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Winter is relative downtime.
September 18th, 2024 06:42 pmYou&& (working title) is a queer novella about when home is other people, including the monsters lurking in the woods. Check out the about page here. You&& is a sequel to Sometimes The Mountain Buries You.
Winter is relative downtime. Basin works more to make sure their car doesn't get snowed in than works extra hours on ranches. Less of their people travel in winter, less of their people come to their cabin to rest and rely on them. The second bedroom houses one consistent guest over the winter who leaves with the thaw and so overlaps their stay with Mark and Ghost's arrival for all of one evening the following breakfast.
The morning's plates are washed, dried, and put away by Mark and Ghost while Basin drops their consistent guest off at the decent town's bus. Mark and Ghost are lounging on the porch when Basin returns. They kick the underside of Mark's combat boots then drop to the porch themself.
"You good?" Ghost asks, offering a can of cider across Mark's chest.
Basin exhales long and steady. After another breath they finally sit up to take the drooping can, only to fall flat and press aluminum against their face.
"Miss them already?" Mark asks, back to lying flat on greying planks after flailing at the kick to his boots. He gives a whining "hey" and turns away when Basin reprises a kick to his ankle but at Basin's grin he breaks into his own.
Ghost laughs with the dry twangy crackle of decades smoking cigarettes. It matches Mark's. When Mark gives Basin a shove, Basin rips into their own peals of laughter.
"Fuck," Basin breathes, wiping the corners of their eyes with the heels of their palms. "Been busy scaring my neighbours?"
"I'll have you know," Mark declares in the most mockingly affronted voice, "that your neighbours love us. We've endeared ourselves to them. They can't live without us."
Ghost catches Basin's eye with the not-wink crinkle at the corner of his own. "It's true. We've waved at all of two of them."
"Any you recognize?"
"I don't think so," Ghost replies while Mark rocks his head against the porch in a shake. "Will see them at dinner tonight probably right?"
"Ahuh." Basin thinks of the groceries in the car for their usual cooking too much on Monday evenings, taking up the seat that had been the consistent guest's during her stay. They think about the empty space left by the consistent guest in the kitchen for cooking too much on Monday evenings. Mark and Ghost will also help cook too much, but they don't fill the consistent guest's space—they occupy their own space. Basin presses their lips into a flat line that has Mark and Ghost share a look.
Mark splays an arm out across greying planks. "C'mere, you fuck."
Pausing only to think they ought to bring in the groceries, Basin rests their head on Mark's arm. They exhale long and steady.
Winter is relative downtime. Basin works more to make sure their car doesn't get snowed in than works extra hours on ranches. Less of their people travel in winter, less of their people come to their cabin to rest and rely on them. The second bedroom houses one consistent guest over the winter who leaves with the thaw and so overlaps their stay with Mark and Ghost's arrival for all of one evening the following breakfast.
The morning's plates are washed, dried, and put away by Mark and Ghost while Basin drops their consistent guest off at the decent town's bus. Mark and Ghost are lounging on the porch when Basin returns. They kick the underside of Mark's combat boots then drop to the porch themself.
"You good?" Ghost asks, offering a can of cider across Mark's chest.
Basin exhales long and steady. After another breath they finally sit up to take the drooping can, only to fall flat and press aluminum against their face.
"Miss them already?" Mark asks, back to lying flat on greying planks after flailing at the kick to his boots. He gives a whining "hey" and turns away when Basin reprises a kick to his ankle but at Basin's grin he breaks into his own.
Ghost laughs with the dry twangy crackle of decades smoking cigarettes. It matches Mark's. When Mark gives Basin a shove, Basin rips into their own peals of laughter.
"Fuck," Basin breathes, wiping the corners of their eyes with the heels of their palms. "Been busy scaring my neighbours?"
"I'll have you know," Mark declares in the most mockingly affronted voice, "that your neighbours love us. We've endeared ourselves to them. They can't live without us."
Ghost catches Basin's eye with the not-wink crinkle at the corner of his own. "It's true. We've waved at all of two of them."
"Any you recognize?"
"I don't think so," Ghost replies while Mark rocks his head against the porch in a shake. "Will see them at dinner tonight probably right?"
"Ahuh." Basin thinks of the groceries in the car for their usual cooking too much on Monday evenings, taking up the seat that had been the consistent guest's during her stay. They think about the empty space left by the consistent guest in the kitchen for cooking too much on Monday evenings. Mark and Ghost will also help cook too much, but they don't fill the consistent guest's space—they occupy their own space. Basin presses their lips into a flat line that has Mark and Ghost share a look.
Mark splays an arm out across greying planks. "C'mere, you fuck."
Pausing only to think they ought to bring in the groceries, Basin rests their head on Mark's arm. They exhale long and steady.
