Lighthouse Keeper and Bird

Faustus rode his bike to the outskirts of the island, parking it by the lighthouse and knocking heavily on the front door. The man who took care of the place, Yarrow, opened the door in his human form, and then automatically grimaced at the sight of the small harpy.

“Let me in.” Faustus tried to duck under Yarrow’s arms, but the larger man caught him and pushed him back away with one large hand.

“Why should I?” He raised his eyebrows.

“I like watching the sunset from up high,” Faustus shrugged, looking up as if to scale how high the top of the lighthouse was. Yarrow sighed.

“Why don’t you fly up there?” He asked.

Faustus scratched at the base of the feathers on his shoulder. “I can’t fly.”

“Sure you can. Harpies can fly.”

“I can’t. Others can, but I’m a water bird. I can swim and float but not fly for very long.”

“Very long. There you go. It wouldn’t take long to get up there.” Yarrow shook his head and started to close the door.

“Listen,” Faustus stepped forward again, sticking a small, clawed foot in between the door and the doorframe. Yarrow opened it back up again, eyebrows raised, “I’m molting—” and as if by comedic timing, he shed a few feathers from where he had been scratching, floating to the stone walkway underfoot, “And it’s cold.”

“Bring a jacket next time you try to bother me. And pick up your feathers. I swept earlier.”

“Big bad lighthouse swamp monster keeps clean?”

“Big bad lighthouse swamp monster says it’s seven thirty at night and you should be on your way.”

“It’s public property!” Faustus whined.

“Not the inside.”

“I can tattle—”

“Do you really want in that bad?” Yarrow sighed. Faustus nodded, grinning once Yarrow turned his back to lead Faustus up to the top. Faustus shed more feathers as they went along, but when they reached the top, he skipped out onto the balcony and sat down with his legs dangling between the bars of the railing.

Yarrow sat cross-legged beside him, and for the first time, Faustus was silent, almost pensive.

After about a minute of looking at the fading horizon, Faustus said, “You stayed with me.”

Yarrow blinked once, but then snorted, “I don’t want you pooping up here.”

“Ha-ha,” Faustus rolled his eyes and then wiggled his eyebrows, “You like me, don’t you?”

“What?” Yarrow laughed, “I mean, when you’re not yapping—”

Faustus leaned backwards and gave a peck of a kiss to Yarrow, who froze in place. It was over as quickly as it began, and then Faustus was standing and brushing more feathers from his legs.

“Well,” He said, “Thanks for letting me up here. Goodnight.”

“W-wait—” Yarrow stood too, taken aback, “You just kissed me.”

“Dinner at the spaghetti place next Friday at eight? Does big bad lighthouse swamp monster like meatballs?”

“Sure?”

“See you then.”

“Wait,” Yarrow reached out and took hold of Faustus’s elbow before circling around him and kissing him deeper, softer, longer.

“Oooh,” Faustus chuckled once they pulled apart and then gestured to the concreted, “You’ll need to sweep again.”

And then, he had turned and was going down the stairs leaving Yarrow with the lingering feeling of Faustus’s lips on his and a soft excitement for next Friday.