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They lived as loners in the woods, well outside of the city, singletons if you will. There were many that did. They’d hide from others; whether it was authority figures, or those that came into the woods to hunt the loners for sport.
Living as a loner means that you had ran away from the city; it meant that you were single and unmarried. Being married is a must when you’re living in society. They take away single people and turn them into animals if they don’t find a spouse. At least that’s what Type heard. Type’s parents are married, sharing many things in common with each other, and his younger brother married someone recently as well. He didn’t know of anyone in his family getting turned into an animal, so he didn’t know for sure. Type stayed single, his only option being to run away or get taken away. He didn’t want to chance anything in case what he heard was true, so he ran. Being a loner is good, it’s not that great, but it’s much better than living in the city where he lived in fear.
Man came to live with the loners after escaping his fate laid out for him, being turned into an animal. Type had been with the loners for quite some time, though he never really talked to anyone else. Type began to notice the new guy Man always had his eyes on him. Kind eyes behind thick glasses. He wanted to talk to him, Type could tell. Type kept his eyes elsewhere to show he wasn’t interested.
As one unfortunate day would have it, when people came to the woods with their shotguns looking for any loners, the loner group dispersed, running and hiding behind whatever tree they could fit behind or whatever hole in the ground was deep enough. It was Man’s first time, and with no experience in such an event, he was shot. Type was hiding behind a tree trunk when the younger fell to the ground just feet away from him, face first in the dirt and twigs and crunchy leaves. His glasses tumbled away from him. But Man was still alive. His arms reached out in front of him, his fingertips lightly patting the cold earth, searching for his frames. Type let out a nervous breath and jumped out behind the tree and over to Man, grabbing him by his coat and pulling him over to the tree trunk, not forgetting the glasses.
He sat Man up against the tree. Man was panting, though he made no other indication he was in pain. Type got on his knees in front of the younger, taking off his own coat. “Where is it?” Type asked in a hushed voice; he could hear hurried footsteps, followed by more gunshots. He quickly unbuttoned his shirt.
“Here.” Is all Man said, as he reached a hand to his right side. Type scooted closer and lifted Man’s jacket, dark crimson straining the shirt he had on.
“I’m sorry, but I have to take it out.” Type told him. Man nodded and braced himself. And Type made a sour face as he dug his fingers into the wound. Man cried in pain, flinching with every twist Type made with his hand as Type used his other hand to hold Man still. “I’m so sorry.” Type tried to tell him, his voice apologetic in every way. He was able to retrieve the bullet, and he dropped it on the ground. Type then wrapped his button down shirt around Man’s waist and pulled it tight, earning a painful moan from Man, and tying it in a knot to keep pressure on the area. “Can you walk?” Man nodded.
Type pulled his coat back on and picked Man up from his underarms. He stood him up and the two began to walk at a fast pace, Type had his hand behind Man to keep him from slowing down, as there were more gunshots.
They soon reached the edge of the woods where the lake was, and there was a small drop down. Type grabbed a hold of Man’s arm. “Jump.” He said. Then the two leapt off the drop down, falling onto the dirt below with a thud. Type pulled on Man to follow him, and they backed up and under the drop down, sitting in the dirt, unseen from anyone above in the woods.
They kept quiet, not speaking a word; they only listened to the very few shrieks they heard, maybe of other loners, maybe of those that carried the guns, they didn’t know. But soon everything seemed to fade out; no more gunshots, no more footsteps or yelling. Type ducked to get out of the cave in. He stood and looked around.
“I think they’re gone.” He said aloud. Though Man stayed crouched. Type pulled the glasses from his coat pocket and wiped them off with his undershirt, handing them back to Man. Man reached out in front of him and took them, settling them on his face and blinking his eyes. He could see Type’s face clearly as Type looked down at him. “Let me clean your wound.”
They settled by the lake in front of them. Man was leaned back on his hands, watching as Type dipped his shirt into the lake, soaking it up with water. Type then turned and lifted Man’s shirt up and squeezed the water out of the shirt over the wound. Man gave out a pained whine. Type glanced once at him, then dabbed over the area, wiping away the blood, and watching the wound become clean.
“Thank you,” Man said, “For not letting me die.” Type did not respond. He just kept his head down and continued to dab. Then he turned back to the shoreline of the lake and ran his bloodied hands in the water, rubbing them together.
“It’s no problem.” Type replied coldly, keeping his body turned away from Man. Man pulled his shirt back down and sat up all the way, crossing his legs. He watched Type wipe his hands on his pants wet with mud.
“Is there anything I can do to repay you for saving my life?”
