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. 

Chapter Text

I love you, but don’t know what to do

- You Get So Alone At Times It Just Makes Sense , Charles Bukowski

They’re in Carlos’ apartment, watching Casablanca on TK’s laptop against the backdrop of a rainy Thursday night. TK jokes that it’s a picture of domestic bliss. Carlos jokes that it’s the right kind of perfect. They both secretly hope that the other isn’t joking.

“As much as I love this movie,” TK cozies himself further into Carlos’ side, latching onto the warmth of his body like it’s a blanket tailored just for him. “I really do hate the ending.” He watches as Humphrey Bogart comforts Ingrid Bergman as the tears start to form in her eyes.

“Why’s that?” Carlos hasn’t seen Casablanca; but then again, he hasn’t seen most movies, let alone romantic ones. He remembers when Iris tried showing him Julie and Julia, but all he could find himself focusing on was the cooking aspect.

TK shrugs, then explains, like it’s obvious. “It doesn’t have a happy ending.”

Carlos eyebrows draw together, showing slight confusion. “Well, not every story has a happy ending.” Carlos thinks he might actually prefer that. Something based in reality and not speculative fantasy. Life tends to be safer that way. “Not everybody gets a happy ending.”

TK chuckles softly, part of him expecting that response and part of him loving that he did. Carlos doesn’t sanitize himself for anyone, and TK’s glad that he doesn’t.

“That’s true, but,” He looks up at Carlos, green eyes shining with both optimism and speculative fantasy. “Don’t we all deserve one?”

And well, Carlos doesn’t think that even he can argue against that.

With TK pressed against him like this, Carlos thinks he can feel every part of him. He can feel him slightly exhale when something is funny but doesn't warrant a chuckle. He can feel him sigh just this side of hopeless when something especially romantic happens.

He can feel the way his cheeks rise slightly, pulled up by the makings of a smile when Humphrey Bogart looks lovelorn into Ingrid Bergman’s eyes and says, “We’ll always have Paris.”

“What’s got you smiling?” Carlos asks.

TK peeks up at Carlos after he asks the question. Carlos is looking down at him with a smile that TK waits to watch fall, as silly as that seems. TK’s been through this before, sharing pieces of what he loves with guys he’s dated before.

Most of the time his enthusiasm was just met with a dead-eyed stare, and look that said they couldn't wait for his ramblings to be over. TK almost wants to say it’s nothing, don’t worry about it, but then he remembers. Carlos isn’t like any other guy he’s dated, he’s better.

“It’s just, I really love that line,” TK begins to explain, even if he thinks it might slightly be to his own detriment. He knows that once he starts talking about this, he’ll never want to stop.

He sits up, propelled by his own passion. He turns to look at Carlos, who looks both shocked and intrigued by the sudden movement.

TK begins to explain, “I love the idea that even though this might be the end for them, they have something they can still share together, you know? Even if it’s just the memory, it’s something they’ll always have that no one else will ever understand.”

Carlos pauses the movie so as not to distract himself from anything TK is saying. TK doesn’t seem to notice as he continues rambling on. “It’s like, we’re washed over with this wave of melancholy, but then that line gives us our own little tether,” He rattles on. “You end the film knowing their lives are forever changed because of the other. I don’t know, I guess I like it because it makes a sad ending, just a little less sad.”

TK's so wrapped up in his own words that he doesn’t notice the way Carlos is looking at him. Carlos is smiling at him, and it looks effortless; like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.

“What’s got you smiling?” TK asks, turning the question back on him. He doesn’t know what he’s done to make Carlos smile, but he’s happy to see it regardless.

Carlos shrugs, but the smile remains. If anything, it looks brighter and even more true. “I just really love listening to you talk.”

TK sighs, and it’s just this side of hopeless. Carlos’ casual use of the word love has TK’s stomach tying in knots. “You’re so cheesy.”

“I thought you said I was sweet,” Carlos cocks an eyebrow playfully and TK chuckles. Carlos thinks it’s a sound he wants to hear for the rest of time. TK reaches out, grabbing his face in between both hands and kisses him deeply; like he’s trying to taste just how sweet Carlos really is.

“You’re both,” TK answers when he pulls away; his voice sounding hopelessly in love. “You contain multitudes. So,”  His voice perks up, as if he’s righting himself. “What did you think?” TK’s eyes light up, eager to hear Carlos’ thoughts.

“I, uh,” Carlos tries to think of the right thing to say; even though he’s sure TK would say there isn't a right or wrong answer. TK had once said that he doesn’t need to try and impress him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to try at all.

“I really liked the montage scene, with the flashbacks to their happier days,” Carlos answers, hesitantly. “You know, where they drive through the city, they dance in the lounge, and when they ride the boat down the Seine.”

At the mention of the Seine river, TK snorts and Carlos thinks he’s found a way to mess up. “Is that not a good answer?”

“Carlos, any answer you give is going to be a good answer because you're telling me how you feel,” TK replies, earnestly.

He shakes his head before continuing. “It’s just, when I was younger,” TK stops himself, feeling embarrassed about what he plans to say next; well, what he had planned to say next. He decides against it. “Never mind, forget it.”

“Hey, no, don’t do that,” Carlos sits up, interested in this sudden bout of shyness. TK’s face starts to redden and his enthusiastic demeanor suddenly turns coy. “TK, are you blushing?”

TK is silent for a beat before asking, “If I tell you something, do you promise not to laugh?” Carlos looks at TK, almost insulted at the thought that he would do something of the sort.

Regardless, even though he thinks it's obvious, Carlos says, “I promise,” He holds up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

TK tilts his head, his eyebrows furrowed. “I didn’t know you were a boy scout.”

“I wasn’t,” Carlos admits.

TK rolls his eyes, though the action is done more in jest than sincerity.  “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

“I do,” TK agrees. He pushes down the thoughts that remind him that’s not all he loves about Carlos. “When I was like, fourteen, I would watch Casablanca all the time. Like on repeat.”

TK smiles at a buried memory that’s starting to unearth itself. “Whenever I would go through a really bad break up, which was all of them, my mom and I would watch it together. Her way of being there for me and my way of falling in love with love again.”

Carlos' expression softens as he listens. Carlos loves his mother, and there’s no doubt in his mind that his mother loves him back.

Her her love of cooking was passed down to him, and when she missed him more than usual, she would recommend they make a dish together. In a way, it’s their Casablanca.

“When we would watch it, and they’d ride down the Seine, I used to say that’s where I want to get proposed to,” TK laughs, finding his teenage self to be overly ambitious. “You know, a totally normal plan for a fourteen year old to envision.”

TK sighs and it sounds like he’s brought back to actuality. “Now that I’m older, I think about all the logistics of making something like that happen and I can’t help but laugh. Doesn’t that seem silly?”

Carlos shakes his head. “It’s not silly, TK. If he’s the right guy, he’ll want to. He’ll want to because he loves you. Most importantly, he won’t just want to, he will.”

TK looks down, both flattered and flustered that Carlos takes his fantasies seriously
.
Carlos tilts his head, waiting until TK is making eye contact with him before he continues. When TK’s finally looking up at him, he smiles and says, “You deserve someone who will, TK.”

TK’s alarm goes off before he can respond. TK thinks that maybe it’s for the best; for once, he doesn’t know what to say. “That’s my cue. If I don’t leave now, I’ll miss the last train back to campus.”

TK reaches to the floor and grabs his shoes. As he’s putting on his left shoe, he says, “This must be how Cinderella felt.”

“At least you have both of your shoes,” Carlos adds, watching TK pull on his right shoe. “You sure I can’t convince you to spend the night?”

“Trust me, you probably could; but I’ve got a pretty early start tomorrow morning. Finals are next week and I don’t feel the least bit prepared,” TK sighs as he finishes double knotting his laces. “When I’m not with you, or at the Louvre, I need to be studying.”

“You already know everything, you’ll be fine,” Carlos argues and TK grins.

“You’re so sweet it's starting to seep into the way you talk,” This time it’s Carlos’ turn to smile. TK, however, stands up and continues, “That said, I know what you’re trying to do, and sadly, not even the sweetest of sweet talk is going to be able to convince me to stay.”

Carlos hops out of bed, following behind TK as they walk to his front door. He shrugs, “Had to try.”

“And I’m glad you did,” TK says, grabbing his jacket from Carlos’ couch and pulling it on. “Besides, I think Ronnie will hex me if I make her brave another McDonald’s breakfast alone again.”

“Ronnie’s Wiccan?”

“She’s not,” TK confirms, before stopping in front of Carlos’ front door. He thinks about the excess of crystals he’s been seeing Ronnie walk around with. “At least I don’t think so, or at least, not right now,” He shakes his head, throwing away the theory.

He turns to look at Carlos, smiling again. “ Anyways, thanks for tonight.”

Carlos thinks it’s silly that TK needs to thank him for spending time with him. Behind cooking, being with TK is his favorite way to pass the time. “You know me, always excited to watch a movie.”

“Carlos,” TK says his name like he’s waiting for Carlos to be honest with himself.

“Fine, I might not be the biggest film buff, but I like getting to know more about you,” Carlos confesses. “And if doing that is by watching your favorite film, so be it.”

TK kisses Carlos for one final that time that night before saying,“For someone who never knows who’s always afraid of saying the wrong thing, you’re really good at getting it right.”

— 

“You went to the beach?” Luisa sounds both perplexed and amazed. After dealing with consistently conflicting schedules and the fact Carlos often doesn’t feel like speaking to people after class, they’re finally catching up. 

“You don’t need to sound so surprised, I am known to leave the house from time to time.”  Carlos’ words sound tight, like he’s saying them through a groan. He blames it on the ache he’s starting to feel bloom through his right shoulder. 

He moves his tote bag from his right hand to his left and hopes that’ll relieve some of the pain. He’s recently stopped by the farmer’s market and his tote bag that’s almost overflowing with produce is proof of his victorious finds. 

Carlos took advantage of the fact they’re in that special pocket of summer where so many foods are finally in season. He thinks he must have looked like a kid in the candy store, but only if the candy was fresh off the vine tomatoes and crisp green beans. Luisa does always say he was a weird kid.

That said, when he was there, foraging amongst the vendors for the freshest fruit and vegetables;  all he could think about was how much he wished TK was there with him.

Ever since that first time, they’ve made going to the farmer’s market their thing. While TK rarely buys anything, he likes keeping Carlos company. Carlos likes that TK likes keeping him company. 

Before meeting TK, Carlos found the farmer’s market to be a kind of therapeutic solace. He would walk around and be surrounded by all the elements of what he loves so much. Now, when he goes to the farmer’s market without TK, Carlos feels like he’s missing an element of himself. 

“Yeah, but,” Luisa still sounds perturbed, still sitting on the brink of surprise. “Carlos, you hate the beach.” 

“I do not hate the beach,” Carlos looks both ways before trekking across the street. “What I hated was being squished between you and Ana the entire three hour drive to the beach.” 

“So it’s our fault?” 

“Don’t do that,” Carlos replies, knowing where Luisa will steer the conversation if given the chance. “Don’t do that thing you always do.” 

“What are you talking about?” Luisa asks the question like she knows exactly what Carlos is talking about. 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Carlos is quick to retort. When Luisa isn’t quick to respond, Carlos continues. “Luisa, I swear if I get a call from Ana saying I,” 

“If you get a call from Ana, I’ll be surprised,” Luisa interrupts Carlos, the playful tone she had on earlier is quickly recanted. “She’s been ignoring my calls for the last week.” 

Carlos knows what that means. He’s quiet for a beat, listening to the whine on the telephone line and the sounds of the odd passerby passing him by. Eventually he speaks up and says, “Did she get into another fight with mom?” 

“Of course she did because she’s Ana and mom’s, well, mom,” Luisa answers. 

Carlos loves his older sister and Carlos loves his mom. They both love him, and Carlos is certain that his older sister and his mom love each other; even if they have a hard time showing it every now and then.

Carlos blames it on the fact they’re so much alike. Even their names, Ana and Andrea, teeter the line of mirroring each other if you think about it long enough. 

Ever since Ana’s moved out of the family home, she has a tendency to protect her peace in a way most of the family doesn’t agree with. When she gets in a fight with their mom, she distances herself until she’s in the right headspace to have an appropriate discussion. 

Barring the occasional text message she’ll send to Luisa to let her know she’s alive, she goes radio silent. Luisa hates it because she’s always forced to play mediator and Carlos hates it because he’s never been good with conflict. 

“It’ll be fine,” Carlos tries to make this all easier to digest. It’s funny, he made food that bordered on inedible when he first started learning how to cook; but even that was easier to get down than the reality of Ana’s relationship with their mom. “It always is.” 

“It always is,” Luisa agrees, but she sounds drained as she says it. It always is, because Luisa makes sure that it is. “Anyways,” Her voice suddenly sounds revived. “Don't think you’re going to distract me from telling me all about the man who made thee Carlos Reyes go to the beach.” 

“He didn’t make me do anything.” Carlos looks both ways before crossing another street. He starts to fiddle with his keys as he walks up the stairs to his apartment. 

Carlos holds back the fact that might be a little of a lie. He remembers the day well, and how TK got him out of not only his dimly lit room but also out of his own head. 

A morning that was filled with routine thoughts of disparagement and wondering if he's good enough turned into an afternoon of affirmations he didn’t even know he was looking for. TK made him get up, get out into the sun and looked on fondly as Carlos dipped his toe in both the waters of the Dieppe Beach and the art of poetry. 

What started as a day that felt drenched in darkness, a day that Carlos couldn’t wait to end; turned into a day that Carlos never wanted to see come to a close. 

“Even better, tell me all about the man who made thee Carlos Reyes want to go to the beach,” Luisa's voice is teasing, but for once Carlos doesn’t mind. Maybe it’s because getting an opportunity to talk about TK is worth it. 

As Carlos is putting away his newly purchased produce, he describes the poetry reading, film loving, art studying student that’s found a way to rock Carlos’ sheltered world. He tells her about how one of the first things TK ever said to him was that chefs are weird and Luisa tells Carlos she “likes TK already.” 

He tells her about how something so innately casual became something intimate; and while he didn’t expect it, he loves it. He’s already told her about their day at the beach, barring a few details. 

He knows that if she knows how downtrodden he’s been occasionally, she’ll start to get concerned. She’ll start to get concerned and because Carlos is Carlos, he’ll take it as pity. While there are some things about Carlos that have changed since his time in Paris, how he deals with pity isn’t one of them. 

He finishes his recollection of his last few weeks with TK by telling Luisa all about the lizard that once called TK’s place home.

How they both spent the better part of the night that bled into morning looking for him. How Carlos stayed later than TK thinks he should have because all he wanted to do was make TK breakfast. 

When he’s finished, Carlos hears her sigh on the other end of the line. It doesn’t sound like it’s born out of frustration or defeat; but more like a relaxed sigh, as if things are finally falling into place. As he puts away the final product, a package of raspberries, he asks, “What?” 

“Nothing, it's just,” Luisa pauses and Carlos wonders where she’s going with this. “When you left for France, I thought you’d be all consumed by cooking, like you always are. I didn’t expect you to find a way to fall in love.” 

Now that, that causes Carlos to stop himself in his steps. He knew there was something in the way he felt about TK, something that was different. He knew that it was something foreign and something he hadn’t felt before but he had never given it a name. 

Carlos smiles to himself when the realization dawns on him; buried underneath every memory he unearths about TK, there’s love. 

Carlos didn’t think he’d find a way to fall in love; but when he thinks about TK, poetry reading, film loving, art studying TK, he thinks it was impossible for him to do anything but. 

—

“We should celebrate,” Ronnie says as she and TK walk down the building hallway. They’ve just completed the last day of finals and TK couldn’t be happier. He feels like the weight of anxiety has finally been lifted.

“Because we’re done with the semester?” TK asks as he pulls open the door for her. 

They’ve gotten into the habit of taking the stairs down instead of the elevator. Ronnie says she prefers doing it because she wants to avoid people. TK says he prefers doing it because he’s his father’s son and firefighters always say take the stairs. 

As Ronnie walks through it, she answers, “Because I don’t have to see Colin anymore.” 

TK laughs, happy that Ronnie never stops being who she is. “What do you have in mind?” 

Ronnie suggests a movie marathon, the weirder the better, partnered with snacking on all of the best cuisine France has to offer. Which means they’ll be munching down croissants, baguettes and beignets. 

“You should invite G.I. Joe,” Ronnie suggests, her voice echoing through the stairwell. The sound of her jewelry bouncing off each other serving as their soundtrack as they walk down the stairs.

“His name is Carlos and I know you know that,” TK responds. Ronnie rolls her eyes but she doesn’t disagree. 

“Well fine, then invite Carlos. I deserve to meet the man who’s been making me brave McDonald’s breakfasts alone; especially before I never get the chance to.” Ronnie tosses out the harsh reality and it serves as a reminder to TK. 

A reminder that he’s in love, and this love has a limit. He’s silent for a second, then decides Ronnie’s right. He needs to take advantage of any chance he gets to be with Carlos, before he doesn’t get the chance to again. 

“Fine,” TK answers, giving in. When they finally make it outside the building, TK pulls out his phone and begins calling Carlos.

When Carlos finally picks up the phone, TK greets him with a casual, “Hey.”

He smiles to himself, thinking that this greeting is the most casual thing he’s done with Carlos in weeks. “How’s your day going?” He can hear the rumbling sounds of the train station in the background noise of Carlos’ line.

“I’ve kind of been dealing with the morning from hell but you’re making it feel a bit more like heaven.” As Carlos speaks, the rumbling sounds become more distant and muted. 

“That’s poetic,” TK’s voice sounds both bright and dreamy. As if he’s caught off guard by Carlos’ words, but is happy to hear them regardless. “Have you been rummaging through my Frank O’Hara collection again?” 

Carlos smiles to himself and revels in his own self attributed victory. “Did you like that?” 

TK can hear Carlos' smile through the line. He grins and says, “I loved it. I was calling because I was wondering if you had any plans for tonight.”

Carlos is quiet on the other line, and for a moment, TK wonders if the call has been dropped. “TK, we have plans for tonight.” 

TK’s eyebrows knit together, “Since when?” He knows he’s been occupied with his finals the last couple of days, but he feels like he wouldn’t forget making plans with Carlos. 

“Since I tol-” Carlos stops before whispering to himself. “Oh my god, I forgot to tell you.”

Carlos continues, and he’s starting to sound frustrated “I had something special planned for tonight. I just got back from shopping and it was going to be a whole thing.” Carlos sighs and he sounds defeated. “I messed up.” 

“Stop it, don’t do that to yourself,” TK chastises him. Carlos will let himself spiral if he’s not careful and Carlos shouldn’t feel ashamed for doing something as human as forgetting. “Look, I’m pretty sure my plans can be rescheduled,” He looks over at Ronnie, waiting to see if his claim is true. 

Ronnie rolls her eyes, at this point TK would be more surprised if she didn’t, but she nods silently. He mouths “thank you” and she raises her eyebrows, her way of saying “you’re welcome.” 

“Which means my evening is free, what were you thinking?” 

“It’s a surprise,” Carlos answers but his enthusiasm sounds restored. 

“I’ll say.” TK jokes. 

