Page 51 of The Authenticity Clause
“Uh-huh,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Well, tell the lighting I said hi.”
He smiled, a real, easy smile that no longer felt foreign on his face, and walked out of the building he had co-created, leaving the fortress behind without a second thought. He was going home.
(Leo)
Home was a state of being, and for Leo, it was the beautiful, chaotic mess of his sun-drenched apartment. He stood in front of a new, large-scale canvas, a brush in hand, his mind quiet and focused. The fear, the constant, gnawing anxiety of not being good enough, was gone. It had been replaced by the quiet, steady hum of purpose.
He was a working artist. A real, successful, bill-paying artist. The showcase had been a launching pad, leading to commissions, more gallery shows, and a feature in a regional art magazine. His hidden worlds were no longer hidden. They were out in the open, and to his unending astonishment, people seemed to like them.
His apartment had changed, too. It was still his, still a vibrant explosion of color and clutter, but now there were two toothbrushes by the sink. A ridiculously expensive, architecturally significant coffee machine sat on his counter, a silent, gleaming testament to Julian’s love. A row of perfectly organized, non-fiction books now coexisted peacefully with his own overflowing, chaotic shelves. It was a happy, functional merger.
He heard the familiar click of the key in the lock and a smile spread across his face before he even turned around.
“You’re early,” Leo said as Julian walked in, already loosening his tie.
“Productivity was suboptimal,” Julian replied, his voice a low, happy murmur. He came to stand behind Leo, his arms wrapping around his waist, his chin resting on his shoulder. He stared at the new canvas, a swirling landscape of cosmic blues and greens. “My presence was required elsewhere.”
Leo leaned back into his embrace, the familiar, solid warmth of him a perfect anchor. “And what, precisely, is your required function here, Mr. Thorne?”
“Chief Morale Officer,” Julian murmured against his neck, his lips brushing Leo’s skin, sending a familiar, pleasant shiver through him. “And official provider of high-end coffee and unsolicited logical feedback on artistic composition.”
“Ah, a crucial role,” Leo said, turning in his arms to face him. He looped his own arms around Julian’s neck. “How’s the fortress today?”
“It’s fine,” Julian said, his gray eyes soft and full of a love that still sometimes took Leo’s breath away. “More of a lightly fortified welcome center, these days. We even have a plant in the lobby. It’s… green.”
Leo laughed, a deep, happy sound. He looked at this man, this brilliant, beautiful man who had torn down his own walls for him, who had learned to not just tolerate chaos, but to embrace it. The memory of their painful past was still there, but it no longer had any power. It was just part of their story, the tragic first act that had made their happy ending possible.
“I was thinking about dinner,” Julian said, his hands sliding down to rest on Leo’s hips. “I could attempt to cook, and you could provide moral support and operate the fire extinguisher.”
“Or,” Leo countered, a playful glint in his eyes, “we could order from that terrible pizza place you hate and you could analyze its inefficient dough-to-sauce ratio while I eat your share.”
“A tempting offer,” Julian conceded, his lips twitching. “But I have a better idea. A third option.”
“I’m listening.”
“We stay in,” Julian whispered, his voice dropping, “and I spend the next several hours reminding you that you are a certifiable genius and the best thing that has ever happened to my meticulously organized life.”
Leo’s heart felt full to bursting. The boy who had faked a resume because he was terrified he wasn't good enough was gone. In his place was a man who was loved, completely and authentically, for exactly who he was.
“Okay,” Leo said softly. “But just so we’re clear, that’s not a third option. That was always the plan.”
(Julian)
Later, they were curled up on the lumpy couch, a comfortable tangle of limbs, the half-finished canvas glowing in the soft light of the setting sun. A documentary about deep-sea creatures played on the television, the sound a low, pleasant murmur in the background.
Julian looked around the room, at the beautiful, creative mess, at the man resting in his arms, his head on his chest, a sketchbook open on his lap. He thought about the man he had been six months ago, a man who believed that happiness was a predictable outcome derived from a controlled set of variables. A man who had built a fortress and called it a life. He had been so wrong.
Happiness wasn't a destination you arrived at through flawless planning. It was this. It was the quiet, unpredictable, and infinitely precious chaos of a shared life. It was a lopsided, hand-painted mug in a perfect kitchen. It was a plastic spider ring he still kept in his desk drawer. It was the easy, loving weight of Leo’s body against his.
Leo shifted, propping himself up on an elbow. He was doodling in his sketchbook. Julian looked down and saw a quick, perfect sketch of a grumpy-looking anglerfish from the documentary. Next to it, Leo had drawn a smaller, more cheerful-looking fish with big, bright eyes, bumping up against the anglerfish with a look of fearless curiosity. Above them, he scrawled a caption.
“What’s that?” Julian asked, trying to read it upside down.
Leo grinned and turned the sketchbook so he could see. Underneath the drawing of the two fish, it said:Grumpy/Sunshine: Deep Sea Edition.
Julian let out a huff of laughter, the sound rumbling through his chest. “My resting face is not that severe.”
“It absolutely is,” Leo said, his eyes sparkling. “You have a very serious, ‘I’m calculating the existential despair of the universe’ kind of vibe. It’s one of your top five best features.”
