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Charles unwillingly stirs from his nap with an almighty groan. He blinks irritably into the newly revealed summer sun. The clouds which betrayed him float on unbothered and spread pleasant warmth across his face.
Napping continued to be both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, letting his guard down enough to doze almost negated the concept of relaxing. To shut his eyes and leave himself and Edwin unguarded when there are too many things waiting in the nooks and crannies to destroy what they’ve just finished building. On the other, once his hypervigilance finally settled and he did fall asleep, he wanted to nap for the rest of his life — especially when he had an extremely comfortable centaur to use as a pillow.
Edwin didn’t seem to notice Charles drift off. He’s still leaning his shoulder on the old beech tree that’s essentially become their second home since arriving in the small, ramshackle mountain village. Mild sunlight filters through the scale-like leaves and dapples his hair. He turns another page of the thick astrology book Monty let him borrow. Somehow, he’s gotten halfway through in the span of one nap.
Charles yawns, stretching his arms behind head and wriggling to reorient himself against the firm pillow of Edwin’s flank. His foot accidentally knocks one of the hooves folded securely around his legs and Edwin startles, long gray ears pricking and swiveling. The deep breath he takes makes his ribs expand into the curve of Charles’ spine.
Lazily, Charles lets his eyes wander down the sharp line of Edwin’s back, sliding seamlessly from his navy jumper to the light gray of his fur. Proper meals and rest have given his coat a nice shine, no longer stretched thin over his skeleton like grotesque taxidermy. The long, jagged scars mapping out his abuses before being sold to the Moulds stand out starkly and Charles can’t linger on them too long because otherwise the ones on his own back smart sympathetically.
Nausea swells and pops in his stomach when Charles looks to the brand seared into his rump. Scarred white, the brand is three interlocking rings with a small open star in the middle. Slanted letters unfurl inside the other two: an “S” to the left and an “L” on the right.
The name of the tall, gaunt man Charles saw sauntering up the winding dirt road to the Mould’s ranch that morning can stay unknown. Charles despises him enough as is, and knowing him might just tempt him to start down a very, very ugly path. He knew exactly what he was: a broker. Men who raided the mountains where centaurs lived and sold them like exotic pets. He still sees those tobacco-yellowed teeth sneering around corners. He can’t imagine what Edwin’s nightmares look like…he doesn’t want to. Hearing the quiet whimpers and gasping cries feels invasive enough as is.
It isn’t the broker that’s burned into his eyelids on sleepless nights. Paradoxically, it’s mostly Edwin. Edwin, plodding behind the broker skinny and bruised and squinting at the ground like at any moment it’ll fall out from under him. Edwin, mouth bloody from the bit shoved in his mouth being jerked along whenever he slows down. Edwin, arms crossed and bound behind his back by leather straps. The defeated look in his eyes disguising itself as anger.
More often than not, the nightmare ends with Charles being dragged along the road instead. He kicks and screams as his father hauls him by the hair through the mud. The storm soaks them both to the bone and he’s so goddamn cold and every inch of him hurts like hell. He can’t breathe right. He can’t see. At some point he passes out only to be knocked back to consciousness when he’s thrown on the Mould’s doorstep. You wanted out of my house so bad, boy, Paul Rowland snarls, breath hot and reeking of booze, so here you go! Don’t say I never did nothing for you. At least here you can do me some good!
The echoing shriek of the words which stole away Charles’ freedom pitches the buzzing thing caged behind ribs into a frenzy and he shoots to his feet, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to move, to shake out what he can through his hands.
“Charles?” Edwin asks, one concerned ear pinned back toward him. His nose is still buried in the book but there’s a definite set to his jaw. “Is everything alright?”
“Aces,” Charles answers, pleased to not sound too out of breath. “Been sitting too long is all.”
“That’s understandable.” Edwin goes quiet in the way that means he’s thinking far too much about his next words. “Much as I enjoy our afternoons, I must reiterate that you are not obligated to spend time with me,” he says. The ear turned to Charles flicks nervously. “The village might offer some more exciting activities.”
Charles doesn’t let on how much Edwin asking him to leave, even for the afternoon, stings him. He’s mostly annoyed because they’ve had at least twenty-five versions of this exact conversation since coming here.
Fortified by jagged peaks and shrouded from greedy eyes by misty valleys, the village offered sanctuary to centaurs fleeing the same monsters as Edwin. The villagers looked after one another, and trouble cowered under Jenny’s watchful eye. As Edwin dutifully reminded him, Charles had fulfilled his promise of getting him to safety and in doing so escaped his indenture. He could go anywhere with a clear conscience, settle down someplace and carve out a new life for himself. Edwin just didn’t seem to believe that Charles was already doing that here, with him, and wasn’t planning on leaving. Ever.
“And I,” Charles lilts, mocking his tone, “must reiterate that there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
“Not even with Crystal?” Edwin presses, teasing.
