One night, near the end of Max’s stay in London, they went out to a restaurant Neville had suggested. Though he’d described the restaurant as “slightly nice,” he hadn’t expected Max to change anything. Max would probably come in his regular blue jeans and T-shirt, hopefully wearing a parka and his cleaner sneakers.

But when they met at the fountain near the restaurant, Neville had to look twice. A tall man standing by there looked like Max—only like a model from a men’s clothing ad—meant for someone who had already grown into himself. He wore a chic beige blouson, gray jeans with a subtle blue hue, and dark brown leather boots, clean and understated. Neville was caught off guard, realizing how effortlessly Max seemed to fit into stylish clothes.

They had met in Tanzania less than a couple of months earlier, both there through different NPOs they’d been working with for about a decade. Neville was on the design side, planning long-term infrastructure; Max handled the physical work on the ground. It had been strictly professional at first. Only at the very end did something begin to change. Before returning to the U.S., Max had decided to visit Neville in London.

Inside the restaurant, once Max took off his jacket, he wore a black dress shirt that fit him perfectly. The candlelight fell into the open collar of his shirt, casting a soft shadow along his collarbone.

“You’re looking sharp tonight,” Neville said carefully, trying to keep his voice even despite the sudden pull in his chest.

Max raised the corner of his lips. “It’s a date night,” he said, then added, “You look beautiful as usual,” his gaze lingering on Neville’s gray-green eyes.

Neville held his gaze for a moment before murmuring, “Oh well… Max being Max,” shifting his eyes toward the window beside them, the street beyond softened by old wavy glass. His lips tightened slightly, as if keeping his face neutral required some effort.

Max watched him and breathed out softly, a sound almost like a small laugh. He seemed aware of the attention he was getting, letting it roll off with a soft, easy smile.

After they finished dinner and stepped outside, the air was sharp with cold, and snow had begun to drift down from the deep navy sky. It was a weekday night in the middle of December; the street wasn’t particularly crowded, and the two of them walked quietly side by side.

“It suddenly got colder,” Max said, glancing at Neville, who was clearly more sensitive to the cold than he was.

“It did. I’m fine, though.”

“Okay.”

They walked along the park, where lights were strung through the trees. After a while, they reached an open plaza-like space where a large Christmas tree stood. Countless small blue lights shimmered across its branches, slowly glowing on and off in gentle succession.

“Let’s check that out,” Max said, pulling Neville’s hand.

A young couple was there taking pictures before them, and the woman in a red beanie asked Neville to take their photo.

“Of course,” Neville said with a polite smile, and took a couple of pictures.

Then the man in a brown beanie and glasses said, with a friendly expression, “Do you want one too?”

Neville immediately started to reply, “That’s oka—”

But Max was already handing his phone with the silver case to the man.

“Yeah, sure,” he said.

Neville looked at Max for a moment but didn’t object. They stood in front of the tree. Max eased an arm around Neville’s back, almost out of the camera’s view.

For a moment, Neville’s hand moved slightly—almost instinctively, as if it was supposed to reach for Max—but then he lowered his wrist.

“This is quite a big phone,” the man said as he tried to position it.

“Yeah, ’cause I’m big,” Max answered casually. The woman let out a small laugh.

When the couple left, hand in hand through their gloves, Max and Neville were alone in the plaza again.

“I think this was a fountain during the summer,” Neville said, remembering how the park had looked lively a few months ago with children playing in the water.

“Hm. A nice tree,” Max replied. “And I like these blue lights.”

Neville watched Max’s profile. He could be rough around the edges, but sometimes the faint way he smiled, as he did now, felt unexpectedly elegant to Neville.

Max reached out and touched one of the thin plywood stars, the gold paint brushed on unevenly, like a child had made it. Then he looked at Neville, and his fingertips reached Neville’s cheek in almost the same gentle way he’d touched the star.

Neville didn’t move. He quietly watched Max approach. He saw a few large flakes of snow caught in Max’s hair, reflecting the lights. He felt Max’s thick fingers trace along his cheek, then his chin. He caught the scent of Max’s cologne: something earthy, slightly spicy, mingled with the faint smell of smoke and skin.

The moment Max’s dry lips touched his, Neville closed his eyes and tightened his fists. A sharp desire rose in his chest. He wanted more, and he couldn’t move. He followed Max’s lead, tilting his chin slightly. He tried to focus on his legs, grounding himself so he wouldn’t get carried away. When Max grabbed his shoulder and tried to deepen the kiss, Neville pulled back, letting out a short exhale. His eyes dropped to the ground. Max paused.

“You okay?” Max asked, noticing Neville looking down and suddenly flustered.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Neville replied immediately, raising the edge of his lips in a small, weak smile. Max didn’t press him.

“Let’s go home before you get too cold,” Max said gently.