by R. Cooper
“What?” Clematis shook his head, trying to make sense of that.
“You like the shiniest ones, don’t you?” Tulip’s eyes had that deep, still quality that Flor’s sometimes got. “That’s what you go for. What you want….” Tulip squinted. “Not what you want,” he decided, confused but then certain. “So why did you chase so many shiny humans?” he wondered, so quietly it was almost to himself.
“How are you doing that?” Even Clematis’s throat felt tight now. “You can’t see my colors.”
“I can still see your face,” Tulip informed him gently, “which is wide-open. And your glitter.”
“My glitter is the same as always.” Clematis could not even look at it. “I’ve never had a lot. That’s not who I am. I’m not good. Flor thinks—he says that our glitter is our shine, that David would agree. I always thought we didn’t have shine. But he insists, and Flor always stands by what he believes in.”
“Flor?” Tulip lifted one hand in a graceful plea for either silence or more explanation. “You’ve mentioned him a few times now and—oh no, it’s Flor. Flor,” Tulip said again, stunned. “Oh, David will not like that.”
“No, he won’t,” Clematis agreed, in barely a whisper. “Which is why you need to help me. Please, Tu, make this go away. Make all this go away so when David tells Flor to end this, I won’t do anything wrong. I will let him go like I’ve always done. And then I won’t be like this anymore. I’m already—you can see me now, everything I am. Imagine how I’ll be when Flor leaves me again.”
“Have you been sleeping with Flor?” Tulip looked worried. “But he’s still upset about me and David. That’s probably not wise. And anyway, you never stay with anyone for very long. I don’t understand. You’ve chosen to try to date Flor—” He stopped abruptly. “Does Flor like you? If he does, he wouldn’t just leave you… did you say again?” Tulip blinked several times, almost how David did when he silently worked through a new idea. But Tulip still seemed worried. “Clematis, I don’t think I know what you mean. I could always see you. You were quiet and unsure unless sex was involved, and you flirted but you always had sense to leave certain people alone. You didn’t break David’s heart, but you should have treated him better. I thought you were afraid to trust, and I understood that. But nobody would act like you do around shiny humans if they weren’t looking for someone good. I knew you wanted love, and there is always a certain amount of pain in that, less for some than for others. So I—”
“You cursed me,” Clematis snapped, then shivered and fell back and away from Tulip.
He couldn’t tell anything from Tulip’s soft, steady voice. “I did nothing to compel your actions or your thoughts, Clematis. I said—”
“If no one has taught you about love, perhaps it’s time you were forced to learn. The light you want will never find you if you stay in the dark.” Clematis had not forgotten a single word. “You could have left me in the dark. You should have.”
“You sound angry.” Tulip was surprised. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get angry.” He watched Clematis twitch at that, then try to force it back. “You are angry,” he breathed. “What does Flor say about all this?”
He was watching too closely. Clematis had to turn away. His voice was ragged. Breathing in hurt. “Flor isn’t sure now if David was ever his happiness.” Clematis closed his eyes, although nothing would take him out of this moment. “But Flor is passionate and committed, and he grows things, and he loves David with his everything. Of course he does. David is”—his heart was loud in his ears—“pure. Shiny. Brave. Like Flor.”
Tulip somehow grew even softer. “And to you that’s a curse?”
“No. That’s just Flor.” Clematis turned sharply toward Tulip and opened his eyes. “He’s wonderful. He’s always been wonderful. I didn’t need your magic to tell me that.”
The gold in Tulip’s eyes stopped swirling. Clematis shivered, but short of running out, he couldn’t stop Tulip now. Even if he did leave, Tulip knew enough and would guess the rest. “Please, Tu.”
“I never thought you two hated each other, but I admit I’m a little surprised to hear you say that.” Tulip was faint. “But then again, the animosity, which always came and went, was mostly on Flor’s part, not yours.” He raised his head, frowning thoughtfully. “But you don’t feel strongly. About anything. Not that I’ve ever heard, or noticed. Except for Flor, apparently.” Tulip abruptly leaned against a bookshelf. He shook his head. “The problem with fairy luck is how random it can be. Imps bring it to the surface and take away the illusion of mystery and glamour, which is probably why they are often disliked. I said what I said, but I didn’t intend….” His voice kept growing softer, but his gaze was getting sharper. “Flor is pure, to you? And you’re concerned with Flor finding his happiness?”
