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19 EMERSON

“What do you want to look at first?”

“Me?” Emerson asks.

Jason’s smile widens, and Emerson isn’t sure if he wants to kiss him or bury his face in Jason’s neck to hide. Ever since they had sex this morning—twice—he’s been oscillating between wanting to get his hands and mouth on Jason again, to feeling deeply overwhelmed and needing a hug or a cuddle. Sometimes both at the same time.

He’s not sure if you can cuddle while having sex, but he adds it to his mental list of things to try, determined to talk to Jason about it later if he can get the words out. If not, maybe he’ll text him the idea.

“Of course you,” Jason replies. “I’ve been here plenty of times, though not too many to not still enjoy it. Every third grade class in Santa Leon does their end-of-year field trip at the aquarium and then again in seventh grade science after biology lab. Sometimes the seniors who get into Mrs. Montalvo’s AP Environmental Science have a really cool behind-the-scenes field trip here.”

“Did you do that?” Emerson asks.

“Oh no, I wasn’t smart enough for that,” Jason says with a shake of his head. “But my parents had a family membership when Alec was a toddler so me, Charlie and Andrew used to trade off taking him on weekends to give our parents a break from his never ending supply of energy. Come to think of it, I don't think I’ve been back here since Alec was little.”

“I’m glad you brought me. I’ve never been to the aquarium.”

“I know, you mentioned it once.”

“Did I?” Emerson tries to recall that but isn’t sure he remembers doing it. “When?”

“Uh, the second time we had lunch. You were eating your peanut butter sandwich when you looked at my yellow shirt and asked me if I was aware sharks were attracted to the color yellow, which for the record I was not. I’m so not wearing my favorite banana bathing suit on the beach ever again.” Jason laughs, as if to assure Emerson he is not, in fact, bothered by the knowledge his banana print bathing suit will no longer see the light of day. “Anyways, then I said something about how I wasn’t scared of petting sharks, and you told me you can’t pet sharks, and I told you that you could at the aquarium near the pier, and that's when you told me you’d never been to an aquarium. I decided then and there I’d take you one day.”

“Jason, that was almost two months ago.”

“I know,” Jason shrugs. “Can’t say I realized it would be a date, but I’m pretty happy about the turn of events. I figured it might be a little too overstimulating in the evenings, but then when I found out about their early morning sensory hours on Sundays, I knew it would be perfect.”

When Jason finishes talking, his expression is relaxed, his smile easy, and he clearly has no idea what kind of impact his words have just had. Emerson is so used to being told he talks too much, that he interrupts with facts no one cares about or that his limited interests are the reason he had no friends. Yet here’s Jason, who apparently not only remembers the specific details of a conversation from not long after they met, but also filed that information away and eventually used it to take Emerson on the world’s most perfect first date. A date he went out of his way to find accommodations for.

If Emerson had better interoception, he might be able to differentiate between the storm of feelings swirling inside of him, but he doesn’t. His feelings are a tangled mess of confusing, too big emotions that have him fidgeting with the sleeves of the hoodie Jason loaned him. This one still smells like Jason, and while Emerson has never stolen anything in his entire life, he might steal this.

“Was this okay?” Jason asks, looking inexplicably worried. “I didn’t ask first because I wanted to surprise you, but maybe you’re like Andrew and hate surprises.”

“This was a good surprise,” Emerson assures him, itching to reach for Jason but hesitating. While it’s not crowded, it's still a public place, and Jason is only out to Emerson and thanks to his late night phone call, his best friend. “It is very thoughtful of you to remember. Thank you.”

“Of course I remember.” Jason’s eyes crinkle at the corners, the lines there a natural extension of his ever present smile. The same smile that appears on his face when he reaches for Emerson’s hand and tangles their fingers together.

Right here in the center of the Santa Leon Aquarium, Jason holds his hand. Given that it’s Sensory Sunday—something Emerson didn’t even know existed before their arrival—the aquarium isn’t crowded. There are only a handful of other groups here this early, and none of them are paying attention to Jason and Emerson. Still, it’s thrilling to have Jason so casually reach for his hand in a public place, as if perhaps he needs to touch Emerson as much as Emerson needs to be touched. As if he isn’t worried about anyone knowing they’re here together.

In the grand scheme of firsts, holding hands is probably a small one, yet the feelings it invokes are anything but. It’s another first Emerson gets to share with Jason and one that makes Emerson feel wanted and safe and happier than he’s maybe ever been in his entire life. Unable to voice any of this out loud, he holds Jason’s hand just that little bit tighter.

“Alright, Emmy?”

“Uh-huh, just…can you pick the exhibit?” Emerson asks, still reeling from the sex and the handholding and the sheer ease with which Jason makes him feel wanted. All of it is good, but Emerson’s brain is working overtime to mentally compartmentalize all the new things he’s experienced in the last twenty-four hours, making the prospect of any decision crippling.

“Sure,” Jason answers.

Giving Emerson’s hand a gentle squeeze, Jason guides him across the lobby of the aquarium. The weight of decision-making taken off his shoulders leaves Emerson free to take in their surroundings, marveling first at the massive replica of a blue whale hanging from the ceiling above them, then at the floor to ceiling tank that, according to the plaque they pass, is part of a tropical reef.

