~PART TWO~
Solitude, Soliloquy, Serendipity

“The things we love completely,
we are fated to destroy.”
~Elton John


“Is that all?” Marron asked, an edge of skepticism embedded in his voice as he eyed the single suitcase Gateau carried into his apartment.

“Yep, that’s it. I’m not a pack rat and I don’t have a lot of knick knacks and useless crap,” Gateau confirmed. He looked up at Marron smiling gratefully, “Geez Marron, this is so cool of you. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

“I can,” Marron replied with a simple smile, “Half the mortgage, taking the couch every other night, and revolutionizing your hygienic habits.”

“What is this, Marron? I try to say thank you, and you come back at me with something smart and literal,” Gateau said, rolling his eyes. Then he ruffled Marron’s hair for the sole purpose of annoying him. Ah, good old friendly revenge.

Gateau and Marron had come to the decision that until Gateau got a raise, he would sell his lovely evil dirt-cheap, bathroom-less apartment, and he would move in with Marron. He would still have to pay half the mortgage, and they’d already drawn up a nighttime schedule; Marron got the bed and Gateau got the couch for a night, and the next night, they’d switch. Likewise, every other night, Gateau had to do the dishes, the shopping, etc. Gateau would also have to do something about his... sense of responsibility when it came to maintenance of one’s habitat. Marron made it very clear that Gateau was NOT going to crappify his clean, shiny apartment. Period. But Gateau had to admit, it was a very fair bargain, and having to pay only half a mortgage, Gateau wouldn’t always be strapped for cash. He would also finally be able to have a decent dinner every night! Fooood...

Needless to say, Gateau wouldn’t have had it any other way. To top it off, he and Marron had grown tight since they’d both come out to each other with their depression a month ago. Gateau found himself calling Marron every other night, just to make sure he was doing okay... Just to hear his voice...

“Gateau...” Marron muttered irritably, smoothing down his fluffied hair, “Fine then, you’re here. You can put your things on the couch. Don’t you have to go to work or something?”

“No. I’m off today. What, are you trying to get rid of me already?” Gateau teased.

“Yes.”

“Ouch,” Gateau flinched, as if he’d been slapped, “That one hurt.”

“Totally incorrigible...” Marron simply muttered to himself and smiled. Then, oh wonder of all wonders, Marron went ahead and carried Gateau’s suitcase in for him, setting it on the couch. Gateau followed and flopped down on the couch, opening his suitcase to begin the happy task of “settling in”. First he took his toiletries, his razor, his comb, and his Zoloft into the bathroom where he placed them all ever so neatly in the cabinet above the sink (he put his Zoloft right next to Marron’s, hee hee hee...). Then Gateau took out his spiral-bound watercolor notebook and his paints and placed them on the coffee table. Lastly, he picked up the big wad of clothes he’d neglected to fold before packing, and carried them under one arm, with his suitcase under the other.

“Top two drawers are free,” Marron, the ever-efficient conversationalist informed him as he passed. Gateau nodded and went over to the bed. He sat down on the edge of the mattress and began to painstakingly fold his clothes. After the grueling task was done, he placed them neatly in the top two drawers of the dresser. Gods, it sucked having to be tidy. Everything had to be in place, with such precision... Gateau wouldn’t have been surprised if the clothes in Marron’s closet were organized by color. Ack! They were! Everything was just so PERFECT. Hmph. Annoying.

After hanging up his night robe in the closet (careful to put it amongst the other dark blue items, of course) and placing his suitcase on the floor beside it, Gateau was finally done his simple, yet oh-so-strenuous “move” into his new home. He found Marron sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over a book that was as thick as a telephone directory. Piles and piles of lined paper inscribed with meticulous notes in Marron’s concise, practically microscopic typewriter-looking hand littered the table top.

“Five o’clock.”

“Hm?” Marron asked, looking up from the big-ass book. He was wearing his glasses, Gateau noticed. Marron looked so cute when he wore his glasses... They made his eyes look bigger, more sparkly, and he looked a bit less like an overly studious, ramrod-serious scholar.

“I said it’s five-o’clock,” Gateau repeated, “Let’s go do something.”

“I don’t know, Gateau...” Marron said, his voice reluctant, “I really should study for this economics exam on Friday...”

“But today is SATURDAY...” Gateau said, putting stress on his words, and gesturing grandly, “You have all week to glue yourself to your books. And you don’t really get out enough as it is. Look at your skin, man!”

Marron frowned, “Gateau, you know as well as I do that this skin color runs in my family. I’ve always been pale.”

Gateau rolled his eyes, “Look, my point is you work too hard. You care too much. Maybe if you actually studied the concept of good old F-U-N, you wouldn’t be such a stick in the mud. If you don’t start making an effort to have fun, you’re gonna turn into a mindless zombie or something. Marron, for once in your life, LIVE a little.”

Marron sighed, shaking his head, “Alright, alright... But if I get less than a ninety on that test, I’m teaching you how to cook.”

Oh gods. Gateau? In the kitchen? Cooking? When did THAT ever become an option? No. Bad Marron. As shocked and terrified as he was by the idea, Gateau nodded his head in agreement. Satisfied, Marron closed up the book, put his papers into a nice, neat little pile between the cover and the first page, removed his glasses, and rose from his chair.

“So, do you have something in mind?” he inquired.

“Yeah,” Gateau said smiling, “I wanna take you down to the Double-T Diner.”

Marron’s eyes widened for a second and he shook his head, “No, Gateau, I can’t go there...”

“Why not?” Gateau asked, following Marron, who was carrying his book over to his schoolbag to be put away, “It’ll be great. There’s music, and good shit to drink, and all the cool people in town hang out there.”

Marron zipped up his backpack, then looked up at Gateau, the faintest glimmer of fear in his eyes, “Exactly... Gateau I’m always so nervous when I’m around new people. And I...”

“Aw, c’mon Marron, just stick with me and everything’ll be fine. You’ll have a good time. I promise,” Gateau then screwed up his features into that pitiful puppy-face he knew even prison guards probably couldn’t resist, “Pwease?”

Marron paused for one contemplative minute before looking up at Gateau and silently nodding. Gateau smiled and gave him a light pat on the back, “Alright then, you go get ready, and I’ll do the same.”

Half an hour later, the two were cruising down the street on Gateau’s lovely little Harley. The Double-T Diner was about twelve blocks away, next to a Rite Aid in a little shopping center. It was a relatively big diner. It had huge windows, a revolving glass door, and roller girls cruising around the parking lot like dainty little sharks in French maid outfits. And the exterior was covered in reflective aluminum. Shiny.

Gateau parked his motorcycle and helped Marron to dismount. Marron was wearing a black jacket over a dark purple mid-drift, along with black clamdiggers, under which he wore fishnet stockings. He had put blue-violet shadow around his eyes for that (sexy) “cat-eye” look. Gateau was wearing his prized black leather jacket over a red tank, along with baggy jeans tucked into combat boots. He was also wearing quite a bit of jewelry. He had several chains and a dog collar around his neck, and enough studded wrist cuffs to make a punk rocker cry. The two entered the diner, Gateau leading the way, with Marron following shyly behind.

The floor was covered with red and yellow checked carpeting, and the table tops were all round, white and shiny. A disco ball hung from the ceiling and there were several jukeboxes along the walls. To the left was a bar. Gateau led a very hesitant Marron to this, and they both had a seat. The bartender, a man in his thirties with a goatee and spiky “shit-brown” hair, momentarily came to attend them, “Hey Gateau, what’s up?” he said. The green-eyed bartender had a lisp. Amusing.

“The disco ball...” Gateau said blandly, pointing to the mirrored ball over their heads, then laughing slightly, “The usual, job sucks, blah blah eat, work, pay for apartment, blah.”

The bartender smiled, his toothy grin slightly lopsided, “What can I get ya, man?”

“Currant, gimme a Strawberry Daiquiri.”

“Okay,” Currant, the bartender nodded, then turned to Marron, “And sumthin’ for you, sir?”

Marron hesitated. He had never tasted alcohol in his life and was doubtful as to whether he should expose his virgin taste buds to such terrors now, “Um... Just ice water for me...”

“Are you sure, Marron?” Gateau asked, “It’s on me.”

“Thank you, Gateau. I’m sure.”

“Alright, be with you momentarily,” Currant said before turning to fetch their drinks.

Gateau and Marron just sat at the bar for a while, sipping from their glasses, and talking quietly. When the fluorescent pink faux fur-covered clock struck six, some attendants began moving the tables to the sides of the room. As soon as the floor was clear, people clustered in the middle of the room and started to dance.

“Hey, Marron, you wanna cut the rug?” Gateau asked, after taking the final swig of his drink, rising from his stool.

“Well, if you mean dance, I think not,” Marron replied, “I’m not very good.”

“I doubt that,” Gateau said, smiling playfully. Still, Marron shook his head, “No, you go ahead... I’d rather not.”

Gateau shrugged, “Alright, your loss,” and he joined the crowd in the middle of the dance floor. Marron watched as people swayed to the beat, or twisted to the rhythm, “cutting the rug” as Gateau so colloquially put it. Marron was actually quite a good dancer. He was very nimble and graceful if he was wearing the right clothing and shoes for it. But there were just too many people out there... and he didn’t think his style of dancing would’ve gone well with theirs...

“Um, sir?”

Marron turned, upon hearing Currant’s voice behind him, requesting his attention. The Bartender leaned over the counter, looking expectantly at Marron.

“Tell your friend that’ll be five-fifty five.”

