Chris/Justin

quicksilver; galaxy

"Do you ever think about things like… maybe we're meant to be together?"

Chris looks at Justin, at the way he's meticulously tearing blades of grass into little pieces. "...no, not really," he says. He shifts around, folding his leg the other way when Justin doesn't say anything else. It's damp under the grass. It's not technically a lie, unless, "Together like, together together?"

Justin keeps right on making little piles of grass. Chris doesn't know if they're sorted by size or by colour, and he doesn't care.

"We'd have to be gay to be together," Chris says, thinking about it. "Really gay."

"Yeah." Justin isn't looking at Chris, he's looking at his hands and the grass, but he's talking to him.

Chris thinks. This connects to this and that to that. "So, 'Yeah' like 'Yeah, Chris, I didn't think of that,' or 'Yeah, Chris, I'm gay enough and I want to have an epic love affair with you'?" Because, really, Chris is fine any which way. He'd be gay enough, if Justin was. For Justin, he would.

The grass piles are apparently finished, since Justin scrapes them up, and holds them out in front of Chris, fists closed around them. "Pick one," he says, finally looking at him.

Chris looks into Justin's eyes and blindly reaches out, touching. There's a reflection of something, something bright in Justin's eyes as he lifts the hand Chris touched to face level, opens it palm up, and blows a rain of grass into Chris's face.