Remember when I'd pick you up outside your mother's house?
The two of you were fighting, and we promised we'd get out
Out far from the narrowness and the confines and the doubt
we'd leave behind all that we know and never turn around
cut the strings and tear away from all that kept us down

—The Bullet and Big D by Bishop Allen

x.

Michael stuck his hands into his pockets. He followed the crowd into the restaurant where the reception was behind held. The restaurant was strangely intimate, with exposed stone brick-work and lit mostly by candles and dim chandeliers. He remembered Pete telling him about how he'd helped Henrietta hire a Cure tribute band for the occasion. He passed the pseudo-Robert Smith who was still setting up on the make-shift stage towards the back wall. He squinted at the person waving frantically at him from a table near the window, and it took him a second to realize it was Firkle. Aside from the occasional Facebook message, they'd lost contact over the years, and he was genuinely surprised to see that Firkle was grinning so widely at him as he approached the table. Still, it was refreshing to see a familiar face in the crowd of strangers. The only people that he'd recognized since arriving at the church had been Henrietta's parents and a few of her relatives that he still remembered passing in the living room of her house during family functions. That all seemed like a lifetime ago now.

"Hey man," Firkle said standing and clapping Michael on the shoulder. "I didn't see you at the ceremony."

"My plane got in late—I had to slip in the back." Michael said. It was hard to not feel like he was talking to someone else's version of Firkle. A young woman was seated at the table staring up at them as they spoke. Firkle introduced her as his girlfriend as they sat down. Michael listened as Firkle ran him through a list of pleasantries like how he and his girlfriend had met and what their plans were now that college was over. All the while, his peripheral vision hyper-aware of everything going on around him, and he had to force himself not to whip his head around every time someone passed close by the table in case it was Pete. He must be in the crowd somewhere.

Seeing him in the front of church next to Henrietta earlier had been surreal. Pete had swiped away some tears on the back of his hand when Henrietta had leaned in to kiss her husband. Michael had wanted so badly for the ceremony to be over so he could be close to him again. He'd tried to find him on the way out of the cathedral following the ceremony, but hadn't had any luck. Still, it was a strange feeling just knowing that he was nearby—the fact that they were breathing the same air again felt intimate. He used to feel that same strange excitement when he was in the same venue as his favorite bands before concerts. He supposed the feeling eventually faded though over the years. Things just felt less special over time, but not this.

Eventually the wedding party entered and took their seats at a table in the front of the room. "Doesn't Henri look amazing?" Firkle asked, leaning close to Michael. "And her husband seems pretty cool too. It's weird that after all this time I still imagine her and Damien together—who would have thought back in high school that things would turn out like this?" Firkle took a long sip of wine and looked back to the stage. "Cool tribute band though."

Michael felt his pocket vibrate and pulled out his phone. He looked down at the text from Pete which said I see you. Michael smiled and glanced up at the table upfront and Pete waved to him from his seat next to Henrietta. Seeing Pete's name lighting up his phone for their nightly conversations had been the highlight of his days for these past couple months.

He was so relieved that things had worked out the way that they did—the last night they'd been together things had been so shaky he thought that everything was too fucked up to salvage. He'd ended up leaving Pete's trailer the morning after Henrietta had showed up while they both were still asleep, convinced that taking off was the path of least resistance, only to find himself calling Pete from the airport. He'd sat at the overpriced airport Starbucks, mumbling apologies into his cellphone: sorry for leaving without saying goodbye, sorry for springing things on him like he had, sorry for pushing things to move along so quickly, sorry for all the time he'd spent away. Eventually Henrietta had demanded that Pete put her on the phone and she had assured him that she was going to take care of Pete, and that Michael needed to take care of himself and get back home for now. He'd gone home to his empty apartment, where nothing had missed him except an inbox exploding with annoyed clients. But since then, the conversations that they'd had reminded him of the friendship that had always been there. There was just the careful aversion to talking about relationships or anything that ventured from the platonic. For all he knew, Pete could have a boyfriend that he never mentioned. It's not like it would be wrong.

