Auberge had been vegan for four years, seven months, and eleven days.
He knew because he celebrated the anniversary every year with a small, ethically sourced cake and a twelve-minute speech about the moral importance of reducing animal suffering.
He had converted Gaius and Ruslan to the lifestyle within six months of their relationship beginning, although Gaius had already been vegan for approximately three weeks and Ruslan had been vegetarian for a period that he preferred not to discuss.
Auberge took particular pride in his consistency.
He bought cruelty-free cosmetics. He checked the sourcing of his supplements. He refused to purchase leather goods, wool garments, or products containing beeswax. He had once spent forty-five minutes interrogating a shop assistant about whether the adhesive used in a pair of shoes was animal-derived.
He did not eat honey.
He did not eat gelatin.
He did not eat cheese.
He did not eat eggs.
And he certainly did not eat pork.
Which was why, at 10:14 on a Tuesday morning, Auberge's life effectively ended.
The discovery began with a routine question.
“Ruslan, darling,” he called from the bathroom, “do you know whether pancreatic enzymes are vegan?”
Ruslan was making coffee.
He paused.
“Why?”
“Because I've been thinking about my medication.”
Gaius looked up from his laptop.
“That's always dangerous.”
Auberge emerged holding his prescription bottle.
“I was reviewing the ingredients.”
Ruslan set down the coffee.
“Okay.”
“And I wondered whether the enzymes were plant-derived.”
Gaius nodded slowly.
“A reasonable question.”
Auberge turned the bottle around.
“Because if they're not, that could have implications.”
Ruslan looked at the label.
“Let's find out what the manufacturer says.”
Auberge smiled.
“Thank you, darling. This is why I love you.”
Ruslan opened his laptop.
He typed the medication name into a search engine.
He clicked on the manufacturer's information page.
He read the first paragraph.
Then the second.
Then he stopped.
“Oh.”
Auberge looked at him.
“What?”
Ruslan did not answer.
“Ruslan?”
He scrolled back to the top.
“Gaius.”
Gaius closed his laptop.
“What is it?”
Ruslan turned the screen toward him.
Gaius read the text.
His expression changed.
“Oh.”
Auberge looked between them.
“WHY ARE BOTH OF YOU SAYING OH?”
Gaius cleared his throat.
“Auberge, darling, I think you should sit down.”
Auberge went pale.
“No.”
“Please.”
“Tell me.”
Gaius looked at Ruslan.
Ruslan looked at the screen.
Then Gaius said the words that would forever divide Auberge's life into a before and an after.
“Your prescribed pancreatic enzymes are derived from porcine sources.”
Silence.
Auberge blinked.
“Porcine.”
“Yes.”
“As in—”
“Yes.”
“PIG?”
Ruslan winced.
Auberge slowly lowered himself onto the sofa.
He stared at the prescription bottle.
He stared at his hands.
He stared at the ceiling.
Then he whispered:
“I have been eating pigs.”
Gaius moved toward him.
“Not in the conventional sense.”
“I HAVE BEEN EATING PIGS.”
“It's medication, Auberge.”
“IT IS ANIMAL-DERIVED MEDICATION.”
“Yes.”
“FOR FOUR YEARS?”
Gaius hesitated.
“Apparently.”
Auberge made a noise that Ruslan had previously heard only from a kettle that was about to boil.
Then he fainted.
At 10:23 a.m., Auberge regained consciousness.
Gaius was kneeling beside him with a glass of water.
Ruslan had placed the prescription bottle on the kitchen counter, as though it were a potentially dangerous object.
Auberge opened his eyes.
“Am I dead?”
“No,” Gaius said.
“Have I been reincarnated?”
“No.”
“Am I still vegan?”
Gaius hesitated.
That was the wrong answer.
Auberge sat upright.
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU HAVE TO THINK ABOUT IT?”
Ruslan crouched beside him.
“Listen. You were taking prescribed medication for a medical reason. You weren't knowingly eating animal products.”
