The Seduction of Nostalgia - 1. Chapter 1

The sea, the sea.

The sea was beautiful that particular Cape Cod afternoon. The sun shone brightly overhead, the air was crisp and cool, but the sea was incongruously dark. It seemed melancholy, as it did when grey clouds covered the Cape. It was as though the sea was rejecting nature’s jubilant aura of light. The air, stirring with a vicious wind, had sided with the sea. The sun illuminated the surface of the water and refracted through the spray of the waves, scattering rainbows of iridescent light over the bay. In retaliation, the sea mercilessly pounded the rocks with powerful waves; the water writhed and twisted in an effort to avoid the light of the sun, forcing an interplay between light and dark, between the sun and the sea.

Sitting in a rocking chair on a wooden veranda overlooking Cape Cod Bay, Cole Branden allied himself with the sea. Today was a day for sorrow, for pensive reflection, for cloudy skies and grey waters. The sun bathed his small, aged frame with light, but it was not a warm light. Rather, it was a warm light that paled and dissipated against the cold backdrop of Cole’s features. The wind buffeted him, splaying his hair out behind him – nature’s way of empathizing. Cole looked out over the curiously illuminated water and thought how fitting that today, of all days, the sea reflected a struggle.

He had spent most of his recent days sitting in the old, wooden chair, looking out over the sea. Sometimes he looked to remember days past; sometimes he looked to clear his mind; sometimes he looked because it reflected the profound depths of his soul; but most of all, Cole looked out over the vast sea that he might forget.

He was alone now in the world, living his days out in this small cottage with no electricity and no hot water. Of course, he had always been alone, but somehow this solitude felt different: more absolute, more final. Those few whom he had called friends were gone now, either dead or pushed away in the waning years of his life. When the thought of being so completely alone first occurred to him, it had been frightening. No, not frightening – it had been honest, chillingly so. But as he looked over the sea – at once so connected with everything and so completely isolated by its immensity – Cole realized that the finality of his solitude was not only what he deserved but what he wanted. In his younger days he had always been able to reach out to people – not that he had – but now even that possibility was no more. And the thought was liberating even as it was consuming.

He had been years in the dying, always wondering when death was around the corner, but now he knew that it was imminent. There was an indefinable change in his body and mind, and as he sat in his chair, Cole knew that the end was finally in sight. After all these years – too many years, years he had tried to run from – he was finally paying for his crime. He painfully reached down to pick up the book lying at his feet, and he opened it to the first page. The Sea, the Sea – a fitting book for the day.

He wondered vaguely when death would come for him. Life had long since run out of novelty, and Cole was tired of it. Though people never believed him, he had been happy in his life. It had been a lonely, subtle sort of happiness that was incomprehensible to most people, to be sure, but a happiness nonetheless. He was not senile, nor was he miserable; he was just ready for life to draw to an end.

And it did, finally. Death came more peacefully than he thought he deserved, but it didn’t come without warning. He felt his breathing slow, and he was overcome by the desire to shut his eyes. He did so. The book fell from his hands as his muscles involuntarily relaxed, and his breathing came to a stop.

At long last, with only the rocks and the sun and the sea to bear witness, a long-overdue death came to Cole Branden.

Cole walked quietly into the cemetery, looking around at the somber faces of the mourners. They were different from the people he had once known, yet the same. They wore the same expressions on different faces, the same clothes on different bodies. Older, wiser and thoroughly beaten by life, they looked much as he had expected them to look. They were all so…ordinary. Beleaguered, and tired of a life that bore no resemblance to their long-forgotten dreams, they embodied all that he loathed about people.

Of course, he looked different, too. He was still thin to the point of unhealthiness but for different reasons than they recalled. Eyes that had once held brazen arrogance and disdain now reflected a much more sober self-assurance and gentle misanthropy. The self-pity that he had felt entitled him to whatever he pleased was gone now; in its stead was his own brand of contentment. His past had been reconciled, his demons banished. He was not the insufferable waif they’d known those years ago.

But the years hadn’t diminished their recollections of him; beneath the wrinkled brow and simply cut clothing, they still saw a youthful face and flamboyant designer clothes. They saw his haughty bearing; they saw his impenitent eyes; they saw the ramifications of his selfishness – of his cosmic egoism – that had led to this day. They stared. How dare he show his face here?

He shrugged off their icy glares and walked slowly across the lush grass of the church cemetery. These people meant less to him now than they had twenty years ago. He wasn’t here to see them; he was here to say goodbye to a friend and a lover – perhaps his only friend, he thought wistfully. And maybe – just maybe – he was here to give a long overdue apology. Not that they would ever hear it from him. He would die before giving these people that satisfaction.

An apology wouldn’t have meant anything back then and was almost an insult now, but he wasn’t doing it for Luc. He was doing it for himself. He wondered why, suddenly, as he sat down on a stiff wooden chair he would want to give an apology now. Guilt? He shrugged off the unfamiliar emotion and decided that he was becoming sentimental with age. The thought was frightening.

It was ironic, he thought, that he should be sitting here at Luc’s funeral rather than vice versa. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, ignoring the stares of the people who shared the cemetery with him. Luc had always told him smoking would kill him; he had said that about a lot of Cole’s habits. Luc, who had never touched a cigarette, who had never overindulged; Luc, who had taken such impeccable care of his body, was dead, and Cole Branden was alive. He didn’t doubt that the same thought was running through the minds of his fellow mourners.

“Here for a good time, not for a long time,” he chuckled aloud, drawing more stares. This time it was unfamiliar faces that looked at him. They didn’t know him or his past, but as he sat in a casual outfit of cream-colored linen amongst a sea of black suits, smoking and laughing aloud to himself, they decided – as one – that he was an undesirable sort. Why was he here? they asked themselves. They would ask those who knew, and then they would sagely nod their heads, and they too would cluck and ask themselves how he dared show his face.

He dared because he didn’t care about them. It seemed such a simple explanation, but it wasn’t to most people, because most people didn’t understand. Oh, they understood the concept, but they could never quite wrap their very ordinary minds around it. They couldn’t grasp how a person could not care about what anyone thought. They might pretend to, but whenever he did something that alienated everyone who witnessed it, they wondered what was wrong with him. Because they didn’t understand, they labeled him an oddity and did their best to pretend that he didn’t exist. He didn’t mind.

