Somewhere Only We Know - 38. Thanksgiving

The first few days back in Lakehurst didn’t feel real—at least not to Kitt.

Riverbend still clung to him like a second skin: the narrow apartment hallways, Mateo’s off-key humming drifting down from the third floor, the scent of lemon dish soap at Javier’s restaurant, Harbor trotting beside Tom on Maple Street, the clatter of basketballs echoing across the youth center parking lot. He had lived there long enough that those sounds had become home.

And now he woke in his childhood bedroom again—a room that felt frozen in time, yet altered in the quiet spaces where grief and reconciliation now lived.

The first morning, sunlight slipped through the slats of his blinds in delicate stripes. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, listening to his heartbeat and the muffled movements downstairs: someone opening a cupboard, footsteps crossing the living room, the soft murmur of a kettle being set on the stove.

He hadn’t heard those sounds in months.

He hadn’t expected to hear them again, not like this.

His father knocked and waited for Kitt to say ‘come in’ before opening the door—something he’d never done in Kitt’s memory. He stepped inside with a hesitance that made Kitt sit upright. The man stood awkwardly for a long moment, eyes drifting around the room—at the swim ribbons tacked to the corkboard, the worn desk he’d studied at, the shelf where a few books still leaned in a crooked row.

“I, uh…” Stephen cleared his throat. “Your mother’s making breakfast.”

Kitt nodded. “Okay.”

Stephen lingered, hand sliding into his pocket. “We… got something for you.”

Kitt blinked as his father extended a small white box, still sealed. When he opened it, he found a brand-new iPhone resting inside, sleek and pristine, the kind of expensive model his dad would’ve said was unnecessary or excessive before.

“I know you needed one,” Stephen said quietly. “And I know… I know I took away the last one. I’m sorry about that. And about… everything.” His voice wavered only once. “This one is yours. I won’t look at it without your permission. Ever.”

Kitt’s fingers trembled around the box. “Dad…”

Stephen took a breath that seemed to scrape against his throat. “I’m trying, son.”

Kitt nodded, because he could see it—the effort, the discomfort, the way Stephen was wrestling with parts of himself he’d never questioned until months of silence forced him to. The apology wasn’t perfect, and the change wasn’t complete, but it was real.

Downstairs, Susan hugged him so tightly he nearly lost his breath. She cupped his face in her hands as if afraid he might vanish again. She cried softly into his shoulder while breakfast sizzled behind her on the stove: eggs, bacon, toast, and the faint scent of cinnamon he hadn’t smelled in months.

Everywhere Kitt turned in the house, there were reminders of something new forming—bridges being rebuilt, slowly but carefully.

. . .

By the time the week of Thanksgiving arrived, the house felt different.
Calmer. Looser. As if his absence had peeled open parts of his parents they didn’t know how to expose before.

Susan began preparing days in advance, scribbling lists on sticky notes that accumulated on the kitchen counter. She hummed as she worked, soft and warm. Stephen helped without complaint—another surprise—carrying grocery bags, peeling potatoes, cleaning the dining room until the table shone.

One evening, as Kitt dried dishes beside his mother, he found himself mumbling, “Um… can I invite people for Thanksgiving?”

Susan’s head lifted instantly. “Of course. Who?”

“Matt and his family”

“Sure, honey. I was thinking about inviting them myself.”

“And… Tom,” Kitt said. “Tom Bennett.” He swallowed. “He lives in Riverbend… He helped me a lot.”

The warmth on Susan’s face softened into something deeper—something grateful and aching. “Then of course he should come,” she said without hesitation. “Anyone who cared for you when we… couldn’t see straight… he is welcome in this house.”

She didn’t cry this time, but her voice trembled.

Stephen paused in the doorway, listening. Something inside him flickered—guilt, maybe, or humility. He nodded once. “Invite him,” he said, and left the room quickly, as though the weight of his own regrets were too heavy to carry openly.

. . .

When Thanksgiving morning finally broke, the air carried the smell of frost and chimney smoke drifting through the neighborhood. Kitt woke early—not because of nerves, but because the house was alive below him. Laughter. Clattering pans. Susan bustling. Stephen clumsy but sincere in the kitchen.

