(Un)Masked by Anyta Sunday & Andrew Q. Gordon

Author:Anyta Sunday & Andrew Q. Gordon [Gordon, Anyta Sunday and Andrew Q.]
Language: eng
Format: epub

WHEN Gristle finally crashed for the night after hours of using his kite, I slipped out of bed, redressed, grabbed Lethe’s present, and then made my way to Lethe’s shed. Past midnight, I knew I’d be waking him, but I couldn’t wait until morning.

Rat-a-tat-tat. The last knock hit a hollow part in the door, ringing out much louder than the rest. Bobbing on the water a few meters away, a group wined and dined on the deck of the Samantha. Their abrupt laughter was louder than any of my knocks. Maybe Lethe hadn’t heard—

“Looking for me?” I heard a very familiar voice from behind. I spun around. Lethe held his accordion by the strap, and his hood layered shadows over his face.

“Merry Christmas,” I said hurriedly. “Well, I know it’s a bit late, but—”

“Merry Christmas to you too.” Lethe flicked his head, letting his hood fall down. Moonlight and the candles from the boat in the background seemed to reflect in his hair. “I was hoping you’d come by.” He leaned forward and kissed me lightly. “I missed you.”

A smile ripped out of me. Other than Gristle and my parents, it was the first time anyone had said that. I ate up the sentiment eagerly with a more passionate return kiss. “I really missed you too.”

Slowing the kiss, but not stopping it, Lethe leaned me against the wall while he fumbled to open the shed. I pushed my bag from out between us and felt his warmth as his body met mine. “I… just… want to drop off… accordion,” he said between kisses. “Then, you want… to go for a walk?”

I hummed in response. “Walk, eh?”

Lethe laughed as the door opened. “It’s such nice weather, and not so many are about….”

“Mmm, all right.”

In a jiffy, Lethe deposited his instrument and stuffed a folded blanket into a backpack. Flinging it over one shoulder, he took a quick look around.

I ducked out of my bag strap. Probably didn’t need to take that with me. Except—“Oh, wait a sec. I have a little Christmas something for you.”

After reaching into my bag, I pulled out a small spiral-bound book and handed it to him. “They’re the plays Gristle and I have performed—the ones I wrote, I mean.”

Lethe flicked through the book. On the left of each page, I’d stuck some of my original notes, and on the right was the typed-up version. He trailed a careful finger over the original notes. “Wow, your writing is super neat.”

“It’s printing. I never learned to write in script—pretty boring, actually.”

“I like it. It’s clear and organized. Nothing like mine—which is more a spindly, tangled mess.” He took his time going through the entire book. “Jay, this is… it’s a lot of work putting this together. I’m….” His voice fell to a whisper. “I’m touched. Thank you.”

He turned to carefully place it on the table. Maneuvering behind him, I cuddled in close and kissed the curve of his neck. “You’re welcome.”

Lethe linked his fingers through mine on his chest.

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