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As much as Yellow doesn’t want to admit it, Noel was right.
He hates fishing.
The two of them have been floating along the lake for the past who-knows-how-many hours. In all that time, Yellow has yet to figure out what Noel finds enjoyable about fishing. The rocking of the boat makes Yellow feel sick, the glare of the sun on the water shines in his eyes, the feeling of the live worms they used as bait make his skin itch, and worst of all, neither of them have caught a single fish. They’ve just been sitting in near silence, the only reprieve found in the gentle lapping of the waves against the side of the boat and the occasional birdsong. Noel hasn’t even so much as looked at Yellow, keeping his eyes on the tiny red bobber as it stubbornly floats atop the water. Yet, every time Yellow glances at Noel, a calm sort of smile sits just at the corner of his lips. He doesn’t get it.
“You didn’t have to come, you know,” Noel finally pipes up, the first words they've exchanged in a while, as Yellow once again shifts uncomfortably against the stiff metal bench of the boat. He tries to adjust his aching legs -- another reason he hates fishing.
He stifles the frustration that has been building in his chest since they started, refusing to give away the slightest hint that he regretted offering to tag along this morning. “I wanted to.”
This is technically true, though perhaps not for any reasons that Noel will ever know if Yellow has anything to say about it. Kayne’s words still crawl down his spine like sand trickling through an hourglass: a year and a day to reconcile with Charlie Dowd, or he will be stuck within Larson as he rules the Dreamlands for eternity. It's a possibility Yellow refuses to even fathom. Though he feels like he has made significant progress getting closer to Noel in the past several months, there are still leagues to go.
So, when Noel announced this morning to the family gathered in the living room of the house they rented for a small getaway that he would spend the day fishing, while Arthur teased him for his “old man hobbies,” Yellow practically lunged at the opportunity to spend time alone with him.
“You won’t like it,” Noel told him, crossing his arms.
“You don’t know that!” Yellow countered. “I’ve never gone fishing before.”
Noel shook his head. “You can barely stand to be still for ten minutes, and you can’t wait for shit. Trust me, you’re better off staying back.”
Yellow insisted anyway, making some excuse about wanting to try a new hobby, or seeing something about fishing in a nature documentary, or something -- honestly, he doesn’t remember what he said, just that it was some jumbled mess that got Noel to relent and pack extra gear.
It wasn’t until the short drive to the private lake on the property that Yellow realized perhaps Noel hadn’t wanted any company at all, but by then they had practically committed to being no more than a meter apart for the rest of the day.
Yellow glances back at his own bright orange bobber, still just as untouched as the last time he bothered to check. Judging by Noel’s sigh, he hasn’t been as subtle in his annoyance as he hoped.
“Look, Yellow,” Noel says, setting his pole down. “We can just dock the boat and head back home, really-”
“No!” Yellow rocks the boat with the force of his reply, and he reaches out a hand to steady himself. “No, I’m having a great time.”
Seems like the fish aren’t the only things not interested in taking the bait. Noel frowns. “Bullshit. You’re miserable! I’m not going to just let you sit there bored and in pain-”
“I’m fine, Noel! Really!” Yellow forcefully brings his knees together and hides the grimace on his face before gesturing with his fishing rod. “See, just…just waiting for the fish to, uh, to bite!”
“What is with you today?”
The nagging suspicion worms its way through Yellow’s guts and riles his nerves. Without thinking, he shouts, “Is it so hard to believe that I just wanted to spend some time with you?”
“Yes.”
The reply lands like a heavy stone dropping into the lake. Despite the level tone, Noel’s chest heaves just once with the emotions Yellow watches him actively bottle back up, and his eyes shine enough to know that it isn’t just the reflection of the water. It’s a look Yellow is all too familiar with. Defiance, despair, and distrust in equal measure. Noel wore it often enough in the prison pits.
He quickly loses sight of that face as Noel turns away. Silence falls again on the boat, but it isn’t the same as before. Noel becomes guarded, his shoulders pulled back in a rigid attempt at nonchalance. His easy smile is gone.
Yellow tries his best to focus back on the bobbers bouncing along the waves, to give Noel the chance to breathe in the silence since they couldn’t exactly separate. But Yellow still hasn’t gotten very used to his own emotions, and the sting of Noel’s distrust burns in the pit of his stomach, combined with the aching certainty that he’s ruined yet another thing that brings him peace. It all writhes within, and Yellow is desperate for selfish relief.
