FSE

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Eli frowned at the canvas. It was blank. He should be working on his latest color study, but the art wasn't flowing as well as he'd have liked. The pressure of the upcoming auction wasn't what was getting him, which was odd in itself. Vincent seemed to be talking him up twenty-four-seven, trying to convince anyone and everyone that he was much more important than he'd probably ever be. He paused to mix paint on his palette. It was smeared with blues, greys, and browns instead of the usual warm yellows, reds, and greens. He swirled the brush over the white canvas aimlessly. The different colors criss-crossed in spirals, and reflected the dusty lamp that was the only light in the apartment.

It was approaching a year since he graduated. He'd spent some time trying to work and paint, but he could never muster the energy to pick up his brush after waiting tables all day. But then again, he'd never have met Vincent if he hadn't dropped that coffee all over the red bat's table. This auction was looking like it could be his big break, but that was probably him being hopeful. All he could do right now was focus on his color studies. He liked doing them, and they were marketable due to the fact that they could match anyone's house. Eli liked to weave patterns into pieces like this, something to engage the subconscious and make the piece more interesting than just plain shapes.

The serval enjoyed non-traditional combinations of colors. Nothing to go against color theory in such a way to be jarring, but earth tones were underrated, especially when it was mixed with a touch of tan and silvery blue. It worked surprisingly well. He'd need to work with more cool colors. Right now this one didn't match the warm colors he had right now. This one needed to dry right now. Instead the feline switched to a spiraling piece with sky blues, greens, and yellows, so that the lines turned into color gradients as they intersected on the canvas.

The cat checked his phone. Soren said he was going to be late, but this was getting crazy. What was his shite boss demanding of him now? His stomach growled. Eli knew Soren would bring dinner, so there was no point grabbing anything now. The serval wondered if Soren cooked for his other friends like he did for him.

Soren always felt that Eli's apartment was too small. His pointed ears would brush against the exit signs as he navigated claustrophobic hallways. Groceries clinked in canvas bags as they bumped against the walls, even though the Tamaskan was hunching his broad shoulders forward to take up less space as he walked. The starkly lit hallway highlighted how little space there was to move around. As the wolf-like dog climbed the stairwell, he wondered how any of the tenants managed to get furniture into their homes. He knocked on door 312 as his thumb played across the bags in his hands. A melodic voice was muffled by slightly rotted wood. "It's open."

Soren bumped the door against the back of a chair as he stepped in. The apartment was essentially a studio, but with all the furniture and trappings of life crammed into one half of the space. The room smelled of dust and oils despite it the living space being immaculate. The far side of the room was bathed in a warm glow from the last sliver of evening sunset. It lit up the clutter of countless stained dropcloths and discarded brushes or bottles. What parts of the hardwood floor Soren could see was colored by droplets that managed to sneak past the sheets spread across the floor.

A serval cat sat on a stool before a messy canvas. His auburn fur was bathed by the setting sun, and the gold and black spots that dotted his pelt seemed to glow on their own. His right heel was resting on the top of the stool, and he rested the arm holding his palette on the raised knee. His brush was twirling absently through the air, occasionally dripping honey yellow drops on the long tail that swung back and forth. The feline glanced over his shoulder, his lips slightly curling into a small smile. The one green eye that wasn't hidden by playful, orange peek-a-bangs had a slight sparkle to them that had nothing to do with the weather. "Soren, you know I keep the door unlocked when you're coming over. You don't need to knock."

"It just feels weird," said Soren, slipping off his shoes before he put the bags on Eli's tiny table. "I was never raised to walk in and out of someone else's house."

Eli returned to his canvas, slowly dragging his brush along the surface"And that's why I keep telling you it's ok. What did you bring with you today?"

"I felt like fish. It needs to marinate, but the lemon sauce won't make your apartment stink. You said you liked tilapia, right?" Soren laid pale fillets onto a pan. The saline scent washed over the small room, but the canine was already pouring olive oil over the fish. Eli was already lost in his work again. Soren liked to watch him paint. Specifically his hands. They were so slender, and they held the brush so delicately, like a conductor's baton. He tracked the slow but deliberate movements, watching how the golden streak Eli drew across the predominantly forest green piece gave the piece an instant splash of warmth. But what the tamaskan watched most was how those sharp feline eyes darted back and forth. Like a chessmaster who knew how the game would end after the first move, Eli knew how this painting was going to look the moment he put his brush on canvas. The process reminded Soren of how he made music, but with less hesitation.

