frowny x freckly // deeply troubled flannel x the sun's sweet sugar // wreo

When asked what lay behind his decision to move to the West Coast, Theo usually replied with the standard fare: he’d been offered a promotion in Portland, the weather was kinder on this side of the continent. He’d always wanted to live on the Pacific.

If you dug deeper or knew him a little better, he might mention something about his health. How he wanted to live in a state where medical marijuana was legal. Or, how crushing the summers in New York had been, how the heat and humidity worsened his symptoms. How living in the city, around so many people, made him feel a little uneasy.

Wren was one of the lucky few to know at least half the truth, confessed to him after a first kiss in his parents’ backyard, sharing his narrow twin mattress with a man who was almost (not quite) as cagey as he. Where Theo had whispered how his family and friends were why he’d moved, and how it was easier for everyone to be a six hour plane ride away. 

The full truth, the one Theo tried to pretend didn’t exist, was somewhat more complicated.

Theo had first met Ben in New York. And theirs’ was the kind of odd, meet-cute story that other people loved retelling on their behalves.

Ben had held his first gallery opening in SoHo, and Theo had attended. He’d come with friends, late and already drunk and dressed up and ready for fun and flirting and all the other things twenty-two year olds hoped to do on a Friday night.

Seven years later, Theo still remembered what Ben had been wearing and how he’d looked the first time he’d seen him. In the high ceilinged gallery, he’d seemed unassuming enough despite towering over the crowed room. He was wild and gesticulating, an alive being from some other planet, his head a bouncing mass of dark ringlets, his eyes framed by a pair of dark glasses, standing out in a sea of leather jackets and stripes. He was the continuous motion of the tips of fingers pushing a set a heavy frames up the long, slender curve of his nose, his hands and hair and expression never sitting still for more than a few seconds at a time. A brilliantly wide smile, revealed only after an unexpected compliment, like a gift. Like a fist. Hesitant, and unwilling.

He’d loved the way he found beauty in the world: in the insignificant, the unaware. He pulled the words out of your mouth whether you wanted him to or not. He kissed you only when you were looking away, when something else had captured your attention. Where he stole everything, where it was all encompassing, all consuming and only for you.

And maybe that’s why the photograph, clipped onto a thin line of fishing wire by a wooden clothespin and entitled conspicuous Consumption, had captured Theo’s attention so fervently. It had looked like a self-portrait at first, a shot of the photographer’s reflection against a store window. When Theo looked closer, it became more apparent why the subject behind the glass felt so familiar. It was a photograph of himself, holding a Starbucks disposable paper cup in his hand while the other hung in pointed exclamation. His face told the story of uncontained mirth, as he must have been recounting some anecdote to a friend. It had been a private moment, stolen from him through a camera lens shot through a dirty window. 

In drunken obstinence, Theo had confronted him. And Ben had delighted in it. Their first kiss had been later that night, in the dirty alley behind the gallery littered with cigarette butts and shadows cast by orange streetlights. Their first date took place the next day. And their relationship had lasted five years. 

It felt so long ago, though, almost like it had happened to someone else. Ben had made him feel humorous and charming. Small, insignificant. Brilliant and good. Useful only when in his company. They’d been Ben and Theo, and together they were charismatic and funny and entertaining. They’d never talked about being together forever, but they’d never talked about how it would end.

Ben had fallen out of love long before he had. He knew this now, and though Theo had never been sure when it had started, it had ended rather suddenly with a conversation in a hospital.  

It had been a full two years since the end of the relationship. Since he’d gotten sick, since he’d moved to Portland where he’d finally stopped seeing Ben in everything and everywhere, and then Cannon Beach. Including all the distractions he’d made room in his life for – his romantic dalliances in Portland, or his misguided tryst with Michael. He felt like he’d been in a haze, like he was watching a movie unfold without him, where he had little to no control over the projection of his life despite desperately convincing himself like he did.

And truthfully, it hadn’t really been until his walk along the wild, sloping sandy coast of Cannon Beach with Wren, while the tide crashed against its shores and the salty, living wind tugged at his clothes and hair, had Theo had ever really felt sure he could stop the comparisons between now and his old life.

It felt like the first time he’d been able to picture how the rest of his life looked.

  The sun woke him just as it had Wren, though it did so considerably more slowly. He felt the mattress sway like lazy saltwater swells in the ocean as the other man sat up, his warmth and the weight of his arm pulling away from Theo’s body. He heard the creaky floorboards hug his bare feet, and felt comfort in the way the loft seemed to embrace his presence. The way the door handle met his palm, where it was suddenly quiet. He must have drifted back to sleep, the heavy fog of a deep set fatigue having settled deep in his skull. He knew he ought to, but the very concept of moving felt impossible, when his legs felt like they weighed double, his ankles sore and soles of his feet tingling.

 There was a gentle pressure on his bare shoulder, finger tips on his skin. The blanket had drifted off his body, where it lay gathered at his waist in messy folds. Only at Wren’s gentle insistence did Theo open his eyes, where his features, framed by the sunlight streaming in through the curtains, greeted him.

A slow, sleepy smile drifted over his face once Wren’s came into focus. Even in the haze of the morning, his eyes were sharp and clear. Mouth turned down in a concerned frown as he reminded Theo of work.  

In another life, the man in the room wouldn’t have woken him. He would have let him sleep, thinking it a kindness. And maybe it would have been, but through the good and the bad of his relationship with Ben, he’d never made him feel all that important. 

Not like this. Not like he mattered.

And as little as he wanted to be reminded of his responsibilities, as much as he grumpily (in a very fleeting, adolescent way) begrudged Wren for waking him, Theo felt a bit of warmth bloom inside his chest as Wren - without meaning to - revealed another aspect of his personality. It was different when he heard it from others; that Wren was a workaholic, that he used to pull hours most people were incapable of. That he was a work horse. It was another thing altogether when it was literally staring him in the face, that deep frown line that was there more often than not appearing between his eyebrows, his mouth stretched thin.

 He was diligent. Assiduous. Responsible. And Theo cherished this new knowledge, which made him feel little desire to go to work and only made him hungry to learn more.  

Theo exhaled, eyes slipping shut as he pulled back his shoulders to indulge in a long, sumptuous stretch. As his arms dove beneath his pillow, wrists creaking and fingers spreading, he twisted to face him and remembered where he was. Who he was with. And despite the creeping discomfort that always came with waking, he felt at ease.

“Oh, little bird.” Theo murmured, the pet name he wasn’t aware he’d already assigned Wren slipping from his mouth with ease, just as something in his back clicked, sending something sharp but satisfying cracking through his vertebrae. It took some effort, but he managed to open his eyes, his hand sliding forward to brush his fingers over the cut of his cheekbone.

“Good morning to you too. Come back to bed.” Theo whispered imploringly, corners of his mouth pulling up into a slow, beguiling smile even as something told him this was one request Wren would not fulfill.  Once Wren was up, he was up. The knowledge made him ache with a desire to disavow him of this habit.

However, even though he was in bed alone, it was a good morning. He wondered briefly how long Wren had been up, before deciding with a lazy, perfunctory dart of his eyes that it hadn’t been all that long. His hair was mussed even with the fresh cut, and while he had (regrettably) gotten dressed, the t-shirt he wore (with a faded Ducks Unlimited logo embroidered at the chest) still held the wrinkles from being left in a duffle bag for a day. A shadow had already appeared at his jawline, Theo noticed fondly, and he wondered lazily if Wren might like another shower. 

Wren’s continued concern reminded him of his need to go to work, and he tried to picture how his day might go. It was Friday, and Trip and Stella were most likely heading off early for their beach house. The guys at Northland General Contractors usually treated their staff to a liquid lunch on Fridays in the summer, and he already knew Mira and Timothy would be chatting about weekend plans, concentration elsewhere and any remaining work left for Monday morning.

“I’ll take a sick day.” Theo decided then. And then smiled once he realized what that meant. That he could spend the day with Wren.

There were other reasons for calling in sick besides Wren’s presence, but ones he didn’t really care to voice. He’d over done it yesterday: a conclusion he’d reached by the combination of little sleep the night before, a long day at the office and a spontaneous date that had ended … Very well. He’d known it even when he’d woken up in the middle of the night stiff and sore, and had curled into Wren’s embrace for comfort. Even before now, where he’d begun his struggle to get his arm beneath him, elbow pressing into the soft give of the mattress as he shakily pushed himself into a sitting position. Before the leaded weight of fatigue had settled at the base of his skull, hanging down like iron chains welded to his spine.

If Wren was looking for someone who woke up gracefully, Theo was not it.

Slowly, and with some difficulty, he was finally seated, the blanket sliding from his back to gather at his waist. He felt the chains of muscle spasticity pulling his shoulders into his chest, and as he tried to straighten out his spine something sharp dug into his lower back. Briefly, he grimaced in pain. Before looking up at Wren, and quickly smiled.

“Besides, I won’t be able to concentrate, knowing you’re in town.” Theo reasoned.

He just needed some time to wake up, some space to take his meds and try to shake off some of the discomfort he’d woken up with. He paused in thought, trying his best to be tactful. He needed some space, and the last thing he wanted was to offend Wren.

“There’s a breakfast place that does coffee and takeout, just around the corner. My wallet’s … Over there.” Theo gestured towards his pants, which had been hastily discarded the night before.

“If you don’t mind picking up something to eat, I’ll go about making myself presentable? Then we can have breakfast out on the terrace.”

Theo’s sleepy smile, his fluttering eyelashes, melted Wren’s heart, and for a moment he deeply regretted waking him up. He wished he could take it back, apologise profusely and climb back into bed with this sweet, lovely man, or rewind time, maybe, and never get up to begin with. It was all he could do to stop himself from kissing his eyes closed, telling him not to worry, to go back to sleep. But this had been one of the things he’d worried about, this past week spent fretting about whether or not he should make the trip up to see Theo; the last thing he’d wanted was to be disruptive, and making him late for work definitely fell into that category.

Even so, when he smiled at him like that, Wren wavered. The smile said: I’m glad to see you. It said: I like you. He couldn’t help but soften, his worries easing ever-so-slightly, and he smiled fondly back.

As Theo stretched, Wren sat back on his heels, though he couldn’t bring himself to let go of the other man’s shoulder just yet. He was soft and warm and so alive in spite of his juddering, stiff movements, like an old film, bright and fuzzy around the edges, and when he spoke, his voice was like that too, thick and dusty with sleep, containing a husky note which made his stomach do a tiny somersault.

“‘Little bird’?” he repeated, tilting his head to one side, his smile widening a little at the greeting. “Those are some brave words coming from you.” If anybody was small and hollow-boned, it was definitely not him. He distinctly remembered carrying Theo to bed a few nights ago, in awe of how light he was. He leant into Theo’s hand, his face growing warm as he realised how he’d woken him up—what he must have sounded like. Tracing a small circle on his arm, he glanced down, considering his proposal. And for a solid moment, he was strongly tempted—to rip off his clothes and crawl back into bed with Theo, hold him close and shut his eyes, and just forget about consequences and responsibilities for a little while. Even if he knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep, that sounded like a nice way to spend the day.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, finding his resolve. “Good morning. I want to. But I can’t.” He offered him a sad smile. “You’re going to be late.”

Bracing himself against the mattress, he leant forward to kiss Theo’s forehead, an apology which he hoped would suffice. But it seemed like his concern was unneeded—or at least, misdirected. He drew back again as Theo pushed himself up, moving to perch at the edge of the bed. An ungracious part of him wondered if this was maybe some kind of trick, but as he reached for his hand, he couldn’t help but notice the bags under Theo’s eyes, the tired ridge to his words. They’d had a late night, he knew, and on top of a long day—and Theo had had to work over the weekend. He deserved a rest.

So he nodded, squeezing his hand. “Sure,” he said. “Breakfast. Leave it with me.”

When Wren stepped outside he discovered it was raining, a steady drizzle which seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Pulling up the hood on his hoodie, he dug his phone out of his pocket, and, sheltering its screen from the worst of the rain, checked the Maps app for the fastest route to the breakfast place Theo had mentioned. He was eager to get there and back as quickly as possible. Part of it was that he wanted to spend as little time out in the rain as he could, but the other part was that while his stolen apple had helped sate his hunger for a few minutes, he was starving.

Besides, the sooner he got back, the more time he could spend with Theo. That was why he was here, right?

Luckily the breakfast place—which turned out to be a cute little cafe with a bright yellow canopy—really was just around the corner, and within five minutes Wren was indoors again, this time waiting in a winding queue of people who seemed to be an even mix of office workers and students. Normally he might have felt a little out of place, but nobody else spared him a glance, and as he waited to get to the counter, he took out his phone again to while away some time.

Theo’s text from last night was still on his lock screen, the attached picture a tiny thumbnail. He tapped on it to view it, and couldn’t help but smile. It was a good photo. He’d thought so the night before too, but he’d only really glanced at it, and after several glasses of wine, so he was pleased that it held up, even now, sober and in daylight. It wasn’t that it was particularly flattering. He just… looked happy. They both did. And looking at it reminded him that he could be happy. That he had been. That he was. And that maybe he could make somebody else happy too.

It warmed his heart.

Robin had sent him a text too, asking him how his night was going, and for a moment he thought about sending her the photo, before thinking of a better idea. Opening up the Facebook app, he tapped the new photo post button and selected the photo. He captioned it “Date night 👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨” before posting it to his wall. Then all of a sudden he was at the front of the queue, and he shoved his phone back into his pocket before he had a chance to reconsider.

Another fifteen minutes and he was back in the elevator, a slightly soggy paper bag with their breakfast tucked under one arm and a carry tray with two cups of coffee in his other hand. He just about managed to fish the keys out of the pocket of his hoodie and unlock the door without dropping anything, and he nudged it close behind him with his foot once he was back inside.

There was music playing from the kitchen and somebody had opened a window, so it looked like Theo had gotten up. He hoped he hadn’t been waiting too long.

“Hey,” he called, picking his way through the living area towards the back of the loft. “I’m back. I didn’t know what you wanted so I got you this… breakfast fruit salad thing… with some coconut yoghurt? I hope that’s okay.”

He poked his head around the breakfast bar, and sure enough, there was Theo, sat at the table with a magazine in front of him and a pencil in his hand. Wren smiled and made his way over, setting down the bag and the cup carrier. “I got coffee too,” he said, leaning over to kiss the top of his head—and noting that he hadn’t buttoned up his shirt.

He began to unpack the bag, sliding over Theo’s pot of fruit and pulling out a container of oatmeal with jam for himself. “So I have a couple of things I wanted to do,” he said, handing one of the cups of coffee to Theo. “Mainly go thank Sally for the suit. It shouldn’t take long, but if you want me to stay home with you, I can do that another time.” Rummaging around in the bag for a second, he pulled out a fork for Theo and a spoon for himself, before uncapping his oatmeal and sitting back.

“You are staying home, right?” he asked pointedly, nodding at Theo’s outfit. “You’re sick, remember?”

He watched Wren leave the bedroom, listened to him scurry (as much as one could, considering his height) about the loft as he prepared to leave, and Theo smiled a secret smile into his empty bedroom. Every heavy footstep, every little scuffle bolstered his claim to Wren’s designation as the Little Bird.

His Little Bird.

But as he heard the front door open and then close, a pained breath escaped through his nose, deflating the last of his determination to appear okay, which seemed to be fuelled only by a very Ronstadt-like mixture of stubbornness and denial. He allowed himself a moment of weakness, hunching over his knees as he felt every muscle in his back complain, the tendons in his neck seizing up in protest. Every twinge of pain had him recalling his biology lessons in school. The hours poured over the textbook his dad had given him for his birthday. 

The coastal cartilage. Check.

Lumbar fascia. Check.

Superficial fascia. Check.

Standing was a chore, as he twisted over himself so his knees were pressed against the bed frame, hands sinking into the mattress as his forearms shook with the monumental effort it took to stand. He staggered to the ensuite while the walls spun around him in their regular dizzying array, finding the cool surface of the counter top and using it to ground himself.  Where he looked up at the mirror, brows creasing at his reflection. He wasn’t surprised at what looked back at him, but he wasn’t happy either.

The last few days had really taken their toll. There were dark circles ringing his eyes, contrasting horribly at the points where his face looked pale and drawn out. The lines at the corners of his eyes seemed to be etched into his skin like cracked granite, and his hair was wild and curly after sleeping on it wet. Dismayed by this perhaps the most, Theo pushed stiff, shaking fingers through the mass of curls in an attempt to rationalize the chaos. The movement, however, caused him to notice something else entirely new, and entirely unexpected. A dark, purplish-red blotchy mark on his neck. A bruise? Some kind of new, horrible thing his body had decided to do? Or was it … Theo frowned, touching it. It didn’t hurt, so it must have been …

A hickey. Wren had given him a fucking hickey.

He lifted his jaw, craning his neck to get a better view of it in the watery light of the washroom. There it was – eggplant purple, with the red scrape of teeth. He couldn’t believe it. Nearly thirty years old, and he had a hickey on his neck. In spite of himself, he saw the reflection of himself grinning in the mirror as he admired it, could feel laughter bubbling in his chest as he thought of the absurdity of the situation. It wasn’t so far of a stretch, was it? Wren made him feel like a fucking ninth grader in love.

And, he was comforted to find that Wren must have felt the same.

Feeling decidedly more optimistic, he decided then that this weekend should be – would be – something they’d remember for a long time. It encompassed many firsts: the first time Wren ever surprised him (he knew there would be more), their first real date (same), the first time they’d slept together (and again, same). Flowers, and food, and meet ups with friends. It all felt so good and so normal, and the thought of staying home filled him with dread, like the kind of normal he wanted to avoid. The very idea of staying in bed and sleeping away the day watching Bachelor re-runs had him stubbornly picking out his outfit, and settling on a pale blue linen button down with a pair of dark wash jeans. He didn’t let the fact that his fingers were too stiff to do the buttons bring him down, and let his shirt confidently hang open in a brazen display of defiance. He took his handful of medication, swallowing the pills one at a time while he shuffled around the kitchen, turning on the radio and attempting to work out some of the tightness in his hip flexors with some weak-willed stretches. 

Theo unlatched and pushed open the cast-iron factory windows to alieve the loft of its stuffy mustiness, poking his head out the window and taking a few draws from his vapouriser. The relief was almost instantaneous as he felt the pain in his back and hips slip away, and he tucked the slim metal tube into his shirt pocket. In a few minutes he knew his appetite would reappear, so he picked up the morning’s newspaper, shuffling through it to find the crossword. And as he sat down, a lucky glance through the window had him spotting the tall, unmistakable loping figure of Wren as he dashed down the sidewalk, clutching the morning’s haul to his chest in a futile attempt to keep it dry.

The view made him smile, and he pressed his forehead to the glass to watch him swing open the glass doors to the lobby. Theo resisted the urge to whistle out a cat call.

Fuck he was cute.

And after all that, it only took a few repeated occurrences of I’m Fine, I’m Fine! to convince Wren that he was, indeed fine, and that he was coming with him. And that arguing with him would be pointless. To be fair to him, Wren didn’t have much hope telling Theo that he was staying home after mentioning he was going to see Sally, and besides, he wanted to spend the day with him. And after coffee and breakfast (his appetite much improved by the nausea-quelling effects of marijuana) he was feeling well enough to ask Wren for help with his shirt buttons. And as he kneeled before him, Theo coyly angled his chin upwards, giving Wren full view of his throat as his hands slyly wrapped into the fabric of his hoodie, tugging him close and entrapping him in his bid for revenge.

“You gave me a fucking hickey,” Theo hissed playfully, though his attempted level of threat was somewhat compromised by the laughter he was unable to stifle. Instead he tugged him closer still, unwilling to let him get away easy.

“I am a fucking adult man,” -- declared Theo -- “And now I have a hickey on my neck. I demand payback. So get over here,” Theo commanded. Moments later he felt himself dissolve into undignified, very unadult-like giggling, while Wren protested (half-heartedly) as Theo leaned in and attempted to gnaw at his neck.

He didn’t regret his decision to skip work. If more mornings like this were in store for him, he might just quit altogether.

The walk to Elk & Oak was blessedly quick, with Wren proudly holding the bouquet he’d chosen for Sally in one hand and Theo’s in the other (possibly, with just as much pride). The rain had ebbed somewhat to a fine, though aggressive spray, and Theo was still glad to be out of the wet. He loved Sally’s shop, and not only for her sharp eye and keen sense for tailoring. She and her partner put an astounding amount of effort into the upkeep of the store, with its soft lighting and antique mirrors and dark, austere finishing. It was a nice place to spend any day, never mind a late-summer rainstorm.

The store was quiet, which was predictable for a rainy, Friday morning. The bell chimed as they walked in, and Sally looked up, a smile spreading across her face as she recognized Wren, and then broadening slightly as her gaze fell to the flowers held in his arm.

“Well, good morning, Wren! I’m hoping your date went well?”

Theo smiled, stepping out from behind him and slipping his hand back into Wren’s.

“It did. Wren told me how you helped fix him up and I can’t thank you enough.” Theo looked up at Wren, grinning almost apologetically as he knew what was about to happen.

 Sally glanced at him, and her smile expanded, threatening to take over her face as she stepped out from behind the counter to approach them gleefully. 

“Theodore Ronstadt! How are you!” She exclaimed, coming over to kiss him once on each cheek. Then she looked up at Wren, laughing devilishly. 

“You are so extraordinarily lucky you walked into my shop yesterday. If there’s one person on earth who would never forgive an untailored suit, it’s this one right here. You’re going to have your hands full with him.”

“I’m not that bad,” Theo objected, feeling a little hard done by. Sally peered over her large glasses at him like he was full of shit. She looked back at Wren, squeezing his arm as if in warning.   

“He told me once he walked out on a date because the man was wearing an ascot. An ascot! So, I’ll gladly take credit for your happy smiles. Please! Come in – Theo, I’ve got some shirts in from Spain you must have a look at. Pima cotton! Linen!  Did I tell you about my trip to Madrid? No?” 

They spent over an hour in Elk & Oak. Sally and Theo talked first of her trip to Europe, where she’d spent the majority of her time visiting the local vineyards and traditional leather workshops. Theo then spoke of his own trip to Milan five years past, where he and his mother had visited their own traditional leather shops. Wren, perhaps growing disinterested when the conversation moved on to the differences between Spanish and Italian leather, drifted off to flip through some of the clothing racks, and then sort through a display of ties artfully arranged on a table.

A fond smile quirked the corner of his mouth as he half listened to Sally gush about Salamanca. His attention was captured far more by watching Wren out of the corner of his eye as he drifted about the boutique. When they’d stopped in the flower shop to pick out Sally’s bouquet, he’d been so sure of himself. He’d navigated the store with the focused precision of a sea captain, sure of what was he was looking for and confident in his decision once made. In Sally’s boutique, however, he was decidedly more aimless and unsure, though he seemed centered squarely on a table with rows of neatly folder sweaters. Theo watched him closely as he picked up, examined, and then carefully refolded a cashmere cardigan, staring at it like it was a puzzle to be solved, that little frown line he wanted to kiss creasing between his eyebrows. And then he’d walk off, stare at something else disinterestedly, before returning to the cardigan, this time petting it like a cat.

He would repeat the process, again and again. Like a dog with a bone. Or a man, with an obvious fondness for cashmere.  

Sally talked him into buying a few button-down shirts, one with a pattern of tiny embroidered bananas that was hard to distinguish from simple polka-dots from far away (and which Sally had picked out specifically for him), and another that was a simple green gingham. He looked over at the cardigan Wren had been eyeing, which lay on the table, rumpled and only a little inexpertly folded.  

