New Blood 

He was hopeful to find the love of their life, until he found it with a hurtful new reality he wasn’t sure how it was going to let him live.

The sand was warm beneath Roger’s back, the sun pressing gently against his skin as if the world had finally decided to be kind. Waves broke in a steady rhythm, gulls wheeled in the distance, and a salt-sweet breeze cooled his face. For half an hour he belonged to silence, to the simple hush of summer.

Then a shadow crossed his body. A stranger dropped a towel beside him, close enough to share the tide’s spray.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” the man said, his voice cutting through the hush.

Roger hesitated, then answered softly, “The sun is perfect.”

With the silence broken, Roger rolled onto his side and let his eyes wander toward the water, where swimmers bobbed in the distance. For a moment, he lifted his sunglasses to feel the raw brightness of the day, but the sun stabbed at his eyes.

“Ugh,” Roger muttered, dropping the glasses back in place.

The stranger chuckled.

Roger squinted at him. “You think that’s funny?”

“A little,” the man admitted, still smiling. “Sorry. I’m Charles.”

That simple introduction stretched into hours of talk, the kind that makes time dissolve until the sky burns orange. When the sun finally slid into the horizon, they packed up their towels and walked side by side toward the main street, where a bus was already filling with passengers.

“Let’s run, we can catch it!” Charles said, breaking into a sprint.

Roger followed, breathless with laughter, but by the time they reached the curb the doors had shut. The line vanished, the driver pulled away, and the bus roared off without them.

“Well, thanks for exhausting me,” Roger said, catching his breath as a new line began to form at the bus stop.

Behind Charles, a shirtless man pulled on a T-shirt. Roger’s glance lingered a second too long, and Charles noticed. It was enough to confirm what he’d been suspecting all evening.

Charles swallowed, then asked, almost too casually:
“Hey… want to come to my place? If you’ve got the time, I mean.”

For a moment he met Roger’s eyes, but the intensity was too much; he looked away, pretending to scan the road for the next bus.

Roger, caught off guard but intrigued, studied Charles now that he wasn’t looking back. The green shorts, the white tank clinging to a gym-shaped body, the small blue stone hanging at his chest, the same shade as his eyes.

Before the bus rolled to a stop, Roger smiled.
“Yeah. Sounds fun.”

They boarded the bus as night settled over the city. Darkness tried to swallow the streets, but the city resisted, hundreds of lights blinked on, flooding billboards, glass towers, and narrow alleys with a restless glow.

A click of a switch revealed a quiet apartment overlooking that electric sprawl. The room filled with the hum of traffic below, the breeze sneaking in from the balcony, and, now and then, the distant wail of sirens.

Then Charles slid the balcony door shut, and the noise fell away.

“Sorry about all the noise,” Charles said, stepping closer. “Want to watch something… or eat anything?”

“I’m okay,” Roger replied, his voice low, still near him.

Silence stretched between them. The room, the city outside, even the hum of the apartment seemed to pause. Someone had to move first. Roger did.

Their lips met.

Time slipped by unnoticed, and by the time the sunrise spilled across the city, it had touched the bedroom where Roger and Charles lay. Roger stirred first, sliding out of bed and dressing. Charles woke to find him already ready.

“I have to go,” Roger said. “Some errands to run.”

“No breakfast?” Charles asked, still half in bed.

Roger shook his head, a small smile lingering. “I know where the door is. Thanks for having me. Maybe we’ll see each other again.”

“I hope so,” Charles replied, matching the smile.

Roger stepped out, but something stopped him. He turned, knocked lightly, and seconds later Charles opened the door.

“Did you forget something?” Charles asked, amused.

“Can I get your number?” Roger said, handing over his phone.

As Charles typed, Roger watched, a subtle spark of anticipation in his eyes, already imagining the right moment to text, to see him again.

Finally, they said goodbye once more. Roger walked down the hall, a quiet smile lingering as the door closed behind him.

Roger arrived home and started making breakfast, the sun spilling across the kitchen counter. He texted Charles: I’m home, it was nice meeting you.

Before he could put the phone down, it buzzed. A notification slid across the screen: Bloodwork results ready.

Moments later, an email from his doctor: Roger, your results are ready. Please check them as soon as possible…

He opened the lab report. Scrolling, zooming, his eyes straining, he held the phone closer, hoping, as if sheer proximity could change the words on the screen. But they didn’t. He read it correctly. He was HIV-positive.

The eggs in the pan began to burn, smoke curling upward. The smell filled the kitchen, but Roger didn’t look away. He turned off the heat, lifted the pan from the stove, and kept staring at the results, as if willing them to disappear.

Before he could eat anything, Roger got dressed and left home, the kitchen a mess, the eggs cold, everything in disarray, just like his head.

Nothing felt the same. He didn’t know it fully yet, but it was true: his body had changed. A silent disease lived inside him. All he could do was control it.

Later, at the doctor’s office, the words became real. Explanations about treatment, medication, monitoring, all blurred together. What hit Roger hardest wasn’t just the fear of dying, but the thought that he now carried something dangerous, something that could hurt someone else. Charles, for example.

Roger’s mind split in two. On one side, panic: who had passed this onto him? He tried to trace it back, but how do you judge someone for something they might not have even known? On the other side, fear for Charles. Did he just ruin his life too?

“How can I know if I shared it with someone else? What if I used protection?” Roger asked.

