“I’ll hate it,” Blake admitted honestly. “I’ll miss you every single day. But I’ll be okay. As long as I know you’re happy, and as long as I have you to come home to.”
Andre wrapped his arms around Blake’s waist, holding him tight. “You will always have me to come home to. Always.”
They stood there for a long time, holding each other in the shadow of the stadium where their lives had changed forever, the noise of the city a distant, comforting chord.
Later that night, in the quiet of their hotel room, the adrenaline of Blake’s victory and the emotional weight of Andre’s decision settled over them.
Andre was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands. He looked small, suddenly, stripped of the armor of the professional athlete. The reality of what he had decided — the end of a career he had been building since he was a child — was finally hitting him.
Blake walked out of the bathroom, wearing only a pair of sweatpants, and saw the tension in Andre’s shoulders.
He crossed the room, sitting beside Andre on the bed. He didn’t say anything. He just reached out, wrapping his arm around Andre’s shoulders, and pulled him close.
Andre leaned into him, resting his head against Blake’s chest. He let out a long, shaky breath, his fingers curling into the fabric of Blake’s sweatpants.
“It is terrifying,” Andre whispered.
“I know,” Blake said, pressing a kiss to the top of Andre’s head.
“What if I am not good enough? What if the exhibition was a fluke, and the critics realize I am just a former athlete playing with paint?”
“You’re brilliant,” Blake said firmly. “You’re the most talented person I know. And you’re brave enough to choose the life you actually want, instead of the one everyone expects you to have.”
Andre turned his face into Blake’s chest, his breath catching slightly. Blake held him tighter, his palm pressing warm and steady against Andre’s back, offering silent comfort.
They lay back on the bed, tangling their legs together. Blake pulled the duvet over them, keeping Andre tucked securely against his side. He traced the line of Andre’s jaw, gently over his cheekbone.
There was no urgency, no demand for sex. Just the quiet, profound intimacy of two people who knew each other completely, who had weathered the storms of the past four years and emerged stronger.
Andre’s breathing eventually slowed, his body relaxing into the mattress, the exhaustion of the day pulling him under.
Blake stayed awake a little longer, watching the rise and fall of Andre’s chest, listening to the quiet buzz of the city outside their window. He thought about the future — about the empty hotel rooms he would face on the tour, about the quiet flat in London, about the paintings that would fill their walls.
It would be different. It would be hard.
But as he pressed one last kiss to Andre’s sleeping face, Blake knew they would be fine.
They had survived worse. They had each other.
Chapter ten
Autumn
October in London was a season of sharp transitions. The air turned crisp, the leaves in Hyde Park burned with sudden, brilliant color, and the gray skies settled in for the winter.
Blake returned from the Asian swing in mid-October, having reached the finals in Shanghai and solidified his position at number three in the world. He was tired, but it was a good kind of tired — the satisfying exhaustion of a job well done.
Andre had not played a tournament since the US Open. He was preparing for the Paris Masters in November, his final event, but his days were spent entirely in the studio on The Cut. The Paris commission was demanding, requiring a level of focus and technical precision that left him drained by the time he walked back to South Kensington each evening.
But despite the exhaustion, their life had settled into a comfortable, domestic rhythm.
The foursome — Blake, Andre, Liam, and Talia — had become inseparable. They had dinner together at least twice a week, alternating betweenthe flat in South Kensington and Liam and Talia’s smaller, more chaotic apartment in Waterloo.
On a rainy Sunday afternoon, they were all gathered in Blake and Andre’s flat.
Blake and Liam were sitting on the sofa, watching a Premier League match on the television. Liam was explaining the intricacies of the offside rule with the passionate, slightly unhinged intensity of a lifelong Arsenal supporter, while Blake listened with amused tolerance.
In the kitchen, Andre and Talia were baking.