And across the street, the Everest home was awake too.

Matt texted him early—two messages, simple but warm.

Happy Thanksgiving, Kitten.
I’m counting down the minutes until dinner.

Kitt felt heat rise to his cheeks. He texted back:

You’re ridiculous.
Also… me too.

He slipped downstairs, where Susan handed him a dish towel before pulling him briefly into a hug. Stephen greeted him with a nod that held something like affection in it—stiff, unused, but unshakeable.

The doorbell rang once mid-morning, and Kitt’s breath caught. Matt stood there, grinning in that way that always made Kitt’s knees feel weak, his hair slightly wind-tousled, cheeks pink from the cold. Behind him were his sister, Megan, and his parents—Michael and Eva—holding a pie and a neatly wrapped basket.

Susan greeted them joyfully, and for a moment, the air shimmered with a kind of warmth Kitt hadn’t felt in years. Two families, opening doors to each other.

Matt slipped inside and immediately reached for Kitt’s hand—not hidden, not shy, but gentle and sure. Stephen saw it. His jaw tightened for a fraction of a second… and then eased.

He didn’t flinch.
He didn’t look away.

Kitt’s chest loosened.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Stephen said, and inclined his head toward Matt. “Good to see you, son.”

“Good to see you too, sir,” Matt replied quietly.

. . .

Tom arrived shortly after noon with Harbor in the backseat of his car and a bakery bag in his hands. Susan hugged him as though he were long-lost kin. Stephen shook his hand firmly, gratitude spilling into the gesture.

Tom had barely finished shaking Stephen’s hand when Susan, ever the hostess, gently nudged the two men toward the quieter corner of the living room. Her eyes kept flicking between them—curious, hopeful—and Stephen could tell she wanted them to talk, to understand each other, to bridge the strange, fragile space that still existed in their home.

He cleared his throat. “So… I heard from Kitt that you’re a professor at Northbridge?”

Tom nodded. “Biology department.”

“That’s a good school,” Stephen said stiffly, unsure how to carry the conversation. “Kitt always talked about it.”

Tom’s eyes softened in a way that made Stephen’s stomach twist. “He talked about it constantly,” Tom said gently. “From the first week I met him.”

Stephen looked down at his hands. “I didn’t know.”

Tom didn’t judge. He didn’t wince or scold. He simply continued, voice steady and kind. “I met Kitt one evening after work,” he said. “I walk Harbor at the park every evening. It was cold that night, colder than it should’ve been for February. I noticed a kid sitting alone on a bench, shivering through a hoodie that wasn’t warm enough.”

Stephen froze.

Tom went on quietly, “At first, I thought he was waiting for someone. But he sat there for a long time. Too long.” He paused. “I didn’t know his name yet. I didn’t know his story. But I knew he didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Stephen felt something tighten sharply in his chest, an invisible fist closing around his ribs.

“He tried to hide it,” Tom said softly. “Tried to act like he wasn’t scared or exhausted or hungry. But when you’ve worked with students as long as I have… you recognize the look.”

Stephen swallowed. “What look?”

“The look of somebody who’s been pushed out of home,” Tom said gently. “And doesn’t think he deserves to go back.”

The words hit Stephen harder than he expected.
His breath trembled.

Susan paused at the dining table, turning toward them with concern in her eyes, but Stephen shook his head subtly. He needed to hear this.

Tom continued, still gentle, still deliberate.

“He didn’t ask me for help at first. He didn’t even want to come inside when Harbor knocked him over.” A small smile tugged at Tom’s lips. “Stubborn boy. Polite, but stubborn.”

Stephen’s throat burned.

“But eventually,” Tom said, “he let me walk him home. And he told me he’d just arrived in Riverbend. Clearly not enough money for food or warmth.”

Stephen closed his eyes for a moment, the shame rising like a tide.

Tom spoke even more quietly now. “He never once blamed you.”

That made Stephen flinch.

“Not once,” Tom repeated. “Even when he was starving. Even when he was exhausted. He still defended you. He always thought it was his fault. Not yours.”

Stephen covered his face with one trembling hand.

