Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I believe in love. 

It has, however, often been a foreign country to me.

- Sanctificum, Chris Abani

“I will never forgive you for leaving me to go party it up in Paris for the summer.” Nancy’s audio goes in and out, the connection fighting as hard as it can but losing the fight nonetheless. Regardless, TK can hear her playful snark just fine all the same. He’s been hearing hints of it in everything she’s said since he got accepted for NYU Paris’ campus for the summer. 

TK plugs his headphones into his laptop, hoping that might help streamline her voice just a little. If anything, it at least drowns out the sound of the moving city outside of his window. “I don’t know if taking a course about the 19th century French art movement is considered ‘“partying it up”,’ but thanks Nance, I miss you too.” He looks past Nancy and stares at the dated wallpaper covering the walls of their apartment. It looks even worse through the lens of the low quality Zoom call. 

He remembers when he and Nancy first toured the apartment and were all but swallowed up by a sea of tiny yellow daisies surrounded by cobalt blue and forest green swirls. TK hated it and wanted it gone almost immediately, Nancy loved it and never wanted to take it down. So, they compromised and decided to keep it. 

He never thought he'd be missing that wallpaper, and the atrocity it has the gaul to call a pattern. Then again, he also didn't think he would be spending a summer alone in Paris nursing a broken heart that was born out of an unpredictable, what almost seems unprompted, break-up. 

He looks from the wallpaper back to Nancy, who is now getting up to move around the apartment to find a better signal. He misses Nancy, he misses that ugly yellow wallpaper, and he misses the chaos of New York that he loves to call home. 

What’s worse is that he misses Alex, the man who broke his heart. Now he’s across the pond and without a thought of what to do. What are you supposed to do when you want someone to comfort your broken heart, but that same someone is the one who broke it?

Nancy settles into her bedroom, sitting at her desk and he sees a picture of her and TK in the background. They had taken the picture when they spent the day at Coney Island after graduating undergrad together. TK looks at his past smile, wanting to feel that happy again. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be home before you know it.” TK wishes that he didn’t mean the words as much as he does. He wishes that he could take advantage of the life he’ll be living for the next few months. Living in Paris for a summer, studying French art and enjoying authentic French cuisine. 

Thing is, he doesn’t know how to when everything just has a grey sort of veil over everything, muting all the colors life has to offer. 

Nancy’s eyebrows furrow and she purses her lips. “Alright, that sounds a little too meaningful. TK, you’re in Paris for the summer.” Nancy places both hands flat on her desk. Her way of placing her hands on TK’s shoulders and shaking him while he’s across the pond. 

“Don’t be in too much of a hurry to come back. At least not until I’ve had the chance to live vicariously through all of your Instagram posts. Have some good food, see some cool art, meet a really hot guy; this is your Eat, Pray, Love, don’t be too quick to throw it away.” 

TK doesn’t mention that Eat, Pray, Love not only took place in Italy; but the divorce was a decision the main character made, not the other way around. He also doesn’t know if wants to approach the topic of romance; or more specifically, a rebound. Nancy has been suggesting he do so, and to an extent he understands where she’s coming from. 

He could throw his mind into something so his heart can feel that short burst of infatuation, without lingering too long to end up with a broken heart. He could meet someone that’ll let him enjoy the right now without the idea of forever. That said, even that seems like too much of a tease for the state his heart is in. 

Instead, he does what he does best: redirect. “Nancy,” TK begins, “Since when do you consider art, what was it you called it, interesting?” 

In response, Nancy does what she does best: lands a joke. “Well since I started living vicariously through you, of course.” 

He remembers when he used to show her the work he was studying when they lived together during their senior year of college. He had shown her the work of Edward Borein, to which Nancy replied, “Edward Borein? More like Edward Bor-ing” 

TK takes full advantage of the redirection and goes to move the conversation off of him entirely. “So, how's Mateo? Has the wallpaper driven him away already?” 

While Nancy was mostly joking about being left, or ‘abandoned,’ by TK for the summer, part of her had been concerned at the prospect of paying rent with a single income. Well, most of her had been concerned.  

After asking any friend, any friend of a friend and the occasional NYU Facebook group; they eventually came across Mateo. He’s a nice enough guy who’s spectacular at Catan; something TK didn’t even know you could be spectacular at. 

“I’ll have you know Mateo thinks the wallpaper looks great.” Nancy makes the remark with an emboldened sense of pride. Her crossed arms show her exaggerated superiority; but her distracted eyes and a smile she doesn’t seem to realize she’s wearing shows something completely different. 

“Hm,” TK tries to make the sound casual, as if it’s an afterthought; but just like everything else he does, it’s far from casual. “Maybe you’re right Nancy, maybe love is in the air this summer.” 

Nancy’s eyes narrow, looking at TK with a distorted air of suspicion that still manages to transfer with the awful internet service. “You only think I’m right when you think you know something I don’t.” 

Her eyes widen when TK’s implication dawns on her. “Oh, don't even think about saying it, actually how dare you imply it.” 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“And you won’t be saying anything because there’s nothing to s-” Nancy’s tirade is cut off when the door to her bedroom opens. Off camera, TK can hear Mateo ask Nancy if they’re still getting pizza, and that they can get the olives if she wants. Nancy smiles off to the side, tells him that sounds good and waits for her bedroom door to close. 

Once the door clicks shut, her smile drops and she turns back to TK, her eyes aflame. “Not a word.” TK mimics a zipper, zipping his mouth closed but the smile that remains after the movement is more than enough of a tell. 

“I won’t keep you too much longer, I know you’ve got pizza to eat, and love to not fall in.” TK bids Nancy a goodbye before she can plead her case and the Zoom call is disconnected. 

After, TK stews in the silence, staring at the computer screen that’s now gone dark. He stares at his smudged reflection. He stares at his phone, sitting on his desk next to his text books. His finger is itching to unlock it, open Instagram and search up Alex’s name. 

Nancy had suggested he block him as a way to help him process the break up; and he did, for all of one week. Eventually, his curiosity got the best of him and he’s been regretting it ever since. 

TK stands up, physically moving himself from his phone. He goes over to the window, opening it and letting the sound of the city play background to his mild meandering. He puts away his toiletries, he makes a grocery list and tries to put up any and everything that makes his dorm seem more like home.

TK plays the standards as he gazes outside of the window, vicariously living through the life of the average passerby. Frank Sinatra’s voice singing the phrase, my strange little world just go passing me by as TK watches the couples walk by, hand in hand. His eyes gravitate toward two butterflies, fleeting through the air and wrapping themselves up within each other.

“Everybody’s got somebody.” TK mutters to himself. He narrows his eyes as he looks up at two clouds overlapping each other. A new song starts playing, Ella Fitzgerald sings the words they’re writing songs of love, but not for me. 

“Everybody’s got somebody, but me.” TK says to himself before closing the window. 

—

TK adjusts the pencil on his desk a fourth time. After a night of restless sleep; TK couldn’t wait to be on campus. If anything, just to help him occupy his mind. If he focuses on his studies, that’s less time he’s focusing on Alex; even if the studies in question are the syllabus. 

He opens his laptop, reading over the class syllabus and teasing himself with his phone and the idea of seeing what Alex is up to. He reads over the syllabus for the third time that morning before he decides to indulge himself. While class is set to start soon, he’s sure he can spare a few minutes to look up Alex on Instagram.

TK reaches for his phone and searches Alex’s name on Instagram. Alex’s profile is the first to pop up when searching his name and TK mentally prepares himself for anything he might see. Alex said there wasn’t anyone else, that things had just come to a natural end, but TK felt that there was nothing natural about it. 

He clicks on Alex’s profile, but before he has a chance to get a good look at it, the seat next to him is being occupied by a very frazzled student. TK tries to not be nosy, but the state of the man next to him draws a couple of questions. 

His shirt isn’t fully buttoned right, his black hair is in disarray and if TK looks down, he’s pretty sure he would see that he’s wearing two different shoes. His appearance doesn’t leave much to imagination, but it does leave just enough. Regardless, TK gives the guy a break, he can tell that he needs it. 

He leans over and says, “Second button down.” When the gentleman next to him doesn’t do anything but furrow his eyebrows, TK repeats himself. “Second button down, it’s buttoned into the third eyelet,” TK rolls his eyes, mentally chastising himself. “Button hole.” 

“Oh,” He reaches down and begins unbuttoning his shirt before righting the parallels. “Thanks so much.” He buttons each button accordingly before unbuttoning the top button. He waits a second and then undoes the second button as well. “What a way to start the term, huh?” He holds out his hand. “Colin.” 

“TK.” TK shakes Colin’s hand. “It could be worse.” Colin gives TK a raised eyebrow. “I mean I’m struggling to think of exactly how at the moment, but I’m sure it definitely could be. Long night?” 

“I wish.” Colin unzips his book bag, pulling out his laptop and placing it not too gracefully on the desk. “I, somehow, forgot to buy a power adaptor so my phone died in the middle of the night so my alarm didn’t go off. I meant to find one yesterday but the day got away from me.” 

He goes to power up his laptop and takes a slow and measured breath as the screen remains black. “Which would also mean my laptop is dead too.” He looks at TK, tentatively. “I know we just met, but would you–” 

TK was reaching into his bag before Colin could even get the question out. “Here. You should be able to find a plug adapter near the stations in Montparnasse.”  

“You’re a lifesaver.” Colin scouts the room for an outlet, walking over to one when he finally finds one. As he walks back to his seat, the more of the class begins to flood in. “How can I thank you?” 

“No need,” TK goes to say but is cut off by a comment from Colin that almost seems premeditated.

“Oh I know.” He snaps, as if he’s remembering something. “Some of us are going out tonight.” Colin looks over where a couple of girls are sitting. He nods at both of them, though only one looks down at risk of showing her smile. “That’s Jessica and Veronica; they’re cool, I promise.” 

“Oh, did you know them before the term started?” TK asks. Colin seems familiar with them in a way that seems a little more than casual. Colin winks at them before turning back to TK. 

“Oh no, met them during move-in, the best time to meet the right kind of person who can ruin your life. To think, if we had met any later, they’d see me with two mismatched shoes.” 

TK is piecing it all together. “So they’re the reason you forgot to go buy a plug adapter.” 

“We’ve all got our priorities.” Colin shrugs. “Anyways, Jessica said her cousin basically lived in Montmartre when he was here for grad school. He knows all the best spots.” Colin looks back at TK. “You gotta come out with us. It’s the least I can do to say thanks.” 

“I mean the least you can do is nothing.” TK mutters, detesting the idea of going out. He knows he probably should, just to get himself  out of his head. That said, he’s so used to wallowing in his misery, he doesn’t know what a break in that cycle will do for him. 

When Colin doesn’t falter from TK’s comment, rather, he laughs; TK can see where this is going. “If I say no, will you keep asking me until I eventually say yes?” 

“We’re gonna be fast friends, TK.” Colin jokes. His eyes shine, pleading slightly. “Come on, what do you say?” 

TK is quiet, thinks about the invitation. Maybe it’s just what he needs to get himself out of his own stupor. At the very least, it’ll get Nancy off his back. He smiles at Colin. “I’m in.” 

—

“You met a guy.” Nancy sings the phrase more than she actually speaks it. “TK met a guy.” 

“That’s not at all what I said Nancy, and you know that.” TK searches through his suitcase that he’s still in the midst of unpacking. He pulls out a bottle of cologne, Tom Ford’s Neroli Portofino. He would never buy the type of thing for himself, but his dad would. 

He pulls off the cap, spraying it once, twice and a lucky third time before walking through the spritz. “What I said was that I made a friend.” 

“Yeah, a friend that invited you for a night out after you’ve known him a full five minutes.” He can practically see Nancy’s beaming smile through the phone line. 

“Nancy, it’s nothing of the sort.” TK thinks about the hold Colin had over the strawberry blonde freckled faced girl that he saw in class. “Trust me, he’s not the type.” He grabs his diamond stud, and places it in. He would never buy the type of thing for himself, but his mom would. 

Nancy notes the tone in TK’s voice; it’s one that’s not annoyed, but honest. He’s not downplaying it in hopes she’ll egg him on. “Alright fine, regardless, I’m happy you’re making friends.” 

“I have friends, Nancy. I’ll remind you that you’re one of them.” TK pulls his phone from his ear to look back at the text Colin sent him after class. He pulls up the map and looks to see what train would be closest. He told Colin he’d meet them at the club as the others were planning to pre-game and he didn’t want to bring the vibe down. 

“Uh huh.” Nancy agrees, though it sounds like she’s suppressing what she actually wants to say. “Just, don’t be afraid to make more, yeah?” 

TK knows what she means now; most of his friends after undergrad had been Alex’s. Now that Alex isn’t in the picture, neither are those friends, not really. “I’ll try, just for you.” 

“That’s all I ask.” Nancy says. “Go forth, have fun and do anything I wouldn’t do. You’re newly single in Paris, TK. Act like it.” 

—

TK hasn’t inhabited the club scene for a while, and he's starting to be reminded why.

While remaining sober isn’t the issue at hand; it isn’t making his night any better. Watching people he’s barely met draping off each other powered by nothing but Yellow Chartreuse and good vibes doesn’t make for the most fun night out. 

That said, he can’t deny that Colin, Jessica and Veronica, who prefers Ronnie, haven’t done their best to make him feel welcome. When he told them he doesn’t drink, they didn’t make him feel weird, and more importantly, they didn't make him feel judged. 

Regardless, he’s finding himself staying close to the wall, nursing a mineral water and feeling the vibration of the pulsing club music as he plays wallflower. He watches, both the people and the stories unfolding.  

Colin looks at everyone like he’s a little bit in love with life. Jessica looks at Colin like she's a little bit in love with him. Ronnie looks at Jessica like she’s a little bit in love with her. 

TK assumes he looks like he’s a little bit in love with love itself; even if love doesn’t love him. 

He takes a sip of his mineral water, flashing a smile at Colin when he looks over at him. His way of telling him, no it’s fine, I’m happy tucked in the corner. In a way, it’s true. He told Nancy he was going out, not that he planned on going all out.

He doesn’t have it in him to swim through the sea of sweaty bodies to reach his newfound friends that he’s still mainly referring to as his classmates. For now, he’s fine sipping on his water and trying to hear the difference between the techno tracks as they play back to back. 

Slowly but surely, he allows himself to loosen up. He thinks the nerves he’s been repressing are starting to finally put themselves at bay. Not too much longer after, out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone cozy up beside him. 

“Hey.” TK feels the bass of the voice ripple throughout him. TK treats himself to a peek, something that should be no more than a parting glance. When he does, he can’t look for more than a second. He’s afraid that if he does; he’ll never want to look away again. 

“Hey.” TK responds with a casualness that, to him, sounds overwhelmingly counterfeit. He smiles, and it’s a smile that, to him, feels overwhelmingly genuine. Silence follows and he’s wondering if he’s missed his chance to make this nothing into something. 

“Wanna dance?” 

TK looks over again, and this time, he allows himself to stare. Sure, he had told Nancy that he didn’t want to fall in love, told her he didn’t even want to flirt with the idea of it. 

That said, maybe he can allow himself to act upon lust on a barely lit dance floor with a man that looks so good he doesn’t even look real. TK smirks, trying to downplay the warmth coiling within him. “Yeah.” 

Nancy’s right; he’s newly single in Paris. He should act like it. 

