The House Above the Sea

22.

"Kit, quit moving already."

Kit screws his face into a scowl.

Neo stands back, snapping his scissors shut with a harrumph. "I'm sorry. Do you want your hair to look like a Picasso painting?"

The scowl softens, and Kit grips the sides of the bar stool, stilling himself.

Neo lets out a pleased scoff, setting to work again. "That's what I thought."

He settles back into a rhythm, almost like breathing; the world reduced to nothing more than the quiet snipping of shears, velvety black strands drifting towards the aging wood floor like ink-stained snow. Out the window just behind Kit, the sun sinks below the cliff's edge, the sky a dim orange-yellow behind the clouds. Neo will have to work a bit faster.

There's a low fwump as Joey, apparently bored of wandering around the premises, finally collapses onto the air mattress. He calls from the living room, "Why are you cutting his hair, by the way?"

Neo doesn't look up. He rests a finger below Kit's chin—Kit's eyes glitter for a moment—and turns it sharply left, trimming the sides. Kit's mouth presses into a small pout. "He asked me to," Neo replies.

"Oh," says Joey. Then: "Kit, why is he cutting your hair?"

There's a considerably lengthy beat of silence before Joey realizes.

Neo almost wants to laugh, but stifles it. "His sister's coming; of course he'd want to look his best," he says, and Kit starts to nod his head, before a keen look from Neo orders him not to. "Besides, it was getting too long."

"About that," Joey says, and in Neo's periphery, he sees his cousin sitting up, legs crossed beneath him.

"About what, Joey?"

"I..." Sensing the hesitation in Joey's voice, Neo lowers his shears, glancing in his direction. Joey flicks off his hat, passing his fingers through his honey brown curls before he blurts out, "Are you positive Elsie's going to show up?"

It's not that ridiculous of a question, knowing what they know about Elsie, but still Neo falters in search of a reply. He scans Kit's face, straining to meet his eyes, but Kit's are trained on the ground. The look on his face, the slight downturn to his mouth, tells Neo all he needs to know. Joey may have verbalized it, but he's not the only one who's been asking that question.

Neo lowers a hand onto Kit's shoulder, and Kit picks up his head, his eyes newly visible without his hair to ceaselessly fall into them. Neo ignores—or at least attempts to ignore—the shockwave the sight of them sends through his crush-weakened heart. "If you want me to answer literally," says Neo, holding Kit's gaze even as he speaks to Joey, "then no, I don't know. It's impossible for us to be one hundred percent sure about anything."

Joey slides his hat back on, frowning at the floor.

"That being said," Neo continues, "I have faith in Elsie. She's probably scared; I mean, I think all of us would be. But I think she's going to do the right thing here."

Slowly, like a tiptoe, a smile spreads across Kit's face, pinching his cheeks a rosy pink. Another shockwave ripples down Neo's spine. Curse Joey for insisting to be here; if he weren't, Neo would have showered Kit's face with kisses by now.

Now that he's allowed to, it's all he thinks about: Kit's smile, Kit's freckles, Kit's eyelashes, Kit's mouth, Kit, Kit, Kit. Neo's mind is just a collage of him, an epic, lovely catastrophe he in no way wants to tidy.

With the knuckle of his index finger, Neo brushes Kit's jawline. Kit closes his eyes, his expression utterly placid.

If only you knew, Neo thinks. If only you knew how grateful I am that you exist.