Eric Rigg pulled the curtain back with a soft tug, the fabric whispering along the rod as it gathered to one side. Outside, the parking lot was a blur, curtains of rain descended in relentless sheets, washing over everything in a haze that turned headlights into smeared halos and outlines of cars into watery shadows. The wind gusted hard, driving the rain sideways and turning the view into something more abstract than a painting of reality.
His stomach growled, a deep, hollow protest. He’d waited, hoping the storm would pass, but the radar showed no mercy. The rain continued like it had something to prove. Fat drops traced erratic paths down the glass, catching light from the lampposts and making the window shimmer like melting silver.
Eric sighed and glanced at the umbrella by the door. Useless. A flimsy nylon dome against a monsoon. Still, it was that or starvation. He chuckled to himself. One missed meal would not lead to starvation; still, he was hungry.
He mulled over the idea of driving, but logic quickly overruled laziness. The IHOP next door wasn’t more than a hundred yards away, barely worth the effort to move the car. Besides, the hotel was packed. He’d have to fight for a space all over again. Soaking wet now or soaking wet later, it didn’t matter.
The television chattered behind him. He turned toward it in time to catch the local meteorologist gesturing grimly at a radar map saturated in angry reds and yellows. Flash flood warnings crawled across the bottom of the screen in bold, unblinking text. The weatherman’s tone was practiced calm, but Eric could hear the worry buried in it.
With a sigh, he clicked the remote. The silence that followed was almost sacred.
He grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair and slid it on. The fabric was soft at the seams, weathered with use, the kind of jacket that carried old smells and subtle memories. Thunder rolled in the distance, a low, bone-deep sound that shook the floor like a passing train. Eric muttered under his breath, “Great. Lightning, too.”
He paused at the door, listening to the rhythm of the storm, then exhaled and stepped out into the hall. The elevator was waiting at the end of the corridor, its overhead lights casting a sterile glow on the beige walls and worn red carpet. His footsteps were a lonely echo as he approached.
The elevator doors parted with a soft ding. Eric stepped inside and pressed the button for the ground floor, watching his faint reflection in the mirrored panel. The hum of machinery and the quiet rumble of distant thunder felt oddly cinematic.
He’d stayed in this hotel before, during meetings with Xandradyne, a tech giant known more for drama than innovation lately, and the last time had been quieter, less crowded, and oddly peaceful. He’d liked it that way. Solitude suited him. Even back then, the highlight of his trip had been the evenings alone, reading in bed, listening to the distant sounds of traffic and wind.
He thought of the family cabin then, nestled in the piney woods, inherited from his grandfather. A humble place, logs, stone chimney, copper taps that squealed when turned too fast, but it felt more like home than any apartment he’d ever owned. His father had used it for hunting, but Eric used it to disappear. No meetings. No phones. Just the forest and the quiet and time.
That retreat was unreachable now. The weather had shut down highways and airports alike. The hotel lobby, once hushed, was crowded with displaced travelers, people sleeping in chairs, glued to their phones, or pacing in anxious loops. He could’ve tried for the cabin, sure, but the roads were dangerous, and no sense of peace was worth wrapping his car around a tree.
Matthew Evans eased off the accelerator, his F-150 creeping along the slick road at twenty-five miles an hour, though even that felt reckless. The windshield wipers flailed, barely keeping pace with the deluge. The headlights illuminated a tunnel of rain, silver streaks falling hard and fast.
He spotted the Marriott sign ahead, a beacon through the gloom, and exhaled. The lot was a shimmering lake of standing water, sodium lights painting it in sickly orange hues. Matt pulled in slowly, tires parting puddles like boat wakes. He slipped the gearshift into park, grabbed his coat from the passenger seat, and struggled into it one arm at a time.
The moment he opened the door, the wind hit him like a slap. Rain stabbed sideways. He hunched his shoulders, slammed the door shut behind him, and trudged toward the entrance like a man walking against gravity.
Even the covered entryway offered little protection. The storm found every seam.
Inside, it was like stepping into another world. Warmth enveloped him, thick and muggy, fogging his glasses instantly. He stood still for a moment, adjusting to the sudden stillness. People lingered near the lobby’s coffee station, their cups steaming faintly. The smell was burnt and bitter, but oddly comforting.
Matt liked storms, usually. There was a kind of peace in their ferocity, a reminder that the world was bigger than deadlines and data reports. But today felt different. There was an itch at the base of his neck he couldn’t shake.
