Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“I think I’m going to head out now.” 

“No, really Cleo?” Bdubs pouted. “So soon?” 

Cleo shrugged. “It’s getting late,” they said. “I have work tomorrow, and I have a bus to catch.” 

Bdubs huffed to himself. Cleo just rolled their eyes and fought back a smile. “I’ll make you a drink to go then,” he countered. 

“You don’t have to do that, Bdubs.” 

“Too bad,” Bdubs told them. “What do you want?” 

“Are you going to be hosting another open mic next week?” Cleo asked instead of answering the question. 

Bdubs raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, why?” he asked. “You wanna sing?” 

“No,” Cleo laughed. “Just thinking of stopping by more often. Tonight was nice.” 

Bdubs blinked. “It was nice, wasn’t it?” he said plainly, more to himself than to Cleo. “I’d like that, you coming by again more,” he said. “I’m making you a milksog.” 

Cleo rested their elbows on the bartop and let their chin rest in the cradle of their palms. He’d already made up his mind, no point in protesting now. “I appreciate you, Bdubs,” Cleo said softly. Bdubs hummed something back in response. Cleo just closed their eyes and listened to whatever song the last of the night’s musicians were playing. It sounded nice, melodic and sweet. Cleo wondered if the drink that Bdubs was making for them would taste the same way. 

“How much sugar do you want?” 

Cleo opened their eyes again. “Just enough,” they shrugged, hoping it meant something to Bdubs. “I’m glad tonight went well for you. It was nice to see the cafe so full.” 

“Yeah, sure was,” Bdubs exhaled. “I was so worried it was going to go under,” he said while frothing milk and cream to make foam for Cleo’s drink. 

“I recall,” they hummed. “I was worried for you too, y’know. I know how much the cafe means to you.” 

Bdubs chortled. “It means everything,” he said with amusement, but they heard the serious undertone to it.

Cleo just smiled. “I know.” 

“Careful,” Bdubs warned, placing Cleo’s drink on the bartop in front of them. “It’s hot.” 

Cleo’s smile sharpened. “I like hot.” 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Bdubs mumbled as he displaced dirty dishes into the sink basin. “That’s why you like me.” 

“Oh, come off it,” Cleo scoffed with a grin. They took a sip of the milksog and a thin layer of froth coated their lips. It was gone with the quick swipe of their thumb. “I like you for more than just your looks.” 

Bdubs wiped his hands off on his apron. He stood on tiptoes to rest his elbows on the high bartop so he was up close and personal to Cleo. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled. “How’d you like that ?” he asked lowly, eyes glancing down to the milksog and then back to up to Cleo.

“It’s as good as always, Bdubs,” Cleo told him as they glanced over at one of the many clocks on the wall behind the bar. “But I really should be going or else I’ll miss my bus home.” 

Bdubs groaned very loudly. The remaining musicians spared them a briefly amused glance before turning their attention back towards their music. “You have to stay longer next time,” he whined. “I like having you around.” 

Cleo grinned as they gathered their things; coat, purse, wallet, whatever. “I like being around,” they said. “Besides, I told you I’d be back next week.” 

“Ugh, but that’s so far away,” Bdubs shamelessly complained. 

“You’re such a baby,” Cleo teased as they made their way towards the door. “Good night, Bdubs!” they called. 

“G’night, Cleo! Text me when you’re home!” he called back before the cafe door slammed shut with the help of a strong gust of wind. 

It was a little colder outside than Cleo had expected it to be. Summer’s vice grip had finally seemed to let loose and allow for cooler nights. Mostly green leaves clung to the small trees lining the streets, but by next week some of the chlorophyll would give way to the carotenoids and call for rich reds and golden yellows. Cleo shivered as another gust of wind blew by. It wasn’t a long walk to the bus stop at least, and they had the milksog to themself warm, so walk they did. 

Cleo had less than five minutes to make it to the station before the last bus of the night left, and they were sure cutting it close now. And then Cleo felt it. The horrible, terrible feeling of eyes boring into their back. They glanced over their shoulder briefly as a tall, lean silhouette was starting to step out into a pool of light from a nearby street lamp. Cleo was seconds away from sprinting when, with bated breath, the figure stepped fully into the light. Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh- 

Oh. 

“Etho?” 

He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. His head rested at an odd angle. “Hey Cleo,” he said, his voice sounded a lot different than they’d remembered. “Thought that was you.” 

Cleo blinked. They let out a big exhale. They looked Etho up and down and down back up again. “Hey,” they said, having no idea how they sounded or if they sounded any different. “I- what are you doing here? I thought you moved.” 

“I . . . yeah, I just moved back to town recently, so . . . ” Etho trailed off. He rocked back and forth on his heels a bit and shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “I knew tonight was a pretty big deal for Bdubs so I was gonna stop by and surprise him but I thought I saw you, so . . . ” 

Cleo frowned. There was still a fair bit of distance between the two of them. “You did stop by to see him though, right?” 

Etho’s eyes widened a little. There was a slight back and forth shift of his irises. Nystagmus. “Yeah, of course I did,” he said. He sounded hurt by the accusation that he hadn’t. “Got there early and went out on a walk when it got too busy. Good business for Bdubs, but big crowds aren’t really my thing.” 

Cleo nodded and the features of their face smoothened themselves back out. “Still?” Cleo joked, making sure their tone was fluffy and light so Etho couldn’t misinterpret it. It was the easiest way they could remind Etho they’d remembered everything he’d ever told them. 

To Cleo’s relief, he let out a breathy little chuckle. Cleo couldn’t see the bottom half of his face, but if they squinted, they could see the outline of his smile from underneath the fabric of his mask. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Still not my thing.” 

“So, what is your thing then?” 

Etho reached up to run his hand through the hair at the base of his neck. Cleo watched as his fingers caught little knots in his silvery-white locks. Etho sucked in a shallow breath. “Haven’t quite figured it out yet,” he said, still rocking himself back and forth. “Have you?” 

Cleo shrugged. The distance between the two of them started to close. “I mean, I’ve got something going for myself,” they answered. “But I don’t know if it’s my thing.” 

They could see the faint outline of a smile from under Etho’s mask again. “Well, something’s better than nothing.” 

