The Way Back: A Way Home Novella

by May Archer

  "Right. And I can work from anywhere. But I'm just not sure about a studio. Where would I keep my paper products?"

  "I might be willing to compromise," Peter began, but then he froze solid as the door opened and light from the hall spilled in.

  Logan moved on top of him like a human shield, which was sweet as anything, except that Logan was naked too, and Peter was suddenly feeling very proprietary about anyone else seeing Logan's bare ass.

  "Hey, what the hell?" he demanded, just as Logan said, "Get out!"

  "Hey! Whoa! Sorry, dudes!" The guy raised a hand to shield his eyes but otherwise seemed undeterred, stepping right into the room and moving toward the pile of Peter and Logan's discarded clothes. "I heard you had my sock."

  "Your what?" Logan asked.

  "My sock," the guy repeated, bending toward the pile. "Cupid's all about the matched pairs. Ha!" He giggled. "Cupid joke for ya. Anyway, got it! Grabbed it! Still not looking. Leaving now. You just have fun there, boys. Y'all move fast, but I like it."

  He flashed them a grin as he departed, shutting the door behind him.

  Logan turned to Peter. "Was that...?"

  "The guy pretending to be Cupid?" Peter finished. He rubbed absently at his chest. "I think so. He hit me earlier."

  "Me too!"

  Logan scrambled to sit up, rubbing at his own chest. He looked at Peter warily, and Peter very carefully said nothing at all, and then they both dissolved into laughter at the utter ridiculousness.

  "Do you wanna go somewhere?" Logan asked when they'd recovered. "Like, literally, anywhere but here?"

  "I would love to," Peter said, sitting up and reaching for his jeans. "Coffee, or a drink, or ice cream in February. Whatever you want to—Oh, shit!"

  "What?" Logan paused in the midst of pulling on his shirt. "Problem?"

  "Only my poor coat," Peter laughed, pulling it out from under his ass. "Which we've been having sex on."

  "Oh! I thought the bed was suspiciously soft." Logan shrugged and pulled on his pants.

  "I'm never getting rid of it." Peter shook out the wrinkled garment, and a white scrap of something fell to the floor.

  "I think... I think maybe I found Cupid's sock," Peter said, grabbing it from the floor.

  "Uh...That's good because one of mine seems to be missing," Logan told him, holding up one blue-striped foot. They locked eyes. Logan snickered, and Peter jumped to his feet, pressing a hand to that laughing mouth.

  "Don't say it," he warned. "Say nothing. None of that ever happened." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the door.

  Logan nodded gravely, though his eyes were still dancing in the shadowed room, and he was so fucking handsome that Peter had to press his lips to Logan's right then and there. Logan wrapped his arms around Peter's waist and stepped forward, and suddenly Peter was right back on the bed, with the coat still under his ass and Logan on his front. And it was so right and so real, Peter didn't care how the hell it had come about. He could only be grateful to fate, or destiny, or tighty-whitey-Cupid, or whatever mysterious forces had conspired to help him and Logan find their way back to each other.

  "I'm framing that sock," he told Logan.

  And one year later, on their first anniversary, that's exactly what he did.