Bennett stared at the door after Jamie left, rooted to the spot.

After a moment, he went out, half expecting to find Jamie standing on the other side of the door, waiting for Bennett—

But the hallway was empty.

Bennett closed the door again and sat down in the armchair by the window Jamie had opened earlier. The air was crisp and Bennett could practically taste the salt from the ocean.

He took a deep breath, scrubbing his hand over his face.

I shouldn't have said that, he thought again.

When Jamie came back, Bennett would explain—he hadn't meant it, but he'd always been good at zeroing in on the heart of people's insecurities. Over the years, it had gotten him into serious trouble and almost ended more than a few friendships.

He'd been embarrassed, and he'd become prickly in response, an old and immature coping mechanism.

And now, because of that, he'd hurt Jamie again.

Bennett buried his face in his hands.

The moment Jamie returned, Bennett would fall to his knees and beg forgiveness—whatever it took to undo the damage he'd just caused. He prayed to anything out there that might listen that Jamie would be willing to—yet again—look past Bennett's flaws, to love someone who was acting quite unlovable.

So Bennett waited, and the minutes stretched out, turning into a half hour, then an hour. He thought about going outside—he pictured finding Jamie on the bench in the little rose garden, bathed in moonlight, head bowed—but knowing Bennett's luck, the moment he left would be the moment Jamie decided to come back, and he couldn't bear the thought of Jamie returning to an empty room.

Worry began to curl in his stomach like the first wisps of smoke warning a fire. He was exhausted from the long drive and the emotional wreckage of their fight. He wanted Jamie back with him, in his arms, wanted to kiss away Jamie's tears and prove he was worthy of someone like Jamie.

Bennett slumped down in his chair and watched the door.

* * *

By midnight, his worry from earlier had sprung into full-fledged panic.

The lights in the room still blazed brightly. The room was cold now—the breeze from off the water had turned biting in the night.

He called Jamie again, but it went straight to voicemail. Just it had each time before.

"Jamie—please call me back. I’m sorry. I love you."

He hung up, scribbled a note in case Jamie came back while Bennett was out, and grabbed his coat.

Bennett set off down the street, taking the same route they'd taken to the restaurant earlier, panic zinging through every cell in his body. He walked as quickly as he could, glancing down alleys and side streets, hoping to see Jamie sitting somewhere—perhaps he had fallen asleep, on accident—

Or perhaps something worse had happened.

Bennett thought about calling the police, but then laughed bitterly at himself. What would he say?

Hello, yes, I was an asshole to my boyfriend and now he won't answer my calls.

The main street was deserted, and though it had looked so quaint and picturesque in the rosy light of the evening, now the dark-windowed buildings just seemed cold and a little spooky.

He called out Jamie's name a few times, but of course there was no response.

Then, all at once, Bennett realized he was looking in the wrong place.

He turned abruptly, cutting down one of the streets that would lead him to the beach. He knew, as surely as he knew the address of his childhood home, that he'd find Jamie there at the ocean—

And if he didn't—

The thought was too terrifying, and Bennett shook himself, as if the fear could be shooed away like a mosquito.

In semi-darkness, Bennett stumbled through the little dunes that separated the town from the beach proper, his shoes sinking into the fine sand. Now that he was a little further away from the houses, he called out to Jamie loudly, but his voice was faint against the pounding of the surf.

The beach was deserted.

Bennett's breath was coming in short, ragged bursts now, and not just because of the exertion of climbing the dunes. He looked from left to right, his gaze sweeping across the smooth, barren stretch of the beach. The landscape had a terrible, desolate sort of beauty then, bleached of color and devoid of life, white foam and silver sand and inky black water and the waves hurling them at the shore.

Jamie had been on the swim team in high school, but would he know about riptides? Bennett's mind conjured up all sorts of terrible images, Jamie wading in the water and swept out to sea, before he could stop himself.

That's not helping, Bennett told himself firmly, tamping down on the dizzying fear curled up in the back of his throat.

To the right, a lighthouse blinked, steadfast and stoic in the distance. Bennett set off towards it, thinking that perhaps Jamie had been drawn to it as well, thinking he might like the symbolism of a literal bright light on the horizon.

He thought it was driftwood at first, a little black smudge on the dunes in the distance—but as he got closer, Bennett realized the shape was all wrong—

Fear and hope were playing tug-of-war inside him, and he dashed across the sand, stumbling inelegantly in a hole he didn't see in the dark—

"Jamie—"

The lump didn't move—maybe it wasn't a person, or it wasn't him—or—

"Jamie, please—"

And then—

"Bennett?"

Movement, a face ghostly pale in the last hint of moonlight, a profile Bennett would know anywhere.

Bennett tumbled down onto the sand, scooping Jamie into his arms and pulling him close, saying his name over and over, breathlessly—

"Oh, thank god, Jamie, I was so worried—I'm so glad you're—are you okay? Oh god, thank you, oh thank god—"

"Bennett—" Jamie said, his body tenses. "What are you—what's—" He didn't finish, because Bennett was kissing him, fierce and a little gritty with sand. Jamie's lips tasted of the sea and himself.

