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Tim came in the next day. He walked to Dante's bedside and said only one thing.

"Thank you for saving her."

Dante looked at him for a long moment, and finally understood. This man didn't carry jealousy. He didn't look for things to mock. He could love her, warmly and openly, without condition.

Compared to the aloof, distant version of himself he'd lived as for years, Tim's existence was a quiet, devastating rebuttal.

They talked for a long time. When Tim came out, the hard, locked thing in Dante's face had softened a little. Something like peace had settled into his eyes.

I asked Tim what they'd talked about. He smiled, mysterious.

"Guys' conversation."

I laughed and didn't push it.