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    The Russet Room, Pendersleigh Park, Wiltshire, night of 13–14 August 1913.

    'It seems rather strange.' Words that had seemed to refer to Scudder’s plan to emigrate to the Argentine suddenly took on a new meaning, like a secret code that Maurice had failed to crack until now. Yes, it was strange – and uncanny: this inadmissable, overpowering attraction between them; Scudder suddenly in Maurice’s bed; the strange alchemy of their bodies together.

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    19 Sep 2020

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    This is the moment that Boris chooses to roll over, murmuring some Ukrainian nonsense—Ya lyublyu tebe, ty ebut, Theo gathers, but he doesn’t know what it means.

    He doesn’t have the opportunity to try and translate it, either; Boris’s arm reaches out and closes over Theo’s torso. He pulls him, shifting forward himself, still muttering (though now it sounds Polish).

    or: boris and theo talk about emotions

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    06 Sep 2020

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    Seeing him here, in New York, surrounded by the deep browns and golds of Hobart and Blackwell, is so alien to me I have to repress the urge to pinch myself like a child would after a dream. It looks incorrect, him standing here. Like someone has taken a pair of scissors to my memories of him, cut him out of his rightful place on the abandoned playground, and pasted him sloppily into a corner of my life where he doesn’t belong. Has it only been a few weeks? It feels like ages longer, like it’s been a decade, like we’re different people trying to see what exactly we liked about each other so much way back when.

    But then he says it again- “Potter.”- and that feeling vanishes as quickly as it arrived.

    “You came,” I say dumbly.

    He gives a cheery smirk that I don’t believe. “Promised I would.”

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    06 Sep 2020