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You’d think that New York is big enough.
You’d think that in a city covering more than four hundred and sixty square miles with a population of more than eight million people, two men will never meet. Especially if they don’t live in the same neighborhood, don’t work together, don’t run in the same circles. If they don’t go to the same restaurants, museums, shops – okay, that might be stretching things. But essentially all of that is true for Chris and Zach after they are done with Trek.
You’d think that New York is big enough.
Obviously not.
Because right now Chris is sitting in a smelly, noisy subway, and right across from him is Zach. Chris stares at him. It’s been two years since the anniversary press tour, but all it takes is one glance, and the ache in his heart and the butterflies in his stomach are back. He can’t look away from Zach, and for once Zach doesn’t look away from him. Zach’s forty now, and it suits him. In the sickly light Chris can make out some silver hairs, and maybe more lines around his eyes. But overall, Zach’s only more handsome, seems even more comfortable with himself, confident and calm.
Chris misses his stop because he’s too busy looking at Zach. He only notices that he’s rubbing his thighs when his skin begins to feel hot under the denim. His hands are sticky with sweat. He licks his lips. Across from him, Zach bites on his lower lip and swallows hard. They still haven’t spoken a word. One station after another passes by.
Suddenly, they’ve reached the last stop, Coney Island. Zach gets up. He holds out his hand. Chris notices that Zach’s fingers are trembling. Somehow he manages to scrape up the courage to take Zach’s hand. Zach grips his hand hard – never-letting-go-hard, a stupid part of Chris’ brain insists – and drags him out of the station.
Outside, the world seems surreal. Why is the sky still blue? Why are the clouds still white? Why are there still people on this planet?
Without a word, Zach drags him along the boardwalk, and he doesn’t let go. For a while they walk hand in hand, something they’ve never done before. The world is too bright around them, beach and ocean and sky and sun.
Every step reverberates through Chris’ body like an earthquake, bringing down the ruins of his life. Abruptly, Zach stops walking and pushes Chris against the railing of the boardwalk.
“Your fucking beard,” Zach says, and then he’s kissing Chris. His kiss is more than Chris ever imagined – in the course of three movies and press tours, dozens of events and interviews, uncountable evenings spent together, with more or less significant others suspiciously watching.
Only when Zach draws back and gently brushes his thumb over his cheekbones, Chris realizes that he’s crying.
“I love you,” he says. “I’ve loved you for years. I tried not to.”
“I know,” Zach replies. “I know.”