On Common Ground

The streets of Ponyville are familiar ones to me, far more familiar than they are to him, to be honest. But today they feel a little foreign to me. I’m new, taking on a new role, and this new girlfriend version of Berry Punch has never been this way before. I allow Anon to navigate our way through the streets, not willing to pull him or try to nudge him either way, trusting him to get us there. I’m too busy trying not to look at every pony who passes, and trying not to stumble over my own hooves like a complete klutz.

I don’t think I see anyone really peering at us, and it’s not like we’re making out in the middle of the road or anything. But I still feel an odd tightness in my throat as I spot someone I know and quickly glance away. I feels like I’m on a secret mission, and that someone might know if I make any eye contact. It’s a stupid feeling, but I can’t shake it. Admittedly, the whole secret agent feeling is also a little exciting.

“You okay?” I hear Anon say at my side.

My chin jerks up towards him, and I nearly trip over my feet after all.

“Oh! Uh. Yeah, why do you ask?”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Because you’re quiet and you’re leaning on my hip so hard it’s difficult not to fall over.”

I pull back away from him and almost bump into a passing pony. I mutter a quick obscenity mixed with an apology, then move back a step closer to Anon. He looks about ready to laugh at me.

“Sorry about that,” I mutter to him as well. “Didn’t realize I was doing it.”

“It’s okay, I swear,” he says kindly, as we turn a corner near the edge of town. “I like it.”

I glance up at him, then down, just to check that we’re both flushed a little. Me more than him, unfortunately, but that's probsbly to be expected.

“Really?”

“Yes, believe it or not I like physical contact with you.”

“Gross.”

He laughs and gives me a slight nudge with his hip. I nudge back, laughing a touch myself, simply at how good it feels to make him happy with my words.

“We’re gross, it’s fine,” he says. “But if you don’t want to lean on me…”

“I like it too,” I admit. “If it’s okay.”

“We’ve been over this, it is.”

“Fine, fine.”

I heave a sigh, as if it’s a massive inconvenience to me, and lean over to rest on him once again. This time, he slips a hand down to rest on where my shoulder meets my neck, and I feel every single hair along the back of my neck and ears lift up a little. His fingers almost tickle there, and it feels very intimate to me to be touched someplace so sensitive. As he presses down slightly, I can feel the warmth of his hand through my fur, and I can’t help but push up against it slightly with every step.

If I wasn’t walking somewhere, I’d shut my eyes and just enjoy it.

Using his hand to guide me with subtle touches to the right and left, we slip past ponies we know, playing foals, and market carts on their way to the town center. Before I’ve even realized it, we’re passing the final homes and shops on the outskirts of town. Even though my worry of others noticing us has abated some, seeing the town’s limits approaching takes a weight off of my chest. All of a sudden, I can breathe much easier. My pace slows in its rhythm, and Anon slows to match it.

I look over at him as I feel his weight shift oddly, to see him adjust the picnic basket on his arm. I’d forgotten he was carrying it, and it suddenly strikes me that it looks pretty heavy, especially to only be carrying with one arm. I nod towards it.

“Want me to get that?”

“Nah, I’ve got it,” he says with a quick shake of his head. I frown.

“I dunno, it looks heavy. You were just in the hospital and I’ve got a really sturdy back,” I say. He makes no move to give me the basket, and I roll my eyes. “Come on, let me help.”

“Nope, date etiquette dictates that I carry things for you. It’s proper that way.”

“Oh for the love of-”

“Besides, I’ll use your sturdy back for something else later.”

I let out a fakely indignant squawk and give him a shove with one hoof. It doesn't stop him from grinning.

“Such crass innuendo!” I over-enunciate every syllable. “What does date etiquette say about speaking like that to your marefriend before you’ve even sat down to lunch? Hm?”

He shrugs.

“I don’t know, you think I care about date etiquette?”

I let out a frustrated groan. Never mind that I just referred to myself as his marefriend, and that fact is giving me weird butterflies that make me feel both nauseated and thrilled.

“Fine,” I snap. “But I’ll carry the basket back. Seriously, my species is made to carry things on their backs, yours is not, so let me give you some rest.”

Anon still smiles down at me, but he lets out a little sigh.

“Berry,” he says, and as he does, he ruffles the fur on the back of my neck, sending a thrill of tingles through me again. “I’m okay, clean bill of health for now, and I can call the doctor so he'll tell you that too if you like. I know how to take care of myself.”

