A short history of one of the most glamorous members of any America's Cup challenger afterguards
Phyllis Brodie Leslie Gordon Sopwith knew how to take a picture. She was regularly photographed at the helm of the America's Cup challengers ENDEAVOUR and ENDEAVOUR II, and always dressed for the occasion. Her official capacity onboard was timekeeper, which she performed when the yachts competed in the 1934 and 1937 America’s Cup races off Newport. The first ENDEAVOUR, a steel-hulled 130 foot yacht that introduced the quadrilateral genoa to J-class racing, came very close to winning the Cup in 1934 against the W. Starling Burgess designed RAINBOW (HMCo. #1233). Some questionable Vanderbilt sportsmanship prevented that victory, and led to the phrase "Britannia rules the waves and America waives the rules."ENDEAVOUR II was built for the 1937 America’s Cup. Phyllis Sopwith crewed both the races, and received extensive press coverage. She wasn’t the only female participant; Gertrude Vanderbilt was onboard RAINBOW for the same two races. But the many striking photographs of Phyllis Sopwith in action made her a more compelling and memorable presence in the public imagination over the course of both challenges.
+ Photograph of London and Kaden: The reason for keeping this should be obvious, but the two children are the most important to me. I ain't a huge fan of humans; everyone knows that. London and Kaden are the two reasons I've remained grounded. I also have to credit Zola as well but without these two kids, I'd probably still be doing cocaine off my girlfriend's ass.
+ Crystallized Animal Skull: I kept this lovely piece of nature's brilliant work because I found it back in Florida. I've always collected animal bones. There's beauty in everything, even death, and it's a nice reminder of our humanity.
+ Childhood sketchbook: I've kept two sketchbooks my entire life. This is one of the two. Picasso always tried to resort back to his childhood drawings. Nothing is more innocent and more original than a child's drawing. Imperfection is perfection in their eyes. We strive for perfection, as human beings, and I have to remind myself that imperfection is okay, no matter the situation. They're also excellent memories to keep around.
- Suicide Note: I wrote this suicide note when I was thirteen years old. I've kept it to remind myself that there's always negative times. There's up and downs throughout life but things do get better. If I would have gone through with my plans, I'd be lying on the sidewalk, dead, gun next to my limp body.. Instead, I pushed through my issues and look at me now - I may not have amounted to a whole lot, but I'm semi-successful, engaged, and have a wonderful family and equally as incredible friends.
- Sketchbook full of Exes: This is the only other sketchbook I've ever kept. Inside these pages are not only memories but a physical list of every woman I (remember) being with romantically. Their faces, bodies, and our memories taint the pages. All of my secrets, all of my long nights fill the pages. I've mostly kept it around because it holds a few select sketches and even a few photographs of London's mother. They'll be nice for her to see when she's older, minus the nudes.
- Past Criminal Record: Thanks to Jalen, I've managed to keep hard-copies of all of my past criminal activities. Everything I've ever been charged with, under or over the age of eighteen, is in this stack of papers. While all of these are cleared, once again because of Jalen, I keep them to remind myself to stay on task and not to get sloppy with my side jobs. I can't risk a criminal record now that I have a daughter and want to have a proper life with Zola.
Art by mitarashi8 || Ficlet by ninjaninaiii || Wordcount: 2.645 ||
Characters: Simon, Kieren || Pairings: Siren
Kieren was greatly enjoying thinking about getting home. He’d been out doing some (definitely not last minute) Christmas shopping, at actual shops rather than on Amazon, like all of the smart people (Amy, as she reminded him repeatedly,) had done. He’d heard about the Christmas Eve rush, but he’d never really experienced it.
The bus had been stuffy, humid from the thirty-odd fellow passengers crammed together, everyone attempting to protect their wares from winter boots as best they could, everyone wrapped up in coats too thick and scarves too warm in the heated vehicle.
He’d given up his seat to an elderly lady, a woman from down the road, who had, at least, thanked him with a smile: something Kieren had forgotten had existed today, other than plastered on the faces of exasperated, exhausted sales assistants.