“Cute,” Carlos replies but TK can hear the chuckle Carlos is trying to suppress. “Just, come over around 7, and be hungry.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” They bid each other goodbye, and as soon as TK hangs up the call, he’s already forming an apology to Ronnie. 

“It’s fine,” Ronnie raises a hand, brushing off the attempt. “David can be delayed a bit.” TK’s not sure if she’s referring to Lynch or Cronenberg but he prefers the mystery. “Just tell Carlos he owes me.” 

When TK isn't quick to retort and just continues smiling, Ronnie asks, “What?” 

“You just called him Carlos.” 

“Don’t get used to it.” 

—

Carlos hangs up his call with TK and pulls out his earbuds as walks up the stairs. He made it a point to bring two bags with him this time, not wanting to risk the integrity of his right shoulder blade. He learned after the other day when he was on the phone with Luisa.

“Anderson,” Carlos greets Nick when he sees Nick leaning against the railing outside their apartments. “How you been?” He and Nick rarely get time to catch up before class; and Carlos can’t lie, he misses it. He misses the controlled chaos and poorly delivered punch lines. 

Carlos never thought he’d engage in the idea of an active social life before coming to Paris, but then he thinks of TK. There’s plenty of things he didn’t think he’d ever do before coming to Paris; but Carlos is finding that he’s starting to really love all of it. 

“Reyes,” Nick says his last name through an exhale of smoke. Nick’s occasional evening cigarette has slowly started to devolve into chain-smoking. When Nick isn’t cooking in class, he’s standing outside taking a smoke break. Carlos is concerned, but he also thinks it’s not his place to say anything. “Things could be better.”

“What’s up?”

“Things between me and Ellie have gotten, uh, tense,” Nick takes another drag of his cigarette. He releases a cloud of smoke through a slow exhale. “She thinks I’m having a hard time leaving Chef Nick behind when I leave class.”

“What do you think?” Carlos asks. He’s grateful that he didn’t grab too many perishables when he went shopping. 

“I think she’s right,” Nick says the words solemnly. “And that’s what worries me. I don’t want to bring that environment home. I’m irritable, agitated, mean to myself; but then it’s dinner, and I start cooking…” 

“And it’s hard to get Dumas out of your head,” Carlos finishes for him. “He’s like a shadow that never leaves,” Carlos had started to feel the same way about Dumas and he can’t lie; it feels good to finally admit it out loud. 

“Exactly,” Nick nods his head, flicking the ash. “You get it.” 

“I think I’m one of the few who can,” Carlos shrugs. Nick releases a short laugh, because he hates that it’s true. Nick takes another drag as his phone chimes, he pulls it out of his pocket and releases a heavy sigh.

“That’ll be my roast,” Nick throws the cigarette to the ground, grinding it into the concrete. He opens his door, but before entering, he turns and smiles at Carlos. “Thanks for listening, Carlos.” 

“Anytime, Nick.”

—

TK shows up to Carlos’ apartment at 6:50. When Carlos opens the door, he’s wearing an apron, one oven mitt and a smile that TK never wants to forget. “I said seven,” Carlos says, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably. 

“You said around seven,” TK clarifies. “And maybe I couldn’t stand the thought of waiting any longer to see your handsome face. Don’t tell me you hate the idea of us spending more time together.” 

“Well you’ve got me there, there’s nothing I could hate about you.” Carlos steps back from the doorway, giving room for TK to enter. He nods inside. “Come on, I don’t want to share you with the rest of the world when you look this good. I want that all for myself.” 

TK walks through, his grin entering the room before he does. “I look like I always do.” He takes off his jacket, drapes it over Carlos’ couch and leaves his overnight bag at the foot of it. 

Carlos locks the door behind him and turns with a smirk. “I know.” 

“Hm,” TK mutters. “Maybe I need to get in the habit of leaving more poetry books scattered around your apartment. Looks like they’re starting to be a good influence on you.” 

“That doesn’t seem like too bad an idea. I think my other nightstand is starting to look lonely. Come on, ” Carlos grabs TK’s hand in his and TK’s glad it’s not the one covered with the oven mitt. He loves feeling Carlos’ skin against his, even if it’s something as slight as hand holding. 

He loves being able to touch Carlos, to feel him and remind himself that all of this is real. 

Carlos leads him to the kitchen and TK lets him; he acts like he’s doesn’t know the way because he can tell Carlos wants him to. Carlos stops them in front of the dining table. Atop it are red rose petals, taper candles and the silverware set TK had convinced Carlos he just needed to buy. 

“What’s all this?” TK asks, his eyes dancing in the candlelight. He looks up at Carlos, who’s smiling so earnestly he probably doesn't know he’s doing it. TK likes when he smiles like that.

“This,” Carlos begins, unscrewing the cap to the sparkling cider in his hand. “Is a celebration,” He pours them both a glass before placing the bottle on the table and turning back around. 

As he prepares dinner and perfects the plating, he says, “As of today,  you’re one step closer to graduating and I’m one step closer to becoming the best chef I know I can be.” 

“Well if it’s any consolation, you’re already the best chef I know,” TK says after sipping from his glass. Carlos chuckles, but it sounds born out of courtesy as opposed to sincerity. 

He laughs because he wants TK to believe him, but not because it’s true. 

He hears Carlos mumble to himself, “I still think I have it in me to be better.”

A flicker of concern travels through TK. They still haven’t discussed the morning TK showed up and saw Carlos shrouded in a veil of defeat. 

Carlos hasn’t brought it up because he’s Carlos and TK hasn’t brought it up because he doesn’t want to push Carlos. He doesn’t want to come across too forward, like he always does. That’s what landed him in Paris with a broken heart in the first place.

“I present,” Carlos turns around, both hands full with plates covered in cuisine. “Red snapper with a side of roasted sweet potatoes, a mixed greens salad topped off with a homemade balsamic vinaigrette dressing. For dessert, I’ve made us raspberry tarts.”  

Once Carlos finishes placing both plates on the table, he looks up at TK. TK, who’s grinning so wide that Carlos wants to know what he's done to make TK so happy so that he can do it over and over and over again. “What?” 

TK sighs before saying, “It’s just really nice to see you be so proud of yourself,” For a fleeting moment, that flicker of concern is suppressed into nothing more than just that; a flicker. 

“Carlos, this all looks delicious,” He looks up at Carlos, the candlelight still dancing in his eyes. “Thank you.” 

There’s something constrained in the way TK speaks that makes Carlos think he’s found a way to mess something up. Most people wouldn’t be able to catch it, but Carlos isn’t most people. 

“There’s something wrong,” Carlos says the statement as if it’s definitive. There’s definitely something wrong, and it’s his fault. “Is it the balsamic dressing? Because I haven’t tossed the salad yet, you can put whatever you want on it. Or, oh god, you hate fish. That’s what it is, isn’t it?” 

Carlos is spiraling well beyond his control. He’s trying to piece where he went wrong but then TK is grabbing his hand and saying his name like it’s the only word he’s ever know.

“Carlos,” He squeezes Carlos’ hand, his way of making sure Carlos is listening to him. “Babe, it’s not that I promise.” 

Carlos is so wrapped up in his own head he misses TK saying the word babe; and TK is so wrapped up in getting Carlos out of his head, he doesn’t even realize he’s said it. “It’s just, I feel like what I made for you pales in comparison.” 

“You made me something?” Carlos asks as TK walks back into the living room to grab something from his overnight bag. When he walks back over, he’s holding a red envelope and package covered in brown wrapping paper. 

“Well, like you said, this is a celebration,” He hands both items to Carlos, who’s still wearing one oven mitt. He takes it off, wanting to hold TK’s gift as close to him as he can.

He opens the card and on the cover, there’s a dinner roll with wide brown eyes and a smile saying, “You’re on a roll!” 

Carlos knows TK made the card himself, simply based on the hand drawn nature of the character smiling up at him. However, he would know even if it wasn’t that obvious. Under the “Y”, the line of it starts to loop, almost creating a circle; TK’s favorite way to write it. 

Carlos remembers TK once mentioning that the only thing he hates about going by TK is that he can’t write his Y’s anymore. Carlos is glad he’s given TK a reason to revisit something he enjoys doing so much, no matter how small. 

Carlos opens the card and inside, TK’s written a heartfelt message about how proud he is of Carlos for reaching this milestone. Down within him, Carlos wants to cry at the thought of being so highly thought of; but he’s not used to crying, so he pushes that feeling down. 

TK’s signed the card at the bottom and next to his name is a smiley face. Underneath, it looks like he had originally drawn something different next to his name, but second guessed it. To Carlos, the faded indent, that’s been erased to near invisibility, looks heart-shaped. 

Part of him wishes that it was still there. 

When Carlos finally does speak up, his voice cracks just slightly. “Thanks, TK,” He’s used to TK complimenting his cooking; but to have it writing, tangible proof that someone thinks he’s doing something right. That’s something that can’t be compared to. 

“Well it doesn’t stop there,” TK nudges at the package that Carlos is still holding. Carlos places the card on the table. He makes a mental note to place it in a random cooking book so he can be pleasantly surprised one day. 

He unravels the twine and rips apart the paper until he finally sees what’s underneath. When he does, his eyes widen and he’s robbed of words in a way that he loves. 

“It’s a painting of the…” TK begins. 

“Dieppe Beach,” Carlos finishes. “From the day we went. You even got the…” 

“Red and white umbrella,” TK smiles at the thought. After being there for a little over an hour, an older couple sat right in front of them. Making themselves at home and setting up a large red and white umbrella to shade them from the sun. 

Carlos and TK could barely see past them, but by that point they didn’t care. They just listened to the waves crash against the shore and enjoyed each other’s company. 

“With finals dominating my every waking moment for the last week, I spent a lot of time looking at Monet. I would occasionally come across his paintings of the sea and whenever I looked at them,” TK looks down at the painting again. “I couldn’t help but think of that afternoon.” 

“It’s an afternoon I never want to forget,” Carlos mutters, rubbing his thumb across the canvas. He says the phrase more to himself than anything. 

“And now you won’t,” TK affirms, saying the phrase for both of them. “Do you like it?” 

“I love it.” Carlos whispers the words, hushed and intimate; like he’s telling TK a truth that’s just for them. He looks up at TK, his eyes offering adoration and he pulls him into a kiss. Once he pulls away, he softly says, “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” TK softly says back. At normal volume, he continues, “Now, I believe there’s a lovely dinner on the table that we shouldn’t keep waiting any longer.” 

He walks back over and takes a seat at the dinner table. He looks behind him and says, “You do have one more gift left to unwrap, after all.” 

Carlos looks confused but then chuckles when he pieces it together. TK is still TK and Carlos loves being reminded of that every chance he gets. “Are you the gift, TK?” He asks as he joins him at the dinner table. 

“I like to think my presence is a present.”

Carlos doesn’t think TK’s that far off; being with TK is just about everything Carlos could ever wish for. 

—

Upon waking the next morning, Carlos lies still. He wants to remain unmoved for as long as he can. His arm is still draped over TK’s bare chest and all he wants to do is feel TK under his touch for as long as he can. 

Cuddled against TK like this, he can feel the way TK’s deep breaths ripple through him. He can feel the steady pace of the inhale and exhale, and how it flows opposite to the cadence of his own. Between the pauses of his own bated breath are that of TK’s.

Proof that they compliment each other. 

Eventually, the sound of the world fades in. Birds begin chirping, steps begin falling and TK begins telling an unfortunate truth. “We have to get up.” 

“I don’t want to,” He suggests, holding TK tighter. “Five more minutes.” 

“I know you don’t want to,” TK turns, the sheets underneath him crinkling. He looks at Carlos, and with a tired smile he says, “But we have to.” 

Carlos can appreciate the irony. Everything for TK has always been about wanting to, not because ever felt he had to. Now, there’s something he has to do, regardless of want, and at the end of the day it’s still for TK.

As much as things change, they also stay the same. 

Much to Carlos’ dismay, TK moves from the bed, taking any semblance of warmth with him. Sure, the sun is starting to shine and the heat is slowly rising, but it pales in comparison to the feeling of TK’s body right next to his. 

TK makes a slow and thoughtful show of pulling up his maroon boxers that had been left on the floor from the night before. Carlos knows he’s doing it to bait him, wanting him to beg him to join him back in bed, wanting him to make TK feel wanted. But all Carlos can do is admire the sight before him. 

Carlos can't help but admire TK’s bedhead, the way his hair looks tousled, disheveled and messy; but also so true to TK’s natural state. 

He admires the way daybreak peeks through the window, shining against TK’s body and cascading him in a warm gold light that makes him look too rich to touch.

Carlos can’t help but admire the way his red boxers hug his body just right, complimenting the golden skin Carlos eagerly wants to feel under his fingers yet again.

He watches the fluidity of the motion of TK’s body as he stretches, righting himself for the oncoming day. Carlos is lost in a self made daze and he doesn’t want to trek his way out. He wants to stay purposefully lost in a creation of his own design. If this was lost, let him never be found. 

“Carlos,” TK says his name that breaks him out of his trance. Carlos blinks hard, bringing himself back to reality. He takes in TK’s face, grinning as TK grins back. “You keep staring at me like that, you’re gonna make me feel special.” 

Carlos has to stop himself from telling TK that he is special. He has to fight the words off his tongue because he knows if he says what he wants to, he’ll never stop talking. He’ll release a wave of words that rivals the intensity of high tide Instead, he opts for, “Let me make you breakfast?” 

TK smiles fondly as he searches the floor for both his jeans and his shirt. As he pulls them both on, he says, “While that sounds lovely, breakfast made by my own Michelin star chef…”

"I don't have a Michelin star,” Carlos interjects. “And that’s not how that works.” 

“I’m manifesting, and you’re so good, they’ll change the way it works,” TK argues. “I’ve got to be at work in,” He grabs his phone off the nightstand. His eyes widen, “an hour, and I still need to take a shower.” 

“You can shower here.” Now it’s Carlos’ turn to bait TK, but he’s met with a sorrowful rejection. 

“You and I both know how that will end, and then I’ll need a second shower.” TK finishes pulling on his left shoe as he opts for “Dinner later?” 

“Dinner later.” Carlos confirms though he wishes he didn’t have to wait so long before seeing him again. 

TK leans down, causing a dip in the bed as he leans in to give Carlos a kiss. He tastes like last night’s raspberry tart and all of Carlos’ dreams come true. He pulls away and says, “I’ll be back before you have the chance to miss me.” 

Carlos smiles, his face still cupped between TK’s hands.  “It’s hard not to miss you. I love having you around.”

There’s that word again; love. 

Love is a word that’s always tossed around casually, even by them; but the way it sounds rolling off of Carlos’ tongue causes TK’s heart to skip a beat. As if it’s a rock being thrown across a once still pond. 

Ever since TK realized that this, this thing with Carlos is no longer casual but something very real; the word love has hit his ear differently each and every time. He loves Carlos, and all he wants to do is tell him. 

That said, he knows how this goes. He tells him how he feels, he scares him off and TK’s stuck in this cycle yet again. For him, being forward and being happy rarely coincide; and he loves this thing he has with Carlos too much to ever risk messing it up. 

TK pulls his hands away, but Carlos grabs onto them. He wants to feel TK’s touch against him just a little while longer. “Well, I love being around you.” TK makes sure to lean into the ‘love’, making it clear that that’s the word he’s put all of his heart into. 

TK’s not sure if the implication is clear. Then, Carlos’ face relaxes into a grin and TK couldn’t be more sure if he tried. TK’s love for Carlos feels like it's overflowing, and all he wants to do is let it all flood out. 

Then he remembers his reality and decides that just a drop will have to do. 

— 

After a quick shower and an even quicker breakfast, TK made it to work with a couple minutes to spare. He’s been spending most of his day researching the current location of a Bosch painting that Nadine is hoping to get her hands on. 

Around lunch time, TK stops by her office with a head full of questions. He knocks on Nadine’s office door, waiting for permission to enter. Eventually, he hears a muffled, “Entrez”, and opens the door.

When he walks in, Nadine looks up from the computer screen in front of her. Her reading glasses are perched at the tip of her nose,  and her vibrant blue eyes still look like they’re boring holes into TK just like they did when he first started interning. 

“Monsieur Strand,” Nadine doesn’t make a move to remove her glasses, she doesn’t plan for whatever this is to take long. “I’m assuming that if you’re in here with me, you’ve finished researching the Bosch painting I asked you to look into?” 

TK’s quick to nod his head, not giving her a second to doubt him. “Of course, all of my updates will be emailed to you no later than the end of day today. I was here because I wanted to see if I could have a minute of your time.” 

“You have one minute exactly,” She glances down at her watch; the red leather band compliments the cherries patterned on her white dress. “Starting now.” 

TK had a plan; a whole plan he had spent most of the morning thinking up. 

He was going to start by telling her how much he’s valued working at the Louvre, and more specifically how much he’s valued working with Nadine. That alone would have taken more than a minute, so he decides to bypass all of that and jump straight to the point.  

“If I wanted to extend my time working here, do you think that’s something that would be possible?” When Nadine continues to stare, and not say anything, TK continues. “I was doing some research, and I know that internships can sometimes turn into fellowships if there’s enough reason for it.” 

Nadine is silent for a beat, and all TK can think is that he hopes it doesn’t eat into the minute she’s given him. TK doesn’t know if that’s his cue to continue, and reading her, much like everything else about working with her, is difficult. 

He decides to revert back to plan A. “I’ve really valued wo…” 

“Our team isn’t looking to hire any fellows,” Nadine interjects, her accent sounding especially curt. TK can feel something within him start to crack and bleed disappointment.  

“However,” Nadine continues and TK tries to repress his surprise. “Nathalie over in the records department said they were about to start looking for new hires. I’d reach out to her.” 

TK fights a smile but Nadine catches the slight quirk of his mouth. “I want to be clear, you’ll be treated just like any other applicant. You’ll have to apply again, go through the interview panel again, and even then it’s not guaranteed. Do you think it’s worth it?” 

“Of course,” TK says with no hesitation. Getting the chance to study art in the heart of it all has been an experience that he’ll always treasure. The idea of being able to do it even longer, well TK thinks that’s worth it and then more. He only needs three more credits and those can be done online. 

“Anything else?” 

TK hesitates, wondering if he’s pulling an Icarus and flying too close to the sun. “Could I ask another quick question?”

“As long as you make it very quick,” Nadine says. 

“Why did you want to hire me?”

Nadine stares at him and she ponders how to phrase her answer. “During our interview, you asked what you could to impress me,” TK nods, remembering the day like it was yesterday. “Asking that question was a good start. Too many people try, but not a lot of them have the gaul to just ask how they can do it.” 

“This is a field that’s a never ending learning experience, Monsieur Strand. You need to be inquisitive if you’re going to love it.” Nadine smiles and it’s one of the first from her he’s seen in a while. “You’ve got a future in this field, TK. Even if it’s not with us.” 

TK smiles, but doesn’t get the chance to say anything before Nadine dismisses him. 

Nadine Hugo, a curator at The Louvre, thinks he has a future in this field.

He knows she said, even if it’s not with them; but when he thinks of this being his day to day, of this never ending learning experience that he gets to live alongside Carlos.

Well, TK thinks there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. 

