Ivo has been up for hours. He passes the time reading and watching documentaries, wondering how someone could possibly waste their entire morning in bed. At first, he wondered what he was doing here, why he possibly agreed to a trip with a man he’s been dating for only two weeks. But maybe that’s exactly the reason to do it. Rio would say life is too short, and seize the day, and some other corny quote you’d hear in a corny movie. It’s bizarre, really, how easy it is to love someone you used to hate. If you think about it, hate and love aren’t actually very different at all.

“Morning.” It’s humid, and Ivo’s hair is unruly. “Happy birthday, dipshit.”

“Thanks, Four-Eyes.” Rio sits up, stretching, nearly pushing the blanket off the bed in the process. The room is dark; the only light comes from the dim lamp on the television desk, and the curtains are always drawn. Rio doesn’t hate the dark, but it isn’t his preference. Celebrating your birthday is stupid. Nobody asked to be born, for one thing. People act like birthdays are a huge deal: like making it another year is an accomplishment. But there’s nothing to accomplish. You’re born for no reason, and you die the same way. A completely unprepared, uneducated person can bring another person into the world against their knowledge or will, and then proceed to mistreat them. If you’re going to force someone to be alive, the least you could do is be nice to them.

Rio grins. “I want to go to the beach, and then do an escape room. I already have it booked.” Of course he does. The man is so childish, so careless, he seems so young. Ivo supposes not everyone had the upbringing he did. “Is that okay? I mean, I want you to come, obviously.” Ivo hates the beach. Well, more realistically, he hates the sun.

He sighs, gets out of bed, picks up the ugly glasses from the nightstand. “I guess.” He gives Rio a lot of shit, but he really does care about the guy – which feels strange to admit. He won’t say anything more about it, though, because emotions are arbitrary and often mean nothing. “If I must.”

“You must.” Rio stands, and kisses the other boy on the mouth. “Put some sunscreen on and get ready, loser. We’re going to the beach.”

Ivo wears a lot of sunscreen. Even in the spring, when the sun isn’t even out from behind the clouds, he’ll put it on. When he was younger, he always refused, even when his sunburns got so bad they’d be peeling from his skin. “Put some on my back.” He holds out the bottle, which was bought brand new for the trip. “Make sure you don’t miss a spot.” Ivo has worn glasses since he was four years old. Once he considered contact lenses, but he hates the way they feel, and nothing can fix his vision anyway.

“Got it.” Rio takes the bottle. “Do you have a hat?”

Ivo has a large, straw sunhat. He’s a light packer, but he knows what’s important. Rio rubs sunscreen down his back, and then around his front, probably just looking for an excuse to be touchy. Ivo doesn’t mind this, as much as he’ll grumble and pretend to be annoyed. Rio’s hands are cold and slimy from the sunscreen; he’s thorough, careful not to miss a spot.

“Why are you so tense?” Rio rubs his shoulders, massaging the stuff into his skin. “Chill out, Four-Eyes.” He moves his hands slowly down Ivo’s chest and stomach, as the boy wears nothing but underwear – he sleeps like this; it’s comfortable, and easy. He reaches around: from Ivo’s chest to his waist, and slips his cold hands down his boyfriend’s underwear. That’s a strange word: boyfriend. It certainly isn’t one Ivo thought he’d ever use to refer to his worst enemy. Though, he supposes they were never really enemies. Rio annoys the shit out of him, but he always makes up for it.

“What are you doing?” He grumbles, but doesn’t stop Rio. “You’re not finished putting sunscreen on me yet.” He can do it himself, obviously, and might prefer to – but he can’t pretend he doesn’t enjoy the distraction. “Stop.”

Stop isn’t the safe word. This is how Rio knows if Ivo is serious. As soon as the man says potato, he’ll know to back away. “Come on,” says Rio, moving his hand up and down, “Can’t a guy just give his boyfriend a handy once in a while?” Their bodies are pressed together: warm against cold, in the middle of their hotel room. Ivo has stayed in hundreds of hotels. He’s never gone on a trip with somebody else.

He closes his eyes, letting Rio work his magic. He’s such a tease, that man. “You’re the one having a birthday.” He hates birthdays. But strangely, he enjoys seeing Rio’s dorky smile.

“So?” Fuck, this feels good. He wriggles, a little. “I want to get you off.”

“Since when?”

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“Shut up-” Rio makes a snarl sound, quiet and threatening. He’s so fucking hot. If Ivo admits this out loud, he’ll never hear the end of it. “Why do you always have to be so difficult?” He moves a hand up, over Ivo’s mouth, so that it’s hard to speak. This is likely what he was going for. “We’re not going to the beach until you cum, understand?” Ivo can’t speak. He nods, instead.