"I'm so sorry, Jamie," Bennett said, kneeling before him. Jamie was a little higher up on the dune, and Bennett looked up at him, grasping his hand tightly. "Please forgive me—you're so important to me, Jamie, and I love you—please tell me there's something I can do to make it up to you—I'm so sorry—"

Jamie's hand was stiff, unresponsive, in Bennett's own, and Bennett stopped himself short.

Jamie dropped his head and Bennett could no longer read his expression.

After a long moment—

"You really hurt me," Jamie said, his voice almost lost against the waves.

"I know I did," Bennett said, face still turned up to Jamie, pleading for some kind of absolution he knew he didn't deserve. "I was embarrassed and I lashed out—and you don't deserve that—no one does, but especially you—you're so good and patient and kind and loving and so much better than me—"

"Stop that," Jamie snapped, pulling his hand away. He ran a hand through his hair and shifted slightly, lifting his head. "Stop acting like—you're this… monster who doesn't deserve me, because it's not fucking helping."

He paused.

"I've been… thinking a lot tonight, and… if we keep doing this—" The words were like a burning match to Bennett, a little flare of hope. "—something's going to need to change. You can't keep… acting like I'm this… perfect, fragile person you keep letting down. I’m just a person."

He drew a shaky breath.

"And I need to… trust you a little more, trust how you feel about me, even if you express it a little differently than I expect. And not ask you to give more than you're ready to give."

"Do you… do you still want to be with me?"

Jamie's hesitation was like a punch to the gut.

"Do you want to be with me?"

"Jamie, I just spent the last half-hour running around town thinking you'd been kidnapped or drowned—"

Jamie snorted.

"That's a little dramatic—"

"You weren't answering your phone," Bennett said reproachfully.

"Oh, right," Jamie said, his voice a little flat. "It ran out of battery."

"Well enjoy sorting through a dozen increasingly panicked phone calls from me—"

"You were really that worried?" Jamie said.

"Yes," Bennett said. "And it was… clarifying, in a way."

Bennett paused, taking a deep breath, gathering up the last shards of courage he had remaining.

"When… I was… held hostage," Bennett said, "I had a lot of time to think. There… wasn't much else to do. And the thing I always came back to was that I wanted to tell the people I loved that I cared about them—that I wished I'd done it more often, or better, or—"

Bennett swallowed hard, running his hand through the cold sand.

"But… I… forgot that, somewhere along the way. And Jamie—I don't want you to ever feel like that again—I don't want you to ever think I don't care, or don't love you—"

"Those are nice words, Bennett, but that doesn't really change anything," Jamie said.

Bennett was crestfallen, his heart in his throat, but then Jamie reached out and took his hand.

"But…" Jamie said softly. "Some of this is on me, too. You're… pretty shitty at expressing yourself sometimes, but you've shown me you care so many other ways and… sometimes I just didn't know how to look for it."

Jamie's words are coming faster now, his voice a little stronger.

"Like coming with me to Georgia," he continued, "or even that first night I stayed at your house when you covered me with a blanket and tucked me in—I was awake then, you know, but I was pretending to be asleep—or all the little things you do, or the way you look at me, or the way you say my name—and—oh, Bennett, are you crying?"

Bennett laughed softly, then, as Jamie brought a hand to his face.

"I… am," Bennett said.

"Why?" Jamie whispered. "That's my job."

"How did you get so wise, Jamie?"

"A lot of strong female role models, I think," Jamie said, the ghost of a smile on his moon-pale face. Bennett brought his hand up to meet Jamie's and guided it to his lips, kissing it.

"I know this is asking a lot," Bennett said. "And I've asked you already for so much patience, for so much understanding, but—please, give me one more chance to prove what you mean to me. To show you, on no uncertain terms, how much I love you and how proud I am to be with you, how incredible I think you are."

Jamie swallowed hard, then nodded.

"Okay."

Relief flooded through Bennett, crisp and clarifying, and Bennett pulled Jamie into his arms again and kissed him.

"Thank you," Bennett said. "Thank you for being—you."

Jamie laughed.

"Well, I don't have a lot of other options," he said. Bennett could feel the goosebumps on Jamie's skin through his sweatshirt.

"You must be freezing," Bennett said, stripping off his coat and draping it over Jamie's shoulders.

"But now you don't have a jacket," Jamie said, burrowing in towards Bennett's warmth.

"I'll survive," he said.

They were quiet for a moment, just listening to the sound of the waves, as rhythmic and soothing as a heartbeat.

"Is it okay if we stay here a little longer? On the beach?" Jamie said. "If you're not too cold."

"We can stay for as long as you want," Bennett said, and though the chill of the salty air was seeping through his sweater, Jamie was warm beside him.

