Archive of Our Own ^beta

" Pete, wake up. "

A weight settles on the blanket next to him. A hand gently rests on his shoulder and a thumb rubs it—a gesture he knows well. A Ray thing.

" Come on, I know you need it, but it's noon. "

He jolts awake at the mention of the hour. Damn, they had planned to spend the morning together.

" In my defense, this mattress is way too comfortable for its own good. "

*

Pete had been sleeping poorly for several weeks now. Even Ray's tender care couldn't help : it was tragic to think that his back was already a mess at only 24. But with his job at the orphanage, he didn't have the heart to tell the kids not to jump on him for hugs. Impossible.

His back was one thing. Then there was the movie Harkness had slipped him under the counter: a romantic comedy from the 1950s, nothing to worry about. But damn it, why did one of the two lovers have to get shot at the end ? His brain couldn't help but replay the scene with Ray : his partner bleeding in his arms and him, completely useless, watching him draw his last breath.
And the scene became a recurring nightmare: a rainy, freezing night, in the middle of nowhere, a fucking road and nothing around. Ray clinging to him long enough to slip in one last “I love you” and finally closing his eyes.

With all the friendship he had for Harkness, he was going to demand compensation for his lost sleep. An “I'm sorry” would be fine. But his next movie recommendation better not be in the same vein.

Ray, whose ideas were sometimes as simple as they were brilliants, suggested one evening that they should change their mattress. They would buy the thickest, fluffiest one with their savings the very next day. Pete agreed immediately, as it would at least solve his back trouble. Once home, they exchanged the old one for the new one, unpacked it, threw the plastic in a corner of their bedroom, and collapsed on it without a word. He was wrong; that stupid mattress was going to solve all his problems, including those he didn't have yet. The foam supported his lower back, the curve of his spine, his shoulders: the pain seemed to have never existed.

He turned his head toward Ray : almost gone already. He grabbed his hand and shook it.

" No, no, compadre. We're not going to sleep on this shiny new mattress without a shower. "

" I was just resting my eyes. Five more minutes. You're right, we're not ruining our gift on the first night. I thought it was a little expensive, but in the end, totally worth it. $500 well spent. Right ? "

Pete answered him with a snore.

*

" No nightmares ? " asks Ray.

" No nightmares, no dreams : just a long, restful night's sleep. "

" That's good. You want to eat ? "

" What have you got ? " says Pete, raising an eyebrow. Ray isn't a trained chef, but he tries, and that's what counts.

" Breakfast for lunch ? "

" That's good " replies Pete. And as if to prove a point, a delicious smell drifts over them. " Grilled bacon ? "

Ray's eyes widen and he rushes to the kitchen. The house isn't very big, and in a few strides he finds himself standing in front of the stove.

" The situation is under control ! " he calls back to the bedroom.

" I'm like Saint Thomas, I believe what I see ! "

The bacon is fine, Ray thinks. Well, as fine as bacon that's been left to overcook a little can be. Just a little. The aroma makes his mouth water : meat is a luxury they can't afford every day. But he'd stopped by his mother's house, and since she had made it her mission to never let her son leave empty-handed, she'd filled his pockets with the rest of a package of bacon she hadn't finished. And this time, Ray didn't even try to be polite and give it back : the idea of breakfast in bed with Pete on their day off had taken root in his mind and become his own mission.

Bacon, fried eggs, toast, strawberry jam... And of course, coffee : black and sweet for Pete, with a cloud of milk for him. The table is set, the plates are still steaming, and the shower has just stopped. His partner will arrive in a few minutes, but he can't help picking at his food.

To keep his hands busy, Ray rolls up his sleeves and starts washing the dishes. Unlike cooking, this is a task he performs daily and enjoys doing. Especially on this beautiful spring day, when the sun's rays pierce the thin white curtains of the window in front of him. From the kitchen, he can see their faded blue pickup truck, older than he is but still ready for adventure. And then there's the driveway leading to the house, with far too many trees, shrubs, and wildflowers: the two young men prefer to let nature win rather than tame it.

*

They rent this house for next to nothing. Pete spotted it when he took a wrong turn on his way home and was charmed. A happy accident. And well, charmed by its location and potential: away from the city center and prying eyes. On the other hand, he was less enthusiastic about its state of decrepitude.

That didn't scare Ray. He called the number on the old “FOR RENT” sign to negotiate with the owner as soon as he set foot in his apartment. He and his best friend were ready to renovate it in exchange for a discount on the rent. It was a solid argument: Ray was a carpenter (he didn't mention that his specialty was actually furniture) and his friend wasn't afraid of hard work. They would get this place back on its feet, even if it meant coming in every night to work countless hours. And that's what they did. In three intense and exhausting months, the challenge was met.

Painting, carpentry, roofing, electrical work... Trips back and forth to the hardware store, minor injuries... The Musketeers who had come to lend a hand but had almost all given up after 3 p.m... And in the end, they had a little house, a place of their own.

Ray will never forget the last trip from his apartment to 70 Liberty Street. The last cardboard box: his father's vinyl records, which are supposed to stay hidden at the back of a closet but come out more often than they should. There are fewer risks than living in the city, of course, but there are still some.

He will also never forget the first kiss they shared here, the first kiss without worrying about a window that was too exposed or a neighbor on the floor above who was too intrusive.

*

" Not bad, Mr. Garraty... " Pete gazes at the small table loaded with a hearty lunch. Breakfast. Whatever. He approaches Ray, his hands full of foam in the sink.

" Would you look at that ? "  

" Wait, I’ll give you a hand... "  

" No, sit down, I’m almost done. "  

" Ah. If you're almost done, then can I do this ? "

Pete slips behind him and runs his hands under his armpits. Ray lets out a cry of surprise and stiffens, struggling as best as he can without really putting his mind to it. He ends up splashing foam on Pete, who now tightens his grip around his waist.

" You'll pay for this, McVries ! "

" I can't help it, this works every time ! "

" I think I'll be ticklish my entire life. "

" For my greatest pleasure, darling. "

" You're impossible... " Ray replies, with that small, slightly shy smile of his. " You’re not hungry anymore ? "

Pete's stomach speaks for itself. He's hungry : that damn bacon smells way too good, and those slices of bread are just begging to be devoured.

“I'll let it slide this time, well done...” He runs his hands over Ray's belly for a few more seconds and kisses him on the cheek before sitting down.

They devour the bacon : this meat has become so rare that it feels like rediscovering its taste every time. Between a bite of egg and a sip of coffee, Pete starts :

" Thanks for everything. And sorry about this morning. You obviously had everything planned out. "

" No need to apologize, it’s nothing. Really. "

" You’re still up for that big spring-cleaning? "

It’s that particular Sunday of the month at Garraty and McVries’ house : we scrub everything we can get our hands on to make a fresh start. Chatting and listening to music, they hardly notice that they're dusting, cleaning the fridge, or washing the windows. They always end up sitting in the garden with a glass of orange juice and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.

