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It’s a calm midsummer’s day, sunlight filters in from beyond the cracks of tree leaves into the window of a small—yet comfortably quaint by all standards—shack far off the beaten path of the nature park of Pirathon.
Although the temperature runs warm and the cicadas buzz in the distance, it was nothing short of an otherwise peaceful day. Teryl grazes a book with his presence, flipping inconsistently through a fantasy novel that piqued his interest a few days ago while Jasper, the ever unpredictable Jasper with a heart that he wasn’t sure is his own, cards through Teryl’s long hair mindlessly while he watched the trees sway in the gentle wind.
If it were anyone else, he’d have stayed fifteen feet away from them at all costs, smiling like an imp and calling them “doll” as a defense mechanic, but this is Teryl. And with Teryl, Jasper feels weirdly at ease—which is strange, he’s never felt at ease. Always feeling the tick tock of passive anxiety in his mind that forces him to lay awake in this excuse of a home during the midnight hours, staring at the wood that makes up the shack’s ceiling.
But with Teryl, his mind, his head, his body, his heart… feels at peace. Feels emptied of those emotions that overwhelmed him so—and it’s not like Jasper isn’t grateful for the unconscious assistance… He just never knows how to talk to anyone straight. Combing his fingers through Teryl’s hair, bumping arms with him, giving him little pats on the shoulders and tiny smiles… Jasper thanks Teryl in a silent way.
And although the temperature runs warm, Jasper continues to card through Teryl’s hair like they were fine strands belonging to a goddess of gold. Praying to every fiber on Teryl’s head like it was gospel—and with how it glows in the filtered sunlight, Jasper isn’t wrong in assuming so.
It was a precious, fine moment in time where no one was hurting, where no one was waging war with their mind. It was okay.
Teryl shifts, his head brushing against Jasper’s fingers. He flips a page in his book, his fingers tracing the outline of the pages, his eyes fixed on the first word but his mind unreading. He opens his mouth, takes in an anxious breath, and speaks.
“I love you.”
Jasper freezes. His fingers still. The hair of the goddess turned into the hair of a fallen angel. Thoughts still in his mind, his eyes blown open wide like he just killed someone he shouldn’t; he’s like a block of ice, as still as a weeping angel.
His heart stops, he forgets how to breathe. His hands fall from Teryl’s head to his sides limply and he slumps backwards, shifting to the ground like he had no autonomy over his body as if this same goddess who caressed his cheek stabs into his jugular and whispers sweet nothings as light fades from his eyes.
Teryl closes his book softly, anxiously, and turns around. Jasper looks dead.
“Jasper—?” Teryl abandons the book by the wayside and shuffles over to him, almost falling over from bumping into Jasper’s knees. His hands move to caress his face like a goddess would before—
“Stop.”
“...What?”
Jasper flinches away from his touch, the thousand-yard stare not dissipating as his long, uncut bangs that waft over his eyes. He murmurs, “Please don’t touch me.” with a voice so quiet—so fragile—that it makes Teryl regret everything he’s ever done.
So, like a Pavlov dog, Teryl shuffles backwards, giving Jasper space; the air between them feels constricting and suffering. The cicadas buzz.
“I’m sorry, Jasper, it- it was just a spur of the moment thing,” Teryl rambled. “I didn’t mean it, really, I’m sorry, Jasper—” He cut himself off. Apologizing wouldn’t do anything. It was over.
Jasper doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t blink. A crushing realization of “Have I ever been loved?” played a musical in his mind.
The goddess chimes back, “No, you haven’t.”
“Then what do I do?”
The goddess smiles. It was as thin as an obsidian cut. “Figure it out.”
Rain pitter-patters on the window. The cicadas go silent.