Labyrinth (working title)

It is too late to smile completely. It is too early to be crying. So we are laughing. Laughing.

We’re soft steps and low breathing in the sullen half-light, streetlights playing with our shadows as you pull me through the streets.

“Luc, where-” You wave my words away with your hand, ignoring my question by asking your own.

“If everyone knew where Atlantis was, would it be as magical? Would there be Disney franchises and endless Matt Groening parodies of the city under the sea?”

You don’t need an answer. You never need an answer. You only say these things so I’ll have them stuck in my head forever, pointlessly trying to work them out. So I just shut up, and let you pull me further on. My brain switches off for a moment, giving over to our fast-paced steps and your constant tug on my wrist.

Until, at last, we are here.

It’s not a here I know. It’s a here proclaimed by you, in that grand, sweeping voice – “we’re here, sweetheart” – as you finally let go of my wrist.

I blink, letting my eyes gradually focus on our surroundings.

“Luc?”

“Yeah, Nathan?”

“Why have you brought me to a wall?”

“Aha, but not just any wall.”

Bricks and mortar sit before my eyes, solid and crumbled. It looks every inch your average wall. “No?”

“No. This, my dear friend, is the wall separating us from Saffron Walden maze.”

Oh god. Not the maze. ”Luc, you’re not-”

“Shush, Nate. We’re just going to visit the gardens, okay?” Your green eyes gaze black in the darkness. Those green eyes that you always fix on me with such intensity. Those green eyes that I can’t bear to deny. “Just trust me, okay? You know you can’t get hurt if I’m there with you. Please, Nathan. Trust me.”

“But…” I don’t want to leave the streetlights, with their friendly, comforting glow. I don’t want to step off the solid pavement, onto the soft, unreliable grass. I don’t want to climb the only wall separating us from complete uncertainty. “Luc, I…”

“Please?”

God, I hate your puppy dog eyes.

---

The moment my feet hit wet soil, I want to turn back.

Well, that’s a lie. I want to turn back before I even hook my foot between the first few stones at the bottom of the wall. But when I feel my shoe sink through the ground just that little bit, those few inches that are enough to drown in, I want to be anywhere other than where I am at that moment.

Until your fingers snake around mine, and you whisper in my ear, breath hot on my cheek: “don’t you just love mystery?”

But then, being good old changeable Luc, you suddenly leap away from me, bounding away over the misted grass.

“Luc! Lucas, wait up! Come back!” You know I don’t like to be left alone, and yet you’re hop, skip, jumping away from me. “Lucas!”

You’re not listening. You’re far too happy, wrapped up in your own euphoria. So I have no choice but to run over the soft ground, trying to catch up with you, trying, trying, trying…

I grab your sleeve. “Luc! Don’t do that, seriously…”

But you’re not looking at me. Your eyes are fixed on the heavens above. “Luc…” I follow your gaze, up, up, up. To the skies. To the galaxies we may fly to, as a nation, but as a power, will never touch. To the stars, which shine brighter than anything else.

At least, that’s what the fairy tales say.

Your face still a framed picture of sheer awe at the expanse of it all, you pull me closer to you, your arm tight around my shoulders.

“Let’s get lost, tonight.”

---

You always talk about ‘getting lost’. You always talk about cutting loose, breaking free – “we won’t have to worry about debt, or tax, or jobs, or mortgages, we won’t have to worry at all if we don’t want to!” – you always talk about it as a future. A dream. An aspiration.

But you know what happens to the stars that shoot too high. It’s not like Beauty and the Beast, your favourite fairy tale – “you’re my beauty, Nathan darling” – and it’s definitely not like Spiderman, your favourite superhero, where the nerd gets the beautiful girl every single time.

It’s nothing like that.

And yet, I’ve ended up with you.

And you’re definitely something worth keeping.

