I see Ross approaching in a fading sunset light.

A smile spreads across my face as my heart skips a beat. He looks a bit out of breath, but his eyes are filled with such joy. I wave him over to the camping tent I've set up in this secluded area here at Saratoga Lake.

The first thing Ross does is run into my arms. I barrel into his hug, his embrace tight and comforting, and I nuzzle his stubbly cheek with affection. He scans me anxiously, his eyes filled with concern. I can feel care radiating from him, and it warms my heart.

"Hey, Bea," Ross whispers into my ear, his voice filled with tenderness. "So sorry I couldn't come sooner. The bus schedule from New Town to Saratoga was a bit of a nightmare."

"That's fine," I whisper back. "You're here now, and that's what matters."

"Are you okay? Are you feeling well? After everything that happened yesterday I was so worried." He holds me tighter, his touch sending shivers down my spine.

I lean into his magical embrace, feeling a sense of security wash over me. We just stand there, wrapped in each other's warmth, cherishing the perfect moment. In his tender, caring hug, I find solace and strength.

Then I sigh and nod, pulling away from Ross. A small, serene smile spreads across my face. "I'm fine, Ross. I should be the one asking you how you are. And Lu. And Z-man. Lu told me he's on the mend?" I sit on the frozen grass, and pat the spot next to me on a quirky, cute winter blanket adorned with multiple illustrations of guinea pigs.

Ross drops down next to me with eagerness. "He is. Feeling loads better. He told me to convey a secret message."

I quirk a brow. "Oh? Which is?"

"Tell Bea it's not her fault. That it was my choice, and my choice alone, dude. You tell her that. His words."

"Yes, that does sound like him, mostly because of the "dude" part." We both laugh mirthfully at the same time.

"It's so good to see you," he says.

I feel a surge of happiness. "You too, Ross. I've missed you." Even if we haven't seen each other in only two days, a little voice in the back of my head adds.

Ross takes a moment to catch his breath, his eyes scanning the surroundings. "This place is amazing. How did you find it?"

I gesture towards the serene lake surrounding us. "I stumbled upon it some months ago during one of my early autumn hikes in the region. It's a true hidden gem."

We sit there, enjoying the peacefulness of the moment, the sound of the gentle breeze rustling through the trees. In this secluded paradise, it's just Ross and me. Just the two of us.

In silence, we stare out over the rolling gelid expanse.

The sky shifts from sooty gray into periwinkle, then to a weird soupy green. In the end, the clouds fill with melon pink light.

"Porsche pink." We say at the same time and giggle. "Jinx."

Like a shimmering disk too rich and clear to be described, the sun slips over the horizon and lines everything with gold.

"It's like seeing the world being born, and we are the sole witnesses," says Ross.

"Or it's like seeing the world dying. And not being able to do anything about it, just watch on helplessly." I wring my hands.

He swallows but continues in a faux-cheerful tone. "Speaking of dying, too bad my battery died. I love drawing and taking photos, and that is what I want to do for a living."

"I never knew that." 

"If the vet vocation doesn't work out, that is. There is no better satisfaction than snapping a precisely right image at the right moment in time. Or illustrating the landscape exactly as I see it. I love the challenge of learning a new posture, and I love discovering patterns. I find it fascinating how the exact same object, or a person, can appear so differently under multiple angles and light sources. Or drawn by a different artist. Not to mention there is so much physics in soap bubbles, their colors, and forces which mold them."

I stare at the little lights of homesteads that start turning on one by one, deep down below me. Each light — a family. A human family.

The air is cool against my face and I glance at my phone screen. The signal's gone now. Strange sense of relief floods me when I think I'm not being instantly, 24/7 available to anyone who might need me for whatever reason. It's liberating.

Down below, the lake water is dark blue and serene.

I go rigid when I smell that rainy and earthy scent, and don't dare to turn to Ross.

His fingers brush mine, and a line of fire goes through me, burning me so badly that my eyes prick with tears. I wished—wished he wasn't touching my beastly hand, that his fingers don't have to caress the contours of this wretched cursed being that is me.