—

TK wakes, blinking his eyes open before closing them, unprepared for the splash of sun overtaking the room. He tries again, this time opening his eyes slowly. He wipes at his eyes, ridding them of sleep residue. 

His senses are overtaken by two poignant things; the smell of fresh coffee and the sound of a shower. He can hear music playing from the bathroom, but it’s muted by the door; sounding like nothing more than indiscernible melodies. TK looks down, the spot next to him is empty, but the imprint of a body once there is still fresh. 

Carlos, TK thinks to himself. His name comes back to TK like a song. His name is Carlos and as of last night, he’s given TK every bit of reason to enjoy being newly single in Paris. TK thinks he should laugh; something he thought was going to be impossible was made somewhat easier by a dimly lit dance floor, sexual tension and a conveniently placed apartment. 

TK pushes himself out of the bed and begins searching the floor for his discarded clothing. After slipping on his shirt and pulling up his jeans, he pulls out his phone. His phone is hanging on at 3% and he has an unread message from Colin that reads, “Don’t get yourself killed; it’ll be a mood killer for the rest of term.” 

At least that’s what he thinks Colin was trying to say. His text is littered with typos, punctuation in places it shouldn’t be and for some reason, a bell pepper emoji. TK replies, letting Colin know that he’s alive and well and that if anything will be a mood killer this term, it’ll be Doré. 

After TK sends the text, he can still hear the shower running. Carlos clearly didn’t plan to keep the wordless conversation going, so TK thinks it’s best he leaves before things get increasingly awkward. 

He scans the floor looking for his left shoe when he remembers that was one of the first things he took off when they got to Carlos’ apartment. TK walks toward the front door, slight gait in his step. 

He sees the French press, halfway full and two cups of coffee, all the way full. TK feels, he doesn’t know, flattered. He assumed that the moment the sun rose, he would be nothing more than an afterthought. Regardless, TK doesn’t plan to stay. 

He went into this thinking it’s nothing more than a casual hook up and that’s how he plans to keep it. He finally finds his left shoe, slipping it on and tying the laces. He pats himself down, ensuring he has his keys, his phones and all of his wits about him. 

He goes to open the door, but before he does; he turns around. He decides to do one last thing before he goes. 

—

Carlos is always prone to waking up early and this morning was no different. 

What was different, however, was the body in bed next to him. He had been in Paris for the better part of a month and he had never considered bringing a guy home. He never really considered doing anything but cooking.  

That said, when he saw TK at the club last night, he knew he wanted to take him home, even if just for the night. A night that was born out of a tentative question and quickly became a night of palpable passion that ended in Carlos’ apartment, on a bed that never really felt comfortable until last night. 

So, after waking up, and seeing that he still has company, he figures the least he could do is make the guy some breakfast.

He clambers out of bed, forgoing his usual date with the gym, and muddles through his cabinet and searches for both coffee and his French press. 

Once he places both of them on the counter, he begins the coffee making process. While he waits for the coffee to brew, he searches the fridge for anything he can turn into a decent breakfast. All he finds is that he needs to visit the market sooner rather than later. 

Eventually, he settles on a couple of day-old strawberry danish pastries and hopes they do the trick. He doesn’t know why they wouldn’t; it’s a casual breakfast following a night of casual sex, nothing more. 

When the coffee’s done , Carlos gradually pours it into two cups. After filling both cups, he watches the steam rise from them and knows it might be be a few minutes before they’re ready for consumption.

He makes the quick decision to take an even quicker shower while TK is still sleeping. Carlos has to fight himself to fawn in adoration when he gets a look at him. 

Carlos pairs his phone with his speaker before stepping into the shower. “Mil Horas” by Los Abuelos De La Nada begins playing as he shampoos his hair. He can hear rummaging through his apartment but it sounds distant past the bathroom door. 

It seems that TK is finally awake and Carlos wonders if seeing the two cups of coffee might scare him off. Then again, why should it matter, he’ll probably never see him again. 

As he steps out of the shower, he can hear the front door shut. He doesn’t bother with wearing anything more than a towel as he leaves the bathroom. One, because there’s no one there to see him, and two, the only person in all of Paris who has seen everything has already left. 

Carlos goes to grab a cup of coffee and backsplash crashes over the edge. He winces at the burn but all he thinks is that he’ll get to it later. After taking a healthy sip, he grabs a pen and notepad and begins to write down his grocery list. 

Luisa thinks it’s ridiculous, but he doesn’t trust his phone; they have a tendency to mess words up. He’ll go to type garlic and wonder why he’s looking for gazpacho in the produce section. 

When he goes to put the mug back down, he notices something that causes a smile to subtly grace his face. 

TK’s mug isn’t as full as it was when Carlos first poured it. 

—

“And he lives.” TK hears Colin’s voice before he sees him. He turns to see Colin walking down the dormitory hallway. Colin’s hair is in disarray again and TK is starting to wonder if that’s just the natural state of it. His shirt is bloused open, showing off his tanned chest and he’s got lipstick marks trailing up the side of his neck.

“Thanks for your concern, though I’m not sure what a bell pepper was supposed to mean.” 

“Oh shit, did I send a bell pepper?” Colin pulls out his phone and after a beat, looks back up at TK; a comical frown spread across his face. “It was supposed to be an eggplant.” 

“Goodbye Colin,” TK opens the door to his dorm, ready to end the conversation. He looks back at Colin, a tired smile showing. “Thanks for inviting me out last night, by the way. I think it was just what I needed.” 

“So you did get the bell pepper.” Colin jokes but his normal bright eyes seem to relax; like he’s letting down a mask. “You’re welcome. You can always count on me for a good time.” 

“Is Jessica proof of that?” TK nods to the burgundy lipstick stains settling on Colin’s neck. 

“Two days and you can already read me like a book,” Colin says as he begins walking down the hallway to his dorm. “I can already tell I’m going to like getting to know you, Strand.” 

“Wouldn’t want to learn about Manet with anyone else, Westwood.” Colin bids goodbye in his own special Colin way and TK finally walks back into his dorm. He casually steps out of his shoes as he pulls out his phone. 

He’s gotten back early enough that he can still stop by the campus bookstore before they close for the afternoon. After taking a quick shower, he walks across campus to the bookstore. He’s been settling into Paris for a little over a week now, but he’s still getting used to the idea of walking through a city without the fear of being pancaked by a yellow taxi. 

Once in the bookstore, he scavenges around the shelves until he finds what he needs. With arms heavy and weighed down by what feels like the entire 19th century French art movement, he makes his way to the register, where Ronnie is currently standing. 

He doesn’t remember Ronnie mentioning that she worked at the university bookstore; but with how quiet she is, he doesn’t remember her mentioning much of anything. 

“You recover nicely.” TK doesn’t think about how much of a flirt he sounds until Ronnie’s vacant expression suddenly becomes very full of character. “I didn’t mean for that to–” 

“Don’t worry, I know you’re not the type.” Ronnie interjects, grabbing the books from him. 

“How do you know?” 

“You didn’t spend the whole night hanging off of us like Colin did.” Ronnie maneuvers one of the books to find the barcode. As she holds the scanner against the bar code, she continues. “And I saw you leave with the G.I. Joe.” The scanner beeps. “Only after you held up the wall for 30 minutes.” 

Ronnie grabs another book. “What I’m saying is,” She scans it. “You don’t seem the type to be that forward on purpose.” 

TK feels a little taken aback by the accusation that doesn’t seem all that accusing. He’s never seen himself as such, especially since he always found himself to make the first move. “I think my ex-boyfriends would disagree with you on that.” 

“Maybe that’s why they’re your ex-boyfriends.” Ronnie winces at her own words almost instantly. “I’m sorry, Jessica says I have a tendency to misread the room." 

“Must make working in a bookstore a little hard,” TK hopes his statement lands as a joke and when Ronnie slightly smiles, he can tell that it has. “Anyways,” He grabs the books from Ronnie. “Maybe you’re not entirely wrong.” 

He thinks about Ronnie’s earlier words; half wanting to forget them and half wanting to not stop thinking about them. “You really think he looked like G.I. Joe?” 

“Guy was buff.” Ronnie hands him his receipt, circling the survey at the bottom with a red pen. “What does he do for a living?” 

“Not a clue. Hadn’t met him before last night and I don’t think I’m going to see him again.” TK takes the receipt as Ronnie explains how answering the survey could win him a $50 Amazon gift card. “Thanks Ronnie.” 

They bid each other goodbye, promising to commiserate over discourse around Courbet with each other later. 

When TK makes it back to his dorm, he places his tote bag in his desk chair and plops into his bed. After taking a moment to be still, he pulls out his phone and mindlessly clicks through all of the different apps. 

Eventually he opens Instagram and he sees he has a message from Nancy. It’s a video that she’s no doubt sent on TikTok as well. He double taps the message, letting her know he’s seen it and leaves the message. He locks his phone and places it on his nightstand. 

It isn’t until TK is brushing his teeth later that evening that he realizes he’s gone most of the day without thinking about Alex. TK hasn’t felt this feeling in months, but he knows that he likes it. 

—

“You’ve been in Paris a little over a week and you still haven’t been to the Louvre?” 

“Mom, I’m about to study French art for the next three months, I’m sure I’ll be spending more than enough time there in the upcoming weeks.” TK throws away another cup noodle carton and reaches for a clean glass from his cabinet. 

“Yes, but that’s for school so it’s not the same.” Gwyn argues as TK runs the faucet and fills up the glass. “You remember how you hated The Great Gatsby because you had to read it for 10th grade English class? Then you read it for fun and you loved it?” 

“I do not remember that because I still hate The Great Gatsby.” TK takes a long sip of his water and thinks maybe that’s not an entirely fair assessment. It’s not that he hated the book because it was bad; he’s just always found the idea of lost love so profoundly sad. 

“You do?” Gwyn sounds caught off guard and somewhat distracted. “Maybe I'm thinking of your dad. Well, get ready to fake a smile when you open your Hanukkah gifts from Aunt Ruth this year.” 

“Lovely.” 

“It’s a bright and sunny Sunday, why would you want to spend it cooped up in your dorm?” Gwyn navigates them back to the topic at hand.

TK peeks out of his window, the sun is shining brighter than it ever seems to in New York City. “How could you possibly know it’s sunny?” 

“It is, though, isn’t it?” TK can hear the all knowing smile from his mom through the line. At TK’s silence, Gwyn continues. “Look, I just want to make sure you’re making the best of your time there.” 

He can hear her begin to type in the background. He knows what that means, her time is about to be split between him and work. “Getting fresh air, seeing the sites, getting out of your own head.” 

So that’s what this is about, TK thinks to himself. Gwyn wanted to talk to make sure he wasn’t spiraling over Alex. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t pieced it together until now. He just broke up with, well, let’s be honest, got dumped by, the most serious boyfriend he’s had in a long time. There’s a good chance he’s teetering the line of self care and self destruction. 

His mom has seen this brand of coping from him before; he can understand why she wants to keep tabs. “How about this, I’ll go to the Louvre today, just for you. I’ll send you pictures and everything.” 

“If you can, take one of the Mona Lisa.” Gwyn asks, the notification sound of an e-mail sending resonating over the line. “I want to see if her eyes still follow you, even from thousands of miles away.” 

“You got it.” TK wonders if his mom realizes that’s something she and the Mona Lisa have in common. 

—

Carlos has never felt more embarrassingly American. 

He’s currently speaking to his sister over the phone, probably too loudly, while juggling a handful of Euros, a ticket that’s larger than expected and a map he’s never going to be able to fold back to its original state.  

“Merci,” Carlos says to the attendant. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t butchered the pronunciation, but it’s hard to gauge based on the neutral expression from the attendant. He smiles and holds up a hand to wave goodbye and regrets it as soon as he does. 

“I’m never leaving my apartment ever again.” Carlos mutters to himself. “Yes, Luisa, I’m in the building, I promise.”  Once he’s past the lobby, he moves out of the way of foot traffic.

“Send me a picture of your ticket.” 

“You have got to be kidding me.” Carlos sighs. “Luisa, I’m here, what more do you want from me?” He pulls out his map and unfolds it. He starts to scan over it before he remembers he doesn’t actually know what he’s looking for. 

“I’m serious,” Luisa’s voice sounds like she is very serious, which, to Carlos, means that she’s taking this too seriously. “Who’s to say you didn’t just pull up a YouTube video of background noise to throw me off?” 

“That’s a thing?” Carlos questions, moving his phone from one hand to the other.

"Oh that’s right, I’m talking to the king of no night life.” Luisa says. Carlos doesn’t feel the need to correct her and tell her he just went out this past Friday night. “Yes, it’s a thing. It’s a thing some people do when they want to give off the impression that they’re out doing something.” 

“Why don't they just go out and actually do something?” Carlos doesn’t understand it, and doesn’t think he ever will. It’s like when Ana told him that she didn’t want to go to her sister in law’s wedding. He had told her to just not go and she said that’s now how it works. He still isn’t sure why. 

“Because,” Luisa groans, growing steadily annoyed that the conversation has taken such a drastic  turn. “Sometimes they’re not invited to go out and do something and they’re just trying to make Dylan jealous in case he calls.” 

“Oh,” Carlos blinks and it’s like a light bulb going off. “That time I called you the week after Dylan broke up with you, was that” 

“I broke up with him.” Luisa corrects, abruptly. “Regardless, that’s not what we’re talking about.” 

“Right,” Carlos says as he pulls up the map again. “What did you say the painting was called?” 

“The Battle Between Love and Chastity.” Luisa answers. 

Carlos' eyebrows raise. “Colorful.” 

“It’s by Pietro Perugino.” Luisa’s Italian accent rolls off her tongue a lot better than Carlos' French accent does. “You should be able to find it near the other high renaissance pieces.” 

“Because I’m so familiar with high renaissance pieces.” Carlos sarcastically mutters as his eyes search around the page. 

“They gave you a map, did they not?” 

“Fine.” Carlos closes the map when he finds what he’s looking for. “I’ll take a picture of it for you, and then I’m leaving.” He has a carton full of cherry tomatoes that are going to spoil soon if he doesn't use them soon. 

“God forbid you take the time to enjoy yourself.” 

“This isn’t really my type of thing, Lu.” Carlos awkwardly moves out of the way of a passing group of school children. “Besides, I already had plans when you asked me to do this for you. You’re welcome by the way.” 

“Oh that’s right.” Carlos can tell by the tone of Luisa’s voice that her next words are going to be dripping in sarcasm. “I’m sorry that I’m stepping in on a day that would have been filled front to back with working out, cooking, reading about cooking and if there’s time, thoughts littered with self doubt.” 

“I like routine, sue me.” Carlos doesn’t acknowledge Luisa’s throw away comment about his self doubt. He’s afraid that if he does address it, he’d be admitting that there’s some truth to it. 

“You’re in Paris, Carlos.” Luisa says his name like she’s exhausted. “You’re attending the best culinary school in the world.” 

“Eh, top five.” 

“Go forth and live a little,” Luisa pauses. “You owe it to yourself. Lord knows you’re due for it.” 

Carlos is silent before saying anything. Luisa’s voice sounds like it’s teetering on pity. Carlos doesn’t need pity, and more than that, he doesn’t do well with it. “I’ll send you that picture soon.” 

Luisa sighs, resigning to the fact she’s pushed a little too hard. “Thanks.” 

