Chapter 1

Even though it was just an image on a screen, and even though Wes had seen that image at least once a week for the past five months, he still smiled and his heart fluttered at the sight of Carlo waving to him through their Discord video call. It helped that Carlo was dressed up smartly in his best casual Renaissance garb, just as Wes was, but of course Carlo looked better in it.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” Wes said, grinning ear-to-ear.

“Hey yourself,” Carlo replied. He smiled, though there was a tinge of sadness to it. “Happy anniversary, dearheart.”

Wes blew a kiss to the screen. “Happy anniversary.” He sighed and rested his cheek on his palm. “Wish I could be there.”

“I know, same.” Carlo ran his fingers through his dark brown hair. It was getting long again after he had cut it short back at the beginning of quarantine. Wes liked it longer. There was more to twirl around his fingers when they lay in bed together, both too exhausted or comfy to move unless they really had to pee. Wes’s fingers itched to follow Carlo’s around to the back of his head, pull him in for a kiss, but he hadn’t been able to kiss Carlo for months now. He hated it.

“How’ve you been?” Wes asked. He doubted much had happened in the three days since their last call, but he wanted to hear Carlo’s voice regardless.

“I’m alright,” Carlo replied. He leaned his head on his hands. “I miss you.”

“Mood,” Wes groaned. He lifted his glass of wine. “And here’s to the Faire we’re both missing too.”

Carlo raised his own glass. “Cheers. Hopefully their opening day was a good one and everyone stays safe for the season.”

Wes nodded. “From your lips to God’s ears,” he said, taking a sip. It was cheap red wine from a local shop, nowhere near as good at the stuff he could be getting at the Mount Hope Winery tonight. However, he and Wes had both decided to abstain from participating in Penn Renn this year, even though the Faire had taken many precautions so it could open to the public. Several of their friends and colleagues had done the same. Robert, who had played the older good knight of the joust for many years and planned on retiring in 2021 when he turned sixty-five, had opted to retire this year instead. It simply wasn’t safe for people his age to be out among crowds these days. And even though Carlo lived a short drive away from the Fairegrounds, he wasn’t even going to stop in and say hello to anyone. The families out in the more secluded farms had been keeping to themselves well enough and supporting each other with food and homecrafted goods. A single infected cough could put them all at risk.

They got their small talk out of the way. Carlo updated Wes on the homemade mint jelly he and his younger sister tried to make, though it came out too thin and was more like honey than jelly. Wes told Carlo about one of his housemates’ recent decision to shave the back of her head, both to get in on the trend of “stupid quarantine haircuts” and to keep her neck cooler in this heat. In Wes’s opinion she should have done it sooner, since the awful August heat was winding down. It was still hot enough that spending all day in the sun would have him drenched in sweat by nightfall, though, and Wes was thankful that he could spend his days in his room wearing nothing but his boxers.

“That’s another reason I’m kinda relieved we won’t be at Faire this year,” he told Carlo. “It doesn’t look like this gross weather is going away any time soon.”

Carlo nodded. “The costumes do get insufferably stuffy when it’s humid.” He took another sip of wine. “Mm, and the masks will make it worse.”

Wes chuckled. “I’ll have to ask Ellie how many people showed up in full plague doctor gear.”

“If some of the vendors aren’t selling replica plague masks, I’ll be surprised,” Carlo said with a grin. “Not even the full ones, just like, functional masks that happen to be pointy, but, y’know, shorter.”

“What, like parrots instead of ravens?” Wes asked. He gestured over his mouth to indicate a short curved beak. “Or like sparrows?”

“A whole assortment of plague bird masks,” Carlo said. “Everything from hummingbirds to toucans.”

Wes laughed so hard he had to set down his wine. “Fuck, I can just picture someone going to Pride dressed as a toucan-based plague doctor.” He giggled a little more, then sighed. “It won’t be the same just looking at the pictures of everyone in costume. Like, you get to be there and wave to them and tell them how awesome they look. And you know some of them have been working on their costumes for the entire quarantine hoping that things would get better in time for Faire.”

Carlo’s smile faded. “Well, they’re better than they were, but…” He shrugged and sipped his wine. “Not good enough. Not even with all the safety measures.”

“Which is why we’re here,” Wes said, raising his wine in another toast. “The gay community learned its lessons about viral pandemics before and our ancestors of the eighties would be so disappointed if we didn’t put them into practice.” He counted off on his fingers. “Avoid physical contact until all parties involved have been tested. Keep track of who you are physical with on a regular basis for the sake of contact tracing. You never know how important intimate touch is until you have to go without it for months at a time. Fuck the government, it’s not going to help you. And…” He wiggled his pinky finger. “Oh! And no matter how desperate you get, do not try the home ‘remedies’ people swear work.”

“What, you’re saying a bleach enema won’t cure me of all diseases?” Carlo asked sarcastically. He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, we’ve got so much more access to information and yet we’ve also got so much wrong information mucking up the works.”

Wes pouted. He slapped his hand on his desk resolutely. “We’re not going to talk about it. Yes, everything sucks, but it’s our anniversary. And I’ve got food on sticks that needs to be eaten.”

“As do I!” Carlo said. He leaned off screen for a moment and returned with a small tray of food. “I’ve got a turkey leg on a stick, I’ve got pickles on sticks, I’ve got chocolate-covered cheesecake on a stick—covered it in chocolate myself, too!” He held it up to show the imperfections on the chocolate shell, unlike the smooth professional treats they sold at Faire. Then he presented the main course. “And I’ve got my bread bowl. Got the French loaf from next door and the soup is some cheddar broccoli soup we put in the freezer a couple weeks ago that really needs to get eaten.”

“Oh, that looks amazing.” Wes’s stomach growled, not only from the sight of Carlo’s meal, but from the smell of his own. He presented his own array of Faire-themed anniversary food one dish at a time. “I’ve got my bread bowl here as well,” he said. “Except mine’s just a boule from the store with some canned minestrone in it.”

“That’s still good!” Carlo said. “We didn’t expect to get Faire-quality food anyway.”

Wes smiled. “That’s true. But I did make my own cinnamon almonds!” He held up the bowl for Carlo to see. “Smells like walking through Queen’s Market Square,” he said proudly. “And then I’ve got a deep-fried Snickers bar on a stick—which took me several tries, I don’t know how they do it—and I’ve got my own pickles on a stick.”

Carlo held a pickle up close to his camera. “Cheers!”

“Cheers,” Wes replied, waving a pickle at the camera without getting any juice on it. He took a bite and chewed for a moment. “It really isn’t the same, is it?”

“No,” Carlo said, shoulders slumping slightly. “I think there’s something in the air at Faire that makes everything seem better.”

Wes nodded. “Can’t beat that sweet Faire air.”

Carlo laughed. “It’s a fair bit more fair than the air just anywhere.”

Wes beamed and chuckled. “You’re such a dork.”

“Which I think is why you fell for me in the first place?” Carlo said cheekily as he took a bite of his pickle.