Revelry
By K.L. Noone
Stephen Hunt, being just drunk enough to catch the attractive hotel bartender’s eye and mournfully inquire, “Do you even know what day it is?” was nevertheless not so drunk that he did not immediately regret the existence of words.
All words. Every word in the world. His scholarly research words, which he was nervous about sharing with others in the morning. His ex-boyfriend’s words, which hurt like broken rainbows inside his chest. Words in general.
But most specifically his own words, just now. Opening conversation. With a stranger. An adorable American stranger. One he’d just asked—entirely randomly, no less—about a holiday that only a scholar steeped in classical history would even recall.
A gift-giving, lavish, cheerfully vibrant holiday. None of which appli