 —

Carlos can smell Nick before he sees him. A scent of stale smoke, tobacco and palpable stress greets him a couple of minutes before class is set to start. 

“Hey Reyes,” Nick holds out his phone and Carlos looks on. Nick’s showing him an article from delish.com and a headline that reads, “Celebrity Chef Announces Pregnancy”. 

Underneath, there’s a photo of Camille Dumont and a caption calling her a mother to be. Carlos chuckles sardonically as he ties his apron around his waist. “Well that explains a couple of things, huh?” 

Nick smirks as he unwraps a stick of spearmint gum. Carlos grimaces, hating the smell of the stuff. “Dumont gets stuck with a little gremlin and we get stuck with a Michelin star gremlin.” Carlos laughs, finally allowing himself to admit that Dumas is a bit of a dick. 

“You don’t like being around kids?” Carlos asks, finding that to be a bit of a surprise. Nick has a special type of accidental whimsy that Carlos thinks kids would eat up. 

“I don’t like being around my sister’s kid,” Nick clarifies. “He’s four going on forty. Last time we played restaurant, my mud pie was better than his, so he decided to become the imaginary health inspector and shut my place down.” 

“Well it’s nice to see you didn’t let it get to you,” Carlos jokes as he unravels his knife kit. 

“Well sometimes we have to be the bigger person.” 

“I don’t think you had a choice, Anderson,” Carlos argues. “He’s four.” 

Before Nick can reply, Dumas walks through the door and everyone scatters to their station. Silence blankets over the room, all of them waiting for Dumas to speak up. He looks around the room, his eyes not staying on one person for too long. 

Eventually, he begins speaking. “As of today, we’ll be starting our next unit. We’ll be focused on learning classic dishes with an original and contemporary style. We’ll also delve into regional French and European cuisines and their culinary specificities.” 

Dumas remains at the front of the class as he continues. Carlos thinks it’s because he likes to canvas the class as he speaks. He likes to see who’s most likely to fold at just a harsh tone. “I hope none of you celebrated too early this weekend, because the hard part starts now.” 

Carlos hears the sound of gum popping and he watches Dumas’ eyes cut to Nick. “Chef, we’ve talked about this.” 

Deep within him, Nick fights the natural instinct to roll his eyes. He releases a short and sharp sigh and pulls the gum wrapper out of his pocket. “My apologies, chef.” He spits the gum into the wrapper and tosses it into the trash can at his station. 

Dumas smiles and it's anything but sincere. “Thank you, Nicholas.” 

Nick, never Nicholas, smiles in response but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course, chef.” 

“Everyone,” He canvases the class one more time. “Let’s begin.” 

They proceed to spend the rest of the morning perfecting an au jus. Carlos finds that the only thing more grating than Dumas’ rude candor is how often he’s been hearing the word Worcestershire mispronounced. 

Eventually, they break for lunch but Carlos can’t stand the idea of eating at the moment.

“You’d think some of these people have never stepped foot in a kitchen before,” Nick says, sounding exhausted. He and Carlos are grabbing some fresh air with the allotted time they’ve been given. “How many different ways can you say Worcestershire wrong?” 

Nick sounds especially offended, and Carlos thinks it might be because he’s from Nottinghamshire. Carlos chuckles before saying, “Careful Anderson, your inner Dumas is starting to show.” 

Nick looks comically accosted as he pulls out his cigarette carton and taps the bottom of it. “What an awful thing to say to someone.” 

They part ways, Nick to go find a place to smoke and Carlos to find a pocket of peace amongst the midday chaos so he can call his mom. Camille Dumont’s news has reminded him he’s been continuing a nasty habit of not talking to his mother enough. 

When he finds one, he pulls out his phone and dials his mother’s number. Carlos thinks there’s two ways this might go. 

“Look who remembers he has a mother,” Andrea says when she picks up the phone. Her tone is teasing but Carlos knows there’s a good bout of sincerity behind it. This is one of the ways Carlos thought it would go. 

“Hi mom,” Carlos says, somewhat embarrassed. 

“Hi Carlitos,” Carlos can tell by the sound of her voice that she would be pinching his cheek if she was right in front of him. “How’s Paris? Have you been eating?” 

“Mom, I'm in culinary school. I’m always surrounded by food,” Carlos hopes the non-answer appeases his mother. He’s been eating dinner, he’s been making sure of it; but when he’s in class, the idea of taking anything down makes him want to throw up. 

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Carlos can tell by the sound of her voice that his non-answer was aggressively transparent. His mom does like to say a mother always knows. 

“I’m taking care of myself, mom.” Carlos hopes that answer satisfies her. 

Andrea is silent a moment, before speaking. “Well, that’s good to hear.” It seems that his answer has done the job. “How’s culinary school been?” 

Carlos knows she’s only asking out of courtesy. When Carlos first brought up the idea of Le Cordon Bleu, his mom’s response was, “Haven’t I already taught you everything you need to know?” 

Carlos talks to his mom about everything he’s learned about since his first day. He tells her about Nick Anderson, the carefully chaotic chef who’s found a way to find a friend in Carlos. He decides to forgo telling her much about Dumas, not wanting to invite that conversation. 

“How’s your teacher? Is he the real deal?” Andrea asks and Carlos wants to laugh at his naiveté. A mother always knows.

“He’s really good at what he does, but,” Carlos knows that if she tries to sugar coat it too much, Andrea will know it’s artificial sweetener. “He can be a little intense, and not always the nicest.”

“You’re not pushing yourself too hard, are you?” Andrea asks, voice dripping with concern.

Carlos can understand why. Just like Ana can be a bit too much like their mom; Carlos has a tendency to be a bit too much like their dad. 

His dad pushes himself, and buries any rightful animosity towards his career because he wants to do the best job that he can. 

He probably would still be working endless nights, hunched over a desk with only a lamp to keep him company if his doctor hadn’t told him that that much stress isn’t good for his heart. 

Ever since then, Carlos has been trying his best not to follow too closely into his father’s footsteps; but, he’s failing. 

“I’m not mom, I promise,” Carlos tries to confirm, but Andrea’s silent too long for him to feel like he’s pulled it off. “I’m taking care of myself, remember?” 

Carlos doesn’t feel the need to add he’s only taking care of himself as best that he can.

—

“So, the rat is the chef?” Carlos asks, looking up from the computer screen. His face displays a look of confusion that TK can’t help but find adorable. 

“First of all his name is Remy, and second of all, don’t, don’t say it like that, ” TK shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed. He continues to pour salt over the freshly popped popcorn. 

The Sunday sun is starting to set and they’re getting themselves ready to enjoy another movie night in. TK had invited Ronnie but somehow, during her last week in Paris, she found a way to meet a girl named Elodie. 

Elodie’s favorite writer is Anne Rice, her favorite movie is The Talented Mr. Ripley, and she absolutely despises McDonald’s. In other words, she’s perfect for Ronnie. 

“Don’t say it like what?” Carlos asks, wondering which part of his statement he’s gotten wrong. He’s looking back at the screen and reads the synopsis. He doesn’t think he’s misconstrued it that much. 

“Like that,” TK says as he sprinkles cheddar cheese seasoning. “Like it’s weird.”

“TK,” Carlos looks back up at TK who’s finally walking over with the bowl of popcorn. “It’s a movie about an anthropomorphic rat who controls a human and makes him the best chef in all of Paris. It’s a little weird.” 

“It’s good, ” TK defends as he joins Carlos on the couch, placing the bowl next to the laptop. “And as far as I’m concerned, Alfredo Linguine isn’t the best chef in Paris as long as you’re here.” 

Carlos can’t take time to appreciate the compliment because he feels like TK has just doused him with cold water. “His name is Alfredo Linguine?”

“Look, I said it’s good, not that it’s perfect,” TK says, defending himself. “It’s a good movie, and it’s about cooking. It’s something we both love.” 

Carlos thinks that with TK sitting right next to him, giving him a smile Carlos will never get sick of seeing; cooking isn’t the only thing he loves. Carlos hasn’t brought up his new found revelation to TK because he’s still processing it a bit himself. 

Carlos had spent so many years thinking that almost all of his heart was reserved for cooking, and cooking alone. Of course, there’s the love for his family, that’s stitched in and never unraveling.

However, when it came to romantic love, he didn’t feel the need for it, so he never had the room. 

Now he can feel a space that he wants TK to call home; and in a way, that scares him. He’s never felt love like this before, and he doesn’t want to mess it up. He thinks it’s why he hasn’t brought up his newfound feelings just yet, because then everything becomes much more real.  

“How is school going, by the way? Now that we’re on the subject of cooking,” TK asks as he pops open a can of Sprite. He waives his disappointment at the fact he can’t make a Shirley Temple. 

Though, he had taken it upon himself to write grenadine on Carlos’ shopping list when he was in the kitchen. Next to it, he added, “you’re the cherry on top :)” 

“Not too bad,” Carlos answers as he moves a coaster to where TK’s can was just sitting. “I think I'm slowly starting to get the hang of things.” 

Carlos thinks about how Dumas had called his au jus “satisfactory” near the end of class the other day. He had wanted to ride that high through the rest of the week; but then Dumas reacted to his hollandaise with nothing more than a grimace the following day. 

Any pride that was pulsing through him was instantly and effectively stalled just as quickly as it started. 

“But?” TK asks, putting his can on the table, right next to the coaster. 

“Coaster, TK,” Carlos reprimands, moving the dewy can to the circular plastic. “But?” Carlos repeats, wondering what TK’s waiting for him to say. 

“There’s something you’re not saying,” TK is quiet, watching Carlos and waiting. Waiting for Carlos to remember that he’s TK, he can talk to him about anything. 

“I think it’s just starting to get a little hard to leave who I am in the kitchen, well, in the kitchen,” TK continues to be silent, his way of letting Carlos know the floor is his.

TK could tell something was up with Carlos, and he’s finally happy he’s starting to slowly tell him just what is up. 

“It’s like when I make dinner, I start cooking and then Dumas is in my ear, telling me everything I’m doing wrong. Even things I’ve done for years, like how to make a simple roux. I start getting anxious,” Carlos explains. “Occasionally, in class, I’ll lose focus, but that’s only happened, like twice.”

“What do you mean?” TK asks softly, like one does when approaching a wounded bird. “Lose focus?” 

“I don’t know, I guess it’s like, spacing out? For like for a super brief second, things go dark and then I come back to reality without remembering what I was doing the moment before.” Carlos explains, wondering if any of his ramblings make sense. 

“It hasn’t happened in a while, though,” Carlos rushes to clarify when TK looks at him with overwrought concern. “I just, I just have to get better at staying focused,” Carlos smiles after he says it, like it’s that easy. 

TK is silent for a brief moment, holding himself back because all he wants to do is be honest with Carlos. He wants to tell Carlos he’s worried about him. He wants to tell Carlos he can’t be indifferent to this anymore, but at the same time; he doesn’t think telling Carlos will make a difference.

Carlos is still Carlos at the end of the day; a career driven culinary student who’s focused on his journey to becoming the best chef that he can be. TK just happened to be a fortunate stop amid that journey; one that Carlos hasn’t left just yet and one that TK hopes he never leaves. 

TK doesn’t want his worry to disfigure itself into animosity, as if he’s annoyed he has to share Carlos with his embedded passion. He wants Carlos to be the best, but he also wants Carlos to be happy. 

“You know you can always come find me if it gets too dark,” TK says, his thumb running across the ridges of Carlos’ knuckles. “I’m always happy to be your light.” 

TK thinks it might sound cliche and he knows it won’t magically fix anything; but that doesn’t mean he means it any less. He had once told Carlos he could talk to him about anything and that still rings true, now more than ever.

Carlos smiles before interlocking his fingers with TK, bringing their joined hands up to his lips and placing a quick kiss against TK’s skin. “I swear, you’re like poetry in motion.” 

“You’re doing that thing again, Carlos.” TK whispers before leaning in to give Carlos a kiss that tastes like both lemon and lime. “You really do know the right thing to say.” 

He pulls himself back and brings them back to the here and now. “Now, if we keep this movie waiting any longer, it’ll end up being the one that watches us.”

“Yes,” Carlos' voice perks up and he turns back to facing the computer screen. “Let’s meet Linguine Alfredo.” 

“It’s actually Alfredo Linguine” 

“That’s not much better, TK.”

—

Halfway through the movie, that Carlos seems to have grown to adore, TK hears his phone going off. As he digs through his overnight bag to pull it out, he wonders who it might be. 

He knows Ronnie is a bit preoccupied, Nancy barely has time to sleep right now let alone call and he just spoke to his mother the other day. They had caught up, but not on everything. 

He hadn’t told her about Carlos, because he didn’t know how she’d react. He doesn’t want to tease the idea that he’s found a way to find love again until he and Carlos have actually addressed the idea of what they actually are.

Then again, part of him is wishing it’s her that’s calling. All his mother wants is for him to be happy, and with Carlos, he thinks he might just be the happiest he’s ever been. Maybe he can finally catch her up on how life was able to start again after a candid afternoon at the Louvre. 

When he finally does find his phone, he sees that it’s his father, Owen, calling. Dad in large white letters and a picture of both of them at TK’s college graduation graces the screen. TK’s got even more questions now. 

He had talked to his dad about a month ago, while the conversation had been nice, it had also been brief. Owen’s recently been made captain of a firehouse in Albany and has basically been working non-stop 24/7 to get everything in order. “Dad?” 

He bypasses a usual greeting of hello because this phone call seems so out of the blue. He turns back towards Carlos and mouths a “Sorry” 

Carlos shrugs to let him know it’s fine. Carlos gazes on, watching TK listen to the voice on the other line. When TK’s face starts to fall, and his eyes begin to shine, Carlos becomes worried. 

TK hangs up the call without so much as a goodbye, but the silence he held throughout most of the phone call remains. Carlos’ worry has now morphed into downright concern. 

He joins TK where he’s sitting on the floor, next to his overnight bag and asks, “TK?” When TK doesn't respond, but his eyes start to water, he tries again, “TK, baby, what’s wrong?” 

“My mom,” TK’s voice sounds hollow. Carlos has never heard TK sound like this before. He looks up at Carlos, his eyes dewy and vacant. “She’s dead.” 

—

Grief; it’s like a bitter taste that never leaves your tongue. 

TK continues to brush his teeth as he looks at himself in the bathroom mirror of his dorm. His eyes are bloodshot and sunken in; his exhaustion is palpable. He tells himself he’ll sleep on the plane, but even he doesn’t believe that. 

TK spits the toothpaste out, watching it thin as it begins to meld with the water before eventually swirling down the drain. He focuses on a glob of dried toothpaste that’s stuck to the curve of the sink. He cups his hand under the water and splashes it against the glob, hoping it’ll wash away. 

When it doesn’t, he sighs, turns off the faucet and reaches for the toilet paper. He rips sheet after sheet and begins scrubbing away, vigorously. He sighs when he realizes how stubborn the dried toothpaste is going to be. 

He searches under the sink, looking for the all-purpose cleaner that he hasn’t used since the event that he and Carlos have dubbed, “The Smoothie Mishap.” 

TK had intended to emphasize just how “smooth” he was by starting the blender to punctuate the line, but he forgot to put the lid on. They spent the better part of forty five minutes cleaning up pureed strawberries, blueberries and Greek yogurt from the crevices of his kitchen 

He eventually finds the cleaner and sprays at the glob profusely, maybe overkilling it a little bit. He goes into the kitchen and rips a couple of paper towels from the roll and begins scrubbing. He scrubs and scrubs, but the paste is stubborn. 

He thinks about how it's a lot like him when he was 19, 20, and 21. Stubborn, still, and stagnant. It wasn’t until his mother found him on the brink of passing out with track marks in his arms that he finally pushed to move. Moved towards a better place, a happier ending. 

When he finally wipes the last of the paste away, little trace of it left, he wads up the paper towels and throws them into the trash can with a pent up aggression he doesn’t want to acknowledge is there. He looks back at himself in the mirror, and he sighs deeply. 

If this was just a taste of the exertion his mom used trying to get him to move; it makes him that much more wretched that she doesn’t get to see him in a better place, working towards a happier ending. 

He’s pulled out of his spiral when he hears a knock on his door. He leaves the bathroom, walking past his barely packed suitcase and trying not to break down for the second time in the last forty five minutes. 

When he opens the door, Carlos is standing there with a brown paper bag and those warm expressive brown eyes that TK hasn’t had the mental capacity to miss. 

After the phone call with his father, he told Carlos he was going to head back to his place because all he wanted to do was be alone. Carlos was hesitant to let TK be on his own; and it made him feel a bit like a hypocrite. 

If anyone is familiar with wallow in isolation; it’s him. That’s the thing though, TK’s not him. TK’s the light, he’s the brightness in an otherwise dark and gloomy haze. 

All Carlos wants to do is to be that for him, but he doesn’t know where to begin. So, he falls back on what he knows best. He holds the bag up and the first words out of his mouth are, “I made you breakfast.” 

TK smiles for the first time since he got the phone call and he can feel each and every muscle pulling in his face. Every emotion, every movement seems heightened; maybe it’s because he’s actively trying to avoid thinking about the grief that's flooding through him. “Thanks.” 

He steps back, inviting Carlos in. “Ronnie, let me in,” Carlos rushes the words out, like he’s afraid he won’t have the time to say them before TK asks him to leave. “I hope I’m not impeding, I just wanted to check on you before you left for New York.” 

“Carlos, it’s fine.” TK says through a sigh before placing the bag on the kitchen counter. 

While he absolutely adores the thought, he doesn’t think he can really stomach something right now. He ventures into the living room and kneels in front of his suitcase, starting to pack everything he needs for his turnaround flight to New York. 

“I’d ask you how you’re feeling, but I almost feel like that would be an insult,” Carlos remarks and TK finds that isn’t untrue. 

He made the mistake of going on social media for the first time in a long time and his aunt Ruth had already posted about his mother’s death and tagged him in the post.

His notifications were flooded with people telling him that they were “so sorry” and to let them know “if he needs anything” and it all just felt counterfeit. He doesn’t need just anything, he needs his mother back. 

“Are you sure you’re up to travel?” Carlos asks, solemnly and TK can hear the unspoken concern. His flight from Paris to New York is at least eight hours; that’s a long time to spend alone with your thoughts.

So no, TK isn’t sure; but life doesn’t always give you the pleasantry of being sure. “I’m not sure,” TK admits. If Carlos is already worried, lying won’t ease him any further. 

“But, it’s Jewish tradition that the burial occurs the next day and I’ll be damned if I’m not there to say goodbye.” 

He doesn’t think about the fact he was already robbed of that once because he knows he’ll just turn into a puddle on the floor.

By this point, Carlos has joined him on the floor, sitting next to him in front of his now partly packed suitcase. He looks anxious, like he wants to help him pack because all he wants to do his help him anyway he can. TK grabs his hand and whispers, “It’s fine, but thank you.” 

Carlos squeezes his hand, but doesn’t say anything back. He thinks, right now, the best thing he can do is listen. TK pulls his hand away to check the time; he didn’t have much choice when it came to flights and he needs to leave sooner rather than later. 

When looking at the time, he notices something out of place. He looks back up at Carlos, eyebrows knitted and a question glossing his lips.