Tom didn’t touch him, didn’t move closer, but his voice was steady and kind.

“He wasn’t angry at you, Stephen. He was afraid of you. Afraid of what his return might cost him. Afraid he’d be forced to become someone he wasn’t.”

Stephen let out a shuddering breath.

Tom’s tone softened further. “But he never stopped loving you. Not for a single day.”

Stephen’s eyes stung hot, but he fought the tears.

“I didn’t know,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I didn’t… I didn’t understand what I’d done.”

“I believe you,” Tom said quietly. “And the fact that he stands here tonight, in this house, means he wants to try again.”

Stephen swallowed hard. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Maybe not yet,” Tom said honestly. “But you can. If you’re gentle with him. If you let him be who he is.”

Stephen nodded shakily, eyes fixed on the floor.

Tom gave a small, warm smile. “He’s a good kid, Stephen. Strong. Brave. But he shouldn’t have had to be.”

Stephen’s breath faltered.

“I know,” he whispered. “God, I know.”

And for the first time since Kitt left, Stephen didn’t feel defensive.
He didn’t justify.
He didn’t posture.

He simply listened.

He absorbed every word like a man finally learning the shape of his mistakes.

Afterwards, they moved to the dining room, where a feast stretched across the table—turkey glistening under rosemary and butter, mashed potatoes in a wide ceramic bowl, stuffing fragrant with sage, soft rolls, roasted vegetables, Susan’s famous cranberry chutney, and three pies cooling by the window.

Everyone gathered, laughter mingling with warmth.

Then, just before they ate, Susan turned toward her son.

“Kitt,” she said softly. “Would you like to say something?”

He hadn’t planned to. His throat tightened. But as he looked around the table—at faces that had loved him, hurt him, found him, saved him—words rose on their own.

Kitt rose slowly from his seat, napkin twisting between his fingers. The room quieted almost instantly. Susan wiped her eyes before the tears even began; Stephen stared at his plate, bracing himself; Matt’s heart hammered like he was about to take the field for the championship; Tom watched with the steady, encouraging warmth he always carried; Megan and Matt’s parents leaned in with gentle curiosity.

Kitt took a breath.

“I don’t… really know how to start this,” he said quietly. “Except that this is my first Thanksgiving in… almost a year… where I’m sitting at a table and not wondering where I’ll sleep that night.”

A beat of silence.

He swallowed.

“When I left here back in February, I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t have a coat warm enough for winter. I didn’t have much money. I didn’t even have my phone.” His hand twitched at the memory. “I just had this… crushing mix of fear and shame, and I ran because I didn’t know what else to do.”

Stephen flinched, visibly.

Kitt continued, voice trembling but steadying as he went.

“The first night in Riverbend… I slept behind a dumpster. I didn’t know buses stopped running that early. I didn’t know which neighborhoods were safe. I didn’t know how cold it got after midnight.” He let out a quiet, unsteady breath. “I was so scared.”

Susan pressed her fist to her mouth; Tom looked down with grief softening his features.

“But the next morning,” Kitt said, “I walked into a diner and a waitress let me sit inside even when I couldn’t afford anything. She didn’t make me leave.”

He smiled faintly.

“And then I found the restaurant in Riverbend,” Kitt continued, voice softening. “Mateo helped me. Javier hired me when he didn’t have to. He gave me work. He gave me food. He gave me a chance.” He exhaled, remembering. “He didn’t know anything about me. He just… trusted me anyway.”

Matt watched him, eyes shining with pride and pain.

“And at the park,” Kitt went on, “I met Tom. Harbor nearly tackled me.” A warm ripple of laughter went around the table. “And even though Tom didn’t know me either, he invited me in. He fed me dinner. He… gave me clothes. He asked me if I was safe. He taught me things I didn’t even know I needed to learn.”

Tom blinked hard, jaw working.

“And Mateo…” Kitt’s voice softened with affection. “He was loud and annoying and dramatic and somehow exactly what I needed. He helped me get the job at Javier’s, and gave me friendship when I didn’t think I deserved it. He… he held me when I didn’t know how to breathe. He believed I could build a life again.”