" Still up for it. But I promised Jan I'd stop by to see her tonight, so..."

" Should I be worried ? " Says Pete, without a trace of jealousy in his expression or voice. But it definitely made Ray blush, and he would never tire of that either.

He absolutely adored Jan. He couldn't help but love the person who had made his path cross with Ray's.

*

" Fuck the Long Walk. There’re so many better things to do in this world than watch young men get shot in the head. "

It had slipped out. There was no one else in the St. Abraham's cafeteria: just him, his fellow cook Hank, and his damn radio broadcasting the most highly anticipated program of the year for the entire population of the United States of America.

" Yeah, I agree, " Hank replied. " But don't go shouting it from every rooftop, man. " The cook was certainly younger than him, but he couldn't help treating others like kids. His kids. Okay, he was married. And working with children all day didn't help either. The gap between his youthful appearance and his fatherly maturity was rather comical, really.

After putting away the tables, chairs, and trays, Hank took him by the arm and led him into the kitchen storeroom.

" Listen... Do you really mean that ? What you said about the Long Walk ? "

Yes, he meant it. But that hadn't always been the case. For example, on that day in March when he signed his application form, stucked on the stamp, posted the letter, and waited for a reply. He was so sure he would be selected: Peter McVries was going to represent the State of New York in the Long Walk, and he was going to win. The important thing wasn't the wish. What mattered was the money and all the good he would do with it. No kid in this country would ever have to go through what he had gone through. He would win.

But when the long-awaited letter arrived, the government very solemnly told him to go fuck himself and move on.

" Yes, Hank. I do. "

" Then you're not alone. I mean, we have a small group of people like you. Like me. Protesters. "

" Hold on, man. I never said I wanted to join a dissident group or something. I'm not going to help anyone if I get myself squadded. "

Hank chuckled, but kept his voice low.

" My friend, we don't blow up fucking trucks and railroad tracks. We call ourselves the Musketeers: there were only three of us at first, so... Anyway, we steal stuff here and there, we deliver mail. We're in contact with groups in other states. We're not exactly above board, that's for sure, but we're discreet. And our leader is a real brain. With her, it's Plan A, Plan B, Plan C: she's always three or four steps ahead. I swear. "

" I'm not convinced, Olson. I don't know. "

" Come tomorrow night. We can talk. I'll tell Jan you're cool. She's bringing a new guy too, so we'll kill two birds with one stone ! "

" Did I say yes ? Godamn... "

" See that old church on the way down to Falmouth? Meet me there around 9 p.m. Bring something to eat. Or just something. Bring something. "

" Olson ! "

Hank had already left. He left Pete in the storeroom, alone with dangerous ideas. It would end badly for the “Musketeers” if the army came knocking on their doors. Damn it, does that idiot even think about his wife if he gets arrested ? No, definitely not, it's too risky.

So he didn't know why his feet were carrying him to the door of that damn church on a Friday night, a plate full of cookies in his hand. Maybe he just didn't want to be alone, just for one night.

Besides, it's not like he's forced to participate in their activities. He comes, he talks, he leaves. That's it, good night and good luck .

Light filters under the door. It's still bright at this time of year, but the thick forest surrounding the old building plunges it into darkness. He's never been shy, but he preferred to wait for Olson's green light. He shouldn't be long now. A blue pickup truck pulls into the driveway. Still no sign of Hank.

Oh well, I'll take my chances on my own, Pete thought. With his hand on the door handle, he glanced back at the newcomer. A young guy like him, tall and kinda stocky. In the bed of his old Chevy, and he could use some help unloading it.

" Hey ! Need a hand ? "

" Hey, and yes, for the helping hand. I didn’t think I’d made it so heavy... " He placed a hand on what sat in the center of the pickup truck bed: a large square, neatly tied and secured.

" When you say made... "

" It’s my donation. For the Musketeers. I make furniture. Jan told me to bring something, and they needed a cabinet that locks. I hope it's okay. "
Pete burst out laughing. " As for me, I made cookies. "

He heard the other man's laugh resound in turn. " Think of it this way: your gift will taste better. I'm going to push, ready ? "

They had no trouble maneuvering the piece of furniture to the church door. It was hard to see much, but Pete spotted a hand reaching out to him.

" Ray Garraty. "

" Pete. Peter McVries. " A firm handshake, he thought. And a genuine smile that even the shadows couldn’t hide.

" Are you ready, Pete ? "

" As ready as you can be, Ray. "

At 9:30 p.m., all the Musketeers were finally there. The seven Musketeers. Seated in a circle around a round table in the middle of the church, waiting for the newcomers to introduce themselves.

Raymond Garraty. Ray. 22 years old. Woodworker. Born and raised in Freeport. Lives in a small apartment in town. A good friend of Jan's. Not sure how to help, but has finally decided to take the plunge. Has a very good reason to hate the army. To hate the Major.

Peter McVries. You can call him McVries. 23 years old. Born in New York but has been traveling up and down the East Coast since he was a kid. Olson's colleague at St. Abraham's Orphanage. Just said a little too loudly that he didn't like the Long Walk.

Then it was the Musketeers' turn: Collie Parker, Richie Harkness, Art Baker, Gary Barkovich, Stebbins, Hank Olson, and finally, Jan.

" We don't ask for more than that, Peter. We need people who can give a little of their time and energy. I'm sure Hank told you we were attacking tanks... "

" What ? " protested the man in question. " I wasn't bragging this time, Jan ! "

" I know, I was teasing you. What I meant was that sometimes we organize activities, but we also take the time to talk and share our stories if we want to. We can say whatever we want here. "

" Jan, " Pete commented, " When you talk about activities... "

" For example, I work at Freeport City Hall. I keep my ears open: soldiers can be very talkative. I gather informations. Richie works for the postal service, Hank with the city's kitchen network... Everyone does what they can. Last month, we were able to get mail to a political prisoner and give food to his family. It's not much in the grand scheme of things... "

" That's fantastic, Jan. I'm serious, guys, this is real. " McVries interrupted.

" Convinced ? " asked Olson, crossing his arms over his chest.

" I still need to think about it. I mean, what you're doing is terrific, but you also have to consider the risks involved. It could all come to an end tomorrow. "

" I agree, " echoed Ray. He hadn't said a word since his presentation and had been listening attentively to the others. All eyes were on him. He was turning redder by the second.

" My mother. I wouldn't want anything to happen to her because of me. She doesn't know I'm here with you, but I'm sure she would disapprove. She's already suffered enough. "

" Of course, " Jan replied. " We will always do everything we can to ensure that we don't put ourselves in immediate danger. We’re not active every month: irregularity makes it easier for us to fly under the radar. That's our number one priority. "

" We should write some rules, like the fucking Long Walk, " said Stebbins. He wasn’t much of a talker either. Even though he was sitting at the same table as all the other Musketeers, he seemed miles away from them.