Eric stepped into the lobby just as the elevator doors opened with a hiss. The space was dim, hushed, heavy with displaced tension. A family was gathered near the window, murmuring to one another in soft tones. The check-in counter was surrounded by tired faces, travel-weary and anxious.
His stomach groaned again. He glanced at the clock above reception, 7:30. Late enough that he could probably find a quiet booth. IHOP felt like a refuge.
He turned toward the doors, then froze.
A man stood near the entrance, his coat dripping onto the tile, hair darkened by rain and pushed flat against his forehead. Something about him rang a bell, then it clicked. That face. A few years back. Xandradyne summit. Chicago. The guy had given a sharp talk on logistics and modular shipping hubs. Tall, confident, a mind that worked three steps ahead.
Now he looked like someone washed ashore.
Eric watched him move toward the desk. The clerk, a young guy with the thousand-yard stare of someone working far too long, shook his head before the man could even finish his sentence.
“I don’t suppose, ” the man began.
“No, sir,” the clerk cut in, weary but polite. “Not even a broom closet.”
Eric’s memory filled in the blanks. Matt. His name was Matt.
Without overthinking it, Eric stepped forward. “Matt?” he said, voice raised just enough to be heard.
The man turned, eyes squinting beneath wet lashes. “Eric?” He blinked in surprise. “Eric Rigg, right? From the Xandradyne meeting?”
“That’s me,” Eric said, offering a lopsided grin. “Chicago. You gave that killer talk on decentralized logistics.”
A flicker of recognition passed over Matt’s face. “And you were the guy with all the annoying questions.”
“Guilty,” Eric said.
The clerk smirked faintly and returned to his monitor.
Matt shook his head, chuckling. “What are the odds?”
“Given our field?” Eric raised an eyebrow. “Not that wild.”
Matt gestured vaguely toward the lobby. “Meeting’s canceled. Got the email halfway here. Flooding downstate. Roads shut. Couldn’t even turn around.”
“Same boat,” Eric said. “I lucked out, checked in early. Was just about to grab dinner. There’s an IHOP next door. Have you eaten yet?”
Matt hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Honestly? Not since breakfast. I could use something warm.”
“Come on, then,” Eric said, already turning toward the doors. “No use starving on top of being soaked.”
The bell above the IHOP’s door jingled softly as they stepped in. The place was half-empty, the hush of bad weather lending it a dreamy stillness. The scent of coffee, syrup, and hot oil filled the air like comfort.
They slid into a booth by the window. A waitress, mid-forties, tired but kind-eyed, set down mugs and menus without a word.
“I feel like I just time-traveled to 1994,” Matt said, glancing around. “Where’s the lava lamp and Enya soundtrack?”
“I like it,” Eric said, shrugging out of his coat. “There’s something honest about a place that doesn’t try to impress you.”
Matt smirked. “You sound like a guy who misses rotary phones.”
“Hey,” Eric said, raising a finger, “I still use my dad’s slide rule.”
They laughed, and something loosened between them.
“So what’ve you been up to?” Eric asked.
Matt sipped his coffee. “Still consulting. Mostly freight networks. Cross-border supply chains. Last year I was in Vancouver half the time.”
“I remember your model from the talk. Those modular hubs.”
Matt nodded. “Still working on it. Too many ideas, not enough time.”
Eric smiled. “You were the only one there who looked like you actually enjoyed what you were talking about.”
Matt glanced out the window, where the rain continued to fall. “Do you ever get tired of all this?”
Eric leaned back. “Sure. But I’ve got my hobbies.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Film noir. I collect original reels, posters. I’m restoring an old 16mm projector.”
Matt blinked. “Wait, you’re serious?”
Eric nodded. “You?”
“I’ve got a Criterion laserdisc of The Big Sleep. Built a screening room in my garage.”
Eric grinned. “Now that’s commitment.”
Matt laughed. “I even have a replica of Bogart’s pistol from Dark Passage.”
Eric, surprised that they shared this interest, raised an eyebrow. “Okay, but, do you fly RC planes?”
Matt stared. “You’re joking.”
“I crashed my B-17 last spring,” Eric said. “She’s still in surgery.”
Matt nearly spat out his coffee. “I built a scale B-25 last fall. Twin engines. Took forever.”
