Red, White & Royal Blue

by Casey McQuiston

Instead, he is in a prison of his own creation, sworn to babysit these turkeys until the pardoning ceremony, and is just now realizing his deep-seated fear of large birds.

But somewhere, beneath the liquor and the music, he can’t stop noticing that Henry has disappeared.

Alex’s insides feel positively molten, and he wants to throw himself down the presidential stairs.

He looks transformed in the lamplight, like a god of debauchery, painted gold with his hair all mussed up and his eyes heavy-lidded.

Alex actively wishes for the sweet release of death.

So keep up your heart, and tell me, as it shapes itself,

Well, Alex is so in love he could die.

He doesn’t know if this is supposed to be some kind of consummation, or if it’s one last time. He doesn’t think he could go through with it if he knew it was the latter. But he doesn’t want to go home without having this.

When he got older, he learned about love as a strange thing that could fall apart no matter how badly you wanted it, a choice you make anyway.

With me it is quite stark: I miss you even more than I could have believed; and I was prepared to miss you a good deal.

From Jean Cocteau to Jean Marais, 1939: Thank you from the bottom of my heart for having saved me. I was drowning and you threw yourself into the water without hesitation, without a backward look.

I love him, with all that, because of all that. On purpose. I love him on purpose.”