They had warned Luc about getting involved with such an inhuman person, but to no avail. For Cole, as inhuman as he was, was an enigma – a cryptic code to be deciphered – and people were curious; they needed to understand why he was the way he was. For most people, their fear of the unknown overrode their curiosity, but for those such as Luc, who had tried to crack the mystery, Cole was irresistible.

The minister finally arrived and began the ceremony. Cole tried to look interested, but his mind quickly wandered. He wondered why Luc was being buried here and not in a secular place. Intellectual cowardice, he concluded. Luc had never been very good at asserting his beliefs; he would have been content to let his family bury him where they wished. Cole tried to remain still as the religious bromide assaulted his auditory senses; he had never been one to suffer things that he disliked. He thought about leaving but then decided that it would be conceding defeat to the people around him. So he stayed – out of spite for those around him and out of the vestiges of an old love – and reluctantly endured the memorial.

Then it was time for the eulogy, and his attention turned to a pointy-looking man now speaking, only to drift soon after. The speaker was a small man who – rather dramatically – introduced himself as Luc’s ‘husband in spirit.’ Cole nearly laughed aloud at the absurd notion. But Luc had always liked those foolishly sentimental gestures. He looked the short man up and down and decided that he was an odd-looking fellow. His limbs were too long and his trunk too short. His hair was combed back, exposing a forehead that was far too flat for the beak of a nose that protruded from slightly left of the center of his face. In fact, the more Cole thought about it, the more he was sure the man was ugly. Luc said that beauty was on the inside, but then Luc had been peculiar and was always full of trite motivational words. Cole shrugged and decided that maybe he wasn’t getting sentimental with age. The thought was reassuring.

The eulogy was a dull affair that focused on all the boring, socially esteemed aspects of Luc. He was a hard worker and a good ‘husband,’ and he lived a life of virtue. Cole yawned. The Luc he had loved – although Luc would later claim he was incapable of loving anyone but himself – had been a passionate man who had pursued what he wanted with all his power. He was not the boring, plain man that was depicted by the maudlin eulogy; he had been larger than life. Despite a stomach-churning romanticism and an insipid desire to appease others, Luc had always sought to live a life without regrets and he brought an indomitable sense of passion to anything with which he was involved. He had been a foil to Cole’s relentless selfishness; he had made a relationship between the most unlikely of people work; he had risked – and lost – everything for a chance at an improbable love.

Cole thought wistfully about their history. Luc had been unique. Despite epitomizing much of what Cole hated about people, Cole had relished his company. Luc had had a fiery temper – which always shocked even his closest friends – and a driving ambition; he knew how to bring out the best in people and how to be sympathetic yet demanding. The words didn’t really exist to describe exactly how Cole had known him, but he was certainly not the very banal character described by the pointy man in the gaudy polyester suit. Suddenly, though, Cole was glad that the eulogy was so mundane. These people didn’t deserve to know Luc as Cole had known him. As long as he had those memories – some of the only ones he still reflected on – that was all that mattered.

Then the eulogy was over. The minister finished the funeral service and people walked over to the closed casket to pay their final respects. When the coffin had been lowered into the deep hole, Cole walked over and looked down at it. He could feel their eyes watching him as he stood in silence, thinking about Luc. Finally, he straightened his back and reached into his pocket.

“My crime carries its own punishment, Luc. Forgive me,” he murmured too softly for anyone else to hear. He pulled a condom out of his pocket and tossed it casually onto the coffin where it landed among the roses. The gasps sounded almost in unison, but nothing was said as he turned to walk back to his car.

“Cole Branden?” Cole paused, almost at the parking lot, and turned to see a boy of about sixteen walking after him.

“Yes?” he asked. He didn’t recognize the child, and by the tone of his voice, the boy didn’t recognize him either.

“My name is Eric. I’m Luc and Paul’s son.”

“I see. Luc mentioned you the last time I saw him.”

“Why did you come here today?” Eric asked. It wasn’t an accusation, but there was resentment in his voice. He had no doubt heard the stories.

“Because,” Cole sighed, “despite everything, I loved your father at one time. Maybe I still do; I’m not sure anymore.”

“I know,” he replied. “I heard about you from people, but Dad always said that he had loved you. Is it true, what they say?”

“I’m not sure what they say, but probably. There’s not much need to exaggerate.”

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what?” Cole laughed. “I did a lot of things. Some I did for the pleasure they brought me and some were accidents. Luc knew who I was, I made no pretense to be anything but. If you want a better explanation, I’m afraid I can’t help. I am what I am, and I make no apologies.”

“He said you’d say that—before he died. He said you might ask for forgiveness, but that you’d never apologize.”

“He knew me well, your father. I came here today, in part, to ask forgiveness.”

“Do you think he forgave you?”

“I think he’s dead and thoroughly incapable of anything anymore, but I doubt he would have even had he been alive. I don’t blame him, and I never expected his forgiveness.”

“He said that if you came, I was to give you this.” Erick reached into his bag and pulled out a small wooden box that Cole recognized instantly. He laughed softly to himself as he took the box and tried to picture the photograph inside that had come to be an allegory for their relationship.

“They say that women forgive but never forget and that men forget but never forgive. Luc’s problem was that he could do neither.”

Eric looked at him with a puzzled expression, but Cole did not offer an explanation as he turned to walk away.

“It’s good to see you, Cole!” Luc exclaimed as though he hadn’t invited Cole for this rendezvous. He ignored Cole’s outstretched hand and leaned in to give Cole a brief kiss on each cheek.

“Is it, Luc? Really?”

“Whatever do you mean? Of course, it is!”

“It’s lovely to see you as well, Luc. It’s been a long time.”

“Too long,” Luc agreed.

“And yet not long enough,” Cole murmured inaudibly. Speaking so Luc could hear him, he added: “I’m glad you asked me to come here today.”

“I’ve made reservations at Snow for seven thirty. We still have time for coffee.”

Cole looked at Luc sadly and nodded, following him over to the small brick fireplace in the far corner. He wouldn’t say anything, though, because he didn’t want a fight. It would serve no purpose anymore. Watching Luc go up to the bar to order their coffee, Cole wondered again why they were dredging up a past that had so nearly destroyed Luc.

“Oh, Luc,” Cole sighed heavily, breaking their silence. “Where do we even start?”

“In the present,” Luc replied firmly. “I know what you’re thinking; I’m not here to relive the past. I’ve moved on, and I was hoping to catch up.”

