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The nicest day of the year , said the weatherman.
Wasn't much of a feat. The majority of July was rainy days and torturous cold for weeks on end. A day where you could see the sky at all was a miracle. This particular day, the sun was blinding, the tarmac blistering the foot of any child who dared to step upon it. The lineup for the ice cream shop almost wrapped around the building, everyone desperate for the delicious, frozen salvation the pimple-faced teen behind the counter was less than eager to provide. There was barely a cloud in sight. While this was clearly a sign of the rapture's swift approach, everyone enjoyed the heat while they could.
The local swimming hole was seeing more business today than it had, probably, since it was formed. Families of loud children and exasperated parents filled the little pond to the brim. Dead leaves from the painfully long winter still rested on the water's surface and the rotting ropes that barred of the area were slathered in seaweed and scum. Not a soul seemed to mind mucky, ice-cold water. They were all trying to fit their summer into one day, as it was possible this would be the only day fit for it. Just upstream, however, some others had decided against forcing this hurry upon themselves. Two outliers lounged in the shade, feet in the lake, jeans cuffs soaking wet. They claimed an abandoned wharf that extended into the water as their own. It was where they had sat for the last hour. Each had torn through at least three orange ice-pops in a matter of seconds. It had been so long since either had spoken. They enjoyed the silence.
"It's too fucking hot," Damon said eventually, pushing his bangs out of his face. His t-shirt was sticking to his body like cling-film. Graham chuckled.
"Yeah? Had no idea." He mimicked his friend, his hand gathering sweat as it pushed through his dark hair. He needed a trim. Badly.
"Wanna go for a swim?" Damon proposed. Graham now looked to him. He raised his brow.
"Sure, I s'pose." Damon was already peeling off his dampened shirt by the time Graham had opened his mouth.
"Should we run home to get our swim shorts?"
"No need," Damon waved his hand dismissively as he unbuttoned his jeans. They soon joined his shirt, shoes, and socks in their spot on the ground. He stretched his back until he heard a satisfying pop. He cast a glance to where Graham sat. He hadn't budged and he stared, almost through Damon. He jolted back to reality quite suddenly. He began to make slow work of his striped top. Damon didn't comment on Graham's fixed gaze.
"You think the water's too cold to swim?" he asked from inside his shirt. Damon laughed at his friends apparent struggle with his clothing
"Nah, we're fine. Besides, cold water's never hurt anyone," Damon gave him a pat on the back once he has successfully wrestled himself free.
"Hypothermia."
"Fair point. C'mon now, you're taking ages." He pulled Graham to his feet with a firm grip on his wrist. Graham stumbled slightly, but grounded himself. He was shyer about the removal of his pants, but noticing Damon's semi-serious impatience, he kicked them off. The last to go was his glasses, placed neatly upon the mound of clothes. He couldn't risk them breaking again. Damon stood proudly upon the old stage, overlooking the gently rippling current. He bore his bright red briefs with no shame while Graham could barely handle such exposure, though the only person around to see was Damon, someone who had seen him in much less than his old blue boxers. He must've gone off into a daze again, because Damon was grabbing his hand and pulling him to the edge as well.
"Ready?"
"What?"
"Three... two..."
Shit.
"One."
Both leaped into the frigid pond. The sudden drop in temperature sent Graham into shock. His spine went straighter than a fencepost. It was deeper than expected, but still only came up to Graham's chest. Damon seemed far less bothered. He let out quite a noise. Something between a howl and a cackle.
"Fuck! That is cold," he laughed. Graham had no idea how he wasn't dying. With what little control he had of his limbs, he hopped toward the warmth of the shore. The freezing claws of a horrific sea-demon grasped his forearm in protest of this idea.
"No, c'mon, Graham. It'll warm up when you get used to it," Damon's teeth chattered as he giggled. Graham tried to jerk his arm away.
"Fuck off! Let go of me!" He would have no problem with decking Damon in the mouth to achieve freedom from this wintry prison. Graham was hellbent on winning this foolish game of tug-o-war for his arm, but his body betrayed him. He fought so valiantly, only to have Damon give one sharp yank and pull him underwater. The bitter cold was agonizing upon his tender flesh. It felt as though a thousand needles of ice were stabbing into him. He was only under for a second, before being hauled up in a tight, unwelcome, stranglehold of a hug.
“I hate you!”
“I love you,” Damon professed with a cheeky grin.
“It’s so cold,” Graham whined.