" That's an idea. You're right to mention the Long Walk. That event symbolizes everything that is rotten in this country. I'm going to ask you a question, and I'm going to ask you to answer honestly, if you would. Who among you applied for the Long Walk ? "

We all did, thought Pete. He didn't know a single guy who hadn't tried his " luck ". But no one raised their hand. He didn't want to reveal his personal double failure: being desperate enough to apply and then, not being accepted. And no one else in the room seemed willing to do so.

But out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ray's hand move. Once again, all eyes were on him. The silence quickly becomes oppressive, his brown eyes not daring to look at the faces around him.

Fuck it.

Pete raises his hand too. Then, one by one, all the Musketeers (with the exception of Jan) find themselves with their arms raised. They're all in the same boat: an old tub adrift that will ultimately sink.

*

" Maybe a little, yes. We're planning something big together. "

Ray gets up to hide his smile in a closet. The one with his mother's cookie jar will be perfect. He brings it to the table, in front of a perplexed Pete who scrutinizes every smirk, every hint of mischief.

" Seriously? "

" Yeah. Figuring out how to celebrate the news of Hank's upcoming baby is a big deal. "

" Shut up ! Really ? Another little Olson on Earth ? "

" We knew it would happen someday. Only Jan and I know. And now you do too. "

" That's fucking great ! Is he excited, at least ? Tell me he's excited, please ! "

" He's bouncing off the walls, I can tell you that. But he's freaking out too. We're going to talk about it tonight, and we'd like to help him. With some new furniture, a little extra cash, that sort of thing. "

" One for all and all for one, as they say. I'm 100% on board. "

" Do you want to tag along ? "

Pete takes a cookie from the box and dips it in his coffee. A small routine gesture to give him a few extra seconds to think. Ray waits for an answer, but he’s pretty sure he already knows it.

" Hmm... No, I’ll have to pass this time. "

Pete knows the " Ray + Jan " story in great detail. Ray had no trouble sharing it, as it was so very common. Friends in middle school, lovers in high school, approved by each other’s parents. First date, first kiss, first time making love. Then the tiny apartment downtown, family and friends talking about marriage and children. One day, the inevitable " we need to talk " after dinner. Followed by " it's not going to work, is it ? "

He hadn't realized it, but they had grown apart. Jan could no longer stand walking a path that had been laid out for her. Wife, mother, nice little housewife. Ray had never held it against her. He would rather have a free Jan than an unhappy Jan. The separation hadn't been painful: no broken dishes, no supplications. The news had stunned him, of course, but perhaps not as much as it should have. It was as if Jan, that little walking miracle, had only been passing through his life and he had been privileged to spend four wonderful years with her.

His growing feelings for Pete had confused Ray : had he really loved Jan if he now loved a man ? Had he lied to her without knowing it ? Had she sensed it and decided to leave ?

No, nothing was ever that simple. His heart pounding when she walked in front of him, her hand in his, guiding his steps. The nights she had spent haunting his dreams. The gifts they gave each other without needing a reason. It was true. It had existed, without a doubt. There had been a Jan chapter, and now there was a Pete chapter in Ray Garraty's story. The second act of his life. The one that would never have an " end ".

His partner knew how important Jan had been in his life, the friendship that had grown between them after their love story. And those moments they spent together, remaking the world, talking about their families: moments that belonged to them.

" You sure ? You're welcome, always."

" Don't you worry, I've got a new record to listen to. And to study. "

The perspective of an evening on the sofa, with hot chocolate and some vinyl made him eager to stay. He knew that Pete would take out one of his notebooks to write the lyrics on one page and his own texts on the other. An absolutely adorable scene. But he should keep his promise to Jan.

The mugs are empty and the cookie jar is emptying at lightning speed. Ray helps himself to another one.

" One last and let's get started ? "

*

The meeting ended about an hour later. Everyone had given their opinions on America's favorite TV show, and they all agreed : Fuck The Long Walk !

Ray had avoided Jan's gaze as much as possible : he was afraid of seeing that mixture of disappointment and anger she had displayed when she learned about his plan. But there was no way he was going to sneak out like a thief. He wanted to say goodbye to her. And that she could count on him to help the Musketeers, maybe even become one himself in the future. He also wanted to mention Pete: she had to convince him to get on board. He was impressive : his experiences, his words, his quiet strength. He wasn't sure about himself, but he'd put in a good word for Pete if they had to pick just one of them.

For now, Jan was talking to Collie. He couldn't compete, that was for sure.

Besides, Pete's cookies were making eyes at him, sitting in the corner of the room on his cabinet. He had already eaten a few, but he never said no to an additional sweet treat.

Just as he lifted the checkered cloth covering the plate, Pete appeared at his side.

" Not very popular, it seems... "

" They don't know what's good. I'm having a feast, for real. My mom makes them with oats, it's her specialty. "

" Here, take some for the road, " Pete offered, sliding three cookies toward him.

" Thank you. " Ray stuffed them into a clean handkerchief and then into his jacket pocket.

" It was brave of you to raise your hand first. I wouldn't have had the guts. We were all like... paralyzed. "

" You followed up almost immediately, and it pushed the others to do the same. That was brave too. "

When Peter raised a cookie to his mouth, Ray's eyes fell on the long scar that barred his lip and cheek. The dim lighting had left it in shadow, but now he couldn't look away. What story did that mark tell ?

The young man turned his face away. His mother had often told him not to stare at people.

" I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... "

" Hey ! Did you guys eat all the cookies ? " Hank interrupted, approaching them.

" You should have been faster, Olson. Look at us, two young men in the midst of growing: we need to eat." Pete handed him the plate anyway with a bright smile.

" Growing, my ass... Not bad, McVries. You learned from the best, I can tell. "

Pete leaned toward Ray, pretending to whisper : " I should mention that he didn’t want to help me because, and I quote, " you treat us like kindergarteners with your dumb cookies ". And look at him now. "

Faced with Hank, covered in chocolate and not knowing where to put his soiled hands, they shared the same burst of laughter.

" That's right, laugh all you want, rookies. I was going to invite you to Hank and Clementine Olson's awesome cave to finish off the evening, but now I'm not so sure... "

Pete crossed his arms over his chest. " What makes you think we want to see your cave, Olson ? "

Ray nodded. " It could be a trap. Sounds dangerous. "

Art stopped behind Olson and put his arms around his shoulders. " Come on, guys... "

" Fuck, I hate them already... Jan ! We haven’t voted on this yet, right ? "

The leader turned away from her conversation and said, " For me, it's crystal clear. But since we operate under a democratic system, we'll vote among ourselves. "

" It's too late for all that. I heard "Hank" and " cave ". Are you inviting us or not ? ” asked Art.