He paused, overcome.

“I wouldn’t have survived my first month without any of them.”

Stephen and Susan stared, devastated.

“But I also had to learn to survive myself,” Kitt added. “I learned how to work two jobs—the restaurant and the youth center. How to save every dollar. How to take care of myself. How to study again, even when I felt like my brain was falling apart.” His eyes flicked toward Tom. “I learned what the GED meant. What it meant to finish something I thought I’d lost.”

He took a breath.

“And I learned what it meant to miss someone so much you feel it in your bones.” He turned toward Matt—slowly, openly.

“I missed you,” he said quietly. “Every single day.”

Matt’s throat closed.

Kitt continued, voice steady but glass-fragile.

“I missed this neighborhood. I missed this table. I missed my room. I missed being able to hear laughter instead of arguing. I missed knowing I lived somewhere I didn’t have to hide every part of myself.”

His gaze shifted to his parents.

“And I missed you,” he said softly to them. “Even when I was angry. Even when I was hurt. Even when I thought I’d never come back. I still missed you.”

Susan’s tears fell freely now.

“I’m grateful I got to grow,” Kitt said. “Grateful I got to learn who I am without being afraid. Grateful for the people in Riverbend who saved me when I couldn’t save myself. Grateful for the boy who never gave up searching for me.”

Matt looked down, overwhelmed.

“And I’m grateful,” Kitt finished, “to be home. To walk through this door by choice. To sit at this table with people who want me here. I know things won’t change overnight. I know there’s still a lot we have to work through. But I’m willing. I want to try. And I… I hope we can try together.”

There was silence.
Thick. Full. Brimming.

Then Susan stood first, faster than anyone expected, and wrapped her son in a trembling, desperate hug. Stephen rose next—slow, hesitant, humbled—and placed a hand on Kitt’s back as if touching him for the first time again.

Matt watched the three of them, eyes burning, hand lifted slightly as if wanting to join but also wanting to give them this moment.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Kitt felt something unmistakable:

Home.
Real, fragile, imperfect—
but his.

. . .

For a long moment after Kitt finished speaking, no one moved—not even Harbor, who lay curled under Tom’s chair, tail still.

Susan clung to her son as if she could anchor him with her arms alone. Stephen stood behind them, one hand hovering before he finally placed it on Kitt’s back with a hesitant, trembling gentleness. It was a gesture that would’ve meant nothing from another man, but from him… it was monumental.

Kitt let himself be held.
For the first time since he’d left this house, he let himself feel it.

When they finally parted, Kitt sank back into his seat, cheeks pink, emotionally wrung out but lighter—so much lighter—than when he’d stood. Matt sat beside him, their knees brushing under the table, barely touching, but enough. Enough to feel the world realigning.

Conversation returned in soft, careful waves. Susan dabbed her eyes, laughing shakily at herself. Michael complimented the turkey again, though nobody really cared about the food anymore. Megan asked gently about Riverbend, and Kitt answered when he could, ducking his head when she smiled too knowingly at him and Matt.

Later—after plates had been cleared, after pies had been sliced and half-eaten—Stephen touched Tom’s shoulder.

Stephen swallowed. “Thank you again,” he said, the words stiff and rusty. “For… looking after my son.”

Tom’s expression softened, but he didn’t let Stephen off with vague generalities. “I didn’t look after him,” he said gently. “I helped him get on his feet. The rest he did on his own.”

Stephen glanced down at the tablecloth, fingers curling, as if he didn’t know where to put his hands. “He told me… something about when he left. But hearing him say it out loud at the table—” His voice wavered, catching unexpectedly. “I didn’t know it was that bad. I know he worked. I know he survived. But I don’t know… what it looked like for him day-to-day.”

“Kitt didn’t tell me everything at once,” Tom said. “He shared pieces. Little bits over time. Enough that I could understand what he’d been through—but not enough that I ever felt he was being pushed.”

Stephen nodded slowly, shoulders tight.

“The first time I recognized him,” Tom continued, “he always looked tired. Really tired. The kind of tired that’s not just physical. Sitting on the same bench every day. When we talked, he was polite and quiet, and he tried to avoid attention. But when he worked at the youth center, he soaked in the warmth of the room like he hadn’t stood in a warm place for a long while.”