He turns back. “Ch- Noel, I…” Yellow struggles to find the right words.
“Do you remember, back in the Dreamlands,” Noel interrupts him -- barrels over him, really, as if the words bubbled up involuntarily. His voice is barely louder than the ripples on the water.
Yellow stiffens. Noel rarely brought up the Dreamlands directly around him. That seemed like a part of some unspoken arrangement when Yellow started living with the rest of them. The past, their past, was buried, with the only remnants the scars that linger across and within Noel. Not that those scars don’t show themselves often enough. They have good days and bad days. Sometimes Noel can tolerate him, will welcome him, even, into their conversations. Other times, Noel refuses to eat if Yellow so much as skirts near the kitchen, afraid he tampered with the kosher meal. And Yellow still sees the golden glow of the cracks in Noel’s eyes as he wandered through the dark house in a sleep-walking daze one night, mumbling about how important it was that he return to Carcosa. To him.
He stays quiet as Noel continues. Noel’s eyes never leave the water. “It was a sunny day -- hard not to be, with those two blazing suns -- and I wanted to get out there, out of the throne room, out of the castle, out of the palace grounds. I guess you could see me itching for some excitement, so you dismissed everyone. Didn’t matter their angry protests. You just looked at me.”
The start of this story is so nondescript, yet Yellow feels ashamed that no memory immediately leaps to mind. Sunny days, angry followers -- it is all so mundane, but it clearly means something to Noel. His voice struggles to remain steady, as if he’s talking around a lump in his throat.
“I took your hand and told you to close your eyes,” Noel starts up again, “and you let me guide you through the palace halls down to the gardens. Past rows and rows of beautiful flowers. I didn’t even pause to greet the gardeners like I usually do.” He chuckles, almost wetly. “I was just so excited. I didn’t let go of you until we reached the lake.”
The lake. Snatches of images start to paint themselves in Yellow’s mind. There’s only one place Noel could possibly be describing: a beautiful but altogether small body of water just beyond the garden. Its waters were so clear you could see the stones along the bottom, smooth and a brilliant purple that seemed to dye the rest of the waves as fish-like beings wriggled across them and flashed in the light. Tiny pink flowers dotted its surface, and larger rocks jutted just above the rippling water, creating little stepping stones. But the most beautiful feature of all was a waterfall on the far end of the shore, churning the crystal surface to a white, sparkling foam.
Yellow’s attention snaps back to Noel.
“I had found it just the other day while wandering. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen. I just wanted to show it to you, maybe skip a few stones like I did when I was younger, but then you…you looked towards the sky, and you got this look on your face as you took a hold of my waist and told me it was my turn to close my eyes.”
At once, the memory finally hits Yellow.
He can see the young, far-less-scarred Charlie, can imagine holding onto that not-yet-starved frame as he slowly guided him along the stepping stones, careful to position him so that neither fell into the deceptively deep waters. He can hear the still-happy chuckles as a breeze picked up and tickled Charlie’s still-smiling face with his still-long hair, and Yellow can remember brushing those little wisps away.
He recalls how slowly they made their way towards the waterfall. Charlie had begun to guess based on the flecks of water splashing across his face, but he still kept his eyes dutifully closed, beautiful and wholly trusting. Yellow remembers wiping away a few of those speckles as they stood on the rock closest to the base of the falls.
“Open your eyes now, my prince.” Yellow -- no, the King -- couldn’t whisper over the roar of the water, but he still spoke directly into Charlie’s ear, keeping one hand cupped around his cheek.
And Charlie did. But he didn't look around, didn't try to understand the surprise. He only stared up at the King like he was what he had been waiting for. His warm, brown eyes shone from the sunlight overhead.
Yellow wishes now he had savored that look. Instead, he remembers the dark, possessive chuckle that rumbled deep in his chest as he turned away from Charlie and glanced towards the slowly rising suns. As the second reached its zenith, the waterfall behind them opened to reveal a cave glistening with thousands of small, glittering crystals encrusting the wall like stars. The King pulled an awed Charlie in before the waters came crashing back down, enclosing them within.