Yeah, at least ten of those variations usually involved Crystal. Crystal was another centaur they’d met on the road. She was pretty, smart as a whip and even sharper tongued. Charles had never seen anybody able to match Edwin in that regard, so of course he was taken with her. She also knew what it was like to feel like a stranger in your own home. The people she called her parents were human, and bought her as a foal to raise like a novelty daughter. It wasn’t until she almost got stolen away, disappeared for three months, and came back to indifference that she finally realized how little she meant to them and decided to run.
Eventually, another centaur named Niko ran into her (literally, as the story goes) and guided her to the village. The two were out scouting when Edwin and Charles happened to cross their paths. Not that it was completely random — they’d been tailed for an hour before Niko burst out from the bushes. The purple streaks in Crystal’s dark tail and Niko’s snow white coat really weren’t optimal for stealth missions.
Charles and Crystal spent plenty of time together, sure. But Edwin and Niko, who'd he taken an instant liking to, often went out to the river at the bottom of the hill to watch the fish. They weren't attached at the hip like they had been but Charles really did enjoy Edwin’s company the most. Plus, he was pretty sure there was something going on between Crystal and Niko.
“Nope,” Charles says simply, popping the “p”.
Edwin hums dubiously but drops the argument.
That’s probably the quickest he’s conceded and Charles can’t help feeling a little smug about it. He plants his hands on his hips, tipping his face into the gentle breeze.
Beyond the grassy field lies the edge of the village. Shadows cast on the plain wooden buildings go silently about their day, running errands or simply milling about. Hanging laundry on a line outside her home is Mrs. Aspen. She paws the ground as she unfurls sheets, keeping an eye on her daughter Becky, who’s chasing Emma in tight circles around the posts.
The girls are close by nature of being the only children among the villagers but have an uncanny knack for trouble. Emma squeals with delight, rearing on her hind legs as Becky snakes past to tag the side of her flank and dart away.
An idea worms its way into Charles’ head. An incredibly childish but deliciously enticing idea.
Grinning, Charles turns smoothly on his heel. He pads around to stand in front of Edwin, his shadow blotting out the sunlight and spilling over the page he’s reading.
Edwin glances up with a suspicious eyebrow. “Yes?”
“There’s something I’d like to do,” Charles announces. “If you’ll indulge me.”
The suspicion deepens, not thrown by the brightness of Charles’ smile. “What is it you’d like to do, Charles?”
“Can’t say. It’s a surprise.”
“I see.”
Nodding, Edwin marks his place with the black ribbon sewn into the book’s cracked spine and sets it on the tree’s raised roots. He stretches out his front legs and then pushes up from the ground, standing to his full height.
The top of Charles’ head reaches his navel and Charles has to step back to see his face. Edwin looms above Crystal, Niko, and most of the other centaurs except Jenny. Jenny has him by a couple centimeters and even if he didn’t, her attitude alone would make her larger than the mountains surrounding the village.
Charles holds out his hand, and Edwin takes it.
Walking north from the beech tree leads them to the curtain of woods Charles has come to know like the back of his hand. Knotted birches cast the ground in cool, eerie shadow. Thick ramble bushes catch on Charles’ trousers as he leads Edwin down an old game trail. He’s got the whole network of trails and creeks mapped out, the result of several nights where his restless mind compelled him to wander aimlessly.
Wandering aimlessly isn’t exactly Edwin’s favorite activity. His ears are constantly tracking the birds playfully gliding through the treetops and the chorus of insects echoing from tunnels eaten into gnarled trunks. He steps cautiously over a rotten log, tail swishing. His grip is tight on Charles’ hand. Despite the obvious discomfort, he allows Charles to lead him along without question.
The trust still makes Charles dizzy enough he almost misses the next turn. There’s one last stretch of woods before the two finally emerge into a massive clearing. Charles stops, taking in the view. Beside him, Edwin’s breath catches.
Wildflowers. Thousands of vibrant purple and blue and yellow blossoms sway lazily within a shifting sea of soft green grass. Bees float lazily from flower to flower. Butterflies flit in pairs overhead.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Charles says quietly, not wanting to disturb the picturesque scene laid out before them.
“Yes,” Edwin breathes. His eyes are wide, reflecting the dizzying array of colors. “Yes, it is.”
Charles tugs gently on his hand and begins wading through the field. Perturbed bees buzz around his knees as he brushes aside the petals. He walks backward for the fun of it. Edwin delicately places his hooves around the buds, apparently convinced something’s waiting to leap out and bite him.
The atmospheric sounds of the birds and the bugs seem louder when they reach the center. Charles lets go and folds his arms behind his head.
Edwin looks around, tail swishing at the curious butterflies investigating the newcomers. “What now?” He asks.
“We frolic, of course!” Charles throws out his arms, spinning in a slow circle. “Shame to let a perfectly good flower field go un-frolicked.”
“I do not frolic,” Edwin informs him tersely.
Charles grins. “Well, I do. And I want to frolic with my best mate. So c’mon!”
He jogs backward before turning and breaking out into a sprint, arms spread wide like he’s going to embrace the flowers and smother them with kisses. He laughs heartily, skirting the edge of the field and starting to run around the perimeter with reckless abandon.
