Archive of Our Own

The boiler room under 1313 Straight Street does not happen to be a particularly grandiose final resting place, but as is quite apparent from the petrified bones of its occupants, beggars can't be choosers. The mold and cobwebs filling its every crevice, dust motes drifting lazily through the stale basement air, and a pervasive smell of brimstone emanating from no particular source are enough on their own to discourage folks from paying their respects to its inhabitants, but perhaps the greatest deterrent is the simple brick wall built up between them and the rest of the room. A concrete tomb with no headstone and no mourners, forgotten and left to rest, although not quite in peace. If the wall should ever happen to be broken by any would-be tomb raiders, urban explorers or unwitting landlords, then upon first sight of the skeletons within one might come to the conclusion that they died in the midst of a scuffle, or with one in pursuit of the other. The hands of the taller clutched around the other’s throat, both frozen mid-run, would certainly seem damning to anyone who didn’t know their story. But then, that story is not one that asks to be known—rather, it is one that seeks not to be. And it is far gentler than the sole remains of its players, or even the record of their final adventure entombed alongside them, might suggest. If anyone were to give them a headstone as they were denied nearly a century ago, perhaps its inscription would read:

Here lie Sameth and Maximus, devoted partners. Together in death as they were in life, forever.

Died circa 1901.

Our story begins, of course, with Sameth and Maximus. Lifelong friends and partners in crime, they spend their youths running amok through the late Victorian United States, both causing and curing trouble wherever they see fit. And as far as Maximus is concerned, they’ll probably just keep that up until the end of their days. Sure, there’s always the pressure put on him by family to marry and reproduce, but why do that when he would much rather just spend time with his best friend? It’s not like a romantic relationship has anything that theirs doesn’t, save for stuff he probably doesn’t care for anyway (or doesn’t think he could). Meanwhile, Sameth has actually considered finding a romantic partner and thinks it might be nice, but of course he’s only considering women because, well, that’s just the thing to do. And he does like them, after all. If he’s maybe looked at some men the same way on occasion, maybe even Maximus from time to time, well…what’s that matter if he doesn’t act on it? It’s fine. He’ll just keep hanging out with Maximus unless or until he meets a girl.

But eventually he actually does meet a girl, and they hit it off. Suzanne, her name is—reserved and sharp-witted but warm, very pretty, and she actually seems to want to talk to him, unlike most women (and he’s sure that’s not just because Maximus wasn’t there to be off-putting and drive her away). Sure, she makes him feel like he needs to be a little more proper than usual, maybe drop some of the vulgarities and bluntness that he’s used to indulging in, but doesn’t everyone want to be a better, more refined version of themself? He figures it’s probably for the best. With the encouragement of his family, no doubt relieved that he finally seems on a track to settle down and quit gallivanting around with Maximus, soon they’re officially courting. Maximus makes fun of him for it but doesn’t really have a problem with it all until they start spending more and more time together, and sometimes without him. Of course Sameth is so used to being attached to Max at the hip that it doesn’t happen until Suzanne asks for time alone, but after a while he starts to see things as divided into two categories—with his partner, and with his best friend. Two sections of his time and his life that can overlap some, but must ultimately be separate. Eventually, they marry, and Sameth moves out to a proper house with her, all set to be relatively settled down and start a family.

It’s at this point, tragically late, that Maximus realizes what’s happened. Sameth is just gone for half the day, leaving Max by his lonesome. He’s losing a whole chunk of Sam time and activities that up til now would’ve involved him, and now they don’t because apparently they’re better done with Sam’s dumb spouse instead. How unfair is that? Wasn’t it supposed to be just them, forever? That had always been his plan…

Talking to Sameth about it doesn’t help, because he doesn’t see why he can’t enjoy both sides of his life and get to keep them just as is. He insists that Max just doesn’t get it because he doesn’t have a partner of his own, and if he did maybe he’d be less pressed over it. Perhaps it doesn’t seem as serious to him simply because he only ever sees Max in a good mood; he doesn’t understand what it’s like to be alone the way Max is now, suddenly left gasping for air when Sam’s company used to be as assured as breathing. Eventually, with the advent of societal, parental, and now even Sam-induced pressure, Maximus caves and reluctantly courts a local lady who his parents approve of. After all, who’s going to take care of him now that Sam’s off to live a normal life? Who’ll take care of him when he’s old and decrepit if he has no children? You’ll have no one and you’ll be miserable, everyone says, and as Max watches his best friend somehow being happy without him, he miserably accepts that this must be the only way. Maybe if he just forces himself through it for a while, he’ll learn to like having a relationship.

With every awkward interaction and grudging courtship, Max repeats that hope like a mantra. After all, it’s not like his date is unlikable—Maud is sweet, bubbly and gentle, good in the kitchen, mild-mannered and easygoing, everything that men talk about wanting in a wife. She’s pretty, too, with her lavender-gray fur and delicate hands and elegant dresses. It’s not like Max can’t see it. He just…can’t seem to want her the way he’s supposed to. Give it a little more time, a voice in the back of his mind insists, and so he swallows his boredom and loneliness and sets up yet more outings for the two of them. Eventually they end up marrying, with everybody else seeming much happier about the arrangement than Max feels. But for the sake of his family, and the hope and relief in his best man’s eyes, he does his best to put up a front about it. It’s so good that even Sameth convinces himself that this is fine and Max must really be happy with her, or if he isn’t as wildly in love with her as he could be, at least content to settle down. After all, Maximus has just never been very romantic with anyone, so it’s fine if he doesn’t seem completely taken with Maud, right? If anything, Sam’s just happy to see him find someone, since his little pal had seemed so horribly lonely without Sam around. Now it should be alright to quit worrying about Maximus and spending so much time with him, and focus on family.

During all of this, they do of course keep hanging out and getting into mischief together, which is the main reason they convince themselves everything’s okay. It’s just that they’ve added a new side to their lives, that doesn’t mean lessening this one. But in all actuality, of course it does, because they’ve replaced things they normally would’ve done together with things they do with their wives now, and that’s not exactly what either of them wanted. It’s just a mild strangeness to Sameth, but he still gets to have Maximus around at least sometimes, so he figures it’s fine. Good husbands put their family first, not their irresponsible best friends. Meanwhile for Max, this has added a new dimension to the loneliness he felt in Sam’s absence. At least before he had the freedom to openly sulk and languish in his solitude. Now with Maud around in their suddenly cramped little home, he can’t so much as sigh without her descending on him and asking what’s wrong or offering to cheer him up (which he can’t say is wrong of her to do, of course, but Max would rather swallow a bucket of rusty nails than openly discuss his growing dissatisfaction with his life and their partnership). It feels as if the world has taken away his favorite person and thrown him a cheap replacement instead, and it’s not at all enough. He ends up desperately trying to spend all the time he can with Sam, or if not with him, then at least not with Maud. It feels so wrong to claim she’s important to him, that she’s one of the main people in his life. She feels like a strange, out of place foreigner that moved into his life uninvited. Every day he seems to find some new trinket or doily decorating the house, the physical space transforming before his eyes into something that only makes him feel out of place. If anyone else could hear those thoughts, the problem would surely be horrifically apparent, but to Maximus it simply feels like he must be doing something wrong. Because this is what everyone does, right? Eventually you find a woman and you settle down and then you’re happy. Why can’t he make himself be happy?

Then the next major event is that Sam and Suzanne decide to have a baby. The news leaves Maximus shellshocked, for reasons he can’t quite put together. He reacts to it like he would anything else, calling it gross and joking about how Sam will have to kid-proof his guns, but inside he feels completely stunned and numb. That’s…that’s an entire person that will inextricably be part of Sam, created without Max’s knowledge or consultation. A huge part of Sam’s life, and he had no bearing on it at all. They’ve made every important decision of their entire lives together—where to move when they lived together, what jobs to take, how to handle cases or adventures or whatever, even consulting each other on their marriage choices and whatnot. But this one was all Sam and Suzanne. Sameth and Suzanne…they even have the alliteration going for them. Oh, god. They’re the new default pair of people that people will think of when they hear Sameth’s name. Suddenly Maximus is agonizingly aware that Sameth is now just going to be his friend, who has a whole family to be busy with completely apart from him, when he used to be something more. Max doesn’t even know exactly what they were before, but whatever it was, it’s gone now and he can’t get it back because now they both have a whole separate person who’s supposed to get most of their time and Sam’s about to have a goddamn baby to take care of and—and…

Meanwhile, as Max goes through this incredible midlife crisis over the course of several weeks or months, Maud has become friends with Suzanne and would kind of like to have kids of her own. She talks to Maximus about it, but he only scoffs at the concept and expresses how gross he thinks it is. He isn’t sure if it’s the sex or the pregnancy or the actual raising of a child that feels gross to him, but something about it just makes him cringe and shiver in distaste. Even more so when Maud places a hopeful hand over his chest some nights and whispers what a good father she thinks he’d be–it’s all he can do not to recoil from her touch and flee the house. But eventually, he ends up being worn down by the sheer amount of asking and talking about parenthood that she does. And so, some six months after Sameth’s little announcement, Max manages to get himself drunk enough to let Maud have her way with him. Needless to say, the sex is terrible. He hardly remembers it happening later, just enough to repress and pretend he imagined it because the thought of it feels so wrong. But before long, Maud gets to happily tell him the would-be good news, and he realizes with a dull sinking feeling that yep, that did happen. And good god, he wishes it hadn’t. But the horror of what he’s signed up for doesn’t truly hit him until Sameth’s daughter, Ruth, is born.

