28. HOLDEN
HOLDEN
Two weeks after the campout, Korie is standing in my kitchen arguing passionately with my refrigerator.
“I’m telling you,” they say, pointing accusingly at the produce drawer, “we absolutely need more strawberries.”
“We bought strawberries yesterday.”
“And?”
“And there are still strawberries.”
Korie shuts the drawer dramatically. “Holden. Be serious. That’s barely enough strawberries for two people.”
I look up slowly from where I’m chopping vegetables at the counter.
Two people.
Damn, they can be oblivious to how easily they knock my world off its axis sometimes.
Korie keeps talking. “And we’re out of yogurt again, so I think we should pick up our groceries tonight before the rush hits.”
Our groceries.
Jesus Christ.
I bite back a grin before they can see it.
Don’t make it weird.
Do not make it weird.
Because if I point it out, they’ll realize what they said and immediately combust from embarrassment.
Nope. It’s too tempting. The red-faced Korie is too good to resist.
I wipe my hands on a towel and lean against the counter. “Our groceries, huh?”
They freeze for exactly half a second, then recover suspiciously fast.
“Well, yeah,” they say casually. Too casually. “You eat all the yogurt like a criminal. It’s always gone at my place too.”
Ah, there it is. The quick separation. But it sounds less convincing than I expected.
Korie narrows their eyes immediately. “You’re doing the face.”
“What face?”
“The face where you know something.”
“I know lots of things.”
“Holden.”
I grin openly now. “You’re cute when you get defensive.”
They throw a kitchen towel directly at my head.
I catch it one-handed, heroic and athletic.
Korie flips me off.
Ah. Domestic bliss. I didn’t think we’d get here this fast. Not because I doubted them. I never doubted Korie loved me. But their heart had to catch up to the future I was subconsciously already living in. It makes my heart explode with how easily they’re arriving there though.
I keep finding pieces of them in my apartment—things that couldn’t be left behind accidentally either.
Their makeup bag sat beside my sink for three straight days even when they didn’t come over.
A sports bra was hanging over my shower rod this morning, and Korie shoved spare underwear in the top drawer of my dresser.
They’ve always had clothes here, but never underwear. And especially not the lacy kind. I kinda think they’re doing it on purpose.
Scratch that—I know they are.
I caught them grinning when I opened my drawer today to get dressed. The little brat.
Hair products are slowly invading my bathroom counter like a very aggressive, very pretty army. And there’s even a little pile of their skin care stuff beside my toothbrush now.
A month ago, Korie would’ve tucked every single item back into their backpack before bed, convinced it didn’t belong here.
Sure, they kept shampoo and deodorant here before we started dating, but they packed away anything that was explicitly theirs before bed.
Things only they used and thought would get in the way.
Now they leave things behind without thinking.
Like they already fit.
Like this space is theirs too.
And the wildest—the best part—is I don’t think they fully realize they’re doing it.
Or maybe they do.
I tried giving Korie more space when we got back, sleeping in my own bed more and not going over right after work. But Korie hated it. They kept coming to me instead of me going to them. They’ve even mentioned liking the view from my living room better.
Either way, I’m not touching it. No pressure. No pushing. I’m just… letting them come to me.
Korie shuts the fridge again before turning toward me. “Seriously. Why are you smiling like that?”
“Can’t a man enjoy watching his partner violently defend strawberries?”
Their expression softens automatically at partner.
Every single time.
“Shut up,” they mumble, but they’re smiling now too.
I reach out when they wander close enough, catching their wrist and tugging them between my knees where I’m leaning against the counter. I feed them a piece of pepper, then kiss them before they finish chewing.
Korie settles against me, hands sliding up my chest beneath my shirt.
“Aris would love your plant shelves,” they say idly.
I can’t hold back my laugh. “Think so?”
“Definitely.”
I pull away, searching their eyes. Korie told me that sometimes they need a push. Maybe this is one of those times?
“Well,” I murmur, fingers slipping beneath the hem of their hoodie, “you could always bring her here too, you know. Test it out. See if she likes it here.”
They freeze.
“You’ve basically already moved in, anyway. I’m sure she misses you.”
Their eyes widen instantly. There it is. There’s the panic I expected. Only, it never fully arrives. Instead, Korie glances toward the hallway, then to the living room, and finally to my bedroom, like they’re mentally inventorying all the stuff currently spread across my apartment.
“Oh,” they say after a second.
I laugh softly. “Yeah. Oh.”
