prompt: (Trick) One of them lives in an old lighthouse AU. And when I say 'lives'⊠Does he really [...]?
FĂliâs bones groaned as he sat up, swung his legs over the side of his narrow bed and planted his feet on the rug on the floor beside it. It was a thin, ratty thing that absorbed the cold that seeped through the concrete, rather than protected from it. A chill ran up from the soles of FĂliâs feet and settled as an ache in his knees. He felt haggard, spread well beyond his thirty-six years, but duty called, and it was ingrained in him to answer.
Heâd been here for as long as he could remember. The small island had been his familyâs responsibility for generations, and it was his turn to take up the mantle of keeper. As soon as FĂli had been old enough, his uncle â who had replaced FĂliâs late father â had moved on to take over a fishing enterprise in the shoreline village.
Dale appeared to have climbed out of the sea, a densely packed cluster of damp stone structures, as grey as the landscape that surrounded it. The smell and taste of brine had sunk into the pores of its people, clung to them wherever they went so they would always be reminded of where they came from. They were hardy, grown on temperamental waves, giving and receiving life from the depths, and FĂli was no exception.
Though, now, in the strained, evening, mid-October light, FĂliâs joints creaked as he stood, and his spine popped like a zipper.
He couldnât remember the last time heâd been ashore, though it couldnât have been too long ago. His mother wouldnât have had it, making the short journey to the island herself if heâd been gone awhile. Time passed strangely there, one day washing into the next and into the next and so on, like waves over sand.
Dressing quickly in a wool sweater that needed darning at the elbows, a pair of thick trousers that shouldâve been replaces ages ago, the hems curled and frayed, and his double-breasted sack coat, FĂli didnât waste time shuffling toward the stove to boil water for coffee. His nights were a slow routine of shaking the coffee tin, jotting down a note on his supply list to get more when Bard made the trip over; then he sat for a few minutes, warming his hands around his mug, letting the stiffness in his body recede enough that he could comfortably climb the stairs to the light room.
Earlier, FĂli had seen signs of an oncoming storm and he wasnât disappointed to hear the roar and crash of waves against the crags. As soon as he finished half his mug, he ambled to the stairs and made his ascent.
***
Outside, the fog was thick and the air so cold it pinched FĂliâs cheeks and neck. Heâd forgotten his scarf again, somewhere in the bedroom. It was odd that heâd misplaced it in the first place, given that there wasnât much filling the small spaces within the lighthouse. Hardly anywhere it couldâve hidden itself. No matter, FĂli had a job to do and so he set about doing it. It was nearing the end of October and the light was thin by four. He hobbled up the stairs to the light room, made his tour and inspected what needed inspecting, winding the lens and ensuring it moved correctly.
***
FĂli sighed, the unmooring sensation of isolation squeezing his chest, as if someoneâs boot was bearing down on him. It had definitely been too long since heâd been home. Thankfully, he only had a week left, his cousin Dori taking his place for the month of November. He sat up, swung his legs over the side of his bed and planted his feet, tilted forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
His back protested, but he ignored it, hunching forward. Then, scrubbing his hair back, FĂli stood and moved to his wardrobe, pulled on his wool sweater that needed darning and his trousers that needed replacing and shoved his feet into two pairs of socks which he then shoved into his boots.
Next, stove, boiled water, coffee.
Christ, what day was it?
***
October 31st. He didnât know how he knew today was October 31st, only that it was. The same way he knew when it was time to get up and time to go to sleep, when he was hungry or thirsty.
FĂli hauled his legs over the side of his bed with a groan, feet on the rug. He stretched his arms and scratched his furry belly and then marched to his wardrobe to dress. While he didnât particularly enjoy the monotony, he had to admit he liked the simplicity of wearing practically the same thing everyday. The sweater with the elbows that needed darning, trousers that needed replacing, socks in socks and boots and coat.
It was when he was bending to sit, a movement the required his legs to be spread at exactly the right angle and his arse to stick out in order to hit the seat before the rest of him fell into the chair, that something veryâŠunusualhappened.
