"Why would you bring that up?" Charles Seymour, wearing a cardigan and slacks, sat blowing the foam on his cappuccino and trying to avoid eye contact with his younger sister. "I was hoping to sit the tenth one out."

"Are you kidding me?" Raven said. "Look at you! Why would you even think of not going? You have tenure, Charles. At twenty-eight. And you got the Genius Prize Thingie."

"The MacArthur probably won't mean anything to Jeff Reynolds and Karin Sluskey," Charles said, sipping the foam gingerly.

"You've got --" Raven said, pointing at her upper lip.

"Oh," Charles said, wiping the foam off. "See, I can't possibly go."

"You're going."

"They say the tenth reunion is the one where it gets too real."

"That's the whole point," Raven said. "Everyone you hated will be fat, have crappy jobs, and have weird or nonexistent sex lives."

"So I'll fit right in," Charles said. "I haven't been to the gym in weeks. It's a vicious cycle, Raven -- you stop going, and then you're too ashamed to go, and then it all spirals out of control. It's survival of the fittest, and once you're not fit, you can't survive."

"It's because of the groundbreaking genius research you've been doing," Raven said.

"I can't very well yell at them about the research over the sound of the cheap DJ as we wait in line for the punch," Charles said.

"Charles, you are the only member of the class of 2001 who has his shit together. You will walk in there and Jeffrey Reynolds and Karin Sluskey's jaws will drop, and they will go home and have to rethink their lives.

"Charles was unable to suppress a small smile at the prospect. "You think so?"

"One hundred percent," Raven said.

Then Charles frowned. "I can't go without a date."

"Well," Raven said.

"It'll be junior prom all over again." Raven winced sympathetically. "And at this stage, an inability to attract a mate to pass on your genetic material to the next generation suggests some sort of flaw in your works."

"No. Out of the question."

"Charles, you're going."

"I just said I --"

"I RSVPed for you."

"I don't have to show up. I don't have a date. I can't just walk out into the street and whistle and have dates come running from all corners like you can, Ms. Runway Model."

"Occupational hazard," Raven said.

"I just -- the whole point of going back would be to show them what a grotesque mistake it was to shove me against the locker and make me eat my diorama of mitosis right before AP Biology in ninth grade."

"In their defense, half of the diorama was edible," Raven said.

"It was somewhat tasty," Charles reflected. He sipped the cappuccino. "But that's not the point. The point is to inspire regret in them. And that would require the whole package."

He stared at Raven, whose mouth had dropped open.

"What if I found you a date?" Raven asked suddenly. "You said the whole package, and that made me think of -- wait, wait, Charles, if I found you the hottest date imaginable, you'd go, right?"

"Well, sure, but I don't want to pretend I'm --" Charles swallowed. "Who is she?"

"He."

Charles brightened perceptibly. "Ah."

Raven was grinning. She pulled out her iPhone. "I'm going to text him right now."

Charles tried to grab the phone. "Raven, this is stupid," he said. "It's not --"

"Ah ah ah." Raven finished the message and hit send. "Let the girl work her magic."

"If he's that hot I'm sure he's wildly busy."

Then Raven's phone emitted the unmistakable ding of several texts being received in quick succession. Raven began typing back frenetically.

"What are you telling him?" Charles asked.

"I'm telling him that my adorable genius total catch of an older brother needs some arm candy for his high school reunion, and if he doesn't say yes, I will come to find him and do unforgivable things to his bone structure."

"I don't think you need to resort to threats of violence," Charles began feebly.

"You're right," Raven said. "I just sent that and he's already said he's in. Congratulations, Chuckie --"

Charles glowered.

"You've got a fake boyfriend. Named Eugene Lehnsherr. Who just happens to be the newest face of Calvin Klein."

Charles spat out the remainder of his cappuccino.

"Don't do that at the reunion," Raven said. "Other than that, you are SO out of their league."

When Eugene Lehnsherr's phone began to vibrate he was knee-deep in the swimming pool of a private estate wearing a formal grey suit, in a compromising position with a seal.

