“I have,” Maurice said, already adjusting the focus. “Hold still.”
Finn tried, but he couldn’t help smiling when Maurice lifted the camera. Something about the way Maurice looked at him through the lens—steady, intent, almost soft—made it impossible not to.
Maurice snapped a few shots, then walked over and nudged Finn’s shoulder with his own. “Okay. Now one together.”
He held the camera out, arm extended, and Finn stepped in close, their shoulders pressed tight. Maurice’s cheek brushed Finn’s temple as he angled the shot. Finn could smell his cologne—clean, warm, a little woodsy—and it made his stomach flip.
Maurice clicked the shutter. “Got it.”
They took a few more with Maurice’s phone too. He loved the one with Finn leaning into him, one with Maurice laughing because Finn said something stupid on purpose, one where their hands were still linked and neither of them bothered to hide it.
“I’ll send them to you when I can transfer them, but will send the ones from the phone.”
Finn watched him scroll through the shots, selecting the best ones. A second later, Finn’s phone buzzed in his pocket.
Maurice glanced up. “Check your messages.”
Finn opened them and saw the photos—bright, warm, the rainbow train behind them, the two of them pressed close like they belonged there. His chest tightened in the best way.
“These are really good,” Finn said.
Maurice shrugged, but his eyes softened. “You made them good.”
Finn looked up at him, sunlight catching in Maurice’s hair, the train humming behind them, their hands drifting together again without either of them thinking about it.
And for a moment, Finn didn’t care where the train was going or how long they had. He just cared that Maurice was standing right there with him.
They boarded the train, stepping into the cool, familiar hallway. The car was quiet with most passengers still outside. Finn felt the shift immediately with the soft hum of the train, the narrow corridor, the sense of being in their own little world again. Maurice didn’t let go of his hand.
“About visiting,” Maurice said as they walked toward their rooms. “There’s a lot we could do. I could take you riding on the trails behind the house. We could camp by the lake. There’s a spot where the stars look close enough to touch.”
Finn’s heart did that fluttery thing again. “That sounds amazing.”
“We could cook together,” Maurice added. “Or I could cook for you. I make a decent breakfast.”
Finn laughed. “I’d like that.”
“And we can go to some of the gay clubs in the city,” Maurice continued. “Good coffee shops, a bookstore you’d like, a bakery that makes the best cinnamon rolls. I want to show you everything.”
Finn slowed a little, their hands still linked. “I want to go. I really do.”
Maurice turned toward him, brows lifting. “But?”
Finn swallowed. “Our jobs. Schedules. Life. I don’t know how easy it’ll be to make it happen. I don’t want to promise something and then… not be able to follow through.”
Maurice’s expression softened. “I get that.”
Finn looked down at their hands. “If only we lived closer.”
Maurice stepped closer, close enough that Finn could feel the heat of him. “We don’t have to figure everything out today,” he said gently. “But wanting something is a good start.”
Finn looked up, meeting his eyes. “I do want it.”
Maurice smiled—slow, certain, the kind of smile that made Finn’s chest feel too full. “Good. Because I do too.”
They stood there in the quiet hallway, the train humming softly beneath them, the morning sun slanting through the windows. Finn didn’t know what the next week would bring, or what would happen after San Francisco, or how complicated real life might get.
But right then, with Maurice’s hand warm in his, he let himself believe it could work. Maybe wanting it was enough for now.
