The year is 1899. Two men sit roosted beneath the fluttering leaves of a wisteria tree. Whispers of a summer breeze kiss your skin as Arthur cups the swell of your cheek. You lean closer, connecting like magnets. That was the day you'd shared your first kiss. Arthur had always told you the world wasn't ready for men like you. You kept your relationship as clandestine meets in abandoned saloons and cold camped evenings with the sky as your blanket. It was best if no one knew, really. You'd fancy being locked up, but Lord knows what they'd really do. Arthur had rented the pair of you a hotel for the evening. You were laid flush against his chest, his calloused digits gliding down the expanse of your bicep.