Into the gutter with all y’all, no buts

It hit me only hours later. Chaem’s real reasons for renting a room at the highest point of elevation. The regular, store-bought telescope by the balustrade on the observation deck.

That was as close as she could get to watching over someone she loved. And Chaem’s lack of aversion to gossip, so incongruent with her facade? It was her way of — if not living vicariously through someone in close proximity — at least finding some solace by witnessing a happy ending.

Chaem was such a damn. good.

kid.

Hours dragged, another portion of acetylsalicylic acid was sent into my stomach along with more protein and a liter of water. All I could think about was him. All I could wish for was the Plan coming to fruition.

However, in the back of my mind, a tiny and stern voice kept on nagging, insisting that what Wakuu and I had planned was textbook manipulation, and needlessly complicated, and going against the whole healthy-communication idea. A part of me wondered what would happen if we simply presented Wataru with the facts, without us going on matchmaking quests. A part of me believed that I’d be able to de-escalate and settle any tense situation through my experience and knowledge, to serve as a mediator... That part, that tiny voice, was smothered with a pillow. Firstly: these were Wakuu’s family issues, not mine. He knew his father, I didn’t. At all. Secondly, I needed to respect a different cultural context and to be sensible about it, right? Thirdly, Wakuu was clearly doing this for himself as much as for his father.

If Wakuu thought that a straightforward ‘Hi dad, I have a girlfriend, here she is, it’s okay if you’re having trouble pronouncing her name, yes it could indeed serve as an expectorant, now let’s talk about how we can manage our time together from now on’ would inexorably lead to guilt-tripping, to ‘how dare you leave me (for this foreign skank)’ and ‘you can’t have a girlfriend, you already have a thesis’ and ‘how dare you dream of dating my son, you foreign skank, he already has me and an unfinished thesis’, well, then that’s what it would lead to. I needed to trust him to know. I needed to trust him. So I did.

When the agreed-upon time came, Wakuu was already waiting for me by the taverna’s entrance. My heart contorted with a sweet ache when I saw him, and I nearly stumbled, surprised by the intensity of my own reaction. Looking just as anxious, he was pacing back and forth. Yet when he noticed me approaching, he halted, his face lit up, and that smile of his shone brighter than ever.

It was a sight worth treasuring. The plan, our goal, the urgency, the doubt and rumination loops, even the lingering remnants of the hangover — everything faded away, replaced with a pure urge to show affection. I rushed forward, and he caught me. His arms wrapped so tightly around me that it almost hurt, but I wasn’t complaining. After all, he wasn’t complaining about my arms doing the same.

I buried my face in Wakuu’s neck, breathing him in. He smelled like home; he felt like home. Like something I thought I’d lost forever.

Yes, I craved his company, his intellect, his time, his attention, his kisses, and his nakedness; so much that I felt like a greedy child, and the suspicion that my greed was reciprocated felt overwhelmingly good. But this— This was the best. For as long as we could have this, be it a day, a month, a year, or ten, or a lifetime; I knew then and there that we’d be fighting tooth-and-nail to continue having this. The diligent and merciless utilizing of our hugging muscles.

With any luck, we’d get’em so damn buff that even Chaem would give an impressed whistle.

And I could have stood like this for hours, if we had them.

We didn’t have them.

With a drawn-out sigh, his hands gliding across my shoulders, Wakuu let go and drew away, but not before squeezing me one more time, then tracing his fingertips along the lines of my face as he looked into it.

“How was your day?”

This simple question hit me like a ton of bricks. My eyes stung from the impact. When had anyone last asked me that question and cared for an honest answer? Had anyone? Ever?

My day was exhausting. My work, exhausting. The connection was shit. I needed a vacation. I wanted a nap. My head still ached. But all of these were minor and temporary inconveniences. None of them mattered, because today was amazing and great and awesome and super. Today, someone asked me how my day was — and not the other way around.

It was a beautiful thing, to be asked that.

I managed to speak, but my voice sounded off, “Oh, all I did after lunch was count down the minutes until I could see you again!”

It sounded off because I’d planned to make it sound like a quip, out of habit, while putting on a carefree face. It sounded off because it came out sounding genuine. Because it was genuine. Neither of us would be able to go back to pretending. Both of our facades were shattered into pieces.

Making peace with the notion, I added quietly, “No joke.”

