyler was smiling too wide to keep going.
"What?" Josh asked with a chuckle.
"We may not have it all," Tyler explained, "but there is at least one thing."
"Yeah? What is that?"
Tyler sat back on his heels. His grin persisted as he turned his focus elsewhere, off to their side some way. Curious, Josh let his gaze follow; across the dirt, past the stone stools beside the firepit, to the other side of the yard.
"You got your tomatoes."
A full-body, genuine laugh shook Josh down to his core. He tossed his head back, eyes closing once again, and he basked in sunlight and joy and Tyler.
"I did," he agreed. "I got my tomatoes."