Type turned back to face Man. He gave him a look of doubt. “There’s something you can do,” he said, his voice a bit suspicious, though he continued, “There’s an apple tree somewhere in the woods. I can’t reach any of the apples. And I’m unable to climb the tree. If you can get me an apple, you’ve paid me back.”
The two retrieved to the woods again to join the other loners, what was left of them that is. Though the two kept their distance just as they did before, as Type didn’t find any interest talking to anyone just as he did before. It wasn’t but the very next day that Man found Type sitting alone, away from the group, and by a tree, running his fingers along the mud. A bag tied in a knot dropped in front of Type.
Type looked up to find Man standing above him, his face appearing kind as ever. “What’s this?” Type asked.
“Apples.” Man replied. Type untied the knot in the bag, at least a dozen of dark red apples spilled out. Type picked one up and took a bite, the crunch was prominent, and the fruit was cold. But it was flowing with juice, and it was delicious. Type swallowed his bite. He looked back up at Man.
“Thanks.” He said. Man nodded.
“If you need me to get you any more, just let me know.” And Man walked away, joining the rest of the loners around the fire.
Type decided to use that invitation to engage Man. He didn’t want to keep using Man’s kind personality to get him things, so he felt he should, at the least, be kind back and give him contact like many of the loners don’t have.
Type approached the other the next morning, finding him sitting in a spot where the sun poured through the trees above them. Type sat next to him. Man only smiled at him.
“You’re nearsighted, is that right?” Type asked. Man nodded.
“Can’t see very well without my glasses.”
Type put his hand out in front of the sun ray. It was warm amongst the chilly air. He shivered. “How’s your wound? Are you still hurting?”
“It still hurts a bit,” Man replied, “But I’m okay.” There was a bit of silence between them. Man rested his chin on his knees.
“I’m glad you’re okay.” Type finally said. Man smiled again. Type smiled back.
Their daily engagements soon turned into more. Type would receive apples because Man wanted to court him, and Type accepted them to show him he cared for Man as well. They began to sleep close together, on the cold ground under the stars, faced towards each other with an extra coat over the top of them to keep warm.
It’d been a long time since Type had felt his heart beat for another person, and it’d been a long time since anyone had shown an interest in him. He fell in love with Man, very slowly, but very quickly.
When people would come to the woods to hunt the loners, Type would hide Man far away to keep him safe. He’d run with him, cover him, anything he had to do to keep Man from harm. It was the first time they held hands too. As they ran away from the footsteps following them, and the sounds of gunshots, they grabbed on tight, and even though they were in fear, both Type and Man felt their hearts swell from company, knowing very well that they’re secure when they’re with each other.
Every hair tucked behind the ear, every piece of food they shared, every smile, and every time they spent together, the two fell so much more in love with each other.
But they kept their romance away from the other loners, not expressing themselves near the group, and saving it for when they were alone together. They didn’t want to be shunned and kicked out, for loners usually are if two become romantically involved with each other. Loners are always single people. It wasn’t an easy task to keep from being romantic. Because Type wanted to hold Man every single minute of the day they spent in the woods. He wanted to hug him and to hold his hand. And so it wasn’t much of a surprise when he asked Man if he wanted to join society again.
“You don’t want to live here anymore?” Man asked in a whisper, his eyebrows scrunched together in concern.
Before, Type was reduced to running away to live as a loner, or get taken away and turned into an animal. Those were really his only options as a single person. Now a new option has appeared. Type can marry Man and live a happy life in the city again without a single fear.
“Man, I promise you, if we are always together, we are okay.” Type assured the other, and he grabbed Man’s hand to hold. “Wouldn't you like that?” He then asked in a gentle voice. Man smiled, a pink blush warming his cheeks and neck.
“I’d like that very much.” He replied.
The two planned their escape from the loner group. Man told Type about a good friend of his that they would be able to stay with for a while in the city. And Type came up with a way to dress properly. His heart felt cheerful but it also felt so nervous. And that’s when Man brought up something that stood in the way of their plan being properly carried out.
“We don’t have anything in common.” Man said to him just days from their leave.
“We must have something in common.” Type replied. Marriages are only allowed to pairs who share the same traits; whether it’s abilities or disabilities, two must share something in common in order to be recognized in society. “We must.” He whispered.
They stripped their clothes off at the lake. Man turned for Type to look at him. Then Type did the same, turning in place to see if Man could spot any similarities to him. But they could not find anything on the outside. Type told Man not to worry and that he’d find a way to be similar to him one way or another.
Their day came. People came into the woods again with their shotguns, and the loners dispersed, looking for ways to hide. Type hid Man by the lake under the drop down. He stayed behind thick trees, awaiting someone with a shotgun to pass him. He kicked one down to the ground, and took their gun from them, knocking the person with the other end of the gun. The person lied unconscious. Type took their clothes. He got away with doing it to another individual with a gun, collecting their clothes and running to the drop down to store the stolen clothing.