Ruth is adorable. There’s no denying that. She looks just like Sam—and, well, a little like Suzanne, but Maximus doesn’t really want to acknowledge that—and her big nose and tiny little toe beans would make anybody coo over her. For a moment, watching Sam hold her while Suzy rests makes Max a little weak, a little appreciative of children in a way he’s never felt before. It isn’t really about her, even as small and cute as she is. There’s just something so endearing in the way Sameth cradles her in one arm, his free hand caressing her curly, wispy fur, beaming down at her with a misty-eyed adoration Maximus has only seen glimpses of directed at Sam’s wife or at particularly impressive explosions. It’s…it’s deeply charming. It makes Max want to hold on to them both and wear that same expression, share it with his best friend, share this tiny, wonderful being. He wants to see that adoration shining down at him, too. But in the middle of this sudden daydream, Suzy stirs, and Sam’s right back to her side to share it with her instead. And that’s when it all starts to hit Max for real.

Sam has an entirely new life now. A life that Max won’t be a part of. It will be joyful and full of love and excitement, and if he got to be involved with it he’s certain it would be the best thing to ever happen to him, but he’ll only ever hear about it secondhand. And worse yet, now he’ll be expected to do the same thing, but with a woman he’s never truly cared for. His child will be just as small and cute and innocent and deserving of love as the one before him, but it will be inextricably tied to a person he now realizes he never should have married and can’t truly bring himself to love. What kind of face will he make when he sees whatever they’ve made? Will he be able to care for it? Care for Maud? Or will he be so unhappy with her that he can’t even fake a smile?

It’s too much. He ends up getting away with leaving without too much suspicion by saying Suzanne needs more rest, and then spends the next few days alone for the most part, wandering around the city with no real direction just to avoid the house. It probably starts to occur to Maud that this reaction to a newborn baby is not an encouraging one, but Max just deflects when she tries to ask him about it. He’s in it now, after all. Nothing to do but insist that he’s as excited as she is and hope that he can fake it til he makes it (or makes it to the grave, he acknowledges miserably).

Over the next few weeks Max tries desperately to spend time with Sam whenever he can, feeling as though he’s scrambling to keep any hold on him at all, but Sam’s busy with a newborn and can’t be there all the time. That leaves him either stuck at home with the incredible guilt that boils up in his lungs whenever he looks at Maud, or alone, walking through the city with no destination in mind, simply to keep away the panicky thoughts of the permanence of his choices, the inevitability of their outcome. It’s good people-watching, at least. He’s passed by dock workers, merchants, immigrants, locals—men, women, couples walking arm in arm and friends laughing and jostling each other. Seeing them, he can’t help but feel jealous. Sure, these people can’t possibly have perfect lives behind closed doors, but at least here, they’re everything he’s supposed to have and be. Husbands who beam down at their partners like there’s no place they’d rather be, courteous and gentlemanly as they help them down from carriages or open doors before them. Wives who look pleased and comfortable, talking happily and heard, women who seem to actually like and have something in common with the men they ended up with. He thinks miserably of Maud chatting brightly, trying to start conversations with him that she ends up having to carry out almost entirely on her own. He tries to reciprocate sometimes, but often that seems to encourage her in the wrong way and she’ll glue herself to his arm or press unwelcome kisses to his cheek. Though he can’t help but scowl at the seeming embodiments of marital bliss passing him by, he frustratedly acknowledges that Maud isn’t wrong for wanting his affection or trying to offer her own—it’s just that she ended up with someone who can’t bring himself to want it too. It puts a bitter taste in his mouth and a tightness in his jaw to see all these other people doing it so, so easily.

But whereas seeing lovers out and about serves as a painful reminder of what he’s never had, seeing friends walking back from work together or drinking at bars brings up a simmering anger at what he used to have, but seems to be losing now. Ladies talking about hobbies and reading, men laughing boisterously over a pint after the working day, and both often talking of their spouses and children, which drives one thought into him like the point of a needle. So, other people have kids but still make time to see each other. And yet there Maximus sits, nursing a bottle by himself, glaring wistfully at their merriment. Alone. And not even for lack of trying—Sam just can’t seem to find the time to spend with him without Suzanne and Ruth around, much less outside of his house. He’s practically a shut-in these days, or so it seems to Max.

It’s not even that hard, he muses bitterly to himself one night, perched on a barstool and eyeing a pair of men sitting at a table in the back of the place. He could offer to watch Ruth for one day and then have Suzanne take her the next so he’s got time to himself. They could get a neighbor to watch her. Hell, Maud would love to help babysit, she won’t stop jabbering about kids.

The men at the other table are laughing, talking quietly. One leans forward on one elbow the way Sameth does sometimes with a warm smile. What is it that they have, that all these other people seem to have, that Max can’t seem to keep a hold on? Are they just more committed to their friendship, or less committed to their families? If they can do it, can carve out time in their days to sit together and talk for hours, why won’t Max’s supposed best friend do it for him? It’s so easy to transpose himself and Sam onto this situation in wistful imagination, having fun, grinning so brightly at each other, one leaning closer to hear his companion in the noisy bar, his fingertips brushing over the other man’s knuckles for just a tentative, meaning-laden moment—

Max blinks. Blinks again. Turns his head sharply back down to his drink with a sudden stiffness in his body. Oh. Well—at least, up to that point it had been easy to imagine. Not quite an accurate comparison, he supposes, but of course how was he supposed to know these particular people were—well—sodomites, probably? The type of people this place would probably throw out if the bartender had seen what Max saw, diseased with perverse desires, cursed to skulk around the edges of society ‘til the lord or the law gets them. And to think, to Max’s eye they had just seemed like very close friends, like what he’d used to have with Sameth before Suzanne came along. Completely unassuming.

Max glances at the bartender. He’s busy chatting with a couple of dock workers and looking the other way, doesn’t seem to have noticed. Max takes a measured breath. Some might consider it a duty to report people like them. But on the other hand, there’s an itch in his muscles that begs to turn once again, catch another look. Well, he’s never been one to stifle curiosity. Max shifts in his seat as casually as he can to glance back out of the corner of his eye. The men are still there, but as he watches (and tries not to look like he’s watching), one fetches his hat from where it rests on the table and gets to his feet. He reaches down to shake his fellow’s hand goodbye, and it could be Max’s imagination, but it seems to go on a second or two too long, seems more of a gentle clasp of hands than the brisk shake one might expect. And though he smiles politely, there’s a certain tightness to the other man’s features that almost makes Max nervous. He feels like he can feel that expression in the muscles of his own face, even as it’s kept carefully blank. It lingers as the first man turns to leave, the door jingling behind him, darkens, turns to more of a hollow-looking countenance. Like there’s a deep loneliness behind it, just under the surface. It catches in Max’s throat, seems to slowly pull the air out of his lungs. The bar is too loud. The aftertaste of beer is sour in his mouth. He can’t tell if it’s been seconds or minutes when he abruptly hops down from his barstool and flees the place, stepping back out into the brisk Manhattan wind with unsettled, quickening breaths. No, not familiar. Not familiar at all. He couldn’t possibly—he could never—

Pacing through the city brings no relief. Even in the early winter chill he feels overheated. The image of the men seems superimposed over his vision, their specific features already forgotten but their actions vivid in his mind. How could someone choose to be that way, do such things? Sure, maybe marriage sounds like hell to them, he can understand that, but they could at least have simply chosen to live as bachelors, without acting on the rabid urges of—of…

Of loneliness?

He stops in his tracks, staring at the ground with his jaw locked up and chest heaving slightly, passersby forced to weave around him with annoyed glances. No, he can say with honesty that he’s never felt—well— lust for another man. Of course, he’s never felt it toward women, either. But…he certainly feels sickened with longing for company. Specific company. He knows full well, even as his mind scrambles to disprove it, that no other friend or confidant’s presence would do. Is sodomy contained in sexual acts alone? Is it just as sinful to lust not for a man’s body, but for his company?

It doesn’t make logical sense that wanting to be close to his friend should be wrong or perverted. But thinking back on what he’d always imagined their lives would look like before Sameth got married, he sees how society would view it. Two unattached bachelors living together for years on end, walking and laughing together, always in each other’s company? He’s a fool if he doesn’t acknowledge what people would say. Friends don’t do that. Healthy, mentally-sound men don’t do that. What other explanation can there be? Maybe there really is a kind of love that goes beyond friendship, a kind of love that people would risk freedom and reputation over for even a scrap. He recalls the adoration in Sameth’s eyes that he had so coveted the day Ruth was born, and in that moment knows himself with more terrible clarity than ever before.

Cold, shameful certainty settles like a lead weight in his stomach, only growing heavier as he slowly walks home. This is the life he’s doomed himself to. He let Sam give himself away to someone else, unaware of the diseased longing he’d come to feel in time, and now he has no choice but to lie in the bed he’s made. Perhaps if he’d been able to see himself for what he is earlier, he’d have embraced deviance and asked Sam to embrace it with him. But now it’s too late for that; now he supposes he’s lucky to get whatever scraps of Sam’s time and company that he can, and to know with painful assurance that he’ll always want more.

Eventually, the realization of his fate and the panic it had set ablaze in him dulls down to a distant terror, though it looms ever more strongly over him as Maud gets closer and closer to her due date. He can’t shake the horrible certainty that fatherhood will only make his life harder to endure, and the thought of raising a child who will come to resent him for it makes him sick. If only he could talk to Sam about it—but between Sam not having time for him and his own newfound shame in Sam’s presence, it’s a conversation he’s sure will never happen. Maybe it’s better this way; Sam deserves not to be the target of his twisted needs anyway. But without him, Max grows more and more depressed as the days go on and his loneliness and anxiety increase, until at last even Sameth gets a chance to notice.

