Boys of West Denton ✓

epilogue

sebastian

I'm sitting on my bed at home, leaning as comfortably against the wall as I can. The blanket Harris got for me as a going-away gift is around my shoulders, having freshly accompanied me on my flight home. Saanvi is chatting away, her face taking up the entire computer screen. "It's so barbaric!" she says, but she's smiling. "I hate having to kill the lab mice."

"Uh, Saanvi, I'd believe you if you didn't sound so invigorated by it."

"Whaaatever. Fine. I really do feel terrible, though. They're, like, my children."

"Not helping."

"Whaaaaaatever." She pulls the top half of her hair to put up in a ponytail. She cut it chin-length a week before she left for college. Her mom thought it was an abysmal decision, but it looks good on her. Really good, even still, as it is now, all the way down to her shoulders. "How's being home for Thanksgiving? There much snow yet?"

"Just a few inches," I promise. "Believe me, you're not missing out on much right now. It's still in the upper twenties most days."

"Yay." Saanvi's tone is dry. "I am so excited to come home for nearly an entire month to experience the worst parts of a Minnesota winter. Joy to the world."

I hear her phone buzz in the background. She checks it and drops her half-way finished ponytail. "Fuck, I forgot I was supposed to meet Dev downstairs. Friendsgiving awaits."

"Um, hot scientist boyfriend awaits?"

"Um, hot engineer boyfriend awaits, thank you very much." She drops the ponytail and floofs out her hair, pouting into the camera. "How do I look?"

"Soooo sexy, girlfrand. Yaaassss, oh my god. Slayyyy."

"Yay, ahhh! Okay, okay, okay. I have to go, but please tell Harris I say hi and that I miss him! Your mom too! Okay, okay, okay, BYE! I love you forever and ever and ever and ever and...." Her voice trails off as she shuts her laptop lid, until I'm left on my own in the Zoom. I leave the meeting and stretch. It was about time for me to get going anyway. I have to go pick Harris up.

There's barely any snow still left on the roads. Most of it melted, the only bit left of it being the gutter sludge. There's a thin layer of snow and ice covering everyone's lawns in town, but it's okay, the grass was all dead anyways. Harris' lawn is no exception.

I've barely even put the truck in park when he's racing out the door, wearing a red MSU Moorhead Dragons sweater underneath an open jacket. He waves ecstatically, running up to my window instead of the passenger side. Obliging him, I roll down the window and lean out.

Harris' hands find my cheeks, and my face tilts of its own accord, so our noses don't smush together. I've missed the feeling of his fingers in my hair—even now with thin woolen gloves—and the slightly minty taste of his lips from when he's just brushed his teeth. Then he pulls away, cutting the kiss way too short, and beams up at me.

"Hey there," he says, dropping his hands onto the door.

He looks good, even better than when I last saw him—FaceTime does not count. His hair is longer, a little floppier, but I like it. His new friend on campus, Emma or something, got him into face masks and shit, and his skin is practically glowing. He's wearing khaki pants, typical "Harris dressing up" wear. I can't believe he's here, right in front of me. Months of FaceTimes and late evening calls in different time zones don't seem real now.

"I missed you so much," I tell him. After all this time, I'm still unsure of what to do with my hands.

Harris grins. Fuck. I've missed his smile. Not to mention that little dimple on his cheek. I want to trace his smile lines with the tips of my fingers, feel the softness of his skin crease as he smiles into my hands. But I just unlock the doors and watch as Harris races around to the other side, jumping in. As soon as I've shifted the truck into gear, our fingers are lacing together, our forearms resting on the center console. He turns up the same Fruit Bats CD that's been living in my truck since the summer before senior year, and I'm only slightly surprised that he sings along the whole way to Paco's.

