He swallowed.“Likewise.I was worried you ...That this was casual.Er.Friendly.”
I couldn’t help but giggle in disbelief, my thumbs stroking his cheeks.“Friendly.Oh my god.I packed up and came with you toEngland.Because that’s definitely something thatplatonic friendsdo for each other.What is wrong with you?”
Armand gently wrapped his fingers around my wrists, holding me in place as he flushed harder.“Shut up.”
“You know, bros being bros,” I teased, heart still fluttering.“Shall I make us some evening tea, buddy?Pal?”I booped Armand’s nose.“Ol’ chap?”
Armand surged forward and pulled me into another kiss, an obvious attempt to shut me up, which was a fair trade-off, all things considered.I lost myself in the moment, relishing the way his strong hands cradled my face.When we were like this, I could pretend I didn’t know there was something he was keeping from me.That I hadn’t done enough to earn his trust, that I was still being held at arm’s length, like—
I pulled back, something shocking into my memory.“I almost forgot!”
Armand blinked in a daze, lips distractingly wet.“For— Wha?”
I planted a quick peck on his flushed cheek and hurried over to the bag I’d stashed in my suitcase for safekeeping, grateful I’d remembered.I presented him with the bespoke canvas satchel full of goodies.“Ta-da!”
Armand stared in confusion at the bag before fiddling it open.He swallowed, eyes going wide.“W-what are these?”
“A surprise for you!Non-homicidal pens!You said your old ones were trying to kill you.”I grinned, running my fingers through his mussed hair.“I didn’t know which was best, or what kind you used, so I showed the art lady the photos of your workspace and got everything she suggested.”
Armand bit his lip, looking so sweetly taken aback I wanted to squish him.“Lucas ...I— Thank you, love, but you can’t keep buying me things!”
“Says who?”I took his hand, pulling him to sink onto the mattress.You deserve it, and I want you to be happy, and I want you to be happy withme.
“Lucas,” Armand tried, but my fingers made their way up to the edge of his jaw, thumb playing with the corner of his mouth.
“Is this an important conversation?”I asked, bending low, lips grazing his temple.
Armand’s breath stuttered.“N-no, I guess not ...notthatimportant.”
I wanted to show him that I was serious about this.That he was different, thatwewere different.“Good, because I think I’m done talking for now.”
Voice Memo Interlude 3
RECEIVED: September 16
Titch:So.The plan has not worked so far, but mostly that just means Skyler and I are eating crazy amounts of froyo.I wouldn’t call that, like, a bad thing?We may come out of this fatter and lactose intolerant, but eh, the best people are.How are you?Are you ever gonna answer me?Bet you’re nervous about the anniversary stuff, huh?Lucas is crazy good at promo.He’s actually making you look cool.I know.Impossible.What a hero.
RECEIVED: September 18
Titch:Yo, Ken cried in class today.Again.Also, HAPPY BIRTHDAY you big dope!How’s it feel to start the last year of your twenties,ever?I saw the pictures Lucas posted—your friends are so cute!Not as cute asme, but Father Time erodes all vibes.I’m still your cutest friend.Right, Mandy?Right?
Armand’s Bell Tolls
October 1
46 days sober
It was another bloody convention.
More like a party, really, in that the crowd was smaller and significantly better dressed.Drake House had been pushing for The Cartoon Museum as the venue, but Lakshmi got them to agree on a comics shop off Shaftesbury Ave, The Black Cape—the first to ever carry my strange mind-child on its shelves.This meant concrete pillars papered with decades of posters and artists’ doodles, cracked old red leather barstools, and the incongruity of absolute gallons of expensive alcohol ferried by waitstaff on silver platters.
One wall was covered with a blown-up image ofSurrogate Goose’s anniversary issue cover.It was entirely black except for the Victorian-style cameo silhouette of Harcourt in the center with an oversized monocle perched on his little beak.His curly wig hid an elaborate doom painting of the multiple timelines brought crashing together in this meta-textual canon event of a cash-grab storyline.
There were also posters of the new launch, and an anthology of issues one through thirteen.Nearly five years of my life had been captured in monochrome scrawls of existential flightless birds, stone-faced protector amphibians, and a variety of vaguely dirty, vaguely decolonial Aesopian archetypes.
Lucas’s marketing campaigns—or schemes, or whatever they were—had apparently worked, because a long queue of allegedly semi-famous people took photos or filmed themselves speaking in front ofSurrogate Gooseiconography.Some were in costume, others looked like runway models, and a truly disturbing number of them appeared to be barely of legal drinking age.
I breathed through the terror and smiled, keeping my eyes on Lucas.He was stood off to the side with Sam, Craig, Florabelle, and Abigay, all making silly faces at me behind the celebrities’ backs.Lucas seemed, as ever, perfectly comfortable, as if wherever he went there was a Lucas-shaped space waiting to be filled.
