The Tuesday before Thanksgiving arrived in a blur of Bureau memos and frost-laced sidewalks. Trench left the Oldest House, coat collar turned up and hands buried deep in his pockets (and a bottle of wine in a bag around his wrist), later than he meant to, but not late enough for Darling to worry. The apartment lights were already on when he arrived—warm against the deepening dark of November—and the smell of sage and roasted garlic floated into the hallway as soon as he opened the door.
"You're right on time," Darling said, glancing up from the stove. "I was just about to declare this butternut squash officially overcooked."
Trench set down the bag of wine and half-heartedly brushed snowflakes from his coat. "Then I've saved the day. That's heroic, right?"
Darling grinned, handing him a wooden spoon. "Only if you stir this while I plate."
They ate on the couch—Darling's insistence, since he'd already cleared the coffee table and lit a candle in a recycled jar of peanut butter. Conversation drifted easily until Darling, somewhere between bites, asked about Thanksgiving plans.
Trench hesitated, chewing thoughtfully. "It's a weird year, custody-wise," he said finally. "The way the dates fell… Kate and I agreed Susanna should come to me tomorrow night. Technically it's my weekend anyway, and we've got flexibility in the agreement when Susanna's home for holiday breaks from school. Kate's staying over too—guest room—just for tomorrow and Thursday. Keep it feeling whole for Susanna. Then Friday through Sunday will be mine, like normal."
Darling nodded, pausing to sip his wine. "That sounds… surprisingly functional."
Trench snorted. "We're trying. For Susanna's sake, mostly. Christmas will be the same setup. Half holiday, half routine."
"That's… good," Darling said quietly. "I'm glad. Really."
Trench gave him a look—half fond, half suspicious. "What about you? Family plans?"
"I'm getting a train up to Rhinebeck tomorrow. Parents still live in the same house. They've known I'm gay for years, and I don't like keeping things from them. I haven't told them your name—just that I'm seeing someone. But I wanted to ask if it's okay to be more specific now."
Trench looked at him for a long beat. Then: "Yeah. That's okay."
Darling's eyes flicked up, surprised.
"I'm telling Kate and Susanna soon," Trench added, quieter now. "I just… need to find the right moment."
"You don't have to rush," Darling said gently. "Just be sure it's your moment."
They finished dinner in the cozy quiet that came easy now—radio low in the background, the window fogged with heat and not-quite-winter. Later, when the dishes were drying and the last candle burned low, after they brushed their teeth side by side—Darling humming an old Bowie song, Trench pretending not to smile—they both padded toward the bedroom in soft silence.
Trench paused at the corner, glancing back toward the couch. "I'll grab the spare bedding—"
Darling raised an eyebrow.
"Spare bedding?"
"For the couch," Trench said, already halfway to the hall closet before the realization hit him like cold water.
He stopped. Turned. Looked back.
Darling was still sitting on the couch, one brow raised. "Zach."
Trench exhaled a half-laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Force of habit."
Darling stepped up beside him, nudging his shoulder. "C'mon, you don't have to earn your way into the bed, Zach. You live here when you want to. And you're wanted here."
Trench exhaled, slow and steady, letting the tension drain out of his shoulders. He nodded.
In the bedroom, he peeled off his layers while Darling fussed with the thermostat. There was a mug on the nightstand, half-full of now-cold tea, and the faint smell of whatever candle Darling had burned earlier—probably something with cloves and too many syllables in its name. They climbed under the covers without fanfare, their limbs finding each other automatically now.
"I keep thinking," Trench said softly, "about what Susanna will say when I tell her. I don't know what I'm expecting. A hundred questions? Nothing at all?"
"She's a sharp kid," Darling murmured. "But she loves you. That won't change."
"I hope not."
Darling squeezed his hand once, gentle. "It won't."
"I'm scared they won't understand," Trench whispered. "Susanna's still so young. And Kate... she deserves to know, but I don't want her to think I was hiding this from her."
Darling shifted beside him, a hand brushing gently against his. "You're not hiding. You're choosing the right time. That's different."
Before sleep took them, Darling murmured into the quiet: "Next year, maybe you and Susanna can come upstate. If it's not too weird. I make a mean sweet potato casserole."
"That'd be nice" Trench said.
Darling shifted a bit closer, hand resting over Trench's heart.
"You're warm," he murmured.
Trench smiled. "You are, too."
Sleep came soft and steady. Trench, wrapped in warmth not just from the bed but from something deeper—stability, affection, the quiet certainty of being known—drifted off with a thought he didn't chase away:
Maybe next year.
