Onus 07

Most of the windows were curtained. Shining and empty in the clouded light. On the ground floor, he could see yellow light, and the outline of somebody's head and shoulders. When he started pulling into the garage-barn, the outline disappeared.

Sam sat in his car for a moment after he pulled the keys from the ignition. He could hear the cold winds whipping around the corners of the barn. He could hear the buzz from the ceiling light. Thinking about the surgery, it made him think about the first time he saw Shiloh naked. That first night.

The thing that had struck him most was his eyes. He hadn't known Shiloh's name, but the hurt Onus had followed him with glassy leaking eyes, shivering convulsively. He was so frail. Nothing but a bundle of bones and bruise-mottled skin. His sensory patches hadn't been a healthy pink, but a diseased-looking grey.

So much had changed since that first day. Sam got out of his car and wrapped his coat more tightly around him for the short walk to the house. He tucked the insulated lunch-bag under his arm, and hoped that its contents wouldn't change anything. He hoped that Shiloh wouldn't look at him with fear ever again.

The bare trees were dumping their loads of snow. Not because of warmth, but because of the harsh winds. The tops of the trees scraped the sky, like hands elongated in supplication. The wind flung them back and forth, scrabbling them against the side of the house. The sound was thin and high.

In vain, Sam searched the windows for a familiar silhouette.

Shy was waiting for him when he walked into the entryway. He was bundled up in an old crewneck sweatshirt of Sam's. And a pair of baggy cut-off sweatpants that didn't cover his walking casts. He hugged the legal pad to his chest, a pen twined between his fingers.

As soon as he made eye contact, Sam felt muscles in his shoulders relax. Muscles that he didn't even know had been tense. Shiloh mirrored his sudden smile. The smile transformed him, turned up the corners of his eyes. He had the deepest dimples of anyone Sam could think of. He closed the gap between them with clunking footsteps. Sam had time to open his arms, but it wasn't really his invitation. Shiloh had come to him.

"Thanks." Shy whispered. "For coming home." The words almost sounded normal. Like it wasn't so hard for Shiloh to find them.

"I... It's good to be home. When you're here, anyway." It felt sappy-sweet to say. But it elicited an extra squeeze from the young man in his arms.

What are we? Sam despaired.

Shiloh broke the hug and eagerly pushed the legal pad into Sam's hands. Just a glance told him that it wasn't a simple note. A third of the page was filled with painstakingly neat script. Shiloh had titled it.

A Strange Dream

"Can I sit down first?" Shiloh shrugged impatiently and clopped away to the couch. Something was important about this dream. If it was making Shy so impatient.

Sam was grateful for it. It was good to see him impatient. Good to see him roll his eyes at the gentle rebuke. Every joke, every sign of Shiloh's wry humor, or emerging confidence, was a good sign.

"Well, how about while I read it, you go to the scale in the laundry room. I can see you've put some meat on your bones, but I need the numbers."

Shiloh pooched out his stomach and cradled it in his hands. He made a face. Even when he strained, he couldn't make his stomach very big. He shuffled off to the stairs while Sam balanced the legal pad on his knee.

A Strange Dream

It's like I'm an eye. I'm a single point, but I can see in every direction at once. More than an eye, really. An eye can only see one little slice of 360 degrees. I see all the degrees. Only, even that isn't right. Because a two-dimensional circle has 360 degrees and I was in three dimensions. I could see every direction that there was, all at once. It was so bizarre. Like dreaming of a new color. I'm floating/flying/weightless. All around me, there was light. Like the northern lights. There were also stars. Incredible colors. Colors that I couldn't even begin to describe. I could see in every direction at once. I saw so many things, but I can hardly remember any of it. I remember a light that should have blinded me, all of me, but I just wanted to stare deeper into it. I felt like time was going a million years at a time. That's how fast the stars were moving all around me, if they were stars at all. I don't normally dream, but when I do it's nightmares. This was different. I know how it sounds. There's really not very much, but it felt so important while it was happening.

I wish I could describe it better.

The tone of the piece was sheepish. Sam could sense it in Shiloh when he came back down the stairs. Shy wrote 92 on the corner of the legal pad, before abruptly sitting on the couch next to him. Shy's shoulders were a little hunched, and his hands were folded.

"Not quite time to start dieting. Not for another thirty-forty pounds at least. For now, the doctor's order is to stuff your face."