“I suppose that’s true,” Cleo hummed. A strong gust of wind made Cleo’s long hair dance in the breeze and blew all the loose little strands into their face. 

Etho reached out then to tuck Cleo’s hair back behind their ear and suddenly they were highschool sweethearts, head over heels and a hundred other different things all over again. Cleo blinked and suddenly they were back in the present. Well, that was ridiculous. Cleo blinked and looked back up at Etho again without having caught a good glance of him again before promptly bursting out with laughter. 

Etho’s face went bright red and he folded in on himself a little. “I- I don’t know what that was, Cleo. I- sorry.” 

Cleo’s eyes watered with mirth. “No, no, no,” they started seriously. “Don’t even- ” 

Another strong gust of wind undid Etho’s easy work. He reached back out to tuck Cleo’s hair behind their ear again but his perception was slightly off and- 

“Shit!” Cleo cried. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” 

Etho pulled away quickly with confusion. Cleo cringed. “Is everything- ” 

“Yes!” Cleo snapped. “Everything’s fine. I just, ugh. That bus was supposed to be my ride home,” they lamented, turning slightly to watch as the blue lights of the bus interior grew more and more distant and dim until the only light left was that of the street lamp and its strong yellow hue. 

“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you- ”

Cleo rolled their eyes. “No, don’t apologize for that. It’s my own fault.” 

Etho didn’t say anything. 

“I’ll just call Scott or spend the night at Bdubs’ or something.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” Etho said quietly. “I could just drive you back to your place.” 

Cleo just looked at him with their eyebrows raised. 

“If you want that. If you’d rather spend the night at a friend’s that’s fine too, I just thought I’d offer since- ” 

“You can drive?” Cleo interrupted. 

“Yep, yep,” Etho hummed. He blinked and tilted his head to the side again, resting his neck at a mildly uncomfortable-looking angle. It was cute still, Cleo found. It kind of hurt how soft their soft spot for Etho still was. It’d been so long. 

Cleo blinked. “Oh, really?” they asked, and Etho hummed in response again. “I’d love a ride home then,” they told him. 

Etho blinked again. “Yeah?” 

Their feelings for Etho felt like a bruise, tender and bright and painful. “Yeah,” Cleo smiled. It was a little bit strained but still genuine and true. 

“Okay.” 

= 

Etho hadn’t lived in Cleo’s mind for a long, long time. He didn’t now either, Cleo was a busy woman after all, but throughout the week, in slow and quiet moments, he’d circle to the forefront of their mind again. It was laughable. 

“How ‘bout these?” Scott asked, holding up a basket of pink strawberries. “You think they’re ripe enough?” 

Cleo blinked. They spared the berries a glance, they could have a little more colour. “Yeah, I’d say so,” Cleo hummed. It didn’t really matter anyways, fruit from the farmer’s market was dirt cheap. 

“Sweet,” Scott smiled. He handed the vendor a few crumpled dollar bills and was back by Cleo’s side again. “What’s left on your list?” 

“Uh . . . ” Cleo trailed off, unfolding a wrinkled piece of paper. “Carrots, tomatoes and some other vegetables for a stew and a couple pumpkins.” 

“Isn’t it a little early for that?” Scott asked. 

Cleo blinked. “For pumpkins?” 

Scott nodded. Cleo stopped at the next vendor’s booth to inspect a stack of carrots. They were truly some gnarly-looking things, twisted and tangled and perfectly imperfect. Cleo picked up the first bunch that caught their eye. “I wouldn’t say so. I need something to look forward to.” 

Scott frowned a little. His hair was starting to grow out now so his eyebrows finally had some brown roots to match. He looked like he was going to say something because his mouth opened like he was going to speak, but no words came out. Must’ve thought better of it. 

Cleo paid for their carrots and handed the vendor some cash. 

“Are things getting rough again?” Scott asked. 

Ah, well, there it was. Cleo blinked. They tucked the carrots neatly into their tote. “Not rough,” Cleo answered, but then they thought about it and it wasn’t exactly true. “Dull, more like. Long and dull.” 

Scott nodded sympathetically. “Work got you down?” 

“Work got me all over,” Cleo huffed. “I need something to look forward to. Or for something to change.” 

Scott blinked. His faded silvery blue hair made him stick out like a sore thumb. “Let’s find you some pumpkins then.” 

The farmer’s market wasn’t very big and most of the pumpkins were upfront on display tables, so they weren’t really hard to find. The joy Cleo felt upon seeing them was thick and heavy, like honey. Autumn was here, and it hit close to the heart. 

Cleo glazed over most of the pumpkins. There were a few gourds scattered on the tabletop with a couple of squashes as well, but one thing in particular caught Cleo’s eye. Ghost pumpkins. 

Cleo heaved as they picked one up off the table. It was considerably lighter than they’d expected it to be. Scott spared them a quick glance and Cleo hoped he didn’t catch the similarities between them and the pumpkin. To Cleo, the resemblance felt uncanny and blaringly obvious. Maybe it was both. Maybe it was neither. Maybe Scott didn’t even notice at all. 

“Pick one,” Cleo said. “I’ll buy you one and we can carve them together sometime.” 

Scott raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?” he asked, smile audible. 

“Sure,” Cleo grinned. “Could be fun.” 

“Could,” Scott hummed. 

He ended up settling for an orange pumpkin similar to the colour of Cleo’s hair and the leaves on the trees that were finally starting to turn. Scott offered to pay anyways and Cleo wouldn’t let him. No point in working a job they didn’t like if they couldn’t spend the money they’d earned on the people they loved. 

“Y’know, there’s this guy I might be interested in,” Scott said off-handedly as Cleo examined a paper bag full of portobello mushrooms. 

“You’re over Jimmy?” Cleo asked, sparing Scott their attention while trying to fish through their wallet for cash. 

“So over,” Scott confirmed. “Anyways, new guy; nice but sarcastic enough for my liking, witty and the life of the party.” 

“The life of the party?” Cleo repeated, fingers curling around a couple dollar bills. “Thought that was you,” they teased. 

“I am,” Scott said defensively. “I’m just saying he’s not, like, the death of the party or something. He’s enjoyable.” 

Cleo smirked. “Sounds like you having his number would be enjoyable,” they remarked as they paid for the mushrooms. “And since when was Jimmy the death of the party?” 

