Fearful Symmetry

by Francis Gideon

  “What did he ask you?”

  “I don’t remember all of it, but it was about water and not smoke.”

  “Those two are closely related,” Dryden stated. “Do you remember the answer?”

  “I think the whole riddle was about balance again.” Emmons’s eyes looked distant. He stared at his tea with a heavy sigh. “I proved him wrong. He got mad, and said that he would show me what true balance really meant. I suppose he did in the end.”

  Emmons laughed and looked at his nicked skin. Dryden wanted to clutch his hands to his face, kiss him, and make all his wounds heal.

  “You didn’t deserve any of this, either.”

  “I know.” Emmons’s face was grave, serious. He spotted the fox skin on the chair across the room, and Dryden took a sharp breath in as he remembered what had happened earlier in the day. “That… that skin was what he brought to me. He told me foxes were tricky creatures and I shouldn’t believe them.”

  Emmons laughed bitterly. “Sounds familiar.”

  “He said the same to you?”

  “It was part of the balance again. What’s the one thing you could do to make someone who had outsmarted you look wrong—even if they were right? You call them crazy. You call them a trickster. Then they’re always on the defensive. I can’t do anything or say anything to make people believe me, because I’ve already been compromised. Even if someone once was kind, even if they had once seen me as an ally. If I’m a trickster, they can’t trust me. And we have to trust one another, if we want to help one another.”

  In that moment, Dryden realized Emmons had helped people. Yes, of course he had—he tried to make people stop going into the woods. But he had also slipped answers to them when he could, even in his limited form.

  “When no one listens, you start to disappear. And when he carries around something like this—” Emmons pointed to the fox skin “—and he says I’m not to be believed, then I start to think that maybe I’m not here at all.”

  “You are.” Dryden reached across the table, but fell short of Emmons’s hands as his skin pulled too tight across his body. Dryden hissed between his teeth at the pain.

  “Are you all right?” Emmons came back into himself, his eyes no longer looking at the past. He saw the angry red patches of skin on Dryden’s still shirtless body. “Your burns. We never looked at them. Water and tea can only do so much.”

  “It’s fine.” Dryden hissed between his teeth. He tried to move his shoulder back and forth as if to demonstrate, only to feel his skin’s pain deep in his bones. “I’m fine… I just…. Oh God.”

  Emmons stood now. He rushed over to inspect Dryden’s skin, then pulled away with a tsk-tsk on his mouth. “I need to get you something.”

  “Wait. What?”

  “Outside.” Emmons moved to the door and grabbed one of the jackets on the hook. “I know a remedy.”

  “But it’s dangerous. He could be hunting again.”

  “I’ll take these,” Emmons said, smiling as he reached for a spare arrow quiver and bow from the closet. “If he comes close, I’ll give him a taste of his own medicine.”

  Dryden smiled from the table, but even that hurt his skin. He had no idea what Emmons could possibly bring him from the forest, but he trusted him. Years living alone that way must have given him some knowledge Dryden couldn’t reach.

  “Just be careful.”

  “I will. But….” Emmons trailed off as he made his way back toward Dryden. “A kiss for luck?”

  “Absolutely.”

  They pressed their lips together again, quick and firm. “Think of me while I’m gone?” Emmons asked.

  Dryden realized this was more than a simple platitude or hope. Emmons’s existence depended on thought, on memory, to keep his name alive and himself in human form.

  “Always,” Dryden said, and meant every last bit. “Emmons. Always.”

  A HALF hour later—Dryden counted the grains of sands and seconds—Emmons returned with thick leaves in his hand. They were succulent, round, and with little nibs at each end.

  “Cactus?”

  “No. Aloe vera. There is some around the lemon tree and other forest plants that shouldn’t exist here but do. I stumbled across them one day. They make a hell of a good snack.”

  Emmons pulled the chair over from the table and set it up behind Dryden.

  “I’m going to eat it?” Dryden asked.

  “No, silly fox. I’m going to put it on your skin. It will feel better, trust me.” Emmons grinned. Dryden was about to argue that he wasn’t a silly fox at all, thank you very much, that is you, Emmons, when he felt the first burst of cool aloe. He let out a low groan, marveling at how well it coated his skin.

