Page 34 of Ozma

“We should get out of these wet clothes so they can dry. Don’t—” She said when he grinned. “Don’t make comments anddon’tpeek.”

“Fine.” He sighed and pushed himself up. The rock would dry their clothes quickly, and they would warm faster if they shared body heat—skin-to-skin, preferably. There was a blanket in his pack they could spread out and— “Shit!”

Ozma jumped at his sudden shout. “What?”

“My pack! It’s gone!” He was on his feet in less than a second, looking all over for it but finding only Ozma’s satchel. His gaze traveled across the water’s surface. “I must’ve dropped it when we fell.”

“Did you have anything important in it?”

Jack raked his hands through his hair. “Food, a blanket, and a…” Grief burned through his chest. “Yes. There was something important in there.” He could remember the day he’d gotten Tip’s final gift like it was yesterday.

Tip snuck across Jack’s hut in an untucked white shirt and pants two sizes too big without a belt. He’d been pressed up against Jack’s side only moments ago, stealing a little extra time together before they had to part ways. Tip must’ve thought Jack was asleep because he’d slipped so carefully from his embrace, but if the creak in the bed hadn’t given Tip away, the door would’ve.

Jack watched him through the open bedroom, his curiosity growing as he forced his expression to remain blank.Why are you sneaking about?Tip didn’t have a devious bone in his body and Jack had no secrets, so it didn’t set off any alarms when he heard Tip lift a loose floorboard near the fireplace. Jack kept all his important things there—not that he had many. A few stolen coins and a book of short stories he’d found discarded in the woods.

Tip was welcome to any of it. They’d read the book together too many times to count, traveling across Oz through the eyes of a fictional hero, and Tip had no use for coins. Not when he was never allowed to leave the farm. Regardless, Jack knew Tip wouldn’t take anything without asking.

Tip shuffled about with something and settled the wood back in place with a softthunk. Jack closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep as Tip made his way back to the bedroom. The mattress dipped when he climbed onto the edge of it.

“Jack,” Tip whispered. “Wake up.”

Jack cracked his eyes and pretended to yawn. “What time is it?”

“Mombi’s not looking for us yet,” Tip said in a rush. Pink tinged his cheeks and he tugged nervously on his ear. “I… I made you something.”

Jack shifted up onto his elbows. Tip was always bringing him little presents that he thought Jack would like to see. An extra-large pine nut or an especially colorful leaf—things no one outside of Mombi’s barrier would think twice about. But Tip had nevermadehim something. “Oh?”

“It’s not very good,” Tip continued. “I’ve been working on it at night after Mombi falls asleep, but—”

“Give it to me,” Jack interrupted. Whatever it was, however poorly crafted, he already loved it. Because he loved Tip.

Tip set a rectangular, cloth-covered present into his hand and fidgeted nervously.

Jack smiled at him and moved the fabric away to reveal a small house made of sticks, tied together with twine. Each stick had been snapped off at almost the same length and a pitched roof hung low over the sides. The front door swung in and out with the pull of a pebble. Perfectly imperfect, like most pumpkins in the patch. But better. Because Tip had made it. Forhim.

“It’s … our house,” Tip mumbled nervously. “Or what our house would be if we weren’t trapped here. Something like that, anyway.”

“It’s wonderful.” Jack beamed at Tip. “I love it.”

His blush deepened. “You don’t have to say that just because I made it.”

Jack clutched the house in one hand and wrapped the other around the back of Tip’s neck. “I’m not.” He pulled Tip in for a gentle kiss.

Tip smiled against Jack’s mouth. Bliss filled Jack’s heart at the sensation. In the whole, wide, cruel world, his only shining light was that they’d found each other. That they could make each other so happy without trying. Jack knew he could search a thousand years for another soul like Tip’s and never find it.

“Thank you,” Jack whispered.

Tip slid a finger along Jack’s jaw. “Anything for you.”

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Ozma said with a hand on his arm, pulling him out of his memory. “We can see if it’s at the bottom of the water, if you want.”

“No.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. Judging by the distance they’d fallen, and the fact that they hadn’t hit the bottom of the water, it was too deep and too dark to dive all the way down. And besides, it likely would’ve broken in his bag. Even broken, he would’ve treasured it. “We’ll never find it.”

Ozma hesitated. “What was it? The important thing.”

“My seeds,” he lied. Therewerepumpkin seeds in his bag so he could potentially begin a new life, but he didn’t care about those. He wanted his house. The one he and Tip—Ozma—would share a lifetime in once they had the chance. But with her lies, that house felt just as lost as the one in his bag. He forced a small smile and a shrug. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll find something else to grow.”

Ozma nodded and tugged up the skirt of her dress, exposing her legs, when she caught him staring. “Do you mind?”

---