Whether or not that was the truth, Cole didn’t care.

“Well, then, we’ll start with the present,” he smiled warmly. “Last time we spoke, you were fighting the cutthroat game played by the upper echelon’s of New York’s culinary elite. How’s that going?”

“Very well, thanks. I’m the head chef at L’Hiver, downtown. Your kind of upscale bistro, really.”

“Maybe I’ll stop by sometime,” Cole offered, not bothering to hide his insincerity. “I’m glad to hear that your hard work is paying off. Congratulations.”

“That’s just one part of it. I’m living with someone now, and we have a child.”

“Hopefully not your own,” laughed Cole.

“We adopted him two years ago. You can meet him after dinner, if you’d like to.”

“Luc…”

“Paul won’t be there,” interjected Luc. “Please…for me. I’d like for you to meet our son.”

Staring flatly at Luc, Cole nodded. “What’s his name?”

“Eric. He’s turning four in two weeks. So what’s new with you?”

“Nothing quite as exciting as you. I have a dog and two cats, and I work as a stage director on Broadway.”

“That’s good.” Luc smiled. “I was afraid you’d never settle down.”

“I got bored with living off other people’s money.”

“A little guilt, too?”

“You should know me better than that, Luc,” Cole smirked. “No, I just…moved on. I’m self-sufficient and have nobody but me to spend my money on.”

“I’m happy for you, Cole. Come on, we should get going.”

Walking arm in arm, the former lovers easily slipped back into the comfortable, casual conversation that had marked their relationship. Cole, though, could not stop thinking about what Luc wasn’t saying. Luc seemed, as he always did, to be happy, but Cole was sure it was superficial. Luc couldn’t let go.

“I haven’t been to Snow in years,” Luc said as they arrived.

“I’m not surprised,” Cole responded.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Cole sighed. “The food’s as good as ever, though.”

“Oh…you still come here? I thought maybe…” Luc’s voice trailed off as Cole shot him a glare.

“Do you ever regret what happened, Cole?” Luc asked as their dessert arrived.

“If I could do it again, I would do it differently.”

“That’s not what I meant. Do you regret what you did?”

“Like feel guilty?”

“No, Cole, regret. Do you ever look back at those years and just sincerely regret your actions?”

Their eyes locked together, with neither one touching their food. Cole knew what Luc was trying to say. “No.”

“Maybe I should just go, Cole.”

“Oh, fuck you, Luc,” snapped Cole. “Why do you even ask those questions? You know what I’m going to say.”

“No, I know. It’s not that. I think you were right; I should never have invited you here.”

“Luc, what do you want from me?”

“I just wanted to see you again.”

“You haven’t gotten any better at lying.”

“Fine. I wanted to hear you say ‘sorry.’ And maybe I was kind of hoping you would be miserable.”

“But you’re the miserable one, Luc. I’ve put it all behind me. If I said sorry right now and got on my knees, you would throw away everything for me. I’m not trying to hurt you, but you have to either take me as I am – and, trust me, you could have me in a heartbeat – or you need to make peace with the past. Forgive, if you must, or forget, but don’t keep torturing yourself.”

And then there was silence. Luc looked with his emotive eyes at Cole, and Cole stared back with his pitiless ones. Luc, of course, didn’t recognize the silence for what it was. He didn’t see the flagrant passion that was steadily building. Finally, when the tension was sparking, Cole broke the silence.

“Waiter! The bill, please.”

Cole could feel Luc’s anxiety building as Cole ignored him completely. Before the waiter could even place the check on the table, Cole handed him his credit card without a word. He fixed his eyes on Luc’s, and they waited in silence.

With a smile and a nod to the waiter, Cole signed the credit-card slip and stood up. He extended his arm, which Luc reluctantly accepted. Arm in arm, they walked out of the chic restaurant and onto a cobblestone street in SoHo.

Stopping abruptly, Cole pushed Luc roughly against the side of an old building and covered Luc’s lips with his own. He was met at first with meek resistance, which soon vanished as Luc gave in to temptation. Cole was no less alluring now than he had been all those years ago.

“I can’t, Cole,” Luc whispered, pulling back. “I’m not you.”

“If you want to do it, you can,” Cole breathed.

“I don’t want to.”

“You’ll never learn how to lie.”

“You’ll never…” Cole never found out what he would never do; he leaned forward and forcefully kissed Luc on the lips.

“Fuck, you’re still just as good as you used to be.” Cole grinned, sitting up in his bed.

“What have I done?” Luc asked, to no one in particular. “What have I done?”
“Oh, get over it, honey. We’re all going to hell, anyway.”

“Underneath your refined exterior, you’re still the same callous sonofabitch.”

“And you wouldn’t like me any other way.”

“It’s getting late, the babysitter will start to worry.”

“Come, I’ll take you home.”

“Why do I do this to myself?” Luc asked, pulling on his clothes.

“Because you haven’t put it behind you.”

“How, Cole? How do I ever do that?”

“That,” Cole said sadly. “Is for you to decide.”

“You shouldn’t smoke, you know,” Luc called out with a light New York accent as he turned into the small alleyway.

If Cole was at all surprised by the unexpected appearance of his ex-boyfriend, he didn’t show it. Leaning against the back of a dirty Chinese restaurant on the corner of Broadway and West 44th Street, he exhaled heavily and twirled the lit cigarette between his fingers.

“Why not?” he asked, turning to acknowledge his erstwhile lover.

“It’s unhealthy,” came the anticipated response.

Rolling his eyes, Cole took a long drag from the cigarette and closed his eyes.

“That’s a shame,” he murmured, blowing the smoke toward Luc.

Coughing in disgust, Luc stepped back and looked over the man – or boy, really – with whom he had once thought himself in love. The short, auburn hair was freshly dyed and styled, and his clothes were fashionable, predictably sporting the logos of a variety of high-end designers with expensive boutiques on Fifth Avenue. But when he looked closer, Luc saw gaunt cheeks, lidded eyes with big dark circles under them, and an emaciated frame that made him look much younger than his twenty-four years. If Luc knew Cole at all, then his ex was living in an apartment he couldn’t afford, wearing clothes he couldn’t afford and surviving on cigarettes, coffee and the latest designer drug to hit Broadway.

“So,” Cole asked flatly. “Are you just going to stare at me, or do you want something?”

“I was in the neighborhood – ”

“And decided to pop into an alleyway on the off chance I was smoking there?” interjected Cole.

