I don't know what it was that I saw, but I also didn't know how to feel about it. I really didn't. The drive up to Fontaine de Vaucluse wasn't as tense as before, so I guess the cat really helped Momo and Ferran relax. Sure, they weren't talking much but the suffocating atmosphere was no longer there. Ferran leaned back, tilting his head as he looked out of the window to the bare vineyards lining the sides of the road. Momo was just using his phone, occasionally looking up and meeting my eye in the rear view mirror. They both seemed relaxed. I guess I was the only one that remained tense.

And I didn't know if I even had the right to feel that way. It wasn't like I was angered or jealous, but I just felt very strange when I witnessed the scene unfolding in front of me. It was just unsettling. I didn't really want to think about it, so I just set my mind to the road.

We drove through the meandering roads, past the stone houses with terracotta roofs, fallow fields and pollarded plane trees. Soon enough, we eventually reached the little village right at the end of the road. I decided to park the car somewhere on the outskirts. As we got out of the car, Momo headed over to the boot to take out Ferran's luggage bag.

Ferran walked up to him to receive it, but he could barely look him in the eye. As the boy pulled out the handle on his luggage bag, I noticed Momo brushing his hand against his. I went over to them, picking up the duffel bag Momo and I had brought along with us, clearing my throat as I did. Momo ignored me.

The village was idyllic, nestled in a valley deep in the hills. It was only March, so there weren't as many people as there would be in the hot summer months. The plane trees grew taller than the buildings, the branches stripped of their leaves reaching upwards towards the clear blue sky. But the first few buds of spring had begun to appear, their fresh bright green a contrast to the dullness of the bark. We walked past the post office and boulangerie, reaching a small roundabout with a colonnade in the middle of town, surrounded by cafes and artisanal shops. I could imagine how wonderful this place must be in its full glory in summer. Our small hotel was nearby, where we had booked two rooms – one for Ferran, and one for Momo and I.

It was in that room where I finally had time alone again with Momo. We were just unpacking and preparing for the things we were to do that afternoon – walking around and exploring the village, before heading down the riverside and having a picnic by the water. Of course, Amélie had done so in the summer, so she had the shade of the green canopy and was able to take a dip in the water, but spring has barely arrived, so the greenery wasn't going to be as lush. But springtime had its own brand of beauty. But as excited as I was about the picnic, I still couldn't really process what I saw earlier at the rest stop.

Momo noticed me looking at him as he took out our clothes from the bag, and he gave a me a knowing smile.

"Go ahead," he said nonchalantly. "You want to ask me what I think of him."

"Yeah," I muttered, shoving my hands in my pockets as I leaned against the side of the bed.

Somehow, even then, his tone already pissed me off. How nonchalant he was, talking about it like it was nothing, like he knew it all. It almost felt like he just needed an excuse to talk.

"Well. he's really pretty." Momo said.

"He is," I muttered. "The prettiest boy in the world."

Momo bit his lip.

"And I think I'd love to get to know him better," he continued.

"You want to get to know him better," I repeated. "Or do you want to fuck him?"

We were both silent for a while, before Momo let out a sigh. Maybe my tone was a little pointed.

"I saw how you looked at him," I said.

"Well did you see how he looked at me?" Momo retorted.

Momo was right. In fact, I couldn't really tell who started it. It could've been Momo. It could've been Ferran. It could've been both.

"That's not the point," I said, shaking my head.

"Then what is, Mateu?" Momo snapped back.

I let out a deep sigh, shrugging. I turned to look at myself in the mirror on the wall. I could only hope Ferran couldn't hear us arguing from the next room.

"I don't know," I said, raising my voice. "Okay? I don't know."

"You're jealous," Momo replied. "I don't even know if you have any reason to be, but you are."

"No, you're wrong."

"I have eyes, Mateu."

"Well, then you're not using them properly."

Momo rolled his eyes, but said nothing afterwards. Even if we wanted to continue arguing, we were interrupted by a knock on the door. Momo and I looked at each other, before he decided to answer it. I trailed not too far behind.

It was Ferran. I nearly let out a sigh of relief. Thank god he came at that exact time, the tension with Momo was killing me.

"I finished unpacking," he said, looking at Momo, before glancing at me. "You said to tell you when I was done?"

