Epilogue
The ocean, vast and indifferent, paid no heed to Drakov, or Okafor, or the six tumultuous years Andre had dedicated to maintaining the integrity of a city that seemed hell-bent on losing it.
It simply continued its ceaseless dance with the shore, its rhythmic waves a soothing lullaby against the chaos of his past. Andre found himself drawn to its apathy, its sheer enormity a comforting reminder of his own insignificance.
For the first time in years, he was grateful for something's complete lack of interest in him.
Marcus was sprawled in the hammock, one arm flung carelessly over his eyes as a shield against the dappled afternoon sunlight filtering through the palm fronds.
His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the soft snores a testament to his peaceful slumber.
Andre had been observing him for the better part of an hour, watching him do absolutely nothing.
It was a sight he found surprisingly satisfying, a stark contrast to their previous life of constant vigilance.
It had taken them a month to reach this haven, a month filled with necessary tasks and transitions.
Lakefront's metamorphosis into an entity that could survive without Marcus's constant supervision, tying off the last lingering threads from their past in Flint, ensuring Elijah was fit for full duty and dealing with his insufferable gloating about it.
But they'd made it. They'd found sanctuary in a rented house where sand stubbornly clung to every doorway and the view offered nothing but the serene expanse of the ocean, devoid of any concerns.
His phone buzzed against the weathered porch railing, disrupting the tranquility. Then again. A third buzz followed in quick succession, an unmistakable signal that only meant one thing.
Jude: does ANYONE know how to get sand out of a ring setting because I think I just permanently damaged my own engagement ring and I've only had it four weeks
Seth: put it in rice
Seth: the ring not your hand
Jude: SETH
Nate: babe he means like phones. don't put your hand in rice
Ghost: Rice doesn't actually work for moisture extraction, it's a myth. Silica gel packets work. I have several if anyone needs them.
Ghost: I keep them for exactly this reason
Elijah: why do you HAVE silica gel packets on standby that feels like a red flag
Ghost: It's not a red flag. It's preparedness.
Trip: He alphabetizes the emergency kit. Let the man have his silica.
Andre smiled down at the screen despite himself. Six weeks of relative peace and the group chat had lost none of its ability to derail in four messages flat. This was a new one, with all of them in it, and a constant source of chaos. And… love.
Jack: meanwhile in a normal chat, Eli is making me watch him try on his old uniform pants to see if they still fit
Elijah: THEY FIT
Jack: they do not fit babe
Elijah: I refuse to discuss this further
Nate: anyway ANDRE where are the honeymoon pictures we were promised
Andre glanced over at Marcus, still dead asleep, sun-warmed and unbothered by the entire chaos unfolding six hundred miles away in his pocket.
Andre: it's not a honeymoon
Zain: you've been gone a month with a ring-shaped tan line already starting on your left hand, Jefferson.
Andre looked down at his own hand. Zain wasn't wrong. He hadn't even noticed himself doing it, the way his thumb had started finding the bare spot on his ring finger like it was already used to something being there.
Andre: we'll talk about that when we talk about it
Seth: couples code for "already engaged, hasn't told anyone yet"
Jude: WAIT
Nate: ANDRE
Elijah: THE PANTS CONVERSATION IS OFFICIALLY TABLED WE HAVE BIGGER NEWS
Andre's laughter echoed out loud, a rich, hearty sound that danced over the porch and into the warm, tropical air. The sound nudged Marcus from his slumber, his eyes fluttering open, sleepy and questioning.
"Everything okay?" His voice was a low rumble, still heavy with sleep.
"The chat's spiraling." Andre held up his phone, the screen ablaze with the glow of what was rapidly becoming forty unread messages. "Apparently, I've developed a tan line."
Marcus's gaze slid down to Andre's left hand, slow and deliberate. His expression softened, a hint of smug satisfaction creeping into his features.
"Do you?" he teased, his words hanging in the air, not particularally a question.
"Don't start." Andre warned, though his voice held no real bite.
"I'm not starting anything." Marcus stretched languidly, the hammock swaying gently under him.
"I'm just saying, if a man happened to notice a tan line forming on someone's hand over the last few weeks, and happened to have a reason for it, that man wouldn't necessarily be obligated to mention it before he was ready. "
A warmth spread through Andre's chest, a heat that had nothing to do with the sun beating down on them.