“No…” Luc trailed off.

“Luc, I’m leaving,” Cole said coolly, flicking his cigarette butt into a puddle. “I’ve gotta go put on a zebra costume and dance in front of hundreds of strangers.”

“Wait, Cole!”

Cole, by now standing on the crowded sidewalk, turned around and arched his eyebrows.

“Can we go out for coffee sometime?” asked Luc cautiously.

Cole looked at him inscrutably before finally answering: “Sure.” Without another word, he disappeared into the throng of people headed for the theatres that lined Broadway. Luc sighed heavily; he had no idea what Cole’s phone number was.

Ignoring the angry shouts of his stage manager and the impatient scolding of his makeup artist, Cole walked to his small cubicle at the back of the Minskoff Theatre. He opened an unmarked bottle of pills and shook it until he found the one he wanted. Fishing it out with his fingers, he swallowed it without water and slumped down into his chair. He didn’t have long to relax, though, as he was bullied into his costume and escorted none too gently to his makeup artist.

“You’re late,” observed the girl sitting in the chair next to him.

“I ran into an old acquaintance,” he replied, shutting his eyes as white powder flurried down towards them.

“Sure, you did.”

It took nearly half an hour until he was in full zebra makeup and costume and another fifteen minutes until he had convinced everybody he was sober enough to dance for two and half hours on stage.

As much as Cole disliked these background roles in Broadway musicals, the money was good, and he was fortunate that people were still willing to hire him despite his notorious amphetamine habit and unstable behavior. He did some cabaret in East Village and SoHo, but he didn’t have the charisma to make a name as a marquee entertainer. He had had two years at Julliard, and he could dance well enough when he tried.

He sighed heavily; there was still half an hour until showtime, and people were hovering, making sure he wasn’t popping pills or drinking. The gin in his bottom drawer was calling to him. He settled for Thai iced, ordered specially from a nearby Thai restaurant and paid for by the theatre in an effort to appease him.

And then it was showtime. The dancers – dressed as all manner of African animals – filed into formation, awaiting their cue. The evening passed in much the same manner all the others had. The thrill of performing in one of the most popular musicals on Broadway had long since faded, and Cole thought only of going to some chic bar afterwards where he would bat his eyelashes and have some wealthy fool buy him drinks. He would flirt, and dance and wake up in bed beside a man he didn’t recognize. He would go home to his apartment in TriBeCa where Tate would make him breakfast and pay his rent. He knew that’s what his night would be, because that’s what every Friday night was like. And every Saturday morning, Tate became more and more disillusioned. The lavish gifts came less and less frequently; soon, Cole would have to find a new boy to wrap around his finger.

Moving quietly, Cole turned the key to Tate’s apartment and winced as the door creaked open. Once he was certain he hadn’t wakened Tate, he shut the door and walked to the kitchenette where he swallowed some painkillers and rinsed his mouth with water. It was sort of their informal agreement; Cole pretended not to be out partying all night, and in return Tate wouldn’t ask where he’d been.

Once he’d showered and combed his hair into some semblance of order, he ground some fresh coffee and turned on his espresso machine. He watched impatiently as the shots of espresso poured into a porcelain demitasse and before the last drops of crema had fallen into the cup, he’d pulled out the metallic filter, dumped the grounds into the garbage and spooned more coffee into it. Heaving a sigh of satisfaction as the espresso burned his throat, he reached for an apple and watched the machine start the process all over again.

“Morning, Cole,” came a deep voice from somewhere behind him. He stiffened slightly and turned to smile warmly at Tate.

“Hi, Tate,” he smiled cheerily. “How was your night?”

“Fine. Yours?”

“Fine.”

Whereas Cole was slim to the point of being unhealthy, with eyes that said more than any seductive smile or false words, Tate was lightly muscled, filling out his clothes nicely; he had an open face and great respect for those around him.

“Do you want me to go get the newspaper?” Cole asked, downing his second cup of espresso and jumping to his feet.

“Not right now. Cole, sit down. We need to talk.” Tate’s face was serious, his eyes full of pity.

“Sure,” Cole replied, not skipping a beat. He knew this would happen eventually. “About what?”

“That,” came the short response.

“That?” queried the younger man.

“Among other things, yes.”

“What, precisely, is that?”

“That,” Tate said, mocking his partner, “is the façade you adopt to make others think you’re an airhead. That is the casual ease with which you manipulate everyone around you to meet your own ends. That is the wool you try to pull over my eyes. That is the guilt trip you put me through every time I ask you about your problems. That - ”

“That is apparently a great many things,” Cole snapped irritably.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes. “We never talk about this stuff, though, and it’s eating me up inside. You don’t think I know how many people you’ve slept with over the last few months? I do, and I never say anything. Because I understand why. But you don’t even try to reciprocate anymore, you just use me for my money and for the stability I bring to your life.”

“That’s not true,” Cole murmured, moving to sit on his lap. “I love you.”

The lie sounded hollow even to the liar, and Cole knew the charade was over. Tate shook his head sadly and gently lifted Cole off his lap, placing him on a chair as though he weighed nothing.

“I can’t spend any more of my life thinking you’re going to change. You’re not. You don’t even want to.”

Cole looked at his partner for a long while before he stood up and walked away silently. What could he say? They both knew Tate spoke only the truth, and Cole had enough dignity left not to deny it. He dressed quickly and walked out of the apartment, ignoring Tate’s half-hearted protests. Tate, like Luc and countless others before, couldn’t just let him walk out of their lives. Even Luc, who had the most reason to hate him, couldn’t explain why it was so hard to let go.

“I’m surprised you managed to find my number. I wouldn’t have thought we traveled in the same circles anymore.”

“Nice to see you, too,” Luc said with a slight edge in his voice.

“Please, spare me the platitudes.”

“Let’s just go inside and get some coffee. I didn’t ask you here to have the same fight all over again.”

“Fine. Let’s go.”

Stiffly – as though neither fully trusted the other – they walked into the small, lavishly decorated café. Cole didn’t miss the fact that this had been an old haunt of theirs – back when they were together.

“Double macchiato,” Cole said curtly, placing his money on the counter.

“And I’ll have a medium cappuccino, please,” Luc added, smiling at the server behind the counter.

“So, Luc, why are we here?”

“I thought we were going to have a good time.”

“Do you really think we can just pretend it didn’t happen? It’s been three years since we last spoke; you didn’t walk into that alley by chance.”