“I’ll keep you warm,” Damon crooned. His sing-songy voice got softer. His crooked smile was growing with his wet hair pressed between his forehead and Graham’s neck. His arms were wrapped firmly around his friend, who had since stopped squirming. They stood still. Graham, though he shivered, felt his face heat up.
“Get off me, you twat,” he muttered without an ounce of confidence. He could’ve screamed it out, though. He still would’ve gotten the same response.
“Not a chance, love.” Damon’s beaded necklace was digging into the jutting ridge of his spine. He slowly took them further out into the lake. It was like ballroom dancing in slow-motion. Graham grumbled occasional complaints and refused to relieve himself of the tension his body maintained until he was neck deep and somewhat adjusted. Warmth radiated from the figure glued to his back. Graham was red from the shoulders up, though his sunburn stopped at his neck. The chilly rush that attacked him when Damon removed himself was also painfully metaphorical.
“Better now?” Damon inquired, looking rather pleased as he fell back into a starfish float.
“Not really,” Graham pouted. He angrily sunk to where the water was just below nose-level. What he didn’t expect was a large wave from Damon’s kick-off into a backstroke. He was assaulted with a harsh splash of pond water to the face. He tried to blow out what found its way into his nose. It burned at the top of his throat.
“Fucking cunt,” he hissed. Damon circled him like a shark. His smile could be so infuriating sometimes. Charm hiding insincerity. Before he was able to make a jeering, sarcastic remark, Graham sent a wave of his own in his direction with a powerful sweep of his hand. Damon broke from his peaceful swim, now with of a mouthful of scummy water. He spat it out, then locked eyes with his attacker. Honestly, he was mad, but Graham seemed incredibly happy with himself. One hand held up to his mouth, a habit of his shyness, did nothing to stifle his sweet laughter. Damon’s failed in hiding a slight chuckle of his own. Their minds worked so similarly. Similarly enough that they both splashed one another at the same time. It soon became impossible to see beyond the wall of disturbed water they created as both a defensive and an offensive strategy. Graham’s distaste for the cold still stood strong, but the little battle he and Damon had found themselves in had his sides hurting from non-stop giggling. Damon was surely having as much fun as he was, if that was what he heard. When he found that enemy fire no longer rained down on him, he waited a minute before he came to a halt. Damon wasn’t in front of him anymore. Instead, he felt something jab at his thigh, then Damon rose up, only inches away from him, with a final splash.
“Christ, Dames,” Graham chuckled, recovering from the start he just got. Damon planted a quick kiss upon the tip of his nose. It did nothing to settle him.
“Couldn’t see a thing down there, so I’m hoping I was poking at your leg,” he joked.
“I’ll say, it got a little close,” Graham turned his head as he chuckled. Why was he blushing so much?
“Yeah? You wish I was poking around at your junk,” Damon snickered. Graham scrunched up his nose and gave him a playful shove.
“Fuck off.” His teeth sank into his lips to suppress the smile he couldn’t seem to combat. “I’m getting out.” Damon quickly strode over as to follow him out.
“No, I’m sorry. I’ll get my head out of the gutter.”
“I’m just cold. I wanna dry off.” Graham was more than used to Damon’s inappropriate quips. He’d heard far, far worse.
“Fine,” Damon huffed with a pout. He pushed his hair back again and dove backwards. Graham rolled his eyes. He waded slowly to shore. There wasn’t a breath of wind, only the sun’s welcome rays making the droplets on his pale skin shimmer and melt away. He loved rainy days that kept him indoors with his music and storms that left the streets painted white in the early hours before they went grey again, but summer did cure him of the winter blues. No school, nothing like that, just long hours of free time passing quickly in the company of friends. He could spend afternoons, splitting bottles of wine by the brook without getting a call home for pipping off class. He could stay out all night, stargazing without thinking about physics or maths and without being scolded once he got home for breaking curfew. The sparing seconds where the earth was bathed in sunlight revived him
He was careful to mind the nails and splinters of the wharf as he left wet footprints on the graying wood. He bent to pick up his glasses and sat where he had before. Hopefully, he would dry off before he had to go home. His attention turned to the birds in the hanging tree branches. Small songbirds perched where he usually saw crows and ravens. They weren’t rare around the area, but their singing was often drowned out by the sounds of the city and suburbs. He heard their chorusing on some nights. Nights when he stayed up with his guitar and before he knew it, dawn was breaking. Then, he would hear the tweeting, twittering and chickadee-dee- ing from the tiniest of choirs. Staying up that late took a toll on his brain, but he adored those mornings. Experiencing what one usually overlooks or simply never sees. He felt similarly about Damon. His exterior is an unbelievable contrast to what he holds inside. Sure, inside and out, he’s a bit of a prick. A cocky, pig-headed bastard that will push your buttons like they’ve never been pushed before. Once he opens up, while it’s a slow and grueling process of subtleties and masqueraded confessions, you see his vulnerabilities, his abrasive personality becoming almost tolerable. He reveals his secrets in written lyrics (he’d rather die than address anything directly) and he cares for you ceaselessly. It’s like staying up all night to hear the birds sing. With enough waiting and patience (so, so much patience), you’re falling in love with something no one else had the time to seek out. Graham had that patience. A hand on his ankle clued him back into the world outside his thoughts.
