Page 80 of Icarus

“Whoa,” Icarus whispered.

There were pinpricks all over the steel. Little dots of light from the room around them that—in the dark of the Atwood Sphere model—looked like stars.

“It’s a sky map,” Helios explained. “There are six hundred and ninety-two holes cut into it. My mom had it made when she was pregnant because she couldn’t go outside much. It’s not the real thing, but it’s almost as good.”

“This is incredible. I wish my dad could see this.”

Icarus felt the air shift and understood that he was being looked at, though it was really too dark to tell.

“What’s your dad like?” Helios asked quietly.

Icarus shrugged though he knew Helios couldn’t see it. “He’s like me, I suppose. He’s shyer, though, and a bit more . . . stern? He’s hard to please, but I can usually manage to do it. He focuses more on his work than anything else.” Icarus looked up at the stars. “I get the feeling that he’s a shadow of the person he once was. A person I’ve never met.”

“What do you mean?”

Icarus grinned. “You know how every so often you’ll meet like a teacher or some other adult and you can tell that they were like . . . really cool in college. Just really get the vibe that they were a handful and then eventually cooled off?”

“The ‘I used to smoke a lot of weed’ vibe?”

Icarus laughed. “Kind of! I mean, there are other versions of it, but yeah. My dad gives off this vibe that he used to be really happy and interesting once upon a time, but it was a long time ago and now ‘interesting’ is all he has left.”

He shifted around until he could feel Helios’s breath on his face.

“I know he loves me but it’s more like a master and an apprentice situation than a dad. Not at all like I assume your mom loves you. He used to let me walk around by myself at night when I was like twelve, which is fucking ridiculous.”

“Wow.”

“Right now he thinks I’m on vacation, barely asked me where I was going.”

Helios shifted until his head was on the bench by Icarus’s thigh. His legs were propped up on the wall of the sphere. Icarus could see his position in the void left without stars, feel he was there by the dusting of hair near his arm. Helios turned his face to press into Icarus’s elbow in the new firm way they’d learned worked for him.

“You said . . . the other day, that after I’m let out of here, you would never come back to this house. Does your father know?” Helios asked.

Icarus reached across his lap and curled his fingers into Helios’s hair.

“Not yet, but he will.”

“What will you do?”

Icarus sighed. Now was as good a time as any.

“I want to go to school, but I might start working immediately if anyone will have me. In the short term, though, I was wondering if you wanted to come with me?”

It was quiet for longer than was comfortable.

“Where?” Helios asked. He sounded sad.

“Anywhere that will have us. Anywhere I can work and you can dance.” Icarus tugged Helios’s hair gently by the root. “We can figure out the logistics some other time, but I wanted to offer. We don’t even have to stay in this country if there’s anywhere you want to travel to.”

Helios arched back, following the grip of Icarus’s hand.

“I don’t want you to feel like . . . You don’t have to feel responsible for me. I can handle myself, Icarus, I don’t want you to feel bad.”

“I need to look at you while we’re having this conversation,” Icarus interrupted. He unlocked the sphere’s door and gently lowered the stairs.

Helios looked up at him from the bench, legs still propped against the wall.

“Helios, we share history,” Icarus continued. “I don’t feel bad for you, I feel like we’re similar. I like waking up to you with me. Is it bad to want that all the time? Is it selfish for me to want to know that you’re away from your dad in a way that matters? To know that you’re okay because I’ll see you every day? We don’t have to be together to live together. I was going to leave this town soon anyway and I can’t imagine planning to leave and just ditching you here.”