"Sure," Momo replied, a sweet smile on his lips. "Let me just get our things then we can leave."

With that, Momo turned back inside, leaving me alone with Ferran at the doorway.

"I've brought something for the picnic," Ferran said, a shy smile on his lips.

"You want to put it in the basket too?" I offered.

"It's fine," he said. "I can carry it."

He had the wine bag in front of him. I guess it was nice of him. Once Momo was ready, we left.

We took a leisurely stroll through the village, past the cafes by the edge of the water, a watermill and a few small hotels. Momo had walked ahead, lugging our things, while Ferran walked by my side.

"I hope you've been doing well." I said to him. "I felt like I haven't got the chance to speak to you in a while."

"As well as I can" he shrugged.

Momo was quite a fair bit ahead, so I was sure he couldn't hear us. He was walking quite briskly for a supposedly leisurely stroll, but that worked for me. I guess it was good too – the tension in our room earlier was killing me.

"What do you think of him?" I asked Ferran.

"I think he's very nice," he replied.

I didn't really probe any further. What else could I ask anyway? Ferran wasn't like Momo – and I knew for a fact there was nothing more that he hated than probing questions.

"Thanks for agreeing to come along," I said. "I'm sure you must've been busy."

Ferran only smiled slightly.

"How do you find the village?" I asked him.

"It's very pretty."

That was the end of the conversation. As it usually was. Recently Ferran had just gotten more and more distant. Back during the summer in Perpignan, he did seem like he was opening up to me – but I suppose I destroyed whatever little traction I had with him with my own careless choice in words. Ever since I reunited with Ferran with Marseille, I was either having sex with him or just having one-sided conversations. I guess I had missed my chance forever – He was an opaque wall, immovable as ever.

Momo still walked ahead, and not once did he turn around to look at us. It wasn't like he would've caught anything anyway, Ferran and I walked in silence for the most part.

Eventually we made our way downstream on the outskirts of the village, where the banks of the river were more forested. Most of the trees only had barely started to bud in time for the spring, with most of their branches still bare. But a bit of walking brought us to a spot by an almond grove, the white blossoms dotting the branches of the trees, the unmistakable honey-like fragrance filling the air. Wildflowers and rosemary bloomed side by side, forming a riverside meadow of green, pink and purple.

"This is perfect," Momo said, turning around as he put our things down. "Don't you think?"

I couldn't have agreed more. Ferran walked over to Momo as they both began setting up the picnic mat. Momo seemed to have said something, and Ferran smiled. I only watched them from a distance, hands shoved in my pockets, before I decided to have a smoke by the riverbank – all by myself.

I didn't know why, but I felt terrible. This was supposed to be a nice time for us to relax, but I couldn't help but feel so tense. Momo and Ferran seemed fine – so why was I the only one like this? Everything about it just left me with a dampened mood, from the argument with Momo earlier to Ferran's dead conversations. I just wasn't enjoying myself as much as I thought I would.

I leaned against a tree by the riverbank, lighting the cigarette on my lips. Breathing in the smoke, I let out a sigh. But honestly why was I even feeling like this? So restless despite being in the most relaxing environment I've ever been in? Why was I still tense even with the two boys I loved? Wasn't I the one who first insisted them to be separate and realising that it was for nothing, decided for them to meet? In a sense, this all happened because of me – so why was I so uneasy? Maybe it was because I had been playing around with the thought of it for so long that when it finally became true my brain hadn't known how to react. Or maybe Momo was right. Could I have been jealous? I don't know. I don't even know how I feel.

When I returned, stubbed-out cigarette in hand, Momo and Ferran had already laid out the picnic mat. There was a lemon tart, a few croissants, and a basket of strawberries together with a small jar of cream. On another plate were a few crackers, cheese and olives. We truly had such a beautiful set up. Ferran was seated cross-legged beside Momo, who was lounging with his legs in front of him, relaxed. As I sat down, Momo passed me my plate and cutlery wordlessly.

"I've also brought something for us today," Ferran said, bringing out his wine.

It was kind of expected, since Ferran kind of made it obvious that it was wine, judging from the bag. But what we didn't expect it was it to be a bottle of Romanée-Conti, one of the most exclusive burgundies. I have only heard of its legendary reputation, much less seen a bottle of it before my very eyes.

