Epilogue

EPILOGUE

Three years later…

Lennox

I sit on the two-foot-high concrete stone wall that loops the Templo de Debod, the sun low to the west, igniting orange across the leaves of the enormous trees and saturating color on the water that surrounds the ancient Egyptian structure. The temple dates back 2,200 years, dedicated to Amun and Isis, sitting on the outskirts of the Parque del Oeste.

I adore this place. Sketchpad on my knees, feet propped on the wall. A steady stream of people mill around the temple, but it's not crowded during off season, just enough to people-watch as I sketch, planning out my next posts, my next makeup look. I've taken a week off, traveling for some of Reed's games, and followers are already starting to pester me with what's next.

There are a lot of them. Followers, I mean.

I didn't know that going on that show would change my life so fucking much . I didn't win. No final boy status for me, but something must have sparked for people about a trans kid from Boston who talks way too much about the meaning of life. The blend of beauty and the macabre in my work resonated, and the followers keep growing. The requests for work keep coming. Opportunities that I'd never even knew existed grow out of nowhere, some from Jamie's film too—which has slowly been gathering this cult status by word of mouth.

I'm not surprised at all , Reed always says. Not by any of it. You. Jamie. I saw what you both could do.

Well, it all constantly surprises the shit out of me.

But they like Reed, too. Every look that I post, it's on him. Something created late at night, the two of us together, light from the plaza filtering softly through the curtains of the double window of our flat, on the other side of the park from here, his eyes on me as I work.

He never looks away.

I don't either.

He's my muse. Always.

I tap my pencil against the paper, an idea coming to me slowly. It builds in the back of my thoughts before it fully lets itself be known.

"I knew I'd find you here." Capable hands settle on my shoulders from behind, and I tip my head back to look up at him, my smile immediately growing. He bends to kiss me, upside down, before stepping over the wall.

"Show me what you have." He sits next to me, his eyes on my sketchpad. He's always curious about what I'll do to him next. Some of our creations have been pretty wild.

I turn it to show him. "It's not much right now." Actually, there's really nothing on the page except a grouping of carefully placed dots. It's all in my head.

He blinks at it. "I have no idea what that's going to be."

I smile. "Trust me."

"Okay."

I set my sketchpad aside. "How was your ride back from Germany?"

He laughs. "The bus is always so fucking cold . But I have a surprise for?—"

"Discúlpeme!" A woman steps in front of Reed, a young girl clutching her hand. She speaks so quickly in Spanish that I can only pick out every few words, but Reed nods like he understands. He takes a torn piece of paper and a pen from her and scribbles his name, then hands it back.

I settle my feet on the ground, watching him.

The world of water polo is different in Spain. He gets stopped. In part because he's the "bad boy of water polo". I didn't know such a thing could exist, and it makes me grin wider considering that he's the kindest, most considerate man I've ever met.

But they like his tattoos, and they like the stern looks he shoots across the pool, and they like the irreverent ease he displays before a game. They see the hard, determined strength in him that I do. He's different out there in the water—a different side of him than he is at home. I love that complexity. That he's not afraid to show dissimilar sides of himself.

He can do anything . And he's been proving that in the water.

He finishes signing the autograph and then thanks her before swinging his foot around my back as they leave. He pulls me between his legs, and then hunches to settle his chin on my shoulder, his lips close to my ear.

"About that surprise," he whispers. "You're never going to believe it."

"I like those kinds of surprises."

"Mmm…" He grips my hips, pulling me even closer. I'm still facing the temple, his chest against my shoulder, his stomach against my arm, his cock gently hardening against my hip as we fold together, the sun sinking, warming orange across our faces.

"I missed you so fucking much." He nuzzles my neck, and I twist for his lips.

After a soft kiss, he leans back. "So… I found them."

I blink. "Found who?"

His tongue swipes his bottom lip, leaving a damp sheen. "Andrew and Elijah."

"What?" I straighten.

He nods. "Well, I found Elijah. At least, I think it's him." He shifts to dig his phone out of his pocket, his joggers tight as always, then he thumbs it open and scrolls through some pictures before handing it to me. "What do you think?"

Street graffiti. It's on the side of a three-story, white-brick building, stretching up the full height.

Holy fuck, it's the angel. The disconnected lines, the wings stretching out across, painted over shuttered windows and the door, the halo reaching over the gutter. Words are emblazoned across the bottom.

To my forever love,

Elijah

I stare at it, not daring to breathe for hope.

"This is real?" My voice grates. I didn't know I'd have such a strong reaction. Those journals are still with me. They give me inspiration; they give me contemplation. But I'd given up any hope of knowing more about the full story.

The mystery was fine with me.

But now…

"Brazil," he says. "Painted two months ago."

My heart hammers. My hand shakes as I hand him back the phone, heat growing in my eyes. "They're together."

He kisses my shoulder. " Yes . And so are we, Lenn."

We're silent for a moment, huddled together, the sun slowly falling, people milling around us, visiting the temple, going about their lives.

Doing the things that matter to them. Building out their lives.

It makes me think about the meaning of art, and the weight of what Elijah creates for Andrew. The reasons we make art at all.

Reed pulls in a shaky breath, tugging me tighter, and I know he feels something, too.

"Marry me."

I flinch. "What?"

His breath tickles my ear. "Marry me, Lennox. I saw that artwork and it made me think that I don't want to wait. I want to do . I want to go where our lives take us. So, marry me and then go with me to Brazil. Runaway with me again."

I close my eyes. I feel the concrete wall under my ass, the expansion of his chest against my shoulder as he breathes, the way that my heart floods every time he's near, and what our life has been over these past three years. The way that both of our lives have exploded.

We're better together.

We're unstoppable together.

But that's not the reason I give him the answer that I do. I give it because I love him. Because I look at him, and I see the best in a person. Because he'll always, always be my final boy.

"Yes."

FADE OUT.