[this story is just for that one reader] @magswrite - Tumblr Blog

there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

There was nothing more pure than the feeling they shared back then. When Satoru's eyes glimmered lighter than the crystal river flowing through the meadows, and Suguru's hands embraced him dearly. Then, in the summer of 1963, shearing sheep on Brokeback Mountain, was a memory they would hold in their hearts dearly.

pairings: Geto Suguru x Gojo Satoru

content/warnings: Brokeback Mountain inspired, takes place in the 60's and 80's US, Satosugu, Cowboy!Gojo, Cowboy!Geto, HEAVY ANGST, iykyk, homophobia, internal homophobia, doomed yaoi, tragic love story, gay sex, use of slurs, violence, right person wrong time, different ending than original, based on the Brokeback Mountain movie and novel

WC: 12k

a/n: not to say anything, but tears were dripping down my keyboard while writing it.

divider by @bhavihelps blue divider by @uzmacchiato art by idk who, please help me find them!!!

Wyoming, 1963

Little stones of the gravel road rolled under Satoru's old pickup when he parked on the little driveway in front of the white trailer. The car had its years already, presented to him by his daddy for his twentieth birthday last December. It was quite decent, nevertheless, his brows furrowed slightly upon seeing a grey smoke slipping from under the green hood as the engine fully gave out. It was fine, he thought, for he'll get the summer job and won't have to worry about it for the next two months at least.

He left the car, in the corner of his eye, noticing someone else waiting for the manager near the trailer. Long legs hugged by old jeans, a brownish jacket hanging off his shoulders, with a black hat covering raven hair, left loosely around his cheeks, long down till shoulder blades. The young fellow looked his way, eyes showing zero to no interest, maybe just slight annoyance, considering Satoru as a foe rather than a friend. Thus, the job was paying quite well, and none of the boys knew whether the manager needed two ranchers for the summer task.

"Fuck," Satoru whispered to himself, seeing as the young fellow stood relentlessly right in front of the door, with a cigarette between his lips.

It would be Satoru's second summer on the mountain if he got a job, and another small break from his parents pressing him on finding a fine lady to marry. But what a boy of twenty could be asked for if not fooling around and trying his best in weekly rodeos, he would lose his money on? He could only wish for Farm and Ranch Employment to give him another easy task and leave him alone on the mountain's splendid field, where no man would bother him for the next two months.

They stood in silence for a few minutes before the sound of the engine and stones rolling under the tyres could be heard around the corner, with the manager's car parking right next to his. A short man in his forties left the vehicle and, not granting them a single glance, went to the camper. Dust floated from beneath his heavy feet when he stood in front of its door, finally looking to both Satoru and another fellow.

"Ya competin' or what?" He laughed fully, correcting a dusty hat on his thinning hair, a fresh cigarette between chubby fingers, as he opened the door.

Satoru came in right behind the boy, the smell of his jacket tickling his nose a good way, slightly musky with a hint of shampoo following his long strands.

"Well," the manager started, sitting heavily on a leather chair inside the small trailer. Morning sun was creeping inside through the thin blinds, leaving striped patterns on his wooden desk. "Aren't ya young, huh? How old are you, boy?"

As he knew Satoru from a year before, the question was for the other fellow, standing calmly near his desk.

"Twenty, sir."

His voice was low and melodic, reminding Satoru of the sun rising over the mountains' horizon, with its long, sleepish rays grazing him lazily.

"Good then, I need ya both for it. I want a camp tender in the main camp and a herder where we flock sheep. You," he showed at a boy with a furrowed brow, not quite used to seeing a fellow of womanlyish look, clean and dressed neatly. "will be staying in the main camp, taking the supplies, cookin, taking care of business. And you," this time his eyes peeked at Satoru with his foolish, boyish smile, "will stay with the sheep. Every night till mornin, when you'll roll up your tent and join your new buddy. Eat supper, breakfast in camp, but sleep with the sheep, always."

Both boys nodded in understanding, and soon after, papers were signed. They left the trailer with a thought of going up the mountain first thing in the morning, thus the whole day and whole night were ahead of them, with neither having pennies for a motel nor any family around these Wyoming's never-ending grasslands.

"Satoru," he said first, looking at his new friend with an extended hand.

Young fellow glanced at him from under his raven bangs, long fingers already wrapped around the new cigarette. He seemed not chatty at all, rather keeping to himself, with those sharp eyes and furrowed brows, when he noticed Satoru's white locks peeking from his brown hat.

"Suguru," he murmured finally, strong hand tangling with his. He offered a cigarette, Satoru's long finger grabbed a thin one from an almost empty pack and borrowed an old lighter too.

"Whatcha thinkin' about waiting in a bar, huh? Grab a beer, we could chit-chat a bit before the morning trip," Satoru suggested, and Suguru nodded quietly.

Fortunately, the small trailer was parked in a rather lively area, with a town just around the corner and a quiet saloon waiting for them with cold beers and the faint humming of the jukebox's freshly chosen country song. They came inside and sat at the corner, where a dim light skimmed their tender cheeks and sweet girls glanced at them lovingly. Two young fellows, quite foreign at first look, for one was chatting like a sugar, and the other nodding, with purplish eyes stuck somewhere in his friend's merry eyes.

Satoru told him of everything about last year's summer, with a lightning storm on the mountain's fields and all the inventory they needed to take, putting pressure on the amount of whiskey to warm themselves up. He noticed the quietness of Suguru's mind, but took quite a liking to this young fellow, with soft hair and a brief laugh, muscular back and long legs, together with straight eyebrows sitting peacefully above deep, purplish eyes, the colour which reminded him of spring flowers growing in his ma's garden. They talked for a whole afternoon, with cold beer sliding down their throats, getting to know each other with the passing hours.

Suguru didn't like rodeo as much as Satoru, preferring a quiet life on a ranch, as the son of poor ranchers who died when he was young. He was raised by siblings, with nothing more than the care of his older sister and the rough hands of his older brother. Both young fellows, as it turned out, were high-school dropouts, both not gentlemanly at all, with different dreams, but similar pains.

And looking at Satoru's lips never stopping in their talks, Suguru thought of this boy as fine, with the fairest complexion he's ever seen, looking like a sweetie rather than a cowboy, and weirdly snowish hair. He liked the depth of his blue eyes, reminding him of a brook flowing calmly through the mountains, fresh and pristine, sliding right from the freezing top. His shoulders looked wide and fingers long when he hugged another glass of beer. Boyish, sly smile was never leaving his lips, even as he waited for Suguru's next short answer. He laughed loudly and sincerely, with his chest vibrating and hand clapping his thigh each time.

They took a quick nap in the bar, before the morning arrived and the truck unloaded them on the mountain. The sheep and horses came, together with three dogs, which helped them keep the fluffs in one place. Satoru took a big chestnut horse, rather handsome as he thought, while Suguru rode a white one, at first glance having more in common with his fellow. All of them, with sheep, horses, and dogs, went up the mountain, through green trails and muddy roads, as July's sun sizzled their necks and virgin brooks helped them cool slightly.

"It's hard to understand, but the touch of your hand, can start me crying," Satoru sang loudly, throatily, with a harmonica against his lips and eyebrows furrowed almost comically.

They stopped at the camp, Suguru setting up the tent, while Satoru meant to start a fire.

"I thought that I was over you, but it's true so true, I love you even more than I did before." His lips once again pressed to the silver harmonica, filling the air with a sound similar to fingernails dragging across a chalkboard.

