~ 31 December ~

I stare up at the night sky. Here in the Marigny, so close to the heart of New Orleans, it is more glow than darkness, a restless wash of violet and grey that never quite turns black. Streetlamps and neon signs spill upward, drowning most of the stars. I can’t see any tonight, unlike on Thanksgiving when Rashid and I shared a step outside my family home in Leonidas. It feels so far away, so long ago. It was only last month.

Tonight is a busy night. New Year’s Eve. The last night of the old year and the start of the new one. The beginning of something exciting? I don’t know. This old year brought me Rashid, and I’ve never been happier in my life than when I’m with him. How can the new year compete with that? Getting to keep Rashid would be a start, but I’m also faced with the reality that we’re doing our relationship long-distance which means really long stretches of absence. And it is a really long distance. He doesn’t just live in the next town or even the next state. He lives in a whole different country, on a whole different continent, on the other side of the world with a fucking ocean between us.

I can hear the noises of party revellers down on the street and music playing at a jazz club nearby. The smell of fry oil and spice from a corner po’boy shop mixes with the scent of powdered sugar wafting from the café down the block. Every so often, the wind carries up a gust of cigarette smoke from the pub’s doorway across the street, where a handful of smokers linger between songs. And beneath it, sharp but sweet, comes the unmistakable tang of weed. I catch it immediately – no mistaking that skunky edge – and smirk to myself. Someone down there is starting the new year early.

The city is buzzing with anticipation before midnight, and even though my own home in the Warehouse District is only three miles upriver, it feels like a completely different world. A whole different vibe. Sitting on my rooftop terrace is peaceful, a quiet bubble compared to the vibrant energy of Rafa’s streets. Complete opposites, just like Rafa and I. He’s still my best friend. And while I wouldn’t want to live in the Marigny, I can feel the pulse of my hometown deep in my own core. It’s thrilling. I just wish Rashid was here with me to experience it.

When the fire door to the roof opens, all is drowned out by the thumpa thumpa from the party below.

“There you are,” I can hear a familiar raspy voice and watch as Rafa strolls towards me across the roof. Black skinny jeans and a sparkling silky shirt that hugs his body – yes, he’s still hotter than his abuela’s salsa. He flops down next to me, stretching his long limbs on the concrete floor, upper body propped up on his elbows. His top rides up just enough to reveal a teasing sliver of smooth olive skin along his stomach.

He looks at me for a moment, then gently nudges me in the ribs.

“Oi papi, no being sad at the best NYE party in town.”

I nudge him back. “I’m not sad. Just needed a minute alone.”

“Hey…” Rafa rolls onto his side so he can face me. “Miss your man?”

I nod reluctantly, feeling a little pathetic. I’m a grown man, for fuck’s sake, not some lovesick teenager with a crush. But there’s no point in denying it. I do miss my man. My fingers curl around my phone.

“When’s he coming back?” Rafa asks me, his voice low and sympathetic.

I clear my throat. “In 18 days.”

That doesn’t sound too long when I say it out loud. And Rashid’s only been gone for two weeks. Also not that long. Only a month in total. But somehow this time being separated from him feels different, hits harder somehow. Last summer he was away for two months, but everything had been so new between us. We had only started kissing and going on dates. But now I got a proper taste of what it feels like to live with him. And I miss it. I miss him. I miss this life with him.

To wake up by his side and make out in bed before getting up to start the day. He wasn’t on vacation, so most days, he still met up with other Talamasca operatives at their New Orleans office or engaged in whatever spy business he conducts. Some days, he worked remotely on his laptop from my place. I still had my chores to do, but we spent our evenings together: we cooked, we ate, we watched TV, and fell asleep tangled up on my bed, naked and after more making out… we so quickly and naturally settled into the most ridiculous domestic bliss you can imagine.

Rafa frowns. “Mardi Gras season is coming up, so I’m pretty busy with work, but do you want to hang out one of these days? Some chat, some smoke… just us?”