Eli frowned as he drew the yellow streak across his piece. He wasn't sure how this shade worked with the green. If he didn't mix it right the whole painting would turn into that yucky shade of olive. Maybe if he mixed in some sky blue he could get the color back to something close to where he started. That'd work best. Sometimes a fresh start was all that was needed. Eli pulled himself out of his artistic trance and tried to multitask. Soren was talking and he hated being the kind of person who just said "mmhmm" over and over again.

"Soren, even if I didn't like fish you'd find a way to make it taste good anyway." Eli inhaled the scent of lemon zest, chasing out the dusty odor that pervaded his tiny apartment. "Do you want any help?"

Soren's laughter was interspersed by the _chop-chop-chop _of his knife as he reduced a lemon to wheels. "Eli, you can help me when I'm trying to trip your smoke alarm. Besides, I don't think setting off the sprinklers would help your painting."

"Maybe I should branch out to watercolors," giggled the feline. He glanced over his shoulder to smile at Soren, but the tamaskan had his eyes down as he laid lemons and grapefruit across the marinating fish. Eli noticed that the canine was placing the citrus in a visually appealing pattern. But for some reason Soren always denied that cooking was his own art form.

"Did anything interesting happen today?" Soren asked as he put the fish into the fridge.

"Is painting interesting," said Eli as he delicately reapplied the honey yellow to the canvas. It was looking much better this time around.

Soren's voice drifted from behind the fridge. "Of course it is. Eli, did you eat today? Your fridge looks like you didn't touch it since Tuesday."

Eli laughed again. "How do you know what my refrigerator looked like on Tuesday?"

"Because I made you lettuce wraps on Tuesday. Also the only things in your fridge are a bag of carrots and milk that expired two days ago. Are you doing ok?" Azure eyes peered from above the fridge door. Eli had a feeling Soren could see how loose his clothes hung on his body.

"Money's kinda tight right now," said Eli evasively. "But there's a sale at Price Chopper on Monday." Both statements were true, but Eli thought his friend didn't believe that he'd be attending the sale. Best not to outright say it, though. Soren was such a worrier already.

One thing he'd always admired about Soren was his pragmatic, "how can I help?" attitude whenever someone needed him, but Eli also knew how it hurt the tamaskan when he wanted to help but couldn't. What good was telling Soren that he had to choose rent over food this week when the canine was already coming over and cooking for him twice a week? And it's not like the canid was doing much better than him.

Soren pulled up a chair, angling it so that he was sitting at a right angle to Eli. The canine sat in a way that he couldn't see the much of the canvas. Forbidding people to look at his works in progress was one of Eli's eccentricities. Unlike a lot of his other friends who did it to tease him, Soren never pushed the issue. He was surprisingly in sync with the psyches of artists, despite the tamaskan being first and foremost a scientist.

Soren opened his laptop and clicked on garageband. He was working on a french horn piece. He liked the mellowness of the brass instrument, and more pieces needed to let the horn take the lead. He could hear Eli's tail swish-swishing against the floor. The light brushing sound was keeping perfect time with the music Soren was halfway through composing. His fingers clicked as he imputed new notes to the composition, but Soren didn't keep the sound on so he could listen to Eli. Perfect pitch had its perks "You said you quit your job. How are you holding up since then?"

"I've been living off a little nest egg I built up while waiting tables. I need to pick up a new job soon, but I want to go at least one more month without a day job. Even in school I was never this productive." Soren's ears pricked. He knew servers could rake in a lot of cash on good days, but some po-dunk cafe in rural Kansas didn't seem like the most lucrative of venues. He was glad he'd come over today. Eli was looking thin and stretched out lately. While he had a habit of forgetting to eat when in a painting frenzy, right now it looked like his creativity had nothing to do with his dietary choices.

"It's good to hear you're getting so much done. What are you going to do with all these paintings when you're done with them? Etzy?" Soren stopped clicking on the keyboard, watching Eli dab at a small blemish or flaw in the painting from the corner of his eye. The serval's tongue poked out of smooth, black lips as he chewed it in concentration. The feline was truly in his element.

Soren had always admired how determined Eli was when he made art. Nothing ever really got in his way. Even when life had its ups and downs, Eli could channel it into creativity. What he put on the canvas may have changed with the times, but the fact that the feline had a brush in his hands at all times was a constant. Eli turned to Soren, picking up a thinner, more delicate brush. "Etzy isn't really a good outlet for painters like me. Craft artists do better there because people go shopping for gifts or novelties, but a painting is a pretty cerebral birthday gift. People buy art for their own homes and personal tastes, so the average Etzy user isn't going to be interested in what I do. I also often take days to make a painting, and if that makes them too costly for the average young person who browse sites like that. The few times I sold online I lowballed how much I should have charged for it. And the artists who do well on Etzy tend to ride on the merit of their names."