He realised about four hours into the shop that he should have spent longer planning his gift-list, instead of going for his usual ‘I’ll look around when I get there’ approach- what he thought would be a morning out had quickly become a late-afternoon panic as shops announced that they would be shutting doors in half an hour.
He’d received a slightly manic ‘are you safe, where are you’ text about midday from Simon, though, which made him feel slightly better about the physical and mental trauma he’d gone through today. Simon was one of the only recipients of a gift he’d been planning on buying for a couple of months, now, and pre-ordered too, from a small flower-shop just off the high street in town.
For reasons unknown to everyone (and perhaps even to himself,) when they’d moved into their house together, Simon had started to accumulate plants. It had started off with an offcut of a spider plant, a budding clone given to them by Kieren’s mum as a housewarming gift, that much was sure, but since then, every room boasted a garden’s worth of foliage.
As the collection had grown, rooms had started to be themed by their leafy occupants- the living room had large, tropical potted plants, big leaves protruding from tiny trunks. The dining room was more flowery, vases filled with flowers from the garden or, like now, poinsettia that gave the room a christmas-y red glow. The bathroom had the spider-plant and a peace-lily, the kitchen a herb garden and, on the wide bay window of their bedroom, Simon’s most prized assortment- his mini cactus.
Apparently Simon had named his first one, a relatively plain-looking cylindrical cactus with a covering of thick, needle-like spikes ‘Kieren’ in honour of its namesake’s “spiky personality”.
Kieren had offhandedly joked that the cactus had looked lonely, and within a day it had been joined by a rotund companion, the slightly paler ‘Simon’, and one with a bulbous pink head, ‘Amy’. The last time Kieren had counted, there were twenty three of the damned things, each one with a progressively stranger name based on a film they’d watched that day, or a funny sounding food. Most recently, Simon, Kieren and Amy cactuses had been joined by ‘Bulgogi’.
The terrariums Kieren had spent months planning were about the size of a basketball, old fishbowls or glass vases, repurposed so that they could be sat at various angles at the centre of the window. One was mossy, stoppered by a large cork, another sandy and intermingled with skulls, the third layered with pebbles.
Trudging through the rather sorry-looking slush, hauling his shopping, occasionally shifting bags so that the weight distributed less painfully, he did another mental run-through of people he was socially obliged to give gifts to, matching them with food products he could regift, alcohol he could rehome, and envelopes of money he could appease them with.
He’d only really thought about presents for the nearest and dearest: a cast-iron casserole pot, plethora of recipe books he knew would never see the day and a home-cinema audio set for his mum and dad, an assortment of shitty punk CDs and a leather jacket for Jem, about 75 different flavoured candles for Amy (who knew what she did with the things, she got through them fast enough,) etc., etc.
Altogether, he’d spent more than he wanted to think about.
He wanted to collapse by the time he’d got to the doorstep, bags on floor, key in hand, pushing the door open- he frowned at the smell he was greeted by.
An undeniable set of smells: roasting turkey, bacon-fried sprouts, boiling vegetables, all intermingled with the deep clove smell that accompanied all Christmas foods. He’d been out for a long time, sure, but Kieren was fairly sure it wasn’t Christmas day quite yet.
Abandoning the bags at the foot of the stairs, he made his way through to the kitchen, where Simon was, back turned, attempting to do about twenty jobs at once. Getting closer, Kieren could see that Simon was obsessively whisking his gravy, looking undeniably stressed.
“Hello?” Kieren asked, slightly worried he would upset Simon by suddenly appearing. Apparently his assumption was correct, and Simon visibly jumped, before smiling, his whisking slowing down a little.
“Good day?” Simon asked, moving to kiss Kieren hello.
“Yeah, yeah…” Kieren trailed off, looking down at the meal. “What are you doing?”
“Trial run.” Simon bit his lip as a pan started to boil over, turning one of the knobs down to medium. “Trial run,” he repeated, slightly quieter, as if he’d been saying the words over and over in his mind all day.