They looked at each other for a long moment, grinning like kids who’d found the last two matching toys in the store.
“Wow,” Matt said, “I thought I was the only guy my age who did that.”
“Me too,” Eric said. “Until five minutes ago.”
By the time their plates hit the table, stacks of pancakes slick with syrup, crisp bacon curling at the edges, buttery scrambled eggs, and steaming refills of coffee, they were laughing freely. Their conversation had shifted from guarded small talk to the easy cadence of two people who spoke the same language.
They traded stories about doomed RC plane launches and forgettable repairs, half-built balsa wings and lithium batteries catching fire. One moment they were back in high school, remembering late-night obsessions with Lauren Bacall, the next they were arguing the subtleties of Mitchum versus Bogart.
Outside, the storm raged on, curtains of rain shimmering under the fluorescent glow of the IHOP sign. The parking lot had become a shallow lake, its lines lost beneath rippling water.
Matt pushed his plate away, satisfied and sleep-heavy. He stared out the window for a moment, then said dryly, “Well… guess I’d better find a dry place to sleep in my truck.”
Eric looked up. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He didn’t hesitate. “My room’s got two queens. You’re welcome to crash.”
Matt blinked, caught off guard. “You sure?” His voice softened, uncertain. His blue eyes locked on Eric’s, searching his face.
“Absolutely,” Eric said, holding the look just a moment longer than necessary. “I’ve shared worse with people I liked a lot less.”
Matt smiled, but there was hesitation behind it, something quieter, guarded. He’d hoped Eric might offer, but that hope had come laced with worry. If they were alone, if the night stretched long and the storm kept howling… would he be able to keep everything compartmentalized?
A gust of wind rattled the window beside them. Matt nodded slowly. “Alright. Thanks, man.”
Eric smiled. “Storms are better with company.” His voice was light, but there was something else under it, something he didn’t dare name. His gaze lingered again, just for a beat too long. Will we even use both beds? the thought flickered, and he quickly masked it behind a smirk. “And it gives me a chance to prove to you that Marie Windsor was criminally underrated.”
Matt raised an eyebrow, but something in his expression said he knew exactly what Eric wasn’t saying. “Uh-huh. That's what we’re calling it now?”
They stepped out into the storm, shoulders hunched against the rain. The warmth between them now had little to do with the coffee. Whatever had been tentative earlier had begun to settle into something real. Not quite defined. Not quite safe. But real.
They splashed through the flooded parking lot, dodging deeper puddles, the wind tugging at Eric’s jacket like an impatient child. Matt jogged to his truck to grab his luggage, retrieving a smaller duffel and leaving the larger one, suits and wingtip shoes, in the back seat. He slammed the door shut and hurried back to where Eric waited beneath the awning.
By the time they reached the hotel lobby, they were drenched again. Their jackets dripped water in steady beats onto the tile floor. The front desk clerk didn’t even look up.
The elevator ride was quiet, the kind of silence that didn’t feel awkward, just full. Rain pelted the windows below. The carpet underfoot was typical hotel fare, clean, dull burgundy with a pattern that tried too hard to be interesting. The hum of the elevator felt oddly soothing.
Eric slid the key card into the lock and opened the door, gesturing Matt inside. The room was exactly as expected: double queens, neutral walls, forgettable art. A small desk, TV on the dresser, hum of the fridge, a faint citrus scent from overused cleaning products.
Matt paused just inside the door, still dripping. “Mind if I dry off a bit before bed?”
“Be my guest,” Eric said, kicking his shoes off. “We’re not going anywhere tomorrow, unless we build an ark.”
Matt grinned. “Lucky us.”
Eric tossed his key card onto the dresser. “Towels are in the bathroom. Closet’s got hangers if you want to dry your stuff out.”
Matt peeled off his soaked windbreaker and hung it on the hook by the door. His shoes squelched as he pulled them off. “I swear my socks weigh five pounds.”
“I can probably scrounge up a dry pair,” Eric said, already digging in the drawer. “You’re what, ten and a half?”
Matt looked over, surprised. “Lucky guess.”
Eric smirked. “You walk like I do.”
Matt let out a low laugh and collapsed backwards onto one of the beds, arms flung wide, sighing deeply. “Okay, that’s either observant or vaguely creepy.”
Eric tossed a dry pair of socks at him, followed by a worn pair of sweatpants. “Why not both?”
