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When Carlos had first moved to Night Vale, he had thought it was weird, but it had been over a year now, and in fleeting moments he sometimes thought that he fit in better here than he had anywhere else.
Was not “weirdness” an inherently relative statement, reflecting merely the distance something was from what was familiar? Many people thought Carlos was weird. In school the other kids used to say that he was weird. It wasn’t until high school that he stopped thinking of it as a statistical statement and realized they meant to mock him.
As an adult, he’d gone back to being quite neutral about being weird. Over the past year, his own “weirdness” had gone out of his mind completely. It wasn’t until today that he had really started to think about it again.
One reason he had been considered weird was the way he related to others. He had never really felt the need to engage in activities involving touching other people, for example, hugging. He observed the ways physical affection was carried out and knew that many people expressed love in that sort of way, but as a scientist would know, observing was not the same as understanding the internal mechanisms of a thing. On occasion, with the right people, Carlos enjoyed hugs and similar behaviors, but sometimes they could be uncomfortable and even distressing, making him feel trapped and overwhelmed. He did not know how to navigate this, so he left it alone, mostly. His colleagues understood the ways he expressed affection and were receptive to them.
But he had been thinking, among other scientific thoughts, about the closeness that occurs between people who like or perhaps love one another. One way of being close to another person was to share ideas. Another was to enjoy an activity together, or to share an experience. Carlos himself enjoyed most of all the closeness of being quiet with another person in the same room.
He had been thinking about the human body—a scientific subject if there ever was one, obviously. He had been thinking about how it could be used to experience another person, about how physical proximity could be a type of closeness, about how the firing of neurons creating the sensation of touch against skin allowed people to experience being very close indeed to one another, about how comfort and love could be communicated directly through the firing of those neurons, and how in this way sensation could be a wordless language of caring, and about how liking—or loving—someone could, sometimes, lead to wanting to experience them in this physical way.
It was, of course, something he had never wanted in the exact same way as most other people, or so his observations led him to conclude. But now he was curious. Scientifically curious. Partly he was curious about himself. He did not know how to predict or make sense of his sensory reactions and sensitivities, but it was possible a pattern could be observed, and the prospect of patterns excited him.
(He continued to tell himself that it was the patterns.)
He was also curious about someone else—someone he was growing close to and with whom he hoped to grow closer.
Someone with whom he had a date this afternoon.
He stood in the mirror in his apartment, adjusting the collar of his casual lab coat underneath which he wore his favorite and most comforting dinosaur shirt. This was not his first date with Cecil and in fact it was a great deal less formal than some of their previous dates. So why was he so nervous?
He got a notification on his phone. It was a text from Cecil: So, what movie are we going to see? I hear that the Lion King is finally being released in theaters in Night Vale now that the City Council has clarified their stance on lions!
Oh. Carlos texted back. What is their stance on lions?
Well, they voted on it by shrieking into a cardboard box, said Cecil, and the results are that lions obviously do not exist. So they’ve had to censor every scene in the movie that contains a lion. But I still think it would be so much fun!
Carlos deliberated over typing a response. He already felt an uncomfortable weight of nervousness settling in his stomach and he was beginning to dread the thought of being in a loud, crowded movie theater. Would it be rude to ask for something different? He started to type a message, and deleted it, and started typing again, and deleted that, too.
He finally typed out: Is it okay if we could go for a walk in Mission Grove Park instead? I’ve been wanting to get some fresh air, and I think it could be fun.
Cecil replied almost immediately: Oh, that could be fun! And we’d get to talk. Should we do that then? Same time?
Carlos texted back, Sure! and immediately regretted adding the exclamation point. He added: I was thinking, maybe we could go back to your place afterward? I mean, if you want to.
That was probably rude too. Carlos fidgeted.
Oh, Cecil texted back. Well, I don’t have any plans for tonight...
Another text: Should I run by the store for…anything?
Another text: Honestly, I wasn’t expecting you to be so forward!
Hastily: Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. It’s just a little unexpected!
Even more hastily: But I like the unexpected, of course. If everything in life was expected, nothing would ever be exciting.
Carlos felt very awkward as he replied: I didn’t mean it quite that way. I mean I just thought we could hang out. Talk. I hope that’s okay.
It took Cecil a few seconds to reply, which made him even more nervous. But Cecil said: Oh, of course it’s okay!
