~ 8 January ~

I try to sneak into my apartment as quiet as a mouse so I don’t alert my watchful guard cat and cause a ruckus when I return home after spending all of Sunday at Josie’s. Maybe the mouse part was the mistake, or maybe I underestimated my cat’s abilities, but the moment I crack the door open an inch, Bruno is on me, circling my ankles and meowing incessantly.

“Jay-zuhs, cat, knock it off!” I scold him but pick him up and press a kiss to his head nonetheless. I toss my keys on the kitchen counter and fill up Bruno’s food and water bowls. He tries to wriggle himself free of my grip, but I know from experience it is safer to carry him than to let him loose and trip me in the process. I had a knot on my head and a killer headache for days last time. Thanks, cat!

Once I let Bruno down, he sniffs at his kibbles once and wrinkles his nose before strolling over to his water bowl and taking one lick. Then he saunters over to the couch and curls up on it, one leg sticking up in the air, and starts licking his butt. I seriously can’t with that cat… His sister Kitty, Soso’s cat, isn’t much better. After basically hiding for the first few months after my nephews were born, she has now decided to be the most domestic cat possible and hangs around the house all the time. Unless she’s on a hunting trip in the neighbourhood. Today Josie screamed her head off when she found a dead mouse in the twins’ playpen. Obviously Kitty is concerned about Ezra and Theo’s welfare and thinks they need extra feeding.

I kick off my sneakers and send them flying across the room before I plop down on my bed, not bothering with undressing first. I’m just too damn tired for it.

Last night Rafa suddenly stood in front of my door, grinning wide enough to shame the sun, a joint tucked behind his ear, and asked me if I wanted to be his best man. Yes, apparently, he asked Elodie to marry him. On New Year’s Eve. While slow dancing with her to ‘Come Away With Me’. Spontaneous decision. Didn’t even have a ring. He says the moment just felt perfect.

He’s crazy – or completely loco, as his cousin Mari said when he told her. He only met Elodie last spring, but I guess when you know, you know? He was also quick to assure me that she isn’t pregnant. Apparently that was the first question her father Alan asked when they gave him the news. Elodie’s parents are also the reason Rafa couldn’t let me know sooner because Elodie insisted on telling them first before anyone else, and they were on a skiing trip somewhere up north.

After Rafa’s big announcement, we celebrated in style by smoking on my rooftop terrace – I dragged my beanbag outside and let Rafa have my deckchair, conveniently forgetting to mention what Rashid and I have been up to on it – while Rafa started tossing out ideas for a bachelor party. Always the event planner…

This morning I woke up still a little foggy-headed but had to drag my tired ass out of bed to get to Josie’s, where she and Mal also had big news for me. No, Josie isn’t pregnant either, but they finally set a date for the wedding. They’re getting married in May this year. Guess wedding plans are the theme of the weekend.

Because I spent all day at Josie’s, Rashid and I only managed a few text messages. He’s been back in London for a week now, after spending the holidays with his friends in Yorkshire, and buries himself in work. I think he tries to get as many hours in as humanly possible to justify taking more time off to see me later this month. I’m a little nervous that something might happen last minute which means he can’t come here. I remember last summer when he had to keep postponing his visits, but he assures me not this time. Nothing can stop him from flying over. He doesn’t know yet for how long he can stay, but he’ll be here on the 18th.

I roll over on my side and open the gallery app on my phone. Soso borrowed it for a while today and took tonnes of pictures of everything and nothing. Sometimes I can’t even make out what she was trying to take a picture of; it’s just a big blur of colours or a close-up of some shapes. There are a few pics of the twins in their playpen, being fed by Mal and me, a photo of the dead mouse and Josie looking disgusted, and a series of selfies of Soso and Kitty. They make me giggle because Kitty looks progressively more pissed off in them.

