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“The first rule of the ‘Chris getting in the pool club’ is: you don’t talk about Chris getting in the pool.”
“I don’t remember signing up for this club. It sounds like shit.”
“Well, that’s too bad. Members are automatically enlisted upon activation of friendship. So I’d say you’re about...ten years late on the uptake.”
“I usually like packages, bro, but this is not what I had in mind.”
“...Yeah? What did you have in mind then?”
Josh grins and winks and Chris swipes a wall of water at him with his feet, hoping to recoup his complexion before Josh resurfaces. He fails. On both counts.
At Emily’s house, he could have chalked up the pinkness to the outdoor sun sitting on their skin like a glaze. His skin still smarts with heat. Here, though, in the sanctity of Josh’s indoor pool and with an incoming moon, he has no excuses.
The pool lights pop on and he flicks a hand towards his glasses. He can’t even begin to adjust them before he gets doused with water and Josh’s laughter.
“Dude! That’s fucking cold!” he shouts, spluttering through another attack.
“Chris, I’m not that evil.”
“No, the wa—”
And another wave of water. A miracle shines through this time and he dodges the complimentary kaleidoscope for his glasses. Nothing can save him, though, from Josh’s giggling. He opts for glaring through it and trying to fix his hair.
“Shirt’s soaked,” he says, through gritted teeth. His hair somewhat returns to normalcy, but he gains no respite from wringing out his top. He pinches it away from his skin and frowns.
Josh’s eyes widen and his smile goes feline. “You’re wet, huh?”
“Oh,” Chris says, showcasing his shirt with one hand, “I’m positively dripping.”
“Now we’re talking,” Josh says, slinking to the edge of the pool and clambering out.
“Talking about what? About how repulsive it feels to have a, dare I say it—”
“ No. ”
“A—”
“Dude.”
“M—”
“Bro, I just said—”
“Mois—ack! ”
The towel nails the back of his head; he begins to mould it into a weapon for himself until Josh wrestles his hands away and scrabbles the towel into his hair. He lets out an indignant squawk and in a polyester darkness all that’s certain is that Josh is ruining his artfully-placed locks. At some point his glasses tumble from his face and in shoving Josh away he falls backward onto the tile. The ceramic presses coolness into his shoulders and he needs it.
Josh is kneeling by his head, staring down at him.
His shirt must have dried by now, right? His tongue sure has. Swallowing proves difficult, so he lays breathless instead.
Ok, yeah, he’s just checking to see if I’m alright, me and my bird bones, nothing else, just me, Chris the klutz, I mean what else would he be looking at me for, yeah, it’s nothing, it’s nothing at all and let me reach for my glasses—
Josh’s hand closes over his and Chris flinches. Turns his head to see what happened.
They both went for the goddamn glasses.
They retreat at the same time, sending the glasses skittering.
“Shit,” they both say.
Chris waits for Josh to try again. He does and his wrist grazes Chris’ shoulder. The sensation arrows through him. His breath turns into a cork. In his position he can either watch Josh’s arm pull back or turn up to his clavicles, where the water runs in a rivulet over the crest and down, down, down.
Okay, no.
He sits up and wipes his hands on the almost-forgotten towel.
Josh appears by his side. “Thought you conked out for a second,” he says.
“I was just taking a well-deserved rest,” Chris says, lifting his chin and his voice. “Dealing with such ruffians as yourself, one needs many a reprieve.”
“Harsh, man.”
A beat passes.
“Okay, Josh, you can give me back my glasses now.”
“Your—your glasses? These glasses right here?”
“Bro.”
“These are my glasses.”
Chris gives Josh a pointed look. Even with Josh’s face reduced to a blur, he can make out that smirk.
“Can you even see anything right now?”
“Why, yes. I can see you being an asshole.”
“Whoa,” Josh says, as he slips the glasses on and squints. “Same. Here.”
“Wait. What? You’re stealing my glasses and I’m the asshole? Where’s the logic in that?”
“‘Cause. You got glasses and you can’t even…” Josh takes the glasses off and palms his eyes. Staring down the length of the pool and out the full-length windows becomes a sudden interest.
“Huh?” Chris says.
“Huh?” Josh says.
Chris mimics him.
Josh counters.
They sound like tone deaf owls until Chris elbows Josh in the ribs. “Alright, already,” he mutters, laughing through his nose.
A few chuckles. “Okay.”
Chris expects the glasses to land in his outstretched hand. Instead: every organ in his chest billows like a bouquet of balloons and he holds his breath and God, is he glad that his hair is still sending trails of water down his temples. Not sweat, not at all.
Josh has the arms of the glasses positioned over his ears. Chris can’t read him. Probably nothing. Just Josh being Josh being dreamy being Josh. Of course.