Auberge stared at him.
“But I have spent YEARS criticizing people who consume animal products.”
“Yes.”
“I have given presentations.”
“Yes.”
“I have distributed literature.”
“Yes.”
“I once told a man at a dinner party that his leather wallet represented a failure of moral imagination.”
Gaius winced.
“You did.”
“And all this time, I was taking pig enzymes?”
Ruslan nodded reluctantly.
Auberge covered his face.
“I need a resolution circle.”
Gaius reached for his notebook.
“I'll organize one.”
“No.”
Gaius stopped.
Auberge lowered his hands.
“I need a conference.”
Ruslan stared at him.
“A conference?”
“With experts.”
“Which experts?”
“Ethicists. Pharmacologists. Vegan advocates. Perhaps a representative from the pharmaceutical industry.”
Gaius was already typing.
“I'll draft the invitations.”
“NO AI.”
Gaius froze.
Auberge pointed at him.
“Human-written invitations. Individually addressed. No algorithmic mediation of my ethical crisis.”
Ruslan lay down on the floor.
He had decided that this was where he lived now.
By noon, the conference had been scheduled for Saturday.
Its official title was:
THE PORCINE BETRAYAL: A SYMPOSIUM ON ANIMAL-DERIVED MEDICATIONS, INFORMED CONSENT, AND THE COLLAPSE OF A VEGAN IDENTITY.
Gaius had booked a community room.
Auberge had prepared opening remarks.
Ruslan had been assigned catering.
He was under strict instructions not to purchase anything containing animal products, although Auberge had now become suspicious of virtually every manufactured item in existence.
“What about the chairs?” Auberge asked.
“What about them?” Ruslan replied.
“Are they upholstered in leather?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I'm looking at them.”
“Could the adhesive contain animal-derived ingredients?”
Ruslan stared at him.
“Do you want to sit on the floor?”
Auberge considered this.
“Is the floor ethically sourced?”
Ruslan walked out.
The conference began at 9:00 a.m. on Saturday.
Twenty-three people attended, including three vegan advocates, a pharmacist, a medical ethicist, two friends from the Castro, and a woman who had accidentally registered after mistaking the event for a symposium about sustainable agriculture.
Gaius opened proceedings.
“Thank you all for coming. Today, we are examining a profoundly complex question: what happens when an individual's ethical commitments collide with medically necessary treatment?”
Auberge sat beside him wearing a black linen shirt.
He had dressed for mourning.
Behind them was a banner reading:
MY BODY. MY VALUES. WHO KNEW THERE WERE PIGS?
The pharmacist cleared her throat.
“I think it's important to begin by saying that pancreatic enzyme replacement therapy can be medically necessary, and many commonly prescribed products are derived from porcine sources.”
Auberge nodded gravely.
“And are patients always aware of this?”
“Not necessarily. It depends on the product, the prescribing process, and the information provided.”
Gaius leaned forward.
“Would you agree that transparent disclosure is important?”
“Certainly.”
Auberge raised his hand.
“Would you agree that a patient who has spent four years avoiding animal products might reasonably experience distress upon discovering that a prescribed medication is animal-derived?”
“Yes,” the pharmacist said gently. “That's understandable.”
Auberge dabbed his eyes.
“Thank you.”
The medical ethicist spoke next.
“It's also important to distinguish between an individual's voluntary dietary choices and their access to necessary medical treatment. Taking prescribed medication doesn't mean someone has failed morally.”
Auberge looked devastated.
“So you're saying I shouldn't feel guilty?”
“I'm saying that you shouldn't blame yourself for taking a medication you needed.”
Auberge began to cry.
Gaius passed him a tissue.
Ruslan, seated in the back row, whispered to a friend:
“We have been here for twelve minutes, and nobody has even mentioned the refreshments.”
During the afternoon session, the discussion turned to alternatives.
Auberge had prepared a list of questions.
