Armin brushed the tears from his eyes and pushed on through the clearing towards the lake. He was almost certain that Jean was there. Where else would he be?

It felt strange to walk down this path by himself; he had spent the whole summer here with Jean and now he was alone. The sun was shining too brightly. Armin found that his eyes were too sensitive from crying to look ahead of him into the light so he stared at his feet. The occasional red leaf lay amongst the twigs and grass. It reminded Armin of just how much time had passed since he arrived.

So much had happened, so much had changed in the last hour that Armin found it difficult to process it all. He felt hurt, worried, nauseous… but what kept him going forward was the need to find Jean. He was terrified that Jean wouldn't be there, that he'd gone somewhere Armin couldn't reach him.

It was when the clearing opened up and the river became a lake that Armin saw him. He was sat cross legged by the water, fiddling with his camera. He didn't look up, even though he knew Armin was there.

"Jean," Armin said quietly, barely audible over the sound of the water. He made his way over slowly. He wanted to put his hand on Jean's back so badly but he couldn't muster up the courage.

"What," he croaked, still not looking up.

"I won't ask if you're okay."

"Good."

"Can I sit by you?"

Jean said nothing, which Armin took to mean yes. He let his shoulder rest against Jean's and for a while they sat in silence. The water was still, mostly, save for where it trickled down a bank and became a stream.

"He wants me to come back, doesn't he?" Jean said after a little while.

"Yeah."

Jean sniffed and let his head rest on Armin's shoulder. Armin froze but let it happen, eventually playing with Jean's hair with one hand.

"I just wish he'd stay and try to get better," Jean exclaimed.

Armin paused and thought for a second.

"I would like that too, but I don't know if it's something he could get better from. Don't be angry at him," he said cautiously.

Jean gritted his teeth. "I'm not, not really. It just really, really fucking hurts."

"I know," Armin said. "Well no. I don't know exactly how you're feeling. But I'm here."

"And what about when you go home?"

"Home?"

"To the States," Jean said.

"That's not home," Armin said. "This is."

Jean finally looked at him then. "You're staying here?"

"It's what he talked to me about after you left. It's official, as soon as I fill out the forms and stuff. And…"

"What?"

Armin wasn't sure he should be the one to tell him, but he didn't know what else to say. "He's giving us the house."

"Us? Not you?"

"It's ours. Mine and yours."

Jean stared speechlessly at him.

"He knows about us," Armin explained. "About me and you, you know, being together."

"He what?"

"I know," Armin said, "but he doesn't care. He wants us - he wants you - to be happy, Jean."

Jean choked out a sob and buried his face in Armin's chest. "He really is okay with us?"

"Yeah," Armin said. He rested his chin on Jean's head and put his arms around him.

"It's okay, Jean. It's okay."

"I can't believe he would do that for me," Jean cried, his words muffled slightly by the fabric of Armin's shirt. Each sound made Armin's stomach clench a little more. The grief was painful.

"He loves you," Armin said as steadily as he could, though his voice still wobbled.

They stayed there for a little while longer before heading back home. Armin held Jean's hand in his own, squeezing it to give him reassurance that everything was going to be alright.

Armin watched from behind as Jean pulled his grandfather into a hug. All three of them were crying. Jean was choking out apologies over and over, staining his shoulder with tears.

"It's alright," the man murmured, patting Jean on the back while he cried out his feelings.

Cerise padded over to Armin, butting him gently with her nose as if she knew there was something seriously wrong. Armin sat down on the grass and let the old dog rest her head on his lap.

"Shh," he said, stroking her coat.

As much as it pained him, Armin knew that Jean and his grandfather needed time alone to talk. He got up and made his way back inside. Jean gave him a look that said thank you as he passed.

Armin's hands were shaking as he filled up the kettle and set it down onto the stove. He didn't even want a drink, but it gave his body something to do so his mind didn't go completely haywire. He stared intently at the steam as it began to spiral from the spout of the kettle, watching as it twisted and turned upwards.

Armin had never thought much about his future besides wanting to be a writer. And now a life was being thrust into his hands, just given to him. What had he done to deserve it? He felt sick. He wanted to be happy, and grateful, but he couldn't shift the emptiness and the pain that came with knowing that his grandfather wouldn't be around to share this new life with him.