“It would be best if you let your partner know so they can act soon. Make them talk to their doctor, or refer them to me. That’s the best you can do, Roger,” the doctor said.

But how was Roger going to do that? Telling Charles felt like the most humiliating thing he would ever have to confess. What if Charles punched him, exposed him, or just walked away? And yet, after just one day together, Roger felt something. Maybe Charles could forgive him. Maybe.

These thoughts followed Roger back home. The kitchen was still a mess, the burnt smell lingering. He didn’t bother cleaning. He just poured a glass of water and swallowed one of the pills the doctor had given him.

That night the city was quiet. The neighborhood was quiet. Everything was. As if the whole world was holding its breath, letting his thoughts scream inside his head, keeping him awake.

Morning again. Sunlight spilled into the room as Roger woke up to a message from Charles:
Sorry for not seeing your text, wanna have dinner tonight?

Roger stared at the screen, then slid the phone face-down on the bed. He didn’t know what to say. Should he tell him tonight? Or should he let himself have just one more evening untouched by fear, one more night of pretending nothing had changed?

That became his plan: to feel love one last time, before the truth caught up with him. Roger replied: Sure, I'd want to see you too.

Roger tried to unfeel the blood in his veins, to pretend he was the same as yesterday. To keep his mind busy, he cleaned the kitchen, showered, and dressed for the date. He told himself: one last night with Charles, then I’ll tell him. Maybe over text. Maybe over a call.

A message from Charles lit up the phone: I’m almost there, see you soon.

The restaurant was Italian, Charles’s favorite, he’d said, after living in Italy for years. He was already waiting when Roger arrived. At eight sharp, their eyes met across the room.

“How are you? I wasn’t expecting you to be free tonight, but I’m glad you were,” Charles said.

And instantly, Roger knew his plan was falling apart. His brain spun with what-ifs. He wasn’t prepared for this dinner, not really, but he forced a smile anyway.

“I’m happy you reached out to me,” Roger added. “I thought I was never going to see you again.”

They chatted, laughed, and shared their food. For most of the night Roger managed to escape his thoughts and simply enjoy Charles’s company, and that had been the goal.

But once the plates were cleared and the check arrived, reality crept back in. Charles slid his card onto the tray before Roger could even reach for his wallet.

“It’s on me,” he said. “I was the one who wanted to see you, anyway.”

Roger’s stomach twisted. Charles was being too kind, too warm, and that kindness made the weight inside him heavier.

“Come with me for a walk,” Charles added, his voice lighter. “I know a place where we can rest and enjoy the view.”

Just a block into their walk, Charles reached out and slipped his hand into Roger’s. No words, no asking, just the warmth of his palm.

When Roger looked at him, Charles only smiled.

What’s happening? Does he actually like me? These questions echoed in Roger’s head. This night was moving somewhere he hadn’t expected, somewhere he wasn’t ready for. Things were slipping out of his control.

The city gave its best appearance as Roger and Charles reached a nearby beach. Boats dotted the horizon, the water calm, the breeze gentle. It was a moment too perfect to be true, too romantic, too real, too painful.

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” Charles said. “I thought about the other day at the beach and wanted us to come back. No sun to hurt your eyes this time. Just the stars.”

Roger looked up, then back at Charles. Words burned at the back of his throat, but fear kept them there.

“What?” Charles asked softly.

Roger hesitated again. But he couldn’t hide it any longer.

“Charles… I have to tell you something,” Roger said.

Charles leaned in, curious. “What is it?”

“I just found out something. Something that puts you at risk. And me too. It was right after I met you.”

“I don’t get it,” Charles interrupted.

Roger’s chest tightened. He forced the words out before he lost the courage.

“I’m HIV positive.”

Silence. The waves filled the space between them. Then Charles finally spoke.

“Thanks for telling me.” He paused, steadying himself. “I think it’s still too soon to know for sure, but… we used protection. It’s better to hope for the best.”

Roger’s eyes softened. His breath finally escaped.

Then, after a beat: “But maybe what comes next is you walking away from me.”

Charles blinked. “You want that? You don’t even want to know if I’ll stay?”

“No, no,” Roger said quickly. “I just… I wouldn’t blame you. This is something that drives people away.”

The conversation lingered, winding between fear and reassurance. By the end, they made a fragile promise: to check their statuses, and to keep in touch.

That night, Charles lay awake, the weight of Roger’s confession pressing on his chest.

Weeks later, Charles’s message finally arrived: Negative. Just one word, but it lifted the weight off Roger’s chest. They agreed to meet in person, it had been Roger’s idea, but when the day came, Charles’s text buzzed in again: Sorry, can’t make it.

Roger sat staring at the screen. He had been excited, not only to know Charles was okay but also for the chance to see him again, to maybe pick up where the night had left them. Instead, he was left with an ache, reminded that opening up his blood, his truth, was no longer new, but it still cut just as deep.

Roger locked his phone, slipped on his jacket, and left the apartment. He wandered until he reached a small restaurant overlooking the beach.

“Table for one?” the hostess asked. He nodded.

Outside, the sounds mingled, the clatter of cutlery, quiet chatter, and, beneath it all, the waves and the gulls. At the next table, another diner sat alone, eating in silence. They didn’t look lonely. They just looked… okay.

Roger’s food arrived. He ate slowly, watching the horizon as the wind brushed across the patio. Maybe that was enough for now, not love, not certainty, just a reminder that life went on.

When the bill was paid, he stood, took one last look at the ocean, and walked home.