“Still gonna carry it.”

“We’ll see.”

“I’ll fight you for it.”

“We’ll just have to see.”

I’m about to protest further when I spot the pond up ahead of us, and that shuts me up pretty well. The sun is approaching noon, but it’s barely off center enough to bounce light off the nearly glass surface of the water. The trees by its edge glisten, as if their leaves have been dipped in gold and silver, and with every soft gust of mild wind, they dance, branch to branch, tree to tree.

Near one side of the pond, a small jutting portion of land extends inward towards the water’s center. Nestled there is a small willow tree, leaning precariously over the water, so that a few of its branches even brush the surface. It creates an odd bubble of privacy underneath, enough to mostly hide anyone who sits there, but the foliage is barely transparent enough for me to make out that it’s still vacant. In the coming autumn, the tree has begun to change its colors. There are hues if yellow, orange, and most of all a sort of pink that glow with the sun’s light. It is towards this tree that we turn our steps.

I can feel Anon give a brief sigh of relief, and I wonder whether it’s from being out of town, or that no one has swiped our spot, especially on such a beautiful day. I smile up at him.

“Well,” I say jovially. “It seems we’re the first here.”

“Yeah, and hopefully it stays that way,” he says back, voice soft, as if he’s afraid he might jinx it.

“I could do with a little solitude.”

“As long as you’re in solitude with me.”

“Well that was cheesy,” I snicker, then bump him with my hip again, lighter this time.

“You know you like it.”

As I move to draw away from the small nudge, he reaches out and catches me around the waist with one arm. I try to push him away or protest, but he swiftly pulls me against him in a side hug, and holds me there briefly as we stand by the edge of the pond. I can feel the warmth of his hand and arm through my fur, across my belly and sides, and I look away from him as the blush starts to spread. I know he’s watching me, because I feel the vibration of laughter ripple through him into me. The intimacy of it is momentarily overwhelming, though I wouldn’t lie and say it’s unwelcome.

“C-could we…” I mumble out, gesturing with the side of my head towards the willow.

“If you’re sure you wouldn’t rather be alone. Solitude and all that.”

I growl up at him, and this time the vibration of laughter is stronger.

“Oh, let me go and come on. I know I’m hungry, even if you’re not.”

“Sure, whatever excuse you need.”

He gives me a little extra squeeze, then releases me. Before I can move to the willow, he steps forward and draws the leaves back like a curtain. He holds them aside and gestures me on through, with what looks like a minor bow. It’s so damn charming that I kind of hate him for a moment, but I quickly bend my knees in a small mock-curtsy, then step through into the protection of the willow’s canopy.

The temperature change is instant, with the way the shade blocks out the bright sun. It elicits another sigh from me as I feel a slight privacy surround me with the branches. The way the leaves brush the water, they create rings that move outward, crossing each other, disrupting, and at last finding the bank of the pond like miniature waves. I hear a rustle as Anon steps in behind me, and I turn to face him with a light smile.

“Well, I feel better,” I say, and take a step towards him.

He rolls his eyes as he sets down the basket, and reaches out to accept me into his arms.

“Ah, I see, so now that no one is around to see us, you’re happy to make physical contact with m-”

I silence him by reaching up and pressing a kiss against his lips. The sound of the last word makes a rumble in his mouth still, but it fades quickly as he tightens his hold on me and kisses me back. His body leans against me, and once more I feel his warmth spreading past my fur to find the soft parts of my belly, hips, and inner legs. His lips are so soft, so smooth, and I feel a brief intrusion of his tongue against mine. I pull away before things can get to serious, smiling coyly. Not yet, real dates mean things take time, but that simply means the payoff will be all the sweeter, right? He smiles back at me.

“Ah,” he says knowingly. “So is that a ‘shut up’ or a ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ kiss?”

“It can be both.”

“I’m sure.”

“Come on, we could play that came forever. Let’s lay out the blanket and let’s have something to eat, okay?”

He releases my body and I step away to let him turn his attention to the basket, though I instantly miss his warmth spreading over me. It’s all the worse because, as he bends over, I catch a sight of the curve of his back and rear, inviting and provocative considering his formal attire. I quickly turn away before he can notice me staring, and clear my throat to hide any crack or break that might try to slip in.

