The Volcano Trail – Part 2: Summit Light

They reached the top at dawn. The sky split open in the east, pink and gold, and below them the whole island rolled out, villages and vineyards and the long silver line of the Ionian coast.

Ben stood at the rim and did not flinch. His eyes were wide.

"I did it."

"You did."

"I looked down. Just now. I looked down, and I was fine."

"You were more than fine," said Nico. He had brought a flask of sweet black coffee and two hard almond biscuits in a paper bag, and he handed Ben one with ceremony. "Welcome to the summit."

They sat on a warm rock, shoulder to shoulder, steam curling from the vents around them. The wind smelled of sulphur and morning. Far below, a ferry crawled across the bay.

"Can I ask you something?" said Ben.

"Yes."

"Do you do this often? Climb with strangers?"

"Never," said Nico. "I like silence. But you made me laugh at three in the morning, and I never laugh at three in the morning."

Ben grinned, glowing. "May I kiss you, Nico? Here, on top of a volcano? I'll never get a better chance."

"Yes," said Nico. "And if you say stop, you must carry my pack all the way down."

"That's a savage punishment."

"I know."

Ben leaned in and kissed him, a little awkwardly at first, cold fingers on his jaw, warming quickly. It tasted of coffee and almond. Nico kissed him back with unhurried tenderness, one arm sliding round his back, the sun lifting over the sea and turning everything gold.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" asked Nico.

"Green," said Ben. "Very green."

They went down together, slowly, hand in hand over the black ash. At the bottom, Ben bought a postcard of the volcano and wrote on the back, in the cafe, before Nico could see: Not scared of heights. Only of leaving.

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