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“What are you thinking about?” Marcus asks, his voice calm.

“Us,” I admit. “How we got here.”

“Long road,” he says.

“Worth it, though.”

“Yeah.” He shifts so he can look at me. “Thank you for not giving up on me, for waiting, for choosing this even when it was hard.”

“You don’t have to thank me for loving you,” I say, cupping his jaw. “That’s not something you earn. It’s just... what I do.”

When we get home, Marcus heads straight for the shower, and I start unpacking our backpacks. He emerges from the bathroom in sweatpants and a T-shirt, his hair still damp, and he wraps his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder.

“Good day?” he asks.

“The best,” I say, turning in his arms to face him.

“I think we could make it even better, don’t you think?” he nips at my earlobe and my dick immediately starts to thicken.

“Not fair, sweetheart. Let me at least go shower.”

He chuckles against my ear. “Hurry up, then.” He lets go and swats my ass as I practically sprint toward the bathroom.

This is what we fought for. This is what we waited for. This ordinary, beautiful life where we get to wake up together, make breakfast, hike, fuck, and fall asleep tangled up in each other.

It’s perfect.

Epilogue

Marcus

Two and a halfish years later, November

Our apartment is chaotic as fuck.

Tommy and Claire are locked in an intense Mario Kart battle, trash-talking each other with the kind of sibling rivalry that makes me grin. Evan’s mom and Melissa are in the kitchen, elbow-deep in pie dough, reminiscing about how fast the kids have grown now that Claire’s eleven and Tommy’s nine. Dan and Evan’s dad are on the couch arguing good-naturedly about whether Seattle has any chance this season, beers in hand, completely at ease.

And Evan and I are sitting cross-legged on the floor with a massive LEGO set spread out in front of us that the kids abandoned.

Behind the couch, the living room wall is covered in records. Dozens of them, in mismatched frames and plastic stands, some mine, some Evan’s, some Paul mails us from Chicago with little notes tucked inside. Right in the middle is the one with the mountains and the hopeful sky.

I feel something I’ve never quite felt before: belonging.

It’s the last day of their Thanksgiving visit. Tomorrow morning, we’ll drive them to the airport, and as much as I love them, four days of cramming eight people into our two-bedroom apartment has been a lot.

“Uncle Marcus!” Claire calls, abandoning her controller as soon as the race ends. “Come see what I can do!”

Uncle Marcus.

The first time she’d called me that, I froze. Just stood there staring at her, sure I’d misheard because she said it so casually, like of course that’s who I am to her.

Some days, it makes missing out on my sister’s two kids hard. She sends me occasional photos of them, but that’s really the extent of my relationship with my family. Mom never reached out to mend what broke, and I made peace with that. I have a family now who love me exactly as I am without backhanded comments or wanting to change me.

I follow Claire to the wall where she kicks up into a handstand, her legs wobbling. I kneel beside her, one hand hovering near her back in case she falls. Her face is scrunched in concentration, arms shaking slightly, but she holds it for a solid five seconds before landing back on her feet.

“That was amazing!” I cheer. The pride in my voice surprises me. “Next time we visit, I bet you’ll be able to hold it for ten seconds.”

“Really?” Claire beams up at me.