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“And the illustrations?”
Oliver nodded. “Most of them. Sketches, anyway.”
“Are you telling me,” Jack said slowly. “That last night you went home and wrote an entire book? And illustrated it?”
“I don’t know what happened,” Oliver said. “It was like I got hit by a lightning bolt and I could see the whole book in my head. I was up until, like, five in the morning getting it down.”
“You do know that’s insane, right? That’s totally wild.”
Oliver laughed. “Yeah. I know. It’s never happened like that before.” He stepped closer to Jack. “I couldn’t have done it without you. So… thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Jack looked a little stunned, like he wasn’t sure what to say or do, and Oliver could totally sympathise. They fell into a silence that wasn’t at all awkward, just there. Then Jack jumped.
“Shit!”
“What?” Oliver demanded.
“I just got dripped on.”
The icy rain from the past couple of days had decided to freeze, and now tiny white dots danced down from the inky black sky.
“It’s snowing,” Oliver said.
Jack sighed heavily, like that was a terrible thing, and looked up at the decorations they’d strung up the night before.
Oliver smiled and followed Jack’s gaze.
Decorations. Garlands. Pine and eucalyptus and ivy and…
“Mistletoe,” Oliver said softly.
Jack’s expression turned hopeful, almost desperate, and it was the easiest thing in the world to lean in and kiss his cold, snow-damp lips.
Jack made a little sound, and for a split-second Oliver worried he’d done the wrong thing, then there was long fingers in his hair and a warm, strong body pressed against his, and all Oliver could think was
Yes.
This was exactly right.
Under the mistletoe and the snow, with his feet unsteady on slippery cobblestones, Oliver leaned into the kiss. He could feel Jack smile, then his tongue licked at Oliver’s lips, and he let himself relax and just go with it.
For the first time in a very long time, Oliver was exactly where he was supposed to be.
