So, all of this – Thanksgiving at Josie’s, our first ILYs, the Dupree stamp of approval after some initial hesitation – all of it occurred almost a year before the “Sam-cident”. The term – you probably guessed correctly – was Soso’s suggestion. In case you’re wondering: as I’m writing this, Soso is a bratty teenager – opinionated, theatrical, and completely at peace with being my second-favourite person in the world, since my first is her other “guncle” (gay uncle), and she loves him almost as much as I do.

The year and a half leading up to that memorable Thanksgiving turned my life 180 degrees. I was drifting, existing more than living at my sister’s house, after the assault that drove me off the streets and doing tricks there. I felt stuck and restless at the same time. Like I’d already exhausted all of life’s possibilities at the age of 22. Then change came, step by step. A job offer to become a custodian in a small apartment building in the Warehouse District. My own flat in the same building with the most gorgeous rooftop terrace. Perfect for someone who slept rough for years and who still sometimes feels trapped inside, like the walls are suffocating him.

Then I met the man of my dreams, my Rashid. We had a bit of a rough start. And with “start” I mean that for our first years (yes, plural) we were on a bit of a bumpy road. It wasn’t all on me or my stupid broken brain (thanks, Eli!), Rashid struggled with our relationship as well, allowing it in the first place and allowing himself to be open and vulnerable with me. To share his secrets with me.

But before that, we made it to 16 December in our first year. Our first semi-anniversary.

~ 16 December ~

For many reasons, this is a day like any other. I get up in the morning, get the coffee maker started and head for the bathroom to take a leak before waking my senses up with a first cup of the dark ambrosia of the gods. Only today isn’t quite like every other morning. For starters, I don’t wake up in bed alone. My beautiful boyfriend is stretched out next to me. Annoyingly alert at stupid o’clock and tapping something on his phone.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he greets me when he notices me stir and kisses my forehead. He leans over me to put his phone next to mine on the nightstand on my side. Before the screen goes dark, I can see that he has a messenger app open, but I respect my boyfriend’s privacy and try not to read any of the texts that are from his friend Charlie. His tender mouth on mine is also an efficient distraction. Because we’re apparently horny teenagers (I’m 23, he’s 35), breakfast is also a little late this morning.

Today is also different because this is the last time this year that my day will start like that. Today is Rashid’s last day in New Orleans after spending a month with me. It’s the first time that we’ve actually lived together, and since we’re still basically in our honeymoon phase, we don’t mind that I live in a small one-room apartment. Tomorrow he’ll return home to spend Christmas with friends and their family. Tomorrow my small one-room apartment will feel huge and empty without him.

Rashid always spends Christmas with them. I think it’s a tradition that goes back to his college days, and he already made the arrangements before things got more serious between us. I’m sad, of course, because the idea of the two of us snuggling under a Christmas tree sounds cosy – even though we’re both non-believers. My mom was Catholic, and he was raised in a conservative Muslim household, but it didn’t leave a lasting impression on either of us. We can still enjoy the Christmas spirit, alright? But as much as it pains me, I also love that he’s staying true to his commitments.

I try to finish my daily chores as fast as possible, even dumping my kitten Bruno at Mrs Beauchamp’s for a while so he can keep her company (and I don’t have to), while Rashid does whatever he does at the New Orleans office of the Talamasca. Some super secretive spying on the supernatural business. If Santa were real, they’d probably get ready to track his journey around the world, NORAD style. Rashid is home already when Bruno and I return, singing along to a Michael Bublé song that’s playing on his phone on the kitchen counter.

When I get closer – it only takes a couple of steps – I can see he’s preparing a salad, and there is a mouthwatering aroma wafting up from the oven. I drop Bruno to the floor, who immediately starts circling Rashid’s ankles, making desperate noises. Pity the poor starving cat who just devoured an entire pack of “Bonkers Purrpops Chicky Licks”. I ignore him and wrap my arms around Rashid instead, moulding myself against him and peeking over his shoulder.

