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The first time he sees Mike Warren it’s a hot afternoon in early June. A heat wave has hit the California coast, making it 90 degrees even before 11 a.m. every morning; people have taken to sitting in front of their air conditioners or, like Briggs is today, lounging in the shade of the back porch and basking in the ocean breeze. His sister is sitting in the rocking chair across from him with her nose stuck in a book.
The beach behind their house is abandoned; on a day like today the sand is scalding. And yet when Briggs looks out along the shoreline he spots a figure moving their way, a golden retriever at its side.
“Who’d be out in the sun in this heat?” Briggs wonders aloud. Charlie looks up from her book and squints at the distant figures, growing larger as they walk together down the beach.
“Oh, that’s Donny Warren’s nephew,” Charlie says finally. Briggs leans forward and peers harder but he still can’t tell what the person looks like. His sister has hawk vision. “Matt or Mike or something. I guess he’s staying with his aunt and uncle down the road for the summer.”
“How do you know that?”
“DJ told me.”
Charlie idly licks her finger and turns the page. Briggs doesn’t question her further; his sister knows everything that goes on in this small beachside town.
The guy and his dog get close enough that Briggs can see his features now. He’s got sandy brown hair and a tanned face that could only really be described as ‘cute’ – when he walks across the beach behind Briggs’ house he’s close enough that, when he looks up, their eyes meet.
Briggs feels a jolt in his chest and he’s having trouble remembering how to breathe. Something akin to wonder crosses the stranger’s face and they stare at each other for only a moment before the guy’s moving on, continuing his walk, the dog trotting along beside him as if nothing had happened. Briggs sits back in his chair, swallows, and tries to collect his thoughts.
“Charlie,” he begins finally. “Where do the Warrens live again?”
---
Though he spends most of the afternoon trying to think of an excuse for knocking on the Warrens' door when the last time he’d spoken to either of them was at the Memorial Day parade, the following day he found himself in the same spot as the day before, leaning back in one of two faded blue rocking chairs, trying not to move too much else he sweat half to death in the stifling heat. Even with the breeze rolling off of the ocean, it’s a scorcher. He tells himself that suffocatingly high temperatures are a perfectly reasonable excuse to wait until tomorrow, or maybe even the next day, to go meet Donny Warren’s nephew when he spots the same two figures moving down the beach.
Forgetting how hot he is, Briggs gets up and jogs out onto the beach, wincing as the hot sand kicked up by his sandals hits his bare skin. The boy and his dog slow down as Briggs approaches; his sudden appearance earns a bark from the golden retriever and a smile that has his stomach flipping over from its owner.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” Briggs stops and for a second they stare at each other until Briggs remembers to speak. “I, uh, saw you out here yesterday with your dog. I live right over there.” He points over his shoulder at the porch he’d just been sitting on, and gets another smile.
“I know. I remember.”
“Yeah.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, then hastily pulls one back out and offers it for a shake. “Paul Briggs, but everyone calls me Briggs.”
“Mike Warren.” Mike’s hand is cool, surprisingly, his grip firm. Briggs’ skin tingles when he pulls his hand back.
“You related to Donny and Lauren?”
“They’re my aunt and uncle, yeah. I’m staying with them for the summer, right down there.” Mike squints and points further down the beach. “I just got here last week.”
“You didn’t come at a very good time,” Briggs jokes. “The weather’s usually better than this.”
“That’s what my uncle said too. He says the heat wave should break sometime in the next few days, and then the town’ll come to life.”
“Oh, it will, just you wait.”
They’re quiet again. Briggs is staring at the dog and when he glances back up he’s a little shocked (pleasantly so) to see that Mike has been staring at him.
“What?”
“You look…familiar.” Mike chews the inside of his cheek as he thinks and Briggs is hit with something that’s either nerves or heat stroke. “We haven’t met before, have we?”
“Nope, sorry. I’d remember meeting someone like you.”
The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them and he almost chokes on his own spit. Mike doesn’t look too fazed by it – in fact he’s smiling again, even bigger than before, and Briggs finds himself grinning back.