" Come on, who’s with me ? "

This spontaneous evening at Hank's was the first in a long series that would continue. Olson hadn't lied: Pete and he were amazed when they discovered the " Cave ": a converted basement under 46 Northern Road, a mix between a gentlemen's bar and a diner. The atmosphere was intimate and welcoming, and it could easily accommodate around twenty people. Hank and Clementine had every reason to be proud.

Bars and restaurants were closing down one after the other. Hank explained that he had salvaged the furniture from the ruins of those businesses that had almost disappeared. In recent years, restaurants, nightclubs, bowling alleys, and other entertainment venues had been reserved for the 1% of Americans who could still afford leisure activities.

So the Cave was a journey back to a time he hadn't had time to experience. There was a record player, old concert posters, a beautiful table for games of cards...

" We found this in Brunswick with Clementine, " explained Hank, one hand on the perfectly maintained solid oak bar. Ray couldn't help but stroke the surface of the wood. " And this on the side of a road. Can you fucking believe it ? Come on, take a seat. "

It was hard to believe that two beautiful red benches and a matching table could have been abandoned. But on the roads of Maine, you could find all sorts of oddities.

Art sat down in front of him and Pete took a seat next to him on the bench.

" Beers for everyone ? " asked Hank.

A cheerful " yes " rose from the group. Ray opened his mouth and made a small gesture with his hand, but quickly changed his mind. He wasn't going to be picky and draw attention to himself on his first night.

" You were about to say something, Ray ? " Well, it hadn't escaped Pete's notice, obviously.

" No, it's nothing. I mean, it's just... I don't really like beer. "

Without hesitation, but without interrupting the flow of conversation, Pete said, " Hank ! What else do you have in store ? "

" Hmmm... Jamison, Smirnoff, Captain Morgan... Coca-Cola ? "

" A Coke would be perfect, Hank ! " replied Ray.

Conversations started and ended naturally. Ray listened more than he participated, but he liked the group dynamic that was developing minute by minute.

" Okay, let's cut to the chase," began Olson, whose pronunciation deteriorated a little more with each passing beer. " Let's say, and I mean let's say, that we keep you guys. Do you two feel up to it ? "

Pete leaned back on the bench and took the leap.

" It's not a decision you take lightly. But it's true that your Jan seems to know what she's doing. She's one hell of a girl. "

" Don't even try, McVries. She's given up on men : she's only in for the fight. Ask your neighbor, he knows something about it. "

Three faces turned to him, impatients. Fatigue had slowed his thoughts: they were talking about Jan.

" Jan ? "

Pete elbowed him playfully : "Come on, Garatty, I want to know now ! "

He tried to hide his embarrassment by flattening the hair on the nape of his neck, but the eyes staring at him were waiting for an answer.

" Jan and I... We broke up a year ago. "

" Because of the Long Walk ? " asked Peter. Then, when Ray opened his mouth to reply, he continued, "Shit, I shouldn't have asked that. If you don't want to talk about it... "

" Don't worry. It's actually the opposite. I've always wanted to take part in it, and with the breakup, I... fell back into a kind of obsession. Too much free time, too much time to dwell on things, make plans... "

It's time to shut up, Garraty... he thought.

Art took over. " She told us it wasn't your fault, Ray. That she was the one who had changed. "

" It's all behind us now. And we're still good friends, which is fine with me. "

Olson opened a new bottle. " Did you hear that, McVries ? It's a lost cause with Jan. I'm just telling you this so you don't waste your time. "

" I said that without ulterior motives, back the fuck down, guys ! "

Ray, who had found himself in the same situation a few minutes earlier, rushed to Pete’s defense. Who, given his quick wit, surely didn’t need it.

" I think we’re all starting to get a little tired. And besides, I’m sure Pete has a girl, right ? "

" No, Ray. I don't have a girl. "

Pete had dropped this information while facing him. Completely ignoring their two tablemates. As if it concerned only him and no one else here. And he couldn't think of anything to say in response : the silence stretched on until Hank broke it.

" And the next one won't be Jan, Mr. Lover Boy. There, I said it. "

" He's at it again ! " continued Art.

The " Cave " was about to close. Olson was only standing thanks to Baker's support. Art had wisely advised him to sleep on the couch: knowing Clementine's strong temper, she would kick him out of bed at the slightest sniff of alcohol. And she would be quite right.

They all shook hands in farewell and as a sign of their promise. They would be back, they swore. And with a little luck, they would become Musketeers.

The perspective of joining the group excited Ray. He had his mother and Jan, of course. But he had felt such solidarity and unity among them: he wanted to be part of the circle. He wanted to feel the weight of a just cause, greater than himself, on his shoulders. A cause that would bind them together forever, give them a purpose. However different they might be from one another. Olson, resourceful and loud-mouthed. Art, discreet but decisive. The intense Collie and Stebbins. Gary, the eccentric with the camera. Richie, notebook in hand, always listening. Jan, the brains.

Peter McVries.

All of them out of sync and yet in perfect harmony.

He didn't manage to sleep until much later. He couldn't wait to see them again, to talk... and when the day came, to take action. Perhaps he had found a way to get closer to his father, to his aspirations and deep convictions. The Long March hadn't wanted him: he would find another way.

*

Pete is on laundry duty this afternoon. As for Ray, he has locked himself in the bathroom with the intention of not coming out until it is perfectly clean.

So he has the honor of making their bed for the first time: their brand new and insanely comfy bed.
He pulls out their newest sheets, stacks the pillows... to create a little slice of heaven they'll never want to leave.

With their two salaries, they were able to buy a washing machine. A small luxury since the Great Recession: not all their friends are lucky enough to have one. He makes numerous trips between the bedroom and the kitchen, his arms heavy with laundry. Perhaps a little too heavy, as he dangerously brushes against the small frames on a sideboard in the hallway. A legacy from his parents, which his mother handed down to him when he moved in. Like them, Ray has started to put photos on it, silent testimonies of their life together. From a distance, they would appear to be good friends. You have to get closer and squint to see a hand around a waist, a look of admiration for the other, a head resting on a shoulder.

When one of the frames falls, Pete rushes to check if it's broken or not. The glass is intact despite the drop. A good sign, he thinks. It's the photo of the handshake.

*

" A rocket. I would have asked for a rocket. " replied Art. He was sitting in his usual spot in the Cave, but tonight Barkovitch was squeezed between him and Hank on the bench.

" That’s a completely fucked-up wish ! A damn rocket ! "

" You're the one who's completely fucked up, Barkovitch ! " Olson interrupted him.

" No, you're the fucked up one ! " Gary was nervously stripping a small plastic Christmas tree : there wouldn't be much left of it in ten minutes. Olson took it from his hands and Gary returned his attention to the camera hanging around his neck.

" That's what I call a comeback..." said McVries, standing next to Ray, who was quietly laughing at the scene.

