To Jojo, With Love

A/N:

Here's my submission for the 2025 Literotica Geek Pride Story Event!

I found out just 5 days before the submission deadline about this challenge, and more generally the notion of Literotica writing challenges. I got instantly inspired and spent the next 2 days writing in a craze. This piece is the result of that period of manic writing and editing.

I've written it as a heartfelt love letter to fandom culture; drawing heavily on my experiences watching anime, playing games, and going to conventions with friends. It's equal parts slow-burn romance and sweaty, chaotic cosplay energy. It makes references to Jojo's Bizarre Adventure (JJBA), although you don't need to have watched that to enjoy the story IMO!

This is a complete story, but I wouldn't rule out a sequel if enough of you scream into my comments section. Enjoy the ride! Mistakes included for flavor.

---------------

I've always loved going to Comic-Con.

Not just for the panels, or the merch hauls, or the chance to finally see if that one obscure fan artist brought Hollow Knight stickers again (they never do, and I never stop looking). Not even for the cosplay--though I've spent weeks sewing hidden zippers into pants just to avoid wardrobe malfunctions mid-pose.

No, it's the chaos. The beautiful, ridiculous chaos.

The way the air smells like wig glue, churros, and ambition. The way complete strangers call out your character's name like they've known you forever. The way a throwaway joke can turn into a running gag that lasts the whole weekend. The way time doesn't work inside convention centers--you look down and it's noon, you blink and it's 7PM and your badge is sweaty and your feet hate you.

It's home, in a weird way. Loud, messy, sweaty, overstimulating home. A space where you can geek out and put your inner freak on full display. Because everyone's doing it right there with you. You'll laugh. You'll cry. You'll go home with memories that might last a lifetime.

And sometimes, if you're really lucky?

You might just score something you didn't expect.

---

The first thing I noticed about him was the hair.

I'd been standing dutifully in line, holding Renee's spot while she fixed a wardrobe malfunction. The convention center swelled around me in waves of heat and color and sound. Distant music from the DJ booth. The crunch of gravel under cosplay boots. The buzz of air conditioning that never reached where it needed to. Everything layered in a kind of overstimulated hum that I loved.

"Hey, nice Caesar!" A passing Cloud yelled at me. I grinned, shooting finger guns back at him before the crowd pulled him away.

This year, I was once again repping my favorite anime: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure. I'd always adored the series' absurd mix of jacked-up men, convoluted powers, and sheer, unapologetic camp. It was pure chaos with muscles -- and it oozed exactly the kind of unrepentant gay energy I thrived on. After some deliberation, I'd chosen Caesar Zeppeli, the lovable, headband-wearing best boy from my favorite season (Part 2: Battle Tendency). I'd spent months perfecting the outfit. Now, standing in the crowd with my costume set just right, I felt damn proud of the result.

Around me, wigs swayed like banners. Foam swords bobbed above the crowd. Somebody dressed as Sailor Jupiter just high-fived Pyramid Head. Nearby, a Deadpool was doing the worm. I let my eyes just flow across the crowd, taking it all in. Savoring the magical, chaotic energy that always pervaded the first day of any convention.

That's when I saw him. Joseph Joestar in the flesh, or looking damn close. Chestnut hair had been spiked and styled into artful chaos that spilled off his head like a waterfall. Somehow he made it look effortless rather than try-hard. A green scarf fluttered behind him like it had a personality of its own. His ensemble - minimal, tasteful - hugged his athletic frame pleasantly.

His eyes landed on me--bright, warm--and his whole face lit up like he'd found a long-lost friend. "Hey! Didn't think there'd be a Caesar here." He strode up, boots thudding lightly against the concrete, flashing me an easy smile. His voice had a casual, confident lilt to it, even though he stood half-a-head shorter. "Love what you did with the headband."

"Thanks, man!" I grinned back, stomach flipping stupidly. I'd spared no effort in putting together this fit, and it felt amazing to be noticed. "I jerry-rigged a wire frame out of old hangers. Kinda dumb, but it worked--makes it float a little, like they're rippling with Hamon."

