Mark and Anthony lay there, spent, catching their breath. Anthony's heart pounded as the pleasure throbbed, and at last, everything mellowed and there was just deep relaxation. Mark smiled and pulled Anthony close, petting him.
"I love you so much," Anthony said, and gave Mark a kiss.
"I love you too." Mark nuzzled him and kissed him back.
For a moment Anthony rested on Mark's shoulder and then out of the corner of his eye he saw the calendar on Mark's wall and that jogged his memory. During their time in Nice, Anthony had decided he was going to talk to Mark about living together, when it got closer to school letting out for summer break. That was now two weeks away. He was relaxed enough from a couple of good orgasms to not feel self-consciousness get in the way of words so much.
"Mark," Anthony said, "I need to talk to you about something."
"Oh?" Mark sat up. His expression was neutral, but his eyes registered concern.
Anthony took a deep breath. Then he also sat up. He took one of Mark's hands and said, "What do you think about us spending summer break together? And then maybe getting a flat together when school starts up again."
There was a long pause. Mark continued to hold Anthony's hand for a moment, but the longer it took Mark to answer, the worse Anthony felt. Even worse when Mark at last let his hand slip from Anthony's and got out of bed. He started putting his clothes on, and Anthony felt like he couldn't breathe, swallowed up by panic. Finally Mark said, "Anthony, let's go... have a chat about this."
Anthony didn't know why they couldn't just continue talking in Mark's dorm, but Anthony also got dressed, and Mark took them out to Christ's Pieces. The sun was setting in muted lavender and gold, and as they sat on a bench, Mark looked at the sky, rather than him, as he spoke.
"Anthony... I think we'd better go back to just being friends."
Anthony's eyes burned with tears. He steeled himself, not wanting to fall apart, not wanting to fall on Mark and beg for mercy. He felt like he was being torn up inside, but the worst part was not understanding how they could have gone from making passionate love, and saying they loved each other, just a little while ago, to Mark rejecting him. "Why?" Though Anthony tried to keep his emotions in check, that one word sounded raw with pain.
Mark exhaled sharply. He rubbed his face, buried his face in his hands for a moment, and then he looked back at the sky again. "I'm not going to be returning to Cambridge in the fall. I need to get moving again."
"So..." Anthony tugged at Mark's sleeve. "Take me with you, then."
Mark finally looked at him, eyes wide with surprise. Their eyes met, and Anthony couldn't hold back, the tears spilling down his cheeks. He tried to not give into sobbing, keeping the tears silent.
"Anthony... I'm not going to let you throw your life away for me."
"But it wouldn't be. I mean... I could take a year or a couple years off school, right? If you wanted to live someplace else, I could apply to school there -"
"Anthony." Mark put up his hand, gesturing for Anthony to be silent. Then Mark sighed and shook his head. "Look. I like you a lot. I'd be lying if I said this meant nothing to me. But... it freaks me out, a little, that we've only known each other for a few months -"
"Since December, and it's May now -"
"A few months," Mark reiterated. "And you're... talking about wanting to live with me, or follow me around the world. You barely know me."
I thought I knew you. Anthony had felt enough of a connection to give Mark his old poetry, which was sharing a piece of himself that nobody else got to see. They had bonded over music, which felt intensely intimate. They had bonded in nature. Anthony felt like Mark was a part of him.
And now, it seemed Mark didn't feel the same way at all, and Anthony felt like he was falling out of the tree all over again, except this time it was his soul breaking.
Mark went on, twisting the knife even more. "You're too attached. You're..." Mark exhaled. "You're too needy, Anthony."
There it was. It stung more than any other criticism of him had ever stung. Anthony had not wanted to let himself need like he needed - he'd learned from the world that boys weren't supposed to be sensitive and vulnerable like he was - and of course, now he was paying for that even more than he'd paid for that when he was in school. His peers had rejected him... and now his first lover, his first love, was rejecting him.
Had Mark said anything else - that Anthony was too young, or had gone on again about Anthony's education - Anthony was prepared to argue with him. This, he couldn't contest. "Oh," was all he could say, then a softer "...oh."
Anthony thought about getting up and running away, but his limbs felt trapped in place, like he had been turned to lead.
Mark wasn't done, though. "I still want to be friends with you, OK? I wasn't... just using you to get your cherry and then got bored."
That seemed like an awfully specific denial.
Mark took a small notebook and a pen out of his pocket, and jotted a number down. "That's my cell, which I only give away for business purposes, but you're welcome to call me over summer break, OK?"
It was 1999 and cell phones were still new - not many people had them, so it was impressive that Mark did. That once again made Anthony wonder about Mark's life, between the inventor father and the enemies, the pricey villa in Nice... a cell phone. Before he could wonder too much, Mark patted his shoulder. "Come on, I'll take you back to your dorm."
Once they got to Cripps, they lingered. Mark finally gave Anthony a hug. "I'll see you around," he said.
It was the last time they saw each other.
When Anthony returned home for summer break, he was quiet at first - still sad from what happened with Mark, but not behaving much different from his usual.
Then, three days in, he tried Mark's cell number, missing him and wanting to say hi.
"The number you are trying to reach... has been disconnected."
Anthony held his phone in shock for a minute before hanging up. Once he did, he broke down, weeping. His mother gently knocked on his door. "Anthony?"
"I'm OK, Mum," Anthony choked out.
"No you're not."
Anthony sighed.
Elaine opened the door without asking if it was all right to come in. She pulled up a chair and just sat, holding Anthony's hand while he cried.
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.
He really didn't, but he knew she was going to badger him if he didn't. "When I was at Cambridge I made a friend."