“You’re spacing out a lot today,” Damon spoke from between Graham’s dangling legs.
“What? Oh, I dunno, I’m just thinking,” he splashed gently with his foot.
“‘Bout what?” Damon began to swim off.
“Nothing really.”
“Alright then. I think I’ll get out too. Swimming alone is a bit of a bore.” He attempted a less than graceful doggy paddle to the bank.
“That’s a surprise. You could have a good time in a telephone booth.” Graham pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. Damon stood on the grass and rung out his hair.
“Depends on who’s in there with me. And what we’re doing.” he grinned, as did his friend.
“Damon! That’s inappropriate,” said Graham in his silliest impression of Damon’s mother. He was met with a hard clap to the shoulder and lighthearted chuckling.
“Hey, wanna come back to my house? Mum’s probably got supper on. We won’t be late if we leave now. Maybe you can stay the night,” Damon cracked his fingers as he proposed all of this.
“Sure, I’ll have to call to make sure I can stay, but it’s probably fine,” Graham nodded and got ready to leave the lakeside. He picked up his own garments, shaking a fly from his shirt, and started getting dressed. His hair still dripped and his shirt stuck in some spots.
“Can I grab a change of clothes when we get to your place?” he asked as he hopped into his jeans.
“Sure, I’m gonna do the same,” Damon replied.
“We should’ve gotten our swim trunks so we wouldn’t be wearing wet shorts walking back.”
“We’re fine. It’s not much of a walk.” Damon was still soaking when he put on his clothes.
“I’m mostly worried I’m not gonna fit into whatever I borrow from you. Mum says I’ve gotten taller since summer began. Almost four centimeters, she reckons.” Damon gave him a look.
“No way. C’mere,” he beckoned Graham with a hurried wave of his hand. They met in the middle after taking an even amount of steps each. Damon sized him up. His eyebrows furrowed when he saw that Graham has indeed gotten quite a bit taller. He frowned while staring pointedly at him. The prolonged eye contact made Graham slightly nervous. Damon’s oceanic blue eyes were angry, or at least they seemed to be. His frown was about to fizzle away when he took advantage of their closeness and kissed Graham with unabashed forwardness. It wasn't much in the way of passionate. Simple, affectionate, lingering without pushing any further. In all ways, it was familiar, ending as quickly as it came upon them. Damon was smiling like he had just told a stupid joke.
“What’d you do that for?” Graham found it harder to look at him now. His hands covered his flushing cheeks.
“Dunno, just wanted to, but I got something that’ll fit a tall drink of water like yourself for sure,” he winked, especially jazzed when Graham rolled his eyes. Damon was so physical as of late. Today, with the hugging and kissing and whatnot. It’s not like this never happens, but it’s more of a one-liner than a running gag when it does. Of all the things Graham bitches about, this is surprisingly not one of them. The endearing actions are pleasant, if embarrassing and a bit odd.
“Alright,” he slipped on his dirty trainers, focus still fixated on the ground.
“C’mon, then. Let’s head home,” said Damon. Graham apparently wasn’t moving as fast as he would’ve preferred, so Damon slipped his fingers in the gaps between Graham’s and tugged him along. One marched through the underbrush with the other stumbling behind, only a secure hold keeping them together. That’s how it always was, even on the days when they were apart and the sun was nowhere in sight. An binding force between them that could never be broken entwined them like the red string of fate. Graham wondered if Damon would let go of him once they reached the main road. What would people think? What if they saw one of their classmates? Damon clearly wasn’t fretting about any of this, as he continued to hold his hand. If anything, his grip tightened. They walked on, now in a comfortable silence.
The nicest day of the year