Chapter Twenty-Nine
Maurice
Their bodies were used to being tangled and ended up that way.
Maurice lay there with Finn tucked against him, their legs naturally tangled the way they always seemed to end up, as if their bodies had already decided they were done pretending to be separate.
The sheets were soft, warm from their skin, and the quiet of the room felt like a reward after days of a cramped bed and hallway noise.
Finn shifted closer, his nose brushing Maurice’s collarbone. “This bed is dangerous,” he mumbled. “I might never get up.”
Maurice laughed under his breath, running a slow hand down Finn’s back. “I don’t blame you. I could stay right here all day.”
For the moment, they did. Just breathing. Letting the stillness settle around them. The city outside was faint—distant traffic, a foghorn somewhere near the bay—but in the room, everything felt soft and slow.
Eventually, Finn’s stomach growled loud enough to break the spell.
Maurice smirked. “Hungry?”
Finn tipped his head back, eyes half-closed. “Starving.”
Maurice stretched, feeling the cool air hit his skin where the blankets had slipped. “We should probably talk about lunch before you gnaw on my arm.”
Finn laughed, rolling onto his back but keeping their legs tangled. “What are you thinking?”
Maurice glanced toward the window, where a slice of San Francisco sky peeked through—bright, fog-washed, promising. “Fisherman’s Wharf. Something warm. Something with bread.”
Finn perked up immediately. “Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl?”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
Finn grinned, nudging Maurice’s hip with his knee. “Then get me out of this bed before I fall asleep again.”
Maurice leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Only reason I’m letting you up is because I’m hungry too.”
Finn stretched like a cat, sheets twisting around him. “Fine. But we’re getting back in this bed later.”
Maurice nodded. “Good. After we’ve done lunch at Fisherman’s Wharf.”
He sent David a message to meet in the lobby in an hour, then the two of them showered and dressed.
Maurice ordered a car for all four of them, and as soon as they piled in, the driver pulled away from the curb and slipped into the flow of San Francisco traffic.
The city moved around them in bright, messy colors—cable cars clanging up steep streets, murals splashed across brick walls, the loud, unapologetic art that made Maurice feel like he could breathe a little easier.
Even the sourdough smell drifting from a corner bakery hit him with a weird comfort.
It had been years since he’d last been here.
He hadn’t expected the memories to hit so fast. Back then, he’d been a teenager wedged between his brothers in the back of his parents’ government-issued SUV, all of them in matching Marine family jackets like they were part of some unit he’d never quite belonged to.
His mother had marched them through the city like it was another base to conquer—tight schedule, no wandering, no complaining.
He remembered staring out the window at the rainbow flags and the street performers and thinking, God, people get to live like this? Out loud?
His brothers had teased him the entire trip, calling him soft, calling him weird, calling him anything that wasn’t Marine material.
His mother hadn’t corrected them. She never did.
Respect was something you earned in that family, and apparently you earned it by wanting the same life they wanted. Maurice never had.
Now, riding through the same streets with Finn beside him, it felt different. Like the city had shifted. Or maybe he had.
They reached the wharf, and the air hit him immediately: cool, salty, alive.
Gulls circled overhead as if they owned the place, squawking at tourists and swooping low over the water.
Maurice stepped out of the car and took a slow breath, letting the ocean breeze push the old memories back where they belonged.
This time, he wasn’t the odd one out, and he wasn’t alone.
They found a table outside overlooking the water. Boats bobbed in the harbor, and the Golden Gate peeked through the fog as if it were posing for them.
“This is amazing,” Finn said, leaning back in his chair.
“It’s surreal, four of us sitting here in San Francisco,” Theo said, his voice filled with wonder.
“It can get even better,” Maurice said. “David and I live pretty close to each other back home. If you and Theo end up in Virginia, you two won’t be far apart either.”
Theo perked up. “Really?”
“Really,” Maurice said. “You’d have a built-in friend.”
Finn nudged Theo. “See? We wouldn’t be alone.”
Theo grinned, some of his earlier nerves clearly fading.
As they waited for their clam chowder in the sourdough bread, Finn cleared his throat. “So… I signed up to be in the Pride Parade while we’re here.”
Theo’s head snapped toward him. “You did? I want to do it too!”
Maurice and David exchanged a look, one of those silent, mutual agreements between two men who had absolutely no intention of getting on a stage in heels or glitter.
“Not for us,” Maurice said, shaking his head with a laugh.
“Definitely not parade material,” David added.
“But we’ll watch you both. Front row. Drinks in hand,” Maurice said.
Finn lit up. “Really?”
“Of course,” Maurice said. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Theo bounced a little in his seat. “This is going to be so fun.”
Maurice looked at the three of them—Finn glowing in the sunlight, Theo buzzing with excitement, and David relaxed for once.
Their lunch arrived, and they spoke little while eating.
“This is so good,” Finn said.
They all agreed.
Four more days in San Francisco. A proper bed. A city he loved. And Finn, right beside me. Yeah. This is exactly where I want to be.
After they had lunch, Maurice followed Finn, David, and Theo out to the curb where their Uber waited, the late-afternoon breeze carrying that unmistakable mix of bay salt, diesel from the ferries, and the faint sweetness of waffle cones from the pier vendors.
San Francisco always smelled like a city that couldn’t decide if it was a postcard or a construction zone.
As the car pulled away, the city opened up around them—not in some generic skyline way, but in that San Francisco way Maurice remembered: steep hills stacked like dominoes.
A cable car bell clanged somewhere up the hill, followed by the grinding rumble of its tracks, a sound that always felt like the heartbeat of the city.
Finn pressed his face to the window, eyes wide. “It’s so different from Boston. Everything’s… brighter.”
Maurice smiled. “Yeah, it’s got its own vibe. Charlottesville’s quieter. More trees. More space to breathe.”
Finn turned toward him, still half-leaning on the glass. “Tell me about it. I can’t wait to see where you live.”
Maurice blinked. “You do?”
“Yeah,” Finn said, as if it were obvious. “Right after this trip. I want to visit Charlottesville.”
That hit Maurice harder than he expected, but in a good way. Warm, steady, as if someone had just handed him something fragile and important.
“Well,” Maurice said, trying to keep his voice casual, even though his chest felt too full, “I’ll buy your ticket. Make sure we’re on the same flight. Seats close together.”
Finn’s smile softened. “I’d like that.”
From the row behind them, Theo leaned forward between the seats. “Wait—if Finn’s going to Charlottesville, I want to visit David too.”
David laughed. “You’re invited, babe.”
“I’ve got four weeks off from school,” Theo added proudly.
Finn perked up. “I should call my job. See if I can get more time.”
Maurice felt a ridiculous splash of happiness at that—Finn wanting more time with him, wanting to see his world, wanting to stretch this trip into something bigger.
Maurice caught himself imagining Finn walking down Charlottesville’s pedestrian mall, or sitting on Maurice’s porch with a coffee, or meeting his friends. The thought didn’t scare him. It felt… right.
After climbing out of the Uber, they wandered to Powell Street after a climbing out of the Uber. A cable car clanged its bell, the conductor calling out destinations with the confidence of someone who’d been doing it for decades.
Finn grabbed Maurice’s hand. “Can we ride one?”
Maurice squeezed his fingers. “Yeah. Let’s tour the city.”
And as they climbed aboard, the wind whipping around them and the city stretching out in all its crooked, colorful glory, Maurice realized he wasn’t just showing Finn San Francisco. He was imagining showing him everything.