***
The crash and clamor hadnât been what had spilled FĂliâs coffee all over his boots, it had been the very sudden interruption of a body falling through the door, soaked in the sea and pale as a ghost. FĂli shot forward, thoughts stuttering to a halt as instinct took over. He dropped to his knees and rolled the stranger over by the shoulder to get a better look at what he was dealing with.
He gasped at the sight.
A boy, no older than fifteen or sixteen with features that would mature into a striking handsomeness. He was wet from head to toe, lips blue and lashes starred and stuck together by globs of something resembling black tar. FĂli hurried to strip the boy of his wet clothes, an unusual combination of hideous green and purple and black-and-white-stripes; half-carried, half-dragged him to the armchair in front of the stove and piled the boy in blankets.
Two hours later, after FĂli finished the chore of winding the lens, the boy woke up and gave FĂli his name.
âKĂli,â He said it like a secret, âWhatâs yours?â
***
KĂli told FĂli a harrowing tale of dares between friends and how KĂli had swum from the shore to the island, emboldened by something called Sour Puss.
âI wasnât expecting anyone to be here.â KĂli admitted, looking small and lost and very ashamed.
When FĂli didnât say anything â he didnât feel there was anything to say, honestly â KĂli again filled the silence, nattered on about this and that andâ
âMobile?â FĂli interrupted as soon as KĂli had said the word. It wasnât as though FĂli didnât understand the concept of the word, he did; it was simply that in the context KĂli used it, it didnât make sense.
KĂli scrunched up his face in confusion, âYeah?â FĂli lifted an eyebrow in the hopes of prompting KĂli for clarity. Instead, KĂli continued his story, telling FĂli how heâd decided it was about time his dumb friends learned that Iâm not the kind that doesnât follow-through.
âSo, youâre a knobâead.â FĂli concluded, deadpan and stone faced. He couldnât keep it up for long, though, the mask cracking at KĂliâs gull-like guffaw. FĂli doubled over, sucking in large breathes and holding himself around the middle. KĂliâs stricken expression was priceless and by far the funniest thing FĂli had ever seen.
âOi!â KĂli leaned back in the armchair and kicked out, striking the side of FĂliâs thigh. âDonât be an arse! I almost died!â
Which sent FĂli into another fit of laughter.
***
A year later, KĂli returned, again on October 31st. Heâd said heâd been âround sometime in between, but FĂli hadnât been there. FĂli figured KĂli made the journey during one of the months FĂli was ashore and so FĂli rectified that by giving KĂli a better idea of the rotation he, Dori and Nori had created for themselves.
KĂli had looked puzzled, the straight line of his mouth giving him a severe look. Heâd been quiet for most of the night, brightening later when FĂli promised to show him how to wind the lens so it turned clockwise.
***
Over the years, KĂli grew into himself, and FĂli had been right, his features only improved with age. He was striking and dark and emotive, the position of his brows determining his whole expression.
Somehow, FĂli didnât feel as though he was outrunning KĂli in age. Rather, KĂli made him feel young; his joints protested less, his skin warmed, his chest lightened. He had a regular skip in his step in the days leading up to KĂliâs arrival. And then, one year, KĂli came with something familiar wrapped around his neck.
âWhereâd you get that?â FĂli asked, trying his best to keep the suspicion out of his voice.
âHuh?â KĂli tucked his chin into his chest, peering down the long line of his nose, going crosseyed as he gazed at the scarf heâd chosen for his visit. âOh, this?â He glanced him, big, cheerful smile lighting up the dull interior of FĂliâs living space. âMy nan was cleaning out her attic, this was tucked away with some of her grandfatherâs things. Sânice, innit?â
âYeah.â FĂli said, eyes fixed on a coffee stain he was certain he recognized. âSânice.â
***
âYou know, one of these days, youâll have to come to me on the shore.â KĂli wheezed, dragging himself up the rest of the stairs and through the door.
FĂli chuckled, large hand pressed into KĂliâs lower back where it belonged. âOne of these days, I might.â
KĂli cast him an odd look over his shoulder.
âWhat? Iâm on shore a few months during the year, you know. We could meet then. You just,â FĂli hesitated, realizing a little late that he didnât want to have that conversation, âNever suggested it before.â
***
FĂli never sought KĂli out on shore.
KĂli never mentioned it.
And they continued the way they were until KĂli never left again.
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