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SUMMER 2, YEAR 1
Alex’s gridball is in the air, and he’s poised to catch it when he spots Briar limping over the bridge from town, pausing at the edge of the sand to remove his boots. Distracted, the ball bounces off his head and he flinches out of a mixture of embarrassment and surprise before he realizes the farmer didn’t notice anyway. He bends over to scoop it up, trying to figure out why he cares. They’re not close, not really. They’re barely even friends, mostly talking only when they cross paths, and most of their conversations end with Briar wearing an expression half exasperated and half… something Alex couldn’t really recognize. Though occasionally Briar seeks him out when he finds a new flower. That’d been going on for a few weeks, since he caught him helping his grandma garden.
He’d half-expected ridicule, at least a few jokes aimed at his masculinity. Instead, he recieved gifts.
The new farmer was a weirdo. And the fact that he thought about him this much didn’t make him a weirdo, despite what Haley might’ve said when he brought it up, and despite the way seeing him made his stomach twist and his heart race like he’d just finished the last set of his workout.
Arms full of seashells, Briar approaches him. Alex gives him a half-hearted wave as the other boy attempts to settle himself, swinging his rucksack over his shoulders and depositing his load. The things full of farming equipment and what looks like… rocks?
“I hate the start of the season,” Briar moans. He drops the shells haphazardly, seeming not to care if they broke. “I’m exhausted, I plotted more crops than I’ll be able to water without killing myself every morning, and now I’m broke until my next harvest.” He kicks weakly at the sand, drawing Alex’s attention to his legs, partially exposed now that he had his overalls rolled up. He had forgotten how pale he was, before spending every day in the hot sun.
After maybe a couple more minutes more than appropriate, Alex realizes that Briar’s probably waiting for a response. He averts his gaze somewhere more acceptable, and hopes the farmer thinks the sudden redness in his cheeks is the summer’s fault. He fumbles for something to say, eyes trailing back to him, drawn for some reason to the broadness of his shoulders. Say something cool, he thinks. Something that won’t give away the fact he might be checking him out. “You’re getting...fit from all that farm work, though.”
Great. Wasn’t that just perfect. He forces a laugh, and it’s loud and the sound almost makes him cringe. “Keep at it!” he adds, slapping a hand to the farmers back. “Eventually, you could be as strong as me. That’s something to look forward to.” This was not a recovery. It was a freaking kamikaze mission in which he exploded into a million, humiliated pieces at the end.
Briar’s face tells him as much. He’s doing that thing with his eyebrows where one launches somewhere beneath his dark, messy curls, and his full lips move into a pout. “What’s with that look?” he asks.
The farmer steps closer, dropping his bag and settling into a stance. For a moment, Alex thinks he’s going to tackle him, but he’s much too close. Besides, he wasn’t lying about Briar getting more toned, but it was mostly just that. Alex still had an inch on him in height and a vast advantage in weight and muscle mass, given what he’d seen of the other’s figure (which, is admittedly, very little). He’s caught off guard when Briar goes for him low, arms wrapping around his thighs and then he heaves and Alex’s sneaker’s leave the ground, sending up a cloud of sand.
He makes a sound he’ll never admit to in mixed company, hands scrabbling across Briar’s shoulders for purchase. The raven-haired boy laughs, taking a few wobbly steps. “Put me down!”
“I could do this all day,” Briar taunts between giggles, even though Alex knows he’s a liar. He literally just said he was tired, and he was shaking--he was going to drop him.
Alex struggles, which he knows is counterproductive and only speeding up the inevitable, leaning away. They’d never been this close before, his brain supplies uselessly. He could feel the heat of his cheek pressed against his stomach through his T-shirt. His blush is going to be permanently etched onto his face. He fights harder for freedom, and Briar loses his footing. They tumble to the beach gridball-player first.
He hits his head on something. He’s not sure what. Probably a loose piece of wood. The dock’s falling apart, and the ocean just spits the debris back onto the shore; Lewis should really do something about that. They had festivals and stuff out here. Spots dance in front of his eyes, and when they finally clear, Briar fills his vision, looming over him worriedly. He’s slotted between his legs, and they’re so close he feels his breath against his chin.
“Are you okay?” Briar is--really pretty. Shit. Long eyelashes and freckles, and he’s funny and kind and too smart to be hanging out with Alex and--he’s doomed, isn’t he? This was the point where he combusts.
“I’m fine I just…” he trails off, getting caught in Briar’s eyes. What color were they? Caught somewhere between blue and violet, it was unlike anything he’d ever seen. “I hit my head. I’m fine, though, just gotta go home and put ice on it.”
The farmer finally gets off of him, and Alex lets him help him to his own feet. He offers to walk him home, the guilt obvious on his face, but Alex needs to be away from him right now, thank you very much, and declines. Covered in sand and developing a headache, and marches back to town.
Weirdo. He thinks, unsure if the thought it directed to himself or the farmboy. Doesn’t matter, he figures. Probably both.