Though the room was small, there was plenty of space for a desk set up under the window, and two of the three remaining walls were covered with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. The current owners had a thick, fluffy rug covering the floor.
“And I’d use that room,” Ben continued, gesturing across the hall.
His office was bigger than Stan’s, and had room for one of Tone’s little electric drum kits as well as Ben’s collection of guitars. There was a daybed set up in here too, meaning there was space for them to have guests to stay.
Something very meaningful settled over Stan as they explored the rest of the house. A feeling of right that he didn’t know how else to explain.
It was a few steps down to the main kitchen and living area, but that meant the space flowed right into the garden, with huge folding doors that they could open in the summer. Stan couldn’t really believe how tall the ceilings were, how much space was in the flat, despite it being relatively small.
“That’s a real fire; I asked already,” Ben said. “And I know we don’t cook much, but the kitchen’s nice, I think.”
“It’s amazing,” Stan murmured. He didn’t think this was a family home, but the people who lived here had set up a huge dining table anyway, a big wooden thing with benches on either side. Stan could already see the rest of the band sitting around it, with the windows open behind them.
“Come and look at the master bedroom.”
The staircase was steep, leading up to the area above the sunken kitchen and living room, which made sense now. The ceilings up here were lower, but Stan didn’t mind. It made the whole place feel cosy instead of cramped. On either side of the stairs was the bedroom at the back, overlooking the garden instead of the main road and its traffic, and a very luxurious bathroom on the other.
The bathroom had both a walk-in shower and an elegant, old-fashioned claw-foot tub. Stan had always wanted one of those.
Ben took Stan’s hand and gently tugged him close. “You’re being very quiet.”
“I’m stunned.”
“I wanted to find us a forever home,” Ben said, his voice suddenly soft. Stan stepped in close and wrapped his arms around Ben’s neck and pressed their foreheads together. “I wanted somewhere we can grow old together, with enough space for it to be comfortable but also just for us.”
Stan kissed him. “I want that cat.”
“Absolutely.”
“Maybe two cats. And….” He hesitated, knowing they’d had this conversation before, but wanting to make sure they were still on the same page. “No kids.”
“No.”
“We’re going to grow old here. Me and you.”
“Yeah. If you want that.”
This time Stan didn’t hesitate. “I really, really do.”
Ben’s smile was everything.
They found the estate agent in the hallway, near the door, typing away on her phone.
“We’ll take it,” Ben said. “We’re cash buyers, no chain, and we’ll offer the full asking price. How soon can we move in?”
She smiled at them beatifically. “Let’s see what we can do.”
The next two weeks were some of the most frantic of Stan’s life.
Ares’s new album was about to drop, so Ben was stressed and moody, and willingly agreed to pick up extra sessions with his therapist to try and manage the influx of anxiety he had around the whole thing. Stan was proud of him. It seemed like Ben was finally, finally figuring out how to ask for help.
At the same time, the work Stan had been chasing since coming back to London arrived with a dozen or more invites to parties, shows, exhibitions, and meetings. He’d never been a darling of the fashion industry before, and though he had a suspicion that his “leaked” relationship with the lead singer of Ares might have something to do with his sudden popularity, he decided he didn’t care. A connection was still a connection, and he still needed to work. More than that, he wanted to work.
Their estate agent decided to do what Ben had asked and worked her arse off to get them moved into the new flat as soon as possible. It turned out the current owners had already left, and most of the furniture was for staging purposes, so they just needed to sign contracts and move money around to make it all happen.
“I’m going to put this place up for sale,” Stan said as he sliced a banana and waited for his coffee to brew. Ben had come over early, dragging himself out of bed so they could have breakfast together before Stan’s first meeting of the day.
“What? No.”
“Ben.”
Stan took him a bowl of fruit and yoghurt and put it down, trusting that this early in the morning, Ben wouldn’t complain about having to eat something healthy instead of a bacon sandwich.
“You don’t have to,” Ben said, digging into his breakfast with gusto. “I can afford it.”
“I know that. But I want it to be our home, that we made together, not a place that you bought for us.”
“I’m not arguing with you about money. For fuck’s sake.”
“Good.” Stan smiled at him sunnily. “Then I’ll call the estate agents and get it sorted.”
“You’re a pain in the fucking arse, Stan Novikov.”
“I love you too.”
They were awake early so Stan could get to London College of Fashion for a meeting about him potentially becoming a mentor there, the same way he’d been at Parsons. He’d managed to get a great reference from his former supervisor at Parsons, and though she was sad to see Stan go, she was happy to recommend him to LCF.
Ben snagged Stan’s wrist before he rushed out of the flat—when did it get so dark in the mornings?—and tugged him in close for a kiss.
“Good luck.”
“Thank you,” Stan said, and kissed him again.
November had taken hold, and the temperature difference between the biting winter wind and the stuffy, stifling heat on the underground made Stan’s chest feel tight and his nose run.
He was not going to get sick. He really was not.
The college was only the first stop of his day. After his meeting was done—things were looking good, but he wouldn’t know until after Christmas if they wanted him for next year—he headed just down the road to the fashion district to meet Olivia at another event she’d invited him to.
He wasn’t late, but still felt flustered as he gave his name to the girl guarding the door and rushed in to find Olivia. She was sitting at the bar, naturally, in a sleek, tight black dress, chatting animatedly to the little gaggle of followers around her. She was magnetic like that.
“Good to see you, darling,” she said, exchanging cheek-kisses with Stan.
“You too.”
Olivia had made sure Stan got something fizzy and non-alcoholic so he didn’t stand out for not drinking. These events were always more about being seen than anything else, and Stan was happy to have Olivia by his side as they navigated the room.
She had status here, with her job in Harrods, and Stan was still re-establishing himself on the London scene. Soon he wouldn’t need to be a plus-one at events like this. He’d be getting his own invitations, especially with his contract at the magazine. For now, though, it was nice to have a partner in crime who could murmur names at him as they wandered around.