The shriek of the kettle brought him back from inside his own head. He was dazed for a second, forgetting where he was. But then his body kicked back into action and Armin was reaching for three cups from the cupboard. The smell of coffee kept him grounded as he poured the drinks.

When he was done, Armin paused and just looked around the kitchen. For such a big house, the kitchen was small, though perhaps it only felt that way because of the sheer amount of stuff inside of it. The cupboards were so full with crockery that they didn't shut properly; pots and pans hung from the ceiling; the draining board was constantly home to dishes that had nowhere else to live. The tiles were faded slightly on one side where they were exposed to the sunlight streaming in through the window. On the shaded side of the wall hung photographs of Jean and his mother, as well as pictures Mr Artlert must have taken himself. They all hung lopsidedly, but Armin thought it would have been strange if they didn't.

The next week was a blur. Legal processes began and the house was transferred into Jean and Armin's possession. They spent the nights holding each other, Armin nestled snugly within Jean's arms. Armin wasn't worried about how they would fare domestically; they had spent every possible moment together for the last few months, and they knew the other's ticks.

With every moment, though, the time for his grandfather to leave drew closer. Armin was dreading saying goodbye - he didn't want to. But he and Jean knew that they must. Jean was quiet. He didn't talk much about it, but Armin could tell that it was weighing on him all the same. So Armin simply just tried to be there. He talked with Jean at night until they were too tired to think, so that he wouldn't be alone with his thoughts and his sadness in the dark. He squeezed Jean's hand when it became clear his mind was wandering, to bring him back to the present. He wanted to be the reassurance and the respite Jean had been for him so many times. It wasn't that he was repaying back some debt or anything - Armin was doing it because he knew how much it helped.

All those times Jean had lifted him up, told him that his body was perfect the way it was. Every time he had complimented Armin on his French; told him he was cute, or funny; or that he was a good writer - Armin just wanted to give some of that reassurance back.

Armin felt like this summer in France had passed in the blink of an eye, but at the same time, it felt like a whole lifetime had gone by. His life in America seemed so distant to him now, so far away. Perhaps it was because life had been so dull back then, whereas in France the world seemed to explode into colour, making life vibrant and new and just different. And he had Jean and his grandfather to thank.

He loved France, and this village, and the farm and the house. It had become his and Jean's - their house, their life to live. It was beginning to sink in - that they would share as a couple, to live in for years and years to come. It was almost too strange to believe. The sheer gratitude he felt sometimes brought him to tears.

The night before Armin's grandfather was due to leave was tough. He, Armin, and Jean sat downstairs in their armchairs until long after dark, drinking coffee and watching the fire flicker and burn. Armin's grandfather told them stories about his past, detailing drunken escapades and long journeys and numerous romances. Although Jean had been told these stories since he was a young boy he still listened with excitement and anticipation. Watching him tied knots in Armin's stomach. It was a yearning kind of pain, and he wished for this night to never end, so that the two of them could listen to his grandfather's stories forever. But alongside the pain Armin felt love - so much that it seemed uncontainable, and he wanted to cry.

Armin tried to capture the moment in his mind, to create a perfect replica of this scene in his memory so he could look back on it as if it were a photograph. Cerise lay curled up by the fire, sleeping. The flames cast an orange glow on the white patches of her fur which flickered and moved with each of her breaths. The room was dimly lit save for that patch of brightness. Jean was looking intently at Armin's grandfather. He had always worn his heart on his sleeve, and that had never been more obvious than it was now; the pure admiration and idolatry on his face made it clear that he respected Mr Artlert more than anyone.

The old man himself was more animated than he had been in weeks. Perhaps it was the retelling of his youth or the excitement that came with knowing that he would soon be living that life again, or even both - Armin didn't know, but it made him smile nonetheless.

Armin stroked his thumb against Jean's hand and closed his eyes. He listened for the things he wouldn't normally hear; the faint sound of the wind blowing outside; the crackling of the fire; the slow, methodical rhythm of his own breathing. There was no detail he wanted to leave unremembered.

When they woke up the next morning, Armin was surprised to find himself still on the sofa. Jean was still asleep, snoring slightly, his arm wrapped tightly around Armin. A blanket had been draped over them. Armin rubbed his eyes, suddenly noticing the smell of coffee, which could have only meant that his grandfather was already awake.

"Morning," he said, walking into the living room carrying two mugs for them both.

