Brooklyn has never thought of himself as a particularly sentimental man. He'd like to say that his fixation on Harlow has been a feature of picking apart the fear and disconcerting entanglement in him, of feeling it and, at times, hiking it up a little bit if that seems like the fun thing to do. When Harlow left for the summer, last he knew, he'd felt strangely adrift to lose access to the young man.

What happened? Well, he knows, but how long? Where? The Grey found another quarry.

Brooklyn cups Harlow's face and smudges his thumbs against his cheekbones like he'd be able to rub the marks of Arcadia out of him -- but they were there long before this final tumble he's made into their Keeper's realm, now indelibly pressed into the very fabric of his existence. He doesn't displace him from his throat but, now aware of the sharp rasp of teeth, he tilts his head back like an invitation.