Marron nodded. Oh gods... He would have to go out there amongst the crowd after all... Sucking in a deep breath and screwing up his courage, Marron left the bar. He delicately wove in between people, careful not to bump into anyone or “throw off someone’s groove”. He finally found Gateau, socializing with a couple of guys close to the far end of the room.

“Gateau-!” He started to call out, but was interrupted as he was nearly knocked to the ground from behind. He peered over his shoulder. A guy who looked, to say the least, somewhat pissed, leered at Marron, glaring at him with dark, accusing eyes.

“Watch where you’re going, queer.” the mean-looking dude growled, Marron started to back off, when he felt a pair of hands come to a rest upon his shoulders.

“You ran into him.” Gateau’s voice menaced protectively from behind Marron.

“Yeah?” The guy snapped, “Well, tell your pretty little fag hag to go shag someone else’s leg.”

The next split second later found the bastard dangling over a foot from the ground, the collar of his jacket held fast in Gateau’s strong fist.

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

The guy, who was very much dwarfed by Gateau (hey, he was nearly seven feet tall, after all), clawed at Gateau’s wrist, and judging from the look in his eyes, he was about to wet himself. Gateau put him on the receiving end of a laser-intense glare, drawing a whimper out of his smaller opponent. Oh gods, Gateau wanted more than anything to seize the damnable dog of a homophobe in both hands and break him over his knee like a stick, but Gateau knew better. Marron wouldn’t have wanted him to display such violence, so Gateau set his victim down and glared at him some more.

“Now get lost.”

‘EEP!’ was written all over the guy’s face as he scuttled off like a scolded dog with its tail between its legs. With profuse apologies clamoring to be spoken, Gateau turned to Marron, only to find that he’d gone. That was SO Marron. Walking away from a potential scrap so as not to get dragged into it. Marron always had been opposed to violence. He would’ve been right at home in the sixties, yepyep.

But where did he go?

Gateau plowed through the crowd, stopping only for a split second to hand Currant a ten dollar bill (Oh, to hell with the change!), and hurriedly made his way to the door. Once outside, Gateau found Marron standing beside the Harley, looking out at the street, with his back to Gateau.

“That was fast...” Marron said a bit distantly, not taking his eyes off the road.

“What was?”

“You came out to find me almost immediately after I left... I assume that means you didn’t take the time to teach that man a lesson with your fists.”

“No. I scared the shit outta him, but I didn’t hurt the bastard,” Gateau said, a little bitterly. That jerk had gotten off so easily. He deserved a few good slams at least, the son of a bitch.

“...I’m glad...” Marron sighed more than said, still watching the traffic slink by. It was then that Gateau took it upon himself to go right up to Marron and wrap his arms around the smaller man from behind, for no real reason. Surprise, surprise, Marron didn’t pull away. He didn’t even tense up. Now that was a first. Wow.

“...Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Marron, I’m so sorry...”

“Don’t be,” Marron said quietly, “It happens all the time.”

Gateau sighed heavily, holding Marron a little closer. He moaned guiltily, “...I shouldn’t have made you come...”

“It’s not your fault,” Marron said assuringly, as if he were talking to Gateau from a short distance. As if he didn’t even notice the way he was being held in the older’s man’s arms, “I wanted to come.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Gateau, if I had really wanted to stay home, I would’ve refused to do otherwise. If I had truly wanted to pay more attention to my books than to my friends, I would still be sitting in that chair, stiff as a statue, poring over page upon page of recycled information. I really wanted to take a break, and despite what happened tonight, I’m glad I did.”

Gateau was at a loss for words. Big, lengthy, deep, philosophical speeches were not something he was good at. Besides, he was too content holding Marron in this way to really care about saying anything more. They stood in silence, Marron’s slender frame held gently against Gateau’s body. Gateau had gotten to hug Marron a second time! And Marron didn’t! even! flinch! It was beautiful...

After a few moments of the pleasant, peaceful contact, Gateau spoke.

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? Can I take you somewhere else?”

There was a brief spell of silence before Marron softly responded.

“Home.”

Gateau sighed, finally releasing Marron, and starting up his motorcycle. He helped Marron on, then revved up the engine. Marron laced his arms around Gateau’s middle, and together, they headed home to their cozy, safe little apartment.


The next day, upon arriving home from another cruddy day at the cruddy Mickey-D’s, Gateau was struggling to unlock the apartment door with one big, clumsy hand while holding a humungus bag of groceries with the other big, clumsy hand. After dropping his cargo (and yelling “Damn! Aw hell with it!”) he managed to get the door open. He picked the huge bag up off the floor, and took it inside, not bothering to even TRY to close the door behind him. Gateau set the bag down on the counter top, and began to unpack it. He reached inside, only to recoil in disgust upon touching something that felt slimy and none too pleasant. He’d broken the eggs. Goddamit.

After the undamaged portion of the groceries were properly stowed away in the fridge/ cabinets, and the shattered eggs had been properly disposed of, Gateau meandered toward the couch, where he hoped to catch an ever studious Marron by surprise (and hopefully ruffle his hair, Snicker, snicker, Grin, grin). Well, there was the couch... the very unoccupied couch. Marron was nowhere to be found. His backpack was gone too. No bag, no boy. Odd...

Gateau shook his head, puzzled, then wandered over to the kitchen table, to see if Marron had gone and left a note for him. He had. Marron’s impossibly neat, tiny handwriting read:

“Gateau,
I went out for a while, and I’ll be back around nine-thirty.
Soup is on the stove. Go ahead and heat it up if and when you get hungry. I already ate.
Until then,
~Marron”

“Hm...” Gateau thought, puzzling over Marron’s absence, “Where could he have gone?” Gateau glanced over at the stove, where sure enough there was a pot sitting on the burner, then up at the digital clock on top of the microwave.

Quarter of seven. Time for dinner.

Gateau eagerly sidled over to the stove and lifted the lid from the pot, so that he could steal a whiff of the pot’s delectable contents. Chicken noodle. Mmmm! Nummy.


Marron slowly and carefully opened the door and stepped inside. It was dark inside, the only light provided by a lamp above the bar. An upbeat tune filled the room and a cluster of people danced within the semi-darkness of the designated “grooving area”. The Fairy Tale was a hangout/bar for gays that Marron had been meaning to visit for a while now. He just hadn’t had the courage up until this point. The first and last time he had been here was the night before Danish died...

Marron timidly made his way over to the bar, trying to pay no mind to the few wolf-whistles and catcalls that issued from the crowd as he passed the dance area. He had seat on a stool at the far end of the counter. The bartender, a plain sort of man with a kind face, came over to wait on his new customer.

“What can I get ya, hon?”

Marron looked up, seeing his own sad eyes reflected within those of the bartender, “Can you do a cranberry cocktail without any alcohol?”

The bartender looked a little surprised at first, but nevertheless shrugged and nodded. Moments later, he returned with the rather unusual request.

“Here you are. That’s two-fifty.”

“Hey, sweetie! You can put that on MY tab!”

Marron wheeled around, upon hearing a familiar voice behind him, and found himself staring into two sparkling ocean-blue eyes.

“Milphey!” Marron smiled upon seeing his old friend, Mille Feuille, for the first time in years. The magenta-haired crossdresser grinned from ear to ear and threw his arms around Marron, sweeping the younger man off his chair in a very twirly hug.

“Marron, Marron, Marron, look what three years have done to us!” Milphey sang, finally letting go of Marron, “Look at you, boy! What the hell are you dressed as?” he asked, giving Marron a funny look as eyed Marron’s black tank, bondage pants, and patent leather platforms “Oh well, I’m not really one to talk am I?” Mille asked rhetorically. He was wearing a pink tank and a white skirt that over-shadowed baby-blue mary-janes. Marron smiled and laughed a little. Suddenly, Mille’s smile was banished by a frown, and he leaned close to Marron, scrutinizing him with intense aqua eyes. Marron felt something squirm within him as Mille leered at him.

“Oh, Marron, this is a dire sin you have committed. I’m very disappointed in you...” the transvestite said in a grave tone, “This simply will not do...”

“What is it?” Marron asked, a little worried.

Mille shook his head, tsk-tsk-ing, “How dare you... show up at the local queer bar... with. your. makeup. smudged.”

Marron made a high-pitched noise as Mille seized his chin with one hand and used his other hand to clean up the offending smear below Marron’s left eye.

“Perfect,” he said, backing off, satisfied.

Marron sighed, shaking his head “You don’t change, do you?”

“No, I don’t. I’m still shameless and totally incorrigible,” Mille said, shrugging and giving Marron a playful smile, “And you’re still the prettiest little thing I ever did see.”

Marron blushed a little, “And you.”

Milphey sniffled at this, smiling sappily “Aaawwww, c’mere you!” he said before squishing Marron with another hug. He released Marron, only to immediately grab his hand and drag him through the crowd, shouting something about, “meeting the peeps”.

Twenty minutes later, the five persons were lounging around on a couch towards the back of the joint, chatting. Marron was introduced to a short, skinny blond guy with straight, fair hair, pale violet-magenta eyes and an angelic face. His name was Woody Chardonnay. He wore a pale pink button-down shirt, baggy blue-jeans and a backwards baseball cap. Woody had brought along his boyfriend, whose name was Mousse, simply put. Mousse was almost as pale as Marron, with big brown puppy eyes, and shoulder-legnth wavy brown hair. His trenchcoat, tank, and cargo pants were all black and his forearms were decorated with a hoard of silver chain jewelry. The third and final friend of Mille’s was an eighteen-year old lesbian named Apple Cora. Her hair hung in short, flaming red curls, and her bright, blue eyes were heavily made-up. She had adorable freckles, a strong, athletic-looking body, and wore a tight wife-beater tank and cargo pants, along with a black leather dog collar. They all ordered drinks and Mille struck up a grand chat amongst his ‘homies’. By this time, Marron had somewhat gotten out of the clutches of his traditional shyness and was an active member in the conversation.