“I never said that,” Scott countered. 

Cleo glanced over at him. “But you were thinking it,” they said, matter-of-factly. “I know you were, and I know things didn’t go the way you wanted them to with Jimmy.” 

Scott coughed to clear his throat. “Anyway, new guy is a bit of an infrequent customer so I don’t see him ‘round too often. Is there anything else missing from your list?” 

Cleo blinked back whiplash from the sudden change in topic. Guess they weren’t going to find out the name of the new guy Scott fancied tonight. They pulled the crumpled piece of paper out of their pocket and looked it over. “No, I think I’ve got everything now,” Cleo hummed. “I was thinking of making stew tonight if you wanted to come over for some.” 

“That’d be nice,” Scott started as they made their way towards the exit. “But I already told one of my co-workers that I’d cover her shift tonight.” 

Cleo nodded, opening the door with their hip and holding it open wide for Scott. “I could save you a bowl,” they offered. 

Scott smiled. “I’d appreciate that.” 

Scott’s car doors unlocked with the click of a key button. He put his pumpkin and basket of berries into the backseat. Cleo held open the car door so the wind wouldn’t slam it shut on him. The breeze blew long locks of their hair into their face. Cleo shifted the weight of the white pumpkin onto their hip and tucked their hair back behind their ears. They didn’t know how to feel about what they saw when they did. Etho. Etho was entering the farmer’s market. Cleo blinked. It was undeniably Etho, but then Cleo blinked again and he was gone. Huh. Maybe things really were getting rough. 

“Cleo? Earth to Cleo. You there?” Scott asked with feigned annoyance. “Pass me your pumpkin, please.”

= 

After Scott left, Cleo looked intently at the pumpkins sitting on their kitchen counter. Hard light reflected against the pumpkins hard shells. Cleo’s pumpkin was slightly taller than Scott’s. Cleo’s pumpkin was testing them. They let out a quiet sigh and turned off the kitchen light. The pumpkins were left alone in the dark. 

Cleo made their way to the washroom. The ghost pumpkin wouldn’t stop reminding them of something. They flicked the lightswitch on haphazardly and winced at the brightness the light provided. 

There was a small circular mirror hung above the sink and a rectangular bathmat on the floor in front of the cupboard. Cleo could feel the texture of it through the fabric of their socks. Their hands settled against the cold granite countertop. In the mirror was Cleo’s reflection, a sad looking woman, really. Well, maybe not sad. Tired, that was probably a better word. Cleo let out a deep breath and let their shoulders sag. It didn’t bring the relief they’d wanted it to. 

Cleo climbed up onto the countertop, sitting up close and personal to the mirror. They looked at their reflection and stared back at themself for a long moment. They looked exhausted. They needed to look for what the ghost pumpkin reminded them of. 

Cleo tugged gently at the skin of their cheeks. The pigments looked the same as they had looked the day before and the day before that and so on, pale and light and obviously lacking pigment when compared to the rest of their complexion. Cleo started combing through the locks of their hair with their fingers. The white strands were easy to find. Shameless, it felt like they were, sticking out like that. Cleo’s stomach dropped, the feeling came naturally with seeing something you didn’t like looking back at you. 

It was progressing too fast, the vitiligo, or maybe it wasn’t. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t a welcome change. Maybe they just needed to stop looking in the mirror. 

Cleo turned around and slid off the counter. This wasn’t what they needed right now. They tried to take a deep breath but their air didn’t quite reach their lungs like they needed it to. They tried again but the intake felt just as shallow. Cleo just sat down on the cool tile floor, letting the grout press into their skin. They wondered if Etho still felt like this sometimes. They wondered if maybe they should just bite the bullet and finally talk to Scott about it. They wondered if maybe they should’ve just picked a normal, stupid orange pumpkin. 

Cleo pulled their knees to their chest and let their chin rest on their kneecaps. This felt not so bad. It was doable, at least, they just had to not think about it too hard. Easy. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Oh god. 

Cleo took another shallow breath. The feeling would pass. It would pass. It always did. 

= 

“Is it weird to be back?” Beef asked, lifting the last load of boxes out the bed of his truck. 

Etho shrugged. “I mean, yeah, a little,” he answered earnestly, arms outstretched for the cardboard boxes. Beef passed them down to him carefully and Etho carried them to his front porch. They hit the wood with a soft thud. He sat down next to them. “But it’s mostly good.” 

Beef stepped down from the truck bed and brushed off dirt and dust and whatever else off his palms and onto his jeans. He sat down close next to Etho and the mountain of cardboard boxes. The denim of their jeans touched. Beef’s presence was comforting, like the crackle of a campfire. “Seen your sister yet?” 

Etho shook his head. “Haven’t. Honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t stopped by already,” he chuckled lowly. “She wants me to go out fishing with her next weekend though, so if I don’t see her soon, I’ll definitely see her then.” 

“Tell her I say ‘hi’,” Beef said. “She doing well? Haven’t seen her in a while.” 

“Gem’s doing great,” Etho told him. “Er, I think, anyways. She was the last time we called, at least.” 

“You should get better at keeping in touch,” Beef said pointedly. Etho had a feeling the comment was directed towards more than just him and his sister. 

“I’m not gonna forget about you,” Etho joked, but Beef didn’t laugh. 

“I want to hear from you, Etho,” he said earnestly. “I want to be kept up to date with you and your life and stuff. We’re friends. No more disappearing acts, okay?” 

Etho swallowed dryly. He stared at his shoes. The autumn breeze billowed through his silvery-white hair. “Okay,” Etho said quietly. He wasn’t sure if Beef heard him.
 

“You should give Doc a call or something sometime too, by the way.”

Etho blinked. He stared straightforward, or well, as straightforward as he could. No way was he going to look Beef in the eyes now, not that he normally could anyways. Nystagmus. 

“He misses having you around, even if he won’t outright admit it,” Beef told him. “It’d probably make his day, y’know.” 

Etho blinked again. He watched the leaves of a red maple dance in the wind. “I saw Bdubs the other day.” 

“Yeah?” Beef asked. 

“Yeah,” Etho exhaled. 

