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“We’re going to get murdered.”
“We aren’t, you idiot.”
But Jian Yi has good reason to think otherwise. Twilight has set in and the trees’ shadows have become long, stretching to greet the four boys as they hike the trail. It’s ominous, almost. There’s a deep orange and purple hue to the sky when Guan Shan looks up, peering past the silhouettes of tree leaves. A wind breezes by, and the leaves ruffle like a preening bird.
“It’s definitely clearer,” Guan Shan observes. Beside him, He Tian turns his eyes to the sky, too.
“I told you it would be,” Zheng Xi says, stepping over a particularly large rock. “The light pollution can’t reach this far out from the city. There’ll be a sharper contrast. We might even be able to see the Milky Way if the clouds clear out and our eyes adjust.”
“Xixi, you’re so smart.”
And he is; they all know he is. It only took four years for Zheng Xi to find his groove for studying, but when he did, he was unstoppable. Now he’s earned an academic scholarship for astronomy, already on track to graduate with honors at university — and Jian Yi won’t shut up about it.
“Whatever,” Zheng Xi mutters, but his face ducks to hide his expression. Jian Yi grins impishly.
They’ve been hiking for a good ten minutes. Zheng Xi is in the lead, mostly because he claims to know the trail the best since he’s been out here before. Jian Yi has, too, except the bashful look on his face when he confessed he spent half the journey on Zheng Xi’s back wasn’t very assuring. As such, it’d taken an arm and a leg to convince Guan Shan and He Tian to join them for stargazing, but Jian Yi and Zheng Xi both testified that it’d be worth it. Something about birthdays and something about sparklers, but Guan Shan wasn’t listening too closely.
“We gotta make those senior year memories,” Jian Yi had tried when insulting Guan Shan’s ability to go on a proper hike didn’t work. “You know — so that we can say we actually did shit in high school other than, like, sitting around all the time.”
He Tian had rolled his eyes. “Only you sit around.”
Jian Yi bristled. “I mean — yeah, fine, you’re right. But I want to be able to say I did cool stuff with you guys. I want to be able to say we were the most cliché friend group that ever walked out of this school.”
Zheng Xi’s added babbling about a black hole and a meteor shower put the icing on the cake; and soon enough, Guan Shan and He Tian were outfitted with tennis shoes and a bundle of blankets under their arms as they trail behind the idiot duo, who banter about something pointless. He Tian watches them for a moment, then turns to Guan Shan.
“Do you have work tomorrow?” he asks. He’s walking alongside Guan Shan despite the trail being wide enough for only one person, and although He Tian claims walking in the brush isn’t a big deal, Guan Shan knows he’ll have to spend a good hour plucking the thorns and stickers out of his shoe soles tomorrow.
“No,” Guan Shan sighs, readjusting his grip on the blanket. “The shifts filled up since its the weekend. I won’t work until Tuesday.”
He glances over when He Tian smiles; a small thing, masqueraded by the looming night.
“We should catch dinner,” He Tian says.
“I’m still busy, dumbass.”
“With what?”
“My ma. She’s already starting to get empty nest syndrome.”
He Tian’s shoulder bumps his. “She can come with.”
“Absolutely fucking not,” Guan Shan says, shooting him a look, and He Tian huffs a laugh.
The trees have begun to thin out and the darkness has started its slow descent. Birds flutter discreetly in the treetops, settling in for the night. Guan Shan and He Tian come to a stop as Zheng Xi starts to slow, shrugging off the arm Jian Yi wrapped around his shoulder to peer through the forest.
“Over there,” he says after a moment, pointing through the trees. “It looks like it clears out and slopes a little. It should work.”
And it does. Jian Yi holds onto Zheng Xi’s hand in a tight, white-knuckled grip as they go off-trail and navigate to the open area, but the clearing is wide and inviting and the sky looks expansive, littered with stars. As Jian Yi stares up at the night sky in quiet awe, Guan Shan and He Tian set to laying out the blankets as Zheng Xi tosses the bag of snacks in the grass. With the crinkle of aluminum, Jian Yi’s trance is broken.
“What kind of chips did you bring?” Jian Yi asks hungrily, plopping down onto the blankets and rummaging through the bag. Guan Shan scowls as he sits down, too.
“You have the attention span of a fucking goldfish,” he mutters. He earns a middle finger in response.
“The stars’ll be there for the next twelve hours,” Jian Yi says, words slurred by the fruit snack packet hanging between his teeth as he forages, “but the food will be gone in the next ten minutes with you greedy jerks around.”
“First come first serve,” He Tian says. He settles down next to Guan Shan at the edge of the blanket. “Toss me that.”
Jian Yi tosses the box of strawberry pocky and He Tian catches it in a hand. The crinkle of chip bags and the hiss of soda bottles being cracked open disturb the quiet of the night, and Zheng Xi clicks on their portable lantern when the last of the sun’s rays disappear behind the horizon. The night spreads its cloak like a magician, unmasked only by the distant twinkle of lights.
Eventually, the boys settle. Guan Shan can hear the crunch of He Tian’s food as Jian Yi nudges at Zheng Xi, practically engaging in a game of twenty questions as they all lay back, watching the sky.
“Is that the Big Dipper?”
“No.”
“What about that, by that tree over there?”
Zheng Xi sighs. “No.”