"Morning," Armin replied groggily, attempting to sit up with Jean's arm still wrapped around him.

"I didn't want to wake either of you. I hope you slept alright."

"Thanks," Armin said. He paused, wanting to speak, but words failed him.

"He's a lot more agreeable while he's sleeping," Mr Arlert said, nodding towards Jean.

Armin laughed quietly. "I agree."

Another moment passed in silence. Armin searched for the right way to phrase what he wanted to say.

"He's going to miss you so much," he said eventually. "We both will."

The old man sighed and sat down on his armchair. How strange it would look to not see him there anymore, Armin thought.

"As I will miss the two of you." He took a sip of coffee and sighed contently. "Very much so."

"When are you leaving?"

"Eleven A.M.," he said. Armin checked the clock. It was half past nine. He knew this day had been coming, but it still felt like a shock.

"Jean," Armin nudged him, trying to wake him up. "Oi, get up."

Jean groaned and sat up. "What the hell are we doing down here - what time is it?"

"Nine," Armin said, getting up. "Breakfast?"

"Thanks."

They ate eggs and bacon almost sombrely, knowing that this would be the last time they ate together as a family. Conversation ceased after a few remarks, leaving the three of them wondering how to break the tense silence.

"I need to grab something quickly," Jean said after they were done.

When he came back downstairs he was holding a thick, leather bound book, and he had a nervous expression on his face.

"I made this for you," he said, handing it to Armin's grandfather. "To take with you."

"Jean," he said, holding it tightly.

"Just… look at it and let me know what you think."

The man opened the book, and on the very first page was a picture - a very blurry one - of the sky.

"Is that…?"

"Yeah, it's the first one I took." Jean was beet red in the face and scratching his head.

He continued to flick through the pages. A photo of Mr Arlert as a much younger man, with a tiny Jean laughing on his shoulders; Cerise as a puppy playing in the garden; flowers of all different kinds; the beach, packed with people on a summer's day. Armin found himself welling up and being consumed by so many emotions at once. He loved Jean so much for this, for giving his grandfather something to take with him that would remind him of the two of them.

Towards the back of the book, Armin began recognising the photographs. There were ones that he and Jean had taken together months ago, when the two of them were barely more than strangers, and they had been trying to figure each other out. There were even pictures of Armin that he hadn't even realised had been taken - pictures of him laughing, or playing with Cerise. Armin was too touched to be angry. He felt his cheeks warm with affection.

His grandfather was wiping away tears. "Jean, thank you. I can't begin to explain how much this means to me."

"It's nothing," Jean choked on his words and then laughed sadly. "I mean. I'll just miss you a lot, and I… I wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me, is all. So don't forget about us."

"Of course I won't," he said, lightly pushing Jean. "How could you think that?"

Jean shrugged, not speaking, and Armin could see that he was close to crying. He took his hand and smiled up at him. Jean squeezed his hand as if to say thank you.

When eleven o'clock came Armin and Jean carried his suitcases out to the street where a taxi was waiting to take Mr Arlert to the airport. After they loaded the cases into the boot of the car he pulled them both into a crushing hug.

"Now, you two look after the house and yourselves. I will write to you as much as I can. Remember to walk Cerise twice a day."

"We will," Armin smiled. Jean sniffed.

"Armin, don't stop writing. Jean, keep taking photographs. You are both gifted, so don't waste that."

He then got into the car and waved as it pulled away. They watched it drive down the road, waving back until it turned the corner and disappeared.

Jean sighed a shaky sigh. "I can't believe it."

"Me neither," Armin said, and then pulled him into a hug.

That evening Jean and Armin sat on the beach, watching Cerise swim in the cool water. Jean fiddled with his camera. Armin leaned against him, resting his head on his shoulder.

"It's kind of cold, don't you think?" Jean asked.

"Yeah." Armin shifted a little closer to him. "It is."

"I guess it's nearly autumn."

A moment of silence passed before Jean continued.

"We've got a future."

"We do."

"Together."

"We do," Armin said again, smiling a little this time. "And we can do whatever we like with it."

"It'll be perfect."

"You're perfect."

Jean laughed. "I am not."

"You are. You're funny, you're smart, and good looking…"

"Shut up," he said playfully. "I'm not perfect. I'm just in love with you."

Armin smiled. Despite the pain and the grief they both felt, Jean was right. They did have a future. A future to spend together.

"I love you too."