“I know,” Luc sighed, gesturing to an open table. “Mark’s cousin was in town, and he really wanted to see the Lion King on Broadway. He’s never seen a live musical before.”

“That’s a shame,” Cole murmured sardonically. Luc ignored the interruption.

“Anyway, I went to book tickets, and I saw your name in the cast list.”

“Oh, Luc, you’ll never change.”

“Do you not want to see me, then?” Luc asked, sounding hurt.

Cole laughed softly to himself, marveling at Luc’s naïveté. “It makes no difference to me, Luc.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have invited you if you’ve so easily forgotten everything.”

Cole laughed, this time mockingly.

“Luc, Luc,” he chortled. “Dearest Luc. I’ve forgotten nothing, and I still look back on our love with fondness. That’s a high compliment coming from me.”

“Yes,” Luc agreed. “It is. But why, then, don’t you want to see me?”

“My last – or first – act of altruism, perhaps?” Cole smiled a self-deprecating smile, but Luc thought he was being serious.

“You’re too egoistic for altruism, Cole. You only love yourself. You can only love yourself.”

“I would almost agree, but I stand by my claim that I loved you. A different sort of love than what you gave me, but still love. My real question, Luc, is why you would invite me here if you really believed I never loved you?”

“Because, Cole,” he sighed, as though it were inherently obvious. “I loved you.”

“And rehashing the past, going over past hurts is good for you?”

“Fuck, Cole, I’m not a masochist. But not everyone is so bloody rational. Some of us act on our emotions. I just wanted to…” He paused, and a nostalgic look came over his eyes. He sighed. “I wanted to remember what we used to be.”

“You’re only causing yourself more grief by not letting this go.”

“How can I let it go, Cole? Tell me how I’m supposed to forget it when every fucking day I wonder how long I have left to live.”

“That’s not mine to decide. I don’t ask your forgiveness, nor do I deserve it. But…I want you to be happy, Luc, and you need to let me – to let us – go.”

Luc nodded in acknowledgment, if not assent, and then the pair fell into silence. It was a typical silence, Cole thought. Even the years and the fights had not dulled their unique sense of compatibility. Finally, without warning, Cole stood up and reached into his bag.

“Something for you to remember me by,” he said casually, handing Luc a framed photograph. Bending low and whispering into Luc’s ear, he repeated words Luc had said long ago: “That you may forget your past.”

The hot Caribbean air was intoxicating: a heavy mixture of sweat, perfume and alcohol. The music was loud, the lights were bright, and the dancing was wild. Attractions ran rampant; passions ran high. Their eyes met from across the club. One shot of tequila, followed by another – they lost themselves in the fervor of the evening. He smiled seductively and got just what he wanted: a kiss in a bar, a drunken walk down a warm Dominican beach, a piggyback up three flights of stairs enveloped in strong arms, a luxury hotel room for the night. The sex was unprotected, unrestrained, unforgettable.

“Get the fuck out of my apartment!” Luc ordered, staring unblinkingly at Cole as he walked in. His voice was firm, but calm – his fury carefully kept at bay.

“What?” Cole asked, bewildered, as he tossed his bag on the couch.

“Get out. Your things are in a box right there.” Luc was breathing heavily, and his face was red with anger. His fists clenched and unclenched by his side as he restrained his emotion.

“Luc, why are you doing this?”

“What part of ‘get out’ don’t you understand?” he demanded, his voice rising. “I can’t even look at you.”

“You can’t just kick me out like this; I live here, too.”

“Not anymore, you don’t. I pay the bills, and the lease is in my name. I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

“Luc, whatever it is, you’re overreacting,” Cole said with a sharp edge to his voice. He opened his mouth to continue, but a stinging, backhanded slap sent him rocking on his heels.

He blinked twice and stared at Luc. It was an intense stare and a stare Luc knew well.

Luc laughed mockingly. “That’s not going to work, Cole.”

“What the fuck is your problem, Luc?” Cole asked.

“HIV is my problem, you sonofabitch,” he yelled, turning his head away from Cole to hide his tears. “Get out of here before I do something we both regret.”

Stunned, Cole stood in the doorway staring blankly ahead.

“You’re blaming me for it?” he asked finally.

“Of course, I am,” he snapped. “I’m not the whore. You didn’t even have the fucking decency to use a goddamned condom. You…Fuck, just get out. I don’t want to see you.”

Cole nodded stoically and looked at the small box and suitcase sitting neatly by the front door. Everything else in the apartment was Luc’s. He didn’t know where he would go for the night, but he had been homeless before, and he would find somewhere. Struggling to hold the box in one hand while he rolled the suitcase down the hallway, Cole felt a peculiar sensation. A tear welled up in one corner of his eye and then, ever so slowly, rolled down his cheek. He told himself that he was upset that he had lost stability in his life, that he had lost a roof over his head, but the brutal honesty with which he so often criticized others was now mocking him.

The apartment was barely more than a room, and it reeked of smoke and dust. Carefully pushing the small mound of fine white powder into a thin line, Cole grabbed a tightly rolled piece of paper and quickly snorted the expensive cocaine. He rubbed his nose to alleviate the stinging and sighed as he felt his reality slipping away. He lay down on the bed with his hands behind his head, closing his eyes as his troubles ebbed away. He didn’t have long to enjoy his building high, though, as the rough sound of the intercom broke the silence.

He struggled to his feet and staggered over to the microphone, pressing the button to let Jay in. He must have forgotten his key when he left, Cole figured, but when he heard a knock at the door, he knew it wasn’t Jay. His eyes were red as he pushed the door open, and they widened at the sight of Luc standing in the doorway.

“Hey, Cole,” he said gently. Cole recognized that tone; it was pity. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples in an effort to think coherently.

“Why are you here?” he asked irritably. His high was getting ruined.

“Because I’m nice,” Luc snapped. “I’m here to offer you a place to live until you get back on your feet.”

“I’m on my feet now,” Cole retorted, gesturing to the dirty apartment behind him.

“You’re a live-in rent boy, Cole. I still hate your guts, but even you deserve better than this.”

“I don’t need your pity, Luc. I’m a big boy; I can take care of myself.”

“You’re too proud to accept a clean place to live, yet you’ll sleep with a convicted felon for drugs and a shit-hole to live in? I don’t get you sometimes, Cole.”

