Section Two

Byron shifted his position indulging in the warmth and relative solitude. He blindly sought out his phone using his fingertips. He wrote a brief message and hunted for a familiar name. Varian had not spoken in full sentences for days, and despite reoccurring exclamations of exhaustion he refused to settle at night preferring to wander aimlessly and become absorbed in the tedious nuances of records, books and paintings. Byron found his behaviour inhibiting, as if he were the subject of study. He felt his existence was being silently dissected by his friend and analysed and then fictionalized. The heat did nothing to ease his feelings of oppression; the days of suffocating heat strung together one after another. The city in heat was a very different place; in the heat, you can't trust anyone, especially yourself. Last night Byron had sat crossed legged on the bed offering strands of conversation to Varian who sat mutely hunched over the small desk engrossed in some notebook. The room was hot. He felt powerful, like a predator. Varian was wearing his jeans with the small hole on the thigh. The flesh of his leg obscene against the pale denim, it was driving Byron crazy, suddenly he felt like a shark smelling blood. He fantasized about killing Varian, envisioning the dark metallic blood as he tore into soft, white flesh with his teeth. It was terrifying how comforting the fantasy was. He went to bed after that– acknowledged by a quiet murmur from Varian – with a smile, which showed all his teeth.

He loosened his hold on the phone, letting it slip from his fingers and searched the horizon for a familiar silhouette. Varian was sharing a cigarette with adolescent male with unruly hair dressed in an oversized, paint splattered shirt and drainpipes. Tension extended through Byron's neck and shoulders, he laid his head back and pushed the bones against the ground in hope of smothering the ache. He flicked his gaze towards Varian and his companion. A vast smile had spread across Varian's face and his gestures had become animated. The aching branched into Byron's temples, he screwed his eyes closed, condensing the sunlight to one brilliant white line. Once he opened his eyes again, he could see Varian sloping towards him; the water still radiant on his hairless legs, grasping at the dirty laces of the worn canvas shoes. He came to a hasty halt at the edge of the fabric and for a moment he looked as if he were at the edge of speech but when Byron caught his eye, Vivian swallowed his voice and searched distractedly in the distance.

'Why do you think they way you do?'  Byron rolled onto his stomach. Eyes closed he rested his face sideways on the back of his hand. He listened intently to Varian's steady breathing, and then a sigh of laughter. Byron twisted his head to face Varian, who grinned at him kindly before perching at the very edge of the blanket with his back to Byron.

'You always start with the simple questions, don't you?' Varian's voice was gentle and husky. There was a pause as he began to pull his shoes onto his damp feet.

'How do I think?'

'Question everything.'

Another clear and a deafening silence fell between them. Byron replaced his head upon his hands and closed his eyes; a little more tightly.

            'Do you still think we should fall in love?'

Varian did not answer.