Stephen’s throat bobbed.

“He didn’t tell me right away where he came from,” Tom said gently. “Not then. But he didn’t have to. I could see in the way he folded his hands, in the way he watched other people laugh… that he’d been alone for a while.”

Stephen shut his eyes at that. A blow he deserved.

Tom continued, voice low but calm. “He worked hard. Too hard, sometimes. I asked him once why he pushed himself so much. And he said…” Tom hesitated, then finished softly, “‘Because I don’t want to be a burden.’”

A tiny sound escaped Susan across the room—pain held between her teeth.

Stephen’s jaw clenched, eyes glistening though he blinked hard to steady them. “He said that?”

Tom nodded. “He believed it. But gradually… he stopped saying things like that. He started to feel safe with us. With Mateo. With the kids at the center. He laughed more. He took up space a little more. He let himself… live.”

Stephen leaned back slightly as if the words physically struck him.

Tom let the silence breathe, then added:

“He never once spoke badly of you. Never once called you cruel. He didn’t hate you.”
Tom gave him a kind, steady look. “But he was afraid of disappointing you. Afraid of what you had said…. And done to him.”

Stephen’s breath shook. “I… I thought I was protecting him.”

“I know,” Tom said gently. “But he didn’t feel protected. He felt wrong.” A pause. “And that’s what hurt him.”

Stephen’s face changed—shook—fractured in a way that looked like a crack finally acknowledging itself.

Tom didn’t push.

He simply rested a hand on Stephen’s arm, steady and warm.

“But he’s home now,” Tom said softly. “And he wants to heal. He wants you in his life. He just needs consistency. Understanding. Time.”

Stephen swallowed, a tremor running through him. “I will try,” he whispered.

It was the humblest, most honest thing he had said in years.

Tom nodded. “That’s all he needs.”

. . .

The rest of the afternoon slid into a warm, golden haze—the kind that made Riverbend and Lakehurst feel like small, good places again, touched by something softer than the months that had come before. The house swelled with voices and the quiet clatter of dishes, laughter rising and falling like a tide. Kitt moved through it with a sense of unreality, as if every doorway and every person who smiled at him might dissolve if he blinked too long.

His mother looked younger every time he glanced at her.
His father looked older, humbled in ways Kitt never imagined possible.
And Matt—God. Matt was sunlight in a human body, warm and bright, tracking him with the softest eyes.

After the speech and the earlier conversations, people drifted into smaller groups. The living room glowed with lamplight as Eva and Susan fussed over pies. Michael stood with Stephen, both men talking quietly—awkward at first, but slowly something like friendliness settled between them. Tom pet Harbor’s head absentmindedly while answering Megan’s questions about Northbridge University.

But Matt stayed with Kitt. Always with Kitt.

They ended up by the kitchen doorway, half tucked behind the wall, a sliver of privacy in the busy house. Matt leaned against the frame, hands in his pockets, watching Kitt the way he used to do on the bleachers: quietly, reverently, as if seeing him was the first breath after being underwater too long.

Kitt felt heat crawl up his neck. “Stop staring.”

“No,” Matt murmured, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I haven’t seen you at a table like this in almost a year. I’m allowed.”

Kitt nudged him with his shoulder. “You look stupid when you smile that big.”

Matt nudged back. “You love it.”

“Maybe,” Kitt said, small and soft.

Matt’s smile only widened.

They slipped out to the porch a little later, not escaping—just catching a moment to breathe. The sky had deepened to a dusky violet, the air sharp with late-autumn chill. Matt pulled his jacket tighter and stepped closer so their shoulders brushed.

“You okay?” Matt asked.

Kitt nodded slowly. “It’s a lot.”

Matt exhaled. “Yeah.”

“But good,” Kitt added. “I didn’t think this was possible.”

Matt watched him quietly for a long second, then whispered, “You came home.”

Kitt swallowed. “I did.”

“And you’re staying?”

Kitt considered—not because there was any doubt, but because the weight of the moment demanded honesty.