“Do you ever?” Cole asked, rubbing his red eyes.

“I don’t know anymore, but that’s not the point. Come back—until you can find somewhere else to live.”

“Fine,” Cole shrugged with indifference. He shut the door for a few moments as he stuffed his possessions into a duffel bag.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this,” Cole said, stepping out of the apartment into the equally grimy hallway.

“Neither do I,” sighed Luc. “Neither do I.”

“I forgot how good sex was with you,” Cole sighed in satisfaction, pulling away from Luc’s body.

“Must have been easy, huh? You sure got around for a guy in a ‘committed’ relationship.”

Cole stared balefully at the naked boy lying in the bed before shrugging. “Not as easy you might think.”

Luc laughed hoarsely. “What was he like?”

“Who?”

“The guy who gave you HIV.”

“Oh, him…” Cole’s eyes unfocused as he remembered that night in the Dominican Republic. “Not quite worth the price. Almost, but not quite.”

“Fuck you!” Luc cursed, lobbing a throw pillow at Cole’s head. Cole ducked out of the room and shut the door.

Leaning against the door to Luc’s bedroom, Cole pressed his ear up against the hollow pressboard. He heard the unmistakable sound of crying.

Sitting on a high bar stool, Cole sipped his espresso and watched as Luc emerged from his bedroom, looking sleepy.

“Morning, Luc,” he said softly. Infused with what he hoped was tenderness, his voice sounded foreign and unsure to him.

“Morning,” Luc replied curtly before disappearing into the bathroom. Cole returned to his coffee and stared absently at a photograph hanging on the wall. His photograph, he noted. He wondered why Luc hadn’t put it in his things when he’d packed them up. He made a mental note to ask, but it was quickly forgotten as Luc emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of silk pajama pants.

“You’re trying to seduce me, aren’t you?” Cole grinned, eyeing the poorly concealed, well-toned body he had come to know so well.

“I wouldn’t really have to try, would I?” Luc retorted without a smile.

“I didn’t move back here to listen to you snipe at me all the time.”

“I’m sorry,” Luc said sarcastically. “I don’t want to inconvenience you or anything. I’m just kinda pissed that I’m going to die because of what you did.”

“Understandable,” Cole nodded, ignoring Luc’s tone. “Then, why’d you invite me back?”

“Haven’t we gone over this?”

“You’re a terrible liar, Luc."

“You should give me some pointers, then. You’re pretty damn good at it.”

“Stop. Now. If you want to be angry, then be angry and not passive-aggressive. Scream and tell me I’m an asshole or kick me out, but stop with the snide remarks.”

“I’m sorry, Cole,” he repeated with a sigh. This time he sounded sincere.

“That’s the problem.”

“What?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

“You shouldn’t be sorry. You should hate the ground I walk on.”

“Maybe you could be sorry?” he suggested.

“If I’m going to live here for a while, then can we at least just try to get along?”

“I hate the ground you walk on,” Luc informed him with a smirk.

“Good. Now, when you actually start believing that, then you can yell at me again, if you like.”

Luc gaped, speechless, as Cole winked at him and walked into the bathroom. He heard the water start running, and he shook his head. He would never understand Cole.

“I got a job, Luc,” Cole announced as he stepped into their – into Luc’s – apartment.

“Good,” he replied, mumbling around a mouthful of pasta. “Now you can start paying rent.”

Cole arched his eyebrows and stared at Luc for a while before replying. “I’m moving out.”

“Oh…right, of course.” Luc was always an open book, no matter how hard he tried to hide his feelings. “You’re not going back to being a house boy, are you?”

“No. I got a part in an off-Broadway musical, and a part-time job as a dance instructor.”

“You’re going to teach children?” Luc asked skeptically. “You hate children.”

“For what they’re paying me, I can pretend to love the little bastards. It’s one of those initiatives for ‘disenfranchised’ kids. Apparently nobody else wanted the job, so they upped the pay. I think they liked the fact that I’m pretty fucked up myself. Or ‘disenfranchised,’ as it were.”

“Maybe it’ll do you some good to work with these kids,” Luc suggested, offering Cole a bowl of penne.

“Right. Get in touch with my inner humanitarian and reject my selfish, materialistic ways, and all that feel-good bullshit.”

“Something like that.”

“Sometimes you really are naïve, Luc.”

“I know,” he said simply, shrugging. “You should try it sometime.”

Ignoring Luc’s comment, Cole sat down at the island in the kitchen and stabbed a fork into his pasta.

“So, where are you going?” Luc asked in an attempt to redirect the conversation. Too many of their recent exchanges had ended in subtle – or not so subtle – jabs at one another.

“Leanne said I could move in, as long as I pay half the rent.”

“Is this Leanne the prostitute?”

“Leanne the actress. You remember her; you invited her and her boyfriend over to dinner.”

“Oh…her. I’m all for throwing things during breakups, but why did she have to throw my things?”

Cole laughed aloud as he remembered Luc’s expression while Leanne threw a full glass of wine at her soon-to-be-ex boyfriend. His laughter brought a smile to Luc’s lips, but when it died the two ate their meal in silence.

“All right, Luc, I’m going,” Cole announced, surveying his small box of possessions to make sure he hadn’t forgotten any.

“Bye, Cole,” Luc replied, embracing Cole. It was an awkward hug.

“Bye, Luc,” Cole whispered in his ear. Then, hesitantly: “Thank you. For everything.”

“Fuck,” Luc sighed as his eyes watered. “Why? Why did you have to do it? All you had to do was wear a goddamn condom. You know I would have forgiven the adultery. Why did you do it?”

“Why do I do any of the things I do?”

“I can’t forgive this, Cole. I’m an idiot and I still love you, but I can’t forgive that. Not if you can’t even apologize.”

“You knew what I was, Luc. I’m not saying that excuses it, but you stayed with me despite it all. I loved you, too, Luc. You’re the only person I’ve ever really loved.”

“I know,” Luc said softly. “But love means something else to you.”

“Yes,” Cole agreed. “It does. Can I have my picture back?”

“Your picture?”

“Yeah, the one you gave me when I moved in.”

“Oh…of course.” He walked over to the far wall of the kitchen and gently lifted the small photograph off of its hook. “Here you go.”

“Bye, Luc. I hope you find the love you deserve.”

“I thought it could be you,” he sighed tearfully. “I’ll never forget you, Cole. You’ll call me foolish, I know, but I love you.”