Suguru felt shivers going down his spine as he stifled a laugh. "That's one bad singin for such a precious song. Ya know, there's no harmonica in it?"

Satoru chuckled, lying lazily on the grass, with his head propped on his bundled jacket and hat sitting lowly, covering crystal eyes. "Loverboy, aren't ya? How do you know this song?"

Suguru shrugged, looking at his tent with quite a satisfaction, before taking all the small pans and cans to prepare a simple dinner. Satoru didn't hurry up for it, but he didn't mind, liking the lazy attitude of the boy and his scratchy-harmonica sounds. "My girl likes it."

Satoru immediately stopped playing, the brown hat sliding down to the grass, before he grabbed it and put it back on his white locks. "A girl? Who ya got, tell me!"

Suguru smiled warmly, and Satoru noticed a new emotion appearing on his friend's face. "We're engaged, wedding planned for November this year. We met through friends, got engaged soon after, a nice girl."

Satoru peeked at him quietly, as if lost in thought, tracing the sun slowly moving behind the peaks of Brokeback Mountain, with long meadows and grasslands touched by the last golden rays. "That's nice. Right?"

Suguru nodded, honestly having no precious feelings towards his fiancée, rather thinking she would be a good wife and a mother. A woman, he could have a long and peaceful life with. Satoru didn't press him, though, lying back down and waiting for a supper, his eyes stuck in the sky till it paled slowly and took the same colour as the smoke coming from the fire.

"So what ya wanna do after this? Settle down already? You're still young," Satoru added after a moment of quietness, cigarette between his lips.

Suguru looked at his long fingers fidling with a harmonica, tender lips sucking on a white bud, till the air was filled with nothing but a grey fog.

"Nothin out there for someone like me. That's the best I can find," Suguru finished the supper made of simple bread and bean soup, before he gave a portion to Satoru. "You? Quite frivolous, aren't ya?"

Their hands touched when Satoru took his plate, something warm spreading on the tips of his fingers for a second, but disappearing likewise fast. Suguru slipped his hat off, long hair tied in a low bun as he took a plate for himself. His purplish eyes glanced at Satoru curiously, lips curved in a smile, and Satoru thought that his friend was handsome indeed and could probably find himself as many wives as he wanted.

"I wanna go back to rodeo, be a champion, you know? It's just that I need to save some money for the entrance fee. You a fan?"

Suguru shook his head. "Not quite, I prefer simple ranch. My ma and daddy had a one before the accident, and we sold it after their death. Since then, I been helpin here and there, workin with nothin better to do, takin care of calves since I was a boy. I miss it – having somthin for myself, a calm life, without any worries. That's why I'm takin a wife."

He ate soup slowly, but noticed a sudden lack of shifting in front of him. Looking up, he saw Satoru with a devilish smile and laughter, trying to escape his mouth full of beans.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

Satoru finally swallowed, tears prickling in the corners of his eyes as he laughed boyishly. "That's more words than you spoke for the past few days."

Suguru chuckled too, seeing a faint rosiness appearing on fellow's delicate cheeks. "That's the most I spoke in a year."

After the supper, Satoru went back to the sheep and his own tent, watching animals for a whole night and looking out for any wolves or coyotes. Dogs were sleeping peacefully next to him, with his hand digging in their fur, petting them gently till their heavy breaths filled the quiet, mountainous air.

And that's how they've spent their time – Suguru down there, Satoru up. During the day, Suguru would send glances towards his friend, looking like an ant standing somewhere in the meadows, while Satoru peeked down, seeing a reddish fire and a small dot sitting next to it. They met during meals and talked about nothing in particular, with Satoru always a bit louder and more energetic, with Suguru's slow nods and purplish eyes watching him closely.

Until one evening, Satoru came down for a supper, bringing back two beers and urging Suguru to open a whiskey. They drank and smoked, one cigarette after another, until Satoru felt dizzy and needed to lay down.

"I fuckin hate this prick, commuting four hours a day, almost not sleepin at all. This shit is not worth the money we get," he complained, a long groan bubbling in his throat. "Goin down for breakfast, goin back to sheep, then comin in for dinner, goin back up. I spend half the night outlooking for coyotes and half barely sleepin."

"Want to switch?" Suguru suggested, giving Satoru food. "I don't mind, really. Can sleep up there. You could rest a bit."

Satoru peeked at him, brows furrowed, eyes stuck in fellow's sharp face, and he shrugged and groaned again.

"That's not the point! We should both stay here and get some sleep. It doesn't make sense to stay separated if I can't sleep there lawfully anyway," he murmured, fire licking his creamy cheeks warmly, and Suguru couldn't keep his eyes away from the way his throat bobbed every time another groan escaped through it.

"I truly don mind." He repeated again.

"You know there are coyotes and shit out there, aight? I'm more than happy to switch, but give you a warning that I can't cook worth a shit. Pretty good with a can opener, though."

Both of them laughed, not louder than frogs and crickets singing near the brook. The moon was already pale when it reflected Satoru's snowish hair, falling lazily on his forehead, just above deep eyes.

"No better than me then. Let's change for a few nights."

So they did as agreed, with Satoru staying in camp and Suguru going three times a day back and forth between the sheep and the base. One day, Suguru shot one coyote and then a massive deer, making Satoru laugh louder than ever, with his strong hands shaking Suguru's shoulders and arms falling on them loosely in a friendly, short hug, till Suguru was finally left with nothing but a faint smell of his skin.

July passed in no time, with both fellows enjoying each other's company even more with every passing day. Vast meadows of Brokeback Mountain hugged them warmly, snowy peaks reflecting orange sunrays and sky changing its colours, from yellow to blueish, not that different from Satoru's cheerful eyes, before it switched to warm lavender and darkened into deep purple, the same one peeking at Satoru every time he spoke of anything. They drank a lot and ate beens everyday, sitting with their backs against the thick logs and hats lost somewhere in the grass. With their thighs grazing one another and fingers meeting every time they passed whiskey, getting up only to stretch their bones, dance drunkily (Satoru only), and take a quick wash in a nearby brook. Satoru talked more about his family, the ranch he would get after his daddy, and another one he would like to settle in. Suguru asked with whom, and Satoru laughed faintly, nervously, mumbling that wife probably. He said that his father used to be a famous bull rider years back, but never allowed him to go into the profession, never coming to his shows and showing any support. Suguru added that he preferred riding animals for more than five seconds without breaking any bones in the meantime.

When Suguru washed, Satoru would glance sometimes over his shoulder, tracing crystal droplets falling down his muscular back, dripping from the ends of his raven hair, streaming between sharp shoulder blades and muscles of his thighs.

When Satoru did, Suguru would try to keep his eyes on the mountain's peak, lush meadows spreading over the horizon. But the curiosity was stronger when his eyes, as if posessed looked behind him, to Satoru's creamy skin and long legs, broad shoulders, and muscles moving together with his sluggish moves. The nape of his neck was soaped, glistening under the sizzling sun that was slowly drying his hair.

At the beginning of August, they moved the herd to a new pasture, changing the camps, packing all things up, and riding the whole night to the new location. On the road, Satoru was blowing out of the harmonica, flattened slightly by their last night's fooling around and his wild dance, till he accidentally plooped on a small instrument. His voice shook the mountains as they rode, pulling the strings of something deep within Suguru's chest, although the boy wasn't quite sure what it was. He knew all the latest love songs and sang them filled with emotions, peeking at Suguru every once in a while to see whether the fellow laughed.