He looks down at the water while Josh slides the glasses into place, spying on their wobbling reflections. It doesn’t take five hours to put on glasses. Neither of them complain. Just Josh being a dick. Nothing new. Nothing new in the softness of his fingertips.
Jesus Christ is this ever bad.
They make eye contact before Josh leans back. Something flutters there, and Josh’s mouth forms a line rather than assuming its natural curl.
He jumps about ten feet in the air when Josh taps a finger under his chin. His mouth still hangs open a little as he watches Josh get up and pad into the house.
“‘M getting a drink,” he says, sparing a glance. “Want anything?”
“Whatever you’re having,” Chris says.
“Sure.”
With Josh gone, Chris sighs. Past the full-length windows and the silhouettes of the trees in Josh’s yard, he spots the glow of the city. It looks like a swathe of circuit board, bright lines strung alongside geometric pockets of lights. Patterns programmed with regularity, intentions clear and comprehensible. Stretching back to one of the chaise longues, he retrieves his phone.
Ash [10:30pm]: so?
Ash [10:35pm]: soooooo? ;)))
He twists his lip.
Chris [11:10pm]: so?
Ash [11:11pm]: have U DONE ANYTHING?
Chris [11:11pm]: ...no
Chris [11:12pm]: but for good reason, jsyk
Ash [11:12pm]: CHRIS!!!
Chris [11:12pm]: ASH!!!!!!!!
Ash [11:13pm]: seriously! the way he was looking at u today!!
Chris [11:13pm]: i think u were making that up
Chris [11:14pm]: u had sunstroke
Ash [11:14pm]: YOU looked like u were having a stroke
Ash [11:14pm]: i’m serious chris!! abt both those things
Ash [11:15pm]: where’s josh?
Chris [11:15pm]: idk he went to get drinks but he seems to have gotten lost in his own house
Ash [11:16pm]: im…………….GOD!!!
Chris [11:16pm]: hi god i’m chris and i rly need ur blessings pls send help
Ash [11:17pm]: im going to throw a rock at your head
Chris [11:17pm]: thank
Ash [11:17pm]: SHUT
The sliding door whines open. Josh saunters in, hands empty. His hair, dried, sits dishevelled across his forehead.
“Really?” Chris says, turning to put his phone down. He doesn’t know whether his statement relates to the hands or the hair.
Josh shrugs. “Really.”
Okay, we’ll go with the empty hands. “Huh. That’s a new one.”
“You looked like you were having a real good time.”
“Yeah, it was—”
“I know who it was.”
“...Er, okay. Are you—?”
“I’m fine.”
Chris lifts his hands. “Alright.”
Josh stares at him before nodding in a different direction and licking his lips. A note of brightness returns to his features. “Hey, check this out,” he says. He makes for a switch and flicks off the overhead lighting.
Now, only the pool lights remain. The room seems to shrink, the walls and floor subdued by darkness. His circuit board city lays now more distant than before, a series of blips on the horizon. The water gleams with an electric edge. It feels like a challenge. He keeps his feet submerged.
“This is what we call ‘ambience,’” Josh says, spreading his arms, and he starts rattling off about one movie or another.
Chris doesn’t hear a thing.
In the time that it takes for Josh to stroll back to the pool, Chris assumes he has undergone cardiac arrest no less than fifty times. He feels his heart in his throat, in his chest, in the palms of his hands, in his teeth. Shivers speckle his arms and back.
Act natural? Act natural? No, he’s since put on the countdown to when he’s going to make a complete goon out of himself. T minus ten seconds.
Starting first as a shadow, Josh slips into illumination and then into the pool, soundless. He descends the steps this time instead of leaping in as he had done earlier tonight. Light arcs over his torso and tumbles into the lines of muscle, smooths over his jaw gentle until it flecks his eyes. Chris tugs at his glasses and moves them a millimetre or two, looks off that way, looks off this way. And when he looks back—well, Josh is looking at him. His fingers go for the hem of his shirt. Still a bit wet, but the fabric between his fingertips works.
“Oh, nice,” Josh says. “Surf’s up?”
Chris goes slack-jawed for a moment before he understands. He snorts, rests his hands on the pool edge. “Sorry, no dice,” he says.
“How much am I gonna have to gamble away?”
“At least a couple million. Direct payment works, too. I’ll accept post-dated cheques.”
“I’ll get right on that,” Josh says, saluting. He folds into the water and glides away with one good pull of his arms. Water streamlines over his shoulder blades.
Chris squeezes the bridge of his nose between his index and thumb.
Once he reaches the deeper end of the pool and hooks his arms over the edge, his head framed by the inky foliage outside, Josh says: “It’s just me, you know.”
Chris blinks. “I’m...I’m not following.”
Josh gestures to his own torso.
“Oh.”