Soren frowned as he listened. He didn't know much about the art world, but it sounded brutal. It didn't seem fair to him that someone who put their very soul into their work like Eli went unnoticed next to someone who made glorified friendship bracelets. But that was probably unfair. What stopped an artist from being marketable and dedicated? "What do you think your best option is? I don't think you have enough wall space to keep everything here."

"I actually have some news for you," smiled Eli as he swiveled on his stool to face Soren. "I may have bumped into someone who works for a bunch of local galleries. He took a look at my portfolio, and... well, he was interested." The serval swirled his brush in a stained mug as he talked, turning the water inside into a colorful whirlpool.

The lid of Soren's laptop closed with a slight snap. He turned to meet Eli's brilliant smile. "Who is this man? It's hard to believe some art mogul was wandering around Cavalier, and I doubt he was hanging around Jareau's for the coffee." The tamaskan's face soured at the thought of the kind of slop Eli was forced to serve up with a smile. He checked his watch. His fish were almost done marinating.

"I wouldn't call Vincent a mogul," said Eli. "But at the same time, it's the first time I met someone that wasn't a friend or family that thought my work was marketable." Soren nodded, a little apprehensive. Who was this Vincent guy? What was he really doing? It just seemed too easy for Eli to bump into a guy at a dumpy diner and _ bam! s _uddenly he had an agent? Eli was looking shrewdly at him, as if the feline were reading his mind. "It's not like I handed Vincent my originals and let him go at it. And I talked with people who worked with him in the galleries. I have his card somewhere around here."

Soren picked his next words with care. He could see the fire of enthusiasm in his friend's eyes, and he didn't want to dampen it. But at the same time he couldn't shake an eerie feeling about this Vincent. It just sounded like a sketchy name. "I didn't say he wasn't legitimate. I just think you should be careful." Soren put a pan on the burner, letting it reach the proper heat. He poured the fish, marinade and all, into the pan, letting the oil pop and sizzle across the pan. Lemon and black pepper wafted heavily through the room, but the saline stench of fish was absent from the savory fumes. "I wouldn't want to see you get burned, is all."

Eli inhaled deeply. The tart, spicy scent of the cooking fish mixed well with the resinous aroma of turpentine. He loved the way his house smelled after he painted, but he loved the smell of good food even more. He was always envious of Soren's culinary skills. In fact, if he wasn't friends with the tamaskan, Eli doubted he'd have ever eaten anything that wasn't made in a microwave. He wished he could do something like that, not just for Soren, but for friends in general. Eli liked the idea of throwing a dinner party, where he could just bring in a bunch of friends and serve them something fancy and fun. Somehow a party loses its glamour when all you have to put on a plate is Totino's.

"I should introduce you some time," said Eli. "You'd like Vincent. You have the same taste in music. And he can talk for days on anything."

"I'm sure he's nice," said Soren as he took the fish off the heat. "I'm glad for you, actually. This may be your big break." The canid plated the fish over a bed of fresh greens, dressed in a lemony vinaigrette. Eli joined Soren at his tiny table, taking the seat that leaned against the back of his front door. If Soren cooked for someone else, he always let the other person take the first bite. The fish was deliciously flaky. Soren had let it marinate for the perfect amount of time, and the tortilla chips he'd used as a crust gave it the perfect amount of salt and crunch.

A smile broke across the feline's muzzle. "Is this a new recipe? It's phenomenal."

"I've made it once before." As Eli took a second bite, Soren's muzzle broke into the first genuine smile the feline he'd seen since his friend first stepped into his apartment. The tamaskan had a nice smile, with brilliant teeth. It lit up his face, erasing the shadows cast by his sharp, wolfish features. It made the handsome canine look charming, suave almost. But his eyes looked sunken, like he hadn't slept in days, and sheen in his blue merle fur was dulled, making Soren look grey and old.

Soren ate slowly, but it looked to Eli like his friend wasn't even tasting the food, eating only to keep his body running. The feline reached for the pepper, accidentally brushing against Soren's arm as he did so. The canid withdrew his arm so fast that the serval's sharp green eyes didn't register it right away, as if Eli's arm had burned his friend. Eli watched him take a few more bites before asking, tentatively,"Soren... are you ok?"