“Uh, so… need any help with that?” I say, my voice cracking despite my best efforts.

He glances over at me, smiles smugly, but let’s it go.

“Well, you just spread out the blanket and sit down, I’ll get the rest of it.”

“Oh, going to pamper me like a princess? Do everything while I just sprawl out and relax and call orders?”

As I say this, I toss my head back, as if I’m a wilting, fainting, delicate flower. It feels so fake for me to act like this, it’s hard not to burst out laughing at the awkwardness of it all. Instead I bat my eyes, and heave a haughty feminine sigh of indignation and woe. He glances at me again and gives a half chuckle.

“Thinking pretty highly of yourself all of a sudden. Am I your slave today or-”

“N-no!” I quickly blurt out, quickly straightening up. “I just mean that… that…”

“Calm down, I’ll pamper you if that’s what you want.”

“But-”

“No worries your majesty, I can handle it all on my own. I know my place.”

“Just give me the damn blanket,” I growl, and snatch it from his hand as he passes it my way. I repress my urge to call him a jerk again.

With a practiced shake of my hooves, I unroll the checkered cloth and shake it into the air to help spread it out. Then, with a simple tug towards me as it falls, I settle it to the ground, keeping it flat, before it can rebound and crinkle in towards me again. I pull the edges out a bit straighter, and then sit back near one side of it with a huff.

I know I could offer to help him further, but maybe it’s better to completely avoid the teasing for a bit and let him do as he likes. He always likes to do things himself, without help, as if he has to prove he doesn’t need it. I’m somewhat the same way, which I suppose is kind of a bad mix when you stop to think about it, but I’m happy to be the one to let up at times. I don’t need it that badly, and if I’m being honest with myself it’s kind of nice to have someone else being this nice to me. Besides, I think with a cock of my head, that view certainly isn’t anything to scoff at.

He catches me staring with another glance over his shoulder, as he pulls a few containers out of the basket. This time, rather than letting myself get all shy, I simply throw a suggestive smile his way. I exaggeratedly look over his back and rear appreciatively, then back up to his eyes. I am thrilled to see him flush and look away from me. See, I can be in charge of the teasing sometimes too, I think at him.

“Anyway,” he says quickly. “I’ve packed some things for sandwiches, cheese and crackers, some fresh fruit, and-”

“I see something else pretty tasty,” I say in a low voice. “Wouldn’t mind having a bite.”

He goes motionless, then clears his throat, exactly as I had done.

“Oh. Thanks,” he says.

It’s his awkward usual response to a compliment, and it’s how I know I’ve hit home. He used to deflect them entirely, deny any sort of nicety I would offer. But he stopped that the closer we got over the months, and now he just says thank you and hopes I’ll drop it. I do drop it… sometimes.

“Hey, you're the one looking so good for me. Anytime,” I practically purr.

Another pause. Perhaps I've gone too far, or perhaps I've made him so uneasy that he'll turn actual shades of magenta. I lean forward, trying to inspect his face and ears, ready for all the awkward.

“Oh really?” he says back, in a low, smooth tone. “Any time I want?”

My ears stand up rigid with surprise. Wait, what’s this sudden change in his voice? This is not what was intended! When he turns to me, he’s smiling suggestively, and he may be blushing but the voice he’s using is one he knows gets to me. He makes full eye contact, practically daring me to make a move or turn away. Damn him, he didn’t used to be this quick on the draw! I resist the urge to growl, and back out of the game of chicken I know he’s starting. Not yet, I remind myself. That’s not how real dates work, even if it’s what we’ve always done before this.

“When is it,” I say wistfully as I break eye contact with him, “that you started to be the one in control when we flirt? I used to take the lead.”

He shrugs, and I can still feel his eyes moving over my body as I sit there on the checkered blanket. I almost want to reach to cover myself, and I again wish I’d bought clothes for this occasion.

“I don’t know,” he says, his tone still silky smooth and deep, “Maybe around the time I learned I can make you turn that shade of red just by talking? You’d think it wouldn’t be so visible through pinkish fur but… yeah, just like that.”

I reach up with my hooves to cover my warming cheeks. I want to smile and hide from him, all at once, a feeling which grows as I hear him move away from the basket and closer to me. I open my mouth to speak, but I can’t find anything witty or deflecting. Even a well-placed insult doesn’t feel doable at the moment.