Still,  I live for this moment—my life is beautiful again for those few seconds when our hands grazed.

Is this what happiness looks like? A flutter-by? A winged moment in time we wish would last forever?

Being here with Ross is remembering the childhood carefreeness. We are at that strange age when we are not exactly kids, but not exactly adults either. 

And I'm at that strange crossroads when I am not exactly a human, but not exactly a beast, either.

A surprising snowflake gently kisses my nose, and I look up. More and more of them dance gracefully from the heavens, their delicate forms twirling and swirling in the wintry air. Soon the meadow becomes a canvas, blanketed in pristine white. The snowflakes get caught in our hair, clinging to every strand, transforming us into ethereal creatures of the winter.

"Saratoga Lake snowfall," says Ross. "It's really something."

"You know the one thing I love about snow?"

Ross shakes his head, his hands on his dark scarf. "No, what?

I can feel the wicked gleam in my eye. Bending down, I roll up a very tiny snowball with the speed of lightning and lob it at Ross' torso. It explodes on contact, sending snow flying into his face and hair. "Snowball fights!"

"Hey!" Ross says, his eyes going wide.

"What? You said it yourself once upon a time: I'm a goddamn force of nature." While I am busy laughing at him, he dumps two entire handfuls of snow on my head.

Big handfuls.

I fake-roar and barrel into Ross, headbutting him in the stomach. We tumble around in the grass, me ending up atop of him.

"How do you like that, boy?" I growl in triumph. "Oh, you are blushing." I stick my tongue out at him.

"Because you're interrogating me!" He whips off his glasses to rub at his eyes. "It was a slip of the brain, giving me away. And I hate that too, almost as much as the glasses. It always gives away how I'm feeling. I've never been able to talk to a cute girl without turning into a fucking tomato."

"Would I fall into that category?"

His deepening blush says it all. Huh. Ross Thorne thinks I am a cute girl.

"You know you're not unattractive," he says after a few seconds of silence. "You don't need me to validate that."

"True, I don't, but that doesn't mean it's not nice to hear." I must really be starved for compliments if "not unattractive" makes me feel this great about myself, if the warmth in my chest is any indication. "Plus, ugh, my hair is all... snowy." I grab my phone and use it as a fake mirror.

I'm afraid of the mythological beast I'll see in the reflection, but I sneak a glance anyway. My eyeliner I tried to apply a day ago has mostly faded, and mascara has migrated down my cheek.

And Gorgona the Medusa would envy the way my hair looks right about now.

I swipe it away, then tug the elastic out of it so I can wring out the snow water as best I can. Stupid locks.

"You're always messing with your hair." Ross smiles.

I withdraw a hand from my curls like I've been caught doing something I shouldn't be. It's strange when someone else notices your nervous habits.

"My stupid curls," I say with a sigh. "I can never decide what to do with them. And these hideous ears."

He studies me for a long moment, as though I am a physics equation he's trying to translate into words.

"I like them the way they are," he says finally, which isn't helpful, and somehow makes me more self-conscious.

Now I totally want to iron them. I am not taking hair advice from Ross Thorne.

As we speak, snow gets heavier, creating a winter wonderland. I tug on his hand, deciding we should head to the tent.

"Ah," says Ross as he crawls inside after me. "A haven of comfort."

Can't disagree with that. Soft rays of the lamp cast a gentle glow upon the cozy space. A huge light purple sleeping bag nestled on the cushioned mat, invites rest and relaxation. The scent of nature still lingers in the air, reminding us of the cold beauty just beyond the tent's walls. It's my sanctuary, my place to escape the world.

When we settle in, Ross speaks up: "Your hair should be unfettered. A nomad hair. It should go wherever gravity and wind takes it."

I shake the snowflake droplets off like a puppy and he protests feebly.

"But maybe not in my mouth? I might be able to help with your fur taming."

"And what would your help involve?" I grin.