Soren shook his head, as if he was caught dozing and was trying to snap himself out of it. "I'm chugging along. How was your day today? Did you get a lot done?"

Eli frowned. Soren's deflection would've been terribly transparent even if Soren hadn't asked the same questions he'd asked earlier today. "Soren, did something happen at work?"

"Nothing special. Jeff was being an ass, as per usual. Normally people are in a better mood on their birthdays. Maybe I should gift wrap a pair of pliers so he can get that stick out of his ass." That earned a giggle from Eli, but Soren remained morose. "And you'd be amazed how many people with doctorates can't use a damn computer."

"Are you getting overtime at least? You were nearly two hours late tonight." Eli picked at the spinach, trying not to look too intently at Soren. He knew the canine would close off if he asked too many questions too fast.

"Overtime is based on hours during the two week pay period, not daily. And Jeff always finds a reason I shouldn't come in once every two weeks or so to keep me averaging thirty eight hours a week."

"Just enough to not get benefits?"

"Exactly."

"Can you tell someone about this?" asked Eli. "That's pretty unfair treatment. You deserve to be paid for all the time you put in."

"Who," shrugged Soren. "What Jeff is doing is perfectly legal here. It's not like Kansas _values _its workers. Otherwise the state would have labor laws more effective than a wet noodle."

"Is there anything, eh... anything other than work bothering you Soren?" Eli's fork absently pinged against his cleaned plate.

"What else besides work is there to bother me," said Soren with a huff. "When is Scott gonna start game back up?"

"He's working on a big project. His novel writing class involves, you know, _actually _writing a novel. He wants to get his final draft in before he has time for D&D."

"Well, by the time he's done with that summer will almost be here." Soren sighed. He skewered a baby tomato and bit it in half with a dour frown.

"Have you made any friends at work, Soren?"

"Not really." said Soren. "In a strange twist of stereotypes, most of the IT guys are dudebros. Every night it's 'let hit the bar, man.' Believe me, drinking shitty beer and watching the other guys leer at any girl unfortunate to walk through the door gets boring the first time around. So now I'm just the loser who hangs around college kids years after he graduated."

Eli tried to keep the pity from his voice. But his friend just looked so miserable right now. Any traces of that smile was gone from the canine's face. It looked like Soren was on the verge of just breaking down. "You're not a loser... I think this job is getting to you. Have you been looking somewhere else?"

"I'm biding my time right now. One of these days a lab assistant job will open up, and I've been managing to save up some money for a grad school program. I know just as much as those guys with masters, I just need a chance to prove myself. I _want _to work at lab. I don't want all my studies as a scientist to be reduced to trivia."

Eli bit his lower lip. He didn't really know what to say right now. He collected the empty plates and did the dishes by himself, refusing Soren's' offers of help. If his friend was kind enough to cook a full dinner for a kitchen klutz like himself there was no way in hell he was cleaning up after it too. "Do you know about Satoshi Kon? He's a Japanese animation director. He does really good work."

"Got something you want to show me?" A ghost of smile broke on the canine's muzzle.

Eli was encouraged, and and he set the dishes to dry before going to his movie cabinet. "You'd like this one. Tokyo Godfathers."

"You won't tell me what it's about, as per usual?"

"Yup. You're going in blind." Eli popped in the dvd and curled up on his tiny couch, wrapping his tail around his legs. Soren sat next to him, but his posture was straightbacked and rigid, like a young kid on his first day of school. The canine was tall, with strong shoulders and just a touch of pudge from working ten hour days in an office chair. Soren was watching the movie intently, breaking it down instinctively the way he always did, but he also looked like he was enjoying himself.

Eli couldn't help but notice that Soren was trying to take up as little space as possible on the little two-seater. The feline was absently sweeping his long tail across the couch, but every time Eli brushed against Soren's leg, he saw the tamaskan shudder. It worried him. He knew Soren wasn't exactly a touchy person, but this? Maybe Sasha knew something that he didn't. Soren and Sasha grew up together, after all.

Eli pulled his bangs out of his eyes. He knew a lot of straight guys could get jumpy around queer people, but Soren didn't seem the type to be skeezed out just because he was around a gay guy. Did he even know? The subject never really came up though. Eli knew he could be on the flamboyant side, and his interests were far from the traditional masculine stereotypes, so some people put two and two together pretty easily. He hadn't had a boyfriend since Artur, unless you counted hookups with guys who didn't even let you finish before awkwardly slipping out the door. Also Eli had a general dislike of guys who made their entire identity "_so ghey!" _But he hadn't heard Soren or Sasha talk about any of the canine's ex-girlfriends before. Maybe he was asexual?