And he laughed indeed, with a faint smile curved on his lips and eyes rolling on every time Satoru sang out of tune. Happened more often than he expected.

When they finally came to the new camp and ate supper, it was already late. New lands of meadows glowed under the pale moonlight as they finished setting up the tent and sat near the fire.

"Too late to go back to those damn sheep," Suguru murmured, his eyes already sleepish from drank beer and the coldness that hugged his body. "Gonna take a nap and go back in the early morning. Got an extra blanket? I'll sleep by the fire."

Satoru turned his head at him, blue eyes looking up and down his trembling body. "Just sleep in a tent, you'll freeze your ass off if the fire dies."

But Suguru just waved his hand and took the wool blanket brought by the boy. "I doubt I'll feel anythin. I'm not a weakling, you know?"

Satoru rolled his eyes and repeated his offer, but Suguru seemed to be relentless and foolish in his decision, leaving the boy with no other option than to hide in a warm tent by himself.

But as he expected, the quietness of the night was interrupted by Suguru's chattering teeth and his body trembling near the dimmed fire. Satoru's chest clasped upon hearing all of it, thus he stuck his head out of the tent and sighted.

"Come in, bed's big enough for both of us. Unless you wanna freeze to death by tomorrow." His sweet voice seemed to work on Suguru, though he hesitated for a moment, a furrow forming on his brow, before he finally stood up and came inside the tent, filled with Satoru's smell and heat coming off his body.

It was big inside, but somehow both of them felt cramped, lying next to one another, with touching shoulders and shallow breaths escaping in the quiet night. Owl hummed faintly somewhere in the forest, frogs sang beautifully, as they laid together with little to no sleep gracing their tired eyes.

It was warm, too warm, for Suguru's liking, and as he slowly turned his head, he saw Satoru's closed eyes and his chest rising slowly, peacefully, with white lashes kissing his cheeks and fair locks sleeping quietly on his creamy forehead. He didn't want to look, but somehow couldn't stop, feeling a tightness rising in his chest, before a stammered breath pushed through his lips.

And the next second, something grazed his thigh. Warm, touching him skimpy, and Suguru could recognise those fingers everywhere, tracing a line over his trousers, up up up, before they wrapped warmly around his hardened cock.

He froze, mind spinning, eyes still glued to Satoru. Who, now, looked at him back, with something so painful in his gaze, Suguru shook his hand off and sat up like a scalded cat.

"Hey," Satoru muttered, hand slowly reaching for Suguru's cheek. "It's okay, it's fine."

But Suguru, once again, slapped it, with a heavy breath and dilated pupils.

He couldn't. Dear God, of course he couldn't.

He wasn't a fag, a bitch for another man.

It was wrong, oh so wrong, and his father would skin him alive, cut Satoru's hand off if he even saw them snuggled warmly in one tent.

A feeling of rage coiled in his mind, heart weeping in pain, as Satoru's pure eyes filled with agony, fingers curling in. There was nothing but a pale moon to be their witness, with its light creeping through the tent's not fully fastened flaps.

Satoru touched his hand, placing it right over his heart, as it beat fast under Suguru's skin.

"It's fine, only us here," Satoru said, slowly, barely, moving towards Suguru's trembling lips. "We'll forget about it by tomorrow."

And then, abruptly, brutally, Suguru pushed him back on a soft blanket, putting him to all fours and quickly taking off Satoru's jeans. The boy moaned faintly, pale fingers going straight to his already leaking cock, as he felt Suguru spitting heavily on his creamy ass.

"F-fuck," a ragged groan escaped Suguru's throat as he drenched his fingers in spit and put one inside Satoru's tight hole.

He never did it with another man, of course, but no instruction was needed, as the hole was a hole and it needed to be wetted, before he could sink his stiffened cock inside. And hard it was indeed, pushing against his jeans, preacum leaking all over it, as he looked down at Satoru's spread asscheeks, muscular back trembling in excitement, and hungering eyes glancing over his shoulder, to take a glimpse of Suguru's foolishly lost gaze.

He added another finger, crossing, bending, warming him up, feeling his tight hole clamping on his hand and milky cock leaking down the blankets. It looked as pretty as its owner, shaking every time Suguru pushed one, spongy spoty, making Satoru move his hips abruptly towards his fingers.

"Just put it in," Satoru whispered, with a droplet of sweat forming between his shoulder blades. Suguru bent down, licking it off, feeling the warmth of man's skin on his tongue, the musky smell, and the tight hole clenching harder on his fingers.

"I don't wanna hurt you," he murmured, getting a low chuckle from his fellow.

"What am I? A bitch?"

Satoru pushed Suguru off him, till he was the one lying down, slightly propped on his shoulders, with eyes glued to Satoru's wide chest and hard cock, stuck his happy trail wetly.

"Let me warm you up, hm?" Satoru whispered, turning down right to the tightness of Suguru's jeans.

He took a zipper between his teeth, slowly, painfully, dragging it down, long fingers fiddling with his belt. And maybe he didn't expect to see the heaviness of Suguru's cock, the fat of his shaft, and the red tip looking ready to burst. He glanced at Suguru from below, taking in every ragged breath, every frown of his forehead, eyes filled with pleasure, fear, and pain, looking at Satoru in terror and bliss, as if hating himself for the pleasure he was taking from another man's touch.

"Never again," Suguru mumbled quietly, feeling Satoru's warm breath near his leaking cock.

"Never," Satoru confirmed.

"I ain't no queer."

Satoru stopped. Thinking, hesitating. "Me neither. A one-shot thing."

Their hearts wretched hearing those statements, panging painfully, longingly, at two boys only in their twenties, exchanging ragged breaths and slow moans, deep thrusts that made Satoru whip his head around to search for Suguru's warm lips, but never finding them anywhere near his.

The next morning came with a chilling dew and the first golden rays sneaking through. Satoru was still sleeping when Suguru woke up with his nose stuck to his sweating neck and arms wrapped around his naked waist.

He quietly went outside, so as not wake up the boy, and took some food with him before heading up to the sheep. His horse was moving sleepily, as if woken up at an inhumane hour, with the sun barely over the mountain's peak.

And when he found himself high on the mideows, a trail of fresh blood was dragged through the lush grass, leading him straight to a small sheep, with an open belly and bones scrubbed clean by the coyotes.

Something panged in his chest at the sight of a poor animal devoured solely for the sake of their foolishness and sizzling touches under the cover of the night, that for one night dragged their minds away from the reality they lived in. But sheep be damned, Suguru thought, for seeing from up there Satoru coming out naked and with a fresh bar of soap clening his tired body. He didn't want to look at the fellow, thought of every lying with him, making his heart beat faster in fear and hopefulness.

For he did hope for something to happen again, but knew that next time would make him lose it all, deprive him of any pride his daddy tried to put in him since he was a boy.

And thus he didn't come back down for breakfast and supper too, staying in the meadows, lying lazily on the grass, with a dog in his legs and sheep slowly getting ready to sleep. His eyes stuck to Wyoming's landscape, of the clean rivers and snow-covered peaks. Grasslands spread wide as if painted, with gentle strokes of mist slowly setting down behind the lush forests. He heard nothing but birds and faint sounds of a harmonica, though he didn't look towards Satoru, who at some point came up to meet him.

The sun was setting again, and Suguru didn't move from up there for a whole day. Waiting, thinking, wondering what will happen after August ends and they'll go back to their old lives.

