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The road to love was a winding gravel path, and Mathieu had felt it scrape his skin. But it had never stopped him. He had trudged on in spite of his better judgement. And if his heart clenched every time Chris left with another man, every time he flirted his way through a conversation, Mathieu swallowed it down, enduring. Hoping.
Until one day, Mathieu no longer could.
Chris was a broken doll. His strings fell limp, but he just kept smiling, and winking, chewing day after day and swallowing down bile. Hiding the grey that filled his vision.
Silvery grey. Like his medals. Like Victor’s hair.
A story of wandering, of losing oneself. A story of finding love.