  “Good, huh? The moon’s even chilled it a bit for us.”

  “How kind.” Dryden leaned his body against the table, folding his arms to make a pillow to rest his face. Emmons sat in the chair behind him, cracking open the leaves on his lap and then spreading the gel against Dryden’s skin. Dryden was relieved that Emmons didn’t stop at the burned patches of red on his shoulders and neck, but spread the aloe out over all of his skin. Even if his shirt had protected him from the sunlight, he had been on his back on the roof, and the hot shingles had worn him away.

  “You ready for the front?”

  Dryden groaned playfully. “I don’t want to move.”

  “Well, I want to see your beautiful face.”

  Dryden’s heart beat faster. He removed his face—which felt more scorched than pretty—from his arms and turned slowly around on the chair. Emmons’s eyes brightened.

  “There you are. Much better.”

  “If you say so.”

  Dryden sat on the edge of the chair, mirroring Emmons in his actions. They had never stared at one another like this, never so close. Emmons’s eyes moved all around Dryden’s neck and cheeks as he spread out the aloe. While Emmons was busy with that, Dryden took this chance to study his face like he hadn’t been able to before. It had mostly been the eyes to capture Dryden’s attention and make him linger. Up close, he noted Emmons’s freckles under his eyes, his dark curly hair that formed a small widow’s peak on his forehead. His nose—especially in relation to his eyes—made his face narrow, almost like that of a fox’s. It wasn’t bad, Dryden decided. He found Emmons extremely attractive. He could tell, especially as Emmons caught him looking, that Emmons felt the same way about him.

  When Emmons smiled, the lines around his mouth grew deeper. Dryden saw the scar below his mouth, white and taut against Emmons’s skin, but he paid no attention to it.

  “You know,” Emmons remarked, “I read somewhere—hell, probably in this cabin—that our standards of beauty are based on whether or not we have symmetry in our faces.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes. The space between the eyes, the width of the nose, the way the mouth curves, it all has to be even, be symmetrical, be perfect.” Emmons touched each part of Dryden’s skin with aloe as his speech went on, implying Dryden’s beauty with each stroke. “This impulse is also why we tend to see faces in everything. It’s why two stones on the ground can be eyes and another one can be a nose, and then a line in the sand can be a mouth. So long as there is symmetry, there is beauty, and there is life.”

  “That’s quite a theory.”

  “It is.” Emmons smiled again, and Dryden saw the deep line under his chin. A scar, for sure. “You have a near-perfect face,” Emmons added. “If I do say so myself.”

  Dryden laughed. Once, he probably would have found Emmons’s remark flattering. He liked to know his splendor, especially since he so often worked with jewels and made beautiful items. Now the reminder of beauty only brought him sadness and fear.

  “What’s wrong?” Emmons asked. “Have I hurt you?”

  “No, no. My mother just told me that sometimes symmetry isn’t a good thing. Perfection shouldn’t be strived for.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the universe will put things in order. If
there is something good, the universe will make it bad. And if something is bad, the universe will make it good.” Dryden’s chest tightened, thinking of his mother. Emmons’s hands, still covered in aloe, rested along Dryden’s neck as he spoke. “She used to make jewelry. She would always tear or break the piece in some way to make it have a flaw, so we could have good luck.”

  “Did it work?”

  Dryden took a moment before he answered. “Yes. I used to think she wasn’t trying hard enough to make things beautiful. That maybe she was afraid of perfection. So I made the most beautiful thing I could think of, which was a sacred heart woven together to wear on the wrist. I was proud of it. And then, the same day, my father died. So I know she was right.”

  Emmons nodded, though his brows were furrowed. He continued to rub his fingers against Dryden’s skin, mixing aloe with sweat and providing minor relief. “You know that’s the same reasoning as Otto, right?” Emmons said after some time.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Otto tricked you. He pretended to be kind when he was cruel. Then he demanded that you solve silly riddles to get yourself out of trouble you never deserved in the first place. But your mother, as much as she loved you, still made you look out for men like Otto when she taught you how to make jewelry that way.”

