In the morning he woke before Justin, as usual, both of them splendidly naked, also as usual. The wedding dress lay in a very satisfied crumpled heap beside the bed, keeping a flung pillow company. Justin’s nail polish was a lost cause, and Kris’s body thrummed with pleasant worn-out euphoria, and some seasonal Midwinter coffee was waiting over by the machine, and this was their life: the rest of their lives, woven in music and bliss and fantastic s*x and love.
A love story, he thought, catching sight of Justin’s manuscript. Justin had written it. An act of courage: being himself, telling his story. Their story. Sharing it all with the world: all of his loves.
The book smiled back at him, waiting. There for Kris to pick it up, and read.
He couldn’t wait to get started. He wondered wheth