“Tell me, Mille, what are you doing here?” Marron asked.

“Whaddya mean?” Mille replied, giving Marron a funny look, “Even a cute, innocent little angel such as yourself must know that this place is the flock-all for fags.”

Marron, who was very well aware that he was currently sitting in the ‘flock-all for fags’, tried (unsuccessfully) to restrain a subtle blush, “But, what about Paris? Aren’t you still modeling for Gucchi?”

“Oh sure,” Mille replied, waving casually, “But it gets very, VERY strenuous if you don’t get a vacation once in a while. One day I got nostalgic, and an hour spent bitching at Mr. Mizo got me three weeks off and a coach ticket to America. I decided to return to my roots, see what was up with my old friends.”

Marron nodded. Milphey leaned toward Marron, eying him craftily, “Sooooo, how’s that sexy brother of yours?”

Marron felt his heart seize up for a second, and his hands gripped his glass a little more tightly. He sighed slightly to calm himself and responded quietly, “Married.”

“Ah yes...” Mille nodded. Sensing he’d hit a sensitive spot with Marron, he quickly changed the subject.

“So, I hear you and Gateau are in the same apartment building, Marron.” Mille said, over a Shirley Temple.

“Yes,” Marron nodded, taking a sip of his perfectly legal cocktail, “We’re sharing my apartment.”

Woody snorted into his daiquiri, and everyone except Marron erupted in a communal “Ooooh!” and waggling of eyebrows.

Marron frowned, “Come off it. Gateau is just having some financial trouble and he’s staying with me until he can get a raise.”

“Yeah, suuuuure...” Mille teased. Being Marron’s closest friend (other than Tira) during their teenage days, Mille knew all about Gateau’s attraction to Marron. Everyone did, seeing as Gateau made it so! damn! obvious!

Marron flushed, “I said, come off it! Gods, I get enough of this from the people at school, and just about anyplace, come to think of it... I don’t need it from you too.”

“Are people bullying you, Marron?” Milphey asked, his features serious.

Marron nodded somberly.

“Aaaaw...” Woody said, placing his arm around Marron’s shoulders in a gesture that was meant to be friendly, but only served to make Marron uneasy, “How could anyone be mean to a beautiful young flower such as yourself?”

“Yeah...” Apple Cora said in her low, rough butch voice, “Well, maybe they won’t be so cocky after I’ve introduced ‘em to my good friend, Madame Fist!”

“Hn...” Mousse contributed, his features stony. Mousse never really said much, Marron had discovered. His face never said much either. He was more of a stoic than Marron! Quite a feat indeed, but at least Marron actually spoke on a very rare occasion. Oh fine, so Mousse grunted a few times, but still...

Woody released Marron and laced his arms around his gothie boyfriend, whose stern expression softened slightly as he leaned into his lover’s embrace.

“Well, next time someone picks on you, you just tell us and the jerk will get what’s coming to them,” Mille said, gesturing with the hand he was holding his glass with, nearly sending cherry crap flying at everybody.

“Yeah, that’s right,” piped up Mille’s cute little blonde friend, who’d laid his head upon Mousse’s shoulder, “You can hang with us. No one’s gonna take on five of us at a time. It doesn’t matter how wussy we are.”

“Well, some of us aren’t wusses, fairy-boy,” Apple Cora said, flexing her shoulders and looking very smug. Woody took this opportunity to lob a balled-up paper napkin at her, hitting Apple square between the eyes.

She responded with a very annoyed “Hey!”, and a smart crack to the back of Woody’s head. He yelped and Mousse coiled his arms protectively around his smaller boyfriend, glaring with silent contempt at Apple, who stuck out her tongue.

“Hey, knock it off,” Milphey admonished. Apple slouched, her brow at level with her eyelashes.

“I. Hate. Blondes.”


Nine o’clock found Mille and Marron sitting alone together on the couch, sipping their respective beverages in silence, watching the various couples swaying and sashaying upon the dance floor. The silence, save for the slow, melodic thrum of a slow dance tune that was currently playing, was somewhat unsettling. Mille broke the ice.

“Do you like him?”

Marron gagged into his glass, nearly swallowing (translation; choking on) an ice cube. He was a bit thrown by this very blunt question. ‘Do you like him?’ What the hell...?!

“Wh-at?” he managed to squeak.

“Gateau,” Mille replied with a ‘no-duh’ look on his face, “Do you like him?”

Marron nervously fiddled with a strand of hair that had fallen into his eyes. He could feel his face growing hot and some very odd sensations brewing in the pit of his stomach.

“...Mille... That’s very wrong...”

“What is?”

“Just... Asking me something so personal.”

Mille grinned, “Then you do.”

“I never said I did!” Marron snapped, hating how his voice was shaking.

“But you’re bluuuushiiiing...” Mille teased in a singsong voice.

“This is not a suitable conversation for us to be having! After over three years apart...”

“Why can’t you just answer the question?”

Marron slapped his hands over his ears, blushing pink as a persimmon, “Mille...!”

“Okay! Okay! Marron, chill!” Milphey said, gently placing a hand on Marron’s taut shoulder, “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean any harm.”

Marron heaved a shuddering sigh, trying to oust the unwelcome flush from his cheeks, “It’s alright.”

Silence.

The music played on... played on... and the couples continued to dance... dance...

“...Yes...”

“Mmm?”

Marron took a deep breath, and said very quietly, “If you must know... I do.” Marron’s heart turned to ice, thrumming slowly, sluggishly, painfully. He couldn’t believe he’d just said that out loud! Actually, he hadn’t really let himself believe it in the first place. He’d known all along that his feelings for Gateau went a bit beyond those that accompanied friendship... Maybe his brother’s homophobic attitude had dissuaded him... Maybe he was just scared. Either way, denial had plagued his soul throughout the years, until Mille cured it with that simple, yet medicinal question.

“I thought so,” Mille said, smiling. It wasn’t a malicious ha!-I-knew-it! smile. It was more along the lines of... understanding? “Now was that so hard?”

Marron, who was NOT liking the tomato-red blush that hovered along his cheekbones, lowered his eyes, “...Yes...”

“Nuh-uh! Don’t you look down at the floor!” Mille scolded good-naturedly, slipping a finger underneath Marron’s chin, gently forcing him to look up. Marron very reluctantly brought himself at eye-level with his friend who gave him a sympathetic half-smile, “See, Marron, that’s the trouble. You’re too emotionally closeted. That’s why you’re having all these problems.”

“I can’t help it, Mille,” Marron said wretchedly, “I’m just... shy.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being shy, Marron,” Mille said in all honesty, before smirking and adding, “In fact, that’s probably how Gateau would like you best.”

“Quiet?”

“Submissive.”

Marron frowned. Mille rolled his eyes, chuckling, “A JOKE, Marron! Just a little joke! Gods, sarcasm is sooooo lost on you, man! Either way...” Mille said, returning to his ‘no-nonense mode’, the schizo, “You’re not going to get anywhere by hiding yourself away. You have accept what your heart tells you.”

Marron still frowned, “I accept it all too well,” he said bitterly.

“Fine,” Mille shrugged, “Then you’re one step closer.”

“Closer to what?”

“Oh hell...” Milphey groaned, throwing his hands up over his head, then looking Marron in the eye, “Look, Marron. Bottom line, you can’t keep these things bottled up,” the crossdresser smiled bracingly, “You just have to try to express your feelings more.”

Marron gulped, trying not to let his expression betray his fear, “That will be hard.”

“Yes, it will,” Mille nodded, “But once you get started, it only gets easier. Believe me, I know...” Mille said, suddenly remembering what a withdrawn child he had once been. Well, you wouldn’t know that from looking at him know... HELL no... “Besides,” he added, “Gateau likes you a lot. I’m sure he’s been waiting for you to respond to his affections for a long time.”

That thought bolstered Marron’s courage. Gateau had offered himself to Marron for years without getting so much as a nod or a shaking of the head in response. Yes, Marron decided. He would ‘show n’ tell’ Gateau how he felt, deep within his heart (a heart that he NEVER wore on his sleeve). If not for himself, Marron would do it for Gateau.


“Gateau, are you absolutely sure about this?” Marron asked for the hundredth time, his head and shoulders hidden inside the cabinet above the sink.

“Yes...!” Gateau said in an exasperated groan from his perch on his ‘throne’ (he was sitting on the lid of the toilet), “Gods, Marron, how many times are you gonna ask me that?”

“I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing,” Marron said, ‘emerging’ from the cabinet, and shutting the door, holding a little black jar and a comb in one hand, “This is permanent, you know.”

“I heeeard you, Maaaarron. Seeeeveral tiiiimes...” Gateau sang, running his fingers through his hair, which was still wet from his shower, and grinning at his friend, “Besides... What true biker-dude hasn’t done something wild with his hair?”

Marron nodded, “I suppose you have a point there...”

“Besides, you did yours yourself, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I have complete faith in such a sophisticated expert like yourself.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Gateau.” Marron said, unscrewing the cap from the jar.