Beef stared at him. Etho wasn’t looking at him, so logically he shouldn’t know that, but he could feel it. Beef was staring at him. “Is that all?” he asked teasingly, nudging Etho with his elbow. “You always have things to say about Bdubs.” 

Etho snapped out of his trance. Goodbye red maple. “What? No, I don’t.” 

Beef laughed, genuinely laughed. “Uh huh, sure you don’t,” he said incredibly unconvincingly with the loudest smile Etho had ever heard. 

“I don’t,” Etho protested weakly. 

“What ever went down between you two anyways?” Beef asked. “If you want to talk about it,” he added. 

Etho sighed. He stared down at his shoes again. He wished he was sitting on the front lawn right now instead so he could rip out handfuls of grass with tight, curled fists. He grasped at the wooden overhang of the porch staircase and hoped it wouldn’t give him a splinter. 

“You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to,” Beef said gently. 

“But I should,” Etho muttered quietly. 

“Okay,” Beef said, just as quietly. 

The two of them just sat in silence for a long time, and it would’ve been peaceful if Etho didn’t feel like the feelings that lined his stomach were pushing for his mouth, but whatever. He tried not to think about it and it wasn’t easy, so he watched the way the wind blew patterns into the grass of his new front lawn in attempt to soothe himself. 

“I’m not a good partner,” Etho said flatly. 

Beef frowned. “I wouldn’t say it like that.” 

Etho looked at him as carefully as he could. The familiar features of Beef’s face were blurred. Nystagmus. Etho tried to blink it away. “Feelings are hard,” Etho said, and hoped Beef would understand what he meant by it. 

“They always have been for you, haven’t they?” Beef said with a soft smile, but it looked a little sad. 

Etho felt his eyes turn glossy. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah. I think I’ve sort of made things right with Cleo though.” 

“Cleo?” Beef said without even trying to hide his surprise. “Haven’t heard that name in a long time.” 

Etho laughed uncomfortably. “Yeah, I hadn’t seen her in a long time either. I, um, ran into her after I went to see Bdubs at his cafe.” 

Beef just nodded. It made Etho a little bit upset. This conversation would be easier if someone prompted him to have it. 

“She missed her bus so I offered her a ride home.” 

“You offered her a ride home?” Beef laughed. 

Etho blinked. “Uh, yeah?” 

“But you’re a terrible driver,” he wheezed. 

“I have a license!” Etho protested. “It’s not my fault!” 

Beef’s wheezing turned into a coughing fit. Etho patted him gently on the back. “You’re funny,” Beef told him after he regained his composure. 

“And you’re weird. It wasn’t meant to be funny.” 

“But you’d say you’re on good terms with her now?” Beef asked. 

“I think so.” 

“You think so?” 

Etho groaned with frustration. “Can we talk about something else now? I don’t really want to talk about my exes all night long.” 

“Okay. D’you wanna start unpacking then?” Beef asked. “We can have more heart to hearts later.” 

“Forget about heart to hearts for now,” Etho said, standing up and dusting himself off. “How ‘bout a drink?” he asked, holding out his hand. 

“Sure,” Beef answered, fingers curling around Etho’s and letting himself be pulled to his feet. “Why not.” 

About twenty-five minutes later and a can or two of beer cracked open later, all of Etho’s cardboard boxes were situated on the empty living room floor. It didn’t look like much. 

“This is all you brought?” Beef asked with disbelief. 

Etho blinked. He glanced over at the boxes and shrugged. He took a deliberately slow sip of his beer. “Yeah.” 

“Really?”

Etho blinked again. “Yep yep,” he hummed. “You wanna help me fold and unfold clothes?”

Beef raised his eyebrows. “Yeah,” he said flatly, voice thick with sarcasm. “I’d love to.” 

So, they set their drinks down on the kitchen counter and carried the few boxes filled with clothes back to Etho’s bedroom. 

Etho ripped the tape seals off the cardboard and dumped the clothes unceremoniously onto the naked surface of the mattress. Beef had a slightly nicer approach, carefully peeling off the tape and lifting the semi-folded clothes out the box and setting them on the bed. In the end though, there was just a mess of cotton, flannel and polyester. 

“So, what’s the system?” Beef asked, setting the empty boxes aside and out the way. 

“What system?” Etho asked. 

Beef blinked. He looked unimpressed but Etho had a hard time labelling expressions and he couldn’t really make out any distinct features of Beef’s face right now since his eyes wouldn’t stop shifting, so he wasn’t really sure. 

“You don’t have a sorting system?” Beef asked again. 

“For my clothes?” Etho frowned. 

“Yeah,” Beef exhaled. “You seem like you would.” 

“I mean, kinda?” Etho shrugged. 

So, Etho started sorting clothes into the same sort-of system he’d been following for years while Beef went back into the kitchen to get the beers they’d forgotten on the counter. When he returned, he set his on the makeshift nightstand, a cardboard box, and set Etho’s close enough to him that he could reach it but far enough away that he couldn’t accidentally knock it over with an elbow or some other quick and sudden motion. 

Beef had long been done his beer by the time Etho had finally reached the halfway mark and by the time all the clothes had been sorted, folded and neatly put into place in the closet or in a dresser drawer, Etho had finally finished his drink. He set the empty can next to Beef’s on the makeshift nightstand. 

“You wanna call it a night?” Beef asked. 

“Wow, I didn’t know you were so excited to sleep on an air mattress,” Etho commented. 

“No, I- ” Beef laughed. “I meant did you want to stop unboxing for the evening?” 

“Sure,” Etho chuckled lightly. He blinked. He tilted his head to the side so his neck rested at an odd angle. He must look uncomfortable. “You- ” Etho laughed awkwardly. “You wanna finish that heart to heart?” 

Beef looked at Etho carefully. At least, that’s what Etho thought he was doing. “Sure,” he said. “D’you wanna . . . ?” 

Etho let his eyes drift for a minute before he realized Beef was waiting on him. “We can- yeah, let’s go, go sit on the porch.” 

The stars were dim. The two of them sat on the porch in the same positions as earlier, except Etho was leaning more into Beef now than before, resting his head on the other’s shoulder. It felt nicer on his neck. 

“Might get rough out here again,” Etho mumbled. 

Beef sighed. It didn’t sound attached to any one emotion. “You said the same thing about the countryside, remember?” 

