That Sunday - the last weekend in January - Anthony met them at Quarry Run Dog Park in Portland. There was a wooded trail on the way to the dog park, and here and there the dogs stopped to sniff, as if they were detecting interesting wildlife activity that human - or Elvish - noses would miss. But that was all right with Sören, who enjoyed the picturesque scenery of the snowy forest.
And the eye candy of Anthony - Sören was trying very hard to not admire him in his black wool trenchcoat and glasses and the big grin on his face as their dogs made friends.
Maimonides quickly warmed to them as well. Both Huan and Maimonides were wearing dog sweaters and almost matched - Huan's was mint green, and Maimonides had one that was moss green. Sören couldn't help babbling in baby talk at the adorableness whenever he pet the dogs, feeling like an idiot in front of Anthony, but Anthony just smiled fondly without judgment and gave into some baby talk himself.
Once they let the dogs off their leashes, Huan and Maimonides chased each other, and sometimes also a frisbee Anthony brought. Their owners got to play too - there was enough snow for them to indulge their sense of fun and build a snowman and a snow fort together, taking little breaks to pass around a thermos of mint hot chocolate that Mark had packed. Sören was tickled by seeing the veterinarian who wasn't too professional to gleefully help him sculpt a penis for the snowman while Mark rolled his eyes, and tickled even more when the three of them made "snow angels" together, laying in the snow kicking their legs and waving their arms... looking up at the clouds in the sky and commenting on their shapes, until Huan and Maimonides bounded over to lick their faces. When they got up, the dogs trotted through the snow angels, ruining the silhouettes.
"You're so helpful," Mark told Huan, who barked and smiled, tongue lolling. Sören could hear the unvoiced trolololo.
Even though it was a bitterly cold day with a little less than a foot of snow on the ground, there were still a few people at the park, but not as many as Sören and Mark had seen the handful of times they'd taken Huan in the warmer months. Sören was glad it wasn't busy today, not just because he felt some anxiety in crowded places, but also it gave Huan and Maimonides a chance to bond uninterrupted... and their humans.
Well, two of them were human. As much as Sören wanted a local friend, and he knew Mark did too, he also understood why Mark tended to keep most people at an arm's length - the closer the connection, the more risk there was of Maglor's true identity being exposed.
As it was, Maglor had been living here in Maine for nine years now. He could get away with looking like this for another five or six years, but there would come a point where to be plausibly fortysomething he'd need to expend yet more glamour to age himself somewhat - and the little bit of glamour Mark did now took a lot out of him, Sören knew - and a few years after that he'd need to glamour even more to avoid raising eyebrows about his lack of aging. And in any case, the US government knew about Maglor; he'd been arrested doing civil rights activism in the 1960s, and after a few years of observation at a secret facility he'd been allowed to go free on the condition that to keep his non-human, immortal nature from becoming public knowledge and the mass societal unrest that would follow, he relocate within the US once every one to two decades, given brand new paperwork to start a new life with a new identity, and any chosen family he was bringing along with him. Thus far, Sören had been the first person who had been given the offer to come along when it was time.
"It's a lonely life," Mark said. "It's not a life I could ask of others, in good conscience. You never really put down roots somewhere deep enough, or long enough, for it to feel like home."
Sören looked him in the eye. "I understand loneliness better than you know. And I'm a long way from home. I can never go home again, really. So home isn't a place for me." He put Mark's burned hand on his heart. "Home is you."
Sören didn't want to think about them having to move and start over again eventually, and either coming clean to Anthony - hoping that he'd be able to keep a secret - or leaving him behind...
Don't borrow trouble before it happens. Be here now.
Just here and now was potentially problematic enough. If Anthony ever saw Mark's ears - which as a rule Mark didn't glamour, letting his long hair cover them unless he had his hair up - there were enough people getting "elf ear" body mods nowadays, most famously Grimes, that Mark could handwave it as a form of body modification even though he had no tattoos or piercings as people with body mods often did... like Sören himself. But if Mark's glamour ever slipped...
...or if Huan talked... Huan seemed to understand that talking was for home and the two of them only, but Sören knew that just like Mark's glamour could unravel in an emotionally intense moment, Huan might let one or a few words slip if overstimulated. It was, in fact, part of the danger of bringing Huan to a dog park - wolfhounds were sight hounds, after all.
But it wasn't Huan who got overstimulated today. Maimonides was happy to make a friend of Huan, but a few other curious, friendly dogs were a few dogs too many and when Maimonides came running back to the safety of his owner, he started humping Sören's leg.
"Oy gevalt." Anthony facepalmed. When he took his hand away he was beetroot, eyes too bright, looking mortified but also trying not to laugh - and failing. "I swear he's been neutered. Maimonides. Maimonides. No."
Maimonides stopped for just an instant then started again.
"Oh, we know it's like stimming for dogs," Mark said, and Sören nodded, also giving into laughter as he tried to get his leg free from the frisky Beagador.
"Rambam," Anthony scolded the dog. "Rambam no. RAMBAM NO."
Sören remembered when Mark had called Maimonides "the Rambam" and found it humorous at the time but didn't want to remark on it and potentially be disrespectful. Now he couldn't help making a crack as Huan gently herded his new friend off to the side and distracted him. "Rambam, thank you ma'am?"
Anthony laughed so hard he slid off the bench and landed in the snow. "OH SHIT."
"You OK?" Mark leaned over him and reached out a gloved hand.
"Yeah, I'm fine." Anthony sat up, took off his glasses and wiped away tears. "Fuck. I haven't laughed that hard in ages."
"Oh good, I didn't offend you." Sören clapped. "I'm not canceled, yay!"
Anthony snickered as he put his glasses on. "No, that was great. It was like an early birthday present."
"Oh!" Mark's eyebrows shot up. "It's your birthday?"
"A week from today. I'll be forty-four." Anthony made a face as he took Mark's hand to get up and Sören heard the faint crack of arthritic joints.
Mark turned to Sören. "We should do something for his birthday."
"Awww, you guys." Anthony bit his lower lip. "I wasn't, like, fishing for anything, you don't have to -"
"Yes, we do," Mark said, and Sören nodded vehemently. "You're our friend."
Huan barked as if to agree, and looked at Maimonides, who also yipped.
"By 'do something' we don't mean more humping... Mister Rambam Thank You Ma'am," Sören said, wagging his finger at Maimonides.
Anthony facepalmed and shook with silent laughter that became ugly laughter, cackling and snorting.
But in that moment, Sören didn't find it ugly at all. The way Anthony's face lit up, crow's feet crinkling, was beautiful, and now Sören was the one turning beetroot, his cheeks burning madly. He didn't want to catch feelings for this guy. He was taken - he was still very much in love and in lust with Mark - and they had just met weeks ago, he didn't want to get attached so quickly like this.
That didn't stop his stomach from turning to butterflies, heart beating faster as their eyes met and Sören got lost in a forest of gold-flecked green.
Sören swallowed hard. Dammit, you rambammed a piece of my heart.
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