He had no idea what advertising genius had thought this was the best idea for a print campaign for Calvin Klein. He thought the seal looked under the weather. Nor did it seem particularly photogenic. It had spent the better part of the afternoon emitting stricken woofles and swimming away out of the shot. But then again he was not a seal expert. Perhaps this was how seals always acted during photoshoots. Two beleaguered assistants in wetsuits were now attempting to wrangle the seal, and he climbed out of the pool into a fluffy white towel that someone was holding out and found his phone.

When he saw Raven's string of texts he began smiling in spite of himself.

"You're losing the fierce," the photographer yelled from across the pool.

"I'm taking five," Eugene yelled back. "I'll get it back once you get Willy" -- that was the seal's name --"in working order." He grinned stupidly into the phone. Perhaps this day was not going to be so bad after all.

Charles Seymour needed a date? He remembered Charles instantly. Charles was not the sort of man you forgot -- at any rate, not the sort of man you forgot if you were Eugene. It was not that Eugene had a type exactly -- he'd dated around, but if you were five-and-a-half feet of exuberance and slow smiles and piercing blue eyes and enough intellect to populate a small city, you had a distinct advantage where he was concerned. He'd always had a thing for boys with brains. And it did not hurt that this brain happened to come in what Eugene considered an adorable package.

He remembered the afternoon when Charles had accompanied Raven to one of their photoshoots for the Ralph Lauren fall line, the one where the photographer had been on Utrecht time -- that had been his excuse, at any rate, even though Eugene was fairly certain he was from Brooklyn -- and had shown up approximately three hours late. Even then Eugene had suspected he might be under the influence of some substance. He had spent the whole photoshoot scratching himself and murmuring about bats on the lens.

While they'd waited Raven had gone out to buy them sandwiches and he and Charles had wound up playing chess. Eugene forgot who had won. He had been laughing too much. Charles had at first seemed almost startled when he'd made a literary reference and Eugene had picked up on it, but then the conversation had instantly taken off. When Raven came back they were laughing about the life cycles of banana slugs. Then the photographer had arrived up rather suddenly and he had failed to ask for Charles' number.

He still had those pictures.

Charles had left before the shoot ended, muttering something about lab results. He had never thought anyone in tweed could look so entrancing walking away.

The next time he'd heard about Charles was the New York Times article announcing his MacArthur Fellowship. And then he'd been too intimidated to try to get in touch, although "intimidated" was seldom a word that described Eugene Lehnsherr, who had several underwear spreads to his credit and had once had a crossword puzzle published in the New York Times, admittedly on Tuesday. Still he'd cursed inwardly when photos of the dark-haired young man peered out of the Science Times or once -- horror! -- the society pages, on the arm of a blonde chorus boy from Wicked whom he thought looked entirely vapid and several steps to the left on the evolutionary scale from Charles.

And now Charles needed a fake boyfriend. Eugene grinned. He glanced companionably over at the seal and splashed it. The seal barked. The wranglers glowered at him. He was grinning again.

God bless Raven. He owed her one.

Charles Seymour was going to be cool about this.

He had certainly not gone to a newsstand and bought copies of all the magazines featuring Calvin Klein ads. He had certainly not begun thinking of ways he might possibly drop them around the lobby at the hotel where the reunion was being held. He did not have six of them in his bag as he walked to the train station with Raven.

Certainly not.

They had arranged to meet at Penn Station for the four-hour train ride. Eugene was early. Raven and Charles showed up exactly four minutes before the train was due to arrive, Charles lugging two enormous suitcases and attempting to balance a latte on top of them.

"Oh look, Charles," Raven said, pointing at a tall impeccably dressed man under the list of departures, "Your boyfriend's already here, waiting for us."

"This is how those people who order Russian brides must feel." Charles said, feeling unaccountably nervous, "I don't know how I let you snooker me into this."

"Hey! Eugene! Over here!" Raven yelled.

Eugene turned.

Oh God, Charles thought. He looks just as good in clothes. I can feel dozens of IQ points sprouting wings and migrating south. I'm just going to stand there and gape at him like a modified ape. Why didn't I prepare some intelligent remarks beforehand?

"Don't clam up," Raven said. "You're clamming up."

"Am not," Charles said petulantly.

