I had never been a big fan of hotel rooms.

It didn’t matter how nice they were, either. There was just something so impersonal about them, about the whole travel experience. I got used to it more and more over the years, but there was always something so sterile about them that made me nervous.

My third Fantasticon was the first time I stayed in a truly amazing room. It was the first year Damien could afford to not only get us separate suites, but to go really all-out and rent the nicest ones he could find. I knew it was an expense he probably had to fight hard to justify to his financial advisors, but he had made me a very solemn promise that he was going to get me the best of the best. It was the first time Paul was coming to a convention with me, and Damien was almost as committed to making it perfect as I was.

Paul whistled as we stepped into the honeymoon suite and dropped our luggage by the door. “Wow,” he mumbled, “look at this place!”

“Yeah.” I could only shake my head. There was a massive master bath with a bathtub that could have doubled as an above-ground pool, a California king mattress, a full living room area, and a kitchenette that was nicer than the actual kitchen at my first apartment. “I didn’t know hotel rooms like this actually existed. I always kind of thought it was just a thing in movies.”

Paul grinned at me and flopped down on the bed. “What, you thought they built Trump Tower for Home Alone 2?”

“Hey, you don’t know what kind of budget they were working with!”

He threw a pillow at me, and I caught it. “Dude, you can’t just throw these!” I chastised him. “These are probably made out of spun gold or something.”

“You’re right,” he teased. “I forgot how your big, strong body just destroys pillows upon contact.”

“The sarcasm is neither necessary nor appreciated,” I told him, but I was grinning. I tossed the pillow back to him before diving onto the mattress beside him, the two of us staring up at the gold-colored canopy above us. “Seriously, though, this place is so nice it makes me nervous. I feel like I’m going to break something and have to pay the hotel for a full renovation or something.”

He wrapped an arm around me and pressed a kiss to my temple. “Everything makes you nervous,” he pointed out. “That doesn’t mean there’s a good reason to be.”

“What? You’re telling me this doesn’t freak you out at all?”

“Of course not.” Paul turned onto his side, pulling me over so I was facing him, his deep brown eyes sucking me in the way they always did. “I’m not freaked out at all. I’m with you.”

I shook my head and smiled. I knew he was mostly saying it for show, considering I was a well-known coward and Paul was always the one calming me down, but it was still nice of him to say. Whereas everyone else around me was getting more and more confident, I seemed to stay the same anxious person I’d always been. Paul was my protector, my caregiver, the person I really and truly relied on in life. The both of us knew his bravery didn’t come from me, but the lie was comforting. It wasn’t the first time he said it, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“I hope you don’t get too bored this week,” I told him apologetically, my hand finding his in the small space between us.

He shrugged and smiled. “I’ll find something to do.” I didn’t doubt that, but I was still hit with a pang of guilt. Fantasy, young adult literature, books in general—that was all firmly in my arena. Paul was more the type of guy to go out to a bar and watch sports and eat overly-sauced chicken wings. He was usually pretty laid back, but we were coming up on an entire week of nerdy bullshit that he was going to have to suffer through, and I wasn’t going to be able to entertain him myself. I had a booth set up, and I had my panel. I was going to be fielding questions and signing autographs left and right, which meant Paul was going to be left up to his own devices.

Which was exactly why we were in such a disturbingly beautiful room.

“Damien went all out on this, huh?” Paul asked, looking around. His voice was very consciously free of criticism. He was by no means Damien’s biggest fan. Paul thought my agent was neurotic and controlling, only half of which was true. The feud cut both ways, though; Damien always complained there was something “fake” about Paul, like he was putting on a show to lull people into complacency so they wouldn’t see his flaws. If Damien was right, I couldn’t tell. As far as I was concerned, Paul didn’t have any flaws that could be exposed.

“Well,” I said quickly, “it wasn’t all his idea, you know.”

Paul shot me a grin. “Why does that not surprise me?”

I swatted his shoulder. “He’s still my friend, you know,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, yeah.” Paul sat up, leaning over me with a fond smile on his face. “But I’m more interested in hearing about why my boyfriend decided to get us a super nice hotel room.”

I brushed my hands through his short locks. “You know,” I said vaguely. “Because I love you.”

“That’s very sweet. But what’s the real reason?”

I grinned. I could never actually evade his questions for long. “Think it through. What’s the name of this room?”

“I don’t know, Lance. Did someone name it Derrick?”

“No, you idiot!” I laughed. “It’s called the honeymoon suite.”

Paul’s smile seemed suddenly frozen. “Lance,” he said quietly, already trying to start the familiar lecture, but I cut him off.

“No, I know,” I explained hurriedly. “I know you don’t like talking about wedding stuff. And I know that it’s not legal yet, anyway.”

“Then what is this supposed to be for?”

I had to force myself not to sigh out of frustration. We’d been together since we were sixteen. By that point, we had been together for seven years, but whenever anything related to marriage came up, Paul completely shut me down, always saying it wasn’t the right time. It was starting to make me wonder if the right time was ever going to come.

“It’s for you,” I told him quietly. “It’s to show you how much I love you.”

“I know how much you love me. You didn’t need to rent out a hotel room for that.”

“I know.” I sat up, my knees touching his, our faces inches apart. I usually couldn’t stand being so close to another person, but Paul was the one exception. There were no boundaries between us. “Too close” wasn’t a condition that existed. “I know that you know I love you, Paul. And you know that I know that you love me. But...” I shrugged. “I guess I just wanted to do something to remind you that it’s always going to stay that way, you know? That this is permanent. I want you to know I’m going to love you forever, even if we can’t get married.”

“It’s just a hotel room,” he said quietly, but I held up a hand to stop him.

“It’s not just a room. It’s a gesture. A promise.” I put my hand in his, running the pad of my thumb over his knuckles. “I’m not proposing or anything, because I know you don’t want that, and that’s okay. It’s okay if you never want to have rings or a marriage certificate or any of that. But I want you to know that when I look at you, I don’t just see a boyfriend, you know? I see a partner. A husband. Even if it’s only in our minds.” I shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious. The words I was saying felt hokey and cheap to me. Words were supposed to be my strong suit, but I couldn’t make them sound right. Nothing sounded quite grand or important enough to express what I needed to say. “I know you feel like I need a label from the rest of the world or something, but I don’t. I just need you. And I’m in this, you know? For the long haul.”

Paul put a hand to my cheek, caressing my skin with his fingers, and my eyes drifted closed as I let out a happy little hum. His lips on mine felt like the perfect answer, the only one I needed, and as he tugged me down to the mattress and unbuttoned my shirt, I thought, How did I get so lucky to have this man pick me for forever?

Even years later in my expensive, barren room after my dinner with Sam, I couldn’t feel the press of crisp Egyptian cotton sheets against my skin without tears prickling to life in the corners of my eyes.

For the long haul.

What a crock of shit.