“I’ll take that lovely grey cardigan as well, Sally. Wren doesn’t look like he’s willing to part without it, and I’d like to go for lunch soon.” He smiled up at Wren, although his face fell a little when the other man looked immediately prepared to protest.

“You clearly like it.” Theo pointed out in his defence, shrugging benignly. “Besides, what’s the point of having a boyfriend if he can’t buy you things?”  

The words had left his mouth before he’d had a chance to properly think them through. Theo quickly glanced away, feeling the blood rush into his cheeks as soon as he realized what he’d just said – what he’d just implied. Was it even an implication at this point? He reached into his pocket in attempt to be cavalier about the whole mess, while dread and embarrassment crept up his throat like heartburn. The words had just slipped out of his mouth. He hadn’t even been aware he’d been thinking of Wren as his boyfriend – it was too soon, wasn’t it? Even if it felt right?

Hesitantly, he peeked up at Wren, who was returning with the cardigan cradled preciously in his hands. And on his face was a small, barely there smile. As if he was pleased.

 And it was with a grin and a renewed surge of confidence (and happiness) that he passed his gold card to Sally. When they said their goodbyes, Theo was handing the bag of carefully folded clothes to Wren to carry. 

His boyfriend.

The feeling of happiness and contentment stayed with him, even as they sped down the street while the rain hammered down around them. 

It was just, a lot of other feelings piled on top of that particular one.

 His medication was wearing off. Namely, the pills which helped with muscle tightness and balance. His hips hurt, his lower back hurt, and his bad leg had seized up to the point where he was having trouble bending his knee. The effort of walking had his legs shaking miserably, and Theo clung onto Wren, who patiently weathered the rainstorm even as he got soaked to the bone. He wasn’t even wearing a rain coat, and Theo couldn’t help but be aware of how slow he was walking. Couldn’t help but think that if Wren had been with someone else, he could have run through the rain storm with them, laughing as the first few drops of water hit their faces. The could have joked about how that had been a close one, lauding their good luck.

 Instead, they were both soaked.

 They took shelter in the first café they came across, where a quick perusal of the menu confirmed that Theo would be unable to eat anything. Still, it was better than staying outside, and Theo was unsure he’d be able to keep anything other than juice down anyway. His legs were shaking from the walk and though he felt little desire to eat, he handed Wren his wallet as he desperately needed to sit, insisting with his last reserve of energy that he use his card to pay since he got breakfast.

As Wren walked off to the counter Theo stiffly shrugged out of his rain coat, hanging it off a hook by the door and gratefully sinking into the chair. He hunched over immediately, giving his sore back some relief and tried to forget about how his feet and socks were soaked. Someone came over with water, whom he thanked but otherwise ignored, and instead he took out his phone, which he’d felt buzzing all morning but had felt little compulsion to answer until now.

The first text was one from Robin:

Robin:

THEO OMG. HOW DID YOU GET HIM TO CUT HIS HAIR??? Mom and I owe you like a million favors.

The text would have confused him, had it not been for the multiple Facebook notifications he’d received over the course of the morning. Including, oddly enough, a tagged picture.

Intrigued, he went to the photo, feeling an immediate warmth surge through him by the fact that Wren, who had hardly seemed like a social media person, had decided to post a picture of them out on a date earlier than morning.  

He felt decidedly less warmed by the comment thread:

Angelica D’Estrada so this is why you won’t come back to work! @William Helsop like have you ever seen him this happy?

Scotty St. Laurent OMG. WHAT. CALL ME NOW.

Robin Ruskin  😍  😍  😍 

Lisa Ronstadt You both look very handsome. Can’t wait to meet him. Also please don’t forget about Huddy’s birthday on Saturday. Might be nice to give Emily a call. <3 Miss you lots!

Katie Windholme WREN!! Just bring him back to New York!! We can't wait to have you back to the office!  @William Helsop always gets sad when he walks past your desk and you’re not there hiding from us beneath a stack of files 😉

William Helsop It’s true.

He wanted to say that the worst comment was his mother’s, but that would be a lie.

He’d never really thought about Wren going back to New York. He hadn’t even been aware he was still employed – or, was he? Theo scrolled up and reread the comment from Angelica and Katie, unable to come to a sound conclusion. On the one hand, Wren had never mentioned that he still had a job waiting for him in New York. On the other hand … He’d never said anything to the contrary. Theo tapped over to their profiles, and to his dismay read that both were confirmed attorneys at Deloitte. He then went to William’s profile, where his profile too confirmed that he was an attorney at Deloitte. And that they were waiting for him to come back. 

Fuck.

Unsure of what this meant, he looked over at Wren, standing at the cash register and making small talk to the girl behind the counter. She laughed at something he said as she prepared what had to be Theo’s order, pushing a jumble of vegetables through a juicer while she had a sandwich pressed between a panini press. Wren was smiling, standing there in his faded hoodie, and his old, comfortable looking sneakers. His gentle smile, his quiet way he could make anyone smile.

He looked nothing like a New York lawyer.

He looked happy. He looked comfortable. He tried to reconcile his Wren, the one who liked to surprise Theo at his office with flowers, with this bizarre, strange life he’d left behind in New York. He came up empty. And if this comment thread was anything to go by, it kind of seemed like a life he couldn’t be sure had any place for him. 

Theo swallowed, setting his phone down on the table. The movement caused his cane to knock against the rain flecked window with a clatter loud enough to startle the occupants of the tables nearby. With shaking hands he tried to prop it back up, and suddenly it was too much.

Except Wren had come back to the table, laden with Theo’s juice and his own sandwich. Theo feebly smiled at him as he sat down, sliding the proffered glass over to his side of the table. He didn’t trust himself to pick it up just yet. 

“Thank you,” He murmured, and then bent to take a small sip from the straw. Beet, carrot and ginger. It warmed him. A little. 

“I saw you posted our picture,” Theo began, and then offered him a small smile. “It’s cute. Even Robin texted me, and my mom saw it too, I just, um …” He fumbled for the words.

In explanation, he handed his phone over to Wren.

“It just … kind of seems like you still have a job at Deloitte.” Theo said, after giving Wren a moment to read. He didn't know how to proceed. How to ask if Wren intended to move back to New York. Last night, and the week leading up to this, it hadn't seemed like Wren had been treating it like something casual. It had seemed like he'd wanted to stay?

Theo looked up at Wren, as his eyes scanned the screen of Theo's phone.

“… Do you?”  

Boyfriend.

Wren couldn’t stop turning the word over in his head. Boyfriend. Boyfriend. It had slid off Theo’s tongue so easily, so thoughtlessly, that a tiny, doubting part of him thought that maybe he’d imagined it. But he knew he hadn’t. He’d caught the swift bloom of red colouring Theo’s cheeks, and the ghost of a nervous smile, all the hints that this was a surprise to him too, all proof that this was real.

And he’d heard the unspoken question as well. He almost wished he’d had the presence of mind to answer it coolly, to wrap an arm around Theo’s shoulder and tease, “Oh, is that what I am?”, or drop the cardigan and tell him he was wise to his game, or even just take him aside and kiss him without saying a word…

But in the moment, the only thing he could do was smile. It was perfect all the same.

As they left Elk & Oak, Wren barely felt the rain, too preoccupied with the bag of clothes clutched to his chest, Theo’s hand on his arm, and the satisfying feeling that something had settled in between them. He’d never had a boyfriend before. Not really. The first—and only—man he’d dated for any length of time, his sophomore year of college, had refused to put a label on their relationship for the whole six months it had lasted… which had made sense when Wren had discovered he’d been hooking up with other people for pretty much the whole time. By contrast, he and Theo had only officially been seeing each other for just under a week, most of which they’d spent apart.

The disparity should have been weird, but it wasn’t. It should’ve felt like he’d just swapped one extreme for another, but it didn’t. He could hear a voice in his head telling him that it was too soon, that they barely knew each other, that he was just asking for trouble, but he didn’t care. The spiel rang hollow. Maybe he’d have paid more attention to it if it had been somebody else, but not Theo. Theo was different. He’d sensed that the first time he’d laid eyes on him. And he’d known, that night on the beach, the first time they’d kissed—maybe not fully, or consciously, but he’d known that he was going to be a part of his life for a long time.

And now he knew how. As a boyfriend.

It was only after they’d entered the café that Wren realised how wet he’d gotten. His hoodie had absorbed most of the rain and was now heavy and stiff, and clung to his skin. His jeans were even worse. And he didn’t even want to think about his feet—he could feel an unpleasant squelch with each step. He wanted to go home and take a hot bath. Maybe Theo (who had at least had the foresight to bring a raincoat) might like to join him.

He snuck a look back as he joined the queue, his mouth creasing into a small thin frown at the sight of him. He’d been worried about taking him out, but he’d said he was fine, and Wren had reasoned his errands wouldn’t take too long. He hadn’t been planning to spend so long at Sally’s and wondered if he should’ve been more insistent. They could Uber back to the loft, he thought, instead of braving the rain again. And then they could get into dry clothes and Theo could finally get some rest.

His phone buzzed, diverting his attention away from Theo for a moment. He knew who it was without having to look.

Scotty had texted him that morning while he’d been wandering around Elk & Oak (apparently too impatient to wait for him to check his Facebook messages and text him first) and he’d been blowing up his phone ever since.

Scotty
wren, you MINX. you disappear for months only to re-emerge with a fine ass suit, a haircut and a cute boy whom you are KISSING on the CHEEK in PUBLIC and you think you can just get away with it? how dare you??
tell me everything right now or I swear to god i’ll fly out to oregon myself.
or ask robin
whichever one is worse. I can’t decide.
don’t fucking ignore me!!!

Wren
Hi Scotty. It’s nice to hear from you. How’s it going? Robin showed me your Instagram post with the bee costume for the play you’re doing. It looks cool. When does it open? Are you going to be in it or are you just backstage?

Scotty
oh my god
wren please

Wren
There’s not much to tell.

Scotty
ok that’s it i’m booking my plane tickets
lord almighty I forgot the flights were so long
why can’t you be from some nowhere east coast state instead??

Wren
Seriously! His name is Theo, he went to school with Robin, and somehow ended up in Cannon Beach. We ran into each other and hit it off. Last night we went out to dinner. I like him a lot. That’s the story.

It wasn’t the whole story, but he hadn’t wanted to get into the whole thing over text. And even though he did actually want to talk to Scotty about it—which surprised him—there was a certain pleasure to be gained out of drip-feeding him details. Case in point, the text he’d just sent him in response:

Scotty
well I guess that’s a start. all things I knew from looking at his fb but a start nonetheless. cmon honey give me the nitty gritty. last night was clearly not your first date
you don’t have to give me a play by play but at least tell me you hit that fine ass

Jesus Christ, thought Wren, glancing back at Theo, who had just sat down. He didn’t look as though he was doing too well.

He tapped out a quick reply to Scotty.

Wren
You know I don’t kiss and tell.

And before Scotty had a chance to reply, he stowed his phone and stepped up to place their order.

The girl behind the counter turned out to be from Seaside, and had recently graduated from Seaside High. They had a nice chat about it—apparently a new principal had just been hired—and he made her laugh with a story about Mrs Keene, the math teacher in charge of the Mathletics team, who was apparently still going strong. He thought he should go visit her one day, then wondered if she even still remembered him. It had been over ten years since he’d graduated (fuck) and he’d missed his high school reunion.

But it might be nice, he thought. Robin would be up for it. And maybe they could time it so Theo could come too. He could show him more of where he grew up. They could make a day of it. Do it on a sunny day so they could spend a couple of hours on the beach. He’d like that. He hoped Theo would too. It felt like a nice kind of thing to do with your boyfriend.

He paid for their order (using his own card, obviously) and carried it back to the table, setting Theo’s pressed vegetable juice down in front of him before propping his cane back up and then settling down across the table. He reached over to take his hand, but hesitated at the note in his voice, suddenly uncertain. His tone didn’t really match his words, and the corners of Wren’s mouth twitched downwards as Theo passed him his phone.

Oh.

He had seen the notifications for a few of the comments come in, but hadn’t had a chance to read all of them yet. His stomach twisted into a tight knot as he scanned them then, skimming past Lisa Ronstadt’s (which would have been previously unthinkable), and a new one from someone called Ephrem Taub (who looked like one of Theo’s friends), to focus on Angie, Katie and Will’s. He’d already liked Angie’s earlier, while browsing the racks at Elk & Oak, but thoughtlessly, without any kind of consideration as to how it might have looked to Theo. And Katie and Will too… he hadn’t thought about his job, or any of his colleagues—friends—in weeks. Actually kind of actively avoided it. Convinced himself it would all work out.

He looked up to meet Theo’s gaze, chewing his bottom lip. It felt like he’d been caught cheating, like two separate parts of his life had just collided into each other spectacularly, without warning, when they should never have met at all.

But at the same time, he knew that that feeling was him being stupid. It wasn’t like his career was incompatible with having a boyfriend. He took a deep breath, and passed Theo’s phone back to him with a weak smile. “It’s complicated. I left because… well, you know. And yeah, I have a job waiting, if I go back,” he said. “But I don’t have a date in mind. It’s all contingent on my recovery. And… other things, now.”

Taking Theo’s hands, he squeezed them gently. “I should have told you,” he said. “I’m really sorry. It just didn’t occur to me.”

He leant forward to kiss his knuckles. “I guess I had other things on my mind.”

ONE MONTH LATER

“I can’t believe you bought boots with spurs,” Wren said, turning one over in his hands. “Where did you get them? Can you even walk in them?”

Theo’s bedroom was messier than normal, with clothes strewn in piles on the bed. Wren sat amidst them, cross-legged, examining the boot he’d pulled out of the shoebox carefully. It was a nice shoe, real leather, soft, with a delicate pattern embroidered across the calf. And spurs. Spurs. He flicked them, sending them spinning, then glanced over at Theo. The sight made him smile.

Ursula threw a costume party for her birthday every year. This was the first time he’d been able to make one in years, and definitely the first time he’d had someone to bring with him, and they’d decided to pick each other’s outfits. Theo had told him to go as a lumberjack, which was sort of half his dad’s wardrobe anyway, and he’d told Theo to go as a cowboy, mostly as a ploy to get Theo into a pair of jeans.

And it had worked. Just… maybe a bit too well. Theo was taking it so seriously, it was like he’d never dressed up for a party before. Aside from the jeans and the boots and a cute flannel shirt, which he could at least wear again, he’d dragged Wren out to Cannon Beach’s finest selection of second-hand stores, trying to find the perfect hat (he’d had to get one off the internet later). And then one afternoon he’d gotten obsessed with the idea of finding a piece of hay to chew, and the next day Wren found him wearing a little fringed leather vest around his house ‘trying to break it in’. Last week he’d found a piece of rope hanging on the back of the bathroom door, and when he asked Theo about it, he said it was supposed to be a lasso.

Now he was stood in front of his wardrobe, rifling through a drawer, looking for something. He was in his jeans and his shirt and his vest, his face creased in concentration, and he looked incredibly, insanely adorable. Wren didn’t think he’d ever had a thing about cowboys before, but apparently today was about self-discovery.

Theo turned around to face him, brandishing two belts. “Which one goes better?”

Wren blinked. They looked identical. “Uh...” he started, but was thankfully interrupted by the timer on his phone going off. “That’s the cake,” he said, hoping the relief he felt wasn’t evident. Setting down the boot, he pushed himself up off the bed and made for the door, stopping only to give Theo a quick kiss.

“You’ll make the right decision,” he said, solemn. “I believe in you.”

He left Theo to figure out his accessory dilemma, heading to the oven. Honestly, he felt a little guilty—it had taken him maybe fifteen minutes to get ready, jeans, his own flannel shirt, and a pair of suspenders Robin had managed to source from somewhere—while Theo had spent fifteen minutes just deciding how to tie his bandana. At this rate they were going to miss the party completely. (He was sort of okay with that.)

Putting on the oven mitts, he wrangled the oven door open, taking out a tray of cupcakes and setting them down on the counter. He frowned. They looked a little crisp. He hoped they tasted OK. Maybe they could try cutting off the burnt bits and hide their sins with icing.

He switched the oven off and started to turn the cupcakes out onto a rack to cool, when his phone rang again. For a second he thought it was the timer again, but there was a number up on the screen. A number with a New York area code.

He almost didn’t answer it.
God, he wished he hadn’t answered it.

“Hello?” he said.

“Is that Wren?” The line was a little crackly, but the voice was unmistakeable. Clipped, brisk, with a hint of a European accent. He’d heard it every day for years, but never in a social context.

“Carina,” he said, a little weakly. “Hi.”

“Oh!” she said. “It’s good to hear your voice. How have you been? Did you see my emails?”

He was already sliding the door to the deck open. He had a feeling this wouldn’t be a quick call and a part of him didn’t want to be interrupted.

"No,” he said. Fuck. He hadn’t checked his emails in weeks. “Sorry. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” she said. “I just wanted to catch up. We haven’t spoken in a while. We all miss you at the office.”

None of this felt right. Carina never engaged in small talk. Wren sat down on one of the chairs, tucking a leg up underneath him. He should have felt anxious, but he mostly felt numb, like this was happening to somebody else. He didn’t know what to say, so he just said, “I miss you guys too.”

“Angelica and Katherine said you seemed to be keeping well.” Carina sounded almost as uncomfortable as he felt. He wished she’d get to the point.

“I guess. We haven’t really spoken.” Just a quick two or three messages a month ago, before he’d faded out of their lives again.

She sighed, then, and Wren shut his eyes.

“Yes,” she said. “We’ve been trying to reach you for a couple of weeks now. I think you know why I’m calling.”

He did know.

Truthfully, he’d been expecting this call for weeks. And while he hadn’t been deliberately avoiding it, he hadn’t exactly gone out of his way to engage with it either. Two weeks of annual leave, plus sixty working days of unpaid time off. That’s what they’d agreed to. The clock had been slowly, steadily ticking down since he stepped on the plane to Portland, and while he’d been able to forget about it for a while, the deadline had been looming large for some time now.

To Carina’s credit, she was kind about it. They hadn’t been able to get a hold of him, she said. They’d needed to know when he had intended to return so they could plan for the next quarter. She had stalled for as long as possible. The replacement they’d hired was doing well, and they couldn’t afford to keep them both on. They’d give him a generous severance package, of course, and if he let them know when he was back, she could try to find him a place. She hoped he understood.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s not personal. I did try. But…”

“It’s fine,” he said. He didn’t sound like himself. It felt like a dream.

“We can mail the paperwork to you, and your belongings,” she said. “Or if you’re able to come into the office at all… I know it’s a long way, but I’m sure everyone would like a chance to say goodbye.”

“I...” He cleared his throat, dug his nails into his palm. Tried to focus on the tiny pinpricks of pain as they bit into his flesh. “I’ll need to see if that would be possible. I’ll let you know by tomorrow.”

“That’s fine,” said Carina. She sounded relieved. He guessed he couldn’t blame her. “I’ll speak to you soon, then. Take care of yourself.”

He mumbled a goodbye and hung up before she could say anything more, letting his phone fall down into his lap. Shutting his eyes, he ran a hand through his hair, squeezing his skull as hard as he could bear in an attempt to stop his head from spinning, to stop the million conflicting thoughts careening through his brain.

How the fuck could he have been so stupid? Why hadn’t he just—fucking called back?
And why was he even so upset to begin with? He hadn’t been planning on going back.
Had he?

Fuck. He didn’t know. But he would have liked to make the choice himself. Too bad he was too much of a fuck-up to just check his fucking emails every now and then.

“How would you feel about a roll in the hay, partner?”

Wren twisted around to see Theo, cowboy outfit complete, leaning against the door frame in an exaggerated pose. He’d even managed to find a stalk of hay from somewhere, and was chewing it comically. Wren laughed, but it came out wrong, like his body reminding him he had no room for joy any more. And then he remembered why Theo was dressed up, and his face fell. God. The party. How the fuck was he supposed to go to this party now?

He wanted to tell Theo he didn’t want to go any more, but the sight of him all dressed up made him hesitate. He’d been so excited. He’d bought spurs, for fuck’s sake. There was no way he could ruin the night for him too.

So instead he swallowed, and put on a smile. “Maybe later,” he said. God, he could already feel the smile wavering. He had to keep it together. “You should’ve bought some chaps too.”

“Wren, have you seen how many shitty cowboy costumes there are out in the world? The key to a good costume is commitment. So I am committing. Which means that yes, I need boots with spurs. And Jeremy helped me pick them out. You wouldn’t think it by looking at him but he has a very good eye for the Western aesthetic.”

Theo turned around, deadly serious as he eyed Wren where he sat on the bed, turning the boot over in his hands. As he’d come to learn, Wren’s criteria for clothing were fairly straightforward and no nonsense: he liked comfort and soft textiles, and muted colours. Most importantly he was as practical as a dad, so Theo knew it was hopeless trying to explain his reasoning.

“I can walk in them,” Theo said, laughing as he snatched the boot away. He wasn’t actually sure about that, since he hadn’t yet tried. But Wren’s doubt did little to diminish his enthusiasm. He gripped the soft leather in his hands, tested the heft of the sole, grinning at his boyfriend.   

He was excited. 

They were going to a party. A house party, no less. With happy, uncomplicated people in costume, with perhaps some socialization and some drinks. More importantly, he could meet some more of the people in Wren’s life, and maybe even begin laying the foundations to get Ursula to properly like him as opposed to just tolerating him. Their first meeting hadn’t gone well (even Wren had admitted that asking a seven year old how her day was going was weird, and was he okay? Did he need a cup of coffee?), and he held out hope that bringing cupcakes would serve as a decent peace offering. And maybe he’d gone a little overboard with the costume, but Robin and Jeremy and even Wren had egged him on and he was just … Excited.

He couldn’t help his smile as Wren hurried off to the kitchen, even as he stood there holding two belts, left without an answer. Maybe it was cruel asking him for advice, since he was sure Wren didn’t care but was too polite to say so. He walked towards one of the heaps of clothing piled onto the bed, stroking the dark mass of fur Wren had been sitting beside to get her attention.

“Violet, which is better?”

She offered up a muted prrrow but didn’t seem to care either, not even bothering to open her eyes. So he turned to the mirror, holding the two belts up to his waist.

He looked fucking hot, Theo concluded as he posed, hooking his thumbs through the loops of his gun holster slung about his hips and squaring his shoulders. Over the last couple of months it had been a sentiment hard to come by, but damn. Tonight? His hair was on point, and he had some colour in his face (along with an additional dusting of freckles), and he’d somehow gained weight without even trying. He was definitely eating more; a fact helped by his many dates with Wren, along with a weekly dinner at his parents’ house where Lydia proved to be a wealth of knowledge when it came to adding protein to a plant based diet. Best of all, his ass was finally back, a joyful conclusion he’d made a week or so ago (and reinforced by his incredibly handsy boyfriend), and even in jeans he couldn’t help but take a moment to admire himself.

His phone trilled from somewhere on the bed, hidden amongst the pile of clothes. As expected, Violet offered no help at all in his efforts to find it. When he finally located it (hidden under one of Wren’s big sweaters - his clothing seemed to be accumulating here) he had a new text from Robin, sent about ten minutes ago.

Robin:

where the hell ARE you guys. I told Wren to be here early. I need his help to move some furniture out of the main room - please tell me you’re on your way.

Theo grimaced, taking a moment to feel a little guilty as he sat down on the bed and thought out a reply. Robin had taken to texting Theo whenever she wanted a receive a reply that day, though even he was letting the ball slip since they only person he felt compelled to text on a frequent basis was currently in his home. They had agreed to show up early, but Theo had lost track of time getting ready and at the last minute they’d decided to bake cupcakes (or Wren had, and Theo had enthusiastically agreed). Theo sighed, deciding to take the heat.

