“Forever,” I replied.
I pulled him close, cradling his body against mine, and for the first time in my life, I knew exactly where I belonged.
Right here, in the dark, with him.
I don’t know how long we lay there, locked together, sweat cooling on our skin. The moon had shifted, painting the walls with new shapes, the old wood of the loft casting jagged stripes across the bed.
Levi’s breath was still uneven, little gasps escaping every time I moved even a fraction, my cock still buried deep inside him. I held him there, refusing to let the world sneak back in.
He reached for my hand, searching blind, and when he found it, he threaded our fingers together. The tattoo on his wrist pressed up against the backs of my knuckles, a burn mark where we’d fused ourselves together.
“Don’t ever leave me,” he said, barely a whisper.
“Never,” I promised, and meant it.
I pulled out slow, careful not to hurt him, then tugged him back into my lap, cradling him with my whole body. He melted, head falling against my chest, his arms looping around my neck. His skin was hot, slick with the mess of what we’d done, and I didn’t give a shit about the sheets or the sweat or anything else. All that mattered was the weight of him, the solid proof he was still mine.
The apartment was silent except for the sound of our breathing and the tick of the old clock over the stove. Even the noise from the shop below had gone quiet for the night; it was just us and the moon, and the ghost of a future neither of us was scared of anymore.
I kissed the top of his head, smoothing the hair back. He closed his eyes, a little smile on his lips, and let me hold him. He fit perfectly in my arms, every line and angle locking into place with mine. I curled around him, one hand splayed across his chest, the other tangled in his hair.
He shivered, a little aftershock, and pulled the blanket over us. His fingers traced lazy circles on my forearm, never quite stopping at the tattoo.
“I used to dream about this,” he said. “Not just the sex. All of it. The bed, the dark, the feeling that nothing could touch me if you were holding on.”
I tightened my grip, the old violence in my heart replaced by something softer. “You’re safe,” I said, voice thick. “You’re always safe here.”
He smiled, drifting, and I felt the tension drain from him, the last ghosts of his old life bleeding away.
We didn’t talk much after that. Words weren’t needed. I just held him, keeping him anchored, the two of us tangled together while the moon kept watch.
Eventually, he fell asleep, his breathing slow and even. I lay awake a while longer, memorizing the feel of him, the sound of his heart, the way he twitched sometimes in his dreams but always settled when I pressed a kiss to his temple.
For the first time in years, I wasn’t waiting for the world to go bad. For the first time, I let myself believe that maybe this could last. That maybe, just maybe, we’d already won.
I let sleep take me, Levi curled up in my arms, the dark outside locked out by the strength of what we’d built together. And I knew, deep down, that nobody would ever take him from me again.
Chapter Thirteen
~ Levi ~
There are mornings when you can smell the future coming, all ozone and static, even before you open your eyes. This was one of those mornings. I woke up to the sound of the shower in the next room, hot water hissing against old pipes, and the scent of Ma’s biscuits leaking through the window from the main house.
The left side of the bed was already empty—Quiad had a habit of getting up early and then standing naked in the bathroom mirror for twenty minutes, as if he didn’t fully believe in his own body yet.
I lay there in the blue dawn, staring at the ceiling, running my thumb along the edge of my brand-new wedding band. It was silver and slim and smooth, and I kept checking it every few minutes like it might have vanished in the night.
A knock on the door. Not a normal knock—this was the kind that rattled hinges, followed by Bodean’s voice: “You guys decent in there or am I gonna need to bleach my retinas again?”
“Go away, Bo,” I yelled, but I was grinning already.
He didn’t leave. “We gotta roll in thirty. Ma says if you’re not dressed, she’s coming up here herself and she’s got the camera ready.” The threat hung there for a second. Then a muffled, “Congratulations, by the way.”
I heard the shower cut off, the thunk of the curtain rings, then Quiad’s low voice: “He gone yet?”
“Not even a little,” I said, pulling the sheets up to my neck for effect.
Quiad walked out, still wet, towel riding low on his hips and droplets streaking the hair on his chest. He looked at me, looked at the clock, and then at the ring on my finger.