“Don’t be foolish,” smiled Cole.

“Goodbye.”

Luc reached over to hug Cole once more, and this time it felt more natural – as it had before. Cole stood up on his toes and placed a small kiss on Luc’s lips before stepping out of the apartment. As he stood patiently by the elevator, he pulled out the photograph that Luc had given him so long ago. It was a photograph of a savannah that was completely burned black. In the foreground there was a single green leaf that had emerged from the charred soil. On the wooden frame was inscribed in gold lettering: Dear Cole, may your future be brighter than your past.

Cole sipped his expensive wine, swirling it around in the large glass as he tried to look interested in what his date was saying. It was excruciatingly boring, and Cole wondered how long politesse required him to listen. At least until the meal was paid for, he decided. He wouldn’t be going home with this man – whose name, Cole believed, was Roger; no amount of sex was worth listening to the minutiae of such a boring life.

“Mmm,” Cole hummed, raising his eyebrows and nodding his head in an effort to demonstrate his interest. He was spared further ruminations on Roger’s childhood when the waiter returned to the table to inquire if they needed anything else.

“No, thank you,” Cole insisted before his date could speak.

Unfazed, Roger continued talking while the waiter went to fetch the tab. Cole drained his wine and gave up any pretense of interest. The food had been excellent, and, more importantly, it had been free.

“Would you like to go dancing tonight?” Roger asked after paying for the meal.

“No.” Cole said simply.

“Oh…ok. Can I give you a ride home?”

Cole looked at his watch. It was only nine o’clock, and there was still plenty of time to go out and find a suitable replacement for Roger.

“No, thank you. I’ll walk.”

“All right, then. Will you call me?”

Cole looked at him flatly and wondered how it was possible to be so obtuse.

“No,” he said again.

“Was it something I did?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Well, you don’t have to be rude about it,” Roger said defensively.

Cole arched his eyebrows and smirked.

“Whatever.” Roger walked away – stalked, really – and Cole chuckled softly to himself.

Putting Roger and his very dull life out of his mind, Cole headed for a bar that someone had recommended to him. One way or another, he was going home with someone tonight.

The martini bar, called Snow, was very small, very exclusive and very expensive with award -winning food during the day and great drinks at night. It was only a few blocks away from the SoHo apartment that Cole was sharing with a roommate who came from money.

“Why should I let you in?” the bouncer asked as Cole approached the entrance. He was dressed more like a lawyer than a bouncer, but Cole didn’t doubt that he could use his well-muscled frame to great effect.

“Um, Jarred Greene told me to come.”

“Jarred, huh? You don’t look like one of his friends.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Cole demanded, wondering if he really wanted to get in anyway.

“Nuthin’. Most of the people he sends this way are yuppies from Long Island who wouldn’ know a good martini if it danced in front of them.”

“I’m his roommate. And I’ve spent the past three months living on twenty-five dollar martinis. Are you going to let me in, or not?”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Go ahead.”

Nodding his head in acknowledgement, Cole stepped into the establishment and was immediately sure it was going to live up to his expectations. With intimate lighting and opulent decorations, it exuded class and wealth. Everything was made of marble and glass, and even the dance floor looked clean enough to eat off of. He went straight to the bathroom and reached into his bag for a change of clothes. When he came back out to check his coat at the coat check, he was wearing tight jeans that sat low enough on his hips to showcase cherry-red underwear, and his equally red shirt was made of a fine mesh that clung to his body. He wasn’t planning on buying his own drinks.

Scouting bars – from the sleaziest cabaret joints to the most exclusive martini bars – had become something of an art form for Cole. He had learned that it didn’t matter the quality of the bar, there was always someone who would be willing to purchase him drinks before taking him home for the night. It was just a matter of finding the right guy.

It didn’t take long for Cole to spot his prey for the evening. In the corner furthest from the dance floor was a small glass coffee table surrounded by leather seats occupied by three younger guys who were chatting amongst themselves. One of them, dressed in jeans and a cashmere sweater-vest, was the perfect mark. Seating himself at the bar, Cole ordered a black-raspberry martini and made eye contact. It was flirty eye contact, the on-and-off kind that was accompanied by nervous batting of eyelashes. Sweater Vest stared back and then looked away when Cole caught him. Perfect.

The martini arrived, and as he sat there sipping his drink that had cost its weight in gold, the boy finally excused himself from his table and came over.

“Apple martini,” he said to the bartender, leaning over the bar right next to Cole.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” he asked when his drink came.

“Not at all,” Cole replied with a smile.

“Are you here all alone?”

“I’m afraid so. What about you?”

“Oh, my friends are over there,” the boy replied, gesturing vaguely to the corner where he had been sitting.

“Do you dance?” asked Cole.

“Not unless I’m plastered,” he laughed pleasantly.

“Well, drink up, dear,” Cole winked, grabbing him by the hand.

To Cole’s surprise, Sweater Vest could dance very well. The music was good, and they continued to dance long after their drinks had been finished.

“Had enough?” Cole asked, panting, as a song came to an end.

“Let’s go grab another drink.”

This time it was Sweater Vest who grabbed Cole by the hand to lead him to the bar.

“I’ll have another apple martini,” he said to the bartender. “What do you want?”

“I’ll have the same, please,” Cole said with a smile.

“I don’t think we’ve properly introduced ourselves. I’m Luc.”

When Cole awoke the next morning, he found himself in a plush bed with very soft white sheets. He stretched his arms and yawned before quietly getting out of the bed. Wearing nothing at all, Cole hoped that there were no roommates as he went in search of the bathroom. Despite the size of the apartment, there was only one bedroom, and Cole determined that there was no one else there whom he might shock.

Never one to be shy, Cole turned on the shower and stepped under the warm water. Surveying his host’s array of skin-care products, he made sure to test some of the expensive shampoo and body wash while he was there.

He reluctantly stepped out of the warm shower and reached for a towel to ward off the chill air. He dried himself quickly and then found a bottle of Tylenol in Luc’s medicine cabinet. Swallowing two of the pills, Cole placed the towel back on its hook and went back to Luc’s bedroom. His jeans, shirt and underwear were all tossed casually on top of his bag, and after much searching he found his socks rolled up in the pile of blankets lying on the floor.

He dressed quickly and was about to let himself out of the spacious apartment when he heard footsteps coming from the bedroom.

“Oh, are you leaving?”