“It will be someone like David.” Clematis had no doubt of that. “Someone good, soft, and kind. Someone for him to protect and take care of. But not… not as filled with as much dreams and ideas as David.”
“Yes,” Tulip agreed easily, although he had been surprised to hear Flor didn’t think David was his happiness.
“And that is not me.” Clematis clenched his fists and curled his toes and made the words come out. “He wants me now because I’m… because I’m very good at being what people want, or what they need, and Flor likes to have someone to care for. And he desires me, and we’re friends now. But Flor is good. He’s going to go on to things like David will. Isn’t he, Tu?”
Tulip didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. This truth was obvious.
“And no one has ever wanted me for longer than a few weeks, no matter what I do.” Clematis did not know where to look and settled for staring at the empty blue sky. “I’m selfish, but I thought I would at least get that. But now”—he rubbed his fist over his chest—“he’ll choose David over me, or he’ll see what I was and what I am. He’ll feel bad, but he’ll leave.”
Tulip spoke at last. “I think you’re underestimating Flor.”
Clematis dropped his head. “I think that I could never be what Flor wanted because I’ve always known what Flor wanted.”
“Hmm,” Tulip said noncommittally. “According to you, Flor doesn’t even know what Flor wants. How do you?”
Clematis shrugged out of habit. “It’s easier to deal with people if you know right away what they like or what they are looking for. Then if you give it to them, they’ll leave you alone, or help you, or stop hurting you. And Flor never hides anything. I’ve known him since I met him.”
“Oh, Clem.” Tulip sniffled, then came forward, only to stop when Clematis tensed.
“What?” Clematis asked. “I’ve known since I met both of them.”
Tulip released a shuddery breath. “Clematis, I don’t know what you think you saw when you met David and Flor, but Flor does not want you to be in pain or to pretend to be anything to make him like you. Flor doesn’t want that for anyone.”
Clematis stared at him blankly. “Flor didn’t look twice at me when he met me. Do you know how rare that is?” The air-conditioning was on too high, but for a second he was almost warm. “Most people leer or say something insulting. But Flor barely remembered my name the entire first year of knowing me. He might not want me to hurt, but I’ve always known I was not his happiness.”
He realized his voice was shaking, that he was shaking. That his legs were heavy and he had to reach out to keep from hitting the floor. He landed on his knees and looked down at the carpet in surprise.
Tulip appeared in front of him, then kneeled down. His eyes were bright. “How did you hide this for so long?” Tulip asked, so very gently. “You must hurt so much. It can’t have made you happy.”
“You said the light I want won’t find me in the dark, but I was fine there,” Clematis whispered. “Please don’t make me feel this, Tu. Please. If I feel, I’ll hurt. I always hurt, but this is too much already. When he goes—I’m sorry I upset David. Please.”
“I see.�
�� Tulip had the most sorrowful face. He reached out to lightly sweep Clematis’s hair from his brow. “I think you were already hurting before I ever said a word. Flor’s happiness isn’t you, and it isn’t David? You know that for sure?”
“Flor thinks people can fall in love without that,” Clematis admitted and put his trembling hands on his knees. “Like humans do. Or weres who have lost a mate. That it doesn’t have to be how the stories say, instant knowledge that you are with a person who could make you feel joy for the rest of your life. Humans can do it, so it must be true. But we’re not human. You knew, didn’t you? You knew when you met David.”
“Yes.” Tulip stroked his hair, as softly and carefully as how he spoke. “And when you met Flor?”
Clematis yanked away and shuffled backward into the bookcase.
Tulip didn’t move into his space again, but he didn’t move away either. His gaze was steady.