“It's getting worse, looks like it’s spreading. Are you sure you’re okay?” he murmurs. “Anything I can do for you?”

The sensation of warm, familiar fingers trace up my cheek, lingering across my fur and threading through dangling locks of my mane. I can’t help but glance up and I find his face close to me, far closer than I thought it would be. I feel a gasp form in my throat, but hold it back as I’m snared in his gaze. My eyes won’t move away, won’t break that contact with his, even as his face moves closer to me. I breathe in air that lingers between us, tasting sweetly of him, and swallow hard.

All at once I feel like he’s never kissed me before, like this will be the first time, like I’m a filly who’s never been this close to a boy before. All the reminding in the world that this is a real date, and that I should wait, can’t force me into pulling away. I shut my eyes and wait for what I know must come now, preparing for the soft moan of wanting I feel brewing in my chest. I just want to feel his lips, his breath, I just want to feel him him in every fathomable way.

Then, to my surprise, I feel the soft moist brush of his lips against my cheek. My eyes flicker open as I hear the quiet smack of him breaking away, and it’s all I can do not to whine with frustration and disappointment. When I again find his gaze, he’s smiling mischievously at me with a very expectant, self-satisfied look. I scowl and shove him away.

“You fucking tease!” I sputter out, feeling my entire face and ears go red. “That was pretty damn cruel of you.”

“Sorry, I just love getting you all worked up,” he says with a laugh as he tumbles away from me.

“You are not even a little sorry!”

“No, not at all,” he says, his grin spreading. “Besides, you like it.”

“To a point!” I snap.

I’m genuinely somewhat miffed now. He had me completely letting go of everything around me, leaning in, totally surrendering to him. I shift so he won’t notice that a very small spread of dampness is taking place under one of legs on the blanket. He might notice, the way he glances over me, but he doesn’t say anything about that. Instead he winces apologetically.

“Too much?”

“Just a little.”

“Okay, well, then I’m maybe ten percent sorry.”

I groan and gesticulate towards the basket.

“Just… food. Give. Now.”

He holds up his hands in a surrendering pose.

“Fine, fine, but I actually have a surprise for you first.”

“If you start undressing, I swear to god…”

“No, nothing like that,” he says hastily, then turns towards the basket. “I got you something special, nothing big, but something. I mean, this is our first date and all, so I thought it would be nice.”

I blink, and my anger is transformed into a kind of reluctant guilt.

“Oh. You didn’t have to do that. I… didn’t get you anything,” I mumble.

“I know, and that’s okay, I don’t really like gifts anyway. We can share this if you want.”

When he turns around, I see he’s holding a small, tissue-paper-wrapped cylinder. There’s a bow near the top, done somewhat sloppily in red ribbon, and I can see bits of tape holding the light pink paper together. It’s obvious he’s wrapped it himself, and my heart would be melting if I didn’t have a dreadful, sneaking suspicion about what’s in that present. I manage a grateful smile as he passes it over into my waiting hooves.

“Sure,” I say haltingly. “Thanks, let’s just see what this is.”

I pull the paper off, tearing it carefully and as slowly as I can. I don’t want to see what’s inside. I don’t want to deal with the conversation that has to follow. I don’t want to shut down that big proud smile he’s beaming at me right now. But sure enough, as the paper falls away, I see the sloping green of the glass bottle and the off-white of a spiraling, well-printed label. I swallow hard, fighting back all the feelings of dread crashing around inside. I look away from the fancy looking bottle of merlot, and shut my eyes as I try to form my thoughts into words.

“Oh… Anon…” I murmur as I set the bottle down. “It’s lovely but…”

“Look, I know you love wine and-”

“I do. I did. But you know that with my health, with the liver… I can’t,” I sort of blurt out, the words tumbling awkwardly and foreignly from me. “I don’t drink at all anymore, I thought you knew and understood that. I thought we talked, and this is really sweet but I can’t drink this and I can’t-”

“Berry, Berry!” he says quickly, catching ahold of one of my hooves. “Hold on a moment. Just take a look at the label first, okay?”

I look up at him. I’m almost angry he’s reminded me of my health, that I’ve had to have this conversation at all, and I’m definitely feeling hurt he didn’t remember. But he’s still smiling at me, and he looks expectantly to the bottle, so I pick it up. To humor him, I read over the label and…

I shut my eyes, wanting to cry and laugh at the same time.