Carlos hangs up without a goodbye and begins his trek to the Department of Paintings. After wading through a sea of other museum goers and navigating himself through the Mona Lisa’s entourage, he’s finally where he needs to be. 

The Battle Between Love and Chastity is an expansive painting, and while Carlos doesn’t consider himself a devoted fan of the medium, he can’t deny that it’s beautiful. He walks up to the placard next to it, reading a little bit about the painting.

The Battle Between Love and Chastity is an allegory depicting the internal battle our European ancestors faced. Do you save yourself for a loveless marriage or enjoy sexual freedom now?

“Hm,” Carlos mutters to himself after reading it. He thinks to himself that he would prefer the latter, but he presumes that's obvious. He steps far enough back to take a photo of the full painting. 

After doing so, he abruptly pulls his phone down, preemptively embarrassed that someone might have seen him. He can hear Luisa’s voice now, telling him he’s doing that thing again, where he’s ashamed of doing something human. 

He opens his messages and sends the photo to Luisa, he waits to ensure that it’s delivered before leaving. He watches the little blue line at the top of the screen, waiting to see it stretch all the way across. 

He takes a spot on the bench, deciding to be comfortable as he waits for the wifi to stop teasing him. As he watches his phone, he can sense someone sitting down next to him. Far enough away to make it seem less weird, but close enough to it seem purposeful. 

“Perugino really knew how to tell a story without writing a word.” 

It’s almost shameful how quickly Carlos recognizes the voice. Then again, it’s a pretty distinct voice. Everyone Carlos has been spoken to since coming to Paris either has a thick French accent, as expected, or is talking to him in the confines of a kitchen.

Carlos looks next to him, and he’s mildly delighted to see TK sitting next to him. He looks even better in the daylight. He’s wearing a red flannel shirt that just about drapes off of him, denim shorts that hug him in all the right places and red Chuck Taylor’s that have been through battle.

“He, uh, he did.” Carlos agrees, not quite sure what to say. He supposes it’s the right thing, because TK tries to rally back. 

TK seems a little caught off guard that Carlos took the bait; like he didn’t expect this conversation to go anywhere either. He responds without looking, just like he did in that night club just a couple of nights ago. “Yeah, it’s really, uh, really–”

“Beautiful,” Carlos finishes the statement for him; treating the thought as uniform, and expected. “Gorgeous, one might say.” Carlos continues.

There’s something about the way his voice sounds distant and distracted that makes TK turn his head. Carlos is staring right at him, waiting for the eye contact to be mirrored back. The artwork in front of them is long forgotten and disregarded. 

TK is flattered, maybe even bordering on flustered, but he soaks in the compliment all the same. “You know,” He looks Carlos up and down, making his implication known. “I’d have to agree.” 

Carlos does something he’s never really done before. He decides to live a little. “Would you, maybe, wanna grab a coffee?” Carlos’ tone of voice makes it sound like he wants to do everything but actually grab a coffee. 

“Sure.” 

Carlos never does check to see if the picture was ever delivered.

—

“You’re really good at that.” Carlos’ chest is rising and falling in a steady motion as he tries to bring his heart rate back to resting state. He’s covered in a sheen of sweat, his curls are unfurled and he’s already ready to go again. He looks over at TK and says, “Like really good.” 

TK smiles up at the ceiling before looking over at Carlos. The beads of sweat on his forehead are reflecting the sunlight peeking through Carlos’ blinds. “You’re not too bad yourself.”  TK turns back around before he can see the smile that spreads across Carlos’ face. 

TK raises himself from the bed, searching the floor for his clothing. As he’s pulling up his boxers, he takes a casual look around Carlos’ bedroom. “You’re a chef.” TK doesn’t say it like a question, more like a statement. Definitive and sure.

“Huh?” Carlos asks from the bed. TK’s halfway right, he’s on his way to becoming a chef, though he doesn’t know how TK figured that out by just looking around the room. 

“You’ve got a copy of The Hungry Eye sitting on your desk.” TK nods to the book as he pulls up his shorts and buttons them. “My step dad worked under Marco Pierre White back in the late 90s. He said that you’ll never see a regular person’s bookshelf with it, and you’ll never see a chef’s bookshelf without it.” 

“Regular person.” Carlos says the words with a laugh in his voice.

“Yeah, he’s a little weird about his job, but then again, it seems like most chefs are.” TK winces at his words as he reaches for his shirt. “No offense.” 

Carlos shrugs, casually pulling on his boxers. “It’s a fair assumption, probably based in fact.” Carlos isn’t ignorant to the fact that most, if not all, chefs make their occupation their personality. 

TK pulls on his shirt, his hair is left disheveled and he doesn’t seem to make a move to fix it. Carlos hopes he doesn’t. “Do you think that’s gonna be you?” TK asks him. “A little weird?” 

Carlos considers the question. He wants to think it won’t be, but everything is easier said than done.

Carlos is his father’s child, so that means he’s done every bit of research he can on a profession in the culinary field. He’s read every interview he could get his hands on, watched every documentary about a life like the kind he wants to lead. 

It’s something that becomes all consuming, starts to bleed into every part of their life. Luisa and Ana have been teasing him about it for the last couple of years since he decided to follow this career path.

Carlos looks at TK and thinks, TK didn’t ask to know all of that. He only wants one thing from Carlos and it’s the same thing Carlos wants from him. “I don’t know, all I know is that I want to be the best.” 

“Hm,” TK mumbles the sound, with a ghost of a smile on his face. “You dream big, I like that.” He pats his front and back pockets, pulling out his phone. “Let me know if you want to do this again sometime, yeah?” 

“Sure.” Carlos watches TK leave out the front door and all he can think is that he already wants to do it again. 

—

TK blinks and it feels like the first full week of class has already gone by, in, well, the blink of an eye. Friday afternoon is upon him again and he’s packing up all of his classwork when his professor stops him.

Dr. Carrie London is a woman that reminds TK of his mother in both the best and worst way. Her knowledge of the French art movement is unrivaled and you can tell after speaking with her for just five minutes. He also can’t help but admire her wit. 

He remembers one of the first things she said to the class on their first day. “Yes I’m an American living in Paris with the last name London. Hold any and all jokes, I’ve heard them all before.” 

That said, she also has a tendency to remind TK why he misses being away from New York so much. He hasn’t thought of Alex in days, most of that being thanks to Carlos, but he does miss the special type of grounding being around his loved ones gave him. 

All that to say, when Dr. London stops him and asks to speak with him after class, he’s welcome to oblige. He tells Colin that he’ll catch up with him later, to which Colin replies, “See you around, TP.” 

Dr. London's eyes narrow at Colin after he says it. “Is he calling you toilet paper?” TK laughs as she grimaces at the thought. 

“Teacher’s Pet.” TK clarifies with a smile. “He thinks it’s funny that I’m always the first to answer a question.”

“What’s funny about being educated?” 

TK drops his smile, taking on a serious, almost overly dramatic demeanor. This is one of those moments where she overwhelmingly reminds him of his mom. “Nothing, nothing at all.” 

“Hm.” Dr. London mutters the sound, but TK can see the right corner of her mouth quirk. He can tell she’s trying to cover her smile and he relaxes immensely. “Anyways, he’s right and don’t think I haven’t noticed. You seem to be very educated about what we’re studying this semester. Would you agree?” 

TK shrugs. “I’d say I’m passionate about it. I like it, and what I like, I tend to be really passionate about.” 

“Well it shows, I was very impressed by your academic purpose statement.” TK suppresses the thing that in him that wants to beam with pride.

He remembers the day he came home from AP Art History in the 12th grade. He wanted to crack open each and every book he could get. He never thought he’d be at the center of it all, learning from the best of the best. “Your writing sample also stood out. You really know your stuff.” 

TK’s excitement gets the best of him, and he can’t help but rush to what this is leading up to. “Dr. London, as much as I love the compliments, and trust me I do. I don’t think you kept me after class just to do that.” 

Dr. London stares at TK and she’s wearing an expression that would almost classify as impressed. “Like I said, you’re smart.” Turning away, she begins to shuffle through her massive purse. Colin has started a habit of calling her Mary Poppins when she’s not in the room. 

When she turns back to face him, she’s holding out a business card. Nathalie Moreau is embossed on the white card stock in black lettering. Under her name is her email, her telephone number and her job title. TK’s eyes widen when he reads that she’s “Records Manager at the Louvre?” 

“I passed along your CV.” Dr. London zips up her purse before flinging it over her shoulder. “Not saying that something will come of it, but last we spoke, she seemed impressed. They’re about to cast a net for part time employees, interns and fellows. Give her a shout, you can tell her I sent you.” 

“Thanks so much, Dr. London.” TK has this urge to hug her but he doesn’t act on it. 

“Don't thank me just yet,” Dr. London argues, walking with TK as they both go to leave the classroom. “This is a very competitive field, and it’s as disappointing as it is exciting. Have a nice weekend, TK.” 

“You as well.” When TK’s standing by himself in the hallway, he has a moment to let everything wash over him without an audience. He thinks this is a call for a celebration, or at least something to drain him of his adrenaline.  

He doesn’t want to tell Colin, not just because it might start a weird rift between them, but because he knows what Colin’s type of celebration entails. Instead he settles for something, or rather someone, a little more his speed. 

—

“Can’t complain.” Carlos takes a hearty sip of water before passing the bottle to TK. “Change of scenery is nice.” 

TK takes the bottle wordlessly; happy to replenish himself. His hair is damp, sticking to his forehead by nothing more than sweat; evidence of a good time.

He looks at the walls of TK’s dorm. While the room itself is very clerical, TK has found a way to color it with his personality. Movie posters are spread all over the walls, and Carlos doesn’t recognize any of them. Everywhere he looks, there’s a book, except for on his bookshelf, which is currently home to about five different plants. 

His desk is housing a stack of textbooks, though he can’t see what any of them say from where he’s sitting. Next to them is a picture of TK and two other people that are obviously his parents. They’re all smiling and TK’s wearing a purple cap and gown with the letters NYU embroidered on the stole. 

Carlos thinks it’s sweet; it kind of makes him wish he had a photo like that too.

He didn’t go to his high school graduation, much to the chagrin of his parents. Leah Chase, Queen of Creole Cuisine, was in town and was hosting a panel the same day and time as his graduation. 

Carlos didn’t see the point in missing something so important for sitting in a hot gymnasium for three hours, waiting for a piece of paper that would be mailed to him a week later. 

As Carlos is pulling on his jeans, he spots TK’s shoes piled up in the corner of his room. He’s not got a varying amount there, mostly just Vans, Chuck Taylor’s, a pair of tennis shoes and a pair of dress shoes. Carlos’ eyes hone in on the whites of TK’s converses. 

“You’re an artist?” Carlos asks, looking back at TK with a smile. When TK furrows his brows, Carlos explains his conclusion. “You doodle on your shoes. All the art kids I knew in high school used to do the same thing.” 

“You’ve got a keen eye,” TK jokes as he gets up from his bed, pulling on his boxers. “I dabble.” He shrugs. “Though, I tend to enjoy learning about it more than I do making it. I’m studying Art History at NYU.” 

Carlos cocks an eyebrow as he buttons his jeans. “We’re a long way from New York.” 

TK smirks. “You’re funny.” He takes another sip from the water bottle, finishing it off. “I’m studying abroad, in case it wasn’t obvious. Though, something tells me it might be a little obvious.” TK looks around the college dorm, the minuscule size of it that almost makes him embarrassed to host. 

Carlos holds up his hand, his thumb and index finger almost slightly pressed together. “Little bit.” He picks up his shirt. “How much longer do you have?” 

“After this semester, I should only need three more credits,” TK inhales a sharp breath through his teeth. “Which feels scary to say out loud.” 

“What do you plan to do after you graduate?” Carlos didn’t get to have this discussion with his guidance counselor. He never considered anything but cooking, he wanted to be a chef, so he was going to be a chef. 

“I’m not sure.” TK runs a hand through his hair; it's not as damp as it was earlier. "Which is why it's a little scary." 

He doesn't make it a point to mention the prospective opportunity at the Louvre. Why would Carlos care, TK's nothing more than a casual acquaintance. Well a casual acquaintance he has sex with. TK shrugs, pushing off the thoughts so as not to raise any questions. “It’s fine, I’m sure it’ll all work out.” 

Carlos admires it in a way; taking such a strong chance and being happy with it. “Well, best of luck to you.” He combs his fingers through his hair, his curls uncoiled and wild. 

“Thanks,” TK sighs, but he never really drops his smile. “Think I might need a little more than luck though. Anyways, as usual,” 

“I’ll let you know when I want to do this again sometime.” Carlos grins. 

“Yeah, sounds like a plan.” 

Neither of them want to be the first to admit that they hope the other wants to do it again sometime soon. 

—

When Carlos gets back to his apartment, his neighbors Nick, never Nicholas, and Ellie, never El or Leigh, are knocking on his front door.

They’re both trying to whisper to each other, their backs to Carlos and unaware of his person. 

“He’s not going to answer,” Ellie sounds annoyed, and slightly embarrassed. Her British accent is still an occasionally welcomed surprise.

“You mean because he’s dead?” Nick shrugs, his British accent a little less surprising since Carlos hears it often. “Technically, that would still count.” 

“No, I mean because he’s probably out, ” Nick knocks on his door three more times. “Nick, this is starting to get embarrassing, and if we keep it up any longer, it’s going to start getting suspicious.” 

“Did you two need something?” Nick and Elli turn around, wide eyed and caught off guard. 

“Yeah,” Nick answers with a smile, as if he’s been aware of Carlos the whole time. That’s something Carlos noticed about Nick early on; he doesn’t like to seem out of the loop.

“I was about to make a Poulet Au Vinaigre. Ellie’s never had one and I told her I could make her one that’s twice as good for half the price. Which is silly because you know I would never ask her to pay me,” Nick stops rambling when he realizes he’s not getting to the point. “Anyways, I realized I didn’t have a shallot; was hoping you could help?” 

Carlos raises an eyebrow, assuming, no, knowing there’s more to the story. “And what does that have to do with me possibly being dead?” 

“Yeah, well, when I told Ellie we should ask you, she said you might not be home and it might just be easier to go to the supermarket ourselves.” 

“And that’s when Nick said that there was no way you wouldn’t be home because you never go out.” Carlos raises both eyebrows, fighting a smile to not give himself away. Nick still hasn’t gotten a full read on him and he likes it that way. 

“That’s not how I said it,” Nick clarifies, though Carlos has a tendency to believe Ellie over Nick. “Anyways, that’s when Ellie and I bet on whether or not you would be at home.” 

“Nick made a bet,” Ellie corrects him. “I was too busy looking up where the closest market is, and being right it seems.” 

Nick rolls his eyes, but even without his glasses, Carlos can tell he’s not actually annoyed. “Yes Ellie, you’re the smartest person in the world.” 

“I know.” Ellie grins and Nick follows the motion, just happy to see her happy.

“Anyways, Reyes,” Nick turns the conversation back to the origin it was born out of. “Shallot?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I've got one.” Carlos walks up to his front door, pushing himself between the two of them. “Let me get us inside before someone thinks this is a robbery gone awry.” 

“Was my knocking that bad?” 

“Yes.” Carlos and Ellie say at the same time as he unlocks his front door. They follow him in, and Nick closes the door behind him. Ellie and Nick awkwardly orbit near the doorway to his kitchen. 

