Epilogue
I. THE BUZZZ
Feat. Cassian Monroe: Levi Blake Just Broke the Internet
Or: The Cat That Launched the Mothership
Ladies, gents, and non-binary pals, the wait is over. Grab your coffee, pull up your group chats, and brace yourselves for what might just be the most iconic coming-out of the decade.
Levi Blake—yes, that Levi Blake—took to Instagram this morning, and let’s just say, subtlety isn’t his strong suit. Or maybe it is, depending on how you look at it. The video is simple: His cat Alba, perched regally on a very familiar torso. (Fans recognised Cassian Monroe’s Lyra tattoo in approximately 0.2 seconds, because of course they did.)
Oh, and what’s this? A second Lyra tattoo peeking out from Levi’s wrist as his hand reaches to tickle Alba. Coincidence? We think not. The caption? Just three words: ‘ Good morning, Alba.’
That’s it. No explanation. No tagging Cass. No press release. Just a cat, some ink, and the internet collectively losing its mind .
Want a taste? Here’s what comments look like:
“Not me zooming in on a cat vid to confirm their tattoos match. I AM UNWELL.”
“The way he didn’t even tag Cass but made it so obvious… king behavior.”
“ALBA IS LIVING HER BEST LIFE AND SO ARE WE.”
“Imagine being Levi Blake’s cat, though. ICONIC.”
“The tattoos???? I’m sobbing. It’s like… they’ve had this planned forever.”
“Okay, so Cass’s been in the UK this whole time, yeah? Let’s discuss. ”
“So they’re cat dads and DADS together?!? I’m not crying. YOU’RE crying.”
Let’s zoom out!
While the video itself is pure, understated Levi—a cat, some ink, and vibes—the implications are enormous. This isn’t just a casual nod to some rumours. It’s a full-on confirmation that Monroe and Blake, the most shipped pairing since peanut butter and jelly , are not just back in each other’s lives—they’re in it together .
Fans have long speculated about their relationship, but recent hints—like Monroe reworking his upcoming tour schedule and spending more time in Manchester—had already stoked the fire. This, however, sets it ablaze.
So what does this mean? For starters, we’ll be watching Cass’s Instagram for a matching post (or story?)—and for any interviews where he might finally confirm what we’ve all suspected for years.
Until then, we’ll be replaying Levi’s reel on a loop and thanking Alba for her service.
II. LEVI
Manchester, Monday, November 3rd
Fun fact: my colleagues were big, fat gossips.
Granted, it was my first day back after spending Emily’s autumn break in LA, which coincided with Cass and me doing two official coming-out interviews—an in-depth, thoughtful one with Rolling Stone and a more humorous spot on a late-night show. Still, it shouldn’t be earth-shattering news around here. After all, Cass had stopped by the label a few times by now since he was recording at a studio that was a five-minute walk away, and we weren’t exactly subtle. Even if no, I was not about to lock my office door and bend him over the desk, no matter how many hints he dropped. I worked here. Serious work, Cassian. Unlike you prancing about with a microphone and glitter boots.
Anyway, the point was, it shouldn’t come as a surprise to my colleagues. Yet this was the fourth time in just an hour that someone casually interrupted me in the studio that Cosma and I had booked for the day.
“Sorry,” I told Cosma when Raj let himself into the room, hovering a little awkwardly on the threshold.
Cosma shrugged, a quick smile suggesting she was genuinely unbothered. “Seems you’re very popular these days.”
“Just until the next news cycle hits and washes some other poor sod to the top.”
“Is that one of your lessons?” she asked. Cheeky.
I winked. “Every word out of my mouth is a lesson.”
“ Sure .”
I cocked a meaningful eyebrow at her, then turned to wave Raj fully into the room. “All right, mate, what can I do for you?”
“You can make me dad of the year?” He shot me a hopeful grin tinged with embarrassment that made him look younger than a guy in his mid-thirties. “Really sorry, man. I know this is weird. But my daughter’s a huge fan of Monroe, right? Your Cassian.”
My Cass . But hey.
“I remember.” It wasn’t a secret—Raj and I had met up for pints a number of times, and he’d mentioned that when his daughter had learned I was his colleague, she went wide-eyed, deeply awed by how he worked with one of Cassian’s former bandmates. ‘I’m like two-hundred percent cooler now,’ Raj had told me, and asked whether there was any chance I could get him an autograph, no worries if not. At the time, I hadn’t seen Cass in years, so I’d made some excuse. Raj easily accepted it, and I hadn’t resented him for asking—he was a good guy, just a single dad trying to make it work, and I would have done the same for Emily. “If it’s about the autograph again, I’m sure Cass would be happy to sign something. Just ask him next time he drops in.”
“Yeah, no—already did.” Raj perched his arse on the edge of the sound console. “Lovely guy, seems to just about worship the ground you walk on. You picked a good one, Levi.”