Daybreak has slowly creeped past and the day is teetering into the working hours of Monday morning. “Wait, Carlos, shouldn’t you be on the way to class? I don’t want to pull you away fro-…” 

Carlos raises a hand, placating TK as best as he can. “You’re not pulling me away from anything, TK; I promise.” Carlos says. “I left early enough so that I could stop by and see you before heading into class. I didn’t want you to leave before I had the chance to say goodbye.” 

“You’re such a romantic,” TK chuckles, but it’s watery and bogged down. “I’ll be back sometime tomorrow.” 

“Even then it’s too long,” Carlos jokes, his smile as warm as his eyes. “Let me know if you need anything when you get back, okay?”

“Okay,” TK agrees, but there’s still something that’s nagging at him in the back of his mind. “Are you sure it’s okay? I just don’t want Dumas to have another reason to try to…” 

“TK, it’s fine.” Carlos reaffirms, trying to convince both himself and TK. “It’ll all be fine.” 

—

Things are a little less than fine but, what’s the harm of a little white lie? 

Carlos is eight minutes late to class when he finally walks through the door. He’s grateful that Dumas left the door open, for once. Carlos can’t imagine how loud the creak of the hinges would be in the sea of silence. 

He slips in, undetected as Dumas has his back towards the class. Carlos quickly dons his apron and gives Nick a look that says, “I’ll talk about it later.” 

Carlos tries his best to blend into the sound of clattering pots and pans as he sets himself up for the rest of his class. 

“Thank you for finally joining us, chef,” Dumas’ voice cuts through the pots and pans like a freshly sharpened knife. He turns around, his vision centered on Carlos. “I’d hate to think we’ve pulled you away from something more important.” 

“My apologies, chef,” Carlos says, not venturing to look up from his station. If you can’t see it, it can’t hurt you. He pulls out his recipe cards and flips to the one that’s labeled with today’s date. “It won’t happen again,” Carlos continues to look down.

Dumas doesn’t acknowledge Carlos’ apology.

Instead, he says, “Chef, if you could close the door please, now that we’re all here,” Dumas says to Lin Zhang, the student who’s been assigned to the station next to the door. 

About two weeks into the program, Zhang got so anxious he threw up.

He didn’t make it out of the classroom, but he made it to the trash can in his station. After that, Dumas told him to work near the door because “if you’re going to make a mess, the least you could do is not do it in my kitchen.” 

Zhang closes the door and the slam of it reverberates through the room. Carlos waits for Dumas to say more; to take the freshly sharpened knife and twist it further. 

He holds back his laughter at how pathetic he feels for being glad Dumas decides to leave him alone for the rest of the morning. 

While they’re scattering for lunch, Dumas calls Carlos out by name and asks him to join him at the front of the class. Carlos and Nick share a look of expected trepidation and Carlos tells Nick he’ll catch up with him later. 

Nick grabs his carton of cigarettes and taps the bottom as he says, “Godspeed.” 

Carlos, begrudgingly, joins Dumas at the front of the classroom. “You called for me, chef?” Carlos asks, finally making eye contact with Dumas for the first time that day. 

“Do you know what makes me so good at my craft, Reyes?” Carlos notices that Dumas has decided to forgo the pleasantry of Monsieur. Carlos finds that it tracks; since when has Dumas cared about being pleasant.

Carlos isn’t sure what the answer is so supposed to be; and Carlos is willing to bet the question is more rhetorical than anything. Dumas continues, taking Carlos' silence as his answer. “I don’t second guess myself.” 

Carlos gathers that much must be true. Dumas is known for his eccentric and eclectic palate. One would have to be confident in their ability to create the concoctions Dumas has been able conjure up. “You’re starting to show promise, Reyes.” 

Carlos feels a bead of hope burst throughout him. Every day since the sauce debacle, he’s been working tirelessly to prove to Dumas that he’s worthy of his place in this school. In a way, he’s glad it happened. It showed a weakness and now he’s worked to make it a strength. 

Dumas however, doesn’t stop there. He’s always one to fall back on the carrot and the stick method. “But things like this morning, that’ll…” 

“I don’t intend to make a habit out of it, chef,” Carlos interjects; part of him inwardly wincing at cutting off Dumas. That said, the other part of him doesn’t want to give Dumas any reason to doubt himself. 

“I’d hope not,” Dumas says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I think you could be good, Reyes,” His eyes harden, looking both stony and sure before saying, “Don’t make me second guess myself.” 

—

TK’s stomach is tied in knots and he doesn’t think it’s because of the egg and cheese sandwich Carlos made him for breakfast. He made it to the airport with time to spare, only to find out there was more than enough time, well, to spare. 

After checking his bag, he went to look up his flight on the on-screen schedule. Next to his flight, there were words written in a vibrant red font. While he doesn’t speak French, that color does a good job of translating urgency in any language. 

After a frantic bout of translating through Google; TK discovered that his flight had been delayed two hours. During the first hour into the two hour delay, he was informed the flight was delayed two more hours.

He’s, well, panicked feels like an understatement.

Now, he’s nestled in a corner, connecting his phone to the wi-fi and calling his dad. He knows it’s probably around 3 a.m. in New York, but if his father is anything like his son, he’s most likely wide awake. 

Owen’s phone rings three times before he picks up the call and greets TK with a, “Hey bud.”

His voice sounds tired, but also perked up, like he’s fighting to stay awake because it’s easier than sleep. His mom did always say he is his father’s child. 

TK can feel his eyes start to sting at the casual welcome that feels like an embrace. His dad’s using the voice he used when TK skinned his knee the first time he rode his bike without training wheels. “Hey, dad.” 

“Shouldn’t you be about forty thousand feet in the air right now?” Owen asks and TK loves the candidacy. He loves the slightest sense of normalcy when things feel anything but normal right now. “Don’t tell me you paid for inflight wi-fi. You know I think that’s a scam.” 

“No dad, I didn’t pay for inflight wi-fi,” TK assures. “My flight is delayed.” TK thinks he could just stop there and let the frustration speak for itself; but at the same time, he’s annoyed and he doesn’t want to hold back. “My flight is delayed the day of my mother’s funeral and I’m supposed to just sit here and be fine with it.” 

“Hey, hey, don’t do that to yourself,” Owen interjects, knowing TK will tear himself down if he doesn’t intervene. “This is out of your control, TK. It’s not something you can help.”

“I know, it’s just,” TK can feel the dam slowly start to break; can feel the way it’s starting to crack and the flood slowly starting to leak. He quickly raises his palm to his eye, wiping away a tear before anyone can tell there’s something wrong. 

“Mom was always there for me and now all I want to do is be there for her,” TK takes a moment to pause.

His throat hurts, his eyes burn and he’s grateful the only person who was sitting near him got up and walked away after hearing the word funeral.

Grief is an emotion that seems to find a way to travel through every tongue. 

“TK, take a deep breath.” Owen instructs. Even over the shoddy connection, TK’s panic is discernible. “You’re doing the best you can. Life doesn’t give us the benefit of working out the way we want it to, and your mom knew that better than anyone.” 

TK thinks that rings true. He remembers when he was younger, he would sneak out of his bedroom well past his bedtime. Mainly, because he wanted to get a glass of water, but he also loved the feeling like he was getting away with something bad. 

One night, during the middle of Owen and Gwyn’s messy divorce, he walked past the office door that had been left cracked open. He heard muted sobbing, like someone was trying their best to suppress their sadness. 

He looked through the space with one wide green and saw his mom looking at a picture of her and Owen. He saw her wipe at her eye before putting the photo away, wishing it to be forgotten. 

TK quickly backed away before she noticed he was there, but that memory stayed with him. Life doesn’t give us the benefit of working out the way we want it to; his mom knew that better than anyone. 

“Gwyn knows, TK. Your mom knows you’re doing the best you can,” Owen says. 

TK doesn’t comment on the fact Owen is speaking in present tense. Instead, he asks, “How can you be so sure?” 

“Well, we’re talking about Gwyneth Morgan, aren’t we?” Owen asks and TK loves that Owen keeps her name alive. “When have we ever known her to not know everything?” 

TK harkens back to one of the first phone calls he had with his mom when he first got to Paris. How she knew he was holed up in his bedroom during a sunny Sunday when he should have been out and about, taking advantage of everything Paris had to offer.

“It’s gonna be okay, TK, ” Owen says the words and this time they sound different from any other time he’s said those words. Owen says them like he’s trying his best to believe them himself. “You’ll get here when you get here, that’s all we can ask for.” 

We. 

Just like that, once again, two become one. Though Owen and Gwyn are no longer married, they’ll always be TK’s parents. They’ll always be the two that are fighting in his corner, no matter what. 

“If you can, try to get some rest during your flight,” Owen suggests. “Your mother always said you are your father’s child, and if that rings true, that means you haven’t had any in a while. I’ll see you when you get home. I love you, bud.” 

“I love you too, Dad.” TK hangs up the call and takes a moment to collect himself. After a beat passes, he goes to the restroom and splashes some cold water on his face. He’s flushed, he’s tired, but he’s trying to tether himself to the string of hope that’s telling him it’s going to be okay. 

When he exits the bathroom, he goes to check on the status of his flight. He tries to steady himself when he sees that his flight has been delayed another hour. He can feel the flood start to gain traction so he takes a deep breath, and then another. 

He decides to take his father’s advice and get some water. For the first time since his first night in France, he walks into a bar. He asks the barkeep for a mineral water and watches a rerun of something called, Une famille formidable. 

He sips on the water, and plays with the diamond stud resting in his ear. He watches the time on his phone pass, second by second. His eyes linger a little too long at the rows of alcohol behind him. 

He thinks, I could make this easier on myself. He thinks I could make this grief taste like a familiar burn. He thinks I could make this all feel better for a brief blip in time.

He thinks that if he thinks about all of this any longer, he’s afraid he’ll start to hate himself. 

He’s pulled out of his deluge of awful decisions when the man behind the bar asks him something in French. “I’m sorry?” TK replies and the man realizes TK doesn’t speak French.

“Change channel?” The man tries again, pointing up at the television. His accent is thick, but TK understands him all the same this time around. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine,” TK confirms and the man searches through one of the drawers for the remote. When he finally finds it, he flips from the television to a random channel that’s playing Casablanca. 

TK doesn’t know if the tears collecting behind his eyes are born out of anger, grief, a twisted type of joy or all three. The empty seat next to him suddenly feels full. He watches the film as if it’s his first time seeing it; silent and entranced. 

The last time he watched this movie with his mom was the night after Alex broke up with him. While they watched the movie, as they always do; Gwyn also spent the time convincing him that going to Paris was the right thing to do. 

He disagreed at first, because of course he did; he’s his father’s child. He thought being away from everything that kept him so grounded would cause him to float away. He’d keep floating, and floating until eventually he wouldn’t be able to see the ground anymore. 

Gwyn said that staying in his stupor in the place where it was born wasn’t going to make him feel any better. Her suggestion had been to go, continue moving forward, find another way to fall in love, and maybe this time let it be with himself. 

Gwyn was right, he needed to find another way to fall in love. He came to the city that’s at the heart of it all and found a way to love waking up every day again.

He doesn’t want to end up hating himself when he’s finally starting to do everything she always wanted him to be able to do. 

TK finishes off his water, his eyes again lingering at the alcohol across from him. He grabs the attention of the barkeep. 

He orders another water. 

—

TK’s back nestled in the corner he was once in. He finished his second water and moved to absolve himself of any temptation. Eventually, his flight is delayed another six hours before it’s inevitably canceled. 

When he finds out, he’s a myriad of emotions. He’s annoyed, he’s upset, he’s tired, he’s frustrated, he’s heartbroken, but most importantly, he’s trying to remind himself that he’s going to be okay. 

He calls his dad again, who knows better than to make the same joke he made before. Owen tells him that it’s out of his control, again; but TK doesn’t mind hearing it on repeat. 

He spends the better part of his ride back to his dorm trying to convince himself that there’s nothing he could have done. He tries to remind himself that his dad is right, it’s out of his control. 

That doesn’t necessarily make it any easier. 

When he gets back to his dorm, he finally unpacks the bag he rushed to finish packing. He finds a lone Cup Noodle sitting in his pantry and waits for the kettle to boil. 

As he chews on the artificial taste, he sits in silence. He sits with his thoughts and eventually it becomes too much. His mom was right, all those weeks ago. He needs to get out of his own head, he needs to not be alone. 

He unplugs his phone from the charger and sends a text to Carlos. 

TK: Flight got canceled, can I stay with you tonight? I don’t want to be alone.

Carlos replies, almost instantly. 

Carlos: Of course. 

For the second time in twenty four hours; TK packs an overnight bag. He packs his essentials, allows himself to cry one more time, then walks out the door with only Carlos’ apartment in mind. 

When he gets there, Carlos opens the door without TK having to knock. His wide brown eyes look even more inviting than usual. He gives TK a sympathetic smile and the first thing he says is, “Hey baby.” 

Carlos opens his arms and TK treats the embrace like oxygen; necessary and vital. Carlos smells like cinnamon, vanilla, and cloves. TK feels enraptured by Carlos’ warmth, a warmth that rivals the Parisian summer sun. 

Cradled in Carlos’ arms, TK feels like he’s finally some place he can call home. 

—

TK sleeps in the next morning; his body needs to rest and he finally allows it to. Nadine has given him the entire week off, most of which he didn’t plan to use. 

He woke briefly when he heard Carlos getting ready for the gym; but Carlos gently kissed him on the top of the head and with a hushed whisper, told him to go back to bed. He didn’t need to be told twice. 

He wakes again sometime in the early afternoon. He wipes at his eyes, assuming that they’re bloodshot and red rimmed. He stretches, waits to hear an assortment of cracks and pops and then lies back down 

He stares at the ceiling, and thoughts about the last two days trickle in. His eyes focused on the white paint of the ceiling and tracing the lines that show where the paint is starting to crack. 

In a way, he empathizes with it. He empathizes with the concept of looking put together at first glance, but then if you stare long enough; you can see the slow start of destruction. 

He was able to get himself through the disappointment of having a flight canceled. Now he has to start dealing with the disappointment of no longer having a mother. He thinks, no he knows, it’s going to be much easier said than done. 

He pulls himself up, and checks his phone for the time. It’s a little past one and TK can’t wait until it’s a little past five so he can see Carlos walk through the door. With his phone in his hand he sends a message to his sponsor, Cooper. 

In one message, he catches Cooper up to speed on the last couple of days. He lets him know that he’d like to speak to him sooner rather than later, if possible. TK doesn’t expect an immediate reply, considering the time difference and that it’s a Tuesday. 

He decides to put the phone back down, knowing he’ll end up in a maze of misery by looking at all the posts dedicated to his mom in memoriam. When he places the phone back down, he hears the crinkle of paper. 

Underneath his phone, Carlos has left a note. Written in red ink that pops against white paper, the note reads that Carlos stopped by during lunch and left something for TK that’s currently sitting in the microwave. 

TK’s stomach growls as soon as he finishes reading and he thinks it’s funny that the universe still seems to have that same brazen sense of humor. He drags himself out of bed, wipes at his eyes again and releases a hearty yawn. 

When he walks into the kitchen, there’s a surprise that makes him weak in the knees. On the counter, there’s a bouquet of yellow daisies with a card right next to them. “Thinking of You” is written in cursive, the intricate swirls reminding him of that awful wallpaper back home. 

TK laughs when he opens the card and sees the crude drawing of a talking yellow daisy. It’s saying, “I’m Daisy About You” and if TK didn’t think the drawing was Carlos’ handiwork before, he definitely thinks it is now.

Next to the drawing, there’s some canned words of condolences pre-written in the card, but all TK can think about are these bright, yellow daisies. 

He always thought he’d associate the flower with unsightly wallpaper in his apartment back in New York. That same wallpaper he spent hours staring at after Alex broke up with him; wondering where he messed up and wondering if he could ever fix it.

He smiles to himself when he realizes that now, when he sees those tiny yellow daisies, he can think about Carlos. How Carlos tried his best to be there for him, tried to make one of his darkest days the tiniest bit brighter. 

TK used to hate the sight of yellow daisies; now he wonders why it took him so long to fall in love with them.

— 

After moving the daisies to a sunlit space and all but devouring the lunch Carlos left for him; he begins cleaning. He knows he should be sitting shiva, and he did during all of lunch, but he’s afraid of his mind being stagnant. 

He needs to do something that’ll keep both his hands and his moving moving as he tries to make it through another day. 

He started with the dishes in the sink, a pile he had recently added to; and now he’s in the middle of vacuuming the linen closet that Carlos always forgets he has.

He started listening to the soundtrack to Company as he did it; something his mother would always do when they would clean up around the house. 

When Being Alive came on, he turned off the music entirely. 

He’s just about done with putting the freshly washed sheets on Carlos’ bed when Carlos walks through the door. TK notices that he’s getting in a little later than he normally does.   “Hey, babe,” He calls from the bedroom. 

They’ve fallen into a fashion of casually dropping “babe” or “baby” into conversation. They’re both waiting for the other to say something about it, but they both also like that it comes so naturally to them. 

“Hey,” Carlos says, smiling at the thought of TK waiting to see him. His eyebrows furrow when he sees TK wrestling with the fitted sheet. Between the sight in front of him, the empty kitchen sink and the vacuum cleaner left out, it seems that TK barely used the day to rest at all. “You’ve been busy.” 

There’s a question in the way Carlos makes the statement. TK doesn’t dote on it for too long, assuming he’s just heard something that wasn’t actually there. 

“I had nothing but time today, figured I’d use it wisely,” TK says as he finally fits the sheet over the corner that was giving him the most trouble. He turns to look at Carlos, and feels a pang of sympathy; Carlos is exhausted, and he looks it. 

TK notices a scent in the air that’s normally there. “Does it smell like,” TK tries to place what the smell is as Carlos pops the gum TK didn’t even realize he was chewing. “Does it smell like, cigarettes, to you?” TK asks when he places the lingering smell. 

Carlos smells at his shirt, his eyebrows raising when the smell overtakes him. “Must have been Nick,” Carlos begins to explain. “He’s basically been a walking chimney the past few weeks. I caught up with him after class, and must have carried the stench home with me. Sorry about that.” 

“It’s fine,” TK tries to play it off, though the scent proves hard to ignore. He decides to change the subject, wanting to move past this. 

As he’s putting the top sheet back on Carlos’ bed, he asks, “I’m still full from lunch, but I’m happy to make dinner if you,” 

“I think I’m just going to turn in early,” Carlos interjects before TK can finish his offer. “It’s been a long day and I kinda just wanted to go right to sleep.” 

“Oh,” TK can understand that. Carlos does look tired and he hasn’t had the pleasure of sleeping half the day away. Then again, TK doesn’t think any of the past few days could be considered a pleasure. “Sure,” He says as he pulls the pillows back into place. “Yeah, you know what, I’ll just head back to my place.” 

“Well you don’t have to do that, you know if it’s between snuggling with you or a pillow, I’d pick you any day.” Carlos jokes and TK smiles but it feels unfinished. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be closer to work in the morning anyways,” He tries to pull the comforter up but realizes quickly it’s a two man job. Carlos is quick to assist and they make the bed that Carlos is about to unmake all over again. 