“Mhmm… you cooked.” I state quite unnecessarily.

He turns around to greet me with a kiss before handing me the salad bowl.

“I did,” he grins a little smugly. “And I thought we could eat outside.” His grin widens. “Have a look.”

I stop dead in my tracks when I step onto my rooftop terrace. There’s a small table and two chairs set up in the middle. A piece of printed cotton, slightly too small for the tabletop, is draped across it, and a white camellia in a glass sits at the centre.

I turn around to Rashid, who could not be more pleased with himself. “Did you do all of this?” When he nods, I add. “Where did you get everything from?”

“Borrowed from your tenants. They were all keen to help when I said I wanted to surprise you. As much as I liked the idea of another picnic with you, I didn’t want a repeat of our last one.”

I roll my eyes – I only slightly bumped my head last time, and only because someone was a little too enthusiastic to kiss me back! Said someone leans in to whisper in my ear:

“Happy semi-anniversary, Wendell.” He kisses my cheek.

I turn my head around to him in awe. “You remembered?”

He smiles at me. “Of course, I did. Didn’t you? Today, six months ago, I sat down next to the kindest, cutest, hottest, sexiest, most kissable, completely irresistible birthday boy, and he had the audacity to flirt with me.” Every word describing the birthday boy earns me another kiss from the man, obviously still deluded about me.

“Stupid boy…” I snort. In truth, I’ve been thinking about this moment all day. We’ve never actually settled on an anniversary. Maybe it should be the night of our first romantic date or our first kiss. But in my head, I decided it would be the day we first talked. Conveniently, that also happens to be my birthday – easy to remember. For me at least. And Rashid is doubly screwed if he forgets. He doesn’t, of course. Not my Rashid.

We’re just not that lovey-dovey kind of couple that does monthly anniversaries (monthiversaries?) or anything, so this really is a complete surprise for me. Rashid gives my bum a gentle tap to get me moving and tells me to sit down while he gets the vegan lasagna out of the oven. It’s delicious, and my master chef even found a non-alcoholic, vegan red wine that goes perfectly with the pasta and salad.

There’s also dessert. Rashid picked up a tub of “No Udder Love”‘s newest ice cream creation, “Creole Christmas Crunch”, from our favourite gelato shop on Decatour Street. Someone – who might just be me this time – decides it’s more eco-friendly to skip the dishes and eat the ice cream straight from the tub. Naturally, this method includes feeding my boyfriend of six months while sitting on his lap. Plenty of “accidental” drips of half-melted sweetness on his chin and down the curve of his neck happen, which I, of course, have to lick off. Unfortunately, that same someone (me again) forgot to factor in my food-obsessed cat, who is a little too eager to join the cleanup crew.

We end up in a heap of human and feline limbs on the concrete floor, breathless and wheezing with laughter. Poor Bruno is punished for his efforts by being banished outside on the terrace when Rashid and I decide to take the fun part inside – to enjoy the last remnants of ice cream (and then some) in my bed.

After a shower, we’re back in bed, not bothering with clothes, but Bruno is allowed inside again. He stalks into my apartment, gives us one deeply offended look and then sashays with a cock of his head towards his water bowl. How dare we play and have fun without him!

“Thank you for this evening.” My head rests on Rashid’s shoulder, my fingers playing with the fluff of hair covering his chest.

“Thank you for the last six months,” Rashid replies with a kiss to the top of my head. “I’m glad I made that decision to sit next to you that day.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Spontaneous decision, was it?”

He laughs: “Well, not quite.”

“You were ordered to approach me, weren’t you?”

He shrugs. “I could have sent someone else. I took the assignment voluntarily.”

“Gawd, I love it when you call me your assignment.” I roll my eyes dramatically, laughing. “Why did you?”

“Honest answer?”

I nod, although I’m not sure I’ll like the answer.