“You’ve held that in for this many years? And you are sure he’s….” Tulip fell silent. “You’re not angry anymore? Or have you buried it again? Have you buried everything?” Tulip’s breathing hitched. “That was never going to be sustainable, Clem. Not ever. Even without me interfering. What did you do when Flor got a girlfriend?”
Clematis glanced at him but stayed quiet. He bit his lip hard.
“Are you absolutely sure?” Tulip asked again, firmer now. “This is too important for doubt. Give me your hand, please.”
“Why?” Clematis felt tricked into speaking but held out his hand. “Are you going to remove the curse?”
“Fairy magic,” Tulip told him, indescribably soft now, almost tender as he took Clematis’s hand in his. “We don’t just see the truth, we can help others see it. But truth is subjective, so sometimes it can help to share it. Will you let me show you, and to see?”
“You can do that?” Clematis stared down at their hands.
“You probably can too.” Tulip was still gentle. “You never tried? No, no of course you wouldn’t.”
“I’m not brave.” Clematis could look away from their hands only to meet Tulip’s gaze. “Will you tell everyone?”
“No.” Tulip shook his head, then moved a little closer. “No, I promise. Not with anyone but you. Not even David unless you say I may. You can show me, and I will see, and maybe it will help.”
Clematis stared at him, thinking of human guidance counselors and annoyed CPS workers, who always offered to help but never understood.
Tulip patted his hand. “I’m sorry we weren’t closer before, or I would have known this already. But you didn’t want me to be closer, did you?”
“It’s easier. To not be.” Clematis inhaled, then squeezed his eyes closed. “Okay. Go ahead. If it will make this better.”
“I never promised that.” But Tulip’s hold was gentle. His hand was warm. “Clematis,” he said, raining soft glitter along his arm. “The first time you met Flor and David….”
Clematis set his jaw. “I don’t think about that.”
Tulip’s sparkle, his shine, his soul, tickled Clematis’s skin, steady and ever-present. “Then before. Just before. Remember that?”
Light touches carried up Clematis’s arm, landing on his face like sprinkles in a sun-shower. Behind his eyes was black, nothing, and then Tulip’s soft command, “Remember.”
The art building was never warm enough. Clematis shivered but did not go back to retrieve his pants. His skin itched with drying sweat and stung where the human had been a little rough.
It was always the ones who lingered after the modeling session was over, the ones who sneered or giggled when Clematis first came out to sit for an hour in whatever pose was required that day. In private, with no witnesses, they told him they’d always admired fairies for their freedom from convention. With the doors closed, they called him beautiful and expected him to thank them for it. Their work would be held up later for other humans to admire. Sketches and watercolors and clay figures—terrifying, elegant, arrogant fae, with skulls in their hands the humans added later, or antlers or leaves worn as crowns; or weak fairies on their knees, or their backs, bodies on offer.
Clematis’s back was chilled from the floor. He tugged at the swatch of brown fabric across his hips—a fancy of the professor, that day. He supposed it was to make him more of a creature of the forest, as if Clematis had ever been in one.
He wiped spit from his neck and skipped the bookstore, although they sold snacks and drinks there. He wanted to rinse his mouth, but they only had sodas. Anyway, his money was in his pants, and he didn’t want to go back. He’d just go home.
He crossed the grass instead of staying on the pavement, faintly pleased by the slick crunch of damp grass beneath his feet. The early spring sunlight was pale, but he turned his face to it anyway, now that he was out of the path of harried human students. Someone called his name, but he ignored the sound as he stretched and fluttered his wings.
Winter was over. He would feel better when the days were longer. He always did.
Sunspots danced in front of his eyes when he finally lowered his head, and for a moment he didn’t recognize the glow ahead of him in the distance.
Unlike a human’s shine, it moved, a radiant, reflective waterfall of light, and he was already moving toward it before he realized it was the sparkle from a fairy, the most vivid, living sparkle he’d ever seen.
Fairies weren’t rare on campus, not with this many happy, curious humans around to draw them. But Clematis met them all anyway, one by one, although very few of them seemed to like him. He took classes, which confused them, and he didn’t have the knack for knowing which humans they would prefer him to avoid. But some were nice, and he liked to see them.
