Chapter Text
The door to the lavatory finally clicked open.
Noah, Millie, and the rest of the group were frozen in their seats, heads turning in unison toward the back of the plane.
They expected more shouting, or perhaps a stony, bitter silence.
Instead, they saw Finn step out first. He looked exhausted, his hair a wild mess, but the haunted look in his eyes had vanished. He reached back into the small doorway, his fingers finding Gaten’s. Their hands didn't just brush; they locked, fingers interlaced, tight and intentional.
Gaten stepped out behind him. His eyes were still swollen and red, but for the first time in months, the muscles in his face weren't straining to hold up a mask. As they walked down the narrow aisle, Gaten didn't look at the floor or his phone. He looked at their joined hands. A small, genuine smile, the kind that didn't need to be practiced in a mirror, tugged at the corners of his mouth.
The cabin went silent. Millie’s jaw dropped slightly, her eyes darting from their hands to Finn’s face. Noah exhaled a long, shaky breath, a look of profound relief crossing his features. He gave Gaten a subtle, knowing nod.
Finn didn't say anything to the group. He didn't need to. The performance was over, and the truth was written in the way he guided Gaten back to their row, his thumb stroking the back of Gaten’s hand the entire way.
They sat down, but the "sides" of the seat had vanished. Finn lifted the armrest between them, creating a single, shared space. Gaten didn't hesitate. He leaned over, his head coming to rest heavily on Finn’s shoulder, his curls messy against the fabric of the hoodie.
Finn leaned his head atop Gaten’s, closing his eyes and let out a breath that sounded like he’d been holding it since that night in the alleyway.
The plane hummed, hurtling toward home at hundreds of miles per hour. Outside the window, the sun was finally beginning to break through the clouds, casting a golden light across the cabin. Gaten closed his eyes, lulled by the steady beat of Finn's heart beneath his ear.
The fans would have their theories. The press would have their questions. The world would keep demanding a show. But as Gaten drifted off to sleep, tucked into the warmth of the person he’d yearned for, he knew one thing for certain:
The game was over. And for the first time, he had actually won.
The terminal at the end of the jet bridge was a flurry of movement, but for the first time, Gaten didn't feel the need to brace himself. The heavy, leaden exhaustion of the last few days had finally settled into something soft and manageable.
As they reached the end of the long walk toward the private exit, Gaten stumbled slightly, his legs feeling like jelly after the eleven-hour flight.
"You good?" Finn asked, stopping immediately. He looked at Gaten with a focused, quiet intensity that had nothing to do with a camera lens.
"Just... gravity is a lot right now," Gaten admitted, a sleepy, lopsided grin crossing his face.
Without a word, Finn turned his back to Gaten and crouched down, reaching behind him. "Get on. I've got you."
Gaten laughed, a light, airy sound that made Noah and Sadie stop and look back.
"Finn, we’re in public. People are going to see."
"Let them look," Finn said, his voice steady and defiant. "The show's over, remember? This is just me carrying my favorite person because he’s too tired to walk. Come on."
Gaten didn't argue. He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Finn’s neck and hooking his legs around Finn’s waist. Finn hiked him up with an effortless familiar strength, securing his grip under Gaten’s knees.
They emerged into the main terminal area where a small group of photographers and fans had gathered behind the security ropes. Usually, this was the moment where Gaten would stiffen, where he would put on the "best friend" mask and keep a professional distance.
Instead, he buried his face in the crook of Finn’s neck, He didn't hide, but he didn't perform either. He just let himself be carried.
Finn walked through the terminal with his head held high. He wasn't playing to the crowd; he wasn't looking for the best angle. He was just walking toward the exit, his grip on Gaten firm and protective.
The shutters of the cameras began to click, rapid-fire, frantic pops of light that captured the image. It wasn't a scripted hallway scene or a calculated PR move. It was grainy, messy, and real: Finn Wolfhard carrying Gaten through the airport, both of them looking exhausted and completely, undeniably content.
"You okay back there?" Finn whispered as they neared the waiting car.
"Yeah," Gaten murmured against his skin, closing his eyes. "Better than okay."
As Finn eased him into the back seat of the car, the world felt smaller, quieter. The noise of the press was just a dull hum in the distance. The copper taste was gone, replaced by the simple, sweet reality of a hand finding his in the dark of the backseat.
The car door closed, muffling the chaotic energy of the airport and leaving them in a soft, velvet silence. The interior was dim, lit only by the passing glow of the terminal streetlights as the driver pulled away toward the city.
Finn didn't let go of Gaten’s hand. He shifted on the leather seat, turning his entire body to face him. The frantic energy of the tour and the adrenaline of the flight had finally bled away, leaving something quiet and profound in its wake.
Gaten looked up, meeting Finn’s gaze. There was no "joker card" smirk now. There was no calculated ch arm. Finn’s eyes were dark and soft, searching Gaten’s face with a reverence that made
breath catch in his throat.
For the first time, he didn't feel like a prop or a co-star. He felt seen, wholly and completely.
"I've wanted to look at you like this for a long time," Finn whispered, his voice a low vibration in the small space.
Gaten’s heart didn't race with the old, panicked rhythm. It beat steady and warm. He reached up, his fingers trembling slightly as he brushed a stray curl away from Finn’s forehead. "Then why didn't you?"
"I was scared," Finn admitted, leaning into the touch. "I was scared that if I stopped the act, I’d lose the only person who actually knows me."