Carlos doesn’t have a television or a radio to use for background noise; so Ellie and Nick just listen to the sound of Carlos searching through his fridge. Nick, who's good with a lot of things, but not with silence, speaks up. “Can you believe the replacement they found for Dumont?”

Nick and Carlos are in the same program at Le Cordon Bleu. After their twelve month stint, they’ll both have a Diplôme de Cuisine. Though the program was meant to start a few weeks ago, one of the instructors, Camille Dumont, had to step away abruptly.

“Who’s the replacement?” Carlos asks.

“Oh you didn’t hear? I figured you would have been the first to know.”  Nick smiles, but it looks mischievous, like he’s in on a secret he can’t wait to share. “Alain Dumas.” 

Carlos stills, his hand hovering over the shallot in the crisper drawer. He looks over at Nick.“Dumas? He’s–” 

“One of the best in the country,” Nick finishes for him. He shrugs. “Maybe even in the world. Totally no pressure.” Nick flashes his usual Colgate smile but even Carlos can tell it’s slightly a cover. He’s panicked, and he’s right to be. 

“No pressure.” Carlos croaks out, grabbing the shallot. “It’s just Alain Dumas, no big deal.” He passes the shallot to Nick and Ellie looks back and forth between the two of them. 

“You two are acting weird,” Ellie shrugs. “Well, weirder than usual. This Dumas, he’s,”

At the same time, Carlos says, “Amazing.” and Nick says, “A dick.” They both look at each other, a little caught off guard by the other’s answer. 

Ellie nods silently. “Great, that really brought me up to speed.” 

“Dumas is a chef who’s a master of French cuisine,” Carlos begins but when Nick looks like he wants to disagree, he continues saying. “Who has a tendency to be absolutely awful to everyone around him.” 

“Rumor has it, he’s the reason Gauthier and Aubert left the cooking world entirely.” 

Ellie’s eyes widen, comically so. “Not Gauthier and Aubert!” 

“Gauthier and Aubert are, well, were also really good chefs, baby. They were both working under Dumas when Le Fouquet’s got its second Michelin Star and left not too soon after.”  

“This is just always going to sound like a foreign language to me isn’t it?” Ellie asks Carlos, giving up on trying to follow along. 

Carlos shrugs, “To be fair, most of it is.” 

“Funny,” Ellie says with a straight face as Nick smiles at Carlos. Ellie turns to Nick, looking up at him. “As fun as this history lesson has been, I am still quite hungry.” 

“And what kind of man would I be if I kept it that way? I’ll see you on Monday, Reyes. Good luck trying not to spiral over the news. I know I’m about to.” 

Carlos smiles at both of them as they close the door behind him. After they leave, the silence Carlos normally sits in seems louder than usual. He did his best to downplay it when talking to Nick and Ellie, but feels like he’s about to burst at the seams. 

Alain Dumas is what Carlos would consider culinary royalty. He experiments with combinations that sound absurd on paper but border on transcendent when actually tasted.

He has methods of procuring and preparing that are unorthodox, and maybe even downright weird. That said, that’s what everyone thinks makes him so good. 

He understands food in a way that not many people do and it’s what makes him one of the best. It’s what makes the idea of working so closely with him feel like you’ve won the lottery.

So why does Carlos feel a pit in his stomach that he can’t name? Nick had said good luck to him right before he left. Carlos thinks he’s going to need a little more than luck.

—

“This is TK Strand.” TK reaches into his bag of granola, grabbing a handful to drop into his yogurt. His Monday started like every other Monday; with him wishing it was already Friday. 

“Monsieur Strand, this is Nathalie Moreau, from the Louvre.” TK drops his yogurt to the ground. Greek yogurt, blueberries, granola and honey splatter across the tile flooring. Fuck me, TK thinks to himself as he rushes to grab a handful of paper towels. “Your professor said I might be in touch?” 

“Yes, yes,” TK crouches down and begins to wipe up the mess. He awkwardly places his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he continues. “Dr. London, she said I should reach out to you so I did so on Saturday morning.” TK didn’t think he’d be hearing back from her at all, let alone the following Monday. “I didn’t expect to hear back from you so soon.” 

“I was expecting you.” TK doesn’t know if it’s the phrase itself, the fact he’s already a bundle of nerves or Moreau’s thick French accent; but, the words sound ominous and it makes him wonder where this conversation will lead. “Carrie was right, you’re impressive.” 

TK feels like he’s lighter than air after receiving the praise. “Thank y-”

“Well, at least you are on paper.” Moreau interrupts him and he’s brought right back down to Earth. “That said, I asked around and found out the curation team is currently looking for a summer intern. I think you should apply.” 

Moreau continues speaking without missing a beat, TK doesn’t even have time to reel from her statement. “I don’t know all of the details because it’s not my job to know. I’m sure our website specifies everything you need to know, including where and who to send your resume to. Any questions?” 

“Uh yeah.” TK feels the need to take a deep breath for her. “Do you think I’ve got a shot?” 

“Well that’s for the interview panel to decide, not me. Though you do have something the other candidates don’t have.” 

“What’s that?” 

TK can hear her smile through the phone. “A reference from me.” 

—

“My mom’s gonna kill me if she finds out I came all the way to Paris just to get McDonald’s for breakfast.” TK looks over the menu hanging from the wall. He doesn’t understand most of it, but he’s pretty sure an Egg McMuffin looks the same in every language. 

After TK got off the phone with Ms. Moreua, he still feels weird calling her Nathalie even if it’s just in his own head, he realized he still needed breakfast. The last of what he had for breakfast is currently sitting in his kitchen trash can. He makes a reminder to himself that he’ll need to stop by the grocery store or market, as they call it here. 

“You could just not tell her.” Ronnie is currently on her phone, translating the menu. Her red heart shaped sunglasses are a welcome contrast to her jet black hair. 

When TK is silent, Ronnie realizes her slight. “Oh, that was a joke.” 

“I guess it wasn’t a very good one.” TK says, as they move up in line. TK mentally prepares himself for his order. He’s probably about to butcher his French, but at least he’ll sound confident while he’s doing it. 

“You said it, not me.” Ronnie doesn’t look up from her phone when she makes the remark. TK eyes cut to her, caught off guard by the taunt. When he does look over at her, he can see her trying to fight a smile.

“Oh,” TK chuckles. “That was a joke.” 

TK had asked Ronnie if she wanted to join him for a late breakfast. TK likes Ronnie, he feels comfortable with her. He likes Colin and Jessica too, don’t get him wrong, but Colin and Jessica love clubbing. 

Ronnie loves staying in, watching something David Lynch would almost find too absurd and telling GoodRead reviewers that they have bad taste in fictional men.

TK really likes Ronnie. 

“How are things going with the Louvre?” Is the first thing Ronnie says when they sit down with their breakfast. 

TK’s eyes narrow, inquisitive as he wipes his mouth. “How do you know,” He pauses before both he and Ronnie say, “Colin.” 

Colin had seen the business card on TK’s desk when he came by to ask him if he wanted to go out last Friday. “Is this like our version of a gold star?” He asked TK after he explained why he had it in the first place. He was worried Colin might be jealous, but if he is, he’s good at hiding it. 

“I think things are going well. I sent my application today, but I don’t know how long the interview process might be.” TK stops. “Is this weird for you? I don’t want to seem like I’m bragging.” 

“Oh please,” Ronnie rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t be caught dead working in the Louvre, the bubblegum pop of archival institutions.” Ronnie takes a bit of her croissant before she realizes what she’s said. “I do hope you get it though.” 

“Never change Ronnie.” TK takes another bite of his Egg and Cheese McMuffin. “Though it does make me wonder why you chose to study art history in Paris of all places.”

Ronnie is quiet for a beat as she picks at her croissant. “Jessica’s always wanted to go to Paris.” Her croissant begins to flake a little more than usual. “I’ve always wanted to go with her when she did. This seemed like the perfect time to do both.” 

“You two are really close, huh?” 

Ronnie nods. “We went to high school together. My days were filled with Vidal and Ernst, and hers were filled with pom-poms and the romance section of A Likely Story, our local bookstore.” 

“How very bubblegum pop of her.” 

“That’s what I thought.” 

TK catches that, thought, past tense. “What about her changed your mind?” 

“Mulholland Drive. We had AP Art Studio together and I referenced it one day during class. It went over everyone’s head, including Mr. Stratford’s.” Ronnie smiles as she recalls the memory. 

“Jessica though, she thought it was funny. More importantly, she understood, and it was the first time in high school that I felt like someone did.” Ronnie’s croissant is more flake than pastry at this point. “We’ve been best friends ever since.” 

Ronnie’s voice has an edge to it, but TK doesn’t comment on it. If Ronnie wanted to say it, she would have, TK knows that very well. “I think it’s nice. That you two have each other.” 

“I like to think so.” Ronnie cleans her fingers of any flaky residue with one of TK’s napkins. He doesn’t mind letting her. “Anyways, how are things with the G.I. Joe?” 

“Who said there are things to be had?” TK rolls his eyes as he realizes the answer to his own question. “Don’t answer that, I already know it’s Colin.” 

“He keeps talking about a bell pepper?” 

TK shakes his head, rubbing his hand down his face. “Ignore him.” 

“Happy to.” She takes a sip of her iced coffee. “What’s going on?” 

“There’s nothing really going on.” TK shrugs, dipping a hash brown in his ketchup. “One of us will text the other, the other will show up. His name is Carlos and we were both wrong, he’s a chef.” 

“Then why are you here, having an Egg McMuffin when he could be making you breakfast instead?” Ronnie picks up one of her hash browns before dropping it when she feels how cold it is. “You can’t tell me it’s because you prefer it.” 

“No, it’s because what Carlos and I have is completely casual.” TK answers. “Hell, neither of us ever spent the night, well at least not since the first time. No strings attached, and that’s all we both want it to be. I’m in Paris for the summer, right? Might as well act like it.” TK doesn’t know why he feels the need to defend himself. It almost sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than he is Ronnie. 

Ronnie stares intently at TK with a ghost of a smile on her face. Like she’s trying to see through a poorly placed facade. “You really think that’s all it’s gonna be between you two?” 

“I like to think so.” TK takes a long sip of his drink. “Why wouldn’t it be?” 

“Well it’s like you said, you’re in Paris for the summer.” Ronnie grabs one of TK’s hash browns.“Last I heard, Paris was the city of love, not the city of casual hookups.”

TK chuckles. “Maybe it’s time for a rebrand.” 

—

“Ellie loved the Poulet Au Vinaigre, by the way, thank you very much.” Carlos is tying his apron when Nick walks up to him, commencing a conversation that sounds like it had already begun before Nick started talking to him.

Carlos stares at Nick confused, “I never said she wouldn’t.” 

“Yeah, my sentence came out wrong. Thank you very much, for the shallot.” Nick amends his previous statement and Carlos chuckles. “I might have over baked the chicken a little bit, but I don’t think she cared. One of the perks of having a girlfriend who’s working to be playwright and not a food critic.”

“Happy to play cupid any time, Anderson.” 

Before Nick can think of something to retort, the classroom goes uncharacteristically quiet. Carlos isn't sure as to why until he sees who’s walked through the door, joining them in their chaos.

Alain Dumas is standing at the front of the classroom, hands behind his back and a face that looks like it’s used to wearing a scowl.

He takes a calculated breath before speaking. “Welcome to the first day of the rest of your lives. My name is Alain Dumas and if you want to excel in this course, you'll already know that.” 

Dumas walks through the sea of students, none of them making the effort to look at him as he walks by. “Over the next twelve months, you’ll be put through a rigorous process to see if you have what it takes to call yourself a graduate of Le Cordon Bleu. Do you all think you have what it takes?”  

“Yes chef.” They all say in unison, not one of them trailing behind. 

“Is that so?” Dumas stops in front of a student, Lorenzo Mancini.

Mancini’s nice enough, though he can be a little egotistical without the skill set to really back it up. Dumas looks down at Mancini’s station, which is spotless except for the wrapper from his honey bun, a belated breakfast.

He doesn’t make an effort to clean it up now, but Dumas picks it up for him. He crinkles the wrapper in his hand before grabbing Mancini’s hand and holding it up with the palm facing upward. He places the wrapper in Mancini’s palm. “Let’s try to keep our stations clean everyone.” He looks at Mancini as he says it and Mancini tries to look everywhere but Dumas.

He continues walking through the stations, not missing a beat as he continues to say his piece. “Your first four months will be dedicated to fundamental French cuisine techniques. Gastronomy, sensorial analysis, making stock, and of course, organization and hygiene.” He turns to where Mancini is standing, the wrapper still in his hand. “Make sure you’re listening, Monsieur Mancini.” 

He turns back around and continues to stroll. “After that, we’ll move on to the intermediate program and then finally, we’ll move on to the superior program.” He stops, he looks across the room and his stare lingers longer on some than it does others. “Well, those of us who are left will.” 

He begins making his way back to the front of the classroom. “This will not be an easy year, and you shouldn’t expect it to be. As I mentioned earlier, my name is Alain Dumas.” Carlos takes a deep breath, trying to steady his rising heart rate. 

“I’ve worked with some of the best because I am one of the best. That also means I’ve seen some of the best minds of my generation fall victim to their own incompetence. Gauthier and Aubert, maybe you’ve heard of them?” Carlos and Nick share a quick look while Dumas’ back is to the class. 

“Wouldn’t surprise me if you haven’t.” Dumas continues. “Both thought they could split focus, have this and that. All that got them was drowning in a sea of misery of their own design. The same could happen to all of you if you’re not careful.”

“So,” Dumas returns to his rightful place at the front of the classroom. He canvases the students in front of him, trying to see who's looking right at him and who’s looking everywhere but. Not many are bold enough to look him in the eye. “I’ll ask again, do you think you all have what it takes?” 

“Yes Chef.” They all say again in unison, though the sound isn’t as powerful as it once was.

“Well,” Dumas smiles, and it’s calculated and sinister. “It’s my job to find out if you don’t.” 

—

Carlos doesn’t know if the week has moved quicker than usual, or if he just spent most of it inside his own head. Either way, it’s now Friday and all he wants to do is shift focus from emulsions to the hot man who is currently straddling him on his sofa. 

That said, it seems easier said than done. Carlos is so wrapped up inside his own head he doesn’t realize he’s not engaging with TK until TK says something.

“Are you alright?” TK’s hands are latched onto the third button of Carlos’ shirt. He’s already unbuttoned the top two, but Carlos almost looks like he’s looking past him and not at him. “You seem, I don’t know, distracted.” 

“Yeah! Yeah.” Carlos reassures him, his hands still holding still on the curve of TK’s ass “Just, long week.” 

“Do you want me to go?” TK’s already starting to back away, pulling the sleeves of his shirt back on. 

“No, no,” Carlos pulls TK back against him. “I mean, unless you want to go.” 

TK’s staring at him, waiting to see if this is just a mask that’ll crack. Whatever flickered across his face must have been just that, a flicker. Here one moment and gone the next. 

TK’s back to shrugging off his own shirt and unbuttoning Carlos’. When he finishes unbuttoning it, he runs his fingers down Carlos’ chest before eventually going lower. He leans in and whispers into Carlos’ ear. “There’s no place I’d rather be.” 

He captures Carlos’ lips in a ravenous kiss. 

—

“There were a lot of things I thought I was going to experience for the first time when I came to Paris this summer.” TK scrapes at the last of the tomato soup with his toasted bread. 

