Trying not to think about the disastrous charity gala becomes Brad’s favorite pastime over the next few days. The memory haunts him during his shifts, which are frustrating as hell. No progress is being made in the Chinatown murder, and a sudden dip in temperature accompanied by days of incessant rainfall brings with it the first wave of flu. It travels from the uniforms on the beat into the station at lightning speed. Eric is one of the first victims, and Brad finds himself working overtime on additional cases with a different partner every day as more and more detectives get their feet knocked out from under them by influenza.

As bad as the days are, the extra work at least allows Brad to push the miserable thoughts to the back of his mind for some of the time. It’s the nights he dreads, the lonely dinners and his even lonelier bed. Lying there in the dark, his mind replays the embarrassing scene at the Bowery Hotel, his face burning with remembered humiliation. And increasingly, inspired by his overall misery, Brad’s mind wanders again back to Aiden and their failed relationship. He worries about how his ex might be getting on with the medication and his therapy and is more than once tempted to call him. He never does.

Then, on Eric’s second day of flu-related absence, during the first hour of Brad’s early shift, a vice detective Brad only knows by sight stops by his desk. “You’re working that Chinatown murder, right?”

Brad looks up. “You got something for me?”

“Just arrested old Mr. Liu’s nephew visiting from Chicago,” the vice detective says, looking pleased with himself. “Looks like he’s got himself a new and shiny meth habit and thought of creative ways to feed it.” The detective grins. “Uniforms picked him up a block over, while he helped himself to some other family jewels.”

In no time at all, they’ve got a confession for the murder, and the investigation switches to court prep, which means more desk work. With Eric out of commission that would suit Brad fine. But right now, all it means is spending more time on the incidence floor full of coughing and sneezing cops, and evenings lying awake even longer because he isn’t tired out from running around all day. And to top it all off, after the first day of sorting and preparing files he already has a headache and a twitchy eye from staring at the computer screen for hours on end.

Without an unsolved case looming above his head Brad doesn’t need to do any overtime, so Saturday night finds him vegging on the sofa with a beer and a bowl of salted peanuts, too miserable even to go to the gym. Some old Doris Day film is on TV and he watches with half an eye while munching his way through the peanuts. When his phone rings at almost ten p.m., Brad’s eyes are already drooping. He nearly upends his beer on the coffee table as he gropes for the phone.

Damien’s number flashes on the little screen. Brad sits up straight, no longer sleepy. Then he stabs at the green phone icon before he can change his mind.

“Hello.” He tries to keep his voice neutral but is aware just how tight the one word of greeting sounded.

“Hey, man.” Damien sounds nervous. There’s an awkward pause. Brad can hear traffic noise in the background. Finally, Damien continues, “How’re you?”

“Not bad,” Brad says before his mind has quite caught up with his mouth. “You?”

“I’m all right I guess. Listen, I…” Damien hesitates, and Brad is sure there’s an apology coming. Before he can head Damien off the other man asks, “You at home?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“You’re in Brooklyn, right?”

“Uh-huh.” Brad has an inkling where this is going, and he’s not sure if he wants it to.

“Hey, if… if it’s not too late, and you’re not busy…can I come over?”

Brad needs another moment to think this one through. He asks, “You in Brooklyn tonight?”

“Yeah,” Damien says. “Was out with some friends, and…well, I wanna see you. I think we should talk.” When Brad doesn’t answer for a while, he adds in a quiet voice, “So, what about it?”

“Yeah, sure,” Brad says, heart beating fast. “I’m at Garfield Place, number forty-eight.”

“Great!” Damien sounds relieved. “I’m already in a cab. Ten minutes?”

“Okay, see you soon,” Brad says.

“Yeah.” Damien’s voice betrays a smile. “Can’t wait.”

Brad hangs up. What does that mean, he can’t wait? What about Wednesday, then? And he doesn’t believe for a second that Damien was out with friends and just happened to be close by.

For a moment, Brad just sits on the sofa. Then he gets up and grabs the beer bottle and almost empty bowl of peanuts in a great sweeping motion. He dumps the dregs from the bowl into the trash and finishes the beer. He needs it, after that call. Back in the living room he picks up a sofa cushion that’s fallen on the floor and turns the TV off. Then he smooths down his hair with both hands, noting that it could do with a trim.

Should he change clothes? He’s still in jeans and the black tee he wore under his shirt to work. Brad shakes his head at himself. Jesus, what’s wrong with him? Damien won’t give a shit about empty bottles or peanuts on the table, or what he wears. And even if he did, why should Brad care?

Brad can hear Damien’s footsteps on the stairs outside before the doorbell chimes. He hurries to answer it, but then checks himself right by the door. With one hand on the doorknob he takes a deep breath.

“Hey!” Damien gives an awkward little wave as the door swings open.

“Hey,” Brad echoes. He can’t help but let his eyes glide up and down Damien’s body. He wears a black leather jacket over a white tee and his blue jeans riding low on his hips. Damien’s dark curls shimmer silken in the glow of the porchlight, and Brad imagines what it’d feel like to comb his fingers through them.

