✾ Peony ✾

Thinking of Beau made my heart lighter; if I closed my eyes and imagined the bounce of his curls and his shy little smile, my insides felt like puffy white clouds drifting by. And I'd been in such a stormy mood lately. Beau was spending more time away from home than he used to. It felt like he was slipping away. I wondered if I would ever feel like I was ready to paint him. I almost had that night when I'd felt my heart full to the brim with him. He'd come to me crying and my heart broke for him. I'd never met anyone as lonely as I was until Beau.

I'd felt his warmth in my arms like a fever, like a humming furnace. Then fear rose in my chest, clutching my throat tightly. I loved the feeling of him in my arms, his delicate body, his skin dark again mine, his steady pulse. And mine had been anything but. I was afraid he would notice it, that that hand of his, resting between us, would out my secret to its owner.

My body wanted his. Badly. Each time I was reminded of this inky black desire—when I felt a little stir at his biting his lip, his stretching, his cascading coppery hair—I was hit with a fresh pang of longing and crippling guilt.

But it had been a month since the kid had started classes, and he had very little attention left for me. Any time he had at home he spent studying, hidden away in his room. He'd made new friends, which wasn't surprising considering how amazing he was. But I still remembered him saying that I was all he needed and a little piece of me wished that were true. Beyond his social life, he'd gotten a job at a bakery, which made me happy because he was doing something he loved and staying busy, but also made me sad because it meant even less time at home.

He still hadn't baked with me, though. Maybe I didn't want to paint him because once I did, our promise, what bound us together in the first place, would become a thing of the past.

I wandered into my bedroom aimlessly. I felt like a shadow, like a flower without any water. I thought about calling Liam again. Was it just sex that I wanted? It had worked for a bit last time. I'd been satisfied for a while. And then Beau's paradoxical beauty hit me like a freight train one morning, and I was a useless mess again.

I rapped my knuckles against my doorframe for no reason. My room was depressing. I hadn't realized it until Beau had arrived, but it looked like no one lived in it. I wondered in passing if it looked this way because a person's room is a reflection of who they are.

Drifting sheets were strewn carelessly about the space over old works, haunting me. All the paintings—paintings of a shame I didn't recognize as such until long after the paint had dried—made me feel that guilt all over again, a fresh, roiling ache. I wanted to get rid of the paintings, but felt like I couldn't. They were still a part of me, important despite how greatly I now detested them. But I had no clue what to do with them. The emptiness didn't used to bother me, but Beau made me feel inadequate in a peculiarly good way, aware of who I was and what I could be.

Beau didn't know about any of this. It had felt so good to tell Beau about my parents, too. I wanted to tell him the entire truth, let him really know who I was. But...he would think I was depraved. Cruel, even.

I couldn't bear the thought of Beau hating me. I was clinging onto him for dear life, watching him grow and mature into the inspiring, incredibly strong young man he was. He would become who he was meant to be, but what would happen to me in the process? I wasn't sure I could keep up.

I was afraid of how badly I needed him. How terribly terminal my loneliness would feel, seeping the life from my eyes, if he were to leave me.

I was glad that he'd come to me when he wanted someone to mend his cracked heart. It meant that he still needed me. But what would become of our relationship as time eroded the pain of his loss, when he no longer came to knock on my door in the middle of the night with swollen eyes?

I took a shaky breath and stepped out of my room, pulling my phone out and scrolling through my contacts. It rang, and I closed my eyes. The repetitive sound violated the silence over and over until...

"I've been waiting, you know," he said.

I sighed. "Yeah, of course you have."

"Well, come over. This doesn't mean a thing, I'm guessing?" Liam teased.

I ground my teeth. I was worried about Beau leaving me behind yet here I was taking another step backward. "It doesn't." It couldn't.

"Have you been painting?" he asked suddenly.

I shook my head. "No, I haven't."

"Why not?"

I didn't know how to answer. "Don't worry about it, Liam."

I heard him sigh deeply. There was a slight venom in his voice. "Is it that kid?"

