Last Violent Call

by Chloe Gong

But there was a stark difference between Marshall’s patient, controlled love, burning on low while he waited for Benedikt to shake himself into order, and Marshall’s unabashed love, given the kindling to blaze. It was the whisper of contact when he grabbed Marshall’s shoulder to say goodbye leaving their apartment in Shanghai, contrasted with the whole-body hug that Marshall gave him at the doorway of their smaller one-bedroom in Moscow, laughing when Benedikt said he absolutely had to go and laughing harder when Benedikt didn’t actually attempt to extricate himself. It was a longing glance across the kitchen in the days before, measured against reaching over the counter without hesitation now—thumbs brushing along cheekbones, legs flung over laps, lips colliding and colliding with the softest impact.