“Oh dear lord.”

“See?” he says, a little too happily. “Non alcoholic wine! Pinkie recommended it to me, she uses it in cooking sometimes when she wants to make foal-friendly dishes that are supposed to use alcohol. She says it’s not too bad.”

“Oh. Wow. I… Anon I’m so sorry,” I put my free hoof to my head and shake it back and forth slowly as I speak. “This is so insanely kind of you, I can’t believe I thought you’d forgotten.”

“Easy mistake, don’t worry about it. I was trying to surprise you, and I guess I managed that pretty well,” he says with a laugh.

“But I was so stupidly mad and…”

“Like I said, don’t worry about it.”

He pulls me into a tight hug as he speaks, and I plant my face into the valley of his shoulder with a sigh of self-frustration. He always seems to understand when I’m about to snap or overreact, or get too hard on myself. It’s nice, but kind of disconcerting how he always somehow magically gets it. I heave a few heavy breaths against his collarbone, and the tension begins to leave my shoulders.

“Okay. Okay, I’m fine,” I mumble, muffled into his shirt.

To make my point more clear, I tap on his arm where it crosses the back of my neck and shoulder. Like tapping out of a hug. I know it’s a weird way of doing things, but it works well as a subtle communication between us, and he lets me go.

“You swear?”

“I swear,” I say with an easy sigh and a nod. “But I could damn sure use a glass of wine right now, even if it can’t get me drunk or dull the shame.”

He quickly reaches over and picks up the bottle, then holds it out to me to view, like a waiter in a restaurant.

“But of course,” he exclaims. “As long as it’s fine that it’s pretty much just pricy woody grape juice.”

“Sounds great to me,” I say, and I let out a brief laugh of relief.

He produces a corkscrew from his pocket, but he pauses briefly to look me over. A crooked smile passes over one corner of his lips.

“There, got you to laugh at least,” he says.

I gaze up into his eyes, and I remember all at once, overwhelmingly, why I love this weird, teasing man.

“I love you,” say, almost out of instinct rather than genuine thought.

“I love you too.”

The words still feel a little uncomfortable, like a pair of shoes I haven’t broken in yet. But I like them. I think I’ll keep them. He reaches back to me and wraps his fingers around one of my hooves to give it a squeeze. I press into his palm as a response, and for an instant we’re simply smiling at each other. Together. Nothing else exists. It’s not just the willow branches that are shutting out the world around us.

Then, I get sheepish and glance away with a muted chuckle.

“Uh, so the wine,” I say quickly.

“Right, right, let me get that.”

I watch as he inserts the corkscrew, struggles with it briefly, then pulls it free with a pop. I let out a satisfied soft hum at the hollow, squeaking noise it makes as it springs free of the bottle.

“God I’ve missed that sound,” I say with a sigh.

“Is that so? I can put the cork back in and take it out again if you want.”

“Oh would you?”

“What, really?”

“Of course not, pour me a damn glass of that stuff already.”

He rolls his eyes and tugs out a pair of plastic, disposable wine glasses from the basket. I watch like some sort of lecherous old man staring at a hot young mare as he pours the deep maroon liquid into the glasses. As he passes it to me, it’s all I can do not to snatch the wine away from him. Maybe even the bottle itself. Hey, can you blame a gal who's been wine-free for almost a year for being a little enthusiastic?

“You’re welcome,” he says with the raise of one eyebrow.

“Sorry, thank you,” I say quickly, then move to take a drink.

“What, not going to wait for me to do my toast?”

I pause. A toast? Well, that certainly sounds overly dramatic for our setting, but why not? I give a fake roll of my eyes in exasperation, and hold my glass aloft to wait patiently. He pours himself a glass, and follows suit.

“To us,” he says officially. “To the first date of many, and the first glass of wine we’ve shared, alcohol or no. And to how absolutely beautiful you look today.”

I don’t even care that I’m blushing this time.

“To us,” I say simply in response.

Our glasses make an artificial dink noise as we touch them together, and then I take a large sip. The instant the liquid touches my tongue, my nose wrinkles and I draw my head away, like someone has swatted me on the nose. I manage a large gulp to get it all down, then look up to find him watching me intently. He hasn’t even taken a drink yet.

“That good, huh?”