I shrug noncommittally. Hanging out with Rafa is always fun, and he always brings the good stuff, but…

“Bit too much socialising over the holidays?” Rafa guesses correctly. “Yeah, I get it. Don’t worry,” he shoves his shoulder against my arm. “Just let me know if you need some company.”

I shove him back. “Thanks, man. Appreciate it.” Both, actually. His offer and his understanding.

Rafa pats my knee. “You’ll get there in no time, you’ll see. Those 18 days will be over like that.” He snips his fingers in demonstration.

I keep staring into the sky. If I look really hard, I think I can make out one star, twinkling bravely against the city lights. Or is it the space station? I tilt my head, but there really isn’t any way of telling.

“What time is it in London now?” Rafa asks.

I don’t need to check the time on my phone to give him an answer. “2 am.”

“Fuck… too late to call him, huh?” When I nod in confirmation, Rafa whistles. “Man, that’s like time travel. He’s already living January first, and we’re still stuck in the old year!””

I can’t help but laugh, and Rafa grins up at me.

“Yeah, who needs a DeLorean when you have fucking time zones?” I shake my head, snorting.

Rafa rests his head on one of his arms and looks up at me. “You really like him a lot, don’t you?”

“I love him.” I admit in a low voice.

“Aww, papi, come here.” He gets up into a sitting position and wraps his arms around me. “Tranquilo, papi, todo va a estar bien. Just imagine all the scorching make-up-for-lost-time sex you two will have.”

I groan and let my head fall against his shoulder. “I should have never told you that…”

He giggles in response. “Don’t feel bad, papi. Your boyfriend is hot as fuck. If you’d claimed you’re still only holding hands, I wouldn’t have believed you anyway. I’m actually in awe you held out as long as you did.”

When I don’t reply, his face turns serious, and he squeezes my shoulder. “Hey, I’m sorry, man. I’m only teasing. I’m really happy for you. Remember that night when you thought you’d never find someone special? And look at you now, basically married to Mr Super Hottie McHottie!”

I give him a level look, and he plants a big, sloppy kiss on my forehead. “Come on, let’s go back downstairs and eat some of the amazing food my cousin cooked before she caught a serious case of Silasicitis…”

I pull back a little: “Mari’s sick?”

Rafa winks at me and says in a conspiratorial voice, “Sickeningly in love with Silas, the hot new bartender at ‘The Nook’. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

He grabs my hands and tries to pull me up. “Let’s go and have some food and a few beers…” When he sees me stare, he amends. “Okay, I’ll have beer, and you can have your diet coke.” He grins. “I stocked up just for you.” He leans forward. “And if you’re a good boy, I’ll even give you a big kiss at midnight.”

I chuckle. “Won’t Elodie mind?”

He taps his chin as if he needs to think about it. “Okay, no tongue then.” He winks at me and pulls again. “Vamos, papi!“

“Just give me a moment, okay?”

He looks down at me, frowning again, then sighs and – quick as the Flash – grabs my phone and bolts away. “Confiscating this, and you’ll only get it back once you’ve started enjoying yourself a little.” He almost sings the first part, and I can hear him cackling like an old-fashioned cartoon villain all the way down.

I sigh and slump back against the brick of the building. I know he means well, and I know no amount of moping will return Rashid to me sooner, so I might as well go back to the party. I just wish people wouldn’t be just so goddamn judgemental about my phone use these days. Don’t they understand this is the only connection that I have right now to the man I love?

I spent Christmas at the Turners’, Josie’s in-laws. Or at least they will be soon. My sister and her fiancé, Mal, have been engaged for six months now, but they haven’t set a date yet. Josie said she wanted to get her figure back first after the twins were born, but by the way things are going, I’m afraid she might pop out another baby before they tie the knot.

