Again

It’s not the big things that make you wanna kill your spouse, it’s little stuff

— Christina Pazsitzky

“I’m like… ninety percent sure it’s pronounced ‘Hrbaitov.’” “There’s no way it’s that simple. And that little mark over the ‘r’ looks incredibly suspicious.” “Okay, fine. ‘Hrbítov.’ Still sounds awful. Like someone gearing up to spit. Doesn’t exactly scream sacred ground.” They were standing at the base of the trail, which immediately began climbing steeply uphill through a scatter of beeches, sycamores, and acacias—leaves just starting to shift into golds and reds. The air that morning was sharp, almost frosty, and it was too cold to stand around much longer. Time to decide: climb the muddy slope straight ahead, puddles and all… or circle the hill and take the path that looked, at least on the map, like it might be paved. “Race you to the top?” “You mean: who’s the first to slip and eat dirt? That’ll be you. I’m not running anywhere. When it happens, I’ll just raise an eyebrow and keep walking. Walking—like a normal person.” “But I can’t! I can’t go that slow! I want to run, and leap, and maybe climb a tree.” “Because you’re a little unhinged.” “Because of you.” “Oh?” “Don’t make that fake-surprised face or I will kiss you right here.” “What?! Right here? In this totally deserted, secluded location? Oh no, please—let’s at least wait until we’re surrounded by people. Let’s find a crowd, maybe a bus tour, really maximize the audience, and then—” The rest of the sentence never landed. He was pulled in by the collar, straight into a face that was unexpectedly warm. In the pause that followed, their breath mingled, and suddenly the air didn’t feel cold anymore. That wild, buzzing energy—the one that had just been pushing one of them to race uphill and threaten tree-climbing—dissolved into something quieter. Something still. Something that felt dangerously close to fear. Not fear of the kiss. But fear of how fast the heart could start racing from nothing—just from the nearness of this person. From the disbelief that he wanted it too. That he was waiting just as much. That when their lips finally met, it wouldn’t feel casual or familiar—it would feel like something they’d both been living for. Like everything else had just been practice. “That’s never happened to me before. What even was that?” “You’re such a drama queen…” But his voice was rougher than usual. “No, I’m serious!” “We really need to figure out what hřbitov means.” “We would’ve figured it out ages ago if someone had just agreed we needed a local SIM card instead of arguing with me.” “I still believe in the glory of European civilization and public Wi-Fi.” “That’s adorable. And I’m gonna have to forgive you, because that’s actually kind of cute.” “But the real question remains: where are we even going? What if it means ‘portal to hell’? Or worse, ‘the most boring place on earth’?” “Let’s just admit to the next person we see that we’re clueless American tourists who have no idea where we are.” “Oh, we’ll tell the truth? Scandalous.” “Sarcastic Moore! There he is. I like him way more than that suspiciously enthusiastic, teenage-brain-having version of you.” “Take that back immediately and say you like every version of Moore!” “Okay, okay, I surrender—I like him. I like every version of Moore.” The confession was entirely voluntary and not at all extracted through forbidden means like, say, sticking a tongue in his ear—a slobbery act of aggression that deeply offended and, for some reason, utterly terrified the ear’s owner. “I might even be a little obsessed,” he added, casually. “Just the tiniest bit—like, dizzy spells and the occasional loss of consciousness.” “How occasional?” “Once in a lifetime, maybe?” “That’s pretty rare.” “Well, on top of the dizziness, shortness of breath, compromised judgment, and emotional instability, I’d say—oh, hullooo there!” A man was jogging toward them, surprisingly confidently given the rough terrain. “Sorry to bother you,” he called, slowing as the jogger neared. “Do you know what hrbitov means? It’s just over there?” “Hřbitov? That’s… uhh… mmm… a place for dead people… what’s the English word…” “Cemetery?” “That one!” “Oh. Great. Thanks!” The jogger gave a quick wave and took off again—now gratefully sticking to the asphalt. “We’re going to the cemetery?” “Obviously. It just got more interesting.” “Huh. You know, we’ve been very observant and clever today. Doesn’t it seem like the word krematorium bears a suspicious resemblance to crematory? Like maybe we should’ve figured that out earlier?” “We’re on vacation. Logic is optional. Come on. Once we hit the top, we’ll get our bearings. I’ll take a few photos… something with no people in it. Absolutely no people. Bliss.” “I’m people.” “Oh—right. Fine. I’ll make an exception for you,” Aidan said, smiling. And with that, they finally started walking.