Noel’s voice slowly drifts back into Yellow’s ears. “We stayed behind those falls for hours, just curled up on that sandy floor. I asked you why. Do you remember,” his voice pitched a fraction lower, and the corners of his eyes narrowed, “what you said?”
He does. Memory catches up with reality. “‘I just want to spend some time with you,’” he utters, the sultry tone of the past replaced with shame.
“You didn’t mean it then.”
It’s not a question. Yellow answers anyway. “No…no, I didn’t.” It was all another ploy, another moment of tenderness meant to pry open the young private investigator to get him to tell him more about his partner, more about his book. He couldn’t have cared less about the mortal before him then.
“So why should I believe you now?” Finally, Noel returns his gaze to Yellow. It is cold, distant, so far from the wonder of those falls.
Yellow longs to turn away from him, to get out of the boat, anything. Swimming with his lame legs would be preferable to the eyes locked on him, scrutinizing his every fidget.
You shouldn’t, he wants to say. I’m using you. You are my salvation again, Charlie Dowd, only I need it to work out this time. I need you.
Instead, he says, “Because I’ve changed, or, or I’d like to believe I have. I’d like to think you’ve seen it too.” Unable to keep eye contact a second longer, he casts his eyes to his feet, using one free hand to play with the soft layer of his skirt. “I’m not the same god as I once was, Noel. Spending time with all of you has helped me understand that I want to be better. I just… I just want to be able to show it to you. To have you trust me again.”
Not a breath of a lie. Because the truth is, as much as he did feel the sting of Kayne’s deal, he also felt something change within him. What he once considered weakness in John, this fragile thing called “humanity,” he is learning slowly to embrace, even with all its bumps and edges. When the year is up, when Noel finally forgives him and Yellow gets his original body back, unbound from Larson, he wants to live up to the man they all believe him to be.
“Yellow…” Noel’s face softens, and a hesitant, dare Yellow call it hopeful, look crosses his features. Noel leans towards him, arm out, as if to reach for his hand to hold, or something better.
“Noel, I-”
A strange excitement shifts Noel’s entire demeanor. His eyes dart out back towards the water. “Yellow!”
“I’m sorry, Noel, I-”
“No!” Noel cuts him off again, but not to wave away the apology. No, he sounds almost giddy. “Yellow!”
Confused, Yellow turns to follow Noel’s gaze. He doesn’t understand -- the lake is the same as it was before: cool, calm, an uninterrupted expanse of blue.
Wait…uninterrupted.
The realization that his orange bobber is no longer visible out in the water is paired almost immediately with a small jerk on his rod.
“Oh… oh!” He had something.
At once, Yellow is sent into somewhat of a panic. He has no idea what to do next, but he understands that the longer he hesitates, the more likely the fish will get away.
Noel, thankfully, immediately jumps into action, moving to sit closer to Yellow. He places his hand gently on his shoulder. “Flick the rod towards you, Yellow. You need to hook the fish before you can reel him in.”
Still somewhat dumbfounded, Yellow absently follows Noel’s directions. He jerks the rod upward and towards himself, and when the hook still feels weighed down, he knows he’s set it correctly. Excitement begins to bubble up within him at the prospect of actually catching something, and he starts spinning the reel.
“Woah! Slow, Yellow. You gotta go slow.” Noel moves slightly, positioning himself behind Yellow to help him reel. “Too fast and you’ll just rip right through the little guy and lose him, okay?”
Together, Yellow slowly reels the fish in. Noel walks him through every step: when to provide slack, when to go taunt, when to start reeling faster. Soon Yellow can see the line pulling near, rippling the water with the prize beneath, and it takes every ounce of restraint to follow Noel’s leisurely pace. After what felt like agonizing minutes, Noel tells him to give the rod one final jerk upwards and to reel quickly, and suddenly the fish is thrashing in the air, sparkling as it throws off water. Yellow brings the fish closer, inside the boat, and Noel helps him release the hook caught in its lip.
It’s small, fitting within Yellow’s waiting palm, but it’s his. Yellow beams with pride at his first catch.
“It won’t be feeding any of us any time soon,” Noel jokes with a pat on Yellow’s back, “but you did it. Well done, Yellow.”
“We did it,” Yellow insists, smiling up at Noel.
There’s a flicker of hesitation, then Noel returns the smile full force.