“Come on in,” he says, trying to recover some of his poise. He steps aside, and Damien walks into the house. At least his reaction when he looks around is predictable, and something Brad can deal with. Damien gives a low whistle as he turns around in a circle, taking in the downstairs.

“I assumed you’d get more for your buck out here than in Manhattan,” he says, his voice awed. “But I didn’t know a detective’s salary stretches quite this far.”

Brad lets the door fall closed. “Inheritance,” he says, hoping to head off the small talk and any kind of apology he doesn’t want. “Would you like a drink, or—”

With one fluid movement, Damien steps right into Brad’s space and claims his lips before Brad can get out the rest of the sentence. Brad stiffens, surprise not even beginning to describe his feelings at this turn of events. But with an effort he switches off the part of his brain that always second-guesses and leans into the kiss. He parts his lips as Damien’s tongue pushes against them.

Damien tastes of cigarettes and, oddly, ginger ale. Brad had been so sure he would’ve had a drink or two, to stiffen his resolve, to be so bold. Damien’s hands sneak around Brad’s back, settling just above his waistband.

When Damien pulls away there’s an impish grin on his face, but he also looks relieved. “Just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page,” he says, breathless.

“Do you want a drink?” Brad asks again. He’s not sure how fast he wants this to go, though he knows he won’t say no to Damien’s agenda once they get down to it.

“Not really,” Damien says. He still holds Brad close but doesn’t make a move to pick up where they left off. “We can talk about everything, I swear. It’s just…” He glances at the staircase.

Brad follows his gaze, then fixes Damien’s eyes again with his. “That’s fine with me; we can talk later. I just need to know one thing.”

“What the deal is with Viv,” Damien guesses. Brad nods, and Damien sighs. “She’s not what you think. We’re not dating. We just…”

“Fucked,” Brad supplies.

Damien looks sheepish. “Yeah.”

Brad feels sorry for Damien. He doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable. Whatever is going on with that woman won’t be explained in a few sentences. He sighs. “C’mere.” Brad is about an inch taller than Damien, and he leans in and dips his head to resume the kiss.

Maria would give him a talking to right about now, about how Damien should own up to everything before Brad takes him to bed. Brad grins at the thought.

“What?” Damien asks around Brad’s eager lips.

“Nothing,” Brad murmurs. He pulls away and takes Damien by the hand. “Come on.”

They climb to the second floor together. Inside the bedroom, Damien pulls away from Brad and looks around.

“You know,” he says over his shoulder. “I didn’t expect to experience house envy, coming here tonight.”

Brad doesn’t reply. Damien doesn’t mean to be snobbish, even if that’s how it comes across. But so what? Their lives are so different; Brad is sure there’s an awful lot he doesn’t even begin to understand about the life of a famous TV star. And not being in touch with mere wage-earning mortals’ life experiences at least fits the cliché. For Brad, tonight turns into many a gay man’s most amazing wet dream: A gorgeous actor has come willingly into his bedroom, with his arousal clearly showing.

Brad grabs Damien around the waist and resumes kissing him. Damien’s erection presses against his thigh, and the leather of his jacket creaks under Brad’s fingers.

Without warning, Damien pushes Brad across the room, until Brad’s back hits the mirrored closet doors, and then he pulls back with a grin. He shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it on the floor. Then, his eyes never leaving Brad’s, he sinks to his knees.

He’s got Brad out of his pants before Brad knows what’s happening. Damien’s hand on his dick feels so good, Brad has trouble coming up with any coherent thoughts. But when Damien lowers his eyes and dips his head, Brad puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Wait,” he says, panting with the arousal coursing through him. Damien glances up, his gray eyes gentle.

“I trust you, Officer,” he says, his voice a low, resonating timbre.

It’s stupid not to use a rubber. Brad doesn’t know the guy from Adam, even though it’s easy to believe he does. And the fact that he’s less at risk here than Damien doesn’t make him feel any better. But fuck, he needs this. When has anyone last offered to suck him off?

Against his better judgement, he nods. As Damien’s mouth closes hotly around his dick, Brad leans his head back against the cool mirror. What is this guy doing to him?

Whatever it is, Damien does it superbly. This is his real thank you, and an apology for the charity gala. But Brad doesn’t care about that for long. He doesn’t want to analyze now or think about what comes next and what they still have to talk about. As Damien takes him deeper, intensifying the sensation by taking hold of Brad’s balls, Brad gives in to the temptation and threads his fingers into Damien’s silken curls. They feel just as wonderful as Brad imagined.

He’s so close now; Damien is too good. He should be responsible and not come in his mouth, but when he tries to pull away, Damien has none of it. The hand not busy with Brad’s balls sneaks between Brad’s still-covered ass and the mirror door. The glass is cold against Brad’s buttocks as Damien pulls his pants all the way down, and a moment later there are fingers pressing against his opening.

Brad moans, and gives himself up to Damien’s hot mouth, his experienced fingers. He cries out, once, as he comes, at the exact moment Damien’s fingers his sweet spot.

Damien keeps very still until Brad is spent. Then he withdraws his fingers and sits back on his haunches. He smirks and wipes his glistening lips with the back of his hand.