Theo:

I lost track of time getting ready! Do you know how hard it is to make a bandana look good??

It’s my fault. We’ll be there soon.

He hit send, then wondered idly how big this party was going to be. He’d already spent an embarrassing amount of time getting ready, and that didn’t just mean getting dressed. He’d spent all week figuring out what to get Ursula, finally settling on a Cuisinart Mixer (based on little more information than Olivia talking about how much she loved helping her mom bake – although Theo couldn’t be sure if it was the process or the result that Olivia liked). He’d slept for most of the day in preparation, fully committing to the idea that they would be out late, and had cleared his calendar for the next day, which he planned to spend with Wren in a similar fashion to how most of the Saturdays of the past month had gone.  

Which had all been flawless. He wouldn’t have changed a thing.

He loved spending time with Wren. The more time he spent around him, the more comfortable he felt with this conclusion. They’d spent the last weekend in Seaside, where they had visited his old high school and attended the opening scrimmage of this year’s Mathletics tournament. Despite spending his Saturday afternoon in a dusty high school auditorium, he’d somehow enjoyed himself. Most if not all of it went over his head, with Theo experiencing only brief palpitations of terror as he was brought back to studying for his AP Calc final. Wren had brought along a pad of paper, and had worked through the problems along with the mathletes on stage. In whispered tones he’d walked Theo through his workings, where Theo had been unable to do much more than nod along, distracted by Wren's rare moment of quiet, intense enthusiasm, along with the shape of his hands and the way he deftly held the special mechanical pencil Theo knew he only used for occasions such as these.

Their time together had been begun in similar fashion. Wren had started coming to Portland whenever Theo was there, and had soon thereafter begun staying over more at his house. Theo fell asleep more often than not happy, either with Wren beside him (he’d discovered recently how much Wren liked being the little spoon), or reading his goodnights on his phone. Theo had only had one bad day thus far, and if that hadn’t scared Wren away he couldn’t imagine what would.

Best of all, the book where he kept his dried flowers was suddenly much more full. There were the pink flowers from their first date, and the slightly wilted stalk of goldenrod collected from the afternoon Wren had come to check on Violet. Beyond that, its pages were filled with other Oregon wildflowers picked for him by Wren, along with those from the bouquet he’d given him the first time he’d brought him to Newman’s.

Secretly, he liked the wildflowers the best. The ones chosen by Wren, in a moment of unplanned thoughtfulness. The foxgloves and harebells, the primroses and black-eyed susans. He’d dried and carefully taped a sample from every occasion.

Oregon Iris. Walk on the Point with Wren, 05/9/2016

Milkweed. Picked by Wren from side of road on the way from his parents’ house to brunch. Told me it reminded him of me. Not sure if insult or compliment – have decided on compliment for now.  14/9/2016

Magnolia Blossom. Stolen in a moment of brazen assurance from Leach Botanical Garden by W. Ruskin, 21/9/2016. Nobody else tall enough to pick one. Pretty sure I’m in love?

There was even a piece of emerald sea glass, picked up by Wren and given to Theo in a tender moment on the beach. It was in a drawer in his office – he still wasn’t sure what he was going to do with it. 

But, they were going to be late.

 The cupcakes were still on the counter when Theo strolled out of his room, distracted momentarily with gleeful satisfaction by his spurs jangling along with his steps. From a bowl of potpourri arranged artfully on a side table, he removed a stalk of something and placed it between his molars. Now, he thought to himself. Now my costume is complete.

 There was something to be said however, about having Wren stay over so often. While he often seemed wrapped up in his own thoughts and prone to misplacing his keys, his clothing, and even a shoe once or twice before, he was never one to leave a door unlocked, or a burner on. Theo’s brow furrowed when he noticed it: the cupcakes were turned out on a cooling rack, but oddly the oven was still on.

 That was a bit strange. It was an entirely un-Wren-like move.

 He peered out past the glass doors, settling on the shape of Wren seated in one of the patio chairs. He could only make out of the back of his head, along with the subtle slump of his shoulders. As he turned the corner of the kitchen island, he could see his phone in his lap. The tensing of his neck, the frustrated push of hands through his hair.

He had an idea of what was bugging him.

He slid open the door and threw up his hip up in what he hoped was an alluring pose as he leaned against the frame. 

“How would you feel about a roll in the hay, partner?”

Theo winced almost immediately. The words felt weird coming out of his mouth – he hadn’t hit the accent - and Wren’s stilted laugh seemed to confirm it. So that was a dud. He tried again, removing the piece of straw from his teeth and tossing it to the ground, stepping forward and sliding into Wren’s lap. From his holster, he withdrew one of the toy revolvers and pressed the nozzle into Wren’s sternum 

“Hold up your hands and drop your pants” Theo commanded. “This is a stickup.”

He wasn’t sure when he’d left cowboy territory and entered that of a bank robber, but he was sure the two overlapped somewhere in American history. He came in close, draping his arm around the back of his neck and pressing a slow series of kisses along his jaw. He paused when he got close to his ear, voice dropping to a whisper.

“Was that Robin who called? I told her it was my fault we’re late. Please don’t worry too much about it... I’ll take the heat when we get there.”

Theo slid the gun back into the holster, feeling the weight of it against his thigh. He used his free hand to bring his fingers up to Wren’s jaw, gently turning his face so he could meet his eyes. He looked strange – his gaze a little far off, his jaw a little tight. Maybe he was just nervous about going to a party with friends from high school. Theo softened a little, and decided to throw him a bone. 

“I bet nobody would notice if we’re even more late.” Theo murmured, fingers spreading over his jaw before he kissed him deeply. After a lingering moment he pulled away, before meeting Wren’s eyes and grinning.

“The damage is already done, right?”

As Theo sauntered towards him, Wren realised, distantly, that his hands had started to shake, and he shoved them under his thighs in an attempt to make them stop. It worked, sort of, but left him totally defenceless when Theo threw himself into his lap and poked his toy gun into his chest.

He laughed. He couldn’t help it. It felt better this time, more real, less forced. Theo had a way of making him laugh like nobody else could. If it wasn’t his wit or his sharp tongue, the way he wielded cutting comments like a surgeon’s scalpel, it was moments of silliness like this. He always seemed to know what to do, what to say, to cheer him up.

“Hey!” he protested, but without much weight behind it. “What kind of cowboy sticks people up?”

Squirming to get his hands out from under him, he batted Theo’s gun away. “And anyway, how am I supposed to hold my hands up and drop my pants? It’s physically impossible.”

Wren wrapped his arms around Theo’s waist, pulling his boyfriend into a hug as he tugged him closer, and buried his face into his shoulder. He was warm, and he smelled of ground spices and leather, and felt like home. For a moment, he was able to forget. For a moment, it felt like maybe things would turn out all right. Then Theo mentioned Robin and that feeling fizzled away as quickly as it had come.

He groaned and buried his face further into the crook of Theo’s neck, nosing past his bandana to nuzzle the spot he knew made him ticklish. Fuck. Robin. He’d totally forgotten. She’d asked them to come by early. He didn’t have a watch, but he didn’t need one to know that boat had already sailed. And if he was going to be honest, that might have been partially… maybe not deliberate, but not-accidental. Theo hadn’t been ready and he hadn’t wanted to go without him, especially not to move furniture around. She must be mad, which only made him want to stay home more. He didn’t think he could cope with a pissy Robin on top of everything else.

He should tell him, he thought. In his shoes, he’d want to know. But he knew what would happen if he did. Theo would be concerned, and insist they stay home. He’d want to talk about it, when that was the last thing Wren wanted. They would miss the party, and Theo would insist it was okay, but Wren would feel guilty. If he told him, it would cement the misery. Make it real.

Theo’s fingers on his jaw made him pull back, and as he met his eyes, he tried another feeble smile. It didn’t work. And then they were kissing, and suddenly, like a switch being flicked on, it did.

He didn’t want it to be real, he realised. Not yet. He wanted to enjoy the evening. More than that, he wanted Theo to enjoy the evening. He could suck it up for a few hours. It would be fine.

So when they drew away and Theo grinned at him, he grinned back.

“All right then, cowboy,” he said, tugging on Theo’s bandana. “Lead me to the hay.”

It didn’t even feel like he was pretending.

Wren felt better, afterwards, in a shining, glorious moment, as he fell down next to Theo and pulled him into a long, loaded kiss.

He always did.

But the feeling ebbed a little when, instead of lingering in his arms, Theo decided to get up. More still as they redressed themselves, and again when he checked the clock on his phone and realised there was no way, despite his best intentions, that he was going to be able to ice the cupcakes on time.

So he packed them into a Tupperware box as they were, sad and naked, and he’d only just finished when their cab arrived. He almost forgot to grab Ursula’s presents—a book from him; the mixer from Theo—and he nearly dropped them climbing into the back of the car. A knot of unease had tied itself in his stomach, and despite the comforting weight of Theo’s hand in his, the easy, excited chatter which flowed from his boyfriend’s mouth, by the time they arrived at the party, Wren could say with some confidence that he didn’t feel better at all.

Balancing the book on top of the Cuisinart box, and the cupcakes on top of that, he trailed behind Theo up the drive, past Robin’s car. There was a sign taped to the door (clearly made by Olivia) which said “Ursula’s 30th through here!” and when Theo tried the handle, they found it unlocked. As they entered the hall, the sound of voices filtered through the house, though he couldn’t quite make out the words over the music, some soft indie song he thought he probably should have recognised. It sounded like everyone was in the living room, but as he nudged the door closed behind him with his foot, a familiar face popped around from around the kitchen door.

Lindsey, his sort-of-ex, dressed like a pirate with a stripy top and an eyepatch. Not the way he’d wanted to start the party, honestly.

She appraised them for a moment, then announced, “Wren’s here!” Then she raised her eyebrows and said, to them this time, “You’re in so much trouble.”

She didn’t have to explain why. A few seconds later, Robin appeared behind her, and in spite of the fact her hair was now somehow bright red, she looked mad. Wren shifted uncomfortably, adjusting his grip on the pile of presents.

“What the fuck, you guys?” she demanded. “You said you’d help us get ready. Where have you been?”

It was lovely out on the deck, which was raised from the ground by about a storey or so. Around them the towering Oregon sitka spruces swayed lazily in the summer heat, and just beyond them the wild, unsettled ocean churned up whitecaps and frothy waves. As Wren pulled him closer Theo felt the brush of lashes against his skin as his eyelids slipped shut. He felt the heat from his embrace, the tight, solid hold Wren had around his waist, and Theo wondered a thought he often wondered:  What was going on in his quiet, stoic boyfriend’s head?

Then he was laughing, squirming in Wren’s arms as he felt the shiver slip down his spine from the brush of skin against the back of his neck. And when Wren called him cowboy, his laugh morphed into something closer to a cackle.

Cowboy.

He liked the way his voice shaped the word -- that husky note that only happened when Theo managed to get him going -- far more than he had any right to.

“Say it again.” Theo demanded softly, leaning up to nuzzle behind his ear, where his skin was warm and damp from the late summer humidity. He smelled amazing, like Old Spice and lavender and something else warm and dusty, perhaps from sitting out on the deck too long, reading in the sun on this lazy, Saturday afternoon. And with a hand on his jaw Theo urged him closer, pressing a kiss to the hinge of his jaw. He felt horribly content and had little desire to end the moment.

Lucky for him, Wren felt the same and pulled him into his arms. Theo yelped loudly, gripping him tight and laughing as he kicked his legs in mock protest, while Wren whisked him off to the bedroom.

He found himself laughing more often than not, these days. And how could he not?

His house had come to reflect Wren’s presence in his life, manifesting in the subtle changes Theo had made to his home in an effort to make Wren feel comfortable. The small air plants hanging in the windows had been raised a few inches after the third time Wren had knocked his forehead into one, with Theo feeling a bit silly that it had taken so long for him to notice that Wren, despite being one of the most intelligent people he’d ever met, wasn’t always completely aware of his surroundings.

He also made sure to note whenever they were at the store to remember the snacks Wren gravitated towards. As a result, now his cupboards were stocked with items he’d never expected to have in his house, bar perhaps his nephew coming to stay with him. There were only a few things Wren seemed to remember to eat without prompting, and they were all very funny and weird: ramen, Campbell’s soup, and fig newtons (which Theo, up until then, had been under the impression they’d stopped making). And from Amazon, he’d ordered a heavy, fleece blanket, which he left draped over the couch for those odd nights Wren had trouble sleeping, and a special, firm, low-pillow, which he’d sneaked beneath his head after Wren had confessed to being bothered by some neck pain. A set of lavender shampoo and soap, the only scent Wren seemed to have an opinion on, lived in his shower.

Best of all, Theo finally had a wardrobe in his bedroom. He’d ordered it from Ikea shortly after his and Wren’s first trip to Portland, which they had assembled together. (More accurately, Wren had done all the hard work and Theo had perched at the end of the bed and read aloud the instructions). And when it was finally standing Theo had left a drawer empty in an unspoken gesture to Wren that it should be filled.  And it was filled, with some of the clothing Wren had brought over, along with some items Theo had bought for him over the last few weeks, including a pair of soft, cashmere sweats in extra-long he thought he might enjoy. 

And as Wren carefully deposited him into their bed (which smelled like him – smelled like them), and kissed him so sweetly, so intensely like he was the only thing in the world that mattered, Theo pressed him between his thighs, wrapping a leg around the bend of his knee to bring him closer.

Robin was going to be pissed.  

He was keenly aware of this, even as he stood to hoist his jeans back over his legs after giving Wren a final, appreciative kiss and rolling out of bed. He felt it even as he urged Wren out of bed with a plaintive squeeze of his wrist, who seemed  even more unwilling to move than usual after they’d had sex. Theo made a joke about Wren the Introvert preferring to spend the evening in bed rather than at a party with friends, but it hadn’t landed (perhaps hitting a little too close to the truth) and hadn’t really been all that funny to begin with.

Especially when he considered the events from moments before.

While Wren was always perfectly attentive in bed -- quick to make sure Theo was okay and even quicker to ensure that Theo was enjoying himself -- even he had to admit Wren had been more … Intense, than usual. He’d felt it in the way Wren had held him close, the way he’d pressed his face into the crook of his neck, like he hoped to disappear. What he’d expected to be a silly, flirty quickie had become more intimate, filled with a desperate sense of urgency he hadn’t really been expecting while wearing a bandana and cowboy hat.

But, eventually Theo had gotten Wren up and dressed, and away they went.

There were already a few cars parked in the gravel driveway by the time they arrived (one, to Theo’s delight and intrigue, had a Washington plate. It must have been the guy Robin had been slipping off to Seattle to visit). Theo paid the driver (in cash!) and tried to help Wren with the boxes in the trunk, but very quickly gave up. He tucked his bottle of wine under his arm and palmed his cane, heading gamely up to the front door as Wren trailed behind him, weighted down with Ursula’s gifts.  

As Theo made it to the front door, he hesitated, pausing for a moment with his palm resting on the doorknob. He would never admit it, but he felt nervous. Wren had made little mention that the people attending this party were his friends (or anything about them, for that matter), but he still felt beholden to him to make a good impression. It wasn’t often that he felt as extroverted as he once had been, especially not when the first thing people noticed about him was that he walked with a cane. He also found himself having less in common with the people here in Oregon, most of whom had known each other their whole lives, than with those back home. Over time, he’d picked up a few talking points which were always hits: popular bakeries he’d come to know in Portland, how he was the one who owned that house up in the forest, and of course Oregon wines were always a winning topic. But it still had his challenges.

Moreover, he desperately wanted to win Ursula’s approval. He was sure she didn’t like him, and that fact alone was agonizing. He wasn’t sure why he cared so much – he didn’t often feel the compulsion to be liked by everyone he met. She obviously cared about Wren a great deal, and seemed far more mature, responsible, and kinder than any other one of his cohorts. And Theo could never seem to say the right thing around her.

But, he figured, if this was Ursula’s birthday party, he could at least expect a friendly, chill crowd.

This hope was dashed almost immediately upon entering the house.   

Their entry was announced loudly, by a girl who was dressed as some kind of Walmart sponsored version of a pirate. Theo felt immediately taken aback, both by the familiar tone she took with Wren, and the way she seemed to take pleasure in announcing their misfortune.

Maybe it was a small town thing.

The girl – Lindsey, as Theo would learn – was quickly forgotten, as a murderously angry, newly red-headed Robin thundered towards them. Theo looked up at Wren, expecting him to take the lead in dealing with Robin. His face had grown tight, however, and he seemed to be attempting to hide (unsuccessfully) behind the stack of items he was carrying.

Theo decided to intercept.

“Ugh, Robin – it was my fault.” He said, stepping in. “My generator was doing something weird and I wanted Wren to look at it and it took a little longer than I thought. I brought a bottle of wine to make up for it. It’s a nice Pinot Noir I picked up in Portland – I’m very, very sorry.”

Theo handed the bottle over to Robin, who took it begrudgingly. It was supposed to be a gift for Ursula, but he supposed it would serve a higher purpose in smoothing over any hostility between the two twins, supposing it actually had done anything to help. But as far as he could tell, his peace offering did little.

When this became clear, he looked past Robin to the man standing behind her, who was conspicuously dressed as Fred to Robin’s Wilma. Theo grinned, seizing the opportunity to deflect the conversation away from him and Wren.

“What do you need Wren for anyway, when you have your “Friend from Seattle” here to help?” Theo couldn’t help but grin, thrusting his hand out past Robin for him to shake.

“My name’s Theo – it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. What’s --”

There was a hand on his shoulder, and as he turned to see who it was, discovered Lindsey standing right beside him. He frowned, but soon she’d taken him by the arm and was leading him away.

“You don’t want to get in the middle of the Ruskin twins arguing. It’s not fun for anyone.” Lindsey explained in a hushed, conspiratorial tone. Theo followed her, disliking very much her hand on his arm (or being told what to do, for that matter). But he stuffed down any discomfort and allowed her to lead him down the hallway, towards the sounds of people chatting and music.  

You are polite. You will make a good impression.  

Theo looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Wren standing there with his shoulders taught, while Robin whisper-yelled at him and gesticulated wildly. The borrowed suspenders looked ready to snap, and he felt a desperate needs to save him. He reconsidered telling Lindsey that he’d talk to her later, but her grip was iron tight and he felt his resolve waning.

“Everyone, this is Theo! Wren’s boyfriend.” Lindsey announced very loudly, to a very full living room.

As the ten or so people turned to look at them, the room was suddenly all smiles and delighted grins. A few small waves followed, before conversation resumed. And even though he felt a little bit like Lindsey’s trophy, he found himself … Not really minding. He didn’t think he’d ever dated someone whose sexuality was as newsworthy piece of information to the people who knew them as this seemed to be, but this was … Not terrible. And while it felt strange that Wren wasn’t around (and was currently being reamed out by his sister), it was a nice change of pace to be seen as an individual right off the bat, rather than just one vestigial half of a couple.

He waved hello, and then the introductions began.

“So, this part of the property is where we dug up like … four different cars. From several decades apart. Right out of the ground. Just old, pieces of shit which I’m guessing the owners couldn’t be fucked to tow to a chop shop or something. But the guys who found them were supposed to pour the foundation that day and it just messed up my entire schedule.” He laughed, like it wasn’t the fifth time he’d told the story. But he didn’t mind at all.

“I got some vintage license plates out of the whole ordeal and now they’re hung up in my garage.”

Theo was grinning as he showed Lindsey and a woman named Mindy pictures off his phone from the early stages of his house’s construction. Truthfully, the disrepair of the property was why he’d been permitted to build so close to Ecola Park. One man’s trash, another man’s treasure. And so on, and so on.

He flicked through a few more pictures before feeling a presence behind him. Already suspicious of who it was, Theo peered upwards, before he broke out into a wide smile once he laid eyes on Wren.

“Hey, you.” Theo greeted Wren warmly, turning around to face him and leaning up to press his lips against his cheek. He accepted the drink gratefully from Wren, slipping an arm around his waist and tugging him close. “Mindy here was literally just asking if you’re still as good at math as you were in high school and Lindsey was insisting that you must be. And I have to agree, being the only one present to have seen you in action in the last decade.”

He looked up at Wren, who still seemed a little off. He wondered if it had been Robin, but he reasoned he’d been quiet all night. He very much wanted Wren to have a good time, and math usually cheered him up, so Theo pulled out his phone, pulling up the document where he kept his running list of math problems he liked to have on hand for long car rides. The way Wren’s face cleared when he was working on a problem that could be solved was like the sky after a storm. And the way he smiled after, triumphant, was something else entirely.

“He usually calculates the tip in his head when we go out. It’s the most amazing thing.” Theo said to Lindsey and Mindy, looking up from his phone briefly to grin up at Wren. He then showed the problem to Wren, smiling expectantly.

If 3x−y=12, what is the value of 8^x/2^y

Wren should’ve felt something, he thought. Guilt. Shame. But even the anxiety he’d felt earlier, coiled in his belly not moments ago, had cooled and hardened under the scrutiny of Robin’s glare. He’d been nervous not knowing what to expect, but now they were firmly in familiar territory. He’d witnessed this pattern enough times to be able to predict its every beat. Robin had undoubtedly spent this whole time winding herself up, raging to anyone who’d listen, building a relatively small transgression into a huge betrayal—very probably fuelled by wine—and the only way she was going to get over it was if she got to confront the perceived cause of her ire, in this case, her brother.

Frankly, he was bored already.

Even as Theo stepped forwards with a bottle of wine and a white lie in a valiant attempt to mediate, her gaze diverted only for a moment before flicking back to Wren. It was all he could do not to roll his eyes. She’d obviously decided he was the most acceptable target, and there wasn’t anything anyone could do except to indulge her tantrum. But then she passed the bottle of wine to the person standing behind her, to whom Theo was already introducing himself, and he realised with an unpleasant shock that he recognised him.

“Warren?” he said, and maybe his tone was a little colder than he’d intended, but he didn’t care. “Why is Warren here?”

“What, why is Warren at his sister’s birthday party?” shot back Robin, even though he knew she knew that wasn’t what he’d meant. He barely noticed Lindsey helpfully guiding Theo away, or Warren making a tactful retreat with bottle of wine.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, moving to shoulder past her. “I’m really not in the mood, Robin.”

“For what?” she said, stepping aside to let him past, only to trail after him instead. “Showing up on time? Answering your phone? Having the common courtesy to come up with a believable excuse for blowing me off?”

Wren did roll his eyes then, clenching his jaw, but he didn’t respond, sticking his head into the dining room instead. The table had been pushed up against the wall, and had been artfully decorated with snacks and drinks, including two big punch bowls right in the middle. The stereo was on, pulsing out some quiet, inoffensive music he didn’t recognise, and someone had tied balloons to all the furniture. He found what he was looking for in the corner of the room furthest from the table—a small pile of presents arranged onto one of the chairs from the kitchen. He headed over to it, doing his best to ignore Robin, who, despite pausing in the doorway, continued her stream of chastisement without taking a breath.

“… you know, I didn’t want to say anything, but ever since you started dating Theo, you’ve changed,” she continued. “Like, this isn’t the first time this has happened. You never want to hang out any more. You don’t answer your phone, or text back. And when I do see you, you’re always with Theo. Do you even remember the last time we spent time together one-on-one?”

Trying to tune her out, Wren set the presents he’d been carrying down to join the rest of them. The Cuisinart box was the largest by far, which made him feel a little better about the size of his present. But that meant it couldn’t just go on top, and he had to rearrange the other things on the chair to get it to fit, which would have been fine, except he dropped the container of cupcakes in the process. The lid popped off and slid beneath the chair, and he had to kneel down to fish it out, but at least the cupcakes stayed in the container.

