When Preston arrived home and pulled his Cadillac into the garage, Antoine's bike was not on the hooks where it typically hung. The ancient car, Bessie, was under her tarp, unmoved for several days.

Passing into the laundry room which served as their entryway from the garage, it became apparent Antoine hadn't been home. Everything was exactly as it was left; no mail on the table, no telltale sign of snacking in the kitchen.

Setting his briefcase on a chair in the dining room, Preston went to change. He still kept most of his clothes in his room at the end of the hall, past their living room. It was easier than fighting for space in Antoine's closet. He threw on a pair of old jeans, a sweatshirt, and glanced at the clock. Not that he needed to, it was already dark outside. He typically got home after Antoine, unless they carpooled. Antoine should've been home by now.

Preston was fishing his phone out of his pocket to call Antoine when he heard the familiar rumble of the garage door opening.

Antoine!

Cell phone still in hand, Preston hastily darted down the short hallway, and into the open space of their combined kitchen and dining room. Antoine was already slouching his way in, blue hair plastered to his neck, forehead glistening with sweat. He gave Preston a wordless half-salute as he disappeared into his room.

Preston pulled a chair out from the dinner table and sat down. He'd wait.

A few minutes later, Preston heard water running. The shower. The sound of the water changed from a steady stream to a series of lulls and splashes as Antoine scrubbed himself clean.

The water stopped. A short shower. Barely a rinse compared to the marathon showers Antoine typically took.

It didn't take long before Antoine emerged from his room, hair still damp. He wore a towel wrapped around his waist, and nothing more. He pulled out a chair across from Preston and sat down.

Preston realized he was holding his breath, nervous of what his housemate - his fiancé might say.

Antoine seemed to be struggling for words as well. He rubbed his hands together, bare feet tapping some staccato rhythm on the hardwood floor. "Yeah," he finally started. "I got home late today. I know. I... I biked all the way up to Heidelberg."

Preston furrowed his brow, then tightened hips lips.

Antoine must've recognized the confused look.

"The village, district, whatever, where my parents live. You know where that is?"

Preston nodded. Heidelberg, named after the German city. Considering the Dutch history of Plateau City, an overlap in names was hardly surprising. But Preston had no idea that's where Antoine's parents lived. And, at that moment, he wasn't even sure which parents Antoine was referring to. Was it Marcus and Debbie, his foster parents? Or had he actually gone to see his real family? Did he even know his birth parents?

"I wanted to talk to Marcus," Antoine continued, answering Preston's unspoken question. I guess I just needed to talk about stuff, 'cuz a lot of things are happening all at once, and I'm not good at all this."

Better than me, Preston thought silently. He said nothing, but reached over the table towards Antoine's restless hands. He was grateful when Antoine clasped his fingers, and held on tightly. It's okay! He squeezed Antoine's hands, and tried to telepathically send calming thoughts. I'm here for you!

Antoine squeezed back.

"I was mad, really mad. Like, super pissed off," Antoine confessed. "I needed to take a ride. So I biked out, and after a few miles I figured why not go to Heidelberg because, what the heck, I used to live there, right? Anyhow, I found myself at my folks' house, and decided to stop. They were home, so I stopped in and we got talking... and yeah..." his voice trailed off.

"I got talking with Marcus and I told him about how y'all are selling the Little Diva out from under me. You know what he said?"

Preston shook his head. "What did he say, Antoine?" He traced his fingers over Antoine's knuckles.

"Well Marcus... Dad... he tells me that those who find their wings always find a way to fly." The restless drumming of Antoine's feet paused for a minute. He stood up, unwrapped the towel from his waist and draped it over his lap as he sat back down. "Chair's getting damp," he muttered.

"Anyhow," Antoine continued, "so I ask him what he meant by that. He pointed out that just because you guys are selling the chopper doesn't mean I'm losing my credentials; that I'm still a certified flight instructor, and my schooling' all paid off. He reminded me that now, if I want, I can look for a gig - even part-time - and do the sort of flying I like without having to worry about doing to it put food on the table.

" 'You're lucky, Antoine,' he tells me. 'Now you can chose what you want to do instead of being at some corporation's beck and call.' And he pointed out that I've still got a job, and the same pay." Antoine shrugged. "I didn't think of it like that. Still doesn't make me happy, I gotta confess, but it makes it not as bad."

Antoine raised his head and looked levelly at Preston. Preston found himself captivated by Antoine's clear blue eyes, at the way the light reflected. Even under the articulate glow of the counter lights, Antoine's face had a warmth and vitality. Preston found himself savoring every detail of the man, from his tan skin to the faint creases by his eyes, the lines of many smiles already shared.

"I'm not happy with this, Prep, and I'm really disappointed. But I've had worse in my life. So it's not the end of things. I guess I just know it's not your fault, and I wanted you to know I'm not mad at you."

Preston continued his light caress of Antoine's hands. "I did."

"Yeah, I get that. Thanks, y'know. And sorry for yelling at Riley like that."

Preston slid his hands up, and clasped Antoine's wrists firmly. "I'm not the one you need to apologize to about that."

"Right. I'm gonna talk to her tomorrow." He flipped his forearms so he was clutching Preston's forearms in return; both of them holding tight like men at the end of a cliff.

"Tomorrow's Saturday," Preston whispered, with a soft smile.

Antoine rolled his eyes. "Of course it would be. Well, Monday then. I gotta go get dressed." He pushed himself back from the table, threw the towel casually over his shoulder. He winked, and made a kissing motion in the air.

Preston tried to keep his eyes on Antoine's face. Tried and failed. He felt the blood rush to his face... at least some of the blood. The rest, well, he was glad he was sitting with his lap below the table.

Antoine gave a playful twirl, swung the towel like a scarf, and pranced off to get dressed. Preston took a deep breath, wondering what his next move should be. Rather stiffly he got up, slid his chair in, and stepped away from the table. For some things, only time would tell.