My stomach rolled and anger flared. I hung up without saying anything and tucked my phone back into my pocket, walking across the room. I rifled through the paintings leaned up against the farthest wall, next to my bed. I slid one out of the bunch, yanking the sheet off in a cloud of dust. It had been a while.

Liam's eyes stared up at me from where I'd rendered them with a mix of cerulean and sky blue; as I stared at them, I swore they darkened to a midnight sky, accusation seeping into them. His lips came to life. Have you been painting?

Not since Beau had moved in. It wasn't just because I didn't have the time to do it any longer. I just didn't want to. Not in the same empty way I used to. If I painted again, I wanted it to mean something.

The painting of Liam stared at me, shouting into the still air what an asshole I was. I remembered the day I painted this. We'd just been to the beach in Miami, so Liam's hair was windswept and crazy, his skin golden, and his muscles shining. To the disappointment of my parents, I'd lived in Florida for a year before I started college. My relationship with Liam had been a secret back then because I was so afraid of what my parents would think. But when I wasn't burdened by such thoughts, I'd felt free with Liam, empowered. Liam smiled in the painting, giving me a wild expression that reflected how we'd acted back then.

I resented that untamed part of myself now, the one that craved to be set free. I felt caged again, afraid that the truth would be outed. But instead of my parents, it was Beau I was worried about. I didn't want to hurt him the way I had so many people, and I didn't worry about that with Liam. I threw the sheet back over the painting and walked briskly to the kitchen, grabbing my wallet and trying not to think about what I was doing.

Is it that kid?

I would go to Liam despite my anger and because of it. I shook my head, swinging the front door open. The rush of air from the suddenness of the gesture stirred my clothes. I stiffened when Beau was revealed in the doorframe. That kid. I blinked, thinking that whatever weird psychological meltdown I'd just had with that painting was still going. "Hey," I managed once I realized he was real and that I wasn't entirely insane yet.

His hand was awkwardly extended where he'd been about to grasp the door handle. He was wearing a slightly oversized, fluffy red sweater and heavy winter boots. His leather bag was slung across his chest, and he clutched the strap with his other hand. Adorable. "Hey," he replied, lowering his hand. "Are you heading out?"

"Yeah," I said. "Where've you been?" I cringed. I shouldn't have asked that. It really wasn't my business, and it had sounded kind of like an accusation.

But Beau didn't seem to notice. Actually, his expression lit up as though he was happy just to have my attention. "I was with Amory."

I felt like someone had stabbed a sharp pencil into my chest. Or a pair of scissors. Something that wasn't meant for stabbing, which made it hurt all the more. "Right." I didn't know what else to say. It never used to be this hard, but things had gotten complicated. Jealousy is disgusting, but I could feel it crawling its moldy, green self up my arms and towards my heart.

"Where are you going?" he asked, stepping inside. His arm brushed mine as he went past me, and I felt that desire-guilt two-step combo again. I pressed a hand to my stomach, hard.

"Uh, to see a friend," I said. A lie. Liam was not my friend. I didn't know what he was, but we were definitely not friendly. I couldn't even call him a sex-friend because doing so would imply some degree of amicable feeling, which I did not harbor in the slightest. But I didn't dislike Liam save for the parts of him that reminded me of myself.

Beau stopped walking and turned to look at me. There was a hint of something in his eyes. "A friend?"

I only nodded, couldn't manage much else. The alternative was a casual:Yeah, you know him. Liam. The one you narrowly escaped witnessing me aggressively having sex with last time. Against my better judgement, I'm going for round two, only this time probably even more aggressively because I've been thinking about you naked and feel incredibly pent up and horny.

"Can you..." Beau's voice trailed off. He looked at the ground. I felt the distance between us stretching like a rubber band. "Never mind."

"What is it, Copper?" I asked, stubbornly refusing to leave it at that.

He looked up, encouraged by the familiarity of his nickname. He looked at me the way he used to, with a little shine in his eyes and a tiny smile. "I was hoping we could hang out tonight," he said.