At least Robin’s voice was a little muffled, down under the chair. “No, of course you don’t,” she said, and he wondered how long he could get away with staying down there. “But I do. I’m pretty sure it was after I drove you home from Theo’s house, the day after his nineteen-year-old ex-boyfriend punched you in the face. Hey, that was pretty screwed up, huh?”

Wren banged his head as he whipped back around to face her. “What the fuck is your problem?” he demanded. “I’m sorry we were late or whatever, but you clearly didn’t need our help, so I don’t know why you care.”

“So I’m not supposed to care that I never see my twin brother any more? Seriously, Wren?”

“We see each other all the time!”

“No, we don’t! You’re never there any more!”

“I don’t have to listen to this.” Wren pushed himself back up onto his feet, snapping the rescued lid back onto the box of cupcakes.

Robin carried on like he he hadn’t said anything. “Even if you’re, like, physically present, the only thing you’re ever engaged with is Theo. It’s not healthy. When he’s not there, he’s all you talk about. When he is, he’s the only person you pay any attention to. I’ve been trying to tell you about Warren for weeks, but—”

“Robin,” Wren snapped, cutting her off. “Have you ever considered that maybe you’re just not that interesting?”

Robin gaped at him, stunned. He felt like he’d crossed a line, but it shut her up for long enough for him to drop the cupcakes onto the table and leave the room, so he decided he didn’t actually care. Besides, she’d overstepped too, talking all that shit about Theo and their relationship. Wasn’t this what she’d wanted? Hadn’t she actively tried to set them up? And even before Theo, hadn’t she constantly meddled in his life? Since he’d met Theo he was the happiest he’d been in a long time—months, if not years—and he couldn’t fucking believe that she was actually mad with him just because she’d moved down a single slot in his list of priorities, because now he had a life which didn’t revolve around her. And of course, she’d had to pick the worst possible time to do it—not that more considerate timing would have improved anything.

Wren found himself in the kitchen, which was appropriate because after the way his evening had started, he really needed a drink. There were a few more bottles laid out on the kitchen table, but nothing which looked appealing, and he sought out the shelf in the pantry where Robin kept her good booze. Grabbing a bottle of rum, he poured a couple of shots out into a cup (OK, maybe being a little generous), then topped it up with coke, before making another one for Theo and heading off to find him.

Robin wasn’t in the dining room any more, and he was a little apprehensive when he entered the lounge, but she wasn’t there either. But he did see Theo, engaged in conversation with Lindsey and another girl from school, and he paused for a moment, watching. The sight made him feel a little better. He knew a part of Theo had been a little apprehensive about going to a party where he didn’t really know anyone, but it looked like he was fitting in just fine, showing the girls something on his phone. Wren kind of didn’t want to disturb him, but standing around in the doorway felt awkward, so he took a sip of his drink and wandered over to the small group, nudging Theo with his hip.

“Hey,” he murmured, nodding at the girls as he passed Theo the other cup, slinging his arm over his shoulders as he pulled him in. He sort of expected them to go back to whatever they’d been talking about, which was totally fine by him; all he wanted to do was listen to some inane chatter and pretend like his life was boring and normal for at least a little while. So when Theo started talking about math, and brought up a problem on his phone, he found himself a little taken aback.

“I...” he started, glancing at Theo in an attempt to gauge what exactly was going on, here. He felt like a circus monkey being asked to do a trick. Showing off for his boyfriend was one thing. Being asked by his boyfriend to show off to other people was another. Especially when the other people happened to be acquaintances from high school with whom he already had kind of a complicated relationship.

Everyone was looking at him expectantly, though, and he swallowed and glanced down at the problem. At least it was an easy one. 8 was 2 cubed, so the answer was 2 to the 12. Which was… “4096,” he said, then took a swig of his drink to avoid having to answer any further questions. Lindsey gave him a weird look, but he pretended not to see, passing Theo’s phone back and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He had a feeling it was going to be a long evening.

Wren passed the time at Theo’s side, mostly silent, letting other people’s words flow through him like a river. Every so often he’d nod, or smile, or answer a direct question, but unsurprisingly, his thoughts were elsewhere, on the phone call he’d had with Carina, or the barbs Robin—who thankfully seemed to be giving him a wide berth—had thrown at him, but, truthfully, mostly on Theo. He observed as his boyfriend deftly charmed the other partygoers even in his ridiculous costume (the spurs especially seemed to go down well), noted the way his hair curled around his ears, counted the freckles dotting the bride of his nose, watched for the dimple that appeared in his cheek when he laughed.

He only excused himself a few times to top up his drink, and every time he returned, slipping his arm around Theo’s shoulders again, he always paused to shoot him a sweet, special smile reserved just for them. As the evening wore on, it became clearer and clearer that all Wren wanted was to ditch this party and take Theo with him. He wanted to pull off those boots and unbutton his shirt and carry him into the bedroom, and maybe they could pick up where they left off, even if that just involved lying in bed wrapped in each other’s arms. Keeping up the facade that he cared about any of the other people here was getting too difficult.

It was maybe a couple of hours in when Wren decided he wanted to sit down.

While Lindsey was still hovering around nearby, Mindy had wandered off and had been replaced with a guy called Craig who Wren thought had gone to college with Ursula (though he wasn’t completely sure), plus another woman whose name he either hadn’t caught or didn’t remember, and they were all listening to her tell a boring story the details of which he hadn’t been following despite pretending to be paying attention. Wren was standing behind Theo, his arms looped loosely around his waist, and he was comfortable, but he knew they’d be more comfortable sitting down, and they were only about three feet away from the sofa. They could sit down and Theo could still listen to the boring conversation and it would be the perfect compromise.

It made sense.

So he kissed Theo’s neck, took a step back, and pulled him into his lap.

Mindy gasped theatrically and Lindsey laughed when Wren gave the most perfect answer to the math question, mouths curved up in delighted smiles while Theo applauded, grinning up at him.

He didn’t check if the answer was correct – of fucking course it was.

Theo took the drink when offered, closing his eyes and smiling when he felt Wren lean down to press a soft kiss his temple. When he reopened them, Lindsey wore a kind of fawning smile and Mira had brought her hand up over her heart, grinning up at Wren approvingly. Some movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, only to spot another couple from across the room smiling sweetly at them, making small gestures to where Wren and Theo stood to get the attention of the woman they were engaged in conversation with.

Theo frowned at this. He hadn’t forgotten the Facebook post Kelly had taken upon herself to write. He’d read the entirety of it thanks to Robin, after showing up to the Ruskin store a few minutes early one afternoon and finding himself with some time to kill. He kind of wished he hadn’t, especially when the descriptors the good people of Cannon Beach apparently identified him with were Gay, Disabled and Skinny. And it was hard to forget that one of the people most thrilled by the gossip was standing right in front of him. Harder to forget the one guy who called Wren a fag.

(An in-person visit to Sweet Basil’s a week later had resulted in Theo exacting his revenge in a most satisfying way which he would never, ever take credit for despite Robin insisting he was an evil genius.)

Still, it was easy to forget Wren’s sexuality was news to a lot of people, especially when his sexual identity seemed to be one of the few things Wren never seemed too fussed about. On Theo’s part, however, he always felt a little apprehensive about being himself in a room full of people he didn’t know, but he took some solace in the fact that Wren was comfortable enough to wrap his arm around his shoulders and pull him close.  That he felt safe enough to kiss him.

The thought warmed him. Theo smiled, leaning his head against Wren’s chest and hooking his fingers in his suspenders, deciding then to just feel happy to be out at a party with his boyfriend, raising the glass to his lips and taking a drink.

Which turned out to be his first mistake of the evening. The unexpected burn of far too much alcohol greeted him. The drink Wren had made for him tasted like a glassful of rum with some Coke thrown in for colour, and was just horrendous. He wasn’t much of a drinker anymore, but even back when he was it would have pushed his boundaries for what made an acceptable cocktail. Theo tried swallowing but coughed instead, the sting of spiced rum exploding in his throat and sending a stab of pain through his chest. He raised a fist to his mouth and shut his eyes as he swallowed, and once he did, looked up curiously at Wren through watering eyes, wondering, What the fuck?

But Wren just smiled (did he seem more removed, than usual?), and Theo couldn’t help but respond with one in kind, however meek. And thus, the evening wore on. He hadn’t been able to finish the drink Wren had prepared, convinced that it would make his liver pack up and leave, so he’d given it to Wren who’d accepted it without comment. Partygoers came and went, and he lost count of the times Wren drifted off to talk to other people. On one such occasion, Warren had stopped by with a glass of wine for Theo, which he gratefully took and noticed immediately that it had been from the bottle he’d brought.

Wren always returned, however, announcing his presence by sweetly sliding his hands over his shoulders or touching his waist or fiddling with his bandana. As the hours sped by, however, Wren’s boldness had increased exponentially, and by ten o’clock Theo could feel a hand slide into his back jeans pocket, handily cupping that which should not be cupped in public. Theo promptly put a stop to it by cheekily elbowing Wren in the ribs, though a cursory look around confirmed that he probably shouldn’t have worried. While the party was nothing close to a drunken rager, enough alcohol seemed to be flowing that most of the attendees were rosy cheeked and immersed in conversation.

Following his small chastisement, Wren then seemed content to stand behind Theo, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his hands in a knot on his stomach while Imogen recounted to them and Craig the trip she’d just taken to Mount Everest. Wren pulled him close against his body, and Theo reached up to squeeze his arm, holding a freshly topped up wine glass in the other. Though to be fair he barely noticed Wren, enraptured as he was by Imogen’s story of how her and her friend had gotten separated from the guides during an unexpected blizzard. Craig had begun quizzing her on how she’d managed to survive the night, when Theo felt Wren’s lips against his neck, his breath warm against his ear, and his hands tightening around his stomach.  

Suddenly, Theo was losing balance, and to his absolute terror found that he was falling backwards. His heart jumped into his throat, teeth clenching as he toppled over, tensing up his body in anticipation of the unavoidable pain that would come with the impact of hitting the floor. His elbow met something solid as he flailed, and he gasped as he fell into Wren’s lap, stunned and unmoving for a few long moments save for his heart pounding in his chest.

He wasn’t hurt, he realized slowly, but his shirt was wet. And too late, Theo realized he’d dropped the wine glass, which lay shattered across the floor. Imogen had stopped talking and she and Craig stared at them, along with – to Theo’s horror – the rest of the room.

Unbearable heat flooded his cheeks, and he knew what this must of looked like. Theo squirmed out of Wren’s lap, his knees weak and his hands shaking as he managed to clumsily right himself. Which did nothing but add to his absolute shame.

“Wren, what the hell is wrong with you.” Theo snapped, trying to keep his voice quiet and even as he backed away. The curtness of his admonishment surprised even him, and it was only then did Theo realize how scared he’d been. He stared down at his wine stained shirt, and then the shattered glass on the floor. And then finally, to make eye contact with Ursula from across the room, who seemed wholly unimpressed.

“I – I’ll get a broom.”

And with that, Theo excused himself to make his way to the kitchen.

He was followed soon after by a very helpful Warren, who’d come with a t-shirt for Theo to borrow and then listened sympathetically as he apologized. Warren, to his credit, assured him it wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened in Ursula’s mom’s house. 

And while Theo went to bathroom to change, Warren went off to the living room, armed with Resolve, paper towels and a broom. The t-shirt was of course gigantic on Theo, as Warren had half a foot and probably a hundred pounds on him.

But he was grateful.

“Sunseeker Yachts?”  Theo asked as Warren returned to the kitchen holding a plastic bag undoubtedly full of shards of glass, pointing to the logo stamped onto the t-shirt. And what followed was a twenty minute discussion on the merits of British boat companies compared to American – a conversation that to anyone else would be a lesson in tedium. The conversation ended only when Robin entered the kitchen, huffing indignantly at the sight of Theo.

“Do you know what’s going on with Wren?” Theo asked tentatively, suddenly feeling small as she settled the full force of her glare onto him. Jesus – his mother really could learn a thing or two from her.

“How the fuck should I know? Or care, for that matter?” She snorted, then. “Even if he wanted to tell anyone he’s so far up your butt nobody would be able hear him.”

Theo frowned and Warren laughed nervously, wincing visibly as he ushered her away. He shrugged apologetically at Theo, before disappearing back into the lounge.  

Theo had his own drunk Ruskin to take care of, so after filling up a glass he’d taken from the cupboard, decided it was time to talk to Wren. He poked his head into each room, spotting nothing but people having a good time and no sign of the one person who wasn’t. His search took him through the lounge and living room, peering out the front door out onto the front porch, and finally, standing in front of a spooky looking door that had been left ajar. He could hear the sounds of a cartoon being played from somewhere in its depths, and with a determined grimace, kicked off his boots. 

As he started down the dark stairwell, Theo breathed evenly as he felt a bout of vertigo threaten to take hold. He paused, gripped the railing tighter and glancing up at a spot on the ceiling, before continuing on his way. The stairs were steep and he was quite frankly an idiot for even trying them. But the faraway sound of Kitty Catty’s theme music prompted him onwards.

Finally, Theo came to the bottom of the stairs, where the soles of his feet met a cold, hard floor. As he turned the corner, the sight of a tiny Olivia sitting neatly on the floor greeted him. He only then noticed Wren, sprawled out on a too-small sofa. The unfinished room was dark besides the bright blue glow from Olivia’s tablet, and unfurnished besides an old 70s-era sofa. It was cold and hardly inviting, and he wondered why of all the rooms in the house, this was where they’d both independently decided to go.

Probably because it was the best place for hiding.

“Hey, Olivia.” Theo greeted as he approached them. He stood over her for a moment, watching what was playing on the tablet.

“Is this the episode where they find the treasure chest in the captain’s cabin?” He asked, and Olivia nodded but otherwise barely acknowledge his arrival, not even looking up from the tablet perched atop her knees.

Theo sat down on the couch, setting the glass of water down onto the floor and easing Wren over to make room. He sighed as he took him in – too tall for the couch to be anything but uncomfortable, looking miserable and unhappy.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you.” Theo murmured softly. He found his hand and gripped it tightly, intertwining their fingers. “I just – I don’t like being taken by surprise like that. I’m not steady on my feet and it just … Freaks me out.”

He didn't talk about how Wren should have known better. Theo bit his lip, leaning forward to touch the side of Wren’s face. His eyes seemed faraway and empty, even more so now than before.

“Is … There something else bugging you?” Theo finally felt equipped to ask, after taking into account the way Wren had seemed all night. The uncharacteristic drinking, the arguing with Robin, and the removed way he’d seemed even before they’d arrived at Ursula’s. Theo sighed, rubbing his thumb over his cheek bone.

“If it’s Robin and you want to leave, I’m okay with that.” Theo squeezed his hand tightly. 

“We can go home."

Wren only realised something was wrong when Theo wriggled out of his lap. He’d chalked the sharp pain in his chest up to an accident, missed the glass spilling and shattering, and hadn’t noticed the sudden, heavy silence which had fallen across the room until Theo’s voice broke it. His words were cold and sharp, like a slap to the face, and it felt like a curtain lifting, revealing the second act of a play he’d missed the first half of.

Slowly, softly, the terrible scene came into focus.

The shards of glass on the floor, scattered amidst the pooling wine. The eyes of the other guests boring into him. Robin, in the corner with Warren, watching with an undisguised sneer. And Theo in the middle of it all, a dark bloom spreading across his chest, wearing an unreadable expression on his face. He looked like he’d been shot, and Wren had the horrible feeling that he’d hurt him somehow, maybe not physically, but maybe that made it worse.

He could feel his face heating, warmth spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and he felt like he should say something, but he couldn’t speak. He didn’t know what he’d done but he knew he’d fucked up, and Theo was mad at him and he didn’t know how to fix it. What was wrong with him?

“I...” he started, but Theo was already leaving, tailed by Warren of all the fucking people, and everybody was staring but he didn’t care because he didn’t look back, not even once. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, staring at the door, wondering whether he should go after him, or whether Theo even wanted him to. It was only the reappearance of Warren with a broom and some paper towels that prompted him to mutter an excuse nobody heard and get up to exit the room, only because he couldn’t sit there and watch someone else clean up his mess.

He didn’t know where he was going until he found himself peering into every room, looking for Theo. But he wasn’t in the hall, or the dining room, or the kitchen, or out on the porch, or anywhere else he could think to look. Where was he? As he took a second round, pausing in the doorway to the dining room, his words from earlier rang through his head, their tone amplified on every echo, harsh and cutting. He shut his eyes and Theo’s face filled his thoughts, and in his memory he looked cold, and hurt, and angry. And why wouldn’t he be? He had every right to be angry.

Then, a terrible thought struck him. Had… had he left? The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Wren had ruined his shirt, embarrassed him, wrecked his night. It was totally conceivable that he might have wanted to ditch the party and go home. Without him.

Wren started to feel light-headed all of a sudden, and he leant against the dining room’s doorframe, trying to keep his balance. Theo couldn’t have left without him. He wouldn’t do that, would he? But maybe… maybe this had been coming for a while. Thinking back, seemingly innocuous moments from earlier on that evening seemed to take on a darker tone—Theo elbowing him in the ribs when he’d slipped a hand in his pocket, or refusing to finish the drink he’d made him, or even how he’d been so quick to get out of bed earlier. He’d even made a comment about—something about all Wren wanted to do was stay in bed, which had seemed like a joke, but—God. He’d been annoying him all night.

He felt sick. He could hear Robin’s voice in his head complaining about him spending too much with Theo, and he wondered, suddenly, whether Theo felt the same way. Had he heard their argument? Was that what he’d done wrong?

Fuck. He couldn’t do this any more. He needed to be somewhere quiet, away from the other guests, away from Robin or Warren or anyone else who might want to taunt him or talk to him or ask him if he was OK, but he’d just looked everywhere in the house, and it was full of people. Upstairs, maybe? A quick glance and he knew that it wouldn’t work. There was too much traffic, people using the bathroom, and the only room he would normally have felt comfortable using was Robin’s, but that was out of the question, now, obviously. There were too many people outside, but even if there wasn’t, people were still coming and going and the risk of being discovered was too great.

He couldn’t go back to Theo’s. And the thought of seeing his parents like this was unbearable.

But, maybe…

The stairs didn’t just go up. There was a basement… unused for the moment except for storage, dark and miserable and unlikely to be occupied. Wren glanced at the stairs leading down to the door, and bit his lip, and before he really knew what he was doing, went for it. It was only when he got there that he remembered Ursula normally kept it locked, but somehow, miraculously, it swung open at his touch, and he slipped through it, pulling it to behind him.

The way down was narrow and steep but Wren kept a hand on the wall to guide him and he made it down unscathed. He was so busy concentrating on staying upright that he didn’t realise he wasn’t as alone as he thought he’d be up until he’d reached the bottom step. Sitting on the floor with her legs crossed was Olivia, leaning against the sofa, headphones on and watching something on a tablet perched on her lap. She only looked up after Wren took a few steps towards her, but just wrinkled her nose before turning her attention back to the tablet.

“Hey,” said Wren feeling awkward. “What are you doing down here?”

Olivia slid her headphones off, but didn’t look up. “Can’t sleep. You?”

“Uh.” Shit. He realised he hadn’t thought of a believable excuse, but honestly, he was tired of lying, so he just sighed. “Hiding.” He gestured towards the sofa. “Can I sit here?”

She shrugged, which he took to take as an affirmative, so he sat down, peering over her shoulder at the tablet. “Is that that show you like?”

“Kitty Catty,” she said, still glued to the screen. He realised she was dressed like one of the characters, actually, in a onesie with the hood down. It looked soft and warm, which made him feel cold, and he tucked his feet up underneath him. It was only then that he realised she’d unplugged her headphones, so he could hear too, and he smiled, and gave her a little nudge in thanks.

They didn’t talk, which was fine. She raised the volume a little and he lay down on the couch to get a better angle (and, honestly, because he didn’t want to sit up any more), but he couldn’t concentrate on the bright, moving pictures or parse the dialogue, even after she switched the subtitles on for him. His mind kept replaying the past few hours over in his head. The accident. The argument. The awkward taxi ride over, Theo beneath him, still wearing that stupid bandana, then earlier, tracing a line down his jaw, right after sticking his toy gun into his sternum.

And then, of course, there was the phone call from Carina, the thing he’d been trying so hard not to think about all night, now, somehow, the least bad thing which had happened to him that evening. He was going to have to go back to New York, he realised. Not just for the paperwork or to clear his desk or whatever, but… all his stuff, in storage, he’d have to figure out what to do with that. And his apartment, and subletter, he’d have to sort that out somehow. Switch banks. Update his address on everything. Probably a million other things he hadn’t thought of yet. But before any of that, he’d have to tell people. His parents. Theo. Scotty, maybe, because he was going to need somewhere to stay while he organised his shit.

Thinking about it made his stomach churn, his head spin. He couldn’t even find the balls to go home. How the fuck was he supposed to make it through the next week?

So, he almost didn’t notice Theo when he appeared at the bottom of the stairs, save for a flash of billowing fabric at the edge of his vision. It took him a moment to work out what was different. He’d changed out of his shirt, and lost the vest too, and his boots, and even his hat, though Wren thought that might have happened a while back. At least he still had the bandana, even if it didn’t go with the huge t-shirt he’d swapped his shirt for.

Wren watched with trepidation as he approached them, glancing away as their eyes met, folding into himself as Theo joined him on the sofa.

So… he was still here, then. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He couldn’t even look at him.

Theo’s touch took him by surprise and he flinched instinctively, yanking his hand away before he really knew what he was doing. There was a part of him which only wanted to wrap his arms around Theo, to pull him into an embrace and lose himself so badly it hurt, but at the same time… it just…

It just felt wrong, somehow, hollow and confusing. He couldn’t reconcile this Theo with the one he remembered, the one he’d been piecing together in his mind, who was angry and fed up and had abandoned him, and figuring out what was real and what wasn’t seemed like another monumentous task to add to a growing list of monumentous tasks. And even if Theo was sincere, even if this had just been a misunderstanding which had spiralled out of control, the fact remained that he still didn’t know how to express any of the things he wanted to say.

Fuck.

Wren swallowed, hugged himself, tucking his hands into his armpits. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again, gazing across the empty basement to a dark spot on the concrete floor. When he spoke, he almost didn’t recognise his own voice, distant and thick and low.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to surprise you. I just…” Just… he’d just wanted to sit down. Why couldn’t he say it?

What was wrong with him?

“I’m not okay.” The admission came out suddenly, whispered, like a secret he didn’t know he’d been keeping.

It should have made him feel better, but it didn’t. As he curled his fingers across his side, avoiding Theo’s gaze, he just felt pathetic.

“You don’t… you can stay, if you want. But I think I need to go.”

Anger was supposed to protect him.

He’d felt it in the washroom, as he ran the sink and unbuttoned his shirt, pumping furious fistfuls of soap into his open palm and scrubbing it into the sodden, probably ruined folds of flannel. He felt it as he’d stared at himself in the mirror, shirtless and self-conscious of the voices in the hall, as they carried on about who the fuck is in there, and why are they taking so long? He felt it most sourly as he pulled Warren’s t-shirt over his head, and felt baffled by the way it swamped his body. 

If his anger was loud, if his anger was justified, it would prove that he was right and the other person was wrong. There were winners and losers in every fight, in every argument and every quarrel, and just as he was in every other aspect of his life, Theo was determined to be the winner. 