“Well,” Mike says after another long silence, this one full of awkward is-he-looking-at-me-am-I-looking-too-much glances, “I have to get Buddy here back home. He needs a walk every day but a dog with this much fur isn’t really made for spending a lot of time out in this kind of heat.”
“Oh, yeah, sure, I get that.”
Mike is moving on when Briggs has a sudden burst of courage and jogs up to cut Mike off again.
“Once this heat wave breaks, you wanna go get a drink or something? There’s a great pub in town I can show you, it’s a good way to meet the locals and get a feel for the town.”
“Yeah,” Mike says, half turned away, cheeks red from the bright sunlight (or is he blushing?) “I’d like that.”
Then Mike’s walking again, and Briggs slowly makes his way back to his porch. It’s only when he’s safely in the sanctity of the porch’s shade that he lets out a little whoop and pumps his fist once into the air.
---
“I remembered where I know you from.”
Briggs looks up over the top of his beer, leaning forward so he can hear Mike better. The bar is crowded with a good portion of Graceland’s population as they celebrate the end of the heat wave; today has been a comfortable 72 degrees, which means they can congregate in this pub without it turning into a sauna.
“Yeah? Where’s that?”
“You won that big state surfing contest a couple years back. I read about it in the papers.”
Briggs ducks his face to hide the broad smile that’s stretching, almost painfully, from one ear to the other. He’s been hit with a slightly overwhelming giddiness.
“That was four years ago, you really remember what I look like from one article?”
“Well….” Mike’s embarrassed and yes, he’s definitely blushing this time, “That was around the time I started to get into surfing, and I thought your story was really inspiring… You were kind of my hero.” He shrugs, trying to look nonchalant, but the way he’s chewing his lip ruins it.
Briggs lets out a laugh and takes a gulp of his beer. Gripping the can hides the way his hands have started shaking.
“Really?”
“Aw, come on, don’t laugh. You really were an inspiration to me, and probably a lot of other beginner surfers.”
“Sure, I guess.”
The bar’s gotten louder if possible and Briggs shifts his chair over so that he’s sitting next to Mike, their knees brushing under he table. “Can’t hear that well,” he lies easily, enjoying the way Mike’s cheeks flush. It makes him feel better about his still trembling hands.
“Why’d you stop competing?” Mike asks, leaning forward just the tiniest bit. “You were so good, everyone thought you were going to make it to nationals.”
“Eh, the limelight’s just not for me. As soon as I won that state contest everyone was suddenly all over me about sponsors and my next tournament and you should move to a bigger city, Briggs, that’s where all the big surfing names are, just get out of this ho-dunk town and you’ll be a household name in no time.” He mimics the words in the same nasally voice recruiters had used on him; Mike snorts. “I didn’t want the sponsors, I didn’t want all the work, and I definitely didn’t want to leave, so I just stopped surfing competitively. Surfing’s a hobby, something I do to clear my head, to cut loose when everything else is dragging me down. I didn’t want to spoil that by making it all official, you know?”
“I think so,” Mike says, and his face is so close and his eyes are on Briggs’ mouth, and Briggs has known almost everyone in this bar since he was a kid (either personally or just by name) but he doesn’t think about any of them as he leans in and kisses Mike on the lips.
It’s soft, almost chaste; Mike tastes like beer and bar peanuts and chapstick. He tastes amazing. Briggs wants to keep going, find out how deep that flavor goes but Mike pulls back after not nearly long enough and pushes some of Briggs’ hair away from his face.
“You wanna go for a walk?” he asks, and Briggs nods. When the waitress comes by to check on them she finds six bucks and two unfinished beers.
---
The main part of the beach, where most of the tourists go (despite being a small town Graceland still gets plenty of tourists) is crowded, even as evening starts to fall, but the section of shoreline just behind Briggs’ house is empty. Most of the locals are in town taking advantage of the tourists by telling local legends and getting them drunk enough to buy the whole bar a round. Everyone will be out on the beach tomorrow morning, ready to hit the waves on the first comfortably surfable day in two weeks. Right now, though, Mike and Briggs have the shore all to themselves.
