Don't Let Nothing Come Between You!

July 483 I.C., Odin

Yang needed to talk to someone, anyone, who was uninvolved in the situation. Unfortunately for him, the only person who fit that description and who he could speak to about the subject was Magdalena von Westpfale, who he suspected would be less than generous to him.

(He was half tempted to wait until Eisenach was back on Odin for leave, corner the man, and rant to him, since he suspected that Eisenach knew (or at least suspected) some of Yang and Reuenthal’s personal problems. At the very least, Yang was certain that Eisenach would say nothing about it.)

But Magdalena was realistically the only one, so Yang said that he would meet her at her house. When he arrived, one of the servants escorted him all the way out to the back of her mansion, to where a pleasant little white pavilion sat among a well-tended rose garden. Magdalena was sprawled out on a lawn chair, drinking something that Yang suspected was about sixty percent alcohol by volume, wearing a light dress that concealed very little, and fanning herself with her omnipresent fan.

“Hank! Glad you could come join me in the shade,” she said, waving her hand to indicate the chair next to her. Yang sat, but did not sprawl as she did, instead sitting cross legged and sideways on the cushion. “Want something to drink?” Before he could even answer, she reached into the cooler next to her and handed him an already made beverage. Yang took it gratefully, and discovered that it was approximately as alcoholic as he expected.

“Thanks.”

“I assume you’ve come here to tell me all about your many woes,” Magdalena said. “And I, of course, am happy to listen.”

“How did you know I was having problems?”

“Not only do I know you’re having problems,” she said, “but I can tell you exactly what those problems are.”

“Can you? I wasn’t aware that you were all-seeing and all-knowing.”

“I’m greater than the great god Odin,” Magdalena said. “At least when it comes to piecing together everyone’s personal little string of issues.”

“You’re drunk, and it’s only eleven in the morning.”

“What better things do I have to do with my time?”

“Listen to me complain sober. So, what problem do you think it is that I’m having?”

“You slept with your friend Oskar, or you’re debating if you should, anyway.”

When Yang did not say anything, completely shocked at Magdalena not only guessing correctly, but without any context, Magdalena saw his nonplussed expression and said, “I guess I was right, then. Which is it? Did you sleep with him?”

Yang rubbed the back of his neck. “Does it matter?”

“So, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Congratulations.” She raised her glass. “To joining the elite ranks of the deviants. ”

“Prosit,” Yang muttered.

“So, your problem is that you feel very guilty about this, I assume.”

“Or something. How did you know?”

“I should be angry with you, you know.”

“For sleeping with Reuenthal?”

“No, idiot. I was sure that you would invite me as your date to Evangeline and Wolfgang’s wedding, and yet you haven’t mentioned a word of it.”

“How did you even know that was happening?”

“Eva and I have become bosom friends,” Magdalena said. “It was so kind of you to bring me to lunch that one time. She has become a bright spot in my life.”

“You’re sleeping with her?”

Magdalena sighed. “She’s so tragically uninterested that it hurts. Pretty little thing, though. But she is sweet, and I have her over for lunch whenever she’s in town, and we keep up a correspondence. She invited me to the wedding.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was waiting for you to come to your senses,” Magdalena said. “But it seems that you have just gone and gotten yourself more confused. How sad for you.” She took another sip of her drink.

“So, you know the situation.”

“I can infer the situation. Your friend Wolf was waffling about joining respectable and decent society or abandoning it completely, and he decided to do the honorable thing and propose to Evangeline, who is really devoted to him, for the record; and, because he’s a good and decent person, he decided that he shouldn’t cheat on his future wife with his lover; which is to say that you are free to get with Oskar, who you’ve only been pining over since, honestly, I don’t even know.” She paused for a second and looked at him. “Really, you should thank me.”

“Why?”

“I told Wolf that he should propose to Eva. When we were at lunch. I yelled at him in the bathroom.”

“Why in the world did you do that?”

“It’s not right to string her along,” Magdalena said. “Besides, it’s a fact of life that we all must get married someday. It’s better for him to do it now than for him to make her miserable for several more years.”

“But--”

“But what?” Magdalena asked. “It was going to happen eventually. You knew it, I knew it, he certainly knew it, or he wouldn’t have been having this difficulty to begin with.”

“Do you think that’s fair to Evangeline?”

“Fair? If he doesn’t treat her well, I’ll kill him myself.” She looked at her drink, then finished it, leaning her head back on her arm and closing her eyes. “You know I would.”

“Mittermeyer wouldn’t--”

“Yes, yes, I’m aware,” Magdalena said, waving her hand vaguely above her head. “Good and honorable man, as we’ve established.”

“So you know that’s not what I meant about it being fair.”

“What?” she asked. “He likes her well enough. He looks at her kind of like a puppy looks at his master. There are far worse types of husband to have.”

“He doesn’t love her the way he loves Reuenthal.”

“So?”

“What do you mean, ‘so?’”

Magdalena sat up, propping herself up on her elbow. “Look. Hank. You don’t love me, right?”

“Well, I don’t--”

“Not the way you love-- or whatever it is you feel-- about Oskar. Great, I get that. And yet, I assume that some day you will propose to me, and we will have a beautiful wedding in which I wear white and you wear your dress uniform, and it will be wonderful. We can invite the kaiser, and he will have the greatest pleasure of regretfully not attending but sending some lavish gift.”

“I’m not going to marry you--”

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch,” Magdalena said. “You might. Anyway, as I was saying, I would be perfectly happy to marry you. I think we could even have a decent time sleeping with each other, though I think I would want to think long and hard before deciding to get pregnant. That’s a commitment. I expect our children would come out weird looking.”

“You really have thought this out.” Yang didn’t know if he should be impressed, flattered, or concerned. He ended up at some combination of the three.

“I like to be prepared for the future. Anyway, forget about all that except for the key piece. All that’s required to have a good and functional marriage is for people to be at minimum friends with each other. He clears that bar with flying colors, so it’s fine.”

“I’m assuming that in this situation where you and I get married, you at the very least continue to sleep with whomever you want on the side?”

“Hank, how could you accuse me of such a thing?” she said. “But yes, of course. And so would you. I certainly wouldn’t care, and it would probably make us both happier in the long run.”

“But you see how this is a fundamentally different situation from Mittermeyer and Evangeline, right?”

“Not in particular, no,” she said.

“You’ve already established that Evangeline is, er, uninterested in a situation like that, and that Mittermeyer is honest… He’s not going to cheat on her.”

Magdalena made a face without opening her eyes. “That man needs to be honest with himself about what he really wants, and worry less about being honest with everybody else.”

“Okay, but that’s not the issue--”

“Husbands have been cheating on their wives since the invention of marriage,” Magdalena said. “And wives have been doing the same for just as long, though it’s a little tricker. Everyone just pretends that the institution of marriage turns you into an honest man, but it just gives you a new route to dishonesty, and that’s no worse than it was before.”