And Theo had wanted to be mad at Wren. He really did. Wren had violated what Theo believed to be a pretty simple rule, perhaps not explicitly stated but certainly grounded in common sense. It seemed like a good enough way to get the message across that he was upset, and would remain so should his behaviour continue. While this strategy hadn’t worked with Ben, who’d rarely taken him seriously and whose defensiveness had only fuelled countless public shouting matches, he’d be damned if he repeated the same behaviour with Wren. He needed him to understand the things Theo was comfortable with, and those he was not.

But as it turned out, the twenty minutes he’d taken to cool off talking boats with Warren in the kitchen had been a wise decision. By the time of his descent down the creepy basement stairs, his anger had boiled down to a simple nag of annoyance. And annoyance was much easier to let go of, especially once he laid eyes on the unmoving, supine figure of his boyfriend sprawled across the couch.

And as Theo went to sit beside Wren, he was reminded that this wasn’t his ex-boyfriend. And he didn’t deserve to be treated like he was.

Something broke inside him when Wren tugged his hand away from his touch. Theo sat back, only a little bit stunned. He felt something like an empty pit expanding inside his chest, squeezing his heart and making it hard to breathe, and briefly glanced away as he tried to get a handle on his own feelings. But Wren wouldn’t even look at him. Even in the darkness, aided only by the flickering glow from Olivia’s screen, he could see the expression on his face, the tension in his body. And he realized that none of the adjectives that came to mind fully encapsulated the way Wren had folded into himself, or the tight line of his mouth, or the anxious crease of worry furrowing his eyes. He just looked … Sad. And Theo couldn’t rid himself of the slow, heavy dread sinking over him, or shake off the feeling that something had changed between them.

Theo exhaled, features softening when Wren admitted that he wasn’t okay. This in itself felt like a monumental achievement, and even if the words made him feel heartsick he felt a modicum of relief.  

“It’s okay.” Theo whispered, after a heavy moment. He shut his eyes, squeezing them tight for a few moments before opening them.   

The flickering lights of Kitty Catty lit up Wren’s face blue, then pink, then lime green. A nauseating carousel of colour. The music pounding from upstairs, shaking the floorboards and combining with the shrill voices of the cartoon to create something altogether unpleasant and jarring. Theo felt with a sudden urgency the need to get Wren out of here. He wanted to take him home where they were safe and things were simple. He wanted to put him to bed and pull him close and hold him tightly, so he knew he was loved. Anything to get rid of that look on his face. Anything to make him smile again.

Theo leaned forward, resting his hands on Wren’s stomach. A fevered heat radiated from his body, and he felt clammy to the touch.

“I’m not leaving you.” Theo murmured, tilting his head to the side. He was worried about him, and he couldn’t believe Wren thought he would just abandon him.

“I just need to get my stuff, and then I’ll take you home. Okay?”

With one furtive glance back, Theo crept back upstairs. He’d been worried about having to explain why they were leaving, but he found he shouldn’t have. It was surprisingly easy to sneak out of Ursula’s without anybody noticing. A quick check of his watch confirmed that it was only 11 p.m., but as Theo crept back upstairs, found little evidence of a party other than discarded plastic cups and napkins. A loud bang from outside, followed by cheering and applause confirmed that somebody had bought fireworks, so the party had spilled out into the backyard where cigarette and marijuana smoke mingled with the laughter and shouts of the partygoers. Only a few people remained inside, and was luckily enough nobody Theo knew. Once he’d located his scattered belongings (besides his hat, which he’d seen on multiple heads throughout the evening) he went back downstairs to collect Wren, feeling overwhelming relief when he, at the prompting of the taxi Theo had summoned beeping its horn twice, finally made to stand up.

That was one problem solved.  

Which turned out to be only one of many. At least he’s pliant when he’s drunk, Theo found himself thinking as he helped manoeuvre Wren out the side entrance of the basement. He couldn’t imagine dealing with any kind of belligerence, and Wren seemed to respond well enough to being told what to do when he was in this state.

Once inside the cab, Theo gave the driver directions up to his house on Radar Road. He held Wren’s limp hand in his, rubbing his thumb in a small circle against the inside of his palm, his worry for him having abated only slightly now that they had left the party. As the cab pulled away he peered out the window, back at Ursula’s house. He could make out the shapes of people in the backyard, and just managed to catch a brief glimpse of a firework lighting up the night sky, followed by a loud crack in the air and delighted laughter, before the car turned the corner and the house slipped out of sight.

His property was pitch black when the cab dropped them off. The tall Sitka spruces indiscriminately blocked out both moonlight as well as the weak orange glow of the streetlamps from the highway, and he had to hold onto Wren’s arm as he navigated towards the front door, cursing himself for once again putting off installing a porch light. Theo unlocked the door with his phone and flicked on the lights to the hallway and kitchen, hanging up his cane and ditching the wrinkled bundle of his cowboy costume on the credenza by the door. He thought it would be wise to get some sort of food or drink into Wren, and he turned to him, a question already forming on his lips.

“Wren, do you want something to eat? There’s leftovers from dinner, or something a little lighter … “  

Theo turned, only to see Wren immediately but silently heading for the bedroom. This did not surprise Theo, but he watched nonetheless, sure that any attempt to keep the worry from his face pointless. Wren’s steps were somehow less steady than even Theo’s, his shoulders slumped and eyes tired, and he couldn’t help but note the way he gripped the doorframe as if for support. Once out of sight, he could hear the muffled sounds of him undressing in the dark, the creak of the bedframe as Wren fell into bed. Violet emerged from the little den she’d created for herself in his laundry room, and ran in after him.

And then there was nothing.  

He felt a breath leave his body when he found himself alone. And as he stared around his home, standing still in the silence and darkness of the unlit kitchen, he realized he felt alone. He hadn’t realized how long it had been, since he’d felt well and truly alone. Definitely not since he’d started Wren. But this was different – worse, somehow - and he didn’t know what to do, with this upset man who wouldn’t, or couldn’t, tell him what was wrong but was clearly hurting. He’d been acting strange all evening, and he was pretty sure it had started well before Theo had snapped at him.

Fuck. He wanted – needed – to talk to someone. But it was 2:00 a.m. in New York, so his mom wasn’t an option. Robin was drunk and didn’t seem interested in anything to do with Wren at the moment. Lydia was definitely asleep, and he didn’t think Wren shutting off his brain was considered a big emergency to call and wake her up. He briefly considered Lindsey, or even Warren, before realizing what a bad idea that would be.

He just wanted someone to talk to, and the only person he actually wanted to speak to wouldn’t even look at him.  

Maybe there was nothing for him to do except care for him. Wren had drunk a lot tonight and would probably be hungover tomorrow, and at the very least Theo could help with that. But as he shuffled about the kitchen, filling up a glass with tepid water and searching through his cupboards for something Wren would eat, his thoughts persisted. Wren wasn’t a talker. Theo could say over and over again how he knew this, but the truth of what it actually meant hadn’t really sunk in. And it was worrying and frustrating and hurtful, all at once. He wanted so badly to help him, but Wren wouldn’t let him and it made him feel crazy.

As he opened a cabinet to reach for the box of fig newtons, the sound of a phone vibrating nearby momentarily halted his obsessing. Theo glanced over his shoulder, placing the box on the counter as his other hand fell to his back pocket, running his hand reassuringly over the shape of his phone. It must have been Wren’s. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t think Wren had even brought it to the party, which in and of itself wasn’t that odd. But he thought he might want it now, if only to be able to check the time.

Holding the plate of cookies in one hand and the glass of water in the other, Theo rounded the island and turned off the lights. As he went to pick up Wren’s phone, it buzzed again. Theo frowned, picking it up and twisting it over so he could see the screen.

And he wished he hadn’t.

Ryan H

Hey man, I heard the news. I know we didn’t get to talk much while you were here but it’s a bummer to see you go. Maybe we can grab a drink or something while you’re still in town.  

He felt his mouth go dry, and a  thick, heavy lump settle in his throat.

Setting the plate down, Theo brought the phone up closer to his face. He reread the text over and over again, until the meaning of each word was twisted this way and that in search of understanding. The screen burned his eyes in the darkness, but he couldn’t look away. Not now. Not when he was finally getting answers he needed. Not when he could feel his life – the life he’d wanted for so long – falling apart before his eyes.

Wren was moving back to New York. There was no other explanation for the text from Ryan, whose name Theo didn’t recognize but must have been from Cannon Beach. Or for Wren’s behaviour that night. Theo looked towards the bedroom, feeling dread settle in a heavy pit at the bottom of his stomach. Is this what Wren had been keeping from him all night? Is this why he hadn’t been able to tell him what was wrong?

He was going back to New York, and Theo was the last to know. It just made too much sense to deny. He recalled Wren’s explanation of his current employment status, which to be honest had never really satisfied Theo’s fears that he might move back to New York. And it had always sounded like he would go back when he was feeling better. And now he was. And now he was leaving him.

He’d been worried all night about losing Wren, but as it turned out, it was too late.  

Shutting his eyes tight, Theo could feel his hands shaking as he went to pick up the plate and glass of water. He tried to tell himself that he should wait to hear the news from Wren before freaking out. But it didn’t work, and he could it already happening.

But at least he could fake it.

A few valium gave him the courage to go to bed. Theo stood over Wren’s unmoving form for a few moments too long, feeling dazed and wondering how long he would be able to keep it from Wren that he knew his secret. Or what he going to do without him. How was Wren going to do it?

What was he going to do when Wren broke up with him?

Taking a deep breath, he set the plate and glass he’d almost forgotten he was holding down on the table beside Wren, followed by his phone. He undressed slowly, pulling on a pair of soft cashmere sweats and a white t-shirt before climbing into bed. Wren was still radiating heat, and Theo shut his eyes as he came in close, hands diving beneath his t-shirt and wrapping his arms around his chest tight. He buried his face into the back of his neck and breathed deeply, pressing his nose into the space between his jaw and his earlobe.

“Wren?” Theo whispered. His voice shook, and he swallowed. Before taking a deep breath and trying again. “I-I love you. You know that, right?”

He waited in silence for a response, holding his breath. But nothing.

Even if Wren hadn’t heard him, at least Theo had gotten the chance to say it before it was too late.  

Theo didn’t sleep.

But, thanks to his enthusiastic self-medicating, he’d managed to stop worrying so much about Wren’s eventual abandonment, letting the cushioning reassurance of Valium and Wren’s progressively laboured breathing distract him from the jumbled thoughts knocking around in his head. He knew the signs of someone about to vomit, and his clammy, feverish skin and shaky breathing pointed to just that. So when Wren stumbled out of bed, Theo shut his eyes, choosing to give him space. It seemed like a good decision. The bathroom door closing did little to hide the sounds of someone expelling the better part of a bottle of rum from his system, and he wasn’t sure what help he could offer anyway.

A few minutes later the sound of a toilet flushing jolted him out of his haze, and Theo opened his eyes, tilting his head to the side to look out into the dimly lit hall. The door opened, but instead of Wren coming back to bed he heard the soft sounds of bare feet padding across polished concrete. He then heard patio door slide open, and then gently slide shut.

Theo frowned, hauling himself up so he was sitting. A few minutes later he was wrapping a blanket around his shoulders and picking up the untouched glass of water, following Wren outside.  

It was cold out, on the deck. The moon was bright at least, shining off the gentle swells rolling through the ocean down below. He found Wren sitting on the floor of the patio, looking no less miserable than he had all night.

At least Theo knew why, now. The valium had numbed him enough to this fact, and at least he was in no danger of getting upset anymore.

“Do you want some company?”

Theo handed the glass to him, before gripping his shoulder and ungracefully sinking into a sitting position beside him. He winced as he hit the floor, but otherwise made no comment. There were more comfortable seating options, but maybe sitting on the floor was just where Wren wanted to be right now.

Theo draped one half of the blanket around Wren’s shoulders. It was cold outside, the warmth from the summer sun having long faded. He pressed his body in close, hoping to offer some comfort.

“If your vision’s spinning, focus on something that isn’t moving.” Theo murmured, coming in close and wrapping his arm around his waist.  

“There – just stare at the birdhouse, in the oak tree over there. Randy nailed it into the tree for me, but I think we put it up too late in the summer.” Theo bit his lip, aware that he was rambling. “Maybe next spring a bird family will move in. That would be nice, right? Having them right here where we can see them.”  

The events of the evening had left Wren’s head jumbled up, like somebody had picked him up and turned him upside down, so when righted, he could no longer tell what was real and what wasn’t. Thus a part of him had resigned itself to the inevitability that Theo, upset like he was, was prepared to send him home while he rejoined the rest of the party, or even worse, leave him curled up on this sofa in the basement to wither and rot.

So when Theo slipped a hand onto his stomach and told him he would take him home, Wren knew that he should have felt something—relief, maybe, or warmth, or gratitude. But all he felt was a gaping hole in the middle of his chest, and the weariness that came from trying to hold it shut. He was tired, and he regretted saying anything. He just wanted to crawl into bed and stay there forever.

He remained silent as Theo stood up, though he did shut his eyes, and only opened them once he was certain he had vanished upstairs. He couldn’t bear to see him yet, couldn’t deal with the concern in his eyes which he’d heard in his voice, the pitying expression he knew he was wearing, the expectation that they’d have to talk about this later, and the creeping worry that all of that might fester into contempt. It hurt, and he ached, and he hated it, but he just couldn’t do it, and he was thankful for the reprieve, which made him feel worse. Slowly, he pushed himself up, swinging his legs around Olivia with care, until he was sitting again. The ground felt reassuringly solid beneath his feet, though the motion made his head spin, and he felt a little like a character on the ship in Olivia’s show, seasick and nauseated, the butt of a joke told by one of the main crew, a veteran of the high seas.

It took him a moment to realise Olivia had said something, though he thought he could be forgiven since she still appeared to be glued to her show. “What was that?” he asked. His voice sounded so hoarse, so unlike himself that he almost missed her response.

“I said, are you going home?” she asked, and all of a sudden Wren realised he couldn’t answer the question, because now, after everything which had happened that evening, he didn’t know where home was any more.

Maybe home could be Theo’s house on the hill, he thought as they travelled back in the taxi, though its quiet, ominous presence as they rounded the corner into the driveway hardly felt welcoming. As he climbed out of the car, Wren’s eyes struggled to make out anything the dark, and he almost jumped when Theo took his arm. Together they stumbled up the porch steps to the front door, but when the lights came on, chasing away the shadows in the corners of the room, he found himself longing for their return. The light was worse, somehow, harsh and too bright, giving everything a hard edge and making it too difficult to hide. He needed to get to bed, where it was soft and safe, before Theo could really, truly see him. As he staggered to the bedroom, leaning against the wall for support, he tried not to think about how it was probably too late for that.

The darkness of the bedroom embraced him, and, working as quickly as he could, he kicked off his boots and socks, slipped the suspenders from his shoulders and unbuttoned his shirt, stripping off items of clothing like he was shedding his skin, until he found himself standing there in just his boxers, cold and trembling. After a moment he pulled on the t-shirt he’d been wearing earlier in the day, which he’d left hanging on the back of the door, before climbing into bed and pulling the covers up, almost over his head. He felt a weight to his side, and for a moment he thought Theo had followed him, but it was just Violet, curling herself up by his feet, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to pretend it was just another day, just for now, so maybe he could fool himself into going to sleep.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there before being tugged back into consciousness by the quiet clink of a plate being set down next to his head, the dip in the mattress next to him, a pair of arms slipping around his middle. It felt better, this time, right, and he wanted to turn over and pull Theo close, but his limbs were heavy and his head felt hazy and he didn’t want to break the fragile peace between them, so he let himself relax, deciding to believe that maybe they could be okay after all.

It was a shame, then, that Theo’s whispered admission came so soon after he’d made his choice. It should have made him happy. It should have been the validation he’d been seeking, permission to feel that warmth and gratitude and relief he’d been incapable of feeling in Ursula’s basement, proof that what he wanted was real. But his body betrayed him. As he lay there, silent, unable to move, his throat closing up and his mouth dry, he just hoped that Theo could forgive him.

Robin had been wrong, when they’d fought.

The last time they’d spent some one-on-one time together had been a couple of weeks later than she’d said, late on a Sunday. Theo had had to go to Portland for a few days, and Wren had joined him. They’d planned to return on Sunday afternoon to join his parents for dinner, but an emergency had come up and it looked like Theo was going to have to extend his stay. Wren had been dithering about whether to get the bus back or not when he’d told Robin, and she’d offered to come pick him up on her way back from Seattle. That way he’d get a few extra hours with Theo and still make it back to Cannon Beach in time.

So when Robin texted him to say she was downstairs, Theo walked him down to the ground floor of the Loft. They’d said goodbye with a long, sweet kiss and a murmured promise to call each other later before Wren slid into the passenger seat of Robin’s Honda, tossing his bag into the trunk. As she pulled out, he leant his head against the window, watching Theo’s figure grow smaller in the wing mirror, his fingertips still tingling at the memory of Theo’s touch. He missed him already, and while he knew he’d see him again in a couple of days, and that someone had to make sure Violet was fed, a part of him deeply regretted not staying on.

“Hello, Earth to Wren,” said Robin, waving a hand in front of his face, jolting him out of his thoughts. “I said, do you want to go see if Pip’s is still open? You know Mom loves their donuts.”

“What?” Donuts? It took him a moment to switch gears. “Oh. Yeah, sure. Whatever you want. You’re in charge.”

Robin glanced at him, shaking her head. “Man. You have it bad, huh. Who would’ve thought.”

He looked over at her. “What do you mean?”

“Just, you know. I’ve never seen you like this around anyone before.”

“Oh.” Wren looked away again, suddenly self-conscious. “Well. I’m sorry?”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” she said, flicking on her indicator. “It’s sweet. How long have you been seeing each other? Two weeks?”

“Three.” Three weeks and two days, to be precise. Not that he’d been counting.

“This is like, the longest relationship you’ve ever had, right?”

Wren frowned. “Not exactly,” he said, maybe a bit defensively. He couldn’t work out if she was teasing him or if she genuinely didn’t know. “But it’s the longest relationship I’ve had with someone I actually like.”

She snorted. “You like math. You like spending Sunday mornings reading the Economist. I don’t think you ‘like’ Theo.”

“Okay, fine. I like him a lot.” Wren stared out of the window at the passing traffic. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t want you to say anything,” she said. “I’m happy for you. It’s just...”

Fuck, he just wished she’d say what she meant.

“Just what?”

“Just. Be careful, okay?”

“What are you trying to say?” His tone took on a steely edge, and Robin must have noticed, because she chewed her lip and looked away.

“I…” she started, then stopped, sighing. “Okay. Look. I didn’t know you two were going to hit it off so well. I mean, I know what it’s like when you first start dating someone. It’s been a while since we were in school together, and I wouldn’t say he had a reputation, exactly, but Theo wasn’t really… known… for having stable, healthy relationships.” At the look on his face, she hurriedly added, “I mean, obviously I like him, and he was, and is, my friend, but… he’s done some shitty things. Maybe he’s better now. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

She hesitated, like she was going to say something else, but she didn’t have to. Wren knew what she was thinking. Too much, too fast. There was no way things could be as good as he thought they were. He was deluded and he wasn’t capable of taking care of himself.

“He likes me too,” he said.

“I’m sure he does,” she said, so pitying he wanted to scream. “But… three weeks ago, he was dating a teenager.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Wren...” she started, but he cut her off.

“I really don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“Fine,” she said, stabbing the button to switch on the radio, twisting the dial to raise the volume. They carried on like that, their tense silence filled in with the sounds of chatter on NPR. It was only after they’d merged onto the highway that Wren realised they’d forgotten to get the donuts.

The wave of nausea hit him hard, travelling from his stomach up his chest and into his throat, where it stuck, making him heave. He was hardly aware of himself as he staggered out of bed and into the bathroom, and he barely made it to the toilet before retching up a string of sharp-tasting bile. The smell made it worse, and soon he was throwing up again, properly this time, violently emptying the contents of his stomach into the once-pristine bowl.

When he was finished, the back of his mouth burning, his mouth dry, he sat there for a few moments, resting his head against the cool porcelain of the cistern, trying very hard not to feel sorry for himself, and failing miserably. He wanted to go back to bed, but the thought of lying down made him feel sick again, so after flushing the toilet and washing his hands, he padded out of the bathroom and onto the deck, where, at least, it felt like he could breathe.

He lowered himself down onto the floor, bringing his legs up to hug them against his chest, before burying his face in his knees. All he could think was how unfair this was, this whole situation, but also how he couldn’t blame anybody but himself. Nobody else was responsible for his drinking, or for upsetting Theo, or for fighting with Robin or for fucking up his career. When he’d avoided checking his emails, or answering calls from a New York number, there hadn’t been anybody else there, holding him at gunpoint. He’d known that at the time, too, that everything he’d been putting off would come back to bite him.

Maybe that was the worst part. He’d just stood by and watched as his life fell apart, hoping that somebody else would come along and deal with it for him.

Well, he guessed they’d done just that, and now he was here, alone, adrift. His eyes were wet, he realised, and his knees, but there was nothing he could do except hold himself tighter, dig his fingernails into the cold, bare skin of his legs, and try to anchor himself before he floated away, like the last time this had happened.

The sound of the door sliding open made him jump, and he quickly unfolded to wipe his eyes and glance up as Theo came to join him out on the deck. A feeling a little like dread seeped through him as he realised he couldn’t hide it any longer—that this was going to be it, the final confrontation, that maybe this thing they’d built between them was also about to shatter and he couldn’t outrun it any more.

He braced himself, waiting for the impact, but… it never came. Instead, Theo handed him a glass of water and sat down beside him, draping a blanket around his shoulders and slipping an arm around his waist. Wren’s head spun; he couldn’t understand what was happening, or why Theo was talking about birds, but he knew he was relieved, and warm, and so, so grateful for this wonderful, amazing man who was somehow still by his side.

He reached for Theo’s hand, his fingers fumbling against the blanket, and when he found it, he squeezed it, hard.

“I’m so sorry,” he started. His throat felt raw, his voice scratchy. “For today. I just… I wanted you to have a good time. The call I got, before we left. It wasn’t Robin.” His eyes were wet again, he realised, silent tears threatening to overspill, and he swallowed. “It was my boss. In New York. They… I’m not… it’s my fault. I didn’t tell them what was happening here, and she said they had to let me go.”

His body seemed to hum as he sat beside Wren, sinking into the heat his body seemed to radiate and being pulled under by the whispering of the trees around them. His eyes felt tired – lids heavy and something that should have been a headache creeping just behind them. He knew it was the Valium that made these things – among others – feel inconsequential. He tried to care.

He wanted this thing currently happening between them to feel that way, even when he knew was not. He had a nagging feeling this was a conversation that was a long time coming, and possibly one they should have had much earlier, if only they hadn’t gotten so caught up in the lazy Sundays and the trips to the Portland farmers’ market. It was important, the same way he knew an unopened letter from his doctor was important. The same way a missed called from his father was important. These were all things that came accompanied by a creeping feeling dread, that Theo always felt was better off ignored or forgotten about. The letter went shoved into a drawer, and the notification was promptly swiped off his screen.

The thing Theo really liked about Valium was that it made him feel like he could handle anything. It made the dread that always came with calling his mother to tell her once again he wasn’t going to make it for this holiday or that birthday disappear. It soothed the anxiety that came with going out somewhere unfamiliar, like a restaurant or a bar (what if the only washroom was in the basement, down a set of steep stairs? What if there was only bar seating and he had to explain why he couldn’t sit in a stool?). It made him feel in control, when feeling such a thing was often hard to come by when he left his home.  

It made him feel brave, when it was the last thing he felt.

