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Terracotta shards cascaded apart as if they couldn’t wait to get as far as possible from one-another.
Staring at his hands like he halfway expected the clay pot to reform between them of its own accord, Basil became vaguely aware of Sunny speaking. The ringing in his ears caused by the horrible smashing noise made it difficult to tune in.
“-alot lately. Is everything okay?” Sunny asked. Broom in hand, he began to sweep at Basil’s feet, his own way of telling Basil to leave the mess to him.
“Accidents happen, don’t they?” Basil smiled brightly, picking up the next freshly seeded pot, and placing it on the far side of the windowsill, away from the other two pots already there. The gap left behind was large enough for one final pot that would never find its place.
No answer came from Sunny as he emptied the shards into the tiny plastic bin in the corner. That was fine with Basil, Sunny never had been much of a talker. And besides, he was truly overjoyed that they were speaking at all these days, after those agonizing years of silence.
“Oh, Sunny, wait,” Basil hurried over, waving his hands for Sunny to stop. “That’s the recycling. Only paper goes in there.”
“Sorry…” Sunny mumbled staring forlornly down at the bin as if he had received a failing grade on some sort of test. There had been a time in which he had known every inch of Basil’s room.
“It’s fine,” Basil assured him, kneeling to pick the shards out from between the crumpled papers. The pieces were incredibly sharp, like so many jagged little knives, and Basil thought that someone could very easily be hurt just by digging through them.
“Basil, your hand…”
Rather than checking his own hand, Basil looked up at Sunny as he spoke, only to find him growing more pale than usual.
Squatting down, Sunny ever so carefully took Basil’s wrist in his hand as if he had found some injured bird on the sidewalk. It was only then that Basil noticed the blood dripping from his palm onto Sunny’s fingers.
“Geez…” Basil giggled weakly. He hadn’t even felt anything; maybe he was getting too used to this.
Time stopped for a moment, both boys staring blankly at Basil’s wrist, like the blood beading out were some sort of magic trick that the Amazing Basil had performed on que, and so many rabbits were about to spring forth from the cut.
“Bandaids?” Sunny asked finally, breaking the spell. If he hadn’t been the one to speak, Basil wondered if they would have frozen like that, two dried up earthworms on a blistering summer sidewalk.
“You don’t know where they are. I’ll be right back.” Basil pulled his arm out of Sunny’s grasp--perhaps more roughly than he had meant to--and scrambled off to the bathroom.
---
Basil had something of a habit when entering the bathroom. Compulsively, each time he passed by the mirror, Basil stopped to contemplate his reflection.
Maybe Polly was right, he thought, staring back at himself. Maybe he did spend too much time in there. But how else would he go about checking that he was still Basil?
Fiddling with the flower pinned in his hair, as the blood continued to drip, drip, drip, gave him an excuse to stare longer at the smudged glass. Polly had asked him to wipe down the mirror more often, but he was often too busy fussing over his plants and photo albums to remember his chores around the house.
Still the same blond hair, the same aqua eyes. But how could he be certain that he hadn’t truly died side by side with Sunny that night? That he was existing in some sort of Heaven alongside Sunny and his plants?
Corpses didn’t bleed, and bad boys didn’t go to Heaven. At least that’s what the priest had said, not that Basil had been to church since the incident, despite Aubrey’s urging.
Intimately aware of where the bandaids were kept, Basil opened up the top drawer, just as he had so many times before.
When Sunny wouldn’t answer the door.
When Sunny finally did, but for Kel and not for him.
When Sunny moved out of town.
Covered up and hidden away, it was like the wound had never happened once he had dressed it. Funny how a cut could sometimes only start to hurt once it was covered.
---
“Sorry it took so long!” Basil apologized, peaking his head into to his room, as if he were the one intruding. However, the smile fell from his face as he fully caught sight of Sunny.
Standing over the recycling can, Sunny stood staring blankly at the blood dripping from his palm.
“Sunny!” Basil gasped, sprinting across the room as his stomach crumpled in on itself. Somehow, the sight of seeing his boyfriend injured hurt far more than the cut he had suffered himself. “What happened?”
Basil knew that he wouldn’t get any sort of explanation out of Sunny without asking directly.
“I thought I’d clean up my own mess for once…” Sunny muttered apologetically, still preoccupied with his hands.
“But how?” Basil placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, forcing himself to glance at the damage. Basil hated the sight of other people’s blood--especially when it belonged to Sunny-- and the wound was considerably deeper than his own. He couldn’t help but wonder if Sunny were being less than honest about its origin.