---

So because you’re my Mary-Jane, you’re the Tyler to my Marla Singer, I’ll get lost with you. I’ll let you tug me into the maze (God, you pull me around too much), and when you tell me to close my eyes and follow your voice, I will.

But I won’t let go of your hand. Every single conscious part of me will be in that hand you hold, breathing heavily and shakily, trying to push down the panic.

And I’m trying to think, how long has the world been quiet? Where did the all the traffic go? Why can I only hear the thud, thud, thud of my heartbeat and the pad-pad, pad-pad, pad-pad, of our feet? Why can I only feel the wind rushing past us, and the gentle grip of your fingers? And why can I only think of how exquisitely simple and dangerously complicated this is?

“Luc, I-“

Your steps stop. Your breathing gets louder as your shoes squeak in the grass, turning round to me.

“Luc, I- I’m scared.”

“Open your eyes, Nate.”

“I don’t want to, I-“ if I open them, it’ll just be dark sky and darker hedges, crowding in on me, squashing me up, taking me in.

“Nathan. Open your eyes.”

“I-“

“Nathan!”

Open your eyes. Nothing there. White light. White light. White light.

“Nathan?”

Fall into arms in front of you. Feel soft fabric. Softer touch. Comfort. Safety. “It’s okay, Nathan. It’s okay.”

It’s okay. It’s okay.

---

I’ve been this frailty for years. More than years. Maybe my whole life. Maybe, my entire life has just been this tortured masquerade of fearfulness, with me as the nervous, hidden, being-on-the-edge.

Whatever. All I know is that I’m a mess. I’m a complete and utter mess.

It’s hard to remember a time before every flick of a light switch sent shivers down my spine, a time when I could sit happily in the dark for hours on end, or get into a lift with five other people perhaps without hyperventilating this time?

Even when I was little, I was a ‘panicker’. A ‘worrier’. Mum couldn’t leave me with anyone else for too long, because I’d get scared and cry, or throw a tantrum, or just block myself into a corner and refuse to move.

Those first few years of school were horrible. I’d never been sent to nursery, so when, all of a sudden, I was left in a strange room, with strange people and strange wallpaper, and those very, very strange bells every few hours from nine AM to three PM, I wouldn’t do anything. Couldn’t.

It wasn’t until I got into the juniors, and they told me that if I didn’t do work, I’d get thrown out of school, that I met Luc.

Lucas. Lucas Waters. Blond hair, blue eyes, just transferred over from a school in Chicago, Illinois.

He was pretty much perfect.

Even now, I can hear that American buzz in his voice. That little inflection at the end of every sentence. Even as he whispers to me, trying to calm me down, trying to let me let him in, I find myself focussing on that tiny bit of internationality.

It’s strange how even after ten years of this country, you still have Home buried in you. It’s less than half of your past, but it still affects your future.

‘The past is infinite’, you said to me once. ‘You can’t predict the future, or how your present will change. But one thing you can be sure of is your past. It’s stopped, but it’ll live on forever. It’s gone and done, but I bet you can remember yesterday better than you can foresee tomorrow.’

---

“Do you want to keep walking?”

“What?” I’m blinking, blinking, blinking. The white’s dispersing, spreading out of my vision. Orange dots are appearing instead, orange, pink, red, orange.

“Do you want to keep going, or turn back and go home?”

“I…” I stagger out of Luc’s arms, glancing around me. There are hedges all around. We’re pretty far into the maze.

“Because we can, I don’t mind. And if you’re gonna panic again, then this isn’t fun at all.”

I ruined everything, that’s what he means. I always ruin everything. “We can keep going.”

“Are you sure, Nate? I don’t want for you to get scared, that wasn’t my idea at all.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Just… just hold my hand?”

You smile at me through the darkness. “I’ll hold your hand anywhere, Nathan.”

And you take my fingers into yours, wrapped up in the security and the warmth and the safety, and whisper: “wanna go further?”

And suddenly, I do.

---

“Hi.”