Wren’s voice, when he started speaking, was low, and rattled in his chest. Different now, than how he had been in the basement, where he was reluctant and blocked off and despondent. And it, along with the way Wren had sought out his hand, the way he squeezed it so tightly Theo could feel his bones shifting, was how he knew it was coming.

Theo shut his eyes, pulling in closer to Wren’s body to rest his head against his shoulder. He didn’t think Wren would break up with him outright, but the remaining options didn’t seem too appealing either. Long distance would be tough, Theo thought to himself, and he doubted very much he was strong enough to weather a bi-coastal relationship. He hated flying. Hated New York even more. And from some comments Martin had made a few weeks ago, he knew Wren wasn’t the type to visit often. Maybe they would try it for a few months, before what they had, as loving and warm as it was, fizzled away and dried up. When they ran out of things to talk about and the phone calls dwindled to once or twice a week, and the excuses for why they couldn’t visit piled up.

The thought led to a shallow, shuddering breath escaping his body. It was too dreadful a thought to bear.  When he slumped his shoulders and turned into Wren’s body, he could feel how he was warm and solid beside him. He pulled the blanket in closer, pressing the side of his face into Wren’s shoulder, where he could feel the way the other man’s body was shaking, small earthquake tremors shuddering up the length of Wren’s spine.

Theo squeezed Wren’s hand back, as hard as he could. His arm around his waist tugged him closer.

“It’s okay.” Theo breathed, after Wren began speaking, where he apologized again and admitted he’d just wanted him to have a good time. He almost repeated himself – it’s okay, but I’m not, and neither are you - when Wren’s words stopped him in his tracks.

His lips parted, but no words came out. He pulled away from Wren’s shoulder, eyes scanning over his darkened profile.   

“You … They fired you?”

Theo’s jaw clenched, and he shut his eyes as he digested the information.

Wren was fired.

Wren no longer had a job in New York.

Which meant that Wren was staying here, in Cannon Beach. With him.

He felt the air leave his lungs, like he’d fallen off a cliff only to land in deep, frigid water.

“I thought you were leaving --“ His whisper faltered as the words me fell from his lips. He exhaled shakily.  “I thought you were going back to New York. I saw a text on your phone by accident, and -- ”

Theo opened his eyes and looked up at him. It was only then that he noticed the shine in his eyes, the redness ringing the bright blue of his irises. He’d been crying. 

Any relief he’d felt with Wren’s words dissipated instantly. He felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, as he tried to make sense of Wren Crying Actual Tears. He’d been such an idiot – selfish, insecure, and self-pitying. This had nothing to do with him, and all night while Wren had been hurting, Theo had done little to help.  

No wonder he hadn’t told him. 

Theo untangled himself from Wren’s embrace and leaned up on his knees so their faces were level, bringing his hands up to touch the sides of his face, to turn his head to face him. He felt the dampness of phantom tears against his cheeks, the fevered warmth of his skin. And with the tips of his fingers touching his temples, and the reflection of the moon glancing off the swimming blue of his irises, Theo tucked his arms beneath Wren’s to pull his body against his in a tight, encompassing hug. His palm caressed the back of his head, fingers brushing against his hair, and he pressed the side of his face against Wren’s.

“Oh, Wren. I’m so sorry.” Theo breathed, lips brushing his ear. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He wanted to take his pain away, if only it were possible. He wanted to kiss away his tears and dry his eyes, to take him to bed and run his fingers through his hair. He wanted to sleep for days and hold him close, to keep him in bed where they were safe and they could keep the world at bay. Where he could whisper in his ear and make him laugh, and coax out that secret smile with nothing else but sweet words and soft touches, where his eyes brightened and his body seemed to hum with contentment.

The Wren he held in his arms was something new, and Theo just wanted to put him back together.

At the same time he was grateful Wren finally felt like he could tell him. He was grateful to this man who had received life-altering news and had still taken him to a party he had so obviously been excited for, to the point where Theo had been more concerned about his costume than his boyfriend. There was nobody else in his past he felt able to compare him with, this wonderful, self-sacrificing, self-sabotaging man.

And he was grateful that he was staying with him.

Theo drew away, blinking slowly. He could feel his own eyes stinging, and he set his jaw, meeting Wren’s gaze firmly. There were a million things he wanted to say, like It’s just a job. Or, There’s other law firms – maybe here, in Oregon? Or even, Good riddance – New York makes you miserable.

But it wasn’t the right thing to say. Nothing was, not when Wren stared at him like there was nothing left for him, like he’d let someone down. Not when he had that empty, haunted look in his eyes.

“You’re not in this alone, okay?” Theo said, voice quiet and suddenly resolute. He sounded braver than he felt. “I’m here for you – whatever you need. I –“

Theo frowned, staring up at Wren as the words died on his lips. He’d told him earlier, but he hadn’t been awake to hear him.  Theo felt like he needed to hear it now, and that he needed to say it. He exhaled, voice softening.

“I love you, Wren.” Theo whispered. “And this – job or not – it doesn’t change anything.”

Saying the words out loud elicited mixed feelings. It made it real, which he hadn’t wanted, but with that reality came a solace he hadn’t been expecting, like naming the thing had made it less overwhelming. That was a gift.

At the same time, it meant that they’d arrived at this moment which Wren had been dreading all evening.

Last time, when he’d been forced into his leave of absence, he’d put this off for as long as possible, and he’d had the benefit of distance. His parents still didn’t know the full story, how bad it had gotten, and while he suspected Robin knew a little more, it hadn’t come from him. But at least he’d been able to predict their reactions, and prepare himself, at least a little.

In contrast, he didn’t really know what to expect from Theo. It was one of the things he loved about him, that he always managed to surprise him, but that made it scary. He could picture a million branching outcomes, and none of them particularly good. Concern, maybe. Probably not outright rejection, but… disappointment. Shock. Pity.

So when Theo pulled away and shut his eyes, Wren watched, and listened. He observed the muscle working in his jaw, the long, slow exhalation of breath. He noted his shaking breathing, and the timbre of his voice.

The relief.

His heart broke. He couldn’t believe Theo would think he would just—just leave, just like that, without speaking to him about it, or including him in his plans. How long had he been thinking that? Squeezing his hand again, gently, Wren’s mouth creased into a frown as he waited for Theo to look at him. When he did, his expression was unreadable.

Worry sparked in him as he pulled away, but he should have known better. His eyes welled up with tears, worse than before, at the soft touch of Theo’s fingertips caressing his temple, and he wasn’t sure if they started flowing before or after Theo pulled him into a hug. Either way, he wrapped his arms around Theo in return, burying his face into his shoulder, barely noticing as the blanket slipped down into a puddle on the floor of the deck. He was crying now, silently sobbing, curling into Theo like something had broken inside him.

But it felt different this time. Earlier, he’d been overwhelmed at how alone he’d been. Now, he was overwhelmed with gratitude. Theo was here with him—solid, reassuring, compassionate and comforting. It was unreal, too much, just right. Slowly, his breathing evened out, and his tears dried up, and a distant part of him was amazed at how much better he felt just for being able to hold him, for hearing his soothing voice whispering in his ear, his hands running through his hair.

It was with some reluctance that he let Theo pull back, then, his arms dropping to land at his waist where he tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, as if to say come back. He watched Theo as he spoke, chewing on his bottom lip, a small crease in his forehead as he tried to sort through his words. He understood, he thought, but more than that, he was touched that Theo wanted to say it aloud to make sure that he did. His features were soft in the moonlight, but he could make out his frown, and Wren reached up to brush the tips of his fingers against his cheek.

This time, when Theo said it, he believed him. The truth was there, written on his face. Unthinking, Wren leaned down and kissed him, gently, then with intent, pulling him closer, cupping his jaw, slipping a hand beneath his t-shirt to rest in the small of his back. There were so many things he wanted to say, but right here, now, this was the only way he could think to say them. I love you too didn’t feel like enough.

When he drew away, he felt like he could breathe again. Giving Theo a hesitant smile, he tucked a curl of hair behind his ear. “Do you want to go back inside?” he whispered.

He wanted to go back to bed and get Theo undressed. He wanted to lie under the covers with him and hold him close, to feel his skin against his, to listen to his breathing and the rhythms of his body. But when he stood up he felt his vision spin, and he had to brace himself against the door and wait for it to settle before he could help Theo up to go back indoors. Suddenly, the thought of lying down again made him feel sick, and as he shut the door behind him he nodded to the couch. “Can we just… sit down for a little bit?”

Once they were settled, he pulled the blanket over them and draped an arm around Theo’s shoulders, tugging him closer. Taking a sip of the water Theo had handed him, he rested his cheek on top of Theo’s head and shut his eyes, heaving a sigh. He wished they could stay like this forever, but he’d take what he could get.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “That you thought I was leaving, I mean. I don’t… I wouldn’t do that. You’re so important to me. I need you to know that.”

He paused to press a kiss against Theo’s forehead. “But I’m going to have to go to New York for a while. A week, I think. I have to sign some papers, and work out how to get my stuff back here, and speak to my bank, and… just… figure it out, I guess. Is that okay?”

The only thing Theo remembered about the last time a boy had cried into his shoulder was how fervently he wished for it to stop. A big part of it was that he’d been acutely self-conscious about the whole affair. Uncomfortable. Unaffected. He remembered staring off into the night sky, praying for it to end, as he rubbed tepid circles into his back and begged him not to cry. He remembered worrying about coming off as too stiff, or too uncaring. He remembered worrying about the placement of his hands. If his grip was too tight, or too loose. If he spoke, would his voice would betray his discomfort?

He couldn’t recall what it had been about, or who it had been with. It hadn’t been with Ben, who wasn’t introspective enough to be vulnerable, or emotionally mature enough to handle any emotion above a 5 in any sort of rational manner. But it had definitely been with someone he’d dated in the past two years. That guy from Portland, with the bad family? Was that why their relationship had soured so quickly? Or had it been Michael?

It wasn’t like he hadn’t cared, exactly. But he did recall fervently praying for it to end, as quickly as possible.

It didn’t immediately occur to him how this was different - how Wren, was different. As he turned to face him, where Theo cupped his jaw with his palms, as he felt his own eyes sting at the sight of his tears – of his pain – Wren’s mouth stretching thin, eyes darting away, as he tried to mask the shaking in his voice.

He’d never felt anything quite like it. The soft weight of Wren’s arms where he placed them around his waist, where his fingers hooked into his clothing and his arms pulled him in tight, like Theo was something he needed, something he couldn’t do without. The sound of his breathing, stilted and muffled, silent and heaving and pained, where he pressed his face into his shoulder. The way his body rattled, grief and emotion stirring like an ocean was inside him. Theo didn’t shush him, or tell him not to cry. He didn’t tell him it would be okay.

He didn’t want to do any of those things. He wanted to hold him, to be there for him and to hold him up. He wanted take his pain away from him, wear it like chains around his neck and suffer instead.

For a man who was so good at keeping it together, he was truly beautiful when he let go.

It was the first time he’d questioned whether or not he’d been in love before. Had he loved Ben? He wasn’t sure. He’d never felt like this before, with the kind of intensity that kept him up at nights just as much as it helped him sleep. Where he would readily sell a kidney to fix what had made the man he loved cry. Theo felt a tear dampen his cheek, and quickly brought a hand up to brush it away. Wren didn’t need to see him cry – he didn’t need to feel any worse than he did now.

Theo worried, for the second time that night, that perhaps declaring his love for him had been bad timing. But when they separated, and when Wren kissed him in response, Theo knew he’d been right. They both needed it. And while Wren hadn’t said it back, Theo thought he could feel it in the way he kissed him, deeply and with intent. The way his hands tightened around his waist and pulled him close. He could see it in his smile when they separated, sad and grateful and tired, when he asked Theo if he wanted to go back inside. Theo nodded, smiling as he brushed his thumb across his reddened cheeks.

Wren helped him stand, his fingers wrapped carefully around his wrist just as he’d done many times before, with his other hand at Theo’s waist to make sure he was steady. He let Wren lead him to the couch, a small, tired-as-fuck smile playing about his lips as his boyfriend wrapped a long arm about his shoulders, and fussed with the cotton throw to make sure Theo’s feet were covered. He eased into Wren’s embraced, bringing his legs up and snuggling into his chest, where, in unison, they both seemed to heave an exhausted, drawn out sigh.

What a fucking night.

Wren started speaking, breaking the silence with his soft, murmured voice. Theo glanced up to meet his gaze, just as a pang of guilt stabbed through him.

“Don’t apologize. I don’t know what I was thinking. Someone else – my ex, from years ago. He did something like that to me and…” Theo trailed off, biting his lip. He hadn’t expected how hard the words would be to get out.

“I don’t think I realized how much he screwed me up until now.” Theo finally admitted. But he smiled, when Wren asserted how much he cared for him. How important he was to him.

He’d slipped his fingers beneath the hem of Wren’s shirt without realizing, and was rubbing small circles into his skin with his thumb. His frown eased, and he closed his eyes at the feel of Wren pressing a soft kiss to his temple. He was tired, and it felt so good to have the events of the evening finally come to a close.  

Wren’s voice was soft, and he could feel his breath against his ear. Theo slipped his hand further up Wren’s shirt as he settled in against him. The lights in the living room were dimmed, and he felt himself sinking into the solid warmth of Wren’s body. He was going back to New York, but just for a week. Then he would move back to Cannon Beach – for good this time – and they could figure out the next steps. Maybe Wren could get a job in Portland. Maybe he could move in. Was it too early? He was already practically leaving here. It made sense.

“I’ll come with you.” Theo offered, seemingly all of a sudden but with a determined conviction. He tilted his head up, meeting Wren’s eyes evenly as he opened his mouth to protest. “I’m worried it’ll be hard on you, ending things in New York. Maybe I won’t be able to help much with packing, but when I told you I’d be there for you, I was serious.”

He knew he didn’t have to do it, but he wanted to. Already his mind was flickering through the possible roadblocks: his role in Trip’s house was over, so work would be slow. Lydia could come and feed Violet. He could book their tickets tomorrow: Vera worked Saturdays, so all he had to do was call her up. Maybe she could get them a deal on a hotel.

And he couldn’t help but think it might be nice to get away for a while, especially with the night they’d had. They needed a break. A mini-vacation.

“You’re important to me, too. I want to come.” Theo replied. He watched for a reaction, and squeezed Wren’s hand when he offered none. Satisfied, Theo settled his head back down against Wren’s chest, exhaling slowly as he ran his fingers up the long expanse of Wren’s side, tracing the ridges of his ribs and settling back at the dip of his waist. He felt like so much had settled between them that night, and this feeling of contentment felt like much needed relief.

The next morning found Theo in his office with his phone held up to his ear. Wren was still in bed where Theo had left him, rolled up tightly in a duvet cocoon with the blackout curtains drawn. It was yet another sunny day in Cannon Beach, and he wanted nothing more than to make breakfast and have it out on the deck with Wren. But he still had things to do, and it was already afternoon in New York. He was showered, medicated, and dressed (a pair of relaxed, light blue chinos and a simply patterned button-up). He’d already gotten the time off work, and had called Trip to let him know he’d be away for a week. But he had one last thing to take care of.

Theo bit his lip anxiously as the phone rang. Once, twice, three times.

Then, a pause.

“Teddy Bear, hello! It’s so good to hear from you!” 

Theo grimaced at the greeting. God. This was already going poorly.

“Hi Mom. Yeah, it’s been a while. Things have been kind of hectic here.”

She laughed loudly, something halfway between a snort and a cackle. People said they had a very similar laugh, but Theo didn’t hear it.

“What, did two milk trucks collide? Did the state of Oregon run out of artisanal artichokes? Or – or, did a hippy commune take over Portland? You know, like that cult from the 80s where everyone wore red. Theo, red is not your colour. Not with your hair. Did – ”

“Jesus, Mom. Are you finished?” Theo asked, remembering quite clearly now why he called so rarely. He turned in his chair, staring out the window and impatiently rapping his knuckles against the surface of his desk. “Do you want me to go through the myriad of ways New York is terrible every time we talk? Because I have a running list. Don’t tempt me.”

“Oh, you’re no fun. So, how have you been? We miss you. Emily mentioned at lunch last week how you haven’t called her since Easter.”   

“It’s not like she ever calls me.” Theo protested. “And I’ve been fine. Actually, I wanted to ask you – “

“I meant to tell you, I read the most interesting article in the New Yorker last month.” Lisa artfully interrupted. He’d fucked up. Now she knew he needed a favour, and she was going to make him work for it.

Theo leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and exhaling slowly through his nose, trying to accept the fact that this was going to be a very long phone call. As she spoke he stretched his neck out, rolling his head back as he tried to work out a painful crick he’d gotten from falling asleep wrong on the couch. He’d hoped dragging Wren to bed at four in the morning would have mitigated the pain, but he’d been wrong.

“—And there’s this new thing that’s called a faecal transplantation that can apparently reverse a lot of the symptoms you have. Since MS is driven primarily by immune response, they’re thinking that introducing healthier gut flora can –”

“Mom,” Theo began, already feeling flustered. “I’m not getting a shit transplant. It’s just a fad. Please, can we not talk about this? I just wanted to ask you –”

“For goodness’ sake. Theo, would you grow up? This article made me think of you, and I hoped – wrongly, it seems – that you’d be mature enough to at least consider the pros and cons. It could save your life. Your dad seemed to think it had promise.”

The line went silent. Theo sighed, staring up at the ceiling and praying for the strength to get through the conversation. He reminded himself that he needed something from her, and all he had to do was give his mother 60% of his attention as she listed off the merits of what was probably a bullshit miracle cure. Biting back the desire to retort that his dad was a retired surgeon who hadn’t practiced medicine in fifteen years, and not a currently researching immunologist, Theo sighed.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Please, tell me more.”

Twenty minutes later, Theo was pretty sure he’d scraped off most of his enamel by how forcefully he’d been gritting his teeth. The conversation had moved on to other aspect of MS, a topic he rarely liked discussing, least of which with his mother. She told him how she was going to have a self-help book delivered to his house, and if he’d let her know how the book was and how much it helped. With a learned amount of self-control, Theo thanked her, and promised that he would.

“Good. Now, you had something you wanted to ask me?”

“Right. Yeah, um –“ He’d almost forgotten, and he paused as he tried to sort out his words.

“See, Theo, this is what I’m talking about. Is your short-term memory getting worse? Are you finding that you’re forgetting words for simple things? I need you to take care of yourself.”

“Mom,” Theo calmly interrupted, not taking the bait. “I tried calling Vera but her agency told me she moved. They couldn’t tell me where she works now so I need her new phone number.”

“Why?” Lisa asked. “Are you going on a trip?”

“Kind of.” Theo said, and then paused. “I’m going to be in New York for a week, hopefully as soon as possible.” Theo shut his eyes, waiting for her reaction. It was as explosive as expected.

“Oh, Theo! That’s great! Em’s going to be so happy – you know, you really need to speak with her more. Can you stay for two weeks? One won’t be enough. I wonder if I can get a reservation at Jean Gorges with such short notice? I’ll give Ruby a call, she’ll get us in somewhere. She always does. Oh, I’ve missed you so much! And what about Wren? Is your new man coming with?”

Theo grimaced, glancing at the doorway. Despite expecting the question, he still didn’t know how to answer it.  This conversation, at only twenty minutes long, had already elevated his blood pressure by several points. He wanted Wren to meet his mother, but now had the creeping worry it might not be the right time. It was already going to be a stressful week for Wren, he didn’t need to add meeting My Boyfriend’s Overbearing, Controlling Mother on top of it. But at the same time, Wren knew his parents lived in New York and might wonder why Theo didn’t want him to meet them.

Which brought up a whole new complicated set of questions.

“No, it’ll just be me. Maybe next time.” Theo responded. Just to buy some time to think.

With the tickets tentatively booked (pending a discussion with Wren), Theo finally set about making breakfast. Or lunch? As he walked to the kitchen he glanced at the clock on the oven, noticing it was already 11:30. Brunch, then. Good and greasy, since Wren sleeping in this late only meant one thing.

Turning on the kettle for hot water, he ground up enough coffee beans for a very strong pot of coffee. Breakfast was to be olive oil fried eggs (courtesy of Lydia and Martin) on seedy toast, fried tomatoes from the farmer’s market and hash browns Theo had bought from the frozen organic section at Whole Foods last time he’d been in Portland. He went out to the deck to pick a few sprigs of thyme, tugging open the sliding door and moving out of the way for Violet to dash outside for her routine morning inspection of the property. Finally, he had some nice flaky sea salt and velvety balsamic vinegar for the tomatoes, which he very carefully sliced into thick wedges and tossed onto the cast iron pan, where they sizzled and spat.

Fifteen minutes later, he heard movement from the bedroom, and shortly after, drawn out by the promise of breakfast, emerged a sleepy, stumbling Wren, dressed only in boxers and the shirt he’d slept in. The sight prompted a smile from Theo.

“Good morning! How are you feeling?” Theo asked, walking over to the other side of the island. He pressed a kiss to his jaw, and handed him a mug of coffee.

“Breakfast is almost ready, so you have excellent timing.” Theo said as he began plating his morning’s work. His shaking hands did little for presentation, as he broke one of the yolks and managed to dismantle one of the pan-fried tomatoes. “I was worried I was going to have to come in and kiss you awake.”

“So, I spoke to my travel agent about booking flights. I had to call your mom to find out your middle name, which was … A delight.” Theo grinned, glancing up at him mischievously. Then he looked away, to busy himself with drizzling balsamic over the tomatoes.

“I’ll save my teasing for another time, maybe when you’re not so close to my knife block.” Theo handed the sprigs of thyme to Wren to pull the tiny leaves off, saving the more delicate tasks for him to complete.

“She said that the only direct flight that still has seats leaves Monday morning. All the other flights that leave next week have at least one connection, so I think we should pull the trigger on the Monday flight, even though it’s so soon. Also, Vera has a connection with the owner of a cute upscale boutique hotel in Manhattan, and thinks she can upgrade us to a suite. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Wren wasn’t sure what woke him. It might have been the sliver of light peeking through the curtains, cutting a line across the floor. It could have been the tiny feet jabbing into his stomach as a cat clambered over his side, or the quiet voice floating down the hall from Theo’s study. Or it might have been the absence of a warm body next to him, an arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him close—a feeling he’d grown accustomed to over the past few weeks.

But it was probably the headache.

It was the first thing he noticed when he drifted out of sleep. While he tried to push past it, screwing his eyes shut and pulling the covers up over his face, the terrible pounding in his head increased steadily, like the worst kind of alarm clock, until it was too much to ignore. Slowly, he pushed himself up, and immediately regretted it. As it turned out, it wasn’t just his head. His whole body ached. Sitting up made his stomach turn, and he had to take a moment to ride it out, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing himself against the mattress until the wave of nausea faded.

God. He couldn’t believe he’d given himself a hangover. The last time he’d felt this bad had been… well. He didn’t really want to think about it.

Instead, once he was sure the risk of hurling all over Theo’s sheets was minimal, if not negligible, he pulled back the covers and pushed himself up. The room didn’t sway, which was good, but the ache got worse, and for a moment he contemplated giving up and trying to go back to sleep. It was only the prospect of getting something to drink—he was parched—which motivated him to keep going, and it turned out to be a decision he regretted almost as soon as he stepped into the hallway.