“You’re going to work tomorrow?” Carlos asks. Again, TK feels like there’s something in Carlos’ voice; something Carlos doesn’t want to ask out loud. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?” TK answers Carlos’ question with another question, wondering if he’ll get to the bottom of this feeling before leaving for the night. 

Carlos is silent for a beat before asking, “Are you sure it’s not too soon?” 

There it is, the question Carlos was hesitant about asking. TK wants to roll his eyes but he fights the urge off, barely. He answers with, “I’m in mourning, I’m not delicate.” 

Carlos’ face goes from one of apprehension to concern. TK can understand why, even he feels like the words came out a little too hot. Carlos is just concerned about him, the way TK’s always concerned about Carlos. That doesn’t make him the bad guy. 

TK takes a deep breath before saying, “Sorry, that wasn’t…” 

“It’s fine.” Carlos cuts him off, wanting them both to forget the moment as quickly as it happened. “I shouldn’t try to tell you what’s best for you,” Carlos smiles like it’s something they both agree on. 

TK doesn’t have it in him to disagree. He doesn’t have it in him to explain to Carlos that he isn’t wrong for caring. Instead, he says, “I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“It’ll feel like a year.” Carlos says with a smile and TK smiles a smile that feels finished and complete. Carlos walks TK to the door, fighting back another question about TK’s emotional state and they wish each other goodnight.

Carlos peels off his shirt, throwing it directly into the washing machine and forgoing the middleman that is the hamper. As he brushes his teeth, he begins to wonder if there was something weird between him and TK just now, or if he’s made something out of nothing. 

He’s spitting out toothpaste when he hears a knock on his front door. He thinks the appropriate thing to do would be to put on a shirt before answering the door, but he’s so tired he can’t be bothered. When he opens the door, standing on the other side is, 

“TK?” Carlos questions the appearance. “What are you doing here?” 

“I forgot something,” TK says before pulling Carlos into a kiss that tastes like Colgate and Spearmint gum. When he pulls away, his lips still close to Carlos’, he whispers, “Thank you for the daisies.” 

Carlos smiles and TK can feel it on his lips. “You’re welcome.” 

Whatever that weird feeling was, Carlos hopes it’s starting to whittle its way down to nothing.

— 

Carlos…Carlos is trying. 

He hasn’t had another punctuality mishap since he showed up late; though he did cut it close the other day. He didn’t plan for the quick run to his apartment to take as much time as it did; but when Carlos saw the daisies, he figured it was worth the extra minutes. 

However, when he got back to class barely in the nick of time, he questioned whether they actually were. He spent the rest of the class trying to focus on the lesson, and not thinking about the flowers or the fact that he might have regretted buying them. 

Not because he does regret buying them, but because he was glad to do it. He was glad to do it despite that part of himself that thinks it could have affected the way Dumas sees him. He thinks the latter should be more important, but he feels like the former is too. 

He remembers Dumas’ speech about splitting focus and he begins spiraling again. Right now, it’s just about being a couple of minutes late to class. He doesn’t know what it could grow into if he continues to let TK grow in his heart. 

He hasn’t seen TK since Tuesday night, with Carlos having to cancel yesterday, and TK having to cancel today. He doesn’t know why going two days without seeing TK is weighing heavy on his mind, but it is. 

He thinks it might have something to do with the lingering weird feeling he felt when TK went home the other night. It feels like the night was left incomplete and he can’t explain why.

He thinks, maybe he should have brought it up, but the last thing he wanted to do was make something out of nothing. TK already has so much going on, the last thing he wants to do is add to it. 

“Reyes,” Nick calls out to him and Carlos brings himself back to the here and now. He looks around him and notices that everyone’s left the kitchen but Nick’s waited for him. 

“Lunch time,” Nick says, leaning against the doorway. 

“Oh,” Carlos blinks a couple of times to remind himself of where he is. He unties his apron and drops it on the counter of his station. “Le Camion Qui Fume?” Carlos suggests the food truck that’s normally outside of the building around this time of day. 

“Sounds great.” 

Nick is unusually quiet during their walk to the food truck and he keeps wiping at his eyes. Carlos can’t tell if it’s because he’s tired, teary eyed, or both. After they order, they step away from the crowd and Nick asks Carlos if he has a problem with him smoking. 

Carlos says he never has before and he’s not going to start now. Nick offers him one, but Carlos declines. He tried smoking for the first time the other day and he just about coughed up a long when he did it. He hated how the flavor lasted on his tongue and he knew instantly it wasn’t going to be his way to cope. 

As Nick lights his cigarette, Carlos really takes him in. He looks exhausted, drained and bordering on the edge of defeat. Nick always looks a little flustered; that’s part of his charm. This isn’t that, however, this is something different. This is something more painful. 

“Everything okay?” Carlos asks and Nick, Nick is silent. 

He takes a drag of his cigarette, then exhales the smoke. He sucks on his teeth as if he’s tasting the words he’s about to say, seeing how they feel in his mouth. He taps the cigarette, ridding it of the ash before saying, “Ellie went back to London.”

“Nick,” 

“Ellie went back to London this morning, told me to meet her at the airport if I wanted to say goodbye,” Nick clenches his jaw, mad at himself. “Ellie gave me one chance to fix everything and I didn’t take it because I was so fucking panicked at the idea of being late to class.” 

Nick had just barely made it into class on time, but Carlos didn’t plan to mention it. He knows what it’s like to be under the microscope and he didn’t want to add fuel to the fire. Now, knowing the reason as to why Nick showed up to class short of breath and flushed, Carlos feels empathetic. 

He knows what it’s like to subject your mind to the tug of war and when dealing with someone like Dumas. He knows what it’s like to want it all and not being sure if you’ll ever have both in the end. 

“Nick,” Carlos begins but Nick isn’t done.

“I was going to ask her to marry me, Reyes,” Nick interjects. He runs his free hand through his hair, pulling at the strands and biting into the way it burns. “I bought a ring last week because I thought I could make this work. Now I’m stuck in Paris, alone, wondering what might have been.” 

Nick doesn’t look up at Carlos as he asks, “Are you still seeing that guy, TK?” He brings the cigarette up to his lips, struggling to keep his hand steady. 

“Yeah, I am,” Carlos wants to smile at the thought of TK, but he thinks it would be adding insult to injury. 

“Is it going well?” 

“Yeah, it is,” Carlos doesn’t know what it still is; but he knows that he doesn’t want to lose it. Then he thinks about that weird feeling that lingered a couple of nights ago. “At least, I think it is.” 

“Good,” Nick says, throwing the cigarette down to the ground and crushing it with more aggression than usual. He looks back up at Carlos, his eyes red rimmed. “Don’t ruin it.”

—

It’s Thursday evening and TK is finishing up his zoom call with his sponsor, Cooper. 

Cooper, much like Carlos, was surprised that TK decided to go back to work so quickly. 

Though, neither of them were nearly as shocked as Nadine. Nadine was just better at hiding it.

When he showed up to work Tuesday morning and greeted her with an attempt at smile on his face, he could see her eyes widen and eyebrows lift just so slightly.

It was barely discernible, but when you’ve only seen Nadine Hugo look either stressed or annoyed; emotions like shock tend to stand out. 

However, she did what she does best and put him to work; and TK couldn’t have been happier for it. He was able to keep his hands busy and his mind occupied. Even during lunch, he decided to work while he picked through an almond cranberry chicken salad.

He knows his mother would hate it; hate what he’s doing to himself and afraid that he’s getting lost in his own head again.

Every morning since that dreaded phone call, he’s been trying to be kind to himself; but by the time his head hits the pillow as night falls, he feels like he’s failed. 

He tells Cooper most of this, leaving out certain details of things because acknowledging them would mean they’re real. He leaves out the weird feeling that burgeoned through him when he left Carlos’ place the other night and how that’s made him feel the last couple of days.

He leaves out the weird emptiness that’s inside him because he and Carlos haven’t seen each other since Tuesday evening. He leaves these details out because he doesn’t want to admit to himself that everything is anything other than perfect. 

Cooper tells him they can talk as long as he needs, but TK knows Cooper is sparing his lunch hour to talk to him. TK can’t make him commit to him more than he already is. 

They bid goodbye and TK ends the Zoom call. After, he releases a sigh, and then another. He twists and turns, cracking his back. He hasn’t been sitting shiva since he’s been working, but he tries to find a way to still pay respect when he gets the chance. 

He rises from the pillow that he’s been sitting on that’s no doubt flattened since he came to Paris. He walks into the kitchen and rummages through his pantry until he finds a quick and easy meal.

He grabs peanut butter, jelly and a loaf of bread that’s only end pieces.

While building his sandwich, he finally checks his phone. He has two emails, both of them causing frenzied reactions. 

One is from the hiring panel at the Louvre telling him that he’s made it through to the second round of interviews. After speaking with Nadine about staying in Paris, which felt like months ago, he went and spoke to Nathalie.

Nathalie essentially told him the same thing; he’ll have to apply again and go through the interview process again just like any other applicant. He had applied for the position over a week ago, right before his life took a hard left turn. 

Now, reading over this email a second time, he feels like there’s finally a way he can start getting his life back on track. 

His eyes widen when he reads the second email, and all that it entails. Jennifer Cartwright, a woman who works for the people team at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, is asking if he has time to speak with her within the next couple business days. 

TK had applied to the MET around four months before coming to Paris. He assumed he’d be building a life in New York with the love of his life but then reality happened. By the time he applied to study abroad, he had basically forgotten he applied in the first place. 

Up until now, he assumed he was just rejected and they didn’t give him the decency to let him know. Now, they’re reaching out and TK, well he’s trying to figure out if he wants to reach back. 

It makes sense for him to follow back up, letting her know that he’s free all day tomorrow. He could tease himself with the idea of the opportunity, an opportunity that isn’t sure. He could also stress himself out, putting himself through a strenuous process that will clearly take long. 

Then he thinks about the email he got from The Louvre. He could start a career here in Paris, working at the Louvre. He’ll be living in a never ending adventure that’ll always scratch the right itch. He could be around so many things he loves; he could be around Carlos. 

He thinks about New York. That apartment, that yellow wallpaper and the flowers that are still fighting to bloom sitting on his windowsill. He thinks about Paris, and he thinks, maybe he could start again. 

As he’s taking the last bite of his sandwich, his phone starts ringing and he sees that it’s his dad. They’ve been talking at least once a day since last Sunday and TK has started to find it to be a comfort. He accepts the call and answers with, “Hey, Dad.” 

“Hey, bud.” 

TK catches Owen up on his most recent day at the Louvre. Talking to him about the Renoir he spent the most of the day tracking down, just to end up with nothing. TK keeps waiting for Owen to tell him he should take a break, but then he remembers who his father is. 

Just like TK went back to the Louvre, Owen went right back to the firehouse. Neither of them acknowledged that it might not be the healthiest thing for the other to do because then they’d both be hypocrites. 

Eventually, he tells Owen that he’s applied for a more permanent position at the Louvre, and he’s been invited to interview.

At this,  Owen becomes uncharacteristically quiet. TK knows that silence; it’s not one born out of not knowing what to say, but knowing you probably shouldn’t say what you want to say. 

“Dad, you’re quiet,” TK jokes, he chuckles and it sounds empty. “You’re never quiet,” He can’t handle the silence as it prolongs so he continues. “This could be huge, Dad. Aren’t you happy for me?” 

“Of course I’m happy for you TK, I’m your dad,” Owen says it like it’s obvious; but the silence that follows is loud. 

“But?” TK knows there’s a reservation that’s left hanging in the air. 

“This, this just sounds like a really big change,” Owen starts, his words delicate and meticulous. “You just lost your mother, TK; and I don’t want you making any life changing decisions because you need somewhere to put your emotions. 

Well, TK guesses he can understand that, but that doesn’t mean it has to be true. “I could have a life here, Dad.” 

“You already have one here, TK,” Owen volleys the attempt with ease. “I’m just,” Owen continues, sounding uncomfortable. “I’m just worries you might run away again.” 

TK feels robbed of words.

He hasn’t heard his dad say that since he was twenty-two and trying to make it in California by being a fifty-three year old painter’s muse. He figured he’d found a way to avoid his problems until he realized problems have a habit of finding you wherever you are. 

TK feels angry. Both angry at his father and angry at himself because maybe his dad is right. He chooses to end the call before he says something he’ll regret. “I think I’m going to head to bed, it’s late here.”

“Alright,” Owen agrees, thinking he’s pushed too hard. “Love you, bud.” 

“Love you too, Dad,” He hangs up the call and plugs in his phone, ready to be done with it for the night. He washes his face, brushes his teeth and removes one of the two pillows he normally sleeps and tries to fall asleep. 

About twenty minutes later, he reaches for his phone and lets Jennifer know when he’s free tomorrow. 

—

“Fuck,” Carlos mutters to himself before picking up the spoon that’s fallen to the floor. He picks it up and aggressively tosses it into the kitchen sink. He’s ripping off a paper towel and wiping up the mess before TK can even offer to help. 

Friday has finally arrived and they’re trying for a nice night in, but Carlos is having a rough go at it. Class has only gotten harder since the beginning of the week and he doesn’t have enough time in the day to process any it. When he got home both Wednesday and Thursday, he went straight to sleep. 

He woke up at some time around 3 in the morning, and made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich as a quick and ready meal.

He takes what he calls an hour long power nap before having to wake up so he can go to the gym at 5:30. Lately, he feels like he’s been trying to juggle with no hands. 

“We can order in, if you want,” TK suggests, staying at the kitchen table. When Carlos is this focused, he does his best to not get in the way. “If it’s easier.” 

“What?” Carlos asks as he sprinkles more paprika in the honey glaze. “What makes you say that?”

He’s tasted the glaze three different times now and something just doesn’t taste right. He can’t tell if he’s used too much sriracha or too little paprika, but he can tell something’s wrong. He can practically hear Dumas in his ear, telling him this is basic stuff, how can he not figure it out. 

“Well,” TK begins, sounding slightly concerned. “You’ve cursed out the salmon about three different times now.” 

“I’ve actually been cursing out the glaze, thank you very much,” Carlos says with a smile. He’s trying to play this all off as very casual but TK can see he’s trying to suppress his stress. 

“Pardon me,” TK says sardonically, trying to play along. Carlos tries another taste of glaze and mutters another swear under his breath. He reaches for the bottle of sriracha and TK gazes at the salmon that’s starting to become room temperature. “Are you sure you don’t want to just order in?” 

“Why do you keep asking me that?” Carlos turns, asking the words around the spoon in his mouth. “Do you not want the salmon?” 

“No, it’s just that you seem a little stressed, and that, maybe,” TK tries to pick his next words carefully. “You don’t seem to be enjoying it?” TK presents it as a question even though he already knows the answer. 

“Of course I’m enjoying it,” Carlos says as he reaches for a fourth spoon and begins mixing the glaze. “I just can’t get this damn glaze right.” 

“Baby, I’m sure it’s good,” TK almost regrets breaching this topic. Carlos won’t see things the way he does and TK knows he’s already walking a fine line by trying to suggest anything about his cooking process. 

“Good isn’t perfect,” Carlos says as he sprinkles in more paprika into the mixture.

“Is that what Dumas says?” TK mutters under his breath, more to himself but of Carlos heard.

“What’s Dumas got to do with anything?” Carlos asks, finally putting the spoon down and paying full attention to the conversation he didn’t realize they were about to have. 

TK is silent, wondering if he should just walk everything back. If he should keep acting like he’s fine with the way Carlos has been treating himself. Then Carlos looks at him, his eyes defeated and his face crestfallen because he thinks he’s messed up a glaze and TK can’t hold back anymore.

“I think he’s doing more harm than good,” TK finally admits, letting the lion out of the cage. “I think he’s pushing you past your limit and you don’t realize it.” 

Carlos is quiet for a beat and his expression is hard to read. “I appreciate your concern, TK,” Carlos says but TK doesn’t believe him. Carlos turns back around and begins mixing again. “But I think I can look after myself. I’m fine.” 

“That why you started smoking?” TK asks and the tense silence that follows couldn’t be cut but the sharpest blade. 

Ever since they’ve started seeing each other, they’ve had a soundtrack to their lives.

Whether it be quiet conversations among the pillows during nightfall, the muffled score of the movie they fell asleep to, or the sizzling sound of bacon of an impromptu breakfast, there was always noise. Always something to score this summer of their lives.

Now it’s silent and neither of them like it. 

Carlos puts the spoon down again, the clink of it against the porcelain bowl reverberating through the apartment. He wipes his hands on the kitchen towel tossed over his shoulder. He turns again, and asks, “What are you talking about?” 

“The other night,” TK begins, looking at the whorls in the wood of Carlos’ spice cabinet. “When I kissed you goodbye, you tasted like spearmint gum, ” His eyes cut up to Carlos, looking into those eyes that look slightly less inviting. “Carlos, you hate spearmint gum.” 

TK had pieced it together when he got home. Carlos hates spearmint gum, but Nick always has it on him. Carlos had mentioned it in passing in a conversation a couple of weeks ago.

He probably thought TK didn’t remember, and TK thinks that’s because Carlos isn’t used to people listening to him. 

“That doesn’t mean,” 

“Carlos, I’m not dumb,” TK cuts him off, not wanting to watch Carlos try to dig himself out of a hole that’s going nowhere but down. 

“I didn’t say you are,” Carlos’ voice sounds short of pleading, like he just wants TK to understand it’s not what it seems. 

“Then why are you lying to me? Carlos, you smelled like cigarettes and tasted like spearmint gum, what am I supposed to think?”  TK’s voice sounds short of begging, just wanting Carlos to talk to him. 

“Fine, I smoked a cigarette,” Carlos finally admits, sick of feeling like he’s being reprimanded by an after school special. “I was stressed, Nick offered and I thought it would take the edge off, so what?” 

“So what? Carlos, you’re the guy who’s been cutting back on coffee because you’re afraid of how addictive caffeine can be. Now you’re bumming cigarettes off people?” 

“I am not,” Carlos raises two fingers on both hands, signifying quotation marks. “Bumming cigarettes off people. It was one cigarette and I hated the taste, okay? It’s fine. I’m fine.” Carlos tries again, tries to get TK to see he’s fine. 

“I don’t think you are,” TK argues. He doesn’t want to let this go, he wants Carlos to see he’s caring about Carlos the way he wants Carlos to care about himself. “Doesn’t this concern you, turning to things you would normally never do to cope with the stress this class is giving you?”

“Why does it matter?” Carlos can feel his heartbeat thumping through him, and the sound of it is beginning to drown everything else out. He’s becoming frustrated because what if TK’s right, what if he’s not fine. “Why do you care?” 

TK’s eyebrows draw together, confused by the question. “Because I care about you, Carlos.” 

“I’m not asking you to.” Carlos replies instantly and he regrets the words as soon as they leave his lips. They leave a nasty taste in his mouth, something bitter and stale. He feels like he’s just smoked another cigarette. 

TK’s eyes widen, his jaw drops and Carlos is overcome with a wave of nausea. He hasn’t eaten anything since this morning yet he has this overwhelming feeling that he’s about to throw up. TK’s green eyes are looking at him, dewy and perplexed and Carlos is the reason why. 