Another text: I’m so sorry
Another: I totally misunderstood
Another: But yes, that would be wonderful :) I hate paperwork anyway, haha
Carlos was anxious to end the conversation here. He typed: I have some science to get to, but I’ll be ready on time.
Oh, okay! Have a very scientific day!
“Well, I messed that one up completely,” Carlos said aloud to the empty room, putting his phone down.
It was a good thing it was only around noon, or else Cecil probably would have been narrating the entire exchange to listeners on his evening radio station. Or did time actually work that way here? Was evening a discrete and predictable period of time, or did it only happen at the behest of Cecil when he signed off? There was much Carlos did not understand. As a scientist, he was used to not understanding, but it seemed that here, he understood even less than usual.
Until the time he had to leave, which was four in the afternoon, Carlos tried to occupy himself with various important tasks he had meant to be getting to.
After lunch, he went to his lab. It was around one o clock. He doodled dinosaurs for forty-five minutes, and then took a ten-minute break. It was now 1:55. He spent the next half-hour measuring the doodles. Then, he gave them all appropriate first, middle, and last names based on the measurements he had collected. This was the longest part of the work. By the time he was finished, it was nearly 3:45. Cecil would be coming to pick him up in around fifteen minutes.
Provided that time worked, and it usually seemed to for Cecil, at least in the day-to-day minutiae of life. Carlos would have to find a way to pass the remaining fifteen minutes, and activity he finally settled upon was nervously staring into space while envisioning various ways he could mess up this impending social interaction.
It was an old and familiar activity, one that he was quite good at due to his extensive practice.
Carlos brought the satchel containing his notebooks and sketchbooks with him. His anxiety eased somewhat when he climbed into the passenger seat of Cecil’s car—Cecil seemed delighted to see him. “I couldn’t decide which feather boa to wear today, so I wore all of them!” Cecil said. He was dressed in a mint green polo shirt, bright orange skinny jeans, and a coiling pile of feather boas—one teal, one hot pink, one orange, and one yellow.
“Your orange feather boa matches your jeans,” Carlos complimented him.
“I know! I thought to myself, today I’ll be coordinated! You can’t see my thigh-high stockings, but that’s all right.” He scratched his thigh. “Hmm. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn these. Lace is itchy, am I right?”
Cecil seemed unperturbed by the awkward conversation earlier. Maybe he hadn’t messed it up as badly as he thought. Maybe he wasn’t going to mess this up. Maybe. Maybe.
“Are you all right?” Cecil asked after a few minutes of quiet. “You seem…tense.”
“Oh. Oh, I’m all right. I’ve just been feeling cooped up, you know? Work is good, especially when that work is of the scientific type, but sometimes one needs to get outside for some exercise and fresh air.”
“Oh, I totally understand. I think I could use some fresh air too, myself.”
Carlos was comforted by Cecil’s enthusiasm, but any of the various words and phrases available to him for continuing a conversation seemed stymied in coming out. He thought backward—it was considered acceptable to jump off a previous topic to continue a conversation. They were almost at Mission Grove Park. Carlos said, “Today I’m wearing my dinosaur shirt.”
“Oh, fun,” said Cecil, though he was distracted by the task of parallel parking. They both got out of the car. “I’ve always found it fun to imagine what it would be like if dinosaurs were real,” Cecil said. “Too bad they’re just a government conspiracy,” He laughed.
“Conspiracy?” said Carlos. “They’re not a government conspiracy at all. Science has proven that—”
“Hmm?” Cecil said, sounding interested. Carlos retreated a little, afraid as usual of launching into an infodump in the presence of someone he had just begun dating, and who had a smile that increased his heart rate, and who in fact increased his heart rate just by existing in close proximity, and who made him think about the more statistically improbable outcomes of dating with a deep sense of what he identified as yearning. But there was something genuine about Cecil’s tone and expression, so he let himself talk.
Cecil did not seem bored or distracted as Carlos outlined for him major events in paleontology and the timeline on which each dinosaur species had been discovered. It was a beautiful day, if a little on the warm side of things. Soon the excitement of one of his favorite subjects swept away most of his fear, and his shy glances up at Cecil grew less shy, and multiple times their glances at each other coordinated, and Cecil was either blushing a little or getting mild heat exhaustion from all the feather boas.
“This is all so fascinating,” said Cecil. “I never thought of myself as much of a science person, but I’m growing a bit of an appreciation for it, you know?”