“I was hoping to get you out of my system. At least that’s what I told myself.” He leans his cheek against my forehead.

“What do you mean?”

He shifts a little as if the topic is making him uncomfortable. I think I know why, and his next words confirm my suspicion.

“When I first saw you…”

On the day after I was almost beaten to death…

“… I couldn’t figure you out at first. Why you did what you did… but I always felt this strange pull towards you. I couldn’t quite explain it. At first I only admired your resilience and kindness. Do you remember buying a coffee for that homeless lady that day?”

I knit my brows in concentration. The whole day is a blur. For most of it, I think I was just stumbling aimlessly around Armstrong Park. Apparently with a hot Talamasca agent on my heels. Who is now naked in my bed.

“You mean Auntie Mae? Her usual spot was on Rampart Street near the park entrance? Did I get her a coffee that day?” I ponder. “I often did. She always kept a lookout for the cops and tried to warn us if any came near our corner of the park. We had a system.” I say the last bit a little proudly. “She always called me her ‘babyboy’ and swore one day she’d curse that pig Rigsby with something that’d make his teeth fall out.” I laugh at the memory, but the sound dies when I see Rashid’s jaw clench. I run a finger down his cheek and whisper. “Sorry.”

He turns his head to kiss the soft pad of my finger. “Don’t be sorry.” He searches my eyes for a moment before leaning in to kiss my forehead.

“Who’s ‘Pig Rigsby’? Because I do know a witch or two who could make that spell reality? Or maybe a bit more? Add a little curly tail?”

“Sergeant Clay “The Pig” Rigsby, NOPD 1st District Patrol Division’s finest. Don’t bother. He’s not worth the trouble.” I assure him while an involuntary shiver runs down my spine. Rigsby was always happy to look the other way whenever he caught one of us street kids doing anything illegal. In exchange for certain favours. Especially the younger kids were terrified of him. I remember the last time he had me blow him, I started humming ‘Pop Goes the Weasel’ around his cock. It took him a while to figure it out. When he did… well, I had a shiner for a week, but he didn’t come sniffing around again for some time. So worth it.

Maybe Rashid doesn’t need to know all the details, and I try to cover my snort of laughter with a cough.

“So, um, what about the other times you stalked me?”

“I didn’t stalk you… you just happened to be where my targets were.”

“Louis and Lestat?” He doesn’t confirm it, but he doesn’t need to. “How many times did I happen to be where they were?”

He gives me a side glance. “Twice. You know that. You saw me.”

I’m starting to enjoy this little interrogation. “Would you admit it if there were more times where I didn’t see you?”

He huffs, and I’m not trying to cover up my laugh this time.

“So, is this what you’re still trying to do? Get me out of your system?”

He shakes his head resolutely. “Nope. Accepted defeat a long time ago.”

With these words, his lips seal my mouth, and his tongue keeps mine busy before I can come up with more cheeky questions. Mhmm, if this is what surrender tastes like, I’m not complaining.

When we break apart, I end up being on top of Rashid, and I’m mesmerised by my sweet, thoroughly conquered superspy. Who smiles at me, clearly up to something.

“What is it, Oxford? Spill it!” I demand, a little warily, with a poke at his ribs.

“I have something for you.”

I look down between us, then back at his face, raising an eyebrow.

Rashid laughs and lightly swats my butt. “Not that, perv.” He sits up, his arms wrapped around my waist to keep me anchored in his lap. “That one’s already yours, whenever, wherever, however…” He whispers into my ear.

I roll my eyes. “Okay, who’s the perv now?”

I can hear his chuckle rumble through his chest as he trails kisses down my neck.

“Is it kisses then? You’ve got kisses for me?”

“Mhmm… and something else. But you’ll have to let me go to get it.” His breath tickles my skin, and another shiver runs down my spine, but a totally different kind than the one earlier. With a sigh, I try to untangle myself from him, but his arms tighten around my middle, and he pulls me closer for another kiss. If we keep going like this, I won’t find out what his surprise is before we have to leave for the airport. But I’m not complaining.

