In last week’s installment of Fellow Travelers, Hawk closed the episode by telling his rebellious adolescent son Jackson, “We’re all going to be fine.” It was a hollow sentiment, the type that we tell the people we love when we know in our hearts that the greatest tests are still to come. Indeed, he was right; the characters of Fellow Travelers might have ended the 1960s on solid ground, but a decade later, everything has been blown to smithereens—and this time, I don’t mean that as a gay sex pun.

In Episode 7, the penultimate chapter, we find Hawk in 1978, strung-out and practically moribund. He’s grieving the death of Jackson, who overdosed on heroin six months prior after a long battle with substance abuse. Hawk is no stranger to unhealthy coping, having spent decades burying his tender side with booze and fucking, lest he risk anyone perceiving his warmth as homosexuality. But after the death of his son, there’s no place for Hawk to hide from himself.

That doesn’t stop him from trying, of course. He absconds to the gay mecca that is Fire Island, looking for solace in hedonistic sex away from the judgmental, prying eyes of his wife Lucy (Allison Williams) and daughter Kimberly (Brittany Raymond). On the verge of total collapse—and with the gay community in a state of collective rage over the recent assassination of Harvey Milk—Hawk once again reaches out to Tim.

Ben Mark Holzberg/Showtime

The old lovers reunite in the Fire Island Pines for a dose of debauchery that ends in a pair of powerhouse performances from Matt Bomer and Jonathan Bailey, bringing the series’ sometimes scattered motifs into focus. It’s the best episode yet, the most concise portrait of the distinction between codependent attachment and true love in a time when gay men didn’t have enough evidence to know the difference.

It’s nice that Fellow Travelers made time to dive into the response to Milk’s assassination, not just because it’s an important part of queer history, but because the 2008 biopic Milk is now basically unwatchable given that it stars both Sean Penn and James Franco. Tim is still working in San Francisco, where Milk held public office until his death, alongside longtime partners and old friends Frankie (Noah J. Ricketts) and Marcus (Jelani Alladin). Marcus, a professor at a public college, is struggling to find the line between educating his students on Milk and bringing his sexuality into the classroom.

Episode 7 finally expands on Marcus and Frankie’s motivations, something I’ve been aggravated about the series skimming over since just before its halfway point—but that I haven’t had the chance to get into because these recaps can only be so long. It’s about time that Alladin and Ricketts get a chance to prove their skill; this series is mostly about Tim and Hawk, sure, but seeing the Black characters be shuffled to the background or given the most hackneyed, predictable dialogue as it goes on has been a disappointing development in what is otherwise a solid show.

But more on Marcus in just a moment. First, we meet Tim off the Fire Island ferry, arriving at Hawk’s house just as Hawk’s poppers are peaking. Chemical enhancement be damned, Hawk still can’t get hard for his new boyfriend Craig (Morgan Lever). Hawk is on a bender, and his housemates, who are only looking for a good time, don’t help much with sobering him up. Tim has entered into a den of iniquity as an outsider, unfamiliar with the habits of the locals: fat lines of coke, naked dancing, and uninhibited sex. The only way to get through to Hawk is to assimilate, and that’s exactly what Tim does.

Ben Mark Holzberg/Showtime

The two men reconnect for a bit on the beach, catching up with a warm conversation against the sound of the waves. After that, they stroll through the Meat Rack, the foliage-covered path on the island where sex is essentially encouraged. There are some gorgeous shots here that harken to biblical imagery of Adam and Eve, clutching each other in the gardens of paradise. This is sexual freedom and true liberation, a gay utopia that’s especially beautiful when compared to the warring state of San Francisco that Tim fled from to be by his lover’s side.

At dinner, Tim tries to connect with Hawk, who is doing his best to avoid talking about his family and especially Jackson’s death. Hawk tells Tim that he wants to put the deed of his Fire Island house in Tim’s name, which Tim correctly deduces is an attempt to hide Hawk’s sexuality from his family even after he’s dead. Given the number of substances Hawk is consuming daily, that time might come sooner than later, and Tim remembers that there is always an ulterior motive to Hawk’s pleas to reconnect.

