by M. C. Adams
Klein laughs. ‘You’re incorrigible. Anyway, what are you up to today? Think you’ll head into work?’
‘Not today,’ says Hunter. ‘I thought we were trying to stick to our new “no work on a Saturday” rule.’
‘I know,’ Klein smiles. ‘I’m just checking… Because there’s something I want to do with you today.’
‘Oh yeah?’ I arch a brow.
‘Not that,’ says Klein. ‘I think we’ve been doing enough of that lately.’
‘We can never do enough of that,’ I say, grinning.
‘Come on. Finish your cereal, then get dressed. I’m taking you on a magical mystery tour.’
Klein walks out of the kitchen and I watch his cute little arse head for the bedroom.
I finish off my cereal, making a note to buy something a little less… well… healthy next time I’m out.
Klein’s been sticking to this vegan diet really strictly since we moved into the flat, and it’s great and everything — he’s happy and so full of energy — but sometimes, the food we get is so damn good for us that I just want to sink my teeth into a giant slab of chocolate cake when Klein’s not looking… or even when he is, quite frankly…
Never mind. Flaxseed and puffed brown rice it is.
I take out my phone and check quickly for emails.
Now that I’m a businessman — and I have the business certificate to prove it —I still have to stay in the loop. Even on my days off.
I accepted that money from Klein in the end — the one million — and I’ve used it to set up a men’s shelter. It’s for anyone over the age of sixteen who needs to get away from violence or abuse. A lot of the guys are running from domestic issues — the way I ran from my dad when I was a kid. There are twenty-six rooms in the hostel, with a whole host of staff members — counsellors, administrators, chefs, cleaners… and even a couple of bouncers on the door, to make sure there are no unwanted visitors. One of the bouncers I’ve employed is Samson, and another is Logan, who Klein did CPR on that night of the fire. Logan’s been having trouble recently trying to find work — anyone who’s been in prison as long as him is bound to have trouble. They’re all amazing guys, and I’m glad to have them on the team.
My job involves finding ways to make the charity run smoothly, fund-raising and finding sponsors. I suppose you could call my job title Big Boss Man. And this big badass boss man hasn’t turned up late to work once. I guess all I needed to do was find something I felt passionate about. I know that when my dad kicked me out of home, and I had nowhere to go, a shelter like this was exactly what I needed. And when I see the poor men who end up at my shelter, from all works of life — that’s what keeps me coming into work every day. In fact, I don’t come into work late any more — now, I leave late. Out of choice.
‘Come on, you,’ calls Klein. ‘Stop looking at that phone. I know you’re secretly working in there. Let’s go!’
‘Okay, okay,’ I laugh, putting my empty bowl in the sink and heading through to the bedroom.
Klein is already dressed in a smart, mint-green shirt and grey trousers. He wears ripped jeans and band t-shirts when we go out sometimes, but he still likes to wear fancy stuff. The difference is that nowadays all his clothes are second-hand. Or, as he says, pre-loved.
I throw on some jeans and a hoodie, and Klein practically pulls me out of the house as I slip on my shoes.
‘What’s the rush?’ I laugh.
‘I’m just excited!’ he giggles.
We get on the underground and ride the train a couple of stops before getting out.
‘Brick Lane?’ I ask. ‘What are we doing here? Hey, are we getting some more of those amazing cauliflower wings? We only just had breakfast, but it is almost midday…’
Klein shakes his head. ‘Nope. We’re going this way.’
We turn down a road just off the main shopping street, and Klein points to a warehouse. It’s got sandblasted bricks, tall windows, and a huge, round chimney coming out of the top of it.
‘Well?’ he asks. ‘What do you think?’
‘It’s, um, a very nice factory,’ I say.
Klein shakes his head. ‘Actually, it’s a very nice residential building.’
My eyes widen. ‘Is this our place? Is this the place you’ve been designing for us? It’s… well, it’s very big…’
Klein grins. ‘Follow me.’
He pulls me into a red door around the side of the building.
‘I always felt like my last place was a bit too big, didn’t you?’
I nod. ‘Well, sure, but this place must be like, three times the size.’
The interior smells like fresh paint, and that’s when I notice - we’re not inside one giant house. It’s an apartment block.