It happens one night when Max and Maud come over to have dinner with Sameth and Suzanne, the women eager for a chance to catch up and discuss all the new parental happenings in Suzanne’s life and Maud’s imminent motherhood. Right from the start, Max isn’t right. His usual grin is replaced by a plastered-on, oddly blank grimace. He’s near silent all night even when they try to engage him in conversation, and unusually stilted when he does respond. And all night long, he won’t look Sameth in the eye. Running on a perpetual lack of sleep these days, Sam doesn’t feel quite as sharp as usual, but he can tell nonetheless that something is seriously wrong with his best friend. And whatever it is, he intends to get to the bottom of it.

When dinner is over, Suzanne and Maud retire to the sitting room with Ruth sleeping softly in her mother’s arms, and Sameth offers to let them talk alone in exchange for borrowing Max. Max goes oddly stiff when he suggests it, trudges after Sam and out to their tiny back garden with dread in his footsteps. This is truly their first one on one talk in a handful of weeks, and certainly the first since his unfortunate awakening, and the comfort and safety he used to feel in Sam’s presence is now replaced by nauseous tension. Sam closes the back door behind them, leans against the brick wall of his house to regard Max. Max’s mouth goes dry as a brief silence takes hold. At length, Sam speaks. “Y’know pal, I can’t help but notice you seem a little, uh…off, tonight.”

Max swallows. As ashamed as he is of himself and what he wants, he also can’t help but continue to want it. The thought of alienating Sam, of losing his friendship, is unacceptable. Best to stick with the plan, fake a smile until he can find a way to mean it, throw Sam off in the meantime. “Eh, just kinda tired. No big deal.”

Sameth’s frown widens, looking unconvinced. He sighs lightly. “You gettin’ some new parent jitters or something? I get it, y’know. You can talk to me.”

Max tries to suppress a derisive grimace. Well, that’s part of it, he guesses. “Nah, not really. I’m fine, Sam.”

Sameth gives him a flat, disapproving stare and crosses his arms. “Yeah, that’s not as convincing as you want it to be, buddy. You wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

“Aw, c’mon, it’s not important,” Max bluffs. “Plus, we never get to talk anymore. I don’t wanna bog that down with sad stuff, y’know?”

“So you’re sad?”

Max’s jaw tightens. Damn him and his stubborn curiosity. “No, I—“

“What about?”

“Sameth, just stop asking—“

“I’m not gonna stop til you talk to me, Max. You’re my friend, y’know?” His voice is even, not angry, just resolute, and something about that makes it worse. He looks down on Max with such an innocently concerned expression, like he’s the one being charitable here, like he knows what he’s asking for. Max can’t help but feel like he’s on the verge of giving it to him, boiling frustration rising in his throat in silence. The instinct begging him to keep it all in is growing quieter and quieter, until it’s completely drowned out as Sameth adds, “Come on, buddy, I just wanna be here for you. Just tell me why you’re so worked up, and—“

“You wanna know why?” Max snaps, his poorly-maintained facade giving way to bared teeth. “Because I screwed up, okay? Because everything that’s going on right now sucks and it would probably suck way less if I had just thought about it for about two minutes a couple years back and done things differently, but I didn’t, and now I’m here and things are only gonna get worse and I don’t have anybody to blame but me!”

The words give a tinny echo off of the garden’s brick walls. Sameth gapes, stunned. “What do you mean, everything sucks? I thought things were going okay with Maud and whatnot?”

“Yeah, well, I’m a grade A faker, what can I say?” Maximus growls.

“But—if you’re not actually happy with her, then why the heck would you—”

“Because nobody would leave me alone about it, okay? God, every time I would see my family it’s just ‘You know, your brothers are happy with their wives, we found a husband for your little sister, your older sister already has children now, aren’t you courting anyone yet?’ And then I talk to you and you’re always goin’ on about Suzanne and how fucking happy you two are and how you do all kinds of stuff with her that you used to do with me and how maybe I’d be happy too if I had a wife, and I just—I used to be so sure it would start being good after a while,” Max groans miserably, leaning back on the wall of the building and burying his head in his hands. “Like, you know how sometimes you only start to like a food after you’ve had it a bunch of times? I just figured if I spent enough time around Maud, I’d get used to it and start to like her. But—” he laughs hysterically, glaring at his hands, “—I never did! How ‘bout that? Isn’t that messed up? And now she’s trapped with me and I’m trapped with her! And all because I couldn’t handle living by myself, without you. Hell, for that matter, maybe I can blame somebody else—” he glares at Sameth now, a little bit manic, as Sameth stares back with wide eyes and a slight gape, “—because if you hadn’t up and left me in the lurch, we could’ve had it all! We could’ve just spent our whole lives running around doing whatever we wanted and having fun, no responsibility and nobody to worry about except for each other, like I always figured we would. That’s all I ever wanted, but noooo, you wanted that but with a girl instead. Didn’t we have enough? Wasn’t I enough? Why’d you have to go and throw her into the mix?”

He’s shouting now. He can hear himself, but he can’t seem to stop it. Sameth exclaims wordlessly, looking offended. “What—Max, that’s completely different! It’s not that we didn’t have enough fun together or that hanging out with you doesn’t make me happy, I just wanted to try something else, too.”

“Yeah, like what? Because from what I hear, it’s just all the same stuff we used to do but you get to kiss sometimes. What, is it that important to have a readily available piece of ass?” Maximus sneers resentfully, and promptly gets socked in the jaw with a squawk, sending him to the ground.

“You know damn well that’s not all Suzanne is to me!” Sameth snarls. “Max, if you’re telling me you think that’s the only thing our wives are good for, so help me god, I’ll set your impudent little ass straight.”

Max spits, reeling from the punch and the statement alike. “Ugh— hell, no. Just thinking about getting it on with Maud gives me the cold shivers,” he grumbles, rubbing his chin.

Sam opens his mouth to retort, then pauses thoughtfully. “Wait, then how the hell did you—?”

“Somethin’ like nine shots of whiskey and a couple weeks’ worth of suppressing the memory.”

“Oh,” Sameth says blankly. Max’s miserable grimace certainly seems to back up the claim. Sam doesn’t quite understand why Max would be so disgusted by the idea of sex or having a female companion, but if that’s the case, it does at least begin to shed some light on why he seems so upset. And honestly, Sam’s starting to realize that he should have seen it coming, too. Maximus had always been different in such a multitude of ways that Sameth had basically built up the assumption that whatever the cultural norm was, Max would be doing the opposite of it. But he supposes that he’s just been so involved with this new side of his life, doing his best to cherish and appreciate it and be the husband and father he’s needed as and expected to be, that he couldn’t imagine his best friend wouldn’t feel the same way. They’ve always felt the same about basically everything, gotten excited over all the same things—it’s strange that something that has brought Sameth so much joy could leave Maximus feeling so alienated. How different have they become in these few short years? How well does Sameth really even know him anymore if something of this magnitude could completely blindside him?

“I…I shouldn’t have said any of that. Ugh, this is why I told you to quit asking questions, Sam.”

Sameth shakes himself back to the present as Maximus gets up and starts a slightly wobbly exit toward the small gate leading out of the back garden and onto the street, rubbing his jaw. “I—Max, wait, we need to talk about this!”

“Talk about what? ” Max scoffs, turning with a pained scowl. “Because unless you have a way to magically make me love my life, I’m still gonna wake up married to Maud tomorrow and hating it. And then she’s gonna have our kid, and I’m gonna have to be there for them both, and for all I know I’ll hate that too. But hell if I’m gonna leave them high and dry, so what choice do I have but to stick around and suffer?”

Sameth fumbles for words, desperate to find some way to talk him down and make things better, but comes up short. Max just snorts and mutters, “Yeah, that’s what I figured. We both know you’re too busy for me, anyway.”

“Max—!”

But he’s already gone, charging off into the darkened city streets for who knows where to lick his wounds. Sameth spends a few shocked minutes just standing in silence, thinking through everything he said and hurting. Eventually he tries to gather himself, to put on a nonchalant face as he goes back inside and tells Maud that Max suddenly remembered some business he had to take care of, said he’d be home later. Maud accepts it without argument, though she looks somewhat disappointed. Max makes no appearance for the rest of the night, and it’s Sam who walks her home at the end of it. Suzanne gives him a disapproving glare when he gets back. It’s for Max and not him, he knows, but it still stings. She’s never thought well of Maximus. And sure, she’s not exactly wrong for that, but he’s still Sam’s best friend.

As he lies awake in bed later that night, thoughts race through Sameth’s mind, trying desperately to make sense of the argument. He knows one thing for certain—he has a right to do whatever he wants with his time and be with whoever he feels like, and being with Suzanne was his choice. He shouldn’t have to feel bad for that just because Max wants more attention. Although, well…if he really thinks back, there was a time when he felt uneasy about marrying Suzanne, and was only seeing her out of the feeling that he ought to settle down even if he didn’t really want to—even if all he really wanted was to traipse around the country with Max. As he thinks back, he can’t help but recall every moment throughout those courting years when he wished he were with his best friend instead, when it hurt to not spend every day with him but he figured it was for the best, when he chose not to invite Max along for things because Suzanne asked him not to or pushed their relationship just a little further simply because he felt pressured to do so. After all, that’s the thing to do, isn’t it? To settle down with a girl and raise a family, put that before all else. He had thought he was doing so well…and, well, he is, really. Courting Suzanne, if he’s honest with himself, might not have been something he really wanted at the time. But having spent all this time with her now, he’s learned to be content with the life he’s made for himself. As much as the conversation with Maximus is making him question himself, he’s sure he still loves Suzanne, and he knows he adores his daughter for certain. Perhaps the only real issue is that he left Maximus feeling alone and neglected when they had been closer than brothers just weeks before his wedding. Eventually, after a fitful night spent checking on Ruth more than anything else, morning comes and Sameth makes his way to Maximus’s house.

