Epilogue

EPILOGUE

SIX MONTHS LATER

T he storm comes in just as the sun begins to descend from its apex in the sky. Bruce Cadogan pulls in just as the clouds grow grey and parks his truck in the small carport now connected to the side of the Caerlloyd Harbor lighthouse, right beside Simon Abbott's small, sensible sedan that carried him to the town that first time all those months ago. After unlocking the door with a copy of Simon's key, Bruce comes up behind his boyfriend and presses his wide palm to his slim hip, covered in plaid pajama pants and a too-big t-shirt, one Bruce left out just for this purpose.

"Hello," Bruce says quietly. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Simon says simply. It's still hard to speak sometimes when he's depressed; his words come out slow and clumsy. With Bruce here, it's a little easier, like lifting your legs underwater.

"Good," Bruce answers and presses a bearded kiss to the skin in front of Simon's ear. "Sit. I'll make dinner."

They eat fish. They eat a lot of fish living in the lighthouse, but Bruce is a good enough cook that Simon never gets sick of it. He makes rice in a rice cooker that Simon brought back from Boston the last time he visited, just to dissolve his lease and collect the last of his belongings.

Simon eats slowly but clears his bowl nonetheless. They watch TV— a show Simon likes and Bruce finds entertaining enough to sit through— and eventually, Simon presses his cheek to Bruce's shoulder and asks about his day.

They slipped into a routine easily when Simon made the decision to move up to Maine full time. Bruce fishes the same as before, Simon works his job, and now he can afford to take the day, two days, even a week off when he sinks into the throes of depression. Bruce cooks; he uses Cricket's kitchen at first, and now that the lighthouse kitchen is fixed up, he's made it his office. They come together in the evening and eat, fuck, sleep.

Simon has teletherapy on Thursdays and on Saturdays they go out on the sea, whether with the kayaks or the Argo. They eat blueberries baked into pastries and fresh off the bush until the season ends and now, with May peering around the corner, the fields consider blooming again.

Davey Jones loves the lighthouse. He spends his days napping in window sills, exploring the surrounding bushes and trees, and climbing the stairs over and over, desperate to catch the small family of dormice they're sure are living in the downstairs storage.He and Simon get along a little better, especially when Simon stays in bed until the sunlight angles just right for Davey to lay on his chest. He strokes over the cat's fur and uses the weight of him like a blanket, vibrations from his chest almost acting like therapy at times.

Simon and Bruce got the lighthouse livable in the first three months. The lowest levels and mechanics are still a work in progress, but Simon dove into renovating the kitchen and the bedrooms with a healthy vigor, hovering solidly between his usual determined hypomania and impossible depression.

They sleep in the same bed. Bruce spent a chunk of the winter carefully knitting Simon a matching set of a scarf, a pair of socks, and a hat. Not a sweater; Bruce repeatedly claims that he wouldn't dare risk the sweater curse. In his other free time, he writes at his old laptop in a big plush chair by a window, working on a novel he dreamed up nearly a decade ago. Simon sets up his PC across from Bruce's spot and they sit in quiet company as Simon plays simulation games and Bruce taps away, slowly but surely.

The lighthouse spins each night. They sit and watch the beam illuminate the low clouds sometimes, and other times they flick it off early and point out shapes in the stars. Some nights they get drunk and listen to the sea. Others, they hold hands and tell old stories.

Tonight, after they eat, they go to their bed. Simon smiles as he's feeling a little better, has a little more energy, so he asks Bruce to press him into the soft sheets and work him open, one finger at a time. They fuck slow, with Simon pressed into the bed and Bruce taking care to make every moment count, and by the time Simon sobs through his orgasm, his eyes are filled with exhausted tears but his lips still turn up in that same gentle smile.

Bruce cleans him up and opens the window just enough to sit by and let the smoke trail off his cigarette into the dusk sky.

"I love you," Simon says simply, like that's all it is.

And maybe it is. Maybe it is that simple.

"I love you too," Bruce answers, and it sounds a lot like, "stay."