It’s surprisingly easy to trail alongside Jason without the normal anxiety or tension that permeates most of his social interactions. Come to think of it, he can remember very few times he was ever so relaxed in a public place. While part of it might be because of the diminished crowds and the post-orgasm haze of pleasure, a lot of it is because being with someone he doesn’t feel the need to mask with or hide from has taken off the weight of burdens he’d grown used to carrying.

For so long, Emerson resigned himself to feeling safest alone, yet Jason has shown him a different future—one where it’s possible to be with someone who makes him feel seen, happy and loved. Because whether Jason means to or not, his actions are doing just that. He smiles at Emerson constantly, seeking him out with a meaningful gaze or a casual touch.

Emerson didn’t even know it was possible for Jason to become more tactile, but since the dance he’s hardly taken his hands off Emerson. A hand at the nape of his neck or the small of his back, fingers curled in his own or an arm slung around his shoulder. At first, Emerson thought Jason was trying to reassure him, but he’s starting to suspect the touching might be as important to Jason as it is to Emerson.

Even now as they walk, holding his hand doesn’t seem to be enough because he lifts it to his mouth, hiding his smile behind their joined palms as he kisses the back of Emerson’s hand and points out a very large fish that he swears was alive when Alec was little. Jason’s chatter continues as they make their way past a range of exhibits, including a family of seahorses and a mesmerizing room of jellyfish. Jason assures him they have time to come back and see it all, but he’s got a plan he says, gleefully leading Emerson to their destination.

Secure in the knowledge Jason has a plan he will like, Emerson’s mind drifts as he stares at various tanks and fish, losing his focus on the other aspects of his surroundings, like railings and walls, nearly walking into one. Jason quietly grabs Emerson’s body to stop the collision, redirecting him with an arm around his shoulder as if tucking Emerson into his side might prevent future missteps.

“This way,” Jason announces, guiding them towards a set of double doors. “Unless they changed the exhibit in the last few years. Probably should’ve checked the website this morning before we left, but I was a little distracted.”

Heat spreads through Emerson’s body, and he’s certain his face must be bright red knowing exactly what Jason was distracted by earlier, specifically Emerson’s ass and trying to figure out exactly how long he could rim Emerson before he sobbed through a second orgasm.

“Yup, still here,” Jason happily announces while pushing the door open.

Cool morning air whips across Emerson’s face as they step outside, the bite of cold air right off the shore beside them making him shiver. He’s extra grateful for the warmth of Jason’s borrowed hoodie and his body, leaning into the embrace while letting his eyes adjust to the drastic change in lighting. Once the sun stops affronting his overly sensitive eyes, he’s able to take in their surroundings, eyes settling on a large sign that explains where Jason led them.

“Touch tanks,” Emerson whispers, unable to stop his fingers from tapping in the air as he turns to smile at Jason. “You brought me to the touch tanks.”

“I did,” Jason grins, tipping his face down to kiss Emerson’s forehead. No one is looking, but Emerson feels owned in the warmest, safest way possible, and his fingers stim faster knowing exactly what he’s feeling right now—happy. “You’ve never gotten to pet a shark, so I thought why not start off big.”

“They really have a shark I can pet?” Emerson asks, leaning against Jason as they walk towards the pools.

The touch tanks are far larger than Emerson would’ve imagined, spanning half the outside area with two separate pools each forming a half-circle visitors can stroll around and between. Whether it’s because of the early hours or the frigid temperatures, only one other group is outside. Curious, Emerson watches a small girl with bright yellow ear defenders lean over the edge of the tank, both of her arms submerged while one of her parents holds on to the back of her shirt, presumably so she doesn’t climb all the way in.

“They do,” Jason confirms. “Though we’ve got to actually find it.”

Eager to see it all for himself, Emerson takes the lead, stepping out of the safety of Jason’s embrace to walk to the edge of the pool and lay his palms flat on the cement wall. He leans over, mesmerized by the way the small stingrays glide across the bottom of the tank barely disturbing the water. Not quite ready to touch them, he skims his own fingertips over the surface of the water watching the way it ripples.

He’s not sure how long he stares, scanning the tanks and taking note of the various sting rays that circle. There are starfish clinging to the rocks in the center, and towards the edge what appears to be anemone and sea slugs clustered around the coral. It’s incredible, so much like the books he’s read and yet different too.

“I wonder if my mom came here.”

“If she went to school here then yeah, definitely.”

The idea that his mom might’ve sat in this same spot makes Emerson’s insides squirm. It’s not bad, but it’s not exactly good either. It’s something in the middle, as comforting as it is painful. If they’d made it out here when he was little, his mom might have brought him here, like the other parents. Well they probably couldn’t have afforded it, but maybe during a field trip. His mom might even have been able to take off work to chaperone.

“You see the shark?”

“No,” Emerson answers. “Maybe it’s hiding.”

Jason’s hand settles at the back of Emerson’s neck, his palm warm and the touch grounding. He doesn’t press or hurry Emerson, just stands there quietly as Emerson gets lost in thought and plays with the surface of the water. Ten minutes later, Emerson’s right arm is freezing from touching all five of the rays in the tank, twice, but he’s yet to find the shark.