Max isn’t home when he arrives. In fact, Maud says she isn’t even sure he came home last night, but that he does that sometimes so she isn’t too worried. Sam is kind of stunned to hear it, but tries not to alarm her. Evidently Max chose a spouse who wouldn’t ask too many questions. Since he has no idea when Max will get back, Sam writes him a quick letter instead and asks Maud to give it to him when he gets home. Maud senses something isn’t quite right, but Sam deflects her questions, so she reluctantly lets it be.

Eventually Maximus does drag himself home, all the way that evening. He makes up some quick excuses for where he’s been to Maud before she gives him the letter, which he avoids reading for a little while just out of dread. Finally, he works up the will to open it.

Max,

I just want to say I’m sorry about how things went down earlier. I really didn’t know you were going through so much—looking back, I can’t believe I didn’t see it. If I can miss something so important going on with you, then we must really be apart too much. We should fix that. Just because I have a family now doesn’t mean you ever stopped being my best friend.

Come find me when you get this. Let’s talk, maybe do something fun together to get our minds off all this. Just like the old days.

Yours,

Sameth

‘Yours’. God, Max wishes. Still, any hint of Sam is better than none. Trying not to think about how spending any time with Sam at all is taking away from precious time spent with Suzanne and their new child, and how he might have just guilted Sam into doing this, Max heads over to his best friend’s home and is greeted with a swift hug. Sameth apologizes again, relieved just to see that Maximus is alright, and Max does his best to repress the sudden swell of grateful affection it sparks in him behind his usual cynical humor. It doesn’t seem to fully convince Sameth—probably he’ll be skeptical of everything for a while, after realizing he’d been fooled for so long—but it’s enough to get him to quit being so sincerely apologetic at least. Sam lets Suzanne know that they’ll be out for a while, and they head out to get a drink and chat.

At first Max feels mildly terrified of the prospect. After all, this is only the second proper, deep conversation they’ve had since Ruth was born, and this time it’s with the knowledge of what he really is and how he really feels about Sam. What if that deep longing for Sam’s companionship, for the life they could have had, permanently alters the friendship Max is still hanging on to now? Fear stilts their conversation at first, but as Sam eases and cajoles him into honesty about his troubles and worries, it gets easier. In the face of his own anxiety, he’d almost forgotten just how comforting Sam’s presence and counsel could be. The sheer warmth it brings to his chest is strong enough to frighten him, but the nervous volume of his laughter only serves to brighten Sam’s smile, and that feels almost addictive.

If he’s honest with himself, lately Max had been nervously contemplating the concept of simply running away from the mess he’d made for himself. Maybe he could take a job out west, make some elaborate plan to fake his death, get a new job somewhere and send money home under the guise of compensation or some such. That way he’d still be helping Maud in some way, while also giving her the chance to remarry and get it right on the second go-around. He’d planned it all out to a worrisome degree. Sam had been the one sticking point in the idea—even at the most distant they’d ever been, the idea of leaving him was not one that sat right with Max. Now he realizes it’s one that he’ll never be able to entertain again. Yes, the fear of staying around Sam and developing sicker, stronger urges is an intense one, but the thought of never seeing that smile again, hearing that guffaw of his, much less being the cause of either…that's a fate worse than any he could face for the sin of loving them. It’s the first night in a long while that Max has felt anything close to alright, and despite knowing it doesn’t solve any of his problems and Sameth still doesn’t truly understand what‘s wrong, he can’t help but drink up the time with him as greedily as any alcoholic.

That becomes the first night in a string of better ones as he and Sameth reconnect, learning to be together again like they’d never parted. Max takes whatever time he can get eagerly, kept afloat by the knowledge that there will be a next time even if it’s a while away, even if he spends the interim pining and longing for Sameth’s company and touch. Slowly, he begins to think he can understand why Sam wanted marriage; it’s something about having a default partner and confidant, someone who will always be there to share in your joys and sorrows and jokes. Someone whose touch makes you light up, whose smile sets your heart aflame. In short, it’s what they’ve always had—but of course, he only gets to realize that too late to do anything about it. He supposes he’s just lucky to keep Sameth in his life at all.

Having his best friend back makes it easier for Max to not have a panic attack when at last, his son is born. Waiting outside Maud’s hospital room, he’s more grateful than ever to have Sam back and keeping him calm, assuring him that it’ll be okay—and, in much quieter tones, that he’s sure Max will still be able to love the kid. He knows he has it in him. Sam’s faith in him is equally comforting and terrifying. When he first gets to step inside and meet the child, he fears his first reaction will be one of alienation, of anxiety. But Sameth asks if he can come in with him and puts a hand on his shoulder, and suddenly he feels like he can do it. The boy is, needless to say, adorable. Anything with Max’s genes was always going to be. But there’s also something more meaningfully charming about seeing his own features reflected in such a tiny face, or others that he can trace back to Maud, or some that seem all the boy’s own. And, god, he’s so light. For a moment Max can’t help but blanch and ask, “Is—is he okay? Is he supposed to weigh about as much as a crumpled-up newspaper page?” before Sam just laughs calmly and tells him he’s small, that’s normal.

“Aw, Max, look at his little scrunched up nose. He looks like you do when you’re about to sneeze,” Sam laughs happily. “And his little ears…!”

Max looks up at him and has to hold in a shaky breath—it’s that same expression he’d worn when his own child was born, all adoration and awe, but now directed at something of Max’s. And, after a moment, right at him. It’s like being blasted with the full force of the sun, if the sun was inviting him to share in its infectious joy, and it’s enough to make him tear up. When he looks back down at the child, Sam’s hand still warm on his shoulder, he feels like he can see it in a different light. Such tiny hands, a little pink nose just like Max’s…his fur feathered out around his head in tiny, adorable curls from the thorough toweling-off he’s just received…the subtle shift in tones from white to gray like his mother, shimmering in the light. Max had been terrified that the baby would feel like it was entirely Maud’s, an unknowable aspect of her that he could only distantly, reluctantly care for. But here in this moment, standing with and supported by the man who knows him better than anyone, it feels like it’s all his. His to cherish, to protect. Oh, if only it could be Sam’s too, if only they could share that life and love…but this is the best life can do for him at this point, and it’ll have to be enough. He slumps into Sam and clutches the boy, shaking, relieved beyond words when Sam envelops him in his arms and soothes them both.

It’s awkward when Maud stirs, and he has to try to talk to her about it all. He’s been so distant the last few weeks, so wrapped up in his own depression and anxieties and desperation to be close-but-not-too-close with Sam that he’s hardly spoken to her, at least meaningfully. It’s made easier by Sameth being there. Guy just loves to talk. It only gets stranger to go home and be without Sameth, alone with a wife who for all the world still seems to think they’re okay and a baby that needs constant attention. It’s a good thing the kid’s tough, because hell if Max knows what he’s doing. But he gets through it, sleep or no. He even manages to connect a bit better with Maud over their shared affection for the boy. It’s strange—clearly Maud feels like this child is truly both of theirs and bringing them closer together or something, but Max just can’t help but feel like he lives with a stranger who happens to also be related to his child. He wishes he could see it a different way, but it’s hard to. At least Sameth and Suzanne visit every so often to support them and commiserate with their sleepless woes. Thankfully, their wives have gotten pretty close as well, so they usually chat by themselves and leave Max with some much-needed Sam time. Sometimes if they’re particularly exhausted, they just pass out on the couch together, Maximus allowing himself a brief indulgence by resting his head on Sam’s chest. The women seem to think it’s cute instead of queer, thank god. Sam just laughs and says kids will do that to you.

Maximus scrapes by and adapts as time goes on, slowly becoming more or less okay with his lot in life. It might be nice if he could at least stop wanting Sam, but he never really does, instead just becoming accustomed to the old familiar ache in his chest when they part. Their children grow and change and start the long journey to become tiny people of their own; the world turns around them. All is…well, if not well, then alright at least. Could be better. Could certainly be worse.

But one night it all goes off the rails in a way Max never could have seen coming. Maybe they’re celebrating a promotion, or a case gone well; either way they hit the bar, and in their excitement end up getting a little more drunk than they’d meant to. They stumble out happily, bumping into each other and laughing as they wander off through the city, ending up in some secluded spot by the banks of the bay or what have you. It’s cool and pleasantly noisy with the sounds of the water and distant foot traffic, the sun most of the way down in the sky and leaving the soft light blue of nightfall in its wake, freshly-awoken spring insects chirping in the grass. For a while they just sit and talk and enjoy the beers they brought with them, until Sam laughs and mentions he has a feeling he’s not going to remember any of this tomorrow, and that sparks an idea for Max. “Hey, if you’re really not gonna remember this,” he slurs, thrilled at his own genius, “thennnn you wanna try somethin’?”

Sameth hiccups, giggling. “Like what?”

“Somethin’ I always wanna do, but like, I can’t. ‘Cause you’ll get mad at me.”

“Pffft—well, if I don’t usually wanna do it, why would I wanna do it now?”

“I’unno! But I—it’d just be nice to get to do it once before I curl up and expire,” Max laughs. “Just the one time. Maybe then I wouldn’t wanna do it anymore. An’ you won’t remember anyway, right? So who cares?”

Sam considers, squinting out toward the horizon thoughtfully. “Well…I guess you’re right, I’ll only care for a minute. An’ besides, you do stuff to bother me all the time. What’s one more?”