***

“I’ll get you some water,” Blake said, trying to stand—but Aidan held on too tightly. It was the first full sentence anyone had spoken since the door closed behind them. Aidan had tried to explain, but the words never made it out—just tears. And even now, he hadn’t managed to stop crying. At first, Blake had asked questions. But it quickly became clear Aidan either couldn’t hear him or couldn’t answer. So Blake just sat him down, wrapped his arms around him, and waited for something like calm to return. Even sitting had become too hard, so eventually they ended up lying down. When Blake reached up to wipe Aidan’s face, he was gently pushed away, and a hoarse voice muttered, “Don’t look. Turn around.” Blake didn’t argue. He shifted slowly, giving Aidan his back— and felt him curl up behind him, arms around his waist, face pressed between his shoulder blades. He stayed still. Just held the hand that clutched his, while the sobs behind him gradually faded, and his T-shirt grew damp with tears. After a while, he felt the fingers in his hand go slack, and Aidan’s breathing evened out. Asleep, it seemed. Blake, meanwhile, was nowhere near sleep. He eased himself out from under Aidan’s arm, sat there for a moment, and tried to figure out what the hell to do next. But there just wasn’t enough information yet. So he stayed put. And waited. About three hours later, Aidan wandered into the kitchen looking marginally more alive, if significantly rumpled. Wrapped in a blanket, he sank into the chair next to Blake and asked in a pitiful voice, “Will you get me some water?” “You can’t get it yourself? You literally just walked past the sink.” “If I reach for a glass, the blanket will fall off and I’ll freeze to death.” “Oh my God,” Blake groaned, but still got up and fetched the water. “Are you dying or something?” “How’d you guess?” “Not funny.” “I don’t think so either.” “Aidan! Cut this shit out!” “…Did Noah call you?” Aidan asked quietly, sipping the water like it hurt. “Of course he called, you absolute maniac. What the hell was I supposed to do—pretend I didn’t know where you were? What happened between you two?” “Not between us. Between me and… me.” Aidan set the glass down and spun it once. “I went in for an insurance physical. They… found something.” “Please tell me we’re not talking about the clap right now.” “If only. The doctor was already giving me judgmental eyes just for my answers about alcohol and… other recreational interests.” “He wasn’t judging you. They don’t care. I go in every year—trust me, I know better than you.” “Wow. Don’t brag about your stable job and comprehensive insurance.” “Don’t dodge the topic.” “He said I have a suspicious mole.” “That’s it? No biopsy? No follow-up?” “No. I haven’t even seen a primary care doc yet. I have to pick one first.” “Doesn’t Noah already have one?” “I’m not required to share a physician with my husband.” “Obviously not. Where is it? Show me.” “Why? Are we playing doctor now?” “No. I’m just also scared, and I want to look my fear in the face.” “It’s not a face. It’s my armpit.” “Even better.” Aidan stood up and lifted both his hoodie and T-shirt in one motion, effectively blocking his own view. Nothing happened. After a long pause, with silence thick in the room and the first hints of embarrassment creeping in, he asked, “You just… staring at me right now or what?” “No, I’m Googling. Hold still a bit longer.” “Cooper.” “Oh! There’s even an app for hypochondriacs people. Want me to download it?” “Won’t that just make me more of a hypochondriac?” “Hard to say. Reviews are mixed. Okay—you’re about to feel a touch.” “Where?” “Funny. All right, you can put your shirt down.” Aidan let the hoodie fall and looked at Blake like he was his last and only hope. “Well?” “I don’t love the edges and the texture, but the really nasty ones? They look way worse. You want to see a few?” “No!” “Cool. So, are you done dying for now?” “I’m putting it on pause.” “Perfect. Should we call Katie?” “It’s late.” “She’ll kill us if she finds out we spent the night here without her. You won’t even need cancer.” “Wait—are we spending the whole night here?” “We could still go somewhere. You want to go out?” “No.” “Exactly. Calling her now. Hide somewhere and make a dramatic entrance when I wave.” “Why does this feel like we’re celebrating something?” “Because we are.”

