Sometimes Cricket felt like a beat up bicycle next to Freddie’s souped up race car engine in mint condition. He didn’t want to be presumptuous – shrank in on himself like an unwatered violet whenever he made a judgement, even subconsciously – but he couldn’t imagine she’d ever been forced to comb through the grass with a stick searching for wrappers to suck the residual sugars off, probably always had clean clothes at her disposal if she wanted them. It used to make him tuck his elbows like he was perpetually sat in an aisle seat, avoiding bumps from passing strangers, simultaneously small and much too large in his smallness, like his past carried a scent she ought to plug her nose to keep from smelling – used to think it was fucking crazy, the fact she spoke to him at all, two planets on entirely different orbits – but it was difficult to feel that way when they were both sat together, both laying a hand on a chest that wasn’t theirs, feeling it’s thumps tremble up through their fingertips the same. Cricket nodded too many times, softly still, cheeks flaming at any form of contact – if it were any other situation, he might’ve turned his whole body away just to gather himself, might’ve reached up and covered his face with his hands, but he could feel her heartbeat. Or maybe everything was jittering too much and he was only imagining it, rhythmic and constant, how he’d always imagined it might feel to lie beneath a grand piano as the notes made the ground hum, enveloped whole by the song, not a person but instead, just another note on a page. Unable to think about anything but that. “N-no, it’s - it’s, like, not – n-not, uh – not weird,” he reassured, nervous chuckle parting his lips before he pressed them back together. “Your heart’s, like – g-got, like, a nice – nice, uh, n-nice, like, heart.” Eyebrows instantly knitting, Cricket wasn’t sure what the fuck kind of compliment that was. Nice heart? Made him sound like fucking Hannibal Lecter. Hopefully she didn’t think he wanted to make her skin into a lampshade or anything. As if his thoughts translated through every gesture, after that, his hand froze up, scared to make so much as a trace – he wasn’t sure how he’d stomach pressing at the ridge of a collar bone, anyway, sure to speed his pulse up enough that he had to break away and throw up in the bushes nearby. “Oh, that’s – th-that’s, like – d-don’t h-have to, like, th-thank, uh, thank me, it’s – easy to, with you – y’know, m-make it, uh – make it k-kinda easy,” Cricket blustered, breaking with an uneasy smile, one he wasn’t particularly sure of – not that he tended to be sure of anything. He hit a record of five thank-you’s in a row as he accepted the water, gulping it down consecutively then letting out a little gasp once he realised how much he’d drank. “Oh, it’s –s-sorry, fuck, that’s, like – j-just, uh, like – s-suckled it ‘till, like, ‘till k-kingdom c-c-come – fuck,” he cringed, swiping self consciously at his mouth then blinking a few times, adjusting to the lighting. There was a phantom twitch of strobe lights in his peripheral. Or maybe that was just a fire flickering a little further off. He felt like whatever the opposite of a moth is, in that moment. Vying for a quiet place, away from the light. He studied the brown in her eyes, then looked down as the plastic crinkled in his fist, unsettled by a fidgeting thumb. Are you having fun? Almost enough to summon another lump in his throat. He swallowed around it, cleared it gently, twice, and shook his head. “Y-yeah, uh – yeah, it’s – it’s been, like – okay.” Realising halfway, he started nodding instead. “K-kinda just, like – j-just wish it was, like, us and – and, like, quiet, b-but that’s – fuck, I, uh – m-meant, uh, m-meant to… th-think that, not – n-not, uh, say it. Sys– system malf– h-hey, k-kinda sounded like I was, like – like, s-saying sis, or – Drag Race. Haven’t, uh – h-haven’t actually, like – watched, uh, w-watched… that, but–…” Pulling a face at himself, he let out another small laugh then, sucking in a breath, gathered enough nerve to lift his chin. “Sorry. I’m, like – f-fuckin’, like, t-talking shit, it’s… Night’s been okay. It’s better, uh – it’s… b-better, like… y’know,” he gave up, too flustered by it, once again averting his gaze to his lap – his eyes rested with the hands on his knees, fingers twitchy with the urge to reach out and touch, though he never quite worked up the nerve. Frozen, instead. Cricket swallowed. “You – you w-wanna, like – like, f-find a, uh, tent?” Eyes immediately wide, his face flew to catch hers. “NOT! Shit, n-not, like – like, n-not in a, like, a, uh, a weird way, or – n-not, like, weirdly, l-like – w-weird, or, y’know, wh-whatever, j-j-just – sorry,” he shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut like a hedgehog balled in the face of danger, unable to witness his own car crash. “Sorry. F-fuckin’, like – f-freaking out, just – sorry.” Another nervous laugh. Eyes still closed. He opened them just a slither after a few carefully paced breaths, enough that he could reach with thumb and finger and barely, delicately, hold the tip of her pinky between them, such a small gesture to anyone else but enough to stack a dozen bricks on top of Cricket’s chest. “Just – j-just mean, uh – Iike, like, talking – t-talking to… you, and… and some – some t-tents are - are empt–empty, I – I think, and… That’s, uh – that’s all – all I w-wanna… do. J-just, like – just talk and – j-just, like.. just wan – wanna hear… you, if –,” he paused, reaching up to tug in thoughtless habit at his earlobe, “if th-that’s, like… cool.”