When Tim tries to leave, he finds Craig admiring a photo of Jackson hidden in Hawk’s bedside table. Craig confesses that Hawk had never told him about Jackson, or any part of his family life. Tim decides to stay just a little bit longer, letting Hawk hold his hand through a night of wanton pleasure. While they’re dancing at a club, a distorted, heart-wrenching version of Donna Summer’s “MacArthur Park” begins to play; the crowd stops in their tracks as they learn that Dan White, Harvey Milk’s killer, has just received a fluffy verdict that buried the intent of his crimes.

The news drives Marcus and Frankie out into the streets to rally in San Francisco, and sends Hawk, Tim, and Craig back home on the opposite side of the country. The tensions between the latter three come to a head, but Hawk quells them by kissing both men. I can’t believe that we’re seven episodes into this series, and I still didn’t see a threesome coming from miles away, but here we are! The sex—in typical Fellow Travelers-style—is hot, heavy, and perfectly choreographed to reflect the real ways that gay men fuck. But it’s not long before Hawk spots the photo of his son, carelessly left out on the table by Craig, and the whole affair is ruined in an instant.

Hawk tackles Craig to the bed and chokes him, promising to kill him, but Craig fights his assailant off and storms out. Hawk collapses on the mattress, no longer able to avoid the reality of his situation. “My little boy… he’s dead,” Hawk says, starting to cry. “My boy is dead, Skippy. My boy is dead.” Hearing his affectionate nickname fall from Hawk’s mouth in a state of catatonia brings Tim to his aid, softly comforting Hawk and hugging him. Hawk pleads for Tim to let him die.

Once Hawk calms down, he tells Tim about Jackson. “We tried everything to get him clean: therapy, methadone, AA for addicts,” he tells Tim. “He’d stay clean, get excited about his future, and then he’d disappear again. But he wouldn’t touch alcohol. And you know why? Because that’s what I did, and the thing he wanted most was not to be me.” Tim attempts to comfort Hawk once more, telling him that his love for his son was never a lie, and that his love counts for something.

Ben Mark Holzberg/Showtime

But the trouble lies in getting Hawk to accept Tim’s words, and in turn, his love. As he’s packing his things, one of Hawk’s housemates tells him: “There will be people that will say you just get over him if you want to be happy, and they will be right. But it will also be the stupidest thing anyone ever says to you.” It’s a wonderful line, because it blatantly acknowledges a human truth without trying to overcomplicate it. We have overcome our desire for the people we love who are nothing but toxic, but that feat is not a simple one.

That’s especially true when Tim goes downstairs to catch his ferry and finds Hawk doing coke first thing in the morning. By now, Tim has decades of resentment and anger built up inside of him, and it all comes pouring out. “If you want to die, go on: fucking die,” he tells Hawk, looking him dead in his eyes. “Your wife and your daughter have already buried a son and a brother, and they’re going to have to bury you. But you don’t care because you’re so fucking selfish. I’ve wasted all this time. I’ve lied for you. I’m done with you, I’m free.”

We viewers know that’s not true, and that the two men will soon meet again for one last encounter under very different circumstances. The episode ends with Hawk calling Kimberly to apologize, telling her that he’s coming home. We then flash forward to 1986, where Hawk is still waiting for Tim at the hospital. The doctors inform Hawk that Tim has had another seizure; he’s alive, but he’s not well. Hawk kisses Tim on the forehead and looks longingly at the man who saved his life.

There’s a supreme sadness to this ending, where Tim—a person who has brought nothing but goodness, kindness, and love into this world—lays dying in a hospital bed when he’s completely undeserving of this fate. There’s a cruelty to seeing Hawk here, sitting healthy next to a terminally ill Tim. Their reversal of fortunes represents a dark, cosmic ugliness that we have no control over.

It’s a hard pill to swallow; this entire episode is difficult to choke down. But that doesn’t make it any less true. I hope those who may see the way that Fellow Travelers is wrapping up as merely another piece of gay trauma porn take a moment to realize that this kind of melancholy is unfortunately all too real. Our lack of control over the universe is exactly why it’s better to be honest and love fully than spend any time trying to hide.