Page 80 of Someone Like You
“Your cat’s watching us.”
“Let her,” Ian mumbled, unbothered, but Phil kept feeling those huge amber eyes judging him from the doorway.
“Stop, for fuck’s sake!” There was no way to inject any irritation into a single word. Phil laughed into the kiss until he mustered enough willpower to nudge Ian back. “We’re not making out in front of her!”
Ian grudgingly rolled off him and off the bed to head straight to the wardrobe by the door. “Thanks for the cockblocking, Kibbs!” he grumbled to the cat, who responded with a sassy slow blink that effortlessly thawed Ian’s faux pique into sheer adoration.
“Jesus, she’s got you wrapped around her little paw.”
“Are you seriously jealous of acat?”
Before Phil could retort, a balled up t-shirt collided with face, followed by a hoodie and a pair of joggers. Ian moved to the chest of drawers in the corner and tossed him some underwear, too. Everything was at least two sizes too large, but it’d have to do.
He managed to pull up the briefs, but then got distracted by Ian getting dressed. This was… normal. Perfectly ordinary, unspecial, a random slice of life billions of people went through every day and probably took for granted.
But Phil didn’t.
Getting dressed. Showering. Having sex. Joking. Laughing.Feeling.
The man Abby had met and had fallen in love with was gone, but there was a new, stronger Phil crawling out of that man’s ashes, with a whole new story to write andtwohands to hold as he learned to live again.
Lucky bastard indeed.
He clutched the mass of clothes to his bare chest, relishing the familiar, comforting scent of the fabric. If Ian thought he was going to get these clothes back, he was sorely wrong.
A hand curled under his chin to tip his head back, loving blue eyes staring right into his soul.
“You alright?”
Phil dreamily smiled back at Ian. He couldn’t remember when it had become second nature again.
“Never better.”
EPILOGUE
The frozen grass crunched under his feet, the same crispy sound of gritting gravel, as he proceeded up the hill with his hands tucked in his pockets to protect them from the icy air, which carried a scent of snow. His climb was slowed by the backpack full of groceries he carried on his back.
The village was a gleaming Christmas postcard behind him, while, ahead, the moorland was quiet and deserted. The sun already burrowed below the horizon, tingeing the cloudy sky in milky shades of pink and purple that would soon fade to dark grey. At the top of the hill, a golden light beaconed behind the old cottage windows, calling him home. The pale smoke coiling out of the chimney promised warmth and maybe, given the time, even a cup of hot tea.
When he walked through the door, the laughter was the first thing that welcomed him in. The second was the comforting flare of the crackling fireplace on the other side of the room, not farfrom which a Christmas tree cast its colourful lights on the wooden floor.
He shrugged off the backpack, hung the coat, kicked off the dirty shoes, then followed the laughter to the kitchen, where he found the small woman and the large man at the stove, poring over a pot that was oozing an aroma of cinnamon all over the place.
The man stopped on the threshold to observe them. He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, allowing himself to absorb every detail of the scene: the delightful contrast between the deep rumble and the bubbly giggle, both of which filled him with a joy he would’ve never known the human heart could experience; the chubby cat sitting on the window sill, watching as thin snowflakes fluttered on the other side of the glass; the pile of wood stacked in a corner between the wall and a cast iron stove that hosted a tray of mouth-watering shortbread cookies.
He smiled despite a strange déjà vu blurring his sight for a second. A phantom feeling punched him out of nowhere, a sense of emptiness that disappeared as fast as it had come as soon as his eyes focused back on the two people in front of him.
His place.
His family.
His belonging.
Padding towards them, unnoticed, he walked straight into the space between them, a perfect fit, as if they’d been waiting for him to fill it all along. For a split second he had the absurd, irrational fear that they might vanish right in front of him, but then his arms spread out to circle both of their waists, and they stayed as concrete and real as ever.
“Hey.” He placed a kiss on the woman’s temple and one on the man’s bearded cheek. “I’m home.”