"Marcus."
"Andre."
The phone buzzed again, insistent. The chat clearly wasn't done with him yet. Andre glanced at it, then back at Marcus. He watched as the corner of Marcus's mouth quirked up in that familiar way it did right before he won an argument neither of them had technically started.
With a sigh, Andre placed the phone face-down on the railing and ambled over to the hammock instead.
"They'll survive without me," he said, climbing in beside Marcus. He moved carefully to accommodate the sway of the hammock, settling close enough that there wasn't room left for anything but the two of them and the gentle lapping of the water against the porch. "I've got somewhere better to be."
"Yeah?" Marcus's hand found his jaw, tilting his face up. "Where's that?"
"Wherever you are." Andre leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to Marcus's lips. The world seemed to still around them, nothing else mattered anymore. "Turns out that's the only answer I really need. Took me long enough to get here."
"Six years," Marcus murmured against his mouth, a soft chuckle vibrating through him. "I'd say we made good time, all things considered."
"We really didn't."
"No," Marcus agreed, his laughter bubbling up between them as he pulled Andre closer. "We really, really didn't."
The hammock cradled them both easily, swaying in time with the rhythm of the water below the porch. Behind them, forgotten for now, the phone lit up one more time with a message neither of them would read.
Jude: guys I think they just stopped answering
Nate: good for them, honestly
Ghost: Objectively correct choice.
Andre never saw that last one coming. He was already in motion, his hands reaching out to pull Marcus up from the cocoon of the hammock.
Their laughter echoed through the open porch doors, a shared melody of joy and familiarity.
They stumbled once against the doorframe, a clumsy dance that would have looked awkward on anyone with less practice at falling into each other.
But they were well-versed in this dance, their bodies knowing each other as well as their hearts did.
The bedroom welcomed them with a warm embrace of late-afternoon light. It was a golden hue, soft and easy, painting everything in a lazy glow. The ocean's rhythmic whispers were still audible through the screen door, a soothing soundtrack to their shared intimacy.
"No clock," Marcus said, his voice a soft echo of something Andre had said to him once. It was in a different kitchen, on a different night that had needed the reminder far more than this one did. "No countdown."
"No countdown." Andre's fingers worked on Marcus's shirt, pulling it over his head and letting it drop carelessly onto the floor. "Just a whole rest of the day with absolutely nowhere else to be."
They undressed each other with a slow deliberation, savoring each moment.
There was no urgency in their movements because urgency had never been the point, not really, not even at the start.
Marcus's hands traced Andre's body like he was relearning something he already knew by heart, thorough and unhurried.
Andre let himself be mapped, let himself want without any part of him standing guard against the wanting.
"Look at me," Andre said, his voice barely above a whisper when Marcus's mouth started to wander. It was the same words he'd said himself once before, on a different bed, under very different circumstances.
Marcus looked at him. His gaze held steady as he pushed inside him slow, deliberate, every inch of it something to actually feel instead of something to survive.
The bed was soft under them, the sheets already tangled in a testament to their passion.
The light shifted from gold to rose-gold as the sun leaned toward the water outside, casting a romantic glow over them.
"I love you," Marcus said, his voice low and rough. Each word punctuated every slow roll of his hips like a vow he intended to keep saying until it wore a groove into both of them. "I love you. I love you."
"I know." Andre's legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper, meeting every thrust with one of his own until neither of them could tell where the giving ended and the taking began. "I love you too. I never really stopped."
"Show me," Marcus murmured against his throat. "Show me you mean it."
Andre showed him. They moved together slow at first, patient, then faster, the pace building the way the tide built outside the window: gradual, then all at once. Until there was nothing left in either of them but the other man's name and the sheer relief of having nothing left to hide.
Marcus came apart first, Andre's name breaking out of him like something he'd been saving for exactly this moment. Andre followed him a heartbeat later, shaking, Marcus's name the only word he had left in him.
Afterward, they lay tangled together in sheets gone warm with both their bodies. The ocean still kept its own indifferent rhythm outside, a constant reminder of the world beyond their cocoon. Marcus pressed a kiss to Andre's temple and said the only thing left worth saying.
"Welcome home."
Andre closed his eyes, Marcus's heartbeat steady under his ear, and understood, for the first time in six long years, that the word had never once needed a city attached to it. It only ever needed Marcus.