Carlos takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down from the edge of panic. “TK, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

If TK doesn’t believe, he’s kind enough to act like he does. “I just want you to be okay, baby.” 

“I know, I know,” Carlos repeats the phrase, willing himself to not start another argument. Agreeing with TK, agreeing with the notion that he’s not okay; Carlos doesn’t think he can handle that realization on top of everything else. “Thank you, you know, for caring.” 

“Oh baby,” TK stands up from his seat and pulls Carlos into a hug. Carlos rests his head in the crook of TK’s neck, the first time he’s rested in what feels like days. TK rubs his hand up and down Carlos’ back, feeling his heart pulse at full tilt. 

When Carlos’ heart finally starts to slow to a resting state, TK whispers, “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just doing what I’m supposed to do.”

Carlos pulls away, wiping at his eyes. He doesn’t know if it’s from the tears or from exhaustion and right now he doesn’t want to argue with himself over which one it is. “Did you still want to order in?” 

TK almost wants to laugh. Of course, Carlos has found a way to bring it all back to the food. “What do you want to do?” 

TK knows what it’s like to be treated like you don’t have agency, especially as of lately. While he’s finally made his concern known, he knows Carlos still needs to be concerned for himself before he can see any change. TK wanting to make that change for him will just become a catalyst for resentment. 

“I think,” Carlos thinks he’s fine. He has no other choice but to be fine. “I think I want to perfect the glaze.” 

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” TK agrees, giving in. 

He had hoped Carlos would just want to order in. 

—

It’s Monday afternoon and TK’s on another Zoom call with Nancy. He had spoken to her briefly last week, when she called him after hearing about his mom. If you disregard that, they hadn’t spoken in a while and TK’s glad they finally had the time to. 

“Writing is exhausting,” Nancy says, running her ringed fingers through her hair. TK was familiar with all of them, except for one that looked newer. “I think I’m starting to understand why every journalist I’ve met in New York is out of their mind.” 

Nancy’s gone from a freelancer for W Magazine to permanent staff writer. TK hated that he couldn’t be with her to celebrate.

They have her covering the Film section and they’re planning to send her out to TIFF to cover Sofia Coppola’s new picture. Nancy lets him know she’ll take as many pictures as she can to make him jealous. 

If TK hadn’t processed that the world kept turning when he wasn’t in New York; this conversation would have been his wake up call.

TK thinks, maybe, his dad wasn’t completely wrong. He does have a life in New York. When he talks to Nancy, he remembers it, but most importantly, he misses it. 

“Anyways, enough about the woes of a writer,” Nancy smiles, interested. “What’s up with you? Heard anything back from the Louvre?” 

TK had told Nancy that he was going to apply for a more permanent position within the records department. After another speech about how TK leaving Nancy for a life of luxury in Paris, Nancy was happy for him. Much like his mother, she thought it would be a nice change of pace for him. 

Now he’s wondering just how nice it can be. 

“I have,” TK answers. He tells her about how he’s moved onto the second round of interviews and how he thinks he might have a pretty good shot. “When I went through this the first time, the process was pretty quick. Who knows, maybe I’ll be calling you in a couple of weeks and telling you I’m never coming home.” 

“You’re just doing this to get out of looking at this wall paper in person ever again.” 

“You’ve caught me.” TK holds up his hands, letting her have the victory. His eyes gaze at the wallpaper behind Nancy. Yellow daisies, just like the ones Carlos got for him not too long ago. 

TK doesn’t think he has it in him to ever hate those daisies again.  

“I’m hard to lie to,” Nancy shrugs as she makes the joke with a straight face. “Alright, besides your Julia Roberts fantasy that you’ve made a reality; anything else going on? 

TK chuckles at the Eat, Pray, Love callback. “Yeah, I’ve,” TK pauses. He knows that once he says this out loud, he can’t take it back. He’ll have to acknowledge it and any questions that might follow. “I’ve actually got an interview with the MET a little later this week.” 

“Oh,” Nancy’s eyebrows raise and she looks impressed. “Look at you making big moves. What does Carlos think of that? Gonna long distance it if you end up getting it?” 

TK’s silent as he thinks of how to answer. These were the questions he was afraid of having to acknowledge. He tries to act quick, hoping he’ll think of something before she notices his hesitance. 

“Unless,” Nancy’s voice rings at the end of the enunciation. TK knows that sound, Nancy noticed his hesitation. “Carlos doesn’t know you’re interviewing for a job at the MET.”

“Things have gotten,” TK bounces a couple of words around his head, looking for the right one. “Things have gotten a little tense between me and Carlos.”

“Oh,” Nancy deflates, providing the best empathy she can at the moment. “Well, you know, couples go through things,” 

“Yeah, couples do. We’re not a couple, Nance,” TK cuts in, finally admitting the truth to each other. He and Carlos had never named what they are, because giving it a name makes it real and the idea of all of this being real is starting to seem more daunting than exciting. 

“It sounds like you’re a couple in everything but name, TK,” Nancy argues, and TK doesn’t think she’s entirely wrong. “I’m guessing you still haven’t told him.”

“Told him what?” 

“That you’re in love with him.” 

“No, I haven’t.” TK admits, reminding himself of the fact. For a while, he thought it was implied. 

He thought it was easy to pick up on but that might just be because loving Carlos is as easy as breathing. You don’t notice it after a while.

Then again, when TK considers that he had to remind Carlos that he cares about him, maybe it makes sense that Carlos hasn’t picked up on his true feelings. 

After the argument, TK hates that word, he doesn’t know if it’s the right thing to say, at least not now. Carlos is clearly stressed trying to balance both TK, and cooking at the same time. 

Friday night, when they finally dove into the salmon drenched in a nearly glaze, Carlos told TK about how he was late to class. He only brought it up because the story ended with a compliment from Dumas; or, whatever Carlos considers to be a compliment. 

TK wanted to enjoy the win for Carlos, but all he could think about was that Dumas thinks Carlos will be a nobody if he’s just a couple of minutes late to class.

TK wanted to tell him he didn’t think it was healthy, but he just let it slide. If he had brought it up, it would have just lead to another back and forth and make for an even more tense night.

Again, TK wondered if taking care of TK and taking care of himself was something Carlos could do. 

If TK tells Carlos that he’s in love with him, he’ll just be doing the same thing he always does. Being forward and possibly ruining something that he cherishes so much that the idea of losing it makes him feel sick.

Being forward with Carlos will get him nowhere, and all he wants to do is be with Carlos everywhere. 

“Do you think you’ll tell him?” 

“Maybe in time,” TK answers, shrugging casually. He smiles as he says it, but it’s half committed and lacking his usual brightness. He smiles and it feels laborious. 

Nancy’s right; she’s hard to lie to. 

—

Carlos frantically runs his hands across the vegetables in front of him while trying to feel for which ones are the most ripe. He would be disgusted by his own lack of manners if he had time to stop and think about what he’s doing. 

He stayed behind after class longer than he expected and now he needs to be at home, making dinner for both he and TK sooner rather than later. He thought about saving the trip for something both he and TK could do together, but he also valued the alone time. 

By this point, shopping at the farmer’s market has become more of a chore than a leisurely activity and he doesn’t want to subject TK to who he becomes when he starts haggling. While the vendor is ringing up his purchase for his radishes, he checks his watch. 

If the train is on time, which it never is, he’ll be able to make it home with about ten minutes to spare. He want to take a shower before TK shows up, but he thinks he'll be cutting it close. More than anything, he wants to take a nap. He’s been up since 6 this morning and hasn’t had a moment's rest. 

He hopes to sleep fitfully tonight with his arms wrapped around TK before he has to wake up at 5:30 to go to the gym. Then the process starts all over again. 

To put it simply, Carlos is stressed. 

He’s finishing up his purchase of spinach when he gets a phone call from Luisa. He’s been speaking with her more often as of late, and Carlos likes it.

He thinks it might be because she’s trying to find out all about his love life now that he finally has one to talk about; but he enjoys catching up with her all the same. 

Luisa is silent while Carlos tells her everything he’s been doing. How he’s spent the last couple of weeks fitting in the gym, class, training, TK and sleeping within the short twenty-four hours they’re gifted every day. 

The first thing she says when he finishes is, “You sound stressed.”

“I’m not stressed. I’m just, you know,” Carlos pauses as he looks over everything in his tote bag. “Busy.” 

“God, Mom was right,” Luisa mutters to herself, thinking Carlos is so lost in his own world he won’t hear her. 

“What was that?” 

“I said, Mom was right,” Luisa repeats the phrase, speaking louder. Clearly she wanted to be heard as she enjoys the chance of getting it to say it a second time. “You and Dad are more alike than you think.” 

“Except the only serial killer I deal with is TK in front of a bowl of Golden Grahams.” Carlos can hear Luisa groan over the line. Her reaction makes him laugh harder than his own joke did.

“God, I should get paid for being the first person you bounce your awful jokes off of.” 

“That bad?” Carlos asks before looking both ways before crossing the street. 

“The worst,” Luisa confirms. “But, it’s a great segue into what I wanted to ask you about next. How’s TK? Does he know you have a crush on him? Are you two going to get married?” Luisa’s voice takes on a sing-song delivery, like they’re two kids on the playground describing first grade first love. 

“You know you’re the older sibling, right?” Carlos says, trying to humble her even if it’s only slightly. 

“Society tells me I’m going to wither away before I’m 35. Let me have fun,” Luisa counters. “Anyways, stop deflecting, talk to me about TK.” 

“Things are,” Carlos is quiet for a beat while he thinks of what to say. “Things are going well.” His tone is constrained, he sounds as if he can’t fully commit to the sentence. 

“I know what that voice means, Carlitos,” Luisa drops the nickname and Carlos knows that she’s caught him in an untruth. Not harsh enough to be considered a lie, but not soft enough to be seen as a reality. “What’s going on?” 

“It’s nothing, it’s just, got a lot going on,” Carlos is glad that they’ve navigated the conversation away from how he’s like his father. Not because he hates the comparison, but because he doesn’t want it to be true. “Between class, the gym, training, and TK, I’ve just got my hands in a lot of pots.” 

“That’s a much better pun,” Luisa interjects. 

“Thanks,” Carlos didn’t even realize he had made it; it just came to him naturally but so does anything that comes to cooking. At least, he thought all things came to him naturally but then he met Dumas. 

“Have you considered that you’re not superman and you don’t need to do everything every day?” Luisa asks the question like the answer is simple.

Carlos is taking the steps to his apartment two at a time. He knows where this conversation is going to go and he wants to have the decency to do it behind closed doors. “I’m sure TK would be more than willing to accommodate.” 

“That’s the problem,” Carlos says as he unlocks the door to his apartment. “He’s more than willing to accommodate. He’s willing to adjust things at the drop of a dime because he cares about me.” 

“And what’s wrong with that?” Luisa asks, truly trying to understand what’s wrong. Why her baby brother is so against someone caring about him the way she’s been begging him to care about himself. 

Within such a short amount of time, TK’s been able to get her brother out of the house, and more importantly, out of his head. TK’s made her brother experience what it’s like fully being human, unabashedly and unflinchingly.

“Carlos?” Luisa calls out his name after he’s silent for a beat too long. “What’s wrong with that?” 

“What if I can’t be that for him?” Carlos finally says the words out loud. At first, the thought had been lingering in the back of his mind every now and then; but as of late, it’s been pushing its way to the front. 

Carlos remembers how TK became undone after his mom’s passing, and how TK couldn’t stand the thought of being alone. His flight was canceled, his world was rocked and the only person he thought could steady him was Carlos. Carlos means something to TK; and god, he means something to Carlos. 

TK means something to Carlos, but so does cooking. Barring his own family, they both mean more to him than anything else Carlos has ever encountered. He’s trying to split time because they both mean something to him. He’s trying to split focus, no matter how much Dumas has told the class they can’t. He’s splitting himself in two because both cooking and TK mean the world to him. 

“TK deserves someone who can put him first, and what if,” Carlos takes a deep breath. “What if that’s not me?” 

“Carlos,” Luisa’s tone is sympathetic, and it’s bordering on pity. Carlos wants to roll his eyes but he’s too busy ignoring the fact they’re starting to burn. “That can be you.” 

“I don't know, Luisa,” Carlos says, pushing down the lump in his throat. “I want it to, but I don’t think it can.” 

—

TK knocks on the open office door, making his presence known before he says a word. “Hi Dr. London.” 

Dr. London looks up from the planner on her desk, her glasses perched at the end of her nose. TK wonders if it’s a required look for women who study art. “TK,” Her surprise is evident in the way she says his name. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again. Great job on your final presentation, by the way.” 

“Thanks,” TK smiles and it feels so good to smile. He had another argument, he still hates using that word, with Carlos this morning and things were left a little, well, tense. 

TK had suggested using strawberries for a recipe because Carlos couldn’t find any raspberries the day before. Carlos said that wouldn’t work because strawberries aren’t in season and it wouldn’t be right. TK said it would be fine, and Carlos said fine isn’t good enough. 

TK thought it was a little hypocritical, seeing that Carlos was so hellbent on proving that he was ‘fine’ but he kept that to himself. He didn’t want to risk giving Carlos another reason to be late to class. Carlos would just find a way to blame himself. 

By the end of the discussion, that word hits TK’s ear better, they had both just said what the other wanted to hear so they could move past it.

Talking to Dr. London, they’ll only stick to art; something he knows, something he’s familiar with. He doesn’t have to worry about saying certain words that certain ears aren’t ready to hear. He hopes that one day, they are. 

“What can I help you with on this fine Thursday afternoon? If you’re her to help Colin convince me to raise his grade, the answer is no.” 

“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” TK takes comfort in the fact that while he hasn’t spoken to Colin in weeks, he still hasn’t changed all that much.

With so much abrupt change, so quickly, he likes the little slice of regularity. “I was actually wondering if I could use you as a reference for a job I’m interviewing for.” 

He could have emailed her to ask but there was a good chance he’d get an answer in person before getting one via email. It wasn’t until this semester that Dr. London realized she was still giving people the email that was assigned to her before she was Dr. London.

She’s been married for three years. 

“Oh, I’m more than happy to,” Dr. London smiles at the opportunity. “Is it for the Louvre? I don’t want to play politics but I think my name coming across Nathalie’s desk might make it a done deal.” 

“It’s actually for the MET,” TK answers and just like Nadine, Dr. London’s shock is displayed by the rise of perfectly manicured eyebrows. 

“Oh, well, of course I’m still happy to be a reference,” Dr. London says. “If you don’t mind me asking, did it not work out over at The Louvre?” 

“Oh no, I’m actually in the second round of interviews for a position on the records team, which, by the way, if I need a reference for that,” 

“Granted,” Dr. London replies. “You’re just keeping your options open, huh? Finding that Paris might not be for you?” 

“I think I’m just finding a lot of things that might not be for me,” TK half-heartedly agrees. “Paris being one of them. The MET’s back home, and who knows, maybe that’s a better place for me right now. You know what I mean?”

“I think I do. Paris has a habit of making everything seem like it’s falling into place. You get swept up in the City of Love, you don’t think about the possible heartbreak that lines the streets too,” TK’s quiet, giving her a look that lets her know he’s listening if she wants to continue. 

“Before I was Dr. Carrie London, I was Mrs. Carrie Riley. Twenty-three with big dreams, big eyes and a teeny tiny rock that I was proud to call my wedding ring.” Dr. London explains. 

TK’s heart hurts at the realization that the name attached to her email was actually her former married name; she had a hard time letting go. “What happened?” 

“What always happens,” Dr. London shrugs. “Reality hit. We were both young and trying to figure out what we wanted. Eventually we realized, what we wanted didn’t include each other. I can’t speak for him, but I know I’m the better for it.”

Dr. London smiles as she says the next thing. “I look back at my younger self and think, why do you always have to complicate things that are really quite simple?” 

TK’s heard those words before. “Is that from Mary Poppins?” 

“Colin’s not as quiet as he thinks he is,” Dr. London says, her smile staying present. “Good luck out there, TK. Wherever you end up, they’ll be lucky to have you. You’re smart, you’re gifted, and you care.” 

“Thanks, Dr. London,” TK says as he stands up. “For everything.” 

On his walk back to his dorm, he considers Dr. London’s words and the words he shared with his dad weeks ago. He could create a life here, he could fall into the comfort of loving everything because it’s shiny and new before things seem dull again. 

He could continue life in New York, where things seemed dull but maybe they can find a way to seem new again. This summer has changed him and maybe that change is what he needs to feel like he can begin life anew, even if it’s not here.

—

Carlos is…Carlos doesn’t know what he is. If there’s something more stressed than stressed, that’s the box he would check. 

Ever since Dumas told Carlos he sees potential in him, he’s been that much tougher on him. His eyes cut to him more often, he’s become more critical with his critique and his scathing remarks are becoming so common Carlos is becoming used to them. 

Friday is upon them and Carlos can’t wait for the weekend to greet him. He just needs a second, just a second, to rest and give his body and mind a chance to catch up. TK was coming over later today and Carlos can’t wait to see what weird movie TK’s got planned for them. 

Well, at least that was the plan until this morning happened, now he’s not sure.

Much like yesterday morning, he and TK had a, Carlos doesn’t know what word to use, discussion. Except this time, there wasn’t a resolution. Carlos had to leave for class before they could resolve the tension that was looming between them. 

Carlos has spent most of the morning wondering what he said and where he went wrong.  He called TK during lunch and sent him a text, asking if they were still on for the night. He still hasn’t received an answer and the concern is taking shape in his mind, front and center. 

He keeps peeking at his phone, hoping to see he’s gotten some type of response, even if it’s one he doesn’t want. Nick keeps asking if he’s okay and Carlos keeps telling him it’s nothing even though it’s completely the opposite. 

His mind is so scattered that he keeps forgetting what he’s supposed to be doing with everything right in front of him.

Everything looks great, but he doesn’t know if the food is up to the same caliber. He teases a taste of the glaze and smiles when he thinks it’s perfect. 

“Chef,” Dumas is standing in front of him. “Is this your dish?” 

“Yes, chef.” Carlos fights the smile he wants to shine at the thought of finally giving Dumas something he can be proud of. 

Dumas looks down at the meal in front of him before muttering the word “Inepte” under his breath. Even if the word wasn’t so close to the English translation, Carlos would know what it means. Dumas has probably said it just about as often as he says his own name. 

“What’s with this plating, chef?” Dumas asks, already sounding exhausted at whatever answer Carlos can conjure up. 

Carlos is silent while he thinks of how to answer; he’s learned that with Dumas there are no rhetorical questions. If you don’t know the answer, you better think of something and pray for the best.

Carlos has found his relationship with God has gotten stronger since he’s been in class. 

Carlos looks around the room, hoping to find something, anything that’ll help him answer Dumas’ question the way he needs to. He looks at Nick’s plating and notices it looks out of the ordinary of how Nick usually presents his meals. He looks at Marino’s, Kowalski’s,  Zhang’s and notices they all look like Nick’s.

Everybody’s plate looks the same, everybody's but Carlos’. He realizes his error immediately. He closes his eyes and under his breath, softly says, “Fuck.” 

