He dragged me down the street in a rush, tugging at my wrist. To be honest, it kind of hurt, but as I was towed behind him through the cement maze of streets, I was more focused on keeping up with him than my surroundings and whatever pain he caused me. It was just a blur of trying to keep my feet flat and internal screaming. I didn’t mind though. I didn’t mind the dull stinging on the skin crowing my hand or the panic that sent my heart racing each time I tripped on a crack in the city’s cheap labor. I never minded when it was Tom.

Somehow, he never slowed down. He kept a steady jogging pace, and I couldn’t. I was out of breath shortly after we started. After all, it’d been months and months since I’d last done any hard labor. My lungs burned like whiskey on the tongue, yet he seemed just fine. When did he get so fit?

Then, he suddenly came to a halt, causing me to bump into him from the unexpected movement. I was wheezing for breath, just thankful we finally stopped. I felt as if I would pass out. Tom then dropped my wrist, and immediately, I brought my hands to my knees, leaning over, still trying to catch my breath. I noticed through my squinted eyes the red ring on my arm. I looked up to Thomas with a glare that obviously wasn’t too hateful nor especially endearing. He just smiled down at me with a slightly apologetic look. He most certainly didn’t regret a single thing.

He turned his head and looked into the near distance. I backed up a bit and turned to the direction Tom was looking in, and my gaze was brought to bright and brilliant colors of reds, oranges, and yellows and greens, blues, and whites hanging everywhere. As if a spell had been cast on me, I instantly forgot what I had been fussing over and stood up straight to get a better look at the scene without having to crane my neck. Patterns of all sorts decorated the cloths on wires, waving gracefully in the breeze. It was magnificent, really. I mean, in reality, they were just rugs, but it was like an art show. I guess it was, in a way, already an art show. It is a craft after all.

People strolled between the carpet. Occasionally, one would place their hand under one, examining it closely before striking up a conversation with the clerk. Young children were playing hide-away in the creases in cervices, and beyond that, there was more. Clay pots painted with intricate design aligned shop tables, and ripe fruit sat in large wooden crates at stalls. A flea market that I never knew existed had just been here this whole time in all of its glory, and I had never seen it. To be fair, I didn’t get out that often, and when I did, it was usually fooling around with Tom. God, I’ve been so ignorant; this is beautiful!

"This is where I like to take my afternoon strolls. I just love to look at all the beautiful things that the people here have made," Thomas said admirably, interrupting my awesome thoughts.

I just nodded along though I knew he wasn’t looking at me. I just couldn’t take my eyes off of the swirling stitched colors and patterns that so vibrantly decorated my vision. Looking around, it’s understandable why he would spend his time here. Even if you were not looking to buy anything, it was gorgeous to view.

"Of course, if you see anything you like, tell me. I have money to spare," he told me nonchalantly as he turned towards me. I broke my gaze away from the more artistic masterpieces and made eye contact with him instead, another masterpiece.

"Good lord, Tom. Cigarettes, rugs, drinks, coats, ties, vests... Is there anything you can't afford?" I asked sarcastically with a small warm smile pulling at the side of my mouth. I gave him a once-over, and he seemed to like the attention seeing as he gave me one in return with a short-lasting simper.

"No. My family is a wealthy one, to say the least," he continued the conversation before scanning the distance again, not bothering to look at the decor as if he had already seen it all, but then he looked at me and smiled that beautiful, breathtaking smile—the smile that made my life bright. Even though I just found out my sister was just fucking murdered, I felt happy. I felt happy with Tom. He made me happy. He still makes me happy; it’s just different now.

And though I knew we were in public; I couldn't help but what I did next. I grabbed the sides of his strong jaw and kissed him. To everyone, this was normal behavior—a little abnormal to do suddenly like that but not particularly suspicious—but I put so much passion in that small moment. I had to make it count. Do it again, and then it would be suspicious. There was no doubt Tom felt the heat too, for he grabbed my waist and pulled me closer to him, pressing our bodies together and begging us to become one so that I’d never have to leave him. I twisted my fingers through his always perfect hair and pulled down on the chocolate strands only slightly as to not hurt him. Then all too soon, it was over.

He pulled back and sighed, "I'll never get tired of that."

I smiled up at him and whispered back, "Me neither."

We gazed at each other for a second before Tom started again, “Je t'aime, John.”

My eyes widened in shock as a bright blush filled my cheeks. I wasn’t fluent in French, but I knew that phrase often sung by wishful maidens. My bashfulness was also evident in my voice as I spoke with a shaky tone, “You know French?”

“And German. I came here from France, remember?”

“No,” I replied shaking my head and raising my eyebrow in suspicion.

“I never told you that?”

“No.”

“Well, I moved here when I was fourteen. I came alone. My parents were planning to follow after me later but failed to after going bankrupt. I learned German after meeting Günther so that I’d be able to talk with him more fluently,” he explained routinely.

“Is there anything you can’t do?”

"I don’t think so. Now, let us look around, shall we?” he said with a cocky smile.

I sneered at him playfully before pulling on his arm to take him up on his offer to show me around. He started walking and led the way as I followed sheepishly behind him, never letting go of his pendulous arm. Though it was a wonderous scene, I couldn’t stop staring at him because I had noticed something peculiar. I almost never saw him blush anymore. He never got flustered and nervous anymore. Usually, he would have been an embarrassed mess, apologizing for forgetting to tell me about his polyglotism, and he probably would have gotten so nervous that he never would have gotten his perfect French words out. He would have scratched his nape and stuttered, but the roles seemed to have been reversed. I became that absolute catastrophe of pink cheeks and awkwardness while he had taken up the confidence I once possessed. I don’t know if he noticed that day, but I did, and I didn’t mind it at all.