I feel my mattress dip as Bruno jumps on my bed, and I turn the phone to show him his sister. He takes one uninterested look – do cats recognise each other in pictures? – and then bumps his little head against my jaw. I scratch him between his ears and pull him a little closer to me. He purrs and settles underneath my chin while I continue to scroll through my photos. There’s one from New Year’s Eve. A selfie that shows Rafa, Elodie and me early in the evening. All three of us smiling, none of us engaged yet.

I decide to send one of Soso’s selfies with Kitty to Louis and Lestat. I pick one where Kitty looks half-content, knowing that the vampires will be happy to see their feline ‘granddaughter’ doing well. My eyes dart towards the clock on my bedside table. It’s my old analogue Mickey Mouse clock that my mom bought me just before she died. I nicked it from my old bedroom at Josie’s and set it to London time, so I don’t have to mentally calculate the difference. It’s 5:16am in London now. Too soon. Rashid will still be asleep. Fucking time zones…

I drag Bruno closer to my face, which earns me a disgruntled noise from my cat, and lean my chin on his back. Then I open the camera app on my phone and snap a selfie of me and Bruno and send it to Rashid. He’ll see it when he wakes up.

WD: He’s a poor substitute for you, but he’ll do. 😉

I toss the phone on my mattress and start to undress. Too lazy to get up again, I just wriggle out of my jeans on the bed, pull my hoodie over my head and drop both on the floor beside the bed. I’ll clean up tomorrow. I’m still struggling with my shirt when I hear a buzzing sound. It’s my phone announcing an incoming video call, and my heart jumps with a little happy jolt when I see Rashid’s name on the screen. I quickly swipe to answer the call; my shirt joins the rest of my clothes on the floor, and then I pick up the phone so the camera is aimed at me instead of the ceiling.

Looking back at me is the best sight in the world: my man, still a bit rough around the edges, his short hair sticking up at odd angles, yet otherwise unnaturally alert at this ungodly hour. His dark eyes are glowing with a smile, and I just want to wrap my arms around his neck and kiss his gorgeous face. Unfortunately, this doesn’t work with a video call.

“Hello, boyfriend.” He greets me, and thanks to the little preview window showing my own face, I can see the usual grin forming on my lips. One day I will be immune to it. Today is not that day.

“You’re up early… I didn’t wake you, did I?” I ask, feeling almost a little guilty, but mostly happy to see his face and hear his voice. It’s been too long. Thirty-six hours at least.

“No, I was just heading out to go for a run before work when I got your message.” He tousles his hair further, and I’m stupidly jealous of his fingers because I want to be the one mussing up his hair. “Couldn’t resist a quick hello, and I’m so not sorry that I opted for a video call.”

He grins at me, and I remember I’m shirtless. Oops. Well, he’s seen me wearing less. He’s in a light grey T-shirt that reads ‘Oxford University’ in dark blue lettering, with a crest underneath. Show-off. It’s one of these moments where it really hits me just how much we come from different worlds. Not only geographically, but in basically every other aspect, too. He has a degree in economics from a world-renowned university, while I dropped out of Riverside Charter High School in my junior year. That he finished his training as a field agent for the Talamasca while I was still in Middle School doesn’t bother either of us; it just sometimes makes me pause and go, ‘Huh?’

Rashid probably notices me going quiet and asks, “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I assure him. With a cheeky afterthought, I add, “I was just trying to admire the view, but it’s somewhat blocked…”

Rashid laughs, and the video wobbles briefly before straightening. He must have propped his phone up somewhere. He steps back, giving me a full view of him before reaching down and yanking his T-shirt off in one swift motion. One hand traces a slow line down his chest, along his abdomen, and following his happy trail into his dark sweatpants, while rolling his hips just enough to make me weak in the knees. Then he leans closer, his face filling the screen again.

“Better?” he asks, smirking at me like the devil himself.

I can only nod. My brain is fried. My mouth feels dry. High school drop-out or not, I just made my Economics MPhil strip for me – and lawd, he’s just too damn fine.

