Epilogue
Mason
My curls refuse to cooperate, springing out in every direction no matter how much product I use. I rake my fingers through the mess, trying to coax some order into it. Somehow, the strands end up even frizzier.
Great. Perfect way to start my first day of school.
Behind me, the apartment is quiet except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan and Hunter’s steady breathing from the bedroom.
He’s still sprawled across the sheets, dead asleep after staying up late last night, hunched over his laptop with stacks of notes.
I don’t know how he does it—balancing TA work, his research, and everything else without collapsing.
His discipline never ceases to amaze me. He’s so intelligent, so sure of himself, and I envy that. Because the truth is, I’m terrified.
I’m a twenty-two-year-old man taking sophomore level courses. Everyone else will be younger, laughing about dorm parties and clubs I’ll never be part of. I feel like an impostor sneaking into a place I don’t belong.
Hunter keeps telling me it doesn’t matter, that everyone’s timeline is different. Though I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve already fallen too far behind my peers—that I’m destined to fail before I even start.
I lean over the sink, pressing my palms to the cool porcelain, staring myself down in the mirror. My reflection looks tense and tired, already defeated.
And then, arms slip around my waist.
I jolt, caught off guard, but the familiar weight of Hunter’s chest presses against my back, his breath brushing the curve of my neck. He must’ve dragged himself out of bed while I was spiraling.
His hair sticks up in wild cowlicks, his hands chilled against my bare stomach. He’s always cold in the mornings. He’s wearing one of my sweatshirts, the gray fabric soft with age, the sleeves drooping past his fingertips as he holds me closer.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” I murmur.
Hunter hums against my shoulder, the sound low and sleepy. “You didn’t. I could just feel you worrying from the other room.”
I huff out something halfway between a laugh and a sigh, leaning back against him.
“Stop stressing. You’re gonna be fine,” he says, voice still scratchy with sleep.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” He rests his chin on my shoulder and pulls me closer. “You’ve worked your ass off to get here, and I’m proud of you, sunshine. So damn proud.”
I shut my eyes, letting his words sink past the wall of nerves. His presence is steady, grounding. For the first time all morning, I let myself breathe.
“Your first class is International Relations, right? What time does it start?” Hunter asks quietly.
I swallow hard. “Eight thirty, in Thompson Hall.”
“Cool. I’ll walk with you.”
My brows scrunch together. “You don’t have to do that. It’s a short walk, and it’s freezing outside—”
“All the more reason for me to walk with you,” he insists, brushing a quick kiss against my cheek. “Finish getting dressed. I’ll make you some coffee.”
He gives my butt a playful pat before shuffling out of the bathroom, his sock-covered feet soft against the laminate floor.
I change quickly, tugging on jeans and a beige cable-knit sweater. I add a spritz of cologne for good measure, the woodsy scent lingering in the air.
When I step into the kitchen, Hunter’s standing at the counter, pouring steaming coffee into two travel mugs. The smell is rich, earthy, and comforting. He turns at the sound of my footsteps, holding one toward me with a lopsided smile.
“It’s sickeningly sweet,” he says, grimacing as he hands me the coffee. “Just the way you like it.”
I take the mug, fingers brushing his as heat spreads through the metal and into my hands. My lips twitch into a small smile. “Thanks, baby.”
The warmth of the coffee soothes my throat as we don our heavy coats and step outside. Hunter latches his gloved hand with mine as we cross the quad. Fresh snow crunches beneath our boots, leaving prints in our wake.
The campus sidewalks buzz with the usual morning chaos—students weaving between each other with coffee cups in hand, earbuds in, backpacks bouncing with each frantic step. The early morning sun slips through the clouds, the air sharp enough to sting.
When we reach the lecture hall, we pause just outside the doors. Hunter’s breath clouds in the cold as he studies my face.
“Are you alright?” he asks softly, squeezing my hand.
I nod, though the flutter in my chest tells a different story. “Yeah. Thanks for walking me.”
He shifts his weight, then reaches into the deep pocket of his parka. “Oh—before I forget.”
He pulls out a ridiculous-looking pen, the kind you’d expect to see on a child’s desk. A big felt sunflower sticks out at the top, cheerful and bright against the dull winter gray.
I blink at it, then at him. “What… is that?”
He grins, clearly pleased with himself. “Saw it at the campus bookstore the other day. It made me think of you.” He presses it into my hand, curling my fingers around the stem. “Consider it a good luck charm for when you’re stuck in class writing notes.”
The pen is absurd, and yet somehow my throat tightens around the words I want to say. I brush my thumb across the soft felt petals, warmth prickling my chest.
“Thanks, baby,” I murmur softly. “For everything.”
I press a tender kiss to his mouth. The frigid air bites at my lips, but he’s warm and familiar. When I pull back, his cheeks are pinker than the cold alone can explain.
“I’ll see you at home later, okay?” he says gently.
Home. Our home, together.
“Yeah. Okay,” I say, my voice wavering slightly. “I love you.”
He smiles up at me, brushing a few wind-tousled curls out of my eyes. “I love you too, sunshine.”
I squeeze his hand before reluctantly letting go, stepping toward the building. The frozen air fills my lungs in one deep breath, sharp and dizzying.
My eyes flutter shut as I steady myself for this new chapter, fighting against the self-doubt gnawing at my stomach. Hunter doesn’t think I’m broken or wilted. He always says he sees sunshine when he looks at me—bright and warm, full of hope. Maybe it’s time I learn to see it, too.
With the sunflower pen tucked safely in my pocket, I push open the lecture hall doors and step inside, ready to begin again.