“For tomorrow?” It had been quite the big deal, Kieren’s parents asking Simon if he’d like to cook the meal, since it was they who’d been invited to the Walker-Monroe house this year, instead of the two young men going around to the parent’s’. Kieren was in no doubt that it was only because Steve and Sue had been informed that a particularly unsavoury uncle was in the area and looking for a house to crash at over the season, and so needed to have an excuse for being out on Christmas day, but Simon was taking this very seriously.
Too seriously, it seemed, as Simon opened the oven to reveal a full turkey being roasted.
“I want it to be perfect,” Simon said, turning the turkey around. “It should be ready soon, if you’re hungry.”
“We’re not going to have an appetite tomorrow if we eat… Simon, have you cooked for six people?”
“Amy called, asked if she can join us. Or, uh, said she was coming.”
“Yeah but….” Kieren looked at the sheer volume of food. “There’s only two of us now.”
“Going to give it to the shelter once I’ve plated ours.”
“…right.”
Kieren left Simon to his cooking while he collected his bags, taking them to his room and sorting them into piles of things that needed to be wrapped urgently, and ones that could wait until later. He got to one, and couldn’t help his smile.
Unpackaging it, he went back downstairs. “Early Christmas present.” Kieren kissed Simon’s cheek from behind, then pulled him away from the stove for a couple of seconds so he could loop the gift around Simon’s neck, then tie the strings around his waist, letting Simon carry on once he was finished.
It had been a late impulse buy, something that Kieren would never admit to having bought. A pink and baby-blue apron, slightly frilly around the edges, very 50s aesthetic, with a hand-embroidered ‘kiss the cook’ across the chest. It had been in the window of one of the cutesy ‘For Her’ pop-up shops that appeared around the season, and Kieren had to apologise to the apologetic staff who (very reasonably) assumed he was buying it for his pretty girlfriend. Now they thought they’d been homophobic, and he looked like he was into kinky apron roleplay.
He’d regretted even thinking about buying it the moment he left the store with the rather elaborately decorated card bag, the apron smothered in tissue paper and confetti, (which now littered the bedroom floor,) but the sight of Simon in it, that was definitely making the experience worth it.
Maybe he was into kinky apron roleplay.
Kieren set the table as he imagined Simon flouncing around like a regency maid, complete with feather-duster and elaborate hairband.
He wasn’t sorry to forget the image as the fire-alarm decided that they were in grave danger and let out its shrill cry. Jumping for a knife, Kieren stabbed at the button, trying to get the thing to shut up, while Simon turned off the hobs, trying to find which was the offending article. By the time the house was silent, Kieren’s ears were ringing and his heart was pounding.
He caught Simon’s eye, both wide-eyed and panting with adrenaline-induced panic, and they dissolved into laughter.
Simon wiped his face of vegetable steam, having got a face-full after leaning over the stove and took a couple of deep breaths, still battling against a grin.
“Better?” Kieren asked, seeing the stress seep from Simon by the second. Simon nodded, opening his arms for a hug Kieren readily gave him. Once the life had been squeezed out of him, Kieren was pushed away so that Simon could assess the new addition to his wardrobe.
“Kiss the cook,” Simon read, upside down, pulling the material out so he could get a better look. He then flattened it back against his chest with careful hands, and looked up. “Well?” he asked, eyebrow raising in question.
Kieren grinned but obliged, hands reaching to sift through Simon’s hair. “Was starting to feel a little unloved,” Kieren said, attempting to sound petulant as he glanced at the still steaming pots and pans.
Simon’s attention was back onto the food like a bolt as he remembered what he’d been doing, but finding that none of it had been ruined by his second’s absence, he calmed down a little. “Want to help?” he asked, picking up a whisk and offering it to Kieren.
“You sure you want an ameteur messing up all your hard work? You know my mum banned me from even talking to her about food at Christmas?”
“What did you do to deserve that?” Simon asked, pushing the whisk into Kieren’s hands to show him he really did want him there.
