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The night was calm. Much calmer than any night at the camp, it sunk into the ground and lay thick above the buildings. The cicadas in the undergrowth hummed their end-of-summer dirge, yet so far away, so deep into the camp that from so far, they were not heard. If a cicada sings alone in a camp, all but deserted for the year, does it make a sound?
No, the cicadas and the hums and whistles in the long grass that surrounded the camp were far from Marisol and Salem, so far and unheard as they lay.
Truth be told, there is no way to gracefully sleep next to another person. It’s awkward and often uncomfortable, yet in the reality of it all, what does that matter? Salem’s leg rested atop Marisol’s own ones, her arm buried, pressed against her side as she lay. Almost nuzzled into her chest, her collarbone, the curve of her neck rising and falling with her soft near-sleep breaths, they allowed themselves this respite, the comforting crush of arms over arms and heartbeat against heartbeat. The pressure was nice. Something Marisol couldn’t always ask for in a straightforward way, but Salem knew, she knew the way that the weight could soothe the discomfort in her bones, take away the feeling of the sheets choking her legs until all that remained was
calm
silence
Salem.
She kissed Marisol's collarbone, head tucked under her chin. Murmuring a low note of happiness, Marisol sighed, Salem’s lips (dry from the unforgiving camp air, but perfect, so perfect) tracing her shoulder, her neck, the soft angles of her jawline as Marisol’s hand stroked her hair over and over. Much like her lips (and her eyes, so chipped and hardened and worn by the summer and all that they had endured) it was rough, yet her hand combed through it like a ship through stormy water, and Salem shivered, smiling as she buried her face closer against Marisol.
September is a transitory month. It’s the final dregs of a glass abandoned at a bar, the final ice cube melting into nothing as the tables are cleared and the lights inside flicker to black. But in spite of it all, Marisol and Salem would dance, watching the fireflies in the dark as if they could bring the light of August with them.