A beat passed. I saw how his eyes widened, how a pink blush suffused his cheeks, I heard him take a sharp breath. His lips parted and his gaze dropped to my mouth for a split-second — a split-second too long not to notice.

Wakuu leaned in to brush his lips against my forehead, murmuring low in his throat, with his voice full of no-joke, genuine longing, “Counting down the seconds is what I did.”

Backing off, he gave a nervous chuckle as our eyes locked. Yet I kept my face perfectly unsmiling to let him know how much I treasured that moment of sincerity, and he took it in stride, his own expression turning earnest and soft, no longer conveying ‘was this too cheesy?’

Good, because it wasn’t cheesy. Not now, not when coming from him.

Sadly, we were on a mission that had already suffered a delay. We both needed an anchor point, something to tether us to the present, instead of us floating off into the blissful nothingness of mutual admiration.

“Let’s get to work?” I offered.

“Oh. Yes. So, regarding the plan. I think I have a piece of good news,” Wakuu said in his usual, serious tone. While his fingers were drawing small circles on my shoulder. “Perhaps we won’t need to look far and wide. Here’s the thing—”

It was dusk. The sky flamed with every hue of orange. The lighthouse was glowing, a radiant star in a darkening sky, its beam swinging as the lens rotated around the ever-bright source on top. We held hands as we walked. He talked, excitement palpable in his voice, and I listened.

On a sturdy ironwood jukung always stuffed with cargo, Ratih sailed to and fro, between the neighboring islands of the archipelago. Ratih was a dedicated captain and a hard-worker. By all indications, a no-nonsense lady. Her boat looked tidy and neat. Her wares were fresh. She should have been considered one-third of the island’s logistics department, if not its head! At times, she was the only reliable exporter. Ratih never lingered in B-Bay for longer than a few hours, yet she regularly lingered here. It was not unheard-of for her to stay for a few nights in a row, even when the weather was perfect for sailing. For the night, she always moored off the pier next to the lighthouse. Whenever there during the week, she must have been the first person to see Wataru every day, and the last one to say goodnight. Today, Chaem told Wakuu that Eva had told her that Suki had heard Theo mentioning he’d seen Wataru helping Ratih unload cargo while the two of them were talking. Talking! Words! Interaction!!!

Ohohoho.

Wakuu and I exchanged a look full of glee, our eyes brimming with a conspiratorial sparkle.

What if Ratih was docking there for a reason? What if she would actually agree to go on a date with Wataru? What if she was into him? What if he was into her, too, but didn’t know how to progress this whole thing, because of his lack of social skills? What if Best Date Ever?! What if they fell madly in love, got married, and formed an oceanic power-couple! What if his dad stopped being sad and lonely!!! What if—

“Ah, he’s a nice man, your father, always lets me dock here, and we talk sometimes. Lovely man. And a strong one too, he always helps with the boxes,” Ratih said, nodding and scratching her chin, then took a thoughtful sip from her can of beer. “Just the other day, I wanted to take a sack of calamansi all the way down to the baker girl by myself, but he was so quick to offer his assistance. Very kind. Strong too. And such good manners.”

As Ratih looked up at the lighthouse with a soft smile, Wakuu and I elbowed each other, all but bursting with pride at how smart and eloquent we were.

The sun-tanned, thickset Ratih, clad in a simple white short-sleeved shirt, a sarong skirt, a woven green bandana, and waterproof boots, was sitting hatless on her bollard, legs stretched out before her, drinking beer and patiently listening to what we were saying. We stood on the pier next to the jukung that rocked gently on the flat waves, towering over her and being super smart and eloquent.

Wakuu ended up using elements from both pre-planned routines: the Dutiful Concerned Son and the Exasperated Kid, additionally noting that it wasn’t right that Ratih slept on her boat when there was so much space in the lighthouse. I threw in some compliments and a short monologue on the epidemic of loneliness, as well as a casual mention (or two, or three) of how often those poor lonely lighthouse keepers around the world went batshit insane, uuuh, mad. Ever-so-slightly mad.

“Ahhh I know what you’re trying to do,” Ratih declared and shook a finger in our direction.

Her posture was relaxed, yet confident, her gaze sharp and inquisitive. And her smile was very knowing as she squinted at us.

Our own smiles flattened, our pride started deflating. We were towering no longer.