It was so bright, like somebody had turned the volume all the way up, except on the sun. He stood there, stupid and dazed, for what felt like forever before something being pushed into his hands snapped him out of it. A mug of coffee. And Theo, ethereal and effervescent, kind enough to overlook the fact he almost certainly looked as disgusting and grimy as he felt, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

Wren tailed him to the island, setting the mug down carefully before taking a seat. It took him a few long moments to process what Theo was saying, made harder by how little sense any of this seemed to make. It sounded like Theo was booking a holiday, which would have been confusing enough, but the only reason he knew he wasn’t was the fact he’d mentioned Manhattan, which just made everything worse. He’d didn’t remember agreeing to this—to flights or hotels or Theo coming with him. Admittedly, his memory of the night before was fuzzy, but he would have thought he’d remember something this big.

It was only then that he realised Theo was looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

Booking flights and hotels, calling his mom, speaking to a travel agent… it was more than he’d managed to do that morning. It was certainly a load off his shoulders. And it wasn’t like he didn’t want Theo there. He would have loved to have him come, in fact. Not just for support, or to make things easier, but because the alternative meant spending time apart which he’d rather spend together. The only reason he hadn’t suggested it himself was because he hadn’t wanted to inconvenience him, but if he really wanted to come, then… why not?

“Yeah,” he said, flashing Theo a smile. His cheeriness was infectuous; he already felt better. “It would.”

The next couple of days were hectic—sort of.

Despite his best efforts, Wren was only able to eat a little bit of breakfast before feeling sick again. Instead he showered and changed into sweats before going back to bed, where he stayed for most of the day, snoozing and sipping water and nursing his hangover. All that meant was he woke up on Sunday with a to-do list longer than his arm.

There was all the normal travel stuff—packing, figuring out how to get to the airport—and the New York stuff—letting Carina know he’d be in on Tuesday, coordinating with Scotty, making a list of things he had to accomplish over the course of the week—and then, arguably worst of all, the family stuff. Avoiding Robin, but mostly working out how to break the news to his parents. He chickened out in the end, went over when he knew they’d be at the store, then left a note pinned to the front door along with his set of Theo’s keys. By the time his mom read the note and phoned him, he was already on the way to Portland, sitting in the back seat of Jeremy’s jeep, where it was easy to pretend that things were okay. That he was okay.

They spent Sunday night in Portland and went to bed early. Their flight was at seven, which meant getting there for five thirty—half an hour earlier than he would usually go for, but Theo wanted to be safe—which meant leaving the loft at four thirty at the latest, which meant waking up at three. Jeremy very kindly offered to drive them, but they opted for a cab instead, and Wren held Theo’s hand as he gazed out of the window of the car, watching street after empty street pass by. Something about them tugged at his stomach, and when they pulled up at the huge glass and steel structure of PDX, warm and bright, it felt like they’d arrived somewhere totally alien, on a different planet from the city surrounding it.

He helped Theo out of the taxi then wrangled their considerable luggage out of the trunk. Two suitcases—Theo’s, so matching, natch—and the rucksack Wren had used when he’d flown back to Cannon Beach a few months before to function as their carry-on. He wasn’t sure exactly what Theo had packed, or why they needed two bags for just a week, but there hadn’t been time to question anything, and he guessed it was probably better to be overpacked than to need something and not have it. Still, he was relieved when they’d finished checking in and he was able to surrender them over to the baggage handlers.

First class, though. He hadn’t realised Theo had booked first class tickets. Then again, they had booked them pretty late—maybe these seats had been the only ones left? He kind of wanted to ask, but didn’t want to seem ungrateful, and was soon distracted because of some issue with an unwanted wheelchair, which he eventually convinced Theo to take (before the airline employee shed any tears, thankfully) by pointing out that if he was in a wheelchair they’d get to skip a lot of queues.

Once they were past security, they spent some time in the lounge, where they enjoyed a weird sort of breakfast—coffee and pastries for Wren, and a mimosa for Theo—in a softly-lit booth with plush cushions. They took a selfie and sent it to Scotty, who replied almost immediately with the eggplant emoji, and told them that he hoped they were going to make a little more effort when they came to see his play that evening. Theo snatched his phone out of his hands to tap out a mock-outraged response, and Wren laughed, and he slipped an arm around his waist and kissed his forehead, and thought, not for the first time that morning, how glad he was that Theo had insisted on coming with him, how lucky he was.

Theo took a Valium before boarding. He offered Wren one too, which he turned down, reasoning that staying awake on the flight would be less disruptive to his sleep schedule. But he hadn’t realised how exhausted he was. Stepping onto the plane felt like crossing the finishing line of a marathon. As he sank into his seat, he reached over the armrest, slipping his hand into Theo’s. When he squeezed, he felt Theo squeeze back. His hand was warm and soft and fit perfectly into his, and he knew that no matter what happened this week, that everything would be okay.

The flight was uneventful. By the time they hit altitude, Theo was already asleep, and Wren whiled away the hours by trying and failing to read, then watch a movie, before giving up and going for a walk to stretch his legs. He went to the galley to get some more coffee and had a chat with the air hostess before returning to his seat. And then he must have dozed off because the next thing he knew the plane had started its descent into JFK.

Home.

Driving through New York at three in the afternoon was such a different experience than their drive through Portland had been. Wren had forgotten how busy New York was, how full of people and sights and sounds. It had overwhelmed him, the first time he’d visited, but enthralled him too. He’d never seen anywhere so vibrant, so different from his home town. There, no matter where he went, he’d stood out. Here, he could be anyone, and nobody would spare him a second glance. He’d loved that. He’d missed it. He hadn’t realised how much.

Scotty had wanted to pick them up from the airport, but couldn’t make it, so he’d insisted on sending a car in his stead. When Wren had texted him their hotel’s address, Scotty had replied with “👀 👌🏿”, which Wren hadn’t known what to make of at the time. But as the car pulled up in front of the place they were going to be spending the next week, he understood. The seven-storey tall building, with its rounded edges and sleek lines, looked expensive.

Wren helped Theo out of the car and unloaded their bags. As they stepped into the lobby, he had to wonder how much all of this was costing. He’d been to upmarket hotels before, for meetings and dinner and drinks, but this place was on a different level entirely, in subtle ways he couldn’t quite place his finger on. They checked in and were shown to their room, which Theo’s travel agent had apparently managed to upgrade to a suite. It was huge—much bigger than his apartment, and honestly, nicer too, with exposed floorboards and an actual fireplace.

Theo wandered off to explore and Wren pulled out his wallet to tip the bellhop who had brought their bags up, but hesitated, unsure what an appropriate amount would be. He settled on $20, figuring he could spare it, which the young man accepted graciously, though as he closed the door (solid wood!) behind him, he wondered if he’d come across as stingy. Most people who stayed in places like this seemed like they would have been wealthy enough to afford to tip generously.

Still, it was hard to dwell on these things when there was so much in the suite to take in. Shelves bookended the fireplace, with vases and books and other ornaments artfully arranged to give the room character. Two plush leather chairs sat in front of it, and there was a couch opposite, with a round table beyond that, in front of the curved window that overlooked the front of the building. Next to the sofa was a wet bar and the mini-fridge, with a counter holding a coffee machine and a basket of snacks. The bedroom was separated from the living area by a pair of sliding doors, and as Wren peered around it his eyes drifted towards the king-sized bed taking up most of the space. That was where he found Theo, standing in front of one of the cupboards lining the walls, struggling with his button-up. He looked up, and Wren couldn’t help but notice how tired he looked, and as he moved to join him, gently moving his hands aside to take over, he felt another pang of gratitude at how much Theo had done to get them here, how much trouble he’d gone through.

He rested his forehead against Theo’s as his fingers travelled down his shirt, pausing every half-inch or so to release another button. “This place is incredible,” he whispered. “Thank you for organising everything.”

Once all the buttons had been taken care of, he helped Theo out of the shirt, brushing his thumbs against his freckled shoulders. They had a few hours until they had to be at the play. Enough time to rest. But a part of him wanted to pull Theo into bed and spend the rest of the night there, just the two of them. Instead, he kissed him, long and slow, running a finger across his jaw and his hand down his side.

When he pulled back, he let out a deep, satisfied sigh, then flashed Theo a smile. “Do you want to take a nap?” he asked. “Or a shower?” As he glanced over Theo’s shoulder, into the bathroom—just as exquisite as the rest of the suite—he noticed the bathtub, long and deep, occupying one wall.

“How about a bath?”

Touching down at JFK was a surreal experience.

While he’d never been arrogant enough to consider himself a true New Yorker, it was hard to ignore the city’s role in his life growing up. As a teenager he’d spent hours getting lost inside the MOMA, the Guggenheim, or the Met, as he waited for his mom's meeting to end so they could go for dinner. He read books at the NYU library while his dad was busy teaching, taking advantage of its large architecture and art history library. He’d taken the train with friends to Brooklyn and laughed at the bizarre antics of people on the subway, or abandoned plans in favour of watching buskers on the platform. In the summer he sun bathed in Central Park, as shameless and confident as only teenagers could be, too young to worry about sunburns or unwanted freckles. And he’d voluntarily decided to move back after MIT, favouring the bustle of New York over the storied charm of Boston. When he and Ben had moved into an apartment in the West Village together, with a big bay window and a breakfast nook.

He’d been moulded by New York. He couldn’t deny that.

But this New York felt different. He couldn’t help but rethink this phrase over and over, as Wren pushed him through Arrivals and into the chaos of travellers. It had only been a year, but it felt like so much longer.

He’d taken the chair without a fuss this time. He was too exhausted to care, even as busy travellers rushing to their gate knocked into his armrest and smiled apologetically at Wren instead of the person they'd run into. His legs felt like they weighed a million pounds, and his brain felt foggy, like he was underwater. With stiff, clumsy hands, he slipped his sunglasses over his eyes, wanting to disappear. Being in a wheelchair had the uncanny ability to both make him both feel invisible and conspicuous. Sunglasses simply hid his eyes. 

A nagging feeling had him pulling his phone out of his pocket. He turned it off airplane mode, only to be immediately bombarded by four texts from Joe (“Can you send me the quote from VP Glazing? Needed Urgently!”) and three from his mom. From behind his sunglasses, he glazed over their words. He felt numbed by Joe’s texts, too tired to be annoyed. He didn’t want to deal with his mom.

Closing his eyes, Theo tilted his head back. He switched off his phone and dropped it into his jacket pocket, forgotten. Needing some amount of comfort, Theo raised a hand up to his shoulder and laid it on top of Wren’s. He felt his fingers wrap around his, a soft squeeze in return.

He wasn’t sure if he dozed off, but at the feel of the chair stopping, Theo lifted his head and opened his eyes. Before them stood a very serious looking man holding a very silly sign. Wren the Hen, in elegant script, graced the piece of card. Other travellers leaving Arrivals smiled, and Theo allowed himself a moment of mirth as he asked Wren what the context of the nickname was. He laughed as Wren grudgingly admitted it was Scotty’s nickname for him, letting go of his hand only for Wren to come around to help him out of the chair, and into the town car.

His laughter, as good as it felt, was fleeting.

The ride into the city was uncomfortable. The town car, while spacious and elegant, did little to help the sharp ache that had burrowed in between his shoulder blades. Or the crick in his neck that flared whenever he turned his head. He started feeling nauseous halfway into the city and opened a window to get some air, only to be bombarded by the stench of car exhaust and urine. At a crosswalk a panhandler approached the open window with his hand out, and very quickly Theo closed the window just in time to catch a strong whiff of body odour and cigarette smoke. Car horns beeped around them, pedestrians streamed through the stalled traffic, and everything was too loud and too bright and too much.

He couldn’t help but be reminded of how different this was from Cannon Beach. How at odds his new home was with his old home. How he felt a very painful wrench of homesickness as he thought of his house on the cliffs, comfortable and cool and quiet, and couldn’t imagine what could possibly make him feel better.

For a few dreadful minutes, Theo regretted coming. The hotel, thankfully, turned out to be the refuge from the city Theo needed.

While everything seemed to complain and ache as he limped to the bedroom, the tastefully decorated suite seemed to ooze calmness and serenity. It was all cool whites and beautifully textured oak flooring, with thickly woven baskets perched above the wardrobe and velveteen drapes hanging in the cast iron windows. He wasn’t sure how Vera had discovered this quiet corner of Manhattan, but he finally felt like he could breathe. He promised himself that he would send her a nice email once he was showered and rested.

Depositing his glasses and phone on the bench at the foot of the spacious bed, he set about getting undressed. His jacket came off easily enough, as he managed to pull one arm out of the sleeve, and then the other. His tenuous grip on his good mood felt fleeting however, as he could barely curl his fingers, never mind feel them. Theo bit his lip as he started at his button up, slowly letting go of a breath as he fumbled at the front of his shirt. He just wanted to get undressed, wash the airplane grime from his skin, and get some rest. The last thing he wanted to do was bail on the play tonight, but if he didn’t start feeling better any time soon he couldn’t see how it would be possible. A hot flush of frustration crept up his neck and down his chest, and he grit his teeth as the button fell though his fingers. He wanted to meet Wren's friends. He wanted to make a good impression. 

There was a sound from the doorway, and Theo looked up to see Wren standing there, silently watching him. Rather than feel self-conscious, Theo felt his expression soften as Wren approached him, gently moving his hands aside to take over the task of freeing him from his clothing. Theo exhaled deeply, grateful at the other man’s wordless assistance. He shouldn’t have worried, he thought, as he looked down and watched the shape of his hands, the delicate working of his fingers. He leaned into his touch, closing his eyes and focusing instead on the feel of his skin against his, the tickle of his warm breath against his lips.

It didn’t make any sense how Wren simply being there seemed to calm him. Maybe it was his quiet reassurance. The way he always seemed to appear when Theo needed him. Or the way they’d come to know each other’s movements, like it was second nature. He couldn’t explain it, and wasn’t sure if needed to.

Theo smiled. It came easily this time, for the first time since touching down, and he looked up to meet his eyes.

“It is incredible, isn’t it?” Theo whispered, but he was looking at Wren as he said it. And when Wren kissed him, ran his hands down his body to settle at his waist, Theo was reminded of why he came. He was here to support this lovely, kind man. As Wren pulled away Theo's smile fell, and he looked away. 

“I need to get some sleep.” Theo admitted. His voice was hoarse and quiet as he resigned himself to this fact. While he didn’t think he had the energy to shower, a bath sounded quite lovely.

“I’d like a bath, first.” Theo answered. Then, after a moment of thought, bit his bottom lip coyly and peered up at Wren. He then tugged at his belt, in the direction of the ensuite. “But only if you join me.”

Convincing Wren to join him didn’t take much work. And soon after, Theo was undressing and sorting through the glass bottles of bubble bath and bath salts artfully arranged on the beautiful tiled counter, choosing a bergamot rose blend with a fancy label. He took a moment to glance at himself in the mirror, and, upon noticing how exhausted he looked, busied himself with admiring the floral arrangement positioned beside the mirror on the counter. He bent to smell it, and was surprised by a blend of lavender and fresh oregano flowers. When the tub was full, he took Wren’s offered hand to help him up the marble steps and over the precipice, settling in between his legs. With a slow exhale, he sunk his shoulders into the shape of Wren’s chest, shifting a little until he felt comfortable. 

Theo exhaled deeply as the pain in his shoulders slowly uncoiled, the sharpness in his neck receding with the warmth from the water. He felt Wren pull him closer, wrapping his arms around his stomach and resting his hands in a knot just below his navel. In response, Theo leaned back against Wren’s shoulder, tucking his head just below his chin and nuzzling into his jaw, sinking into the way the scent from the bath mingled perfectly with Wren’s. He could feel his heartbeat, strong and rhythmic, lulling him into a sense of peace. Theo smiled, looking up at his boyfriend. Moisture beaded against the hard edge of his jaw, and from his position, Theo could see just a hint of Wren's smile. Satisfied, content. 

And he knew at that moment that the entire trip, with all its discomforts, had been worth it.

But as nice as it was, the bath didn’t last long. Theo ended up falling asleep against Wren’s chest, this fact only becoming apparent when Theo failed to respond to a softly posed question. It was only with some prompting from Wren did Theo sit up, blinking sleepily, before allowing a low moan of absolute pleasure reverberate through him as he felt Wren rub a wash cloth over his shoulders and neck, scrubbing the airplane filth from his skin, and working some of the aches and pains from his muscles.

He was in bed and asleep before he knew it, wrapped up in one of the fluffy hotel robes. The hotel was blissfully air conditioned, and as Wren joined him, on top of the covers, Theo wasn't sure if he'd ever felt more content. 

A few hours later found Theo and Wren (both well rested) in the living room, getting ready to leave for their first night out in Manhattan. Theo stood in front of the mirror, with his grey knit tie draped artfully around his neck as he frowned at his reflection, fiddling with the lay of his shirt collar and tugging at the length of his sleeves.

“Wren, you’re sure you’re not going to wear a tie?” Theo asked for maybe the hundredth time, speaking into the mirror. Behind him, Wren’s back was turned and he seemed to be fiddling with something at the wet bar. Theo hoped he was making him a drink, and not just ignoring him. 

“I'm well aware that Scotty’s play is Off Broadway, but it still might be nice to dress up… To show some support?” Theo suggested, and then trailed off. From over his shoulder, Wren turned around to give him That Look, and Theo laughed loudly. The slight furrow in his brow, the straight line of his mouth. The one that saw straight through his bullshit. In the early evening light streaming in through the windows, it was a lovely sight. He couldn't help himself. 

“I just want to make a good impression!” Theo exclaimed, defending himself. “He’s your best friend… And do you think, maybe, wearing a tie would help?” Wren only frowned, and Theo saw him make the look he did when he was feeling stubborn. A twist of the jaw, a small huff of breath. 

“If I wear a tie it will only be harder for you to undress me later.” Came Wren’s voice, slightly muffled as his back was turned to him. Theo glanced over his shoulder and grinned widely at the back of his head, noting gratefully that he was busy pouring wine into a glass, presumably for Theo. 

“You’ll find that I become a very determined individual when it comes to undressing you, Mr. Ruskin.” Theo retorted. “It’s one of the few things I’m passionate about.”

Theo turned, just in time to accept the glass of wine Wren was handing him. He leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek appreciatively, before taking a deep drink. He swished it over his tongue, pondering which grape it was and what region it was from. A Chilean Tempranillo, he believed? He almost let it go, as Wren came up behind him and began to help him with his own tie. He lifted his chin, which gave him full view of the bottle, and Theo smirked a little when a peek at the label confirmed he was right. It was a good choice.

“You look very handsome, tie or not.” Theo conceded in a murmur, studying their reflections in the mirror. They looked good together – a conclusion he’d come to before. Wren wore the beautiful suit he’d bought from Sally, with the shirt that brought out the blue in his eyes and the jacket with the amazing fit around his shoulders and waist. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, giving Wren what even Theo would admit was a dressed down sophistication.

When Wren was finished with his tie, Theo set the wine glass down on the table and turned to face him, smiling in a sultry, mischievous way as he took his hand in his, the other settling at the small of his back. Earlier in the evening he’d turned the music to Les Elgart, and one of his favourite songs, These Foolish Things, had just come on. The rhythm had set something off in him, and as he pressed his chest close to Wren's, his hips even closer, he eased them into something soothing like a slow, seductive box step.

Theo smiled up at him, and then slowed somewhat, settled in against his shoulder as they swayed to the music. 

“Tell me more about your life in New York.” Theo murmured, then. His hand seemed to slip to caress the curve of his rear, just as Theo came in closer, holding Wren's handing closer to their swaying bodies, just between their chests. 

“You never talk about it. I want to know everything.”

Then then frowned. He thought back to whenever he asked Wren about anything too personal. Too broad. He always seemed to clam up. Or worse, gave half answers. Or changed the subject entirely. 

"Tell me about Scotty." Theo said, then. "Tell me how you met." 

It always amazed Wren, how quickly Theo was able to fall asleep. First in the bath, nestled against him, with his head resting against his shoulder and his hair tickling his jaw, then on the bed, wrapped up in a gigantic, fluffy robe, legs pulled up, toes peeking out from the swamp of fabric. No tossing or turning, none of the rituals Wren depended on required; Theo could switch between the states of wakefulness and unconsciousness as easily as switching off a light. It was one of the many things Wren loved about him, and he was reminded of that now as he watched him sleep while he unpacked, tiptoeing around him so as to not wake him.

Most of the luggage they’d brought with him was Theo’s. Wren had spent a not insignificant portion of time on their journey wondering exactly how he’d managed to fill two bags, and now that he had a chance to take inventory, he found himself surprised that it was just two. He had packed a few t-shirts, a sweater, boxers and socks, and he’d only brought his suit because of Scotty’s play. It looked like Theo had packed his whole wardrobe. Shirts and ties and slacks, pyjamas, several soft cashmere sweaters, all carefully, strategically folded—three suits, multiple pairs of shoes, a couple of belts, even his own pillow, which Wren placed next to him on the bed before spending the next twenty minutes hanging up all his clothes.

Aside from that, there was a bag of toiletries, hair stuff with names Wren couldn’t pronounce, half-size jars of shower gel and shampoo and moisturisers, toner water and a washcloth, their toothbrushes and a tube of toothpaste which Wren had shoved in there at the last minute, feeling clever at the time. And then from their carry on, Wren extracted his laptop, which he’d figured might come in useful, and set it on the table, before diving back into the rucksack to untangle the web of phone chargers and headphone cables which had formed on the flight. Then the couple of battered paperbacks, Theo’s sketchbook and his notebook, the assorted unfinished snacks they’d stashed, and finally Theo’s haul of medication, some of which he refrigerated, setting the rest on the bedside table on Theo’s side of the bed. His own little blister packet of Celexa—two weeks’ worth—looked a little sad in comparison.

By the time he was finished, their suite, already full of character, looked—felt—like a home. He took a moment to make sure he hadn’t missed anything, and then, satisfied, he finally took the opportunity to climb into bed next to Theo. Closing his eyes, he slipped his hand beneath the folds of his robe to settle on his stomach, and pressed his lips to the back of Theo’s neck. God. He couldn’t believe he’d ever not wanted Theo to join him. He couldn’t imagine doing this without him.

Wren didn’t know much about Scotty’s play. He hadn’t even known he’d been doing one until a couple of days ago, when he’d told him they’d be visiting New York (or rather, he’d had a vague inkling that Scotty was involved in some kind of theatrical production, but hadn’t realised it was so close to fruition). He did know it was about bees, or spiders or something. He knew that Scotty was doing the costumes in some weird joint high fashion-independent theatre stunt.

And he knew there was absolutely no way he was going to wear a tie, no matter how many times Theo asked him to.

He’d lost track of exactly how many that was pretty quickly. Normally Theo’s propensity for getting what he wanted was admirable, but it was usually directed at other people. At first it was charming, and even a little flattering, and Wren knew that Theo wasn’t serious, so it was hard to get annoyed—except he thought that maybe Theo was a little bit serious, which made getting annoyed a little easier. Maybe he should have given in. It would have made things simpler, and he didn’t really have an excuse for not wearing one aside from not wanting to. But it was his first night back in New York, and he’d had a long day, and shouldn’t not wanting to have been been enough?

It probably wasn’t worth fighting over, and if it came down to a battle of straight-up willpower, he would almost certainly lose. But Wren was a guerilla fighter, and he’d learnt very early on that the quickest way to get Theo to drop something was to distract him. Hence the wine, and the music, and the flirting. It seemed to be working. He handed Theo the glass and ran a hand around the back of his neck, straightening his collar and untwisting his tie, before carefully knotting it into a half-windsor. Glancing up as Theo conceded defeat, he flashed him a small smile, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

While he was pleased that Theo thought he was handsome, privately he thought that his boyfriend was going to be the centre of attention that evening. He always looked put-together, and tonight was no exception. Wren managed his wardrobe by keeping it basic, and while Theo hadn’t opted for patterns that evening (with the exception of a pocket square), he had a knack for mixing colours and textures which seemed a bit like witchcraft. Wren knew that if he tried it, he would end up looking like a mess, but Theo… Theo looked incredible.