I look up. My hair hangs over my eyes, and I can’t really see. “Hi?”

“I’m Luc.”

“Oh.” I brush away the hair with the back of my hand, and squint up at him. “Hi?”

He laughs. Short, but not unkind. “We already did that part.”

“Oh.” I consider standing up. It feels slightly intimidating, with him crowding over me the way he is, and I must look a bit stupid, crouching down in the corner of the playground like this.

He’s still looking at me, an expectant smile on his face. I glance up for a moment. His eyes touch mine for just a second, and then I look away again.

“What’s your name?”

“It’s – my name? It’s um – it’s Nathan. Nate. Nathaniel.”

Oh god, what did I say now? He’s grinning, and I can tell his lips are just waiting to split into some cascade of laughter.

Just like the rest.

“Well hi, Nathan, Nate, Nathaniel.” He extends a hand out to me. Shaking hands? God, how old are we, thirty? No. No, we’re ten years old. Ten year olds don’t shake hands. My dad shakes hands. I don’t. I stare at his fingers for a moment, frozen. He takes the hand back, and tucks it into his school trousers. “Suit yourself. You can stay down there if you want to.”

“Oh, I…” stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. Of course he didn’t want to shake hands, he was offering me a hand getting up. Stupid. Stupid. I attempt to scramble to my feet, and promptly slip, landing right on my bum. Great. Just great.

Across the tarmac, I see some year four girls stop playing hopscotch for long enough to giggle in my general direction, then continue. Great.

I stare at the gravel by my feet, the tiny stones and rocks collected around my shoes.

“Hey…” I feel a hand touch against my arm, and I glance over at my side. It’s Luc.

He’s sitting next to me.

Lucas Waters is sitting next to me.

“Hey, are you okay? You never seem to talk to anyone or play at break or anything…”

“I’m –“ He cares. Lucas Waters cares about me. “I’m fine, really.”

“Are you sure?”

“Y- yeah.”

“Well, I’m sort of new here, but you seem cool. So if you don’t mind, could I sit next to you at lunch?”

“Well, I guess, I mean, you – yeah. Yeah, you can.” I smile at him, because he’s smiling back already.

“Awesome.”

“Yeah. Awesome.”

---

“Do you remember the first time we met?”

I roll my eyes at him, even though it’s past midnight, and definitely past light. “Of course I remember. How could I forget?”

“We were so young then, weren’t we?”

“Jesus, you’re talking like we’re fifty or something. It was only seven years ago.”

“Yeah, but… we’re so much older now.”

My feet are still crackling over the ground, crushing the leaves, elbows pushing into hedges to make a clean path. “Well, that’s what time does, Luc. It ages you.”

He stops in front of me suddenly, and I almost trip over my feet as I slam on the brakes. He spins round, and grabs both of my hands, one in each of his. I’m about to curse him for stopping like that, but his eyes cut me off. His stare. I can’t speak.

“Seven years, Nate. I’ve known you for seven years. Nathan, Nate, Nathaniel. Nathaniel Barker, I think I love you.”

And I’m about to return it, say I love him too, but he stops me.

Because it’s hard to talk with lips on your lips. Tongue on your tongue. Hand on your cheek.

Words on your words.

---

“We’re at the centre.”

“We are?”

“Yeah, look.”

I glance over Luc’s shoulder. “I see a hedge.”

“Left, dumbass. Look left.”

I do.

Long, perfectly untamed grass. A rotting wooden bench, the plaque unreadable through the rust. A small statue, carved out of long-weathered stone. And at the centre of it all, a metal platform, about ten foot high, with black steps leading up to the top.

“We’ve made it, Nate. We’ve made it.”

He skips away from me, over the early morning grass exuberance floating through the air. A passing nuance on the way to bliss.

The lights in the clearing mean I don’t have to strain my eyes to see, thank God. But I still don’t feel safe. At all.

“Luc?”

