Chapter Text
“Your grandparents are intense.”
Euijoo feels vindicated just by the observation. “I used to wish for a sweet old lady as a grandma, who made heart-shaped cookies instead of roasted chickpeas and rusks.”
“What the hell is rusks?”
“Dried out bread. It’s pretty good actually, with cheese or something.”
“Not milk and cookies though.”
“No. I remember when I was little, when they still lived near us on the island, I wrote stories sometimes. Nothing special, I’m a superhero, I’m a brilliant scientist, whatever. I wrote a story for her birthday, where a grandson loved his grandma so much and wished her a happy birthday. Kind of meta, huh? Anyway, she gave it a D.”
“What do you mean she gave it a D?”
“She was a teacher back in the day — she graded my work.”
“It was a gift.”
“A below-average one.”
Nico stares out with a tight jaw, then says contrarily, “I give you an A.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know. Driving.”
“Driving?”
“You’re a great driver. I always thought that.” Patting Euijoo on the knee. “You get an A.”
Euijoo eye-rolls this off. Inside he’s all pleasure.
“In my church,” Nico says, “there’s no such thing as confession, because there’s no such thing as sin.”
“So moral right and wrong, no such thing.”
“I don’t think it’s too much to ask to follow your own principles.”
“What about scripture then?” Euijoo’s arms are above his head, driftwood not so comfortable, but he’s warm sharing the blanket. “What do I need to read?”
Nico thinks, then says, “Rumi?”
“So this is a branch of Sufism…”
“Call it what you want. I’m not working Sundays though.”
“All right. What else — baptism. Is that optional?”
“If you want to convert…”
“I don’t think I trust you to hold my head underwater.”
“Doesn’t have to be fully under. Just a… sprinkle.” Nico pushes himself up. “Wait.”
He wobbles down the beach on mushy sand, crouching down at the waves, then comes back with water pooled in his hands.
“Shit, hold on, I don’t want to get wet.”
“Just trust me for a second. Kneel there.”
Euijoo does kneel, and Nico meets him there, his hands dripping. He says, “Close your eyes,” but Euijoo can’t help peeking. Nico’s mouth moves softly, praying, and Euijoo watches until he’s caught.
“I said close your eyes.”
“Sorry.”
Cold water drips down his nose, Nico’s fingers brushing his forehead. They’re knee-to-knee, sinking in the sand. Then Euijoo peeks one eye open, whispering, “What do I do now?”
Nico is smiling, probably finding something about his face amusing. He reaches up again, cold fingers rubbing the water away from Euijoo’s eyes, the corner of his mouth. “Say a prayer.”
“How do I do that?”
“I can show you.”
“Show me.”
Nico supposes they’ll find out soon enough if this amounts to sacrilege.
“Repeat after me.”
Euijoo, making an amenable seat for Nico to straddle, mouth skimming up to the nook behind Nico’s ear, murmurs back, “Repeat after me.”
“I’m serious, this is Rumi, get it wrong and I’ll kill you.”
“I’m listening.”
“Go to the Ocean.”
“Go to the Ocean.”
“Waves of purity, waves of serenity” — Nico tries not to sigh, Euijoo’s breath in his ear — “roll in.”
“Waves of purity, waves of serenity… roll in. Is this allegory?”
“Shut up. Wash away my old self.”
“Wash away my old self.”
“Old home—”
Hands in his hair, bringing Nico down to him, “Old home—”
“The old trap” — one word at a time — “of my old ways.”
“The old trap” — between breaths, between their lips — “of my old ways. Is that all?”
“No. There’s more.” Nico leaves it unsaid.
“You’re sure it doesn’t hurt?”
Euijoo is still sitting with long arms and legs wrapped loosely around Nico, touching behind his ear, squinting in the dim light of stars and the glass doors behind them.
Nico says, “Sort of hurts when you touch it like that.”
“Sorry, there’s just this… viscous…”
“That’s Vaseline, stupid, I haven’t washed it out.”
“Oh, thank God. I want to look in the light tomorrow though.”
The word stuns them both, then leaves them quiet.
Euijoo is kissing him again, but Nico is looking at the sky.
He wanted to be drunk for this. Lose all reality in a crowd of thousands, fear becoming exhilaration. Like New Year’s Eve, would the crowd chant, three, two, one? What would happen then?
Euijoo, into the crook of his neck: “Do you want to go inside?”
Nico can’t take his eyes off the sky. “I don’t know.”
“Are you cold?”
“No.” Yes he is. They’re lying in the sand, the sun has gone down. Less than an hour now. Nico’s heart is pounding. Euijoo is on top of him, lowering himself down, head on Nico’s chest, but Nico uses an elbow so that he won’t hear the frantic beating, won’t feel how scared he is. “You’re heavy.”
“Sorry. If you want to call your family, I can go in.”
“No. It’s fine. I’ll see them.” Nico squeezes a palm in the sand, lets it run through his fingers. “She asked who I was with. I told her about you.”
“What’d you say?”
“I got picked up by this asshole in golf shoes.”
“Thanks.”
“I said I was okay. Because she was worried. I said I was with a good person.”
Euijoo pushes his face into Nico’s shoulder again. He says, “It could be okay, in the end.”
“I know.”
“It could be nothing. Could be just… nothing.”
He looks down at Euijoo. He’s rubbing tears from his face.
Nico is tired. Tired of watching, staring up. He brings Euijoo into his arms, head to his chest, so that Euijoo can hear it. I’m afraid, I’m afraid too. The sand is soft. It’s not cold anymore.
They hold, and breathe, and count.