“I mean, I get why you might be kind of antsy when we’re out, but do you honestly think I’d give you shit about something like that?”
“Well, that’s the thing about ants, they—”
“I mean it, Chris.”
His mouth closes.
Josh peeks over at him, head resting on his arms. Even from a distance, his eyes can puncture.
Chris kicks his legs back and forth a few times. “You know I wouldn’t think you’d do that,” he says. “But it’s not about that. Like, at all.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Then what is it about?”
Hm.
Good question.
He jumps and blurts out a, “Fuck, dude, little warning next time?” when Josh sweeps up next to his leg.
“Conked out again,” Josh says. “Ought to get a look in that head o’ yours. Can’t be good.”
“You gotta make sacrifices if you want to be the supreme master of jokes.”
“And you’re still that many notches under me? Supreme fucking overlord of jokes? Little sad, bro, gotta say.”
“Hey. Not nice,” Chris says, knocking at Josh’s elbow with his thigh.
Josh laughs. “Who told you I was nice?”
“Sam’s got a whole laundry list of deets, just so you know.”
“Fuck. Figures I’d be foiled by Sammy.”
“She’s pretty good at that, huh?”
“How am I supposed to keep up my image as a ruthless demonic entity if people like Sam are gonna—”
“She told me you piggy-backed her for like, five miles after she came down with something on a hike and you sang to her the entire way back to the lodge. Songs she actually likes.”
Josh groans, slumping over. “What the fuck! Who else knows about that?”
“Relax, bro. Just me and Sam. I can keep a secret.”
“After I kill you, sure. Wouldn’t doubt that for a second.”
“Kill me? The most dashing, funny, charming—”
“Piece of shit in the whole world?”
Chris gasps and slaps a hand over his heart. “Bro.”
“S’true.”
“How dare.”
“Just gotta make up for whatever-the-fuck this whole ‘nice’ thing’s about.”
“Yeah, well…”
“Well…?”
Chris shuts his mouth. Way too fast.
Well, okay. Looking at each other again. Looking looking.
He bites the inside of his cheek, noting the way Josh locks onto him, the small tilt of his head, the glint of his teeth under his lip. Blue light slots soft against his back and in the waves of his hair, shadows melt the edges of his face.
Josh unfolds himself and takes a few steps backwards. He raises an eyebrow, his smile reluctant. “Well?”
“Uh.” He glances away, pupils darting from Josh to the chaise longue to the deep end of the pool.
“Hey. Hey hey hey.”
“Goodbye,” Chris sings.
“This is no time for shitty 80s songs, man.”
“This is the time, I think you meant to say.”
“Dude. What were you gonna say?”
“Why’s it matter? It—it doesn’t matter. Just forget it. Really. It’s fine. It’s good. You know, like you say. ‘It’s fine.’ ‘I’m fine.’ ‘Everything’s fine.’”
Josh rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, muttering, “Touché, touché,” under his breath. He keeps his mouth firm, sweeps his gaze from the windows back to Chris. Advances until he occupies the space between Chris’ legs.
Chris feels his blood solidify and turn his body rigid. Josh smells like chlorine and cologne and the cord in his neck catches light for a second. His face has lost its mischievous undertone, replaced it instead with something quiet, curious. His eyes are so, so round.
“If you’re gonna tell me one thing tonight,” Josh says, his voice low, “I just want to know what you were going to say.”
He focuses on the water sifting at Josh’s hip. The view disappears when Josh lifts his hands out of the water and places each of them on the outside of Chris’ thighs.
“Oh. Wow,” Chris says, and he thinks of Ashley pelting his head with rocks. He deserves it at this point.
“Uh-huh,” says Josh. “So. You were saying?”
Okay, okay. How to get out of this without shitting on the mood (too much).
Option 1: shove Josh away, endure the deathly cold water, start a splash fight. Die of pneumonia the next day
Option 2: spin the whole thing into a joke, tell Josh he’s an asshole, and feel like an asshole for the rest of forever
Option 3: stand up really fast, get dizzy to the point of unconsciousness, wake up the next day and feign amnesia
Okay. A pretty good selection here. A pretty good selection and Jesus fucking Christ, Josh has moved closer. Probably because he likes slouching. He got tired standing up straight. Yeah. Right. Straight. Hah. Oh Chris, you’re a real riot, a real—
“You are nice,” Chris blurts out. The next part comes out as a mumble. “You’re... you’re really nice.”
Josh’s stern expression drops.
Chris nods, feeling a little emboldened. “And...you look nice, too. Really nice.”
Josh raises his brows.
“It’s true, bro.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah.”
“...Wow.” He looks like he’s trying to stifle a laugh.