A slow blush creeps across their cheeks.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I swear.”
“Korie, you have six different hair products in my bathroom.”
“They all have different purposes!”
“Terrifying information.”
They snort, shoving lightly at my shoulder.
I catch their hand before they can pull away, pressing a quick kiss into the center of their palm. Their breathing catches a little. There it is. Still my favorite thing in the world—that tiny shift when all their focus suddenly narrows onto me.
Makes me feel like the luckiest guy in the world.
I tug them closer until they’re standing between my legs properly, chest brushing mine.
“You staying tonight?” I ask quietly.
Korie gives me a look. “I’ve stayed the last four nights.”
“So that’s a yes?”
Their smile turns soft around the edges. “Yeah. It’s a yes, dork.”
Something dangerously fond twists through my chest. I tilt my head up just enough to kiss them slowly. Korie melts immediately, fingers sliding into my hair while I pull them flush against me.
I could live inside this feeling forever.
The kiss deepens lazily, familiar in a way that still makes me dizzy. Korie tastes like strawberries stolen from the fridge. Strawberries and joy and every wonderful thing.
“Thief,” I murmur against their mouth.
“You love me.”
“Mm. I do.”
They laugh softly into the kiss, and the sound wrecks me a little.
Because this, this right here, is the thing I was always searching for—the closeness, the real connection and constant passion, the easy laughter. It’s everything I ever wanted.
And it was right in front of me the whole time.
“I think our bed is calling us,” I whisper, squeezing their hip.
Korie is already dragging me down the hall before I even finish that sentence.
I know it’s going to be one of those nights the second Korie starts pacing.
They’ve changed shirts twice already, like they can’t seem to settle on anything. There’s a restless, bright energy humming under their skin that’s making them talk louder and faster than usual.
“Okay, how about this one?” they say, turning toward me again, hands spread like they’re presenting evidence. “This one feels more like poetry night, right? Less ‘I just threw something on,’ and more ‘I might cry in public but like, in a cool way.’”
I lean back against the kitchen counter, coffee in hand, and take them in. Soft gray tee, sleeves rolled just enough, worn jeans that cut off above the ankle, and a black belt. Their dark reddish hair is curling at the tips, still wet from the shower.
“You said that about the last one.”
“That one was more—casual introspection. This is intentional vulnerability.” They wave their hands as they say this, as if painting a picture.
I bite back a laugh. “There’s a difference?”
“Yes! A big difference!” They’re smiling now, eyes bright. “You just don’t understand the nuance.”
“Clearly.”
They grab their jacket off the back of the chair, shrug into it, then pause like they’re running through a checklist in their head.
“Okay. Phone. Wallet. Keys.” They pat their pockets, then glance up at me. “Emotional readiness?”
“Mmm.” I take a sip of coffee. “That one’s questionable.”
They snort. “Whatever. You like poetry night.”
I shake my head. “No. I like that you like poetry night. It’s never been my thing.”
They roll their eyes, but there’s no heat in it. Just that same easy openness that still catches me off guard sometimes. Not because it’s new anymore—but because there was a moment when I thought I’d pushed them too far. Now their easy jabs and playful smiles feel like breathing again.
They glance at the clock, then back at me, bouncing slightly in their shoes. “Ready?”
They say it like I haven’t been waiting forty minutes for them.
Before reaching for my jacket, I step in close enough that Korie’s quiet laugh ghosts against my skin.
“You’re adorable when you’re this excited,” I say.
They don’t even try to deny it. “I know. I just love the vibe. The people and the—”
I gasp. “You love the people?” I touch their forehead playfully. “Are you feeling okay?”
Korie ignores me, still gesturing vaguely. “—the feeling of it. Like everyone just shows up and… I don’t know. Feels things on purpose.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
They grin. “It is. But I still love it.”
I shake my head, but I’m smiling too, because of course they do. Of course they’d love something like that—messy and honest and a little bit raw around the edges.
They steal a kiss before grabbing my hand. “Come on. We’re going to be late.”
Graham’s is already buzzing when we walk in.
Low lights, warm wood, the hum of conversation layered under the soft crackle of a mic being tested near the tiny stage in the corner.
It smells like beer, fried onion rings, and good times.
I suck in a breath. This is the kind of place that settles into your bones the longer you’re here, becoming a part of you.
Korie and I stumbled into it on their 21st birthday, just trying out different bars because we could.
This is the only one we talked about in the days after.