“But I don’t mind,” Ratih added after keeping us waiting for a few more seconds. “You want only good things for your father. You’re a good son, Wakuu. I would love to get to know him better. Only,” she took another sip of beer, “he won’t be interested.”

No-no, insisted Wakuu, that was not an issue, that could and would be resolved, he’d talk to his father at length and get him to come out of his shell, and it was such a delight to learn of her already having had interactions with Wataru, and Wakuu was so grateful to her, so very grateful. Yes, I said, nodding vigorously, that was so generous on her part to keep Wataru company, and Wataru indeed was a very manners, much strong, many nice— “Bah,” Ratih responded, breaking into a merry chuckle. “Poor kids, you. Well, go on then, try and convince him. I’ll be here. He wants to take me out? I’ll go sailing with your ayah, I promise. And staying at the lighthouse? Well, I wouldn’t mind that, either.” As she waved us away, her eyes were full of sly mirth.

Only, we failed to notice the latter.

Too focused on the baseline parameters. The real stars were shining down upon us as we marched up the stone staircase of the lighthouse together, hand-in-hand and feeling triumphant. We were brilliant accomplices. We were holding back the tide. We were on a mission. We were doing Our Mostest. We were The Responsiblest Smartest Amazingnest Adulting Adults.

“Good luck,” I said solemnly, placing my hand on Wakuu’s shoulder. Giving me a firm nod, face flat and stern, eyes full of cold determination, he yanked the handle of the heavy wooden red door... and found it locked.

Another tiny flicker of doubt wormed its way into my psyche as I stared at the immovable barrier, but because I was still lulled by the excitement and confidence, I dismissed that doubt.

“This isn’t right,” Wakuu whispered to me, his brow now furrowed. “It’s always open.”

He knocked. He waited.

“Oton?”

Silence.

“Maybe he went out?”

Shaking his head no, Wakuu knocked again, louder, knuckles rapping against the wood with a hollow thud-thud.

“Oton!” he called, raising his voice, and there was no reply.

I was getting nervous too. The look we exchanged was full of alarm.

Wakuu puffed, blowing air through his nose, and pursed his lips. He raised the hem of his tee, fumbled blindly for the shiny chain attached to his belt loop, and pulled a small set of keys out of his pocket. After some poking in the semi-darkness, Wakuu managed to insert an elongated brass key into the solitary indentation. I heard the lock click, he pushed, and the red door creaked inward.

“This isn’t right,” Wakuu repeated, signaling me to follow him in, and reached into his back pocket.

Darkness reigned inside, with the only source of bright light being the flashlight on his phone.

“Dad?”

The beam flickered across the interior, revealing the worn-out yet clean floorboards, walls just as whitewashed as those outside, the metal-grate spiral stairs rising towards the upper levels of the lighthouse, the old-timey instruments and knick-knacks, a couple of doors leading to the living space, one of them ajar, with a faint source of light inside.

The front door shut behind us, cutting off any ambient noises of the outside world. We stopped shuffling our feet and halted close to the open door, holding our breaths. That was when a sound reached our ears. Loud and rumbling, it echoed through the interior, the kind of a sound that could only be produced by someone with a pair of lungs the size of a sailboat. The kind of sound that could only be produced by a mammoth.

A mammoth enthusiastically partaking in the world of human sexuality.

“Oh no,” Wakuu exhaled, taking a step forward, towards that nearest open door. His cheeks were rapidly turning a whiter shade of pale. “Oh no no no nnn—”

Another groan followed, accompanied by a whole lot of noises. Guttural, interspersed with clatter and creaks.

Unmistakable.

The dreadful, insufferable, unacceptable sounds of two individuals over fifty having consensual sex.

My heart either ceased beating or jumped out and skittered away. Gurgling, I yanked Wakuu’s arm. In theory, trying to pull him back to the entrance. In practice, we both ended up taking two more steps forward. The wooden boards underneath our feet swayed like the deck of a boat out in the open sea. Our limbs were no longer our own.

What eldritch, unknowable, cosmic force was pulling us there, towards the unspeakable horror which we knew we’d witness and henceforth shall forever be tainted by?!

Peering into the void, Wakuu whimpered. After peering into the void over his shoulder, I felt the blood draining from my face. The void did not peer back, because the void was too busy. The void was the stark naked mammoth-sized silhouette of Wataru, bending Judge Ross in half over a console table by a nightlight, with her ass up, and fucking the living daylights, the dead starlights, the lighthouse lights, the light of creation, and every other kind of light right out of her.