Chris frowns as his shoulders slump. “Sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“Well, you know, you probably didn’t want to hear something like that from me. Like, me of all people. Maybe...I don’t know. Some. Other person.”
“Chris…”
Chris keeps silent. His brain whirs with a thousand ways he might hear the word ‘no.’
“I think you’re nice, too.”
“Yeah, I thought—wait, what?”
“I think. You’re nice. Too.”
“Me.”
“You see anybody else here?”
“I...you know, I honestly kind of thought you’d profess your undying love to a ghost over somebody like me, so. You know. It could’ve been someone else.”
“As hot as getting it on with ectoplasm sounds, I don’t think it’d beat being with you.”
He manages to laugh, but his face goes alight as he wrings his hands in his lap.
Josh curve his own hands over them, gripping them gently. His voice drops to a near whisper when he says, “Hey, can I…?”
He feels like opening his mouth might let his heartbeat escape; he does it anyway and says, “What?” He looks up, too, to meets Josh’s eyes.
Josh is grinning, his face bright, when he asks: “Can I kiss you?”
Chris gapes for a moment before he nods, nods. He comes up with a thousand ways he might say the word ‘yes,’ and the words float like clouds under his ribs.
Josh leans forward. Chris drops his gaze to Josh’s hands as he feels lips over his brow. They ghost over his cheek, lay down imprints by the corner of his mouth.
“You’re forgetting something,” Chris says, nudging Josh’s face away with his nose.
“S’at right?”
“Come on, man.”
“Alright. I’ll go easy on you this time,” Josh says.
He raises one hand, draws his thumb along the line of Chris’ jaw as if to confirm its existence. His fingers settle across the back of his neck and apply a warm pressure.
Chris slants into the touch. Rests his lips against Josh’s hand.
Josh moves in a second time, slower. Their foreheads touch. Their breath mingles, warm and hesitant. He tilts, tilts, tilts his head and his nose bumps into Chris’ cheek. A line of moonlight separates their lips, a space comprised of millimetres and yet feeling as vast as the ocean.
And then it disappears, submitting to magnetism.
Their mouths press together in a line soft and seamless. Chris feels his heart flutter open as he slings his arms around Josh’s shoulders. Josh’s hands settle on his waist, fingertips burning trails through his shirt. He mouths a line up his jaw, stops at the base of his ear and exhales; despite its warmth, Chris feels a long shiver run through him.
They become each other’s shoreline and tide, trading boundaries, shifting forward and pulling back, sounds as faint as surf rolling from their throats.
It feels like a dream until Chris leans back and sees Josh there, lidded eyes warm, lips parted. He tips forward and catches Josh unaware.
Josh returns the favour.
*
On a normal night, they would have sat on the floor watching movies off Chris’ laptop or destroying zombies on the PS4, splitting off to do their own thing, meandering into each other’s business.
Tonight, not a sound. They lay side-by-side on Josh’s bed in their pajamas, their legs drawn up and steepled against each other. A lamp glows on the side table, encasing them in a cocoon of honeyed light. For a few minutes they talk as if nothing had happened, basking in the buttery daze that accompanies summer nights. When they both readjust and their knees bump, they become aware of their proximity to each other.
Josh shifts his head, lingering on Chris’ mouth before he says, “So, do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?”
Chris scoffs, his cheeks reddening.
“No, really.”
“Okay; how long?”
“About a half hour ago.”
“Dude.”
“I know. I was gonna give this whole thing a shot after we got inside. Really.” Josh seems thoughtful for a moment. “But you just looked that fucking good and you gave me a chance and I thought: damn, if this isn’t a movie set. This is perfect. You’re perfect. Let’s freakin’ do this right here. Right now.”
Chris bats away the compliments with his hand, averting his eyes. “Stop.”
“Shut up. You’re amazing,” Josh says, curving over him to put a kiss by his ear, settling back to lay on his side. “And all that was amazing.”
“It...ok, yeah. It was. It definitely was,” Chris says. “Can’t lie about that.”
“And I think...” Josh snakes a hand over Chris’ stomach and grabs his hip, easing him into a matching position. “I think we need a sequel.”
Chris quirks a brow, trying to feign ignorance. “Greenlit already?”
“Bro, I’ve got a whole franchise planned. Sound good?”
Josh fiddles with the aglets of Chris’ hoodie, though maintains his gaze. Chris holds his own ground, wrapping his fingers round Josh’s, feeling the ridges of his knuckles. Josh’s thumb pushes against the inside of his wrist to his pulse, slips down to make room for lips.
The silence falls on them as warm as sunlight, and Josh’s hand feels warm, too, twined with his.
They shuffle closer, legs tangling at the ankles. The weight of Josh’s thigh over his knee feels comfortable, right.
Chris smiles and goes in soft for another kiss. “Sounds nice,” he says. “Really nice.”