[ fifteen hours on a plane, and some-odd time on a boat to the island. it's all melted together, time slipping through steve's fingers. he's been asleep, half-asleep, but not all there when it comes to wakefulness. he'd falling asleep on the boat, his mother poking his ribs gently to wake him up. we're here, son! his father slapped his bare knee, board shorts covering steve's lower frame. when they reached the sand, steve winces at the heat against his feet. he's wearing flip-flops, sand already working its way between his toes.
he steps up with his mother and father to the line of greeters, and his eyes travel from the man speaking to them — fabian, the manager, as he explains — to smiling face to smiling face. when his gaze falls upon the guy at the right side, his father's voice cuts through the pleasantries. steve immediately looks down, the flowers placed on his wrist dangling. it's as if he's being spoken to that way, but then, thankfully — his mother chimes in. don't be so grumpy. sorry, he's been on the plane too long. jetlag. steve's eyes lift to the man around his age, and he mouths an i'm sorry — his father is too busy being placated by his mother. that's what always happens, and steve resents it. he always has. ]
I'm Steve. I was on the same plane.
[ a small joke, one that causes the side of his mouth to uptick as he looks back at the man, watching his face. his gaze then flicks to fabian and the rest of the greeters, and he offers a smile. he lifts his wrists, indicating the flowers and shaking them a bit. he smiles again. ]
What are these for — maybe you can tell me?
[ his focus then shifts back to him, and steve wonders why. yeah, he's handsome — pretty eyes, the way his mouth slightly pouts, his eyelashes when he blinks — it's all devastating, but there's a warmth steve can feel, too. he doesn't want him to think badly of his family right off the bat, so steve steps forward as his parents talk to fabian. ]
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surprise.
he steps up with his mother and father to the line of greeters, and his eyes travel from the man speaking to them — fabian, the manager, as he explains — to smiling face to smiling face. when his gaze falls upon the guy at the right side, his father's voice cuts through the pleasantries. steve immediately looks down, the flowers placed on his wrist dangling. it's as if he's being spoken to that way, but then, thankfully — his mother chimes in. don't be so grumpy. sorry, he's been on the plane too long. jetlag. steve's eyes lift to the man around his age, and he mouths an i'm sorry — his father is too busy being placated by his mother. that's what always happens, and steve resents it. he always has. ]
I'm Steve. I was on the same plane.
[ a small joke, one that causes the side of his mouth to uptick as he looks back at the man, watching his face. his gaze then flicks to fabian and the rest of the greeters, and he offers a smile. he lifts his wrists, indicating the flowers and shaking them a bit. he smiles again. ]
What are these for — maybe you can tell me?
[ his focus then shifts back to him, and steve wonders why. yeah, he's handsome — pretty eyes, the way his mouth slightly pouts, his eyelashes when he blinks — it's all devastating, but there's a warmth steve can feel, too. he doesn't want him to think badly of his family right off the bat, so steve steps forward as his parents talk to fabian. ]