After Josie had Rashid and me as an excuse to get out of spending the Thanksgiving weekend with Mal’s entire family, his parents insisted on a visit for Christmas. They probably knew Josie would make a fuss about leaving me all alone over the holidays, so the Turners extended the invitation to me, and Josie begged me to accept. She gets along with Otis and Mabel Turner just fine, but she’s like me and we’re just not used to big family gatherings. Growing up it was only ever Mom, Dad and the two of us. Which means mostly just the two of us after Mom died. If we were lucky…

This Christmas we’re fortunate in the sense that Mal’s sisters are at their respective in-laws, so it’s not the full Turner force at their residence in Covington. I’m greeted warmly by Mal’s parents, but as soon as I pull out my phone to check if there’s a message from Rashid, I’m met with disapproving stares from Mabel and Josie. Seriously? Y’all have your partners right there with you. Mine is at the other end of the world. Give me a break! To my relief, my niece Soso, who fell in love with Rashid just as hard and fast as I did, turns out to be my partner-in-crime.

She insists on documenting our Christmas experience meticulously, sending all photographic evidence to her “Uncle Rashi” and checking regularly for any replies. Can’t blame me for obliging my niece, right? It’s all her doing, not mine. Nuh-uh! Her interference also grants me a short video chat with my man on Christmas morning to show him all the presents Santa brought her. We’ve not managed to have many of those over the holidays. Time zones and people expecting us to socialise don’t make things easy.

I sigh and rub a hand down my face before I get up from the damp concrete tiles. Rafa owns (actually owns!) the top of the building – a fancy loft with exposed brick, floor-to-ceiling windows, dark antique pieces, plush velvet sofas, and a massive sand-coloured driftwood dining table. It’s an eclectic mix and is just so Rafa. It also means his event planning business is doing really well.

Today, all his furniture is pushed back to the walls, so his guests – mostly friends, but also people he works with and a few clients – have enough space to mingle, enjoy his cousin Mari’s amazing food and a few drinks. “Networking is the key to success, Wendell,” Rafa keeps telling me. “Finding the right people who want to work with you and getting them to introduce you to their people.” I guess it is similar to me and my chance encounter with the vampire Louis de Pointe du Lac, which introduced me to his husband (my teen idol) Lestat de Lioncourt and their friend Daniel Molloy, but most importantly, it also brought Rashid into my life. That’s my own little personal success story, anyway.

Rafa’s loft is packed with people, a lot more than earlier when I arrived, and music is blasting from the loudspeakers strategically placed around the room. One of the DJs Rafa regularly books for his events turns some tables. If you’re a professional event planner, you go big or you go home.

I scan the room to spot Rafa because I want my damn phone back. Given the time, it’s unlikely that there are texts or a call from Rashid, but just in case…

Rafa is nowhere to be seen, but I notice Elodie, Rafa’s girlfriend, across the room and gesture at her in hopes she’ll interpret my flailing hands as “Where’s Rafa?” She points to the middle of the loft, where a few people started dancing to a pop song. As I approach the outer rim of the swaying bodies, I catch sight of Rafa, who’s shimmying towards me while a husky voice declares from the speakers, “And tonight, let’s enjoy life.”

Rafa throws a wicked grin at me and pretends to throw an invisible rope around me, “towing” me onto the dancefloor while wiggling his eyebrows and lip-synching the lyrics of the song.

Tonight, I want all of you.
Tonight, give me everything.
Tonight, for all we know
We might not get tomorrow; let’s do it tonight.

I can’t help but laugh at my friend’s antics, but I shake my head. Rafa dances closer to me, his eyes gleaming with mischief, and rolling his hips suggestively. I look around. Elodie stands on the other side of the makeshift dance floor, her face buried in her palm, but I can see her shoulders shaking with laughter. I guess if you’re dating a guy like Rafa, who will and does happily flirt with anyone with a pulse, you just have to go with the flow. I also know that he stops at flirting. He would never take this further, not with me or anyone else. He wouldn’t do that to Elodie, and she knows it.

I want you tonight.
I want you to stay.
I want you tonight.
Grab somebody sexy, tell ’em, “Hey.”

With that last line, Rafa does just that. Well, he grabs me – not someone sexy – and pulls me into the centre of the crowd. I follow him. I want to resist, but I can feel the beat and rhythm of the music overtaking my body. Rafa’s grin spreads like wildfire.

