Chapter Text
Clover's father was only happy when he was complaining, and he was in exceptionally high spirits today.
Whatever he was going on about now, Clover wasn't listening. He kept his eyes on the ground, watching as dandelions pushed through the concrete, even though it was autumn and nothing else around them bloomed. Maybe there was symbolism there, maybe not. What did Clover know? He was failing English, anyway. He walks without direction, like most thirteen-year-olds.
"Clover," Mr Willoughby barks, pulling Clover out of his thoughts prematurely. The boy looks up at his father, blinking rapidly. "Y'hear me? I said 'some of the boys in your generation can't even—'"
"Yeah, I heard," Clover lies, looking straight forward.
Clover had fallen in love with this small town ages ago. Even in the middle of autumn, he could still find dandelions and daisies and his own namesake as they curled around the tall grass and grew, despite everything, through the cracks in the sidewalk, and the whole town was surrounded by tall hills and mountains that he could have spent the rest of his life climbing up and down... yes, he loved it here. It was the rest of the town's residents that bogged him down. His father was nearly indistinguishable from other men his age, the men raising his classmates... Clover takes in the passers-by as he and his father keep walking. He spots a boy his age looking to the side, shorter than him, dark-skinned and thoughtful-looking. Suddenly—!
"WAIT! WAIT! BEAU!" Clover abandons his father, darting forwards and nearly knocking Beau over in his rush to hug him. Beau lets out a shocked little yell, then he starts laughing, hugging Clover tightly.
"Clover! Oh, my gosh, you're so tall—"
"You called, you said you'd visit—"
"I've been looking for you everywhere, this town's not that big, but I couldn't find you anywhere—"
"Maybe you weren't lookin' hard enough!" Clover laughs, squeezing Beau triumphantly, as though he's won something. Maybe he has, in some way. "You sound different, Beau, they've gotcha talkin' all fancy at that school—"
"I don't sound that different," Beau protests, finally tearing himself away from Clover, beaming. It dawns on Clover that he had gotten taller in the four years since he'd last seen Beau, or perhaps Beau had simply shrunk... either way... he looked good. Well cared-for.
Clover hears his father shouting his name, and he winces, but even still, as he looks at Beau, he can't bring himself to stop smiling. "Sorry," he whispers to Beau as his father approaches, watching Beau's smile turn strained.
"Hello, Mr Willoughby," he says stiffly, stepping away from Clover entirely. Clover knows his father never exactly liked Beau— he thought he was 'morally superior,' 'overly ambitious,' but also 'hadn't worked a day in his life.' Often, it felt like he didn't take any particular issue with Beau; he just didn't like anything about the boy.
Still, thankfully, his father stays civil, shaking Beau's hand. "What brings you back to town?"
"Oh, there's a fundraising event happening here, and— and my school's a sponsor," Beau says, retracting his hand from Mr Willoughby's grip hurriedly. "It's for— actually, Clover, I'd like you to come, if you'd like; it's tonight, it's at that garden at the base of Mount Ebott—"
Clover's already nodding before his father can permit him. Obviously he's going— anywhere Beau goes, Clover will do his best to follow, as it's always been. His father seems to have loss all sense of civility at this point; he puts his hand on Clover's back, steering him back down the pavement.
"It's for charity!" Beau calls in vain as Clover is steered away, looking over his shoulder at Beau. "It's at— starts at eight, ten dollars at the door— bye!"
Clover waves until they turn a corner, Beau disappearing from his view. He looks back down at the pavement, his grin fading as it becomes just he and his father again.
"You ain't goin', so don't even think about askin'," Mr Willoughby grunts. "See, this's what I'm talkin' about, Clover, that boy hasn't done honest work in his life. Fine arts school, really... Clover, you're goin' into the trades when you're done with high school, doin' some good, honest work..."
Clover doesn't listen. He continues watching the dandelions push through the pavement as they pass.
It's seven-forty-five p.m., and Clover is crawling out of his bedroom window, ten dollars in his pocket.
It wasn't that Clover didn't care about rules; in fact, he cared about rules very deeply. Just not his father's. He might be a sheriff, and everyone else might listen to him, but... well, any rule that makes Beau unhappy isn't one that's worth following. Still, as Clover creeps around the back of the house and onto the sidewalk, something gnaws at him, some tiny voice that's gotten louder and louder each day since Beau left... one that tells him he's an awful boy, just terribly behaved, and he deserves to get beaten for this. Sneaking out just to visit a boy his father hates at an event he doesn't understand...
It won't be a long walk, at least. That's another good thing about living in such a small town: everything is such a short walk away. It's seven fifty-five when he arrives, and as he puts ten dollars into the hand of a bored-looking older boy at the door, he quietly walks through another set of rules. Don't say y'all, don't put yer hands in yer pockets, don't whistle, and definitely don't shake hands, yer all sweaty, don't...
