The next morning, Max opened his eyes beside Neville.

It was still early. Only a hint of morning was breaking into the darkness. No sound from the street had reached him yet.

Max rose slightly and looked at Neville sleeping beside him. His breathing was slow and steady, his face unguarded, lips slightly parted. He seemed to be sleeping soundly.

Carefully, Max reached out and touched the soft curl of Neville’s hair with his fingertips. He lifted it a little, as if trying to weigh the hair—then caught himself.

This is like—

Then, without making a sound, he slipped out of bed and turned the doorknob as slowly as possible before leaving the room.

In the dark, he searched through his bag and reached for his running clothes. He pulled out a short-sleeve T-shirt, the kind he always wore, then paused, a faint smile crossing his face, and switched it for a long-sleeve one.

Someone always wants me to be warm.

Outside, Max stretched quickly. When intimacy settled in, he usually needed to be alone, so he started running. Christmas lights were strung along the houses and streets, their glow softened as the darkness slowly thinned. Some coffee shops and bakeries were quietly preparing to open, amber light leaking from their windows.

Max ran on the asphalt, keeping an eye out for cars in the quiet early hours. In some parts of the town, the old stone pavement was preserved along both sides of the street. He realized the place no longer felt unfamiliar to him. Without thinking, his legs carried him in the right direction; he remembered the rough geography of the neighborhood—the parks, the schools. The used bookstore, the deli—places Neville had shown him. He had meant to focus on himself for a while, to stay alone, but everything kept pulling Neville into his thoughts. Max picked up the pace as if to shake it all off.

As the sky gradually paled, a tightness built in his chest, and he decided to slow down. Then the plaza came into view, the Christmas tree from the night before standing quietly at its center. He stopped, bent forward with his hands on his knees, shoulders rising and falling as he tried to steady his breath. After a moment, he straightened, wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm, and looked at the tree.

In the morning light, it looked inviting. There was nobody around, just the tree and himself. When he caught the fresh scent of fir in the air, his breathing eased, his lungs loosening. He brushed the edge of the needles with his fingers and leaned closer, closing his eyes for a few seconds.

This smell…

The scent reminded Max of Neville’s skin—the sweetness that grounded him. Of when they first kissed on the dry land in Tanzania. When they stood close enough to feel each other’s warmth, Max had felt as though he were in a forest, surrounded by damp, calm air. The fatigue of weeks of work seemed to lift; his body felt lighter. Before any thought caught up, his arm had pulled Neville’s waist tight, his lips pressed against Neville’s.

Max exhaled deeply.

He thought of Neville last night, his unwavering gaze fixed straight on Max’s eyes. When they were nearing climax, Neville had called Max’s name twice—his voice raw, his arm curled around the back of Max’s neck. Max knew he had almost called Neville’s name back. Instead, he replaced it with the kind of harmless, weightless words anyone might say in the middle of sex. Max pressed his lips together.

I don’t even know what I want.

Between night and morning, the thought surfaced, then drifted. Bitter memories of things he had let go passed briefly through his mind.

The sun grew brighter. Sweat on his skin began to chill.

I should go back.

It should be about time Neville woke up. Max reached into the zippered pocket of his running pants and texted him.

Coming back from my run. Want anything?

A few moments later, there was a beep. As he read, his lips lifted almost imperceptibly.

A gust of wind cut across the plaza, and Max shivered. He was still strong enough to stand the cold, but old enough to recognize when his body wanted warmth. He knew Neville’s flat would be warm.

He glanced back once more and brushed his hand lightly against the Christmas tree, feeling the softness of the needles against his palm. Then he turned and walked toward the exit of the plaza.