Eugene approached them, grinning. "You remember Eugene," Raven said.

"Of course," Charles said, extending a hand almost reflexively. Eugene took it. His grasp was firm and he had a level blue gaze that Charles had not accounted for at all. The photo spreads of Eugene lounging in black and white in mussed sheets in his underwear had not captured it at all. And now you're thinking about him in his underwear. Splendid, Charles. Off to a great start.

"It's wonderful of you to agree to this. I hope I won't bore you too terribly."

"I doubt that's possible," Eugene said.

"You're going to floor them," Raven said. "I wish I could come. You two are going to have so much fun together. You have to take a picture of Jeffrey when he sees you." She hugged Charles.

"Don't look so petrified," she whispered. "You are living the fantasy of ninety percent of the population right now."

"I'm not sure that's a real statistic," Charles muttered.

"Let me get a picture of you," Raven said, whipping out her camera. Charles and Eugene stood next to each other.

"Put your arm around him."

Charles felt the warm weight of a muscular arm settle around his shoulders. Erik smelled good -- leather and aftershave, and --

"Oh hey!" Raven said. "You're wearing matching scarves. Did you coordinate that? That's cute."

"No," Charles and Eugene said, simultaneously.

"Oh well," Raven said, putting away the camera. "It's still cute."

Their train was announced and Raven began walking back towards the subway.

"Bye, boyfriends!" she yelled. The last word melted into giggles.

Charles stood there a moment watching her go, feeling as though the last ship back to Earth had just departed.

"I love your sister," Eugene said.

"Raven's got a lot of chutzpah," Charles said. "This whole thing is her idea."

"I gathered," Eugene said.

"You're wonderful to say yes," Charles said.

"My pleasure," Eugene said. "Let me," and Charles found that he was only carrying the latte and that Eugene had somehow managed to take charge of both suitcases with no apparent effort. For the fifth time that day, he regretted not going back to the gym.

"Thank you," Charles said. "Let me at least get one --"

"What sort of boyfriend do you think I am?" Eugene countered, with a grin that Charles thought in some species would be considered predatory and in others might be taken as an invitation to mate. God, he was easy to look at.

For God's sake, stop staring, Charles. Say something intelligent.

"So you made it here," he said. Not that. "I brought a lot of reading material for the train ride," he heard himself saying."That's actually this whole suitcase. I just hate to be stranded without books."

"How long is the ride?" Eugene asked, following Charles up the platform.

"Four hours."

Eugene nodded.

Was he actually wearing a pocket square? Good God. These four hours would be a challenge.

They boarded the train and sat down facing each other near a window.

"So how did we meet?" Eugene asked.

"What?" Charles said. "You remember, don't you? That photo shoot when the photographer was late and we played chess and--"

"Of course I remember that," Eugene said, quickly. "But I'm your boyfriend now, remember? What's our story? Are we still in the honeymoon phase? Have several years passed and you've become bored with my dwindling charms? Are we one of those obnoxious couples with matching everything who finish each other's sentences?"

Charles laughed. "Well, the scarves would suggest that we're still in something of the honeymoon phase," he said. This train ride was going to be easier than he'd thought. "Before I forget, speaking of honeymoons, we're sharing a hotel suite, but it has two beds, so there won't be any awkwardness on that score. And I'm buying all your meals. Don't try to argue. You aren't one of those models who doesn't eat, are you? Because there's a lot of good food where we're going."

"That sounds exceptional," Eugene said.

"Do you need a code name?" Charles asked, suddenly.

Eugene stared blankly at him. "Code name?"

"I mean if you don't want to reveal your real identity. I could refer to you as Judas, Hammer of the Maccabees, or something."

"That's what my ex used to call me," Eugene said. Charles goggled at him. "Not really."

"Do you want me to call you that?"

"Only in the bedroom," Eugene said. Then he laughed, quickly. "Kidding. Obviously. Er. No code name required, Professor."

"Charles, please," Charles said.

"Charles."

"All right," Charles said. "So -- honeymoon? I don't know. Are we?"

"Maybe the question is what your high school friends would find most obnoxious," Eugene said.