As they walk Mike slips his hand into Briggs’ and squeezes gently, sending Briggs’ heart rate into high gear. He wonders if Mike feels the same thing. They don’t talk for a long time, and the silence isn’t awkward but comfortable, pleasant, like that old favorite sweater you have that you wear whenever you just want to lie around and watch TV all day. Briggs is bursting with questions – when’s your birthday? What’s your family like? Where are you from? Do you go to school? – but finds that he doesn’t need the answers right away. He can wait.
They sit near the edge of where the tide’s coming in, their shoes off and set beside them as they curl their toes in the damp sand. Briggs digs a little hole for his feet with his toes and watches as the water washes over them, burying them in sand.
“This is nice.” Mike shifts over slightly and hesitantly rests his head on Briggs’ shoulder.
“Yeah, it is.”
Briggs gives it another minute before he risks putting his arm around Mike. He almost goes for the yawn-and-stretch approach before he remembers that kind of corny lost him at least three dates in high school, and instead just straight up does it. Mike gives a little sigh and Briggs thinks Success! He presses a little kiss to Mike’s hair, and Mike tilts his head up to catch Briggs’ lips with his own. It’s sweet, and slow, and there’s no bar chatter to distract them, nobody out there to stop them as Briggs’ hand comes up to cup Mike’s cheek and he lets himself slip deeper, his tongue sliding into Mike’s open mouth, Mike’s hand on his elbow and his upper arm and then Mike’s fingers curling in the hairs on the back of his neck. There’s a familiar stirring in his gut as he gently pushes Mike onto his back on the sand, bracing himself on his forearms over Mike and they’re still going, and maybe he’s going too fast, but it all feels so good and he doesn’t want to stop—
“We’re not gonna do it right here, right?” Mike says suddenly against Briggs’ lips. “I mean, I’m not trying to assume anything, or anything, but I don’t really have sex on the first date and everyone can see us and I’m pretty sure I read somewhere that doing it on the sand is actually really uncomfortable and—“
“Mike.”
Mike’s mouth snaps shut and Briggs laughs, kissing him again for a moment before pulling back.
“I promise we’re not going to have sex tonight, or on the beach. Okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” Mike’s embarrassed again, a puppy that’s been caught eating out of the garbage. Briggs shakes his head, still grinning.
“I don’t know why you thought we were going to. We were only making out. But if that’s too fast for you, we can slow it down a bit.”
“Yes. No.” Mike’s lips are pursed. “Maybe?”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Another soft kiss and Briggs pulls back for good, wiping sand off of his shorts and arms as he stands up. He holds a hand out for Mike to take, pulling Mike to his feet and helping him brush the sand off of his back (paying a little special attention to Mike’s butt – the boy had quite a booty).
“Sorry,” Mike says sheepishly, picking at tiny sand particles on Briggs’ shirt.
“Hey, don’t be. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable or anything.”
“Thanks.”
Briggs grabs his sandals with one hand and Mike’s hand with the other. “Come on,” he’s saying as he pulls Mike down the beach, finding himself completely incapable of not grinning. “Let me walk you home and we’ll talk about our next date.”
---
The tide is high, wave after wave rolling onto the beach, each one seemingly bigger than the last. Briggs balances himself on his surfboard and watches the water for signs of the next set; they’re in a bit of a lull for the moment, but he can practically feel that more are coming. The sun’s barely up and already pretty warm on his back and legs as he lies there waiting.
Mike paddles up beside him, face split by a wide grin. “Did you see that? That wave was huge!”
“Yeah, I did,” Briggs replies with a smile. “You get this excited about every wave you catch?”
“Yes,” Mike says seriously. Briggs lets out a laugh.
“Thought so.”
He reaches out across the gap between their boards and tugs Mike in for a quick kiss, which turns into a not-so-quick kiss, and by the time Briggs finally lets go the next set’s already rolling in.
“Stop distracting me or I’ll miss the next good one,” Briggs teases, gently pushing Mike away.
“You say that every time and you still catch the best waves.”
“You better believe it.”