Carlos had planned to make grilled cheese, but then realized he didn’t have any. He made a joke about asking the couple next door, but TK didn’t get it. “Having homemade tomato soup made for me by my own private chef wasn’t one of them.” 

“More like apartment-made. Trying to make anything in this kitchen is awful,” Carlos says as he stands up and goes to put the tomato soup away. “And I’m not a chef, not yet.” Technically, anyone can call themselves a chef, but Carlos thinks it's a title he needs to earn. 

“Well,” TK gets up from his seat and places his bowl into the kitchen sink. “I think after having that, the Le Cordon Bleu is going to have no choice but to make you one.” He clicks his tongue. “Though you might need to do a little more convincing on the grilled cheese front.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Carlos says, waiting to hear the click of the container. “I’ll also be sure to keep you on speed dial in case I need someone to vouch for my tomato soup.” 

Carlos begins to wash the dishes. TK offered to help but Carlos declined, saying TK was his guest. Though, with how often he’s been coming over to Carlos’ apartment the last few weeks, he feels like he’s peering just past the label of guest. That said, he decides to keep that thought to himself. 

TK cuddles up behind Carlos, wrapping his arms around his waist and placing his head in the crook between his neck and shoulder. “Is that the only reason you’d have me on speed dial?” 

Carlos chuckles and TK can feel it flow through him. “You know it’s not.” Carlos’ hands cover his, soapy and wet but TK doesn’t mind. “That said, these dishes will never get cleaned if you keep this up." 

TK pulls his hands away, reaching for a kitchen towel to dry them. “No threatening you with a good time, got it.” After wiping his hands, he places the towel back and returns to the kitchen table. He asks him, “How is school going? It’s not often I get to learn what it takes to be a chef.” 

“TK, your stepdad was a chef.” 

“Fine, then maybe I just want to hear you talk about your week,” TK admits. They don’t really do this, tease the idea of going past casual. Carlos finds it, kind of nice. “What was this week like at,” TK sits up straighter and purses his lips and proceeds to do the most ridiculous parody of the French accent. “Le Cordon Bleu.” 

“Butcher the name like that again and we’ll be dealing with an international incident of epic proportions,” Carlos jokes as he places his cutting board on the drying rack. “It was,” Carlos pauses as he thinks of the right word. “Good. It was good.” 

“Doesn’t sound like it.” 

“No, it was, it’s just,” Carlos stops himself, then begins again.  “Alain Dumas is our instructor for the course.” Carlos watches the steady stream of water flow from the sink. He thinks about Dumas and Mancini, and how Carlos hasn’t seen Mancini since the first day. He places another bowl onto the drying rack. 

“Dumas.” TK leans back in his chair, his eyebrows raised. Carlos nods, reminding himself that not everyone is going to know Dumas by name alone, or maybe even at all. 

“He’s like the Picasso of the food world.” Carlos shuts off the faucet, grabbing the kitchen towel TK just discarded. He turns to see TK smiling at him, head slightly turned. “What?” 

“Carlos, is Picasso the only famous painter you know?” 

“Is it that obvious?” 

TK holds up his hand, his thumb and index finger almost slightly pressed together. “Little bit.”  Carlos laughs and it warms TK the way homemade tomato soup does. “Carlos, I know who Dumas is.” 

Confusion colors Carlos’ face until it dawns on him. “That’s right.” 

“Step dad,” They say at the same time. 

“Legend has it he’s kind of a dick, gives people a hard time just because he can.” TK shrugs. “Well, and because no one really chooses to stop him. I don’t know, what do you think? You’ve actually met the guy.” 

Carlos grabs the container of leftovers and walks over the fridge. As he opens the door, he says, “He’s, he’s intense.” He looks at TK, who’s looking at him like he’s waiting for him to be honest. “Alright yeah, he’s kind of a dick.” 

He closes the fridge, looking at the picture he’s placed on the door. It’s the picture of him and Leah Chase at her book signing. “But he’s one of the best, and he’s going to help me be one of the best.” 

TK is quiet again, but his smile remains. “You really love cooking, huh?” 

“Maybe more than life itself.” 

Thunder roars in quick succession after Carlos says that. It started raining as soon as TK got to Carlos’ apartment and hasn’t stopped since.

TK stands up and walks towards the window, watching the downpour that has no sign of stopping. “I thought being in Paris for summer meant that I got to avoid this kind of thing?” TK pulls out his phone to pull up the weather app. “Julia Roberts never had to deal with torrential downpour when she was Eat Pray Loving.” 

“I don’t think the rain is going to stop just because you’re trying to live life like Julia Roberts.” 

“Well it should.” TK sighs, as he scrolls through the app, hoping that at some point it’ll say something different. “Looks like it’s going to be going on all night. Walking to the train station in this is going to be a nightmare.” TK doesn’t mind the walk to Carlos’ place from the station, but he’s normally not dealing with non-stop rain when he does it. 

Silence overtakes the room before Carlos suggests, “You could spend the night, you know, if you want.” 

Carlos’ suggestion holds a heavy weight, but it’s one that TK doesn’t mind bearing. TK had spent the night once, but it was also the last time he thought he’d see Carlos. He didn’t bother staying for breakfast and he didn’t plan to see him again. 

TK staying this night this time felt like it would mean something more; attaching a feeling to something that was originally so inherently casual. TK’s mouth quirks up, smirking to himself. Maybe he likes the thought of that. “Sure.” 

—

“This is so cool, TK. ” Carlos transfers a helping of scrambled eggs onto a plate. He grabs a couple of slices of bacon and puts them on the plate as well. “I mean, it’s The Louvre.” 

TK had woken up to a quiet sky and the promise of daybreak spilling through Carlos’ blinds. When he casually turned over and reached for his phone. He had one text from Ronnie and an email from the hiring team at The Louvre. 

He had made it to the first round of interviews and was expected to be at the office of Nadine Hugo at 10 a.m. sharp on Thursday morning. Carlos swears it wasn’t TK’s scream of excitement that woke him up, but TK thinks he might be lying. 

After he was caught up to speed, Carlos said that he would have to make him breakfast because he wanted to help celebrate and cooking is the best way he knows how. TK had told him he didn’t need to, to which Carlos responded with, “I know, but I want to.” 

And well, how could TK say no to that?

“Yeah, it’s like the Le Cordon Bleu of museums,” TK jokes as he pours them both a glass of orange juice. 

“You’re funny.” Carlos grabs another plate and begins to plate it the same way he did the first one. “If art history doesn’t work out you’ve got a promising career in comedy.” He places both plates on the table as TK sets the glasses next to them. 

“Will you work and go to classes on the same day?” Carlos can hear something in the back of his head nagging about splitting focus, but he doesn’t think it’s appropriate to bring it up. “You know, they say that the hardest thing in the world is a diamond, followed closely by time management.” 

“Alright,” TK breaks off a piece of his bacon. “Let’s see what happens first, yeah? I’m just interviewing, I haven’t got the job.” 

“Yet,” Carlos adds, he takes a bite of his eggs. As he’s wiping his face with a napkin, he says,“There’s no way you don’t get it.” 

“Carlos, there’s plenty of people interviewing for this position.” 

“Yeah, but they’re not you,” Carlos interjects and TK feels flattered. TK fights a smile as he takes a sip of his orange juice. “Just don’t forget about us little people when you make it big, yeah?” 

“As if I could ever forget about the chef that’s made me the best scrambled eggs I’ve ever had.” TK wipes at his mouth.

“They’re just scrambled eggs, TK.” 

“Yeah but they were made by you.” TK’s phone vibrates and TK’s curiosity gets the best of him. 

He’s fallen somewhat distant with Colin since he doesn’t go out with him anymore, so Ronnie and Carlos are the only people he really speaks with.  With Carlos sitting right next to him, that must mean it’s, 

Ronnie: Do you want to grab breakfast? 

TK:  Thanks for the invite, but I’m already taken care of. 

TK: And you’re right, McDonald’s doesn’t compare. 

Ronnie: I would say I hate to say I told you so, but I love saying I told you so. 

—

TK feels like he’s on cloud nine. He’s onto the third and final round of the interview process. All that stands in the way of him and a future he could only dream of is a five-foot-five brunette with razor sharp wit, a Picard-French accent and an everlasting facial expression that’s hard to read. 

Nadine Hugo has been at the Louvre for almost nine years and she’s been the Curator of Art from the Middle Ages, the Renaissance and Modern Times for the last three. “My job might be the most fun, but that also means it’s the most difficult,” was one of the first things she told him once the interview started. 

They’re reaching the tail end of the interview, and TK thinks he’s answered every question right, if there even is a right way to answer these types of questions. Nadine is discussing scheduling and the allotted days that he would need to work with.

TK’s doing his best to focus on her and only her, but the Degas painting behind her is doing a great job of distracting him. He knows that museums will sometimes keep works of art hidden, but he didn’t think they’d be hiding something like a Degas. He hasn’t seen one in person, and of course the first time he gets to, it’s during the most important interview of his life. 

“Before you go,” Nadine’s voice cuts through his haze with an edge. “I do have one more question to ask you.” Nadine smiles and TK’s never felt so enamored and terrified all at the same time. “Would you like to take a closer look at the Degas?” 

TK’s eyes widen before he can even make an attempt at containing himself. “Are you sure?” 

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.” Nadine says raises her hand, her sign of ‘go ahead, look closer.’ “No touching, obviously.” 

“I would never,” TK softly says as he gets closer to the painting, afraid that something so much as a strong exhale might ruin the art. Though with the two inch thick glass covering it, he doesn’t think an exhale would do too much damage.

His eyes are almost overwhelmed at the sight of the pastels and tutus. “He really did have a mastery of asymmetrical framing. The way he used unusual vantage points always made him stand out to me. Then again, I guess that made him stand out to everyone.” 

TK backs away, but his eyes never leave the painting in front of him. “I know there’s always discussion around him using artificial interior light, but I think it’s what made him so different in the best way.” 

Once he’s done looking, though he thinks he could look forever, he returns to his seat. “Thanks for that.” 

“I know what it’s like be in your shoes.” Nadine shrugs. While the movement is casual, the fact that it’s coming from Nadine makes it anything but. “I understand the desire. Did you have any questions for me?” 

TK takes a moment before asking something that could be the wrong thing. “You’ve said you’ve been here nine years.” Nadine nods. “If I'm hired–” 

“If.” Nadine reaffirms. TK likes that about her, she doesn’t tell him what he wants to hear, but what he should.

“What would be the best way for me to impress you during my time here?” 

“Oh.” Nadine seems caught off guard, even if only slightly. She mutters something to herself in French, and based off her tone, TK can’t tell if it’s good or bad.

“You want to know how to impress me?” She repeats the question, but TK can tell it’s rhetorical. “I like people who are honest with me. I want to work with someone who tells me what I need to hear, not what I want to hear.” Her eye contact with TK never breaks as she says it. “Is that the kind of answer you’re looking for?”

“It is.” TK doesn’t know if he should say that he can be that person for her, but before he can say anything; Nadine is holding out her hand. TK shakes it, taking that as his sign that the interview is complete. TK grabs her and shakes. He smiles as he says, “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.” TK wants to think she means it, but he’s sure she’s been saying the same thing day in and day out. “We’ll be reaching out to all candidates shortly. I can’t promise anything, but maybe it’ll be good news.” 

“If not,” TK grins. “At least I got to see a Degas.” 

—

“So, was I right, or was I right?” Carlos greets TK at his front door with a smile that TK never wants to forget.

The Friday following his interview, TK gets an email letting him know that he’s been offered an internship with the Louvre’s curation team. He almost feels bad that the first person he wanted to call was Carlos and not his own mother. 

“Alright, so maybe you were right.” TK walks into Carlos' apartment, and casually tosses his jacket on the couch. He finds it funny, it feels like it’s the most casual thing he's done in Carlos' apartment in a while. “How long are you gonna hold it over me?” 

“Maybe for a while, growing up with my sisters, I didn’t often get the chance to. Anyways, come here,” He gestures for TK to follow him into the kitchen. “Look.” 

TK follows him before stopping in his steps. His eyes widen when he sees what’s sitting on the counter. His name on a red envelope and a bottle of sparkling cider. “Carlos,” He walks over to the display and picks up the card. “What’s all this?” 

“My way of celebrating.” Carlos is reaching for two glasses from his cabinet as TK opens the card. “There’s a five cheese ziti finishing up in the oven, my way of apologizing for cheese-less grilled cheese.” 

On the cover of the card is a koala hanging from a tree and a text that says, “You’re more than Koalaified.” Inside, Carlos has signed it with his signature and the line, “You’re one art cookie?” TK asks. 

“It’s a play on one smart cookie,” Carlos explains as he pours them both a glass. “You know because you’re so smart.” 

“My favorite puns are the ones that need explaining.” TK takes the glass from Carlos, smiling despite the playful jeer. 

“You’ve got a weird way of saying thank you.” 

“You’re right,” TK places the card back on the counter. “Carlos Reyes, thank you for bestowing me with your own work of art.” Carlos rolls his eyes, and TK laughs. “No, but really, thank you. This.” He picks up the card. “This means more than you know.” 

Though Ronnie had told him she doesn’t mind him talking about the opportunity with her; he still feels a little weird about it. He doesn’t want to see her as a competitor, but in a way they are and he doesn’t want to come off as presumptuous. 

He’s talked to Nancy and his parents about it, but with time differences being what they are, his original burst of adrenaline at every step is normally dulled. Having Carlos, someone who’s there, in the right now, to talk to about it, has been nice. 

TK’s been finding that there’s a lot of things about Carlos that have been nice. His eyes cut to the dinner, the five cheese ziti sitting in the golden hue of the oven light and acting as a tease of what could be. 

TK doesn’t know what it is about Carlos, but every time he sees him, he likes him more and more each time. What started as a “If you want to do this again.” has slowly morphed into “I can’t wait to do this again.” It’s not that he doesn’t mind seeing him again, it’s that he wants to see him again. 

He remembers the other morning, waking up next to Carlos as opposed to avoiding him. He remembers thinking he could get used to a sight like that. TK smiles and asks, “How many times do I have to tell you, you don’t have to make me food?” 

Carlos smiles as he searches the drawer for an oven mitt. “How many times do I have to tell you; I know I don’t have to, I want to.” 

—

After that day, it’s like something changes. Casual nights teeter into lazy mornings that never venture into candid afternoons. The thing is, Carlos thinks he wants them to. He never thought he would be the kind that would want to split focus; but he also thought he’d never meet a guy like TK Strand. 

Carlos had tried dating in the past, but the same thing happened each and every time. Cooking would take precedence over anything and most guys didn’t like being second to a skillet, oil and caramelized onions. Carlos had always made it clear, even with TK, that his career will always be the thing that’s there for him at the end of the day. 

That’s one of the things Carlos likes about TK; he understands what it’s like to have a passion for something that can overtake and bleed into every part of your life. 

He remembers one of the first times TK had come over; and they both made it clear that they would keep it casual. They always knew that what they had was limited, that there’s an end date that’s in sight. They both realized it’s inevitable and they were both fine with it. 

Well, at least, Carlos thought he was fine with it. Then TK Strand proved to be TK Strand and pulled something out of Carlos he hadn’t really ever felt before. His hand lingers longer than normal when he passes a freshly washed fork to TK. He stares just a little bit longer when TK’s doing something innocuous like reaching for a second glass from the cabinet. 