“You’re drunker than I thought, since you’re not making any sense.”

“Am I wrong ?”

“I can’t even tell. But look, the problem is not a question of it being normal or not, which, for the record, it’s not,” Yang said. “It’s a question of Mittermeyer respecting Evangeline. I thought since you were her friend you wouldn’t want her to get cheated on.”

“What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her. I’m only holding them to the same standards to which I hold myself,” Magdalena said. “I certainly don’t care if people have secrets, Herr Hank von Leigh.”

“It shocks me that you don’t realize that not everybody operates on your same crazy level.”

“If they did, the world would be a better place.”

“Would it?”

“Oh, yes, absolutely. Hank, if it would make you feel any better, I could tell Evangeline about her future husband’s homosexual affair pre-emptively, and that would clear the water for everyone.”

“You are absolutely not going to do that.”

“Why shouldn’t I? If you’re so concerned about people not keeping secrets from her.”

“It’s Mittermeyer’s secret to tell. And besides, it won’t even be a thing if he does stop, er, being with Reuenthal.”

“Has he?”

“I think he’s trying to.”

“And that’s what you feel guilty about.”

“I don’t even know.” Yang finished his own drink, looking unhappily out over the rose garden. Magdalena heard him put his empty glass down, so, without looking, she reached into her cooler and pulled out another drink to hand to him. Yang took it. He was rapidly losing any legs to stand on with protesting Magdalena’s early-morning drunkenness, but being sober was feeling less pleasant by the second, so he drank.

“It’s not your fault whatever Wolfgang does. It’s not like you’re his mother or something.”

“I am his friend, though.”

“Okay, I’ll ask you this: are Wolf and Oskar over? Are they done?”

“Mittermeyer implied that he wanted to just be friends with Reuenthal. They had a fight about it, and then Reuenthal slept with me. I would say yes.”

“You would , but you don’t .”

“You’ve seen the way they act,” Yang muttered. “The moment they’re alone together, I don’t know if either of their resolves will last.”

“Okay, and?”

“And what?”

“You feel bad about this because…?”

“Well if Reuenthal is sleeping with me, that makes things more complicated, doesn’t it?”

“You sleep with Oskar, Oskar sleeps with Wolf, Wolf marries Evangeline, so what?”

“You certainly have a rosy and uncomplicated view of the situation.”

“Do you think that Oskar is just using you as a rebound, or something?”

“No…” Yang said.

“Whose feelings are you even worried about hurting here?”

“Evangeline’s?”

“I thought we established that she is not your problem, so try that one again.”

“Mittermeyer?”

“If he really has ended things with Oskar, then he has zero right to complain about anything that you do from here on out. The fact that you feel bad for him is sweet of you, but, again, he really brought this upon himself.”

“Okay, but if he hasn’t--”

“Gods, Hank. Get over yourself.” She was exasperated.

“What?”

“You’re pretending that it’s him you’re worried about, but it’s one hundred percent you. You’re worried that Oskar’s going to abandon you the moment Wolf is back on the menu, aren’t you?”

“No--” But he wasn’t convincing enough.

“Would he?”

“Reuenthal isn’t--”

“Would you be jealous ?”

“I should not have come here to talk to you,” Yang said. “You’re the worst.”

“You’re not drunk enough to understand how simple this all is.”

Yang, unfortunately, had to agree with that, so he drank the rest of his glass, then laid back on the lawn chair, staring up at the whitewashed slats of the pavilion above them. A mild breeze brushed past, bringing relief from the still heat. For all that Yang was stressing, and Magdalena was annoying him, the day was beautiful, and he couldn’t help but feel that reflected into the future, the confusion mixing with the curl of pleasure in his stomach when he thought of Reuenthal.

“If it’s any help,” Magdalena said after a long second of silence, “it’s been very clear to me that Oskar is extremely possessive of you. I don’t think that he would kick you to the curb, so to speak.”

“How do you know that?”

She raised an eyebrow, still with her eyes closed. “You came to my birthday party with him and Wolf, and all you had to do was act the tiniest bit friendly to me and he practically wanted to murder me. It was pretty funny.”

“That’s just because he hates women.”

She laughed a little. “It’s not, and you know it’s not.”

“Okay, well, he can feel possessive of me and just not want me to be with anybody else, but still abandon me for Mittermeyer.”

“I should get his number and tell him that you said that, see what he thinks of you thinking so little of him.”

“Stop it,” Yang said. “You know what I mean. He was happy enough to just have me as a friend for years--”

“Oh, was he? Because it seemed like he jumped on you awful fast for someone who was happy to just have you as a friend.”

Yang didn’t really have a response to that.

“He’s a jealous man who wants to possess everything he loves,” Magdalena said. “All I’m saying is that it doesn’t hurt to let him.”

“You think it doesn’t.”

Magdalena gestured vaguely in the air above her head. “How could it possibly be worse for him to have the both of you than it was for you to sit there for years, painfully into him, while he was with Wolf exclusively? This has to be better.”

“You have a lot of confidence that this sort of situation could even come about.”

She smiled. “It’s easy, if you let it happen.”

“I don’t think so. Besides, Mittermeyer is still marrying Evangeline.”

“Forget about that. Would you really still be jealous of Wolf?”

“I don’t know,” Yang said.

“Well, maybe you should sleep with him, too.”

“What?” Yang asked, his voice somewhat strangled. Magdalena opened her eyes, rolled onto her side, and reached over to pinch Yang’s hot cheek, grinning. He slapped her hand away gently.

“You are so cute when you act all stupid,” Magdalena said.

“Why is your ‘solution’ to every problem just to make things even messier?”

“It’s simply in my nature,” Magdalena said. “But don’t say that you don’t want to, or haven’t at least thought about it.”

“It’s not going to happen, Maggie.”

“Like I said, never say never.” She grinned at him, and Yang shook his head and rolled his eyes.

August 483 I.C., Odin

Yang was in Reuenthal’s bed, in his apartment that he rented in the capital. The first slender fingers of morning light were coming in through the blinds, but it wasn’t that that woke Yang up. He was roused from his sleep by Reuenthal trying to get out of bed. The sheets were tangled around Yang, which made it harder for him to get his hand out to grab at Reuenthal’s arm before he escaped.

“Where are you going?” Yang mumbled. “It’s Saturday. You don’t have work.”

“Some of us can’t lay in bed all day long,” Reuenthal said, but his voice was warm.

“It’s the last weekend before I have to start teaching again.”

“So, you’re saying that I should indulge you in your laziness?”

“Mmm, someday I will convince you to be as lazy as I am.”

Reuenthal leaned over him and brushed some of the hair off Yang’s face, which made him smile. “I somehow doubt it,” Reuenthal said. He kissed Yang slowly, then easily twisted his arm to free himself from Yang’s grasp, getting out of bed. “I’m going to shower and make breakfast. You can go back to sleep, if you really want to be lazy.”

