I glance over at him. He’s watching the water, his curls moving gently in the breeze. He seems to glow under the moonlight, as if lit from the inside out.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For coming to me.”
His face crumples. “Jord, don’t. Please. I can’t. Not yet.”
I can’t either. Not now, not ever. I have no fucking clue how I’m going to see him off.
I squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back. We’ll talk about the future later then, over long phone calls and awkward video chats with our cats knocking over our phones. We’ll figure it out. I have to believe it.
But not tonight.
Tonight is for this. Walking and kissing and sneaking in every last hug before he boards the plane.
When we finally head home, the house is still and dim. Clematis meets us at the door, blinking slowly like she just woke up. She stretches out, then pads over to Miles. He braces himself for her usual dismissal, but instead she rubs against his leg.
Miles blinks at me, stunned, then crouches low to pet her, and Clematis leans right into it, meowing softly. After a moment, Miles scoops her up. She doesn’t fight it, bumping her forehead against his chin.
“Oh. My. God,” he whispers. “Finally.”
I laugh and scratch Clem, grateful she’s finally warmed up to him, even if it’s a bit too late. Or maybe right on time.
Miles cuddles her for a long while, carrying her to the bed and sitting on the end. Clematis purrs loudly, treating him like she’s done this all alone.
My eyes burn.Fuck.This room is going to be so empty when he’s not in it. Clematis won’t know what hit her when her new favorite person disappears.
I slip into the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I get out, Miles is already naked and pulling back the sheets.
I hesitate.
He shakes his head subtly, like he already knows I don’t have energy. Maybe he figured it out when I stopped playing games. The crash is inching in, fast.
“I just want to hold you,” Miles says.
And he means it. There’s no disappointment in his voice. Just that same steady warmth he’s carried all weekend.
We crawl into bed, a tangled mess of limbs and soft blankets. It may as well have been a twin-sized bed for how close we are. Through the cracked window, I can hear the ocean if I listen closely enough. His arm is around me, one hand splayed across my chest like he’s keeping track of my heartbeat.
After a long silence, he says quietly, “Your tattoo.”
I blink down at my left wrist, barely visible in the dark. “What about it?”
“I keep meaning to ask about it, since it’s the only one you have.”
“Oh. I got it a few weeks after I almost…” I pause. “After that day.”
He curls in tighter.
“My therapist. She… she taught me to look for anchors. The little things that hold me steady when my mind drifts away, or when I get lost in the darkness. To cling to them when it’s hard. I got the tattoo as a reminder to look for them. I had to train myself to see them.”
Miles runs his fingers over the ink. “Does it work?”
“Yeah. It’s the only thing that’s ever really worked.”
Miles doesn’t say anything, just presses his lips to my shoulder.
I close my eyes and sift through dozens, if not hundreds, of anchors Miles has helped me find this weekend. The list is endless. From him showing up at the bar to our first kiss. To that first time we had sex in the car. Last night on the cliffs. And again as we made love. I think about that moment at the barbecue, watching him with my friends. How perfectly he fit in… and the words that had settled in my heart.
The sweetest anchor. That’s definitely him. That’s definitely Miles. My sweetest anchor.
