Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Childhood living,

It’s easy to do,

The things that you wanted,

Well, I bought them for you.”

– Wild Horses, The Rolling Stones

Long Island Country Club. The angelus and church bells and pipe organs were singing all morning, only ceasing now. Soon all that could be heard were the waves lapping peacefully along the shore from which tall palms rose like spires.

Noel saw a boy against the brightening sky, dressed in a gown of cream, with curling brown hair that was twisted over his ear and pinned high by daisy flowers. His eyes were powder green in the light. Another blink and six years passed in an instant – suddenly it was Cody standing before him, smelling of fresh figs, in the most beautiful suit he had ever seen. There was a faint smile on his face. Out of every single expression and laughter and arrangement of the eyes, brows, lips, and tongue, this one was by far the least familiar.

“Cody Michael Kolodziejzyk, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The priest hadn’t quite gotten the pronunciation down, and Noel resisted the urge to correct him.

“I do,” Cody said, his voice a dash of sea foam. He lowered his gaze. His wrists and his neck were bare, a strand of hair fell across his cheek like gold; Noel was stunned by his obedience. “I promise to be faithful to you. In good times and in bad, in sickness and health, to love you and honour you, all the days of my life.”

The vow rang out, clear as a chime. It hung in the air and Noel knew it to be true. His heart was pounding so hard in his ears with a rare mixture of fear and anxiety and wonder. Turned him right back into the schoolboy he once was with the pitchy voice. Please never leave me. Everything’s going to change now, so you must stay the same. You can’t change. I’ve given you the best and youngest years of my life and I’ll be damned if I–

He came back to himself just as the priest was saying– “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do. I shall always be faithful to you, Cody, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love you and honour you. I am yours forever.”

The golden band is threaded carefully on Cody’s finger. Below it is an engagement ring diamond as big as an almond, his dowry. It looked strange and oversized on his beach-tanned skin.

The priest smiled, he had officiated the matter to its completion, the job was done, he would now indulge in the banquet. “You may now kiss.”

And Noel, sitting in the pews, thought, I think I’ve just lost him forever.

Because it was not Noel who could kiss Cody, and it was not Noel who put the ring on his hand. It was Mick Eckleton of Sicily, forty-five this year, who had taken Cody away before Noel even learnt his name.

Chapter Text

No sweeping exit

Or offstage lines

Could make me feel bitter

Or treat you unkind

- Wild Horses, the Rolling Stones

A small, sweet affair by the waterfront where the sand was still dewy with morning sun. White limousines and Fords and old MacLaurens were already parked deep in the driveway, and the air was afloat and thrumming with the sound of a violin jazz band. Waiters walked in eternal circles like ant mills, maintaining trays of champagne flutes in their right hand, weaving in and out of the guests already intermingling. The party was in full swing.

The rippling white veil of the canopy cast a shadow over Cody’s face. “It’s certainly a good day for surfing,” he said in an awful affected way, inclining his head ever so slightly to look at Mick, tucking his chin close to his chest, again with that strange feminine deportment.

“Cody’s a wonderful surfer,” Mick said. He looked more trim in person. “That’s how we met, in fact. Have I told you all the story?”

He had not.

“I know it,” Henley chimed in. He was a portly man, with a thin beard of thinning hair, and something resembling a vaguely intelligent life form shining through his face. There was a dark mark in the space between his brows, like a port wine stain.

“Oh, everyone knows you know, Henley,” O’Sullivan said. Her mauve mouth ticked up. “You know everything.”

“What a rude woman!”

Mick interjected with a small cough, and they both shut up, glowering benevolently at each other.

He had met Cody while they were both vacationing in Sicily. Mick had come from Parlemo beach and entered a small family diner, the rich people kind, because it was called Gianmarco Matteo’s Wood Fired Pizza. Everyone in town knew the Gianmarcos sold twenty pizzas a day but wrote it off as sixty, but Cody was as clueless as the cops about that little tidbit of information.