***

“Why—why can’t we just be like normal tourists and sit in a bar drinking beer?” “No so-called ‘normal’ tourists actually do that. If they did, how do you explain the crowds everywhere?” “Where exactly?” Aaaand… yeah. Even without trying, it was obvious: they were completely alone. In a place that usually required elbowing your way through hundreds of people with their heads tilted skyward, a place where letting go of someone’s hand could mean they were just… gone, possibly forever—there was no one else. Maybe it was the hour. Or the weather. St. Vitus Cathedral loomed behind them, and the tightly packed buildings of Prague Castle rose in front. They blocked the worst of the wind, but the light rain—still falling two hours later—had no trouble reaching them. It slicked the cobblestones just enough for the streetlamps to shimmer in the pavement, casting a soft, watery glow over everything. “This is weird…” Aidan said. Even his voice didn’t sound normal—it came back to him off the walls and the slick tiles underfoot, echoing in a way that made it feel like they were inside a sealed room and standing in the middle of an open square. “This isn’t normal, right? Where is everyone?” “Somewhere warm?” “It’s not even that cold.” “Then why are your hands roughly the temperature of airborne snow?” “They’re always like this. Super convenient—ice in my cocktails melts way slower.” “Moore, come on. You really think I don’t know your hands?” The breath that answered was warmer than the air around them—and then lips brushed briefly across his fingers. “You win,” His voice was softer now. “Not the worst place to freeze to death and haunt forever, but how about we come back tomorrow? Really early. Like ten.” “Seven.” “Horrifying. Fine.” “Hard to say no to me?” “What can I do? So far, all your ideas have been annoyingly good. And I have a terrible memory. I’ll forget about the soaked shoes in, like, an hour. Hey—what are you—?” That was… ambitious. Aidan had just tried to lift him, like, literally sweep him off his feet. Which… almost worked. For about half a second — and then gravity and poor planning took over. “I’m so happy you’re here with me,” Aidan grinned, reached for him again, and kissed the tip of his nose. “Where else would I be?” He paused. “It’s actually wild that this is our first real trip together. How did that happen?” “We didn’t know we were built for it.” “Should’ve been obvious.” “Definitely. Remember Florida last year? Why the hell did we bring Caitlin? I spent half the trip rubbing sunscreen into her back. It was awful.” “She found a great hotel, though. And I shared sunscreen duty with you, by the way. My hands still haven’t recovered.” “Yeah… I’d probably bring her next time. She’d already have figured out where the nearest open restaurant is by now. Shit—restaurant! What time is it?” “Quarter to ten. If we don’t leave voluntarily soon, we’re getting kicked out.” “If we can’t get to a restaurant, we need to find a grocery store at least…which we can, thanks to my insistence on getting a local data plan. Right?” “Yeah, yeah. You’re a genius. What’s nearby?” They leaned over the glowing screen. It was a little hard for Aidan to focus—someone kept kissing him on the eye, then the forehead—until he finally had to take a step back. “Billa’s open till eleven. Fifteen minutes by metro, maybe half an hour on foot—what’s the move?” “I don’t know, Moore. It’s like a mile just to the station.” “Less. Five-fifty meters.” “And what’s that in astronomical units? Just so I’m extra confused?” “About six hundred yards, I think the settings are just weird. We’ll go to Malostranská, not Újezd.” “You mean we’ll run?” “Oh, now you’re ready to run?” “We’ve walked so much I’m pretty sure I could do a half-marathon right now. I’ve never walked this much in my life—HEY! No fair!” The outrage was justified—Aidan had already taken off, practically sprinting across the square in front of the cathedral. The metro was so dry, windless, and warm that they both instantly passed out—waking only once they’d arrived at the Hostivař depot. Which, by this point, neither of them pronounced “Hostivar” anymore; after three days of adaptation, they’d mostly made peace with the Czech alphabet and could pronounce everything except “Křižíkova.” That one was clearly a trap. Too many diacritics. It would take years to say it confidently. They quickly discovered that, out in this part of the city, most shops closed at nine. Somehow, that didn’t bother them nearly as much as it should’ve. They headed back, appointing Aidan the official