He’s feeling an intimacy with TK that he doesn’t think he’s felt with anyone before; and it terrifies him. But then TK smiles at him in that special kind of TK way; and it’s like all the trepidation melts away.

TK has a smile that makes you want to believe him when he tells you he’s happy; it’s a smile that is genuine and true. Carlos’ heart warms at the thought of making someone so happy. Making TK so happy.

Carlos has never felt this type of intimacy with someone before and it terrifies him; but he also thinks he might really, really like it. 

—

It’s Saturday morning and TK’s currently sitting at the table in Carlos’ kitchen, watching him make breakfast for them. Something he didn’t ask Carlos to do, but that’s because he have to ask him to; Carlos just wanted to. 

Carlos had woken up, as he usually does, to go work out but TK was able to convince him to sleep in with him, just this once. When they both woke up a little later, it was just past 11 a.m. and they both reveled in the joy of missing the daybreak as opposed to waking up with it. 

“Are you sure you want to stay for breakfast?” Carlos asks as he hulls another strawberry. “I don’t want to keep you if you have other things to do. I know you’re taking over the art world right now.” 

“Already with the jokes,” TK remarks as Carlos reaches for two plates from a cabinet. “I told you, I want to stay as long as you’ll have me.” TK’s happy that Carlos’ back is turned to him as he says, “And maybe I’m not just ready to say goodbye yet.” 

Neither of them have said anything about the fact that they’re dancing on the edge of passing morning and progressing into day. 

“Well, you know,” Carlos says as he places a crepe on TK's plate. “We could, I don’t know–” Carlos stops himself, and TK doesn’t know if it's because he's focused on the plating, or second guessing what he was about to say.

As he's drizzling honey over the crepe; he offers, "We could spend the day together?"

He doesn’t look at TK when he asks the question; and TK thinks he knows why. Maybe it's because the word ‘no’ has found a way to be less painful when said around you as opposed to you. Maybe it’s because rejection is easier to bear when your heart isn’t on your sleeve, but simply just covered by a jacket. 

TK considers the offer, and the underlying meaning of it. Embracing each other under the sun, in the light of day. Not just waking up next to each other, bidding adieu and promising to meet for another casual night under the blanket of nightfall. 

He thinks about his earlier words to Nancy and the promise he made to himself. Falling in love is not in the cards for him this summer; and he doesn’t want to risk dealing a new hand just yet. He and Carlos had agreed on that; or well, so he thought.

Regardless, something inside him causes him to go against himself, and smile even though he knows Carlos isn’t looking at him. “I'd like that.” 

He continues to smile knowing that answer will cause Carlos to turn around and look right at him. Carlos deserves to see how happy the idea has made TK, especially since he didn't think it would. 

TK doesn’t want to fall in love, but maybe he can allow himself to flirt with infatuation, dance with the idea of it. Hold it close until the very last lyric of this song is sung.  

He can welcome the rush of tide without truly diving in. He can tease the taste of it without fully sinking in his teeth. He can scratch just enough to relieve the itch before truly breaking the skin.

Maybe he can let his heart feel familiar, but not comfortable. 

Maybe he can revel in the euphoric feeling of rushing through it. Maybe he can experience the excitement of feeling it pass by as he falls through it; before he has to crash back down to Earth, to the reality of his situation. 

—

After deciding to spend the day together; they start to wrestle with the idea of what to do with said day. 

“We could go hiking?” TK suggests to which Carlos looks at him like he’s grown a second head. 

“You want to go hiking, in a country neither of us are from, that has a language neither of us speak fluently?” Carlos asks, to which TK nods in response. “And what if we get lost?” 

TK shrugs. “At least we’d be lost together.” Carlos moves past it like it’s not one of the most romantic things he’s heard. He turns back to the sink, running the faucet of cold water so he can start to thaw the chicken for dinner. 

“You’re not dressed for it, anyways, ” Carlos says and TK looks down at what he’s wearing; it’s an NYU shirt with faded printing and pajama bottoms he borrowed from Carlos. He remembers what he wore to Carlos’ place, and it wouldn’t be any better. 

“Well, what do you suggest?” TK asks.

Carlos turns off the faucet and turns to TK. He looks up and to the left, thinking of what they could do. “There’s a horseback riding excursion that I’ve been wanting to try.” 

TK’s eyebrows rise to the ceiling. “Oh, but hiking is too adventurous?” Carlos shrugs, realizing he’s not going to win that argument. TK watches as Carlos places the chicken into the glass bowl. “I didn’t know you liked horses.” 

“Have since I was seven.” Carlos opens his seasoning drawer and checks to make sure he has everything he needs. “Had a pony at my seventh birthday party; his name was Lightning and he was as slow as a turtle. Knew then and there I wanted him to be my best friend.” 

TK moves out his way as he starts searching through the fridge. “All I got for my seventh birthday was a popped balloon animal and a clown with a black eye threatening to sue.” Carlos looks up at him from where he’s crouched in front of the crisper drawer. “I asked my mom for a clown, so I had a clown. Turns out my dad has a fear of clowns.” 

“Can’t say that I blame him,” Carlos replies. “Damn it.” He mutters before closing the drawer, his hands empty. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I thought I had mushrooms but I must have used them when I made gravy the other week.” Carlos is quiet for a beat before speaking again. “Give me a second, I’ll be right back. Try to think of something while I’m gone.” 

“Okay?” TK’s eyes follow Carlos as he walks out of his own apartment and closes the front door behind him. 

Carlos plans to go next door and ask Nick if he has a couple of mushrooms he can spare; but he’s caught off guard when he sees Nick standing outside. He’s smoking a cigarette and leaning against the guard rail. Nick looks over at him, releases a cloud of smoke and says,  “Reyes, hey.” 

“Hey,” Carlos walks over to join him, but then paces back a couple of steps when the smell of cigarette smoke overwhelms him. “When did you start smoking?” 

“When did Dumas start teaching our class?” 

“About two weeks ago.” 

Nick looks at his cigarette. “Probably about two weeks ago.” 

“That’s fair,” Carlos says. He’s silent a moment before doing something he’s never really done before. He pushes down the thought that says that his newfound, something, with TK might have everything to do with it. “If you ever want to, you know, talk about things, I’m all ears.” 

Nick cocks an eyebrow. 

Carlos didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t that. He asks,“What?” 

“Nothing,” Nick answers. “It’s just, we’ve known each other for almost a month and you’ve never seemed to care about how I’m doing.” 

Carlos winces at his own lack of compassion. He’s never been good at being a support system because being a support system wasn’t part of his long-term career plan. You start to split focus, you start to lose sight of the end goal. “Sorry.” 

“No, no it’s fine, just didn’t expect it from you, of all people.” Nick takes a drag off his cigarette. He exhales. “You didn’t even want to call Dumas a dick; can’t picture you wanting to listen to me talk shit about the guy.” 

“That’s fair,” Carlos doesn't think he’s ready to call Dumas a dick, just yet; but that doesn’t change the fact he meant what he said. “Still, I’m here to listen, you know,”

“Yeah, I know.” Nick nods at the front door of Carlos’ apartment. “This change of heart wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the guy who’s been bordering on living here the last couple of weeks does it?” 

Warmth spreads across Carlos’ face and he’s certain he’s turning a poignant shade of red. “That obvious?” 

“Ellie and I used to see him leave your apartment when we’d come back from our morning stroll. First time was after our night out, you’re welcome by the way.” Nick smiles. “And to think, you didn’t even want to go out in the first place.” 

“I only did because I knew if I didn’t, you wouldn’t stop asking me until I did.” Carlos argues, but the lack of heat behind it lets Nick know it’s in jest. 

“You got a weird way of saying thank you, Reyes.” Nick takes another drag. “Clearly it’s all worked out so far.” 

Carlos smiles at the thought of TK. “Yeah, something like that. We’re just trying to see how it goes. He’s only here for a summer semester and I’m only here until I’m done with school. Don’t know how much there is to work out when it’s limited. We’re both only here for so long.” 

“There’s the realist, borderline pessimistic Reyes I remember.” Nick takes one more drag before throwing the butt on the ground and crushing it with his shoe. “Now, I’m sure you weren’t here to watch me smoke, did you need something?” 

“Yeah, would you happen to have any Portobello mushrooms? I feel like it’s the least you owe me after the shallot.” 

“I mean the least I would owe you is nothing.” Nick clicks his tongue after he says it. “I’ve got to work on my delivery. But no, I don’t. I butchered a balsamic glaze last night and haven’t had a chance to stop by the market.” 

Nick says market and it’s like a light bulb goes off in Carlos’ head. “Nick, I think you might have just solved two problems at once.” Carlos feels a renewed sense of energy at his speculative plan. “Thanks Anderson, I owe you one.” 

“I don’t know why, but fine by me” Nick says before Carlos bids him goodbye and walks back into his apartment. TK’s currently looking through his bookshelf, though he doesn’t seem interested in any of the titles. Carlos doesn’t blame him, they’re all either cookbooks, or books about cooking. 

“There you are,” TK grins as Carlos walks over to him.“I was starting to think I was in a weird horror story where I show up to a strange guy’s house in a foreign country but then you’re the one who goes missing.” 

“You think I’m strange?” 

TK takes a quick glance at Carlos’ bookshelf. “I just spent the last five minutes looking through twenty books that are all about cooking,” TK says and Carlos chuckles. “All I’m saying is that it's not the most normal.” 

“I’m sorry if my library is too specific for you regular folks.” Carlos defends. “Anyways, this strange guy has thought of something we can do.” 

“Funny enough, so has this regular guy. You wanna say it at the same time?” TK counts down from three, and at the same time, they both say: 

“Farmer’s market.”

—

“TK, please,” Carlos reaches for TK’s hand and makes him put down the apple he’s currently. “Don’t touch the produce if you’re not going to buy it.” Carlos smiles at the vendor, embarrassed. He waves a hand, his attempt at an apology. 

“How else am I going to show you that you’re the apple of my eye?” TK asks before pointing at a display of strawberries. “What, you don’t think I’m berry funny?” Carlos' mouth falls into a straight line. He couldn’t allow himself to lie, even if he wanted to. 

“You are so corny,” Carlos mutters as he grabs TK’s hand and starts to drag him away from the fruit; saving them both from stares of scrutiny from the average passerby. 

“Carlos you can’t say that if you’re not holding an ear of corn,” TK replies. 

TK has felt Carlos’ touch before and he’s all too familiar with it, but there’s something about it now that makes it feel more electric. 

Maybe it’s because they’re no longer engaging in a touch born out of nothing more than lust and desire. Maybe it’s because TK holds Carlos’ hand and he hates the idea of ever letting go.

“Here we are.” Carlos stops in front of a vendor selling portobello mushrooms, button mushrooms, oyster mushrooms, and just about every other mushroom TK’s never heard of. TK watches on as Carlos looks over the fungi, and he loves the way Carlos’ eyes sparkle, even when looking at something so gritty. 

After Carlos finds the mushrooms he needs, he pays the vendor and turns back to TK. Carlos notices that TK’s looking at him with a special type of whimsy dancing in his eyes. “What?” 

“It’s just,” TK reaches for Carlos’ hand and Carlos has just enough time to move his tote bag from one hand to the other. “I can tell you really love all of this, all of the elements of cooking.” 

They start walking towards the exit, and they need to walk past the fruit stands to get there. Carlos thinks they could avoid the fruit stands all together, but now he doesn’t have it in him to rob TK of that kind of joy.

“There’s a special kind of gleam in your eye.” TK continues, clearly wanting to acknowledge something Carlos has always thought to be second nature. “Maybe that’s why you’re so good at it.” 

“You’re being too kind.” Carlos shakes his head at the suggestion. His time with Dumas has been short, but it’s been humbling nonetheless. Everything he thought he knew about his ability is being tested and he always feels like he's on the verge of failing. 

“Carlos,” TK squeezes his hand just slightly. “I grew up eating meals made by a man who worked with Marco Pierre White in the 90s. I know good food when I taste it, and your food is really good.” 

Carlos looks at TK, waiting for a slight in his face to betray this facade Carlos is convinced he has on. When that doesn’t happen Carlos smiles, and softly says, “You really think it's good?” 

“Carlos, I would go as far to say it might just be the best.” TK says. “I think you just need to believe it too. That’s the thing about self doubt though,” TK stops them both in front of a vendor selling fruit. TK picks up a peach. “It can be a real son of a peach.” 

“TK,” 

“Don’t worry,” TK lets go of Carlos' hand to reach for his wallet. He playfully rolls his eyes before pulling out a couple of Euros. “I’m paying for it; I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it into a tart or something.” 

“No, it’s just, I was going to say,” Carlos grabs a pear that’s sitting atop the display. “I think we make a really good pair.” 

—

Carlos almost wants to laugh at how timid he was to suggest spending Saturday with TK; because once he started, he never wanted to stop. When TK said he finally had to go back home, they both sounded like they hated the idea of it. 

Now it’s Monday, Carlos is in class and all he wants to be doing is making silly food puns with TK in the middle of a farmer’s market under the Parisian sun. 

He’s currently panicking because the sauce he’s spent the last thirty minutes on isn’t setting the way it should. He doesn’t know if the heat is too high or if he added too much liquid when the pan was too hot, but it’s coming apart in front of his eyes. 

He doesn’t know what happened, but what he does know is that there’s a few minutes of the last hour that have been lost to time. He zoned out and when he zoned back in, everything was in disarray and he was standing in front of an assortment of condiments, but didn’t know why. 

Carlos looks around him, and everyone’s currently in their own frazzled world. He doesn’t have time to start over; he only has enough time to hope that Dumas won’t notice. He should have known Dumas would notice. 

When he presents the dish to Chef Dumas, he almost looks confused by it. He grabs a spoon, and goes to scoop up the sauce but then pauses himself in motion. He notices the grainy texture; he notices that it almost looks like soup. He places the spoon down with an uncharacteristic gentleness that further validates Carlos’ panic. 

He tries to measure his breath as he watches Dumas dip a finger into the creation Carlos spent so long on, but still hasn’t perfected. That’s when it suddenly hits him, there wasn’t nearly enough mustard. No emulsion had been used and according to what Dumas had told another student, O’Leary, that’s a rookie mistake. 

Chef muddles around it, making a show of destroying it before raising his index finger back up. It’s covered in an orange goop, evidence of Carlos’ misdeed and blatant mistake. “This sauce is broken, chef.” 

Carlos looks down, not wanting to maintain eye contact. “Yes, chef.” 

“You think I’m – look up at me when I’m talking to you.” 

Carlos’ head snaps up, feeling even more embarrassed than he already is, something he didn’t think he could be. 

“Do you think I’m worthy of broken sauce?” 

“No, Chef.” 

“Then why, Chef, did you serve me a broken sauce?” Dumas reaches for Carlos’ second apron that’s sitting on the counter, using it as a napkin to remove the orange sauce from his finger. Carlos doesn’t want to answer, partly because he doesn’t have one that he thinks is good enough, and partly because he’s afraid his voice might crack. “Well?” 

“I figured serving something would be better than serving nothing at all, Chef.” 

Dumas exhales mirthfully, a more muted version of a snort. He grabs the plate in front of him before walking towards the trash can next to Carlos’ station. “Wrong again, Chef, but what’s new.” He opens the lid of the trash and throws the dish, plate and all into the bin. “This is worse than nothing.”