Briggs winks and looks out to sea; he can see the tell-tale hump of another wave coming in, with all the indications that it will be, as Mike put it, one of the best ones. He turns his board and waits for the right moment before paddling hard, working his arms against the water until he’s exactly where he needs to be when the wave finally starts to break. Briggs pushes himself to his feet, balancing easily, and rides the center of the wave, reaching out to drag his fingers through the rolling water as he speeds through what is quickly becoming a closed tunnel of seawater. Just when it looks like it’s about to crash on top of him he shoots out on the other side, completely unharmed, and rides the tide all the way onto the beach.
At the last second, though, he miscalculates; the tip of his board catches on something in the shallows and he goes sprawling over the end, the board flipping with him as the tether between it and his ankle carries it over on his momentum. He ends up on his back on the sand, slightly dazed, the sound of Mike’s voice ringing in his ears.
“Briggs! Briggs, are you okay?” Mike paddles in as fast as he can, grabbing his board as soon as the water’s shallow enough for him to run up onto the beach. “Briggs? Briggs! Wake up!” He shakes Briggs’ shoulders but there’s still no response; he bends down, calling to mind the CPR class he took last year, and is pinching Briggs’ nose shut when a hand comes up to swat him away.
“Jeez, I’m fine, no need to panic.”
“Oh my God, I thought you were seriously injured!”
“Nah, I was just teasing.” Briggs’ grin flashes in the morning sun, a perfect opposite to the scowl Mike is wearing.
“Dude. Not funny.”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Briggs sighs. He leans forward to give Mike a gentle kiss. “Forgive me?”
“For now.” Mike stands up, waiting a beat and then reluctantly offering Briggs a hand. When Briggs is on his feet again Mike goes back to looking offended. “But if you do that again, I’m going to beat you up.”
---
The house is dark and mostly quiet; Charlie’s gone for the weekend on a road trip up to Washington with some friends. The only sound is coming from Briggs’ room, second door on the left on the second floor, door closed and locked (you never knew with Charlie, there had been occasions where she’d said she’d be gone for a few days and then popped up two days early at the worst times), the lights off, and the occasional sigh or gasp slipping out into the empty hallway.
“Briggs,” Mike whispers, toes curling, his lip held tight between his teeth, head tilted back and body trembling. “Please, please don’t stop, oh my God—“
Briggs leaves a line of hot kisses down Mike’s throat, his breath coming in hot gasps, fingers digging into Mike’s hips. He wants to move faster, harder, wants to pound into Mike until the both of them finish together, screaming and covered in sweat, but he won’t. Not this time. Not yet. Instead he keeps it slow, steady, lets every sensation build, takes his time to touch and memorize every part of Mike’s body he can.
“Oh, oh, yes, more, give me more, God—“
And yet despite how much he wants to keep his pace Mike’s voice, Mike’s sounds get into him and boil his blood and he can’t help it, he can’t help but speed up and give Mike exactly what he wants. Mike comes first, crying out and shuddering and it doesn’t take long for Briggs to follow after and as they lie there, still wrapped up in each other, Briggs hears the front door slam and smiles to himself because just this once Charlie has perfect timing.
---
“I’m leaving in two weeks.”
Briggs sits up on the blanket, looking down at Mike with a frown. “What?”
“Dad called and said that I got accepted to that grad school I was telling you about.” In the flicker of their small bonfire Briggs can see that Mike’s smile is bittersweet. “I have to go home and start getting ready.”
“I thought you said you were staying until the end of August!”
“I was, originally. But now I’m not.”
Briggs wants to fume, wants to yell at Mike, tell him not to go, make him stay somehow, but he lies back down next to Mike on the blanket, crossing his arms over his chest and putting on his very best angry face.
“When’d you find out?”
“This morning,” Mike says quietly. He rolls onto his side, facing Briggs, and ghosts his fingers over Briggs’ arm, finally taking Briggs’ hand and entwining their fingers. “I don’t want to go, either, but this is a great opportunity for me. The school is great, they have amazing post-grad employment rates, and I’m one step closer to getting my dream job.”
“A lawyer? You’re gonna be a stuffy, boring old lawyer? You know they don’t surf on the East Coast, right?”
Mike manages a chuckle. “Actually, they do.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. It won’t be the same. Not like here.”
“I know.” Mike rests his head gently on Briggs’ chest, and for a while says nothing. He doesn’t have to – Briggs can feel the guilt clawing its way through his stomach.