"It's… different than I was expecting," Jamie said quietly. "Bigger. I mean, I knew it was big but somehow… I didn't quite know what it would feel like." He tapped his chest where his heart was.

"I know what you mean," Bennett said, burying his face in Jamie's hair, breathing in his scent. "There are some things that pictures and words can never quite capture."

They lapsed into silence again, and time passed, marked only by the moon slipping down the sky.

"My mom would have loved it," Jamie said. "The ocean. It's so… wild. Kind of… terrifying and beautiful all at once. You can't fuck with it."

Bennett smiled.

"No, you really can't."

* * *

"Bennett, look—"

Bennett started and sat up. The harsh contrasts of the night—black, white, silver—had faded in the graying pre-dawn light.

"Did we fall asleep?" Bennett asked, blearily.

"Guess so," Jamie said. He pointed out over the water. "Sun's gonna rise soon, wanna stay and watch?"

Bennett was deeply chilled, his body aching, the sand as hard as concrete beneath him, but he pulled Jamie closer.

"Of course, darling," he said.

Little by little, color crept back into the landscape, the grass of the dunes appearing from the dark as the sky lightened. Far down the beach, a lone figure stooped in the waves, picking up seashells.

In the east, the sky turned from gray-blue to cool lemon to a rosy blush, and suddenly, the first brilliant edge of the sun, appeared on the horizon.

Bennett squinted, watching the sun slide up into the sky, until all at once, it was day.

"Okay, fuck, that's bright," Jamie said, laughing and looking away. He stood up, shaking his limbs out, sand raining down on Bennett. He turned around and helped Bennett to his feet.

The morning was cool and clean, and though Bennett's eyes burned with exhaustion, his mind felt strangely energized. He looked at Jamie, who was smiling up at him.

"You hungry?" Bennett said.

"Always," Jamie said.

Bennett slid his hand into Jamie's as they made their way back through the dunes to find breakfast, holding hands the entire way along the main street.

* * *

The Monday after their trip, Bennett found an envelope in his mailbox—a response from one of the places he'd submitted his essay to. Jamie was in his office, doing homework, and for a while, the letter sat untouched on Bennett's desk. He didn't quite have the courage to open it.

He'd told Peter he'd written it for himself, which was true—but now that he'd sent it off into the world, Bennett found himself caring. And if he was accepted, the prestige of this particular publication would make tenure almost guaranteed.

With shaking hands, he opened the envelope and unfolded the letter.

He read it once, then again, and then one more time for good measure. He scrubbed a hand over his face and breathed out slowly.

"Bennett?" Jamie said, who'd just looked up. He sounded concerned. "Are you okay?"

Bennett passed the letter to Jamie, who took it and skimmed it.

"Holy shit," Jamie said, his smile glowing. "Holy shit—"

Jamie sprung up from him seat and dashed around the desk—Bennett stood up to meet him as Jamie practically leapt into his arms.

"Congratulations," Jamie said, kissing him over and over again. "I’m so fucking proud of you—holy fucking shit—"

The door to Bennett's office burst open, and Jamie jerked back.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Greg Archer was standing there, one eyebrow raised, arms folded, looking irritatingly triumphant.

Jamie looked like a cornered animal, his eyes wild, mouth open in shock.

Bennett glanced at Jamie, then at Greg, then back to Jamie.

"Actually, it's great you stopped by," Bennett said, stepping closer to Jamie and sliding an arm around his waist. Jamie was still frozen, his muscles tense under Bennett's hand. "I just got some great news I wanted to share with you."

He plucked the letter out of Jamie's hand and extended it to Greg, just out of his reach so Greg had to lean in to grab it. Passive-aggressive, Bennett knew, but also incredibly satisfying.

Greg's mouth pressed into a thin line as he read, his face mottled with irritation.

"Congratulations," he choked out, tossing the letter on the desk.

"Thank you," Bennett said, smiling blithely. Jamie was still frozen beside him, and he could feel Jamie looking up at him in confusion. "I'm so excited to tell the rest of the tenure committee. I know they'll be thrilled to hear about it."

"Perhaps," Greg said, his nostrils flaring.

"You've met my boyfriend Jamie, yes?" Bennett said. Jamie inhaled softly.

"I have," Greg said stiffly.

"Did you need something? We were just on our way out."

"It can wait," Greg said, and he spun around and stomped off, leaving the door hanging open.

Bennett glanced down at Jamie, whose mouth was hanging open.

"Did that… did that really just fucking happen?"

"It did, darling," Bennett said, kissing Jamie on the forehead. "I meant what I said on the beach."

Jamie's smile was pure, radiant light.

"What about—what about tenure?" Jamie said, still sounding incredulous.

Bennett shrugged.

"If getting published with this place isn't enough for them, nothing ever will be."

He turned to face Jamie, tilting Jamie's chin up towards him.

"And besides, I can always find another job," Bennett said. "But I can never find another Jamie. Now, come on, let's go celebrate."