  “I still don’t understand what you mean.”

  Emmons paused. “Maybe I’m not saying this right. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.”

  “No. Keep going. Try. I want to understand.”

  Emmons placed his hands back over the leaves on his lap. “When you make something beautiful, you should cherish it. But if someone comes along and rips it up, it’s not your fault for cherishing something beautiful in the first place. It will always be the other person’s fault for breaking something beautiful. You should…. You should never have to break what you love in order to save it. That’s what your mom was telling you with jewelry. And maybe that’s just her story, maybe that’s just her way, but I can’t do that. Not anymore.”

  Dryden bit his lip. His face felt better; the aloe was thick on his skin, but it cooled him off. The pain wasn’t even there anymore, only a minor itch as his skin began to heal. Dryden wanted to kiss Emmons so badly in that moment, but he didn’t want to get him covered in gook. Instead, he merely said, “Thank you. I understand what you’re saying now.”

  Emmons nodded. “I don’t want to say anything bad about your family.”

  “You haven’t.” Dryden rolled his eyes. “Well, not really.”

  Emmons gave him a weak smile. When his eyes fell down to Dryden’s lips again, Dryden knew that Emmons didn’t mind the mess. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss against his lips, tasting the cool aloe as it got into their mouths. It was part minty, part refreshing, like a new start. Emmons’s tongue was urgent as he licked into Dryden’s mouth, then as he cupped his hands around the back of Dryden’s neck. He spread aloe as he moved, then rubbed it in with the balls of his fingers. When Emmons pulled away, he still kept their faces close.

  “Are you doing better?”

  “Yeah. I don’t burn as much.”

  “Good.” Emmons backed up to his chair after a quick kiss. Dryden reached his fingers out and over to rub in the aloe that was now on Emmons’s cheeks and chin. As he touched, Dryden brushed up over the scar around Emmons’s mouth. He could feel him pause under the sudden discovery, as if waiting for a declaration. Dryden moved his fingers carefully, easily, before he kissed him again.

  “You’re beautiful,” Dryden said as he pulled away.

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” he confirmed.

  Emmons kissed him again. “So are you.”

  “Then I guess I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.”

  Emmons laughed. He leaned back into his seat and cracked open the last aloe leaf. “But you’re almost done. Let me finish up, all right? Before we start to get too carried away with praise.”

  Dryden’s smile only deepened as Emmons’s fingers touched his side. The aloe made the tickle of his hand double the burden. Dryden had to bite his lip to keep from laughing every other second.

  “Shh,” Emmons chastised. “Or I really will tickle you.”

  “I can’t help it. You’re touching me so light. It’s driving me nuts.”

  “I haven’t been pressing hard because I thought it would hurt.”

  “Not as much as being on the edge of tickling is.”

  Emmons’s fingers slipped into the aloe again, then pressed harder at Dryden’s side. Not in vengeance or spite, just simple pressure. “Well, then. You asked for this, remember?”

  “I did.” Dryden nodded. Emmons’s fingers pressed deeper into him. The tickling sensation vanished and was replaced by a simple massage of his muscles underneath. Dryden moaned, then clapped his mouth shut after moaning.

  “It’s fine,” Emmons said, whispering as he got closer. “I like it when you’re loud. It lets me know you’re still here.”

  Dryden shivered. He could tell Emmons thought he was laughing again, so he shook his head and shifted closer. This was not a joke anymore. Dryden grew aroused from being touched so much and talked to so intimately. Before it had just been aftercare and he had been relieved to feel normal. Now, the heat of the fire and the cool of the aloe made his nerves balance out in the best way possible.

  Emmons noted Dryden’s expression. He gazed at Dryden, eyes half-lidded, as he shifted closer. He caressed from Dryden’s sides to his neck, along his collar bones, and then over his nipples. The aloe made his skin feel sticky but also lubricated. Their skin moved together with delicious friction. As Emmons got closer and closer, Dryden opened his legs to allow him to move farther. Emmons lingered over Dryden’s nipples the longest, before sliding down to his waist. He rubbed the aloe in at his navel, and then placed both of his palms against his waist. He pressed down again, forceful but also open. There was space enough between their bodies for Dryden to feel safe, protected, and secure.

