Ever since the move, the blue sun kissed skies of the west coast had been replaced with the equally grey skies of London, England.

Perpetually grey and always raining, London was the furthest away from paradise that Owen could imagine. He missed the salted seas, the grit of sand between his toes- he even missed those annoying squawking seagulls that stole his food right out of his hands as he lounged on the shore .

Owen had lived his whole life under summer skies. He had even worked up the ranks to be one of the best known surf instructors and competitors amongst his little seaside commmunity.

But Owen, perhaps even more than the beach itself, loved his husband.

His husband, the placid ocean on a windless day, steady and calm. His husband who he had sacrificed every remaining day of sunny skies for indefinitely to move halfway across the world for.

“Owen, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m going to have to reschedule those dinner plans. Harris wants the proposal done by 12pm tonight”, Eric announces, as he plugs his laptop into the wall behind the couch. He is purposely avoiding Owens gaze, focussing on a menial task to distract from the giant bomb he’s just dropped.

Owens eyes, already sweltering with angry tears, wander to the window. The blinds are peeled back, revealing a purple bruised sky and whipping winds.

It’s going to storm tonight, he thinks.

“We’ve had this reservation for months now, Ric, if we drop it there’s no guarantee we’ll even get back in”, Owen counters. He places his mug down hard on the granite table top. The dark liquid sloshes over the edge, small droplets splattering on new island. Eric, probably thinking about the hundreds of times he warned Owen of the importance of coasters, zeros his gaze on the mess.

“Owen, it’s just sushi. There’s tons of other great places we can go to inste-“

But whatever sad explanation Eric was going to give to patch over his wrongdoings is halted, the ringing phone in his pocket offering an easy escape. Eric shoots Owen one last sheepish glance and digs in his pocket to retrieve the device.

As he turns around, voice already raised in that professional manner he likes to adapt, Owen shakes his head.

Owens throat squeezes, the force of holding back his emotions causing him physical discomfort as it always seems to do. The feeling was foreign to him once before, once when the worst problem he had to deal with was getting burnt by the too-hot sun.

He’s forgotten our anniversary, Owen thinks, just as the first ring of thunder tremors outside. A fork of dazzling silver light showers across the windowpanes, casting the living room in blanched blue- grey light.

The lights on the ceiling, as well as the whirring coffee pot suddenly give out. The house is now bathed in dark silence.

In the other room Owen hears Eric swear, the sudden loss of power an inconvenience to what was suppose to be a productive evening of work.

Rain pounds on the cobblestone driveway, the heavy droplets like gunshots in the eerie quietness.

But all Owen can think is that he’s forgotten, he’s forgotten our anniversary.