Still, after a while I pull away from Rashid – half regretful, half curious – and look at him expectantly.

“Right. Off you go,” he tells me and slaps my butt. I mock-complain about being unfairly manhandled and dive onto the mattress face-first. Rashid grins and plants a kiss on my offended flesh before getting out of bed. Any disappointment I felt about ending the kiss evaporates the moment I get a full view of him sauntering across the room – without a thread of fabric on his body and not a care in the world. Daaaayum… Is it weird to wolf-whistle at your own boyfriend?

Rashid walks over to the couch where Bruno is curled up and scratches my kitten’s head, who starts purring. It appears we are forgiven for our earlier misdemeanour. Then Rashid rummages around in his bag that’s already packed and ready for tomorrow. I’ve tried ignoring this reminder that Rashid is leaving me soon all evening, but there it is. It’ll only be for a few weeks before he’s back in January to wrap up some Talamasca business, but I’ve gotten so used to him being around. I just wish he could stay.

Rashid holds up a small paper bag in his hands and joins me again on my bed, where I sit cross-legged and excited like a child on Christmas morning. Well, it is almost Christmas, and I never get many presents.

“I don’t even have anything for you…” I feel guilty, because it didn’t even occur to me, but he leans over and kisses my cheek.

“It’s fine. This is actually something for the both of us.”

Curiosity is almost killing me when he places the paper bag in my lap. I peek inside it. There’s a book and something smaller. I pull the thin plastic card out first. It looks like a credit card or a hotel key. One half is light blue, the other dark, with a white ring running across it like a bullseye turned sideways. There are no numbers or a magnetic stripe on it, just the word ‘Oyster’. I frown and look at Rashid a little confused, but he encourages me to go on.

The book turns out to be a chunky little thing, but the title is a dead giveaway, and it starts to dawn on me what this gift is about. It says ‘London A-Z’. I thumb through the pages. No pictures, no ads, no explanations. Just a whole lot of lines – black streets, red roads, and green patches for parks.

“This is your essential key to London.” Rashid grins at me. “Of course, you can be all modern and use GPS instead, but this is the old-school way of getting lost. And this…” He picks up the card that I dropped on my bedsheet. “This is how you pay for public transport.”

“Does it work for buses and the subway?” I ask, astounded.

“Tube,” Rashid grins. “And yes, it does. You can even use it to take a boat down the Thames.”

British English… that’s like a foreign language for me to learn. I’m sometimes surprised Rashid and I can communicate on a basic level at all. Looking at all the maps inside the book is making my stomach feel a little queasy, but Rashid seems to sense my unease and takes my hands in his.

“I would love to show you my home. I promise I won’t let you get lost. I’ll pick you up at Heathrow and show you around. I won’t let you out of my sight.”

He knows the idea of travelling makes me want to jump out of my skin. It’s part excitement mixed with sheer panic. I’ve never been outside New Orleans except for one lousy school trip to Baton Rouge when I was 14. Visiting Rashid in London wouldn’t only mean leaving the country but crossing an ocean to reach another frikkin’ continent. But looking into my boyfriend’s hopeful face, I know it’ll be worth it. I can’t expect him to come to New Orleans all the time and drag him away from his life, friends and family at home. If I want to make this – us – work, I need to take a leap. Literally.

And I’ve already made the first step. I drop Rashid’s hands and rush over to my desk. It doesn’t take me long to find what I’m looking for. I pull out the sheet of paper from the top drawer and wave it at Rashid, who looks a little apprehensive. I can’t really blame him. The last time I surprised him with a letter, it ended in our first big fight. This time it’s good news only, I’m sure. I hand Rashid the paper, and he reads through it. I can see the smile spread across his face.