It was embarrassing how high my heart soared. I felt like a feather caught in the wind, floating up and up. My anxiety was gone in an instant. "I'll cancel," I said, swinging the door shut again. I slung an arm over Beau's shoulders, pulling him close. "How's school been?"

Beau grinned. "Hard, but good. I've never been so engaged in classes before. Everyone else is as smart as I am."

"Bunch of geniuses, then," I said with a smile, giving Beau's shoulder a light squeeze before plopping onto the couch.

He followed suit and, to my surprise, curled up next to me, shrugging his shoes off and pulling his legs to his chest. He leaned against my shoulder. "Thanks for staying. I'm sorry I interrupted your date."

I scoffed. "It wasn't a date, promise." Don't know why I needed to promise that to him, but I wanted him to know. It hadn't been a date. It was just sex. Those two things were impossibly different in my mind. I hadn't been on a date in years. I'd had sex every opportunity I got.

I breathed deep. Beau faintly smelled like the bakery. "What's going on in your head these days?" I asked.

He looked up at me. "Have you talked to Sallie recently?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Not really. Why?"

He looked away sheepishly. "No reason."

"Feels like there is a reason, but I won't pry," I said. "You two are close now, I gather?"

He nodded. "Sallie's been really helpful with adjusting at school, especially because she gets that I'm not good with people. It's kind of weird because I'm nearly as old as she is and yet she just sort of gets things more than me. And she's been at NYU longer."

I shook my head. "You took a break. That's totally reasonable."

"And I was old for my grade to begin with. I have sort of an early birthday," he said, nodding against my shoulder.

I looked down at him. "Sort of? When is it?"

"February nineteenth," he said. The little smile resurfaced.

"In that case, as a very early birthday present, I have something for you," I said, standing up. I went to the kitchen to grab the envelope. When I returned, Beau had sprawled out, his legs resting on the coffee table and his stomach exposed where his sweater had rode up. "Well, it's not really a present because it was yours to begin with."

He took the envelope as I sat beside him. "What is it?" he asked, opening it.

"Wait three seconds and you'll find out. Sheesh."

He peered inside curiously. "Money?" He gave me a puzzled look.

"It's the rent you've paid up until now," I explained.

"I'm confused."

"Remember how I had a talk with my mother?" He nodded. "She dropped a bomb on me. Apparently, she's been paying my rent as long as I've lived here. All the money you've paid has just been sitting in the landlord's office."

"How come? Has money been tight?" he asked, concerned.

"No, it's just her way of showing she cares. Money has always been important to her, so it was the best way for her to show her affection. I guess."

He shrugged, closing the envelope again. "I think a better way would have been trying to get in touch with you."

I was surprised at the level of sass in his voice, but amused. "Yeah, but that's too difficult for her. She's not very good with emotions," I said.

He smiled. "Who is?"

"Solid point." I sighed. "A package came for you."

"Is it from my uncle?" Beau perked up, looking around.

"Didn't check. It's by your door." He stood up and bounded over to his room. "Need help lifting it?" I asked.

"Nah," he said, hoisting it much more easily than I'd been expecting. He carried it over efficiently despite its size.

"Another early birthday present?" I joked.

"It's probably my books," Beau said, dropping the package on the coffee table and going to the kitchen. He came back moments later with a knife and sliced the tape open. I leaned forward curiously. Beau looked content as he settled back on the couch beside me. "Told you." The box was filled mostly with books as well as some carefully wrapped objects concealed in newspaper. No wonder it had been so heavy.

"Wow. You really are a bookworm," I noted.

Beau looked worried all of a sudden. "This isn't all of them."

"Maybe the rest are still coming," I offered.

But he shook his head. "No, I think my uncle is trying to get me to come visit them again."

I frowned. "The house of Satan." He nodded, busy rifling through the books and checking titles. "My offer stands. I'll go with you if you want," I said.