—

Friday morning, TK decides he wants to make the most of the fact that both he and Carlos have the day off. He’s walking up the stairwell to Carlos’ apartment when he’s stopped by an American accent, something rare to hear nowadays. 

“Hey, you’re the guy. ” TK’s attention centers on a rather tall guy leaning against the guard railing outside Carlos’ apartment. He’s currently smoking a cigarette and even from where he's standing, TK can see the bags under his eyes. “You’re the guy from the night club.” 

TK laughs, it feels like that was so long ago. “You must be Nick.” On the train ride back from the farmer’s market, Carlos told TK all about his neighbor that doubles as a classmate. “How did the Poulet Au Vinaigre turn out?” 

Nick looks pleasantly surprised that TK would even think to ask. “It turned out very nice, thank you so much for asking. Reyes could learn a thing or two from you.”

He takes a drag off his cigarette, but looks the other way when he exhales. He centers his sight back on TK and says, “You’ve been around quite a bit. Between you and me,” Nick lowers his voice to a whisper. “I think Reyes likes you a lot.” 

“That’s good to know because between you and me,” TK lowers his voice to a whisper. “I like him a lot too.” 

Nick observes TK for a second before responding. He continues, at normal volume, “Good. I think he needs someone like you in his corner. Especially right now.”  

Before TK can ask him what he means, the door to Nick’s apartment opens. A young woman wearing an avocado face mask says, “Babe, the timer just went off.” 

“Thanks baby.” Nick drops the cigarette and crushes it into the ground with his sneaker. “Have a good one, yeah?” 

“You too.” TK knocks on Carlos’ door, waiting for him to answer. After a beat, he knocks again. When that doesn’t rile a response, he checks to see if the door is unlocked; to his surprise, it is. He normally wouldn’t invite himself in, but Carlos normally doesn’t leave his door unlocked.

“Carlos? You here?” TK inches in, trying to find the light switch. When he turns the overhead light on, he doesn’t see Carlos, but he sees the take out that’s sitting on the counter. Now, TK’s starting to worry. Carlos would only order take out if he didn’t have it in him to cook; and since when has Carlos not wanted to cook? 

He also notices there’s a couple of pots in the sink, all of them having orange rimmed rings surrounding the circumference of them. 

TK makes his way to Carlos’ bedroom and slowly opens the door. As the door inches open, it starts to creak against the hinges, waking Carlos up. Carlos harshly blinks a couple of times before processing the fact TK's standing in front of him. “TK,” His voice is hoarse and ragged. “Hey.” 

TK remains in the doorway, looking sympathetic but still trying to smile. “Hey, Carlos.” He wants to call him baby but it seems too soon. “I didn’t mean to wake you, I just thought.”

“Shit.” Carlos says, sitting up grabbing his glasses from the night stand and looking at his phone. “Shit, I’m sorry, I totally forgot we were,” 

“Hey, hey, it’s fine.” TK stays in the doorway, when all he wants to do is wrap him into a hug that feels like understanding. “We don't have to, if you’d rather rest.” TK doesn’t think Carlos is very good at resting, so he’s happy stepping back if that means Carlos gets a chance to work at it. 

“No, no, trust me, I’d rather see you.” Carlos pushes his glasses up and rubs at his eyes. “Just, lost track of time. I had just planned to take a twenty minute nap.” 

“When was that?” TK asks.

 Carlos' eyes are bloodshot and dry, he’s clearly been sleeping for a while. 

“About three hours ago.” He gets up from his bed and he’s just in boxers, but TK can’t find himself to enjoy the sight. 

TK’s eyebrows knit together before he asks, “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Carlos says the words like they’re rehearsed. “Just, rough week.” He searches the floor for where he threw his shirt before getting into bed. “Anyways, enough about me.” 

TK doesn’t think they’ve spoken nearly enough about Carlos but he can see that Carlos wants to move past this. Carlos runs his hands through his unruly curls, asking, “What did you want to do today? I think if we go back to the farmer's market so soon, we’ll start to raise some suspicions.” 

TK grins and he hopes it looks as inviting as he thinks his invitation is. “Let’s get some sun.” 

—

“Drink your water.” TK has noticed that while Carlos’ water bottle has been opened, it hasn’t depleted since they got to the beach an hour ago. They had stopped by a corner store on the way to grab any and all essentials. 

Carlos rolls his eyes, but opens his water and takes a healthy sip. He looks at TK, his eyes asking him if he’s happy. TK smiles. “Better.”  

TK thought it would take more convincing to get Carlos to go along with it, but that’s just because he doesn’t know Carlos would gladly use any excuse to spend time with TK, especially now. 

Ever since Monday, Carlos feels like he’s been spiraling into a web of anxiety, self deprecation and self loathing. All he could think about was that damn sauce and how it’s done nothing but linger in the back of his mind like a playground taunt. Calling him dumb and stupid because those are the only words it knows. 

Then TK showed up this morning, standing in the doorway with the light from the living room cascading behind. TK showed up and looked like the light in an otherwise very dark world. Carlos doesn’t do relationships, and he knows this thing he has with TK has an end date, but it’s moments like that, that makes him wish it wasn’t. 

“Are you seeing something you like, Reyes?” TK asks, causing Carlos to blink himself back into the present,.TK’s teasing tone bringing him out of the comfort of his memories. TK’s applying his suntan lotion and Carlos watches him stretch and bend. 

TK joins him back on the beach towel, grains of sand joining those that were already making a home there. TK leans over him, smiling down at him like he has a secret. “You’re totally seeing something you like.” 

He takes Carlos’ sunglasses off his eyes, and places them on top of his head. Carlos doesn’t know if he’ll get them back now, but he doesn’t mind buying another pair. 

When Carlos doesn’t respond, TK continues. “You’ve got a tell, you know.” 

No, Carlos doesn’t know and even at this moment, he’s having a hard time of caching that realization. It’s hard to focus while TK trails a finger down Carlos’ chest, his skin feeling like it’s sunburned in the wake of TK’s touch. “You do this thing, when you’re looking at something you really like, like a really nice view or a really well plated meal, or…” 

“You?” Carlos finishes the statement with an absolute. Even if it wasn’t what TK was going to say, it’s what Carlos was always going to mean. He doesn’t even process that he’s said it out loud, and part of him wishes he could take it back. Not because he doesn’t mean it, but because he does.

TK’s green eyes brighten, rivaling the light of the sun shining around him. Carlos can’t take back what he’s said, but it doesn’t look like TK wants him to. Carlos chooses to move past it, and not backtrack. It’s easier to stop a thought from trickling through you, flooding your every notion if you stop the leak before it gets too bad. “So, what’s this tell?” 

TK lies flat down on the towel, lowering Carlos’ sunglasses over his eyes. He smiles again, like he’s finally sharing a secret. “You let your guard down. You smile like you’re finally allowing yourself to be happy.” 

Carlos wants to tell TK that being with him is the happiest he’s been in a while. 

“Do you want me to get your back?” Carlos nods at the bottle of sunscreen peeking out of TK’s tote bag. 

“Well, since you offered so nicely.” Carlos rises from the towel, grabbing the sunscreen and sitting behind TK. TK sits up and it’s like he’s Carlos’ own canvas. They sit in a comfortable silence as Carlos applies the product; the sound of crashing waves and bird calls acting as the soundtrack to a summer moment that both of them want to last forever. 

Families are surrounding them and so is the odd couple, but in this moment, it feels like it’s just the two of them. TK feeling caressed by Carlos’ hands, and Carlos still feeling an intimacy he’s never felt with anyone else. 

“You know you can talk to me, right?” TK breaks the silence by trying to breach into a topic they’re clearly talking around. "If something's bothering you." 

Carlos hasn't told TK about his earlier embarrassment with Dumas because he doesn’t expect him to understand. All TK knows is that Carlos wants to be the best, and how could he think Carlos could be the best if he doesn't even know how to make a simple sauce. 

“Yeah, I know.” Carlos is used to saying the words, but with TK, they ring more true. His parents, Ana, Luisa; they all offer him the same type of solace, but with TK his brand of comfort feels different.

Maybe it's because he knows it’s limited and he wants to take advantage of it. Maybe it’s because he knows it’s limited and he can be vulnerable with him because this summer is nothing more than a flash in the pan for both of them. Softly, Carlos says, “Hey TK?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Being with you this summer,” Carlos pauses, another wave crashes and another bird calls. TK turns around and looks directly at him; his green eyes both attentive and inviting. With TK looking at him like this, Carlos does something he isn’t used to doing very often. He tells an unadulterated, earnest, and pure truth. “This is the happiest I’ve been in a while.” 

Carlos doesn’t know if TK will react well to it; knowing they’re both trying not to fall so hard they can’t get up. Then TK’s smiling; that type of smile that makes you want to believe him. “Carlos, I could say the same about you.” 

Carlos captures TK’s lip in a kiss that isn’t ravenous, but unforgettable, sweet and most importantly, loving.

—

When they get back to Carlos’ apartment, they both decide they need to take a shower. They both smell of sea salt, hot sand and the raspberry popsicles that melted before either of them got a chance to finish them.

Carlos jokes that they should bottle up the fragrance and call it, “The Perfect Summer Day.” TK jokes that he would spray it on days where the sun isn’t shining as bright as it did for them today.

“I’ve got sand in places I didn’t even know you could get sand in.” Carlos murmurs as he peels off his shirt and throws it into his hamper.

TK’s eyebrows raise demurely and a smirk graces his lips. Even with the slight farmer’s tan and the white film of sunscreen that’s fighting to stay seen, Carlos still looks so damn good. “Would you mind if I find out where?” 

“You’re insatiable.” Carlos says with a flirtatious smile and a lowered voice that’s rooted in desire. He kisses TK, the taste of raspberry hanging off of his lips. “But,” 

TK playfully frowns at the tone of voice. “That doesn’t sound like my favorite kind of butt.” He doesn’t think things are going to go the way he had hoped.

“We should shower,” Carlos runs a hand through his unfurled curls. Any and all product he uses to tame his wild mane is currently intermingling with the sea life in the Dieppe Beach. “I feel gross.” 

TK shrugs, “Well you don’t look it.” When it’s clear that Carlos isn’t going to rise to the bait, TK teasingly rolls his eyes but accepts Carlos’s silence nonetheless. “Fine, but do you mind if I go first? The water’s barely warm by the time you finish your hour long recluse.”

“My showers are not an hour long.” Carlos argues. Yes they’re long, but he has curls to maintain. TK looks like he wants to argue, and what’s worse is that he looks like he has proof. Carlos sighs in resignation. “Fine, you can go first.” 

While TK’s showering, Carlos notices that more of TK’s stuff has started to find its way to his place. Not just a toothbrush and a change of clothes, but things like a movie poster for a film called The Way We Were, a puzzle that’s meant to be a Caravaggio painting and most recently, a collection of poems by someone named Frank O’Hara.

Carlos’ curiosity gets the best of him, but he always sees TK marking the book up with a red pen when they’re both sitting in bed, focusing on their respective literature. Though Carlos’ tends to be cooking related, as most things are. 

Carlos picks up the book and runs his thumb against the page edges. They’re weathered and well loved, clear signs of how much TK’s revisited this book time and time again. Carlos begins reading and he focuses on the passages that TK’s underlined.

One is from a poem called “Having a Coke with You.” He’s underlined a phrase that says: 

I look at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world

He flips through the pages before finding the words underlined in a poem called “To You” that says:

What is more beautiful than night and someone in your arms

Carlos thinks his favorite might be from a poem called “Animals”: 

I wouldn't want to be faster or greener than now if you were with me O you were the best of all my days . 

Carlos finds each and every one of them beautiful; but in turns, begins to find himself inadequate. He doesn’t think he’s measuring up. TK is TK. He’s art studying, classic film loving, poetry reading, all music TK. 

Carlos is Carlos. He’s…Carlos. His media consumption will always be overshadowed by cooking because that’s who he is. All he can think is that TK deserves someone who can write poems like this about him. 

TK walks out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist and a look on his face that Carlos can only hope to see every time he wakes up in the morning.

Carlos clenches the book underneath his hands, careful not to grip it too hard and risk breaking the spine. TK notices the slight in Carlos’ normally collected demeanor. He grins, feeling both flattered and mischievous. 

“I would ask if you like what you see,” TK begins, searching through his overnight bag that's sitting atop Carlos’ desk. He remembers how he looked when he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror after getting out of the shower. His eyes focused on the fading hickey on the side of his neck, and the thumbprint shaped bruise on his hip that’s barely just there. “But, I think we’ve both already confirmed that you do.” 

Carlos shrugs, trying to play it casual when he feels like his next words are anything but. “I’ll tell you I love looking at you as many times as you want to hear me say it.” Carlos smiles and TK’s heart blooms into something that’s starting to grow roots. 

TK turns his head, looking over his shoulder at Carlos. He smirks, before he fully turns himself around. He leans against the desk, his towel barely hanging on. “You like what you see, Mr. Reyes?” 

“You know I do.” Carlos answers TK smiles like it’s the first time he’s ever heard him say it. He turns back around and starts digging through the drawer in Carlos’ dresser that Carlos set aside just for him.

Carlos looks down at the poetry book, running his thumb against the weathered page edges again. TK deserves someone who will write poems about him, and maybe Carlos can be that someone. At least, he wants to be.

Carlos looks back up at TK, and watches TK dress himself, pulling up his boxers and buttoning his shorts. He watches the fluidity in TK’s movement, and it looks like he's brought a bit of the sea back with him.

“God, I just want to drink you in,” Carlos tries for something, anything, that would make TK feel like the poetry he’s just read. “It’s like you’re the only thing that quenches my thirst.” 

TK is silent for a moment as he pulls on his shirt. Once the fabric is down past his face, Carlos can see he's grinning. He’s giving him the type of smile that shows teeth, the kind of smile that can’t be mistaken for anything but an outpouring of joy.

“Carlos Reyes,” TK says his name with a laugh in his voice. He joins him on the bed, kneeling on the comforter and eyeing the book that’s in Carlos’ hands. “Is that your kitschy, poetic way of saying you’re thirsty for me?” 

Carlos pauses, mourning his first and last attempt at trying to be poetic. “Wow, I guess that is what it is.” He drops the book, rubbing at both of his eyes. “My god, that’s so embarrassing.” 

Carlos sighs and he’s certain he’s slowly starting to shade himself red. He gestures to the book in front of him. “This was sitting on your nightstand.” While it’s Carlos’ apartment, TK’s found a way to make a small piece of it his. “and I guess I thought I’d try to be like all the words you love so much.”

Carlos peeks up at TK; having looked down during his entire, embarrassing confession. TK’s staring at Carlos and he looks like he's trying to hold back a very hearty laugh. “You think it’s cheesy?” Carlos asks. “You think it’s cheesy.” 

TK moves closer, placing himself right in Carlos’ lap. He places both of his hands on Carlos’s shoulder and Carlos never wants to stop feeling TK’s palm amongst his bare skin. “I think it’s sweet.” TK corrects him and his voice sounds like honey.“I think you’re sweet.” 

TK captures Carlos’ lips into a kiss and Carlos kisses back like TK is something he never wants to let go. He brings his hands up and caresses TK’s face, gently placing both hands on TK’s cheeks as they continue to kiss. Pulling him in so close he wants the two of them to become one. 

TK pulls away and Carlos hopes he looks as love struck as he feels. TK sighs happily, maybe even dreamily, before saying, “Carlos Reyes, if you were a drink, I would drink you up until the very last drop.” 