Shiloh's laugh was breathy and soft. He gently drove his fist into Sam's left shoulder. He mock-punched while Sam mock-flinched, dramatically thrown back by each blow. Shiloh's giggles doubled, trebled, went silent with intensity. He leaned into Sam while he remembered how to breathe. The sudden friendly gesture was definitely part of a trend. Shiloh was becoming far more comfortable, physically. He was actively seeking out contact.

Sam longed for every touch. Ached with guilt for wanting it so badly.

"I don't dream very often." Sam lied. "If I do, I must not remember them very well, or I forget them." Sam could feel Shiloh's breathing. Jagged and rapid at first. But steadying and slowing at his words. He was a very good listener, after all.

"You wrote that it wasn't like the nightmares. It's a strange dream, but is it good?" Sam could feel Shy's shoulders when he shrugged.

"S'not bad."

It just felt so natural to put his arm around Shiloh. The younger man tensed, ever so slightly, but then he leaned closer. This felt like new territory. Shy didn't like to be confined. Not by anything. Even when they hugged, Sam was careful never to lock his arms behind Shy's back. Yet here he was. Relaxing. Tucking his head under Sam's chin. No comforter between them. Breathing slow and shallow. In a moment of comfortable silence.

It felt dangerous to break it. It also felt like there was no better time. "If you'd like, I can keep a notebook on my nightstand. If you have it again, you might be able to get more details while it's fresh."

Shiloh pulled away a little. They weren't pressed together, looking away, but facing each other. Sam felt like he could fall into those enormous black eyes. Shy's eyelashes were very long and white. When his eyes were half-closed, those lashes shuttered his eyes like blinds, but now they radiated out like pale rays. Shy's mouth was pale and tightly closed. Sam felt his shoulders wilting a little. Shiloh was cringing like a dog about to get hit. The young Onus was only able to keep eye contact for a few seconds, before hanging his head.

Sam hastily tried to pull his arm away, but Shiloh held his wrist with both hands, keeping his arm close.

"I'm a v-very light sleeper." Sam confessed. His face felt hot, his words filled his mouth like marbles. At that moment he wished more than anything that he could reverse time. Take back what he just said. Go back to that perfect silence.

"Sorry." Shy had lost his voice. He was only able to mouth the word. It broke Sam's heart to feel how he was shivering. "Do... Do you..."

With a frustrated moan, Shiloh snatched the pad. He scribbled his question down and shakily thrust the legal pad at Sam.

How long have you known?

"Well, I woke up and realized you were in the bed the night after you first came out and volunteered with Our Children. Shy, you don't have to be—"

Shiloh cut him off by writing furiously. Sam's hand started to slide off of his shoulder, and Shy adjusted it without thinking, shoving the pad in his face again. Shiloh stared at his knees, holding Sam's left hand with both of his. Holding it to his cheek, rocking slightly.

The skin was hot and smooth against Sam's palm.

Do you want me to leave?

"Shy..." He wanted to repeat himself, if only so Shiloh would look at him. "You can sleep wherever you want. If you want to sleep in my bed, then that's—"

Cut off again. Sam was too grateful that Shy was gaining confidence to be annoyed.

NO. Not ME. Do YOU want me to leave?

Shiloh tucked his chin to his chest, unable to look him in the eye. He was biting his lip and swaying back and forth very slightly. He ran one hand through his hair, before firmly putting it in his lap. Sam realized that Shiloh knew all of his own nervous tics perfectly well.

And likely despised them.

Shy shook his head like he was irritated by an insect, and leaned hard against him, almost aggressively. Sam realized with faint astonishment that Shy was afraid of rejection. The realization evoked tenderness, and something else that was far more embarrassing.

It seemed to take forever just to open his mouth. Sam nervously licked his lips, surprised by how dry they were. A million possible ways to say what he had to say flashed through his mind. But he settled on the simplest answer. The simplest truth.

"No."

He took a deep breath just as all of Shiloh's air went out of him in a sigh. The answer was too short, he rushed to clarify, stuttering worse than he had in ages. "I...I w-wouldn't muh-mind... no, I want you to stay. You d-don't need to st-stay. You don't have to d-do anything. But... I like your company. I-I'd miss y-you if you went b-b-buh-back upstairs."

"Izzit okay?" Shiloh whispered, but he was already smiling. The corners of his mouth cut dimples deep into his cheeks.

