He stopped walking and turned around to face me. He was still stark naked. He had his toiletry bag in one hand and his towel draped over one shoulder. “You’ve got to let your eyes relax. Relax them as if you’re not trying to focus on anything.”

I did as he said, and like that the world shifted into soft focus. Normal focus. It was a relief.

“Now, if you want to see something cool, concentrate on focusing on one single thing.”

I did as he said again. I didn’t think it through. I focused on one thing. The thing standing in front of me. I focused on Jules. His face and his body sprang into clear focus. Crystal-clear focus. I could see his skin in granular detail. Every pore, every tiny blonde hair on his belly, the veins under his skin. I saw it all. I looked up at his neck and saw his Adam’s apple ride slowly up and down his throat. I heard the sound of his heartbeat. Steady. Consistent.

Doo-doof.

Doo-doof.

I looked at his face. His hair was a tangled brown mess, but I saw the way the dappled sun hit every strand, highlighting the waves in it, giving each hair on his head a life of its own. He had one eyebrow arched slightly; each tiny hair was glossy as it reflected the light. His lips were turned up with a hint of an expectant smile. They were full, and soft pink. I could make out each tiny crease in them. I was lost for a moment.

He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

“Neat, huh?”

To my surprise, my eyes started to water in wonder. I blinked quickly. His smile softened and his eyes looked watery, too. That was the thing about Jules. He was quick on the draw with his jokes, and he didn’t hesitate to laugh at my expense, but when shit got real, he was there. He was always there, and he understood me in ways I didn’t always understand myself.

“Beautiful,” I said.

When we got to the river, I had to scrub the mud off my skin with my nails. Jules washed himself thoroughly, but he still managed to miss a few spots on his face.

“Over here,” I said, rubbing the side of my mouth, showing him where to wash. He splashed his face again, but still managed to miss it. I waded over and splashed his face gently. I rubbed the dirt off his skin and, as I did it, I was hit by the full force of his scent. To me, Jules had always smelled good. Unshifted, he’d smelled familiar, almost like home. Shifted, he smelled very different. He smelled like muscle and bone with a little hint of spice. He smelled like something that belonged in the woods. Something wild. Something good.

“There,” I said, “all done.”