He felt Cecil’s fingers casually brush his own, which he understood as an invitation, and he took Cecil’s hand. It felt good, he observed. After another ten minutes or so he also observed that while Cecil may have been blushing earlier, he was now certainly verging into heat exhaustion and Carlos told him this, recommending that they begin circling back around to the car.
“Well, it is a bit hot out, isn’t it?” Cecil said. “I have lemonade in the fridge at home. My mother’s recipe—made with homemade bone broth,”
“Sounds—um, wonderful,” said Carlos, not very convincingly, but Cecil did not seem to catch that.
“I’m sure glad I have someone with me who will look out for my health,” he said cheerfully.
Carlos hadn’t even been able to broach the other topic. The important one. The one that made his stomach hurt from anxiety. On the walk back he tried to compose in his head the conversation he meant to have with Cecil, or his half of it. He tried to consider how he was going to express his thoughts, concerns, and ideas, and all the possible responses that Cecil might have, and all his possible responses to those—It was too much, an infinitely proliferating tree of possibilities.
“Are you certain you’re all right?” Cecil asked as they approached the car.
Carlos swallowed. “Well,” he said. “There is a conversation I intended to have with you—important, but also with the potential to be awkward, or even disastrous. And I understand that this uncertainty—this risk—surrounding sharing something important about yourself with someone is inherent to the—to the beauty of growing closer to them. Possibly.” He cleared his throat.
Cecil nodded understandingly.
“Because what would closeness to another person be without it? If it was all easy and without risk, what meaning would being known in that way hold? What depth, what…pleasure?”
Cecil nodded understandingly again. He said, “I understand.”
“But that doesn’t make it any less difficult,” Carlos concluded.
“Well,” said Cecil, “I want you to know that to me, you are perfect, and beautiful. I like being with you, I like spending time with you, I’ve so far loved getting to know you and I welcome the chance to get to know you even more. I can’t imagine that anything would change that, but if you need more time—”
“I think you should probably get out of the sun,” said Carlos, wincing.
“Oh. Right. Well, we can talk about it when we get home. If that’s all right.”
Carlos politely declined the lemonade and drank just water. They sat at the table in Cecil’s little kitchen. Carlos looked around at the lemon-colored refrigerator with cute magnets bearing ominous quotes from ancient texts, the quaint ceramic jars labeled ACORNS, COPPER ORE and BLOOD, and the themed calendar which seemed to display the entrails of a different animal for each month. The walls were iridescent purple. A “Live, Laugh, Love” sign with worms for letters hung above the stove, and the picture on the wall above the table displayed the view down the throat of a hippopotamus. It was charming in its own way.
“Chicken noodle soup?” Cecil offered. “I seared the noodles myself.”
It would be impolite to decline food, though that didn’t look like chicken, noodle, or soup. “Sure,” Carlos said, and Cecil cut him a slice. “It’s my mom’s recipe,” Cecil said proudly.
It was delicious—kind of like strawberry Jell-O, with some satisfying extra crunch. Cecil made light conversation, not pressing the earlier subject. Finally, Carlos brought himself to reopen it.
“It’s nothing too serious, really,” Carlos said. “There’s just a few things you should know if we—um—I mean, some things I think could affect our relationship. Not necessarily bad things. Not really.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well. I’m autistic,” He had planned to lead into this, but now there it was, out in the open and vulnerable to all the consequences it could bring. “I mean, I thought it would be helpful for you to know—”
“Oh. I haven’t noticed at all. You smell completely normal to me.”
“I—I what?”
“Of course, I don’t mean to invalidate you,” Cecil said gently. “Your concerns are, of course, valid, and I’m happy to listen to them. I’m just saying that I haven’t been bothered—or even noticed, really.”
“Wait—what do you think autism is?”
“I don’t think it has to be a big deal! I mean, sure, you might persistently emanate the scent of oranges, but in my opinion, there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“That’s—the scent of oranges? That’s not what I’m referring to. That’s not even what autism is.”
“Oh,” said Cecil. “I’m sorry. I’m not a professional in the field of oranges. Go on.”
“It means that I relate to people, and process things, and in general comprehend the world and relationships in ways that are different,” Carlos said. “And in the past, this has caused difficulties in my relationships, some trivial, some serious. By relationships, I mean many types of relationships, but that use of the word excludes serious romantic relationships, because I’ve never really had one of those. Not that I want to be presumptuous about the nature, or the seriousness, of—this—our—” He took a sip of water to moisten his mouth. “Our relationship. But I anticipate this fact about me becoming relevant especially in that case, based upon all other types of relationships I have been in, and if our relationship…”
“Becomes serious?” Cecil suggested. “More serious? Because, I mean—it’s not not serious…I take it pretty seriously—”
“Yes…then it will be important for you to know.”