This time, Sam's physical response wasn't so subtle. He felt his cock practically leap to attention, instead of twitching. He not-so-casually yanked his bag into his lap. He couldn't tell if Shy flicked his eyes down or not. Every once in a while, Shiloh's head movements seemed exaggerated. Sam suspected that not unlike his tics, Shy was very aware of how his eyes looked. Sam suspected that he knew how to use that undifferentiated look to his advantage.

Regardless, Shy didn't react to his clumsy evasion.

"Yeah." He laughed, feeling his cheeks flush. "B-better than okay, really."

"Good." Shiloh nodded, as if to underline himself. "Good. Should we..."

He gestured to Sam's lap, and for about five seconds too long, he stared stupidly at the young man. "Oh... Yes. The um... checkup. Let's get this show on the road."

Sam felt like his face was on fire, but Shy was smiling. Showing his teeth. He was embarrassed, but this wasn't like the agonizing stress of being out there. In the real world. Constantly feeling the pressure of stranger's eyes, hearing their hushed voices, the weight of the silence that followed him from room to room.

With Shiloh, he didn't feel like hiding. The embarrassment didn't hurt. Instead he felt like he was in on some fantastic joke, instead of being the butt of it. He felt goofy, giddy.

Exhilarated.

Behind Shiloh's silvery hair, he could see the bank of windows. Nothing to see for miles except bare brown trees, a ribbon of empty road, so far away that the occasional car was noiseless in passing. It was snowing very lightly, or perhaps the wind was just kicking up a fine ice-dust. The air seemed to glitter in the lights from the house.

"Well, I guess we don't exactly... Exactly have to worry about scandalizing the n-neighbors." Shiloh covered a laugh behind his hand. Sam felt like if the corners of his mouth opened any wider, they would meet around the back of his head. His face hurt from smiling. He struggled to straighten his face, but it was impossible. "Your call. Upstairs, curtains, no curtains, whatever makes you comfortable."

Sam wanted to see how Shiloh's piercings were healing. Sam was expecting some hesitance, resistance, even fear. He knew that he could be outwardly professional with Shy's nudity, but he was sickened with how much he was looking forward to it. Inwardly he could think of nothing else but how much of a pervert he was. How predatory this felt, how monstrous.

So when Shiloh nodded and matter-of-factly squirmed out of his sweatshirt, Sam was barely ready for it. The Onus neatly folded the sweatshirt and started to untie the drawstring of his sweatpants before Sam gestured for him to stop.

"You can leave those on for now if it would, ah... be warmer." Sam wasn't feeling the cold much at all. He was sweating, but he didn't want to take of his own shirt. That, wouldn't feel right. To start stripping as Shiloh was...

Shy sat with his knees together, his feet slightly askew with the bulk of his casts. His hands slowly strangled each other in his lap, he watched them with his head bowed. Despite the young man's apparent nonchalance, Sam noted that his sensory patches on his upper back were flushed bright pink. Almost red. He wondered again, if Shy was looking at him. Using his undifferentiated eyes to peek.

Sam pulled on a pair of blue latex gloves. Shy didn't have any open wounds. The gloves were just a proxy, a tool for detachment, professionalism. He scooted a little closer on the couch. Was Shiloh shivering because of fear, or cold? Was he wringing his hands with worry, or just to still the ever-present tremble?

The young Onus turned to face him, and put his arms firmly at his sides as Sam reached out. His view was unobstructed.

Shy's skin was covered with faint yellow bruises, like coffee stains on his soft white skin. Especially around the left side of his ribcage. The initial x-rays had shown dozens of half-healed hairline fractures. He applied very gentle pressure with his thumb. "Tell me if this hurts."

Shiloh shrugged. "S'okay."

Sam took out the stethoscope slowly, handing the business end to Shiloh. "Can you put that on the right side of your chest? It's a little cold."

Shy warmed it in his hands, looking up at Sam in a rare moment of direct eye contact.

Shy's heartbeat seemed a tad fast. His breathing sounded much better. Deeper. Sam shifted position to better listen for crackles. He didn't think Shiloh had any fluid in his lungs, but he wanted to be sure.

"Breathe in deep... Hold it. Exhale. Again, hold it." His lungs were quiet, and he was breathing deeper than he had been able to since he came.

Despite warming it, and despite having it pressed against his chest, Shiloh still started a little bit when Sam pressed the drum of the stethoscope to his upper back, an inch or so below his sensory patches.

"Shy, does it bother you? When your clothes or your hair rubs against these patches?"

The younger man shrugged. "Used to it. Loose cotton... best." He ran fingers through his shoulder-length silky hair, and stared off like he was deep in thought. Sam waited for him to continue for a long minute, and was just about to ask him something else when Shy finally finished his thought. "Can you..."