Stay-Awake Monitor so they wouldn’t end up on the wrong end of Prague again. Somewhere near Náměstí Míru, they finally struck gold: a 24-hour store. Well—gold was generous. It was dim, a little dirty, and the selection was laughable. But it was open. Aidan tried to be disappointed. He couldn’t manage it. “Oh hey, look—free beer!” “Nope, there’s a number. Pretty sure that’s the price.” “Okay, now convert that to dollars. You know how much that is? Nothing! Because it’s way, way, waaaay… okay, significantly less than a dollar. How is that even possible? And why aren’t we drinking 24/7?” “Because that’s not why we came here?” “It’s part of why we came here. We just need to figure out how to not go straight to rehab from this trip.” “Easy. One bottle per person. That’s it.” “Two.” “Right. Two bottles per person. That’s it.” “Three.” “Moore, think of the maid. She has to clean up after this.” “We’ve got a glass bin literally across from the hotel. That feels like encouragement.…Fine, two. Don’t give me that look.” “I’ll be right out.” “Your right out could be like, five whole minutes!” Aidan ignored the fact that the man just wanted to brush his teeth in peace. He wrapped his arms around him from behind, pressing in. His back was still a little damp from the shower—and very warm. “You know what?” “Whuh?” came the toothbrush-muffled reply. “I keep getting this weird, disorienting feeling… We’ve known each other less than three years.” “Mmhm.” “But it also feels like… always.” “Yeah.” “And at the same time, it’s like… all of this is some other reality.” “Sheemz li’ it,” came through the foam. “I’m ready.” The reply to that was sudden, complete silence. It lasted less than a minute—followed by a quick spit and a sharp pivot. “You’re sure? No more jet lag?” Aidan shook his head. “You’re not too drunk?” “I can name… four digits of pi after the decimal.” “Convincing. Any doubts?” “Nope.” “Well I have some.” “I’m fine!” “Are you gonna stay fine?” He just nodded. “Okay. Good. Go over there and… I don’t know, pretend this is just a totally normal night.” “Evening.” “Right. It’s already ridiculously late. We’re still doing the cathedral at seven tomorrow?” “Of course! We don’t have that many days left!” “Okay, okay! Go.” “You want me to turn the lights off too?” “Great idea.” “That’s funny.” “Laugh if you want. “Don’t worry—I’ve got a pretty good idea of the topography. Might not know every landmark, but I’ve got a solid layout to start with. Mine and yours. I could probably do it blindfolded…Not literally—ignore this last part.” Aidan turned off the light and opened the curtains. The darkness wasn’t total—the glow of Prague still hung in the air, cast by streetlamps, the occasional car, a few scattered windows. He could just make out the sweep of terracotta rooftops stretching into the distance. Raindrops slid down the glass. His chest felt tight, like breathing had suddenly gotten harder. He cracked the window open, but barely felt the cold on his bare skin. So he just stood there, breathing slow and deep, the outlines of the city gently blurring, his head swimming in a way that was almost pleasant. He didn’t turn around until he heard the bathroom door open behind him. “If you catch pneumonia on top of everything else, that’s really not going to improve the vibe. Maybe come over here instead? I’m not emotionally prepared for some dramatic window sex scene. Just… here. In the bed.” “Perfect idea.” They met under the blanket, starting with a short kiss—like they were testing each other’s intentions. For a moment they stayed like that, lips barely touching, barely breathing. Then Aidan gently touched the face in front of him—fingertips along a cheekbone, his thumb brushing over a chin—and the lips opened to meet him. The kiss deepened, but never rushed. It stayed slow. Steady. Calming. Their hands found each other’s. Fingers laced. And that alone stole the breath from his lungs. Then they shifted—bodies drawn together, no space left between them. Their hands explored slowly: shoulders, spine, the back of the neck…a chest, a stomach, the dip of a waist, the curve of a thigh. The exploring hands didn’t rush—they touched a cock with the same reverence as an elbow, and it was all somehow equally electric. Every touch was impossibly gentle. Weightless. Intimate. Certain. Overwhelmed—by disbelief, delight, and a rising laugh that felt almost hysterical—Aidan realized he was about to come. From a kiss. It was definitely going to happen. And the wildest part? No one—not even himself—was going to think that was strange.