"I wouldn't call them friends," Charles said.

"Precisely," Eugene said. "What sort of relationship would be the best revenge?"

"It's not revenge," Charles said, wishing that he had remembered how exactly perfect the angles of Eugene's face were before agreeing to this. "That would be wrong."

"Of course it is," Eugene said. "All life after high school is a form of revenge."

"Maybe a little," Charles said.

"I vote honeymoon," Eugene said. "There's nothing like a couple who seem head-over-heels to make your day grimmer when you aren't."

"I hate those people when I see them on the subway," Charles said. "I read a somewhat sensational study once that said couples of similar attractiveness levels have the best chance of reproductive success, so sometimes I try to discourage them from an evolutionary standpoint."

Eugene laughed. "'Get out of the gene pool!'"

"All right. So how did we meet?"

"Do I get to pick this one?"

"It depends what you come up with."

"You rescued me from drowning."

Charles laughed. "I think we can find something with more verisimilitude."

"Chess convention."

"You didn't have to jump all the way from 60 to 0 like that."

"I think it would be funny if we met doing something horrendously nerdy," Eugene said, grinning that disarming grin. "Just to unsettle their presuppositions."

"Lord of the Rings convention."

"Speed dating at a Lord of the Rings convention."

They were both laughing.

"Were we in costume?"

"You were dressed as Aragorn and I was there as Frodo."

"Wouldn't be the first time that hook-up happened," Eugene muttered.

Charles began laughing. The train drew into a station and ground to a halt and new passengers began to get on.

Charles froze.

"What?" Eugene asked.

"Carl Garcia," Charles said.

"He's probably going to the reunion too. Oh God he's going to see us and -- I'm sitting over here and the whole concept is--"

"Here," Eugene said, matter-of-factly, reaching down and untying his shoes. And then Eugene's feet were in his lap.

"I'm sorry?" Charles asked.

"I'm your boyfriend, Charles," Eugene said, and he was grinning again. "You're giving me a foot rub."

"We haven't even established that I'm the sort of boyfriend who gives foot rubs," Charles said.

Good God, he has big feet. Which would make sense given what was implied in those underwear ads. Goddamnit, Charles. Stop thinking about that.

His stomach began an elaborate series of somersaults.

"Charles?" Carl said, turning and coming over. "Charles Seymour?"

"Oh, hey," Charles said. Without thinking too much about what he was doing he had begun massaging Eugene's sock-clad feet. "Carl. I assume we're headed in the same direction?"

"Tenth reunion, man!" Carl said. "The big 1-0!" Carl did not seem entirely sober. "1-0, baby! What is that in binary, Chucko?"

"Carl, have you met my boyfriend Eugene?" Charles asked.

"Boyfriend, huh?" Carl asked. "What happened, you break up with the cardboard cutout of Carl Sagan you used to take to date events?" He held out his hand for a high-five.

Eugene pointedly ignored him, shooting Charles an incredulous look. Charles felt a surge of gratitude.

I couldn't have done this by myself. All the articles and professorships in the world don't match having someone to make eye contact with at a time like this. Especially someone whose eyes are such an entrancing blue. He squeezed Eugene's feet appreciatively.

Eugene was managing to look more intimidating than he thought reasonable for a man not wearing shoes.

Carl gave them an appraising once-over. He seemed unwillingly impressed. "Local boy makes good," he said. "No wonder you're coming to the reunion. Pleased to meet you, Eugene."

"Likewise," Eugene said, with a nod.

"I just saw June Weather in the other car. She's fat now! Who'd have thought, right?" Carl grinned. "But she still knows how to smuggle vodka onto train cars, if you know what I mean."

"What do you mean?" Eugene asked, faking a puzzled expression. Carl seemed bewildered.

"She's got vodka on the other train car," Carl said. "I mean June smuggled vodka onto the train car. Nice meeting your man, Chucko. See you on the other side." Carl teetered off down the car.

"You went to high school with him for four years?" Eugene asked. "I barely met him for eight seconds and I wanted to punch him in the mouth."

"Three actually," Charles said, the corner of his mouth twisting up. "I graduated early."

"Smart move," Eugene said.