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“Is this a kidnapping?” Joe asks as Nicky checks both their seat belts. “Like, I don’t mind. It’s just not quite what I expected for my birthday.”
Nicky laughs, leaning over to kiss him before pulling away from the curb.
“It’s a friendly kidnapping,” he says, one hand on Joe’s knee. Joe knows Nicky will be waving it angrily by the time they hit the highway, so he puts his hand over Nicky’s to enjoy it while he can.
“Just friendly?” he asks, tongue in cheek. “Damn, it’s like the eleven hundreds all over again.”
“We were never friendly,” Nicky says, fingers squeezing. “At least, I never was.”
“Oh, you went straight from hating me to loving me, is that it?” Joe says, eyebrows raised. Nicky keeps his eyes on the road, but there’s a smile hiding around his mouth.
“Oh yes,” he says, faux-casual. “I don’t know why it took you so long to catch on.”
“For me to – oh, really –” Joe splutters, because Nicky knows the joke gets him every time, and Joe plays it up just to see Nicky break into a grin, and snort in that way he only ever does in private. Joe smiles, satisfied, and settles back to wait. He doesn’t need to know where they’re going as long as Nicky’s taking him there.
Nicky’s grand secrecy is foiled at the airport, as he can hardly block Joe from seeing their destination there. Joe looks up at the departure board and down at their tickets, and then begins to laugh.
“Darling,” he says, as Nicky starts going pink. “We listen to Nile too much.”
--
To be fair, as with most of Nile’s suggestions, New Zealand had not been a bad one.
“It’s perfect for new mortals,” Nile had said, scrolling through photos. “Nothing poisonous, pretty temperate, very safe. It’ll give me a good excuse to visit.”
Joe and Nicky had both smiled at her, and then at each other. There are so many options and nothing stopping them from moving around. Joe is looking forward to rediscovering all their favourite places and maybe find new ones; no more sneaking around and definitely no more caves. Their time is more limited than ever and yet, feels limitless, stretching out slow and languid in front of them. Probably because it isn’t filled with fighting and dying and rising again, with the closest thing to rest being recon and laying low. Never again, he thinks, and can barely comprehend it. We can stop now. We can rest.
After the last century especially, he can barely remember what rest means. Perhaps, Joe thinks, it’s high time for a pair of old men to find out.
--
“This is nice,” Joe says from the pool. They’d landed in Auckland last night, and Nicky had driven them to a beautiful hotel by the port, surrounded by soft lights and small yachts. They bob like toys in the water below, and Joe gazes out towards the distant lights of North Shore. The noise of the city is muted from their vantage point, as if its aware of their fatigue and is keeping it down just for them. “Thank you, Nicky.”
Nicky lowers his wine glass and stares at Joe like he’s mad.
“This isn’t it,” he says, sounding offended. “We’re just stopping off here for jetlag. Then we’re heading off.”
Joe turns to take in the five-star suite, the bed they have yet to break in, and the frankly excessive number of fluffy towels.
“We should turn mortal more often,” he says, and swims over to kiss Nicky. “This is great.”
--
It turns out their actual destination involves a road trip, which is always lovely when it doesn’t involve being chased. They load far too many snacks into the backseat, and pick up an actual map because Nile isn’t around to mock them. Nicky drives because he’s a horrible passenger, and Joe karaokes his way through all the playlists Nile had set up for them. Nicky refuses to duet with him until they pass through Hamilton, where he finally cracks and nearly swerves a couple of times when his favourite songs come on.
Spring is a good look on New Zealand. Nicky rolls the windows down and Joe sticks his head out just to smell the air. Everything is soft here: the hills, freshly green and rolling beside them, the clouds dotted above their heads. They both nag each other about sunscreen though, because the sun is especially strong down here and sunburn is something they actually have to worry about now. Joe takes a bunch of photos, just because they can, and gets Nicky’s professional judgement on everything.
“This is stupid,” Nicky says, staring at the building shaped like a sheep dog, complete with eyes and ears.
“It’s cute,” Joe says, waving at him with his phone out. “C’mon, Nile will want to see!”
Nicky rolls his eyes. Joe has an entire album of Nicky looking pissy at different locations by the time they arrive in Tauranga.
As they crest the hill into town, the sea appears ahead of them, shocking in its breadth and shining in the sun. Joe has never tired of seeing it, no matter where they are, and he leans forward, exclaiming. Nicky laughs, and Joe knows exactly how his eyes look behind his sunglasses, as blue-green and brilliant as the water.
“Beach birthday?” he guesses, and Nicky just smiles, small and secretive.
“Partially,” he says, and carries on driving.
They end up a little way outside of town, winding through small roads shaded by trees before Nicky turns down a long driveway and eases them to a stop.
“Surprise,” he says, and for the first time, he sounds a little nervous.
Joe steps out of the car, stretching, and stares up at the house they’ve arrived at. It’s one storey but sprawling, rich wood and stone under a tiled roof. Joe can spy several modern touches in the build, but it’s doing a good job of looking rustic, cosy despite the evident luxuries.
“It’s beautiful,” he says as Nicky takes his hand and leads him to the front door. “Did Nile show you that Airbnb thing?”