"Well, it would be a complex endeavor involving questions of symmetry, hair tension and recalcitrant lass."

"Re-what?" I stick my tongue at him and Ross blushes.

But I am not about to miss out on the fur taming. I snuggle up in his lap, and peace washes over me. In this intimate moment, his care and affection envelop me. It's a simple gesture but it speaks volumes of my trust.

I never did this with anyone before, and I do not think I will be able to with anyone after.

Ross runs his fingers through my hair, as I close my eyes and savor the tranquility of the moment. His touch is like a gentle breeze, and I feel so grateful for his presence.

In this quiet space, with the soft rhythm of Ross' caress, I feel safe and cared for. Our connection deepens as the strands of my hair intertwine with his fingers, creating a bond that goes beyond words.

"This would have been easier," he teases, "were you in that cute kitten form."

"Ugh, don't mention that day to me." I huff.

"I really did have fun with you that day."

"One day - is but a flea of hope." I quote Cloud Atlas at him.

"Yay, but fleas aren't so easy to rid of." He quotes it back. 

"Oh fine, the supermarket part was fun." Slowly, I wriggle myself out of Ross' lap and then I inch closer to him, watching his face carefully. His brows twitch, and if I didn't know any better, I'd say he's swaying slightly in my direction.

One and a half more steps and we'd be lying chest to chest, hip to hip.

"Was that so hard to admit?" He asks, his smile deepening into a smirk.

I fist a hand in my hair and let out a strangled, frustrated sound. "God, you are such an infuriating nitpick."

It doesn't come out cruel, though. Teasing, maybe, but not cruel.

"But you like it." It's possibly the boldest thing he's said all day, and when he inches closer, I can feel the heat radiating off him. No wonder he was fine parting with his hoodie last week—the boy is a human sauna.

"You like being infuriated. By me."

I do. I like it so much.

My breath hitches. Ross must be able to hear it, because one side of his mouth slants up, and he runs his hand along the sleeping bag until it almost but not quite touches mine. There's so little space between our bodies now. His scent is earthy and heady, making me ache for something I didn't know I wanted.

Our hands find each other. "Hands are meant to be held. They have such shapes," says Ross.

"Really?" I turned and found my face mere inches from his. "And how do you know that? Who taught you?"

He captures my hands in his, and looks deep into my eyes. "I know enough. And I learned from you. You taught me a great deal."

When was the last time anyone looked at me this way? With admiration. Adoration. Sincerity. The intensity in his eyes nearly undoes me.

Ross gives me this look that's half-amused and half-serious, one that turns me electric. His gaze is steady, and I have a view of the gorgeous angles of his throat as he swallows hard.

"You're messing with me now."

"No," he says in earnest, so close to me that I can almost hear his heart beat in time with mine. "You did teach me a great deal. And I just realized something, Beatrice Laurent. It's pointless to chase moments. And sunsets. They find you."

The lamplight lingering in his hair reminds me of the very last ray of sunset we saw together.

And that's what pushes me over the edge. Before I can overthink it, before I spend forever dreaming up the perfect moment, I lunge forward, pinning him against the sleeping bag and covering his mouth with mine.

When our lips meet, embers turn to flame.

I wrap my arms around Ross' neck and he pulls me taut against his chest. He hadn't shaved for some time and I feel his stubble scraping my lips, my jaw, my cheeks. Where before he'd been reticent and withdrawn, now he nips at my lips with his teeth, pushing hard against my mouth, claiming me as his own in a wild feral way.

It was like every feeling, every hidden craving I'd kept behind my immovable mask was now out in the open, flooding every synapse. I finally lost control and that knowledge is driving me mad. Our tongues clash together, vying for control, like two sworn enemies overcome with desire.

I am liquid fire, a drop of molten heat in his arms. Even if we were in the darkness, with snow swirling around us, I am sure I am on a tropical island, the sun blazing on my skin.

All of the books are wrong.

They miss the space between. The strange, thick air that fills with electricity as Ross leans closer. My skin tingles as he swipes a piece of hair behind my ear, his fingertips brushing against my cheek, and my breath catches in my throat.