He repeats these rules to himself as he looks for Beau in the crowd. Whatever charity this is for, it's one a lot of people are interested in... even with his height, it's difficult for Clover to spot Beau through the crowd. When it's eight-ten and he still hasn't found him, he leaves the main room, his brow furrowed fretfully.
Off the main room is an empty sitting area, dimly lit save for a fireplace. Clover sits next to it, his knees brought to his chest, as he looks around. Everyone was only really focused on the flower garden surrounding it, which was currently dull and withered, but the house itself was quite nice, too.
Clover stayed only for a few minutes. While he hadn't really spoken to anyone, the crowd gathered outside this room was not the kind Clover usually dealt with. He wondered how many of them were Beau's classmates... it was hard to believe; they all seemed so snobbish and cold, and Clover could hardly imagine someone as sweet and warm as Beau talking to any of them.
The door rattles, and Clover instantly stands, putting his hands up like he expects someone to pull a gun on him. "Sorry, sorry, I— I was lookin' for someone, and—"
"Clover, it's just me." Beau closes the door behind him, smiling. "Why are you in here?"
"Why're you?"
"I was looking for you."
"Well, I was lookin' fer you."
Beau laughs to himself, looking at Clover fully. His smile fades. "You're on fire."
Clover blinks confusedly. He isn't doing anything, so he's not sure how he can be doing it well. "Oh... thanks?"
"You're on fire!"
"Oh—!" Clover looks down, and sure enough, his pant leg has caught fire. He quickly pats it out before it can do any serious damage, looking down at where his jeans are cuffed. They're charred... damn, he liked this pair a lot. Thankfully, the skin underneath hasn't burnt.
Beau's laughing again, and Clover looks back up at him, grinning. "You, uh, you oughta be out there, Beau," he says, lowering his leg. "Y'know... networkin', or whatever important artsy people do. Don't waste yer time talkin' to me."
"But I haven't seen you in ages," Beau replies, moving closer to Clover and looking up at him. "I... I'm sorry I haven't called very much, but... I'm swamped. I'm so busy at that school... I'm glad I'm there! It's just... a lot."
Clover sighs quietly, looking down at Beau. He's wearing his hair differently now; it's longer, more structured than it was when they were little. It suits him well.
"I don't know when we'll see each other again," Beau mumbles, looking at the floor. "I just... I want it to last. I want to make the most of being here again."
"...d'you wanna dance with me, Beau?"
"What?"
Clover mentally curses himself for just blurting it out, but the ask is already out of his mouth, and he can't take it back now. He grimaces, looks at the fireplace for a moment, then looks back at Beau. "You said you just wanna make the most of things, right? So... so we should dance together. Outside. I think. Give us somethin' to hold onto 'til we see each other again."
Beau looks at the door, where the shadow of an adult woman passes beneath it, and then looks back at Clover, his expression unreadable. He's smiling, at least.
"C'mon, you and me, Beau," Clover urges, taking Beau's forearms encouragingly.
"You don't know how to dance, Clover."
"You can show me."
Beau suppresses a laugh, glancing at the door one last time before he takes Clover by the wrist, pulling him out to the wraparound porch. Beau lets go and curtsies, smiling widely, and Clover returns it with an awkward bow. And then, there they go, dancing up and down the porch, surrounded by the withering flowers. Sometimes Clover is the woman, sometimes the man, and it's the same with Beau. Either way, Beau is careful to steer them away from the windows, though Clover doesn't doubt the rest of the crowd can hear them laughing.
"We should do somethin' crazy," Clover breathes after a few minutes of this, his arm wrapped around Beau's waist and their hands intertwined in the air.
"Like what?"
Clover looks up at Mount Ebott as it looms over the garden, tallest and proudest of all the mountains that surround the town. Beau stops dancing, looking up at Clover incredulously. "No, absolutely not—"
"We've climbed up there before, it's fine—"
"When we were eight and it wasn't very high and it also wasn't dark out—"
"Come on, I want— I want some time with you." Clover's being so selfish and he knows it, but it's not something he can help. He's spent quite a few nights awake wondering if the care he feels for Beau is truly platonic or not, but he's since come to the conclusion that it doesn't matter— they care about each other, and they've missed each other, and that's that. "I've missed you. I want some time before you have to leave again."
Beau sighs, hanging his head. "There's monsters in there, Clover."
Clover bites his cheek. There are, aren't they? He's no mage, but he feels the ancient magic of the barrier every time he walks past Mount Ebott, a reminder of why they protected this town so hard. Yes, they won once, but if the monsters were released, would they win a second time? And if one got to the two of them... Clover grits his teeth, tilting his head down to look at Beau.
"Nothin's gonna happen," he says quietly. "We won't fall in. I promise. We won't go that high. And they can't come out, anyway, right?"
Beau closes his eyes. After a moment, he lifts his head, looking back up at Clover.
"You trust me?" Clover whispers.
Beau nods, and the two of them climb over the fence. Before they reach the mountain's hiking trail, Beau looks back at the garden, silently saying goodbye just in case.