“Right,” Cecil looked very slightly confused. “Differently from who?”
“What?”
“Who do you comprehend things and relationships differently from?”
“Maybe that wasn’t the best way to articulate it,” Carlos said. “I mean, for instance, sometimes I don’t…express affection in ways that other people understand. And sometimes people think that I don’t care about them or that I don’t love them because I don’t pitch my voice and make facial expressions and utilize conversational skills in exactly the right way.”
“Well, everyone expresses love and caring in different ways,” Cecil said encouragingly. His face lit up suddenly, as if he was recalling a fond memory. “That reminds me of my old neighbor. She used to leave dead birds impaled on the spikes of my rose trellis every Friday night. It took me time to realize that it was her way of saying hi and asking how I was doing.”
“Oh,” said Carlos.
“I, for one, adore your facial expressions and your conversation,” Cecil said with a smile. Carlos felt his cheeks heating and fumbled back to the original topic.
“It also means I’m a lot more sensitive to certain things than most people,” he said. “When I am over-exposed to noise or other stimuli, I can get overwhelmed and it can be difficult for me to verbally communicate. When that happens, I need people close to me to understand and to not ask me lots of questions or try to force me to talk. Some days or after some activities I’ll have a much lower tolerance for stimuli than usual. Does that make any sense?”
“I understand,” Cecil said. “Some people scream and sob bitterly when the sun comes up, some people scream and sob bitterly when the sun goes down. The important thing is to understand and accept those differences, the way I see it.”
“Well,” Carlos said, “I’m a little more of a ‘scream and sob bitterly when there are fluorescent lights.’ If that makes sense.”
“There you go! Variety is the spice of life,” Cecil said.
Carlos was not used to people being so unfazed. When he’d had this conversation in the past, he often found himself being reassured that he still seemed, for the most part, “normal.” Cecil, on the other hand, didn’t know or care what “normal” was. It gave him an odd sense of comfort and relief. There wasn’t any standard by which he was being constantly weighed here in Night Vale, and especially not here with Cecil. He felt his anxiety ease.
“Thank you for listening to me,” he said after a pause. “It’s very reassuring to have someone listen.”
“You don’t have to thank me; I enjoy listening to you,” Cecil said. “And it’s clearly important that you express this to me.”
“Thank you,” Carlos looked down at his empty plate, tapping his fingers in his lap. “The other thing—that I wanted to say,” Carlos said, not lifting his eyes, “was that…sometimes it’s hard for me to engage in showing affection in the same ways that people generally do. For example, being hugged or sharing other types of physical affection—sometimes I enjoy it, sometimes it’s unpleasant and overwhelming. So for most of my life I’ve chosen not to engage in those things.”
Cecil shrugged. “And there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“But,” Carlos said, feeling rather awkward, “in a romantic relationship…”
“It’s important to me that you feel happy and comfortable,” Cecil interjected, but gently. “After all, what’s the use in a loving gesture if the recipient doesn’t experience it as love?”
“Yes,” Carlos said. “But what I mean is that…well,” For a moment, he was at a loss for words. Then, he took out the satchel he had brought.
“I am, first and foremost, a scientist,” he said. “Which means I am always in search of new knowledge to acquire and new experiments to perform. And I have taken an interest—a scientific interest—in my own reactions to stimuli,” He began rummaging through the papers where he had taken some conjectural notes.
“Oh, is that some of your science?” Cecil said, craning his neck.
“Yes,” Carlos said, gathering the most important papers into a pile. “What I mean to say is, I want to undertake an experiment. Or a set of experiments. With you. In the interest of…science.”
“Oh,” Cecil said. “This is exciting! I’ve been getting interested in science lately, you know. So, what is this experiment?”
“I have identified many types of physical affection that people often enjoy and engage in,” Carlos said. “I generally have avoided many of them, due to my reactions to the stimulus of touch being unpredictable. But just because I cannot apprehend a pattern, doesn’t mean that a pattern cannot be found once data is gathered. I have never before felt the need to gather data on this subject. But I have developed some scientific curiosity, you see. Very natural for a scientist.”