Three weeks after my candid video had exploded across every timeline, I still wasn’t quite used to people just… knowing. It felt kind of amazing, really. Being able to shout it from the rooftops if the mood were to strike, even though that wasn’t really my style. Reaching for Cass without worrying about cameras, telling the world that he was mine , so hands off. You can look, sure, but I’m the only one who gets to touch.
“I have excellent taste,” I agreed, all nonchalance.
Cosma snorted and disguised it as a cough.
I pointed at her. “Case in point. Or do you beg to differ?”
“I wouldn’t dare,” she said, raising both hands in feigned deference. I loved that she’d grown more confident since the summer, standing up for her ideas when she believed in them yet willing to accept input, like when we’d agreed that lyrics about a rose pushing through concrete were perhaps a little too on-the-nose, better change it to a thread of ivy creeping up a rusted fence.
I’d let Cass listen to the resulting song, and he’d fallen in love on the spot, had declared wanting her as his opener for the European leg of his tour—not as some form of payment but because she was just that good. ‘Only if you think she’s ready, Lee. I trust your judgment.’ I hadn’t told her yet, much less the label, still making up my mind about whether it would be too much pressure too soon. I wanted a long career for her, not a starburst.
“Wise choice,” I told her, then turned back to Raj. “So, anyway. How can I help?”
I had an inkling. It proved to be right when he rubbed the back of his neck and then shook his head. “Look, again—I wouldn’t usually do this. But, damn, life is short, right? And if there’s a chance I can help my daughter see her favourite artist live—just, those are the memories you carry with you.”
“You’re asking me for concert tickets?” I kept my tone easy because, yeah, I got it. Again, I’d do the same thing for Emily. Cass would too, and maybe we’d have to lean on our connections a bit once she hit her teenage fangirl years.
“I tried to get some the usual way,” he said, rushed. “Honest, I did. Ready on the dot, hit refresh on the ticket page and all, but no luck.”
“Didn’t they sell out in a couple of minutes?” Cosma threw in, and yeah, they had.
Cass had announced the dates and venues for his tour shortly after I’d posted our video with Alba, and tickets had gone on sale last Friday, four days after we’d done our coming-out interviews. In spite of mostly positive reactions to our relationship, in spite of how it had triggered a needed debate about the pressure on young performers to conform and how that had torn us apart the first time—we’d decided to be honest about that part because we’d lied enough, really. Anyway, in spite of that, Cass had been curled around me in bed that morning, worried sick that no one would want to see him now.
Yeah, no. Maybe he wouldn’t have sold out Wembley Stadium anymore, not quite, but demand far outstripped available tickets.
“That’s what I heard,” Raj told Cosma, then turned to me. “I just—if there’s any chance? I’m happy to pay double for the Manchester show, honestly. Triple, whatever. I just want my girl to have a wonderful time.”
It made me smile. “I’ll see what I can do, okay? Pretty sure we can win you that dad of the year award.”
“ Thank you. Next fifty pints are on me.” He sounded so relieved, so grateful, that I laughed.
“Hey, I’d do the same for my girl.”
“From one single dad to another, huh?” he asked, and it was a casual statement, but somehow, this was one of those moments when the world stops spinning for half a beat. Because, yeah, he’d met me as a single dad of sorts. We’d talked about what it meant to be all alone in making both the small and big decisions affecting your kid’s life, about grief, since his wife had passed far too young some five years ago. But…
But today, Cass would pick Emily up from school because I wanted to make the most of my studio time with Cosma. We’d decided together that no, Emily was too young for a phone even though it was at the very top of her Christmas wish list, and last week, she’d drawn a family picture that included Cass, like it was no big deal.
I wasn’t alone anymore.
“Aren’t you kind of co-parenting?” Cosma asked me right into that realisation, a glint of mischief in her smile.
“Are you fishing for gossip?” I shot back, and she grinned.
“Just curious if you’re gonna answer.”
“He’s had years of media training,” Raj said. “He can talk circles around you until you’re dizzy.”
“I could. But…” I shook my head. “Not with people I trust. So, yeah. I guess I feel a little less like a single dad than I used to.”
Raj’s smile was slow but genuine. “I’m happy for you, man. Really.”
Happy. He was happy for me. And I—I was…
I was happy. Bright and buoyant, even a little goofy with it.
Here’s to you, Jess.
III. EMILY
Macclesfield, Tuesday, January 13th
Grown-ups are so weird.
Like, me? I’m way too old for naps. But then there’s Cass, who’s a mega superstar , and Lee, who’s just Lee, and Cass has to go other places sometimes. But because I knew he was back today, Grandma and I totally came home early.
And what are they doing? Napping. Like actual babies.
It’s kind of funny because when I yell, “Hello!” there’s no answer. So I go looking, and when I find them in Lee’s room—maybe now it’s their room?—they’re awake, but they still look a bit rumpled, like paper that’s been squished into a ball and then flattened out again.
I do what any normal person would do: I jump on the bed and shout, “You’re home!”
Cass laughs when I hug him, even though he’s tangled up in the duvet like Alba when she gets stuck in the curtains. It’s very silly. Lee smiles at me, then at Cass, and then back at me again. He always smiles bigger when Cass is here.
