27. Epilogue
Six months later
“Can I borrow your shirt?” Oliver stands in the hallway, looking adorably pouty in a white button-up. “I wanna be comfortable at the party.”
“You’ll drown in it,” I warn, but I’m already on the way to my closet. I bring him one of my T-shirts that’s getting a little too tight for me and start unbuttoning his button-up. “Are you nervous?”
“No, it’s just… I know Nico’s still mad at me,” he mumbles, gaze downturned.
“Because you moved out?”
“Yeah. And now it’s his and Luca’s birthday, and I don’t know if he even likes what I got him, and—”
“Shh.” I peel his shirt off his shoulders and help him into my own shirt. Yeah, he’s drowning in it, alright, but if I tuck the excess material into his jeans, it doesn’t look too ridiculous. When he puts on his denim jacket, it’s barely noticeable that he’s wearing my shirt.
He fingers the collar, looking up at me with the same eyes that never stop shining with adoration when he looks at me, except maybe when he’s being bratty or when we disagree on what to eat for dinner.
He’s lived with me for almost four months, and every day is better than the previous one.
I still can’t believe this is my life now, and at times like this, when he looks up at me and smiles like that, my heart feels too big for my chest.
“Thank you,” he mumbles, cheeks flushing.
“Feel better now?”
He nods.
“Ready to go?”
“Kiss first.” He tilts his face up and closes his eyes in anticipation, and I place a peck on his lips. When I pull back, he whines in protest, and I end up giving him a deeper kiss, with a hand firmly on the back of his neck.
He pulls back with a satisfied smile. “Okay. Now we can go.”
We weave through the evening traffic and arrive at the twins’ apartment building at six. Oliver requests another kiss before we enter, and I pull him into my arms instead and stroke the top of his head, gently squeezing his neck.
“It’ll be okay. We can leave if you get overwhelmed.”
“That would look weird.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m here.”
He sighs shakily and gives a little whimper into my chest. “Love you.”
“Love you too.” For the past few months, things have felt so easy between us. Calm. Everything I do for him feels effortless. This side of me activates automatically when he’s around, and the privilege and satisfaction of taking care of him is greater than anything I’ve ever known.
Despite our age difference, despite having everything stacked against us, our relationship only grows deeper the more time passes.
I’ve been lucky enough to call Oliver my partner, my boy, my everything, for over six months now, and there are still times I wake up with him in my arms and stare up at the ceiling, hardly believing my fortune.
Oliver is the most precious boy, the most precious human I’ve ever known, and he calls himself mine without hesitation.
That’s not to say I don’t backslide into guilt and uncertainty sometimes.
I try my best to be aware of his inexperience in life and take care not to override his feelings or make him feel small.
I build us both up instead, and it’s a lot of responsibility, but at this point, I feel ready for whatever life throws at us.
People stare at us in the streets sometimes, trying to work out what our relationship is.
Are we coach and student, father and son?
The number of accepted relationships we can have is few, and partners is not one of them.
When we show any sort of affection, those people scrunch their noses with a huff and turn the other way.
I barely notice it these days, and Oliver doesn’t seem bothered at all; in fact, whenever we face judgment, he straightens his back and smirks in delight.
The forbidden nature of our relationship has always excited him, and these days, I can’t deny it sometimes sparks a flicker of arousal in me, too.
I let him cling to me for longer than usual, and he inhales my scent until he gives a little sigh and lets me go.
“Okay. I’m ready.”
I ring the doorbell. When the door flies open, a flurry of sounds and scents bursts from inside.
Luca is dressed in a crop top with tight pink pants, his blond hair pulled back into a half bun.
Nico looks like a rock star, with black eyeliner and a band T-shirt ripped at the arms. His green-and-black hair is spiked in all directions, and he looks murderous, his lean arms crossed over his chest.
“Look who decided to show up.”
Luca rolls his eyes and ushers us inside. “Stop holding it against him. If you had a hot daddy boyfriend, you’d move in with him, too.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Nico grumbles, still glaring at Oliver. “Do you know your replacement roommate didn’t pay rent for two months? We kicked him out, so now we’re splitting rent between the three of us. Do you know how much that is?”