He vanished out of the bedroom, and Yang heard the shower turn on a few minutes later. He didn’t get out of bed, staring up at the dappled light on the ceiling, and trying to think about nothing. The light glinted off of the sword that Yang had given Reuenthal so long ago, hung up above the headboard of the bed. It pleased him that Reuenthal kept it in a place of honor, but Magdalena was right that it probably was going to fall down on him someday. He heard Reuenthal finish showering, go into the kitchen, and start opening the fridge for food. Only then did Yang finally get up.

After he was done showering, Yang found Reuenthal in the kitchen making omelettes. There was tea for him and coffee for Reuenthal.

“Glad you could join me.”

“You seem to assume that I would,” Yang said, pointing out the fact that Reuenthal had made breakfast for them both.

“Oh? Was I being presumptuous?”

“No, I appreciate you appealing to my better nature,” Yang said and sat down at the little table. They ate in silence for a few minutes, Yang still waking up.

Reuenthal looked at him, and Yang smiled back. “Thank you for breakfast,” Yang finally said.

“You’re welcome.”

“When did you learn to cook?” He had been wondering this, since Reuenthal had prepared several meals for him since he had moved into this apartment (which had a private kitchen, quite unlike Yang’s rented room in his boarding house.)

“I’ve always been able to,” Reuenthal said.

“You weren’t born with the ability.”

“Who says I wasn’t?”

Yang looked at him. “And I’m sure you came out of the womb knowing how to do arithmetic and play the piano, as well.”

“Perhaps.”

“I want to know, though, really,” Yang said, leaning his elbows on the table. “Did your boys’ school put you through a home economics course?”

Somewhat stiffly, Reuenthal said, “When one has a father whose caloric needs are met primarily through alcohol consumption, one must learn to cook or starve gracefully.”

“Oh,” Yang said. “Sorry.”

“It’s a useful skill, even if it is womanish.”

Yang rolled his eyes. “Seriously?”

Reuenthal shrugged. “If one learns to cook, one hardly needs a wife for anything.”

Yang looked down at his plate and tried to switch the topic away from Mittermeyer’s upcoming wedding. “I’m a terrible cook,” he admitted.

“Oh?”

“Well, you know, my mother died when I was five.”

“I didn’t know.”

“And then I went to go live with my father, on his ship, and we had a hired cook for the crew.”

“You weren’t ever tasked with helping out?” Reuenthal was interested. Yang knew he loved learning these tiny facts about Yang’s previous life, no matter how boring they were, because he was the only one who ever got to hear them. Yang liked telling them for the same reason.

“Once or twice. But our cook-- his name was, oh, jeeze, Brendan Stoneworth, short little guy-- saw me accidentally put a frozen pizza in the oven so close to the heating coils that it caught on fire, and after that he would chase me out of the kitchen with a knife every time I tried to go in.”

Reuenthal chuckled at this anecdote.

“My dad had a notoriously undiscerning palate,” Yang said. “He would eat literally anything. It was a problem, because sometimes he’d wander into the kitchen and use the logic of eating the least fresh thing so that it wouldn’t be wasted before it went bad, and of course this led to him getting food poisoning several times, from eating leftovers that had been around too long.” Yang shook his head. “The man knew the value of the dinar, but at great personal cost, I think.”

Reuenthal smiled. “You’ve inherited a similar quality, I assume.”

“No,” Yang said. “I’m not indiscriminate, just lazy. There’s a difference. I can appreciate the finer culinary joys in life.”

“Which are?”

“Tea and alcohol. Not necessarily in that order.”

“I see.” The conversation lapsed a little as they finished their breakfasts. Reuenthal stood to wash the dishes. Yang leaned against the counter next to him, finishing his tea.

“Are you coming to Mittermeyer’s get-together tonight?”

“I am not,” Reuenthal said.

“Why not?” Yang asked.

Reuenthal scrubbed the omelette pan with a little more force than was necessary. “I have absolutely no desire to attend his bachelor’s party.”

“It’s not really a party. We’re just going to get drinks.”

“Regardless, I am not interested.”

“Bittenfeld, Eisenach, and Wahlen will be there. We can have a nice reunion.”

“I am perfectly capable of seeing them on my own time.”

“Mittermeyer would want you to come.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Have you spoken to him recently?”

“No.”

“I have,” Yang said. “And he wants you to come.”

“It is liberating to no longer have Mittermeyer’s many, varied, and self-destructive wants be my concern. It is unfortunate that they still seem to be yours.”

“I’m his friend,” Yang said. “And you could be, too.”

“Why should I want whatever tepid version of friendship Mittermeyer thinks that he wants to have with me?”

“Because thinking about him the way things are clearly makes you miserable.”

“Then I would request that you stop reminding me of him.”

“You hardly need me to do that,” Yang said.

Reuenthal stopped washing the dishes for a second, pausing with his hands in the running water so hot that steam was coming up out of the sink. “From the way you are pushing me to speak with him, it would seem that you don’t want me to be with you at all.”

“You usually have to be drunk to say something that mean,” Yang said, voice intentionally mild. He put his empty mug down in the sink. Although Reuenthal’s comment had hurt exactly as much as Reuenthal had intended it to, Yang stood behind him and wrapped his arms around Reuenthal’s waist for a second, then kissed his neck. “If you change your mind, you should come,” he said. “If you don’t, I suppose I’ll see you later this week.”

“Yeah,” Reuenthal said. He wasn’t going to apologize, and Yang knew it, so Yang just gathered up his belongings and headed out of the apartment, taking the stairs so as not to be seen by anyone in the elevator.

Later that day, Yang met his friends in a dim bar in the capital. They were holding the wedding there, rather than in Mittermeyer’s hometown, which certainly made life easier for Yang and all of his friends, some of whom were only on the planet for a few days. Evangeline had an apartment in the capital now, and a promise of employment in a publishing house that Magdalena had found by pulling some strings somewhere, so it was as fine a place as any for the couple to get married.

The particular bar that Mittermeyer had picked was one that Yang was vaguely familiar with, and it had been picked because it had a room with pool tables in the back and very cheap beer. This was its only redeeming quality. In other respects, it was slightly dingy, loud, and a little too dark, with lights that flickered sometimes when the people upstairs moved around too violently.

It was very nice to see Eisenach, Bittenfeld, and Wahlen again. It had been far too long since (almost) all of them were in the same place, and Yang had missed the easy atmosphere that their group had had. Eisenach was also a commander now, while Bittenfeld and Wahlen were still lieutenant commanders like Mittermeyer and the absent Reuenthal.

Mittermeyer was in good spirits, or at least successfully pretending to be, and was making good use of the fact that his friends were buying all the drinks. After some time, it became clear that Reuenthal wasn’t going to show up.

“Our esteemed number one not able to make it tonight?” Bittenfeld asked, leaning heavily on the pool table to take a shot. “I thought he was working at the Ministry of War, so he really has no excuse.”