“I see,” said Cecil.
“In the wake of new developments, naturally,” said Carlos.
“Ah,” said Cecil.
They were both quiet for a few seconds.
“So,” Cecil ventured, “you want to conduct experiments involving—hugs?”
“Among other things, yes,” Carlos said. “A more broadened focus would give the experiments more relevance.”
“Yes. Of course,” Cecil glanced down at the notes. “And you’re inviting me to help?”
“Yes.”
“By…carrying these things out?” His eyes were moving down an annotated list Carlos had written out.
“Well,” Carlos said, “by my understanding of most forms of physical affection, it’s more of an exchange than anything.”
“Right,” said Cecil. “Well, I would be delighted to help you with your scientific pursuits. If you’re comfortable with it of course.”
Even Carlos’s limited experience with romantic pursuits told him that being allowed to see someone’s bedroom—and specifically to lie on their bed—was indicative of a special level of intimacy, usually of a sexual sort. He was not quite ready for that, but this fact was mutually understood, and he felt comfortable in it.
Cecil sat cross legged on the bed, toying with his plush tardigrade, while Carlos laid out his notes on the desk. Cecil had changed into some more comfortable attire—a matching pajama set with lime-green-and-pink plaid stripes. Carlos had removed his shoes but for now enjoyed the reassurance of his lab coat.
“Well, how do you feel now?” Cecil said. “I think it would be good to establish a baseline. Or would it be better to wait for another day, when you haven’t already been out and about? I don’t know much about science.”
“I’m all right,” Carlos said. “Maybe I ought to take a bit of time to relax,”
“We could start with something relaxing, then,” Cecil suggested. “Something you can feel confident you won’t freak out over.”
“I…” Carlos stopped. “I don’t know what that would be.”
“Hmm,” Cecil said.
Carlos looked at him. “That expression you make usually indicates that you’re thinking of something.”
“Am I allowed to touch your hair?” Cecil said.
“Oh.” Carlos knew Cecil was fond of his soft, dark curls, but he had never allowed his hair to be touched except for haircuts, and he hated those. He didn’t know if he would enjoy such an activity, and it was possible that it would interfere with the rigor of the experiment. But on the other hand, he felt very curious. Scientifically curious.
Curiosity, he thought, was always a scientific emotion.
He adjusted his notes, and added a quick sentence or two noting his present feelings and level of overstimulation (pretty low now, now that he was in the quiet of the house, but he felt his anxiety earlier might have increased his sensitivity). Then he crossed to sit on the bed. “My research on the subject—how is this usually done?”
Cecil took one of his pillows and placed it in his lap. “Would you like to lie down?”
“Oh. Yes,” Carlos said, struck very suddenly by the situation and feeling a flutter of—anxiety, perhaps? Not anxiety—excitement? But science was always exciting, so that should not have been surprising. He lay back, lowering his head onto the pillow. The room was cool, the mattress was soft, and he was comfortable. Cecil brushed a stray lock away from his forehead and stroked his fingers through the curls. “Ah—it’s wonderful,” he said. “Even more perfect than I anticipated…”
“Even more perfect?” Carlos asked. He meant to tell Cecil that that was impossible, but all of his words fell out when he looked up at Cecil and accidentally met his smiling eyes. They had spent quiet time together, but never someplace quite so comfy and private, and Carlos immediately was conscious of this.
Hmm, he thought.
Cecil kept going, his fingers moving in slow caresses. The sensation gave him a sleepy shiver in his chest. He felt a sudden, nervous urge to laugh—a laugh that would be categorized, scientifically—as a giggle—and he only managed to mostly smother it.
“Are you all right?” Cecil asked, twirling his finger through a loose ringlet near his ear. “Are you okay with this?”
“I…I am,” he said. “I’m just observing some…interesting things.”
“Interesting feelings?”
“Yes,” Wait, had he been observing? Had he been properly focused on scientific observation? He closed his eyes to center himself on the sensations he felt. Lying with eyes closed, he had the sense that Cecil was gazing deeply at him, and he knew that was scientifically impossible for him to perceive, but still he savored it. Why, and how, was he savoring something he could not be perceiving? He was thinking in a very unscientific manner. All his thoughts were blundering into each other instead of occurring in regular lines.
What am I feeling? He thought. Good…this feels good. He tried to explore the feeling more specifically, but he was interrupted.
“Um,” Cecil said, “May I…May I kiss you?”
