Momo was seated at the edge of the sofa, leaning over the armrest. The weighted blanket I had taken out from the closet wrapped around his shoulders. He had just finished showering, his hair still damp. I had made him a cup of hot chocolate and placed it on the coffee table in front of him.

I could barely look at him, I just felt too guilty.

"Thanks," Momo muttered as he picked up the mug, blowing into it.

He had turned the TV on and put on a Godard film to watch, but his eyes weren't on the screen. I suppose he just put it on as a distraction, his thoughts elsewhere. Meanwhile, I sank myself into the opposite end of the sofa, leaving a gap between us.

I didn't know what to do, or whether I should speak. We had barely spoken to one another ever since that afternoon, and the air was heavy and thick. I wanted to comfort him, but I didn't dare touch him. I wanted to let him know that I was here for him, but I didn't dare say a word. I didn't dare to do anything. Instead, to keep my mind occupied I just decide to shift all my focus onto the film instead.

"What is the centre of the world for you?"

"The centre of the world?"

"Yes."

"Our first real conversation, and you ask me such amazing questions."

"It's a perfectly normal question. What's your answer?"

"Love, I guess."

There was a pause as the protagonist looked away from the camera and towards the ground.

"That's funny, I would've responded: me."

Momo stretched his arms in front of him, shrugging the blanket off his shoulders. Reaching out for his cigarettes and lighter from the coffee table, he stood up and headed out to the balcony. He shut the sliding door behind him, leaving me alone with the film. My attention shifted from the screen to him now, as he brought up a cigarette to his lips and lit it up. I watched as he leaned against the railing, a stream of white smoke blowing out of his mouth.

Eventually, I decided to join him.

"You mind having me out here with you?" I asked, as I slowly slid the door open.

"Not at all," Momo said, a slight smile on his lips.

I walked up to him, the both of us standing side by side looking down at the street below. There was nothing much going on, it was quite late already, and the street was quiet.

I let out a sigh, wanting to talk but not knowing where to begin. But to my relief, Momo was the one who spoke out first.

"I'm sorry I wasn't entirely clear with you from the start," he said. "I know it was wrong to make you do it if you weren't comfortable, but I was afraid you wouldn't agree to it otherwise."

"It's. . . nothing, really." I said. "I'm fine."

"You're not," Momo muttered. "And it's okay to admit it. You don't have to be so dismissive about how you feel."

I took a deep breath. Hearing him say that was reassuring.

"That really means a lot coming from you," I said. "I just feel really bad that I'm the one who should be comforting you and yet. . ."

I trailed off, not really knowing what to say.

"You don't have to do anything," Momo said. "You've already done far more than enough."

I could only smile weakly. It really meant a lot coming from the poor boy – in that moment I had felt all but defeated. It hurt me to know that someone had done this to him. It hurt me to know that someone could do such a thing to the sweetest boy in the world.

I walked up to him and held him in a tight embrace, wrapping my arms around his body as I rested my chin on his shoulder. I closed my eyes, not saying a word as I felt his tense shoulders fall, relaxing, his palms resting on my back. I didn't know how long we held one another out there on my balcony, but it felt like forever.

I wanted to protect him, but I knew he was strong. He wouldn't need it. Heck, he was stronger than I was, and he was stronger than I ever will be. I wish in that moment I could tell him that, but I just couldn't bring it to words.

He was the best thing that had ever happened to me. To me, he was the centre of the world.

"Do you think it's strange?" Momo asked when we finally let go of each other. "That I actually wanted it?"

"I really don't think I have a say in how you experience things," I muttered. "I think it's something you need to ask yourself."

The boy was silent for a while.

"I guess it's an issue of control," the boy said, shrugging. "Or lack thereof."

I was surprised that he could spare the effort to be introspective at such a time. But then again, he had already calmed down from earlier.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I guess it's me dealing with the experience on my own terms," he said. "Going through all that again. . . Or at least a similar kind of experience, all over again, but except this time I have control over it."

"How so?"

"I was the one who asked you to do it remember?" he said. "And I knew I could only do It with you because I know you wouldn't hurt me. I trust you completely."

"I should've asked this earlier but. . . How are you feeling?"

Momo let out a deep sigh, before he shrugged and shook his head.

"Not terrible," he began. "But not great either. I thought it was going to be cathartic – and in a sense it was, but I guess I'm just confronting all these. . . emotions that are coming back. And let's just say these are very. . . complicated emotions."

"I still can't believe how someone could do this to you," I finally blurted out what I realised I've been meaning to say all this while. "You don't deserve this. You don't deserve this at all."

Momo shrugged.

"I guess when I talked with my therapist this was what we were trying to work on," he continued. "I still have a long way to go, but I'll get there."

"But still," I muttered. "You shouldn't have gone through that. No one should."

"But thinking about all that. . ." Momo continued. "Things beyond my control, the could've-beens. . . that's just a waste of time and energy isn't it? It happened. If I thought about what could've had happened I would still be thinking up until the day I die."

I fell silent for a moment. He was right.