Music has always been my sanctuary in my early teen years, before I couldn’t take it anymore and ran away from home. Lestat and his rock band were my absolute favourites, and I spent every free moment I had to myself watching their music videos, studying every one of Lestat’s moves, and trying to copy them. I got really frustrated that I could never quite achieve the fluidness of his footwork, never quite bend the way he did. Of course, today I know he’s a vampire, so he’s not restricted by the sluggishness of a human body like I am.

He wasn’t the only one I learned from. By the age of thirteen, I could moonwalk like Michael, body-roll like Jimin from BTS, and had the entire “Say So” TikTok routine burnt into my muscle memory. I didn’t just dance to songs – I studied them, broke them down, and rebuilt them until every move felt like my own.

So when Rafa wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me close to him, I go with it. His thigh slides between mine, knees bent, grinding upward until our bodies lock together in sync. I choke on a laugh, clinging to his shoulders to steady myself, but he only presses harder, smirking like the devil. The crowd around us whistles.

Take advantage of tonight.
‘Cause tomorrow I’m off to Dubai to perform for a princess.
But tonight, I can make you my queen.
And make love to you endlessly.

Rafa spins me out with a tug, then reels me back in, catching me against his chest, grinding into me with mock seduction. I answer with a body roll that makes the crowd erupt – his eyes widen, but he doesn’t miss a beat.

Put it on my life, baby.
I’ll make ya feel right, baby.
Can’t promise tomorrow
But I promise tonight, dale

The drop hits, and I stop holding back. I roll into Rafa, matching his grind, sharper and more deliberate than he expects. He throws his head back, laughing in delight, then yanks me flush against him. We’re face-to-face, moving like one body.

Don’t care what they say or what games they play.
Nothing is enough ’til they handle love.
I want you tonight; I want you to stay.
I want you tonight; grab somebody sexy, tell ’em, “Hey.”
Give me everything tonight.

He dips me low, reckless and theatrical, grinding through the motion like it’s choreographed. My head spins, but he pulls me up smooth, our noses brushing, his laughter mixing with mine. We lock eyes, breathless, the world shrinking to just the two of us and the pounding music.

Reach for the stars, and if you don’t grab them,
At least you’ll fall on top of the world.

We go all in. Back-to-back for a moment, bouncing hips in sync, then spinning to face each other, colliding again in that move that started it all. I grind harder, daring him this time, and Rafa matches me, both of us shameless, both of us grinning like maniacs. The crowd is ours. For one perfect chorus, it feels like electricity, like chaos, like magic.

Excuse me.
And I might drink a little more than I should tonight.
And I might take you home with me if I could tonight.
And baby, I’m gonna make you feel so good tonight.
‘Cause we might not get tomorrow, woo.

And then the song fades, leaving us gasping, laughing, and still pressed a little too close – both knowing exactly where the line is and how good it feels to dance right up against it.

Rafa hugs me, both our shirts clinging to our sweaty bodies, and plants a kiss on my cheek.

“There you go, papi.” He breathes in my ear and lets my phone glide into the back pocket of my jeans, giving my ass a gentle squeeze in the process. I playfully push him away, and he bumps back before he turns around in search of his girlfriend. I walk into the other direction, still grinning and a little dazed from the excitement of letting loose on a dancefloor. I grab a water bottle from the fridge in the kitchen area and plonk down on one of the couches nearby.

A surprised squeal jolts me out of my haze – a guy on the other end of the couch stares at me, eyes wide, shirt soaked and half a paper plate of nachos spilling onto his lap.

“Asshole!” he yells at me and rushes off before I can apologise or grab a paper towel. All I see is his T-shirt: Luke Cage in gold, biceps buldging, pecs perfectly sculpted. My mouth goes dry – Luke Cage has always had this effect on me. The guy wearing it is slight, wiry. Still… my eyes follow him. Some things never lose their pull.

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Lyrics: Pitbull – Give Me Everything ft. Ne-Yo, Afrojack, Nayer