For a minute or so, Brad can do nothing but gaze down into incredible velvety gray eyes, that boyish, flushed face looking so young and innocent all of a sudden. The endorphins still thrum in his ears, and the air feels cool against his now waning erection. He reaches out and cards his hand through Damien’s hair again, and Damien leans into the touch like a cat.

“Hey,” Damien murmurs.

“Hey,” Brad echoes weakly, then adds with a little laugh the only thing that comes to mind. “Wow!”

They end up on the bed, in nothing but their boxer briefs. For a while, they kiss and touch and make out like two high school kids in the heady throes of their first crush. Then Damien stretches with a sigh and rolls onto his back, resting his head on Brad’s chest. His arm lies on Brad’s stomach, his hand hanging down between his thighs. “Guess we should talk about…” He trails off.

“What happened at the hotel?” Brad suggests. Damien’s arm brushes against his cock every time either of them move, and Brad would prefer not to have to talk, or think. But yes, they have to.

“Well, yeah…,” Damien says. “That was a real dick move.”

Brad says nothing. Instead, he waits to see how Damien wants to approach this.

“I think I fucked up,” Damien says after a moment. “I never meant to start anything serious with Vivienne. We met on set in Vegas. Her husband cast me in his movie.”

Great way to thank your boss, Brad thinks.

“She’s so goddamn beautiful,” Damien says with a sigh. “I saw her in Eve, and I wanted her so bad, before I’d even met her.”

Brad makes an indistinct noise in his throat, and Damien glances up. “You don’t think she’s beautiful?”

“I guess.” Brad shrugs. “I mean, I can appreciate the symmetry of her face, and that she conforms to the current beauty standards for women—”

“You sound like a professor,” Damien interrupts him, grinning.

“Well, she’s the wrong flavor for me.” Brad shrugs. “I’ve crushed on a girl or two in my time, sure. But that’s as far as it goes. And, well, Vivienne Aubert is not very nice.”

“No,” Damien agrees. “She’s not.” He’s silent for a moment, his hand absently stroking the inside of Brad’s thigh. “I’m sort of stupid like that. I see someone beautiful, and my brain just…”

“Empties of blood and sense?” Brad suggests.

“Yeah,” Damien says. “My ex, she hit it on the head. She says I lust for anyone with a beautiful body and fuck the consequences.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Brad asks. He’s aware of the effect he has on men, and women. He likes to keep in shape and enjoys the rewards. But the thought that Damien is only here for that reason makes him feel depressed.

Damien half rolls over on top of him and fixes Brad with his best bedroom eyes. “I lust for beauty,” he says for effect. “But I fall in love with kindness.”

That isn’t quite what Brad had anticipated, either. It’s much too soon, to talk of love. Must be the dramatist speaking from Damien’s lips. So he decides to ignore what Damien just said. “I gather Vivienne has different ideas about your future?”

Damien’s expression darkens. “I don’t know what she wants,” he says, sounding troubled now. “I never encouraged her. I definitely never told her to come to New York or to leave her husband.”

“She’s not staying with you, then?” Brad asks.

“God, no. I haven’t seen her since the gala. I didn’t take her home with me after that spectacle. I should’ve never let her come along, period. It was all too much, that night. Stuff’s going on right now, and I…” There’s a level of pain in his voice that’s disproportionate to what he’s saying. Brad glances at him. Damien’s eyes are big and shining, as if he battles back tears. Whatever else troubles him, he’s struggling to put it into words. Brad strokes his arm. It hurts to see Damien so miserable.

“Tell me some other time what’s going on, when you feel you can,” he says as gentle as possible, then adds, “I won’t lie. I was pretty pissed. I’ve not been stood up in a while. And I can confirm, it still blows.” He gives Damien a little smile. “Look, it wasn’t the best first date, but shit happens. Shall we just start over?”

Damien nods, looking like a huge weight has been lifted off him. He still frowns, though. “You know I have an ex-wife and a kid?” he asks.

Brad nods. “It’s difficult not to know at least a few things, when you’re…” He wants to say a celebrity, but it seems almost an insult to call someone that to their face, in bed. Damien huffs, and flops back down on his back. His curls tickle Brad’s shoulder.

“I hate that bit about my job,” he declares. “When I meet people, they think they know all about me already, and they already have an opinion.” He takes a deep breath. “Idil and I, we got some issues to sort out. That’s the fucked-up bit I…I find hard to talk about right now. But I wanted to warn you, that there’s more. I’ll tell you soon, all right?”

“Sure,” Brad says. “No sweat.”

After a small pause, Damien continues, “Have you also heard the rumors about me swinging both ways?”

Brad smiles. He isn’t quite sure what Damien tries to get at here, but it shows real guts, that he wants to explain that part of himself to Brad. He strokes Damien’s bare shoulder and says, “I don’t need to hear rumors about that. I have firsthand experience now.”