“I was going to,” Cole replied, slinging his bag over his shoulder. But then Luc surprised him again.

“Why don’t you stay for breakfast?” Luc asked, sounding nervous. “I’m a pretty good chef, if I do say so myself.”

Cole looked at him inscrutably for a moment before replying: “Sure, why not?” He dropped his bag on the floor and took off his coat.

Cole chatted with Luc while the latter prepared a salmon-and-dill omelet for breakfast. The conversation came easily, especially for Cole who rarely had the patience to sustain a conversation of small talk and idle banter.

“It’s ready!” Luc announced proudly, turning to display two plates heaped with omelet and rye toast. As Luc stood there with a broad grin, tousled hair and wearing nothing but a pair of silk pajama pants, Cole felt an unfamiliar emotion: genuine attraction.

“Looks delicious,” Cole responded truthfully.

Luc beamed as he placed a plate in front of Cole, who eagerly started eating.

“Oh, my god!” Cole gushed in between mouthfuls. “This is incredible.”

“Thanks,” Luc said, blushing. “The secret is whipped cream.”

“You should consider being a chef if you can cook like this.”

Luc laughed. “I am a chef.”

“Probably makes a good impression on first dates,” Cole smirked.

“I dunno, does it?”

Cole paused for a moment, before putting his fork down. He looked across the granite island into Luc’s bright-blue eyes.

“Aren’t first dates supposed to happen before the sex.”

“Who says we can’t change the rules?”

Cole smiled coyly and took another bite of his food. “Rules were made to be broken.”

“I love you, Cole,” Luc murmured softly into Cole’s ear. Spooned together in Luc’s bed as the sun filtered through the blinds, Cole pushed his body closer.

“I…love you, too,” Cole replied.

“You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

“Maybe I am, too,” Luc laughed softly. “But you know what they say: opposites attract.”

“Apparently they’re right.”

“Move in with me.”

“Luc…” said Cole, sitting up. “You don’t know me. Not well enough to ask me to do that.”

“Didn’t we just agree that we loved each other.”

“Loving me is not an easy task, Luc.”

“We’ve talked about your…issues.”

“I know, but I don’t think you really understand me, Luc. You love the idea of me. You love that I’m broken and you want to fix me. You love that I’m everything you’re not. But do you love me? It’s been six months, and they were amazing, but what about in a year? Five years?”

“I’m a romantic, dear. I believe in love, and I love you for you, not just for your damaged spirit. And I want you to move out of that hellhole you live in now.”

“I’d be glad to, Luc. But don’t blame me if you regret it later.”

“For someone who thinks so highly of himself, you sure make yourself sound like a nasty bit of work.”

“Oh, I’m a wonderful person. Most people don’t agree, though.”

“I thought you didn’t care about other people.”

“I don’t, but I don’t want to live with someone who doesn’t agree.”

“Well, I agree, so there.”

“You’re one-of-a-kind, Luc.”

“I must be if I can get you to say corny things like that.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Cole said with a smirk.

“I won’t.”

“That’s it?” Luc asked in surprise as he surveyed Cole’s boxes.

“Yup. The entirety of my material possessions fits into those boxes. The rest wasn’t worth keeping. On the bright side, at least you don’t have to redecorate,” Cole said, grinning.

“Well, let’s take them out, and you can put them where you like.”

“Later, I’m starved. Let’s go grab dinner.”

“All right,” Luc agreed. “I’ll call and make reservations.”

“That Brazilian place?”

“Sure.”

Cole watched Luc disappear in search of his phone and took a seat on one of the barstools in the kitchen. This apartment – where he’d spent the majority of nights in the past few months – suddenly looked different to him. It wasn’t Luc’s apartment anymore, it was Luc’s and Cole’s apartment. The thought was frightening. He’d never had the money to live completely alone, but always before, his roommates had been vague acquaintances, people with whom he was not required to be friends. But now, his roommate was the man whom he loved.

“All right,” Luc called from the bedroom. “We have reservations for six. I’m going to hop in the shower first.”

“Yeah, sure,” Cole replied absently. He stood up and walked slowly to the living area. He ran his hands gently over the rough brick walls of the spacious TriBeCa loft and took time to actually look at the artwork on the walls. Cole detested photos of the human subject, and he was pleased to see that Luc’s walls were minimally decorated, with simple, jarring art nouveau pieces. Listening to the sound of the water coming from the open door of the bathroom, Cole walked through the rest of the apartment, feeling like a stranger. It was an odd feeling, not being comfortable in his surroundings.

As he examined every minute detail of the bedroom, Cole wondered once again how this could possibly work. He pondered this in silence, but would not ask Luc. Luc would tell him, in a patiently condescending voice – as if he were speaking to an autistic – that they were in love. What did that even mean? Cole suspected that he and Luc would have two very different – perhaps fatally so – accounts.

But Cole had learned that thinking too hard about such matters usually did no good; the end would come, whether he foresaw it or not. He put it firmly out of his mind and savored the fact that he was no longer living in squalor.

“Do you need a minute to freshen up, Cole?” Luc asked as he toweled his body dry.

“Just a moment.”

“I’ll get out of your way, then.” Smiling and completely immodest in his attire, Luc opened the door to the bathroom and let Cole in.

Once they were both satisfactorily primped and groomed, Luc donned his coat and extended his arm. Cole reached out with a small smile and grabbed Luc’s hand in his own. They walked out of the apartment into the cool city air and walked arm in arm towards the restaurant. Cole felt then – though the words wouldn’t come until much later – that he was happy in the same, simple way that other people were happy.

In the restaurant, they were ushered to their table where a bottle of champagne and a bouquet of flowers were waiting.

“Happy Moving-in Day?” Cole asked, trying not to sound as if he was mocking the gesture. These things were important to Luc; it wouldn’t hurt him to play along.

“In all it’s clichéd glory, Cole,” Luc said with a smirk, taking a seat. “Here, I have something for you.”

He reached into his bag and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box with a small bow on it. Nodding his thanks, Cole took the box and carefully opened the wrapping paper. He slid the picture frame out of the box and turned it over to look at the photograph inside. He smiled softly to himself as he read the inscription.

“That you may forget your past, Cole,” Luc whispered softly. A tear welled up silently in one eye, and Cole knew then and there that their different ideas of love were too irreconcilable for their relationship to ever work.

“I love you, Luc,” Cole whispered hopelessly. If only that were enough.