“I’ve gotta use the restroom,” Jason says, squeezing the back of Emerson’s neck once before pulling it away. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Emerson replies, never taking his eyes off the tank. He’s not sure how much time passes when the shadow of someone falls into his line of sight.

“Are you looking for Freya?” a woman asks. Emerson turns to see who spoke, finding a woman with long braids pulled back through her Santa Leon Aquarium cap. She’s also got on a Santa Leon Aquarium polo and a name tag, so she definitely works here.

“I don’t know who Freya is,” Emerson tells her, staring at her name tag. Kaliyah is her name.

“Freya is our Epaulette shark,” She answers. “You’ve been staring at the tanks for a while and thought you might be looking for her. Most people expect her to be bigger than she is, and with her brown coloration and dark spots, she’s easy to miss hiding in her habitat, especially when she’s in her favorite hiding spot. Want me to show you?”

“Please,” Emerson answers, following her around the back side of the touch tanks. She leans over, pointing to a small inlet in the clustered rocks near the edge. “She’s right there, see her tail peeking out? Her spots help disguise her and repel predators. The funniest thing is, if you know what to look for she’s easy to see, but she thinks if you can’t see her head, you can’t see her.”

“She’s smaller than I expected,” Emerson confesses, wondering if he’s tall enough to lean over the tank and reach her. He doesn’t think so, and the thought makes him sad.

“She usually stays there most of the day unless it’s feeding time,” Kaliyah offers. “Which, lucky for you, is right now.”

Lucky is a perfect word to describe how Emerson feels. Lucky to have been able to move to Santa Leon and start a life of his own making. Lucky to have found a job that, while most days takes the bulk of his spoons, makes him feel satisfied and proud. Lucky to have met Jason, to have found not only a best friend but a boyfriend. Lucky to have found someone who happily lets Emerson nerd out and watch the same movie for the upteenth time, or seeks out sensory hours at an aquarium so Emerson can live out his childhood dream of petting a shark.

So damn lucky .

As if the day couldn’t get more perfect, right as Kaliyah lures Freya out with the promise of food, Jason returns—his presence noticeable even before he wraps himself around Emerson from behind. Jason’s chest fits snug against his back, strong arms holding him tight, as Jason hunches to rest his chin on Emerson’s shoulder.

“Surprise,” he whispers, turning his hand over. Clutched inside his palm is a small plush seahorse, maybe five inches at most and a beautiful bright blue like the sea on the horizon.

“What’s that?” Emerson asks around a sudden lump in his throat.

“A friend for Sharky,” Jason answers, healing a part of Emerson he didn’t break. “Can’t have him getting lonely when I cuddle you at night.”

Emerson’s throat is too small, his heart too big, and words escape him as he curls his fingers around the plush. Not something to be ridiculed or hidden away, but a gift from someone who understands Emerson. Who celebrates all the parts of him, even the ones society deems difficult or childish or confusing. His thumb strokes over the soft plush, tracing the stitching in a soothing and rhythmic pattern.

“Seahorses are monogamous,” Emerson whispers. “And very queer-coded.”

“Well that’s fucking awesome.” Jason’s breath is warm across the shell of his ear, the laughter in his voice going straight to Emerson’s very gay, very-in-love heart. “I passed the gift shop on the way to the bathroom and had to get it for you. Clearly, it was the perfect one.”

You’re the perfect one, Emerson thinks, breathing in the scent of salt air and Jason’s body wash, familiar and comforting as the truth of what he’s suspected for weeks settles around him. He’s in love with Jason. Not a question or a maybe, but a fact. He knows it the same way he knew the first time his mom made him an Eggo waffle when he was five years old and it became his breakfast of choice for the next two decades. He knows it the same way he knew after reading Lord Of The Rings for the first time that he would never be the same.

Maybe it’s his autistic brain finding something it likes and not wanting to let go, or maybe it's his love-starved heart recognizing something special in Jason. Or maybe it’s all of that wrapped into one amalgamation of attraction, affection and friendship.

Whatever it is, Emerson knows one thing for certain—Jason King is it for him.

Since the day Emerson’s mom died, he’s been adrift, felt like an out-of-place alien searching for somewhere he might belong. That place had never been with his family, hadn’t been in middle school or high school or college. He’d hoped moving to his mom’s hometown might magically provide the sense of belonging he’d always lacked, but not even Santa Leon with its picturesque views and perfect weather could fill the cracks in Emerson’s fragile heart.

All these years Emerson’s been looking for a home, it wasn’t a place—it was a person. It was, is, Jason.

“Look, Emmy.” Jason’s cheek presses against his own. His joy at seeing the shark is palpable, infinitely more affecting because Emerson knows its excitement not for himself, but for Emerson. “There’s your shark. You ready to pet it?”

Freya swims closer, her coloring all but disguising her against the sandy bottom, yet now that he knows what to look for he can’t miss her. He draws two fingers over her smooth back, a smile growing on his face.

Under his hand is a shark, but in Emerson’s heart, there is a King.