“Yesss!” Max beams, stumbling to his feet to walk to Sameth’s side and slump forward awkwardly, catching onto Sam’s shoulder to break his fall. Sam laughs again in response and oh, wow, he reeks of alcohol. But there’s also that familiar Sam smell, and the sort of menthol-y scent of whatever mustache goop he uses, and just a touch of that cologne that Suzanne got him as an anniversary gift last year—the one that Max told her would be a good gift for him, definitely not because he knew it would smell good as hell on Sameth. Oh, god, it does. He can’t repress a shiver as he draws a little closer, reaching up to rest his other hand on Sam’s other shoulder.

Sam regards him warily, likely preparing for some kind of attack. “So are you gonna warn me before you do whatever it is you’re gonna do, or…”

Max just stares, lost in thought. Should he really do this? Some part of his brain, the part that’s not marinating in liquor right now, is screaming that this is the worst mistake he could ever possibly make and would destroy everything he’s worked so hard to maintain. But all the rest of his mental faculties have busied themselves with admiring the enticing silkiness of Sameth’s dress shirt, the way his tie has been pulled loose and now reveals a little tuft of chest fur, the warmth of his breath just barely ghosting over Max’s cheek…oh, he can’t not do it. It’s so sinfully easy to give in, the way he’s feared he would do for over a year now, to cup his partner’s cheek in one hand and lurch forward to press a kiss to his mouth, ignoring Sam’s startled yelp and digging his fingers into his dress shirt as he relishes the taste of whiskey on his lips. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before; he feels like he’s been doing it all his life. Suddenly he realizes what a fool he was to think that this might cure him of the desire—no, it’s only fanned the flames beyond all control. How could he possibly live without this, now that he knows just how sweet it could taste?

It must only last a few seconds but it feels like eternity as he revels in it, imagining a world where Sameth kisses back, where this is neither their first nor last kiss but a mundane, incidental one on a particularly good day, a simple fact of life. And then the reverie is broken as Sam pulls away, sputtering in shock and offense, pushing Max off and to the ground in his disoriented state. “Ack—yeesh, what the hell, buddy?” Sam laughs, miraculously not angry but certainly bewildered. “You—did you say you always wanted to do that? What in the hell for?”

Max just stares, slightly agape, face tingling with warmth. Oh, god, just once more—just one more time, please, god. After a moment of silence, Sam rolls his eyes and says, “Ok, I think we need to get you home, you’re way drunker than I thought you were. C’mon, let’s go.” He gets to his feet, albeit in a wobbly sort of way, and begins to stumble off until he realizes Max isn’t following. After a moment, he turns and calls, but Max can’t bring himself to respond or get to his feet. Finally Sam gives up and walks back over, irritated. “Alright, what, you need a hand up or somethin’? Here, gimme your paw.” Max simply stares for a moment, a bit overwhelmed, before taking Sam’s hand in both of his own and trying to pull him down instead. “Max, what—“ Sam huffs before being pulled low enough for Max to rise up on his knees and hold his face again, stealing just one more kiss with long-held, graceless need. Sam protests at first, trying clumsily to pull Max’s hands off of him, but eventually stumbles forward and sinks to his knees as well, accepting his fate. Max pulls back for air, goes back in, can’t quite stop himself from clambering up into Sameth’s lap as he clutches at Sam’s face and shoulders, clamoring for all that he can get. And while Sameth would normally yank him off and hurl him into a wall for this sort of unprompted nonsense, some little part of his brain can’t help but sigh and say that this might as well happen, right? Maximus is right, they’re not gonna remember it anyway, are they? Tomorrow will come in time, but tonight is all theirs, and, well…this does feel kind of good. Max’s kiss is so different than the gentle, sweet ones offered by Sam’s wife—Max is all teeth and desperation, he tastes like the fancy aperitif they thought they’d sample at the bar mixed with the cheap whiskey they washed it down with afterward, he gasps like he’s been starved of this all his life. Kind of makes Sam feel like he’s starving too.

Max gasps when Sam gives in, almost sobs with sudden delight as Sam’s hands encircle his shoulders, caressing a thumb over one as he presses forward, pulling Max further into his lap. It’s just kissing, but it feels like the whole world has shifted a bit and left them a little warmer, a little brighter than before. Max finds his cheeks wet as he presses himself into Sam and begs wordlessly for more, holding on to him like there won’t be a tomorrow and this is all either of them has left. And Sam gives willingly, cradles his partner’s little body, caresses his cheek with a gentleness Max has never quite felt before. Later Max will muse over how strange it was that this moment was nothing at all to the rest of the world save for a few quiet gasps in a darkened corner, perhaps overheard by unaware passersby. But even with all the alcohol in his brain, Max is certain he’ll never be able to forget this. What an incredibly sweet mistake.

They wake the next morning slumped on Sam’s couch, Max lying on top of his chest with one of Sam’s arms thrown over him. Once he’s awake enough to think properly, Maximus is immensely relieved to see that they both still have all their clothes, at least. Oh, god, did that all really happen last night? He shudders to think, but he’s pretty sure he couldn’t make up something like that—like Sameth kissing him back, for real, not just some kind of fleeting daydream. It’s such a beautiful, hazy memory, but all the same the thought of it fills him with itchy, fidgety dread. If he can remember any of it, then what if Sameth does too? Oh god. Oh, god, he can’t have Sameth knowing about that. What in the hell was he thinking? Well, drunk thoughts, he supposes—but still, this has gone entirely too far. And on top of it all, now he’ll be dreaming about it for the rest of his life, longing to go back to that moment and do it again. Fuck.

Maximus escapes before Sam can wake, rushing back to his place to act like he’s been on his own couch all night. Luckily, Maud sees nothing unusual in that. Sameth, on the other hand, is another issue entirely. When next they see each other, Max can’t help but feel some sort of awkwardness in the air between them. It’s some tiny thing in the way Sameth moves or speaks to him, the way he won’t hold eye contact for more than a few seconds. Max feels like he’s going to shrink in on himself and implode, but he struggles to stay upbeat and carefree, determined to show Sam that everything’s fine and they can go back to normal like nothing happened. Please, god, just let me keep you like this. I don’t have to have all of you, just whatever you’ll give me.

If Sameth really thought that Max only did all that because he was drunk, then it wouldn’t still bother him, but the trouble is that he’s not so sure about that. Looking back to just over a year ago, to the one and only conversation where Maximus truly opened up to Sameth about not really loving Maud and missing him so dearly, it strikes him now how Max had phrased it as him not being enough for Sam. As if he thought he could be all Sam needed, no wife required. As if there was no difference between him and a romantic partner at all, save for the possibility of kissing. Max has never really talked about it since, at least never as openly as he felt forced to then—just bits here and there about how he’s learning to be something like friends with Maud, or how glad he is that they can spend more time together again—but just in his everyday interactions with Sam, Sam can still feel a trace of that lonely need he’d shown that first night after the argument. Like he’s desperate for all the time with Sameth he can get, desolate when they have to part ways. In fact, he still spends more time with Sameth than he does with his own wife and child, still asks tentatively for more whenever he can. It couldn’t really mean what he thinks it does, but…well, then again, could it? Could Max really want that? And more importantly, what on earth would Sameth do about it if he did?

It takes a lot of mulling it over before he can get anywhere close to an answer, but in the meantime, Maximus does everything he can to put things back to normal. Judging by the way he acts, one would imagine nothing happened that night at all, like they just drank themselves silly and stumbled home laughing and everything was fine. It’s enough to make Sam doubt his own memories, but they’re just too vivid to have been a dream. For a while Sameth just tries to let it go and be normal, but the kiss’s effects linger nonetheless. Maximus’ every touch carries an odd weight now, comes much less frequently and more hesitantly than it used to. Kissing Suzanne feels strange, too soft, too chaste—Sam almost misses the bruised and bitten lips he’d woken up with that first morning. He feels like he’s carrying a terrible secret, something even he doesn’t fully understand, but that would ruin his little family if it were to ever get out. And worse yet, those rare touches from Max…they’re different for Sam now, too. When Max reaches out to grab Sam’s arm or pat him on the back or even slap him in their usual roughhousing way, it makes Sam shiver in a way he’d only ever felt under Suzanne’s touch before, and never quite so potently. It’s sort of horrifying, the way he seems to crave it even against his own will. He can’t help but almost feel resentful of his friend, even as he tells himself that it was just a drunken mishap and should have no bearing over either of their lives. Yet he can’t help but cherish those brushes, too, can’t help but brighten a little when they come and wilt a little when they end. It’s like he’d never let himself truly appreciate the contact before, the softness of Max’s fluffy little paws, the gentle scratch of his claws through Sam’s fur. Once after a rough day of work some weeks after the initial awkwardness has worn away, as Sameth grumbles about troubles with his boss, Max sighs and just kind of leans over into him, folding one arm over his back and resting his head on Sam’s chest with a comforting pat. And maybe it’s a totally normal thing for two best friends to do, maybe it should mean nothing, but in that moment Sam feels like he’s eighteen and holding Suzanne’s hand for the first time again. And if he reaches an arm over to pull Max closer, lets the contact linger a little longer than most might, well…what was he supposed to do, really? How could anyone turn down some simple comfort after a hard day?

They start spending even more time together, Sam longing for more whenever they part to go back to their own families. It’s like Max infected him with whatever sickness of the heart he’d had before, and now whatever time they get together doesn’t feel like enough, no conversation deep enough to make Sam feel truly connected to him and understood. And more and more, he finds himself craving that connection, feeling alone and miserable without it. Just being open with Suzanne doesn’t feel like enough anymore—he wonders if it ever truly did, or if he just wanted it to be so badly that he’d convinced himself it was.