***

Caitlin, looking every inch the superhero she clearly was, arrived in pajama pants tucked into house Uggs, a puffer jacket thrown over the top, and glasses sliding down her nose. She took one look around, processed the situation instantly, and understood that this party was very specific—and she wasn’t the center of it. Neither was Blake. “Well then, motherfuckers,” she said. “We need junk food, fiber, water, heat, Aidan needs to wash his face, and Blake—put on some damn socks.” “Yes, O mighty mother,” Blake said, pulling a pair from somewhere under the couch. “Are you out of your mind? Did you even hear what I just called you?” “Ohhh shit,” Cooper winced, and Aidan choked on water—despite just rinsing his face in the kitchen sink. “Exactly. Watch your mouth. Do you have everything for margaritas, or am I driving somewhere again?” “I think so… I’m pretty sure I do.” “Check. Aidan, come here,” she said, shrugging off her coat. When he obediently walked over, she smoothed his hair, hugged him just a little too tightly, and asked in a voice that was almost not threatening: “What did you do?” “Why do you immediately assume I did something terrible?” he whispered into her hair, trying not to obviously inhale it. “I haven’t done anything terrible in ages.” “What else am I supposed to assume? You literally just got married. Work doesn’t seem like a disaster right now. And there’s no way Noah did something.” “How can you be so sure?” “Because I know what he is and is not capable of.” Then, without missing a beat— “Blake! Why do I still not hear a blender?!” “Can’t you wait a sec? I’m eavesdropping and noise will get in the way.” “Timeout, then,” Caitlin declared, flopping onto the couch. “I’ll order food. You do cocktails. Moore gathers his thoughts. Do we need colored markers and a whiteboard? If yes, I’ll go grab them from the car.” “We don’t need any goddamn markers!” Aidan protested. “This is serious—what the hell kind of game are you playing?!” “What could possibly be that awful?” Cait said, scrolling the menu, fully ignoring Blake’s increasingly dramatic attempts to signal her. He seemed to be miming either cutting his own vocal cords or indicating the exact collarbone height where hickeys were strictly forbidden. Hard to tell. “Someone dying?” she asked. “I am,” Aidan whispered. Blake dropped the bag of ice on the table with a slap. Caitlin didn’t even blink. “Don’t be ridiculous. Let me finish adding these last two thousand calories to the cart and I’ll explain why you’re wrong.” “You people make it impossible to suffer like a normal person!” Aidan groaned, dramatically crunching an ice cube. Caitlin snapped: “Don’t chew ice. It’s bad for your teeth.” “Cooper, babe! Why did you even invite this woman? I don’t like her. She’s so mean. She keeps banning things.” “I got you the perfect burrito from Mad Taco,” Caitlin announced. “It has everything you like.” “Shit. Fine. You can stay.” “You can stay. I live here,” she declared, and Blake had to intervene: “Uhhhh, no. Neither of you lives here. This is my house. You’re not even in the will.” “Speaking of which,” Aidan said in a tragic voice, “what would you want me to leave you?” “I was gonna say your brain, for science,” Cait mused, “but then I remembered—never mind. Leave me your camera. And your money. That should cover it. Oh—wait. Your husband too. I’ll take him.” “I want the tie you wore at the wedding,” Blake said, after a moment. “And that black jacket.” “Done. You two are true friends. Now…” Aidan continued in his best graveyard register, “let’s talk about what kind of funeral I want.” The spooky effect was somewhat ruined by the blender roaring to life. “Nope. I’m first,” Caitlin cut in. “That’s outrageous, Young! You don’t even know what’s wrong with me yet!” “It’s not urgent,” Caitlin waved him off. “Anyway—last winter, my car spun out on the highway, and I immediately realized I needed to write a will and appoint an executor. And that person will be…my executor will be…” She paused dramatically. No one filled the silence. She crossed her arms, deeply offended. Aidan squinted at her. “It’s Bailey, isn’t it?” “Of course it is,” she huffed. “I refuse to roll in my grave just because