“Yeah, I recall. I just . . . ” he trailed off. “I don’t know.” 

The stars were dimmer out here and the trees were sparse, far and few between. Concrete and cement divvied up the bluegrass. The autumn weather hadn’t quite made it down south yet, but it was coming. Etho could feel it, both physically and metaphorically, or at least, he was tipsy enough to think he could. 

“Well, if you’re out here long enough to realize you don’t like it, you’re always welcome back,” Beef said quietly. One of the stars shone a little brighter, Etho thought. 

“I appreciate that,” Etho said, just as quietly. “Sometimes I think you’re too good of a friend to me.” 

= 

The receipt for a bottle of foundation blew off the bathroom countertop with the wind of gentle motion. Cleo hovered in front of the mirror with a makeup sponge in hand, dabbing at the parts of their face that were missing pigment. It was a gut-wrenching feeling, concealing pieces of themself, but they weren’t ready for everyone to know, to see, yet, so this was the way it’d be for now. 

Once all the patches had been covered up, Cleo pulled back from the mirror to inspect their handiwork. They’d done a pretty good job, all things considered. There was nothing they could really do about the white streaks though. Obnoxious, stupid things, parting through their ginger hair like that. 

Cleo took a deep breath. It was fine, everything was fine, if anyone asked they could say they were just starting to silver fox. Yeah, and everyone would believe it too, cause they were fine as hell. Ageing like wine. 

Cleo dilly-dallied with makeup for a little while longer, a bit of mascara here, a bit of blush there, y’know, the whole shebang. By the time Cleo was done, they felt a bit better about themself, they hoped the feeling would stick. And since they were really feeling it, they figured they might as well do something nice with their hair too. 

A net positive overall, glittering themself up before heading on over to Bdubs’ for open mic. Maybe if they had a little more time for themself, they’d do these kinds of things more often. It felt good to feel good. 

Cleo smiled at their reflection. It’d been some time since they’d last done that. There was a shimmer to the tip of their nose, the arch of their cheekbones and the inner corners of their eyes. Their lips were glossy and tinted with ruby. The patchy parts of their skin that were losing pigment were nowhere to be seen. The white streaks that Cleo couldn’t hide were on display with the rest of their ginger hair, slicked back into a half bun, unruly curls and all else let loose. 

They ought to go out and catch a bus soon. Cleo picked the receipt up off the bathroom floor and set it back on the counter. The foundation was absolutely worth whatever price they’d paid for it. Cleo looked at the time. Oh, they definitely ought to get out and catch a bus now, Bdubs and open mic were awaiting. 

= 

The cafe was busy, bustling with life when Cleo arrived. It looked like Bdubs had managed to draw back the same crowd again. It was nice, really nice. Cleo was happy for him, that things were finally going his way. 

“Bdubs,” Cleo smiled, leaning over the bartop, holding their jaw in the flats of their palms. 

Bdubs turned around slowly, setting aside a frother and a carton of skim milk. “Cleo, baby!” he exclaimed. “Good to see you!” 

Cleo’s smile widened. “It’s good to see you too.” 

“You’re looking fine tonight,” Bdubs said lowly, looking Cleo up and down and checking them out. “Can I getcha anything?” 

“Wouldn’t mind a milksog,” Cleo told him, the muscles in the face aching from smiling so hard. 

“Then a milksog you shall receive,” Bdubs sing-songed. 

Cleo took in a breath and let their eyes flicker around the room. The cafe was full and exactly what they remembered Bdubs envisioning it to be; twinkling fairy lights strewn across the ceiling and woven around and between industrial pipes, rustic and comfortable seating with sinking cushions scattered throughout the floorplan in a mildly logical manner, exclusively warm lighting so there was always a soft yellow emission and a wide array of instruments tucked neatly into the corner with the best acoustics so people could sing and perform. Cleo exhaled, they let their shoulders sag a little bit. It was exactly what Bdubs had wanted it to be, and they got to be a part of it, even if it wasn’t in the way either of them had originally planned. They were here though, that was what mattered. 

Bdubs was back in their peripheral again. “For you,” he said, sliding a mug towards them. 

“Thank you,” Cleo hummed. 

“Don’t burn your tongue,” Bdubs warned. “It’s hot,” he said, nodding his head towards the drink. “Kinda like someone else I know.” 

Cleo raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?” they smirked. “And who might that be?” 

“Oh, y’know,” Bdubs said, blowing it off and breaking eye contact, failing nonchalant-ness. 

Cleo just laughed, truly and genuinely. The sound was muffled and sort of drowned out by the applause of the crowd after someone’s performance had finished but it didn’t in any way silence their joy. Besides, Bdubs knew what to listen for, so to him, it was loud and clear. 

“You’re glowing, y’know,” he said when the applause died down. 

Cleo just stared at him. The cafe was mostly quiet now, other than the scuffle of musicians switching places and setting up and the occasional sound of coffee beans grinding against each other. Cleo blinked. They couldn’t find any sign of insincerity, not that there ever really was with Bdubs anyway.  

“You seem different,” Bdubs said. “It’s a good thing,” he added. “In a good way.” 

Cleo wasn’t sure what to say to any of that, so they just took a sip of their milksog and licked off the layer of froth that covered lips. 

“Got lipstick on your chin,” Bdubs told them. 

Cleo knew what he was asking, and chose to ignore it. “Where?” they asked, reaching over the bartop for a paper napkin. 

They let Bdubs verbally guide their hand towards the smudge and waited for his confirmation that it’d all been wiped away. Cleo looked at the ruby-stained napkin afterwards before crumpling it up in on itself. They were glowing. Could Bdubs really see it? 

At some point, Cleo had lost sight of Bdubs in their peripheral. They reached for the milksog he’d made. The mug was warm in temperature but cool in colour, a nice baby blue. Cleo took a small sip and swallowed. Someone was finger-picking the strings of a banjo. Cleo took another sip of the drink, then another, then another and then chugged the rest of it down the hatch. It burnt the tip of their tongue and the back of their throat. 

There was movement in their peripheral again. Well, there always had been, but Cleo was only seeing what they wanted to. Bdubs was back. “Cleo!” he exclaimed, drawing out the vowels of their name. “I have a friend I’d like to introduce you to.” 