“It’s fine,” I say with a wave of one hoof. “It’s just not alcoholic, and I wasn't expecting the intensity of the flavors. It's got a real earthy, grapey flavor. Kind of… sweetish. Really unique, very interesting mouth feel.”

“Really?”

“No, it’s terrible.”

“Ah well,” he says with a sweeping shrug. “I guess it’s a shooting wine then.”

And with that he downs the entire glass all at once. I let out a short sharp laugh.

“See, this is why I love you.”

“Because I shoot wine like it’s cheap whiskey?”

I can’t stop giggling at this point, but I cover my mouth and stifle another bursting laugh at least. I shake my head no and wait to gain better control over my voice again before going on.

“No… well yes, that too. But I love you because even if the wine is bad, even if things go wrong, even if things get complicated or depressing, you’re still up for it. You’ll just… keep on going. And you’ll bring me with you. Right?”

He gazes at me affectionately, almost proudly as I finish speaking, and I can see laughter in the way the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“Of course I will,” he says as he sets down the glass and scoots closer to me. “Things are better when I bring you with me. It’s better when we’re both smiling.”

“Well, I’m certainly smiling now.”

“Me too.”

He takes the glass from my hooves and sets it down next to me. I grin as a I lean towards him and stare up into his face. His hand slides up my hip and travels over the small of my back to find the opposite side of my waist. It’s not controlling or possessive, but the grasp is firm and I can feel its intent. There’s no teasing this time, no joking. Only raw affection in the pressure of each of his individual fingers on my fur.

“So…” I say, my voice a breathy whisper.

“So,” he says back in a similar tone.

I can feel the distance closing between us, like a magnetism between our bodies that we don’t even try to fight. His arm draws us together, and my hooves move up along his stomach and chest, to press over his heart and shoulder. I feel the thudding under my hoof skip a beat as my breath comes out in a short thready moan. My lips part, ready to slide in against his with the naturalness of a puzzle piece being pressed into place.

Who cares if this is our first date? Who cares if we’re a real couple now and this isn’t how it’s done? We haven’t eaten, we haven’t even finished unpacking things, but right now I honestly don’t care at all. I just want him. More than I did before, more than I may have ever felt before. I simply want to be so close to him that I can curl up and be a part of him, here against his heart. I’m drawn into him, and I can hear him sigh as his mouth seals itself over mine, and I know he’s been wanting me too.

The relief I’m feeling right now is mirrored in his own.

I lean upwards a bit harder as I close my eyes, forcing our lips more securely together, and invite his tongue into my mouth with my own. I run my hoof up to his cheek, as his arm worms up my back to cradle the back of my head and neck. His fingers tug at the tie in my hair, and my ponytail falls free, to hang my mane limp around my shoulders. I don't even care that I spent time on it, I just enjoy his fingers as they snake through the strands to cup the place where the ponytail had been. We’re a slow, twisting mass of arms, hooves, lips, breaths, and it’s getting hard to feel where he ends and where I begin.

It’s because we’re so close that I first feel the convulsion deep in his chest. It’s like a sticky crackling rumble, and it starts so abruptly that I barely have time to register it before he pulls away. My eyes flash open, and I see him quickly draw his hand to his mouth. His shoulders wrench forward, and I hear the stifled noise of a very sharp, moist cough.

“Anon?” I ask, worry hanging heavy in my tone.

He holds up a hand to reassure me, as the one over his mouth becomes a fist. He coughs rapidly into it over and over, and I’m not sure he can stop. I reach forward to him, not sure how to help but wanting to.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he wheezes out as he waves me off.

But the coughing continues, sounding wretched and hard. I sit there, dumbfounded and helpless, waiting for it to stop or for him to allow me to offer aid. At last, he gives one more strong hack, then swallows, shaking his head, and smiling awkwardly. He wipes at his mouth, and swallows again, harder this time.

“Sorry about that, I’m sure that was pretty terrible,” he says, his voice sounding splintered by effort. “But all set, let me just take another sip of that wine and…”

He trails off as he notices I’m not looking at his face, but instead down at the knuckles of his left hand. It had been balled up in front as he’d been coughing, and he quickly jerks it away to his side, to wipe at it on the picnic blanket. It’s a pretty good attempt to hide what was there, and he almost manages it. But even then, I still have time to notice the rusty red spattering across his skin. It’s meaning takes only a moment to register in my mind.

He was coughing up blood.

——