" If my rocket is a stupid idea, what was your wish ? "

" I was only interested in the money. Didn't give a damn about the wish. "

" I get it. " Pete said. It hurt to agree with Barkovitch.

" What do you mean ? " Ray asked, now looking dead serious.

" The wish is one thing. But think about how they never reveal how much money the winner gets, because it must be obscene. Imagine what you could do with ten million dollars. Or a hundred million dollars? Hell, you could change the lives of hundreds of thousands of people with that kind of money. You could make things better in this damn country. "

" But no winners have ever done that. "

" I would have. "

The three musketeers on the bench opposite burst out laughing. But not Ray.
" Sure, McVries... We all buy that... " said Hank, almost gone already. " I’m too tired for this bullshit. " He took his beer bottle with him and went to sit behind the bar, where Harkness and Jan were probably discussing strategy over tea.

The last meeting and the last evening before the Christmas break. It was a tradition among the Musketeers: the end of the year had to be about family, gifts, and joy. The fight could wait two weeks.

Pete dared to glance at Ray. The poor guy still seemed to be thinking about his friend's words: eyebrows furrowed and eyes staring into the void.

" I can hear you thinking from here, Garraty. What was your wish ? " he asked with a slight shoulder shrug.

Ray took a deep breath before opening his mouth and exhaling. " It’s... I wanted the Long Walk to stop existing. "

" Not possible, as a wish. " Art pointed out.

" I know, but I would have found a way. " There was no trace of amusement left in Ray’s eyes.

" You've beat Art for the shittiest wish, Garraty. Congratulations ! " Gary slapped his thighs as if he had just told the funniest joke in the world. He was the only one laughing, and an uneasy silence fell over the Cave.

Pete didn't understand what this guy was doing among them. He didn't really participate in their activities, and he got into fights with the others at least once a week. He had thought that he was the group's little mascot, but damn it, what did he really bring to the table ? Were the Musketeers really that desperate ? Jan had confided to him that he would have his role to play one day. But when ?

" Let it go, Barkovitch… "

" Your boyfriend can't even defend himself ? "

" Come on, my man, I think we've had a little too much to drink tonight. " Art took Gary by the shoulders and led him to another table. Gary struggled a little and remained standing, camera in hand. He was talking to himself.

" What an asshole. " Pete turned to Ray : hands around his shoulders and head down, he was looking like he wanted to melt into the wall and disappear. " You okay ? "

" Yeah, it's just... I don't want to talk about it. Not to Barkovitch. "

" Will you talk to me about it ? One day, I mean. "

Ray looked away. It was highly unusual.

They had become Musketeers in July, after receiving everyone's approval. And perhaps because they had walked through the door of that church together, they had become a pair. Inseparable. A bond of trust had developed in just a few weeks, which made them particularly effective in the field. Nothing very dangerous at first: deliveries, messages to be passed from hand to hand. But the work was always done well, very well. A well-oiled team that gave the group hope.

But there was something else. Pete didn't give his thoughts time to form words, coherent sentences. He chased away any burgeoning feelings with painful memories, stories that were dead before they even began. Ray was his friend, his best friend. And he needed to stay that way. He felt safe by his side. At peace, perhaps for the first time in his life. He didn't want to run away.

Ray always looked him in the eye, with a steady gaze. There must be a story behind this discomfort.

" Listen. Let's make a deal, the two of us. You tell me about your wish and I'll tell you about my scar. It doesn't have to be today. How about it ? "

He held out his hand to Ray, who looked at it for a few seconds. Then, a smile spread across his face and he took it in his own.

Click. Click. Click.

Barkovitch wasn't a photographer: he was probably just doing it to piss people off. Nobody likes having a camera pointed at them without permission. But this photo was magnificent.
The little bastard had developed it in his makeshift darkroom and brought it to the next month's meeting. So they could see their ugly mugs on beautiful glossy paper, he'd said.
The photo had been passed around, then Pete had stuffed it into his jacket pocket without asking anyone's permission. It joined the collection of a few photos that had always traveled with him : friends cut down in their prime, one or two kind adults who had crossed his path... And now, one of the Musketeers in front of the church and the handshake.

He would sometimes detach it to examine it in greater detail. Their hands clasped, the little plastic Christmas tree on the table, his denim jacket not warm enough, Ray's smile. His gaze turned toward him. Pete searched that gaze for a gleam, a revelation.

You're ridiculous, sad old friend, he thought. You, your photo, your wide-open heart.

While the meetings were monthly, the Musketeers got together much more often. They formed a small core group: Art, Hank, Ray, and him. The Cave had become their lair. A week after the meeting on " photographic observation and reflection on the impact of this art on our society " (title given by Jan), Hank invited them over on a Friday evening. But when he arrived, Olson greeted him with a slightly sad look on his face. Garraty arrived a few minutes after him.

" Sorry, guys, I told Art to leave. Clementine isn't feeling well today. "

" Nothing serious ? " asked Ray.

" No, no. Probably just a cold. But it's keeping her in bed. "

" Soup, honey tea, and rest." Pete advised. " Be a good husband, Olson. I'm watching you. "

" That's right, McVries... Come on, you two, get lost. See you next time. "

As they walked away from the house, Ray slowed down.

" Sorry, I can't even give you a ride. My clunker's broken down. I have to buy a new battery tomorrow. "

" Don't be sorry. Let's walk together for a bit. "

" Sounds good to me. "

Since they were about the same height (Garraty was an inch or two taller, but there was no need to mention that out loud), they walked at the same pace without realizing it.

" It's not so bad, actually. Walking, I mean. I feel like I'm rediscovering the city. Especially at this hour. " Ray remarked. It was six o'clock in the evening and night had almost completely fallen. But a beam of pink light still pierced through the dark blue sky.

" Absolutely. We rely too much on our cars, anyway. Not too tired ? "

" To be honest, a little. It was one of those delivery days at work. I carried stuff all day." Ray crossed his arms and grabbed the straps of his bag to relieve his back. " How about you ? "

" Me, I carried kids. But I'm fine. I feel like I've been doing this my whole life. Walking. Leaving. Wandering the streets. "

Ray didn't answer and waited for more. A sad story. Damn, he'd ruined the mood.

" But not tonight. " He put his arm around Garraty's shoulders, and the worry that had begun to show on his face disappeared. " It's a beautiful night : we'll scrape our shoes on the stars and hang upside down from the moon. "

" You a poet, Pete ? "

" I write a little, yes. Songs, mostly. But it's not like I'm going to make a career out of it. So you'll be the only one privileged enough to hear them. "

" Better be good, then ! "

Enjoy the moment, Pete, he thought. Enjoy Ray's laughter in your ears and his sideways smile in your eyes. Enjoy your elbows brushing against each other with every step. Don't focus on what might happen and, above all, on what will never happen. It's just a little flirting, and it always makes Ray laugh. Nothing more.