—

Some weather is better than other weather when it comes to milkshake weather. Today is one of those days—sitting right around a toasty thirty-five degrees, just warm enough that woolen gloves and jeans are enough to get you by. Harris is wearing a red Moorhead crewneck under his jacket; I'm wearing the infamous track sweatshirt. I'm also wearing a hat, because fuck the winter. He brought me a spare pair of those cheap gloves you find every year at Walmart starting in November. The cheap fabric scratches my skin; I try to fit my fingers in them all the way, but they're too short. Still, I don't mind, especially as Harris grabs my hand in his, and we begin our snow-filled trek up to the quarry's edge.

Harris is a few steps ahead of me, holding back branches for the both of us every now and again. I step gingerly on the footsteps he leaves behind him, doing everything I can to avoid getting snow in my own shoes. Thin layers of snow crunch underfoot, resting upon frozen grass and weeds. I miss the feeling of Harris' surprisingly smooth palm against my own, but the warmth he's sharing with me is seriously no joke. I give his hand a squeeze right before we reach the top. He squeezes back.

I've got my usual chocolate malt in the other hand; Harris has his strawberry shake. He keeps taking sips, enough so that I'm sure it's mostly gone by now.

"Did you drink it all already?" I ask him as we make our way over to the cliff's edge.

Harris looks back at me, his green eyes wide. "Huh?"

I snort. "Your shake, is it—"

"You just wanna know if my lips taste like strawberry, huh? Is that it? Huh?"

It's cold enough—and I'm used to Harris enough—that there's no familiar heat flushing the back of my neck. But my stomach still flips just a little bit, a pleasant, nervous little flip. "You wish. Shut up."

"Ooh, 'shut up.' Someone's on fire today."

I laugh, and we sit down near the quarry's edge. I ignore the feeling of snow beginning to melt into the back of my jeans, and focus instead on the frozen quarry waters below.

"I wonder how much of it is frozen," Harris says aloud. He turns to look at me. "I was wondering if it would freeze, or if it was too toxic or something."

"Nah, pH levels don't affect water's freezing point. I don't think there's anything in there that would stop it, really."

"Your science knowledge is hot."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, I bet."

Harris wedges his cup in the snow. "Can I kiss my hot, doctor-to-be boyfriend now?"

"May I kiss my hot, doctor-to-be boyfrie—"

He cuts me off, pressing his lips to mine. I fumble behind me, trying to set down my malt without spilling it, before properly returning the gesture. Harris' hair feels completely different through the gloves, but I don't mind it. It's scratchier for sure, but I'm too happy to be here with him to complain. He gently nudges me onto the ground, and I let him guide me, till the back of my jacket presses against the ground, and my woolen beanie slips off just slightly. His body is warm, his mouth hot, his touch gentle.

We kiss for what could be forever. Snow melts into the back of my hair and jeans, leaving us lying in a wet pile of grassy dead mush. I don't even care. My hands are right up against the underside of Harris' jaw, and one of his knees is between my thighs. It's been too long since we've been like this, since I've felt his weight rest comfortably atop me, since I've felt our heartbeats sync as he brushes his thumbs across my cheeks.

He pulls away after a while, and we're both breathing a little heavier, our breath fogging up in front of our faces as we try to play it cool. "I love you," he says, leaning forward and pressing a peck against my forehead.

I tilt my chin back slightly and smile. "I love you too."

Harris goes on to press a kiss to my cheek. "I love you here." My jaw. "And here." The side of my mouth. "And here...." The tip of my nose. "Even here."

I don't have words for him. There's this warm, calm thrumming in my chest. My body is comfortably loose, more so than it's been in months past. "I love you everywhere."

"Simp," Harris says, and then kisses me once more. Despite the snow soaking in through my jeans, I'm not cold. I'm feverish. Harris' lips are even softer than I remembered, each small movement of his chin or hands or body opening me up, piece by piece, until I lie before him, completely exposed. He just keeps on kissing me; I just keep on kissing him back.

Out of everything I've ever done on a cliff's edge, this has to be my favorite.