"Whatcha thinkin' all day 'bout hm?" Satoru sat next to him, propping himself on his elbows, looking at Suguru's eyes, slightly covered with raven hair. He didn't answer. "Ah, so you're quiet suddenly? Aight, I don't mind."

Suguru couldn't help but chuckle under his breath, seeing in the corner of his eye Satoru's bright smile, the one that made him feel something deep in his chest.

They sat in silence for a while, with only bitter air kissing their flushed cheeks and owls watching them from a distance, their yellowish eyes glancing on two youthful companions almost with pity, upon seeing their throats bobbing slightly and bodies trembling in need of being held once again.

Suguru sniffed, cold snooping under his jacket and clutching his skin in silence. He thought Satoru would come back to the camp, seeing how red his cheeks were in contrast to his pale skin, and fingers fiddling with blades of grass, as if a child seeing it for the first time.

"I'll sleep here," Satoru whispered, lying down fully, with his head propped on the bundled blanket he brought with him.

Suguru, however, shook his head. "It's okay, I don't mind."

Satoru chuckled. "I know, but I do. Treat it as a compensation for yesterday."

They promised to not mention that night ever again, leaving their longing gazes and hearts beating together in one pace behind.

For Suguru had his girl, and Satoru had the rodeo.

But upon hearing these words, Suguru didn't feel anger. Nor any other form of resentment or annoyance, but a sudden wish, quite egoistic, he would say, to grab this boy's hand and never let it go. Not till the end of August, at least.

Thus, he glanced at Satoru, a cold puff leaving his lips as fingers grazed his slightly, sprayed gently on the grass.

"I don't mind that either," he whispered so quietly that the other boy nearly didn't catch his words drifting away with the gust of air.

And then, a second later, Satoru glanced at him from under milky lashes, with eyes this time reminding Satoru of the sky spreading over the summer days at Brokeback Mountain and the stream he cleaned himself at every morning, crystal droplets getting lost between bulging muscles on his back.

The boy moved, and his lips clashed against Suguru's in a long, intimate kiss, messy and lost of any grace. A bond of some kind started bloom between them, as Satoru placed his hands on Suguru's cheeks, deepening the kiss, with a slight graze of his tongue, asking the fellow to open his lips wider. A sense of uncertainty fluttered in their stomachs, together with a pleasure and feeling of utter belonging – right here, in each other's arms, with only peaks as their witnesses.

And it should stay like that for the next twenty years of their lives.

August rolled faster than they wished to, with their bodies tangled in a tent every night, sheep be damned. They touched bouldier, kissed with more passion, with skin to skin and wet trails left on their necks, chest, inside of their thighs, when Suguru kissed his way all the way to Satoru's leaking cock, sucking it gently with a hum.

There were only two of them on the whole mountain, with a feeling of bliss and impunity, feeling their bodies as they rolled on grass and laughed heartily, taking long baths in the rivers and lying butt-naked under the sizzling sun.

It wasn't even the end of the month when the manager asked them to come back down, as the big storm was rolling from the Pacific, sweeping everything in its radius. Thus, they packed with heavy hearts and lost glances, moving off the mountain with snow-peaks kissing them goodbye and long meadows weeping pitifully. Stones rolled under their heels, sheep moved sluggishly together with dogs, that spent almost two months playing and fooling around with two young boys, disposed of any care in this world.

Two days passed before they came back down, with the manager already waiting for them, poor paychecks in his hand.

He looked at all the sheep with a sight and a cigarette hanging off his lips.

"You ranchers always have to fuck things up." He murmured, probably at the sight of a few sheep lost and some new ones, after an incident with Chilean ranchers on the mountain where their sheep got mixed, and regrouping them took them the next two days.

They went back to the place where they first met, a white trailer that is. Suguru opened the hood of Satoru's car, checking his engine.

They barely talked, a feeling of torment weighing heavily on their hearts, in their throats, whenever one of them tried to cheer another up. Suguru mentioned he lost a shirt somewhere on the mountain, but Satoru stated that he didn't see any of it, and maybe it got tangled somewhere in his backpack.

"So, you goin to do this next summer?" Satoru finally asked, looking at the fellow's eyes, focused on something in his car.

"Maybe not," Suguru muttered. A dust rose as Satoru moved his feet nervously, kicking the small stones tumbling under his shoes. "My girl and I are getting married soon, as I said. I'll try to get somethin on a ranch. You?"

Satoru nodded, eyes stuck to his dirty shoes. "If nothin better comes along, then maybe. Gonna help my daddy a bit, give him a hand during winter, then go for rodeo in Texas, trynna get somethin with this money."

Suguru fixed the car at some point, asking Satoru to start the engine, till it busted loudly, once again fuming under Satoru's feet and his eyes looking painfully at the boy coming up to the window. Suguru put his hands on the frame, seeing Satoru's fingers clenching the wheel tighter

"Well then," Suguru started, eyes glued to his fingers. "See you around, I guess."

Satoru's throat bobbed, as if clenched by an invisible force, making him smile faintly and glance at the fellow one last time. Something stung, something trembled, when he took a deep breath and corrected the hat on his head. "Right."

He wished to see Suguru's eyes once again, but the boy was frozen in place, with a hat covering his face and his arms slowly sliding down the window's frame. He made a space for Satoru to leave, bestowing him with nothing but silence and a feeling of something crushing in his chest.

"Right," Suguru repeated, clearing his throat.

And when Satoru drove away, leaving behind nothing but a faint smell of his skin on the boy's jacket and dust crumbling behind his old car, Suguru felt like someone was pulling his heart out, stabbing, drilling, tearing the muscle until it bled heavily as he needed to hid behind a white trailer and vomit everything he ate during the past few hours. A sudden sob pierced his body, as he already couldn't remember the deepness of Satoru's eyes.

Wyoming, 1967

Suguru lived the life he wished for. A good wife, two beautiful children, small flat in the Riverto, Wyoming, in a neighborhood full of young marriages, and a small supermarket where his wife worked. He had a fine job with quite fine pay, helping some old rancher at his farm, fixing up the fences, and taking care of newborn calves. Christmases were spent together in their small family, Fourth of Julys always with neighbours and loud fireworks, his daughters loved. He didn't sleep with his wife that often, but every time they lay, with her heavy breasts on his, soft thighs around his head, and wetness tightening around him, his thoughts would go back to those nights, four years ago, and the boy whose eyes he already forgotten.

He would feel bad for his wife, for she took notice of his wandering eyes and his mind always left somewhere else, where she wasn't quite welcomed. But he didn't beat her nor sleep with other women, being a loving father to both their daughters and spoiling them dearly.

And then something weird happened, for her husband got a letter from so-called Satoru Gojo. When he heard of it, after she just received the mail, his body froze suddenly, eyes widened in shock. He took the letter from her fingers with a sharp move, reading it madly with a smile dancing in the corner of his lips.

Greetings, boy. I hope you didn't forget your ol' friend? Heard you moved to Riverton. I'm on a road, will be comin through on July 24th, thought I would stop by, chit-chat like we used to. Let me know if you still there, I'll be waitin.

Neat letters were written on a postcard with a mountain on the back, although Suguru wasn't sure whether it was their Brokeback Mountain. His skin started to burn, breath barely pushed through his lips, as he looked in a haze around the room, wife asking him something, but his mind somehow couldn't register any of her words. He needed to write back quickly, let the boy know that he was still there, waiting, thinking, his thoughts going back to that summer whenever he closed his eyes before the sleep.

When he came back from the post office, a smile was not leaving his lips. He sat at the table, a warm dinner waiting for him, together with his wife and two daughters.