“He wasn’t feeling well,” Yang lied. Bittenfeld’s shot missed, so Eisenach took his turn.

Bittenfeld poked Yang with his cue. “I never thought I’d see the day that Reuenthal would turn up his nose at drinking.”

“Maybe he’s turning up his nose at spending the evening with you,” Wahlen joked. “If he has a headache, your voice would certainly aggravate it.”

“Well, forget about it,” Yang said. “I’m sure you’ll catch him next time you’re on Odin. It’s not like he’s going anywhere.”

Eisenach, who had just sunk the last ball, met Yang’s eyes and raised an eyebrow. Yang looked away quickly.

“It’s true, we do have that other number one to celebrate as his replacement,” Bittenfeld said. “Mittermeyer, you seen Reuenthal while you’ve been on the planet?”

“No,” Mittermeyer said. “I’m hoping he’ll come tomorrow, but if he’s sick, I won’t hold my breath.” His easy smile faltered slightly, but Yang thought that Bittenfeld probably didn’t notice.

“I don’t know if I actually congratulated you on your engagement, and your marriage, of course,” Wahlen said. “So, congratulations.”

“Thank you.” He clapped Wahlen’s shoulder. “You’re engaged too, right?”

“Yes, though we’re waiting much longer to actually tie the knot,” Wahlen said.

“I was curious about that,” Bittenfeld said. “You get her pregnant or something? Short engagement, isn’t it?”

Mittermeyer laughed. “No, it was really-- my mother thought I would chicken out if we waited too long, so she made me schedule it as quickly as possible.”

“I’ve heard many things,” Bittenfeld said, “but this is the first time I’ve ever heard Wolfgang Mittermeyer be called a coward.”

“It took all my courage to propose in the first place, you know.”

“Hah,” Bittenfeld said. “How will you manage to walk down the aisle, then?”

“I don’t know. I suppose we’re about to find out.”

“And when are you going to become a respectable married man, Leigh?” Wahlen asked.

Yang rubbed the back of his head. “Er, I don’t know.”

“Didn’t you mention something about a baroness in your letters?” Bittenfeld asked. “What was that all about? You still seeing her?”

“Magdalena von Westpfale? You’ll meet her tomorrow, I guess.” He laughed a little. “You’d probably like her, Bittenfeld. She’s kinda your style.”

“Are you saying I should steal your date?” Bittenfeld asked. “Is she good-looking? Rich goes without saying, I assume.”

“You’re welcome to try, honestly,” Yang said. “She confuses me more than anything else.”

“What do you mean by my style, though?”

“You know, bold,” Yang said, which was the politest characterization he could make of the two of them. Bittenfeld laughed.

Mittermeyer seemed happy to have the conversation be on Yang’s strange life situation rather than his own. They got progressively drunker, which Yang supposed was the point, and he felt pleasantly dazed as he leaned on the side of the pool table next to Mittermeyer and watched Bittenfeld give Wahlen bad pool playing advice.

“This is nice,” Yang said. “I’m glad you guys could all come.”

“Just like old times,” Wahlen said. “Sans Reuenthal, of course. I hope he comes tomorrow. I’d like to see how he’s been.”

Mittermeyer was silent, looking away and taking a long drink from his beer.

“You have a falling out or something?” Wahlen raised an eyebrow at Yang, who shrugged helplessly. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Mittermeyer said. “Absolutely nothing.” Wahlen was too drunk to press the issue, so he shrugged and let it go, perhaps not wanting to ruin Mittermeyer’s night, hearing the clear edge in his voice.

Eisenach was watching this exchange take place. Mittermeyer put his beer down on the pool table, and Bittenfeld hit one of the balls directly into it, bouncing it off the side of the glass into the pocket. He let out a whoop of laughter, which distracted everyone enough that Yang and Wahlen didn’t notice Mittermeyer escaping to the bathroom, quickly followed by Eisenach.

“Where’d the man of the hour go?” Bittenfeld asked. “Can’t buy him drinks if he’s not here.”

“We should probably cut him off,” Yang said. “Eva will be unhappy if he can’t walk straight tomorrow.”

“He’ll sober up overnight,” Wahlen said.

“You know, this is a boring bachelor’s party, since we didn’t even have any entertainment.”

“And what would you propose, Bittenfeld?”

“We could have gone to a gentlemen’s club,” Bittenfeld said.

“Mittermeyer chose the venue. If he wanted that, he would have picked it.”

“The whole point is to spend your last night as a free man being adventurous,” Bittenfeld said. “It makes me ashamed to learn that he’s not hearing the call of that adventure. We could drag him somewhere more fun.”

“I’m probably going to drag him home to bed after this,” Yang said, checking the time. “It’s late.” The mood had soured, somehow, though Yang couldn’t have pointed exactly to the moment that it had. The easy camaraderie and schoolday reminiscence had fallen apart, at least in his mind, and he was left feeling too-drunk and rattled, looking up towards the bathroom doors and wondering when Eisenach and Mittermeyer would return. He let Bittenfeld and Wahlen’s progressively less coherent conversation wash over him for a while. The other patrons of the bar were slowly leaving, allowing Bittenfeld’s loud voice to take up more and more space in the room. Yang felt like he could barely breathe. The atmosphere was thick and smoky, and he felt bad.

“I need some air,” Yang said. “I’m gonna go outside for a second.”

Wahlen seemed slightly concerned, but Yang gave him a thin smile and headed out. The city street was quiet, but the muggy air outside was hardly any better than inside. Yang tilted his head back against the brick wall of the building and stared up into the sky, clouds drifting in front of the stars. He tried to pick out constellations for a minute, but his vision swam, and staring up so much made him dizzy, which made him nauseous. He scraped his hand along the wall of the building, stumbling a little, until he found an alleyway and a dumpster. He leaned over, as though he was going to throw up, but he didn’t. He stayed there until he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

Eisenach.

> outside

That was about all he could manage to text.

Eisenach found him outside, Yang having made his way out of the alley. Mittermeyer leaned heavily on Eisenach’s arm.

“Thanks,” Yang said to Eisenach. “I’ll take you home, Mittermeyer.”

“No,” Mittermeyer said.

“Yeah, come on.”

“I don’t want Eva to see,” he said. His voice was rough, as though he had been crying, or was holding in tears. Yang looked between Mittermeyer and Eisenach rather helplessly.

Eisenach pulled out his phone and texted Yang, even though he was standing right there. Yang frowned.

“Fine,” Yang said aloud. “Come on, Mittermeyer. You can crash at my place.” Mittermeyer seemed relieved to lean on Yang’s side after that, though it wasn’t as though Yang was any less drunk or more stable than he was. “Eisenach, can you tell Bittenfeld and Wahlen that we’re leaving?”

Eisenach gave him a flat and annoyed look.