His mind was focused on so many things; TK, his fight with TK, the lack of response from TK, his conversation with Luisa about TK, making sure his food was perfect, making sure the glaze was balanced, that he didn’t stop to think about the plating. 

“Do you think you’re too good to follow instructions?” Dumas’ attack begins instantly.

“No, chef.” Carlos falls into the role of prey as if it’s second nature. 

“Do you want to teach this class?” 

“No, chef.” 

“Do you think you’re better than me?” 

“No, chef,” 

“How many of your kitchens have been awarded Michelin stars?” 

“None, chef,” 

“Exactly, because no chef outside of these four walls has ever heard of Carlos fucking Reyes.” 

“Chef,” Nick tries to step in, not able to watch this any longer. 

“I don’t remember asking you to speak, Nicholas,” Dumas is quick to rally, his eyes cutting away from Carlos for what feels like the first time since he walked into the room. 

With Dumas’ eyes finally off him, Carlos can feel the damn start to break and he’s doing everything he can to keep sealing up the crack.

When Dumas looks back at him, he’s overwhelmed by a tide of emotion he’d been trying to keep at bay. He wipes at his eyes, hoping Dumas didn’t notice, but he’s Dumas, of course he noticed. 

“You’re not going to cry, are you?” Dumas asks the question quietly, and intimately. Any other room and the question would be lost in a sea of sound, but right now, in Dumas’ kitchen, you could hear a pin drop. “You’re not, soft, are you?” 

Soft. The word pricks Carlos like a push pin. 

His reaction must color his face because Dumas backs away, the ghost of a smile on his face. He’s found Carlos’ breaking point. “Oh, that’s what it is. You’re not arrogant,” He leans back in and says, “You’re soft. Is that it?” 

“No,” Carlos answers the question, because with Dumas, there is no rhetorical question. 

“No, chef.”  Dumas sounds insulted that Carlos would forget the title. 

“No chef.” Carlos repeats. 

“No chef, I am not soft.” 

“No chef, I am not soft.” Carlos can’t stop the tear that starts to trail down his cheek. He doesn’t even give himself the decency to wipe it away; at least, not in front of Dumas. At least Dumas won’t pity him; he’s never done well with pity. 

“Bullshit.” Dumas leans in close enough for only Carlos to hear. He whispers,  “You’re as soft as they come.”

Dumas departs, looking over the rest of the dishes and giving critiques and never compliments. All Carlos wants to do is walk out and forget that today happened; but he knows if he does, there’s a good chance he’ll never walk back in. 

Class is dismissed not too soon after. Nick tries to capture Carlos’ attention because all he wants to do is tell him that Dumas is full of shit. He doesn’t get the chance because Carlos is one of the first people to leave. 

Carlos books it to the bathroom, trying to slow his heart and regulate his breathing. When he finally makes it, he stumbles into a stall and he throws up.

—

TK shows up to Carlos’ apartment a little after six. He hopes Carlos is expecting him because he refuses to let the argument they had this morning continue to go unresolved. 

He doesn’t like the lingering tension that’s been staying long past its uninvited welcome. He doesn’t like that he can leave one morning thinking that one wrong word could be the beginning of the end.  

His plan was to text Carlos when he got to work, but when he got there, he saw that the battery was hanging on for dear life. He turned it off when he got started work, and had planned to check it during lunch but it never turned back on. 

When he gets to Carlos’ apartment building, he walks by Nick who’s smoking as per usual. “Hey, Nick.” 

Nick turns at the call of his name, releasing a cloud of smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “TK, good, you’re here.” 

“Good?” TK questions, wondering how TK could be of any use to Nick. He barely knows the guy and most of what he knows of him is in passing during conversations with Carlos. 

“Reyes,” Nick taps the cigarette, watching the ash fall to the ground and fade into the grey of the concrete. “I don’t think he’s okay.” 

TK takes a deep breath and can’t help but think he has something to do with it. Carlos has been so damn set on being focused, arguing with him right before class must have done something to mess with that.

“I know,” TK answers. “Thanks, Nick.” He goes to leave, but stops and says one more thing. “For what it’s worth, I hope you and Ellie get the chance to start again.” 

“Thanks TK,” Nick sucks on his teeth, still looking down at where the ash once dropped. He drops the cigarette to the ground and crushes it under his foot. TK notices that it’s barely half finished. “Me too.” 

TK bids goodbye and tries the door, assuming it’s unlocked, just like the last time Carlos wasn’t okay. 

TK hates that he’s right.

He walks in and calls Carlos’ name, hoping to hear a response. He hears Carlos respond from the bedroom and his voice sounds rugged and tired. When TK walks in, Carlos is sitting on the edge of the bed, in the dark with his chef jacket right next to him. 

TK doesn’t give Carlos the courtesy of asking if he can turn the light on because he knows Carlos would rather be left in the dark and that’s not going to help him right now. He flicks the light on and Carlos looks the most defeated TK’s ever seen Carlos look. 

His hair is in disarray, like he’s been running his hand through it anxiously. His eyes are red rimmed, bloodshot and puffy. This isn’t a case of TK walking in on Carlos oversleeping; this is a case of TK walking in on Carlos crying. 

He’s heard horror stories from Carlos that don’t cause Carlos to crack so for something to bring him to the point of tears, TK can’t imagine how he’s feeling. He walks over to Carlos, stepping gently because he wants to be as gentle with Carlos as he can. 

He crouches in front of him, making Carlos look at him. TK looks into those warm brown eyes, brown eyes that are begging to be invited in. “Talk to me, baby.” 

For once, Carlos talks. He tells TK everything, even the things about Dumas that he can’t even pretend to make sound good. For the first time, TK thinks Carlos might be getting it; that how he’s being treated isn’t fair. 

He thinks Carlos is finally understanding until Carlos says, “If only I had just focused on the lesson at hand, instead of…” Carlos stops himself right before he realizes what he was about to say. 

“Instead of the fight you had with me,” TK finishes for him.

By this point, he’s joined Carlos on the bed. He wants to pull Carlos close to him and have Carlos rest his head in the crook of his neck. He wants rub his thumb against Carlos’ bare arm. Right now, Carlos seems so fragile that TK’s worried one wrong move might cause him to shatter. “You blame me.” 

“Of course not, TK.” Carlos sounds affronted and TK doesn’t think Carlos knows he’s lying to himself. Which makes TK reaffirming what he knows to be the truth that much more painful. “How could you…” 

“Carlos, we’ve spent every possible moment together these last couple of months. At this point, I think I almost know you better than you know yourself,” TK begins explaining. “You blame me. You may not want to admit it to me, you may not even be able to admit it to yourself, but there’s a part of you that blames me.” 

Carlos is quiet, not wanting to disagree because he doesn’t know if he does or not; and that scares him. 

“If you hadn’t been so concerned about hearing back from me, you would have been able to focus the way you’re always trying so hard to. If you hadn’t been thinking about us,” TK points between the two of them. “Today wouldn’t have gone the way it did.” 

Carlos hates when parents are right, he absolutely can’t stand it when his sisters are right; but right now, TK being right is what he hates most of all. His family knows him inside and out, they’re good at knowing when he’s lying to himself; but TK. 

TK knows him in ways no one else ever will; Carlos thinks he’s right, TK knows him better than he knows himself. “TK,” Carlos starts to say, already feeling bad. “You have to know…” 

“I’m not upset with you, I promise,” TK can see Carlos’ inhales slowly start to quicken and he wants to calm him before the storm rolls in. “Honestly, I was expecting this. I think I have been for a while, but I was trying to convince myself that it wouldn’t happen.” 

“When?” Carlos asks. “When did you first know?” 

TK goes quiet for a beat before saying, “When you were willing to be late so you could wish me goodbye.” 

Carlos wants to argue, wants to tell TK that he would do it all over again. That he would be there, breakfast still in hand and a loving goodbye on his lips; but he can’t. He can’t, because he would be he doesn’t know if he would. 

“Carlos, this isn’t good for you,” TK finally breaches the conversation; embracing the uncomfortable and trying to make sense of it. “You’re not taking care of yourself.”

“I’m…” 

“You’re not fine,” TK cuts him off, his green eyes staring intently in Carlos’ brown ones. “You’re not, and you don’t even realize it. You’re miserable.” 

“I’m not miserable,” Carlos tries to counter through teary eyes. 

“Carlos,” TK’s tone is knowing, in the sense that they both know that’s not true. “Better than you know yourself, remember?” 

Carlos can’t afford to not be fine; he can’t afford to think about a future where he doesn’t cook, where he doesn’t make all of this worth something. He can’t afford to think about the way his love of cooking might warp into something he’ll eventually know as hate.

If he’s not a chef, if he’s not a cook; then who is he?

“You wouldn’t understand,” Carlos tries to explain but TK still doesn’t give up.

“Then make me understand, baby.” TK volleys and for once, Carlos wishes he wasn’t so good at this. Carlos can feel another tear start to trail down his face and he’s happy he can wipe this one away. 

With a broken, cracked voice, he says, “I need to be the best.” 

“Carlos,” TK is moving before he has the chance to stop himself. He reaches for Carlos’ hands and he thinks it might be the wrong move but then Carlos squeezes TK’s hands that are wrapped in his. “Does being the best matter if you’re not happy?” 

Carlos believes being the best will make him happy because he needs to believe it. He needs to hold onto that pocket of hope that’s telling him that all of this will be worth it one day.

He needs to.

Carlos looks down at TK’s hands in his; he looks at how the fate lines fade into each other. 

He thinks that meeting TK in that dark bar, all those nights ago, that couldn’t have been an accident. TK fell into his life like the way a feather falls into a lion’s den; gently, softly and treated with a tender curiosity. 

TK showed up in Carlos’ life to show Carlos that he can care; that he can open up his heart, even if it’s against his better judgment. He makes Carlos believe that maybe he can care again, one day; just not today. 

“I think you’re right,” Carlos agrees, and TK thinks he’s finally broken through. He fights a smile until Carlos finishes speaking, not wanting to celebrate preemptively. “I think part of me does blame you, and TK, you have to know I hate the part of me that does,” 

“But,” TK knows there’s more. 

“But, it’s still a part of me and I’m so afraid that it’ll never fully go away. TK, these last few weeks have been miserable, but it’s because I hate the thought of having to choose between you and cooking.” 

“Carlos, you don’t have to choose.”

Carlos thinks about Nick and Ellie; how he watched two people become strangers before his very eyes.

He laughs and it sounds watery and weighted; the kind of laugh you make when you can’t believe what you’re about to say. “I know I don’t have to, but I want to.” 

Carlos continues, knowing that if TK can respond, he’ll lose any traction he’s gained. “I can’t promise that I’ll always choose you over cooking. TK, you’ve given me the world. You deserve someone who will always put you first.” 

“Carlos, I think,” TK pauses himself, feeling the wave of emotion starting to crash at low tide. “Carlos, I want you to be that someone.” 

“TK I want to be, I want to so badly,” Carlos forgoes wiping the tears that are starting to fall like the errant raindrop. “But I don’t think I can.” 

TK’s been through enough of these conversations to hear the words spoken in the pauses.

“Carlos, do you want to end this?” This time this feels different. Normally, he’s angry, he’s pissed off, he’s caught off guard. This time, the ache’s too overwhelming and overshadows all of it. “Is that what will make you happy?” 

“TK, you make me happy,” Carlos replies instantly, hating the idea that TK thinks anything but. “Waking up next to you, coming home to you, being with you. TK, being with you this summer is the happiest I think I’ve ever been.” 

Carlos can see the tears start to fall down TK’s cheek and he wipes at them as best as he can. “Being with you has permanently changed my life for the better, and that’s how I want to remember our time together.” 

Carlos takes another deep breath. “TK, it’s not that I want to end this. I think we should end this,” Carlos wipes at another tear. “Let’s end this before we ruin it.” 

TK mulls over Carlos’ words; commits them to memory and takes them to heart. Carlos has never been so candid with him before and it’s only because he’s brought this out of him. Carlos is finally opening up to him, being honest with him and in a way it’s caused this unforeseen ending. 

Maybe it’s what Carlos needed; maybe, if he’s not trying to take care of TK, he can finally take care of himself. He won’t be lost during class, he won’t be wondering about the what ifs, and he won’t be splitting focus. 

“You’re right,” TK finally croaks out. “Maybe it is for the best. You’ll finally be able to put yourself first. You can finally take care of yourself the way I’ve been trying to take care of you.”

“TK, I’ve been,” Carlos tries to disagree but TK looks at him like he wants to argue, and what’s worse is that he looks like he has proof. Maybe that’s because he does. “Right, you know me better than I know myself.”  

Carlos wipes at another tear that’s fallen from those that have amassed in TK’s eyes. 

“TK,  I’ve never felt this way about anyone. You’ve brought a life out of me I didn’t know I could live. I love you, TK Strand, and this love is too good to ruin.” 

TK wipes at a tear falling from Carlos’ eye that he probably didn’t even realize was there. “This love is too good to ruin,” He repeats. “Even through a tear stained face, you’ve found a way to find the poetry in it all.” 

“All because of you,” Carlos says through a lovelorn sigh. 

TK smiles and it’s that same type of smile that Carlos loves seeing so much. One that makes you want to believe him. He kisses Carlos, wanting to remember the taste of him on his lips. “I love you too, Carlos.” 

TK thinks to himself, this is the first time he’s ever said those words out loud. The first time he says those words out loud and it’s also the last time.

In a way, it’s poetic; and what’s a more fitting end for them than that?

—

TK doesn’t leave right away Friday night; doesn’t rob himself of the chance to be in Carlos’ arms one last time. Instead, he sneaks out early Saturday morning while Carlos is in the shower. 

As much as things change, they also stay the same. 

When he gets back home, he finally charges his phone and waits for it to turn itself back on.

He lies on his bed and looks up at the ceiling. Before he moved in, the dorms had been renovated and the ceiling had been restored and freshly painted.

No cracks, blemishes, divots or marks left visible; the ceiling was able to get a fresh start. 

TK hopes to empathize with it one day. 

— 

They both wanted it to be a clean break; but it’s proving to be jagged. 

About a week after they end things, TK gets a phone call from the MET telling him they want him to be the newest hire in the museum education department.

They tell him they’re willing to to be flexible with his start date, but they’re hoping that he’ll be able to start as soon as he’s back from Paris.

TK tells them that won’t be a problem and he looks forward to it. Jumping right back into things won’t give his mind a chance to be too idle.

After the phone call, he’s abuzz and he’s excited. Maybe it’s not the Louvre, but it’s still the MET and the right step into who he wants to be. 

When he finally comes back to Earth, all he wants to do is call Carlos and tell him the news. 

—

About a week after they end things, Carlos sleeps fourteen hours on a Saturday that seeps into Sunday.

He turns off the lights, closes the blinds and gives himself the chance to finally rest. When he wakes up, he finally embraces the light that’s been trying to let him in. 

Later, that following Monday, Carlos shows up to class focused on one thing only. He disregards anything else the moment he walks through the door. Dumas seems to notice what he would call an improvement. 

During class, Dumas tries a glaze that Carlos makes. Dumas savors the tiniest taste before staring at Carlos with a look of pleasant surprise. Dumas doesn’t smile, but if he did, he would have done so before saying, “It’s perfect.” 

Carlos feels like he’s floating, and for the first time in a long time, it’s a good thing. 

When he finally comes back down to Earth, all he wants to do is call TK and tell him the news.  

— 

The night before TK flies back to New York, he calls his dad.

He looks at the goodbye card that the curation team from The Louvre gave him on his last day. Some messages are in French, some are in English, but they all say the same thing: we’ll miss you. 

He turned down the offer from the records team when it was offered. Nathalie didn’t seem too surprised and Dr. London might be the reason why.

TK traces his finger over one of the intricate drawings one of the staff members drew. Part of him wishes it was a crude drawing of a daisy. 

After the fourth ring, his dad picks up. “TK, I feel awful about what I said the last time we spoke. I didn’t mean…” 

“I’m coming back to New York, Dad,” TK interjects. He believes his father feels bad and he doesn’t want him to anymore. “I’m coming home.” 

“Oh,” Owen sounds shocked but happy with the news. “Change of heart?” 

TK thinks it’s more of a broken heart. “I fell in love, Dad.” 

“Well it is the city for it,” Owen rallies back. 

TK laughs because he can’t disagree; Ronnie did try to warn him.

“When do I get to meet the lucky guy?” Owen asks and TK wants to smile because Owen’s known of Carlos’ existence for a whole 30 seconds and he’s already trying to find a way to be there for him. 

“You won’t,” TK answers. TK can feel the burning sensation take over again and he’s annoyed because he thought he was getting a better handle of this. “We ended things a couple of weeks ago.” 

“I’m sorry, TK,” Owen sounds sympathetic but that he’s also been here before. He’s never known what to say, this was always Gwyn’s area of expertise. 

TK wants to say it’s fine, but it’s not. “I really love him, Dad. I love him more than any guy I’ve ever loved before.” TK wipes at the tear that’s starting to form in the corner of his eyes. Wiping them away yourself is nowhere near as fun. 

“It’s going to be okay, TK,” Owen says and he says the words in a way TK’s heard before. Owen says them like he’s trying his best to believe them himself.

—

Monday morning and blue hour shows no sign of breaking. TK wakes, he stretches and he finishes packing the last of his things. He had booked his return flight ticket not too long after he landed in Paris.

He figured he’d be nursing a broken heart and would want to high tail it out of Paris as soon as he could. He realizes that in a weird, roundabout way, he still does.

With a final sweep of the room, and making sure there’s no strawberry stains left anywhere, he says goodbye to the room he sort of called home. 

His ride to the airport is waiting outside when he gets there. The last time he was up this early, TK was releasing a lizard back into the wild and coming to terms with the fact he was falling in love.

Crisp air flows over him and wakes him up; he’s not living in a fantasy anymore, he’s living in the frigid reality. 

His trip to the airport is both a quick and a quiet one. His driver doesn’t make small talk and TK’s grateful for it. When they finally get to the airport, he helps TK with both his suitcases. TK had originally traveled with one. 

He thanks his driver, gives him a cash tip and starts the dreaded process of figuring out his flight details. He hopes this one isn’t canceled because he doesn’t have any other place to go if it is. 

He’s about to walk in and leave this all behind when he hears someone call his name.

TK turns instantly, knowing that voice from anywhere. Carlos is standing in front of him, looking well rested and refreshed. He looks like he’s starting to take care of himself. 

“Carlos,” God, his name feels good rolling off his tongue. “How’d you know,”

“You circled this date on my calendar the first time you spent the night.” 

TK remembers that. He had circled the date in a red pen, written his flight time and everything. He told Carlos that, whatever, they had with each other, he wanted to enjoy until the very last minute. 

“Decided that I needed to see you one more time, even if it’s the last time,” Carlos smiles, and his eyes are starting to shine. “I’ll be damned if I don’t say goodbye.” 

TK grins, loving that Carlos is still finding ways to surprise him. He brings up one hand to Carlos’ cheek, wiping away tear that’s starting to form in the corner of his eye. 

“Oh Carlos Reyes,” For one final time, he kisses Carlos. He kisses him so deeply, he thinks he can almost taste the sorrow shared between the two of them. TK pulls away, sighs, and says, “You were the best of all my days.” 