" My dad... My dad, he loved poetry. The kind we're not allowed to read anymore, of course. He loved everything that's forbidden now. And he made me read a lot of books. Philosophy. Camus, Kierkegaard. "

His gaze wandered again. They walked in silence.

" Ray, your dad... "

Pete had kept walking and it took him a few seconds to realize that Ray was no longer beside him. He froze, his arms still crossed over his chest.

" I'm home. " They were indeed at the foot of the large house that housed his small apartment. But Ray didn't seem to want to take a step toward going home. Should he just leave him there with a " Bye, see you later ! " ?

" I think I want to tell you. My wish. "

Pete moved slightly closer and placed a hand on his arm as gently as he could. He felt as though Ray might shatter into a thousand pieces at the slightest wrong move. He listened intently, ready to hear what would be said.

" Would you like to come in ? "

He was already familiar with Ray's apartment: the furniture that was far too large for the three small rooms, the photos on the sideboard... He knew he would hang his jacket on a wicker chair in the kitchen and he knew how to make coffee without asking where the filters were.
But tonight, a veil was about to be lifted. He would have to be careful, listen, and perhaps share a story or two that he would rather never mention. For Ray, he would find the courage.

" I hope you've got some booze, Garraty. "

Ray huffed. That was something, at least.

In the hallway, Pete took off his shoes and propped them against the wall. Ray closed the door and leaned his back against it. Then he spoke in one breath, as if the words could no longer remain inside him:

" I wanted to kill the Major. If I had been on the Long Walk, I would have killed the Major. "

" Hold on a second. Let's get our ass on the couch and you can tell me that again. "

" It's true, Pete. I swear. I wanted to ask for a carbine and put a bullet in his head. "

" Damn it, Garraty... I'm going to make us some coffee."

Did the clock stopped, or was it really one o'clock in the morning ? The living room was now lit only by a small bedside lamp, placed between an old, heavy armchair and the sofa, an antique piece covered in dark green leather. Between Pete and Ray.

Pete knew about the wish. About the carbine. About the Major. About his father.

Ray knew about the scar. About the childhood on the road. About the evil and violent adults.

They didn't agree on everything; they had discussed at length revenge, killing a man, sacrificing everything for the fight.
Some time ago, Pete would surely have told him that no cause was worth becoming a killer for. But damn it, seeing the brains of these young men splattered on the asphalt of American roads live on national television was enough to drive anyone crazy. Seeing his father killed before his eyes... He could understand. He didn't agree, but he understood.

The Musketeers had another credo : you can't always turn the other cheek.

Still, he couldn't imagine Ray, rifle in hand, becoming a killer.

Ray Garraty and his kind, deep gaze as he told him his story. He listened without interrupting and looked at the marks on his skin without judgment or distancing himself. He had never opened up so much about his life to anyone before, but he felt no discomfort or remorse for having said too much.

In the middle of a sentence, he yawned so wide his jaw almost fell off. The coffee was no longer having any effect. Ray, his head resting on the armrest and his eyes half closed, offered:

" The couch or the bed ? "

" I guess going home isn’t an option ? "

" No, Pete. Not at one in the morning in January. And you can have my bed. My mother would kill me if she knew I let my guest sleep on the couch. "

Pete rolled his eyes at the gesture. He was more delighted than annoyed.

" Come on, or we’ll fall asleep right here. "

The bed took up almost the entire room: it was huge and made of dark wood, with the side facing the window slightly sagging. Ray's side, no doubt. A wardrobe and bedside tables also cluttered the room. Surprisingly, Pete felt comfortable in this out-of-time setting.

Ray laid out some pajamas for Pete and began gathering pillows and blankets for himself.

" Wait a minute, why can't you sleep here too ? It's not like there's no room for two of us here ! "

Ray looked surprised.

Fuck, I've ruined everything, haven't I? he thought. I took a chance and lost. Ray 's going to think I'm a freak. He invites me over and I suggest we sleep in the same bed. If he takes too long to answer, I'll just say I was fucking with you. It's a joke, brother. Who do you take me for ?

" Yep, that’s true. But I’m warning you: I snore like a dying truck ! "

" Don’t worry, once I’m asleep, nothing can wake me up. Not even a dying truck. Do you have a toothbrush I could borrow ? "

It was as simple as that. No hesitation, no looking down. They took turns in the bathroom and sat down on their side of the bed. As Ray slipped under the covers, Pete's hand clenched the sheet.

" Ray, I have to tell you something. One more thing. "
Ray was about to turn off his bedside lamp but turned to Pete.

" I'm... I'm queer. Gay, a homo, a fruit, whatever they say... " He stared at the window and looked like he was about to jump out of it at any moment. Not many people knew this information. It was sometimes still hard not to hate himself for it. He knew he hadn't done anything wrong; it was the rest of the world that thought so. Maybe Ray thought so too. But it seemed more correct to tell him.

" Oh. Alright." Ray finally said, turning off the light next to him.

Pete found the courage to turn around and face his friend. " That's it? You and me in the same bed, knowing that ? Just "alright" ? ”

" Look, I guess even if you like guys, that doesn't mean you like every guy you meet, right ? "

" That's... very wise of you. Your parents raised you well, but I had no doubt about that. "

" My father was the ‘live and let live’ type. Freedom for all. My mother... she's more Catholic. It's not as simple for her. "

The light on Ray's side went out, he patted his pillow and lay down on his back. Before doing the same, Pete sat up once more.

" Are you sure? You're not going to run away in the middle of the night if I brush against you ? "

" Cut it out. Besides, look at me : I'm not exactly a pretty boy. Nothing to be worried about, right ? " he added with a little laugh.

Shut up, Ray Garraty. You and your lovely crooked teeth, your beautiful brown eyes, your freckles when the sun comes out, your broad shoulders and your round belly that stretches your T-shirts perfectly. There's nothing to change about you, nothing at all.

" Don't bring yourself down, man. It's not good for morale." He wanted to say more, so much more. But it was Ray's turn to yawn.

" I'll think about my morale. But tomorrow. "

" Good night, Ray. "

" Good night, Pete. "

Stop thinking, you're hurting yourself. Savor the moment. Enjoy the moment. Sleeping next to someone you care about and who cares about you in return. Someone who knows everything about you and accepts you unconditionally. Feeling the warmth of another human close by, almost being able to touch them but being content to just bring the hand close to the flame. Listening to the reassuring rhythm of a steady breath. Letting your eyes close with the certainty that the night will be nothing but rest and dreams.

*

He conquered the bathroom, now it's the kitchen's turn. He'll use the opportunity to start dinner while cleaning the fridge. He listens to Pete's singing voice as he hangs laundry in their small garden. Then he hears his footsteps approaching him.