“Fine, nevermind,” Yang said. “See you tomorrow, I guess.” He tugged Mittermeyer forwards and flagged down a taxi. In the car, Mittermeyer stared out the rear window at Eisenach, who stood with arms crossed, watching them depart. They were silent on the ride, which, since the trains weren’t running this late, was fairly far outside the city to Yang’s apartment. He tried to let them in and up the stairs quietly, but it was difficult when both of them were too drunk to navigate the dark stairs properly. Yang fumbled with his key until Mittermeyer took it from him and opened the door to his room.

Mittermeyer stood stiffly in Yang’s living room, and Yang made it to his bathroom and got him a cup of water from the sink. He handed it to Mittermeyer, who looked at it as though he didn’t really understand what to do with it.

“What’s Eva’s number?” Yang asked. “I should tell her where you are.” He spoke slowly, trying to make sure the words were in the right order. Mittermeyer reached into his pocket and handed Yang his phone. Yang held it out for Mittermeyer to unlock.

He fumblingly texted Evangeline.

> hi eva

> this is yank

> took mittermeyer back to my apartment

> everything is fine he is fine

> very drunk

> see you tomorrow m

Yang slipped the phone back into Mittermeyer’s pocket, then pushed Mittermeyer in the vague direction of the bedroom. Mittermeyer allowed himself to be pushed. Better for Mittermeyer to sleep in the bed so he’d be well rested in the morning, since he was the one getting married. The bed was unmade, but Mittermeyer didn’t care as he slumped down onto it. He didn’t lay down, but he sat heavily, and stared blankly at the mess of Yang’s room, in the too-harsh overhead light. Yang didn’t really know what to do with himself, and so he ended up sitting down on the floor. He should go back out to the living room and sleep on the couch, but he couldn’t quite find the will to move his body, so he just leaned against the side of the bed, his head near Mittermeyer’s legs.

Mittermeyer’s eyes flicked with some comprehension between a few things in the room: the two dirty glasses and mostly-empty whiskey bottle on Yang’s bedside table; the only thing hung up in the open side of the closet-- a single, clean uniform that was not Yang’s; the sticky note that Reuenthal had left on Yang’s mirror the previous Monday morning, written in his distinctive hand, “You are out of toothpaste-- using that tube is like squeezing blood from a stone. Buy more.”

“Reuenthal was here?” Mittermeyer asked.

“Yeah,” Yang said. He didn’t have the wherewithal to lie about it.

“Oh.” Mittermeyer lay back on the bed, head hitting the wall.

“I’m sorry,” Yang said.

Mittermeyer shook his head and was silent for so long that Yang thought he had fallen asleep. Finally, he asked, in a soft and plaintive voice, “Why won’t he talk to me?”

“I don’t know,” Yang said, shaking his head and feeling dizzy again. He was going to have a headache in the morning that he was already regretting.

“I just want to see him,” Mittermeyer said. “Can you tell him that?”

“Yeah,” Yang said. He wasn’t going to tell Mittermeyer that he already had tried telling Reuenthal that, over and over.

“I just want to see him,” he said again, then rolled onto his side, clutching Yang’s rumpled pillow to his chest. “That’s all. I promise that’s all.”

“You don’t have to promise,” Yang said.

“Please,” Mittermeyer said.

“What?”

“Let me promise.”

Yang shook his head and was silent. He wondered if Mittermeyer would say something else, but in the long stretch of silence between them, the sound of his breathing evened out, and he fell asleep, hand draped over the side of Yang’s bed. Yang couldn’t quite move, not even to turn out the light, so he stared across the room until he, too, slumped over and fell asleep.

It was lucky for the both of them that Mittermeyer’s wedding was in the late afternoon, because that gave them both a little bit of time to feel more human. Yang certainly woke up feeling more disgusting and hungover than he ever had in his life, and he suspected that Mittermeyer felt the same. He begged some breakfast out of his landladies while Mittermeyer showered and got dressed in some of Yang’s clothes, so that he could go home and actually get ready to get married.

They sat at Yang’s little table in his living room and drank as much coffee as they could physically bear. Yang kept rubbing his eyes, as if that would keep the sunlight from coming in and stabbing them.

“What were you doing with Eisenach last night?” Yang finally asked.

Mittermeyer shrugged. “He just talked to me.”

“Like, he texted you?”

“No,” Mittermeyer said. “We had a conversation.”

Yang frowned. “What did he say?”

“I don’t really remember.” This didn’t seem to be the entire truth. “Did you tell him about--”

“No,” Yang said. “But I think he’s known for a while.”

“This is why I can’t have secrets,” Mittermeyer said, finishing his coffee and looking into the bottom of the cup as though he expected more to spontaneously generate. “People find out.”

“Eisenach isn’t going to tell anyone.”

“Sure.” He sounded like he agreed with the surface of Yang’s statement, but he wasn’t going to change his mind about secrets in general.

“Do you want me to go with you back to your place?” Yang asked.

“I don’t need an escort. I’m not going to run away.”

“Did I say that you were?”

“My head is killing me, Leigh,” Mittermeyer said. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Yang said. “Don’t worry about it. Just cheer up before you get to Evangeline.”

Mittermeyer cracked a smile at that. “I’ll try.”

“You feeling any better this morning? Aside from being hungover, anyway?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good.” Mittermeyer was steadfastly not mentioning Reuenthal, which was perhaps an improvement. He hadn’t even said anything about the fact that Yang and Reuenthal were together, despite certainly knowing. Yang had caught him looking at the sticky note on the mirror in the morning.

“I’m just ready to do this so that things can be normal,” Mittermeyer said.

“Er, yeah.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Are you nervous?”

“I guess,” Mittermeyer said. He smiled a little. “Eva is patient with me, so I’m not nervous about her.”

“That’s good.”

“I do love her,” he said after a second. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” Yang said. “I’m happy for you.” This wasn’t entirely true, but he wasn’t going to say anything more complicated than that.

Mittermeyer smiled at him. “Thank you.”

The wedding ceremony was held in the rented hall of a hotel in the capital, a pretty nice, if small, place. The actual guest list was minimal, so the small hall was the perfect size. Mostly, the guests were Evangeline’s friends from her college, Mittermeyer’s extended family, and then Mittermeyer’s small group of school friends. There was no sign of Reuenthal, which didn’t surprise Yang, but did make him feel bad. He was seated in between Magdalena and Bittenfeld, behind Mittermeyer’s immediate family, parents and grandparents.

Yang felt stiff in his dress uniform, which he hadn’t worn in a long time, and he felt awkward making obligate small talk with Mittermeyer’s parents, whom he didn’t like that much. He was relieved when the ceremony actually began.

Mittermeyer walked in to the front of the room, along with the officiant, the hired pianist at the side beginning to play something simple, gradually swelling as the doors in the back of the room opened, revealing Evangeline. The late afternoon sunlight streamed in through the large windows, catching in her blonde hair, reflecting off her blindingly white dress. Yang craned his neck to look at her. She had white flowers in her hair, and a wispy veil covered her face. She seemed nervous, clutching her bouquet in both hands, visibly trembling. Still, she smiled, and when she looked up at Mittermeyer, seemed to relax a little bit.