They were going at it so hard that the furniture, the walls, the whole world shook.

I’d only caught a brief glimpse, but one brief glimpse was enough.

An eternal second passed, a second in which I was trying to reconcile my own sense of reality with what was happening, and failing to do so.

Then Wakuu emitted a high-pitched shriek of terror. It pierced through me like a very welcome, very sobering knife. I grabbed on to him, clawing in another futile attempt to pull us both back. The slapping noises, grunts, moans, and groans stopped.

Wakuu swayed backwards, into me, and I nearly fell. I was left to stare at the back of his neck. His entire body was trembling, and I could see his pulse hammering in a prominent vein by his throat.

A woman’s voice spoke, sharp and commanding, “Who’s there?”

We jump-started, colliding with one another, and somehow managed to spin around as a unit. And then we ran out of the lighthouse. We ran faster than if our butts had been set on fire. At the base of the steps, we got our legs tangled together, and collapsed like two sacks. Fast as lightning, still whining and whimpering high in his throat, Wakuu scrambled to his feet, grabbed my wrist and tried to haul me up as I was doing my best not to haul him down.

“Duck!” I warned, breathless, hauling him down after all, right as the door above us, safely closed a second ago, gave an ominous creak. Rolling sideways, two wounded soldiers out of the line of enemy fire, we hit the ground again, trying to shrink ourselves into nothing by the base of the staircase, and covered our heads. The door slammed. The lighthouse shuddered, or so it felt to me. I could hear the mechanism above, turning, rotating, and, in the far-off distance, a foghorn blasting its mournful, ghostly bellow, again and again, calling upon the lost and the doomed, and the dead, and the cursed, and the most wretched and pitiful of them all: the Children Who Stumbled Upon The Unspeakable Horror of Their Parents Having Sex.

We tried to catch our breaths, gulping down air with our mouths like stranded fishes, clinging to each other and to sanity and to life itself. Knees pulled to our chests, the cold stone wall against our backs. For some time, until we raised our heads in unison and turned to face one another. Looking on in silent, shared, and mutual horror.

“I’m never having sex again,” Wakuu declared. Cupping his palm over his mouth for a moment, he gagged, eyes wide and wild. “Never. Ever. Ever.”

“M-me neither,” I agreed, one hundred percent meaning it.

We needed to get up and leave. We needed to do something, anything instead of sitting on the ground and absorbing the shock. It might have also been my professional duty to explain to him why humans hated the idea of their parents having sex, how it was related to subconsciously perceiving them as godlike figures, how that disgust needed to be dealt with and discarded, in order to grant our parents autonomy, because they weren’t godlike figures but human individuals with their own needs and wants.

Mediator, shmediator!!!

Just as I was about to open my clown mouth and broadcast something logical, edifying, and idiotic, the door gave another creak. We shrunk our heads into our shoulders. Plop-plopping on the stone, Judge Ross hurried down the stairs and past our concealed forms, barefoot, with her high-heeled shoes dangling off her fingers and with her everything else, disheveled.

Seconds ticked away. Wakuu’s fingers found mine.

“We should—”

The door creaked again, cutting me short.

“Wakuu,” a deep voice boomed from above.

In an instant, he started hyperventilating again, pressing himself backwards, as if trying to merge his skinny body with the wall, shaking his head frantically: nope, nope, nope.

“Wakuu, don’t be a baby, your oyaji can hear you breathing.”

Wataru descended the steps, and his dark silhouette fell upon us. The light reflected off his bald spot and illuminated the silver threads in his enormous beard. He was wearing a formless robe and slippers. I shut my eyes, trying to push the image of his nakedness out, out, out of my head.

“Come inside, son.”

“N—” Wakuu attempted. “N— N—”

“Spell it out, come on.”

“N— N— N-NANDEYANEN?!”

Wataru sighed. It sounded like an oceanic whirlpool. A hand the size of a shovel reached out for Wakuu, but he waved it away, skittering sideways along the ground until he was behind me. He leaned over, clutching at the fabric of my clothes.

“Wakuu!” his father chided.

Muttering curses and objections in two languages under his breath, Wakuu pulled himself up to his feet, then helped me up.

“You, as well, Mountain Girl. Come in. I’ll make tea.” Wataru jerked his chin towards the lighthouse and spun around, bringing forth images of a huge navy cruiser. As straight as a ramrod, he stalked up the steps and disappeared within.