“I am happy for you. About the school. That’s great news, Mike,” he says finally, sincerely.
“Thank you.” Mike brushes his thumb over the back of Briggs’ knuckles and lets out a heavy sigh. “It’s just—hard. I’m so torn. I want to leave, and then I don’t. I didn’t think it would be this difficult, but when you’re leaving someone you love, it’s supposed to be, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I gue---wait, back up.” Briggs sits up, which forces Mike to sit up too, and takes Mike’s face in his hands. “What’d you just say?”
“Uh. I love you?”
Somehow, his brain must not be working correctly, because he’s pretty sure he’s just heard those three little words come out of Mike’s cute little mouth and no, that can’t be right, he can’t be telling me this now right after he’s just told me he’s leaving—
“Great, that’s just great!” Briggs throws his arms up and stands. “I get the confession I’ve been waiting for for a month and you’re leaving in two weeks?! The hell did I do to deserve this?” Briggs dramatically shakes a fist at the dark sky. “If this is about that time I put a dead jellyfish in Charlie’s bed, you can fuck right off!”
“Oh my God.” Mike’s still sitting on the blanket, shoulders shaking with laughter. “Did you really put a dead jellyfish in her bed?”
“Hey, she started it when she murdered my pet hamster by taking it for a swim.”
“Oh my God.”
Mike’s laughing even harder now, and Briggs finds it impossible not to crack a small grin, then a large grin, and finally start laughing himself. He flops back down on the blanket, holding his stomach until he calms down.
“We were terrible to each other as kids,” Briggs says after he’s caught his breath. “But why did you wait until tonight to tell me how you felt?”
“I thought I’d have the rest of the summer to, you know, work up the courage. It’s not exactly the easiest thing to admit, especially considering….” Mike trails off, and Briggs takes a wild guess and what he’s thinking.
“Considering we’re both dudes?”
“What? No,” Mike snorts. “If that was an issue, do you think I’d be here? I meant to say, especially considering that I don’t know if I’ll ever be coming back here.”
“Oh.”
“Sorry. I know it’s a lot to take in one night.”
You got that right. “No, it’s—it’s fine. Really.” Briggs reaches over to cup Mike’s cheek and pull him in for a kiss. When he pulls away he rests his forehead against Mike’s and murmurs, “I feel the same, by the way.”
They’re lost in each other until long after the bonfire finally goes out, and though they don’t have sex on the beach (“Sand in bad places,” Mike says pointedly when Briggs’ hands start to get a little exploratory) they end up sleeping out there anyway, and are only woken up when Charlie comes out in the morning to yell at Briggs about doing the dishes.
---
Briggs kicks at a rock on the ground, the only outlet he has for the anger bubbling in his stomach. The rock skitters across asphalt and bounces off of one of Mike’s suitcases that are stacked on the curb in front of the Warren’s place.
“It’s been lovely having you, Michael. I’m sorry you had to leave so early,” Mike’s aunt is saying as she hugs him tight. “Know that you’re welcome back here any time.”
“Thanks, Aunt Lauren, Uncle Donny. It’s been really great being here this summer.”
“We’re always happy to have family over.” Mike’s uncle smiles and pats his wife’s large, round tummy. “Make sure you stop by to see your cousin sometime.”
“I will.” The Warrens finish up their goodbyes and head back into the house, leaving Mike and Briggs alone on the curb, waiting for the taxicab that will take Mike to the airport. Briggs’ arms are crossed over his chest and though he’s trying very hard not to pout he’s not having much success.
“Guess this is it,” Mike says, standing next to his suitcases. Briggs shrugs.
“Yup.”
“We can still call and email and stuff,” Mike goes on. “And write letters, if you want.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Come on, don’t do this. It’s not like it’s the 1970’s, keeping in touch even when we’re on different sides of the continent won’t be that hard.”