Damien laughs. “True. What I mean to say is, I had an affair with a dancer from the New York City Ballet. That was before I met Idil, and I wasn’t ready to come out then. It’s messy, when you do what I do. People don’t like it when you don’t fit in a box. Sergei, he wanted us to be out and proud, but I wasn’t having it. I’d only done a couple of indie films at that point, and I didn’t want to be cast as the gay guy for the rest of my career.” He sighs and rubs his face. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”

“No, it didn’t,” Brad says. “You’re not gay, and you didn’t want that label. I get it.” He hesitates. “I hate it too. What does it matter at work who I sleep with in my own time? It doesn’t impact on my abilities as a detective, yet somehow, if you’re not straight, that becomes your whole identity.”

“Are you out at work?” Damien asks.

“I am. Always have been,” Brad says. “It might annoy me sometimes, but not standing by who I really am seems worse. And NYPD is a great champion for the cause in the city.” He decides to leave it at that. No need to overshare and explain his much more complicated relationship with his family back in Baltimore.

“Considering I’m in your bed, I don’t suppose there’s someone serious in your life right now?” Damien’s voice is casual, but Brad, trained to listen carefully, detects a slight tremor.

He hesitates, but only for a moment. Damien laid his soul bare, the least he can do is tell him the truth. “I’ve just come out of a long-term relationship. My ex, he…he’s not doing so good, and it destroyed…well, us, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry,” Damien murmurs, glancing up at him. “That must be hard.”

“I’m learning to live with it,” Brad says. He’s unwilling to discuss the whole sorry Aiden tale again in detail. “We’ve all got our demons.”

Damien snorts. “Yeah, I got plenty of those. Boys, girls…it was confusing enough with just those skeletons in my closet. Now I’ve added adultery to the list, too.”

“Do you think Vivienne will cause a scandal?” Brad asks.

“I’m not sure, to be honest. She’s an odd one. I never know what she’ll do next. But she and I…well, that’s not going to go any further, whatever she might think.” He rolls over onto his front again. “I didn’t come here tonight just to explain about her, you know. I wanted to see you, and I also wanted to tell you about some of the other stuff that’s going on. I didn’t want you to find any of this out from the gossip rags.”

“I’m not planning on reading any gossip,” Brad reassures him. “I’ve seen your show, and sure, it’s a thrill, that I met you, and…well, that you ended up in my bed. But I’m not interested in Hollywood.”

Damien smiles. “I didn’t think you would be.” He leans down and kisses Brad on the bridge of the nose. Brad gives a snort and pulls away, eyebrow raised.

“What?” Damien asks. “That little detail is one of the details that makes you so sexy.” He trails the lump on Brad’s nose with his finger. Brad feels goosebumps erupt on his arms. Then, with a smile, Damien kisses him on the mouth.

The kiss starts innocently enough but soon they’re back in the middle of that high school petting session, and Brad doesn’t mind at all.

Damien’s lips don’t stay on Brad’s for long. He places small, quick kisses along Brad’s jaw, then, as Brad stretches and arches his head back, he kisses his throat, his chest. Carefully at first, he bites and sucks Brad’s collarbone, then lets his hand glide down Brad’s side. When his fingers tighten on the bulge in Brad’s boxer briefs, Brad gives a hiss.

Damien’s face comes up, a mischievous grin on his lips. “I see all the talking hasn’t let your enthusiasm wilt.”

“No way,” Brad murmurs, then, without warning, he pushes himself up, grabbing Damien by the wrists and flipping him onto his back. He’s so quick, he’s straddling the other man before Damien even knows what happened. His eyes are wide with shock for a split second, then he grins again.

“You learn that at the academy?” he asks, breathless.

“And I’ve also got a black belt in karate.” Brad chuckles at the surprised look on Damien’s face.

“I gotta think of something we can use that for,” Damien says. “That, and your handcuffs, too.” He wriggles around until Brad raises himself up on his knees, then brings his leg up and presses his thigh against the underside of Brad’s balls. Brad inhales and bears down to increase the sensation.

“Fuck me,” Damien whispers.

Brad doesn’t need telling twice. He gets up and strips off his boxer shorts. Then he finds lube and condoms in the bedside cabinet. No more risky shit tonight. When he turns his attention back to the bed, Damien is just dropping his boxer briefs over the side of the bed. Brad’s eyes wander down to the main prize. Damien’s dick is lying dark and heavy against his belly, which, Brad notices with a sudden tender satisfaction, looks much more average than his well-developed biceps would suggest. He reaches out and takes hold of Damien’s dick, climbing onto the mattress at the same time.

Damien’s eyes are narrowed and fall almost closed as Brad starts stroking his erection. He arches his back, and Brad is reminded of a cat stretching before the fire. When Brad lets go of Damien to prep himself, Damien’s eyes open a little wider and he begins to stroke himself, eyes on Brad’s dick.

This isn’t a first time for either of them; they’ve both known many lovers. It’s not the perfect, unforgettable first night together either, promising soul mates and eternal love. It’s two men comfortable and relaxed with each other, mindful of their own needs, delighting in providing pleasure to the other. It’s gentle, then it’s rougher, then it’s sweet again. They kiss and caress and are in the moment, at ease, without distraction and without the need for a fairy tale ending just then.