“Welcome to family life,” Lee says to Cass.
I don’t really get why he said that because Cass’s been here forever . But then they do this thing where they just look at each other. It’s like they’re having a silent conversation with their eyeballs, and honestly? It’s a bit boring. Is this why there are all those videos about them looking and smiling? Probably.
“Wouldn’t change a thing,” Cass says, all serious-like.
Well, I would change one thing.
“Can we do pancakes?” I ask. “Because Cass is home!”
They do the eyeball thing again , and then Cass nods. “We can do pancakes, absolutely. But only if you help Lee and me make them.”
“Okay!” I hug Lee too, then bounce off the bed and stand there, ready to go.
But no—Lee always has conditions . “One more thing,” he says, holding up a finger like a teacher. “You unpack your school bag all by yourself while Cass and I wake up properly and get dressed. And you start finding things like flour and milk that we’ll need for the pancakes, and you line them up in the kitchen.”
That’s fair, I guess. I nod very seriously to show I’m good with that and start walking away. But then I hear Lee’s voice go all soft and teasing, like when grown-ups think you’ve left the room and can’t hear them anymore. They always forget I have excellent hearing.
“Guess my warm welcome will have to wait until tonight, huh?” Lee says.
“Worth the wait,” Cass replies in a voice so mushy I could pour it over my pancakes like syrup.
If Uncle Mason were here, he’d definitely point at them and laugh. He always says they’re embarrassing, but he’s smiling when he says it, so I know he’s joking. He thinks they’re brilliant, really.
I slip out of the room properly this time, and just before I close the door, I hear Lee giggling like he’s five.
Totally weird, grown-ups.
IV. CASS
London, Saturday, March 20th
I used to think being on stage was as alive as I’d ever get. The seconds before were like the countdown to a skydive, hatch open and wind clawing at my clothes, vertigo pulling at me. And then—an explosion of stage lights, the world flattened into a blinding wall of color and sounds, the roar of the crowd pressing against my ribs in one endless moment. Thousands of people, all here for me—a wave of pure energy to lift me to the skies.
I didn’t get nervous.
Today, I was. Because this was my opening show.
“It’s one thing being a poster boy they can pin to their walls, Lee.” I tugged on my gold-sequined vest, hanging open over my chest. Maybe I should have gone for something simpler after all. “But what if now they’ll actually listen and realize I’m just… fine. Like, technically sound, but far from magic. Not worth the fuss.”
“Cass. Babe .” Levi’s face did that thing where it went all soft, only we were in public so he tried to control it. “They’re still here for your body. You came out; you didn’t suddenly transform into a soggy potato.”
I frowned. “But?—”
“No, okay. I’m joking. ” He glanced around us, then took my elbow to pull me a little further to the side.
With only minutes to showtime, the backstage area was a beehive, my band already gathered in a little group that included my new guitar player who, with his second audition, had blown me away. Jace was huddled with Cosma, clearly more comfortable discussing her performance just earlier than he was interacting with all those strangers buzzing about. I knew how he felt about crowds, so the fact he’d come made me stupidly emotional. It was the kind of day when my coffee going lukewarm made me tear up, though. Get it together.
“Okay.” Levi leaned in, the dim light sapping his eyes of color, voice gone serious. “Listen to me, love. Yes, you’re easy on the eyes, and that’s a big draw for a lot of fans. But also, you’re good. You’re fucking amazing , and even Pitchfork loved the new album. By their standards, anyway.”
I inhaled, the air thick with excitement. “You really think so?”
“I know so.” His tone was so sure that something in me cracked a little.
“Thank you.”
“Just the truth.” He sent me a sweet smile, one of those he hid from the world, reserved for a chosen few. “And just so we’re clear? Yes, you’re hot. But it’s not even in the top ten of why I love you.”
My chest expanded on a breath that tasted like cotton candy. “No?”
“No.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Don’t get me wrong—you’re fit. Objectively, annoyingly fit. But it’s the way you listen, how you make people feel like they matter. The way you remember all the names of Emmy’s toys, and how you still look at me like I hung the stars.” He brushed his thumb along my bottom lip, eyes heavy. “It’s that you still get scared sometimes, but you don’t run. You show up. It’s all that and more— not the jawline.”
Jesus, and now I was blinking back a soppy swell of emotions. It wasn’t like I didn’t know, kind of, but… God .
“So you’ll still love me when my hair and abs are gone?” I asked, voice gone stupidly raspy.
“Yes.” No hesitation. “Now go out there and show them what you’ve got, babe. I’ll be right here, cheering you on.”
“I love you,” I said, so simple, but it thrummed in my bones and behind my ribs, like standing right next to the toll of a church bell.
“I know.” Another smile, then he gave me a gentle shove. “Now go. Bond with your band. Be amazing.”
I swallowed, nodded, jerked him in for a fast, hard kiss. Then I stepped back, opening myself to the expectant ebb and swell of the crowd, pure energy washing across my skin.
Showtime.