Mittermeyer, for his part, didn’t seem nervous. There was no trace of lingering hangover on his face. He smiled brilliantly at Evangeline, turning his whole body to follow her as she walked down the aisle.

Yang had thought he might feel worse, watching this, but the complete surety in Mittermeyer’s posture gave him some relief. They could be happy together, he thought.

Bittenfeld leaned over and, in the approximation that was Bittenfeld’s version of a whisper, he said, “He’s a lucky one, isn’t he?” And then, after a second: “I suppose Mittermeyer isn’t too bad of a catch himself, either.” Yang rolled his eyes at that, while Eisenach glared at Bittenfeld until he shut up. Magdalena heard him, and covered her mouth with her fan to hide her smile.

The two of them stood side by side at the front of the hall. The officiant began reading the long text for the ceremony, invoking all the gods and goddesses to bless the new couple. Mittermeyer and Evangeline were stiff and silent, kneeling for the blessing, then standing to say their vows.

They held hands, facing each other. The whole room was silent as they stared into each other’s eyes and the officiant wrapped their hands loosely with the ceremonial white ribbon.

In front of Yang, Mittermeyer’s mother let out a few loud sniffles, and his father handed her a tissue.

The officiant read the words for the vows. Mittermeyer delivered the lines with utmost sincerity, his voice clear and light.. Evangeline repeated them, her voice almost too soft for Yang to hear, even though the room was small and quiet.

The pair looked at each other tenderly as Mittermeyer lifted her hand, looking down at it as though he had never seen it this closely before as he slipped the ring onto her finger.

They kissed, and for a moment, Yang thought that perhaps Mittermeyer was right, and that everything would be fine.

He kept that feeling until the ceremony was done, and everyone headed out onto the steps to take photographs.

“I told you that this would be nice, didn’t I?” Magdalena asked him as they watched Mittermeyer and Evangeline get their photos taken. It was golden hour, and the light glinted a warm yellow off the marble steps onto the couple. They were radiant, and they looked at each other as though there were no one else around, despite the onlooking guests and photographer gesturing at them to stand in various configurations and positions. They were looking into the sun, trying not to ruin their photos by squinting.

“Did you?” Yang asked.

“You were nervous for no reason.”

“You just like to feel like you’re right.”

“I am always right,” Magdalena said. She waved cheerfully at Evangeline, who smiled back at Yang and Magdalena.

While everyone was waiting for the general exodus to go to the reception, there was a sudden muttering at the back of the crowd.

“Hey, Reuenthal, you’re late!” Bittenfeld called out.

Yang’s stomach sank. Magdalena leaned forward, a shocked and curious expression on her face. Reuenthal was walking up through the crowd, moving stiffly, heading directly towards Mittermeyer and Evangeline.

Yang wanted to go grab him and drag him away, but Magdalena restrained him, her fingers digging into his arm. Eisenach was frowning, Wahlen was extremely confused. Mittermeyer’s parents seemed shocked and alarmed-- Yang had to wonder how much they knew.

Mittermeyer was frozen in place for a second, holding Evangeline’s hand, but then his face broke into a wide smile. Reuenthal looked at him, knelt down, took Evangeline’s other hand, and kissed it. He looked at Mittermeyer again for a single instant, then stood, turned sharply on his heel, and walked away, back through the crowd. He didn’t meet Yang’s eye, or anyone else’s.

Evangeline seemed very confused, and she looked at Mittermeyer for reassurance about what had just happened. Mittermeyer, who was still smiling, shrugged, then leaned forward to kiss her, which seemed to satisfy most people, including Evangeline, who put her hand on his chest and smiled at him adoringly.

“What in the universe was that about?” Wahlen asked, coming up to Yang.

“I don’t know,” Yang lied. “Uh, did you see where he went?”

Eisenach pointed down the street. Yang extracted himself from Magdalena’s grasp. “I’ll meet you at the reception,” he said. “Don’t wait for me.”

He pushed his way through the guests and down the street, looking for Reuenthal. The street was the normal crowd of any busy street in the capital, and Yang had waited a little too long to chase after him, so he almost missed Reuenthal duck down into the nearest subway station.

Yang ran down the steps, pushing past the crowd trying to emerge from the station and into the street. He stumbled a little on the steps, grabbed the rail, slid sideways on the tile wall.

“Reuenthal!” he yelled.

Reuenthal ignored him.

It was lucky, Yang thought, that the train was nowhere in sight, and the platform was not very long, so there was nowhere for Reuenthal to actually escape to, unless he wanted to try to get past Yang to leave the station again. Reuenthal didn’t seem interested in escaping, though, just in ignoring Yang. He stood at the edge of the platform, looking blankly down into the dark tunnel. Yang came right up next to him. He wanted to grab Reuenthal’s arm, but didn’t.

“Where are you going?” Yang asked.

“Home, Leigh,” Reuenthal said.

“What was that all about?”

Reuenthal didn’t say anything, and didn’t turn to look at him, either.

“You should come to the reception,” Yang said. “You saw-- Mittermeyer would want you to come.”

“No.”

“Are you going to talk to him later?”

“No.”

“Then what was that all about?” Yang was somewhat exasperated at this flat refusal.

“I’m done with him,” Reuenthal said. “I have nothing more to say.”

“And that’s why you had to make a scene?”

Reuenthal stared down the track. “I release him from any responsibility towards me.”

There was a muted rumble from down the track as the train began its approach, its yellow lights illuminating the tunnel. Reuenthal stepped forward, and Yang had the fleeting worry that he was going to do something extremely stupid, but he just stood on the platform with his hands loosely behind his back and turned to Yang. “Should I expect to see you tonight?” Reuenthal asked.

Yang’s stomach twisted, and he frowned. “No, probably not.”

Reuenthal nodded once, sharply. The train pulled up and opened its doors. Yang was struck by the urge to follow him, but he resisted, and the doors shut behind Reuenthal and the train sped away, leaving Yang behind.

Any joy or relief he had felt from the wedding itself was gone, leaving him again with a sick and guilty feeling in his stomach, even though he knew that he could have done nothing to change the situation. He hated trying to mediate between Reuenthal and Mittermeyer, and he wasn’t sure which one of them was more at fault. It wasn’t worth it, he thought, his happiness with Reuenthal, to watch this miserable scene play out, destroying years of friendship between the three of them.

Magdalena was wrong. She thought he was worried about Reuenthal abandoning him for Mittermeyer. Perhaps he should be more worried about Reuenthal simply abandoning everyone. What had it been that Reuenthal had said to him, on the night that they graduated from the IOA?