Cleo sat up a little straighter. Bdubs walked back round to the other side of the bar and his friend sat down in the stool next to Cleo’s. 

“Cleo, this is- ” 

“Etho,” Cleo said faintly. 

Bdubs blinked. 

Etho looked as surprised as Cleo felt, well, as surprised as he could look, what with the mask and all. It was probably the same mask as last time too, if Cleo didn’t know any better. 

Bdubs blinked again. He looked back and forth and forth and back between the two of them inquisitively. “You guys know each other?” 

“Uh huh, you could say that,” Etho hummed and Cleo kind of wanted to punch him for it. 

Bdubs scowled. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

Etho looked between Bdubs and Cleo. His eyes were shifting from left to right to left again. Nystagmus. His expression was hard to read, Cleo had a hard time telling if it was intentional or if it was because Etho was struggling to put a name to his feelings just as much as they were. 

“It’s not supposed to mean anything,” Etho said quietly. “It was just supposed to mean that I knew her.” 

“‘ Knew ,’” Bdubs said pointedly. Oh great, so he’d picked up on that too. He stared Cleo directly but didn’t ask anything. 

Cleo took that as incentive to ask a question of their own. “How do you guys know each other?” they asked coldly. It was half intentional. Besides, they had a feeling they already knew, but since when did curiosity kill a woman anyways. 

“Uh, he, uh, moved to the county neighbouring mine and befriended all of my friends,” Bdubs answered. The microphone and speakers were acting up so one of the musicians waved him over. “I’ve gotta go over and help deal with that. Chitchat amongst yourselves, I guess.” 

The two of them watched Bdubs walk away from his spot behind the bar. He started fiddling with wires and unplugging cords and other things Cleo didn’t care enough to keep looking for. They looked over to Etho instead, who was already looking at them. His face turned rosy real quick when he realized he’d been caught. Huh, he still blushed as red as a ripe tomato. Cute. Cleo looked away to let him regain composure. 

Etho spoke first. “You, uh, never told him?” he asked quietly. 

Cleo frowned. “Why would I?”

Etho blinked. He started tugging his sleeves. His eyes shifted side to side a little faster than before. “I- . . . I don’t know, I just thought that maybe you would’ve,” he muttered, pulling at a loose seam. 

Cleo let the comment slide. “I sort of had a feeling you’d dated Bdubs at some point,” they said plainly, leaving a long enough pause for Etho to interject if he wanted to. “He said before me he’d been seeing a guy for quite some time and the way he described the guy reminded me a lot of you.” 

Etho looked up suddenly and stopped fiddling with his sleeves. “Bdubs talks about me?” 

“Yeah,” Cleo told him. “Of course he does.” 

“He told me about you,” Etho said. “I mean, I didn’t realize it was you you, but he told me.” 

Cleo just hummed in response. 

“Do you?” Etho asked. 

“Do I what?” 

“You know.” 

Cleo looked at him intently. They observed the visible features of Etho’s face carefully. His eyebrows didn’t quite align, one sitting slightly higher than the other. The veins on the side of his forehead were prominent and blue. His eyes were a peculiar colour, red-violet. The bottom half of his face was hidden by his mask. A loud guitar strum startled Cleo out of their thoughts. They blinked. Okay, so Bdubs had fixed the bug with the microphone. 

“It’s been a long time, Etho,” Cleo told him. The truth felt too harsh. 

Bdubs resumed his place back behind the bar again. “So you guys know each other?”

Cleo and Etho exchanged eye contact. “Yeah,” Cleo ended up saying. “We know each other.” 

Bdubs raised an eyebrow at the both of them. “Judas priest, tell me about it! Don’t just freakin’ stare at each other again! Answer my freakin’ question!” 

Etho started pulling at his sleeves again. He mumbled something quietly that neither of them could make out. 

“Huh?” Bdubs grunted. Cleo just giggled. “What the heck was that?” 

Etho blinked. 

“Speak clearly. Nobody heard what you said,” Bdubs told him. “Mumblin’,”

“We’ve known each other for a long time,” Etho repeated. “Cleo and I.” 

Bdubs just raised his eyebrows again. “First time I’m hearing ‘bout it,” he said pointedly. Cleo just rolled their eyes. “Give me that mug, Cleo, please.” 

“This isn’t the first time you’ve heard it, Bdubs,” Cleo said, holding out the baby blue mug. 

Bdubs near snatched it out their hands. “Oh really?

“Yes, really!” Cleo snapped. Both Bdubs and Etho looked at Cleo expectantly, along with a couple other choice emotions. Cleo took a deep breath, loud applause lasted for a couple seconds as a musician finished up their act, Cleo exhaled slowly, this was probably going to make Etho look bad. “Yes. That one guy I told you about, Bdubs, the one that left me without much word?” 

Bdubs’ jaw went slack. His features couldn't find an expression to settle on at first. He set the mug down on the counter and promptly forgot about it. He closed his mouth and kept it shut, sparing fleeting glances from Cleo to Etho to Cleo again. “That was you, Etho?” he finally asked. 

Etho blinked. His eyes were rapidly shifting back and forth and left to right to left. Nystagmus. He settled for staring at the wooden bartop, or trying to, at least. “I- . . . uh, I’m not proud of it, but yeah, that was me,” he admitted quietly. 

“You never mentioned that to me when you talked about your last relationship,” Bdubs said sharply. 

Etho winced. He never stopped trying to stare at the bartop. “I didn’t want it to change the way you thought of me.” 

Bdubs stared at Etho intensely. “And what if it has?” 

Etho looked up at Bdubs immediately. His eyes were still shifting. Cleo could see how hard he was trying to steady them, to no avail. It didn’t work, of course it didn’t. Nystagmus. “Has it?” he asked unsteadily. 

Bdubs didn’t answer right away. It stung at Cleo a little bit to hear, so it definitely most absolutely stung at Etho to feel. Maybe they should’ve just pretended they’d never met, maybe it would’ve made things easier. “I don’t know,” Bdubs slowly admitted. “I don’t know how to feel about any of this.” 

Well, at least everyone was on the same page for that . 

“But you guys dating!” Bdubs exclaimed. “I find that fascinating.” 

