Twilight poured through the tall windows of Clive Durham's downtown apartment, as if tracing paths across the hardwood floor. Oliver Grey lingered in the doorway, heart fluttering, as Clive ushered him inside. The space was warm and welcoming: a plush gray sofa adorned with soft knitted throws, a low coffee table stacked with well-loved novels, and the faint scent of cinnamon drifting from the kitchen. Every detail felt deliberate, as if Clive had arranged this place to cradle both his own spirit and someone else's.
Clive rounded on him with a gentle smile and set his jacket on a chair by the entrance. "Make yourself at home," he said, voice earnest. "This is yours as much as mine."
Oliver swallowed and gripped the strap of his backpack. He felt the weight of Clive's words settle around him like a warm embrace. Since that first coffee this spring, Clive's steady kindness had woven its way into Oliver's life. Now, to be welcomed inside his apartment was an act of trust so profound that Oliver's chest tightened with emotion.
"I don't want to impose," he said, voice small.
Clive crossed the room and closed the distance between them. "You could never impose." His eyes shone with sincerity as he added, "I want you here."
Oliver's gaze drifted across the apartment. A framed photo on a nearby shelf captured Clive at dawn on a sandy beach, sunlight gleaming on water behind him. Next to it rested an empty frame, which Clive quite excitedly explained was waiting for a picture of the two of them from yesterday's open mic—a testament of shared memories.
Clive led Oliver toward the sofa and motioned for him to sit. When Oliver did, Clive slipped away to the kitchen and returned with two mugs of hot chocolate, steam curling from the rich drink. He handed one to Oliver, who cradled it in trembling hands.
They had come here tonight under the pretense of a movie and popcorn, thanks to Clive's old projector tucked away in a corner. But as they stood side by side on the balcony earlier, the simple pleasure of being in each other's presence had felt like its own kind of show; the kind one hardly needed to watch, but only to live.
They settled back on the sofa, letting the chocolate's warmth ease the last of their nerves. Clive set down his mug and toyed with a loose thread on his throw. Then he vocalised something that he had long thought of, in a voice casual but kind. "I've been thinking about your things," he began. He paused as if gathering his courage, then continued, "What if you started moving items over this weekend? There's a spare closet and an extra dresser in the bedroom. We could set it up together, only when you're ready, of course." And just like that Clive asked Oliver to move in with him. To share a living space was perhaps the last frontier of companionship; it'd be inconceivable without a certain degree of trust.
Oliver's breath caught. He looked at Clive, eyes shining. "Thank you," he whispered. No contemplation was required on his part; the edifice of trust between the two was afterall built on sturdy foundations of sincerity, patience and candour.
Clive reached across the sofa and squeezed Oliver's hand. "We'll take it slow. No rush. You set the pace."
Oliver set his mug on the table and turned fully toward Clive. The look in his eyes embodied both gratitude and overwhelming. "Clive," he began, voice wavering, "I… I barely know how to say what I feel." He paused and inhaled, drawing strength from Clive's steady gaze. "You have changed everything about my life. Since that afternoon in the lecture hall, I have felt seen in ways I never thought possible. You have been patient, gentle, supportive. You have offered me your friendship, your laughter, your kindness, and now your home. I don't know why anyone would give that to me, but I want you to know how deeply it means to me."
Clive's eyes glistened and he leaned forward. He lifted Oliver's hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it. "You deserve every bit of good in your life," he said softly. "I want to be the one who stands by you."
Oliver's defenses melted. Tears slipped down his cheeks as he stood and wrapped his arms around Clive. He buried his face in Clive's shoulder. "I love you, Clive," he said into the warmth of Clive's shirt. His voice trembled but did not break.
Clive held him tight, stroking his hair, his voice low and certain. "I love you too, Oliver Grey. I have from the moment I saw you absorbed in your notes and questions. I saw something brilliant and brave."
Oliver pulled back slightly, cupping Clive's face. His tears had made his cheeks shine. "I was so afraid you would see my scars and walk away," he whispered. "I didn't think I was worth it."
Clive brushed a tear from Oliver's cheek. "You are more than worth it. You are everything I could hope for." He leaned in and their lips met in a slow, tender kiss.
They sank back onto the sofa, foreheads pressed together, breathing in one another's presence. The apartment windows reflected the fading light and the distant city hum felt like a soft lullaby.
After a moment, Clive broke the silence. "Your room is ready. I picked extra blankets and pillows; blue, and gray as you like."
Oliver managed a small laugh. "That's perfect."
Clive stood and held out his hand. "Let me show you."
He guided Oliver down the hall to a small spare bedroom painted in pale tones. A neatly made bed stood against one wall, the sheets a calm sea of blue and gray. A nightstand held a small lamp and a stack of books Oliver had mentioned once.
"This is yours," Clive said, voice warm. "I thought you might like a bit of space to settle in."
Oliver ran a hand over the soft sheets, marveling at the gesture. "It's amazing," he said. "Thank you for thinking of everything."
Clive smiled and squeezed his shoulder. "I'll be just next door." He pointed down the hall. "That's my room. I'll leave the door open, so if you need anything, just come find me."
They shared a quick, affectionate hug before Clive turned and walked back down the hallway. Oliver watched him go, comforted by the sight of Clive's silhouette disappearing into the warm glow of his own room.
As midnight approached, Oliver pulled the blanket around his shoulders and settled onto his new bed. The window overlooked the streetlights, casting soft patterns on the walls. He pressed his fingers to the frame of his glasses, heart still racing with gratitude and anticipation.
Tonight he would rest. Tomorrow, him and Clive would begin the next chapter of their now shared destinies.
Would their bond, which was tethered by trust, blossom even deeper as they manoeuvre through challenges of the coming final year together?
(To be continued)