" Well, that's one thing done ! "

Ray pokes his head out of the refrigerator and smoothes down a rebellious strand of hair.

" I'll be done in five minutes. Want to grab a drink after ? I bought Orange Julius. "

" You and Jan set a time ? "

Damn. He didn't notice the hour passing. " Seven p.m. "

" Ten minutes to shower and get dressed, ten minutes to drive to the church... All is not lost ! "

Garraty sticks his nose into the collar of his T-shirt: indeed, a quick wash is in order. He turns back to the stove where the water is already boiling.

" Don't worry about it, I've got it covered. I'm not kidding, darling ! If you go right away, maybe you won't get yelled at too much. Even though you kinda deserve it. "

It's a good plan, simple. He showers, combs his hair, and gets dressed without thinking too much about it. His famous shirt-T-shirt-cargo pants combo will do the trick. Before heading out, he stops by the kitchen, where Pete has taken over at the stove. He doesn't have time, but whatever, he finds a moment to kiss Pete.

" Don't do anything stupid. "

" I never do anything stupid without you. I promise. "

" Love you, you know ? "

" I love you too. But get going, will you ? "

So easy to say, and yet so important.

It hadn’t always been that way.

*

The Long Walk. Fuck, he’d been picked for the Long Walk !

He could hear his steps echoing on the road, and those of the 49 other guys too. There's still a crowd, they've only just started. He feels light, carried by a gentle breeze at his back. That breeze gives him goose bumps. He's not usually sensitive to the cold.

Some laughter. Hank and Art pass him, look at him and burst out into chuckles. Barkovitch turns around and sneers. Ray sees his lips move but can't hear a sound. It sounds like some kind of insult. Collie, Stebbins, and Harkness are more reserved, their expressions a mixture of surprise and pity.

Then it's Pete's turn. He slows his pace to match Ray's and looks him up and down. What he sees on his face is sadness. Pure disappointment.

When Ray looks down, he understands.

He's naked.

His alarm clock saves him from the Long Walk. He jumps out of bed, not wanting to spend another second in this place. Pete was here a few weeks ago. Right here.

He knows the reason for this nightmare. If his mother knew he had fallen in love with Peter McVries, she would force him to walk naked through the streets of Freeport, in front of their neighbors, in front of his friends, in front of the whole world.

Pull yourself together, Garraty. You're not six anymore. She just wanted to protect you. She just wanted to protect your family from an upcoming disgrace. And it had passed anyway.

Until that Friday night, when it hit him. Like he'd been hit in the head with a brick. Having Pete at his place, talking all evening and waking up together seemed so... natural. After breakfast, they went off to work separately. And when he got home that evening, he expected to see him, maybe on the couch with one of his books.

But silence greeted him.

He loved him. And he would bury this secret deep inside himself. No one must know. Not his mother, not Jan, not his colleagues.

Not Pete. Especially not Pete. He would be so disappointed, just like in the nightmare. That someone like Ray would be interested in him. Someone insipid, not very smart, not particularly pleasant to look at... While he was bright, cultured, courageous. His smile could open any door, solve any problem...

He already called him his best friend. A privilege and an honor. Don't ruin it.

They have a mission tonight. A deserted warehouse between midnight and five in the morning and some documents just waiting to be stolen. The army is short-staffed: they don't suspect for a second that anyone would come snooping around in the middle of nowhere in this godforsaken corner of the world. It's only an hour's drive away. Art, Hank, and Richie have scouted the location: there's little chance of things going wrong, it's just a search. Harkness has provided them with a rough map of the premises, and they'll have to make do with that.

Ray is confident, as always with Pete by his side. In the pickup truck, they talk about everything and nothing, but not the mission. He blushes sometimes at certain remarks from Pete, at a well-placed compliment, and he hopes that the darkness in the cabin is on his side.

He has to admit it : the boys have done their homework properly. Everything is in the right place: the service door closed with a simple lock that takes them three minutes to pick (it's part of the Musketeers' basic training), the office just opposite the metal stairs. An office that no one even bothered to lock. The nation's elite, they say...

Pete searches the drawers with a gloved hand, precise and fast. Ray takes photos: there are maps on the walls, reports pinned up. He's not sure what use they are, but maybe Jan will do something with them, or pass the information to someone.

" That's good enough for me. " Ray whispers. " And you, have you… "

Pete raises his hand. " Wait. "

Voices. A man and a woman. A door opens. Footsteps.

Giggles.

This is bad, he thinks. Is this really how it’s going to end? Arrested in an official building for stealing equally official and secret documents? They’re screwed, he can’t do this to Pete...

" Garraty, look at me. "

He can't. " But why the hell... "

" Ray. " Pete takes him by the shoulders, his fingers firm and reassuring. " Listen to me. I don't think these soldiers are supposed to be here. "

" Yeah, neither are we, actually ! "

" Let me finish. Downstairs, there are soldiers who have been drinking and are looking for a place to get laid. I think they're in a room, I can't hear much anymore. "

" Should we wait ? What if they don't come out before morning ? "

" No, we should go. We'll wait five minutes and then go for it. I'll go first, you grab my shoulder and follow me. We'll tread lightly and not touch anything. You gonna be okay, Ray ? "

His brain was no longer capable of rational thoughts. This wasn't supposed to happen. No risk, damn it. The only thing he was capable of doing was letting his body be guided by Pete's voice. He would do everything he said, imitate his movements, the way his foot touched the ground.

" Yes, Pete. I'm following you. "

McVries was right. The noises coming from a door at the end of the hallway left little room for doubt. They were busy, which was perfect for escaping. Ray's glove sank into Pete's jacket, blending into his shadow, into the shadow of his shadow, until he disappeared. They didn't have far to go, but every sound, every heavy breath, could give them away.

And as if by magic, they were outside. Pete kept up a fast, steady pace. Don't panic, don't start running, don't scream. Still in shock, Ray didn't recognize the little dirt path, the woods, or his pickup truck. It was over.

" I'll drive. " Pete decided. Ray handed him the keys with a still trembling hand.

No radio, no jokes, no compliments. Just the echo of his breath, which he hadn't been able to catch. He felt like his lungs would pop out of his mouth if he opened it too wide. But he couldn't stand the silence anymore.

" We have to tell Jan. We have to tell Hank, and Art, and... Fuck ! "

" We'll tell them, but it's not their fault. There was no way to know. But we got out of it because we're a hell of a team. "

" No, you got me out of there. I don't know what I would have done, damn it... This is serious, Pete, we could have died, I could have gotten you killed, I could have... "

He opens the window on his right, but the air refuses to enter his throat. The collar of his sweater is strangling him. His heart is about to explode at any second.

" Ray ! Okay, I'm pulling over, it'll be fine ! "

When the pickup stops at the side of the road, Ray throws himself outside. In the middle of a freezing February night, he feels hot, too hot. He walks past the headlights, too much light. He clings to the metal of the vehicle : if I fall, I'm done for.

