Underneath the Surface

The sun rose unwillingly, behind the cabin's tattered drapes casting a wan gold glow. It wasn't enough to chase away the cold, but it did give rise to something else: the nervous sense of starting.

Damien stood out in the open, his bare feet on the damp porch, looking out through the fog-stippled woods. Steams curled off the coffee in his hands, although he had not yet drunk it. Dew condensed on his eyelashes. Each breath left a transparent specter in the air.

Behind him, he heard the creak of floorboards. Asher. A feather in flight once again, but Damien had always detected when he entered a room. There was tension, a subtle altering of the atmosphere, like gravity pulling him to center.

He did not turn. Not yet.

"You didn't sleep," Asher said softly.

"Neither did you," Damien replied in a similar tone.

Silence.

And then Asher got in next to him, mirroring his posture. They were touching arms. Neither of them winced.

---

They hadn't spoken a lot that morning. They didn't have to. There was something sacred in the quiet between them. A healing.

Asher found himself gazing at Damien while cooking breakfast. Nothing special—simple toast and eggs. But the manner in which Damien buttered the toast, being careful not to tear it, made Asher ache. It reminded him of all the small ways one could love another. Not in words and theatrics, but in the subtle, inconspicuous moments.

He couldn't shake Damien's words from the night before.

"I wanted to be free."

Most of Asher's life had been spent fleeing freedom, and very little of it had ever truly felt like he actually had it. Even when he fled, he'd always been glancing back over his shoulder.

He sat down at the rickety table and watched Damien set the plate in front of him. No eye contact. No smile. Just. there.

"Thanks," Asher said softly.

Damien sat across from him, one elbow on the table, mug cradled in his palms.

"Do you think we can actually do it?" Asher queried, after a few minutes.

Damien's jaw cracked. "Not alone. But I have names. People she's made enemies of. Some who would help us. If they're still alive."

"And if they're not?"

Damien's eyes were flint. "Then we find new ones to bring into the fray. Uncover her. Piece by piece."

It was a reckless plan. It was based on hope and secrets and a whole lot of luck. But something stirred within Asher anyway—a flutter in his chest he hadn't felt in years.

Something like purpose.

---

After that, they scrounged the small cabin for anything they could use. Secret storage. Emergency cash. Guns. Maps. Damien had obviously supplied this cabin with goodies in case of emergencies, but apparently it had been years since he'd been here.

Asher found a retro photograph tucked behind a dangling board in the bedroom. A dark-haired boy with dimples sat on a swing set, eyes full of sunlight and trouble. Damien.

He brought the photo to the living room.

"Was this before or after you eloped?

Damien did not smile. His eyes did relax when he looked at the photo, though. "Before. I was eight. My mom took it. Back when she still sang to me in Spanish and made me believe that monsters didn't exist."

Asher studied the photo. "You look. freer than now, I mean."

"I was. For a little while."

The moment lingered, then was gone when Damien took the photo and slipped it into his back pocket.

"Pack light," he said to him. "We're leaving at dawn."

"Where are we going?"

"To find the first name on my list."

---

They didn't have a fire that evening.

Instead, they sat in silence on the porch, shawls thrown over them, with crickets singing and the sound of the wind through the trees.

"I keep thinking about what you said," Damien whispered. "About listening to the walls in the group home."

Asher turned to him.

"You don't have to say anything," he said, his voice now hesitant.

"I want to." Damien's hand wrapped around his in the dark. "I want to hear every version of you. Not just the one I held in secret."

Asher gulped. His heart was too big for his chest.

He turned his hand over, linked their fingers.

And for the first time in a while, the night did not seem to be closing in.

It seemed to be holding them.