"My dear, who is it? A friend of yours?" She asked, eyes looking at Suguru lovingly, purely, of a woman not deserving a betrayer such as him.

"We met in '63, herded sheep together. The summer before we got married."

Hu muttered, gaze focused on a dinner.

"Your thoughts seem to drift back often to that time." She chipped in curiously, seeing as a faint smile spread on his usually stern face, eyes stuck to his plate with a brightness he'd never looked at her with.

"That was the happiest I ever was." He whispered, but she heard it anyway, loud and clear, as her heart crumpled slightly.

He was lost in thought for a while before his gaze went back to both daughters, feeding them quietly, a laughter bubbling in his throat.

The 24th of July was just around the corner, and the day came hot and sunny, with a cloudless sky outside Suguru's windows, as he looked out of it nervously. He was wearing his best white shirt, tucked neatly into washed-out jeans, long hair left loose, just as Satoru liked. His wife frowned, for he usually wore them tied up, either in a bun sitting tightly on his neck or a braid, looking rather flamboyant the first time she met him. Seeing him pacing back and forth, she too couldn't wait to see a friend who woke in her husband such intense emotions. She mentioned something about inviting Satoru for dinner at a restaurant, but Suguru said more likely he'll go out with him and get drunk, maybe spend the night outside, for Satoru wasn't a restaurant type.

He paced all morning, till the late afternoon, when lavender was slowly embracing darkening sky, sun hiding slowly over the horizon. Only then did Suguru see the green old pickup rolling in front of his flat and Satoru getting out of it, with the same brown hat sitting on fair hair and creamy cheeks glancing up at him with the same boyish smile. Something panged in Suguru's heart as he ran outside, breath heavy, thighs burning while stepping down the stairs, before they embraced one another. Noses nuzzled in their necks, breathing each other long forgotten scents, muscular arms hugging tightly before Suguru took him behind the small garage and pushed his lips against his in a bloody, brutal kiss, with clacking teeth and throats swallowing their shaken breaths. He smelled the same, like cigarettes and the sweetness of grass, with a hint of muskiness he adored dearly and a sweat he liked to lick off his neck, whenever they lay together.

Their eyes closed as an embrace was not enough, both feeling that they needed to melt into one another, completly lost in a secret kiss. Or maybe not as secret as they thought, as Suguru's wife was standing there, right by the window, looking at her husband's arms hugging another man, kissing him with more passion than he ever did her. Their chests pressed together, Satoru pushed against the garage wall, thighs slightly spread with Suguru's leg between them, not pulling apart even for a second, as lovers meeting one another after years of longing and separation.

She stumbled to the back, hand covering her trembling lips, before a quiet sob pushed through them. Thoughts galloped through her mind like a herd of horses at the sheer thought of her husband being...

She couldn't cry for long, however, as the door opened soon and both came inside, with still heavy breaths and warm cheeks, keeping the distance between their feverish bodies.

Suguru cleared his throat. "Darlin', meet Satoru. Satoru, my wife."

Satoru looked as if the age of his husband, no older than twenty-four, with a frivolous spark in his eye and the deepest blue she had ever seen. White locks looked rather adorable, peeking out under a brown hat, as he smiled politely and looked down at two girls hugging her legs.

"Ah, you got daughters? He asked sweetly, glancing at the girls with exactly the same purplish eyes as their father. "I got a boy."

Oh. Suguru froze slightly, a smile looking rather like a grimace. "You married?"

"Sure, I did. To the prettiest woman in Texas," he laughed, a hint of nervousness sleeping in between. "Gave me an eight-month-old son."

"Right," Suguru murmured, before clearing his throat again. "Darlin, Satoru and I are gonna get a drink. Might stay out tonight, we didn't see each other for four years."

He turned his back to her, Satoru saying quiet goodbyes, before she took her purse, taking a few dollars. Suguru guessed she wanted to ask him for a pack of cigarettes, probably force him to go back for the night.

"Could you please–"

But before she finished, Suguru pointed at the kitchen's cupboards. "Smokes are there, bought a few more in case."

They spent the night outside indeed, staying in a motel, getting drunk and fucking relentlessly, with Satoru pushing his finger into Suguru's loosened hair, whispering of how much he loved them, clenching on his cock and breathing hard against his ear. It was the first time Suguru's heart beaten in such excitement since that summer four years ago. He embraced the boy, no, a man he should say, with lean arms, cock pushing against the tight rim of his muscles, lips kissing of salty tears that rolled down Satoru's cheeks, every time he grazed this one plump spot inside him.

The room was stuffy from their heavy breaths, blankets left on the floor as they made love to each other madly, longingly, finally feeling a sense of belonging, as if coming back home after a very long and tiring journey.

They've stopped after hours, with wet foreheads and bodies tangled together. Suguru's back leaning against Satoru's chest, with raven hair gently patted by milky fingers, tracing lines of Suguru's straight eyebrows and the curve of his nose.

"I looked for you everywhere," Suguru choked with a faint voice. "Four years. I almost gave up on you. Thought that maybe you did too."

Satoru took a deep breath, Suguru's musky smell tickling his senses, as he placed a gentle kiss on the crown of his head.

"Boy, I was in a Texas rodeo. I met my wife there, had a child," his finger pointed at the chair. "See that? I'm a bull rider. Beginnings were hard, I could barely afford to eat and needed to borrow everything from other fellows. My wife is a good deal; her father's fucking rich."

Suguru reached for the cigarette resting on the bedside crate, rolling it between his fingers before settling it between his lips. The match flared bright in the dim room, painting his blushed cheeks in orange for a brief, trembling second. Then the flame died, and smoke curled slow and thoughtful into the low wooden rafters.

"Ya lover her?"

Satoru tensed, arms around his chest, tightening slightly. "Do you love yours?"

Silence stretched between them, long and patient. Rather quite reassuring, leaving them with a question they both knew the answer to, but did not possess the courage to say out loud. For maybe they didn't even have to, as it lived in their hearts and gazes, in the summer spent on the Mountain and those carefree days, when they had nothing but each other's company and foolish dreams.

"You know, I was wonderin’ for so long, trying to figure out if I'm..." Suguru began, voice low and uneven. "But I know I ain't. We both got wives. Kids. That means somethin’, don’t it? Means we ain’t…" He trailed off.

The ceiling fan hummed steadily above them, slow blades stirring warm air that smelled of soap and sweat and summer heat trapped inside the room's walls.

"But with her..." Suguru swallowed. "It ain't nothin' like this. Each time I been thinkin’ of you, somethin’ pulls right here." He reached for Satoru’s hand then, firm but trembling just enough to betray him, and pressed it flat against his own chest. "Like a hook under my ribs. Hurts like hell, ya know?"

"That summer, when you left… I was goin’ back home, and it hit me so bad I had to stop on the side of the road. Thought I’d eaten somethin’ spoiled. Thought I was sick. It took me years to understand that I should've never let you go."

He leaned in, resting his cheek against Satoru’s bare chest, breath warm against pale skin. His fingers traced absent patterns there – over collarbone, over muscle, down the line of his ribs – slow, memorizing, as if afraid he might lose the map.

"Suguru," Satoru said, voice rough, almost breaking, though his eyes stayed dry. "I been thinkin’, you know… we’re young still. Ain’t even twenty-five."

He let out a shaky breath, words coming faster now, tumbling over each other like horses spooked into a run.