“Actually, flattery works just fine.” Gateau thought to himself, with a contented smile as Marron began to gently comb his friend’s much shorter hair. Little shivers of escasy raced up and down Gateau’s scalp. Seeing as Gateau had really thick hair that rarely ever tangled, there was no pain either. Just lovely little tinglies that made him twitch beneath the gentle strokes of the comb.

“You used my shampoo.” Marron stated, noticing the faint fragrance of lilacs that clung to Gateau’s damp hair.

“Yeah,” Gateau admitted, “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Marron replied, “I know how to share.”

“I like the smell,” Gateau said, smirking, “It turns me on.”

“That was more than I needed to hear...” Marron muttered, finishing up the preliminary combing. It had been three days since he had his little chat with Mille, and he knew he would fess up to Gateau someday. What he did not know was how to go about it. Many a sleepless night was spent puzzling over this, and many a day was spent feeling, to say the least, a bit awkward around Gateau. Marron himself was surprised at how well he managed to conceal his uneasiness, but he knew that his mask of self-control would shatter someday...

“Alright, Gateau, hold really still,” Marron warned his friend, “I’m putting in the dye now.”

“’Kay.”


One hour and half a jar of black hair dye later, the job was done. Gateau was psyched. He was so thrilled he leapt around like a five year old jacked up on sugar, did a very buzzed version of the tango with Marron for 9.8 seconds, then flew out the apartment door, dragging Marron behind him as he practically skipped down the hall, intent on showing the world his fabulously tiger-stripey hair. He hopped on his motorcycle, pausing only long enough to carefully place Marron behind him, and roared down the road. They did not return until the evening.

Gateau burst into the apartment ‘kung-fu style’ ending with a dramatic pose and a very flamboyant “Ha! Boom, Baby!” He strode jauntily into the apartment, with Marron trailing wearily behind him, looking frazzled and tuckered out. Gateau turned around and gave Marron a funny look, “Aw, come on, Hair Master, why so... blah?” he asked. Marron smiled weakly at Gateau and sighed a little. His hair looked fluffier than normal. Like Marron had rubbed it with helium balloons. Above all, it merited a good ruffling.

Marron feebly swatted Gateau’s hand away from his hair, and stalked over to the couch where he flopped down, dog tired. After a very exuberant motorcycle ride around town, Marron was poohed to a frizzle. Yep, it was definitely nap time for the cute little rock star.

“I am sleepy... Goodnight.”

Gateau frowned, “What night? It’s only five-thirty!”

Marron yawned, “I don’t care. After that little joyride, I’m worn out, and done for the day. Goodnight.”

Gateau shrugged and nodded, “Point taken. Well, you are sleepy and I am hungry. I’m gonna leave the kitchen light on so I can make myself some Cup Noodles. Yum. Anyway, I’ll try to be as quiet as possible, but knowing klutzy old me...”

“Fine.”

“Great. Oh, and Marron?”

“Mmm?”

“Thanks for doing such an awesome job on my hair.”

Marron mumbled a slurry, fuzzy “you’re welcome” of sorts (he was already half asleep). Gateau then ventured into the kitchen and made himself a dinner of wonderfully salty “just add water” freeze-dried noodles and veggies. Yummy were they.

After properly disposing of his plastic spoon and the empty styrofoam cup (translation; ‘slam-dunking’ the items into the trash can), Gateau sidled off in the direction of the couch. It took him the entire ‘long’ trek to the couch to remember it was already occupied. But tonight was Marron’s bed-night. Gateau knew this for sure, because he and Marron had quibbled over the matter several times and ended up magnet-ing a ‘bed vs. couch schedule’ to the fridge.

Sighing, Gateau gingerly slid his arms beneath Marron’s body and easily lifted him from the couch. This was no problem, seeing as Marron, thought tall, was pretty damn skinny (“practically anorexic”, as Gateau would have said) and Gateau was very well-built (“Hercules if I ever saw him” as Marron would have said). For all Gateau’s gentleness, the movement nudged Marron’s mind partially into wakefulness. Half awake, but not coherent by any stretch of the imagination. The smaller man just continued to rest limp in Gateau’s arms, his eyes closed, his breathing even, and his mind at peace (and surprisingly not even giving a thought to the fact that he was bobbing up and down with Gateau’s stride, and jostled a wee bit by the movement.

Gateau grinned to himself, pretending he was a groom carrying his bride across the threshold of their new home. He looked down at Marron, imagining the pale, beautifully lax face half-concealed with a veil... ‘Somedaaaay...’ sang the all-too optimistic side of his brain. “Youuuu wiiiish...” teased the reality-biting-you-in-the-ass side. Hey, he could dream, couldn’t he???

Gateau somehow managed to hold Marron comfortably with one arm, while pulling the bed covers down with the hand that was free. He ever so gently laid Marron on the bed. Half awake, Marron murmured sleepily and turned over, curling up on his side, still facing Gateau. His head rested on the back of one of his hands, while the other hand was held in a half-fist near his chest. Now that was just too damn cute.

Gateau pulled the sheet and blanket over Marron in one smooth motion and spent a few seconds getting an eyeful of the beautiful man, (supposedly) deep in peaceful slumber.

Meanwhile, Marron was slightly more aware of his current situation... He could feel the softness and warmth provided by the bed and blankets, and he could sense a presence leaning over him. His aura blended nicely with Gateau’s, producing an invisible glow. It was right. The feeling just... made sense.

Gateau just continued to drool. Marron was so beautiful... Everything from his fluffy, layered blue-black hair, down to his slender ankles and dainty feet... it was all almost too beautiful to be real. But Marron was as real as real could be, and that was precisely what made maintaining self-control all the more agonizing. Then, Gateau felt something snap within himself.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, and grinning like a fuzzy, sentimental lunatic, Gateau leaned over Marron’s curved frame, placing his hands on the mattress to support himself. Marron felt a shock of warmth arch up his aura as Gateau planted a chaste kiss upon his forehead.

Gateau’s lips remained, for a moment, lightly touching Marron’s skin with a gentle warmth, before leaving all too soon. It was a struggle on Marron’s behalf to keep his breathing steady and his face relaxed. Hell, it was a struggle to keep himself from going everywhere at once. His heart thrummed like a hummingbird within his ribcage, so loud and fast that he almost feared that Gateau would hear it. Pleasure glittered through Marron’s body, like he was being tickled from all sides... It was quite a task indeed to keep up a convincing “I’m sleeping like a rock” front. But, somehow, he managed... almost...

Gateau allowed himself a small smile when he noticed a very faint pink blush spreading over Marron’s pale face. He ran his fingers carefully along Marron’s hair line, as if memorizing the silken feel of his thick, dark hair, the peach-fuzz softness of his fair skin...

Marron prayed to the gods that Gateau’s attention would not be drawn to his arms, lest the newly acquired goose bumps betray him. It was almost too much to bear, but, at the same time, Marron hoped that Gateau would never, ever stop.

But stop Gateau did, for he feared he would go too far, and end up waking Marron. In short, he was sure to blow it unless he called it quits. He’d done enough...

Gateau sighed to himself before slowly, reluctantly, painfully forcing himself to leave Marron’s side, and retreat to the couch.

When Marron was sure Gateau was out of earshot, and his only accomplice was the steady whoosh of his own gentle breathing, into the warm embrace of the darkness Marron whispered, “Thank you.”


A few days later, never mind how many, Marron was, surprisesurpise, leaning over his schoolwork from his stationary seat at the table. It was close to five when Gateau made his unexpected entrance, fussing with the lock in a blind rage before opening the door and closing it with a nice, unquiet slam that made Marron jump and look up.

“Oh, hello, Gateau. You’re home early.” He said, acknowledging the older man’s presence with a faint smile before turning back to the day’s academic slave labor.

“Hn.” was the ever-congenial response he received, “Of course he doesn’t even get up to greet me properly. He doesn’t even notice how mad I am. Too busy with his damn studies. It’s a wonder his perfect, straight-A scholarly arse doesn’t get sore from sitting in that chair so much...” Gateau thought coldly, bitterly as he pulled off his jacket and threw it onto the couch.

Now that was unusual. Marron looked up, once again. He’d ‘trained’ Gateau quite well by now, and his room mate was always mindful to hang up whatever he took off. Not tonight. Marron could feel the rage burning velvet-red within Gateau’s aura even though he was on the other side of the room. Looking up, he could see the way Gateau stormed off, his head lowered, like that of an angry bull. Definitely not in a mental state to acknowledge what had been hammered into his mind so many times before. Marron watched as Gateau lumbered off in the general direction of the bed, and was very concerned at this point. For a few seconds, he stared stupidly off in the direction Gateau had gone. Then he shut the obscenely huge Chemistry textbook and rose from his seat. He found Gateau lying on his side, on the bed, facing the wall. His silence was a cold one as Marron went around to the other side of the bed so he could face Gateau. Even as he delicately sat upon the mattress’s edge, the older man continued to glare at the wall, as if he wanted it to explode.

“I got fired.”

Gateau hadn’t waited for Marron to inquire about his behavior. He was too pissed off to be patient enough to wait for him to do that. Marron inhaled sharply, “Fired?”

“Yeah,” Gateau said bitterly, his steely gaze never leaving the wall, “She’d warned me plenty of times to change my get-up. Customers would complain about me and the way I look, sometimes,” as he said this, Marron’s gaze roamed over the multiple jumprings that decorated Gateau’s ears, the gold stud adorning his nose, the hoard of studded cuffs encircling Gateau’s lower forearms, and lastly, to the stripes he himself had put into Gateau’s hair.

