Northern Lights

3. Dominic

***trigger warning for mention of homophobic attack***

The orange and yellow light of the fire danced along the wall beside the hearth. The moon was beginning its ascent across the dark sky, casting its silvery light on the land outside my home. From the safe warmth of the house, I could appreciate the chilly beauty of the growing night. The damp in the grass and trees was slowly freezing, sparkling in the moonlight, creating a mimicry of the starlit sky above.

Looking out at the landscape, I was reminded of the stories my grandmother used to tell me on similar nights when I was a boy. On those nights, her patient voice would weave tales of creatures that weren’t quite human. Of the faeries and imps who would steal children in the night, or lure grown men to their deaths by mimicking the voices of humans.

As a child, I’d believed the stories, and heeded her warnings. Belief had waned with age, and practicality had taken its place. I no longer believed a circle of mushrooms meant to stay away, or that I had to leave a bowl of milk out in order to stay safe. Even so, as I watched the beautiful yet surreal landscape, I understood how people could believe in magic, both dangerous and wonderful.

A set of hurried knocks brought me out of my reverie with a snap. Frowning, I set my mug of coffee on the table beside the window. I hadn’t heard the approach of anyone’s vehicle and wasn’t expecting any visitors. For a moment, I contemplated grabbing the rifle or shotgun I kept but brushed the thought away. I was miles from any trouble, and I knew wildlife didn’t knock on doors like their lives depended on it.

Sighing, I wound my way through the small house, unconsciously running my hand along the furniture as I went. It was my dream that one day the house would be filled with furniture I’d made by hand, but so far that dream was only half realized. Every time I turned around, there was something else demanding my attention. The house and the land had been in a bad state when I had bought it, and after half a dozen years, it seemed I was still trying to patch a hole or seal a window.

I swung the door open, stuttering when I saw who stood on the other side. The handful of hours since I’d seen Cielo had apparently been a trial for him. He was still as colorful as ever, but the verve he’d carried before was gone. His blanched hair was wilting around his face and his clothes were smudged with dirt and what appeared to be ash. The man looked downright pitiful and I couldn’t help the pang of sympathy that shot through me.

“Hi,” he managed around chattering teeth.

Raising my brow, I stepped back from the door to let him in. I smirked when he all but dashed into the house to soak up the warmth. It was then that I became aware of a pungent smell hanging around him. It smelled like the guy had been rolling around in burnt plastic before he made the journey to my house.

“I guess you’re learning what I meant about it getting cold,” I said.

He nodded vehemently. “I’m sorry. I saw you drive in this direction after you dropped me off, so I figured you lived out this way. When I saw the sign for an apple orchard, I knew it had to be yours, since you… your truck smelled like apples.”

I hadn’t missed the sudden change in wording and felt my gut tighten. It was absurd for me to be aroused by Cielo’s attention to my scent. I knew it was partly because of how small and helpless he looked as he gazed up at me plaintively. Again, I was struck by how surreal he looked, just like the moonlit night. Yet, just like the night, he drew me to him, offering both danger and pleasure.

Shaking the thought away, I grunted. “Well, you found me. What can I do for you?”

He winced. “Is there… a chance you might let me crash on your couch or something? It’s way too cold out there.”