Page 103 of The Amber Sunburst

“Better air than brains,” he says. Then something distracts him. “Whoa, Kallias.”

“Hm?” he responds, eyes absorbing the glow of the moon, like a black hole taking in light.

“Your necklace.”

“Oh,” Kallias says, looking down at his chest.

The pendant on his Forms necklace is captivating, completely different from everyone else’s he’s seen. He doesn’t know how he hadn’t noticed it earlier.

“Is that… a firefly? In the amber?”

Kallias hums in assent.

Alexander pushes himself up to his left elbow and plants his right hand on the other side of Kallias’ head to get a better look. “I wonder how that even happened.”

“No idea.”

It’s rare, he has learned over the weeks, to even get a crack or two in the amber. His own sunburst pattern is the most complicated one he’s seen so far. But this fossilized firefly? It’s striking. Like its owner, he supposes.

“I like it,” Alexander says, an understatement.

Then Kallias catches Alexander’s pendant, which has escaped his shirt and dangles in front of Kallias’ face.

“Yours is better,” he says quietly.

He continues to inspect Kallias’. “Hm.”

“A perfect sunburst,” Kallias says, his dark eyes focused. He pulls the necklace closer, and it yanks Alexander enough to make his arms buckle. He barely stops his entire upper body from falling onto Kallias.

Flirty, fleeting touches are one thing, but this level of closeness might be too far. So Alexander begrudgingly pulls away, falling to lie on his back arm to arm and thigh to thigh with Kallias on the beanbag. Kallias turns over to face him, still holding his pendant.

“You know what sunbursts stand for, right?” Kallias asks.

“Tell me.”

“In Plato’s allegory, the sun is the perfect representation of Good. Illuminating the world with the brightest kind of energy. And in ancient Egypt it was a sign of divine intervention, the hand of Ra the sun god. In Tagalog mythology, the sun is a fierce ruler; his desire for power is what dimmed the moon and created the stars. And right before the Fall it stood for hope, energy, and new beginnings. Bodes well for your escape, doesn’t it?”

“Our escape, you mean. And, yes, I guess it does.” Having Kallias this close to him makes it kind of hard to breathe. “Does that mean I represent hope to you, gorgeous?”

“Is hope synonymous with a pain in my ass?”

“Well, that would depend on what kind of pain in the ass we mean, here,” he flirts.

“Meaning that I find you insufferable,” Kallias says, squinting in annoyance that’s far fonder than Alexander suspects he means it to be. They’re so close now, noses practically touching.

“Right,” he sighs, close to either hyperventilating or grabbing Kallias’ face and kissing him senseless.

Before he does anything stupid, he jolts back and puts several inches between them like a flustered idiot. He has never been a flustered idiot in his life. He turns other people into flustered idiots with his smoldery charm—what the Hell is Kallias doing to him?

Kallias’ scowl melts into a subtle smile, just the tilt of his lips.

“What about yours then?” Alexander asks, dangling Kallias’ pendant in front of him. “Fireflies have a meaning too. Like, for finding hope in the darkness and all that.”

“This guy’s not finding hope in any darkness,” Kallias laughs bitterly. “Just because he’s fossilized doesn’t mean he’s not dead.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works. Yeah, he’s stuck—preserved—but that doesn’t take back all the times he’s already shone.”

“Wishful thinking,” Kallias says, and Alexander feels like they’re not just talking about the firefly anymore.