Epilogue
TAJ
—Lovely Day
by Bill Withers
TWO YEARS LATER
Graduation ceremonies are such a bore fest.
I have officially graduated, but I have to keep reminding myself of the fact, so I don’t lose my mind sitting through the rest of this.
Like, just give me my certificate and let me walk across the stage.
Release me from this torture! And why exactly, am I sitting here surrounded by strangers when the actual best part of my life is in the crowd?
I would very much prefer to sit beside my hot-as-sin boyfriend, breathe in his familiar scent, and steal kisses whenever I feel like, thank you very much.
Yeah, yeah, I’m a goner. Who wouldn’t be for Michael Sawyer?
It’s still a little crazy to me that we’ve been together for two years now, because when I look at him, it still feels like it did that first night, when my eyes found him across the club and everything else faded into background noise.
And let me tell you, the man is ageing like freaking fine wine, too.
I mean, don’t get me wrong. It hasn’t been all that rosy, but nothing ever is.
Horák kept his mouth shut until he resigned a few weeks later, and then snitched on Mike to his university in Nigeria.
Those bigots reacted exactly as one would expect, promptly firing him.
I felt guilty for days until Mike snapped me out of it, telling me to see it as an opportunity for us to start building something together properly.
We registered as common law partners after that, and Mike managed to stay on a family unification visa.
He continued working for his dad’s company from Prague. Really, it was a win-win situation.
I get up when my name is finally called, walking across the stage in a blur of movement and flashing lights, relieved that this whole thing is almost over.
When I collect my certificate and turn back to the audience, Mike, my parents, and the rest of my family erupt into whoops and cheers, their applause filling the room.
I shake my head at them as I make my way back down.
But I can’t hide the warmth that spreads through my chest.
After the ceremony, I find them outside, and then it’s time for pictures.
“I know I said it this morning already, but you look hot as fuck,” Mike says as he adjusts my tie, fussing with it while we try to pose properly for a picture.
I finally told my parents about him when it became obvious he wasn’t going anywhere.
I wasn’t at all surprised when they accepted him immediately, I actually think they like him more than they like me now.
At least, his parents are no better than mine.
They adore me in a way that still feels unreal.
“You’re the hot one,” I tell him. I tiptoe to press a quick kiss to his cheek just before the next photo is taken.
“I can’t wait until we’re home so I can show you how hot you are,” he murmurs into my ear, low enough that only I can hear it.
My cock is immediately on board, but we’re trying to be respectable people now and not fuck in public.
“Can we leave now?” I whisper, glancing at him just as Luká? and Angelika join us.
Angelika is due any day now, and it has become something of a running joke that the baby might decide to make her grand entrance today.
“My goddaughter still isn’t here?” I pull her into a hug along with her husband.
“She’s not,” she says with a small huff, though there’s fondness in it too. “And I need her out, like, now.”
“Congratulations, son,” Mike’s dad says, clapping me on the back before his mother pulls me into one of her warm hugs.
“Someone wants to speak to you,” Mike says, prying me from his mum’s arms to give me his phone.
Kingsley’s face fills the screen, beaming at me. He and Mike have gotten close over the years, though I have a feeling Mike is still suspicious of him.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it there. Congratulations, bro,” Kingsley beams.
Since Kingsley went to join the Vancouver Eagles in Canada after being drafted into the NHL, his schedule has been crazy.
Most of the time, we barely manage to catch him on calls like this.
Mike and I have actually been planning a trip to see to him before I start my apprenticeship; the thought of seeing him again makes me excited.
“Thanks, King.”
We chat a little longer before he eventually has to leave for training, giving us both a wave before disappearing from the call. The screen goes dark. I’m just about to hand Mike his phone back when I catch Roland and Austin out of the corner of my eye.
“You came!” Mike exclaims, lighting up as he drags Roland into a fierce hug.
Austin steps in beside me, hauling me into one as well. “The kid’s all grown up,” he coos, reaching up to cup my cheeks, his wedding ring catching the light as he moves.
“If it isn’t the newlyweds,” Mike’s mum says warmly as she steps forward, immediately pulling them both into a hug.
Heads are turning in our direction, but it’s not unexpected anymore.
Not after everything that has happened in the past year.
After Austin came out during his Ballon d’Or acceptance speech, Roland proposed to him that same night.
They got married in a private ceremony in London last month.
Somehow, what could have been a career risk turned into something that only seemed to make people love Austin more.
His worries had been for nothing; instead of a backlash, there had been an outpouring of support from fans, for him and his husband.
It was a stark contrast to Roland’s coming out three years ago, but it seems the football world is finally catching on.
The party moves shortly after to the hall my parents rented, because yes, they are that dramatic.
I don’t blame them though, this is the only time they’ll get to do this.
It’s a very Nigerian affair, full of food, laughter, and people insisting on celebrating properly.
I appreciate it more than I say out loud, even if I’m already thinking about the one gift I actually care about unwrapping—he’s currently somewhere in the crowd, moving between conversations and thanking people on my behalf.
Finally, and mercifully, the party begins to wind down, and then we’re saying our goodbyes as the crowd thins.
I sit in the passenger seat as Mike drives us home, watching the streetlights pass and thinking about how unbelievable it is that we have a house together, or that I get to wake up next to him every day.
When we get home, I’m on him the second the door closes.
I grab his tie, yank him to me, and he lets me.
His back hits the door and I crush our mouths together.
We’re laughing between kisses, stumbling through the house, our clothes getting shed along the way.
My feet steps on something when we enter our room.
I break the kiss enough to check what it is.
It’s an envelope with “open me” written across the front.
I pick it up, still a little bit breathless. “What’s this?”
Mike is leaning against the door, trying to catch his breath. “Why don’t you check it?”
“Big head,” I mutter and open the envelope.
The card inside says open the socks drawer, so I pad across the room, curiosity taking over as I go.
The floor is cold under my feet, and I’m aware of my heartbeat picking up.
I stop in front of the drawer and rest my hand on it, glancing back at Mike because I’m about to ask what is going on here, but something in his face makes me pause.
So, instead of asking, I just open it. There is a small black box sitting right in the drawer.
It doesn’t take a genius to know what’s inside.
I reach in and pick it up, my fingers not as steady as I’d like them to be.
I turn around to Mike, ready to say something, anything that proves I’m still capable of forming words, but the second I look at him, I forget all of it.
Because my man is on one knee, looking up at me with a sheepish expression.
“I didn’t want to do it at the party because I knew you’d hate that,” he says. “But I wanted today to be a double celebration, and it will mean the absolute world to me if you marry me.”
“You know me so well,” I whisper as I cross the room to him. “I will marry the fuck out of you.”
He lets out a soft chuckles, but I fuse my mouth to his and swallow the sound down.
I never thought much of marriage, and if I’m being honest, I never thought I’d fall in love in the first place.
But Michael Sawyer changed that without even trying, just by being exactly who he is.
And I can’t wait to call him my husband.
Thank you so much for reading Michael and Taj’s story.