The Melted Chocolate

"Seriously, Rivers? You’re wearing that?" Ed Harris leaned against the rickety table, one dark eyebrow raised, a smirk already carving lines into his handsome face. The sun, a brutal, relentless fist, beat down on the community center’s outdoor pavilion. Even the air shimmered, thick with the smell of scorched sugar and cheap perfume. Karl, already halfway to a heatstroke in his neon-pink ‘Love-Is-Blind Bake-Off’ apron, felt a flush creep up his neck that had nothing to do with the temperature.

"It’s regulation, Harris. Unlike your… whatever that is." Karl gestured vaguely at Ed’s perfectly pressed linen shirt, unbuttoned just enough to hint at the tanned skin beneath. It was the kind of shirt that cost more than Karl’s entire outfit, including the horrific apron. "And what are you even doing here? Isn't this beneath your royal sensibilities?"

Ed chuckled, a low, throaty sound that Karl hated, mostly because it made his own stupid heart do a stutter-step. "Community service, Rivers. Turns out even I have to fake enthusiasm for charity once in a while. Unlike you, who seems to thrive on performing public acts of… whatever this is." He gestured, mimicking Karl’s earlier vague hand-wave, encompassing the entire tacky, heart-themed carnival.

Karl felt a prickle of irritation, sharp and immediate. "I'm volunteering. There's a difference." He fumbled with a tray of half-melted chocolate-covered strawberries, the glossy dark liquid oozing onto his already sticky fingers. The heat was making everything a mess. His hands, usually steady, felt clumsy and awkward under Ed’s gaze. He knew, with a sick certainty, that he probably looked like a melted, flustered disaster.

"Right. Volunteering for… mandatory fun." Ed pushed off the table, moving closer. Karl could feel the heat radiating off him, even without touching. It wasn’t just the sun. There was something else, a current, always buzzing between them. "Don't tell me you actually like slinging sad, sweating desserts to lonely singles on Summer Valentine's Day? It's absurd."

"It’s… for a good cause." Karl managed, his voice a little tighter than he liked. He tried to wipe his chocolate-smeared thumb on his apron, only to realize it was already stained with strawberry juice and frosting. He wanted to melt into the pavement.

A small, quiet sound, almost imperceptible, escaped Ed. Karl’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "What was that? Was that… a snort?"

"Just… picturing you, 'for a good cause'," Ed said, a faint tremor in his voice as if holding back laughter. "You’re a terrible liar, Rivers. You hate this more than I do."

Karl bristled. "I do not!"

"Your face is currently the color of those strawberries. You’re practically vibrating with disdain." Ed reached out, and Karl froze. A thumb, surprisingly gentle, brushed the corner of Karl’s mouth, wiping away a smear of chocolate Karl hadn’t even realized was there. The touch was electric, sharp and sudden, like static crackling off a hot car door. Karl’s breath hitched. His skin felt hypersensitive, burning where Ed had touched him, and a hot, dizzying rush flooded through him.

Ed’s eyes, usually so dismissive, were suddenly intense, a dark, unreadable depth. He lingered for a fraction of a second too long, and Karl felt the air thicken, heavy and charged. Then Ed pulled back, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, as if he knew exactly what he'd done. "Looks like we're partners for the 'Cupid's Quiver Challenge', by the way," Ed announced, the casual shift in topic feeling almost cruel after that charged moment. "The one where we have to shoot arrows at tiny hearts while blindfolded."

Karl stared, the heat in his cheeks deepening. "You’re shitting me."

"Language, Rivers. It's a family event." Ed gestured towards a laminated printout taped to the table. Sure enough, 'Ed Harris & Karl Rivers' were scrawled next to 'Cupid's Quiver Challenge, 2:30 PM'. "Looks like fate, huh? Or karma. Probably karma, knowing you."

"This is a sick joke. I'm terrible at archery. And blindfolded? Are they trying to get someone killed?" Karl felt a nervous flutter in his stomach. He wasn't just bad; he was spectacularly bad. He once almost shot a squirrel with a nerf gun. An arrow would be catastrophic.

Ed just shrugged. "Guess we'll have to make it work. Or you'll put an eye out." He walked off towards the archery range, leaving Karl standing there, surrounded by melting chocolate and the phantom warmth of Ed’s touch.

The 'Cupid's Quiver Challenge' was, if anything, worse than Karl had imagined. The blindfolds were cheap, made of scratchy polyester, and smelled vaguely of old gym socks. The targets were tiny, heart-shaped cutouts, bobbing gently on strings a good twenty feet away. Karl, already a ball of nerves, could feel the eyes of a small crowd on them, phones out, ready to capture their inevitable failure for TikTok.