"I been thinkin’ maybe we oughta get a ranch. Somewhere no one knows us. Little cow-and-calf operation. You with your horses. Me fixin’ fences. We’d wake up early, work all day, come back tired and dirty and–" He swallowed hard. "Had it planned out in my head. My wife’s father, he’d pay good money just to see me gone. Man hates my guts. I figured I could take that money, put it down on land. Start small. Build it up." He laughed once – sharp, hopeful, desperate. "Had it all figured, Suguru. Thought maybe that’d be our way."

Suguru’s fingers stilled.

The warmth in his body shifted – not gone, but tightening, bracing. His arms, once loose around Satoru’s waist, went rigid. Slowly, he lifted his head, dark eyes traveling up until they met that outlandish blue.

There was something there now. Not softness.

Fear.

"Wait a sec," he said, pulling back slightly, enough to look at him clearly. "Stop right there."

Satoru blinked, breath still uneven from a dream rushing through his mind.

"We can't. I'm stuck here," Suguru continued, quieter now. "Got a wife. Got girls I love very much. I can't just walk away from that." His jaw flexed, eyes glued to Satoru's, filled with misery. "We got lives, families, ain't boys playin' cowboy no more–"

"But we could make it work," Satoru chipped in, a breath of hope still coiling in his chest.

"No. We couldn't," he took a deeper breath, forehead frowning at the coming thought. "You know what they do to fellows like us? I don't want to be dead. When I was a boy, two guys were livin' on a ranch next to ours. There was a joke goin' on around, although they were pretty tough. When I was nine, one got caught by other fellows, dragged around by his dick till he ended up with nothin' but a bloody pulp between his legs. They beat him up with a metal pipe, skin tore down from his face, skull crushed till I saw the insides."

"You saw that?" Satoru spoke on one breath.

"Daddy made sure I did. He took me there, the guy left on the side of the road with his pants down. He laughed about it, for what I know, maybe helped even," Suguru's throat bobbed. "Wanna live together? That's what awaits us. And I don't wanna see you like that. We can get together once in a while, meet somewhere far–"

"Once in a while? Every four fucking years?" Satoru gasped, eyes put heavily on Suguru's weary face.

Both were tired, knowing that the moment they took a step outside this motel, nothing but lives spent in fear and resentment awaited them.

"You think I want it? Don't wish things were different?" Suguru sat fully, back turned to the man.

His head hung between the shoulders, raven hair flowing down his back like a river. Satoru placed his cheek against the warmth of his back, hugging the man from behind. "Take some days off. Right now. Let's get out of there. Tell your wife we goin' fishin'. It's been four years, Sugu."

Suguru was weak against his kisses and indeed took a couple of days off, the next day heading out with a green pickup towards the Mountain that held their secret dearly.

Wyoming, 1975

They usually do so twice or thrice a year, always under the cover of fishing, always there on the Brokeback Mountain. His wife's resentment rose higher each year, seeing her husband spending vacation with a dear friend, never with her and the girls. She didn't divorce him, trying to swallow the bitter feelings for the good of both girls, as they both were under the age of ten and wept for their father painfully, whenever he stayed longer than a week outside the home.

At some point, she asked him to use rubbers, because she dreaded another pregnancy and being left alone with it, as Suguru wasn't around that often. He worked more for a pathetically low-paying job at the small ranch, started sleeping there, with the excuse of long working hours and weariness. When he came back home, he would snore the moment his head hit the pillow, barely speaking a word to her. When girls grew up a bit, she finally realised that such live was not meant to be lived.

Divorce was fast, in June of 1975, with both girls being dragged away from the broken heart of their father; nevertheless, gaining an invisible freedom that let him take a deep breath.

That year, Satoru came to visit him the second he got the news. Suguru couldn't remember the last time he saw the man so happy, with eyes that would giggle if they could and arms embracing him tightly, before both men tumbled inside the motel's room. It was too risky to meet in Suguru's white trailer, which he bought after his divorce and lived in outside the city.

There were thirty-five of that year, looking rather mature and less foolish than those fifteen years ago, with feelings still burning inside their hearts. They were no longer young men with all of it before them. Satoru's shoulders got broader, hands calloused, with a faint trace of facial hair on his silky skin.

Suguru grew a bit too, stronger, more muscular, with hair always loose, dark strands brushing the nape of his neck when the wind caught them, and eyes getting tired each year. Nevertheless, always looking longingly towards those few days he cherished so dearly, when the green pickup could be seen on the horizon, and the crystal eyes of its owner finally met his.

Those few days a year kept them alive, like oxygen after months underwater, as if offering a hope for a better future.

They tumbled through white sheets, went fishing, kissed and touched under the moonlight's eyes, with shortened breaths and Satoru's moans, whenever Suguru entered him gently, longingly, settling in till his heart could barely contain the love he felt for the boy.

"The truth is, sometimes I miss you so much I can hardly stand it," Satoru whispered one night, snowish hair sprawled across Suguru’s chest, eyes – though hidden from Suguru’s view – leaving warm, wet traces against his skin.

For it didn’t matter how happy they were in those stolen days; the leaving always came, and with it, the knowing that love this deep was something the world would never let them keep.

Wyoming, 1979

Years on years, they worked their way through the lush meadows of the Brokeback Mountain, the crystal clear river running quietly from high rocks, willows swaying gently, moved by faint whispers of summer wind, as they sat on the soft grass, looking at the snow-peaks reflecting golden rays of sunshine.

It was always ten days. Of sitting together around the fireplace and joking around. Keeping up with all the recent details of their lives, although there was not much to say, as, besides missing each other badly, they didn't really care about anything else in those few hundred days between their meetings.

Suguru would tell him about his already grown-up daughters, still clinging to him as before, with the older one wanting to live together with her father. Suguru wasn't ready for that, however, always on a job, somewhere away from home. Satoru would tell him about his boy, quite of quite naughty nature, which Suguru commented with a laugh.

For Satoru himself, even at the age of thirty-nine, still had this cheakiness he loved oh so dearly. Same sly smile as nineteen years ago, pulling strings of his heart when they met every few months, high on the mountain.

Up there, sleeping under the same blanket, washing with the same soap, they were the happiest. Lived fullest, as if twenty again, swimming naked in the rivers and laughing drunkily, feeling each other's souls with every touch, every glance, the sweetness of their lips. They would tumble over the soft grass, breaths heavy after all the running, with Satoru pushing Suguru against the gentle surface, tickling the skin on his cheeks. Deep blue looked at Suguru from above, as the man chuckled quietly, pulling lover to a long, sweet kiss, with drenchiness and all, sloppy tongues and fingers embracing his neck, fingers playing with strands of pale hair.

Up there, they were just Suguru and Satoru, with love so cursed they promised to never speak of it outloud.

But during that meeting, in the year 1979, they had a fight.

The first one as tormenting, the last one in their lives.

The end of their November journey came faster than they wished for, and trucks already waited loaded with everything they carried to the meadows for the last nineteen years. Both in sour spirit, with hearts again panging with yearning, a foolish wish to stay on the Mountain nestling in their minds, as they packed everything up.

That's when Suguru told Satoru that their next meeting would be next year, in November, for he couldn't get away from his job, after just starting working on a new ranch.

"November," Satoru scoffed, turning back to the hunched man. "What the hell happened to August? Tell you what, we said August, always, ten days. Jesus Christ, Suguru! You could've told me before! We could spend this time... just... better."

He looked tired and pissed, with cheeks burning and brows creased, as his heart trembled in pain. He didn't want to look at the man standing behind, with fingers nervously fiddling with his hat.