Cody had a blue shirt on, damp hair wetting the collar. There was sand ringed around his ankles, and Mick knew the white surfboard outside the parlour was his. He sat beside Cody’s table and watched the brick houses cascade down against the blue sky to the light sea below. It was all silent in the joint then save for the fan. A hundred years of wind blew in from the sea and rusted them – they creaked gently as soon as you let your guard down and forgot their presence. The lamps were switched off at noon to save electricity.

Mick was too timid to say anything then. Before he left he slipped Cody his number on a serviette. On it he had written – you have a beautiful smile.

“Oh! I don’t live here,” Cody had said. “I live in the States.”

“Don’t worry about that, I’ve lived half my life there too. You can give me a call if you would like.”

As he left the shop he heard Gianmarco speaking in Italian at the back kitchens. These tourists just don’t know, Gianmarco was saying. Yesterday he asked for a Hawaiian. A goddamned Hawaiian.

“I asked for it on the first day and he made such a face. There was no parmesan chicken, no nothing. It was all seafood! Three meals, literally every single one was seafood and fish. I got so sick of it after a week.”

“Oh yeah, I remember Sicily,” Noel said, and Cody looked up suddenly as though reminded of Noel’s presence – no lie, that shit kinda hurt. “You were so pissed. Guys – this man here was surprised by seafood in a coastal town.”

They all laughed. Henley the hardest of all, which started a new round of sniggering and chortling by O’Sullivan and Garcia, chirping at each other like two budgies.

Cody, through all of this, had begun to smile. “I’m used to American food. You know me, I’m more of a Chicago pizza kind of guy, more of a…”

“Nah. Nah.”

“No?”

“Nah, you’re a garbage eater, man.”

Cody doubles over laughing. “I’m a what?”

“Look at your plate, dude. You’ve got nothing but pickles and ham on your plate. You’re like a tiny bird!”

Everyone looked over at Cody’s plate which hosted three pickles and a thick slice of turkey ham.

“Now Cody’s going to be like ‘Uh – it’s entrees!’”

“It is entrees!”

The afternoon flowed quickly with streams of the banquet flying past, roasted racks of lamb tied into a crown and endless wines and cheeses from Dionysus’ spring, shining slivers of white asparagus and caviar, more than Noel had ever eaten in his life.

Occasionally Cody looked at him over the heaps of meat and smiled, looking expectant and a little uneasy.

Mick brushed his long hair back to keep it out of the way, and Cody smiled at him with his mouth full. They were talking like how a campfire burned — low and slow and with a soft heat, going on forever in lulls, the kind that carried from the night and left amber cinders and soft ash in the morning.

Slowly with the drinking and alcohol flowing more freely between them, and the exchange of a few Marlboro Reds, the party had descended into quiet insights. He learned that Henley and O’Sullivan and Garcia were something of a clan from Italy and Britain and had flown over for the wedding.

“Lovely ring, isn’t it?” Henley said, peeping it from the corner of his eye. Noel followed his gaze and saw it hanging from Cody’s finger, the dazzling precocious diamond. “Mick got it for five-hundred thousand dollars. Had it designed custom too.”

Noel tried not to make any reaction.

“Apparently one of the diamonds in the band is from his mother’s eternity ring,” Thomas added. “She gave it to him when she passed.”

“Well I wouldn’t have gone for a Marquis cut,” O’Sullivan said. They all stared at her.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” she said. “Pillow cut would have been better, don’t you agree? Henley. Oh, shut it.”

“She knows all about rings because her great-grandmother was a jeweller,” Henley whispered conspiratorially, squinting at the sky.

“Um, do we have literally nothing else to talk about?” Noel said.

A grisly satisfaction was to be had at seeing O’Sullivan’s face. She held still for a moment, then threw down her napkin and sat back into her chair, words recanted.

Henley turned to Noel. “Enchanté, sir. Am I correct to say that you’re Cody’s best man?”