“Okay, but that’s the Orion, right?”
“Do you even know what the Orion is?”
“No, but I read it in a book once.”
“You read?”
Jian Yi snickers. “No. I actually just went through your notes last week.”
There’s a thump and an, “Ow, Xixi!” in protest, and as Zheng Xi reprimands Jian Yi for going through his desk again, He Tian exhales.
“Tell me what you know,” he says to Guan Shan, finishing the last of the pocky. Guan Shan can smell the strawberries in their close proximity. To accommodate for all four boys, Guan Shan and Jian Yi are sandwiched in the middle. Consequently, Guan Shan and He Tian are close enough on the blanket for their elbows to touch. It’s distracting.
He rolls his head to look at him.
“Why would you think I know jack shit?”
He Tian’s eyes search for something among the dusting of stars. “You seem like you were the type of kid to spend your days outside.”
Guan Shan’s lips press. “And that makes me an astronomer?”
“No, it makes you curious. And I know a mind like yours wouldn’t have let something like this go unanswered.”
There’s such certainty in his words; such conviction. Guan Shan turns his eyes back to the sky. When the silence stretches, He Tian sits up to toss the empty pocky box into the grass then lays back down, this time closer to Guan Shan. The press of their arms is warm. After a moment, Guan Shan swallows the lump in his throat and exhales.
“My dad,” he says, eyes flickering from speck to speck of light, “used to take me out to a… a park. It’s been torn down now, but it was close to our home. He’d work late a lot, so we’d go on walks after dinner sometimes and he’d — well, he knew some shit. Learned it in some elective he took in college.”
He can feel He Tian’s eyes on him. Close enough that Guan Shan almost thinks he can feel the warmth of He Tian’s breath on his cheek. His skin feels like eggshells and the vulnerability makes him want to shiver in the warm night’s breeze.
“And?” He Tian asks, careful.
Guan Shan swallows. Makes a conscious effort to not meet that gaze, else it might make something in his stomach flip. “Jian Yi was close, but the Big Dipper is by that tree, a little further to the left,” he says, quiet.
He Tian’s eyes follow the point of his finger, and Guan Shan’s almost grateful for the momentary escape from his gaze. Beside them, Zheng Xi says something that makes Jian Yi laugh before sighing contently, legs intertwined naturally with one another.
“We should’ve brought sparklers, Xixi,” Jian Yi hums, temple leaned against Zheng Xi’s shoulder. Zheng Xi only shakes his head.
“No. I wanted this to be… calm. And they’re too bright. If we were distracted by sparklers, then we’d miss all the—“
“Meteor!” Jian Yi exclaims suddenly, shooting upright and pointing frantically at the sky. “Right there! See it?! That little — little streak thing!”
Guan Shan doesn’t see it. At least, not at first. But before he’s able to call Jian Yi out on his bullshit, movement catches his eye, and a second meteor flits in the sky before being swallowed by darkness once more. He Tian tenses against him and Guan Shan knows he saw it, too.
It’s far too nostalgic. It’s a flood of memories. And as Jian Yi babbles excitedly as the meteors come and go, Guan Shan swears he can feel the weight of his father’s hand in his, twice the size of his tiny palm but warm enough that Guan Shan hadn’t needed gloves as they strolled through the park. And Guan Shan had gasped in awe, itching at a scratch on his elbow because he’d gotten in another fight with a kid during snack time, but his wide eyes were upturned to the sky as his father smiled, tired but content.
Yes; it’s far too nostalgic. And he swears he can feel the ghost of his father’s hand, but it’s no illusion when He Tian’s fingers hook into his, hesitating, then sliding to interlock their hands when Guan Shan makes no attempt to pull away.
And despite the serenity of the view, Guan Shan closes his eyes. He can feel He Tian’s thumb rubbing small circles into the back of his hand; he can feel their ankles knocking together. And he thinks about all the thorns and stickers he’ll have to pull out of the soles of He Tian’s shoes tomorrow because Guan Shan can’t promise him years, but he can promise him tomorrow, and he can promise him tonight. He can promise him that their last five years together haven’t been in vain, and he can promise him that he wants to finish their senior year doused in a feeling like this.
This was a good idea, Guan Shan thinks as he opens his eyes and sees a blue-green tint to the sky as the meteors dart past. The Milky Way.
Yeah. This was a good idea.
Jian Yi’s and Zheng Xi’s cheery murmurs blur into the background. Fingers interlocked, Guan Shan and He Tian watch the shower for a few more minutes in silence before Guan Shan closes his eyes, and this time doesn’t open them again.
Ten minutes later, half-asleep, he doesn’t protest when He Tian pulls his body into him, the heat of He Tian’s chest inciting a deep, relaxed exhale from Guan Shan’s sleepy state. Their foreheads gently bump, and Guan Shan is blanketed with a feeling of safe. He smells strawberries and He Tian’s cologne and feels the tickle of He Tian’s hair, and it’s the perfect lullaby.
He thinks He Tian murmurs something, but he can’t be sure. Instead, Guan Shan ducks his head and sleeps.
The night passes as such. The birds sleep, and so do they. And when the first light of morning comes, it’s welcomed by discarded chip bags, a flickering lantern running low on battery, and two pairs of high school boys curled into one another, legs tangled and fingers brushing.