—

When his plane lands, TK’s in no hurry to see those tiny yellow daisies. His inflight movie was Sabrina, starring Audrey Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart. He thinks it couldn’t be more fitting, the film is in black and white and his life is starting to seem that way too. 

Bogart said, “Paris is for changing your outlook, for throwing open the windows and letting in la vie en rose.”

TK wants to believe that’s true, needs to believe it. Maybe this change rippling through him is for the better.

He needs it to be. 

He goes through the motions of departure. He grabs his carry on, awkwardly inches his way to the plane exit and navigates himself to the baggage claim. After feeling as situated as he can in this hazy, jet lagged state, he leaves and hails a cab. 

His cab driver asks if he has a problem with the oldies and TK confirms that he doesn’t. When the driver turns up the radio, Dean Martin’s voice carries through the car. The Things We Did Last Summer plays as the perfect score. 

The things we did last summer, I’ll remember all winter long.

For the first time since he’s landed, he pulls out his phone. He turns it on and deactivates airplane mode with the intent to call his Dad and let him know he’s back in New York. The place his Dad always wanted him to be. 

Notifications trickle in; one from Nancy, asking if he’s going to be home for dinner. One from his Dad, reminding him to call him when he lands. Then there’s one that makes him want to drown the backseat of this cab with his tears. 

Carlos Reyes: We’ll always have Paris.

Chapter Text

Surely we shall not continue to be unhappy. We shall be happy, but we shall continue to be ourselves.

Everything continues to be possible.

- Adieu to Norman, Bon Jour to Joan and Jean-Paul, Frank O'Hara

Five Years Later

TK fidgets with the ring on his finger, twisting and turning it to feel the weight of it against his skin.

His eyes are glued to the screen in front of him; his green eyes reflecting the harsh white light. He reads over the wall of text in front of him again. Then again for a third time, still fidgeting with his ring.

“Everything okay, TK?” TK eyes cut up from the screen, and up at Tommy, who’s leaning in the door way of his office. Tommy, who’s looking at him with expressive eyes and an inquisitive stare. TK smiles, and it’s tired but enthusiastic. His eyes stay hooded but they simultaneously light up.

TK’s been working with Tommy Vega for a little more than a year and a half, but they both make just round it up to two. After leaving The MET, burning a bit of a bridge and panicking at the thought of an unemployed future, he found a home at The Whitney Museum in Manhattan.

He currently serves as the permanent collection information manager, a role that delves into the life of a work. His days consist of pursing, researching and recording data relating to all artworks in a collection. Nadine was right, this field is never ending learning experience.

He stepped into the role the way one steps into their childhood bedroom. Familiar with the surroundings, but scared of what’s changed; normally, because the only thing that’s changed is you.

Tommy, archivist extraordinaire, helped him be a little less scared. Her door is always open for any questions TK might have and she’s made sure to remind him, there are no stupid questions.

Tommy was his compass when he first arrived and felt like he was trekking without a map. Maybe that’s why there’s a rose right next to her name in his phone.

“Yeah, just,” TK looks back at the screen, the walls of text looking no less daunting than they did before. “My application for the PhD program at NYU is due Wednesday and I’m a little nervous about it. I’m looking over my academic purpose statement right now.”

“So you did decide to go back,” Tommy says, answering a question TK’s left open-ended for the last few weeks.

“I think I just decided that I love it too much to stay away,” TK repackages her statement, wanting to find the beauty of the prospect. Wanting to find the beauty in starting again, even if it borders on terrifying.

“Well you know I think you’re a shoo-in,” Tommy tries to encourage TK, giving him a smile that feels motherly.

“Thanks, Tommy,” TK smiles back, but it feels more courteous than it does authentic. He’s smiling because he’s been given a compliment, but not because he agrees.

NYU’s doctoral program is one of the best, but almost one of the most competitive. They have over two hundred applicants apply every year, but only twelve will be seated on the first day of class.

TK decided to apply after enough encouragement from those around him; Nancy, his dad, Tommy, Michael. Now, he’s trying to decide if this was a mistake.

Applying always opens up the risk of rejection; something TK’s been accustomed to, but has never really handled well. What if he’s rejected and spirals into another disillusioned state like he did after leaving The Met?

Or worse, what if he’s accepted and all this experience does is unearth his own mediocrity?

What happened at The MET left a bitter taste in his mouth and a new wave of never-ending self doubt. Michael’s been trying his best to make that keep that wave at bay, but every now and then, it feels like it reaches high tide.

Right now, TK feel like he’s being washed over and soon, he’ll be trying to gasp for air. He wonders if all of this is worth the risk; Michael would tell him that it absolutely is.

“Michael on your mind?” Tommy asks.

TK looks at Tommy inquisitively, as if it ask, “How did you know?”

“You keep fidgeting with your ring,” Tommy explains, nodding at the repeated movement that TK didn’t even realize he was doing. He looks down at the ring, noticing the way the white light of the screen reflects off the encrusted diamonds that wrap around the band.

TK met Michael Adams, global banking and markets operations associate at Goldman Sachs, in the drama section of Strand Book Store.

Located on the corner of Broadway and 12th, TK didn’t think it could be more fitting. TK was looking for a copy of August: Osage County and Michael was looking for a copy of The Boys in the Band; two Broadway productions that TK simply just adores.

When Michael made a comical and clearly embellished remark about how August: Osage County was like the Thanksgiving he spent with his family in the Poconos, TK laughed and said he wouldn’t wish that kind of luck on his own worst enemy. In return, Michael give him a sparkling grin with sparkling green eyes to match.

Then, when Michael made a joke about how Mart Crowley had the foresight to predict his first year at the University of Pennsylvania; TK decided that he wanted to know everything there was to know about Michael Adams, global banking and markets operations associate at Goldman Sachs.

TK had agreed to meet Michael for dinner before he even stepped out of the drama section. Later that week, Michael showed TK some of the best pasta and best sex that the Upper East Side has to offer.

Now, almost three years later, TK’s engaged and getting used to the idea of calling himself Tyler Kennedy Adams. Michael’s told him time and time again that TK doesn’t have to take his last name; and each and every time, TK says the same thing.

He know he doesn’t have to; but he wants to.

What can he say? Old habits die hard.

“Michael and I are celebrating out third anniversary this weekend,” TK begins to explain, pulling himself out of his stupor. “We’re going out for a nice dinner tonight and then we’re heading up to The Catskills Mountains for a few days.”

About a month ago, Michael told TK to take off the upcoming Monday and Tuesday but had refused to tell him why. This morning, he surprised TK with a reservation to Emerson Resort and Spa. TK thanked Michael for so long that they were both almost late for work; though, they both agreed it was worth it.

“That sounds exciting,” Tommy replies, both happy and a little bit envious. “You don’t sound excited, though.”

“Oh no, I am. I promise I am, it’s just,” TK looks back at the computer screen and then back up at Tommy.

“You’re going to be thinking about your application all weekend,” Tommy pieces all of it together almost instantly.

“You get it,” TK replies.

“It’s my job to,” Tommy answers. For a brief moment, she’s silent and TK wonders why their discussion has stalled.

Eventually, Tommy falls back into the cadence of the conversation. “Looks, my girls are staying with my sister in Newark this weekend so I have a bit more free time than usual,” Tommy says. “Want me to take a look over your application? Figure a second pair of eyes wouldn’t hurt. I’ll know what to look for and won’t lie to you.”

TK thinks that would be the best thing he’s heard all day since Michael’s surprise this morning. However, TK’s still TK and hates the idea of inconveniencing Tommy, even though it’s something she offered.

“Tommy, you don’t…” TK stops himself when Tommy gives him that look she keeps quietly reserved. A look that says, no make can make me do anything.

TK has to remind himself that things done out of courtesy can still be done out of earnest and not obligation. He thinks it’s because he has a problem with that himself. “That would be great, I already can’t thank you enough.”

“Bring me back a magnet from Catskills, and we’ll call it even. Evie’s been looking for one to add to her collection.”

“For you, I’ll buy two.” TK replies with a grin. Tommy looks down at her watch and it reminds TK to check the time. His eyebrows raise when he sees what time it is. “Shit, I needed to leave five minutes ago.”

As TK shuffles on his jacket and shuts down his computer, he tells Tommy, “I’ll email you my statement sometime this evening, I’ll be submitting my thesis for my writing sample so I should be good on that front,” TK checks himself for his wallet, phone and his keys before looking up at Tommy again. “Are you sure…”

“TK,” Tommy interjects. “When have you ever known me to not be sure of anything?”

Well, she has a point.

“Thanks again, Tommy,” TK says as they both walk out of his office and he shuts the door behind him.

“No problem,” Tommy replies before walking back across the hall to her own office. It looks like Tommy might stay a little late because of course she is, she’s Tommy and it’s Friday. “Learn to trust yourself, TK. You’re good, you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

—

When TK gets to his apartment building, he receives a text while he’s waiting for the elevator. He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and his face lights up when he sees who it’s from.

Ronnie Pham: I’m going to be in New York next month and you still owe me a very nice breakfast. If you even consider McDonald’s, I’ll donate $500 to the Picasso Museum in your name.

TK: No need to bring out the big guns. I know just the place.

TK suggests the Granite Room on 6th Avenue and Ronnie replies that as long as there’s not a McMuffin in sight; she’s game. Ronnie lets him know when she’ll be in town and he makes a mental note to make the reservations as soon as possible.

After they both moved back to New York, TK and Ronnie caught up whenever they could until Ronnie moved to Seattle to start working at the Seattle Asian Art Museum. Ronnie still keeps in touch with Jessica, who’s currently going through her third break up with Oliver.

TK thinks it’ll be nice, catching up with Ronnie. Having a small slice of Paris that doesn’t ache when he thinks about it.

Once off the elevator, TK says hi to his neighbor Vivek, then jiggles the key in the lock until he hears the tumblers start to move. He reminds himself that he needs to have maintenance come look at it.

As TK turns to close the door behind him, he hears the pitter patter of little paws against the hardwood floor. He breaks into a smile when he sees who’s running towards him.

“Hey boy,” TK crouches down, maneuvers his satchel, begins scratching behind the dog’s ears and accepting each and every loving kiss the dog licks onto his hands. TK notices a trail of yellow paw prints that lead back to the office. He looks down at the dog’s paws, grabbing one of them and turning it over.

He sees it’s covered in the remnants of yellow acrylic paint and it’s somewhat fresh. TK cocks an eyebrow at the puppy dog eyes that are acting new and naive because they know they can get away with it. TK should have expected this; like father, like son. “Looks like I’m not the only artist in the family, huh?”

Michael’s cologne, smelling of mahogany, mint and petrichor, travels through the hallway. His fragrance greets TK before his voice does.

“Hey hon,” Michael’s walking out of the office, still in his work clothes sans his jacket and he’s got his sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms. TK begins thinking thoughts that might make them late for their dinner reservation. “Lou got into the office again.”

“Well, that would explain this,” TK holds up a paw for Michael to see and Michael sighs but TK can see that he can’t fully commit himself to being mad at Lou. TK scratches behind Lou’s ears again as Lou continues panting. He never has it in him to play the bad dad. “How bad is the damage?”

“He got into the canary yellow, but it looks salvageable,” Michael begins to recount the mess that he saw in the office when he got home. TK’s heart warms at the fact that Michael knew exactly which shade of yellow it was. “And he knocked over the painting that was drying on the canvas, I think they’re Chrysanthemums?”

“Daisies,” TK corrects, watching Lou turn onto his back and his expose his belly for more scratches.

“That’s right, couldn’t for the life of me remember. He spilled a little cobalt blue on them, I’m guessing to add insult to injury. Now they’re a bit forest green,” Michael continues. “Was the painting important?”

Michael doesn’t like how that question hits his ear. “Obviously they all are because you painted them but, I didn’t know if this one was work related.”

TK thinks over it; yellow daisies, important. TK smiles and looks up at Michael letting him know there’s no harm done “It’s fine. They were just something to occupy my time.”

TK gives his knees a break and finally stands up. Lou looks up at him with his sad puppy dog eyes, already missing the contact. “You need to get out of that shirt. We need to treat it, otherwise that stain will be that much harder to get out.” TK nods at the bright yellow mark that pops against Michael’s white button down.

Michael looks down at the blemish, then back up to TK with a smirk on his lips. “I think you’re just looking for an excuse to get me out of my clothes.”

“Well I can’t say that I hate the idea of seeing you shirtless,” TK says, gently pulling on Michael’s tie and pulling Michael in close. He kisses Michael, reveling in the taste of a four p.m. Americano. “We don’t have enough time, we need to leave for the dinner.”

Michael sighs, and playfully pouts. “I hate it when you choose to be the responsible one.”

“Don’t worry,” This time it’s TK’s turn to smirk. “We’ve got all weekend to be irresponsible.”

—

“What did you say this place was called?” TK asks as Michael requests a car.

“La Journée D'été Parfaite,” Michael’s French accent is absolutely horrendous but TK lets him get away with it because he’s so cute. “I think it means…”

“The Perfect Summer Day,” TK finishes for him. His French is a little rusty, but there’s some things that you can’t unlearn. Michael looks at him, perplexed by how TK’s so in the know, but then he remembers.

“That’s right,” Michael says, “How do I keep forgetting that my art loving, poetry reading boyfriend spent three and half months months in Paris? I find it hard to believe that you would fit in the mold of such a cliche.”

“That’s your art loving, poetry reading fiancé, thank you very much.” TK says as he pulls up the menu on his phone. “Being a cliche is fun, sometimes it guarantees your happy ending. How did you hear about this place?”

“Bauer took his wife a couple of months back,” Michael explains. “He said that he just about saw God when he took his first bite of the red snapper.”

“What a review,” TK says, waiting for the menu to load. He looks up when he fully processes what Michael just said. “Wait, I thought you hated Bauer, how did you two get on the topic of restaurant recommendations?”

“So I’m a banker who engages in water cooler talk with the co-worker who’s got a personality just slightly bigger than his ego, sue me,” Michael says, checking his watch for the time.

TK knows he could just check his phone, but he smiles at the idea that Michael would rather use the birthday gift TK got him.  “Now who’s a cliche?” TK jokes and Michael chuckles, admitting he’s been bested.

Not too soon after, their car arrives and TK spends most of the car ride listening to Michael butcher more French but loving how the flaws sound rolling off his tongue. At one point, Michael says sacré bleu is such a comical caricature way that TK thinks they’d be walking the rest of the way if their driver was French.

When they get to La Journée D'été Parfaite, TK still thinks it’s just a funny coincidence, Michael gives the hostess his last name and time of reservation. TK, again, begins thinking about the name Adams following his own.

They follow the hostess to their table, Michael grabbing TK’s hand in his and bringing him along. Maybe it’s the name of the restaurant, maybe it’s the painting of the once yellow daisies that causes it; but TK feels a wave of deja vu that he pushes down.

After they’re seated, the hostess lets them know they’ll be waited on shortly. Michael looks around the venue, taking in the intricate decor. TK watches as his eyes dance in the candlelight. “Bauer may be a pain in the ass, but even I can’t deny the guy’s got good taste.”

“We haven’t tried the food yet,” TK counters, knowing Michael wants to kick himself for giving Bauer too much credit. “Let’s not give him too much credit just yet.”

Michael reaches across the table and places his hand on TK’s, eyes wide and doting. “Thank you for bringing me back down to Earth.”

TK laughs but interlocks his fingers with Michael’s. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it,” Michael argues.

“I do,” TK smiles but he feels that wave of deja vu again. He’s happy to see their waiter approach their table, inadvertently keeping the tide at bay. They both release the other’s hand when the waiter introduces himself and places a set menus on the table.

“Good evening, my name is Bradley and I’ll be your waiter this evening,” Bradley smiles at both of them like he’s happy to be there. TK never thought he’d see that kind of thing so close to a kitchen. “Have either of you joined us here at La Journée D'été Parfaite before?”

Both Michael and TK confirm that they haven’t and Bradley lets them both know they’re in for a treat. They both order a water and Michael tells Bradley they’ll both need a moment to look over the menu.

“What are you thinking, hon?” Michael asks, glancing over the menu and looking at all the components of the red snapper dinner.

TK’s overwhelmed by all the listings, not knowing where to begin. It all looks so good. “I’m thinking about getting the rosemary chicken, what about you?”

“Red snapper is calling my name,” Michael replies. “I’d hate for Bauer to be right, though.”

“Babe, are you going to make our whole anniversary about another man?” TK asks, joking and playful. Michael’s eyebrows raise to his hairline.

“Well, when you say it like that,” Michael says. “Got it, Bauer doesn’t even exist tonight.”

Bradley delivers their waters soon after and takes down their orders. After, TK and Michael share candid stories about their day, knowing that when they walk out the door tomorrow morning, any and all shop talk will have to cease.

Michael doesn’t like thinking about work when he’s spending extended time with TK and TK loves him for it. It’s nice to get out of your head and into the moment. They chat back and forth until Bradley serves them their respective meals.

As Bradley is walking back to the kitchen, he’s stopped by another patron who wants to speak to the chef. He simply has to tell him that the glaze on the salmon is, “perfect.”

While TK wouldn’t have the nerve to do something like that himself, he appreciates the fact that there are others who do. He thinks it’s nice to know that there’s one chef that’ll understand that they’ve found a way to start perfecting their craft. He knows how much it means to them.

Michael’s talking about a Belgian account and TK’s lost in the sound of his voice when TK hears it. He hears that voice he hasn’t heard in five years and has tried so hard to forget. Unfortunately, there are some things that are so innate and intrinsic to who you once were, you can’t forget them.

When TK looks up from the rosemary chicken that he’s suddenly taken a heightened interest in, he wants to cry at the sight.

Carlos Reyes, standing there in full glory and smiling like he’s finally allowing himself to be happy. He tells the patron that his kind words mean more than they know, and TK knows just how true that statement is.

TK chooses to remain silent because if he begins speaking, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop. He glances back at Michael, trying to bring himself back to the here and now; not Paris five years ago. TK thinks he’ll be okay, that this’ll be just another night that’ll haunt him until Michael causes the ghosts to scatter

Then, Carlos glances over at him.

Carlos can’t seem to believe his eyes, because he does a double take. His warm brown eyes are still just as inviting as ever, but this time, TK can’t welcome himself in. He can’t allow himself to walk through another unlocked door.

Carlos stills and TK can see him push himself to breathe again. For a quick moment in time, it’s just the two of them all over again. They’re back at the Dieppe Beach, they’re back at the farmer’s market, they’re back in each other’s arms.

TK watches Carlos walk away from the table. TK clenches the fork in his hand, feeling his nails create crescent shaped indents into his palms and trying to find the flavor in the chicken that he once savored.

He watches as Carlos walks back to the kitchen. He watches Carlos and he thinks, that just for a brief moment, he’ll turn back around to look at him just one more time.

Instead, for a second time, Carlos does something that he hates to do; he walks away. TK understands, if he looks at him a second longer, things will begin to come undone.

“How’s the food, hon?” Michael asks, wiping at his mouth.

“It’s good, baby,” TK smiles, half-committed but trying all the same. “It taste like something I once loved.”