Adam Wheatley has never — not once in his life — underestimated the power of a list.

And why would he? Lists have never let him down. They have been there for him through his highest highs and his lowest lows. Through sickness and health. Through the dark days and the light. Not to overstate the case.

Lists are also, maybe just maybe, a bit of crutch when he is freaking out. And today, he is definitely freaking out because, after weeks of paring down his already lean Brooklyn life, it’s finally happening. It’s moving day. Weeks of piles. Yes. No. Maybe. Weeks of lists. So many lists. But now he’s ready.

Well, almost ready.

There’s just one box left to deal with, one final checklist item to sort through. He’s debated taking the whole thing to the garbage chute and dropping it into the abyss, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Even though he hasn’t opened it in years, he knows there’s too much history here to just toss out. Of course, there’s the bad stuff — bucktoothed school photos, a few dismal report cards, and programs from the funerals of more loved ones than he would care to think about. But there are great things too - yearbooks, birthday cards, and newspaper clippings for everything from the time he was the Snow Prince in his small hometown’s Winter Festival (‘Local Boy Gets "Cool" New Title’) to copies of some of his favourite books he’s worked on, including his first project as a Junior Editor (‘High Seas Mystery: A Soggy Saga’). It’s true hasn’t looked at most if this stuff in years, but although he doesn’t always want to remember the past, forgetting it is one of the worst things he can imagine. 

Mind made up, he pulls a Sharpie out of his pocket and neatly writes across the top of the box. ‘ADAM — IMPORTANT TAX DOCS (office).’ That should deter anyone from peeking inside, and he can deal with it at the new place. Or not.

He crosses the last item off of his ‘Morning of’ checklist, and nods with satisfaction. He then hefts the box up and makes his way out of the office and down the short hallway.

"Alright. Last one." He says as he hip-checks the box up onto the kitchen island a moment later. "The office is cleared out. Moving day is officially on."

Trevor barely looks up from his phone. "Careful, babe. I want that damage deposit back."

Chastened, Adam carefully lifts the box off the gleaming quartz countertop and stacks it in what used to be their living room, but now looks more like a stylish storage locker. Walls that, just a few days ago, were hung with stylish black and white cityscapes are now bare. In the absence of their Moroccan wool rug, now rolled, wrapped and awaiting transport, the room has an unfamiliar echo. The condo seems smaller now without their stuff, as if their possessions were what expanded the space, rather than filled it.

"Five years." Adam surveys the pile of boxes that surround him. "It’s the end of an era."

Trevor lets out a grunt. He’s been so distracted lately, but Adam fights the urge to mention it. Again. Don’t make it a thing, he tells himself. Be patient. Be grateful. And most of all, stop looking for things to worry about.

Trevor finally looks up from his phone. "Did you say something?"

Adam affixes a smile. “I was just saying that this is it. Goodbye to to 11C. Any final words?"

For a moment, Trevor almost looks irritated, but then lips peel back in a smile, revealing a row of gleaming white teeth, and all is forgotten.  

The thing about Trevor is that he’s impossibly handsome. Strike that. His handsomeness is entirely possible - square jaw, perfectly dusted with dark stubble, thick black hair, and a nose that looks like it should be on a marble sculpture. But what’s impossible to Adam is that someone this gorgeous, this polished and charming, chose him. Chooses him. Present tense. Ongoing. 

He reaches out for Adam’s hand and spins him under his arm. This moment of playfulness — any moment of playfulness from Trevor — melts him. He is putty. 

“Bigger and better, baby."

"Okay. Fine." Adam echoes. "Bigger and better."

Turning out of his spin, Adam catches a glimpse of the clock on the stove: 7:27. Time to go. He reaches into his pocket and hands Trevor a carefully folded piece of paper.

"Okay, so I made -“

"Let me guess…" Trevor says. “A list.”

“I know. I know.” Adam says apologetically. “ I just feel weird that I can’t be here to help with everything. But I don't want to miss this meeting with Corinne."

“Babe. I got this.” Trevor says, tucking the paper in his pocket without so much as a glance, then returning his attention to his phone.

Adam moves to the closet and pulls out his jacket. The only one currently hanging there. The mid-weight one. Not his toasty and endlessly comfortable red puffer, and not the comfy wool peacoat he's had since college. This is the one Trevor bought for him last year - sleek black, professional, and almost warm enough for the bracing late-November chill.

“Okay. How do I look?" He asks so plaintively that Trevor has no choice but to glance up from his phone.

Trevor walks over and pushes back a lock of Adam’s aggressively straight, aggressively medium-brown hair. He can feel the warmth radiating off Trevor’s broad chest, and it calms him. Even if nothing else goes well today, this man — this handsome, brilliant, incredible (occasionally very distracted) man — loves him. And that has to mean something.

Trevor nods approvingly. “You look great. You’re going to kick ass today.”

Adam laughs. "I don’t need to kick ass. I just need to try to keep my cool and speak to my boss in complete sentences. Just this once. God, why does she make me so nervous?"

Trevor suddenly seems very present. Eyes focused, chin tilted downward. When he does this, Adam is the only person in the world. His voice is low, almost a whisper. "You are going to be amazing today. You’ve helped build that place. Your authors love you and you’re great at your job. You’ve just gotta strut into Corinne’s office, tell her you’re the best editor she’s got, and she’d be an idiot not to give you that Senior Editor role, and BAM! Promotion."

Adam gives a lopsided half—grin. "Bam, hey? That easy?"

"That easy. Just don’t let her get to you this time. Don’t let her shake your certainty."

Trevor says it with the kind of one hundred percent unflappable confidence that Adam can only dream of. Even on a good day, he feels about two percent confident and ninety eight percent flappable. He tries to soak in Trevor’s confidence. Embody it. 

Filled with gratitude, Adam leans in for a kiss. Trevor tilts to meet him, but at the last minute, changes his trajectory and gives him a peck on the nose. 

A peck. On the nose. He makes a note to brush his teeth again when he gets to the office.

"Okay." He says, taking a big breath, perhaps his first real lungful of the day. "I should be home — to our new home—“ he corrects himself "by around 6, with a bottle of bubbly."

Trevor cocks a perfect eyebrow. 

"Yes." Adam assures. "Real champagne. From the region."

"Alright. See you then. Knock ‘em dead."

Adam darts in and kisses Trevor. On the lips. Quick, before he can protest. He then grabs his backpack and throws a last glance over his shoulder on his way out the door, hunting for one more reassuring smile, but Trevor already has his head down, once more absorbed in his phone.