In all the books I've read, the author always described the physicality—the heat of their skin and the freckle on the left side of their lip and the way their eyebrows bunch together as they lean in, slowly, questioningly—but never the soft feeling of... just being.

Where I feel safe.

Where I don't have to be anyone amazing, where I don't have to fit into some stupid mold, where I'm not the girl with the adoptive parents, or the girl with the strict dad, or the girl who was given a pair of earrings that incidentally turned her into a beast.

It's just a Ross space, small and warm, that fits like a glove for Beatrice Laurent.

This is unimaginable.

Ross' face turns ten shades of red when we break apart. He stares at me, eyes wide, still bent toward me like a tree in a hurricane.

"I—I—I am so sorry," he fumbles, beginning to pull away.

My fingers snag into his jeans pocket to stop him. My stomach flips. I don't know if it's from butterflies, or if I'm about to be sick. 

"I—I've never kissed anyone before. It was bad, wasn't it? It must have been so bad, and you've probably kissed so many people, and God I am so mortified and—"

"Gentler, Thorne," I say tenderly, a smile tugging at the edge of my lips, and he presses his soft mouth against mine once more.

My heart kicks against my rib cage like a wild horse.

His one hand still tangled in my hair, the other curling around the back of my waist, anchoring me, his thumb slipping between the hem of my shirt and the edge of my jeans, brushing against my skin so lightly that goose bumps ripple up my body.

My mouth migrates boldly down his neck, and I plant a kiss where I know his rose-shaped birthmark is, lovingly, tenderly, and Ross shivers.

I become lost in the ebb and flow of his lips, and mine, and then his again, his tongue playing against mine, dancing. He tastes like the Chocolate Murder pancakes Lu served us some nights ago: sweet and satisfying, and oh my stars I am lost.

"Guapa. Eres muy guapa . Toda tú." He murmurs, running his fingers through my hair.

"You learned some Spanish for me?" I smile sadly.

"Yes," he states the fact and kisses me again, slow and reassuring. "Yet my Spanish language proficiency might improve with persistent practice. Come to think of it, not unlike my kissing proficiency."

I almost tear up, and I cling to him, desperate for that connection I had with no other, and he does not deny me. I hide my head under his chin, and Ross shifts his weight to roll by my side. We twine our lower limbs together, as he tucks me into the cradle of his chest. Pressing his nose to my temple, he breathes in my scent.

My swollen eyelids heavy with exhaustion finally close as his body heat entices me into a sleep only those familiar with heartbreak could enter. His soothing whispers follow, and somehow that makes my sadness all the more bearable. I feel a slight thud in the earth, and the spring rain and new grass scent of Ross cloys in my nose as he lays beside me. I tingle with pleasure as he strokes my hair.

"I had such a lovely dream. I never slept so wonderfully before," says Ross.

Ditto. I feel so warm, nestled beside him. Calm. 

Faintly, echoing into my world of slumber, Ross speaks again, his breath caressing my ear: "There's something sweet about you."

"No. Nope. I forbid you to say that. There's nothing sweet about me." I smile into his shoulder.

"There is. You're kind of cute."

I grr at Ross but I still snuggle up close to him with a sigh. One last embrace. "Ross."

"Hmm?" His voice is lazy, happy, content.

"When I told Lu to send you my location pin..."

"Best decision ever."

"It was because I wanted to talk to you."

"Okay." He shifts on the sleeping bag so that we are looking each other in the eyes, and that innocent, adoring gaze makes it all that harder.

"What happened in Lu's house two days ago... It can't happen again."

"And it won't. Trust me. Gus just got an upper hand on us, that's it. He surprised us once. But he won't do it again. I'll talk to him. Face to face. I think he got his sighting money from the park rangers and..."

"I can't take that risk."

"What do you mean?" His adoring gaze turns wary, taken aback.

