I blink against the sudden sting behind my eyes, feeling bare yet strangely safe under his attention.
Hayden pulls one hand from his pocket and brushes his fingertips lightly against my cheek. He pauses, confusion flickering across his face. “What?”
“Come home with me,” I whisper.
His eyes are laced with understanding. “Of course.”
And this time, it’s my hand that reaches out first. I thread my fingers through his, holding tight as we walk home beneath the comforting glow of streetlights and stars.
20
Hayden
Levi’s loft suitshim perfectly.
Nothing matches, yet everything somehow fits together. A puzzle ready to be solved. Overstuffed bookshelves line the walls, stacked with everything from poetry collections to gardening manuals, spines bent and pages dog-eared. Mugs with forgotten tea litter tables, a tangle of scarves is on the coatrack at the door, and a record player is humming gently in the corner, spinning something low and jazzy. The couch is sunken in all the right places, and there’s a patchwork quilt draped across the back that looks homemade. Plants from the shop downstairs spill everywhere. Some blooming, some barely holding on…a living metaphor for the vibrance of Levi himself.
And Levi? He moves through his apartment as if he’s exhaling. His shoulders drop, his voice softens, and the performative sparkle he wears for everyone else flickers down to something quieter.
Something real.
He disappears into the kitchen as I catalog the odds and ends he’s displayed on his coffee table: a stack of photography books, amarble bowl overflowing with worn matchbooks, a cluster of well-loved candles that smell dark and rich. He reappears with wine and sinks beside me, thigh to thigh, as if that was the only option.
“I see you’ve built yourself a greenhouse and then grudgingly allowed some furniture in,” I tease.
He grins. “Take notes.”
The wine runs warm, the record low and velvet. The room itself seems to nudge us toward exactly what we came here to find.
He finishes his glass first. “Come on. I want to show you something.”
Before I can ask, he’s already on his feet, brushing past me with that impatient energy, and I follow.
The greenhouse hums when we step inside. Stars hang low through the glass roof, and the air is damp, sweet, and very much alive.
“This is where I go when I can’t sleep,” Levi says, skimming his fingers across a pot of what I believe are African violets. “They’re not all in bloom yet, but…they’re trying.”
He talks about them like they’re friends.
Levi kneels beside a flat of seedlings, fingers hovering over fragile leaves. “This one’s a bit of a brat,” he murmurs, touching a bud with his pinky. “Refuses to thrive unless I talk to her. I’ve begged and bargained but I suppose she wants devotion, not care.”
“You do seem to like a challenge,” I murmur, realizing I’m talking as much about myself as the stubborn plants.
He tilts his head. “Only when they’re worth it,” he says, his voice low and testing.
I kneel behind him, setting my wineglass down on the brick floor, and wrap my arms around his waist. I feel him still, then melt. His spine presses into my chest.
And just like that, I’m gone again.
My shadows stir, restless and curious, flitting to the rim of the flowerbed beside us. “I never know what they’ll do,” I whisper, my lips against his back. “They like you.”
Levi shifts in my arms, glancing up at me from over his shoulder, his eyes darker now.
“I like them, too,” he says, voice rough around the edges.
I kiss his shoulder. Then his neck. His hands find my thighs, anchoring me behind him. The humid air clings to our skin, thick and heady with anticipation. The stars above are witnesses. But here? He’s my whole fucking universe. I guide him to the old gardening table like he’s an offering, even though I’m the one aching to kneel. It’s a makeshift altar now, worn smooth by years of soil and care. Levi braces himself, breath shuddering as shadows caress every vulnerable inch, knowing exactly where he craves to be touched.
And then I kiss him like eternity’s been edging me. Like I’ve spent lifetimes imagining this exact moment. The way his mouth opens under mine, the soft whimper he gives when I bite his lower lip, the way his body begs without any words.
