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It was disrespectful to sit on gravestones.
There were no two ways about it, but at least it seemed fitting. He would be the type for this breed of blasphemy after all; that much had been made clear. Maybe if he stayed perfectly still, eventually he would petrify as well, melding into the marker. A gargoyle of a young man with one knee pulled to his chin, hair slicked flat from drizzling rain, perched in one of the few places where a night like tonight could be properly memorialized.
Abomination.
The word seeped through Rhett’s brain, leaking from his eyes and whorling into the chilled evening air with each breath. Bitter cold dripped from his lashes and renewed dark spots on his ratty jeans. He wasn’t crying--he wouldn’t cry--but the steady rivulets were a welcome substitute. A placebo for the real thing.
What the fuck?
Out of all of the words that had hurt, how was it that the very first ones had stung the most? It wasn’t the onslaught of slurs or railings of God he’d been wounded by--those, he’d been anticipating. He’d known what those would sound like, how the phonemes would spill from his father’s lips and chain into words he’d heard directed at people unwelcome in their community behind their back. He’d run through them in his head, received them in fever dreams, more times than he could count.
No. It had been the discovery which injured him. The exclamation of change, the dread that made his blood lock like ice in his veins, the passing of a precipice he couldn’t come back from.
Stuffing the magazine under his mattress had only served to enrage the man further. Proof that the secret had kept long enough to have a knee-jerk emergency reaction to being caught. That there was a designated place Rhett stowed spreads of glamorous men in underwear, with flawless skin and half-lidded eyes asking something of the viewer. Something Rhett wanted to give.
You’re sick!
If his mother had been home, things might’ve gone differently. But she hadn’t been. What would she tell him now? Rhett, sweetheart, you can’t sit out in the rain for hours on end. You’ll catch your death!
Good. Seemed as fair a fate as any, now.
Rhett pressed his forehead to his knee, submitting to the slapping rap of rain against his arms and neck, dribbling down his collar to trace his spine. Gargoyle, gargoyle, gargoyle…
“Rhett…?”
How he hadn’t heard someone approach shocked him, especially with the patter of rain on umbrella. And although he recognized the voice like his own reflection, he absolutely couldn’t meet the eyes he knew were waiting for his attention. Filled with patience and confusion and concern. Just like his voice.
“Rhett, what are you doing out here?” Link begged, the squelch of his shoes growing louder until they stopped.
If Rhett opened his eyes, he could see the other’s Nikes, muddied and worn from trekking through the graveyard. Past their meeting spot, deeper. Deeper into the fields of resting than they’d ever gone together.
“How did you know I'd be here?” Rhett asked hoarsely, voice crackling back into existence.
“Your mom called the house. Asked me to go look for you.” A swallow, thick enough to carry through the murmur of rainfall. “She… she said you’d better find somewhere to stay.”
At this, Rhett pulled his dangling leg up, hugging both of them in a precarious balancing act. “Okay.”
When the pour stopped pelting his exposed skin, he finally lifted his head, just enough to acknowledge Link’s extended hand grasping the handle of a black umbrella. Not offering it--just holding it to keep the blonde dry.
In Rhett’s periphery, fat beads of water rolled down the front of Link’s white shirt. His hair was dripping.
“You’re soaked,” Rhett stated. As long as he didn’t make eye contact…
“Look who’s talking.” Link huffed, incredulous, before shifting to take a seat next to Rhett on the tombstone.
Not like anyone’s around to scold us, I suppose. Not out here.
“Had to run clear across the cemetery to find you. Running with an umbrella’s hard.”
The silence settled. What little amusement Link had been fishing for, he wasn’t rewarded with, and so the beating of the rain on their shelter laughed for them. An unsteady, unpredictable deadpan rollick. Rhett adjusted, replacing his forehead with his chin, staring out into the grayed horizon of monoliths and sagging, waterlogged trees.
“What happened?” Link’s tone was unbearably soft. The voice of someone who knew they had a right to the information they’d requested, but wasn’t sure they wanted it.
Rhett couldn’t lie--not to him. If nothing else, being plunged into the turbid ice-water of panic earlier that day had served as good practice for a round two. “My dad found me with a magazine.”
Link’s hesitation spoke volumes, though Rhett knew the next question before it left his mouth. “That’s it? This seems… a little much,” he admitted, knocking his soles against the name of someone not-forgotten.
“Of men,” Rhett finished, punctuating the admission by sinking his teeth into the tender flesh of his inner cheek as hard as he could. It didn’t hurt, but the acrid taste of copper trickled across his tongue regardless.
“Oh.”
“Mmhm.”
“I, uh, I didn’t know you were--”
“Bi,” Rhett finished. As if being attracted to guys as well as girls would make the revelation less jarring.
When Link didn’t respond, Rhett couldn’t resist--he stole a sideways glance at the other. A photo-crisp image that would stay with him until he was bent and old: Link meeting his eyes, that steel blue raw and drenched; flecks of water suspended in time on his glasses; an air of knowing radiating from him.
Unconditional love.
“When did you realize?” Link ventured, leaning forward and bracing himself with his free hand.
“A few years ago.”
“Gotta be honest, I’m a little offended you didn’t tell me,” he chuckled nervously, a wispy noise that drew and held Rhett’s attention again.
“Given what happened today, can you blame me?” He watched as Link’s gaze wandered his face. They anchored on his own and struck out repeatedly to examine his features as if daring small journeys from their safe space. The stubble at his chin, his eyebrows, his cheekbones. Whatever Link was looking for, he must’ve found it, as he decidedly wrapped an arm around Rhett’s shoulders.
“A little.”
Rhett sighed. “Link, I’m sorry. It’s not that I didn’t want you to know. I just--I didn’t really think… the way I realized it was because… you’re just--”
Link swelled forward, rising to meet Rhett’s lips with his own, pressing against him with insistence and earning a shocked shiver of recognition.
For the first time in hours, Rhett’s senses returned. The bite of the cold. The heat in his neck. The smell of cologne and clean laundry and cherry ChapStick. The sudden prickle at his eyes and sear that traveled behind them as his throat closed.
He broke the kiss just in time to bury his head into Link’s collarbone, smothering a sob.
Link rearranged to straddle the tombstone, wrapping his calves around Rhett in a shell of mock protection that was enough to encourage the other to weep against him, grasping the front of Link’s shirt like a child. He settled to keep his arms wrapped tightly around the taller one, ensuring the rain didn’t find him.
“You’re staying in my room tonight,” Link ordered gently, rubbing a thumb against the nape of Rhett’s neck.
“Okay.”
“C’mon. I drove. We’ll grab some burgers on the way back. Can eat together after you take a hot shower.”
“Okay.” Rhett swallowed, unable to pull his head from the crook of Link’s neck. “Should we, uh. Do we need to talk?” he risked, cheeks still glowing faintly.
“I think you’ve had enough 'talks' for today, bo,” Link whispered, nestling his chin in Rhett’s hair. “But we can watch a movie in my room. I’ll hold you.”
“...that sounds nice.”