He opened and closed his mouth silently for a second. Struggling. Then he lifted a hand and scissored his first and index finger.

"I cut my own hair. I'm no stylist, but I wont mangle it too badly. Now breathe deep as you can go."

Sam noticed some discoloration on Shy's pale nipples. He touched the skin just under with his thumb and pulled down to get a better look at the scabs.

The stethoscope was still pressed against Shy's back. He could hear the young man's heart stutter rapidly in response to the touch. Outwardly, he only twitched a little. Sam wanted to see if the scabs were loose. At the touch of his fingertip, the young man squeaked and flinched a little.

Sam hastily withdrew his hand. "Oh god, did I hurt you?" His voice cracked. Like he was a kid again.

Shy's cheeks were very pink. He silently shook his head.

Sam could feel some of that heat, as if Shy were transferring it. The young man was sensitive. He had overshot professionalism and directly into being obtuse.

"Oh. Oops. Um, I'm... sorry."

"S'okay." Shiloh whispered. Sam picked up Shiloh's sweater and offered it. "Sam?" Shiloh tucked his head and arms in the sweatshirt, fumbling for the neckhole.

"Yes?"

Shiloh stopped squirming inside the sweatshirt. He hesitated. Sam could see the crown of his head through the neckhole, but the young onus preferred to speak while his face was hidden.

"What happened?"

Shy's hand was so light on the side of his face. He felt the touch of the young man's fingers through the silk patch. Sam leaned into it, and Shiloh's hand relaxed, flattened. Cupping his scarred and pitted skin through under the thin silk.

He had been low-key dreading this moment since the very beginning. But when Shiloh finally asked the question, touching his left cheek, yet too shy to look him in the eye...

He didn't feel any dread. Only lightening in his chest. And a sense of incredible tenderness for the young man who slept in his bed.

"When I was a child, I had a twin." Sam felt himself saying. It was so quiet. The falling snow muffled everything outside. He was surprised how easy it was to say it. How much he wanted to say it. Shy's hand on his face made it easier, somehow. He could feel it with every word. "When my brother and I were born, it bankrupted my parents. I had a split palate. A harelip. Not just a split lip like some kids with the defect. I had a big slit connecting my nasal cavity and mouth. My top gums were misshapen, the bone never developed properly in utero. Half of my nose was just a snotty hole. I had a hard time breathing when I was a baby. Could barely latch on. I needed dental surgeries before I even had teeth."

"Even when they fixed my upper jaw and palate, so I could suckle and breathe, they didn't have money for 'cosmetic' reconstructive surgery to fix the split lip. No money for speech therapy either. I hardly spoke at all when I was young. When Isaiah and I were four... There was an accident. My mother was making bacon. A lot of it, some people were coming over. I wanted to have some while mom wasn't looking, and I convinced Isaiah to help me."

He could feel how bitter the curve of his mouth was. He made sure to speak very slowly. So he wouldn't stutter. "I managed to knock it off the stove. The pan hit him on the head. I just got splashed. But he had a head injury and grease burns on forty percent of his body. Isaiah died in the hospital after a week and a half. My mother got left with... With the broken one."

When Sam quieted, he felt so empty. But then Shy adjusted the sweater with his hands. One large black eye peeked out. He met the young Onus eye-to-eye. "Well, you d-did ask." He knew his voice wasn't right to carry the joke. It was just a little too crooked, same with his smile.

Shiloh wanted to say something. He reached for the yellow paper pad. As he did, the collar of his sweatshirt fell down to his shoulders, his hair in a soft dandelion puff from the static. He wrote, and his hand seemed a little steadier, if anything. The skin under the patch felt cold, without the gentle heat of Shy's hand.

It wasn't your fault.

After the slightest of pauses, Shy was writing again. Sam held his tongue, unsure he could speak, even if he could think of what to say. Shy tilted the pad towards him. His eyes were gigantic, liquid.

Is it Isaiah? In the picture by your bed?

Sam touched the roof of his mouth with his tongue. Feeling the seam. "Yes." He reached out, held out his hand. Shy held it without hesitation. "She took pictures with both of us. I destroyed a lot of them when I was a teenager. It was so st-stupid. She was in all of those pictures, too. I have a few pictures of her when I was older. She died before the Kinicke treatments reached human trials. The only older pictures I have of her are the ones where she's with Isaiah."