I hate myself for the words I'm about to say. "This time Z got hurt. Next time it could be Lu. Or you. And your relationship with your brother is already dented enough because of me to begin with."

"There won't be a next time." His voice turns pleading. "You're about to master your shifting and... We'll be careful."

"You don't know that. We don't know that. I don't want to hurt anyone ever again. Not Amparo. Not even my stupid adoptive parents."

"So what are you...?" Ross searches my face eagerly, as if looking for a sign that will tell him it's a lie, that I can't mean what I'm about to say. When he doesn't find it, his hand gestures around my tent. "This... It's not just a camping trip?" He begins trembling in earnest.

I look him in the eyes and say very slowly and very deliberately: "No. No it's not."

"If you're leaving for good, then I'm coming with you."

"No, Ross. I don't want you in harm's way."

"Please don't send me away. This beautiful feeling... That started developing between us. I want us to try."

"It's too dangerous, Ross. I need to be alone. Live alone. Somewhere far away from all people, where no one will get hurt."

"But what about me?"

"I care about you. And I like you. But this is for your own good. You could get hurt."

"So you're sending me away because I'm what... useless in a fight?"

"I'm sending you away because it makes me sick thinking about you risking your life beside me. Because of me!"

Silence falls, filled only by the sounds of his heavy breathing. Ross sinks onto the bed and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.

His words echo through me, melting my anger, turning everything inside me watery and frail. "How ... how long do I have to go away for?"

I don't reply.

"A week?"

No answer.

"A month?" He shakes his head slowly.

My upper lip curls, but I force myself into neutrality.

"A year?"

That much time away from him ...

"I don't know."

"But not forever, right?"

"I... I don't know, Ross. Hey I don't even know if I'll be able to master this before my birthday. I could... fail."

We stare at each other's eyes and silent tears fall down his cheek. He leans in to taste my lips again, and we kiss like mad. I can't kiss him deeply enough, can't hold him tightly enough, can't touch enough of him. Words aren't necessary.

Because we are here and now and it's just the two of us, tearing down the castle in the sky that we built.

I wipe away his tears trying to lift myself up too in the process. "I mean, even if it doesn't work out... If I don't learn how to shift properly. Who wants to grow old, and, you know, end up in some disastrous old folks home? Hair falling out, hands shaking, brown age spots all over your skin? Forgetting your own name?"

"Please don't talk like that."

"Perhaps it is for the best for my humanity and my life force to fade away now, while I'm still young and free?"

We step outside the tent, and onto the frozen grassy meadow basking in the glow of the first sunlight.

Ross gazes wistfully at the village below us, his hands in his pockets. "I envy them."

"Who?" I ask, even if I already know the answer.

"The people down there. They are privileged. If they want to up meet tomorrow, after tomorrow, they can. And we can't. Not ever. And every moment we spend talking now, it feels like we are stealing our precious time."

"We always ran on borrowed time anyway, Ross. But I am lucky I have had you in my life. Regardless of what happens after I turn eighteen. After I turn feral."

And I so mean it.

I am lucky to have had him. At least for a little while. He's one of the few people I have grown very close to. I don't want to go. I want to stay with him forever in this time bubble.

I run my hands through his coarse hair, steal his glasses, boop his nose and straighten his short collar. It's a full-on Bea-finger-inspection. I am trying to memorize every little detail of his body.

His thumb finds mine and initiates a last thumb battle we will ever have. This time, it's an easy victory for me.

"Fine, fine. You win." Ross somehow manages a smile under his pallor and tears.

Our fingers clutch onto one another like lifelines.

"Can you say that again? I like the way it sounds."

"Shameless," he says but there's that lazy-sweet-sly smile again. The one I know is solely mine.

Something tightens in my throat. As I gaze into the frozen grass, I imagine what the spring will be like. Maybe there will be two yellow butterflies fluttering around, flirting in the air. Maybe there will be two swallows flying high above in the clear blue sky.

But there will be no spring for me.

No spring for us.  

A/N: Theme song: Grover Washington ft. Bill Withers "Just The Two of Us"