Despite trying his best to focus on the movie, Eli couldn't keep his eyes off Soren. The more he looked, the more worn down his friend looked. He couldn't stop thinking about it. All he wanted to do right now was give Soren a hug, maybe plant a kiss on his cheek and tell him everything would be alright. Just to give this man some affection he so clearly craved right now. . The canine's love languages were probably different than his own, and all Eli'd accomplish by doing that would be to make his friend uncomfortable.

The serval hadn't even noticed that the credits were rolling. He checked his watch. It was approaching eleven, and Soren had work at the crack of dawn. The tamaskan was already standing, stretching. He must be stiff from sitting so rigid for two hours. "I should get going," said Soren through a big yawn. He moved to the kitchen, gathering his bags and kitchen supplies. "Jeff's such a nazi about clocking in on time."

Eli leaned against the door, wishing that he could convince the canine to stay. He wanted to discuss the movie with him, but more than anything else he just wanted to be in his company for just a little longer."Hey Soren, how much do you spend on groceries for me?"

"No more than what I spend on me," shrugged Soren. "I just feel more motivated to cook when it's for more people than just me." He moved for the door.

Eli moved forward. He hesitated for just a moment before clasping Soren's hand, pulling him into a hug that was more of a shoulder-bump. "Hey... if you need anything, let me know. OK?"

Soren just nodded, biting his lip as he opened the front door. "I'll, uh... I'll see you later, Eli." The canine's lips twitched as he slipped out the front door.

Eli waited in his cramped apartment, wishing he had the courage to watch his friend go. Despite enjoying his time with Soren, Eli felt drained. He had no motivation to keep painting tonight. Instead he undressed, flipping off the lights and getting into his bed. He wished he didn't have a queen tonight. It felt too big and empty. He breathed in the lingering scents of Soren's cooking.

For some reason Eli couldn't quite understand, all he wanted right now was Soren next to him. He was a little disgusted with himself. Here he was, the gay guy crushing on his straight friend. And as much as he enjoyed sex, Eli could live without it if he could just give Soren a little love. Just some TLC for a good friend who looked like he needed it more than anyone else in the world. Maybe he'd try to be a little flirty next time he came over, see if Soren responded. The cat shook himself before wrapping himself tighter in the blankets and hugging a pillow to his bare chest. He was being stupid. But it didn't change that the last thought on Eli's mind was of Soren Saul .

Soren futzed around his dark apartment. The smell was back, but he had a sinking feeling that the landlord wouldn't be breaking his record of not giving a shit anytime soon. He'd already tried reporting the management, but somehow the problems magically disappeared right before the inspection, only to mysteriously reappear hours later. His blue eyes caught a glance of a mouse skittering across the floor, but Soren didn't have the heart to set out traps. He'd seen enough dissected mice brains at work to kill something just hunting for crumbs. Roaches, on the other hand...

In an effort to combat the stench of stagnant water, Soren pulled flour, sugar, eggs, and cocoa from his kitchen. In five minutes he had prepped the perfect brownie batter and was pouring it into the pan. He felt his mood lift as the warm scent of baking chocolate filled his dingy apartment, giving it a warmth the dank living space otherwise lacked. But the frown returned to his canine muzzle almost immediately. He didn't need more food. He had a full dinner two hours ago, and he didn't have time to work out anymore. But here he was, making a fudge icing as he watched the oven timer tick. For the umpteenth time, Jeanne's words echoed in his head. "_Food is love." _But even as he bit into a perfectly hot brownie, the pit in his stomach deepened. This was nothing close to love, or at least not like the love Soren had felt before. Good god he could use some love.

The brownies had accomplished the task of masking the scent, but Soren skipped the shower. He had a feeling that the water wasn't going to be fresh tonight. Maybe he could sneak into the gym for a quick one before work. One year out and they still hadn't notice the card had expired. He set his alarm for early, trying to not think about how late it was, and how late it was going to be once he would actually manage to fall asleep. He brushed his teeth without turning on the sink, staring at the deadened eyes in the mirror. They didn't look like they belonged to him, red from tiredness and something else. The black bags gave them a sunken look that aged him by ten years. The white underfur on his bottom jaw looked scraggly, and_ _the blue merle fur was losing its sheen. Soren wondered if he looked this terrible at Eli's place.