Caught between complete mortification and second-hand embarrassment, Edwin watches him do clumsy laps. His ears flick rapidly back and forth. Finally, he wraps his arms around his middle and takes his first tentative step. He seems to debate before taking another, and another, and another, until he breaks out into a light trot.
“There you go!” Charles yells encouragingly, startling some birds out from the bush he almost falls into. “Make a complete fool of yourself! That is the crux of a good frolic.”
Even from his vantage point on the other side of the field, Charles sees Edwin blush. Edwin smiles shyly, gait quickening to a cantor. His arms come loose, shoulders relaxing.
Charles cuts diagonally across the field and swiftly smacks Edwin’s flank.
Edwin yelps, jumping. He bounces on his hooves, coming to a stumbling stop and rounding on Charles. Charles smirks. “You’re it,” he says, deathly serious.
The mischievous glint which enters Edwin's eye makes Charles’ stomach lurch in a way he isn’t sure he dislikes. Edwin straightens, smoothing back his hair. “I suggest you start running, Charles.”
And Charles really should, because Edwin comes crashing toward him at breakneck speed. Charles dives out from the path of the hand reaching for his shoulder. He scrambles to get his feet back under him and hauls ass back the way he came.
When Charles came up with the idea of tag, he apparently didn’t remember that he'd be playing with someone who has the unfair advantage of equine speed and dexterity. However, Charles knows Edwin well enough to combat this.
The fall of Edwin’s hooves stutters right before he makes his move, allowing Charles ample time to dodge as Edwin lunges. Edwin’s front leg bends, putting him into an awkward bow. His eyes flash and he twists his torso, grabbing for Charles’ wrist but Charles dances away.
The warm feeling growing within him swells and bursts as Edwin laughs. A real laugh that shakes his shoulders and makes the sun glow brighter.
Charles is so distracted that he stumbles, falling face first into the flowers. He rolls to his side, flinching from the powerful hooves running past his head. Edwin’ momentum carries him forward and he bucks a couple times, legs kicking out happily. He turns, kicking up a spray of dirt and stems just as Charles stands and the chase resumes.
The game devolves rather quickly into Charles chasing Edwin around and around. Edwin leaps, head thrown back and laughing and more carefree than he’s ever been before. Charles can barely see straight anymore as his lungs struggle to keep up with his desire to keep Edwin laughing like that. He smiles. He hasn’t stopped since he started running around like a complete idiot.
Edwin must be reaching his limit because he comes to an abrupt halt. His flanks heave, coat glistening with sweat and pollen. Sunlight weaves into his hair and he looks ethereal, a wild god or something out of a fairy tale.
Fueled by reckless abandon Charles runs up behind Edwin, presses his hands flat on the flat knob of his tailbone, and vaults over onto his back. He propels himself forward and crashes into his back. Edwin jumps, and Charles laughs, languidly draping his arms over Edwin's shoulders and letting his head drop between them. The air smells like sweat and sweet flowers and he could cry for no other reason than the experience of it all.
Fingers tangle in the short curls at the nape of Charles’ neck. Edwin leans back, angling his face so his cheek pressed against the shell of Charles’ ear. His ragged breaths are hot, peppered with the remains of laughter.
The world falls away except for the sound of their uneven breathing. Charles closes his eyes, feeling the flush of Edwin’s skin pressed to his. He is warm and content like a cat in the sun. He could stay like this for hours. Weeks. Years, even. Just him and Edwin and the flowers.
So when Edwin shifts, Charles makes an undignified sound of protest. He opens his eyes. Edwin's watching him with an odd expression.
Charles barely asks what’s wrong before Edwin kisses him.
It’s an awful, rushed thing. Their lips crash together and Charles squeaks, the tiny sound lost in the urgent clack of teeth.
It is awkward and real and messy, tangled up within the pent-up emotions of a boy who’s never kissed before, who spent the better portion of his life getting kicked around and treated like nothing. A mirror, Charles realizes, to the uncharted sea of emotion and anger and pining going on inside him.
Charles might be inclined to study the epiphany further if he wasn't completely stricken dumb by the fact he’s kissing Edwin. The strange thing in the pit of his stomach finally shows itself plainly to him: Love. He’s always loved Edwin. They’ve fought tooth and nail too long together not to love him, but it feels different than when he's dated before. He doesn’t exactly know how he should explain it to himself. Maybe he doesn’t know anything except this moment. Here, now, he likes this. He likes being this close to Edwin, feeling safe enough to laugh and play and be unsure and terrified and he’s suddenly giddy.
Charles hums, trying to draw back and get a better angle because he’s sure Edwin's neck is sore from doing this backward.
Edwin seems to take this as a disapproval because his eyes snap open and he draws back like something's shocked him. His ears are flat against his skull. He swallows, frantically searching Charles’ face.
"Charles, I —”
Charles just shakes his head, takes Edwin's face between his hands, and kisses him again.