"Alright, Rivers, try not to impale me," Ed said, his voice closer than Karl expected, startling him. He felt Ed’s hands on his, guiding the bow. The wood of the bow was smooth, but the calloused skin of Ed’s palms against his own was rough, warm, and utterly distracting. "Grip it like this. Loose, but firm."

Karl tried to focus on the instructions, but the proximity, the scent of Ed – something clean and vaguely citrusy, mixed with the sun-baked smell of the pavilion – was overwhelming. His fingers tingled where they met Ed’s. "I can't see a thing," he mumbled, his voice thick.

"That's the point, genius. Now, nock the arrow." Ed’s voice was a low rumble right by his ear, sending a shiver down Karl’s spine. Ed’s body was pressed against his back, guiding his stance, his hip bone brushing Karl’s. Every nerve ending Karl possessed seemed to fire at once. It was humiliating, terrifying, and utterly… electric. He hated it. He hated how much he didn’t hate it.

"Okay, now pull back." Ed’s hand covered Karl’s on the bowstring, pulling it taut. Karl could feel the solid muscle of Ed’s arm, the heat of his chest against his back. It was too much, an assault on all his senses. His head spun. "Aim… slightly to the left. Yeah, like that. Now… release."

Karl released, the arrow thudding harmlessly into the dirt a few feet in front of them. The crowd tittered. Karl felt his face flame. "See? I told you I'm useless!"

"Relax, Rivers. You're too tense." Ed's breath ghosted over Karl’s ear. "It's just a game. Just try to feel the shot, not overthink it."

They went through another five arrows, each one missing the target by a ridiculous margin. Karl’s frustration mounted, but underneath it, a weird warmth was building. Being held like this, even by Ed, felt… oddly comforting. And utterly disorienting. He couldn’t tell if the buzzing was anger or something else entirely. He could hear Ed suppressing a laugh after each miss, but his hands remained firm, steady, patient.

"Last arrow," Ed murmured. "Let's make this count, Rivers. For the honor of… well, of not being a complete embarrassment."

Karl let out a huff, a laugh that was half exasperation, half sheer disbelief. "Fat chance." He felt Ed adjust his stance again, a gentle pressure on his lower back. "Focus, Karl," Ed whispered, his voice oddly soft, using Karl’s first name without the usual sarcastic edge. It sent another jolt through Karl, making his muscles clench.

This time, Karl took a deeper breath, trying to ignore the proximity, the heat, the confusing thrum of Ed’s presence. He tried to empty his mind, to just feel the bow, the arrow, the resistance of the string. He pulled back, and Ed’s hand, still over his, squeezed gently. "Now." This time, it wasn't a command, but a suggestion, a shared moment.

The arrow flew. There was a faint thwack. The crowd murmured. Karl ripped off his blindfold. A single, neon-pink heart target, far in the distance, now had an arrow sticking squarely in its center. Not the bullseye, but a definite hit. Karl stared, mouth agape.

"Holy shit," he breathed, turning to look at Ed. Ed was already looking at him, a genuine smile, not a smirk, gracing his lips. His dark eyes were alight with something Karl couldn't quite name. It was raw, unguarded, and unexpectedly beautiful. "We… we actually hit it."

"I told you to relax," Ed said, his smile still there, but his gaze dropped to Karl's lips, then back to his eyes. The air crackled. The crowd, momentarily silenced, erupted in polite applause. But Karl barely registered it. All he could see was Ed, all he could feel was the lingering ghost of his touch, and the terrifying, exhilarating realization that he had just done something impossible with the person he supposedly hated.

Later, as the sun began its slow, scorching descent, casting long, distorted shadows across the now-emptying pavilion, Karl found himself leaning against the same rickety table, nursing a bottle of lukewarm soda. Ed appeared next to him, holding two melted chocolate bars. "Found these," he offered, handing one to Karl. "Figured we earned it. For not blinding anyone."

Karl took the bar, the chocolate a soft, warm brick in its foil wrapper. "Thanks." The silence that fell between them was different now. Not heavy with antagonism, but with something new, fragile, and utterly baffling. Karl peeled back the foil, the sweet scent of chocolate filling the air. He glanced at Ed, who was watching the last few stragglers pack up, his profile sharp against the golden light.

"You didn't have to guide me that much, you know," Karl said, his voice quiet, almost lost in the distant carnival sounds. "You could've let me fail." Ed turned his head, those dark eyes fixing on Karl. "Why would I do that? We were a team."

Karl chewed on a mouthful of soft, sweet chocolate. It tasted better than anything he'd eaten all day. The truth was, Ed had been… good. Patient. And for a few bewildering moments, Karl hadn't felt like a disaster, not with Ed's hands steadying his, his breath warm on his neck. It was confusing, this sudden, unexpected warmth where there had always been sharp, cold edges. He didn’t know what to do with it. Or with the way his stomach still fluttered every time Ed looked at him like that.