"No, no," he said with a suspicious urgency. "I'll figure it out on my own."

Something caught my eye. There was a ratty, leather-bound journal sitting on top of the closest stack. There was a little note tucked into the string that tied it shut. I picked it up and pulled the note out, handing it to Beau. "Guess he wanted to tell you something," I said.

Beau took the note, unfurling the folded paper. I pulled out my phone quickly to send a text to Liam. Never mind. Not tonight.

I turned the journal over in my hands, waiting for Beau to finish reading. It looked well-used. But it seemed personal, unlike the other books. I smiled to myself. By the condition of the books, they'd all probably been read more than a few times. Some of the covers on top included Wuthering Heights, The Little Prince, Candide, and something called Manual for Living.

"Where was that?" Beau asked.

I looked at him. "This?" I held the journal up. "Just on top."

He reached for it, but I jerked it away. He scowled. "Ren," he warned, his voice low.

"What?" I asked.

He reached for it again, and again I held it just out of his reach. I smiled. "Come on," he complained, but the frustration in his voice had cracked and amusement seeped through.

"I don't know why you're angry. I'm not doing anything," I said, shrugging.

"You asked for it," he said. I barely processed his words before he launched himself at me. I grunted as he thudded into me, knocking me over onto my back. He tried to scramble over me, but I grabbed him around his torso with my free arm and pulled him down and away from the journal. I fastened his body against mine. He reached for the journal despite his immobility, wriggling in an attempt to escape my grip. "Ren," he cried lightly. His expression was determined. I chuckled.

I laughed as he pushed my face away with one hand. Everything clicked back into place. Nothing had changed. Beau was still beautiful Beau, perfect, innocent, and always there. Always just a little bit mine.

My heart exploded when he growled a little bit, pushing himself out of my grip with a herculean effort. I grinned and quickly whipped my other hand up, grabbing the journal and redirecting Beau's gaze. His attention flicked to my other hand just as quickly, and so did the entirety of his weight. "Oh shit." I gasped before we tumbled off of the couch together, body over body and a mess of limbs.

Beau's head was about to slam into the coffee table, but I dropped the journal and shot my arm out in time. His skull collided with my arm. I winced. "You..." I started, looking down at where he'd collapsed onto the ground, breathing hard, from where I sat propped against the couch. Our legs were still tangled, our bodies close. I realized just how attractive he looked lying there all at once, like a physical blow. I could barely speak, busy imagining other scenarios in which he might be breathing hard, his smooth chest heaving, his eyes glistening, his— "...ok? You ok?"

He held up the journal triumphantly. His brown eyes sparkled. I wanted to cry. My heart was pumping blood through my veins again, and I slowly felt life flooding back into my body. Had my world really gone back into stasis so easily? The moment Beau had separated from me, even for a little while, I'd frozen up again. How terrifying.

I shook my arm out. I'd probably have a bruise, but nothing worse. I flexed my hand, testing the muscles out. "Are you ok?" Beau asked. He grabbed my hand, pulling my arm closer to him. He stared at it as if he were searching for open wounds, turning it over.

I chuckled. "I'm fine. Just smacked it a little bit." He looked relieved, but made no move to drop my arm. Instead, he started tracing the lines of my tattoos. His fingertips barely touched me, sometimes only hovering over my skin. But I felt it like his hand was made of lightning bolts and sunshine. He caressed the petals on my flowers. I barely breathed.

"My uncle wants me to go visit him," Beau said quietly.

I swallowed, wetting my lips slightly. "Do you want to go?"

He kept tracing the designs on my skin. Our legs were still intertwined. His curls had fallen away from his face where he lay his head on the ground, just a little bit underneath the shadow of the table. I stared at the spot where his neck met his jaw, tempted to reach out and touch it, slowly slide my hand down his slender throat to his chest. If I took him right there on the floor, his skin would feel so soft against the coarse roughness of the carpet. 

"I think it would be nice to have a family again," Beau said.

