Briar's mama used to say he was born in a storm. She said the storm was Lastings' way of sprucing itself for his arrival; the day after his birth, the skies came out blue and the sea sat placid, and his daddy brought a handful of wildflowers to his mama's bedside. That's where they got Briar's name, she'd say, then tease him about his daddy forgetting to take the thorns off the wild roses he'd found.
Quinn heard the teasing one morning as the Augustin family smiled at each other around the breakfast table. Briar and Quinn had been in love for a long summer by then, and their knees knocked together every Saturday as they wrestled over the last helping of eggs, Quinn racing to be first to help Briar's mama clear away the plates. But that day he didn't move, and his eyes went distant.
Briar's mama noticed, of course. Wasn't anything about her boys she didn't notice.
"Quinn, sweetling, are you well?" she asked, picking up his plate.
Quinn did something with his head that might've been a nod. "Yes, ma—Mrs Augustin."
"Then what's got you looking so pale?"
"Nothing. Sorry. I'm sorry." Quinn chewed his lower lip, gaze darting out the window. A fingernail of sea was visible, if someone knew where to look. Quinn knew.
Briar looked at his mama, who gestured to wait for Quinn to speak. They were familiar with Quinn's ways, the Augustins, and loved him for it.
After a moment, Quinn glanced at Briar, as if for strength, then Briar's mama. "I just—My mama used to say something like that. About being born in a storm."
Where he'd been feigning interest in his newspaper, on Briar's other side, his daddy's shoulders went stiff. Briar knew the feeling. Quinn's mama only spoke to him in bruises.
Briar pressed his leg against Quinn's. "You know storms pass. Like mama said."
"Right. Like thorns and roses," Quinn said, nodding. Colour started to return to his cheeks.
Smiling, Mama dropped a kiss into the wild tufts of Quinn's hair. Daddy finally turned the page on his newspaper. Seagulls cawed outside. Briar held onto Quinn's webbed fingers and thought about the years ahead of them, when together they'd be able to unpick every thorn around Quinn's heart until he bloomed, as he was always supposed to do.
Briar looked forward to it.