It all comes to a head when they decide to take on a new case together, something they don’t often get to do much anymore. The matter to be investigated is outside city limits and will take some time to sort out, which amounts to a rare and exciting opportunity to spend some time away from home together. On the day of the trip they bid Suzanne and Maud and the children goodbye, and after a few hours by train, disembark in a little town upstate. Neither of them has ever been very wealthy, as much as Sam likes to dress like it, so they end up renting a tiny room together and settle in somewhat awkwardly. Max has long since become accustomed to the heartache that comes from being apart from Sam, but it’s a whole new problem to be this close to him all the time. To think they used to live together perfectly comfortably and he never had to suppress all these awful little thoughts before…

Sam is feeling more or less the same, excited to be spending more alone time with Max but also deeply nervous about what it might mean for them. What if he slips up and voices one of those dark little thoughts that have been buzzing around his mind the last few months? What if they go drinking and it all goes awry again? Or worse than all of it, what if the whole week goes by and he doesn’t feel any closer, any more honest, any more free? What if they go home having stayed true to their partners, but feeling just as trapped as they had before they left?

The trip is normal for the most part at first. It’s easy to be themselves when they’re out and about together, investigating and making jokes and getting into trouble, perfectly in sync. But there’s that unspoken thing beneath it, the silent awareness of something gone unsaid. Neither dares to give it a voice until one night when they get some liquid courage into their systems, and then things finally get serious. Maybe it begins by talking about their wives, Maximus saying Maud seems fine but he’s never been able to read her, so how can he really tell. He makes a joke about not being attracted to her and Sam muses that he’s never really been attracted to anybody, has he? Maximus shrugs mysteriously and remarks, “Eh, most women just don’t do it for me.”

“Well, does anyone?”

Max giggles tipsily. “Mmmmaybe.” He doesn’t elaborate, only turning his face away from Sam with a small smile. There’s a certain apprehension in the set of his face, like he’s going out on a limb and can’t quite believe himself—and after a moment the implication clicks for Sam, who has to hold in a gasp as best his impaired faculties are able to.

No way. No earthly way did he just admit what Sam thinks he did. It must have been a bit of a slip, thinking the coy response wouldn’t tip Sam off. It’s funny, because of course Sam had suspected, but it still feels like it’s completely out of left field. And even wilder, probably due to sheer inebriation, Max doesn’t seem to realize that Sam’s caught on. Part of him cautions against going further, asking more. The best thing to do would be to note that down as a topic best not breached again in the future, do his best to pretend he has no idea, make sure it doesn’t lead to anything. For the sake of propriety, for their families. But there’s also an intense curiosity beginning to take hold of him, fixated on that almost-forgotten night some time ago. What Max did that evening…was that only about trying out a recurring urge with someone he knew wouldn’t hurt him for it, or was it more personal?

He bites his cheek, grappling with the choice. And then, unable to hold back his wondering: “So…what kind of person, then? Like, your dream spouse, what would, er…she…look like?”

Max blinks, turning to study Sameth’s face for a moment. He’s wearing the kind of expression he gets when he’s trying to judge whether Sam’s being serious about something or feeding him a straight line. Sam swallows discreetly, wondering which he’ll take it as, whether he’ll be able to tell. It’s only a moment, and then Max cracks a seemingly relaxed grin, leaning back a little. “Huh, lemme see here…well, tall is always nice. I know everybody wants a dame who’s shorter’n them, but not me. I like people I can use like a cat tree. Oh, and tough is probably good since we’re always gettin’ in trouble. Somebody who cares enough how they look but can still let ‘emself go sometimes. Maybe a healthy amount of body hair. But honestly? It’s mostly personality. If they can’t keep up a bit like you can or hurl me into walls and not feel bad about it, they gotta go,” he snickers.

Don’t say it. Do not say it , says the reasonable part of Sam’s brain, but the rest is so distracted by all the little details (tall? Non-female pronouns? Healthy amount of body hair?) that he loses control of his mouth just long enough to blurt out, “So what, you just want me?”

From the tiny amount of thought he’d put into the question, he’d expected Max to laugh and make fun of him or something, maybe lose just enough composure to prove it true. But instead he can see the blood drain from Max’s face in an instant, even under his already-snowy fur, and he flinches back from Sam with a frantic sputter. “What—of course n—what are you talking about, Sameth?” He exclaims, ears flattening as he clutches his sweater. “First of all, I never said I was a—a—some kind of deviant! A-and even if I was, what, you think I’m trying to ruin your goddamn marriage?” He takes a deep breath, evidently trying to gather himself. “Knock it off, stupid.”

There’s another split-second decision to be made here, and with the sudden burst of emotion that stirs up in Sam, he can feel himself fail it even as he opens his mouth. “Hey, you’re the one that kissed me that one time! What did you want me to think?” he retorts, almost offended.

Max instantly freezes and stares like a deer (or rabbit, rather) in the headlights, then mumbles, “I—uh—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Oh, no, no. The dam is burst now, they’re not just going to stop here. “Yes you do, bucket head,” Sam scoffs, exasperated. “You think I don’t care enough to remember everything we do together? You said you always wanted to do it—is that what you meant when you were talking about not being enough for me way back then? Was that what you wanted?”

Max looks like he’s either about to leap up and make a break for it or have a stroke. He’s physically leaning away from Sam now, ears fully flat to his skull and eyes wide. After a second he grits out, “Sam. You’re making stuff up. Quit asking me about this already.”

“No, you don’t—I’m not trying to judge you,” Sam insists, leaning closer on one knee. Max only leans back further, catching himself with one hand on the grass behind him, then begins to shakily get to his feet with his back to Sam. “Max, we tell each other everything! Why don’t you feel like you can talk to me about this?”

Max whips around to fully face him, his shock splintering away in favor of a livid glare. “What the hell do you expect to get out of this? Huh, Sameth?” he snarls. “Because the way I see it, there’s only two ways this can go. Either I tell you you’re imagining things and I’m not trying to—to prey on you—which, the way this is going, it sounds like you’re not even gonna believe—or I go, ‘Yep, you got me, I’ve been in love with you for years!’ And then what? You just go ‘Okay!’ and we both move on and pretend like it didn’t happen? You want me to peel open my ribs and hand you my heart just so you can poke it a little and give it back?”

Sam stops in his tracks, lost for words. “I…I just wanted…”

Maximus waits for him to continue, but when he doesn’t, he huffs, “Yeah, you know what I think you wanted? I think you just want to ask questions for the sake of asking. You don’t know what you’re gonna do with the answer. Go interrogate somebody else, Sam.”

And just like that he turns to leave, and panic flares up in Sam’s throat. “Max—Max, wait—!” He reaches out to grab Max’s hand and perhaps for lack of better ideas, perhaps due to lowered inhibitions, he does the first thing that comes to mind: he pulls Max in, ignoring his protests, grabs his shoulder and shoves his mouth firmly onto Max’s. Max lets out kind of a strangled squeak and instinctively tries to push him off, but when Sam refuses to relent, simply goes limp with one hand still clutched in Sam’s and the other resting weakly on his shoulder like a tense, frozen waltz.

After a moment they pull apart, both panting lightly. Max’s eyes are a little wet. “Sam,” he manages, staring at Sam with a sort of horrified, betrayed expression (needless to say, not the reaction Sameth had hoped for). “I…why would you…what the hell was that?”

“I…I just…” Sam struggles, searching his own brain desperately for an answer. Why, indeed? One moment he’d been stuck in interrogation mode, determined to understand with no real goal in mind (and didn’t his partner know him so, so well for that), and the next he was barreling headfirst into a reaction he knew full well would have irreversible repercussions with no plan. The only thought in his mind had been the sudden, intense fear of losing this moment of truthfulness, and an all-consuming need to understand, to be understood, to be freed. “I just wanted to,” he responds limply, ashamed at his own lack of self comprehension. At least it’s the truth.

“You just wanted —” Max sputters wordlessly for a minute, tears building in the corners of his eyes. He’s spent so long suppressing what he wants for the good of them both, and Sam just acts on it out of the blue without a single thought to the consequences? It’s almost insulting. He grips Sam’s shoulder a little tighter, fishes his other hand out of Sam’s to mirror it. “Sam. Listen to me. If we did this, we’d risk ruining our lives. If anybody found out, both our marriages would be over and we’d probably lose our kids, we’re preemptively fired from any job that’s ever heard of us, and we can kiss safety and respect in public goodbye unless we feel like fleeing the goddamn state. I’ve heard of guys who had to do that, Sam. It’s bad. And even if nobody else found out, we’d know. Do you have any idea how hard it is to love someone you’re not supposed to love? And especially to not be obvious about it? Do you have any idea how hard I work every day to keep you close enough that I can bear to live, but far enough that you don’t see what I really am?” He pauses to suck in a shaky breath, avoids Sam’s eyes. “I would never do that to you. Trust me, I’m not worth that kind of stress.”

They’re both quiet for a moment. Feeling thoroughly sobered, Sam tries to really, deeply consider Max’s words. There’s a deep, deep fear in them that he’s never heard in Max’s voice before, and it breaks his heart, and the sound of it makes it clear just how much deeper this cuts for his little partner. After a second of silence, broken only by a small sniff from Max, Sam speaks. “I’m…I’m sorry. You’re right, I shouldn’t have pressed you like that. I don’t want to hurt you, buddy. But…you’re wrong about one thing.”

Max looks back up with a warning, tired sort of glare. Sam ignores it, reaches up to hesitantly cup his partner’s cheek. “You don’t understand how much you’re worth to me.”

Max’s eyes widen slowly, tears slipping out unrestrained. They’re both silent for a moment as he searches Sam’s eyes desperately. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” Max warns with a trembling voice. “It’d kill me.”