“I think it was the culmination of a three-year process,” Kieren admitted, doing a magnificent job of monotonously stirring the gravy. “Year one, I asked if I could help cook the meal, which… I mean, looking back, it was kind of her fault too… who leaves a twelve year old kid looking after the oven while you ‘pop out’ to give some gifts to the neighbours?”
“How long was she out?” Simon asked, amused at the thought.
“About an hour? I panicked and thought that the turkey was going to give us bird-flu, so I turned the oven up to full blast… Yeah we didn’t have turkey that year.”
As if from some maternal instinct, Simon went to check his own turkey, turning the heat down a little.
“Year two, I wanted to apologise to her from the last year, so I told my mum I was going to be vegan about three days before Christmas day, which she was, y’know, okay with, until Jem decided she wanted to be vegan too, and my mum and dad had to eat double portions of meat for a week.”
Simon snorted, absolutely able to picture a young Kieren and Jem deciding that eating animals was horrible after seeing cute little animals on TV. “And year three?”
“That was the year I gave everyone food poisoning on Christmas eve because I didn’t realise you had to cook shrimp.” Kieren didn’t look up from his gravy, mouth pouting slightly in a pre-emptive defence.
“Incredible.” Simon laughed, imaging as a fourteen-year-old Kieren set down a plate of prawn-cocktail as they settled down to watch A Christmas Carol.
“To be fair, Jem isn’t allowed to do anything but mix drinks because of the time she set fire to the Christmas tree, taking all the presents with it,” Kieren said with a half-smile of fond remembrance. “We kind of have a habit of destroying the house…Are you sure you want them ‘round?” It was asked with a laugh, but Kieren couldn’t deny that he’d been terrified of this day since it had been planned.
His parents were still awkward around Simon, still trod lightly, hardly filling him with Christmas cheer, and he didn’t want to ruin their first proper Christmas together.
Simon shook his head, still smiling. “I’m looking forwards to having the house destroyed. It’ll be like having family.” Kieren still looking unsure, Simon’s smile turned cunning. “Do I have to crack out the sad family backstory?”
“Christ, save me.” Kieren rolled his eyes, attempting horror at the thought, but was slightly curtailed by the frank relief he was exuding.
-
“Can’t sleep?” Simon whispered, hand sliding across to meet Kieren’s. His voice was slow, accent thicker. He’d probably only just woken up. Probably just been woken up.
“Mmm.” Kieren rolled closer, feeling truthful at whatever time of the morning it was. “…I’m excited.” He’d wanted to set out Simon’s present before he woke, so he’d see them in the sunrise.
“Hoping to see old Saint Nick?” Simon shifted, and Kieren could just hear the smile on his lips. “He doesn’t give presents to bad boys who don’t sleep.”
Kieren let out a short burst of amused air, content to warm himself under the covers again after his brief stint by the window. “…Do you think it’s too early for breakfast?”
Simon groaned in a very enthusiastic ‘yes it’s too early’, throwing his free arm over his face as if that would delay the inevitable.
“If we eat now, we might actually be hungry by the time lunch rolls around,” Kieren tried, wide awake now, chin resting on Simon’s shoulder as he watched the man’s shadow-covered features in the early dawn light.
“What time is it?”
Kieren propped himself up on one elbow and patted around the bed-side table for his phone, the sudden brightness of it burning his eyes. “6:57.”
Simon let out another wordless moan.
“Pancakes,” Kieren tempted, leaning closer, his breath on Simon’s skin. Simon made a disinterested noise, though didn’t seem to be fighting the idea.
“If I’m waking up pre-dawn on Christmas, we’re having full English.”
“A full English. On Christmas day.”
Simon yawned as he stretched, rolling his limbs like a cat waking from a nap. “Full English.”
“If you’re sick later because you have to eat everything on your plate, you’re not blaming me.”
“When I fall asleep at four because you’ve woken me up now, you’re not blaming me,” Simon compromised, taking another moment to soak up some warmth before he started to sit up.
