One of the beyonds of our universe belonged to a forest of red, where lovers whose time ran out went to die. The forest itself was impossibly immense and vibrant, the fruit blossoms of each tree like a flame dancing in the wind. Time in this realm passed strangely, engulfing the valley of trees in soft, misty light.

A day in August 1982, Harlan arrived. Then, within hours, Jacob. When Harlan had gone, Jacob was inconsolable, like his heart was being wrenched out by phantom hands. He could not leave his love's side. The coldness of his once warm hands, the stillness of his once smiling lips; well, it was the end of everything. Like Achilles, he could not be prised from Harlan's dead embrace. The hatred in him churned like a boiling kettle, spring-coiled to burn out. Damn the Reagans, damn the world, damn whatever God could separate him from Harlan. How could his heart still beat when Harlan had no such liberty? How dare he breathe when Harlan was breathless?

But it was okay. He knew he was next.

When he swallowed his twentieth pill, he felt nothing but elation that he would too be dead.

And so they were there, reunited in the red forest. Where they were and how they had been granted their togetherness, it didn't matter. They were together. They were barely in each other's grasp once more when their atoms started to rejoin the stars, their threads of life unraveling to dissipate. With a final breath into each other's lips, the Heavens opened for lovers of 1982.