Oh, how he had changed in the time we were together.

Getting back to the point, we entered the little market that was crowded with demographics of all sorts. Tom made sure that I got to see every table. He just grinned every time I squealed like a child when I saw something shiny or pretty. I gasped at all the ceramic plates, cups, and other utensils. Vases and decorations were spread out on tables like cards in a hand, and everything was covered in beautiful bright oils.

After about an hour or so of perusing, Tom grabbed my shoulders from behind me and leaned into my ear, whispering softly and reassuringly, "I have to go deal with something for a minute. Why don't you pick out something valuable for yourself?"

I turned back to look at him and protest, but he was already walking away. I hesitantly shrugged it off and continued to wander through. It wasn’t long after that I came across a very unforgettable stand. A woman with black frizzy hair was shouting about her herbal remedies which were all blazing with color. Putrid smells came from the booth. Most tried walking on the other side of the sidewalk, but I was pushed by the crowd directly into her line of sight. I tried to ignore her crackling voice and look in the other direction when I passed, but apparently, despite my attempt to prevent such things, I caught her interest. She ran up to me, telling me fast about something that can cure epilepsy and homosexuality simultaneously. I held my hands up in defense of her verbal onslaught while apologizing profusely and asking to be excused from her tyranny.

I'm sure it could, lady; I’m sure it could, I thought to myself.

I parried around her next step and walked faster as a means to get out of her reach, but she kept following me. That is until she noticed a small boy wandering up to her table, intrigued by all of the vibrant liquids and bizarre scents. I felt bad for the kid, but better him than me. I checked behind me a couple of times anyway to assure her disappearance as I hurried off. Finally, she had emancipated me from her torment.

I walked slowly, examining all of the designs and shining trinkets. Then, something caught the corner of my eye. It was a beautiful dovetail coat. It was black with white and red and orange flowers stitched in with yellow accents. So elegant. Also, very feminine, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. I alerted the clerk behind the table (who was already working on her next piece), saying, "Excuse me, madam, but what is this coat? The material, I mean."

She looked up from her work and questioned in a judgmental tone, confirming the item I was inquiring about, "The black one?"

She gave me a look. It didn't seem like a very nice one either, but it wasn't mean. It just seemed like a ‘strange but okay’.

"Yes,” I confirmed.

"Virginian cotton. Fifty dollars. I don't make deals."

I stared at her in exasperation and gasped, "Fifty?"

Her face was telling me that she was a ‘no-bullshit’ kind of gal. She was adamant that the price would not waver, which was a disappointment to me. Fifty dollars was unreasonable, and I decided that if she wouldn’t bend, I wouldn’t buy.

I was about to turn away before an arm slid around the small of my back, making me jump, but the sound of Tom’s voice comforted me, "I'll take it.”

I gave him a surprised look.

"I have money to spare," he assured me with a slight smile, showing hints of his perfectly straight and white teeth.

After receiving the coat wrapped in a brown package, we started to head home. Well, we headed to my home. We walked slowly as to preserve the moment between us: a cool night, subtle glances, our hands brushing with each step. But when we arrived at the door of my building, Tom stopped me, taking my hands in his. He held my hands in each of his tenderly, examining them with love. I watched him with the same admirable expression. It was obvious he cared for me, and it was unmistakable that I felt the same for him. Then he brought his gaze back up to me. There was passion and appreciation in his eyes.

"I know what we have isn't traditional, and I am not going to act like it is. It is not. It’s strange and disturbing, but I love it,” he said before pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts. "What I mean to say is that I love you, John. Je t'aime. Ich liebe dich. I love you."

I stared up at him. I tried to say something, but my mouth kept opening and closing with no words. I was speechless, genuinely speechless. He swooped in and kissed me, and it was so perfect. How perfect. We'd kissed. We’d done unmentionable terrible things, but none were as loving and compassionate as that kiss. That single kiss...

Tom pulled away all too quickly and looked at me while I was still searching for words. Then a look crossed his face. That look. The look that said ‘I understand’. But of course, he didn't truly understand.

"I love you too," I muttered suddenly, forcing the words from my mouth like a stubborn calf. I meant it though. I did. With all of my heart, I meant it.

A smile pulled his lips up widely, but it faltered out of shock. Then he smiled again, a beautiful stuttering smile. He let go of a breath like he had been holding it for ages. We stood there staring at each other for what felt like an eternity. But not in a boring way if that's what you thought I meant.

"See ya in the morrow, yeah?" Tom whispered with a brief squeeze to my hands.

"Yes, definitely."

He kissed me quickly and dropped my hands, looking down at them as he did so. He smiled up at me again and starting walking backward, not taking his eyes off of me. He finally turned around after almost tripping a couple of times, but he still looked over his shoulder every once in a while, to assure himself that I was still smiling as widely as I realized I was. Once he was out of sight, I turned back in and went to the apartment. I fixed up some soup—it was chicken noodle—and ate myself a bowl. Then I took another serving to bring to my mother, but when I reached her bed, I saw she was sleeping. Her small frame was twisted into the dark sheets.

"Ma, I brought you some soup,” I called to her, hoping to wake her.

Silence.

"Mother?" I asked more concerned.

She wasn’t a heavy sleeper, but she didn’t even give me a breath in response.

Wait, not even a breath?

I panicked and set the soup down on the nightstand carefully as to not spill. I leaned down to listen in her chest. Sure enough, it was true; she was dead.

My mother was dead, and I felt nothing out of sorts.