someone half-asses my final arrangements. And that’s a metaphor, obviously. There won’t be a grave. I’m getting cremated, turned into lab-grown diamonds, and handed out to my most beloved people. Blake, what do you want: ring or belly button piercing?” “Wait, what about me?” Aidan gasped. “I thought you were dying first?” she asked, genuinely puzzled. “Oh. Right.” Aidan nodded solemnly, accepting a cocktail from Blake like a sacrament. “Am I the only one who hasn’t planned any of this yet?” Blake asked. “Apparently,” Caitlin replied. “This is why we need the markers.” “…and it’s just unbearable!” Aidan was saying, doing his best to sound perfectly reasonable. “I swear, every time he says ‘your work,’ he’s using air quotes. And it was obvious from the start that I couldn’t afford a full-time studio, so yes, a lot of things have to live at home—does that really justify the constant dramatic sighs while I coil up cables? Who are they hurting? And don’t get me started on the endless requests to ‘clear the table.’ If I had to tidy everything every single time, I wouldn’t have time to do anything else! What is this—am I living with my parents again, being told to clean my room?!” “I wouldn’t let you leave your crap all over my place either,” Caitlin chimed in. “Right, but you’re you! That’s your place! This is supposed to be ours!” “Our condo would’ve been shared, too,” Caitlin said, balling up a napkin and missing the takeout box by a mile. “Still wouldn’t’ve changed a damn thing.” “Moore, you’re exaggerating,” Blake said. “If Noah were really that much of a stick-in-the-mud, you would’ve started complaining about him, like, two years ago.” “Ohhhhhh REALLY?” Aidan’s eyes widened. “Well thank you for the reminder. He also constantly thinks I’m exaggerating. Or worse…” He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, trying not to scream. “He thinks I’m being overly dramatic. Me.” “He’s got you confused with someone else,” Blake said confidently. “Next you’ll be telling me you hate the way he breathes,” Caitlin smirked. “Oh, you think that’s impossible? You ever try falling asleep next to someone who breathes perfectly evenly, like they’ve never been disturbed by a single thought? Guess how many times I stood over him with a pillow.” “Aidan!” Caitlin suddenly grabbed his arm. “Wait—what did Noah say?!” “About what?” Aidan blinked, apparently forgetting that he was the main character in this particular melodrama. “About your ‘incurable disease,’” she said, complete with the audacity of air quotes. “I didn’t tell him.” He said it like that was the most natural, reasonable thing in the world. As if obviously no one would ever share news like that with their spouse. What are we, communicative adults? “Whaaaaaaaaaaat?!” She turned to Blake in disbelief. He just gave a defeated shrug and nodded. “You know what, Richard? You deserve a solid talking-to. Or even a spanking.” “Ugh, no thanks,” Aidan grimaced like she’d offered something revolting from a menu. “I’m not into that.” “That’s why I’m suggesting it! What on earth made me think you were a grown-up?” “Love? Poor judgment?” Aidan offered, kissing her cheek. “No. Nothing. Literally nothing.” She sighed. “Okay, fun’s over. I have to work tomorrow.” “Don’t go!” “Where am I gonna go after… however many cocktails? Are we pulling out the couch, or are we taking this party upstairs?” “The couch is bigger,” Blake pointed out. “Which is weird, Cooper!” Caitlin fired back, already tossing throw pillows onto the floor. “Why do you still have some dumb full-size bed like you’re a teenage boy I expect a king-size by Christmas. That’s an order.” “You’ll be shocked to hear this,” Blake said, straight-faced, “but I rarely host more than two average-sized humans in my bed at once. No complaints so far.” “Well, I’m complaining — and that should be enough.” She plopped onto the mattress. “You’re sleeping with us.” “I—what?” “We’re forming a support sandwich around this poor tragic lump,” she gestured at Aidan like he was a decorative throw in a winter catalog. “Jesus, Young. What a gross metaphor.” Blake chucked a pillow at her. “You’re just too sensitive.” Then, softer: “And shhh… our little pumpkin’s drifting off.”