“Sorry.” Oliver grabs my arm, grinning sheepishly as he looks up at me. I smile down at him gently.
Nico works his jaw as he glares at us both. “Yuck, you look so in love. It’s gross.”
“Don’t listen to him; he’s just jealous.” Luca jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Come on, let me get you a drink.” He guides us past the clusters of people standing by the couch. I don’t recognize any of them; they must be friends of the twins.
“Happy birthday, by the way,” Oliver says.
“Thanks,” Luca throws over his shoulder as he pours us drinks at the counter. “Twenty-four. Ugh, we’re getting old.” He glances at me and waves a hand. “I mean, it’s all relative.”
“Sure.” I’ve never felt more out of place; I’m older than everyone at this party by at least a decade. In fact, my birthday is coming up in a few weeks. Forty-four.
“I’m twenty now,” Oliver says.
Luca winks at me as he hands me a drink. “So now you can finally say you’re no longer going out with a teenager, huh?”
My cheeks heat, and I take a sip of the drink to avoid replying. Oliver probably needs to get at least five years older before I’m fully comfortable with our age difference.
I’m not ashamed—it just feels weird whenever the subject comes up, and I see the reaction on people’s faces.
They don’t know us; they don’t know what we’re like or how well we fit together, but in a few years, our age gap will be less jarring to the outside world.
At least I assume so. The fact that we used to be stepdad and stepson will probably never get less offensive, though.
When Nico enters the kitchen space and gets himself a beer, Oliver hands him a wrapped gift out of the bag we brought.
“Hey, um, I got you this. Happy birthday.”
Without replying, Nico starts tearing into the wrapping. I didn’t know what it was at first when Oliver bought it, but apparently it’s an infinity slider—with two metal pieces that slide together with a satisfying click.
Oliver starts rambling. “I didn’t know if you already had enough of them or if you still liked them or…”
Nico looks stunned. He rips the slider out of the plastic packaging and tests it out with a small click. “No, it’s… Thank you.”
“He’s really touched,” Luca whispers in my ear.
“This is for you, Luca.” Oliver hands him a packet, and unlike Nico, Luca calmly unwraps it and breaks into a smile at the sight.
“I’ve thought about getting one of these.” He holds up the T-shirt coloring kit. “Thank you.”
“Really?” Oliver looks relieved, and I put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.
He’s agonized about the gifts for weeks. I’ve been there for him through all the ups and downs—the guilt of leaving his roommates after only a few months of living with them, then resigning from the restaurant he was working at and taking a slower-paced part-time job in a small shop instead.
He’s needed me through all of those moments of figuring things out, and I’ve been there for him through everything, as his partner and as his daddy, patiently supporting him.
“I need this more than ever,” Nico says, clicking the slider. “I’ve just started at a new gig.”
Luca leans into me and Oliver with a theatrical whisper. “He’s not getting along with his boss.”
Nico scoffs. “He’s not my boss; he only thinks he is. He’s my supervisor, and he’s an asshole.”
“I thought you liked assholes,” Oliver says with a waggle of his brows.
“Not this asshole.” Nico starts aggressively fidgeting with the slider. “He’s… just… so fucking annoying. I can’t stand him. Every time I see him, I want to—”
“Punch his face in,” Luca finishes with a knowing smirk. “Sure. You keep telling yourself that.”
“Did I tell you he’s shorter than me?”
“Hasn’t stopped you before.”
“Shut up,” Nico grumbles. “I’m fucking freaking out.”
Now that I think about it, he looks like he hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in weeks. The makeup around his eyes only exaggerates the effect.
“This is how he gets when he likes someone,” Luca tells Oliver and me in another theatrical whisper. This time, Nico seems too busy fidgeting with the slider and drinking his beer to notice.
Moments later, the doorbell rings, and Oliver’s friend, Lane, walks inside. Behind him, Mason looms like a guardian, a hand on Lane’s shoulder as he looks out over the living room.