Out of bed, Simon shivered, pulling on a (for once, seasonally appropriate) jumper, throwing one to Kieren as he did the same. He opened the curtains, just as the first rays of the sun appeared behind the houses across the street, streaming a warm, golden glow into the dark room.
Simon let himself appreciate the view, the stillness, the not-quite white of the ice, the glimmer of dew, the crisp light warming his plants- he let out a breath and laughed.
“You woke up early.” Simon knelt so he could watch the light fall on the three new terrariums, the sun catching the condensation on one, making the second look like a waking desert, and erasing the hard lines of the third like the plants were touching the giant, waking star.
“Merry Christmas,” Kieren said, beaming as he saw the silly grin on Simon’s face.
Simon pulled Kieren in for a long hug, both still slightly dozy, both that odd mix of bed-warm and out-of-bed cold, both full of happy contentment. “Merry Christmas, Kier.”
Art by sara-riso || Ficlet by undead-anarchist-and-proud || Wordcount: 1.308 ||
Characters: Jem, Lisa, Kieren
Trigger warnings: Suicide mention, PTSD mention
Christmas 2008
“Jem, could you come and help me, please?”, Kieren’s voice interrupted the annoying interrogation their mum was putting Jem through.
“Sorry mum, Kier needs my help,” she explained to her over her shoulder while she fled the kitchen, relieved to have an excuse to avoid further questions about her nonexistent boyfriend.
She found her brother in the living room, completely entangled in golden garlands and covered with glitter. On the floor next to him, turned upside down, was the cardboard box they keep their Christmas decorations in. The picture was so funny that she couldn’t help but laugh.
“Jem, could you please stop laughing and come help me?” Her brother reprimanded her in mock annoyance, while trying to find his way out of this mess.
After Kieren was freed of the garlands and managed to clean his face of the glitter, The two siblings decorated the living room together, whereby Kieren, being the artistic one, stayed in charge of the design.
“It was about time you got me out of the kitchen. If mum had asked one more time which boy i had a crush on, I swear to god…!”
Kieren smiled at his sister in a way that wasn’t unlike the way one would smile at a partner in crime. “She used to do the same to me. She’ll stop asking. Eventually. Just a few more years to go.” His smile turned playfully mischievous and he added “Anyway, what’s the name of the guy you’re crushing on?"
This earned him an elbow in the ribs.
They were just finished decorating when the doorbell rang. Jem ran to get the door. She was so excited about seeing Lisa again. It was tradition at the Walkers’ house that the children could invite one friend for Christmas dinner - it was for lunch actually, but they still called it dinner, because it way fancier. In the last few years however, Jem had been the only one to invite someone, since Kieren’s only good friend Rick had left for the army.
As soon as Lisa saw Jem open the door, she put her bag on the floor and jumped into her arms.
Kieren watched them fondly for a while and then tried to walk passed them in order to get Lisa’s bag.
"Hey, Kieren! Don’t even think about using my moment of weakness to take all the presents for yourself! They are from Lizzy, therefore they belong to me!” Jem protested, seeing her brother walking towards the bag. She stretched out her arm and got hold of the bag first.
A few minutes later, they were all seated at the table and Jem’s mother brought the Christmas pudding.
Christmas 2009
That year, there was no Christmas dinner at the Walkers’ house. What would have been the point anyway, without Kieren to put up the decorations and joke around with? Oh, Kieren, why did you do it, Jem found herself thinking over and over again. She wanted to forgive him, but how could she? His suicide was the reason their family was falling apart. She wanted to understand how he could have done this to them, but no matter how hard she tried, she failed. So finally, she did the only thing she had left: she hated him. She hated him for the pain he so selfishly caused her and their parents, for taking away the family she had. Her father had barely said a Word since that day, when he found Kieren in the woods. Not a day passed, without her mother being unable to continue talking, because she was crying too much. Jem felt like she was the only one left alive in the house, and that both her parents were turning more and more into zombies - an irony, that she will not understand until a few days later.