“I’m here for him.”

“That’s so sweet of you. So, how long have you known each other?”

“Seven years this October.”

That gave everyone pause.

Suddenly Noel was afraid he had said too much. To his pleasant surprise, there was that taunting, bitchy little smirk on Cody’s lovely face, which told Noel that he was about to mouth off.

“Come on, Cody,” he said. “Are you full? Let’s take a hike outta here.”

His best friend followed him with a laugh.

“You look good today.”

Cody laughed. “Thanks, man. You should say that more often.”

“Well, we don’t get many compliments.”

“That’s true. Especially me,” Cody said.

“And when will you go on your honeymoon?”

“In two days. It’ll be Italy.”

“What a…what a marriage, huh?”

“It will be good. It will be good. I don’t know, but I’m very happy today. He’s making me happy.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Cody smiled. “I can’t explain it.”

“God, you’re such a simp.”

Cody laughed. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“I’m happy if you’re happy.”

“I’m twenty-six, it’s about time for me.” A pause. “Henley said people become stale if they’re alone for too long.”

“I’m here, you know. I’ve always been here. We built this business up together, me and you. From the start, for the longest time, it’s only been the two of us.”

“Noel, I don’t mean it in that sense.”

“I know what you mean,” Noel said, “I know exactly what you mean.”

“Sorry.”

“No, no, don’t. Listen, Cody, I am happy for you. I really am. But what do you see in him?”

“I’m not stupid. I know that you think I don’t know better. But I’m twenty-six, Noel, I can make decisions for my own damn self.”

“No, I'm not saying you're stupid. I’m just asking you why you want to marry him,” Noel said, “After knowing each other for less than a year.”

“I’ve wanted to tell you. But I don’t know how. I can’t find the words to explain it. You’ll understand it in future. You’ll get why. I can’t explain it to you. It’s something you have to experience for yourself. But I know you will understand – it’s just a matter of time. And when you get it, when you truly get it, then I – then… well, then… then I don’t know.”

“You’re scaring me, Cody.”

“I’m fine. Will you – will you please just stay for the after-party?”

“I’ll check my schedule.”

“I want to see you.”

Noel paused. “I’ll be there.”

The sun spiralled into night and then the premature moon was hanging like a spectre high above the shattered clouds. Already the small after-party was joyous and filled with liquor and warm greetings and cheers between them. O’Sullivan was sitting in the corner on the divan with her legs crossed and raising her little finger in a fashionable way while Henley and Thomas were walking together like a marching band down the rolling green lawns and smoking their cigarettes. The ships were far in the distance away from shore and their red lights fell down into the shimmering water and painted it a variety of colours like Van Gogh. A fog horn groaned in the distance.

Beside the tall palm tree in a secluded corner Mick and Cody were talking. Cody was seated on the plush hammock and Mick was bending over him. There was such an air of fresh romance about them and Noel was reminded of how young he was. How young this all was. People didn’t meet and marry in a year – especially not a boy from Calgary to a Sicily man almost twice his age. Now this was not an ugly man though Noel spitefully wished him to be. His face was obviously gaining in years and lightly weathered like an olive under the sun. But he was faintly handsome, and he carried himself with the self-possession of very rich men.

Mick took from his jacket pocket a small velvet box and held it between them. He said a few words and now Noel could see why Cody was so taken – he looked tormented with happiness. He could not hear their conversation, but Cody’s eyes were searching and moments later he took the box and opened it.

It was a brooch. Later on Noel confirmed it as they sat together by the sea, far away enough that the party was just a little pinprick of light in the distance. It was a large green jewel crowded by small pale champagne clusters. Most outstanding of all was a large butterfly adorning its edge – the flake of its wings glistened in the light and Noel ran his finger across it.

“Sometimes I remember that concert, up in Louisiana. It was raining and pouring. The moon was really yellow. God, what a good time.”

“You swapped my shoes with yours because mine were wet,” Cody said softly, kicking up sand with the toe of his oxfords.