Once we were alone, Wakuu visibly cringed as his attention drifted to his palms. His breath hitched. He began rubbing at his skin, as if trying to erase the memory of the whole ordeal through friction.

I moved to stand before him, catching him by the wrists, attempting to prevent him from rubbing his palms raw. They already were a bit raw and scratched; upon falling, we’d ignored any physical damage.

His eyes flashed up at my face, pleading for salvation.

“Judge Ross. Judge! Ross!” Wakuu fumed.

“I know.” I kissed his cheek, my lips lingering against his flushed skin as I landed a slow, tender peck. “Let’s just go talk to him.”

After taking a calming breath, Wakuu blinked a few times, focusing. “Okay. Yeah.”

Inside, the walls seemed closer than they had before. It smelled like a men’s locker room. Oh, God. Wakuu darted for the nearest (and only) window and pulled it open before returning to my side.

Seemingly unperturbed, Wataru was mounting a kettle on the gas burner of the stove in the kitchenette, his back to us. Now he reminded me of a blue whale. Wakuu cleared his throat. When his father turned around, I offered an apologetic bow. Wakuu crossed his arms on his chest, staring daggers.

After a few moments of tense silence, Wataru spoke, his voice quiet, yet still rumbling, “Please, have a seat.”

Not in the least because my legs were wobbly, I sat, but Wakuu remained standing by the kitchen table, arms still crossed on his chest; glaring. And pouting.

“Son, please.”

Umphing, Wakuu plopped down, but his body was coiled tight, like that of an animal prepared to leap to safety at a nanosecond’s notice. I moved closer to him, dragging my chair along the floor. The old piece of furniture groaned and screeched under my meager weight, and I wondered how it could possibly bear Wataru. Or mammoth Wataru.

Meanwhile, he took out a box of tea from one cupboard, two porcelain cups from another, and a first aid kit from the third. I saw no indication of him having trouble tending to his needs. My cognitive dissonance raged. My clown makeup shone.

“Aren’t you going to properly introduce me?” Wataru queried as he planted the kit on the table in front of us. He moved back to the stove, sure on his feet.

Wakuu inhaled, shutting his eyes for a moment, and exhaled, “This is my girlfriend. Astrik.”

“Ast gh ik,” corrected Wataru absently, spelling out the guttural consonant with zeal and no trouble. Which was overall rare, yet not surprising in his case. As I had discovered minutes ago, he was exceptionally good at guttural... Oh God, WHY!

“And thank the— About time!” Wataru boomed all of a sudden, raising his gaze and upturned palms to the figurative skies. “About! Time!” He peered at me, his black eyes studying me from head to toe. I experienced an urge to jump up and give a deep bow. “You like pineapple on pizza?”

Huh?!

“Uhm. Not p-particularly.”

“Gooood. And you eat meat, right?”

“Uh, yes.”

“A lot of mutton, huh.”

Now feeling like a future chunk of mutton, I gulped and nodded.

He nodded too. “We’ll get along.”

“What. Is. Happening,” mumbled Wakuu.

What was happening: Wakuu and I had gotten the most important lesson in communication. Communication one-oh-one, lesson one: Communicate, Damnit.

“Is Judge Ross your uh, girlfriend?”

Wakuu shot me a look that screamed ‘this isn’t funny!’. I gave him one back that said ‘I’m not joking’ with a tinge of ‘please, this is important’.

Pouring hot water into the teapot, Wataru gave a chuckle reminiscent of the bubbling of an active volcano.

“Well, in a manner of speaking,” he said, smiling fondly to himself. “We’re, uh, what do you kids call it? Hooking up.”

Shuddering all over, Wakuu pressed his palms to his ears and let out a howl of agony. Once more, I begged him with my eyes. Now, he was the one who needed to trust me. To my relief, he did, sagging down. Perhaps to distract himself, he opened the first-aid kit and fished out a small bottle of disinfectant. His hands were shaking.

“Might have been more if we had more spare time, but—”

About an hour later, Wakuu and I were standing one level below the light, on the observation platform. I held a half of a steamed bun in my hand, nibbling at it absentmindedly, while Wakuu, already done with his half, was gazing up into the starry sky with a look of wonder, as though he hadn’t seen it countless times before. We were both wrapped up in plaid blankets — his father’s doing. Wataru had sworn that these were untainted.

