Chapter 19 What Remains, What Endures #3
Colin kissed his forehead. “You know what I’m most proud of?”
Joshua looked up. “What’s that?”
“This. Us. That after everything, we’re still standing.”
Joshua pressed a long, tender kiss to his husband’s lips. “Not just standing, my yedid. Standing stronger than ever.”
They ordered pizza that night and ate it on the porch, washing it down with another Murphy’s stout.
There was no couch yet, but it was on its way—a wide, cozy, easy-to-snuggle-on beast they’d tested in the store by curling into each other and refusing to move until they were sure it was perfect.
Two equally comfy chairs would accompany, but none of them would arrive until Friday.
No dining room table yet, either. They’d looked at everything Classic Furniture had to offer and found nothing that satisfied.
Tomorrow, they’d drive to Virginia City, hopeful this time—not just to furnish a house, but to build a home.
Suddenly, what they had once seen as a depressing chore had become an exciting adventure.
They had found a small kitchen table and chairs at Classic Furniture, and those would arrive tomorrow.
Now, they sat on the porch, empty plates stacked to one side, beer cans glinting dully in the fading light.
Colin leaned back against one of the strong porch pillars while Joshua leaned back against him.
The sun sagged low beyond the Rivanna, bleeding gold across the water as a breeze stirred the trees like breath on skin.
Colin’s arm wrapped around Joshua, tugging him in tighter. One hand clutched his shoulder; the other cradled his curls, face buried deep in the scent and softness he loved. “Jesus,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”
The air had cooled as twilight deepened, and neither of them had spoken for a while. The breeze lifted the scent of river water and pine, wrapping around them like a memory.
Joshua shifted in Colin’s arms, his hand rising to rest over Colin’s heart. “It still beats,” he murmured as if he needed to say it out loud.
Colin’s reply was barely a breath: “Because of you. You shower me with grace, my love. And you always have.”
Joshua turned slowly, facing him fully now, their knees brushing, their hands sliding together in the quiet. His eyes searched Colin’s face—not for reassurance, but for permission.
And Colin gave it. Not with words, but in the way he cradled Joshua’s face, in the way his thumb swept beneath one eye like he could erase every tear that had ever fallen.
“We’re different now,” Joshua whispered, forehead pressed to Colin’s.
“Maybe,” Colin said. “But not in the ways that matter.”
The kiss was gentle at first—an exploration, a question, a long-held ache exhaled at last. But then it deepened, slow and certain, as if they were laying the first stones of a rebuilt home with every brush of lips, every whispered word, every touch.
“We do have a bed, you know,” Joshua murmured, fingers threading again through Colin’s hair like they couldn’t bear to let go.
“And I’ve heard it’s as good as new,” Colin said, his voice low, coaxing.
His fingers slid beneath Joshua’s T-shirt, tracing familiar lines—muscle, bone, the steady thrum of life.
“Maybe we ought to test it out. Ya think?” He leaned in, lips brushing against Joshua’s with aching slowness before deepening the kiss.
The hand on Joshua’s back gripped harder, not to possess, but to ask: Still mine? Still us?
His tongue swept gently across Joshua’s, a tender plea. Colin moaned low in his throat as Joshua’s taste bloomed across his tongue—half memory, half salvation.
They moved through the house without turning on the lights. The moonlight streaming through the windows was enough—soft, silvery, forgiving. Shadows of what had been lost still clung to the corners, but neither man looked at them. They only looked at each other.
In the bedroom, Colin hesitated. Just a second. Just long enough for Joshua to notice the flicker of doubt behind his eyes.
“We don’t have to rush,” Joshua said softly, brushing his thumb along Colin’s jaw. “We’re not proving anything. Not to each other. Not to anyone.”
“I know,” Colin said. “It’s just…” His gaze dropped. “I keep thinking… what if you touch me and I’m different? What if the man you want isn’t standing here anymore?”
Joshua’s answer was to pull him close, to press their foreheads together again like before, like always.
“You’re not the same,” he whispered. “And neither am I. But the man I want is standing here. The man I adore is standing here. He’s still hurting. He’s still healing. But he’s home! And I love him and want him more than I ever have.”
Colin closed his eyes. And breathed.
Clothes came off slowly. Not in urgency, not in heat—but in reverence. Each layer peeled away like a weight surrendered, like another wall falling. They kissed between each piece, as if each inch of bare skin required reassurance, required memory.
When they lay down, it wasn’t about sex. Not yet. It was about being known. About letting hands rediscover what was already loved. Colin moved over Joshua like a man relearning the contours of his own heart, and Joshua welcomed him like a phoenix rising up from ashes.
No one asked for permission. Every breath was permission. Every touch said, I’m still here. I’m still yours and I’m not leaving… ever.
And when they finally came together, it was not frantic or flawless.
It was quiet, aching, slow. Colin kissed the scar on Joshua’s collarbone and whispered his love in words that Joshua would carry until the day he died.
Joshua took Colin’s face between his hands, and their eyes met, holding them both in this moment, this breath, this bed that was theirs again.
Later, tangled in sheets and each other, the silence stretched long and warm.
Colin exhaled against Joshua’s neck. “Thank you, my love.”
Joshua’s fingers curled around his. “And thank you, my yedid.”
And neither of them let go. They just held on.
The world outside had gone still—just the hush of the river, the occasional creak of the house settling, and the slow, steady rhythm of their breathing.
Colin lay half draped over Joshua, one leg hooked between his, their fingers still entwined. His face rested against Joshua’s chest, listening to the steady beat beneath his ear.
Joshua’s hand moved over his back—no urgency. No expectation. Just touch, just presence.
“I missed this,” Joshua whispered.
“This?” Colin murmured sleepily.
Joshua’s fingers stilled. “You. Us. This quiet.” His fingers moved again, delicate and loving. “God, Colin, I ached for you while you were gone. I was… just so damn”—he drew in a breath that quaked in his chest—“lonely.”
Colin shifted just enough to kiss the place where Joshua’s neck met his shoulder. “I know, darling. Me too,” he murmured. “God, me too.”
They didn’t speak after that. Words felt too heavy, and everything that mattered had already been said in breath and hands and the way they’d clung to each other like lifelines.
Eventually, Joshua reached behind himself with his free hand and pulled the edge of the blanket over them.
It smelled faintly of detergent and something that might have been cedar.
The room had settled into stillness, save for the soft rhythm of their breathing and the faint creak of the wind outside.
Colin shifted, curling one arm beneath Joshua’s head, the other draped possessively around his waist. He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.
Joshua’s fingers traced idle circles on Colin’s chest—slow, steady, familiar. After a moment, he let out a long breath and nestled closer.
No declarations. No promises.
Just this: two hearts beating side by side, finally at rest.
And in that silence, the future waited—warm, unwritten, theirs.
Colin dipped his head, breath brushing Joshua’s temple. “Mo ghrá thú,” he whispered.
Joshua didn’t open his eyes. Just whispered back, “Agus tú mise.”
Mo ghrá thú - You are my love.
Agus tú mise - And you’re mine.