I gestured at my temple. The headband wobbled helpfully, like it was showing off. He leaned in slightly, eyes scanning the detail. Close enough that I could smell sunscreen and something clean, citrusy.

"You nailed it," he said. "The shape holds really well."

"Oh, yeah, I had to redo it like... four times. The first version looked like a deflated balloon animal." I chuckled, a little too loud. "Pretty sure I stabbed myself with wire. Twice."

He grinned--wide and open. Damn if he didn't have a killer smile. I could have stood there all day admiring it. Admiring him.

Up close, he looked good. Like, distractingly good. His tank top clung in all the right places--pecs, biceps, flat midriff peeking out under his hem. I couldn't help a little twinge of envy. It was said that muscles were the simplest fit to wear, and the hardest to acquire. I worked out, but I'd never quite gotten the definition to pull off a daring ensemble like that.

Abruptly I realised I was staring. Way to ruin the vibe, Kyle, I scolded myself mentally. I yanked my gaze back up just in time to meet his eyes again, hoping the heat in my cheeks wasn't showing. Fortunately, he didn't seem to have noticed.

"You're looking pretty good too!" I recovered.. "Uh-- sick work with the hair. Can't believe it's not a wig."

He laughed, scratching behind his ear. "Oh yeah. Au naturel, baby. Just, like, three months of no haircuts and a small mountain of wax. My scalp's probably ninety percent chemicals by now."

We shared a laugh. There was a brief silence, before he stuck out a hand. "Kyle," I said, clasping his forearm. "Dylan," he replied. I felt his fingers give me a brief squeeze before letting go.

"Dylan," I repeated, mostly to make sure I didn't forget it. "You, uh... come here often?"

"Not St. Louis, no. Usually I hit West Coast stuff--AX, Fanime, that kind of thing. First time flying out for this one."

"Oh, damn. Well... welcome to humidity hell," I said. "Hope you brought a water bottle and mosquito spray."

He grinned at me like a megawatt lamp. I felt a warm, fuzzy feeling rise up my spine. God, keep it in your pants Kyle! I bit my lip.

"Do you do Jojo a lot, or is this a one-time thing?" He asked.

"Not all the time, but I rotate through it pretty often. I did Kakyoin once. Regretted it immediately. Too many cherry jokes."

"Yeah, those live in my brain rent-free too." He grinned again. "Caesar's a good look on you, though. Clean lines. Strong posing. Love the arm bands."

I gave a shaky laugh and gestured vaguely at my hips. "Thanks. I had to learn how to sew a hidden zipper so the pants didn't split when I pose. Ask me how many I ruined before that."

"I'm scared to," he said, mock-serious.

"Three. And a half."

He burst out laughing again, and it was a good laugh--full-bodied, warm, unpretentious. The kind that made me want to keep trying to be funny just to hear it again.

---

"Oh em gee, that's so iconic!" We both turned as a delighted squeal erupted to the side. Nearby, a gaggle of Sailor Moon girls stood giggling. One of them--Sailor Venus, freckles and a long, flowing wig--broke formation and skipped up, flashing cute dimples. I could practically see the anime stars in her eyes.

"You guys look amazing together! Can I get a picture?"

I blinked, glancing briefly at Dylan. He just gave a casual shrug and a smile. "Let's do it."

I grinned back, maybe a little too widely. Then I dropped into a classic pose--one arm raised, fingers flared, chin tilted like I was posing for a manga cover. My headband wobbled dramatically.

Nailed it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dylan fall into step beside me, flexing just enough to make it obvious. His scarf swished theatrically. He arched one brow, lips curling into a devil-may-care smirk.

The photo clicked. Sailor Venus clapped her hands like we'd just made her entire weekend. "You guys are so hot together," she said, eyes twinkling as she sent it to us via AirDrop. "Like--canon-level energy. Ship it."