The night seemed to be moving too slowly as the wait staff sat fancy plates of food in front of them. Firkle rambled on through dinner about bands that he and his girlfriend had seen in the last year. Michael felt shitty for not being able to really focus. Firkle was in the middle of a sentence when he trailed off and waved. Michael followed his gaze and unconsciously grinned back at Pete before standing and wrapping his arms around him.

Pete felt more real in his arms now than all the phone calls of the last couple months combined. He smelled like soap and coffee, and Michael wished everyone else would just melt away so that he didn't have to pull away.

"Whoa, where was my hug like that earlier?" Firkle said to Michael.

Pete pulled away and swiped nervously at his bangs. "Ha—sorry it took so long for me to get over here—apparently there's decorum to these wedding things."

"Who would have thought," Firkle said.

Pete took a seat next to Michael and reached for a thin-stemmed wine glass and the half-empty bottle sitting in the center of the table. Pete looked so different than he had last winter, Michael could barely keep his eyes off of him. He was still thin—but toned and healthy looking and there was an air of confidence about him.

"I'm glad you could make it," Pete said to Michael, who was trying and failing to keep his heart from pounding in his chest.

"Yeah, my plane was late—but I caught the whole thing—Henrietta looked gorgeous." Michael wished he had the capacity to discuss normal life functions without feeling like he trying to imagine what a normal person would say. As always though, no one seemed to notice.

Pete smiled at him and took a sip of wine. "Henri will be over in a second, she's making her way through the crowd."

"Pete—you missed it—last night at the rehearsal dinner I was telling Henrietta about the night you almost killed me."

Pete blinked and was silent for a minute. "Oh," he said finally. "Yeah—well we were fine, it wasn't really a big deal."

"So," Firkle began, shooting Michael a look. "This was—I guess four years ago."

"Okay," Michael said, turning to give Pete an interested look. But Pete was looking down at the table, his finger tracing the chevron pattern of the table cloth as Firkle continued.

"Well—so the summer before college, Pete decided to take me out for one last hurrah, and we were both shit-faced in Denver and Pete decided that he needed to drive us home."

"You'd hit your head," Pete interjected. Michael could hear the strain in Pete's voice that Firkle was oblivious to.

"Oh yeah," Firkle said with a laugh as his girlfriend grinned and hung on his every word. "So he's driving me home, and had given me some bar napkins or something to stop me from bleeding out. We get within a mile of my house and—" Firkle slammed his hand down on the table, making everyone's silverware jump. Michael saw Pete's shoulders pinch together out of the corner of his eye. "We went right into a ditch off the road—this was right before college—I mean my parents went out of their minds."

"Were you two okay?" Michael asked, wanting to look at Pete but directing the question at Firkle.

"Oh, yeah—well whiplash mostly. I think the whole thing would have been easier if I had been more hurt—you know with my parents. At least I passed the head injury off as something that happened in the accident. But I'll never forget Pete—bent over in that fucking snowdrift, dry heaving while I panicked, like a proper panic attack."

"Babe—this is a terrible story," Firkle's girlfriend interjected, grabbing onto his arm.

"It's not something I really like to think about," Pete mumbled.

"What?" Firkle yelled across the table as everyone as a group of loud party-goers passed by.

Pete shook his head and stared down into his glass.

"What's the matter with you?" Henrietta said, appearing behind him. She'd replied her dark red lipstick after Owen had stuffed cake through her lips earlier. "Don't look so emo at my wedding reception. The gangs all here," she continued, squeezing Pete's shoulder.

"You know," Firkle said, pointing a finger in their general direction, "it's actually downright amazing that you two didn't end up getting hitched."

Pete turned and looked up at Henrietta, "I guess Henri just wasn't my type."

"Oh, that's right," Firkle said loudly. Michael began to wonder if someone should take the wine away from the youngest member of their group. "Well, now you and Michael at the only single ones left in the group. You know, I could actually picture you two together. It's surprising—"

"Speaking of relationships, I don't think that you told me how you two met," Henrietta said, taking a seat next to Pete. Firkle launched into the story that Michael had heard about thirty minutes ago.

He could feel Pete looking at him out of the corner of his eye. He glanced over at him.

"Let's get out of here," Pete mouthed, nodding his head towards the door.