“I know,” Briggs says stiffly. “It’s just, it’s not the same, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.” Mike steps over and ducks in under Briggs’ bowed head to quickly press their lips together. Briggs’ arms come up around him of their own accord and he thinks that maybe, maybe if he holds tightly enough, maybe if he just doesn’t let Mike go then he won’t have to leave. Maybe through sheer willpower (and the fact that he’s bigger than Mike) he can keep Mike from going away and maybe, possibly, probably never coming back again. But then he hears the beep that announces the taxi’s arrival and Mike’s pulling away and his arms aren’t listening to him, dropping to his sides instead of staying around Mike and preventing him from going.
“I’ll call you when I get off the plane, okay?” Mike’s saying softly. He hesitates, glancing at the driver, then says in almost a whisper, “I love you.”
“Love you too.”
They kiss one last time and Mike’s leaving, picking up his two suitcases and shoving them in the trunk of the taxi. He slides into the back and turns to look out the rear window but Briggs is already gone, walking back down the road to his own place. Despite Mike’s reassurances to the contrary, this feels like a final goodbye and Paul Briggs sure as hell isn’t going to be the guy who tries not to break down on somebody else’s lawn while his boyfriend watches him through the back window of a taxi.
He can be melodramatic, sure, but he’s not that bad.
---
They keep in touch for almost two and a half months before the combination of Mike’s schoolwork and Briggs getting a “real job” (after being hassled by Charlie for a grand total of three years; she’d kept track) is enough to make their conversations shorter and less often, until finally they stop talking altogether. Briggs tells himself it was stupid to think it could work, and how the hell did he end up in one of those cliché summer romances anyway? He tells himself to move on and purposefully doesn’t think about the fifty-seven times he watched Grease between mid-August and the end of November.
As the year flies by and the next summer approaches, he finds that he’s hoping Mike will come back, that he’ll come to visit his aunt and uncle and their new baby, and everything’ll be fine.
And then the Warrens move away.
Charlie tells him the story over dinner one night – they needed a less expensive house now that there was a baby involved, no she didn’t know where they’d gone, no they weren’t keeping the house on the beach, no she didn’t know who would be moving in once they’d left. Briggs tries the number Mike gave him in a moment of weakness, only to find that it’s been disconnected. It’s then that he finally gives up and starts to move on with his life, date new people, try new things, all of that crap.
But it’s just not the same.
---
“Thirty years old, huh? The big 3 0.” Charlie grins and presents Briggs with his cake, setting it on the fold-up table she’s put up on the back porch. Happy Birthday, Buttface is written in green icing on white frosting, and two big wax candles (a 3 and an 0) are burning in the center. He laughs and shakes his head.
“It’s moments like these that I remember why you’re the baby of the family,” he teases.
“Do you want this cake or not? Because it’s chocolate and I’m on my period and I will eat all of it if you don’t shut your face.”
When both of them are stuffed with cake and relaxing in the warm afternoon air, Briggs hears the crunch of car tires on gravel and glances over at Charlie.
“Are we expecting company?”
“Oh! Yeah, I almost forgot.” She gets up, brushing cake crumbs off her shirt, and walks off the porch. “I invited a special friend to come see you on your big day.”
“A special friend?” he calls after her. “Is this another one of your boyfriends!” But she’s already around the side of the house and probably can’t hear him anymore. Rolling his eyes and sighing with exasperation, Briggs leans back in the rocking chair, letting the warm breeze and his full stomach lull him into a doze. He’s almost fallen asleep already when Charlie comes back around and wakes him with a shout.
“Hey, sleepy head!”
“’M up,” Briggs grumbles, rubbing his eyes.
“No, keep your eyes closed, this is a surprise!”
Briggs groans but does as he’s told, even putting his hands over his eyes when she shouts, “No peeking!” He hears her walk up the stairs to the porch, and then someone else, someone with a much heavier and louder tread. He groans again; definitely one of her boyfriends.
“If this guy makes me sit and listen to him talk about the magic of tattoo art for four hours, I swear to God I’m moving out—“
“Well I don’t know much about tattoos,” his surprise guest says, and Briggs is dropping his hands so fast he smacks them against the arms of the chair, “But how do you feel about law?”
Briggs looks up into a face he hasn’t seen in years, and though it's older, slightly wrinkled from stress and laughter, there’s no mistaking the man that’s standing in front of him.
“Hey,” Mike Warren says with a smile. “Did you miss me?”