***

The sky was a uniform, hopeless gray, and Aidan found it comforting. The soft drizzle too. Even the extra three hours in the airport didn’t feel like a problem. Everything in the world seemed wonderful, solid, and clear. His brain, still floating in oxytocin, wasn’t interested in post-vacation blues. It was expecting nothing but continued euphoria. They’d ended up on opposite sides of the aisle, since neither of them had bothered to check in early or reserve seats. Still, they leaned across the narrow space, whispering and laughing nonstop, pausing only to kiss—which, to be fair, did start to annoy the other passengers. Eventually, the man next to Aidan cracked and offered—none too gently—to swap seats, just to stop the constant aisle-blocking. Once reunited, they spent several quiet minutes just smiling at each other. Then Aidan asked, clearly hoping the answer would be no: “Home won’t feel like this… will it?” “Nope. But it’ll feel different. Why think about that now I think I’ve got those weird thin wafers in my backpack—want one?” “No. We’re landing.” “Oh. That was officially the shortest flight of my life. Wait—no, Chicago was the same. How long is our layover?” “Under an hour.” “I love airport chaos! Good thing this trip hardened us into elite walkers and sprinters.” And run they did—even though, strictly speaking, there was no real need. But something pushed them forward. Something that made walking impossible. Standing still, unthinkable. “Oh my God, we can pretend we were in Munich!” Aidan gasped, spotting a giant, hyper-real Oktoberfest poster splashed across one wall. It was so vivid it felt like the whole hall smelled like beer. “But… we are in Munich right now.” “That doesn’t count. We’re not leaving the airport.” Aidan tugged him closer and wrapped an arm around his waist. “We’ll send it to Caitlin Beth. She’ll die of jealousy.” The photo captured them flushed, rumpled, slightly out of breath—but mostly: blissed-out, sun-dazed, and totally wrapped up in each other. Caitlin replied: “Not jealous at all! You two are at the end of your vacation. Mine’s still coming. …eventually.” “I miss her,” Aidan said suddenly. “Really? And… you’re not missing anyone else, Moore?” “No, not really.” “Huh.” The plane landed in Madison at three a.m. By then, fifteen hours had passed since they’d left Prague, and Aidan was in that strange limbo between collapsing from exhaustion and being too wired to close his eyes. He was slightly trembling as they stepped out into the empty city night. “Should we get a cab?” “No need. We’re getting a ride.” “Oh?” “Jeff. He offered, so why not?” “Jeff as in Caitlin’s coworker? Why would he pick us up?” “No, different Jeff. The one who fixed the kitchen wiring.” “I genuinely don’t understand why you asked him to pick us up. That is the most random possible choice.” “Aid, he’s already here. Do you want me to call and tell him to go home? After he dragged himself out here in the middle of the night?” “No, it’s just…” “And we should probably behave ourselves. I mean—I might even sit up front.” “Absolutely not. What, is he so homophobic we can’t sit next to each other now? That’s insane. I don’t like this.” He dropped his bag hard onto the sidewalk. “I want to go separately.” “No, no…” Arms wrapped around him quickly. “I’m just tired. I don’t know what I’m saying. Of course we’ll ride together. Come on. It’s fine. He’ll be here in a second.” Aidan calmed down. He even managed a polite smile when Jeff pulled up, tried to make conversation. Jeff was cold. Said little. Tossed their bags into the trunk like an afterthought, then slammed it shut and looked at them—looked through them— in a way that made Aidan want to be anywhere else. Preferably back in Europe. And when they reached the house, when Aidan stepped out of the car and shut the door behind him— for the first time, it felt like something was over. Completely. And for good.

***

When Aidan woke up, Caitlin was already gone—off to work, punctual and disciplined as ever. Only Blake was left, still asleep on the couch beside him. His head was buzzing a little, but overall, he felt much better than the day before. He lay there for a moment, staring at Blake, flooded with gratitude. Realistically, he probably wouldn’t have stormed into Caitlin’s place unannounced on a weekday. But Blake? Sure. Eventually, Cooper opened his eyes. They stared at each other in silence for a few long seconds—until Blake rasped, voice scratchy with sleep: “Fuck off, Moore. Don’t even think about it.” “You’re imagining things.” “Uh-huh. Go home.” He rolled over and pretended to fall back asleep. Aidan got up. On the table, he spotted the paper they’d scribbled on last night—their funeral brainstorm. The top few lines were angrily crossed out, but in the middle, in Caitlin’s unmistakable handwriting, it read:

YOU NEED TO GO ON VACATION!!!

And underneath, much smaller: I emailed you some good doctors. I’ll ask around at work today too. Take care of yourself.