I forced myself to look away from him, but he continued delicately touching my arm. It tickled a little bit. The little shivers he was causing danced up my arm over and over until they found their way to my heart, taking up residence there where I'd safely keep them for as long as I could. I struggled to compose myself and consider what I should say to him.

"When I spoke to my mom, I felt relieved. I'd been angry at her for so long because of what she'd done, but I realized that her intentions had always been good. She's just a flawed woman. If I had a kid, I'd want them to understand that about me. I'd want them to forgive me."

Beau's hand paused. I looked at him. He slowly sat up, ducking so that his head didn't collide with the table. He leaned against it. "He's not my dad, though. I don't owe him anything."

I thought for a moment. "I don't think it's about owing anything. You're not doing it for his sake. You just have to decide whether he's worth it for you, whether whatever he did to make you call him Satan is heavier on the scale than what he might give you in the future, whether that's happiness or just another person on your list that you can rely on."

"It's his wife that's Satan," Beau said quietly.

"Either way. I mean, I don't even know what happened, so I don't know how helpful that advice is. But I'm trying here," I said.

He looked at me as if he were turning over options in his head. He pinched his face up a little bit before it relaxed back to normal. He stared at my hand. "When I went to them after my mom died, they didn't let me stay with them. My aunt basically condemned me to homelessness a couple weeks after I became an orphan."

"That's—" I couldn't come up with a word to capture just how cruel such a deed was. My stomach was turning. "Why?" I asked breathlessly.

He shook his head. "Something my mom said to my aunt a long time ago."

"But why should she punish you? None of that seems like your fault!" I practically shouted.

Beau smiled. "It's ok."

I scoffed. "I think it's not."

He laughed a little bit. My anger dissipated at the sound. "Now you know why I call her Satan. But my uncle wanted to let me stay. He just didn't want to stand up to his wife."

I shook my head. "He should have done better." But at the same time, the inability to stand up to a bully of a spouse was exactly what my mom's failure had been. And I'd forgiven her for that...

Beau breathed deeply. He looked sad. I reached up and touched his hair. I couldn't help it. I'd been thinking about doing it basically since I'd seen him. Beau tilted his head so that the tip of his nose touched my wrist. "It's ok, Ren. You found me, so it turned out ok in the end."

I dissolved into atoms. This. This.

Not good. Alarms blared somewhere in my head, but my rational mind wasn't entirely in charge. I felt colors spill out of me. I wanted to grab a palette and pour how Beau made me feel onto a canvas. It would be a mix of vermilion and fuschia, maybe something earthier or deeper like a cerise. A touch of crimson, even. I'd paint a rosy waterfall. 

When my gears started spinning again, I realized that Beau was looking away from me. He was staring at the corner. "Ren," he said, almost a whisper.

"What?"

He met my eyes. There was an anxiety behind them that confused me, but it quickly transformed into quiet desire. "When are you going to paint me?"

I thought of the blank canvas I'd propped up in my room. "I don't know," I said honestly.

I glanced back at him. He didn't seem satisfied by the answer. "Why not?"

"I don't know, Copper," I repeated quietly. I felt embarrassed.

"Ok. That's ok," he said, seemingly sensing my discomfort. 

"I just don't--" I struggled for words. "I want to, but... I don't think my hands can do it yet."

Beau squeezed my hand a little. "I think they can."

"I remember when I used to be the one encouraging you," I said. 

He shrugged. "Everybody needs to be reminded that they're sort of amazing every now and again." 

"Sort of?" I asked, my soul lifting out of my body. 

"Sort of," he replied. The knowing, affectionate look in his eyes revealed that he remembered the night we'd met just as clearly as I did. Sort of, I'd asked. Sort of, he'd said.

I sighed. We were quiet for a moment. When I felt the residual feathery feeling fade, I smiled at him. "Chinese?"

He nodded. "Chinese."

My phone buzzed. It was Liam.

I'm going to Florida.

A weight lifted off of me. Then, soon after, I felt faintly like I'd lost my flashlight in the dark.