To Catch a Firefly

by Emmy Sanders

It will be. Because it’s his. He’s not capable of anything else, I know it. I just don’t know how to say it.

Lucky gives my uninjured hand a squeeze as we walk down the hall, that wild grin back on his face. I can’t help but smile, too.

“Brandon?” I ask. Lucky snorts. “He won’t be bothering me again.” I’m glad he understood what I was asking, but I still raise an eyebrow, which Lucky catches. “Ellis, buddy, I’m not sure if you’ve looked in the mirror lately, but no one at that school is going to touch me. Not ever again.” My chest warms at that, and I feel a strange sense of pride that I could give that to Lucky.

I’m just Ellis. Lucky sighs, leaning his head against my shoulder. “Yeah. Okay.” I think I hear him say my hero, but it’s so soft, I can’t be certain.

“Days like this make me think…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, so I give him a nudge. His smile is a little off when he looks my way. “They’re just good,” he says. “You know?” I touch his lip, and his smile wobbles, breath leaving him in a rush. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Even with the split lip.”

I wonder, when he’s done getting his picture, if he’ll be able to see the world spinning. I wonder how many more revolutions Lucky will be in mine.

Lucky hums. “I have.” I squirm a little, not sure why thinking about that makes me so…unsettled. We’ve talked about sex before. Or Lucky has talked, and I’ve listened. Neither of us has had it. Lucky wants to. “It’s okay, you know,” he says. “If it’s not something you’re interested in.”

I’m scared because he’s brave and curious and likes the thrill of danger, even though he’s never outright said so. Those qualities I love about my friend, those things that make him so uniquely him, are the things that scare me.

The water is slightly biting as it pelts me from above, but through the sheet of the downpour, Lucky’s smile is like the sun.

“Why do you need to leave?” “Ellis,” he mouths. I can’t even hear the word. I can only see it. “Am I not…” “What?” Lucky says urgently, taking a step forward. “Are you not what? Say it.”

“Is there a reason for me to stay?” he asks, his breath rushing out fast, like my own. When I don’t answer, he shouts, “Ellis!”

He reaches out slowly, hands settling on my waist. It’s a jolt to my system, even though his skin is warm. My heart pounds, and I can’t pull in a big enough breath. “I’m what?” he repeats. My best friend. Lucky closes his eyes in an extended blink, as if pained. He looks down, looks away from me, and I don’t understand.

“It’ll always be me and you, El,” he says. “But I can’t… I can’t stay here. I’ve never even been kissed, you know?” My breath catches in my throat, and it takes me a moment to make the connection. Even if Lucky did stay, who would he date? Who could he kiss and fall in love with, not to mention have sex with?

Taking a step forward, I tip Lucky’s chin. His eyes catch mine and his lips pop open, and when I lean down to press my mouth to his, his fingertips dig into my arm. Not pushing, though, holding. I’ve never kissed before, either, but Lucky deserves a first with someone who loves him. At least I can give him that.

“Ellis.” Lucky steps forward, hand reaching out and touching my stomach for just a moment before his arm falls lax at his side. “Should I stay?” Yesterday, I would have said yes. I would have told him I could make it worth it. That I was worth it because we’re best friends, and best friends stick together, right? But today? Today, everything is different.

“Right,” he says, tone teasing. “Are we going to talk about the fact that you kissed me, El?”

When we break the surface, Lucky is laughing again. We end up on our knees—the water isn’t deep here—and I wipe my face. “El,” Lucky gasps, hand on my shoulder. “One day, someone is going to corrupt you, and I can only hope I’m there to see it.”

“I’m glad it was you,” he says. The kiss. I nod, eyes dropping to his lips again. They’re bowed on top and the bottom is fuller. I never quite noticed before.

Instead, Lucky wraps his arms around me tight and plants his face against my chest. He murmurs calming words into my shirt, his grip unrelenting, and like the snap of those glass jars against the wall, every ounce of fight in my body shatters to dust.

I don’t know when it happened, exactly. When I started dreaming about his lips and how they felt against my own.

When I started wishing those other men would simply disappear because Lucky is supposed to be mine—my friend, my person—and don’t they know that? Doesn’t he?

He never was mine to keep. No matter how much I wish it.

My world spins just a little, and for a moment, I imagine I’m one of those stars Lucky captured with his camera.

“Andrew?” I ask. Lucky cringes, almost. “Yeah, uh. He’s gone, too.” I shake my head. That’s not what I meant, and I think he knows it. “We’re friends. Mostly,” he says. Mostly. They’re sleeping together. My gut cramps. “You didn’t like him,” Lucky notes. No, I didn’t. I didn’t like the way he was touching Lucky, but I don’t tell him that. “It’s not serious, you know?” he says, almost like he’s pleading with me to understand. As if he would need my permission in the first place. “It’s just fun with him. Just some meaningless fun.”