“Yes,” he said. And it came out steadier than he expected. “I’m staying.”

Matt’s hand found his. Their fingers threaded together, slow and careful, the way their hearts had been finding each other for years.

Kitt tugged softly. “Come walk with me.”

They slipped down the porch steps and into the quiet street. The cold bit at their cheeks, but their joined hands stayed warm. The neighborhood was dotted with warm windows, families gathering around their own tables. For the first time in months, Kitt didn’t feel like he was looking in from the outside.

At the corner, Matt stopped.

“I missed you,” he said simply.

Kitt’s breath caught. “I missed you too.”

Matt turned toward him fully, the porch lights behind them, the empty street stretching quiet and safe around them. “There were days,” Matt said quietly, “I thought I’d never see you again. Days I thought I’d only have memories.”

Kitt’s throat tightened. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Matt said gently. “Don’t apologize. You survived. You did everything you had to. You didn’t have a choice.”

Kitt let out a trembling breath. “I just… wish I could’ve come back sooner. I wish I could’ve been braver.”

“You came back when you were ready,” Matt said. “That’s brave enough.”

The world felt impossibly still around them. Kitt’s breath showed in the air, mixing with Matt’s in slow little clouds. He looked up at the boy who had crossed months and miles in his heart for him, who had waited with stubborn hope, who had believed in him even when he didn’t believe in himself.

“I love you,” Kitt whispered.

Matt’s breath hitched—not with surprise, but with relief. “I love you too,” he said, voice breaking on the truth he had carried since they were boys.

Kitt leaned in first.
Matt met him halfway.

It wasn’t desperate the way it had been at the lake—it was slower, deeper, filled with the warmth of a homecoming kiss. Kitt’s fingers curled into Matt’s jacket. Matt’s hands framed Kitt’s jaw, thumbs brushing the cold-pink edges of his cheeks. Their breaths mingled, soft and warm, their lips moving with the kind of surety that only comes from knowing—truly knowing—that this wasn’t fragile anymore.

This wasn’t fear.

It was promise.

When they broke apart, foreheads still touching, Kitt whispered, “We’re going to Northbridge together.”

Matt laughed under his breath. “Yeah. We are.”

Kitt exhaled, breath trembling in the cold. “My GED results came,” he said softly. “And I sent in the application. It’s all done. Now I just… wait.”

Matt smiled—proud, fierce, impossibly tender. “You did it. Everything you could.”

Kitt nodded. “But I want us to get there together. Northbridge. The life we talked about.”

“We will,” Matt whispered, brushing his thumb against Kitt’s cheek. “Nothing’s stopping us now.

Kitt closed his eyes. “Good. Because I don’t want to do any of this without you.”

Matt pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Then you won’t.”

They stood there a long while, wrapped in the soft glow of the streetlights, winter teasing the edges of the air. Two boys once lost in different ways, now found—not just by each other, but by themselves.

And when they walked back toward the Wellington house, hands still joined, Kitt felt it for the first time without doubt or fear:

He was home.

And this time, he wasn’t leaving.

. . .Top of Form

 

ONE YEAR LATER

Northbridge University woke slowly under a pale spring sun, the kind that softened the air without ever fully warming it. Students spilled across the quad, backpacks slung carelessly, laughter rising in little bursts between the buildings. The clock tower chimed the half hour, echoing over red-brick walkways and patches of early green grass.

Kitt stepped out of his dorm, adjusting the strap of his worn backpack on his shoulder. A year. Almost exactly a year since he’d boarded a bus with everything he owned, terrified out of his skin, running from home and running toward something else without knowing it.

Now he lived here. On campus. In a tiny double room on the second floor of Windsor Hall, with posters taped crookedly to the walls and textbooks stacked under his bed because he kept forgetting to buy a shelf. Somehow, impossibly, he was a university student. A Northbridge student. He still caught himself staring sometimes—at buildings, at professors, at his own reflection—trying to believe it all.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

He smiled before he even looked.

Mateo.

Now living in Florida, thriving in ways only Mateo could: sunburnt, chaotic, and absolutely unstoppable.