So there was no point of organising a Christmas dinner, it would only be cold and more depressing. Instead, Jem spent the evening with the person closest to her she had left: Lisa. It hasn’t been planned, but as always, Lisa new when Jem needed what, so at around nine, she was at the Walkers’ door. Jem opened halfheartedly, but the shadow of a smiled appeared on her face at the sight of her favourite person.
“Sorry I didn’t come sooner, but it always takes a while to manage to be excused from a family dinner…” Lisa said cheerfully. “Come on, get your jacket, we’re going out for a while.”
Jem was rather reluctant. She’d rather have stayed at home, curled up in her bed with her favourite blanket. But Lisa insisted: “Come on! It would be good for you to leave the house a bit. Besides, I’ve got something special for tonight.”
She produced a bottle of white lightning from her bag. Finally, Lisa managed to convince Jem to come with her.
“I’m so lucky to have you, you know?” Jem slurred. “You’re the only one keeping me sane right now.”
They were sitting in the concrete tube on the playground. Lisa had taken a flash with her, so they weren’t completely in the dark. They had barely drunk half the bottle, but they were both already drunk. Not really a surprise, as they were both only fifteen.
“That’s what I’m here for, Jemmy. I’ll always be here for you.” Lisa answered with a fond smile.
Jem looked at her with that intense look drunk people sometimes have and grabbed Lisa’s shoulder. “Don’t you ever leave me Lizz, please, promise me you want leave me!”
“I won’t, i swear Jemmy.”
Jem shoved Lisa in playful reprimand. “Don’t you ever call me that again.”
“What? Jemmy?” Lisa said, acting innocent.
“You fucking did it again!"
They looked at each other and started to laugh.
Christmas 2010
It was Christmas again. And if Jem knew it, she did her best to forget about it. She was curled up in bed in the dark, half hidden under her blanket, a bottle of white lightning in her hand, cursing her life. Her stereo was blasting metal music.
What had she done to deserve this? She wondered, while she tried to fight that picture that kept coming back to her. That horrible moment in the save & shop when she had seen Lizzy for the last time. Why did it keep happening to her? Why did people she cared about keep dying on her. First there had been that lab explosion that had killed three of her classmates, including her first crush Henry. Granted, it was a rather old story, but it still hurt a lot. Then Rick, who had eventually taken Kieren with him to the grave and now, death even had had to take Lizzy away too.
Jem drank a mouthful of white lightning.
The last year had been horrible enough, with the rising, the dead coming back to life and killing the living and her family falling more and more apart. But Lisa had been there, with her stupid jokes that always made her laugh. Until one month and four days ago.
Lisa had been on a supply mission. She and Jem had been arguing about something as trivial as caramel, when suddenly, the walky when silent. That had been the last time Jem had heard her voice. As soon as the silence turned suspicious, Jem ran to the supermarket, but she was too late. A zombie was crouching over her dead body, her skull was cracked open and it was feeding on her brain. Jem’s breathe escaped her in horror. It probably had probably heard Jem’s gasp, as it looked up. Jem froze. It had the face of Kieren.
Jem shook her head in a desperate attempt to get rid of this memory. She took another gulp of the bottle in her hand and turned up the volume of her stereo.
"You promised.” She whispered into the dark. A tear left the corner of her eye and she angrily brushed it away in a desperate attempt to stay strong. She took the last swig of the bottle. “You promised you’d always be there for me. Where are you now? I need you.”
And finally, she curled up tighter onto herself, gave in to her feelings and let her tears come.
Art by besttablefork || Ficlet by theundeadsiren || Wordcount: 1.708 ||
Characters: Simon, Kieren || Pairings: Siren || Read it on Ao3
Aurora
“Hey, Kieren! Wait up!”