Matt caught them and sat up, examining the clothes. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”
“Didn’t want your wet ass ruining the bedspread.”
Matt rolled his eyes but smiled, gathering the clothes and heading for the bathroom. “Back in five.”
The door closed but didn’t quite click shut behind him. Eric glanced over at the gap. Was that intentional? he asked himself. Eric stood in the quiet for a moment, listening to the storm batter the windows. He rubbed the back of his neck, a strange warmth still buzzing beneath his ribs. The moment was simple. Ordinary, even. But he couldn’t shake the sense that something subtle had shifted.
Not just the weather.
The television buzzed softly in the background, its low volume barely competing with the hush of rain beyond the window. A rerun of Columbo played on the screen, the colors slightly washed out, Peter Falk squinting at a suspect with that endearing, off-kilter brilliance.
Eric lounged against the headboard in a faded gray tee and gym shorts, one knee bent under the covers, exposing his mildly hairy chest. His hopes that it might arouse Matt and bring him closer physically had not yielded fruit. He sipped on a Dr. Pepper he'd pulled from the mini-fridge. On the opposite bed, Matt sat with a towel draped around his shoulders, his hair still damp and dark at the roots, eyes half-lidded as he watched the flickering screen. The sweatpants were baggy and nothing was on display.
“You know,” Matt said, voice low, “this is oddly comforting.”
Eric looked over. Matt’s muscular figure aroused him, and he shifted slightly to hide his excited state. He took a slow breath and purposely slowed his speech. “What is?”
Matt gestured vaguely with his can of the soft drink. “This. The storm. This room. Columbo reruns at half-volume.”
Eric smiled with closed lips as he felt a twitch in his groin. “Yeah. Feels like a temporary truce with the world, a mini-break.”
Matt turned slightly, the dim light catching the lines around his mouth. “Is that why you came to the conference early? To get a little break? To catch your breath?”
He’s not interested, thought Eric, and he took a breath before answering. “Partly.” He swirled the can absently in his hands. “Also… I like the rain, and I knew it’d be raining here according to the initial forecasts, not this horrendous downpour though. Most people avoid it, you know, the rain. But when you let it surround you it can be both peaceful and exhilarating.”
Matt considered that, his expression unreadable. “You always talk like that?”
Eric glanced at him, just once. “Only when I think the other person might understand.”
Matt nodded slowly. “Yeah. I get it.”
“I hoped you might. I…” Eric shifted positions again. How much longer would he be able to keep his feelings hidden. Eric fell silent. The TV murmured on while the storm tapped steadily at the window, like a lullaby in code.
Matt broke the silence, “You married?”
“Almost.” Eric didn’t look up. “When I was younger. I was stupid. Tried to prove something to my dad and got a girl pregnant. That part wasn’t part of the plan, but she lost it two days before the ceremony. I was devastated; I was honestly excited about having a kid. She was glad; she didn’t want to marry me anyway. Everything was canceled. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened, what kind of father I would have been. Once the noise fades, you wonder about things like that. I still do from time to time.”
Matt gave a faint nod.
“You married?” asked Eric.
“Yeah. I was. Five years. Two kids, though. With her. I liked her, but I only went out with her because my frat buddies set it up, and she admitted to me that she went out with me because everyone told her I was a good catch. Her parents liked me. And it was what you were supposed to do, right? But she met someone she was really in love with. It turned out for the best, and I’ve got two great kids.”
“You see them often?”
“Every weekend I can. We fly planes. Build weird little machines. There’s a field out behind my place, bunch of trees we keep hitting.”
Eric chuckled. “They crash a lot?”
“Every time,” Matt said, smiling at the ceiling. “It’s tradition now. We act like we’re pissed, then we go get milkshakes.”
Eric laughed. “That’s solid parenting.”
Matt looked over. “Kids do change your focus from yourself to someone else.”
“I have a nephew who's practically my shadow. He watches movies with me, but he’s not into noir; not yet at any rate. Built his first balsa plane last Christmas.”
Matt’s eyebrow lifted. “Was it the little red Cessna?”
Eric blinked. “A Piper Cub. Yellow. Why?”
“Built a Cessna with my daughter. It was red on the box. She painted it neon green and named it Daggerhawk. Ugliest plane I’ve ever seen.”
Eric let out a laugh that filled the room with warmth. “Better supervision might have changed that.”
“You don’t know Melissa.”