Damien falls asleep after they finish, curled up into a ball, his back warm against Brad’s chest. Aiden hadn’t been one for spooning, or for touching much once their lust had been satiated, even on his good days. Brad lies awake for a while, not discontent to have this moment to himself, to notice the sticky smell of sex, the body in his arms, the soft breathing of Damien fast asleep.

He wonders what will come next. He wants Damien to be more than this one night, and he has a feeling Damien might want more, too. He’s still not sure what to think of the Bowery Hotel incident. Damien’s strange behavior is linked to Vivienne Aubert, and Brad has a bad feeling about that woman. Sooner or later, she’ll cause trouble, he’s certain. Brad guesses she won’t go quietly, whatever Damien tells her. And there’s something else going on in Damien’s life, something to do with the ex-wife and possibly their kid. Trying not to let it trouble him, Brad closes his eyes, willing himself to relax, and eventually falls asleep.

When he wakes up, it’s light outside. He’s alone in bed, the sheets around him crumpled from two people making love and sleeping in them. The space by his side still feels a little warm. Brad can hear clattering from downstairs and quiet music.

He sits up and rubs his face. He’s surprised to find he’s smiling. This is what he misses, waking up to a house holding another living presence.

After he’s peed, brushed his teeth, and splashed his face with water, Brad makes his way downstairs. Halfway down, he can smell the coffee.

“Morning,” Damien says when he sees him. He has just sliced a bagel and now puts it into the toaster.

“You’re making breakfast,” Brad observes, bemused. Then he adds, “I had bagels?”

“Ha!” Damien grins at him when Brad approaches the kitchen. He turns the radio to a barely audible background murmur. “I went to the store and bought some. Also cream cheese, lox, and OJ. Or there’s bacon, if you prefer that.”

“The non-kosher option,” Brad says, laughing. “Bagels are great, thank you!”

Damien looks a little sheepish. “I went through your pants pockets for your keys, sorry. They’re on the coffee table.”

Brad waves that away. “That’s okay. I’ll put up with a creep for this service.” He walks around the breakfast bar and reaches for Damien, who wears jeans and shoes, but no shirt. “You go out like that?” Brad asks and pulls him close.

“Nah,” Damien says, leaning into Brad with a sigh. “But I spilled juice on myself. Can I borrow a shirt when we’ve showered?”

Brad lets his hands travel up Damien’s back and along the broad shoulders. “You’ll pull it out of shape,” he says, smiling. “I’ve never seen shoulders this wide on a little guy like you.”

Damien pulls back, giving Brad a slap on the wrist. “Who’re you calling little, eh?” He grins. “You’re not exactly the Golem yourself.”

He goes over to the coffee maker, which has just announced the completion of its task with a beep. Damien pours, and Brad takes the mug from him, holding on to Damien’s fingers a moment longer than necessary, their eyes locking over the coffee.

At that moment, Brad’s phone starts to ring. He lets go of Damien reluctantly and walks over to the sofa. The phone buzzes across the coffee table. Brad can see Eric’s name flash on the little screen. Frowning, he snatches up the phone and answers the call.

“Hey, Eric,” he says. “What’s up? Is your flu on the way out?”

“Brad I…,” Eric stammers. His voice is choked, and it doesn’t seem to be from a stuffy nose. “It’s Aiden, he… Oh man, I’m so sorry…”

All the air vanishes at once from Brad’s lungs. His vision blurs, and his legs give out from under him. He just about lands on the sofa, and the coffee mug clatters hard onto the table, hot liquid sloshing over the rim and onto Brad’s hand.

“What…what happened?” Brad croaks.

“He jumped off Brooklyn Bridge.” Eric sounds like he’s crying. “They pulled him out downriver, a couple hours ago. Sydney, that girl at the art commune, she called me. Didn’t have your number…” Eric babbles. “She asked if I could tell you. She said Aiden was better, after…after you came to see him. They thought he’d be okay, they really did.”

“I’ll call you back later.” Brad barely gets the words out. He hangs up before Eric can say anything else.

The phone falls into Brad’s lap from senseless fingers. He feels numb and very cold. The room tilts with sudden vertigo, and Brad grabs the sofa’s armrest.

And then Damien is there, and his strong arms are around him. A soothing hand rubs him hard between the shoulder blades.

“Breathe, man,” Damien’s voice says from far away. “Deep breath, c’mon, that’s it… and again…”

Brad hadn’t realized that he’d held his breath. He takes a deep breath as instructed, then another. There’s an odd sound, like the keening of an animal. It takes Brad a moment to realize it comes from himself. With pure willpower, he stops it.

But he can’t stop the shaking. His whole body quivers, the trembling transferring to Damien and the sofa as well. With an iron grip he grabs on to Damien’s arm wrapped around his chest. Damien hisses, but keeps rubbing his back and pulls him into an even tighter embrace. Brad collapses against him, unable to speak or even think for a long time.

He doesn’t know how long they sit there until he’s aware of his surroundings again. Damien asks nothing and says nothing, but the first thing Brad can focus on when his senses return is Damien singing very softly under his breath. Brad tries to understand, but the words seem nonsensical. He glances up.

Damien blushes. “My gran used to sing that to me, whenever I was upset. She’d murmur it over and over, until I’d calmed down and stopped crying.”

