Epilogue #3
My throat went tight. I didn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe.
“You saw me when I was invisible,” Bat continued, his thumbs stroking circles against my knuckles. “You played my guitar. You held my hand in that garden and danced with me under the stars even though I had two left feet.”
Someone in the audience made a soft, emotional sound.
“You taught me what it means to be brave,” Bat said.
“Not the stupid kind of brave, like running through burning buildings or fighting evil monsters. The real kind. The kind that means showing up every day and choosing to love someone. Choosing to build a life even when the future is uncertain and nothing makes sense and your boyfriend eats all the bloody crisps.”
More laughter. Louder this time.
My vision blurred.
“You made me want to be alive again,” Bat said, his voice cracking slightly. “And then, miracle of miracles, I was alive again. And every single day since then has been the greatest gift I never thought I’d receive.”
He let go of my left hand.
Reached into his pocket.
My heart stopped.
Just—stopped beating entirely. Forgot how. Gave up on the concept of circulation.
Bat dropped to one knee.
The entire venue went silent.
Held its collective breath.
He opened a small velvet box. Inside, a thin silver band caught the stage lights. Simple. Elegant. Perfect.
“Charlie Hayes,” Bat said, looking up at me with those ice-blue eyes that once scared me but now made me melt.
“Will you do me the honour of letting me grow old with you? Catch spiders for you? Have as many ghost babies as you could possibly want with you? Will you let me love you until we both die and haunt each other for the rest of our eternities?”
Silence stretched.
My mouth wouldn’t work. Vocal cords paralyzed. Brain completely offline.
He’d talked about gay marriage constantly over the last two years—marvelling that it was legal now, so excited and happy about it.
But somehow I’d never considered…
Never imagined he’d actually want to marry me.
“Say yes, Uncle Charlie!” Lily’s voice cut through the stunned quiet like a banshee’s screech. “SAY YES!!!”
“Yes,” I managed to force out, the word barely a whisper even with the microphone nearby. “A thousand times, yes.”
My knees gave way.
I dropped down beside him—less graceful proposal acceptance, more structural collapse. We ended up kneeling face-to-face on the stage, both of us shaking.
The audience erupted.
Loud. So loud. Louder than I’d thought possible. Strangers cheering alongside the people we loved, their joy crashing over us in waves.
Bat grabbed my face with both hands and kissed me.
Properly kissed me. The tongue-down-my-throat sort of kiss that belonged in private, not under stage lights with hundreds of witnesses and cameras and at least one journalist documenting every second.
Wolf whistles pierced the air.
Retching sounds followed—definitely Lily, making her disgust known.
Bat’s tongue swept into my mouth. His fingers tangled in my hair. The ring box pressed uncomfortably against my ribs where he’d dropped it between us, but I didn’t care. Couldn’t care. The entire world narrowed to this—his lips, his warmth, his impossible existence.
He pulled back just enough to murmur against my mouth: “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I whispered back. “You absolute nightmare.”
He laughed. Grabbed the ring from its box with slightly trembling fingers and slid it onto my hand. It somehow fit perfectly—though I could easily imagine him measuring my finger while I slept, the sneaky bastard.
The audience was still going wild. Mum was sobbing and Emily was definitely crying too—mascara running down her face whilst she recorded everything. Mike and Emma were on their feet, clapping so hard their hands were a blur.
Bat helped me stand. Kept one arm wrapped firmly around my waist like he thought I might bolt.
I wasn’t going anywhere.
“Right,” Bat said into the microphone, grinning so wide it had to hurt. “One more song. This one’s for my fiancé.”
Fiancé.
Holy shit.
He handed his electric guitar to a stagehand. A moment later, they passed him the acoustic—the one from Grimthorne, battered and loved, the one he’d begged me to take with me. The one we often played together in our flat, composing melodies at 2:00 a.m. when neither of us could sleep.
He adjusted the strap. His fingers found the strings, and the opening notes filled the venue—something slower this time. Tender.
I started to step away, to give him space to perform, but Bat’s hand shot out and caught my wrist.
“Stay,” he said quietly. Not into the microphone. Just to me.
So I stayed.
Stood there beside him whilst he sang about love that transcended death, about second chances, about building homes in each other’s hearts. His voice wrapped around me like a blanket. Safe. Warm.
The journalist was frantically scribbling.
The crowd swayed in time with the music.
And I stood on that stage with a ring on my finger and thought, this is real. This is actually happening.
I fell in love with a ghost.
And then I got to keep him.
The End