But Pete is there: he pulls him up and pins him against a door. Then he gently guides him to the cold ground.

" I'm here, Ray,” he says, sitting down in front of him. " You're having a panic attack, it's normal, okay ? It's the adrenaline wearing off. I know you feel like you're having a stroke, but you're not. Trust me. You just need to breathe, you can do that ? "
Ray's arms are crossed tightly over his chest. If he moves them, his organs will surely go haywire. But he lets Pete do it: he gently grabs his forearms and ends up taking his hands in his own. The gloves are long gone, their skin is frozen but warming up second by second. He doesn't know how long it's been, but he's breathing.

Tears are now flowing, but there's no question of wiping them away. He won't move anymore.

" It's over, Ray. It's over. "

Pete unties their hands, but Ray needs contact. He throws his arms around him and hugs him as best he can, putting all his strength into the embrace. He breathes again when he feels Pete hug him back with the same intensity.

" Thank you, thank you, thank you. It's you, Pete. I don't know... I... "

He doesn't know what he's saying anymore. He knows exactly what he's saying.

" I love you, Pete. "

The state of shock must be contagious. Because now it's Pete who stiffens, pulls back, unable to hide the surprise in his eyes.

" I love you too, Ray. But... "

His legs would have given out if he hadn’t already been sitting down. He still felt as if the road could open up beneath him and swallow him whole at any moment. That might be preferable. Anything but this. Why did he have to open his big mouth ! Of course Pete doesn't see him like that ! He deserves a hundred times, a thousand times better than a guy like him !

Pete doesn't continue. Once again, the silence could kill him. He has to get away. He has no strength left, but his legs carry him and drag him further away, to protect him.

" Ray... "

" I'm just... I'm just a fucking idiot. I know you don't fall for every guy you meet, I know it ! ”

Pete approaches slowly, cautiously.

" You're not " every guy, " Ray. "

" It's better if... If we pretend I didn't say anything, yeah ? "

A few more steps.

" You didn't mean it ? "

" I just want us to stay friends, for nothing to change. Damn it, I want to go back, I made a mistake, a big mist... "

" Ray ! Let me finish, would you ? ” Pete takes his hands again and he watches him do it without pushing him away.

" We're both in shock, to be honest. And when we're in shock, we say things, we do things... without really meaning them. But listen to me, Ray Garraty. " He punctuates his words by placing his index on the other man's heart. " Listen to me carefully. If you really mean it, tell me again tomorrow. "

" But… "

" Tomorrow night, at the church, okay ? I'll wait for you. I'll tell you too. But not tonight. Not here and now, not after what just happened. "

He no longer knew where he was or what his name was. Completely disoriented. Had he understood correctly, really understood? Tomorrow night, he would know.

He'd hardly slept that night. In the car on the way home, Pete had kept up a semblance of conversation that Ray had trouble following. He was afraid the confession would slip out again.

He would say it as many times as it needed to be said. On the side of a deserted road at one in the morning or now, in a small, worn-out church. A faint light shone under the door. Pete was already there.
His hand on the doorknob, he hesitated. He must not have looked good with his dark circles, red eyes, and hair tousled from the beanie he'd been wearing just seconds before. Maybe the light would work in his favor. It was too late to back out now.

Pete was rocking back and forth on a chair, his feet crossed on a table. He stood up when Ray appeared, rubbing his hands together.

" We really need to invest in a heater, it’s so freaking cold in here ! "

" I love you, Peter McVries. Ask me in ten minutes, ten days, ten years, ten centuries... The answer will always be the same. I'm sure of it. "

" Wait a minute, Ray. We can talk about it first... "

" I'm sure, Pete. Of course, we're best friends, but there's something else, I can feel it. I want... I don't want to pressure you, and I've never dated another guy before, I don't know... But it feels so right when we're together, we're not doing anything wrong, I know we're not doing anything wrong... "

Panic was beginning to paralyze him completely, his body and his thoughts. Like yesterday, Pete stepped closer and took Ray's hands in his.

" Hey, take a deep breath. You don't have to worry. It's the same for me. "

Pete sought Ray's eyes, who had lowered his head. He gently lifted it. " I love you too, Ray Garatty. "

" But then, why... "

" I didn't say anything? Because damn it, I've been there before. Well, not exactly, but still. I mean, you meet a guy, you get along with him, more than just along. There's this... thing, and when you finally tell him, he throws insults at you, ignores you, or in the worst case, beats you up. But I couldn't risk that with you. "

" But... "

" I couldn't tell you because I couldn't lose you. I wouldn't have been able to handle it, I swear. You're my best friend. You're that important to me. "

He should have asked, but an impulse he couldn't control took hold of him. Before he fully realized it, his lips were on Pete's. He felt him smile in the kiss and grabbed his face to guide them better.

He still felt on edge, but soon, the feeling of comfort and warmth he had felt after the night they spent together at his place returned. He was exactly where he needed to be.

That feeling never left him when he was with Pete. It was still there when they went back to Ray's place to continue their conversation over coffee.
Things wouldn't be as simple as they had been with Jan, Pete told him. No walking hand in hand in public, no displays of affection. They couldn't shout it from the rooftops, even if they were dying to.

But they would make do. They would create spaces just for themselves. They would eventually tell some of the Musketeers. Pete knew they suspected it anyway. Ray would tell his mother, and once she got over the shock, she would come back to him, her only son. She couldn't deny that he was happy and that the cause of that happiness was Pete.

And one day, perhaps, this country would change. The squads would fall. The Major would fall. Literature, philosophy, and music would be exchanged freely, without prohibition. The fear of finding a gun pressed against one's skull would fade away. Freedom for all.
And no one would have the right to look at them the wrong way because they loved each other.

*

An envelope of money and he would build a beautiful little cabinet. And of course, they would all be there for Hank and Clementine, no matter what happened. One for all and all for one. He had work to do and would get started tomorrow, if he wasn't too tired from his day at work.

Pete is already asleep when he gets home. He turns off the bedside lamp and takes the book from his hand. The Myth of Sisyphus. He puts on his pajamas and slips under the covers. The mattress barely flinches, the support is divine. God bless new mattresses.

His partner is a heavy sleeper, so he allows himself to pull up the blanket to cover his arms. He don't think Pete is going to get cold, it's a protective gesture. But tonight, he senses the movement and opens his eyes.

" Sorry, " Ray whispers.

Pete closes the distance between them and slips in beside him, flanks against flanks. His head on his shoulder and his arm around his waist. They always end up separating, each at one end of the bed a few hours later, but they always fall asleep next to each other.

" Be sorry with... Let's see... Hamburger and fries ? "

" Give me a week, " Ray chuckles.

" I'll give you all the time you need, that's just how I am. Good night, you. "

" Good night, you. "