“What is it?” Brad asks, his voice rough.

“A Yiddish children’s song. It’s called Rozhinkes mit Mandlen.” Damien grimaces. “I don’t even know what the words mean, or whether I say any of them right.” He puts a hand against Brad’s stubbly chin. “Something really bad happened,” he says.

Brad nods. “Aiden,” he croaks. “My ex. He…he committed suicide this morning.”

Damien’s eyes grow wide. The fingers on Brad’s face move onto his neck and squeeze with just the right amount of pressure. “I’m so sorry,” Damien whispers. “Oh God, that’s…that’s awful.”

“It’s my fault.” The words force themselves from Brad’s mouth before he’s aware they come.

“How is that possible?” Damien asks, frowning. “You were here with me.”

Brad swallows. He doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to think, but he has no choice. “I told you, last night. Aiden wasn’t…doing so good. He…he’s tried it before…”

Before his eyes are flashes of crimson on the cracked bathroom floor, red drops on Aunt Hedda’s tiles, smears and puddles of dark blood, pink water filling the tub. Aiden, so white, so cold, in the tepid water. Brad shudders. Damien tries to pull him close again, cards his fingers through his hair. “Hey, shhh…”

But Brad pulls away. “’m gonna puke,” he mumbles, and tries to get up, managing only on the second try. He strides across the living space into the guest bathroom near the back, his stomach in painful knots. He sinks onto his knees, the black slate tiles rough and cold under him. Tasting bile at the back of his throat he gags a few times, but nothing comes up.

Then Damien’s arms are around him again. “I’m here, Brad,” he says. “It’s okay, whatever you need to do, it’s okay.” Brad leans into Damien’s chest, glad not to be alone despite the embarrassment. They crouch for a few minutes. Brad keeps his eyes closed, gagging a few times more, waiting for his body to tell him what’s going to happen next. He feels very cold, and very sick, but eventually concludes he won’t throw up.

He rests his forehead against Damien’s neck, and Damien asks, “Wanna go lie down?”

Brad nods. They get off the floor with difficulty, and Damien leads him all the way up the stairs and into the bedroom. There, he settles Brad back under the sheets that still smell of their sweat from the night. Brad curls up on his side and watches Damien step out of his boots and take his jeans off. When he has slid into bed, Damien reaches for him again, and Brad scoots close. He buries his face against Damien’s neck with a sob. Damien kisses the top of his head and whispers, “I’m so sorry this happened.”

As Brad’s body warms up in Damien’s arms, he can hear the low sound of that Yiddish song again and lets himself be carried away into sleep.

Brad wakes himself up crying. He hadn’t known that was possible. Damien holds him for a long time, humming the song again. When Brad insists on getting up Damien makes him tea and pesters him until he’s eaten a few bites of a freshly toasted bagel with cream cheese. Then they curl up on the sofa together, letting the action of an old country western wash over them.

“Eric called,” Damien says after a while. “Your phone kept buzzing, and eventually I took the call.” He waits for Brad’s reaction.

“I should’ve called him back,” Brad says, feeling guilty. “He always takes care of me… Was he okay?”

“Yeah, he was fine.” Damien hesitates.

“What is it?” Brad prompts.

“He asked if he should come over. He sounded pretty flu-ey, and you were asleep, and I didn’t want him to come all the way without asking you…”

Brad feels even more guilty. “No, he should stay in bed. I don’t want him to get pneumonia or some shit.” Then something else becomes glaringly obvious. He twists around until he can see Damien’s face. “Hey, I’m sorry, I ruined your day. You must’ve had plans. I didn’t—”

Damien makes a dismissive noise. “Do you really think I would’ve left you alone? And anyway,” he adds, stroking Brad’s chin with his thumb, “I want to be nowhere else right now.”

Brad buries his face against Damien’s shoulder, letting the tears come again.

After a while, when he’s cried out, Brad starts to tell Damien about Aiden. About how the depression changed him, how it drained them both of life, but also how proud he’d felt of Aiden for pulling himself back from the brink again and again. How he’d been hopeful at their last meeting that, this time, the treatments would work.

“I never wanted to hurt him,” he says at one point. It’s one of the few times Damien replies.

“Of course you didn’t,” he says. “And you did not hurt him. It’s the depression that hurt him and you both.” He looks at Brad with sad eyes. “Depression is the same as any other illness. You couldn’t love my migraines away, and nobody would suggest it. So why would it work with mental illness?”

There it is again, that word. Love. Brad swallows hard. He won’t let those thoughts derail him now.

“But I feel so guilty,” he whispers. “He couldn’t leave the house, sometimes for weeks. And he couldn’t bear to be alone. He got jealous and paranoid. And sometimes,” he swallows, wondering if he’ll be sick again, “I hated him. Hated what we’d become.”

Damien hugs him without speaking, and Brad stares at the TV through a curtain of fresh tears.

“When he left of his own free will, I was actually glad,” he continues after a while, just as a wild chase on horseback gets underway on the screen. “I felt guilty, and I missed him, and I hated how we’d left it. But after a while, I felt like I could breathe again, for the first time in years.” Why he feels that he can tell Damien these things Brad isn’t sure. But now that he’s started it doesn’t feel strange any longer.