“Come on, Nate! Come up the tower with me!” His voice is young, almost whining.

“Luc, it – it’s dark.”

“No shit, Sherlock. Come on, I’ll hold your hand once you get up here and catch me!” He’s climbing the steps now, his quick feet click, click, clicking on the metal.

I don’t want to move, but I can’t bear this deathly stillness.

I don’t want to feel alone, but getting to Lucas means picking up my feet. And right now, I can’t do that. I can’t. I can’t. They won’t move.

“Hurry up, Nate!”

And he’s up the tower.

I have no choice.

I run.

---

“Look, kid. Be what you are. Wear what you want. Just learn to run real fast.”

I’d never been a fan of Ugly Betty. She didn’t seem that ugly to me, to be honest. It seemed like the basic equation for ugliness was now fringe + braces + thick glasses = ugly, which I took slightly offensively, considering I had at one time been a victim of all of those three things. (Now, however, the fringe had been swept off to one side, my teeth were straight and contacts had managed to slip themselves into my routine.) To me, she was actually fairly beautiful.

And Hell, I don’t even like girls that way.

But Luc liked it. And if Luc liked it, then I’d watch it.

Every time I stayed round his, he’d break out the box sets and we’d cuddle up on the sofa, sharing crisps and philosophising about whatever sprang to mind.

The episode when that quote popped up, we watched on a Thursday. It was raining outside, and the thin shards of water were crashing against the window. Every so often, lightening flashed above us, setting the sky on fire.

It was Marc St. James, our favourite character, who said it. Played by Michael Urie, and flamingly gay. No wonder we loved him.

The tiny Latino boy with self-confidence issues, in serious need of leaping out of his closet. Great fashion taste for a ten year old though.

And Marc just sat him down, smiled at him, and said those words.

And it’s been stuck in my head ever since.

---

“Jesus, that was fast.”

I catch Luc’s waist from behind as I stumble onto the metal platform, making him turn round in my arms, grinning.

“Bitch.”

“What?” he says, arms slipping off my waist as he makes puppy eyes at me, sticking his bottom lip out, eyes open wide and glossy. “Don’t you love me, Nathan baby?”

I roll my eyes at him. A person like Luc requires a lot of eye-rolling.

“Nathan…” he whines my name, resting a hand on my cheek.

“Don’t be cute.”

“Aw, but Natey, I love you, don’t you love me?”

“You shouldn’t have left me. I was scared.”

“Sorry Nate…” his hand drops with his head, and his eyes gaze at the floor, flicking up to mine for a moment as he whispers, “I won’t do it again…” Just like a child caught with a broken window and tennis ball.

“Of course you won’t.” I take his chin in my hand, lifting his face up to mine. “And of course I love you.” I peck a kiss on his nose. “Just don’t be such an adorable twat next time I try to tell you off.”

He sticks his tongue out. “I can’t help being gorgeous, sweetie.”

I smack a hand across the back of his head, careful to be as light as possible. “Yeah, right.”

A few seconds of silence pass between us. Luc grins at me, before glancing out over the metal railings, and transfixing himself with the distance of night.

“Lucas, why are we here?”

He sighs, eyes flicking down and then back up, then finally resting on my own. “Because… I wanted to give you this, Nate.”

“What?”

“The view. The atmosphere. The sensation of being locked inside the labyrinth, with all of your town below you. I first came up here a few years ago, and it just felt like a fairy tale. And it’s something I think you should have. So here I am, giving it to you.”

And I don’t know what to say. “I – thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

He pecks my lips gently, barely touching them with his own. “Don’t waste what I’m giving you, Nathan. Don’t waste it.”

“Luc…” I catch his arm before he pulls away completely, and kiss him again. “What are you giving me? There’s something bigger. You’re not just giving me a view, a place. You’re giving me something else.”

He sighs, then looks down, then back up at me. As he turns to face the view again, his fingers curl around mine, and he whispers into the darkness: “love.”