Nicky pauses, key in the lock, before he pushes the door open and lets Joe in first.
“No,” he says, as Joe comes to a halt in the entranceway. “This is…this is it.”
Joe can tell immediately it’s not a rented space; for one thing, one of his paintings is hanging in the living room, properly framed. As he looks around, he sees signs of them in every room, even in aesthetics if not materially, and it tugs at him, unnamed by pressing; the novelty of it and yet the aching familiarity. It’s been too long since they’ve been somewhere that wasn’t ready to be abandoned at any moment, belongings hidden or burned.
“What…” Joe says, walking slowly through the kitchen, which even holds a bowl of his favourite fruit. “Nicky, what?”
“It’s ours,” Nicky says, and his tone is light but Joe can hear the undercurrent to it, the hope and the worry and always, always, the love. “It’s ours if you want it.”
It’s perfect: secluded enough that they will never be surprised by strangers, but within walking distance to neighbours. Surrounded by greenery and close enough to sea but not isolated. Simple enough to remind them of places they called home long ago, but with enough modern amenities to make their lives easy. Joe walks from room to room and feels the care Nicky’s put into this: this trip, this house, all the background logistics, just for Joe to consider, as if Joe would not love anything from Nicky straight away.
“Nicky,” he says, pausing by the back door. “Is this…my birthday present?”
Nicky puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs. It’s still so endearing that Joe walks over to him and winds his arms around Nicky’s neck, smiling. Nicky looks away until Joe cups the back of his head, fingers in his hair.
“What is it?” Joe asks softly in the quiet of the house. “Making up for all the birthdays we missed?”
“I think that would need more than a house,” Nicky says, and Joe leans back, mouth quirking.
“So,” he says, “you did get me a house for my birthday?”
Nicky looks at him, and his face is utterly sincere as he replies,
“A home.”
“Nicky…” Joe says, and then can’t do anything except kiss him, slow and soft in the afternoon sun.
“It’s just an option,” Nicky says, flushed. “Out of all the options we discussed. But I thought – we could have certain places, semi-permanent places, you know? Because we can now.”
Because we can now sends a thrill down Joe’s spine, and he presses in close to Nicky, not kissing but just touching, feeling the warmth of him, solid and sure.
“I know,” Joe says. “And I love it.”
The smile Nicky gives him is stunning.
“The bedroom gets sun in the morning,” Nicky says, and Joe can see them waking up together, lazy and unhurried. “This could be a studio space,” Nicky says, and Joe sees himself sketching just for fun; having time to wait while his paint dries. “The garden just needs a bit of work,” Nicky says, and Joe sees them lying on the grass, listening to the birds overheard and the sea beside them, calm and constant and older than they will ever be.
He stops Nicky on the back porch, where Nicky’s still trying to make his case like he even needs to, and kisses him until they’re both breathless.
“Nicolò,” he says when they finally stop, hands still cradling Nicky’s face. “You will be the death of me.”
“A fine way to go,” Nicky says, smiling and leaning his forehead against Joe’s. “If only because I will be right behind you.”
Maybe it’s morbid, but to them, it’s music. Now they know: they will never be separated, not in a way that matters. The fear of one without the other, immortal and dead or worse, is over. Joe could cry with the gratitude that rises in him, every time he remembers. If Andy was still with them, she’d say it’s the least fate could do, after all it had put them through. Joe still thinks it’s poetic.
--
They christen the place in spectacular fashion until the sun is nearly set, and they have to pause for food. Nicky is not done spoiling him, and brings out a vast array of picnic supplies, fussing with placement on a checkered blanket until Joe pulls him down and distracts him.
“You really snuck around to organise this, huh?” Joe says after a while, lying back to stare at the sky. The blue of evening is bewitching, and the moon is amazingly bright in its rising, stars just beginning to peak out. “I didn’t even realise.”
“I suppose I’m full of surprises,” Nicky says, curling up beside him and resting his head on Joe’s shoulder. Joe wraps his arm around him and squeezes Nicky’s hand as he places it over Joe’s heart.
“Well, I don’t know how much more I can take,” Joe says, faux-serious. “I’m rather old now, you know.”
“A full three years older, I’ve heard,” Nicky says, and Joe laughs. That had been one of the first things they’d managed to mock each other for without coming to blows, back when they’d first started travelling together.
“Do you remember…” Joe starts, and they reminiscence until the sky is fully dark above them, the milky way clear against it. Joe has seen the stars in every place and in every time and he still loves them, still loves how small and yet significant they make him feel. The night sky will forever be a natural wonder, Joe thinks, and he considers himself a good authority on wonders of the world since he regularly goes to bed with one.
They fall silent after a while, just breathing together in time with the sea. Nicky pulls a blanket over them and half lies on Joe himself, like he’s protecting Joe from the slightest chill. Joe draws patterns along Nicky’s back, every curve and dip a familiar road, and one he will never tire of.
“Happy birthday, Yusuf,” Nicky says, quiet and precious, and they fall asleep like that, with the stars shining above them and the promise of all their remaining birthdays stretching ahead, together, until the end.