Free Seven Tears at High Tide by C.B. Lee Page B

“Was that okay?”
    â€œYeah. Yeah, that was great.”
    They settle down on the floor, leaning back against his bed. Kevin drags his laptop across the carpet from where it was sitting in the corner and pulls up the Netflix account he shares with his sister.
    â€œOkay, so, movies,” he says distractedly as Morgan’s fingers brush against the back of his hand. “What do you want to watch?”
    â€œWhatever you like. I enjoy stories of all kinds.”
    Kevin finally decides on an old Batman movie, slings a casual arm around Morgan’s shoulders and hits “play.” The movie is an old favorite of Kevin’s, and it’s actually more entertaining to watch Morgan’s eyes widen and the little shakes he makes when he gasps with surprise and his quiet fascination with the Penguin.
    Morgan relaxes into his arm, leaning into the touch; his head rests on Kevin’s shoulder. It’s pleasant and comfortable in a way Kevin’s never felt. He’s completely at ease.

Six.
    Morgan hates to admit to Naida when she’s right, but movies are absolutely fascinating. It’s only been a week but Kevin’s shown him many different stories. He always loved stories as a child, curled up as a pup, sleepily listening as his aunts and uncles wove magical tales with their words. Sometimes they were histories of their people, sometimes clever fantasies of heroes and monsters of the ocean’s depths, epic tales that took weeks to finish telling.
    Movies are visual.
    Clearly Kevin is used to it, but the first story he showed Morgan—the tale of a Batman, fighting for justice against the Penguin, the colorful costumes, the exciting music, the way the whole story came together—was so thrilling. It makes Morgan wonder if any of the penguins he’s met down south could also be shape-shifters.
    Morgan had been afraid Kevin would make fun of his very obvious first time enjoying a movie, but Kevin seemed happy just to watch it with him, holding him close.
    And the movies weren’t even the best part: Kevin said he wanted it to be a date.
    Morgan sighs happily, drifting in the water, watching the sun­light bounce off the waves, listening to the quiet burble of fish swimming under him, feeling the water cool under his back. He swims lazily, thinking about the way they kissed, about Kevin’s lips soft and sweet on his own, about Kevin’s arm around him as they watched the movie.
    He’s lightheaded even now, thinking about it. Morgan doesn’t notice when a wave pulls him forward, just lets it carry him wherever.
    Morgan can’t believe he’s avoided the human form his whole life. Running, walking, eating fried foods—it’s all amazing. Hold­ing hands and kissing—that’s a whole other experience Morgan can’t believe. He’s seen the affectionate nuzzling of mated pairs in his herd, the easy way they sprawl over each other when they sleep. And occasionally, when he was younger and curious, couples mating, rutting together on the beach, making loud passionate noises into the night.
    It’s different with humans . He doesn’t know if Kevin wants to mate with him or not. He hasn’t Requested that, not that Morgan can remember anyone ever in history Requesting someone to mate with and the Sea actually granting it. Requests are granted based on purity of heart, to those whose intentions are good. Kevin wanted someone to love—and Morgan does love him.
    Morgan’s pretty sure he could figure it out—mating—if Kevin wanted to. He’s happy where they are, though, and more than thrilled about kissing. The human body—the skin—isn’t as sen­sitive as a seal’s, but the lips are particularly receptive to touch Morgan learned.
    And Kevin is a patient teacher. The first time Kevin’s tongue touched his own, Morgan’s face turned so red he thought he must have been ill. Kevin laughed,