“Then, as if that wasn’t enough, today, one of the other guys ratted on me. He told her I was bi, the bastard.”

Gateau let out a sigh and concluded, “So the bitch fired me.”

Marron sighed a little, “I’m sorry, Gateau.”

Looking up at Marron, Gateau could tell he meant it. Warm, golden sympathy shone from within Marron’s eyes. It was as if he was projecting soft, invisible tides of comfort toward Gateau just by looking at him with those beautiful, shining eyes. Gateau felt his anger-tensed body relax slightly. His hot, scorching rage slowly cooled, eventually converting into cold fear. Gateau felt icicles of dread forming upon his heart as new potential for trouble entered his mind and Marron sensed an emotional change in the atmosphere. A creaking of rusty bedsprings announced Gateau’s rolling over. Once on his back, Gateau looked up at Marron, to whom the fear in those wide blue eyes was more than obvious.

“You’re not gonna kick me out, are you?”

“No...” Marron said in barely more than a whisper, shaking his head slowly, “I would never do that to you, Gateau.”

Gateau released a tremendous sigh of relief, his head lolling back onto the pillow, “Thank gods...”

“And I’ll help you find another job,” Marron added, “A better one.”

Gateau looked up at Marron, a mix of gratitude and shock flooding his eyes. It was as if this was the first time anyone had shown him such kindness, which, Marron reminded himself, was probably true.

“Really?” Gateau asked, bullshit with stunned appreciation. Marron simply nodded. Gateau frowned, a kind of mournful guilt working his sad expression, “You’re so nice to me, Marron,” he said, sighing sadly, “How do you do it? Just one charitable act after another. You take me into your apartment, you let me eat your food... Just the fact that you actually bothered to reenter my life at all... That alone means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

Marron listened, a very slight smile playing over his lips as Gateau heaped praise upon him.

“I feel awful,” Gateau continued, “You’ve done so much nice stuff for me, and I’ve done nothing to make it up to you...” Gateau stopped upon seeing the mild amusement flickering in Marron’s eyes. The older man sighed, shaking his head “Gods, I can’t believe how sappy I sounded just now.”

“Not sappy,” Marron corrected gently, “That sounds too negative. You were just being honest.”

“I...” Gateau started, searching his slender vocabulary for words that would be meaningful enough to express how he felt, “... I guess all I’m trying to say is that I owe you a lot. I mean for four years, everyone totally forgot me. I was all alone.”

“So was I,” Marron said, matter-of-factly, “For a long time, I was alone as well. Whether or not you realize it, I am grateful to you too, Gateau.”

Gateau frowned, a little confused, “Why?”

“For just being there for me.”

Gateau’s expression softened. He and Marron shared a silent pause, spent simply regarding each other, while mulling over what words had been spoken, and (in Marron’s case) waging a silent war against an uprising blush.

“But how are you gonna be able to afford-”

“Shhh...” Marron admonished gently, quieting Gateau by putting a finger to his lips, “I’ll manage somehow. Don’t let it worry you. It’s going to be alright, I promise.”

Gateau obediently said not another word and laid back, more than ready rest his frazzled soul. Gods, what a sucky day... First, with the fries and the ‘Big Spill’...grease all over the floor, ick, then the apron incident (don’t ask), having to deal with some old methuselah who was as blind as a bat and as slow as a snail when it came to paying for her lunch, then, to top it all off, getting punted. Horrible, horrible, horrible...

But a warm touch to Gateau’s brow was enough to chase all of his demons away. Very slowly, he opened his eyes as Marron ever-so gently brushed some errant, striped hairs from his forehead. This really surprised Gateau. Marron was not the touchy-feely type. He always seemed to make a valiant effort to avoid physical contact of any kind and being touched by others usually made him feel super uncomfortable. Yet here he was, tenderly stroking Gateau’s forehead and brow to comfort him. As shocking as this was, it was very soothing. Gateau closed his eyes, reveling in the pleasant sensations Marron’s gentle, talented fingers provided. It was as if Marron was slowly putting Gateau under a spell. A soothing, constant spell that rose-tinted your world... That made the air as ambrosia, and kept you a blissful, willing captive... You would fight to remain in its grasp...

Marron simply marveled, as he continued to run his fingers over Gateau’s face. The older man had actually opened up to him, told Marron of his emotions, of his pain. Gateau was usually the type to satisfy a situation with a cocky smile and a series of off-color, comical remarks. He kept so much hidden behind that ‘oh yeah, I’m a cool dude’ exterior. It was also possible that he simply fought his feelings. Or that he didn’t feel at all...

“No, that isn’t true...” Marron thought to himself. Gateau had just made him realize that he possessed very deep feelings indeed... and Gateau had also made Marron wonder how much more he was burying away in his most secret of hearts... Marron’s curiosity festered, and finally, he came to a decision;

“If I want Gateau to be open and honest with me, then I need to have the decency to reveal myself to him as well.” the bolder side of Marron’s mind declared. Then Mille’s words echoed within his head, sending ripples through his train of thought;

“You just have to try to express your feelings more.”

Yes...

Gateau felt the warmth of Marron’s fingertips leave his face. Curious, he opened his eyes and saw his younger friend staring at him with what could’ve been hunger in his eyes. But there was something, else. Something more prevalent. Stark terror flashed against the startlingly golden irises, set within eyes that were those of a man being led to the gallows.

As Gateau was puzzling over what the hell was the matter, Marron drew a sharp, decisive breath. The smaller man then leaned over Gateau, descending upon him as if in slow motion, and touched Gateau’s lips with his own.

A shockwave rippled through Gateau’s body, and in a rush of ecstasy, he found himself in a very mind-boggling situation; it was as if he was standing no more than a few feet away, in the body of another, watching with his own eyes, while at the same time he lay, completely blind, some emotions exploding like bombshells within him, others blooming, slowly, radiantly, like exotic flowers. It was very nearly overwhelming, to say the least, as an army of pleasurable sensations attacked from all sides in a ruthless massacre...

Passions intense and unnumbered.
Delicious shudders of escasy.
A sliver
of a shiver,
slithering
down his spine...

Marron’s bangs tickled Gateau’s forehead, as if feathering their own kisses there, as Marron massaged Gateau’s lower lip with his both of his own, his mouth saying more now in this way, than it ever had with words. Marron’s kiss was very gentle, involving lips only, but it was laced with obvious affection and it warmed Gateau heart and soul, like hot chocolate after a long walk in the snow...

Then, just as they came, they left.

The warmth ebbed away as Marron’s mouth left Gateau’s. The eyes of both parties opened, and as the kiss ended, the blushfest commenced. Marron looked as though his pale face had been splashed with wine. He gave Gateau a baleful, embarrassed look before hastily rising from the bed and fleeing to the sanctuary of the couch.

Gateau just lay upon the mattress, feeling as though he’d been struck by lightning, his chest rising and falling as he drew shaky, shallow breaths. Gateau felt his grasp upon reality weakening. The part of his mind that was not still bombarded by thrills was engaged in a racked contemplation. He hardly dared to believe that this was real, and not merely one of those fantasies generated by the more perverse side of him... Was it a dream? No... It was REAL...

real...
real...
real...

he could almost hear the word upon every ragged breath he released...
Marron had kissed him.
Oh gods. That statement was a shell shocker in itself... Then, unhappily, Gateau remembered that pitiful, disappointed look on Marron’s face when they parted, and he wished more than anything to be able to somehow severe his mouth from his face so he could chew his own head off...
Marron had kissed him.
And Gateau had been too shocked to react. He hadn’t, in any way, shown Marron how much that kiss had pleased him... How many eternities of fervent, desperate, heartfelt wishes had come true as a result of it. To top it all off, Gateau hadn’t even had the decency to kiss him back... Oh gods, what if Marron thought he’d made a mistake? What if he didn’t want anything to do with Gateau after that? What if it ruined the strong bond they both shared? What if...??? Gateau brutally whacked himself on the head, and one word replaced the frets and worries, which were multiplying like bacteria in his mind...

SHIT.


The next morning, Gateau woke up, feeling refreshed and relaxed. He didn’t feel like he usually did in the mornings; like he’d been dunked in warm grease, rubbed clean with towels (the rough, nasty kind provided by cheap hotels), and then dragged through the sand on a beach in the middle of winter. Ugh. Not the most beautimous feeling to wake up to.

Stretching and making all of those fuzzy, indistinct ‘morning noises’ Gateau shook out his hair to un-paste his bangs from his forehead, and rubbed his eyes until the world came into focus. He glanced lazily over at his alarm clock...
...and discovered WHY he felt like he’d slept on a cloud in heaven...
10:04:23 am.
Oh HELL...

Gateau threw himself out of bed, dread turning his blood to water and his heart to a kettledrum. He was already two hours, four minutes, and twenty-three seconds late. The Megabitch would be roaring at him until the cows came home (to be made into burgers for Happy Meals, of course). How could he have slept through the alarm?

Gateau froze in his purple plaid boxers, standing on one foot, in the middle of yanking his black uniform slacks on, when he realized he hadn’t even set his alarm. Then he remembered...

After sufficiently walloping himself on the head for being so stoopid, Gateau flung the nasty, icky cotton pants aside, and pulled out his good old comfy Levis. Baggy, black, well-worn to soft perfection with a few funny little rips in the side and frayed edges that added ‘character’ to the jeans. Denim was his friend. He selected a pink and purple tye-dyed tank and put that on as well. Somewhat suitably dressed, Gateau left for the kitchen to rustle up some breakfast. Of course, Marron had already left for classes, so Gateau had the entire place to himself.

