vita:: Halloween
As much as some people would like it to be, Halloween is in fact not an affair of great pomp and circumstance around the world. Depending on which one of them you asked, most would answer that they spent the day as any other day, others have minor little get-togethers for friends or family. Some years, Alfred throws a party for all of them, but after a few decades or so the gatherings have become less and less consistent.
This year, it ends up being him and Lukas. Usually, Mihai tries to make Halloweens at least somewhat special for his brother, but this time he’d been invited to some sort of arrangement by Peter which had promised lots of candy. Then Lukas had called to say he wanted to “get away” for the weekend, and Mihai figured he may as well do something for himself too.
He picks Lukas up at the airport and drives them out to a cabin he owns in Maramureș, which he keeps in case of a zombie apocalypse or nuclear holocaust, if he is to believed; his brother would say instead that “it’s because he’s sentimental.” Regardless, Mihai makes use of it to escape the city and to hunt, quiet and tranquil tucked into the foot of the Carpathians.
The road looks miserable as they drive past. By this time, the leaves have wrapped themselves in kaleidoscope and shattered, leaving behind the skeletal limbs of their trees; the fields of grain have been harvested, and survived as little more than stumps emerging from the ground. Everything is dying, in this season, awaiting the cold blanket of winter to lay them to rest.
Mihai doesn’t mind it. It’s a suitable atmosphere for something like Halloween, he thinks, and says as much to Lukas. Besides, without a doubt, the farmers would start again to water their fields after the frost, and the leaves would come back in spring, greener and more alive than ever.
“Like us,” he concludes. Lukas looks over at him from the passenger seat, and Mihai takes his eyes off the road just enough to catch sight of the thoughtful little smile on his lips.
“Well, I hope we don’t come back greener,” Lukas says.
“Depends on if you mean literally or figuratively, and in what way figuratively. I mean, plenty of times, I've–” He opens his mouth and lurches forward in imitation of throwing up.
The car lurches with him.
Lukas’s fingers find his leg and pinch, drawing a yelp. “Watch the road.”
He pouts. “I’ve driven this thousands of times. I could do it blindfolded,” he mutters. He removes a hand from the wheel to rub at his smarting leg, but Lukas’s is still there, his thumb brushing over the injured spot, soft and soothing. Mihai sees a glimmer of something red in his peripheral, and when he takes that hand, cold metal and hard stone press against his palm.
For a moment, it’s almost wrong. Lukas freezes in his movements, fingers tensing in uncertainty, and Mihai’s breath stutters. His focus narrows to their single point of contact, waiting for Lukas to stay or pull away, but then the moment passes.
Lukas unwinds, the tightness dissipates, and his fingers curl over Mihai’s.
They drive the rest of the way like that, hands linked, through all the things dead and dying and waiting for spring.