Kieren hesitated, turning to see Simon, a few paces behind him, struggling over the uneven ground. The path itself was just a few paces ahead, and it would get easier from there. The shortcut didn’t bother Kieren, but he realised, not for the first time, that Simon was new to this, and to hiking - not that they were actually hiking, or going far at all. Their destination was just over the crest of the hill which, in the moonlight, seemed further away than it really was. Below them, Roarton valley was spread out in grainy picture of hazy greys and shadows, the streetlights marking the outline of the village nothing more than dim orange flecks bleeding into the darkness below them.
Kieren loved it up here. As he waited for Simon to draw alongside, he drew in a breath, almost able to taste the clear night air. Even his eyesight, which had been noticeably poorer since his Rising, seemed improved, and looking up he saw each and every star above clearly.
“Ready?” he asked, turning to Simon, who nodded.
“Yeah, lead the way,” Simon said, turning for a moment to gaze out at the scenery below. They’d brought torches, but hadn’t turned them on. The moonlight was just about bright enough.
It became easier to walk when they reached the path, and Simon reached out to take Kieren’s hand, lightly holding it as they made their way towards the summit of the slope, both enjoying the meandering climb and the way their staccato steps caused them to press together every few second. The slope wasn’t that steep, and when they reached the top, a breeze caught Kieren’s hair and tugged at his clothing. The jacket he wore wasn’t necessary, but would be useful. Letting go of Simon’s hand, Kieren slipped the garment off, placing it on the ground and sitting down with a sigh. Something about the situation was stirring deep memories, and for a moment he felt cold - sharp needles of sensation stinging his skin. Shivering to rid himself of it, Kieren turned to Simon, tugging at his hand.
“Come on,” he urged. There was enough space on his own spread-out jacket for both of them, and he shuffled up another inch in invitation. It was thankfully too dark for Simon to have noticed his slight trembling, and by the time Simon sat down and wrapped his arms around Kieren, the sensation had gone.
“Do you know the names of any of them?” Simon asked, already turning to look upwards at the sky. He shifted, sitting behind Kieren so he could pull his boyfriend to his chest, legs either side and arms wrapped protectively around him. Kieren pressed backwards, enjoying the comforting presence.
“Just Orion,” he said, locating the constellation and pointing up. “And the Plough.”
He had to turn through almost a hundred and eighty degrees to locate the second form - one he’d known as a child as ‘the bent-handled saucepan’.
“See over there,” Simon said softly, pointing up at Orion and drawing his hand to the right. “And the stars that make a ‘v’ shape, and finish in a pentagram - see: one, two, three, four, five?”
He pointed them out, drawing his finger in the sky. Kieren squinted, trying to make out the ones he was being shown.
“Yeah?” he said, sure he’d got them.
“That’s Pisces.”
“Oh.” Kieren looked up, smiling. His hand tightened on Simon’s shoulder. “I didn’t know that.”
They sat in silence for several long, peaceful moments, before Kieren spoke again.
“So what else can you teach me?”
“Well in Orion, see at the start of his left arm? That’s Betelgeuse, and on the right is Bellatrix.”
“I didn’t know Betelgeuse was a star,” Kieren murmured, wondering when Simon had learnt all this. “What about Sirius? Isn’t Sirius up there?”
Simon was silent for a moment, searching, and then pointed. “There. If you follow the line drawn by Orion’s belt…”
The bright star was only just visible, and Kieren smiled, happy to have learnt something.
“What about your star sign, is that-”
Kieren stopped short, his voice sticking in his throat. Above them, the sky rippled and shimmered for a moment, an eerie, beautiful green ghosting over them. For a moment, Kieren wasn’t sure if he was imagining it. “Was that…?”
Behind him, Simon had tensed, bristling with energy. The colours came again, stronger this time, and Kieren tried to catch his breath.
“Oh my God, Kier,” Simon breathed. His grip on Kieren tightened, and Kieren wrapped his hand around Simon’s wrist, holding him back. Neither of them knew what to say.
Kieren struggled to think of anything he’d seen before which came anywhere close to the astonishing display above them. Green and white light danced and shimmered, rippling in waves across the sky with ethereal grace, leaving Kieren wide-eyed with awe. Something in his heart stirred at the otherworldly light, gripping tightly and making it feel for a moment as if his eyes were stinging with tears. He’d never seen anything so captivating before, and with the comforting weight of Simon behind him, Kieren stared up at the sky, spellbound.