“You applied for a passport.” Just to see the happy glint in his eyes, I’d do all the paperwork twice again.

“Yep.” I’m rather proud of myself. Having a passport just feels so… adult and slightly alien. Who in their right mind thought it would be a good idea to give me the power of international travel?

“They said it can take up to 10 weeks to arrive.” I could have chosen expedited processing, but that would have cost me another 60 bucks and only cut down the waiting time by 2-3 weeks. Not saying Rashid wouldn’t have been worth it, but flights to London are fucking expensive, and I’m feeling a little stingy about my small travel budget.

“And your middle name is George. Not Geronimo.” Rashid smirks at me.

“Yeah, well… the secret’s out…” I pull a face. “I wish it was something else. Even Geronimo.”

Rashid looks at me inquiringly. I sigh.

“It was his middle name.” I pause, and I see realisation growing in his eyes. “Franklin George Dupree.” I point at the part of the application form where it gives my parental information.

“You could look into legally changing your name.” Rashid suggests.

I shrug. “Probably not worth it. I just don’t use it unless I have to.” I take the copy of my passport application back from him. “Josie got the better middle name. She got our mom’s.”

Rashid glances at the paper in my hands and reads out loud: “Madeleine Belle Clement Dupree? Your mother?”

I nod silently.

“So Josie is… Josette Belle Dupree?”

“Yes. Soon to be Turner, I guess.” I can’t hold it against Josie for trying to get rid of our last name. It was his last name after all. It’s still also mine, and with Soso potentially becoming a Turner as well, it’s becoming a little lonely on the Dupree side of the family. That’s the part that stings a little. As I look up into Rashid’s eyes and the quiet warmth in them that always makes me feel safe, I remember I’m not alone in the world anymore. I have him.

I turn to stash the paper back in my desk drawer. It’s only a copy, and I don’t really need it, but holding this document in my hands also makes it real. Makes me feel real. No longer a ghost on the streets of New Orleans. I’m a real person now. Jay-zuhs, I sound like someone who has their shit together. And a passport. Soon.

I’m still contemplating my existence when I feel a pair of strong arms wrap around my waist, and I can feel Rashid’s breath on my skin when he says, “You’re much too serious for our semi-anniversary.”

I squeal as my feet leave the ground and I’m dragged back to bed, my protests about being tossed around caveman-style undermined by a full-on giggle fit. I could probably fight Rashid off – we’re about the same height and build, though I’m still on the leaner side – but honestly? This is fun.

Bruno isn’t any help either. He lifts his head at the commotion, then goes right back to chomping at his paws with wet, smacking sounds, determined to get the last bit of imaginary dirt from under his claws.

Sleep doesn’t come easily that night. I’m much too keyed up to settle. Rashid is fast asleep, his arms around me, his head buried in my chest. Applying for a passport was the first step, buying a plane ticket is the next. It’s just that my financial situation isn’t the best. Rashid offered to pay for my flight, of course, but I refused. I can’t accept his money; it would feel… wrong. Or rather… too familiar. I give him sex, and he gives me money? No, that’s not who I am anymore.

A thought has been niggling me in the back of my head, and I think it is time to put it into action. Carefully not to wake my man, I reach for my phone on the bedside table and start typing a message, keeping the screen behind Rashid’s back so the light doesn’t disturb him. I hit the send button, and Rashid stirs in my arms, murmuring something unintelligible.

“Go back to sleep, bébé. Just had to take care of something.” I kiss his forehead, and his breathing becomes even again. I throw a last glance at my phone. I hope I made the right call. The thought of doing this is making an army of ants crawl across my body. But it will help with my travel funds, which means I will see Rashid again sooner. Even if our relationship is still in its early stages, I know I will do anything for this man. Even if it means facing my past.

Just as I’m about to push my phone aside, a reply flashes up on the screen.

DM: Sure, the offer still stands. Let’s talk about it at 1132 RR when A & I are in town for Mardi Gras.