Cleo blinked and promptly burst out with laughter. What an abrupt change of subject, while not even really changing the subject at all. Cleo didn’t know how he did it. “Why’s that?” they asked through giggles, trying to speak over top the sounds emitting from the cafe speakers. 

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Bdubs huffed with a smile, reaching back for the blue mug he’d forgotten about. He spun it around on the lower counter with his fingers by the handle. He was going to chip the damn thing. “Cleo, you’re just so . . . fierce, in every sense of the word. Etho’s a pretty timid guy in comparison.” 

“You could say something a little nicer about me, couldn’t you?” Etho whined. 

“It wasn’t an insult!” 

“Say something nice about me.” 

“Hm, no,” Bdubs said flatly. “I’d like to hear more about you and Cleo, actually, since apparently neither of you could be bothered to tell me you two dated.” 

“Say something nice about me first.” 

“You wish,” Bdubs laughed. “Tell me how you guys met.” 

Cleo felt Etho staring. Yeah okay, figures. Of course he didn’t want to do the talking. “Uh, we met in middle school,” Cleo answered, out the corner of their eye they glanced at Etho to try to catch a glimpse of his reaction. It was hard to tell if that was the response he’d wanted them to give. 

“You’ve known each other that long?” Bdubs asked with poorly concealed surprise. 

“Well, more like knew of each other,” they corrected. “Didn’t really meet until high school.” 

Bdubs huffed a laugh. 

“What?” Etho asked, somehow managing to sound both intrigued and unimpressed. 

“Oh, nothing,” Bdubs hummed. He was smiling so loud it was kind of infuriating. Cleo was sure that if Etho could roll his eyes that he would’ve then. 

“Yeah right,” Etho remarked sarcastically. He rested his elbows on the bartop, one hand cradling his jaw and the other reaching out to stop the mug Bdubs was twirling. 

Cleo sighed. “Just out with it already, Bdubs.” 

Bdubs just grinned. “You guys were high school sweethearts, weren’t you?” he asked smugly, damn near gloating. 

“Yeah,” Cleo admitted openly and easily. “We were ,” they tacked on with a lot more bitterness than they’d meant to. 

Etho and Bdubs avoided their gaze immediately, suddenly finding much more interesting things to stare at instead. Cleo groaned internally, they let their eyes settle on the guitarist upstage who was skillfully picking at the strings of an acoustic guitar. Now felt like a good time to call it a night. 

“I think I’m going to leave now,” Cleo announced, leaving no room for objection. 

“Yeah?” Bdubs asked. “You want me to walk you to the bus stop?”

“You’ve got a business to run, Bdubs. Focus on that.” 

Bdubs just nodded. He let Cleo collect themself and their things. “Text me when you’re home,” he said, but it sounded more like a question. 

“I will,” Cleo nodded, looking down doing up the buttons of their coat. 

“Etho, you heading out too?” Bdubs asked. 

Cleo stopped fiddling with their buttons for a second. 

“I am, yeah,” he said plainly. “I’ll see you around soon though, if we’re still going to catch up on everything this week?”

Cleo didn’t bother with the rest of the buttons. They could just do them up at the bus stop, no point in lingering around for this , whatever this was, pleasantries that were a lot less than pleasant. They were out the cafe and into the cool night in less than half a second, walking down the tree-lined street towards the bus stop home. 

“Cleo!” a now-familiar voice called. “Cleo, wait up!” 

Cleo ignored him. They kept walking, picking up the pace a little while stepping over sidewalk cracks and crinkly fallen leaves. 

“Cleo,” Etho panted, suddenly standing by their side and keeping pace with their gait. 

“What,” Cleo spat, coming to halt. “What, Etho?” 

He stopped and turned to face them. His expression was still hard to read. His head was tilted at an odd, uncomfortable-looking angle. His eyes were shifting a lot more than they were in the cafe, red-violet trying hard to settle on Cleo. “I could give you a ride home again,” he said quietly, almost shyly. 

And there those tender feelings were again, bright and sharp and undeniably present. “Should you even be driving, Etho?” Cleo asked. “I thought you couldn’t because of your condition.” 

“I’m an exception,” Etho said with a slight lilt. It sounded prideful and joyous. 

“Of course you are,” Cleo mumbled under their breath. 

“Uh, but yeah, most- most people with nystagmus can’t drive,” he said quietly. “Guess I just got lucky,” he chuckled softly, rocking back and forth on his heels. 

Cleo just nodded. Etho didn’t say anything. The two of them just stood in silence, an awkward distance apart under the dim light of the moon. It felt nice, nice and uneasy. 

“Sure, whatever,” Cleo said suddenly. Etho tilted his head back upright. “Take me home again.” 

Etho blinked. He frowned a little bit too. “Are you sure you want that?” 

Cleo rolled their eyes. “Just take me home, Etho.” 

= 

“Where should I put my shoes?” Etho asked. 

“Just keep them on,” Cleo told him, not bothering to look back behind them, eyes flickering through a kitchen cabinet. “Orange pekoe still your favourite?” 

 “Any tea is fine,” Etho answered noncommittally. “Where should I put my shoes?” he asked again. 

“Just by the door is fine,” Cleo hummed. “Orange pekoe, Etho? I have other teas if you’d rather something else.” 

Etho lingered tentatively by the small kitchen island, hovering by a bar stool. “Orange pekoe’s good,” he muttered.                           

Cleo turned on the burner and set two mugs side by side on the counter next to the whistling kettle. “You can sit down, y’know,” they smiled softly, pouring boiling water over top teabags. 

“Oh, right,” Etho exhaled quietly. 

Cleo set the kettle back down on the cooling burner. “What do you take it with?” 

“Hm?” 

“Your tea. Milk? Sugar? Honey?” 

“Oh, uh, just sugar,” Etho answered. 

“Still haven’t outgrown that sweet tooth?” Cleo remarked, stirring a spoonful of sugar into Etho’s mug. 

Etho raised an eyebrow. Cleo could tell he was smiling under the mask. “Uh huh, sure haven’t.” 

“Of course,” Cleo muttered, more to themself than to Etho. They set the mug in front of him over the counter ledge and stirred some creamer into their own cup before placing theirs right next to his again. “I’m going to change into something more comfortable if you don’t mind excusing me for a minute,” Cleo told him without waiting for a response. 