The only thing in the cabinet was a box of Cheerios that was gods-only-know-how old, and the rather empty fridge was not much help either. To top it off, the coffee had gone stone-cold. Lovely.

Gateau grumbled irritably and pulled a mini-pizza out of the freezer and placed it in the microwave. Gateau then sat himself down on the counter, glaring impatiently at the pizza which looked like it was waltzing around the microwave as the revolving plate upon which it sat turned painfully slowly.

He decided to busy himself by looking around for something to drink while the pizza was being nuked. Gateau confronted the fridge a second time, and decided on a Coke. Upon closing the door, he noticed a new paper, secured to the fridge by a pineapple-shaped magnet, just below the ‘Bed vs. Couch’ schedule. The teeny handwriting read;

“Gateau,
Seeing as there was no real reason for you to wake up at the normal hour, I decided to let you sleep late. I hope this is alright. Please devote some of your free time to trying to find a job. I will help you this weekend, and/or when I have a chance to do so. Until then,
~Marron

P.S. I’m sorry for the selection of food (or lack thereof). I’ll pick some things up from the mini mart on the way home.”

Gateau half-smiled, shaking his head. A sudden repetitive beeping noise from behind him announced that the pizza was ready. Gateau snatched the baseball mitt-sized edible out of the microwave and ate it in three bites. After gulping down the Coke, Gateau pulled on his jacket and boots and left the apartment to go employment-hopping.

At around two-thirty, Marron returned. He wearily stalked into the empty apartment, first placing a heavy bag containing the promised purchases from the mini mart upon the counter top and then removing his backpack and letting it hit the floor with a loud thump. He was sore all over. The backpack contained four textbooks and three binders, but felt like it held bricks and boulders instead. In addition to carrying this on his back, Marron had carted the grocery bag home in his arms, which had limited strength. Owch. Marron rolled his shoulders to ease away the residual pain, while he went about putting the food away. After carefully placing the box of Marshmallow-Blasted Froot Loops, the bag of pretzel sticks, and the case of Cup Noodles in the cabinet, Marron opened the refrigerator and put the baloney, string cheese, and ice cream sandwiches in their respective drawers or on their respective shelves. Upon closing the door, he noted that there was a new slip of paper held by the pineapple magnet that had previously held his note to Gateau. A series of what looked like chicken scratchings read;

“Marron,

We need to talk.
Come to me.

~Gateau

P.S. I’m on the roof.”

Barely one minute later found Marron opening the door at the top of the stairwell marked “Roof Access”, and puzzling over what Gateau would want to talk to him about. Wait, scratch that... He was full of dread over what Gateau would want to talk to him about. The previous night... Oh gods...

Gateau was sitting, with his back to Marron, near the edge of the roof, staring out over the city. Marron took a deep breath and strode over to where his friend was, stopping beside him, but not sitting down.

“I come up here when I’m really confused or mixed up or stressed out,” Gateau explained, without looking up, or acknowledging Marron’s presence otherwise, “Call it my ‘thoughtful spot’, if you’ve ever seen Winnie the Pooh.”

“It’s close to the heavens,” Marron said, agreeing, “It is a good place to meditate over things.”

“I don’t know what it is...” Gateau continued, more to himself than to Marron, “But something about being up here, and being able to look down at all of the houses and buildings and cars and stuff makes me feel better. It’s almost like I’m up above the world instead of living on its surface and dealing with all of its crap.”

Marron let silence fall between them for a second before fear gave way to curiosity.

“What was it that you wanted to speak to me about?”

Gateau sighed, shaking his head, “I don’t know... Well, that’s not true. I know very well what I want to say, but I don’t know how to say it without screwing everything up or offending you or something.”

Trying to mask his shyness with a calm, collected voice, Marron asked “It’s about last night, correct?”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry...!” Both parties chorused at the same time. They then mirrored eachother’s confused expressions and concluded the little ‘duet’ with a perfectly synchronized, “Why are you sorry?”

Both men managed a smile and a laugh at this. A top-notch dance teacher couldn’t have choreographed a better performance!

“I...”

“Yes?”

“Oh never mind.”

“No, say it.”

“You first.”

“Why me?”

“Because I can’t think of anything to say, dammit!” Gateau said, finally looking up at Marron, with what could have been a frustrated smile.

Marron sucked in a deep, healing breath, before stating more than asking as calmly as he could, “You want to know why I kissed you.”

“Well, yeah!” Gateau said, with ‘No duh’ smacked all over his face.

Marron frowned in frustration as he felt his face grow hot, but struggled to speak in a civilized manner nevertheless, “Right now, I’m not really sure myself, why I did it. But looking back...” Marron toyed with a bit of his hair, tripping over his own thoughts that seemed to clamor and riot within his brain, only to meld into a big, ugly blob, chameleonizing with each other. Gateau waited with forced patience as Marron multitasked his nervousness via the tress of hair and the hem of his shirt.

“I have... these feelings for you...” Marron struggled, hating how forced his speech sounded and how very weak he felt. It was as if his words were barbed wire, painfully forcing their way up his throat like freak caterpillars. Marron swallowed hard and did his best to continue in a comprehensible way, “They are deeper than those of friendship... It’s like... something from another world is tugging on my heart... or some extra-terrestrial being is drowning my soul in nectar. These feelings are very strange to me, almost exceeding to frightening... I’ve never really felt anything like this, as far as I can remember... The only thing I can relate to these feelings is how I felt when Danish told me I would never die, so long as I had love... Other than that... I suppose my feelings were so overwhelming that they overruled my common sense last night and I acted on impulse... I realize how stupid I was and I’m sorry, Gateau...”

“Marron, you have nothing to apologize for,” Gateau said, his voice firm with honesty, “You said you have feelings for me?”

“Yes,” Marron said, “But, I don’t know them, what they are, what they mean. All I know is that I want to be more to you than I am, and I want to you to be more to me than you are.”

Gateau’s next words were a huge leap of faith, “Could it be... love?”

“No.”

Gateau felt that word materialize into a harpoon that nanoseconds later shiskabobbed his heart. Very carefully, he asked, “Are you... so sure of everything?”

“It can’t be love. It can’t possibly!” Marron protested in a breaking voice, shaking his head back and forth like a spooked horse.

“Why do you say that?”

Marron inhaled sharply, shakily, “I know it isn’t love. I can’t love, Gateau. Ever since Danish died, he made off with my soul and murdered it along with himself. When the love of my life died, so did a big part of my self. I don’t have the courage to try again... And even if I was brave enough to try... I seriously doubt that I could possibly be able to love while a broken heart beats within my chest.”

“Marron,” Gateau said, standing, and looking at Marron with his beautiful lapis lazuli eyes. Blue eyes that were soothing to look into... Like eating chicken soup while in the process of recovering from an illness... Yet Marron did not have the courage to look at Gateau, so he lowered his own eyes and studied the roof (that was really more like a floor from their vantage points, seeing as it was below their feet rather than above their heads as rooves are expected to be), made of plain, grey concrete. Gateau stood, taking a step closer to Marron so that Marron could see the toes of Gateau’s boots nearby his own black and silver sneakers as he kept his visual range glued to the concrete.

“I think you do have it within you,” Gateau said sincerely, “You just misplaced it and you need help finding it again.”

“What are you saying, Gateau?”

“You may not feel brave enough to love another, but for gods’ sakes, don’t shut yourself off from love altogether. Maybe if you are reminded of love, you will find what you lost. Maybe it wasn’t even missing in the first place... Even if you can’t love back... Just... Let someone love you. ”

Marron felt his breathing grow shallow and labored as Gateau carefully wrapped his arms around him and gently brought the smaller man closer to his body in a warm, comforting embrace. Marron returned the hug, holding tightly to Gateau like a disaster victim would clutch a rescuer.

“...And I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you back,” Gateau added, concluding his speech.

There was long silence, in which Marron’s grip upon Gateau went lax and Gateau felt the heartwarming embrace turn cold and empty.

“...It’s probably for the best... that you didn’t...” Marron said in a voice that was that of a man on his deathbed. With a gentle, but grief-laiden sigh, he disengaged himself from Gateau, and turned away, crossing his arms over his chest “You’d never want to kiss me.”

“Whoreshit,” Gateau protested, “I mean, I wanted to. I was just surprised, I guess... But I really did want to kiss you.”

“No...”

“Well why the bloody hell not?!” Gateau asked, shrugging and gesturing wildly before answering his own question, “I’ve always liked you a lot... Hell, I’ve had so many fantasies about you, I couldn’t count them! Why do you think I always flirted with you and tried to get you to look at me when we were kids? Because I like you, dummy! And do you know why I like you? Because you are beautiful, nice, smart... you’re absolutely perfect. What’s not to freaking like?!”

“There is much you don’t know,” Marron remarked softly, refusing to face Gateau and obviously not at all moved by his grand display of I.C.T (Infatuation Confessions Today), “Don’t go saying that I am perfect until you know the whole story.”

Gateau grinned craftily, “So why doncha tell me the whole story so I can prove you wrong?”

“You wouldn’t understand...”

“Marron, all I know is that we both are feeling something for each other that’s making us both all crazy, and let me tell you, from what I can see, if it’s not love, then it’s pretty damn close. But I can’t understand if you refuse to tell me anything. So spill, coz I’m nosy as hell and I go stark raving mad if people pull that I’ve-got-a-secret-and-I-ain’t-gonna-tell-you shit with me.”