"We should finally do somethin. Go south, to Mexico."

Suguru lifted head, eyes stuck to his lover's back. "Mexico? You been going to Mexico?"

Satoru sighed, head shaking. "Yeah, so what? Where's the fucking problem? You know how people like us live there? Free!" He kicked the stone tumbling under his feet, his screams scaring their horses. "You used to come fucking easy. Now? It's like seein a Pope!"

Suguru's fists clenched, breath came out ragged, as he tried to not think of his boy with someone else, in Mexico, known from the type of men he didn't want to associate himself with.

"Satoru, I have work. Before, when we were still fools, I would’ve quit it, sure as hell. But things ain’t like that no more. You got a wife with money, a fine house, a job that doesn’t chew you up and spit out. You forgot what it is to count pennies, to scrape by. Heard of child support? Yeah. I been payin’ it all those years. Livin’ in that goddamn trailer, savin’ coin by coin just to steal away a few days with you. I can’t do August. So you got a better idea?"

Satoru was enraged – hat long gone from his head, clenched tightly by his fingers, as he finally turned towards the man.

"You know I had. Years ago," he choked out, something wet making his gaze hazy. "Tell you what, we could have a good life together. A good, fucking, life. But you didn't listen to me, Suguru, you coward." His hand flung toward the mountain stretching behind them, wide and cruel and beautiful. "So what we have now is a fucking Brokeback Mountain. Everything built on that, it's all we got, boy! Nineteen years, Suguru. Nineteen. You know what that does to a man?"

He turned back, breath ragged, eyes near wild. Suguru stood still as a post, head bowed, fists clenched so tight blood beaded at his palms where nails cut skin.

"I'm ain't you, I actually fucking care. Want to care, to wake up and not feel like I’m livin’ half a life. But you're too much for me, Suguru." His heart wept, tears cut down his cheeks before he scrubbed ’em away with the heel of his hand. "I wish I knew how to quit you."

Nothing but the quiet breath of horses puffed through the air, with creamy clouds moving slowly away, as if the scene they witnessed was too painful to watch. All those feelings collected for nineteen years suddenly spilled – rage, suffering, all their shames and guilts, the love they felt for each other, too sinful to acknowledge openly. Everything rose around them, together with the gentle wind scratching their wet cheeks.

Suguru stood aloof, as if heart-shot, with deep lines around his eyes and light purple turning suddenly deep, marked by years spent with nothing but loneliness. Something throbbed in his chest, throat clenched, as brutal sobbing pierced his body, knees hitting the ground.

"Jesus Christ, Suguru," Satoru was moving before he knew it, crossing the distance in three strides, hauling him up by the arms and pulling him close. Suguru clutched at his shirt like a drowning man, breath coming in shuddering gasps against the man's shoulder. "It's fine, sorry my boy, I'm sorry." He craddled him gently, like he used to with his son, kissing his head and mumbling apologies, swallowing his sharp cries that tore through his body.

"I don't know how to live it," Suguru muttered straight to Satoru's chest. "I can't, I want to, but–"

"Shush, boy, it's aight. At least we got this damned mountain."

Satoru suddenly remembered that summer, nineteen years ago. Last moments of happiness, right before leaving it for good. Suguru came up from behind, hugging him, a kiss placed sweetly on his cheek, nose nuzzling his warm neck. They watched the fire as it burned, shadows dancing on little stones with a soft crackle. Suguru's breath was ticklish, humming sweetly one of the love songs Satoru sang during the day, rocking them slowly within its rhythm. Satoru's chest was heavy under his palm, heart beating lively, cheerfully, till his eyes started to close little by little.

"My boy, sleepy aren't ya? Let's go, it's time to lay." Suguru muttered, lips kissing his cheek one last time, before he pulled him straight to the tent.

This simple yet loving moment flooded Satoru's memories quite often, when he sat on the porch of his house, with wife playing inside with their son. A sadness usually came over him, hitting suddenly, brutally, together with a foolish wish to live that summer once again and never let Suguru out of his sight.

Wyoming, 1980

Suguru didn't know about the accident for months, until he went to the post office. There, he noticed the same postcard in his box, and a sudden warmth flooded his spine. Same ink, same creased corner. He wrote under the influence of sudden emotions, when he decided that at the age of forty, with white hair slowly creeping through his dark locks and tiredness filling his wretched heart, maybe it was time to give a chance to life Satoru wished for them.

My boy, how are you? I wish things turned out differently during our last meeting. I'm sorry I didn't write for a while; things got complicated. I talked to my boss, he said July is fine. Let's meet at our place, as always. Maybe talk about that Mexico of yours.

He frowned, slow at first, not understanding the reason for sending it back. But then he saw it.

Stamped in red, marked as official.

Deceased.

He tumbled the word over and over in his mind, trying to think of its meaning as if his heart wasn't already clutched by a sudden ache. Deceased, deceased, deceased. What did it mean? Was it a mistake? Did he accidentally send it to the wrong address?

He read it again.

And again.

Till his gaze was hazy, the corners of eyes a bit warm, the yellow paper suddenly marked by small bubbles, dripping from the edge of his nose.

His mind went back to the last time he saw him. All this anger. The dust. Way Satoru's mouth trembled when he talked to him in pain, clutching his throat.

Suguru had thought that they could reconcile this summer, spend more time than usual, maybe move to Mexico by the end of the year. They would soften it, as always, with Satoru's cheeky laughs and soft fingers tracing the wrinkles around Suguru's eyes.

His boy.

His knees felt weak, just as that day on the mountain. Gripping the edge of the paper, he ran to the nearest phone booth. Jack's number in Texas stuck in his memory stronger than his daughter's birthdays. He suddenly remembered the time he called him accidentally, and Satoru drove over twelve hundred miles to him for nothing, with a heart gripped by fear.

Sugur held his breath, waited for Satoru to pick up.

He would. Of course, he would.

"Hello?"

He didn't.

"Hello?" the woman repeated, hearing a silence on the other side. "Who's calling?"

"It's... I'm Suguru Geto. I'm callin, because there seems to be a misunderstanding. I sent a letter to Satoru, but it..." He suddenly couldn't finish, voice crushing.

"Ah, yes," She mumbled quietly, faintly, before taking a deep breath. "I don't know if he told you, but... my... husband. He was a, well. He had a big heart." Oh. Oh no. Suguru knew where it was going. "He loved... some people too much. And so, in January, some fellows got him on his way to the post office. I guess he wanted to send you another postcard. Kept tones in his office. They slammed his face, broke his nose and jaw, left him unconscious. By the time someone came along, he had drowned in his own blood."

There was a moment of silence, stretching between them, with Suguru biting his lower lip until blood dripped down his chin and throat, clasping so hard, he couldn't even let a faint whisper.

"Satoru used to mention you," she said. "His fishing buddy or the hunting buddy, I don't know. Wanted to let you know, but didn't know your address or name. You know, it was always in his head." She took a deeper breath, probably taking a drag on a cigarette. "It was a terrible accident. He was only forty."

He wanted to curse her for letting Satoru die on the dirt road, by such a terrible death. To suffer for love, feeling, knowing who her husband was. Who Suguru was.

"You know, he used to say he wanted to be cremated, ashes scattered on Brokeback Mountain. I didn't know where it was, so I kept them here, sent half to his folks." Her voice was flat, nevertheless, it dripped with a bit of sadness.

"We herded sheep there in the summer of 63'."