Late into the night, hours before they were to trek to the city, the two washed themselves in the lake, making sure to clean all visible areas, hands and faces. They dressed themselves in the proper clothing Type stole, white button downs, grey and black slacks with matching blazers, fitting almost perfectly on their bodies. Then they started into the woods, avoiding the sleeping area of the loners.
The two soon reached the main road that led to the city. They put their shoes on, and started walking to begin their journey, staying close together, and away from the middle of the road. The sky began to brighten, and soon the sun peeked over the horizon. The two were able to make out the skyline of the city that was ahead of them much clearer now. Type could see Man was coming down with a bit of a limp as the stiff, leather bound shoes they wore weren’t exactly made for walking.
“I’m sorry.” Type said. Man shook his head.
“No worries.” He replied. They were tired of walking, but luckily, as the sun started to rise, they found a diner, the first sight of any sort of civilization and business before the city. They’d been walking since dark, miles, and Type deemed it was a great place to stop.
The bell above the door chimed as the two came in. The diner was empty; it had probably just opened. The hostess came out of the kitchen to seat them anyway. The couple took a seat at a booth, sitting parallel to each other. Type looked down at the silverware wrapped neatly in a napkin in front of him on the table top. Then he scanned the area by the register. He looked back at Man.
“I’m going to the bathroom—” Type spoke, reaching to grab the wrapped silverware, “but I won’t be long. Stay here. If and when you hear me, go over to the phone by the register and call for an ambulance.”
“Wait.” Man grabbed Type’s hand that clutched the silverware, “P’Type, please.”
“I have to, Man.” Type whispered to him, “I have to.” Though Man kept his hand on Type. “I will be okay, but I must do it.” Man let go and Type turned to leave, finding his way to the men’s bathroom.
It was empty. Type went over to a sink and set the silverware inside. He unwrapped the napkin and picked up the fork, holding it to his face. It became harder to breathe as he held the tines closer to his eye, his hands shaking. Type dropped the fork into the sink and sighed, gasping of nervousness. He looked at himself in the mirror in front of him and took a hold of the fork again, holding it to his eye. It was his own decision to make, though proving difficult. But he was in love with Man, and so he must go through with it. Then without any more hesitation, Type shoved the fork into his eye.
Man sat still at the booth, only to be interrupted by painful sobs that echoed through the small diner. There was a clash of plates from the kitchen, followed by waitresses running towards the bathroom. Man ran over to the phone by the register, and dialed a number with his shaky hands.
The ambulance showed up, and Man was allowed to ride with Type to the hospital on account of them being partners. Type asked Man not to look at him as blood poured from his eyes. He gave out quiet sobs as the paramedics tried to stop the bleeding. After a long hospital stay and a surgery, Type was able to hold Man in his arms, waiting the for a doctor to show and tell him any news about his surgery. The doctor finally showed up, checking on the bandages that covered Type’s eyes.
“We did all we can to restore your vision.” The doctor said in a kind voice, “But I’m afraid you’ll be nearsighted.” Type nodded. His eyes were in pain, but those words were a big relief to hear as now he’s able to be out in the world with Man by his side, and marry him with recognition in society. “Nothing prescription glasses won’t fix for you.” The doctor continued. Type was more than happy to hear about that. He smiled.
On a very nice day, the couple went out and to the mall, filled with many other couples who they guessed to be enjoying the day as well. Man waited in a court on the second floor, dressed properly, watching the other couples pass, who were making conversations and walking side by side.
“Are you with anyone, sir?”
Man was approached by a police officer who was scouting the court. He looked over at the officer and he blinked. “My husband, he’s—” Man pointed in a direction, “He’s in one of those stores right there.”
“Do you have your marriage certificate on you?” The policeman asked, posing with his hands on his hips in a threatening manner. Man swallowed.
“No, my partner keeps it in his bag. I swear, he’s just in one of those stores if you care to wait for him—”
“Sir, come with me—” the authority figure grabbed a hold of Man just in time for Type to show up again.
“Excuse me, officer, is there a problem?” Type asked, pushing his round frames back up his nose. The policeman let go of Man.
“Are you..?”
“His husband, yes,” Type nodded, then he began to pat his tweed coat, “Should I show you our marriage certificate?”
“That won’t be necessary,” the officer shook his head, and backed away, leaving Type and Man to themselves. Man picked up Type’s bags.
As they left the mall, Type reminded Man that if they are always together, they will be okay. They walked home side by side, to live happily together, as many did.