‘We’ve got the top floor,’ Klein says, handing me the keys. ‘Every apartment in here has been built using reclaimed wood — not a square inch of marble in sight. And, as much as possible, I’ve used recycled furniture. There are solar panels on the roof, plus intelligent controls, a high thermal envelope and a very low carbon—’
‘Any silk wallpaper?’ I interrupt him, with a smirk.
‘Not a trace,’ Klein laughs.
We walk up several flights of stairs, and Klein stops to show me things along the way.
If I’m honest, I’m only half-listening. I’m just blown away by the fact that Klein has built us a home here. I told him how much I liked the East End, and I even mentioned to him once that Brick Lane was one of my favourite parts of the city… but he’s been so secretive about the whole project, and I never thought he’d get it done this quickly.
‘This is our door, up here,’ says Klein. ‘Go on. Open it.’
I put my key into a bright blue door marked with the number 13 — my lucky number, as it happens.
‘The shade of our door is ‘IKB 79’ by Yves Klein, one of my favourite artworks,’ says Klein. But I knew thirteen was your favourite number, so I put the two together. Actually there are only twelve apartments in this building. Go on. Open the door.’
I’m blown away when I look inside.
There are no columns, no marble counter tops, and as far as I can tell, there’s no swimming pool.
But instead, there are bright prints and posters on the walls. Some are of movies that we’ve watched together. There are framed posters from a couple of the gigs we’ve been to. There’s a photo of the Lake District, where we got married. The walls are brightly-coloured and vibrant, and it’s full of wide-open spaces.
‘This is your office,’ says Hunter, leading me into a room with an amazing view over Spitalfields Market. The walls are bare, and there’s a huge oak desk in the middle of the room. ‘It’s for you to decorate however you like, of course. And there, through the adjoining door… that’s my office.’ I walk through a doorway into an equal-sized room, this one with a view over Weavers’ Fields.
‘I haven’t done much decorating or bought much furniture,’ Klein says, ‘because I want it to be fifty-fifty.’
‘Oh my god, we have a balcony?’ I say.
‘Yes, and a little private roof terrace, in between some of the solar panels.’
‘It’s perfect,’ I say. ‘I love it. The space. The location. Everything.’
Klein smiles, his eyes sparkling. ‘I’m so glad you like it.’ He kisses me softly on the lips. ‘It’s our place, and I want it to reflect both of us.’
‘It already does. It’s so cool. I can’t wait to fuck you in every room in the apartment.’
‘Um…’ Klein coughs, looking a little embarrassed. ‘Actually,’ he says, ‘I’ve arranged a little surprise for you. He squeezes my hand tightly, and then, quickly, decisively, he yells: ‘Go, boys, go!’
Suddenly, I hear the sound of twenty-two pairs of shoes, leaping out from empty cupboards, and behind cabinets. There’s laughter and whooping as all of my favourite men run towards us, forming a huge huddle.
‘Well, this is a bit nicer than last time we all met, huh?’ I say.<
br />
Everyone nods. I give a couple of people high-fives.
‘Now, listen,’ Klein says, ‘I know it’s still early, but these boys are spending the day with us to celebrate… so let’s party!’
Klein clicks his fingers, and Rowan appears in front of me, wearing a full-on neon BDSM outfit. He scurries off to one corner of the room, and then suddenly, I realise that what I thought was a cabinet in the living room opens up into a set of DJ decks, and Rowan starts spinning an incredible tune at loud volume.
‘We’re currently the only tenants in this incredibly well-insulated building,’ says Klein, taking my hand, ‘so… let’s party all day — and night — long!’
‘Now you’re talking my language,’ I say.
‘I love you, you crazy man,’ Klein says, kissing me again.
‘I love you too,’ I say happily, winding my arms around him, then twirling him around, dancing, dancing, dancing.
*
Thanks so much for reading!
Want more Hunter and Klein??? Want to check in and see just how happy their HEA is, five years down the line?
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ABOUT M.C. ADAMS
M.C. Adams writes contemporary MM romance with complicated, unconventional characters and thrilling, suspenseful plots. I love broken alphas, rebellious freaks, and guys who have to burst out of the closet so they can live their truth.
When I’m not dreaming up ways to get unlikely men into even more unlikely situations, I love to cook, and eat, Mexican food — the spicier the better.
I live in England, but feel like a citizen of the world, and I want to see as much of it as I can in my life.
Thank you so much for reading!
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