“Are there plant-derived alternatives?”
The pharmacist explained that alternatives depend on the specific condition and product, and that not every supplement marketed as a digestive enzyme is equivalent to prescription pancreatic enzyme replacement therapy.
“Could I simply stop taking the medication while we investigate?”
“No,” the pharmacist replied firmly. “You should not stop prescribed enzyme replacement therapy without discussing it with your prescriber.”
Auberge nodded.
“I understand.”
Gaius looked relieved.
Then Auberge raised another question.
“Could we develop a vegan alternative?”
The pharmacist paused.
“Develop?”
“Yes. An ethically sourced, plant-based pancreatic enzyme product.”
“That's a substantial pharmaceutical research project.”
Gaius was already taking notes.
“Perhaps a startup.”
Ruslan stood up.
“No.”
Everyone turned toward him.
“No what?” Auberge asked.
“No startup. No pitch deck. No vegan pancreatic enzyme venture. No investor presentations. No subscription model. We are not turning your prescription into a company.”
Auberge looked wounded.
“But think of the impact.”
“I'm thinking of the impact on our bank account.”
Gaius lowered his pen.
“The intellectual property implications would be considerable.”
Ruslan pointed at him.
“YOU ARE NOT HELPING.”
The woman who had mistaken the conference for a sustainable agriculture symposium quietly retrieved her coat.
By Sunday morning, Auberge had reached a new conclusion.
He was not a failed vegan.
He was a vegan whose medical care had introduced him to a complicated ethical reality.
He announced this at breakfast.
“I have been thinking.”
Ruslan put down his fork.
“Please don't.”
“I will continue taking my medication as prescribed while discussing any questions or alternatives with my medical team.”
Gaius nodded approvingly.
“That's sensible.”
“I will also advocate for greater transparency regarding animal-derived ingredients in prescription products.”
“Also sensible.”
“And I will no longer judge other people without understanding their circumstances.”
Ruslan smiled.
“Excellent.”
Auberge paused.
“Although I reserve the right to question the ethical credentials of their shoes.”
Ruslan closed his eyes.
“We were so close.”
That afternoon, Auberge drafted a statement for his social media accounts.
It began:
Today, I learned that ethical living is not always a matter of perfect consistency. Sometimes, it is a matter of navigating complicated circumstances with compassion, humility, and informed decision-making.
Gaius read it.
“Beautiful.”
Ruslan read it.
“Reasonable.”
Auberge continued typing.
I also learned that certain prescription medications may contain animal-derived ingredients, a fact that I believe deserves greater public awareness.
“Good,” Gaius said.
Auberge added a final paragraph.
I will be reviewing all my medications, supplements, skincare products, household cleaning products, and intimate wellness accessories for potential animal-derived ingredients.
Ruslan stared at the screen.
“Don't.”
Auberge hit publish.
Within an hour, the post had received 147 comments.
One person asked whether he had checked his toothpaste.
Another asked whether his vitamin D supplement contained lanolin.
A third asked whether his favorite wine had been clarified using animal-derived products.
Auberge read every comment.
By midnight, he had compiled a spreadsheet.
By 1:00 a.m., he had created a new committee.
By 2:30 a.m., he had begun researching whether the glue used in his favorite meditation cushions was vegan.
Gaius found him at the kitchen table.
“Darling, you need to sleep.”
Auberge looked up.
“I can't.”
“Why not?”
“What if my mattress contains animal-derived materials?”
Gaius stared at him.
Then he slowly turned toward Ruslan, who had appeared in the doorway holding a glass of water.
Ruslan looked at the spreadsheet.
He looked at Auberge.
He looked at Gaius.
Then he said the only sensible thing anyone had said all weekend.
“I'm moving out.”
Auberge burst into tears.
Gaius opened his notebook.
And somewhere in Twin Peaks, a perfectly ordinary Tuesday morning began to look like a distant and unattainable luxury.