"Maybe some people might consider me some sort of fatalist or something," Momo said. "But the truth is that's just one of many things that I can never change – just simply beyond my control. Why focus on that when I should be healing."

"Can I just say something?" I asked, almost feeling guilty for interjecting.

"Go ahead."

"I really, really admire you," I said. "You're the strongest person I know."

A part of me was expecting Momo to say something witty in return, that familiar charming smile on his lips. But he only smiled sheepishly.

"I'm just surviving."

***

For a while, I noticed Momo had stopped seeing other people. I didn't know whether it was related to what had happened earlier, or because he was just busy between work, school, and his family. If I were being honest, a small part of me was glad he stopped.

It wasn't that I was jealous or that I was being a hypocrite, but I was genuinely terrified that something of the sort might happened to him again. I found myself getting very overprotective of him. Momo's habit of being a bad texter only served to exaggerate my worries.

"You're even worse than my brother sometimes," Momo had said with a laugh.

"Well is it wrong for me to be worried about you?"

"I really appreciate it," he said. "But I don't think you have to text me every day."

He was right. Besides, Momo was a grown man. He could take care of himself. Sometimes, when he went back to see his grandmother, I would ask Ferran out instead. But if I were being honest, it wasn't because I was dying to see him. Sure, I did care for Ferran, but his indifference to me, frankly, made it seem like he was trying to push me away again. And I began questioning if I shared that indifference. But those fleeting moments would go away when I was reminded of all the memories of Rafel that we shared, combined with the fear that I would lose him again. But there was also something else.

Ever since the incident with Momo, I was afraid of being intimate with him. I still loved him, of course, but I simply couldn't have sex with him, even when he wanted to. I just felt too guilty.

Ferran however, I had no problem with – kissing his soft lips, running my fingers through his hair, brushing my hand against his smooth skin. He'd whimper underneath me as I fucked him. I'd reach my climax, then collapse onto him, my breathing heavy.

But it was also during sex which I felt like I could be honest with Ferran, when I was bare naked and literally inside him. I'd tell him all sorts of things that I was always afraid of telling him otherwise. I guess it was one of the few moments where I felt he wasn't guarded, and that made me feel safe to be vulnerable to him.

"I think you're the most beautiful boy in the world," I told him once, as I found myself staring into those cool arctic blue eyes of his.

His response was a deep, passionate kiss on my lips.

But of course, my relationship with Ferran wasn't just about sex, as enjoyable as it was with him.

"My boyfriend went to see his grandmother," I told him as he we walked around the grounds of the botanical gardens.

Ferran didn't say anything. Maybe he hadn't heard me, or maybe he didn't care to reply. It was hard to tell with him.

We had gone to the gardens to walk around. It was my idea anyway – work and school was suffocating, and I needed some fresh air. Of course I would've preferred Momo's company, but who else would make a better replacement to view the early blooms of the approaching spring than the very prince of flowers himself? Now that I thought about it, most of the memories I had of Ferran were associated with flowers.

He wore a black Lagerfeld jumper over a white oxford shirt, a purple iris brooch on his collar. We sat down on the lawn facing the pond, watching the swans float gracefully on the glistening water. Nearby, a father and son were tossing a rugby ball to one another, while the symphony of birds chirped in in the background.

"I've been meaning to ask you how've you been," I said, breaking the silence.

Ferran just shrugged, tilting his head to the side.

"It's the same as always, I suppose," came his muttered response.

It was the answer I expected, as always.

I decided to just get to the point. Sure, Ferran might not have the answers for the things that I sought, but I just wanted someone to listen to me. Besides, Ferran, whether intentional or not, always made for an interesting conversation partner, what with how aloof he was. He was an enigma, and sometimes he responded in ways I never expected. It was refreshing.

Maybe that was what I loved about him – his peculiarity. He was unlike any other boy I've seen.

"Have you ever hurt someone you loved, and you just can't forgive yourself," I said. "Even when they themselves have forgiven you."

Ferran was silent for a while, looking at me as he played with a blade of grass between his fingers.

"Yeah," he finally said, averting his gaze.

Without him even saying it, I knew he was talking about Rafel. I couldn't help but feel like I've hurt Rafel too, and that we were in the same boat.

Somehow, that felt like what I needed. Not any words of reassurance, not any words trying to exonerate me. Just someone in that moment to understand. Someone who could relate to my own experience. Someone who could make me feel like I wasn't alone.

I found familiarity in Ferran's strangeness. And I never realised how much comfort it had brought me all this while.

Maybe it was that familiarity that finally made me realise that I simply couldn't treat the two loves of my lives separately any longer. They were both the greatest sources of comfort for me, and it was difficult to maintain the effort to psychologically separate those feelings I had. I wasn't saying that they were blending into the same person, but to an effect it felt that way.

It was what finally pushed me to put it out in words.

"Do you want to meet Mohamed?" I asked Ferran, almost a little too excitedly.

I had almost expected him to say no. I remembered how heartbroken he seemed that day by the harbour when I revealed to him that I was seeing someone. Out of habit, I chided myself for not thinking things through.

To my surprise, a shy smile appeared on the boy's lips.

"Why not?"