Yang trudged back up the subway stairs, down the long street, and towards the wedding reception, a nicely decorated hall with a dance floor and tables for dinner. No one noticed when he came in, except for Magdalena, who was in the middle of talking to Bittenfeld about something.

She abandoned Bittenfeld immediately and came over to Yang, leaning on his shoulder. “So, what was that all about?”

Yang shook his head. “Nothing good,” Yang said. “But there’s nothing I can do about it, either.”

There was a little time for everyone to socialize before the bride and groom arrived, Evangeline at least needing to change out of her dress into something less restricting. Yang didn’t feel much like being social, so he let Magdalena drag him around to talk to Evangeline’s friends, who Yang didn’t know and thus didn’t have to make much conversation with.

Through the speeches and the dinner, Yang kept turning his head to look at Mittermeyer, who seemed radiantly happy. When he caught Yang looking, he smiled broadly at him, and Yang was forced to smile back, though he was sure that his own expression gave away his misgivings. Mittermeyer didn’t seem to notice.

Yang gave only a short address, when pressured into it by his friends. He stood up at the front of the room, rubbing the back of his head and leaning awkwardly towards the microphone. “Some of you got lucky that the IOA changed its rules so that I didn’t have to give a speech at graduation, so I don’t know why you’re all telling me I should make one now.” There was a bit of laughter at that. “Mittermeyer, er, Wolf, is one of the best people I know. I don’t know if there’s a person in this galaxy who’d make a more considerate husband. I know I’ve given a lot of bad advice I’m not qualified to give over the years, so I won’t give any now to either of you now. I suppose I should just say congratulations, and I hope you both find the greatest happiness together.”

He practically ran away from the mic after that, returning to sit with Magdalena.

Eventually, it was time for dancing. Mittermeyer and Evangeline had the first dance, of course. They looked good together. Happy. Mittermeyer knew how to dance, and he twirled her around the room to some song that Yang was sure Evangeline had chosen.

As he watched, Yang leaned towards Magdalena. “I don’t know how you composed yourself at Ingrid’s wedding.”

She frowned. “This is completely different, and you know it.”

“Is it?”

Magdalena shook her head and took Yang’s hand. “At least you and I have each other to keep us both on our best behavior.”

Wahlen overheard this exchange, though he didn’t understand the substance of it, and looked at Yang and Magdalena with a smile. “And when can we expect to hear the news of your engagement?”

“I don’t know,” Magdalena said with a charming, if mischievous, smile. “When can I expect you to put a ring on my finger, Hank?”

“I don’t--”

She patted his arm and laughed at him, a response that seemed to satisfy Wahlen, because he smiled at her.

“Shall we dance, Hank?” she asked, then dragged him towards the dance floor without waiting for an answer.

They danced for a while, and Yang was glad that Magdalena was indeed on her best behavior. She made sure that neither of them crashed into anyone else. Yang kept his mind on not stepping on her, which at least temporarily made him stop staring at Mittermeyer, though he caught glimpses of him as they moved about the dance floor.

They could speak quietly, bodies pressed together, voices only audible to each other over the music.

“Are you going to tell me what was going on with Oskar?”

“What is there to say?” Yang asked.

“You said it was nothing good.”

Yang craned his neck to look at Mittermeyer. “I think that was his way of saying goodbye.”

“Stupid way to do it,” Magdalena said. Her hand was on his back, tracing up and down his spine in a kind of aimless way. “Stupid thing to do.”

“I don’t disagree.” He paused for a second. “Though it’s not as though he could come here and have a last dance.”

Magdalena pressed her forehead to Yang’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” she said. “You’re just being mean to me.”

“Yeah,” Yang said. “Sorry.”

“I can’t wait until we get married. Then we can get revenge on all of them for all of this.”

“We’re not getting married.”

“I know.” She laughed a little, lifting her head up to look at him. “I’m joking.”

“Good,” Yang said.

“Do you think Eva will dance with me?”

“I don’t know,” Yang said.

“I suppose it won’t hurt me to ask. Fortune favors the bold, you know.”

“Does it?”

“You have to admit that they are a good looking couple.”

“Did anyone say that they weren’t?”

“No, not at all.” Magdalena laughed. When the song ended, she disentangled herself from Yang, and he watched as she tapped on Eva’s shoulder. He read her lips-- “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”

Evangeline and Mittermeyer both laughed, and Evangeline took Magdalena’s hands as the next song started, something very jaunty. Mittermeyer left the dance floor and came to stand next to Yang, both of them leaning against the wall.

“How are you feeling?” Yang asked.

“Great,” Mittermeyer said. He was smiling as they watched Evangeline and Magdalena dance. Evangeline kept laughing as Magdalena made progressively sillier moves. He was again jealous of her, the things that she was allowed to do.

“That’s good,” Yang said.

“I’m glad that Reuenthal came. I saw you go-- did you talk to him?”

“Yeah.”

“I can understand why he didn’t stick around for the reception, but I wish he had,” Mittermeyer said. “I am glad he forgives me.”

Yang was silent for a little too long, which made Mittermeyer frown and ask, “What did he say to you?”

“Not very much,” Yang said.

“But he’s willing to talk to me again, right?”

Yang rubbed the back of his head. He didn’t want to spoil Mittermeyer’s mood, but he clearly already had. He couldn’t lie. “No.”

“Why not?”

“He’s done, Mittermeyer. That’s what he said.” Yang shook his head.

Mittermeyer’s face fell. “I don’t understand.”

“I think he was trying to say-- you can have this, but not the other thing,” Yang said. “I’m sorry.”

Mittermeyer took a deep breath. “Will you tell him--” He cut himself off and shook his head.

“Maybe give it time,” Yang suggested, though he didn’t know if that was a good suggestion or not.

“Yeah.” Mittermeyer tried to smile, catching Evangeline’s eye. “Yeah.”

“Don’t let this ruin your day,” Yang said. “It’s not like anything has changed.” This was bad advice, and he knew it as soon as he had said it, but Mittermeyer seemed to like it.

“You’re right,” he said firmly. “Thanks, Leigh.”

Magdalena was demonstrating to Evangeline how she could stand en pointe even without ballet shoes on, holding Evangeline’s hands for support. Yang shook his head at the display.

“Eva wanted to talk to you, by the way,” Mittermeyer said.

“Oh, what about?”

“I don’t know.” He smiled a little. “I won’t be jealous if you dance with her.”

“People all around should be more wary of inflicting my dancing on others,” Yang said. Without thinking, he added, “You won’t ever have to dance with me, so you don’t know how bad it can get.”

Mittermeyer clapped his shoulder and laughed, a real amused sound. “Maybe so.”

“I’ll have a talk with her when she’s not busy,” Yang said. “I wouldn’t want to monopolize her time, or yours, at your own wedding.”

“You’re not monopolizing me, Leigh,” Mittermeyer said. “I’m glad you came.”

“Did you think that I wouldn’t?”