eyes shut, the warmth radiating from cricket’s palm stretches its branches out like liquid gold filling the cracks of her broken parts. it pushes on her insides and reaches every deserted corner like she’s a walking neon glow stick, bent at the right angle for the first time ever. embarrassing, she thinks, how a small touch from cricket sends an army of butterflies to infest her stomach, that her heart now feels light and serene enough to float away. memories flood back, her brain has drawers filled with similar scenarios — bodies pressed close to hers, grabbing and pulling, always asking for more. their touches burned her; a fragile finch lost in the sahara, not built to endure the scorching sun. with him, it’s different — comfortable and safe in his cupped hands, freddie’s relearning what it’s like to be cared for, painting over the scars with his bright yellows and oranges and greens. “this reminds me of that poem,” her hand moves just an inch, resting on its new spot above his heart, “two-headed calf and his sky with many stars.” freddie aims for an explanation behind her logic, but the more she thinks about it, the weirder it gets — can’t run around telling him she feels like they are tenderly fused together, creating one breathing, living freak of nature with twice as many hearts than usual, finding each other in the way zeus intended all along. no, not really going well with the chilling with my panicked friend situation they have going on. her laugh crackles like popping oil with his compliment, “coming from the guy with the nicest heart... it means a lot. thank you.” but she doesn’t think much of it, one thing freddie knows, her heart is like a bruised, an almost mouldy segment of a perfect clementine, the part you toss out before eating or serving because all it could ever do is to ruin the experience. glad is how she should be, happy that there’s a thick layer of skin and clothes that hide it from him. he wouldn’t like her. nobody would, her mother said so. she couldn’t throw frederica out like she did with ugly clementine segments, but made sure she knew — frederica doesn’t deserve love. ironically enough, freddie’s content with the way things work in her world, folding delicate moments like these into little origami boats, setting them free in the dried-up riverbeds of her heart. a beaming smile spreads across her face with a familiar flutter in her stomach; she has been thinking about him since the last time they were together and the thought of being alone is enough for her cheeks to turn bright crimson. soon, her blushed face is overshadowed by the giggles, “i haven’t either… maybe we should, you know, watch an episode or like, a season. together. i would be down.” a season? yeah, definitely not matching with the i’m so cool facade she hopes to pull. the corners of her lips inch up and a field of poppies bloom across her face as she nods, “hm.. ye-yeah, same.” it’s a lightning bolt of thrill zinging past her spine, find a tent — “sure,” freddie blurts, definitely too loud and too fast, without hesitation, like her life depended on their alone time. there’s no way to play it off, and she struggles to hear the rest of his explanation over her racing heart except for his laugh, as nervous as he sounds, she still wants to bottle it, listen to it on repeat like a broken record. stomach flipping with the gentle touch of his finger, freddie’s heart buoys through her chest, unable to contain her smile, dripping with delight. “you’re right, we– we should,” maybe her neighbours aren’t so terrible after all, with their dark green tent shining like a lighthouse, empty and ready for them to claim it. not sure if he’s ready to brave the crowd, she hesitantly holds the tips of his fingers while rising to her feet. the old freddie would be going through it, replaying all the possible scenarios and planning her escape route in case of an emergency, overthinking about the tightness in her chest and bailing at the last minute, leaving cricket all alone in her neighbours tent. this new and slightly improved freddie’s not so different — she finds herself worrying about what he means by weird, and the fact she’s probably reading too much into things, getting her hopes up or whatever. still, ignoring all that future pain comes easier as she folds her fingers into his with an awkward smile and a gaze in his direction, hoping for his approval. is this okay? “that one,” freddie points with her free hand, “is empty. and looks relatively bigger than the rest, must be comfortable.” another nervous laugh fills the empty space between them, “i don’t want to, like, remind you of it, but i have to ask — are you feeling better?” with furrowed brows she elbows a stranger, shoving and pushing until the small gathering area is parted like the red sea for their short journey. “i wanted to call you after our...” the word date sits on the tip of her tongue as if she’s about to ruin this almost-perfect moment before it even blossoms, “but wasn’t sure if you wanted me to.” freddie lightly squeezes his hand, digging herself a deeper grave like she’s trying to make it harder on herself, the pain — it’s going to be unbearable when this ends in flames. “either way, i’m happy to be here with you.” turning her head, hazel eyes try to meet his for a split second before faltering, losing the remaining confidence she’s stored. “thank you.”