  “Are you all right?” Emmons asked. “I have some aloe left. I could keep….”

  “Go.” Dryden bit his lip and rubbed his hand over Emmons’s. He squeezed his knuckles before he pressed his hand lower. The pants he wore were loose, but with Emmons’s hand over his crotch, they could both feel Dryden’s erection. Dryden waited, swallowing hard, and wondered how he had become so forceful.

  Sure, he and Emmons had kissed and expressed deep feelings—not necessarily for one another, but their lives and family—but there was a huge difference between comfort and sex. Between intimacy and desire. Dryden had learned those lessons the hard way. He knew what he wanted; he was just worried about Emmons.

  Dryden realized with a sudden wave of understanding that Emmons had learned the very same lessons he had from his time in this cabin and then his time in the woods. If anything, Dryden knew that Emmons knew more about life and its challenges, its risks, and its unexpected changes.

  “Are you sure?” Emmons asked. He hadn’t moved his hand away from Dryden’s crotch, but he didn’t rock back and forth, either.

  “Yes. Are you?”

  “Yes,” Emmons breathed. He squeezed Dryden under the fabric, before leaning forward into a kiss. He opened his mouth right away, and Dryden no longer had to doubt their motivations. He moved into Emmons’s body and embraced him. He moaned whenever he felt Emmons tug on him or rock into his palm; Dryden was no longer ashamed. When Emmons dropped down between Dryden’s legs and shifted the pants off his body, Dryden didn’t tell him to stop. He could think of nothing he wanted more at that moment, other than freedom.

  Emmons’s hands rubbed along the inside of Dryden’s thigh. Only at the insistence of Dryden’s fingers at his collar did Emmons break this touch to remove his own shirt. Dryden was surprised to find more scars up and down Emmons’s body. There were small nicks and scrapes along Emmons’s biceps Dryden had never seen before—never needed to see before—even in the light. It occurred to Dryden then how often Emmons had been naked around h
im, his skin bare from transformation. Now that Dryden sat in front of him the same way, his cock hard against his belly, he felt as if they were slowly on their way to becoming even.

  Emmons placed his hands on his own waist and looked up toward Dryden with a silent question. Dryden nodded, understanding, and soon they were both naked. Emmons’s hands were cool and sticky from the aloe vera as he placed them back on Dryden’s thigh. Dryden’s eyes never left Emmons as Emmons bent down and held Dryden’s cock in the base of his hand. He ran his hand across the tip, leftover aloe mixing with precome, then placed his mouth over him.

  Dryden moaned as he leaned back. He lowered his body down the chair, sinking deeply into Emmons’s mouth. Emmons’s hand moved back and forth as his tongue licked the underside, then sucked with hollowed cheeks. Dryden’s back still ached from the first escape he had tried to make, then from the hot roof earlier in the day. But Emmons’s hands on his thigh made the position easier to tolerate, and Emmons’s tongue on his cock made Dryden forget about pain completely.

  At times, Dryden opened his eyes and looked down to make sure Emmons was real. That this wasn’t a dream—or worse, another nightmare with Otto in his bed. Each time he saw the black curls on Emmons’s head, Dryden’s heart skipped a beat. He was as real as anything else, and he was right here, in front of him. Sometimes, Emmons’s eyes would open and meet with Dryden’s, as if he was checking on the same thing. He would smile around Dryden’s cock, often sucking him harder right after as confirmation. Dryden tangled his hands in Emmons’s hair, and then Emmons linked their hands as he continued to bob up and down. They could move no farther along one another’s body without matching each movement. Dryden figured that was fine.

  Soon, Emmons’s nose nudged the inside of his thigh again. He kissed and licked at Dryden’s hips as his hands moved below his cock toward his balls. He held them, stroking the skin, before he pushed farther back. Dryden recoiled on the first touch, the movement stark and sudden.

  “Dryden,” Emmons said. “Do you want to move?”