Halloween came and went. Dave and I had carved the pumpkins we had picked that day at Maxwell's, putting them on our respective porches. Of course I couldn't go the day-of without being reminded that Orion's favorite holiday was Halloween.

October quickly slipped into November. The Texan air took on an unusually cold chill to it. I was still kickboxing, still skateboarding with the guys. But now I always made sure I carried a beanie in my back pocket so my ears wouldn't freeze off. There were even a couple days I had to break out my actual winter coat, the olive green one with faux fur on the hood that Orion had told me once looked good on me.

"It brings out your eyes somehow," he had said.

I couldn't quite understand what he meant at the time, but recently I had slipped it on in front of my full-length mirror. It was early—of course. When the morning sunlight splashed across my eyes, they almost became illuminated.

Orion had always gushed over my carmel-chocolate eyes. I never understood; I always just thought he was being romantic. My eyes were just boring brown.

Yet as I stared at my reflection that morning, they had taken on a truly carmel, light brown shade to them. They almost looked golden. It was striking. He had been right too, of course, about my coat. The olive green made my eyes pop. I realized in that moment that I actually had really pretty eyes.

What else did I never realize about myself? What else had I missed without Orion being a looking glass for me?

I wondered, did he think the same type of thoughts? I know for a fact he hated his eyes. He thought they were "too dark" and they made him look "scary".

"I look soulless," he lamented to me once.

"They look like pools of tar," he admitted sadly another instance.

Every time he said that, I would kiss his nose and tell him to stop his nonsense. I loved his eyes. Yes, they were such a dark brown it was hard to differentiate between his iris and pupil in a dimly lit area.

But they were the most expressive eyes I had ever had the pleasure of knowing. They reminded me more of an oil spill, if I'm being honest. Obviously an actual sheen of iridescent colors couldn't be seen in his eyes.

But when he was excited about something? When he was actually, truly happy? It was like his eyes were stars, and I could see the beauty of his soul like a rainbow.

And I think that's one of the saddest and most frustrating things about Orion Bauwens. He was beautiful, inside and out, but his mind wouldn't allow his heart to feel that. Orion's mind played tricks on him, convinced him that darkness was something to hide. Darkness was something to be feared. It was something to suppress.

How can you tell how beautiful the light of day is without the night? Magnificent  creatures, like bats and owls, flourish in the darkened skies. Without the night, we would never be able to see the stars dangling above our heads. We would miss out on beautiful moon rays, the cacophony of crickets singing their songs into the night.

No. Orion was painfully wrong. There is beauty within darkness, and there is beauty to be found within Orion. He wears a tough shell because his beauty is vulnerable, and with how many times his heart has been damaged, well...I can't say I blame him for wanting his scarred heart close to his chest, protecting it.

By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, things between Dave and I had become strained. I think we both knew our time together was short. After he told me that I got a certain look about me when discussing Orion, he didn't have the same tenacity about him. Furthermore, I felt so guilty I found myself no longer knowing how to act around him.

Our once hot and heavy physical relationship suffered, too. Not to say we weren't intimate, but we weren't all over each other like we had been anytime we were behind closed doors. It was making me sad, really really sad.

Not sad enough to break it off with him, though.

I think we more or less knew we were on the rocks when he was over at my house for Thanksgiving. I had invited him. Normally we had family come in from all over, but this year the only relatives who could make it were my aunt, uncle, and cousins from the other side of Texas.

"It's a family tradition," ma explained to Dave, who was looking sharp in a light blue button down shirt and khaki pants, "that before we dig in we go around the table and say what we're grateful for in life."

"That sounds wonderful, Ma'am."

"I'll start," ma said.

As we went around the table, it was more or less the same thing as every year. Thankful for health, jobs, not being poor, having friends, creature comforts. My cousin—who was in a goth-cyberpunk phase where he got a million piercings, gages in his ears, painted his nails black, wore eyeliner, and declared himself an anarchist—said the most interesting thing out of an otherwise boring go around.

"I'm grateful for the fact that I'm alive, unlike all those poor Native Americans we raped and murdered."

I had to bite my lip to keep myself from laughing. Dave beside me took his napkin and covered his mouth, while my aunt started shrieking, "Brian Anthony Smith! Do not bring your quasi-political angst shit to this Thanksgiving, God damn it!"

Brian rolled his eyes. "Ma, if Thanksgiving is so sacred to you, why'd you just swear? Isn't this technically a religious holiday too? You just took the Lord's name in vain—"

"Another word out of your mouth, I swear!"

Besides me, Dave could hardly contain his laughter.

"I'm fixin' to ground you! No phone, no friends, if you think you get car privileges, oh buddy do you have somethin' else coming—"

When Brian started to move his hand like a mouth, rolling his eyes again, I couldn't contain an amused snort. My dad, however, a half-bottle of bourbon in him, failed to contain his laughter. Ma hit him on the bicep and glared. As she did, she cleared her throat loudly and spoke over the commotion.

"Thank you for your wise words, nephew. Tristan, how about you?"

Once everyone had settled, I said, "I'm grateful for my family and friends."

The table paused, looking at me. For a moment I didn't get it, and then it hit me. Blushing, I looked at Dave.

"And my boyfriend. Of course," I added quickly, and then took a deep drink of water.

There was painfully awkward silence. Everyone could tell I had said it as an after thought. And as everyone looked at me for a few moments too long (except Dave, his eyes transfixed on his lap), I couldn't help but wonder what ma had told them about myself and Dave.

My family didn't care about the gay relationship; I wondered what my stumble added to their preconceived notions surrounding Dave and I. Notions based upon what ma probably already told them.

She wasn't really a gossip, but she had no qualms sharing the ins and outs of the well doings of her family. I wouldn't put it past her, when she called to make arrangements originally, to say something like, "Oh and Tristan's boyfriend will be there. His name is Dave. He's a lovely young man, but I don't think him and Tristan are going to last. Why do I think that? Oh, you know."

Dave cleared his throat. "I'm thankful to be alive."

And that was that.