The road stretched ahead in long, sunlit lines--two lanes of cracked blacktop carving through fields of green and gold. Barns dotted the horizon like still lives left out to weather. Every few miles, a cow lifted its head, unimpressed by their passing.
Alexander kept one hand on the wheel and the other resting idly on his thigh, fingers twitching now and then like they needed something to do. Oliver sat beside him, legs curled up in the seat, forehead tilted against the window. The wind lifted tufts of his blond shag, sending strands across his face that he didn't bother brushing away.
They hadn't spoken much in the last hour.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable. Just... cautious. Like neither of them wanted to lean too hard in either direction--for fear the balance might break again.
Alexander glanced over, then back at the road.
He'd planned this weekend carefully. Not extravagantly. Not with big promises or forced sentiment. Just quiet things. Gentle things. The kind of details that used to matter before everything got complicated.
A room at a boutique hotel on the edge of town--stone walls, soft lighting, a bed big enough to forget everything in. A massage booked for Saturday evening, the kind where no one speaks and the world falls away beneath your skin. A slow walk through the arts district with coffee in hand and maybe a new print to hang in their hallway, where that blank space had waited for too long.
He wanted to give Oliver a reason to want this again.
He wanted to feel wanted.
The road dipped into a narrow valley, trees leaning in over them. Alexander's foot eased on the gas.
He thought about the night he'd made the reservation, his finger hovering over the "Book Now" button. He hadn't told Oliver about the massage yet. That was a surprise. He imagined Oliver stretched out on the table, eyes closed, body soft and calm beneath skilled hands. He imagined being the one watching him unwind. Being the reason he could.
But beneath that vision was a knot--something that hadn't loosened since that morning with Trevor.
Even now, weeks later, Alexander wasn't sure what they were rebuilding. If they were rebuilding at all. Oliver had said he wanted to try, that it meant something. But feelings didn't unspool cleanly. They came back crooked, tangled with guilt and desire, with questions too fragile to ask out loud.
Still, he was here. Oliver was here.
And maybe that was enough.
For now.
The sign for Halberd Falls appeared just past a weathered fruit stand, hanging crooked on a leaning post: Welcome to Halberd Falls -- Est. 1862. Below it, someone had scribbled in white paint: ART LOVES YOU.
Alexander smiled faintly.
"We're almost there," he said, his voice softer than it had been all morning.
Oliver stirred beside him, pulling his legs down from the seat and stretching slightly. "I forgot how far out this place was. I haven't seen a gas station since, like, three towns ago."
"That's kind of the point." Alexander glanced at him. "No traffic. No noise. Just pottery shops, antique maps, and overpriced linen shirts you'll want and never wear."
Oliver laughed, really laughed--and it struck Alexander in the chest with quiet relief.
"Oh my god, the little store that only sells herbs and embroidery kits?" Oliver said. "I remember that place. And the bookstore with the grumpy cat in the window."
"Still there, apparently." Alexander's mouth curled. "So is the wine bar with the garden seating. I thought we'd start there tomorrow. Maybe find you some obscure ceramic creature to bring home."
Oliver turned toward him in his seat, one knee tucked up, smiling with the kind of ease that used to be second nature. "That actually sounds perfect."
For a moment, silence again. But this time, it was warmer.
Oliver looked down at his hands, thumbs idly running over each other. "Hey," he said, voice low. "I know things have been... weird. And I don't expect this weekend to fix everything."
Alexander kept his eyes on the road, but his chest tightened.
"I just... I want you to know I'm glad we're doing this," Oliver continued. "We've had good times. Really good ones. And the sex..." He gave a soft laugh, a touch of color rising in his cheeks. "Let's be honest, it's always been stupid hot."
Alexander gave a quiet hum of agreement, the corner of his mouth tugging.
"I still love you," Oliver said. "Even after everything. I hope this weekend is good. I want it to be."
Alexander exhaled slowly, like he'd been holding that breath for longer than he realized. He reached across the console, letting his fingers brush Oliver's.
Oliver took his hand.
The town crested into view ahead, cobbled streets and bursts of color--murals, flower boxes, wandering couples with tote bags and sunglasses. It was quaint in that curated way, but somehow, in that moment, it felt exactly right.
Alexander squeezed Oliver's hand once.
"Then let's make it good."
The town crept up slowly, like something out of a painting--faded reds, soft browns, ivy crawling up old brick, and hand-painted signs that wobbled gently in the wind. Everything about Halberd Falls looked like it had been curated to soothe.
Alexander eased off the gas, letting the car coast through the first bend of the main street. Flower boxes spilled over balconies. A couple strolled hand in hand, laughing. A man on a bicycle waved like he'd known them forever.
In the passenger seat, Oliver stirred. "It's... cute," he said with a small smile. "Kind of storybook."
Alexander nodded, eyes flicking between the road and Oliver's reflection in the window.
"I thought you'd like it," he said. "There's an art walk this weekend. Little boutiques, street music, all that stuff. There's even a wine bar with garden lights strung up like a movie set."
Oliver laughed softly. "God. You know me too well."
And in that moment--simple, quiet, surrounded by farm fields and small-town stillness--Alexander felt a spark of something he thought he'd lost.
Hope.
Maybe it was small. Maybe it was fragile. But it was there.
He didn't need fireworks. He didn't need grand apologies. All he needed was this: Oliver's hand in his, a shared look, and the truth tucked gently between them.
That love hadn't disappeared.
As they turned off the main road, the hotel came into view--stone and ivy, warm windows glowing in the late afternoon sun. A place that promised rest, quiet, and maybe something else.
Alexander smiled.
They passed through the heart of Halberd Falls like guests in someone else's dream--narrow streets flanked with art galleries and bookstores, planters bursting with marigolds and geraniums. Shoppers moved leisurely under striped awnings, cloth bags full of handmade things slung over their arms. A boy played violin on the corner, the notes bright and sweet in the late afternoon sun.
Oliver cracked the window and let the breeze drift in. It smelled like lavender, old wood, and fresh bread. He closed his eyes for a moment.
Alexander drove slowly, taking it all in. There was a lightness here--like the air itself was thinner, easier to breathe. For the first time in weeks, he felt the knot in his chest start to loosen.