He still isn’t sure why he’s with Rio. He’s hot, everyone can see that, but there’s got to be more to it than that. Maybe it’s because he’s athletic, or confident, or even funny, in a stupid way. It doesn’t really matter now; he can’t think straight, and he can hardly stand straight, either. Rio moves his hand faster, steadier, until Ivo can’t keep himself quiet anymore. When he groans, Rio whispers in his ear. “Good boy.” It’s hard to explain why being dominated is so exciting. Normally, he hates being told what to do.

Rio bites his ear, and the side of his neck, leaving a stinging feeling. “Cum for me, slut.” It’s a demand, and it sounds so hot in his gravelly voice. He’s nearly there. He feels tense, a pit of pressure pushing inside his abdomen. His head always feels fuzzy when he cums, and it always leaves a mess.

Rio wears a gemstone around his neck: it’s yellow-white, and cold when it presses against Ivo’s shoulder. At times, he wonders what the point is of all these gemstones, all the random crystals Rio has scattered around everywhere. Someday, he’ll surely bring it up. He cums loudly, which is unusual for him. “Shit. You got me.”

“Knew I would.” Rio cleans the mess, smug, his gemstone necklace slamming against his chest when he moves abruptly. “Want to get some food? I’m starving. Let’s hit one of the restaurants along the beach.” From the television stand, he takes the room key, slides it into the pocket of his loose-fitting shorts. Ivo needs shorts, but not a swimsuit; he’s perfectly fine wearing mesh shorts into the water. He takes the other boy’s cold hand afterward, following him out of the room. Rio has a dislocated shoulder from his last hockey game, and Ivo has a broken nose from a fistfight he got into the night before. Even with one arm in a sling, Rio can tug Ivo around easily, and he does it often, just to prove that he can.

Juno has supposedly been dead for four months. Ivo is supposed to miss her, but he hasn’t spent a single second mourning since he heard about it. There’s no point to life, anyway. You’re forced to take care of yourself, forced to work yourself to the bone in order to make money for employers and corporations to steal, and then you die with nothing to your name, and nobody to remember you. There’s nothing after death. The deceased become dust, and get swept away, leaving nothing behind. You die, and it’s like you never existed at all. Some people, like Rio, think souls are reincarnated, and can live a thousand different times. Religion is cultish. Religious people are foolish: including Rio.

“I wish you could see how hot I look right now.”

Rio makes him feel strange. He’s infuriating, and he makes Ivo want to rip out all his hair. He doesn’t hate him - at least, not in the way he hates everyone else. He’d be fine on his own. Some days, Rio gets exasperated with him. It’s only a matter of time before he gives up on Ivo altogether. He’s a hard man to offend. Ivo’s been offending people his whole life.

“I wish you could shut the fuck up once in a while.” Ivo tries to hurt people’s feelings on purpose. Most of the time, he’s very good at it. Rio is the only one in the world who’s ever challenged him. “Nobody cares what you think. You just like the sound of your own voice.” They don’t have a lot in common. Rio likes to call them yin and yang.

Rio is a shadow of different shades of gray. “Nobody likes the sound of my voice more than you do, Four-Eyes.” He’s full of shit. He takes Ivo by the wrist, tugging, so that their bodies crash together. “You love the sound of it when I growl into your ear, don’t you?” He does it now, sending a tingle over Ivo’s neck.

For half a week after Pim’s overdose, Ivo took care of himself. It wasn’t until a neighbor called for a wellness check on the man that he was discovered by law enforcement to be dead. Ivo never missed his parents, even though he was supposed to. Most of the time, he felt far better off without them. He traveled to America with two immigration officers, who reminded him of his father. He hadn’t wanted to go at all, but he was twelve, and children have no say in what happens to them. Before relocating, an officer had to contact Anika: the name mentioned in Pim’s will. Ivo has wondered more than once what would have happened to him if Pim hadn’t had a will. More than once, he’s wished the man didn’t. Despite living in Anika’s house for four years, he never loved her. People don’t owe love and respect just for being family, or for helping someone out. She’d greeted him and the officers at the airport, with Mark at her side. Anika didn’t want him, and he didn’t have to be a genius to figure this out. She was doing a favor for a brother, she’d tell anyone who asked. This never made sense. Pim and his sisters were never close.

Ivo looks like his father. He’s heard this enough times by now to completely despise it.

“This is where you live now,” Anika said, swinging open the door of her house. “These are your cousins, Juno and Aspen. I’m going to take a bath.” He’d felt out of place, and very tired. When Juno attempted to make conversation, he refused to speak to her.

“Mom,” said Juno once, on a night she thought Ivo was asleep, “nobody likes him.” She stood in the kitchen with Anika; Ivo could hear them from the hallway outside his room. “Why does he have to live with us?”

Most people take offense to others talking badly about them. Ivo couldn’t care less about the opinions of nobodies. Juno was always too easily offended, and took things personally that had nothing to do with her. Juno never learned how to take a hint. If people treat you badly, it doesn’t mean they want to be your best friend.