The Fall

by Tal Bauer

It’s only me and the ocean; the horizon is lost. Ocean and sky have welded together into a single slab of darkness, and the world has lost its border.

Gorgeous. How i've missed you Tal

I still dream in highlight reels, but now, all I see are the plays I fucked up. I relive them at night. I relive them when I blink.

Same

How do you fix yourself when you don’t know what’s broken? How do you find your way when you’re so lost you don’t know which way is north? Or worse—what if you’re not broken and this is just you, as good as you’ll ever get? What if this is it?

I’m not suicidal, but I’m desperate, and the difference is razor-thin.

I’ve ridden the waves of Toradol and OxyContin, laid back and watched epic narratives unfold on the stages of water stains on my ceiling. They’ve always been nonsense, elephant empires in space, coaches with insect heads, teammates with wings, hockey games played between butterflies.

Stunning imagery

It cuts me deep, seeing these photos. There I am, playing as if I love the game, feeling the way I used to, back when I believed dreams could come true, when I thought my hands and will were strong enough to build a future. But I don’t remember any of it.

That’s what I told myself. I left whole regions of myself behind, thinking I’d fetch them if I ever felt brave. Look where that got me. 2:37 a.m., a year into a future I can’t remember, huddled in front of a toilet, staring at a man who loves me.

The introspection 😮‍💨

If I built this life once, maybe I can build it again.

the air tastes like exile.

“You’d tell me if something was wrong.” I swallow. “I’d tell you.”

(He wouldn't tell him)

I keep one eye on Blair, a storm on the horizon that can ruin and rebuild the whole world. Let me remember all of this. Let me hold on.

A solid click seals us in, alone, in a bubble of shadow and stillness. I try to map the space around me in the dim light of the overheads, turned down soft and low.

The way he builds atmosphere 🤌

This body I inhabit but don’t recognize responds like it was made for him.

I’m caught between two versions of myself: the Torey who belongs here with Blair and the Torey who’s lost in the cracked mirror of his own mind, grasping at fragments of a life he no longer recognizes. I can’t tell which one is really me.

I curl up on one side like I can divine memories out of cotton and stuffing.

There’s a door leading to the lanai from the bedroom, another wall-length glass slider. It’s an escape, and I take it.

Great transition

The water laps gently against the dock, tiny, careful waves, whispering to me.

Vs the turbulent ocean at beginning

I’m up on my elbows in a flash, trying to appear as if I were doing something other than mainlining his pillow, trying to crack open my skull and pour his scent into my brain.

He loves him but has no memories to quantify the emotion, just these driving impulses to seek out his scent or kiss him

His scent, that intoxicating blend of coconut and Blair, envelops me. My body remembers. My body craves.

The drive to Hayes’s house is a blur of palm-tree-lined streets. The sky pulls thin ribbons of coral and indigo across what’s left of the evening. Streetlights blink alive overhead, casting the world in that low Florida blue.

The imageryyyyy

It’s disconcerting, this sense of familiarity without any actual memory.

It’s like falling in love again, all at once. I don’t know how I got here and I don’t know what I’ve forgotten, but I know I want this.

I want to lose myself in Blair, in the strength of his arms and the heat of his body. I want to know him with my hands, to map out every inch of his skin. I want his taste to be the only thing I ever taste again. I want one kiss to stretch into infinity, an eternity of Blair’s lips against mine.

I am afraid to touch this life I have, to hold it, to breathe on it, to walk too close in case it shatters or twists away or slips through my fingers.

The air is velvet-soft as we step into Florida’s night, the sky dazzlingly full of stars as the cicadas thrum their low nocturne in the trees.

Jfc he’s good

I’m desperate for these tiny moments of familiarity, for the times when my body knows what my mind can’t.

Routine takes over, and I slip into the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind me. I’m alone with my thoughts. A stranger looks back at me

This transition is masterful

The light casts a chiaroscuro of shadows across my face, a too-perfect metaphor.

I agree

In this half-light, half-sleep, the scaffolding of my consciousness softens and blurs.

Loving him is muscle memory, but touching him... It still feels like a line I’ve never dared to cross.

Love this dichotom

“Blair,” I say, my voice barely louder than the hiss of the water. He turns, and⁠— All of my terror, all of my fear, melt away. It’s Blair; my heart and soul know him.

What do I want? Everything. I want to claw back the year I’ve lost, and I want his body to tell me who I am.

I want to be whole again, more than this half‑person stumbling through memories, and I want to lose myself in him until I forget that I’ve forgotten anything at all.

“I’ve got you.” The words rumble against my neck. “Always got you.”

What if I’m not partway to rebuilding my memories but halfway to losing them completely?

He’s mapping out game plans, but I’m drawing up completely different routes, ones that end with him on his back and me in his lap.

“What’s your take on stick flex? I swear Bauer’s lying about their ratings.”

Thought this was a self-insert reference until I remembered Bauer is a hockey brand

Maybe not, but this version of me is happy, successful, loved. I’m not fucking losing this life.

You might not have a choice if you get another hit dude 🥴

I’m a neon sign, glowing for him.

“Sometimes I look at you,” he says, his voice low, “and I forget how quiet my life was before.”

For a second, the frantic acceleration is all wrong, metal screaming, glass shattering, the world tilting on an axis it was never meant to have. My nightmare surges.

This foreshadowing 🤌

He talks about power plays and clutch goals, but his words are a river carrying a deeper meaning. The quiet mornings, the iced bruises, the whispered confessions in the dark are all there in his voice. He’s telling me I give him a reason to believe in tomorrow again.

It’s not only hockey I’m trying to get out of my system, though. Clearly. Every stride, every shot, every bead of sweat is a poor substitute for what I really want.

Mans READY for his gay awakening 2.0

He slides his hand behind my neck, drawing me closer. Our lips are a breath apart. “I love you,” he whispers. Everything stills.

That’s my smile, the one he only gives to me.

He smells like home, and some jumbled-up part of me, some deep-seated instinct, is whispering, “Yes, here. With him.”

😭

“Every time,” he breathes. “Every single time, you rock my entire world.”

😭😭

God, there is no part of me that isn’t his.

😭😭😭

It scares me how deep this love runs when I have no memory of how we got here. Every atom of me is oriented toward him. He is my North Star.

It’s a sleek oasis—low-slung couches and high-tops inside a glass-walled rooftop overlooking the city. Potted palms sway. Globe lights refract off the glass walls and the buildings around us, and they twinkle in place of the drowned-out starry sky.

The way he creates atmosphere and setting and draws you in