While my pulse is trying to settle, Rashid eases onto his couch, balancing his phone just far enough away that I still get a good view of his upper body. His face comes into focus too, a slight frown forming at the corners of his mouth.

“You look tired, Wendell. Are you still beat after Rafa’s party? It must have been a wild one!” I can hear faint amusement mixed with the usual pinch of concern in Rashid’s voice.

I poke my tongue out at him and inform him I’m perfectly rested after a week – thank you very much! – and mumble something about my mean man being mean to me again, which makes him chuckle.

“I still find you sexy, don’t worry.” He smiles.

A pang of guilt still tugs at my heart at his words. I should tell him. About New Year’s Eve. I know I should. Nothing really happened. Didn’t it? He’d understand… I would if roles were reversed. Wouldn’t I?

Maybe I should do it in person. So instead I tell him about Rafa’s surprise visit last night and the reason for it. I neglect to mention the weed, because I don’t actually know how he feels about it. He’s seen me smoking cigarettes and never even commented on it, but marijuana might be different. It’s not like I get high every other day; it’s only a social thing I do with Rafa on special occasions. Or after interrupted first dates with hot Talamasca agents.

“Should I let you go? Do you want to sleep?” He asks softly after I finish talking, but I shake my head.

“No, don’t go. I haven’t heard your voice in forever, and I missed it. I wish I could just lie here and fall asleep…” in your arms, “listening to your voice.”

“Do you want me to tell you a bedtime story?” He teases me, but I actually like the idea.

“Did your parents tell you bedtime stories?”

He shakes his head. “Not my parents. At least not that I can remember. But my nanu did. I think she always just made them as she went. They were different every night.”

“Your nanu was really special to you, wasn’t she?” I ask him, and he nods, a smile on his face but a sad expression in his eyes.

“Yes, she was…” His voice is almost inaudible. “She was the kindest and wisest woman you can imagine. She was… everything to me.”

I can see how his thoughts travel back in time. Back to his nanu, who basically raised him while his parents were at work. I never met her, of course; she passed away when Rashid was in his teens, but I think his kind, loving and caring side comes from her. His work ethics are definitely his parents’. Whenever he talks about his nanu Zahra, he gets this melancholic smile on his face, remembering her warm kitchen where he’d sit at the table and do his homework while she cooked. Or spending rainy Sunday afternoons snuggled up on the couch, watching one of the seventeen DVDs she owned. One of them was ‘The Princess Bride’, and it became Rashid’s favourite. He knows that film inside and out, which gives me an idea.

“Okay, tell me one of her stories, but make it a good one. None that got sports in it. I want a kissing story. Then I’ll try and stay awake.”

Channelling my inner child – which is never too far from the surface anyway – by quoting Rashid’s favourite movie (with a special twist from me) does the trick and makes him laugh.

“Thank you very much. That’s very nice of you. Your vote of confidence is overwhelming.” Yes, he knows every line of that movie by heart. It’s a bit scary. In that instance he outgeeks even my geek.

“Get comfy, Wendell.” He waits patiently for me to fist my pillow into my preferred shape and pull my blanket up to my chin. When I’m ready, he clears his throat and starts:

“Once upon a time…”

I roll my eyes dramatically. “Ugh… it’s one of those…”

Rashid’s lips twitch, but he ignores me and continues:

“…in a kingdom of marble palaces and mango groves, there lived a princess named Gulbadan. She was bright as the moon and quick as a sparrow, but her father, the mighty Sultan Shahbaz, kept her hidden high in a tower.

‘Only a prince as strong as me may win her,’ he declared.”

“Why is it always a princess?” I mock-complain, and Rashid snickers.

“Would you prefer a story about two princes?”

“Yes, please!” I grin at my phone screen. Honestly, the representation of gay couples in classic fairy tales is atrocious and needs to be rectified. I make a mental note to look for some queer-friendly children’s books to read to Soso and the twins.