Later, when they sit at the breakfast bar in front of bowls of sweet and sour chicken on rice that Damien ordered from a local Chinese place Brad has never heard of, other memories come back. “On the night we met, Aiden and I had Chinese,” he says, smiling at the memory. “A colleague had tickets for an art show…” But here he trails off, glancing at Damien and feeling like he betrays Aiden’s memory. He tells his brand-new lover secrets about his dead ex-boyfriend when he’s not even in the grave yet.

Damien holds his gaze. “Your colleague had tickets to an art show,” he prompts.

“Yeah.” Brad pushes the words past the lump in his throat. “I’d only moved to Brooklyn a few months before, the house was still a mess, and I knew nobody. But one night, Chloe, my first partner, asked me if I wanted to come along to this gallery opening. Her boyfriend had cancelled last minute. So I said yes.” Brad glances at the far wall, the memories so strong now he can still smell the rain on the air on that damp November day. “We went to this rundown warehouse out in Queens. It was this huge place, and it looked like it should’ve been condemned.” He gives a chuckle. “Maybe it was, but it’s still there. Aiden moved back after we broke up...” With a great effort he returns to the memory of their first meeting. “They had sculptures and paintings and photographs from half a dozen starving artists. I don’t think any of them sold anything that night, it was all very bohemian. We drank wine and gin from paper cups…”

“Why gin?” Damien asks.

“Who knows?” Brad shrugs, smiling to himself just as the tears start coming again. He wipes them away with a paper napkin from the Chinese restaurant and continues. “There was this tall, handsome guy. He had the most amazing smile. And beautiful hair.” He glances at Damien. “It was a lot like yours. Really long and shiny, only not so dark.”

Damien reaches for his hand. “You’ve got taste, no doubt about it,” he says, smiling.

Brad laughs again. “Yeah. Aiden was quite striking looking, especially then. He was always slim, but when he was working with stone and wood he’d get really toned. It was only later, when he got so bad, and stopped eating…” He doesn’t go on. He wants to hold on to a good memory, at least for a while. He blinks away the specter of the emaciated creature with shorn hair who had haunted this house for so long. “It’s not often I’ve taken home a guy on the first night. Aiden might’ve been the first one ever. But I just couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again. I wanted to keep him, forever. The way he talked about his art, and how he moved.” He can see Aiden on that first night, just like it was yesterday. They’d been like night and day, but Aiden’s creative soul had spoken to something in Brad that, once awoken, was very difficult to put back into its box. “We went to this tiny Chinese place by the gallery, and then we came here in a cab. I was sleeping in the basement then, on an old mattress. The whole place was a construction site. I don’t think we left the house for three days straight.”

“Live-in artist in the middle of your renovations. Was he any good at painting walls?” Damien asks, his fingers tightening on Brad’s.

“The best,” Brad says, laughing, feeling lighter than he has since Eric’s phone call. He looks at Damien. “How come you know how to keep me talking? You ask exactly the right things.”

Damien shrugs. “I just listen. These first few days, they’re always hard. It’s easy to forget that grief takes all kinds of forms. Talking about the person, and about happy memories, is a good first step.”

“I hadn’t realized empathy is taught at drama school,” Brad says, only half teasing.

“It’s not,” Damien says, serious now. “But maybe it should be.”

Eric calls again in the afternoon, and he and Brad talk for some time. Discussing the funeral brings more tears, which Damien anticipates. He’s right there with a cup of tea when Brad hangs up the phone, and they curl up on the sofa again. Brad drops off for a while, and when he wakes again Damien has laid out the leftovers from their lunch. To his surprise, Brad finds that he’s hungry.

They drink a couple of beers with their dinner, which make Brad feel drowsy. Damien clears away the plates and cutlery, then beckons. “Let’s go to bed.”

Brad comes along without protesting. Even though they’ve done nothing all day he feels exhausted. When they get to the top of the stairs, Brad stops. “You’ve been amazing,” he says. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

Damien smiles and takes Brad’s hand. “Just returning a favor,” he says. “I don’t think being alone would be good for you now.” He looks down at his T-shirt where the now dried orange juice stain is visible. “I would appreciate that fresh shirt, though. And a shower?”

“You really don’t need to ask,” Brad says, and pulls Damien into the bedroom. While Damien showers he finds a fresh shirt and some of his nicer boxer shorts in the dresser. Then he brushes his teeth and gets undressed. He’s already dozing when Damien comes to bed. They’ve been in almost constant physical contact all day, but Brad finds that he craves more. He scoots close as soon as Damien lies down, and Damien pulls him into his arms.

Brad’s sleep is disturbed by dreams that wake him more than once. He doesn’t settle down until almost daybreak. When he wakes up, the clock on his bedside table reads eleven thirty a.m. There’s no sound of the radio downstairs today, and no smell of coffee. As Brad pushes himself to sitting, Damien appears through the bedroom door, wearing his boots and jacket.

“Hey,” he says, and sits down on the bed. “I was just coming to wake you. How’re you feeling?”