They laughed again, not just at the story, but at the comfort of it, the absurdity, the shared familiarity. Something in the moment settled between them, quiet and real.
Almost as if on cue, the storm deepened, steady percussion of rain tapping against the window like handfuls of gravel flung from an unseen hand. Thunder rumbled distantly, not a dramatic clash, but a low, unending growl beneath the night’s breath. The bathroom light flickered once, caught its footing, and steadied. The TV went dark and stayed that way.
A soft, golden glow spilled from the bathroom, casting elongated shadows across the room. Eric remained still, watching the spill of light, waiting for Matt to say something. But nothing came. He wanted to say more himself, wanted to find the right words, something elegant or poetic, but they refused to line up. In the end, he chose the plain truth. “I’m gay,” he said.
Even the rain seemed to fall more quietly for a moment, as if listening. The silence that followed was full and uncertain. Eric stared ahead, his breath shallow, until he heard the soft creak of a mattress. Then the quiet shuffle of feet. Matt walked around the bed and sat beside him.
“Is this OK?” Matt asked, voice low, unsure.
Eric turned slightly, leaning toward him. “It’s more than OK,” he whispered.
Matt let out a breath, slow and shaking. Neither man said anything for a long beat. Then the rain picked up again, urgent and insistent, battering the glass as if it wanted in.
“Somewhere between talking about model airplanes and The Narrow Margin… and Double Indemnity,” Matt began, his voice unsteady, “you’ve given me courage. I…”
He stopped. Eric waited.
Matt fidgeted slightly, his hands rubbing against his knees. “Sorry. I know what I want to say, but I don’t know how to say it. And you know me, I never shut up.”
“There’s no rush,” Eric said gently. “Take your time.”
Matt turned his head just slightly, looking down. “You’re… I want to say ‘a sweet man,’ but that sounds too soft, like it strips you of your strength. But you are kind. Thoughtful. And I think… I think more caring than anyone I’ve met. I’ve been drawn to other men before, but never enough to actually say anything. With you, it’s different.”
He looked away again. “This scares the hell out of me. But it’s also… something real. Something I don’t want to run from anymore. I can’t run from it; it’s too strong.”
Their profiles faced each other now, close enough for breath to mingle, shadow to blur into shadow.
“I left the bathroom door open earlier,” Matt said. “Part of me hoped you’d walk in. Part of me was terrified you would. I didn’t know how to face what I was feeling.”
He inhaled sharply. “My heart’s going crazy. It feels like it’s going to explode.”
Eric lifted his hand and pressed it softly to the side of Matt’s face. Matt closed his eyes, then turned to press a slow, reverent kiss into Eric’s palm. He reached up and laid his hand over Eric’s, holding it there.
Eric’s other hand rose to brush Matt’s hair back, fingertips tucking a few damp strands behind his ear. The motion was gentle, almost reverent. Matt’s eyes opened, glistening slightly, and he leaned in.
“That…” Matt whispered, “That was more erotic than if you’d just grabbed my dick.”
Eric dropped his hand with a soft laugh. “You mean this?” he asked, and let his fingers trail lower, down to where Matt’s arousal pressed against the fabric of his sweatpants. His touch was tentative at first, then firmer. “These pants are getting in the way.”
“You’re the one who gave them to me,” Matt murmured, half-laughing, breath catching.
Outside, a bolt of lightning ripped the sky open, illuminating the room with a blue-white flash. A crack of thunder followed, booming so close it shook the walls.
“That was emphatic,” Eric chuckled, glancing toward the window. “I guess giving you those pants was a mistake. You can take them off… if you want. Then get under the covers, you’ll be warmer.”
Matt stood just enough to push the waistband down, letting the pants fall to his thighs. “Only if you lose those shorts. They didn’t exactly hide what looked like an above-average… situation.”
“You were supposed to be mesmerized by my chest,” Eric teased, reaching for the hem of his shorts.
“Oh, I was. But I’d already been mesmerized by too many other things. And yeah,” Matt added, a smile tugging at the edge of his lips, “you do have a great chest. I noticed. Trust me.”
Matt slid beneath the covers, his movements hesitant but unhurried. Eric followed, peeling off his shorts and letting them drop to the floor before slipping in beside him. The blankets whispered over their skin, and for a few moments they lay there, barely touching, surrounded by the warmth of shared breath and storm-swept silence.