“Um,” Carlos said. He forgot what observations he had been making. A kiss was not a part of the experiments he’d planned, and thus he should not allow it.
“Sure,” he said, smiling. So unscientific.
Cecil leaned down, cupping his face, and placed a quick, soft kiss on his lips. He was unable to make any useful, objective observations at all during it. He perceived the taste of strawberries on his mouth, and his brain seemed to get stuck on the word strawberries.
“Strawberries,” he murmured, snuggling deeper into the pillow. “Strawberries. Strawberries. Strawberries.”
“When I was little and I couldn’t sleep,” said Cecil, “my mother would sing to me as she sat next to me in bed and run one finger down my nose—like this.” He touched the bridge of Carlos’s nose with a forefinger and gently stroked down to the tip. Carlos blinked slowly. “Strawberries,” he said, and the word felt good in his mouth, and this felt good too. Strawberries was a good feeling. “Strawberries,” He felt very strawberries here and now.
“Strawberries,” Cecil crooned in return, as silky as his touch.
“Can…Can you sing?”
“Oh, no, I’m a terrible singer,” said Cecil. “You wouldn’t want to hear it.”
“I really should take some notes,” Carlos said. “For scientific purposes, you know.”
“Oh,” Cecil said, continuing to stroke the bridge of his nose as he gazed down. “What are you observing so far?”
“I’ll have to go over the data when I get back to the lab,” He didn’t want to get up, but he had to begin a new trial for scientific purposes. He sat up and slid off the bed. He noted down some things, and then took notes on those notes, and wrote lots of question marks. This data was more difficult than he had thought. “Hmm,” he said.
“What next?” Cecil said cheerfully.
“Well,” Carlos said, “one subject I hope to explore”—he scanned back over his list—"is hugs.”
“What about them?”
“That particular activity is one I have obtained pleasure and enjoyment from in the past, on occasion—but on other occasions, it’s been very unpleasant and overwhelming. And I wondered, what variables are there that could affect my reactions? Obviously my existing level of overstimulation—”
“How are you feeling now?” Cecil asked.
“Uh…good, I think,” Carlos said. “Anyway. But also—between different situations and individuals, there are different variables—positioning, duration, intensity, and…so on down this graph.”
“Huh,” Cecil said. “I’m not sure how helpful I will be able to be, seeing that I’m not an expert on hugs. I mean, I’m not much of a hugger myself, except with special people. Of course, I don’t mind at all with you. You are special. To me.”
Carlos studied his graph carefully instead of studying the small flutter that statement caused in his body. He put the graph down. “You don’t have to be an expert,” he said. “Just a…willing participant.”
“Am I a subject?” Cecil said. “Fun!”
“I think I’m the subject,” Carlos said.
“Should you come over and lie down again?” Cecil asked.
“That’s defined as a cuddle, not a hug.”
“But I don’t want to get up,” Cecil said, complaining playfully. “Oh, all right. How should I start?”
“Um,” Carlos said. Cecil was taller than he was, which he thought might mean some adjustments. Maybe. “Um. Not too much pressure. That’s a variable I certainly want to isolate and manipulate.”
“Is this going to be an awkward let-me-stand-over-here-and-reach-my-arms-around-your-neck hug, or…”
“Uh—whatever you think is best,” Carlos said, or blurted.
Cecil moved forward, took Carlos carefully in his arms and held him close. Though loose enough for Carlos to easily step back, it wasn’t an awkward-leaning-over-hug at all; it was a close, soft hug where their chests and stomachs and hips touched and where their senses melted together and it wasn’t tight but Carlos could feel Cecil’s heartbeat and what an expression of intimacy, he thought distantly, I want so much to be close to you that I will share with you the functions and rhythms of my circulatory system, that intimate information communicated by allowing someone into your physical space—
“Is this okay?” Cecil asked. “Should I try tighter?”
There were a few preliminary trials meant to come before this, Carlos thought, but he said, “I think so.”
Cecil hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“It’s not a bad feeling,” he said. “But it is a lot to process.” A large portion of his body was consumed by the sensation of Cecil’s and he was not certain if it was taxing, or if it was too taxing. “Go ahead,” he said.
Cecil tightened his grip a little, which made him certain: That was too much. “No,” he said. “I don’t like that.”
Cecil let go. “Oh. I’m sorry. Are you all right?”