Sam hardly has to consider it. “I mean it,” he insists, and the voice that leaves his throat is joined in his mind by every difficult to understand thought and instinct he’s had ever since that first kiss, all raised in sudden, exultant confirmation. “I never knew before, but when you kissed me, I…I don’t know. You woke up some part of me that I thought I’d put down a long time ago. And now everything’s different, and every second I’m away from you feels like years and—I can’t do this anymore, Max. I just need you.”

A shaky sob escapes Max’s throat. “I—oh, god, Sam—”

Sam leans just slightly closer, asking permission. And without another wasted moment Max lets himself fall back in, gasping at the incredible, earth-shattering feeling of being met halfway. Sam whines softly as Max reaches up to cradle his face in both hands, Sam’s winding their way around his waist and back to pull him closer. Time goes by as slow and sweet as honey, just holding each other as tight as they can, until the chill of night starts to set in and Sam lifts Max into his arms to carry him back to their tiny room so they can fall into bed together instead. It’s been so long since Max has felt and welcomed the warmth of another curled up beside him, and the sheer comfort and safety it imparts makes him feel like a wreck. Sam finds himself just as staggered, even despite being used to falling asleep next to his wife. Sleeping close to Suzanne had started to feel uncomfortably rote over the years, like an expectation placed on them that neither was particularly happy to fulfill. This, on the other hand, makes him feel pleasantly aflame; he can’t imagine ever growing tired of it, the way Max’s little body curls into his chest as his hands grip desperately at Sam’s shirt, the way he nuzzles ever closer as if nothing could really be close enough, the way he shivers and whines when Sam folds him up in his arms and presses a kiss into the side of one of his soft ears. For a long while he strives to stay awake, to witness and thrill in each sigh that leaves Max’s lungs and every tentative kiss he presses into Sam’s chest and neck in return. Slowly he finds his thoughts growing more distant, the gentle rhythm of his partner’s breath too soothing to withstand for long—but before he can truly drift off, there’s a soft murmur against his neck.

“Hey, Sameth?”

“Yeah, little buddy?”

“Just in case I’m dreaming, or you come to your senses tomorrow, I…” He swallows, pushes in a little closer. His voice is barely over a whisper. “…I love you. Really.”

Sam feels tears well up in his eyes. It’s such a strange assortment of emotions—the swell of intense love he feels bubbling up in his chest in return, the guilt of feeling this way after pledging his love to another, the priceless freedom of being able to at last be completely candid with himself and the one he truly, honestly loves, the leftover anxiety of knowing that Max is right and everything will be much harder now. But oh, it’s all worth it to feel his partner’s weight on his chest, to hear those words. It’s easy to say them back—much easier than it ought to be—and so gratifying to hear the trembling sigh they draw from Max in return. Sleep comes easily too, and graciously doesn’t hold out on them. 

The next day comes with an understandably rocky start. At first it feels easier to simply plunge back into the case, acting like the night previous never happened, but as the day goes on Max finds himself growing more and more anxious for what will happen when they’re alone again. Will they talk about it at all? Would it be better if they didn’t? Doubt and guilt swirl unfettered in his mind, hidden behind his best shark-toothed poker face, from the moment he wakes up to the moment they get back to their room. But before he can completely shake apart at the foundations, Sam makes the first move, drawing the curtains shut and throwing a shy glance over his shoulder. Max swallows. Still trembling with nerves, he sheds his outerwear and climbs into his bed, turning his face away. An offer. One Sam can easily ignore if he wants to back down. Max waits anxiously, listening as Sam puts his own coat and whatnot aside. And then there’s a shadow over him, and Sam’s sheepish smile at the bedside, and before he knows it they’re under the covers again with limbs tangled together comfortably. Sam gently strokes a hand down Max’s back, nuzzling into his cheek as he lets out a deeply contented sigh. It’s…beyond words, honestly, resting with him here. The most incredible Max has ever felt. But after so long spent believing that this desire, this deep adoration he feels for his partner, would be the thing to drive them apart and destroy their lives, he also finds himself afraid to put weight on it. Part of him begs not to say anything, to just gratefully accept any affection Sam is willing to give him for better or for worse, but eventually fear of the future and his own guilt drive him to speak. “I…I can’t ask this of you.”

“You’re not the one asking, though,” Sameth replies with a sort of somber calm.

“Then I need you to be sure of what you’re asking. I meant all that stuff I said last night. This could be really dangerous for you.”

“Max, we get into danger on purpose. For fun. All the time.”

Max gives a small, frustrated exhale. “Well—it’ll hurt. It hurts to be like this.”

“I don’t want you to hurt alone.”

“That’s—you—“ Max growls softly. He pulls away from Sam’s chest, cranes his neck to meet his eyes with a strained glare. “Sure, I’m not doing great, but look—I dug my own grave. And you don’t have to join me in it. You could just forget about me, recommit to Suzanne, put all this behind you—“

“Do you want me to do that?” Sam interrupts, his face screwed up in hurt. It nearly makes Max choke on his own breath as he scrambles to go back on his words. Sam interrupts his backsliding, pressing, “So why do you keep asking me to?”

“Well—b-because…” Max sputters for a moment, shrinking in on himself. He’s much quieter when he speaks again, hoping vainly that a truth more softly spoken might lessen its sting. “I know what I want. And I know it’s wrong. But I don’t have it in me to turn down anything you ask for…even if you might end up hating me for it.” He takes a deep breath, trying to be resolute. “So I need you to make sure you’re making the right choice, ‘cause I can’t trust myself to do it.”

Sam gives a low hum in response, his face scrunching in thought. He thinks for a while before responding, his thumb tapping pensively on Max’s shoulder. “You know, I think there’s something you don’t quite get here. What kind of choice do we really get?” Max blinks, then shoots him a disbelieving glare, but Sam goes on stubbornly. “No, really. You keep saying I could just forget about this, that we could just keep our friendship and not worry about getting caught or hurting our families, and that’s a great sentiment, but…darling, I’ve ached for you for weeks, even when it scared me, even when I wished I could forget how happy I was that night with you. I didn’t get a choice then, did I? Hell, what choice were you ever given?”

Max tries to respond, opens his mouth and waits for the explanation to spill out—that it was his own careless decisions that started this, that Sam is only thinking this way now because he couldn’t hold his repulsive desires back, that he’s just always had this sick perversion lurking in him and it rots everything he touches and if he could be better he would do it in a heartbeat but…oh.

He crumples slightly, the world shifting a degree or two around him. Sam seems to be able to sense it, wrapping him up a little tighter, placing one warm palm between his shoulder blades with reassuring pressure. “Here’s what choices I figure we get,” Sam continues softly. “Yeah, we could try to just leave this behind. But don’t you think it’s only a matter of time before one of us aches too much not to reach out again? Living that close to you, but being so unknown by you…I couldn’t handle it for even, what, two months? I can’t stand knowing I was putting you through the same for god knows how long. I don’t want to do that again.”

Max fumbles for a response for a moment as he tries to fight back the tightness in his throat. “Then what’s our other option? I know you, you’re not just gonna leave it all behind and elope with me or whatever mushy bullshit. And you know how much this could hurt us—could hurt them. ”

“I know,” Sam murmurs. “I mean, you’re right, I can’t abandon my family. And I don’t want you to abandon yours. But I just…I spent so long trying to convince myself that I really wanted that kind of life, to settle down and be domestic, and reliable, and a good husband and a good father and all the rest of it, but.” He catches his breath, breathes a shame-drenched sigh. “I think the more I try to be that person, the more of myself I scrape away to try and fit the mold. I only feel close to whole again, close to being understood, when I’m with you.”

“God, that…yeah. I know what you mean.”

Sam whines sympathetically. “And I know it’s selfish to hope that I could do both, fulfill the duty I signed myself up for and then creep away to beg for some personal bit of comfort with you, but…god, there’s no good spin to put on it. I wanted this before I could put a name to it, and I know damn well that I’ll keep wanting it as long as I live. So…” he reaches down for Max’s hand, pulls it close to his chest. “I guess I’m asking you to be selfish with me. And if we burn for it, then we’ll burn together.”

Max’s chest grows tight, his eyes misty. He swallows, trying to get it under control, but Sam leans down to press a kiss to his forehead and it’s all too much. He presses in close, winding his arms around Sam’s chest and holding on as tight as possible, trying and failing to choke back tears. They spend the rest of the evening like that as Sam soothes him with touch and reassurances, pressing comforting kisses into his cheeks and the sides of his ears until he’s calm enough to kiss back. Hours later as they lie still and breathe deep, Max realizes something with a sort of disbelieving awe: he’s heard Sam use plenty of pet names for his wife, but ‘darling’ isn’t one of them.

It would seem that that one’s just for him.

The rest of the trip is like a dream, one from which neither of them ever wants to wake. By day they work their case just as usual, but as soon as the day’s work is done they can’t help but snap together like magnets, holing up in their meager rented quarters to enjoy some much needed time alone. For the first few days it’s all just kissing and holding each other, talking and laughing intermittently and lying in bed together. With no secrets left to keep from his partner, Maximus finds they have more to talk about than he ever would have guessed, as if they’ve both unlocked an entirely new identity to be explored and developed side by side. There’s a special kind of thrill in being able to say absolutely anything to each other again, no filter and no worrying about what thoughts should be withheld, just as they used to do. But when it comes to thrills, not much can top the heady joy of their new physicality. No more hesitant, light touches that don’t dare overstay their welcome—before long they’re back to roughhousing like they did when they were young, turning every minor disagreement into a play fight for the fun of it, only now with the possibility of it devolving into more of an aggressive cuddle instead. One brawl begins with Max launching himself onto Sam’s shoulders and biting wildly, and ends with him tackled into the mattress and pinned there as Sam kisses the living daylights out of him. On the one hand, Max doesn’t dare ask too much lest Sameth balk and change his mind, but on the other hand he can’t help but beg for anything and everything his partner deigns to give him, savoring each kiss and touch as though it might be his last. Sam also worries about pushing things too far too quickly, but as the end of their time away from home draws nearer, he gets a little braver. Telling Max he loves him feels like releasing a long-held breath; hearing it back is like being bathed in the warmth of the sun. And as they get more comfortable and adventurous, Max begins to shed the desperate need for Sam’s attention he’s suffered under for so long, slowly feeling more secure and comforted in the time between togetherness. Gradually, each kiss and touch and reassurance begins to feel less like the flash of a comet and more like a familiar star, perhaps invisible in the day but ever-present, promising to return come nightfall.