"Where did you get this from?" I asked, amazed.

"My father has a few bottles that he gave to me," Ferran said, as if his family owning bottles of one of the most expensive wines in the world was not a big deal. "And he said to save them for special occasions, and I thought this counted."

Ferran poured out the deep burgundy wine into the three glasses in front of him, handing me one.

"Oh," I remarked to Ferran, seeing that he had poured a third glass. "Momo doesn't drink."

Ferran turned to look at him. To my surprise, Momo reached out and picked up the glass by its stem and brought it over to his lips with a smile. Honestly, I was pretty shocked. Sure, it was his choice, but it still rubbed me the wrong way. All this while Momo had been adamant about not drinking, but along comes Ferran with the most expensive bottles of wine, and he relents without even putting any resistance. I decided to think nothing of it, bringing the bottle of wine to my mouth. I swirled the deep red wine in the glass, taking a whiff of the aromas. I caught the scent of violets and forest strawberries, before bringing the wine to my lips. Its taste was deep, slightly smoky and finished off with a mineral aftertaste. It was certainly the best – and most expensive, wine I have ever tasted.

I watched as Momo took a sip from his wine. Our eyes met, and he frowned, almost as if he was challenging me. I couldn't be sure, but I couldn't help but feel like he was being hostile towards me. His glare felt pointed, but I just ignored him. Perhaps the conversation in the hotel room earlier had set him off, but I tried not to think of it.

I put my wine glass down and reached out to cut a piece of lemon tart, placing it on my plate. The sour citrus was a stark contrast to the deep wine I just had.

"Oh wow," Momo said as he winced. "This is – This is great."

He turned to look at Ferran, who only had a bashful smile on his lips. But Momo wasn't fooling me. He wasn't used to wine, or any alcohol for that matter. That was apparent enough.

A soft breeze blew, the branches of the almond trees rustling in the wind, sending a soft shower of white petals in the air, twirling and floating around. I leaned back, sloshing my wine in the glass, watching as the deep burgundy wine swirl. 

I turned to look at Ferran, finding myself lost again in that familiar strangeness of his arctic eyes. His lips slightly parted, he inched towards me, and I found myself closing the gap between us as well. His hands reached out into his pocket and he drew out a white silk handkerchief. As he drew closer to me, I could only watch as he brought the handkerchief to my glass, the piece of fabric hanging daintily from his fingers as he brushed the tip of the cloth against the rim of the glass. His palm shaking ever so slightly, he lowered his hand, the handkerchief dipping into my wine, staining itself a deep, dark red. 

Clutching the wine-soaked fabric he brought it to his mouth and nose. I couldn't tell what he was doing as his hand trembled, his eyes closed. He seemed to be taking in the scent of the wine, as he drew in his breath, but he could've been kissing the handkerchief as well. Some of the wine dripped onto his cashmere turtleneck, but he didn't seem to care, the drops of sanguine on the white knitted wool like drops of blood blooming in a field of snow.

He was truly the strangest boy in the world.

I could feel my heart thump in my chest as he opened his eyes again. Inching in even closer, I gently pushed his hand away from his lips, slowly moving in until both our lips met. I closed my eyes as I savoured the sweet taste that was so distinctive of him, clutching the wine-soaked handkerchief in one hand as I used the other to lift his chin up. I didn't know how long we kissed for, I pushed forward as I felt him relax, his hand clinging onto my shirt as he pulled me closer. Sure, we've kissed so many times, but this time felt different. Perhaps I was just so caught up with the beauty of the moment that I lost any sense of inhibition. Perhaps my feelings for Ferran were real after all.

He was, after all, the only remnant of the old world that remained. That old, untainted world where everything was bathed in a golden light. Everything has changed, but only he remained.

We only stopped when I accidentally knocked my wine glass over, spilling the deep red liquid onto the ground. Thankfully, nothing broke and the wine didn't spill onto the mat. As I regained my composure, I could only smile bashfully at the boy. Another gust of wind sent some more petals flying over us, the honeylike scent of the almond blossoms wafting through the air. Ferran leaned back and lay down on the mat, a sweet smile on his lips.

But I couldn't help but notice something missing. Only the two of us were there – Momo was nowhere to be found.