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Luca chuckled. “Of course you’ve read Walden.”
“Bits of it. I usually prefer my books snappier,” said Artair. “So that’s what you usually write about? Yourself?”
“Sometimes. But I usually write about other people. That’s kinda what I’m known for. Finding interesting people and interviewing them about their desires and goals and stuff.”
Artair pondered this, turning a little more serious. “Wait. If the article is about your summer, am I featured?”
“Not by name,” said Luca quickly, noting the little rise in Artair’s voice. “I only use real names with consent.”
“So . . . I have a code name?”
“I guess you could call it that.”
“Okay, you have to tell me what it is.”
Luca finished another forkful before answering. It had only been brief, but Artair’s realization that he might appear in newsprint was exactly the reason that Luca didn’t tell most people about his job. The way people suddenly changed when they found out. The way they hardened and became more cautious. It was more proof that his instinct to not reveal too much was right. “It doesn’t matter. I can remove the references if you like? It’s no big deal.”
“Oh, no, I’m... Look, it’s fine if I’m in there with a code name. It’s your story. I just don’t want everyone knowing how I spend my summers is all?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep it vague and won’t include any personal stuff,” he said, realizing that he didn’t actually know much personal stuff about Artair to include. He didn’t even know what Artair did for work—if he even did work, beyond playing music.
Artair thought about this for a while. “And the code name?”
In the circumstances, it felt only right to answer. “Red Bear.”
Artair looked at him for a good while. Weighing him. Weighing the name. Then, he burst out laughing, the sound welcome after the brief tension. “Okay, that’s a new one. I usually get Artie or Ozzy.”
“Oh. I can switch if you like?”
“No, no! I wouldn’t want to dent your artistic vision! If you’ve settled on Red Bear, then that’s what I will be,” said Artair, through a mouthful of food. “But you have to let me read this article sometime. It sounds interesting.”
“Yeah, I mean. Maybe? I don’t even know if I’ll finish it in time.”
And for the first time all evening, there was an awkwardness. A moment were neither knew quite what to say to the other.
“Oh,” said Luca, hunting for something to break that moment—to return to the pleasant and comfortable conversation they’d previously had. He grabbed the bottles from his rucksack. “I totally forgot. I brought something for us to share.”
“Oh my God!” said Artair, back on familiar footing. “You peed into a bottle? You shouldn’t have.”
“No, dummy, it’s... okay, I don’t actually know what it is. I found it in the shed of the tower. But now that you mention it...”
Artair snatched it, holding the bottle up to the firelight curiously. “I’m guessing that even a fire watch wouldn’t be mad enough to bottle their own piss. Hmmm. Probably not beer? That would be cloudier, right?”
“I guess? And a spirit would probably be darker?”
Artair shrugged and popped his lever, the lid coming away without any fizz of carbonation. He gestured for Luca to do likewise. “Only one way to find out?”
Luca did so, sniffing cautiously at the neck. “Oh wow. It smells...”
“Amazing?”
“Yeah, it really does! What is that? It’s so familiar.”
Artair tapped the bottle against his chin thoughtfully. “Wait, I’ve got it! It’s honey.”
“Oh my God, you’re right. So it’s mead?”
“I guess so? Your tower has a lot of beehives, doesn’t it?” said Artair, offering the bottle across the distance between their two log sofas. “Bottoms up?”