He was about to open his mouth to say so when Theo took his hand and pulled him in close, forcing him to step in time to the music. Wren laughed, surprised, but set his other hand on Theo’s hip and let him lead them into an impromptu dance. Resting his cheek against Theo’s head, he shut his eyes, focusing on the gentle sway of their bodies and the tempo of the music, the wooden floorboards cool beneath his bare feet, Theo’s hand resting on the small of his back. He only opened them again at the sound of Theo’s murmured question, so soft he almost missed it, and he pressed a kiss to his forehead while he mulled over what to say.

“It’s not an exciting story,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut again. “And it doesn’t start in New York. He was my roommate freshman year of college, so we met when we moved in to our dorm room. It was kind of a crazy day. Like, hectic. My parents flew out with me and Robin to get us settled in. We did Robin first so I was one of the last ones to arrive at my dorm. There wasn’t a lot of parking left but I didn’t bring a lot of stuff, so I decided to go up while Mom was trying to find a spot. I was nervous, I guess, like, Boston is so different to everything I knew, never mind Harvard, and it was already pretty clear that there weren’t a lot of people from my neck of the woods around campus...”

He trailed off, suddenly remembering how he’d felt that day. He couldn’t believe it had been ten years ago.

“Anyway, the way my dorm was set out, there were two rooms connected to a common room, so four in a suite, and when I got to mine, it was totally empty. I checked in one of the rooms but it was clear that both the beds had already been claimed. So I walked into the other room, expecting it to be empty too, but there was this guy sitting on the bed closest to the door. He almost gave me a heart attack. But he’d been reading, and I saw that the book was The Stranger… you know, by Camus? Which was one of my favourite books at the time. And I guess I was so relieved I was staring, because he said, ‘Are we going to have a problem?’ And that’s when I noticed he had this huge rainbow flag tacked up above his bed. So I didn’t exactly give him the best first impression.”

Wren flushed. He’d been embarrassed then, too. “But I guess he figured out I was harmless pretty quickly. He introduced himself, and like… paused, like I was supposed to know who he was. His dad’s a famous fashion designer, apparently? Peter De Villiers? I had no idea. And then I asked him how he liked the book, and he said it was… his exact words were ‘white colonial trash’. Which completely threw me, again, and I think he noticed. So we had a rocky start. I wasn’t even sure if he liked me, at first. But we were both different from the other guys on our floor, and we had more in common than not, I guess, so we ended up close.”

The song drew to an end and Wren pulled his fingers out of Theo’s, resting his hand on his shoulder, brushing his jaw with his thumb. It felt like such a long time ago, and it was weird to think about. He’d been a different person, someone who’d had no idea Theo existed. Now, he had no idea what he’d do without him.

“I told you it was boring,” he teased. “Your turn. You must’ve spent some time in New York while you were growing up. What was that like?”

“You think all your stories are boring,” Theo said, smiling fondly at Wren. “I’m sorry to inform you, Mr. Ruskin, that you’re mistaken every time.”

He then leaned into Wren, resting the side of his face against his chest as he listened to him speak, closing his eyes in contentment. And he smiled. It was a rare thing to hear Wren talk about himself at length, and the odd time he did Theo made sure to take a step back and enjoy it while it lasted. He listened to the cadence of his voice, noted the pauses as he spoke and the way he always sounded a bit hesitant, like each word had been weighed and measured, whenever he told a story about himself. He couldn’t help but quietly grin as Wren recounted his arrival at Harvard, how he’d gone up alone because he hadn’t brought a lot of luggage (some things never changed). He tried to imagine eighteen year old Wren, willowy and long-limbed and awkward, standing nervously in the doorway of his new home. He tried to imagine the kind of kid who’s favourite book was The Stranger.

His next words brought force a disbelieving snort of laughter from Theo.

“Scotty’s dad is Peter De Villiers?” He asked, looking up at him. Then, he shut his eyes, and shook his head. He should have known.

“Not knowing who Peter De Villiers is is like not knowing who Alexander McQueen or Vera Wang is,” Theo laughed. “Or Christian Louboutin, for that matter,” He added, as he looked down at his designer balmorals, the way they were tucked in close next to Wren’s bare feet. After a beat, he then looked up Wren, who was staring at him blankly.

More laughter. He couldn’t help it. Theo squeezed Wren’s hand in his, as his other snaked around his waist to pull him in tighter.

“Alexander McQueen and Vera Wang are fashion designers, my sweet, naive Little Bird.” Theo whispered, leaning up to kiss his jaw. He then settled back in as the music picked up the pace, listening attentively to the remainder of Wren’s story, feeling glad for him that they eventually made up and that Scotty hadn’t pegged him for a backwoods, imperialist homophobe.

And Theo grinned, trying to imagine what their friendship must have been like, before the questioning moved onto him.  

“Oh, growing up here was fantastic,” Theo said in response, smiling broadly. His voice was warm, almost wistful. “There isn’t really much to do in Greenwich, and New York was only an hour away by train. So when I was off from school I'd spend as much time as I could in the city. I’d casually visit The Met to kill time while waiting for my mom to get off work. Or, sit in expensive cafes on Fifth Avenue with friends and drink coffee that we'd never admit was too bitter. Shopping too, was fun... There was really just so much to do. I don’t think most teenagers could say the same thing.” He glanced up at Wren. "I was lucky." 

“Maybe we can make time this week to visit the Met. Or the MOMA,” Theo suggested, after a thoughtful pause. “It’s been years since I’ve last been.”

“Anyway. I really spent most of my time in Vermont. When I wasn’t at school my uncle Arthur let me stay with him a few weeks out of the summer, since coming home wasn’t all that pleasant.” The smallest of frowns, and Theo looked down. His dad had been in the process of retiring, and his mom had rarely been home to moderate their frequent arguments. The house in Connecticut had felt unbearably small, despite its six bedrooms and seven bathrooms.

“My dad wanted me to intern at DRW, but my uncle insisted I come stay with him and his partner. My mom was thrilled since she thought it would keep me out of trouble, but I remember thinking it would be so boring. It didn’t have any of the excitement of the city, but I found out he lived in this neat little artists’ community in the country. I learned all about painting and drawing and leather working and construction.” He still remembered the smell of his bedroom, damp and cozy with creaky floorboards and troweled plaster walls. 

“After MIT I moved back to New York with my boyfriend at the time. We’d met in Boston, and I guess we were looking for a change since things weren’t really going all that well. But by then the city seemed … Kind of grey and hostile. I hadn’t liked my job. I didn’t like the neighbourhood. And then we broke up, and I decided I hated it.”

Theo paused, and separated from Wren. Despite being an overly simplified and brief synopsis of his early to mid twenties, he thought it might have been the first time he’d brought up Ben, and it left him feeling a little cold inside. Theo reached over for his glass of wine and took a deep drink. Over the years he’d often wondered if Ben had ruined New York for him. Since their arrival earlier this afternoon, was now sure he hadn’t. He’d never liked living here. He hadn’t missed the hustle and bustle, the feeling of depthless anonymity, the uncaring people. He hadn’t once yearned for any of the ever changing roulette of shitty, soulless restaurants or inane galleries. Now, when he thought of the city’s traffic jams, the clogged sidewalks or sound of people yelling and laughing in the streets at two in the morning, he could only think of Cannon Beach. He missed the ocean, the solitude of his house on the cliffs. He missed the people, asking him how his day was going or helping him with his groceries. He missed the sand that somehow always found its way into the fibres of his carpet, and the red squirrels who liked to curse at him every morning when he came out onto his deck to drink coffee. He missed the friends he’d made, possibly the only real friends he’d ever had. He missed Martin and Lydia. He missed Violet.

Theo set down the wine glass, and smiled up at Wren just as the next song came on. This time, it was Etta James singing Something’s Got a Hold on Me.  With a sultry smile, Theo sauntered up to Wren and took both his hands in his, swinging his hips in time to the beat.

“But it led me to Cannon Beach, and it led me to you. So, it can’t be all that bad.”

He was so grateful for his life now. 

As they pulled up to the venue hosting Honey!, directed by someone named B.S. (ha!) and produced by some character named Atelier Bergman, Theo began to worry they’d made a huge mistake.

The venue hadn’t really helped. The play was being held in some Off-Broadway theatre located on the third floor of a walk-up, with a cramped staircase that left him breathless despite Wren’s help and which stank of rancid deep fryer oil from the restaurant on the ground floor. Had he been in his early twenties it may have been impressive, but now it left him feeling deeply sceptical. It was a dump. 

There was a bar, at least, and Scotty had been kind enough to reserve them front row seats, which was a relief considering the cramped nature of the rows of seating. He couldn’t imagine sitting next to a fidgeting, uncomfortable 6’4” man for three hours, never mind the acrobatics it would have taken to actually reach their seats. However, to his absolute horror Theo discovered they were seated beside one Mr. De Villiers. Wren greeted him warmly, and Theo only managed to shake his hand and incoherently babble out his own name, before listing off his top five favourite seasons of the designer’s fashion house.

What a mess. 

“Oh my God. Why didn’t you warn me.” Theo hissed once Mr. De Villiers had managed to wave off his praise, and they were all semi-comfortably seated. He was flushed, and was sure he’d made a fool of himself. He only wished he was wearing his De Villiers tie.

“He smells amazing,” Theo whispered then, recalling the hug he'd forced upon the fashion designer, before the lights flashed and the audience fell silent.

But if Theo had only been concerned about the play before now, he became fully sure of it as the lights dimmed completely and the velvet curtains caught on the line, requiring the assistance of a frantic stage hand to free it.

And thus began the worst hour and a half of his life.

The way Wren had described the play had made it sound like some kind of nature-inspired performance art, which would have been a masterpiece compared to what they were about to be subjected to. But as the actors swarmed the stage, dressed in various insect-inspired costumes, it seemed a bit more like the Communist Manifesto as interpreted by Tim Burton and produced by Disney. There was singing, and dramatics, and by the end of the first act, the red haired, sickly foil to the protagonist had died in a fiery industrial accident.

But perhaps most mysteriously of all, the entire audience stood and applauded as the lights came back on, signalling intermission.

The costume design almost redeemed it. Almost. At least he’d have something nice to say to Scotty.

Theo bee-lined for the bar, and ordered a gin and tonic for himself and a whiskey sour for Wren, not bothering to ask if he wanted anything. Theo took a deep drink once he received his drink, wincing violently at the taste.

“Ugh, Oh my God.” Theo coughed and then swallowed, before plucking the lime wedge off the rim and dropping it into his drink, mashing it into a pulp with his straw. He hadn’t realized it was possible to buy gin that tasted so close to oven degreaser, and hope the theatre hadn’t paid more than twelve dollars for the bottle.

Finally, he looked up at Wren, eyes pleading.

“Is there any way we can sneak out the back? I mean… For fuck’s sake, what the hell is this? The Proletarian Revolution for kids? What was the deal with the guy who died? And the singing? Can’t we just … Tell Scotty we have to go?” Theo smiled, taking a step closer to Wren and slipped a hand around his waist, resting at the small of his back. “How nice does room service in bed sound? If we leave now -”

“Theo? Oh my God, it’s him. Theo!”

Theo glanced up, away from Wren and towards the woman calling his name. His hold around Wren’s waist tightened, if only slightly, once he realized who it was.

He couldn’t believe it, but his night could get worse.

“Poppy,” Theo said, then after a moment tried to adjust his tone to sound more excited. “Poppy! It’s so nice to see you!”

A woman with a blonde pixie cut split from her group of friends, approaching Theo with her arms held out widely. Stiffly, Theo wrapped one arm around her shoulders, getting a face full of the musty fur coat she wore as she pulled him into a tight hug.

“Theo! It’s been so long! God! We all thought you’d last in Portland for three months. Six months top. I guess I owe Delilah twenty dollars!” She laughed, and as she released him from the hug Theo felt her eyes glance quickly over his cane, gripped tightly in his right hand. Her smile seemed to fade slightly, if only momentarily. Followed by a short, awkward silence, broken only by Poppy diverting her attention back to Wren.

“And who’s this? You always did like ‘em tall, dark and handsome. Right Theo?” She winked at him and then laughed, and leaned forward to sloppily squeeze Wren’s arm. As he was about to reply with Wren’s name and his title as his boyfriend, she interrupted him. “I’m sorry! I’m just a mess. This is my fourth drink. I’ve been here setting up since noon and we’re just all so happy the show is finally ready.”

Theo frowned, just as the lights flickered. Theo couldn’t tell if his relief outweighed Poppy’s.

“You must come to the after party. You must! It’s being held at Industry and drinks are free until midnight. I’ll see you there! You too, Mysterious Stranger!”

Theo watched her leave, trying to think back to the last interaction he’d had with Ben’s best friend and fiercest protector. It hadn’t been pretty, with Poppy calling him a controlling little bastard and Theo calling her something worse.

Decisively, Theo knocked back the rest of his drink, grimacing as it burned a sharp path down his throat. He headed back towards the bar, glancing over his shoulder at Wren.

“Do you want another drink? I can’t sit through the second half sober. My eyes might roll out of my head."

Wren spent the journey to the theatre holding Theo’s hand and gazing at his reflection in the darkened window, overlaid against the passing streets. He tried to imagine a young Theo spending his summers swanning around museums and drinking expensive coffee with his sophisticated friends, and the thought made him smile. And then he pictured an older Theo moving here from Boston with his boyfriend, revisiting the city he’d grown up in, and becoming more and more disillusioned with his surroundings as his relationship soured too. He remembered Theo mentioning a prior relationship before, but the way he’d described it back in the suite had made it sound pretty serious. Things must have gotten bad. It was hard to think of Theo disliking New York. He fit in so well here. (Then again, everybody fit in here. That was part of what he liked about it.)

It was harder still to imagine a teenage Theo, someone who had once stolen a boat, stuck in rural Vermont with a bunch of artists for company. It sounded like something that would have happened to him—something his parents would have loved. Reconciling that with what he knew of Theo’s parents seemed impossible, but he supposed it was just another facet to his boyfriend which had taken a while to uncover. Whenever that happened, it jarred him; he kept forgetting they’d only known each other for maybe two months. It felt like much longer. But learning new things about Theo also delighted him, and this particular fact was good. He made a mental note to bring up Theo’s secret leatherworking skill at a future date.

All his wonderment at Theo’s rich and not-exactly-sordid past dissipated at the sight of the theatre. Or rather, the sight of a lack of a theatre. At first he thought the driver—Earl, Scotty had said—had made a mistake, but when he spotted two seriously artsy-looking hovering next to a poster for the play by the front door of the restaurant, he knew that he hadn’t. The fact they were in the right place shouldn’t have filled his stomach with dread, but it did. Maybe that should have been his first clue.

Instead of asking Earl to please drive them back, Wren thanked him, helped Theo out of the car, and watched it drive away. As the tail lights disappeared from view, he had the distinct, uneasy impression that an avenue of escape had just been closed to them.

The poster directed them to the theatre, which was up three flights of stairs. They took them slowly, Wren occupying the rear, with a hand placed on the small of Theo’s back which he hoped he found reassuring, though any reassurance he had felt withered away as they stepped into the lobby. It had a shabby red carpet, a bar, and several more posters advertising the play stuck up on every available space. Unlike the one downstairs, which had been a stylised image of a bee silhouetted against some honeycomb, the ones in here depicted syrup dripping off a variety of excessively scantily clad people, which made the place look even seedier, especially since the costumes were supposed to be a big part of things. Scotty had texted him earlier to say their tickets would be waiting at the box office, which Wren discovered was a single person at a folding table with a checklist, sitting right next to the door that led into the theatre. He left Theo by the bar, and once he’d picked up the tickets and asked Theo if he wanted a drink (he did not), they headed in.

Scotty had gotten them seats all the way at the front, which Wren hadn’t been looking forward to, but now he saw why. He had no idea how he would have been able to get to their seats if they’d been in any other row, never mind Theo—it was like this place had been designed to be as inaccessible as possible. And at least the front row had some leg room. When they arrived at their seats, he was also pleasantly surprised to see Scotty’s dad was going to be sat next to them.

“Mr. D!” he said, greeting him with a hug. He’d always liked Scotty’s dad. He’d always been welcoming, and whenever he’d accompanied Scotty home, he’d always given him a book to take back to campus. They had a quick catch up (‘Wren, we’ve known each other long enough to be on a first-name basis,” “Leigh’s at a conference, she intends to catch it on Wednesday,” “No, I have no idea what the play is about—something to do with bees?”) and then Wren introduced Theo, and he couldn’t help but hide a smile at the way he went a deep red and tripped over his words, trying to list off his favourite De Villiers collections. Once they were seated, he slipped his hand into Theo’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. It was so rare to see him flustered. He loved it.

As the curtains rose, he leant over and kissed Theo on the cheek, before sitting back to watch the play.

Stumbling after a surprisingly mobile Theo the second the lights came back on for the intermission, Wren tried to process what he’d just watched. The stage had been set up like a factory production line, with characters dressed like bees coming and going except for the main character, Buzz, who was always there. He wasn’t sure how many other bees there even were supposed to be, because they were not only indistinguishable, but were all referred to with numbers instead of names. The only exception was a bee called Three-Zero, and that was just because he was had bright red hair and a missing leg.

The entire first act had been in verse, and at one point there had been a tap-dance routine where a bee directed the other bees where to find some nectar, followed by Buzz musing whether he (she? It?) would ever get to leave the hive, or whether he would be stuck on the honey production line forever. Three-Zero lamented that his disability meant he would never leave the hive. They kissed. Buzz left the stage for the first time, leaving Three-Zero on the line by himself… where he got caught in a conveyor belt and died a horrible death.

It had, to the actor’s credit, been genuinely horrifying. And only made more so by the way the entire theatre burst into applause.

Wren understood why Theo was going straight to the bar. He had promised himself he wouldn’t drink that evening (remembering the hangover he’d given himself on Saturday), but he didn’t think it was a promise he could realistically keep for much longer. The only thing more awful than Three-Zero’s death was the prospect of having to face another hour and a half of that play sober. So he accepted the whiskey sour and rested his hand on Theo’s back, taking a sip, which he almost spit out. Sour was right. Was there even any whiskey in this drink? He couldn’t taste any—just lemon. Not even sweetened.

He debated whether to finish it or not and had just decided against it when Theo turned to face him. He looked about as bad as Wren felt, and his suggestion of bailing now did have a definite appeal. Scotty would be pissed, but Wren was sure he’d understand—he’d seen the play too, after all. He was just about to plant a kiss on Theo’s forehead and accept his offer when Theo turned away. Someone had called his name. Someone he… knew?

Wren glanced between Theo and this mystery girl—Poppy, apparently—trying to figure out what was going on. Theo’s tone was friendly, but his body language wasn’t, but it was clear this girl wasn’t just a passing acquaintance. And yet, Theo had never mentioned anyone called Poppy before (or anyone aside from a couple of his friends from his boarding school). There was clearly a story here. He knew better to press, though, and he just gave Poppy a stiff smile as she squeezed his arm. As he watched her walk away, the thought occurred to him that she reminded him of Kelly, which made him shudder. One Kelly was bad enough.

He shook his head as Theo offered to buy him a drink, and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead instead. One of them should probably stay sober. While Theo got himself another drink, he got his phone out, and texted Scotty.

Wren
Please tell me the second half is better

It was not better.

Somehow it was more confusing. It started out with the production line back to normal, Buzz standing in his spot, packing honey into hexagonal boxes. He started with a monologue about how nobody seemed to realise Three-Zero was gone. That was about as much of the plot Wren followed before things got seriously weird. There was another dance scene while Buzz tried to rouse the production line bees into revolt, but the scout bees (was that the right term? Wren wished this play had tried to be a little more educational) overheard and told on him to the queen bee, who started to enforce the rules more harshly.

There was a trippy scene with flashing lights, and which had something to do with the bees being brainwashed, maybe? Wren wasn’t sure. In the last twenty minutes Buzz tried to stage a protest, but was the only one who turned up, and then there was a confrontation with the queen, who ordered her guards to take car of him. The last scene was another long monologue by a bloodied, dying Buzz, talking about how he was finally going to be free.

And then he died.

It was bad.

But as the curtains drew on Buzz’s body, there was a deafening noise as the whole theatre seemed to give the performance a standing ovation. He glanced at Scotty’s dad, who looked like he was in shock, then at Theo, who looked pale. The curtains opened again, this time with the whole cast on stage holding hands, and Wren clapped weakly as they bowed several times. Once the applause had died down, the actress playing the queen bee produced a microphone and launched into a speech where she introduced each member of the cast, thanked the producer and the band, and called Scotty out on stage.

That was the only time Wren clapped in earnest. It was weird, seeing his best friend up on the stage, but there was no denying that it suited him. He had on a seriously expensive-looking red velvet jacket, and made a short speech about how he was so pleased at how the play had turned out, and where the audience could go view the outfits once the play had finished its run. Wren caught his eye a couple of times, and as soon as Scotty disappeared offstage again, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He slid it out and glanced at the screen surreptitiously. There was a message on the screen.

Scotty
OMG
I knew he was cute, but not THAT cute
Can’t wait to meet him in person. 😉 You guys are sticking around right?

Wren tapped out a quick response while the queen bee welcomed the writer-slash-director on stage, some weedy-looking guy who looked exactly like the sort of person to write a play like this.

Wren
Not sure. We’re both traumatized. You could have warned us 🙁

The applause got louder, before dying down as the director launched into another speech. Wren’s phone buzzed again.

Scotty
Sorry dude, but if I had warned you, you would have never come

He had to concede that Scotty had a point there.

Scotty
Besides I have soooo much gossip I’ve been dying to tell someone and now you have context so I can tell you
You would not BELIEVE the drama behind the scenes

There was another sudden round of applause, and even some cheering, and Wren looked up mid-text to see the director sucking face with the actor who had played Buzz.

Scotty
Like that

Wren
What just happened?

Scotty didn’t reply this time. The cast and crew on stage gave one more bow before the curtains drew for good, and as the house lights came on, Wren glanced around to see if he could figure it out. Most people were smiling and laughing, so something good? But when he set his gaze on Theo, Theo wasn’t smiling. He looked even worse than he had at the intermission, or even at the end of the play. Like he’d just seen a ghost.

“Theo? Are you okay?” he asked, concerned. He squeezed his hand, and reached out to brush his cheek. “Do you want to leave? I can call an Uber…”

“No need for an Uber,” came a voice from directly above Wren. “Earl’s going to pick us up.”

Wren jumped and looked up to see Scotty standing at the edge of the stage. He grinned and artfully hopped down, fist-bumped his dad on his shoulder, before pulling Wren up and into a hug.

“Man, it’s been too long,” he said, his voice a little muffled, before releasing him and turning towards Theo. “And you must be Theo. It’s so good to finally meet you. I hope you know you’ve achieved the impossible—I’ve been trying to get a selfie with Wren for years.”

He grinned, holding a hand out for Theo to shake. Wren was relieved to see that he looked a little better.

“Wren said you were both a little traumatised, and like, look, believe me, I know. I’ve been listening to everyone patting themselves on the back for bringing this work of genius to life. Please tell me you’re coming to the afterparty. I can’t face it alone.”

Oh. Right. Wren had forgotten about the afterparty. Theo's friend Poppy had invited them too.

“Uh, I’m not sure,” he said, glancing at Theo. “It would be great to catch up, but we’ve had a long day… Theo, are you up for it?”