Le Chapter Two.

DPS isn't mine. Review and I'll love you forever.

Steven remembers when it all began, four and a half years ago. It was a warm Saturday night in June. He and Charlie had been living together for the past six months in Steven's tiny two-room apartment, out of convenience more than anything else; Charlie didn't have a place in the city, and Steven had a couch.

"It's ready," Steven said, from where he sat cross-legged at his workstation on the floor – the only available space his tiny apartment afforded.

Charlie had been dozing on the couch and mumbling the name 'Ursula' in his sleep – which amused Steven in some ways and in other ways wasn't quite so funny – but Steven's voice must have cut through his dreams because he was awake in an instant, feet on the floor and staring at Steven, wide-eyed.

"It's ready?"

"Yes. Yes, I think so."

"What are we waiting for?" Charlie jumped up. "Let's try this bad boy out!"

"What, here?" Steven looked nervously at his balcony door. "You're not going to test it here."

"No," said Charlie. "I'll borrow a car. We'll go to the country. Fuck, Steven, is it really ready?" He ran a hand through his hair and stared down at the ordered mess of bicycle tubing, canvas, and dubious gold-coloured boots.

Steven smiled up at Charlie. He removed his glasses, and yawned. "Let's get this show on the road."

In half an hour, they were cruising out of Manhattan and through the city; it was after midnight when they pulled off the country highway and ran the car through a wire fence of a sheep paddock.

"This is it!" whooped Charlie, tooting the horn and causing some rather startled-looking sheep to scatter.

"Mind the car," muttered Steven, bracing himself.

Charlie brought the car to a shuddering stop just in front a tree, and ran around to the boot, leaving Steven to remove the keys from the engine and store them safely in his pocket. When Steven found Charlie he was already lacing up the second boot, as excited as a kid trying out a new pair of skates.

"Careful with that," said Steven, helping Charlie to unfold the black canvas wings. Charlie insisted on removing his t-shirt, in an effort (he said) to look more god-like – especially as he had painted another lightning bolt on his chest for the maiden voyage – and he stood as patiently as possible while Steven fitted the harness across his shoulders and secured it around his waist.

Steven stood back to view the total effect; and there before him was the modern day Icarus of his imagination.

"Dear God, I hope this works," he said.

"It's bound to," said Charlie. "You're a genius, remember?"

Steven just wished he had some of Charlie's confidence, as he made last minute adjustments to the straps and instructed Charlie on how to open and close the wings, using the two cords that hung down the front, and how to kick start the rocket boots.

Finally, Steven led Charlie into the middle of the field – well away from the car, the tree, and the surly sheep – and declared him ready for take-off.

"Five – four – three – "

"Stand back, Stevie!"

" – two – one – "

" – I'm gonna fly!"

For a moment, nothing happened. And then just as Charlie was giving Steven a quizzical look, he shot twenty feet into the air in an explosion of noise and smoke.

"Yaaaaaugh!"

"It's working," said Steven, removing his glasses. "It's actually working – "

But once Charlie had made his complete ascent, though, the only way up was down.

"Pull the cord!" yelled Steven, as Charlie made his inevitable, hurtling descent to the ground. "Pull the cord – oh, I can't watch."

And then a beautiful thing happened – the black canvas wings opened up behind him, the wind picked up beneath him, and he went sailing back into the sky in a graceful arc of light and heat.

"I'm flying!"

"I know!"

"I'm flying, Steven! I'm a fucking bird!"

With whoops and yells Charlie soared through the midnight air, while Steven watched, spellbound. Charlie had some intuition about how to use the wings and he made flying look the most natural thing in the world. Steven hugged himself, his face lit up in the trail of Charlie's glory. He was beautiful.

Eventually the boots ran out of gas, and Charlie landed rather awkwardly in some sheep poo; then immediately demanded another go. Steven produced a bottle of petrol from the boot of the car, and then sat on the bonnet and dreamt of big things for them, while Charlie practiced flying, working on hook-turns and loop-a-loops. When he ran out of gas from the bottle, he siphoned it out of the tank of the car, until Steven reminded him that they needed enough gas to get home.

"We'll fly home," said Charlie.

"No. Absolutely not," said Steven.

"Spoil sport," said Charlie with a grin, before he shot into the sky again, straight up this time, like a bullet. Steven was just looking around for signs of the winged-boy-man when he heard a whoosh behind him, and next thing he felt himself being lifted off the car bonnet from behind, as easily as a mouse being captured by a hawk.

"Charlie!" Steven closed his eyes as the wind streamed past his face, a sudden onset of vertigo making him woozy.

"Look!" yelled Charlie, in his ear. "Look!"

At Charlie's insistence, Steven dared to open his eyes a tiny fraction – and then he gasped. Far below them were the car, the tree, and the sheep, like toy figurines in the blue light – and in the distance, New York City burned brightly, a star on the horizon. Charlie wrapped his arms tighter around Steven's middle as they sailed through the air, and Steven's heart flipped. He didn't want to be such a girl about it, but he had to admit that, flying aside, there was something incredibly comfortable about being held in the arms of someone much bigger and stronger than himself, that made his blood run warm –

- his thoughts were interrupted by the disquieting sounds of Charlie's left boot cutting out, and, at the same time, the rip of canvas on Charlie's right wing. They spiralled to the ground, Charlie's one good wing flapping uselessly about them.

"Hold on!"

They crash landed in the middle of the field, and Steven's next discernible thought was that it wasn't quite so comfortable to have someone much bigger and stronger than himself lying on top of him in this way, and that as a consequence he wasn't getting much air in his lungs.

Charlie groaned pathetically and whimpered something about his arm.

"Ngggh!"

"Are you okay?" asked Charlie.

"Ngggh!"

"Are you hurt? Where are you hurt?"

Steven flapped his hands about and made desperate I can't breathe, you big oaf faces.

"Oh, shit!" Charlie pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, and Steven gulped air in greedily like a marathon runner while Charlie poked Steven's face worriedly, until Steven finally managed to swat at his hand and said "Stop that, you idiot, I'm alive"; then he found himself lost for breathe for the second time as Charlie kissed him, fiercely and possessively, in the long grass with the moon rising above them and the black canvas wings ruffling about them.

And then Charlie grinned at him and said "You're a genius" again and helped him to his feet, and Steven knew that here at last he had given Charlie the one thing he craved; but as he followed Charlie back to the car, wings trailing behind them, he also knew that one day he would run out of ideas and he would be boring and dull, and the next day, Charlie would run out of love; and he had always known this, ever since high school. But this time he decided not to worry about it, not yet; he had a few years' worth of ideas to keep Charlie entertained, so he wouldn't think about their inevitable downward spiral just yet; and he was happy. And that is how it all began.