The Climbing Wall – Part 2: Top Rope

They sat on a flat shelf of rock above the water, legs dangling over the drop, the rope coiled between them like a sleeping animal. The Mediterranean breathed in and out below.

"A year," said Elias. "I almost said something in March."

"What stopped you?"

"Your shoulders were tense. I thought you wanted quiet."

"I wanted you," said Jordi, and laughed at his own bluntness. "I'm terrible at this."

"No." Elias turned to him, grey eyes calm in the moonlight. "You were very good at it. In the last hour you did more than I did in a year."

The wind lifted a lock of hair across his scar. Jordi, without thinking, reached up and brushed it back. Elias's breath stopped.

"Can I ask you something?" said Jordi.

"Yes."

"May I kiss you?"

"Yes," said Elias, very softly. "And if you say stop, you must lead the hard route next Thursday without a rest."

"It's a terrible punishment."

"It's a hard route."

Jordi kissed him, slowly, a hand curled at the back of his neck, the warm chalky taste of him sweet beneath the salt. Elias kissed back without hurry, an arm round Jordi's waist, holding him steady as he had held the rope. Below them, the sea beat on the rocks, and above the stars shone cold and clear.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" asked Elias.

"Green," said Jordi. "Very green."

They walked back to the station at midnight, shoulders touching, their hands brushing, then holding. On the train home, Elias fell asleep with his head against the window, and Jordi watched over him all the way to the city, still a little dazed by how easy it had been.

"Thursday," murmured Elias, half-asleep.

"Thursday," said Jordi. "And Friday."

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