—

“Mr. Strand.” Dr. London’s call of his name stops him in his step. TK pivots to look at her, his eyes slightly widened. “A minute, please?” TK nods before telling Ronnie he’ll catch up with her a little later.

TK tries to preemptively get ahead of an accusation that he’s been waiting for her to make. “Dr. London, if this is about last week’s exam, I promise Colin and I didn’t cheat, he just crammed with my flash cards an hour before.” 

Dr. London interject before he has the chance to ramble any further.

“Please, Colin couldn’t have examined Bonnard to the level you can if he wanted to.” Dr. London realizes how that sounds and mildly winces at her own brashness. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s good, very good; but you’re passion for this tends to bleed through your classwork.

TK gives her a sympathetic smile, his way of saying your secret is safe with me.

Dr. London shakes her head, righting herself again before continuing. “Anyways, I wanted to ask you about your internship. How’s it been working with Ms. Hugo?”

“Pardon the cliche, but it’s better than what I could have expected.” He goes into detail about what the last couple of weeks working with Nadine has been like.

He has to pace himself when he talks about his day to day, well more like day to every other day. If he’s not careful, he’ll start rambling on about what his internship fully entails, like Dr. London wouldn’t already know first hand.

“I’m happy to hear that things have been going well,” Dr. London grins, but there’s an unasked question lingering in the air. “Do you plan to stay after it’s completed? An internship could turn into a fellowship if you play your cards right.”

TK is silent for a moment as he thinks of what to answer.

TK had considered it briefly, but he pushed the thought of his mind so he could focus on his mid-terms. Now that those are complete, he thinks he owes it to himself to focus a little bit more on that what ifs.

He’s been loving the work he’s been doing with Nadine, and the possibility of continuing it causes a semblance of joy to flood through him.

He has enough set aside in his funds that he could keep himself afloat a little longer but he’ll be relying on his paycheck from the Louvre to carry the brunt of it. That said, if he goes from intern to fellow, the reflection in his paycheck may be able to buoy further.

He’d also have to figure out housing accommodations, but the thought of that alone is exhausting at the moment. He’s been treating Carlos’ apartment like his own, but he’s been burned enough in the past to know he should have a place to go back to because there’s a sense of security in that. TK finally speaks up, “Do you think that’s something worth considering?”

“Maybe I’m biased, but I think it is. However, if you’re not careful, you’ll end up never wanting to leave.” Dr. London causally points to herself, her way of saying take it from me. “They always say Paris is the city of love, but they never mention that it might be the city you fall in love with.”

TK considers a couple of things; the job itself, the Parisian life, the skyline he can see from his dorm, and Carlos. While there seems to be inevitable end, as there are for all flings; TK does love the idea of pushing the end slightly more out of reach.

“I’ll think about it,” TK says with a smile. He doesn’t bother telling her there’s more than one reason why he never wants to leave to Paris. 

—

TK hasn’t known Carlos very long, but sometimes he feels like he’s known him forever.  He knows that he’s got two sisters, one married and one that hates the institution of marriage entirely. He knows that Carlos’ father is a Texas Ranger who’s biggest weakness is a good Chili con Carne and he knows that Carlos’ mother makes the world’s best Chili con Carne. 

TK knows that Carlos is a control freak and he knows that he doesn’t know that he’s a control freak. He knows that Carlos has a tendency to suppress any emotion that could risk showing a crack in his cool, calm, collected demeanor. TK knows that Carlos doesn’t know he knows that. 

So, when TK is woken up by a frantic Carlos who’s hopping out of bed, opposed to in it, he can’t help but ask, “What’s wrong?” 

Carlos releases a flurry of words that topple over each other. The only discernible word TK can catch is ‘bed.’ That mixed with Carlos’ frantic pointing at said bed causes TK to further investigate.

“Huh?” TK looks under the comforter as Carlos watches on. Carlos waits for TK to join him in his terror, half expecting him to jump out of the bed the way he just did. What Carlos doesn’t expect is TK disappearing under the comforter entirely, reaching for the unwelcome inhabitant. 

TK peeks his head back up, only his hair and his eyes are showing; but Carlos can tell he’s smiling. He lowers the comforter, smiling in that special type of way that Carlos simply just adores and reveals that he’s holding a tiny little creature in his palm. “It’s a lizard.” 

“Oh, just a lizard.” Carlos looks at TK incredulously, like he’s the lizard that suddenly showed up out of nowhere. 

“Don’t tell me you have a problem with lizards.” 

“Of course I have problems with lizards,” Carlos exclaims, pulling the comforter off of the bed to make sure he's not being deceived into a false sense of security. “They’re creepy and they’re crawly.”

“Well they are reptiles.” TK looks back down at the lizard, running his index finger against the lizard’s back. He doing his best to calm the creature though, TK doesn’t think he’s the only one that needs calming. “What do you think we should name him?” 

“Name him?” Carlos' eyes widen to anomalous proportions. “No, we are most definitely not naming him. Naming him means you’ll get attached to him and that’ll just make it that much harder to part with him.” 

“Why can’t we keep him?” TK’s slips of the tongue bounces off his own ear, leaving him slightly stilted. He said we; he treated them as a collective. What TK does, Carlos will inherently do too. “I’ll just keep him at my place.” TK looks back down at the lizard who looks comfortable in his palm. 

“TK,” Carlos walks over to his closet and pushes his clothing around to make sure the lizard doesn’t have a family he doesn’t know about. “Your place is basically my place.” He gestures to the clutter piling up on TK’s nightstand. “I don't want that,” Carlos turns to glare at the lizard in TK’s hand. “That critter, feeling too comfortable.” 

“You’re being a little harsh, don’t you think? I think he’s cute.” TK looks into the lizard’s beady little eyes. TK smiles down at the lizard and the lizard darts out it’s tongue.

“Of course you do,” Carlos says, moving his pillow and making sure the spot is clear. 

TK’s eyebrows furrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means,” Carlos walks over to the window and makes sure that it’s closed and locked correctly. “That you study art for a living, you can’t help but look for the beauty in everything.”

TK can feel a skip in his heart at Carlos so casually saying something so heartfelt. All summer, TK has thought Carlos isn’t like any other guy he’s dated. 

He’s a little meticulous, somewhat of a control freak, his love of cooking borders on obsessive, he maybe knows fifteen songs max and has maybe watched half of one movie.

That said, he also knows how to make TK smile with the simplest utterance of a phrase. He knows how to make TK’s heart swell and his mind race in the best way. He know how to instill hope, how to make TK believe in love all over again. 

Carlos isn’t like any other guy TK has dated. 

He’s better. 

— 

TK and Nancy both, finally, have a schedule that could accommodate the other and used the time to catch each other up up on any and everything via Zoom call. Nancy had talked about interviewing for a freelance position at W Magazine and how she’s totally not dating Mateo, they both just happen to love all the same things, including olives on pizza. 

TK had told her about his internship at the Louvre has been going, how he saw a Degas in person (to which she feigned excitement), his new friend Ronnie that Nancy would absolutely love and how he’s been spending a summer of disposable romance with a chef named Carlos. Well, a culinary school student named Carlos. 

“Holy shit,” Nancy says the phrase like she’s releasing an unsteady breath. As if she’s caught in the crossfire of something both spontaneous and unbelievable; but happy all the same. “TK, you’re in love.” 

Though Nancy’s connection still isn’t the most stable, she can see TK roll his eyes clear as day at the assessment she's just made. “Nancy, don’t you think you’re being a little bit dramatic?” He asks the question and to Nancy, the words sound laced with falsity. “I’m pretty sure I would know if I’m in love.” 

“Doesn’t sound like you do,” Nancy retorts back. “TK, you’re talking about this man like he’s the reason the sun rises. You never spoke about Alex this way, and you thought you were going to marry him.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” TK mutters.

A wave of rotten nostalgia washes over TK as the mention of Alex’s name. He hasn’t thought about Alex in weeks and he hopes to keep it that way. He hasn’t thought about Alex, or Jason, or Ryan because there’s only been one name that’s hung from his lips; Carlos.

“Nancy, we’re just having fun.” TK can feel a sudden hitch in himself, almost like nerves. Maybe he’s nervous that Nancy’s onto something; maybe he’s nervous that she’s not just onto something, but she’s right.

Maybe he’s nervous that he did exactly what he said he wouldn’t do and now he’s falling so hard that the inevitable crash will be that much more painful.

“TK,” Nancy pulls him out of his own head. He looks back at the computer screen and she smiles at him, sympathetically. “Are you lying to me, or yourself?”

And well, TK, he’s not quite sure.

—

Carlos shows up to TK’s dorm around 9:30, or 21:30 depending on who you ask. They plan to catch a late showing of An American in Paris. It’s a little too on the nose according to Carlos, but TK loves it no matter how cliche it might be. 

The film is going to be in French, but TK knows the film inside and out so he’ll be able to follow along no problem. Carlos doesn’t mind that he won’t be able to follow along, the only thing he really cares about following along is TK. 

Carlos knocks on TK’s door once, twice, three times and waits to see TK’s beautiful face greet him. Imagine his surprise when TK opens the door, not at all dressed for public consumption, in just his boxers and a t-shirt that Carlos had spent the last three days looking for.

Carlos looks past him and sees that TK’s living room is all askew. Though the square footing is small, the mess that TK’s made is big. He looks at TK, hoping for an explanation. 

“Carlos, hey,” TK sounds out of breath. “Come in.” Carlos walks in and TK is quick to close the door behind him. 

“TK?” Carlos looks around the rest of TK’s dorm, the kitchen is basically upturned and he’s pretty sure the bedroom would look the same behind the closed door. “What’s going on?” 

“It’s Lou.” 

“Lou?” Carlos had never heard the name before but there’s a coil of jealousy pulsing through him; albeit weakly.

He and TK hadn’t discussed being exclusive, but with how much time they’ve been spending together, he just thought they would be. Maybe the idea warrants the conversation. Who knows, maybe it doesn’t matter if this Lou guy is already brought into the mix. 

“He got out.” TK explains as he begins to overturn the cushions on his couch. “I got back from running to the store and the lid to his tank had moved.” 

“Wait, got out? Tank? TK, what are you,” Carlos cuts himself off when he pieces it together. “You kept the lizard didn’t you?” 

TK looks up from his spot on the floor, after looking under the couch. “On a scale of 1 to 10, how upset would you be if” 

“10,” Carlos is quick to interject, not even giving the words time to settle. 

TK stands up; his smile overly sweet and saccharine. Any other time, Carlos would appreciate it, even if it’s just a front because at least he gets to look at TK happy. “Then no, I definitely did not keep the lizard.” 

“TK,” Carlos groans, rubbing at his temple.“We talked about this.”

“Carlos,” TK groans his name in response, but there’s nowhere near as much misery in the sound of his voice. “He’s so small, it seems cruel to make him try to brave the world on his own.” Carlos begins taking off his shoes and shrugging off his jacket. “Wait, what are you doing?” 

“Helping you look for, what did you name him, Lou?” Carlos begins scouting the kitchen, looking for any traces of rapid movement.

TK’s eyebrows knit together as he watches Carlos slowly open the silverware drawer. “I thought you hated him?” 

“Hate seems like a strong word.” Carlos says but then backtracks when TK gives him a doubting look. “Alright fine, I definitely don’t like the little guy, but you do.” Carlos closes the drawer when all he sees is spoons, knives and four forks that don’t match each other. “And two’s better than one, right? If we look together, maybe we can find him before the sun comes out.” 

“Or before someone else does,” TK mumbles to himself as he looks behind the television stand for the second time.

“Oh god, I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.” Carlos remembers little Timmy Rawlings from fifth grade. “Okay, maybe I would.” 

“You know, you don’t have to.” TK sifts through the DVDs gathered on his TV stand. He looks over at Carlos, who’s waiting to hear the rest of his statement. “Help, I mean.” 

“I know,” Carlos opens the cabinet doors under TK’s kitchen sink. From inside, he says, “But I want to.” Like he has, time and time, and time before. 

—

They spend all night turning TK’s apartment upside down, right side up and upside down again. They check every nook and cranny, and at one point, they just sit in silence and wait to hear a scream come from someone else’s dorm room. 

Carlos thought the last idea was silly, but then TK nicely reminds Carlos’ first reaction to Lou and Carlos rescinds his statement. 

Finally, just as the blue hour fades into gold, they find Lou.

He’s nestled into a puzzle box that’s tucked away into TK’s closet. He was sleeping between the pieces of a puzzle that, when completed, would show a couple kissing in front of the Eiffel Tower. TK thought it was a little cheesy  but that’s what he loved about it. 

With Lou resting in his palm, like he was all those days ago; Carlos asks him, practically begs him, “Set him free, TK.” 

TK doesn’t even feel the inclination to argue, knowing it’s what’s best for all of them. TK tells Carlos he’s going to set Lou free and Carlos tells TK he’s going to start making breakfast. 

TK walks down the hallway and enters the elevator, carrying Lou is a container to avoid the risk of him feeling again. With it just being them, TK talks to Lou like he’s his closest confidant. “Don’t listen to Carlos, I think he was starting to warm up to you. Though, that could have been due to 3 a.m. delirium.”

They reach the first floor and TK looks at Lou, who TK wants to believe is listening. “He’s right though, I should set you free. There’s a world out there for you to explore, and I can’t stand in the way of that now can I?” He opens the door to the dormitory and the crisp feel of morning washes over him.

Life hasn’t started just yet for most people, being so early on a Saturday, and TK thinks that’s best. Less for Lou to be overwhelmed by. TK pulls the container closer and softly says, “I’m gonna miss you, little guy. Carlos probably will too, I think he would have found a way to love you.”

Lou’s tongue flashes in and out, the first sign of response he’s seen from him. “Yeah,” TK agrees. “I like him too.” 

He releases Lou, and watches him scurry away. TK’ll be nothing but a forgotten moment in time to Lou, but TK thinks he won’t be able to forget Lou, no matter how much he tries.

TK walks back to his dorm and is greeted by the smell of bacon, cinnamon and coffee. He smiles at the fact it’s slightly of the first morning with Carlos. He’s glad he gets another chance to do it right.

Carlos is breaking a couple of egg yolks when he says, “I hope the goodbye was as painless as could be.” He grabs the salt and pepper shakers from the counter.

“You’ll regret not saying your own goodbye in time,” TK teases, searching his disarrayed cabinet for two mugs. He pulls out one red and one blue.

“That would probably be the only thing about you that I’d regret.” Carlos says nonchalantly, throwing another egg shell into the trash that’s barely full because TK’s never home. As TK waits for the coffee to finish brewing, he watches Carlos as he cooks.

He’s watched Carlos cooks countless times. He’s watched him create some of the most divine dishes from scratch, but right now, watching him make eggs and bacon might be the most beautiful he’s ever seen him look. 

Carlos stayed by his side all night; helping TK look for something he had no stake in. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to. Just like everything else Carlos has done for TK since they met so, so many nights ago.

Now he’s still here, making them breakfast while the sun rises up to greet them. Watching the golden light seep through the blinds wash over Carlos reminds him of what Nancy had said earlier.

TK, you’re talking about this man like he’s the reason the sun rises.

When the realization makes itself known; TK feels robbed of breath in the best possible way. He’s in love.

TK’s in love with Carlos Reyes; and while the thought terrifies him; he also thinks that he might really, really like it.