Rashid shakes his head, laughing. “Alright, mon petit prince. As you wish…” He clears his throat and starts again:

“Once upon a time, in a kingdom of marble palaces and mango groves, there lived a prince named Kamal.”

Rashid pauses to make sure I approve of the gender swap. I do.

He was bright as the moon and quick as a sparrow, but his father, the mighty Sultan Shahbaz, kept him hidden high in a tower.

‘Only a prince as strong as me may stand at his side,’ the sultan declared.

But Kamal’s heart was restless. He leaned from his window, listening to the world beyond the palace. And one day, he heard a song. It was sung by Arif, the woodcutter’s son, whose voice was warm and steady like the first rains of monsoon. He carried bundles of firewood, but his song lifted higher than the towers. Night after night, Kamal and Arif spoke in secret. They shared stories and laughter until they loved each other dearly.

“So, is this like Rapunzel, where she lets down her hair so the prince can climb up into her tower? And that’s got to be code for they were having sex in that tower… didn’t Rapunzel give birth to twins later in the story?” I enquire, and Rashid laughs.

“You demanded a story about two princes, so no-one is getting pregnant. Now shut up and let me go on.”

When Sultan Shahbaz discovered them, his anger was like thunder. He locked Kamal in an even higher tower and banished Arif to the black forest, where curses and serpents ruled. In the forest, Arif came upon a great serpent coiled around a crown of gold. All others had feared it, but Arif sat beside it and sang softly. The serpent shed its skin — and before him stood Prince Zafar, long ago cursed to live as a snake.

“Oh! There’s the second prince! I was waiting for him to show up!” I interrupt Rashid again. “Are Arif, Kamal and Zafar going to have a threesome?”

Rashid chokes trying to suppress a laugh and rolls his eyes before picking up the story.

‘Your kindness has freed me,’ said Zafar. ‘Take this gift – the courage to face trials greater than fear itself.’

With this gift, Arif crossed rivers that tried to pull him under, outwitted trickster spirits, and even walked through fire. His song never faltered. At last, he returned to the palace. He did not come in silks or with an army, but with his heart unbroken.

When Kamal saw him, he cried, ‘Father, you may lock me in your highest tower, but love climbs higher than stone and iron. No lock is stronger than it.‘

Sultan Shahbaz looked at his son, at Arif, and at the strength that bound them together. His anger melted like ice in sunlight. And so, Kamal and Arif were wed, with laughter echoing through the kingdom and mango trees bowing heavy with fruit.“

“Is everyone getting married now? Is this a new pandemic?” I laugh, and Rashid chuckles with me.

“I don’t think that’s how it works. But if you’re worried, you could mask up again.” He snickers before delivering the final lines:

And the story says: true love may wander far, face curses, and fight shadows — but if you keep singing for each other, it always finds the way home.

“That’s a beautiful story, Rashid.” I murmur once he has finished. “You should record this as an audiobook, so I can listen to it every night.”

“Mhmm, or I could call you and tell you a different one every night.” As much as I would love this, I wish even more it came with his arms wrapped me in the peaceful comfort of his body moulded against mine and his breath ghosting over my skin. But it doesn’t need saying. We both feel that way.

“Get some sleep, Wendell. I’ll talk to you later?”

I nod, eyes closed. “I love you, Rashid.” I mumble, already half asleep.

“I love you, too, Wendell.” I crack one eyelid half-open and catch him blowing me a kiss. I return it before I end the call. With my phone’s screen turned black again and Rashid gone, that feeling of uneasiness returns. I’m tired, but I know sleep won’t come soon.

Rashid’s story was really beautiful, and I can hear the message loud and clear: true love conquers all, no matter the obstacles. But does it survive cheating? Even if I never meant to? I know I should just tell Rashid. Tell him what happened between Freddie and me on New Year’s Eve. That damn Luke Cage T-shirt.

Rashid would forgive me, wouldn’t he? I’d forgive him if roles were reversed, wouldn’t I? But the thought alone makes bile rise in my throat.