“I’m all right. I have gathered some important…ah, information, then.” He took a note of it, a frustratingly solitary and uninformative note haloed in uncertainty. He did not fully understand his body even now, he thought. He thought that if he methodically broke down trials in which to observe his reactions, he would be able to easily observe, but he was feeling a lot of things at once. For instance, he was feeling a lot of what he thought must be excitement. That seemed like too broad a word, though. It did not capture nuances. He felt a lot of nuances right now. “Nuances,” he mumbled.
“Do you feel like continuing still?” Cecil said.
“I think so,” He returned his mind to the clear and clean graphs and lines of his list instead of the nuances. “So—there are many, um, types of physical affection that are not easily categorized—”
“Hm?” said Cecil.
“Types of physical touch, I mean. It seems to me that there are many options for where on the body to apply touch to communicate affection. But even past that there are many variations. So all these columns deal with different variables—speed, amount of pressure with which touch is applied, area over which it is applied—and so on.”
“You’ve thought this through.”
“I am a scientist.”
Cecil crossed over to the desk and picked up the notes. “Let me see,” he said, and his eyes moved down the rows and columns and bubbles of text and annotations and annotations of the annotations on each page.
“I’m not keeping you too late, am I?” Carlos said.
“No, not at all,” Cecil said. “This is a large amount of…options,” he said.
“Well, it’s a nuanced subject.” Carlos said. He was liking the word nuance, if not its implications.
“I see,” Cecil said. “It would take a long time to get to them all.”
“Yeah,” Carlos said. He would probably get overstimulated long before he got to them all. Which meant he would have to take time to rest before he could try again. He suddenly felt overwhelmed by the list that had made everything seem so comforting and manageable before. His mind did not feel clear and scientific like it usually did. It could take years to collect enough useful, clear data. He began tapping his fingers against his thigh again, this time in a fast flutter.
Cecil put the notes back. “If I may make a suggestion,” he said, his voice gentle with concern, “you can come lie on the bed again if you like,”
Carlos did, stretching out on his back and staring at the ceiling. “Science is difficult sometimes,” he said, frustrated by all the data fumbling about in his head.
“It doesn’t have to be,” Cecil said. He seemed to notice Carlos’s slight distress. “Look, you’ve already gathered some important information about yourself. And we are spending time together,”
“I feel that the complexity of my emotions is interfering with my ability to gather helpful data,” Carlos said.
Cecil seemed to be thinking of a way to make him feel better about this. “Will you sit up and let me rub your shoulders?” Cecil said.
That had been one of the behaviors he had observed many times before but never actually engaged in. His curiosity returned, even if his control of the variables did not quite assume itself. That was scientific enough for him. Curiosity was scientific; therefore, it was okay. He sat, legs crossed, and enjoyed the awareness of Cecil close behind him while he pressed his touch into the muscles of his shoulders.
“I am unable to have perfect control of the variables in these experiments,” said Carlos. “They are extremely subjective anyway, depending on my own assessment of my emotions…”
“You’re tense,” Cecil said, his voice soft with care, massaging his neck. This was more intense than some of the sensations they’d experimented with, but he didn’t dislike it yet.
“I like science because I can plan out something I want to occur,” Carlos went on, “and manipulate the variables so that the uncertainty of the outcome is limited. But in real life, there are too many variables to control and I cannot control them all. For instance—I held a hypothetical version of how this evening was meant to go in my head—ohh—in my head, but infinite variables, small and imperceptible, have crept in, slightly shifting the reality away from my perception. Oh—Cecil. Have I failed?”
“You haven’t failed,” Cecil said. “Maybe—perhaps you could come up with a new hypothetical version of this evening. For example, you didn’t get to test everything you wanted, and maybe you aren’t able to be completely scientifically objective about it, but you have learned some things about yourself, and you have been able to share these moments with me, and I have enjoyed it.”
“You’re right,” Carlos said. “Can we stop and move onto something else on the list? This is a bit much.”
“Of course. Do you want to lie down?”
He stretched out onto his stomach, wrapping an arm around a pillow under his head. “Try being gentler this time.”
Cecil stroked Carlos’s back, lightly, his fingers tracing right next to his spine.
“That’s itchy.”
“Oh,” Cecil shifted, smoothing his palm against his back. “How about this?”
“Better. Nice.” His voice was muffled in the pillow. He noted that Cecil’s hand moved just between his shoulder blades, and noted that it was nice, and noted that he wished he would press harder. Just a little. He took many notes in his head, but he didn’t want to get up to put them on paper. It was okay.