Michael nodded and stood up, following Pete's lead.

"We'll be back," Pete whispered to Henrietta as Firkle continued on with his story, unfazed. She gave him a look that Michael couldn't decipher before they turned away.

Pete smiled and nodded at several of Henrietta's friends on the way out of the packed restaurant. It made Michael feel even more distant from the life that Pete had built here without him.

It wasn't until they were standing outside on the sidewalk that Pete turned back to him. "I'm so glad you're here," Pete said at last, like the words couldn't tumble out of his mouth fast enough.

"I know—I wish I could have come sooner," Michael said. But now that Pete lived here, there really were on different ends of the continent. It might as well of been another planet.

He tried not to get upset when Pete had first told him that he'd left with Henrietta. At first he'd felt relief, followed quickly by resentment. But the move had been good for Pete—Henrietta had given him independence. "And hey, don't be upset at Firkle—he doesn't know what to say to us, you know? He doesn't know what we've all been through these past couple years, and we don't know what he's been through either. All that he knows to talk about is the past."

"Yeah," Pete said, looking thoughtful as he stared at the tight knot of Michael's tie. "It's just like…I realize shitty things happened, I don't need them retold in front of everyone."

"Just forget about it," Michael said, "It doesn't matter. Look at what you're doing now."

Pete shot Michael a half-smile. "So you want to see the cafe? It's actually just a couple blocks that way," he said, motioning to the right.

Michael nodded, he'd clicked through pictures online, but seeing it in person would be something else entirely.

The air was cool as the two of them made their way down the unfamiliar streets.

When they stood outside the door, Pete turned as grinned. "Having the key to this place in my pocket just has a different feeling than having the key to Mr. Tweaks' place."

"I can imagine," Michael said.

Pete pushed open the door and flicked on the lights. Michael looked at the unique vintage pictures on the walls. He thought that he recognized one of the covers from the hospital room he'd first seen Pete in not quite a year ago. He didn't want to ask though.

"So this is it," he said, thinking of all the conversations he'd had with Pete these last few months going over the preparations, the first sale he'd made, and just recently hiring his first employee. Michael had wished that he could have been by Pete's side along the way. Even the mentions of hanging out with Henrietta after a long day at work made him feel even farther away. Pete sat on one of the stools that faced the coffee bar and tugged at his bow-tie.

"Shall I make you something?" Pete asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Let me try your blackest coffee," Michael said.

Pete nodded and turned to one of the bags on a shelf behind the counter.

"Oh—here are the menus that you designed." Pete plucked a menu from the pile on the corner and handed him one.

Michael looked sadly down at it, remembering how he'd spent days agonizing over the design, and the moment when he'd realized that Pete would have to get them printed himself after he sent over the file.

"What are you thinking?" Pete said, his grin fading.

"Oh, just that I wish that I could have been here—that I could have been a part of all of this."

"Yeah," Pete said, casting his eyes around the empty cafe. "Well, you're here now."

They both ignored the fact that Michael had one day until a flight would take him back home. Pete poured the fresh coffee into two wide-mouthed mugs and sat Michael's on the counter in front of him.

"Listen, I never properly thanked you for coming for me that day," Pete said. "I know that I gave you a hard time but there was a part of me that was glad it was you. If I would have been alone there much longer…"

Michael crossed the checkered tiles between them and stretched a hesitant arm around Pete. "You shouldn't have ever been alone," he said, his chin resting on top of Pete's head. Pete's hair smelled like oranges and Michael couldn't help but press his lips against the shorter man's temple. Outside cars passed by, casting sharp shadows on the walls, and Michael pulled Pete closer. He didn't like the idea of Pete being here without him-of being anywhere without him. When Pete wrapped his arms around him it felt like New Year's Eve all over again. In the back of his mind he could still hear the crowd tentatively singing along to "Auld Lang Syne." But things were different now. Everyone was safe and, even if it was just for tonight, no one was alone.

They stood like that for a moment before Michael felt the need to break the tension of the moment.

"So this is Henrietta's tattoo studio too?" he said, turning his head to look at the equipment and framed designs hanging on the walls beyond the cafe.