“Do you remember the time when you spilled paint on your hair and then you were calling me –” 

“– I think I was crying. Jesus. I went crazy,” Cody said. “We sat there all afternoon, you were rinsing the paint out of my hair –”

“–with a lifetime supply of petroleum jelly.”

“You know, Noel, do you ever wish…” He broke off and stared out sullenly into the gloom, looking a little lost. The sea was crashing into the rocks. There was a hot monsoon wind sweeping over them and somewhere far away came a crow’s shouting.

“All the damn time.”

“It’s never easy. It gets better but never good. I’m so tired of struggling against the good things I deserve – no, not even that I deserve it, I don’t know, but I think I should. This should have been the happiest day of my life but I feel like everything’s over. Why do I feel like everything’s over?” Then he turned away and Noel knew he was crying.

“Cody, listen to me. Listen to me. Whatever you want is what I want. Okay? Whatever makes you happy is what makes me happy.”

“But there’s a difference between what I want, and what I should want.”

“Don’t be silly. I won’t leave just because you somehow hurt my feelings. We have our company. TMG. That’s our baby.”

Cody asked, “Are you baby-trapping me?” His hand was limp and wet like a newly slaughtered lamb and shaking a little in Noel’s grip.

“Let me just tell you something. The amount of things you’d have to do before you make me fuck off is astronomical. I don’t tell you just how much you can get away with, because I’ve gotta keep you humble. You’re making me happy, Mr. Struggle. You always are. Did you know that?”

The wetness of Cody’s cheek was pressed against the front of his shirt. “How can you be happy?” His voice was hoarse and whining, sort of like that time when he had eaten too many chocolates in one go. Noel ran his hand through Cody’s dark hair while he was distracted and felt its softness. “Noel? … Noel? I miss you.”

“What are you talking about, man? I’ve been here this whole time.”

Cody squeezed his hand tighter, as if clinging to a sinking ship. The rings on his finger were glittering dully, discontent, losing their lustre.

“After this is all done, after your honeymoon, we’ll hang out somewhere fun. I’ll take you karting.”

“That’s good.”

They always make plans. They always say they’ll make plans. Gone are the young days, the days of fun and rowdiness, where the world was much brighter, where plans were made not for the sake of making them. Gone are the days without thoughts of money and business and commercial appeal. Gone are the days of sitting knee to knee and close enough to touch. Male loneliness is the modern epidemic, he thought to himself. Maybe he wanted to fuck Cody, because the only other way to a man’s heart was between his legs.

Noel is twenty-eight this year with a new sickness in his mind and new unscrupulous ways of doing things. But in moments like these it was as if they were both boys again, and Cody was soft and smiling dopily up at him in his arms, before he even knew what real love felt like. He closed his eyes, and yes, under the cloak of night these were the hands which had touched him and grounded him before a small comedy set. This was the same boy with the frosted hair who told him, you don’t have to be funny all the time, the same skipping laughter like a slightly well-loved record…

Curled up in his arms now was this twenty-six year old, and Noel, breathlessly, could feel the latent strength below his skin – that of fathers, mechanics, plumbers. Cody was ripening, growing into new skin like shoes. There was a new heat to him, radiating from within like newly pregnant women did. Faintly it occurred to Noel, I did this. This final rite of precious, precocious boyhood.

“For you.” He produced the carefully wrapped gift from behind him. 

“I thought you were going to get me a truck, or another surfboard or…or a popcorn machine…”

“Go ahead and open it.”

Inside was a small black camera and Cody began to smile.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s perfect.” He fiddled with the lens slightly, raised it to his eye, and snapped a series of photos before Noel could react. 

It is like falling asleep in the car as a child, seeing the dark city rush by the window, and waking up tucked into your bed. In the daylight, we’ll go back to colleagues. We’re not like before but we remember. The thread is there and we think we could spool it in whenever we wanted if we had the time.