She sighted. "Well, he said it was his favourite place. I thought he meant to get drunk. He was drinking a lot, walking dimly, barely speaking. A shadow of a man, he was when I first met him."

He wasn't, Suguru wanted to say, not with me.

"Go visit his folks, I'm sure they'd appreciate it if his wish was carried out."

Suguru got into his truck the same day, the road to Satoru's childhood home long and desolate, leading through abandoned ranches and nothing but steppes for hundreds of miles on the horizon. He parked the car in front of the small, white house, with the mailbox reading Gojo. A porch stretched in front of him, with a few flowers and a lone rocking chair, moved quietly by the wind.

A woman came out to greet him, with the same cheerful eyes he loved so dearly and a gentle smile, inviting him inside.

He sat at the kitchen table with Satoru's father, his mother giving him a cup of coffee and a piece of pie, which he couldn't handle eating at that moment.

His old man sat in silence, hands fiddling with the corner of the white tablecloth, eyes staring at Suguru angrily. Knowing. As if what happened to Satoru was his fault.

"I feel terribly sorry for your son," Suguru started, looking at the woman. "We were good... friends. For the past twenty years. I came to tell you that if you want me to take his ashes up to Brokeback Mountain, as he wished, I'd be proud to."

His father scoffed, eyes running somewhere to dry grasslands spreading outside the window, watching his cows standing someplace on the horizon.

"Suguru Geto," he started, voice heavy. "I'll bring him back one day and help out here. That's what he used to say. Dear friend, my ass. He had those foolish dreams to move up here with you, build a log cabin, and help me run this ranch. Wantin to split up with his wife and bring you down from Wyoming." He looked at him, something brutal swinging in the way his eyes stayed longer on Suguru's face. "A fa–"

His mother let out a shuddering breath, fingers gripping the tea-filled cup. "Dear," she interrupted. "His room is upstairs. I'm sure he would love for you to see it. You are welcome to go up if you want."

Suguru stood up quietly, head dropped, as legs took him straight to Satoru's childhood room. The hallway was narrow, walls dressed in old photographs – school portraits, a crooked one of Satoru as a boy holding up a fish near bigger than his arm, that grin already too bright for this quiet house. Suguru’s fingers brushed the frame as he passed, but he did not linger.

The door at the end stood half-open and he pushed it gentle.

The room smelled faintly of cedar and old summers. Dust floated in the slant of afternoon light, drifting lazy as if time had settled here and never moved on. The bed was made neat, corners tucked properly. On the desk sat a stack of worn paperbacks, spines cracked, and a little tin box Suguru remembered from longago.

He stepped inside, nervous, smelling an already long-forgotten scent.

"Satoru..." he breahed, though he knew there'd be no answer.

His boots cracked on the wooden floor. He took his hat off slow, held it against his chest like a thing to steady himself.

There were drawings pinned to the wall, childish at first, then older, rough sketches of cabins and fences and pastureland.

A log house. Smoke curling from a chimney, two horses tied out front. Initials carved on the mailbox in front of its porch.

S + S.

"You damn fool," he whispered, another shudder clutching his heart.

He turned toward the wardrobe without thinking. Rows of shirts pressed careful, his work jackets, and an old coat with frayed cuffs. At the very back of the tiny wardrobe was a small crack in the wall, big enough to hide stuff there, keep secrets.

His breath caught so sudden it hurt.

As inside, when his fingers dug through the hole, a shirt hung. His shirt. The same one left back there on Brokeback Mountain. It was still dirty, smelling like a fireplace and sweat. Plain white, without one button, pocket ripped.

It felt a bit heavy until he saw there was another shirt inside it, the sleeves carefully worked down inside his shirt. Satoru. His shirt sat inside, like a pair of two skins, one inside another, two pieces of the same heart, stuck in this dusty corner for the past twenty years.

He pressed his face into the fabrics, once again going back to those summer days, when Satoru would run chest–naked around the meadows, skin glistening with sweat, sun kissing down his cherry cheeks. There was no real smell of Satoru left, only those faint memories he clung to so dearly.

"I was comin’ back," he whispered into the cloth. "I swear to God, I was."

In the end, his father refused to give Satoru's ashes back, but his mother put them secretly to paper bag, a small box wrapped tightly inside their shirts, Suguru wished to take back.

In July, Suguru went back on Brokeback Mountain. He sold everything he had – a little trailer, the only horse, a few pieces of furniture worn smooth by years of sitting alone. There wasn't much to sell, truth to be told. A man who spends his life half-living doesn't gather many things.

A tin box of ashes, wrapped carefully in cloth, and those shirts folded gently beside it, sat on the passenger's seat.

The mountain greeted him the same as ever. Wide, loving, with wind moving through the tall grass like a whisper, the sky stretching endlessly, cruel in its beauty.

The sun was sizzling when he left the truck and, with a box in his hands, moved towards their place. The vast meadows and snow-peaks glimpsed down at his hunched shoulders, making their way through the plains.

The river still ran clear and cold, curling around the stones smoothed by time. He could nearly see them there again – two young boys splashing through the shallows, boots kicked off, Satoru's cheerful eyes and loud cackling ricocheting off the hills. Satoru shoving him hard enough to make him stumble, before Suguru caught him by the waist and dragged them both into the water.

Fingers traced over Satoru's creamy cheek as it nuzzled closer into his wet hand. Sweet breath escaped his lips before they landed on Suguru's.

Then, the world was as vast as the edges of that valley, ending only the moment Suguru closed his eyes, lying on the boy's warm chest.

Suguru didn't expect that twenty years later, he would kneel by the riverbank, opening the tin with trembling hands.

Box held everything dear to him – all that bright laughter, the stubborn fire, the cunning smile his heart beat for solely.

"You always did run ahead," he said faintly, lips trembling.

Wind took the ashes with its gentle hands, scattering them quickly, lifting and swallowing together with Suguru's quiet sobs. The river carried Satoru gently, dissolving him into the same water that once cooled their sizzling skin.

He remembered Satoru lying back on warm rocks, hair bleached white, smiling up at him like there was no sin in the world as long as they stayed right there.

"I don't ever wanna leave this place," he had once murmured. "Even if it's the only thing we get."

Suguru pressed a hand over his mouth, as another heavy sob bubbled in his throat.

"You were all I ever got," he whispered into the air, looking at Satoru's ashes drifting away slowly.

And then he stood up, wading into the water without a hurry.

Booths and all, as the cold bit through the denim, two shirts he cluched in his heart, climbing up his legs. He didn't flinch, eyes staying on glimmering water where ashes disappeared.

Memories were coming one by one – Satoru's warm singing, love songs always meant for his raven-haired boy, hands grabbing his wrists, mouths meeting breathless and reckless beneath snow-peaks.

Blue eyes looking at Suguru with so much tenderness, he felt ill. Of the same color as the river currently devouring his body, crystal clear water streaming down his throat, filling his painfully clutching lungs.

"Suguru," he tried to remember Satoru's voice, the way he used to say his name like it was something sacred.

The river moved around him, steady as time. Above, clouds drifted slowly across the Wyoming blue.

For a fleeting moment, he could almost feel it again – strong arms around him, a heartbeat against his own, that fierce, foolish love that had burned twenty years and never truly dimmed.

And by evening, the meadows were quiet once more. Wind cut gently through the grass, and owls hummed in a nearby forest. River ran on, and tall, massive snow-peaks looked at everything from above, keeping their secrets the way they always had.

I don't want to talk about it

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