Last Violent Call

by Chloe Gong

Benedikt had yelled at him so thoroughly for faking his death—REALLY, ROMA?! THIS IS THE LAST AND FINAL TIME ANYONE DOES THIS, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?! GET YOUR WIFE ON THE LINE, I HAVE SOME WORDS FOR HER, TOO—that he thought the international telephone audio might short out.

“Don’t even remind me about my traitorous back,” Marshall said. “Twenty-three years old and I could get a cramp from breathing wrong.” Benedikt blinked. He did the math in his head. “Mars, you’re twenty-four.” Without warning, Marshall dropped to his knees, trembling with the drama. “I’m aging!”

“Platform number one,” Benedikt reminded. “You’re my only number one,” Marshall replied, somewhat nonsensically.

Benedikt reached out, a hand sliding along the back of Marshall’s neck, then up, up, into his thick crop of hair. When his fingers threaded in, Benedikt felt all his remaining tension bleed away from his spine, slithering to the floor like a shed skin.

“I’m joking, Mars. If you decide to sleep on the separate bunk, I’m going to assume our relationship is under strain.” In a flash, Marshall’s scowl turned into a grin. “Relax, I’m only pretending. Don’t forget”—there was a glint in his eye when he tapped a finger to the inside of Benedikt’s wrist, right at the point where his pulse was beating—“you were the one who admitted you were in love with me first. You can’t fool me.”

Sometimes Benedikt didn’t know how to handle the extent of the feelings living in his heart. Almost five years had passed with his love in the open instead of trapped in the dark, and it would still blink its bewildered eyes when it was seen clearly, surprised to have been acknowledged. He had assumed that there wouldn’t be much change: he had grown up with Marshall Seo, after all; he had already been sharing an apartment and most of his life with him before Marshall went and faked his death and drove Benedikt to such depths of anguish that everything he had pushed down and down and down came surging to the surface.