Gateau’s expression softened slightly when he noticed Marron tense up in response to the volume and energy his words projected.

“Tell me. Please?” Gateau requested in a kinder voice. Marron uncrossed his arms and let them hang at his his sides as he emitted an obliging sigh.

“Yes, I’ll tell you.”

Marron was still, his only movements being those of his hair, rising and falling slowly, gently as the wind played with it. Gateau waited with hushed impatience and time seemed to stand still as he watched Marron, who was doing absolutely nothing interesting enough to watch. Yet Gateau stared... Trying to see within Marron. Gateau could almost see those suppressed secrets bucking, snorting and frothing like wild stallions within Marron’s fragile body, threatening to reduce him to delicate shatters unless he loosed them. The seconds crawled by, slowly, painfully, like injured inchworms, and Gateau opened his mouth to call Marron’s name, to bring him back to earth. Before he could do this, Marron finally began to speak.

“Have you seen the damage on the apartment’s doorframe?”

Gateau frowned. Sure, he’d been curious about the split wood and ravaged paneling, but... what the hell...?

Nevertheless, he answered, “Yeah... What about it?”

“And the scuff-marks on the floor under the kitchen table?” Marron continued, as if he hadn’t heard Gateau. On a normal occasion, Gateau would’ve found this quite annoying, but he was far too curious to care at the moment.

“I hadn’t noticed those,” He said in response to the second half of Marron’s question.

Marron nodded once and said, “Well, there’s a sad story behind all of that.”

“Oh?”

“Yes...” Marron paused to take a deep breath as a means of preparing himself for the coming out of his darkest secret of all.

“When I heard of Danish’s suicide, I felt as though someone had clubbed me on the head and thrust a knife into my heart at the same time. I fell to the floor, I was so stricken with horror. I spent hours lying as though inert on the cold floorboards. I drowned myself in my tears and my grief before coming to a decision of my own. After less than an hour of preparation, I was ready. I had pushed the table aside, not paying any mind to how this action marred the floor, along with one of the chairs. The other I let remain, for it would prove useful for my... purposes... The last thing I did was turn off all of the lights, and place the only picture I had of my lost love upon the table top, surrounding it with at least a dozen lit candles. As I was setting this up, I heard a knocking on my door. It was the apartment manager, Mrs. Hollyndaise. She had been nagging me for months about paying my rent, so it did not surprise me in the least when I heard her outside my door, shouting something about my final eviction notice. She said had the police with her and they would break down the door if I didn’t open it first. I didn’t pay them any mind. I continued to arrange the candles in a nice pattern around the photograph as the knocking turned to pounding, and the shouted requests became orders and threats. When I was satisfied, I got up onto the chair, looked into Danish’s eyes for the last time, and told him I would see him soon. Just as I stepped off the chair, the door was ripped from its hinges and the police were upon me. Needless to say, Mrs. Hollyndaise let out quite a scream when she saw me handcuffed, wriggling like a worm on a hook as I hung from a noose I’d made out of dental floss and duct tape, secured to the lighting fixture overhead. My memories of what happened after that are blurry... I just remember being taken to the police station, charged with attempted suicide. Mrs. Hollyndaise apparently took pity on me because she bailed me out. She said I was lucky I didn’t break my neck, and I nodded, even though I secretly disagreed. She promised me she would not tell a soul about what happened as long as I stayed quiet as well. Though she’s still an irascible rent collector, now she’s always asking me how I’m doing. Nice of her, that. And though my life has gone very much uphill since that event, I still have to live with a dark mark upon my soul. I would have followed Danish to ends of the earth and beyond, so I felt that it was the only way. But now, I still can’t believe... Every time I think about... what I almost did... The bottom line is...” Marron swallowed hard, feeling his voice quivering with grief. He lowered his voice in an attempt to make it stable as he spoke the truth aloud for the first time, “...I tried to kill myself, Gateau.”

Silence.

Silence that provided time for the shell-shocking truth to sink in.

Silence again.

Then, more silence, save for footsteps as one approached the other. Marron heard Gateau coming toward him from behind and almost hoped that the older man would take him into his arms again and hold him close, allowing Marron to cry upon his shoulder while stroking his hair and telling him everything would be okay. Marron almost wished for this. Almost... Marron’s mind spoke cynical words to him, saying he would just feel afraid and overwhelmed and end up pushing Gateau away. Marron knew all too well how true this prophecy probably was. That stung. Marron suddenly hated himself for being such a coward. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so weak and useless...

But Gateau did not even touch his distraught companion. Instead, he went around to face Marron from the front. Gateau took a deep breath before revealing to Marron the dirty little secret of why he always wore lots of wrist cuffs or long sleeves...
Gateau took off his leather jacket and held out his arm for Marron to see. The younger man squinted, then inhaled sharply upon seeing a series of thin, white scars decorating Gateau’s wrist and muscular forearm.

Marron remained silent. Gateau couldn’t even hear him breathing. Marron mutely took Gateau’s wrist gently in his hand and appraised the scars, golden eyes dark with concentration. He watched in silence as Marron carefully traced what remained of the bloody handiwork with the tip of his index finger. Gateau fought the urge to shudder. He felt very vulnerable baring his own dark secret, but after what Marron had revealed to him, Gateau felt he owed him something in return.

After Marron had gone over each of the eleven scars, he sank into a kneel, never letting go of Gateau’s arm. He tugged gently in a silent plea for Gateau to follow his example. The older man obliged, sitting next to Marron, who sat himself down more comfortably before extending a leg and pulling up his bondage pants, exposing his calf. He then shifted his position slightly so that the underside of his leg was turned upward. Marron glanced from Gateau to his leg in a gesture for him to take a look. Gateau leaned closer and had to look carefully to see seven thin, pale scars disrupting the smooth, tender skin just below the underside of Marron’s knee.

Gateau blinked twice to make sure he was not seeing things. His hand rose on its own volition, reaching toward Marron’s leg, as if intending to touch the scars with glowing, healing fingertips that would somehow ‘magic away’ those glyphs of depression...

Gateau stopped himself, not wanting to push it, and turned his attention back upon Marron, who was staring at him with an unreadable dimness hovering in his eyes.

“Marron...” Gateau said, in a sad, distant voice, “if you feel so horrible that you would hurt yourself, kill yourself... if you felt that you were incapable of loving... Why did you kiss me?”

Marron closed his eyes, as if deep in meditation and began quietly, “My attempted suicide is not the end of my story... There’s more to it than my wanting to... go away. I felt wretched and sleepless that night, so I spent it ghosting around my apartment, pondering my existence. It was as if Mrs. Hollyndaise and those cops had not shown up at all, as if I’d succeeded in doing away with myself. I kept seeing my body, still hanging from my home-made noose, while I stood aside, as a specter. I felt cold and alone. I felt... dead. Or maybe, I should say I felt un-dead; like I was a lifeless being, magnetized to the face of the earth, damned to wander amongst the living for eternity. When I happened to traipse into the bathroom, I had a revelation. I realized that I was not a creature, so lonely and black-hearted like a vampire or a ghost. Such beings have no reflection. But I did. Though the man in the mirror was sad-eyed, flawed, and cowardly, he was still me. A thought struck me that changed my perspective instantly, “I am human.” Though most of them had left my life, seemingly for good, there still were people who cared whether I ate or starved, lived or died. First I thought of Tira, though only briefly, followed closely by Mille, but what moved me the most was the thought of you. Back when we were troubled teenagers, was it not Gateau Mocha who always stood by my side through thick and thin? Was Gateau ever not the first to come to my aid when disaster struck? Wasn’t it Gateau who was forever possessing feelings for me? Either way, your memory brought me up from the ashes, and knowing that you had always and would always care for me... You have always been so good to me, and I want to love you with all my heart... but love... is something my heart will no longer allow me to do.”

Gateau listened, mesmerized, never letting his eyes leave Marron’s face. He noticed how Marron stared intently at the ground, which he pressed his palms to, every muscle in his slender frame tensed. Gateau almost thought that Marron was enraged, until the sudden droop of his shoulders and shuddering breath betrayed a sob. When Marron blinked, Gateau noted the single silver tear that channeled down his face, taking some of his eyeliner with it, and leaving a shining trail upon the porcelain-pale skin. Gateau extended his hand, tenderly cupping the side of Marron’s face, using his free hand to stroke the moisture from his cheek. Marron placed his hand over Gateau’s, holding the larger hand to his face and sighing wearily. Gateau took this opportunity his bring face close to that of his smaller counterpart, planting a series of gentle kisses upon Marron’s forehead. Soothed by the touch of Gateau’s hands and lips, Marron fell against his companion, who momentarily lifted the younger man into his lap and put his arms around him. Marron pressed his face to the hollow of Gateau’s throat, breathing softly, deeply against the other’s skin.

Gateau held Marron close to him, almost hoping that the smaller man would cry, fully and heavily upon him. Marron had always kept everything bottled up. One could only imagine the emotional frenzy attacking his heart, day after day. Marron deserved to cry every once in a while, Gateau thought. But that single tear was the first and the last one Marron shed. Nevertheless, Gateau held him and spoke in a voice soft with affection,

“If you can’t give your own love, then I will give mine to you. I will love you, Marron.”

“No...” Marron whimpered in futile protest, though he made no attempt to free himself from the embrace.

“Yes...” Gateau countered feather-gently, smiling to himself and laying his head upon Marron’s, as he said in a dulcet whisper, “I love you.”