Mateo:
Official Miami report: The sun is being disrespectful again. I’m moving to a cave. I'm suing.

Another buzz.

Mateo:
How’s Loverboy? Still worshipping you? Tell him I said hi so he knows I still exist.

Kitt laughed under his breath, thumbs moving quickly.

Kitt:
He’s good. And yes. Still stupidly in love.
Miss you too.

A cluster of emojis followed—a palm tree, a heart, a sparkly star, an eggplant, an upside-down face—unmistakably Mateo.

Kitt tucked the phone away, still smiling, and stepped down the dorm’s front stairs.

Right on cue, the gym doors opened across the quad—and Matt emerged.

Kitt’s breath caught even though he saw Matt every day.

The buzz cut suited him too well: sharp around the edges, a little grown out on top, highlighting the angles of his jaw and the impossible softness of his eyes. His shoulders looked even broader this season, the work of relentless training, and his jacket strained at the seams in ways Kitt found both ridiculous and unfair.

And yet Matt still looked at him the same way he always had—like Kitt was the only thing in the landscape that mattered.

Matt spotted him instantly, the way he always did, breaking into a grin that hit Kitt in the chest with the same force every single time. He jogged across the quad, backpack bouncing once against his spine.

“Kitt,” Matt called, breath still fogging faintly from the early chill.

“I’m right here,” Kitt said, and he didn’t even bother to hide his smile.

Matt slid an arm around Kitt’s waist, pulling him close in that natural, unthinking way he’d never once had to explain. Kitt pressed a palm to Matt’s chest, feeling the familiar warmth through the fabric, the steady thump of a heart he knew almost as well as his own.

“You survive conditioning?” Kitt teased.

“Barely,” Matt said. “Coach made us run drills until someone puked.”

“Let me guess—Daniel.”

Matt raised a brow. “How’d you know?”

“He always pukes.”

Matt laughed—bright, unguarded—and leaned down to kiss Kitt softly. It was brief, barely more than a warm press of lips, but it still sent something sweet and shimmering through Kitt’s chest.

They started walking toward the campus center, steps falling easily into sync.

“Mateo texted,” Kitt said.

“Mateo?”

“Yeah. He texted this morning. Says the sun is ‘disrespectful.’ And still called you Loverboy.”

Matt snorted. “Sounds right.”

They walked past clusters of students on blankets, the smell of coffee drifting from somewhere nearby. A dog barked in the distance, and Kitt’s heart pinched for a moment—Harbor—but in a softer, sweeter way now. Everything from that year still lived inside him, but nothing hurt the way it used to.

Matt slipped his fingers through Kitt’s and squeezed. “You okay?”

“I’m good,” Kitt said, squeezing back. “Really good.”

They reached the small stone bridge at the center of campus, the one that crossed a narrow creek. The water glittered under the late-morning sun. Matt stopped walking, turning Kitt gently toward him.

“You know what today makes me think of?” Matt murmured.

Kitt tilted his head. “What?”

Matt’s eyes softened. “The lake.”

Kitt’s breath stilled. Their place. Their beginning and their becoming. The dock. The night. The trembling, terrified, beautiful first time they let themselves love out loud.

“I miss it,” Matt said quietly. “Sometimes I swear I can still smell the pine.”

“Me too,” Kitt whispered. “We should go back when the semester ends. Just the two of us.”

Matt smiled then—the real one, the one that lifted every part of him. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

A distant bell rang, signaling the next class period, but neither boy moved yet. Matt leaned in, forehead brushing Kitt’s.

“Crazy year,” Matt murmured.

“Beautiful year,” Kitt corrected softly. “Hard. But… beautiful.”

Matt kissed him again, deeper this time, the kind of kiss that made the whole world blur for a moment.

When they finally pulled apart, Kitt whispered,

“We made it.”

Matt brushed his thumb over Kitt’s cheek.

“We’re just getting started.”

Hand in hand, backpacks swinging, hearts steady and sure, they walked together across campus—toward class, toward their future, toward everything they once thought they’d never get to have.

And neither of them looked back.

Because the past had been survived.

And the future was theirs now.

 

>>>>> T H E E N D <<<<<