Mittermeyer laughed again, but it wasn’t precisely a happy sound. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Yang said. He touched Mittermeyer’s arm lightly. “I meant what I said, you know.”

“What?”

“I do wish you the greatest happiness.”

“Thank you.”

Mittermeyer looked at him with a bit of a melancholy expression, so Yang said, “I understand that you do not feel the need to wish me the same.” He smiled, trying to convey that he really didn’t mind any of Mittermeyer’s hesitation.

“When you get married, then I’ll wish you that.” He looked across at Evangeline and Magdalena, who were both laughing at something.

Yang shook his head. “Then where will we be?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know.”

Yang couldn’t bear this conversation anymore, he thought, so he smiled once again at Mittermeyer, then made as graceful of an exit as he could towards the restrooms. The hallway behind the reception area was quiet, the music a distant throb, and his footsteps were quiet on the carpeted floor. He heard familiar voices from down the hallway: Mittermeyer’s parents. Against his better judgement, Yang stopped to listen.

“...Seems like it’s going well,” his mother was saying.

“These things take time.” That was Mittermeyer’s father.

“Are you worried?”

“Less than you are.”

“Why did he have to come?” There was a twist in his mother’s voice on the word ‘he,’ which left little room for Yang to wonder who exactly they were referring to.

“I’m surprised he stuck around for so long,” his father said. “He hasn’t been mentioned in a while.”

“Not since he visited.”

“I liked the other one better, if I had to pick,” his father said, a joking tone in his voice.

“Let’s be glad we don’t have to,” his mother said. “You aren’t worried about him, though?”

“No-- he seemed sincere to me. And if he was going to cause a problem, he would have already.”

“True.”

Yang had the horrible realization that Mittermeyer’s parents were talking about him . He wanted to leave, but he waited another second.

“Eva seems happy,” his father said.

“He’ll be good for her.”

“I hope so. I hope it’s not...” His father’s voice faded out a little.

“You are as worried as I am.”

Yang decided that he had heard enough, and he turned and walked quietly away, not wanting Mittermeyer’s parents to know that he had overheard them. He supposed he could understand exactly what they were feeling, in a way, even if he was coming at it from the opposite direction. He shook his head. The fear that Mittermeyer was making a mistake hung heavily over too many people at this wedding.

After a few minutes, Yang made his way back into the reception. Magdalena was entertaining herself talking to whoever would listen to her. It was clear that she had missed the court life, from how much she was enjoying being social here, even at this wedding where she was the only person with a title to her name.

Evangeline came over to Yang while he was sitting by himself at his table, fiddling with his glass of wine. It wasn’t that late, but he was exhausted, and was wondering when he could leave. Still, he smiled at Evangeline as she sat down next to him. “Congratulations, Frau Mittermeyer.”

“You know, I think you’re the first one to call me that.”

“I’m shocked,” Yang said. “I’d think that it would be the first joke that everyone would make.”

“It’s a joke?”

“Maybe not. I should ask your permission to call you ‘Evangeline’ again, since you’re married now. What if your husband didn’t approve?”

She laughed a little. “I should tell him you’re trying to steal me away from him already.”

“Unfortunately, I don't think he would believe you, so it wouldn’t be that funny of a joke.”

“Well, I give you permission to call me Eva,” she said. “And I’m sure Wolf won’t mind.”

“I’m glad to hear it. How are you feeling?”

“Perfect,” she said. “I can’t believe you said that you give bad advice, since I think your advice has made me a happier woman than anything else in the world.”

“I should start charging by the word,” Yang said. “But I’m glad you’re happy.”

His tone must have been wrong, because Evangeline said, “Was there any question that I would be?”

“No, I’m just trying to express myself, and not doing a very good job. I’m a little tired.”

“Did you have an exciting night last night?”

“Not really,” Yang said. “If you ask Bittenfeld, he’ll complain that we didn’t go to a strip club. We really did just get very drunk. He didn’t want to leave a bad impression on you the night before your wedding, I think.”

“I know, I’m just teasing you.” She smiled, a gentle expression. “Do you mind if I ask you a question? You’ve always been very honest with me.”

“Have I?”

“I should hope so.”

Yang suspected he knew exactly what Evangeline’s question was about to be, and he didn’t exactly want to answer it, but he did like Evangeline, and he didn’t want to make the situation worse. “Go ahead and ask your question,” Yang said. “Though I can’t guarantee that I’ll know the answer.”

“That was Reuenthal?” she asked, clearly trusting that Yang knew exactly what she was referring to.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m surprised you hadn’t met him before.”

“I’ve heard his name often enough,” she said, “though I suspect that there was a reason that I’ve met you and not him.”

“Mittermeyer, er, Wolf was probably just worried that Reuenthal would antagonize you. He doesn’t get along with about half the people in the world.”

“Do you know what all of that was about?”

“I can guess.”

“I know it’s Wolf’s private business,” she said with a little sigh. “And we’ve had conversations in which you won’t tell me his personal business often enough that I’m not going to bother asking you what it is.”

“Thank you,” Yang said, relieved.

“But I need to know if I should be worried,” she said after a long second.

“No,” Yang said. “Wolf and Reuenthal had an argument. I think that was his way of saying… he’s not going to make problems for you.”

“Should I ask Wolf about it?”

Yang rubbed the back of his head. “I don’t know. Not right now.”

“And will he tell me the truth, if I do?”

“Yes,” Yang said. “I think so.” He tilted his head back. “It’s to his credit and his detriment that he’s an honest man. He wouldn’t lie to you. And you can trust him.”

Evangeline nodded. “Thank you, Herr von Leigh.”

“If I’m calling you Eva, even though you’re married, you must still call me Hank.”

She smiled. “And address you less formally than even my husband does? What a scandal that is.”

“Someone accused me once of being, and I quote, ‘a stiff backed cadet afraid to call people by their first name.’ I think she might have had a point.”

“What is it with boys and doing that?” Evangeline asked. “I’ve never once felt the inclination to refer to my friends by their family names.”

“By necessity, I think that women have less of an attachment to their family names than men do,” Yang said. “And there are other reasons, as well, I’m sure.”

“Silly ones.”

“Perhaps.”

“Thank you for being honest with me, then, Hank,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

“I’m glad I could help, though I never really feel like I do.”

“You and Wolf both end up thinking very little of yourselves,” she said.

“Maybe you’ll be able to cure him of that.”

“I hope so,” she said with a smile. “And I hope someone cures you of it, as well.”

Yang smiled. “I am merely optimistic enough to hope that you enjoy your honeymoon.”

“I’m sure that we will. It feels unfair that we are going on vacation while you are beginning the school year.”

“I’ve been told that I cannot spend my whole life being lazy, no matter how much I wish that I could.” This made Evangeline laugh.

“Wolf and I are probably going to head out soon,” she said. “If I don’t see Maggie again before we go, please do tell her that I am very grateful for her coming.”

“I will.”