“What the fuck,” Oliver whispers. “Mason wasn’t invited.”
“Does it surprise you that he came?” As far as I can remember, Mason has never been one to adhere to rules—especially not rules he has incentive to break.
“No, but…”
“It’s okay. Let’s go say hi.” I guide Oliver toward them with a hand on the small of his back.
“Ugh, fine.” Oliver grabs my wrist and slings my arm around his side, as if he wants me to plaster myself to his body and give him the strength he needs.
I’ve seen Mason a couple of times since that unfortunate encounter at the café by the Waterfront Park.
Kim kept her promise in telling him what happened, why we broke up, and why I just disappeared from their lives.
Even so, his opinion of me doesn’t seem to have changed much.
The only person he seems truly fond of is his boyfriend, Lane, though it’s obvious he cares more about Oliver than he lets show.
Oliver shifts briefly from my side to give Lane a hug.
“No hug for me?” Mason asks, unbothered on the surface, but I know he’d rather Oliver were happy to see him.
“You weren’t invited,” Oliver says.
“Yeah, but I wanted to come.” He slides an arm around Lane’s shoulders, and now and again, his thumb grazes the choker around Lane’s throat. “Wanted to see what your old place was like.”
I give a shrug. “Well, if you want, you can come see what his new place is like.”
Mason narrows his eyes. “Your place, you mean?”
“It’s ours now. You can come for dinner if you like.”
“Sounds boring.”
Lane gives Mason’s hand a squeeze, looking up at him with a smile. “Sounds nice.”
A silence follows where Mason’s gaze flicks between me and Oliver, analyzing the way we stand, the way my hand lies gently on Oliver’s shoulder. Finally, the tension in him dissolves with a sigh, and he rolls his eyes.
“I still think it’s insane—this whole thing.” He waves a hand at us. “But you seem happy, so… fine.”
“So you’ll come for dinner?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Maybe. If Lane wants to.”
Lane smiles brightly up at him, which settles everything.
The party gets louder and busier as the drinks flow.
People are everywhere, and at some point, Oliver takes my hand and leads me into his old room.
Nico said the last roommate moved out, so it should be fine as a temporary refuge.
The place has the same furniture as when Oliver called it a home.
It’s tidier, though, and it’s missing his PC.
We climb onto the bed and put our backs to the wall, bodies lined up.
“When I first came here, this place smelled like you,” he mumbles.
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t know why at first, but months ago, I found the cologne you use in the upstairs bathroom.
I asked Luca, and he said it was Hunter’s, the guy who never leaves his room.
” He shrugs. “Anyway, when I first moved in here, I hated that scent. It was like the universe was mocking me or something.” He gives a small laugh.
“I thought it was because I was always thinking about you, longing for you. But… then I met you, and now you’re here. ”
I take his hand, and he weaves our fingers together—my rough and hairy ones meeting his slender and smooth ones. I squeeze his hand and don’t speak; I just let him say what’s on his mind.
“I still can’t believe it. Sometimes I have dreams where you’re gone again, and I’m thirteen, at Mom’s house. But… I’m not afraid anymore that it’ll happen. That you’ll leave.”
“Good.” I bring our hands to my mouth and kiss his knuckles. “I won’t.”
His voice grows thick. “I missed you so much. Sometimes I missed you so much I could barely stand it.”
“I know. I’m so sorry, Oliver.”
“It’s okay.” He glances down, picking at a loose string on his pants. “I know why now.”
“Knowing why doesn’t make it okay, but I’m here now. I’m with you.” And I’m not running anymore. I still feel guilty sometimes, but that guilt doesn’t overpower my desire to be with him and to be what he needs.
His eyes are glassy as they gaze into mine. “I want a kiss, Daddy.”
Needing no further encouragement, I lean in and capture his lips, and while the party continues on the other side of the door, Oliver crawls into my lap and brushes our noses together.
I take him into my arms, into a cocoon of love and safety.
Whimpering into my mouth, he presses closer—always warm, always hungry, and always mine.
“Love you, Daddy.”
“Love you too, sweet Ollie.”