Soren flopped onto his too-short twin bed. His ankles and tail hung over the edge, and the apartment was so stuffy that the tamaskan felt stifled by a blanket. He tried to relax by inhaling the rich scent of brownie, but the chocolate was stimulating rather than relaxing. He laced his silver-blue hands behind his head, scratching at the headfur that needed a trim. But as Soren tried to unwind, a different scent wafted over him. It reminded him of sweet cream.

The scent seemed to hover over his chest. "It's where Eli hugged me." Soren knew that nagging voice in the back of his mind, and he knew that he couldn't silence it until it had its say. "When was the last time you'd gotten a hug?"

"It wasn't even that special of a hug." Great, he was talking out loud to _himself. _"Just a quick hug between friends." It was more like that man-bump thing bros did: clasp hands, bump shoulders, pat back.

"Eli has nice hands though. They're soft, and his fingers are so thin and graceful. I bet you're plotting how you can hold that hand again right now. Or maybe you can brush against his arm like you did today. Just to get that soft, sweet fur back in your hand."

"You're making me out to be some sort of creeper," grumbled Soren to the darkness. "Can't... can't I just have friends? Do I need to force myself to live like a hermit?" He clenched his eyes shut. His hands clutched the fitted sheet. And beneath the dark whispers and his own thoughts, He found himself wondering what Eli's fur would feel like against his cheeks. He wondered if Eli liked to cuddle. Thin, black, feline lips hovered on the edge of Soren's imagination, and he wondered if he'd ever get the chance to find out what they tasted like. He thought he saw his white chestfur jump as his heart beat harder and harder. "I can't," gasped Soren.

"You know you can't," _cackled the dark whispers."_But that doesn't seem to be stopping you."

Soren balled himself up on top of the bed. His shaggy tail was curled around his knees, and he shifted onto his side, crossing his arms across his chest. His fingers dug into the dark blue fur, and he bit his lip until it bled. He couldn't do this again. Soren ran every tactic and trick he'd tried through his mind. He'd stopped looking at porn. He hadn't let himself get off for more than a year. He tried every cognitive behavioral tactic in countless books. But it would never leave him.

What was he expecting? What would he even do?! Find some girl to settled down with? Maybe... what if it was something like Sasha? Just a shared friendship that was so strong that everyone thought they were a couple. And if she didn't have much of a libido... Soren had proof enough that he could survive without sex. But calling his current situation "survival" seemed like a bit of a stretch right now.

Would he be able to confide in her? Would she be willing to live the rest o f her life as a cover for a miserable husk of a man? That didn't seem like a healthy way to live. He couldn't see a relationship like that, where they'd be happy together, where they could inspire each other to try something new, or push their projects in new directions. He would never have someone he could call a partner, someone he could open up to, that he could feel comfortable around even as he let himself be vulnerable. But what could he even do? Put a ring on some girl's finger and crawl back to the people who already despised him before resigning to some half-life?

Soren tried to imagine this hypothetical girl. People always said that everyone was a little bi deep down. She'd have to be graceful. Feline probably. She'd have sharp, narrow shoulders with defined collarbones that'd look good in a strapless dress, and luscious, sharply curved hips. "And a spotted pelt. And a thick, fluffy chest fur with a reddish tint. And a flat, smooth chest..."

Soren scratched at his arms, nails digging trenches through his fur as Eli's face swam through his mind. He couldn't do it again. He knew long before this that boyfriends were off limits. He couldn't inflict his family on another innocent man. He couldn't survive the guilt for a second time when they'd inevitably be wrenched apart. He couldn't live down another Milo. Soren had tried so hard to convince himself that first crushes never worked out, that high school sweethearts always fell to pieces. But what he wouldn't give to find out for himself. Would their love that burned so bright start to dim once distance and time stretched them apart, or would they have found a way? Would he be sharing a bed with that wonderful man if things had turned out different? But all that was left, and all that he'd ever have, was so many "what-ifs."

But what about now? Was it worth the risk? But was Eli even gay in the first place? He seemed the type... but what if that was just the whole eccentric artist persona? If every artist or musician or thespian was gay just because they were a little campy, his dating prospects would've been much less bleak in high school. He was probably just projecting onto his friend. This was just him being desperate. Would trying and failing hurt more than turning Eli into just another what-if? But even as Soren tried to deflect these thoughts, he felt a weight pressing so hard on his chest that seemed to pin him to the bed, forcing him to stare into the abyss of his own wounded thoughts. Soren Saul was falling in love with Eli Vatra, and he loathed himself because of it.