What’s the point? The only person I’ve ever wanted to touch is right in front of me, and anything between us could never be meaningless. Not to me.

He licks his lips and swallows hard. “And…have you ever wanted other guys?” My heart kicks, and Lucky watches me, waiting for an answer. After what feels like an eternity, I shake my head slowly. “No,” I manage to say. Only you. There’s only ever been you.

“El,” Lucky says, and I open my eyes. “It should’ve just been me and you tonight. I’m sorry.” I shake my head, grabbing Lucky’s hand and giving his knuckles a quick kiss. His breath catches.

“If you ever decide to love someone,” he says slowly, “they’ll be very lucky.” He already is.

I lean my forehead against Lucky’s shoulder and throw my arm over his chest, hand settling at his heart. He doesn’t move for the longest moment, but then his head leans against my own, and his hand curls up over my wrist, holding me in place. For one night, I hold Lucky like I want to. And in the morning, I go.

“I got the job,” he says. I nod, using a rag to wipe the oil off my hands before I pocket the cloth and step toward him. I tap the side of his lips, and Lucky frowns harder. “I’m happy,” he claims. I raise an eyebrow, keeping my own feelings locked down tight.

But he’s also sad. I can see that plain as day, despite what he himself claims. “I’ll miss you, too,” I tell him. He croaks, his arms hanging limply at his sides. “Damn it, El.”

“I’m going to call. And you’re going to talk to me.” It sounds like a threat. “Yes,” I say. “And sometimes, we’ll email.”

“But we’re not done,” he says vehemently, stepping into my space. “We’ll never be done. Me and you, we don’t have an ending.” And what do I possibly say to that? When I open my arms, Lucky falls into them. At some point in the past couple years, he grew into a man, but right now, with him tucked against me, his head under my chin, it feels as if we’re boys again.

“I’m going to miss you, El,” he finally says, voice cracking alongside my heart.

“You better visit me, too, Ellis,” he says, sounding stern. I cross my heart, and Lucky snorts.

“You wore a blue boutonniere,” he says quietly, his eyes dropping to my chest as if remembering. I tried to match the color to his eyes, but it wasn’t quite right. “You were really handsome that day. I never told you that.”

As we resist sleep at the top of that windmill, Lucky reaches out his hand. Without hesitation, I twine my fingers with his. Blue eyes blink at me in the dark, and I don’t dare look away. For once, Lucky stays silent with me, neither of us speaking a word.

“Not everyone is going to understand you, Ellis. But it’s not your job to make them.”

“Me and you, right, El?” “Me and you,” I answer.

I was ten years old when I met Lucky. I knew it then, and I know it now. He’s a firefly. Luminous and wild. He was never meant to be trapped. Not here and not with me. And in a few days, I’ll finally watch him fly away.

“Yes, well. What are you going to do instead? Call your Ellis?” My Ellis. The thump in my heart that accompanies those words is as familiar to me as the man himself. Ellis, who’s tall, dark, and handsome in his own right, but whose strength lies in his steady calm and unwavering dependability. Ellis, whose rumble of a voice is like distant thunder, so rarely there but impossible to ignore. Ellis, my…friend.

Ellis laughs, and God, it’s such a good sound.

“I was just there, in their home, surrounded by endless blue, and it was beautiful.” “Luck,” he says quietly. I close my eyes tight, breathing in the sound of my name and letting it cocoon me.

And I realize, not for the first time, that my favorite part about all of these adventures is when I get to go back to whatever temporary home I have at the time and share them with Ellis.

It’s dangerous, letting my mind go there, but I can’t drum up the willpower to stop myself tonight. I think of him beside me, those deep, brown eyes of his soft as they gaze my way. I think of his big hands—God, those hands—and the massive breadth of his shoulders. I think of his jaw and his steady heartbeat and his arm slung across my chest. And with the last of my waking thoughts, I think about going home.

“All I want,” she goes on, “is for you to be happy, whether that’s with someone or without. But you know I’m here if you ever have questions. You’re never too old to need your mother.”

I think it was at thirteen that I first felt my heart beat for you. And break, just a little. Because I knew, like that tornado, you’d leave destruction in your path, and I’d be your willing victim. I’d do it again. I love you, my brilliant firefly.

“Okay, fine, maybe I was a romantic once, but not anymore. It’s different when you’re young, you know? The world is this sweet, shiny thing and you think you know how everything is going to turn out. But then you grow up and realize real life is messy and unpredictable, and no guy is going to show up at your front door with two blue boutonnieres just to make you happy. Because seriously, who the fuck does that?”

“That was incredibly specific,” he finally says. “Your Ellis?” “Not the point,” I huff out, trying to clear the memory of sixteen-year-old Ellis in a rented tux from my mind.

“I’m not hung up on Ellis. He’s just my friend.” The whisper in my heart tells me I’m a liar.