Sunny, Basil thought not for the first time, tended to be much like one of his plants. Just as a plant might respond differently to variations in levels of sunlight, water, or even container size, speaking with Sunny took a certain amount of patience and know-how. Thankfully, if it was for Sunny, Basil would do anything.
Sunny shrugged, and Basil removed his hand, uncertain if the motion were an answer or a request to relinquish his touch.
“Accidents happen,” Sunny echoed.
“It’s a good thing I left the bandaids and ointment out on the sink. Polly always scolds me for forgetting to put things away.” Basil laughed nervously, turning again to leave.
Something grabbed his sleeve.
“It’s my fault.”
“Hm?” Basil questioned as he turned back to Sunny, uncertain he had heard correctly. Sunny had done nothing wrong, and yet guilt reflected in his single dark eye. Would the other eye wear the same expression, Basil wondered, if he had allowed it to remain in place?
“I screw up, and you fix it for me.” Sunny’s hand fell from Basil’s sleeve, sliding to grasp his hand, Sunny’s fresh blood slick over top of Basil’s bandage.
That eye, like a black hole, sucking Basil in until nothing was left. He wondered what Sunny might have looked like if he hadn’t fought back so hard, if he hadn’t subdued Basil sooner. It wasn’t his fault. “I fuck things up, and you get hurt.”
“Sunny…” The words stung like the kiss of Sunny’s knife all over again, and Basil attempted a strained smile. He knew that Sunny loved his smile. “You didn’t do anything…”
Sunny’s grip turned harder, the pressure on Basil’s cut stinging sharply.
“Sunny… You’re hurting me…” Basil could feel his smile begin to twitch at the corner, but he refused to let it drop.
“I just broke your new pot,” Sunny reminded him, voice filled with confusion, brows furrowed. “Isn’t it the one Aubrey gave you for your birthday? You mailed me a photo of her holding it…”
“Oh…” Was all that Basil could manage as his head began to swim.
“I’m sorry,” Sunny said, mistaking Basil’s confusion for anger.
“Don’t be!” Basil pleaded, sliding his hand out from Sunny’s.
As if picking the price sticker off a brand-new flower pot, Basil began to pull gingerly at the corner of his bandage until the entire thing came free, exposing his glistening cut to the air.
“What are you doing?” Sunny asked, as Basil tossed it in the trash bin, making certain to avoid the recycle. Sunny’s tone held less concern than it did a morbid curiosity.
“Shh,” Basil shushed him, taking Sunny’s hand again, lacing their fingers together. With their bare palms pressed together, Basil could feel the blood and sweat between them, mixing, becoming one on a cellular level. Like two saplings grafted together, they were one, and together would form something entirely new. “We’re together again, and always will be. I’m here.”
Because Basil was here. Touching Sunny made Basil’s own existence feel tangible, like spying on a microscopic creature through a microscope lens.
“It was your birthday gift…” Sunny protested softly, as if it really mattered. Sunny could burn his house down and Basil would still forgive him. “Your seeds won’t sprout now.”
Sometimes life just wasn’t meant to be.
But Basil didn’t speak the words on his mind. Rather, he leaned in, pressing his lips against Sunny’s. They had kissed a handful of times before, but each time felt new to Basil, like taking out an old photograph and noticing a new detail in the background each time.
Basil had at times wondered if he was selfish, craving so much from Sunny, but he also wondered if he really cared, if Sunny knew or cared. What he did know was that he needed more of Sunny, to see the part of him that had been shaped by his own hand.
As Sunny began to press more fervently, tongue entering through eager lips, Basil’s bloodied hand began to caress his cheek. Exploring Sunny’s face, he found the smooth cloth of the eye-patch, pushing it aside.
They broke apart then, and any need that Basil may have had to gasp for air evaporated between them, as he breathed in the sight of Sunny’s scarred-over eye-well.
The eye that Sunny had given in exchange for Basil’s life. The void that belonged to Basil, just the same as the void that Sunny had left in his world when he had locked himself away so many years ago.
Gently, Basil placed a kiss on the most beautiful part of Sunny’s face.
In return, Sunny merely sighed, wrapping his arms round Basil’s middle.
Not all seeds find the chance to sprout, but some who do wind up sharing in the same dirt, roots entwined, first leaves of spring facing the same sun from a windowsill they can never leave.