They locked themself in the bathroom and flicked the light on almost as an afterthought. Cleo took a deep breath, what the hell were they doing inviting Etho over for tea past ten like had changed at all? Cleo exhaled. It didn’t really matter, he was here now. So, they undid their hair and took off most of their makeup. Vitiligo. Etho didn’t know they had that, no one did. Cleo held a washcloth inches from their face. Of everyone who would know, Etho would be the one to understand, wouldn’t he? Cleo sighed and wiped off the foundation. Were they glowing anymore? It sure didn’t feel like it. 

Enough time had passed for their teas to have cooled down by the time Cleo returned in some ratty old plaid pajama pants and an old worn-out shirt. 

“Hey,” Etho greeted quietly. 

“Hi,” Cleo breathed. He’d taken the mask off, mostly. Cleo blinked slowly. It’d been a long time since they’d seen, really seen, Etho’s face. However, they showed zero signs of acknowledging it as they made their way over to the island and sat down on the stool next to his. Heat had stopped radiating from the tea cup. 

“What’s with the pumpkins?” Etho asked, gesturing to somewhere just out of Cleo’s peripheral. 

Cleo blinked. They glanced over to where Etho had pointed. “Gonna carve them with one of my friends,” they answered. “You remember Scott?” 

Etho nodded. 

“Yeah.” 

“Nice,” he said quietly. 

“Got them at the farmer’s market this past weekend, you been yet since you’ve been back?” Cleo asked subtly, taking the teabag out their cup. 

“I have, yeah,” Etho confirmed. “Wanted to check it out again before going with my sister sometime.” 

Cleo took a sip of tea. They weren’t crazy, they really had seen Etho that day. “Your sister’s around still?” 

“Yep yep,” Etho hummed. “Never left. She loves it here.” 

Cleo shrugged. “Well, there’s a lot to love.” 

Etho didn’t say anything in response. Cleo wondered if they hit a sore spot, and knowing Etho, they probably did. 

“How’s being back?” Cleo asked. “How long have you been back?” they asked, tiptoeing around the real question, for Etho’s sake. Mostly. 

“Not long,” he answered quietly. “A friend of mine just brought up the last of my stuff the other day, and being back is . . . fine. It’s different. “ 

Cleo nodded along, taking small sips of tea. “I’d imagine,” they said plainly, they wanted to study Etho under a microscope. “What part of town?” 

“Opposite end of yours,” he responded. He tucked the mask fully under his chin now, and Cleo watched with quiet intrigue as he took a sip of tea himself. Etho’s hair was pretty long now, parts just brushing past his collarbone. It framed his face nicely. He’d a cleft lip when he was younger too, but now the only evidence of it was the slight upturn of his upper lip and a thin faded scarring that connected his upper lip to his left nostril. He looked good, and comfortable, like he’d really finally grown into himself. 

“You look good, y’know,” Cleo told him genuinely. 

Etho nearly choked on his tea. He coughed and looked at Cleo with wide eyes, searching for any signs of insincerity. Cleo let him look, cause they knew he wouldn’t find any and because it was nice to be looked at, they were pretty easy on the eyes after all.

“Yeah?” 

“Yes,” Cleo said, crystal clear. 

Etho’s face rosied and he curled in on himself a little. “Well, I could say the same about you, you know,” he said, looking away and blushing hard. 

“Appreciate it,” Cleo hummed, finishing off their tea. 

“So . . . about tonight,” Etho started. He coughed again to clear his throat. “You really didn’t mention me much, did you?” 

“Why would I?” Cleo asked sharply. 

“I just . . . ” Etho trailed off. His hands clutched suddenly at the fabric of his mask but he didn’t pull it back over his face. Cleo took it as a good sign. “I don’t know where we stand, Cleo.” 

Cleo didn’t say anything, and neither did Etho, so the two of them just sat in the dim lighting in silence.

“I can’t tell if you hate me or not,” Etho finally quietly admitted. “You keep sending me all of these- all these mixed signals.” 

Cleo blinked. “Maybe it’s because I really don’t know how to feel about you.” 

Etho tilted his head to the side, resting his neck at that weird, uncomfortable-looking angle. “Do you really not?” he asked genuinely. 

Cleo raised an eyebrow. “Tell me how you really feel about me then,” they challenged. It was ballsy, sure, but Etho loved pointless challenges. 

“It’s nice to see you again,” he said quietly after a couple seconds passed. 

“Why are you here, Etho?” Cleo asked outright. 

Etho blinked. His eyes wandered and wandered over a little more. Nystagmus. “Because you invited me over . . . ?”

“That’s not what I meant.” 

Etho pulled his mask back over his face. He refused to look at Cleo directly, or even try to. “I think we should talk about something else,” he suggested. It didn’t come off like a suggestion. 

“Why did you leave?” Cleo asked, just as blunt and blatant as before. 

Etho blinked again. “I think I’m going to head home now,” he said quietly. 

Cleo just stared at him, they wanted to stare daggers. It was hard to hold back. They let the feeling sizzle out under their skin. They took a deep, slow breath. In, out. In, out. In, out. “Okay,” they said, audibly strained. Both they and Etho winced. “I’ll see you out then.” 

Etho just nodded. 

Cleo watched as he rolled up the cuffs of his jeans to lace up his boots and as he donned his coat over his flannel. His silvery-white hair was just long enough to be concealed by the hood and shoulders of his overcoat, that looked much too warm for autumn weather, but whatever, it was Etho. He looked back at Cleo carefully, observing. “Thank you for the tea,” he offered, reaching for the door knob. 

“Get out,” Cleo said firmly. “And drive safe.” 

Etho nodded, already halfway out the door. “I’ll try,” he said lightly. “I’ll see you around then, maybe.” 

“Maybe,” Cleo repeated lowly. They waited in the doorway till he’d gotten into the car and drove off before closing and locking the door for the night after themself. Maybe. 

Cleo went to turn off the dim kitchen lights when they saw it. Etho’s cup of tea, still half-full, sitting on the kitchen counter with the teabag string sticking out over the side of the glass. Cleo sighed. It could stay there for the night. It could stay. They flicked the light off and left the tea out to grow over-steep and bitter.