The view of the dark ocean was breathtaking, the breeze was refreshing, and the night was warm and pleasant, but I was yet unable to fully appreciate these things, because the events of this evening continued playing in the background of my mind. The words were echoing, bouncing around my brain like pinballs. Well, at least the images weren’t replaying like a slideshow.

Wakuu and I were both in a state of mild shock, but for different reasons. While I was experiencing emotional whiplash and deciding if this whole thing was the best or worst joke ever, he was still struggling to comprehend the concept of a healthy communication with a parent and this whole ‘giving them autonomy’ notion.

“So it was a— What did you say it was?” Wakuu asked. His eyes — beautiful, wide, bewildered — shifted from the sky to me.

“An artificial codependency. With your father thinking that you needed to be needed, and grudgingly abiding. Playing along.” Letting the caretaker caretake. Because Wataru wanted his son to feel loved, to know he was valued, that his efforts were appreciated, that he mattered. “But it was a substitute for genuine communication. He didn’t think he could or was allowed to directly tell you how he feels. He thought you’d feel bad. Dejected. That you’d maybe even throw a tantrum. Again.”

In truth, Wataru craved his weekends to be free even more than his son had. In truth, he wanted nothing more than for his son to be free and happy.

‘On his best days, he says I should be out there, living my best life.’

Hence why Wataru had seemed so despondent at times.

“While I was certain that—” Wakuu shook his head, trailing off into silence. While he was certain that it was the other way around, yes.

I finished off the remaining piece in two quick bites. Wakuu had applied disinfectant to my scraped palms, but they still stung. The sting helped keep my mind grounded, though.

“ Communicate, damnit,” I repeated and nudged Wakuu with my elbow as we leaned on the railings. “Hey. Wakuu-baba. Please don’t blame yourself. Seriously, you’re not to blame.”

He nudged me with his entire body and did not retreat. “Who is, then?”

“Thousands of years of hammering in those ingrained norms and beliefs. The same patriarchal culture that has shaped both your perception of the situation, and his. He was raised with this particular mindset. You were raised with the exact same values. I was, too, in part. I broke out, so to speak, but it took a lot of time, and I got lucky in the first place, with how and what and who my father was. You’re trying to break out, as well, mostly instinctively and by observing and applying your observations, but you don’t have as many tools, so the acquired reflexes are still there, going unnoticed ... I mean, that’s if you do need someone to blame. Sometimes, though, it’s really better to not blame anyone. Sometimes it just is what it is. Point being, not your fault. People make each other in so many little ways. More often than not, they make each other by not communicating when they should. Oh, and as for communication. It’s a process.”

“It’s a process,” Wakuu echoed.

His face was lit, glowing as it absorbed the starlight. His expression, soft and wistful. The blanket slipped to the crook of his elbows as he moved even closer to me, exposing a bit of his bare skin, between the short sleeve of his tee and the plaid, and I traced that bit with my fingertips. He trembled, goosebumps breaking out, but made no attempt to pull the fabric back on his shoulders. I could feel his warm breath on my skin. He leaned against me, resting the side of his face on my crown.

The stars above us shone like diamonds scattered across velvet. Uncaring, but beautiful.

“It’s really nice to get to know someone. The process of it, I mean. It’s something that pays off in so many little ways, too. Like, before meeting you, I thought that the light on top of a lighthouse was what’s rotating. Also, that rogue planets are something from sci-fi. That Big Crunch is when you bite on something extra hard and break your tooth. Or that sound travels slower underwater, not faster.”

Wakuu gave a sigh. This one was a contented sigh. “Before meeting you, I thought that ‘breaking’ is only about objects. Hmm, and that berries are the only edible parts of a grapevine. I also thought that DSM was the same as BDSM but without the bondage part.”

“Aww. When cruel bondage is all it actually is!” I quipped, teasing a small smile and a chuckle out of him.

For a few, we were silent, snuggled up together. I was all but drowning in how good and peaceful it felt to be next to him.

Then Wakuu spoke again, quietly, his voice a little hoarse, “I look forward to the process, you know. To learning everything about you.”

“Me too. I’m really looking forward to it,” I replied. The waves crashed against the cliff, far below our feet. I stopped looking down and looked at him instead. “So about that never-having-sex-again thing. Wanna go to my place?”

“Desperately.”