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Joey never expected to end up living in a cottage in the forest. He certainly never expected to end up living in a cottage in the forest with someone like Henry.
The world ending had been a given, looking back. Everything bent until it broke.
When they came upon the cottage, he was reminded of a passage from Narcissus and Goldmund. Except these inhabitants hadn’t died of a Black Death but of a blue one. Robbed of oxygen, they had suffocated in their beds, lips and extremities blue as arctic ice.
Henry was used to death - he’d fought in the final war, having been pulled from his history studies - so he sent Joey to the lake as he dragged the corpses out. It had been a long hour of staring, hands clenching and unclenching in his lap.
There was rustling and Joey imagined the people in the house coming for him, tearing him apart, devouring him until he was nothing but grisly bones and echoing screams.
“Joey.” He opened his eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s getting late. Come on.”
He felt useless next to Henry, yet he somehow let Joey tag along. They were hours out of London so at least they could breathe here. Nearly every other secluded place they had found had been uninhabitable. Even if they had removed the bodies, they would have had to tear up the flooring or learn to live with the mottled abstractions left by putrefaction. There is only a whiff of decay in the three bedroom cottage.
Joey lets his pack drop to the ground. Flames flicker in the small fireplace. It’s more than they’ve had in a long time. He always feels foolish, crying in front of Henry when Henry never does. He is stoic but something ripples underneath. Joey can see it in the clench of his jaw when they skirt past as encampment of hostile survivors or in the depth of his sky blue eyes when they find a place where children lay, dead as winter leaves.
“Thank you,” Joey says.
Henry smiles and closes his eyes. “No problem. Let’s eat and go to bed.”
Joey pulls the cans from his pack. Only Henry knows how to use the goddamn Army-issued can opener. They always eat mechanically; the time of enjoying anything is over. Joey finds himself breathing in snatches of clean air when he can but even those are fleeting. Their lamp set on the nightstand, Henry pulls out The Odyssey. He can’t help the grimace that settles over his face.
“I wish had a copy in the original Greek but then you wouldn’t understand any of it.” Joey knows that Henry could actually read the book in its original language to himself and it means a lot that he always reads aloud. He never tires of hearing Henry say “rosy-fingered Dawn.”
Tucking the book back into his bag, Henry flicks off the lamp. They always share a bed and lie awake listening for any threats. Henry is warm and never turns Joey away when he clings and shivers.
Joey wakes early the next morning to his face pressed against Henry’s neck. He reflexively takes a deep breath and Henry’s sweat and natural musk fills his nostrils. Henry shifts and Joey’s heart rabbits in his chest. Henry’s arms tighten and Joey gasps as Henry buries his face in his neck and inhales deeply.
“I’m glad you’re here.” It rumbles from his chest like distant thunder.
Joey doesn’t know much about Henry’s life before everything happened. He knows about the Army and university but Henry is otherwise a blank slate traveling beside him. Joey brings an arm around Henry. “Me too. I’d be dead otherwise.” His laughter turns to sobs because it’s true. Henry has saved his life on several occasions.
“Hey.” It pierces through his delirious despair and he hiccups out a sob. “I don’t want you to think I see you as a burden, Joey. You’re my companion, my friend. I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else.“ Joey does often feel like a burden. He isn’t as good at survival living as Henry is. He can’t see the dead without spiraling into sick panic. “You keep me grounded. If I were alone, I think I’d lose my mind.” Henry’s lips skirt over his cheek before settling against Joey’s hairline.
He’s not sure how long they lay like that. The sun heats the air, causing their shirts to stick to their unwashed skin. “Wanna take a dip in the lake?” Joey does.
He watches Henry undress, his strong, tanned limbs cutting through the water like they were made for swimming. The water is sweet and biting but their skin grows used to its chill so they frolic and float. “I think the veg patch can be salvaged. I have some seeds in my pack,” Henry says this apropos of nothing as they dry in the sun.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Henry is bloody gorgeous and Joey tries not to stare at the sizable cock lying against the meat of his thigh.
“We’ve never discussed settling down.”
“Sure but we’ve also never found a place where we can.” Henry tilts his head in the direction of the cottage. “This place is perfect.”
It is. Joey can sense it.
Henry shakes the last drops of water out of his curls and stands. He pulls on his jeans and lets his shirt hang loose in one hand. Joey follows him back. Something in him settles as the cottage comes into view.
“I’m fucking famished.”
Henry disappears inside while Joey walks around to the vegetable garden. It’s overgrown with potential. He can already feel the soil under his fingernails and imagine home cooked meals with Henry. He imagines more mornings waking up in Henry’s arms.