"Oh!" Elaine's eyebrows went up with surprise - she knew Anthony hadn't had friends at public school.
"Yeah. His name was Mark. Well... he gave me his number to keep in touch and... it's disconnected." Anthony snuffled.
"Are you sure you dialed it correctly?"
"Quite."
Elaine sighed. "I'm sure it wasn't intentional? You'll see him again in the fall -"
"No, Mum, I won't. That's the thing. That's why he gave me the number, because he's not coming back. So... I made my first and only friend, and now he's gone..." Anthony sobbed harder.
Mark had, of course, been more than just a friend, but he wasn't going to tell his mum. He was stressed out enough without coming out to her.
Elaine got up, and sat next to him on the bed, putting her arms around him, gently rocking him, smoothing his hair. "I'm sorry, Anthony. I don't know what to say."
"I don't either."
"You'll make other friends."
Anthony gave a bitter laugh.
Elaine gave him a stern look. "You will. If you made one friend, there will be more. In the meantime... you have to keep moving. Life goes on."
It didn't feel that way though, and for the next several days Anthony withdrew, hiding in his room, crying a lot. If Mark thought he was too needy, he wouldn't need anyone, he wouldn't lean on anyone, he'd just process his own grief in solitude.
But that made him lonelier and lonelier, sending him deeper down the spiral of depression. Days turned into weeks. He ate less, slept more...
...started thinking about suicide again.
Finally his father, Roger, walked into his room while Anthony was in bed, huddled under covers, listening to Nirvana on his earphones. Roger yanked the earphones out, put his hands on his hips, and for a moment he and Anthony just looked at each other.
"What would my brother say if he could see you right now?" Roger asked, eyes narrowed.
Anthony sighed. Roger was referring to Nigel, not to Grant, who didn't like Anthony much and the feeling was mutual. Anthony teared up - he still missed his uncle a lot, especially now when he felt so utterly alone.
But Roger was onto something. Nigel had been so adamant that Anthony live, that the sorrow would eventually pass. And for a brief time, it had - Anthony remembered that trip to Nice, and how lovely it was to be there with Mark, how much joy he'd felt.
Maybe he could go there again, without Mark. Or to somewhere else in France.
That night Anthony helped his father in the garden, and then he sat alone in the garden for awhile, under the moonlight, lanterns lit, reading Pablo Neruda.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
Anthony felt that stabbing ache again, thinking of Mark.
It was an immense night, in an immense world... a world that Nigel wanted him to see. That was, in fact, what Nigel would say if he could see him right now. He could almost hear his uncle's voice. What are you doing moping about, over some bloke? Go on, then.
Anthony closed the book, and got up to start making plans.
You should take a gap year, go on a tour of Europe. See the world. Taste a bit of life, while you can.
With his uncle Nigel's words in the back of his head, Anthony waited in his Lexus aboard the car transport, going through the Eurotunnel. He was going to start in France - the country that had been the beginning of the end for him and Mark - and from there... who knew.
What he did know was that he was going to need at least a year away from Cambridge. While Mark had told him he wasn't returning to Cambridge anytime soon, so Anthony was not likely to run into him when school started again in the fall and re-open old wounds, Anthony felt like he had been completely derailed by his broken heart. He was no longer so sure of himself and his path in life. Even if he was, he had been too badly hurt to be able to handle the load of his studies, and needed a break to re-center himself.
So here he was, off on an adventure, and perhaps a series of adventures. Not just to see Europe, but to fuck his way across Europe, remind himself that there were more men than Mark. Of course, he wasn't going to make the same mistake he had with Mark, letting his guard down, letting his heart show... letting himself need. He had learned from his mistake. He was just going to play around, not get attached; if any hearts were to be broken, it would be him that did the breaking, this time.
He would survive this. It wasn't the end of the world, even if it felt like that.
He would survive this, even if it felt like a part of him had died. He would fake it until he made it.
In Brighton, Macalaurë Fëanorion looked out to sea, walking along a shingle beach much like the one where he and Anthony had walked in France months before.
He felt terrible about what he'd done - what he'd said - but it was the only thing that could be done. He felt like if he had been kinder, if he had said something else, Anthony - not a lawyer yet, but still very much a lawyer - would try to argue with him. So he was cold, he lied and said something damaging and he hated himself for it.
He still loved Anthony, and he hoped that in time, Anthony would be over him - he was only nineteen, after all - and would move on with his life. He hoped that the hurt of his words, and the disappearance, would hurt enough to make the moving on process faster, rather than Anthony lingering in longing and regret. As cruel as the heartbreak was, it would be far crueler to let Anthony wander the world with him and throw away his potential - Maglor was sure Anthony could do a lot of good in the world as a lawyer - and it would be crueler still for Anthony to find out why Maglor had to keep moving, the shattering of reality that would come with knowing his lover was not human, and the world was far stranger than anyone knew. Crueler still for Anthony to age and weaken and die, while Maglor did not. He had buried enough mortals he'd loved, over the centuries. He kept telling himself he wouldn't fall in love again, wouldn't get attached, and he'd been able to keep from serious involvements for over three hundred years.
But Anthony had awakened feelings in him. Deeper feelings than there had been with other mortals - it was like having Finarfin back again for awhile, his own first lover.
Maglor picked up a pebble and threw it into the sea, reminiscent of when he'd pitched the Silmaril eons ago. He watched the pebble bounce, the ripples in the water, before the sea swallowed it. That is what I am to you, Anthony. That pebble made only a few ripples, no big impact, to be forgotten as the tide rolls on.
He couldn't shake the feeling that he was wrong, somehow... but it was too late to undo what was done. Maglor turned around, and headed away from the beach, back in the direction of the hotel, not looking back.
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