Pete took a breath and withdrew his arms and Michael took a step back.

"Yeah," he said, standing up. Michael could see him working to regain composure, and pretended to be absorbed in the elaborate design of a mermaid hanging on the wall. Michael tried to imagine a different world where he and Pete had been together since graduation, where no one was ever unsure, where no one wore masks. He pinched his eyes together tightly as he faced the wall.

"I got my first tattoo a couple weeks ago," Pete said, running his finger along the leather chair that Henrietta's clients sat in.

Michael turned and looked at him. "You didn't mention it on the phone."

"Yeah," Pete said looking down so that his hair obscured his face. "I didn't know what you'd think."

"Well, let's see it," Michael said, trying to convince himself to stop thinking himself into feeling hopeless.

Pete tugged his shirt loose from his pants and lifted it high enough that Michael could see the fresh tattoo covering the pale over his ribs.

"Constellations," Michael said, thinking of the night at Starks pond, staring up at the stars. His tie suddenly felt like it was choking him and he unconsciously took a step away from Pete, where the air was cooler. He wished Pete would pull his shirt back down, because the urge to run his fingers over the small black stars across his ribs was quickly becoming uncontrollable. "Henrietta did that?" he said, his voice a little too high.

"Yeah, she's an amazing artist. I'm really happy with how it turned out," he said scanning Michael's face before, finally pulling his shirt back down.

"Yeah," Michael said, looking meaningfully down at Pete as he closed the gap between them.

"I'm glad you like it," Pete pinched the knot of Michael's tie before slipping the silky material between his fingers. "I want you to want me, did you know that?"

Pete's lips were so close to his, and he was standing on his tip toes, his fingers interlaced behind Michael's neck. It wasn't a wide gap to close when Michael pushed their lips together. While they kissed, Michael wrapped his arms around Pete and pulled him closer, but before things went any further, Pete pulled back. His eyes were wide as he brought his fingers to his lips.

"Sorry, I know we said that we wouldn't—that this wasn't about us—that we could just be friends."

"But we don't have to be," Michael said, not wanting Pete to look so lost. "We can be anything, my feelings haven't changed."

"But you live so far away," Pete pulled out of Michael's grip and turned away. "I don't want to just be pen-pals with you—you know?"

Michael thought of his apartment back in Philly full of all the movies and records he'd collected over the years—his stupid trendy IKEA furniture. What did any of it matter? He kept thinking that once he owned a nicer jacket or a better laptop or nicer record player that his life would feel complete—that'd he feel more like the self that imagined for himself in high school. But the feeling of being here with Pete, the feeling he felt around all of his friends made him want to never go back to his apartment again. He wanted his old trench coat from high school and the cheap black eyeliner he'd steal from CVS to rub under his eyes. He wanted stale diner coffee and his run-down Jetta with the tape-deck. He wanted to hear Henrietta's dry opinion of the day to day and Firkle's quirky insight into everyone. He wanted Pete by his side always.

"I can stay," Michael said, telling the part of him that worried about coming on too strong or leaving himself too exposed. That didn't matter in the scope of it all, it was everything or nothing—so he would be everything for Pete.

Pete's eyes were wide and hopeful. "But your job…"

This wasn't the first time that Michael had considered this. There had been many sleepless nights after conversations with Pete where he stared at google maps blankly on his laptop, thinking of the mileage, plane ticket prices, and the logistics of moving his stuff. He didn't want to say of those things to Pete—it was better to have this all seem like a spur-of-the-moment revelation.

"I can get a graphic design position here-or even work remotely—I'll be okay," he said—so happy to finally see Pete smiling—to see him looking encouraged.

Pete kissed him again, and Michael wrapped his arms around him, their bodies tucked perfectly against one another. The ping of Pete's phone startled them both and Pete reached in his pocket.

"It's Henrietta," he said, reading the text. "Her and Owen and Firkle and his girlfriend are at a diner down by the water and want us to join them."

"Let's do it," Michael said, interlacing his fingers with Pete's. He thought of the hot coffee and laughs with friends that he was about to share. He and Pete walked hand-in-hand out of the building and into the night and while this wasn't South Park—he'd never felt closer to home.