Where the Devil Says Goodnight (Folk Lore 1)

But this morning felt different, because as Emil fed his animals and made his liquid breakfast before walking out into the May sun, he did so knowing this familiar routine would have to change. In just a couple of hours, he’d board the bus to Sanok and catch the cheapest—if slowest—train to Cracow. He had a gig there. It wasn’t anything earth-shattering, but Radek had somehow convinced one of his friends to hire a man with no official qualifications to renovate a newly-purchased apartment, and pay said man—Emil—a normal wage.

It would be hard work, and Emil would need to YouTube the shit out of the stuff he had little knowledge about, but since Radek had offered him a free stay in his room, the cash would stack up. If he did well, not only would he finish that job with a neat sum to kick-start something new but also get some references.

Two weeks back, he hadn’t considered a week-long trip a possibility, but for once in his life, the stars had aligned, and a chance meeting at the store led to Zofia, an elderly neighbor, offering to take care of Emil’s animals for a couple of days. He’d been apprehensive about leaving Jinx with someone else, since the horse was unruly at times, but Zofia assured him she had taken care of her own horses in the past, so Emil bit the bullet and chose to trust her.

He closed his eyes, taking a drag from his cigarette to a silence so perfect suspicion made him look up to the trees growing around his property. For once, there wasn’t a single crow in sight, but before he could have considered possible reasons for their unusual absence, Adam’s shadow climbed down the sandy road before the man himself jogged from between the trees. This was the halfway point of a route of approximately six kilometers, but he wasn’t out of breath yet. The sun shone through the short blond hair at the top of his head, and since it was now behind the running figure, the front of Adam’s body remained shadowed. Emil couldn’t stop staring at the shapely legs that stirred dust with each step.

As Adam approached, passing Emil’s small fruit orchard and continuing along the low wooden fence, his face emerged from the shade—a ripe peach with rosy cheeks, ready for picking. He looked as if he was in the most pleasant of trances, about to take a deep breath and let the air carry him above the ground, away from the troubles of mere mortals.

Emil took a long drag from his cigarette and held the smoke in his lungs when Adam slowed down and met his gaze.

“Mornin’,” Emil said, and wouldn’t even blink from the excitement curling in his stomach. He wouldn’t chase the lamb, but he wouldn’t hesitate to lure it to his doorstep.

Adam rolled his shoulders back, briefly showcasing his pecs under the yellow T-shirt, and walked into Emil’s yard. “Good morning. May I ask for some water? It’s getting hotter every day.”

Emil put out the cigarette in an ashtray and got up. “Yep. Hotter every day.” He made a point of undressing Adam with his gaze. “Wait a sec.”

Adam licked the tiny beads of sweat from above his lip and shifted his weight, for a moment acting as if the wandering chickens were more interesting than Emil himself. Nice try.

Emil filled a whole jug at the kitchen tap and came back with it to find his unexpected guest scooting next to a couple of dandelion blowballs while the rooster circled him with curiosity. He hadn’t noticed Emil’s return yet, which gave Emil plenty of time to ogle the way Adam’s running shorts clung to his ass. Did he come here to torture Emil or to get some?

“Your water.”

Adam rose and stepped on the porch with a small smile. “Do you have a glass?” he asked, eyeing the large container in Emil’s hands.

“Just drink from the jug. Jeez. You’re not a prince. Are you?”

“It’s just a bit too much for me.” Adam’s brows lowered in disapproval, but he accepted the pitcher and took his first sip. Emil leaned against the porch railing, watching Adam swallow over and over while sunlight reflected off the sweat on his neck.

“No one tells you to drink the whole thing. Sometimes… a lot might be on offer, but you can have just a little. That’s fine.”

Adam choked on the water and put the pitcher on the wooden table, coughing from deep in his chest. Emil’s gaze followed droplets of water down Adam’s throat, all the way under the collar of his top. He imagined them rolling through the middle of Adam’s chest, into his shorts, and wished those were his kisses. He felt silly over developing such an intense crush—he was no teenager—but no one needed to know what was inside his heart.