Gaten’s thumb traced the line of Finn’s jaw, his gaze dropping to Finn’s lips before rising back to his eyes. The yearning was still there, but it wasn't an ache anymore, it was an invitation. "You’re never going to lose me, Finn."
The distance between them vanished slowly, agonizingly, as if they were both savoring the moment the performance finally turned into reality. Finn leaned in, his hand moving to cup Gaten’s cheek, his thumb grazing his cheekbone with infinite gentleness.
Gaten closed his eyes, tilting his head up, his breath hitching as he felt the warmth of Finn’s skin. The air between them felt electric, thick with years of unspoken words and hidden glances.
As they leaned in, the world outside, the trends, the fans, the cameras, simply ceased to exist. There was only the scent of Finn’s hoodie, the steady hum of the car, and the quiet, certain knowledge that they weren't playing a game anymore.
When their lips finally met, it wasn't for a headline. It was for them.
The final event was the pinnacle of the tour, a gala in a gilded ballroom draped in velvet and flooded with the elite of the industry. Outside, the red carpet was a feeding frenzy of flashbulbs and shouting reporters.
Inside the staging area, the PR team was frantic. They were handing out talking points, checking hemlines, and adjusting microphones. "Remember," a publicist chirped, looking at her clipboard. "Play up the 'mystery.' Keep them guessing about the airport photos. It’s the perfect hook for the finale."
Finn didn't even look at the clipboard. He stood in the center of the room, looking sharp in a midnight-black suit, but his attention was anchored entirely on Gaten.
Gaten was adjusting his cuffs, his expression calm. The hollow ache in his ribs was gone, replaced by a solid, grounding warmth. When he looked up and caught Finn’s eye, a private, easy smile passed between them, a silent conversation that no one else was invited to.
"You ready?" Finn asked, stepping closer. He didn't check the room to see who was watching.
"Yeah," Gaten said softly. "I'm done with the mystery."
Finn reached down, his long fingers sliding between Gaten’s, locking their hands together in a firm, unbreakable grip.
"Wait," the publicist stammered, her eyes dropping to their joined hands. "The plan was to walk out separately and 'find' each other near the podium. It builds the tension.."
"The tension is over," Finn said, his voice ringing with a newfound authority.
The double doors groaned open, and the roar of the crowd hit them like a tidal wave. The light was blinding, a white-hot wall of camera flashes.
They stepped out together.
The sound of the room shifted instantly. The rhythmic chanting of their names faltered for a heartbeat of pure shock before erupting into a deafening roar. They walked down the center of the aisle, not as teammates, not as "legends" of a prank, but as a singular unit.
Finn didn't let go. He held Gaten’s hand high enough for every lens to see, his thumb stroking Gaten’s knuckles in a steady, public rhythm. Gaten walked beside him with his head held high, the mask discarded somewhere back in New York, his eyes bright and clear.
As they reached the stage, they stopped. In front of the entire world, under the most brutal lights they had ever faced, Finn leaned in. He didn't whisper a joke, and he didn't look for the camera. He just looked at Gaten.
"I love you," he murmured, loud enough for the front row to hear, but meant only for the boy holding his hand.
Gaten leaned his head against Finn’s shoulder for a brief, beautiful second, the smile on his face finally reaching his eyes. They weren't performing for the world anymore; they were just living in it.
The show was over. The life had finally begun.
The stage was an island of light in the middle of a darkened sea of thousands. As Gaten and Finn stepped onto the platform, the vibrations of the crowd were so intense they could feel the floorboards humming beneath their dress shoes.
The host started to speak, trying to ask a question about the final episode, but the audience's roar drowned out the speakers. Everyone was staring at their interlaced fingers.
Finn adjusted the microphone with his free hand, but he didn't pull away from Gaten. He pulled him closer until their shoulders were flush.
"I think," Finn started, his voice echoing through the massive arena, "everyone has spent a lot of time asking us what's real and what’s for the cameras." He paused, looking down at Gaten with a look of such raw, unshielded devotion that a wave of gasps rippled through the front rows.
"And the truth is, I spent a long time being too scared to tell the difference myself. But I’m done with the games."
He turned fully to Gaten, ignoring the teleprompters and the thousands of glowing phone screens. "I love you, Gaten. Not for a trend, and not for a show. Just you. Forever."
Gaten felt the last of the "hollow ache" vanish, evaporated by the heat of the spotlight and the honesty in Finn’s eyes. He didn't need a script. He didn't need to practice. He leaned into the microphone, his voice steady and clear.
"I’ve loved you since we were kids, Finn,"
Gaten said, a brilliant, tearful smile breaking across his face. "And I don't ever want to have to hide it again. I love you."
For a split second, the room was silent as the world processed the weight of the moment. Then, the explosion happened.
The fans erupted. It wasn't just a cheer; it was a wall of sound, a collective, soaring celebration that shook the rafters. People were jumping, hugging, and crying in the aisles. The signs weren't jokes anymore, they were witnesses to the truth.
Finn laughed, the most joyful sound Gaten had ever heard, and pulled Gaten into a crushing embrace right there in the center of the stage. As they held each other, the cameras flashed in a frantic, white-hot blur, capturing the image that would be on every front page the next morning.
But as the fans cheered their names, Gaten leaned his forehead against Finn’s. He didn't see the crowd. He didn't see the lights. He just saw the boy who had finally stopped playing a character and started staying for the real thing.
And there, in front of the fans and their friends, they finally leaned in. It wasn't a quick peck for the cameras or a desperate, panicked moment in a bathroom, it was a long, slow, and certain kiss. It tasted like relief and new beginnings.
The End.