Brad rubs his face. “All right, I guess.” He glances down at Damien’s boots. “You leaving?”

“I have to,” Damien says. “I’m really sorry. I have a flight to catch in a few hours.”

“Oh,” Brad says. “Of course.”

Damien strokes Brad’s cheek with the back of a finger. “Wish I could stay here. I have to be in LA tomorrow.” He grimaces. “Court date.”

Brad is about to ask what for, but Damien preempts him. “I’ll tell you all about it soon, promise. Hey,” he says, taking Brad’s hand. “Your friend called. Maria? She tried several times, and I finally just answered. I figured she wasn’t going to give up.”

“She wouldn’t, no,” Brad says, feeling a lump of guilt in his belly. He should’ve called her last night. She must’ve heard by now, via Neal and Eric.

“She’s on her way now.” Damien gives Brad a stern look. “Don’t send her away, okay? I don’t want you to be alone today.”

Brad nods, the guilt niggling deep inside his gut. He’d already considered just not answering the door when Maria got there. That’s a mean thought. And Damien is right; it’ll be bad if he has too much time to brood today. But he doesn’t want to admit that. Instead he asks, “When are you coming back?”

“Thursday,” Damien says. “But I’ll call you as soon as I land tonight.” He leans close and kisses Brad on the cheek. Then he brings their foreheads together and sighs. “I wish I didn’t have to go. It won’t be pretty…” He straightens up. “Ah well. I better head out, or I’ll miss that damn plane.”

He gets up from the bed. “There’s coffee in the pot. Promise me you’ll eat. There are still bagels, and all that lox.”

Brad nods. “Yes, Mom.”

Damien grins. Then he gives Brad a wave and walks toward the bedroom door. He stops in the doorframe, looking as reluctant to leave as Brad feels to let him go. “Take care, Brad.”

“Will do. Thanks for everything.”

Brad has only just climbed out of bed and gone into the bathroom when the doorbell rings. He quickly finishes his business, hops into a pair of jeans and goes to answer the door. It’s Maria, of course, and she comes bustling in, carrying a casserole dish. Brad lets her concern wash over him for a few minutes, answering her questions as well as he’s able, and trying not to let the tears well up again. Then he escapes upstairs for a long shower. When he comes back, Maria has settled down somewhat. She heats the mac and cheese she brought for him and sets the table for lunch. Brad feels a twinge of guilt again. Maria knows him so well, she even remembered that he loves her mac and cheese the most.

Over lunch, Maria asks, “So, who was that charming man who answered your phone?”

“Just a friend,” Brad says. He’s not sure he could face Maria’s excitement if she found out about Damien now.

“I see,” she says with a raised eyebrow, but then drops the subject, for which Brad is grateful.

In the afternoon, Peter brings over the twins. It’s exactly what Brad needed, even though he would’ve never guessed. The rest of the day goes by quickly as he helps the boys set up their train set on his living room rug. Then he and Peter play soccer with them in the yard until the sun starts to set.

It’s not easy to convince Maria that he’ll be okay on his own for the night. She only agrees to leave when he promises to call her if he needs anything, and that he won’t go back to work the next day just yet. “I’ll come by and bring you lunch again,” she says, hugging him tightly. “Don’t argue.”

He doesn’t, and just buries his face in the collar of her coat. “Thanks, Maria,” he says, holding her close for a moment.

It’s strange when the house is empty again. Brad sits on the sofa for a while, not thinking of anything. He’s exhausted. He curls up and waits for Damien’s call.

It finally comes around ten p.m. Brad picks up the phone on the first ring.

“Hey,” he says, a little bit of warmth spreading through his chest in anticipation.

“You okay?” Damien asks. He sounds tired.

“Yeah,” Brad says. “Maria made sure of it. How was the flight?”

“Bumpy,” Damien says. “I wanna go to bed so bad, but I can’t crash. Not if I want to be of any use tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry, man,” Brad says. He’s worried; Damien sounds very cast down.

“I’ll be out of touch the next couple of days,” Damien says. “I’ve got…a lot going on, let’s say.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Brad asks.

“Not really, but thanks,” Damien replies. “Just the fact that you asked makes me feel better already.”

Brad swallows. Now the first shock about Aiden has abated, and with Damien so far away, he feels awkward about how close they’ve become in such a short space of time. And there’s so much he still doesn’t know about Damien. “Call me when you’re back, okay?”

“The second I land,” Damien says. “I can’t wait to see you again, Brad.”

“Me either,” Brad says, and means it. But that’s as far as he can let it go right now. “Listen, get some rest.”

“You too. Did you eat?”

Brad smiles. “All day long. Maria hates to be called on it, but she can be a proper Italian mama when she wants to be.”

Damien’s soft laugh is so familiar to Brad already it gives him goosebumps to hear it. “Good. Grief takes a lot of energy. Sleep well, and speak real soon.”

“Night, Damien,” Brad says.

“Sleep tight!” Damien replies, and then the line goes dead.

As Brad gets off the sofa and makes for the stairs he can still feel that warmth in his chest. Yes, grieving is exhausting, but he’s glad he didn’t have to be alone with it.