“Hmm,” Cecil said. He slipped his hand lower on Carlos’s back. “Is this okay?”
“Oh. Yes.”
“We should do more science together,” Cecil said.
He smiled into the pillow. “Certainly.”
Cecil began rubbing circles into his skin with his thumb, a little firmer but still not too much so. He changed the movement or the placement of it every few minutes and asked for feedback. There is a lot of data in my head, Carlos thought, some of it relevant, some not, and my notes are over on the desk. At some point Cecil lay down next to him instead of sitting. His presence had a feeling, even when Carlos’s eyes were closed—maybe his breathing, or his smell, or something else.
Carlos turned onto his back. “Something else,” he said. “I don’t know. I think I like this, but also it can be tiring after a while—maybe there is some sort of balance to be struck. I will have to explore it further,” Cecil, next to him, sat up and stretched. Carlos closed his eyes. He was very sleepy. It was probably well after the usual time when he would come home from the lab. This didn’t matter here.
“I would love to explore it further,” Cecil said softly.
The data swirled and settled. “Nuances,” Carlos mumbled again.
Cecil broke the quiet. “Ah. Earlier you said that a hug while lying down would be defined as a cuddle.”
“That is true.”
“How do you feel about exploring that?”
“It would be very scientific,”
“Of course,” Cecil said, lying very close, and Carlos turned to face him, so that their noses almost touched. He had not written what he did next in his notes, nor did he strictly define his curiosity as scientific, but he did it anyway: he pulled himself in and rested his face in the shelter of Cecil’s neck. Cecil’s free arm draped loosely over his side, and gently pulled him very near. The room was cool enough that this embrace was comfortable.
What am I feeling? He thought drowsily. What am I observing?
The heartbeat against his chest was slower. He was sleepy, the kind of sleepiness that comes from anxiety giving way to relaxation. He was bathed in a scent whose components he could not isolate, but that soothed him, and that he recognized—the scent of the man next to him, and his blankets, and his clothes, and his sheets. He observed that he was happy, full of a subtle, warm swell of it, and that all the data he had gathered into little pools in his mind had disintegrated, and that he was comfortable with this for now, fully comfortable with the moment. I like this, he thought.
The ambient sounds of the room and the house past it and the town past that were subtle and calming. It was evening now. If Carlos had been operating by his usual schedule, he would have begun making his way home to his own bed by now, but he was not operating by his usual schedule, which was all right. Half asleep, he shifted and rolled over, and Cecil pulled himself in against his back to spoon him, applying a uniform, comfortable pressure to his body, one that urged him further to surrender to sleep. He thought about science, and data, and closeness. He thought about texting his colleagues, but they wouldn’t worry too much about him. They would only assume the date had gone extremely well.
He thought that Cecil had gone to sleep, but he kissed the nape of his neck, and slid Carlos’s hand into his own. And that was the last thing he remembered before he slept, deeply and without any dreams or the restlessness of bearing an unsolved problem in his head.
He woke up with the sunrise, or mere minutes late to it. It took him several seconds to process where he was and that he had slept through the night. Cecil was getting up out of bed—that must have been what had awakened him.
He let himself lie there for a while. He’d spent the night at Cecil’s house. That was totally outside of his plans. “I need to get back,” he said to the ceiling.
Cecil came back from the bathroom and neither of them said anything. It was an awkward silence, but not a painful one. Just a silence that came of needing processing.
“There will be gossip, that’s for certain,” Cecil said playfully. “That’s the way of small towns, even friendly ones like this one.”
“I don’t care,” Carlos said. He got up from the bed and gathered the notes he’d left on the desk. They were mostly incomplete, and his recollection of some of the data was—spotty.
“You know, I think that’s a good attitude to have sometimes,” Cecil said. “Why waste time caring what other people think? As Dr. Seuss used to say, ‘Those who mind don’t matter, and will also be dead sooner than they think.’
“Right,” Carlos said. He looked over his notes absently. Cecil was getting dressed for work, adjusting his pink zebra-striped tie in the mirror. “Most of it is missing,” he said. “I wasn’t able to get down some things, due to the, uh…falling asleep.” He felt a smile growing on his face. “You know what that means.”
“What?”
“It means we need to repeat the experiment.”
Cecil saw his smile. “For science, of course.”
“For science.”