Gateau continued to hold Marron, inhaling the sweet, lilac-y scent of the wild, blue-black hair, and strong, calloused fingertips gently massaged his back and shoulders. Gateau couldn’t help but marvel as he began to notice just how very small Marron was... Or was Gateau just big? The first was slender, agile, and nearly a foot shorter than his counterpart, who was brawny, hulking, and almost seven feet tall. One advantage did come of this contrast; because of Marron’s petiteness, or because of Gateau’s bigness, depending on how you want to look at it, Marron fit perfectly into Gateau’s lap, without providing any discomfort at all for either of them. Gateau was the ‘sturdy’ type who was good for leaning on, and Marron was the ‘delicate’ type that you knew you had to handle with extreme care, but you still ached to be able to hold... Gateau crossed his legs so that he could hold Marron more comfortably. As he did this, he was very pleasantly surprised when Marron actually cuddled up to him, nestling against his broad chest. Cradling Marron like a small girl would cradle a doll, Gateau remembered a certain debt he’d been wanting to repay. He carefully shifted Marron in his lap so that he could speak to him face to face. Staring into the honeyed velvet of Marron’s eyes, Gateau smiled and spoke.

“I wanna kiss you. Can I kiss you, Marron?”

Marron’s gaze darted away from Gateau, and his brow furrowed.

“I... don’t know...” He said timidly. Gateau looked at him quizzically.

“I’ve never done it... the ‘correct’ way...” Marron explained, a little embarrassed.

Gateau struggled to hold back a laugh, “Not even with Danish?”

Marron shook his head slowly, “We never went beyond lip-kissing. Danish said that the idea of tonguing someone ‘wierded him out’. And I was always too... shy.”

“Oh,” Gateau nodded, a little disappointed, but not about to show it, “That’s okay, Marron.”

“No! I didn’t mean it that way! I mean, I’d like to kiss you, but...” Marron sighed, “...I don’t know how.”

A small smile that was half amused, half sympathetic played over Gateau’s lips, and he looked fondly at Marron, adoring his innocence and angelic purity.

“It’s easy. I’ll show you.”

Gateau stood, then offered his hand to Marron and helped him up.

“Alright...” Gateau began, feeling a little awkward. Having to teach someone how to kiss... He could no sooner explain color to a blind man, yet he saw no reason not to try.

“Tilt your head a bit.”

“Like this?” Marron asked, cocking his head slightly to the left.

“Yeah,” Gateau said, nodding. Still unsure of himself, he stepped a bit closer to Marron, “Now... um... put your arms around me.”

“How?”

“It’s up to you,” Gateau answered, shrugging, “but the most common way I’ve seen people do it is she’ll put one hand on his shoulder, and she’ll touch his neck with the other.”

Marron cocked his eyebrow, “She?”

Gateau rolled his eyes, “You know what I mean.”

Marron nodded and decided to go with Gateau’s shoulder-and-neck suggestion. Once this was done, Gateau placed one hand on Marron’s hip, and the other found the side of his jaw. He felt Marron shudder slightly at being touched, but fortunately, he recovered quickly.

“Okay...” Gateau said, taking time for a deep breath, then continuing, “Now open your mouth a little and bring your tongue forward slightly... like you’re tasting something very sweet.”

Before doing this, Marron voiced the question in the back of his mind, “Can I close my eyes?”

Gateau laughed slightly at this question. Cute.

“Of course.”

Marron’s eyes regarded Gateau for a moment before closing. Marron then followed Gateau’s directions and waited. Gateau leaned forward, close of enough to close the distance between them. He paused for a moment, to give the final instructions.

“Try to relax.”

That said, Gateau slowly, carefully covered Marron’s lips with his own. Gateau felt Marron tense in either fear or shock or both. The older man paused in his pursuits and attempted to calm his partner by caressing the side of Marron’s neck, easing his tension with slow, delicate touches and strokes to his fair, sensitive skin. Marron felt ready to rocket past the stars and melt into a fluffy pink puddle at the same time. While it was a shock at first, the sudden moist warmth upon his lips slowly won his favor. It made him feel encompassed by a pleasant, mild heat, like he was just emerging from a warm shower. It made his mind moan and beg for more, so he massaged the back of Gateau’s neck in a silent plea to continue.

Gateau obliged, moving his lips over Marron’s. Slowly, sensuously, sweetly...

Then, there was a new, slight pressure to Marron’s lips, and amazingly, the smaller of the two actually responded by bringing Gateau closer, pulling him flush with his body. A delicious shudder wracked Marron’s slender frame as he pressed himself to Gateau. The closeness was maddening. The heat was so intense, Marron felt he might erupt, and yet he wanted more. As Gateau was exploring the warm, sweet cavern of Marron’s mouth, he was surprised when his partner shyly rose to meet him. It took every ounce of Gateau’s resolution to hold himself back. He could tell Marron was silently saying , “More, more, more...” but Gateau had to be gentle this time, seeing as it was Marron’s first real kiss, and Marron was easily frightened by new things. Besides, Gateau had already gotten more than he could’ve ever hoped for. Marron was kissing him back, fully and passionately. There would, hopefully, be more opportunities in the future for teaching Marron the finer points of the art of smooching, but for now...

Gateau’s hand found purchase in Marron’s hair, gently tugging as he kissed him, playing a little game of cat and mouse with the virgin’s tongue. Marron felt a quiet moan rise from deep within his throat. As Gateau continued his gentle, but feverishly passionate contributions, Marron’s worries began to flee like frightened ducks across the smooth, glassy surface of a pond; No more exams, no more name-calling, no more painful memories, no more cutting, no more depression, no more pills, no more trips to the bar, no more unrequited love...

Wait a minute, wait just one polyp-picking minute!

Marron brusquely severed the intimate connections between himself and Gateau as that thought struck him. Unrequited love? Was that what he had been feeling? Though unrequited, it was still...

“Marron?”

Marron was snapped back to reality as Gateau softly, carefully called his name. The older man was staring at him with his gentle, disarmingly blue eyes, which were filled with fear, and maybe even a little hurt. Marron then fully realized for the first time that he’d pushed Gateau away, even though he’d promised himself he wouldn’t. What if Gateau thought he’d done something wrong? No... He couldn’t let that happen. As this resolution marched determinedly through Marron’s mind, he felt a new realization wash over him, like a cool, refreshing breeze...

“I don’t think I’m scared anymore.”

Gateau just held his breath and stared as Marron lifted a hand and ran it gently over his companion’s face, as though memorizing every detail with the soft tips of his fingers. Marron paused as his fingers came to a delicate rest upon Gateau’s lips. Then the younger man smiled slightly.

“No,” he confirmed, more to himself than to Gateau, “I’m not scared.”

Then, Marron turned his gaze to Gateau’s eyes, looking deeply into the glittering, cerulean depths.

“What now?”

Ooooh, perversions loomed all around those two words, like little demons, exposing their tiny curved fangs in wicked, toothy smiles. Gateau couldn’t help but grin as well. So many answers to such a teeny weeny question, heh heh heh...

“We could go back to the apartment and settle down on the bed where I could proceed to make deliberate, passionate love to you.”

Marron’s eyebrow quirked and his eyes went wide. Gateau almost feared that he had not been able to take a joke, until Marron smiled and shook his head.

“Totally incorrigible.”

Gateau felt fierce joy well up within him. He hugged Marron tightly to him, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He wanted to attack Marron’s lips again, but he knew that that would be seriously pushing it. He had no doubt that sucking face once a day was more than enough for Virgin-boy, thank you very much.

Nevertheless, Gateau smiled affectionately down at his smaller partner and asked, “Well, what do you want to do?”

Marron shrugged, “Up until the part about making deliberate, passionate love to me, what you just said actually sounded fine.”

Gateau’s eyebrows raised, “Really?”

Marron nodded, then lead the way down to the apartment with a dumbstruck Gateau practically floating after him.

Lights out found the two in their pj’s, climbing into the bed, facing a little difficulty in doing so. It wasn’t easy for two men to fit both of themselves onto a twin-sized mattress. Somehow, they managed. Marron pressed his smaller body against Gateau, who instinctively laced his arms around his companion. Even as Marron was snuggling closer to him, a reminder etched brilliantly across Gateau’s mind, disrupting the mist of peace and pleasure...

Aw shit. Zoloft...

Not wanting a rerun of what had happened the last time Marron had neglected his medication, Gateau lifted one of his arms from Marron’s waist and carefully slid the other out from underneath him. He heaved himself off the bed and hurried over to the bathroom, feeling Marron’s puzzled gaze upon his back. He returned momentarily with two glasses of water and set them on the bedside table, then promptly retrieved the two containers that he’d placed in his pocket. He handed one to Marron, who opened it and smoothly downed a pill, washing it down with some water. Gateau, ever the graceless, was having a bit more trouble, courtesy of the damnable childproof cap. Noticing his struggles, Marron placed a hand on Gateau’s wrist to cease his frustrated efforts, then took the plastic container from him and twisted the cap off for him with his smaller, tapered fingers. Gateau nodded gratefully, and accepted the capsule Marron handed him. After Gateau took his pill, bringing their little Zoloft Party to an end, Marron laid back down on his side, and Gateau replaced his arms around him. Marron edged closer, fitting himself against the curve of Gateau’s body, and Gateau’s lips gently brushed the back of his neck. Giving into temptation (which was usually a very dangerous thing to do), Gateau draped one of his legs possessively around both of Marron’s, feeling the younger man’s chest rise and fall as he exhaled in a contented way.

That night, Gateau fell asleep wondering why he’d even bothered with the damned Zoloft at all.






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