The Edifice

Bonus: Where Are We Headed?

Otis flops from the pool and onto the warm stone like a mermaid, turning his browned face to the sun and wringing water from his hair. His green eyes scan the row of recliners of the villa, lighting up when he locates me. I scuttle back towards my towel at the sight of him loping over, shaking droplets from his bare arms.

"Uh-uh! You're wet!" I protest, but he lays down on me anyway, grinning as he presses his icy face into my stomach. Tossing my book aside, I bunch my fist in his hair and pull him back and up into a kiss. "And cold."

"I know," he says with a smile, giving the kiss a flash of teeth before he rolls onto his side and rests his cheek in the crook of my neck. Water drips down my chest in thin tendrils, evaporating beneath the grilling sun.

Thailand suits Otis Creed.

He'd loved the bustling cities of New York and London. We spent over two weeks in Rome and then backpacked Spain, exhausted but living. But here, where life is intractably vibrant in the face of the heavy hot air and the taste of the ocean has seeped into the breeze- Otis is a different man entirely.

Caught in the thrall of the thronging markets of fruit, fish and foreign culture, there's been a spark of childish euphoria in Otis's eyes for weeks now. An undiminishing appreciation for the rhythmic heartbeat of raw humanity, from every purchase of fresh food to standing ankle-deep in the surf, face turned towards the sun.

Our skins are a mottled mess of peeling brown and fresh pink and the warm nights seem to mold any touching flesh together. It's as if despite being caught on the magic-void side of the veil, our souls have not forgotten how recently they were cleaved. That both spirit and flesh are half-each other.

"The uh..." I hesitate on my words as my other half shifts on my chest, puppyish eyes watching me speak. "The hotel clerk called the room this morning. He wants to know if we're going to be renewing the room again next week."

"Oh. Ok," Otis responds idly. He rolls a matted strand of his wet hair between his thumb and forefinger, brow furrowed with a powerful, child-like fixation.

"I didn't know what to tell him..." I drag the sentence on pointedly in the hopes he'll finally take the bait on the conversation we've both been hiding from these last eleven months. I've seen it in his eyes every time he's near an open flame, mind and memories a million miles away. Watched him hover over the broken bodies of sidewalk snails, scooping open fingers through the air about them as he reaches for forces that don't respond.

"Why are we talking about this?" He huffs, rolling his back to me and tugging the clump of hair irritably.

"Because you're human now, and time means something. It's almost been a year. If we're heading back, then we need to start planning for it. At least try to discuss it."

I glance at the happy families either side of us as my boyfriend heaves an almighty groan, curling inwards to hide his face. Trying not to appear like I've just assaulted him, I reach over and grip his shoulders tight with practiced hands.

Human almost a year, Otis still struggles most of all with pain. A lifetime of incorporeality has left him a stranger to any constraints- not only to his body, but to the feelings it entails. I hadn't paid much thought to the standard of discomfort that comes with existing- but Otis had been forced to adapt to the aches and strains over a matter of months. It's been like a child teething, with emotional distress and existentialism tossed in for good measure.

He relaxes into my touch though, the instant the pressure of my fingers in muscle pulls away from the insubstantial weight of emotion in his chest. Still, he doesn't open his eyes as I hear his breath begin to stabilize.