Outside, the rain drummed steadily on the glass, as if marking time for the quiet rhythm growing between them. Lightning flared again, and for a second, the room was bathed in white and blue, casting their bodies in stark silhouette.
“I’ve never done this,” Matt admitted, voice low, barely audible above the sound of the storm. “Not with a man. Not with someone who actually knows what’s inside me, inside my head.”
Eric shifted closer, brushing his fingertips lightly over Matt’s shoulder, tracing the curve down his arm. “It’s different for me, too. There weren’t many but it was always empty and meaningless. You get me. You make me feel safe and turned on at the same time.”
Matt turned his face, and their lips met—tentative at first, a breath shared more than stolen. But then the kiss deepened, slow and exploratory, like they were tasting the truth of one another, confirming it wasn’t just imagined. Matt’s fingers came up to rest on Eric’s chest, and his touch lingered, tracing the dip between his collarbones, circling the steady thud of his heart.
“You feel incredible,” Matt whispered, pulling back just enough to speak. “Everything about you. You’re… solid. Strong. And warm. I don’t want this to be fast.”
“It won’t be,” Eric promised. “We have time.”
He rolled slightly, his body half over Matt’s, their bare skin meeting along chests, thighs, hips. The contact made them both suck in a breath. Matt's leg shifted, curling around Eric's instinctively. Eric’s lips trailed from Matt’s mouth to his jaw, then lower, across the line of his throat where he felt the pulse hammering beneath his skin.
Matt arched slightly into the touch, and his hands moved to Eric’s back, fingers splaying out, digging in gently as if anchoring himself to something substantial rather than ethereal. He whispered Eric’s name like it was both a confession and a request.
Eric’s hand slid slowly down Matt’s side, tracing the hollow of his waist, the dip of his hip, before finding its way lower, to where Matt was hard and waiting. No words now—just breath and heat and a quiet gasp that broke into a moan as Eric stroked him, moving skin over the internal shaft.
Matt’s body responded with unguarded urgency, but there was nothing rushed. Every movement between them was deliberate, attentive. Reverent.
“Mmmmm,” Eric murmured against Matt’s throat, and Matt moved his head, giving Eric more access, lifting his hips toward his partner, their eyes locked together. The final barrier between them slipped away, and Matt was completely bare beneath him, physically and emotionally.
Eric pushed the covers back slightly, just enough to see the man beneath him in the flickering ambient light. Matt was beautiful—not in the obvious way, but in the way tension had melted from his body, replaced by trust and raw wanting.
Eric moved down, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses along Matt’s torso, his hands never leaving him, never stopping. Every inch of him was learned and memorized, not rushed past. When Eric took Matt into his mouth, Matt’s head fell back against the pillow with a ragged exhale, his hand curling into the sheets. Eric moved in small increments, taking more and more of Matt into him until his nose was tightly pressed against the pubis.
The storm outside raged louder now, a wild counterpoint to the soft, wet sounds of pleasure rising between them.
When Matt pulled Eric back up and kissed him again, it was with the kind of hunger that had nothing to do with being starved, and everything to do with finally, finally being allowed to feel full.
“Be with me,” Matt said, not as a plea but as an offering.
Eric nodded, lips brushing his. “I am.”
What followed was not hurried—it was slow, tender, filled with eye contact and pauses where they breathed each other in. Eric guided them both, always watching Matt’s face, always listening to the small gasps and shifts of breath that told him what felt good, what felt right. And when their bodies finally joined, it was as natural as drawing breath, as necessary as holding on.
The rhythm they found wasn’t rushed or frantic—it was steady, sensual, filled with rising tension and the quiet unraveling of restraint. Each thrust carried with it something more than lust—something older, deeper, more human. Connection.
And when they reached the peak together, it was with hands clasped, foreheads pressed together, and the storm outside crashing like applause in the distance.
After, they lay together beneath the covers, warm against the cooled air of the room, neither speaking for a long time.
It was Matt who finally whispered, “This doesn’t feel like the start of something.”
Eric looked over, brow furrowed slightly.
Matt smiled, eyes soft. “It feels like I’ve finally arrived, as if I began a journey years ago and that I’ve been moving toward this, toward you, for years. Life seemed like a mystery, and you’re the solution.
Eric leaned in and smiled. “When I was little, I used to sing 'Where is love?’ Do you know it?”
“Yeah,” said Matt. “Oliver Twist sings it.”
“Well, I found the answer.”
