Jeremy hums low against the counter. A song he's been obsessed with lately is playing on the radio.
[I want to be a breeze that flows in a continuous stream―]
Its easy-listening melody and calm guitar strumming have made it number one for 16 weeks straight. He should have been bored by now, but each time the radio plays the song, Jeremy is somewhat at peace.
"Hmm, no customers today," Jeremy mutters once the song ends.
In his small shop of about 7 square meters, on the counter display where he is leaning, all kinds of wood carvings are lined up neatly; from cute little bears to magnificent sculptures of a wave and its island.
There hasn't been a single person walking on the sidewalk in front of Jeremy's shop. In the distance across the street, on the yellow sandy beach, only a few tourists are seen. The sea looks deep and blue, and occasionally, seagulls in groups fly above the tall palm trees.
The same boring landscape yet peaceful.
"Yaaahwn―"
Jeremy yawns widely. His brown hair, which almost looks golden in the sun, is unkempt and disheveled, while the piercing blue eyes beneath his drooping lids look rather innocent. However, his dark eyebrows and strong jawline give away that he is not someone quite easygoing.
Still, Jeremy Rogers is a man who, at first impression, appears to be a kindred spirit. He's tall and muscular, with a rugged appearance, but the sparse stubble under his chin and his friendly smile hints at a laid-back personality.
His normally flawless skin has long since been sunburned and scorched. But he also doesn't seem to care about the unevenly tanned flesh beneath his short sleeves.
Then, through the glass window, a rush of voices is heard, followed by rattles, jingling bells, and a group of tourists bursting into the store.
"Welcome!"
Jeremy greets them cheerfully, looking like a warm shopkeeper. The customers pack into the narrow shop and begin to crowd in front of him, seemingly interested in the exotic-looking carvings on display.
"That's a three-day masterpiece, a representation of the sunrise peak here on Nawatuwa Island..."
The carvings here all symbolized the island, each one crafted to suit the tourist's tastes. The larger and heavier the piece, the more expensive it cost. Although, in general, small pieces are more popular than those that are difficult to carry.
"Oh my gosh, this is so cute."
"Yeah, should I get one?"
Yes, tourists are likely to be interested in small animal carvings. So Jeremy doesn't try to sell more expensive pieces.
Still, Jeremy isn't complaining. He knows that sooner or later other tourists will come, and when the sun starts to set, they'll be too busy enjoying the night to bother with the little art shop. Then he would close the shop, finish his job, and go home. And his dear Max, the first one to be home, will crack open a beer for him.
I wonder what he's doing now.
Max's workplace is more than a 20-minute drive from here, but the wide expanse of white sand across the road always reminds Jeremy of him. He's a fit man, responsible for the safety of tourists on the beaches of this tiny island. Maximus Riddell is a lifeguard.
Jeremy leans back against the counter and pictures his lover. Golden hair, a tanned body, and fine abs. Not to mention his lower half.
Ideal, perfect, boyfriend.
Jeremy has been seeing Max for three years now. Feels like only yesterday. He can still remember clearly the guy's whining about how the island was too small for him when he first arrived, but now he's more of an islander than anyone else, becoming one of the island's most valued residents.
Jeremy likes him, always energetic and outgoing. The older, middle-aged man savors the languid drowsiness that creeps over him as he thinks of his younger, vibrant lover.
***
"Why is it so hot..."
The heat is supposed to die down when the sun goes down, but it's still wafting up over the asphalt in a blistering heat wave. Jeremy's throat burns. So after closing up the shop, he decides to get three cold beers on the way home.
Hufft, the house is probably cool now since Max usually will turn the air conditioning on once he gets home. The thought of sipping beer in a cool breeze is already starting to get Jeremy excited.
"I'm home," he says.
"..."
Empty. Instead his lovely darling, Jeremy is only greeted back by a sweaty, dark house. Max isn't home.
Weird, he didn't say anything about coming home late.
Scratching the back of his neck, Jeremy flicks on the light and plops down on the sofa. His hands, covered in carving scars and scratches, tap a beer can somewhat impatiently.
It's already nine o'clock, where's Max, he wonders. He gets off work at seven-thirty. On an island with nothing better to do, the fact that he is late without a word makes Jeremy unnecessarily anxious.
"..."
Maximus Riddell is a handsome man, popular with both men and women. Everyone wants to sleep with him at least once.
It is a great fortune for Jeremy to be able to get a small house and live with Max, despite his claims that one day he will leave the island for a more exciting life. In the end, both agreed that the island is a much more livable, heavenly place compared to the flashing wasteland.
Jeremy puts down his beer can and tries to call Max. Not picked up. He tries again but still no answer.
"Sigh..."
Did he get into an accident? Or did someone get hurt at dusk and needed to be evacuated?
Jeremy tries to think as positively as he can, but the anxiety in the back of his mind won't subside. Jeremy makes a few more calls before giving up and turning on the TV. The movie channel is playing a rerun of a movie he'd watched before.
"..."
It's boring. So boring it causes Jeremy to fall asleep on the sofa. He doesn't usually sleep well when he is alone, but the boring movie sure gets him right.
Thump―
A sound on the front door wakes Jeremy up. He peeks at the clock on the wall. It's past one in the morning.
"Max...?"
Jeremy stands up, his muscular body wrapped in a blanket. His beloved boyfriend is seen staggered into the house, drunk as a skunk. His copper-colored skin looks raw.
"What the hell..."
Just when Jeremy figures out how he'd gotten home, a small man who has been shadowed by Max suddenly says hello.
"Oh, hello," he says. "I see you're still up."
"...Excuse me, who are you?"
Jeremy's voice is somewhat nervous as he questions the stranger.
"I'm Edward, but feel free to call me Eddie. Max got a little too drunk..."
"...So who are you and why have you been drinking with Maximus at this hour?"
"Oh, we just met at the bar. I couldn't just leave him there..."
"..."
"Excuse me, have a good night."
The short, graying young man smiles awkwardly and walks out the front door.
"Max," calls Jeremy. His lover's breath is reeking of alcohol, strong enough to make Jeremy frown.
"Ugh, honey...I'm so dizzy..."
"Where are you sticking your snout in, Maximus."
There is an edge to Jeremy's voice as he scolds his fantastic boyfriend. Maximus Riddell. All well and good, except that he sometimes drank to the point of being unrecognizable, and strangers always offered him a ride home because they'd gotten to know him.
Each time, with a surprised look on their faces.
"..."
Jeremy stares at Max's shaggy yellow hair and bites his lip tightly. The look on the small man's face was the same as the look on the face of the person who had also brought Max home last time.
A look of surprise that Max actually has a roommate.
He probably offered to drive Max home out of kindness, but there's no telling what he'd do if this place is empty.
Jeremy and Max have actually gotten into fights before about not drinking with strangers late at night, but well, for the nth time, Max is breaking it again.
Unable to leave the annoying boy on the porch, Jeremy takes him to the bathroom first. Luckily (or unluckily) he didn't drink enough to throw up.
As he wipes Max's burning face, Jeremy wonders what the hell had happened. His normally handsome body now feels like a huge burden.
"Haah..."
Jeremy sighs deeply as he tosses Max onto the bed. He is so tired, he doesn't even have the energy to be angry.