And this one was so very bright.
He expected someone older. But when Clematis was several yards away, he could already tell that wasn’t the case. This fairy was young in human years. In being years, he was youth itself, little and lithe, with softness in his limbs. He had so many sparkles that it was as if all Clematis could see was the fall of glitter, a thick golden haze that slowed his steps and made his heart pound.
The fairy had one hip cocked to lean against a bench. The benches were for students to stop and rest, but no one, it seemed, had dared to take a place near this particular fairy. He wore a football jersey that had been cut without care across the middle to expose his waist and part of his navel. His shorts were high, the kind from decades ago, revealing plenty of golden brown thigh and the rest of his legs and bare feet. He looked as though he should have been wearing athletic socks and shoes to complete the look, but hadn’t bothered. His hair was loose, shiny, dark waves that fell around his exquisitely pointed ears. His wings were round and colored like sunsets on hot days. He was chewing gum and had a phone in one hand and a plastic gun for shooting bubbles in the other.
A group of humans passed between them, blocking Clematis’s view for a moment, but he clearly heard one of the humans comment, “Nice bubble gun, fairy,” before he could see the other fairy again.
The fairy didn’t raise his gaze from his phone. “Thanks. It’s almost as big as my dick. Not that you’ll ever know.” He followed that with a spray of bubbles.
Several of the humans laughed and smacked their confused friend on the shoulders as they continued on.
Clematis took a breath, then another, uncertain when he’d gone so tense, why his muscles screamed with fear when the other fairy was calm, even bored, as he looked at his phone.
Clematis hadn’t stopped moving forward, only slowed as he took in more details—the grass stains on the other fairy’s feet, the bottle of soda balanced carefully on the bench beside him, the threads from his hastily cut top that must be tickling his stomach.
He must have come into sight at the corner of the fairy’s eye, because the other fairy suddenly raised his head to look at him.
He had black eyes. Swirling, living pools of shiny black, so dark his pupils were lost. His nose was slightly upturned, and he had small silv
ery patches on his cheeks where some bubbles must have landed.
His expression shifted from a suspicious frown to curiosity in the time it took to blink, and in that time he seemed to feel a thousand other things too. His lips curved and then flattened before curving up again. He studied Clematis from his feet to the swath of brown fabric barely covering him before darting his gaze over his chest and his throat and then finally to his face. He lifted his eyebrows.
Clematis’s mouth was glued shut, his throat suddenly, painfully locked. He came to a stop a few feet from the other fairy and wished he could keep going, until he was surrounded by glitter and could hide his face against that jersey and feel those hands warm at his back. He couldn’t breathe at the thought. It was like someone squeezing his chest, his heart pushing against the force with increasing desperation.
The sunset fairy lifted his eyebrows higher, as if waiting, but then twisted around at the sound of a far-off voice.
“Flor!” someone called, impatient and out of breath. “Flor, I thought you were going to be by the bookstore.”
Despite the implied scolding, the fairy smiled, beautiful and overwhelming. “David!” he exclaimed in return and dropped the bubble gun to the grass to hold both arms out.
Clematis belatedly turned to see the taller, handsome human approaching. He was young too, a student, judging from his bag, and vaguely familiar, as if Clematis had seen him around campus before. He had skin darker than the fairy’s and curly hair combed to one side to make him seem a little older than he probably was. He made no attempt at style either, only jeans and a T-shirt with writing on it, and a baggy, soft cardigan over that to keep him warm.
He swept the fairy into his arms with an openness that held Clematis frozen.
The fairy, for his part, nestled his face into the human’s neck and sighed in pleasure. “David,” he said, as if it was the only word he knew.
“This is not the bookstore,” David scolded him again, but fondly, and a shimmer went through the light around him. He was very shiny, radiating a rainbow that somehow Clematis had not noticed until that moment. The hues around him were brilliant but calming, soothing violets and then energizing greens, tender pinks and oranges.