But all too soon, the case is solved, and the trip comes to a close. It’s time to go home; time to return to the dreary old world they knew before, and time to bid their closeness goodbye. Neither wants to acknowledge it as they pack their few belongings the day before their return trip, but after a while, Sam sighs and sits down on the edge of their bed with a pensive frown. Heart sinking, Max hops up next to him and nestles under the arm Sam offers, pressing into his side and wrapping his own arm around Sam’s back. They haven’t spoken much of what the future will look like, and despite all the hope and comfort Sam’s given him, Max refuses to get his hopes up for it. If he does, it will only make it more painful when they’re inevitably dashed. This trip was a dream, a beautiful glimpse of a softer world; now it’s time to decide what their waking world will look like.

Sam gives a low, melancholy whine. “I don’t want to go back.”

Max bites his lip, fidgeting anxiously with his free hand. “Not to get all ‘I told you so’, but…I did try to warn you.”

“Pfft. That’s the same thing as saying it, knucklehead.”

Max snickers ruefully. They’re both quiet for another moment. “So. You’re still sure?”

Sam huffs. “You still don’t believe me?”

Max tries to mask his uncertainty with a laugh, but it trails off in all-too-telling discomfort. Before Sam can latch onto that and worry all over him, he speaks again. “So, we go home, we kiss the wives, we act like everything’s normal. And…and then what?”

Sam sighs, a little tension bleeding out of his shoulders under Max’s touch. “Well…then we wait and try to find some time alone, I guess. I know it can’t be constant, but I still think we can make it work.”

Max chews the inside of his cheek anxiously. “Too bad we didn’t marry regular old humans. Sense of smell’s probably gonna be an issue.”

“Ugh, I’d forgotten,” Sam groans.

“Kissing’s probably off the table.”

Sam whines miserably, then blinks. “Well, there’s alcohol. Can’t smell anything over whiskey.”

“Oh,” Max says simply, surprised at the insight. “That’s…that sounds pretty effective, yeah.”

“Yeah,” Sam replies, a little more hopeful now. He gives Max’s shoulders a little squeeze.

Max is quiet a moment more before sighing, “Can’t see how we’d get away with, uh—this, though.” He gestures broadly at the bed. “Probably our last night like this, honestly.”

“...For a while,” Sam concedes at length, with a defiant note. “We only get so much time on this earth together. I don’t want to meander off into the great thereafter knowing I wasted it on wanting. But, yeah, probably for a while…” He glances down at Max with a wry smile. “Guess we better make the most of it.”

And so they do, taking their time with the evening’s proceedings, reluctant to let the night end. It keeps them up until the moon starts her return trip to the horizon, hardly sleeping for fear of losing those precious hours in each other’s arms.

“...Sam?”

They’re both still awake, just watching each other, avoiding the heaviness that threatens both their eyes. “Mm-hm?”

“Promise me somethin’, would ya?”

“Anything,” Sam assures him without a second thought.

Max glances away, considering, and then goes on resolutely. “If you decide this was a mistake—”

“I won’t.”

“—I wouldn’t blame you,” Max finishes, voice soft but certain. “But even if we don’t stay together like this—even if you never so much as think about all this again…promise me I’ll still have you as a friend. Promise me we’ll always be together.”

Sam smiles sadly, presses a gentle kiss to his head. “Already planning on it, buddy. Forever.”

Max’s answering grin is bittersweet, as is the kiss he follows it with. “Forever…”

And then it’s home to their wives. To the real world. It doesn’t feel real anymore at all, like some kind of dreadful play they’re powerless to stop acting in, but they do their best to adapt. Max greets Maud about the same as he always would, happily recounts the tale of the case to his son. It’s uncomfortable to go home with a secret, sure, but it’s almost the same secret he’s been keeping for years now, so it’s not too different from the usual. If anything it’s easier now—for the first time in years, it feels like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. A faint light, sure, but it’s real. Sameth, on the other hand, feels a bit of a nervous wreck as he greets Suzanne and Ruth, who are both so innocently happy to see him that it almost makes him want to confess it all and beg for forgiveness right off the bat. He holds back, of course; as difficult as everything is, he’s made his choice, and the best he can do now is keep it secret. Even if his relationship with her isn’t what he’d hoped it would be, he would still never dream of breaking Suzanne’s heart and upsetting their precious daughter. All in all, Sam supposes he’ll just have to split himself in two: one half a devoted husband and father, and the other that truer, freer side, hidden away in secret moments behind locked doors.

It’s hard, essentially lying to his wife this way. But it’s harder to deny himself the closeness he longs for so sorely. Maximus simply sighs and pats his shoulder when he admits so one night when they’re alone. “Hey, you can’t say I didn’t warn ya. Welcome to my world—all emotional turmoil, all the time.”

Sameth shakes his head, brows drawn together. “Jesus. How did you do this for so long? Being with someone you can’t really love, but definitely can’t leave…and I still don’t know whether it’s better or worse to still love them on some level, or not to care at all.”

“I figure it’s better not caring.” God, it feels so good to just be honest with Sam again. “Like, I care about making sure Maud’s taken care of, but I’m not pressed about making her think I love her or anything. She just figures I’m not the mushy type, so I don’t have to fake it. You’ve definitely got it worse, having somebody that you used to be all lovey-dovey with.”

“Suppose so,” Sam sighs. “And that’s to say nothing of the other side of it—I can’t go five minutes without missing you and thinking about you and all that. I mean, for godsakes, it’s only been a week and I still feel like I could cry when I don’t wake up next to you—how did you ever do this for even a month?”

Max shakes his head lightly, a kind of hollow look in his eyes. “I…honestly, I’m not even sure sometimes. I guess I just felt like there wasn’t any other way. I couldn’t make myself stop wanting you no matter how hard I tried, and I knew I’d never act on it and ruin your cute little family life and make you hate me. Sometimes I’d think it might be better if I just left this all behind, just cut you out of me before it could get any worse, but going on alone—god, I might as well just cut off an arm, y’know? So, yeah, it’s never been easy. But, that said…” He glances up to meet Sam’s eyes, a hopeful quirk at the corner of his mouth. “This is probably the easiest it’s ever been. Just knowing you don’t hate me for this, that there’ll be a next time if we can help it…you have no idea how much that’s done for me. I just wish we’d get a chance a little sooner.”

He leans into Sam’s side, and Sam wraps an arm around him gratefully, pressing his cheek into one of Max’s ears. “Me too, little pal. Me too…”

The secrecy and fleeting moments go on for some time, but nowhere near long enough—probably only a few short months, and then a new case comes along. A very unusual case. And then it’s all over dizzyingly fast.

The day starts out pretty normal, the two of them enjoying some leisure time together until they stumble across Monsieur Papierwaite’s show and discover that apparently, Maximus has psychic powers. Well, it’s not the wildest thing to ever happen to them. They happily accept Papierwaite’s challenge to retrieve the Devil’s Toybox, excited at the prospect of a new adventure and some much-needed time alone. The first few days of their trip are spoiled by the presence of an unexpected stowaway, but at least after retrieving the box they’re rewarded with a few nights alone on the journey home. It’s lucky, really, that they tend to treat every moment together like it might be their last—neither could know that the kiss they share as they prepare to exit the train truly would be. At least they make it an enjoyable one, Max standing atop their luggage to get a good angle as Sam wraps an arm around his waist and caresses his cheek, both of them laughing when Sam’s hat topples off in the middle of it. Then one final peck, and they’re gone.

When their descendants watch the record of this, their final adventure, perhaps they’ll recognize the particular, palpable fear in Maximus’s voice when he finds his partner in danger on the theatre stage, the way he freezes as though his life is flashing before his eyes. Perhaps they’ll understand the intense panic in Sameth’s face as he dives for his partner to try and snatch him out of the jaws of death, only to follow him into them without so much as a chance to say goodbye. Maybe they’ll even catch a glimpse of the tiny, tiny moment when Max turns, understands, grieves, all in one tumbling slow-motion heartbeat. A life spent running, hiding, desperately evading the truth of himself, and now that desperation is about to bring it all down. If there were time for tears to reach his eyes, he could weep. But then, in the middle of this heartbeat, he feels Sam’s hands just barely making contact to grasp his shoulders, not to pull away; to pull himself closer.

We’ll burn together.

For all the rest of the world, nothing remains of them at all. There’s no explanation for their families, Maud and Suzanne forever left wondering whether they left or met an awful fate, their children forced to grow up without them just as they’d once feared. Perhaps one day after the tomb is opened and the tapes discovered, those children, now older than their fathers ever lived to be, will get the closure they’d never expected: the assurance that they were not abandoned, only lost.

No records remain of what Sameth and Maximus truly were to each other, no remaining proof of their devotion. They were too careful to leave behind journals conveying their true feelings, too briefly together for secret letters sent during time apart. In the end they leave behind nothing but a dedication to protecting the lives and families they ended up with, for better or for worse. But then, they’d never particularly cared for legacy—only for each other.

Forever did not turn out to be very long, but they were together for it nonetheless.