He couldn’t say how long it went on for, but at one point Simon shifted, resting his head against Kieren’s and sighing softly. In that moment, Kieren thought he’d found perfection. In the valley below, everyone would be sleeping. This display was just for them.
When the colour faded, Kieren stared up for a long time, hoping for it to come back. He felt breathless, and his heart ached oddly. Simon seemed to recover much sooner, turning to kiss Kieren’s cheek gently. Words still didn’t come, so Kieren turned and returned the kiss, his lips grazing over Simon’s tenderly before he committed to it, twisting in Simon’s arms so as to hold him too.
“Do you want to head back now?” Simon asked quietly when they broke apart. Kieren shook his head, holding Simon that little bit closer.
“In a while.”
So they stayed. Simon showed Kieren the constellations he knew, and told him some of the myths behind them, and Kieren repeated the constellations back, as if it were a test. They were both hoping for the Northern Lights to come back, but as the time slipped by nothing changed above them, save the bright satellites thousands of miles above them arcing over the sky. Somehow Kieren knew the display was over, and felt a strange sadness at the loss. But he knew that that was what made it so beautiful: it was something so incredibly rare. Kieren didn’t know if he’d ever see it again.
When they finally stood up to head home, Kieren somehow felt stiff. Putting his coat back on, the same shivering sensation from earlier overtook him, and he wrapped his arms around him hurriedly, instinctively defending himself from something he was only remembering feeling.
“You all right?” Simon asked, unable to miss the uncharacteristic movement.
“Yeah, just remembering something,” Kieren assured him. He held out his hand, which Simon took. “Do you need the torch?”
“I think I’m okay.”
Hand in hand, they started slowly walking back towards the village, more focused on where their feet were going than the sky, although Kieren kept glancing up, smiling to himself. When the path was flat enough for him to look up without running the risk of tripping, he did.
And then, for the second time that night, Kieren froze, holding himself completely still. Simon stopped, the rigidity of Kieren’s grasp alarming him.
“Kier, what is it?”
“Si-”
Kieren’s eyes went wide, and he exhaled slowly, shaking. He didn’t understand it. It both scared and excited him. Somewhere, deep within his chest, he felt an echo - a murmur of movement long forgotten - and the breath he let out softly billowed out in front of him, the cloud of condensation barely there, but there nonetheless.
The implication of it overwhelmed him, and, unable to control the reflex, his breathing quickened and his chest tightened. Beneath his breast, he felt a flutter of movement and his eyes widened even more as he stared at Simon, not sure what to do.
“Kier, I- I can see your breath,” Simon stuttered. “I can see your- You’re breathing! You’re breathing? Oh my God, Kier, are you okay?”
The emotions that passed across Simon’s face did so in such rapid succession it caused Kieren to give a shaky laugh; nervous and uncertain.
“I don’t know,” he managed, his voice low. “I don’t know Simon. What do we do?”
“Let’s get you home, yeah?” Simon suggested, his expression settling on concerned.
“Okay,” Kieren nodded.
They resumed walking, their pace faster before, and when they reached the point where it was quicker to walk straight down rather than take the path, Simon didn’t hesitate to step onto the rougher terrain. As they went, the excitement in Kieren won out, and he found himself almost giddy. It must be the air, he decided. With each breath the sensations grew stronger: the air colder against the back of his throat and the clear taste fresher than he’d ever remembered it being. He wanted to laugh, the urge rising up within him as, with each step, he felt himself coming back to life. His hand tightened around Simon’s, and he could actually feel the ache in his cheeks from the grin he wore. He was starting to become aware of so many things he’d forgotten, and while it still felt frightening, Kieren felt far too excited.
They only two people awake in the world right then. The village, closer now, still slept. No one but Simon knew that as midnight on the 22nd of December approached, Kieren Walker started to live again.