I laughed, now sure I was blushing. Looking over, I caught Dylan glancing at the photo on his phone, eyebrows raised slightly. "Looks good," he said, with heartfelt approval.

It really did look awesome. We'd posed perfectly -- a real-life Joseph Joestar and Caesar Zeppeli, broad and muscled. Standing shoulder to shoulder, looking pumped and ready to take on the world like the best bros they were. It would have been hella badass, if I hadn't broken into a stupid grin at the last moment like a total dork.

Oh well. I turned back to Dylan, beaming. "Mind if I post it on Instagram?"

"Not at all," he said, pulling out his phone as well. "What's your handle? I'll drop you a follow."

"Oh--uh. It's @cosplaykyle97," I said, trying not to overthink it. "It's kinda just my cosplay stuff. I don't really do the whole influencer thing."

He typed in something quickly, then squinted at his screen. "Damn," he said. "These are really good. You do your own photography?"

"Sometimes," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "Mostly self-timer and panic. And, like... lots of editing." He followed me with a quick tap. The tiny heart on my screen lit up, and I tapped his profile pic, curious.

His gallery was a mix of cosplay, fashion, and lifestyle shots--minimalist fits, candid hallway selfies, soft lighting and sharper jawlines than should legally be allowed. A shot of him as Howl caught my eye and made my lungs glitch. God help me, he was effortlessly photogenic. One of those people who looked like they just belonged in front of a camera. I guess some people just had natural talent. My fingers hovered, then tapped follow.

"Cool," he said, smiling. "Now you can see all the embarrassing reels I refuse to delete."

"I look forward to judging them harshly," I replied, mock-serious.

He chuckled. "Please do. I need someone to keep me humble."

The crowd shifted around us. A gang of Deadpools walked by doing the Macarena. Somewhere off in the distance, someone shouted "IT'S MORBIN TIME."

We both turned, laughing. Dylan gestured toward the direction they came from. "Wanna check out the artist alley? I was headed that way anyway." His voice sounded casual, hopeful.

I chewed the inside of my mouth. Technically, I'd promised to save Renee's spot in the queue. I glanced back at the bathrooms, longing, annoyed. When was she going to be done?

Dylan must have sensed my hesitation, because his eyes softened a little. "Sorry, are you with someone? I didn't realise." He trailed off, awkward.

"Oh - no, you're all good!" I hastened to correct him. "Just need to text a friend." Whipping out my phone, I dashed out a quick apology to Renee, adding a monkey-covering-eyes emoji at the end. Really, it was her own damn fault it took her forever to get changed. She'd probably forgive me if I bought her something nice. Probably.

"There - done." I looked back up at Dylan, giving him a reassuring grin. "The artist's alley sounds great." The smile he sent back at me made my day.

"Great. I could use another pair of eyes to stop me from buying way too many prints."

"Oh... I don't think I'm going to be of any help there."

Laughing in unison, we set off together.

---

The artist's corner was packed--loud, chaotic, glorious. The air reeked of vinyl, printer ink, and too many people whose deodorant had lost the battle. Booths lined the rows like a glitterbombed maze, each one overflowing with stickers, posters, enamel pins, fanbooks, zines--everything loud and colorful and painfully irresistible.

I practically vibrated.

It took every ounce of willpower not to sprint directly toward the Hollow Knight table and yeet my wallet at them. I'd been saving for weeks. Skipping takeout. Avoiding merch drops online. This? This was my moment.

"Okay," I said, eyes darting like I was tracking targets in a JRPG. "I need to prioritize. Enamel pins first. Then stickers. Then prints. Wait--unless there's foil prints. Shit."

Dylan chuckled beside me. "You have a plan?"

"No," I said brightly. "I have instincts."

We wove into the first aisle, and I was instantly lost in it. Every table felt like a shrine to some part of my soul I'd forgotten existed. Magical girl horror. Zelda tarot decks. A Metroid-themed enamel pin shaped like a peach. I reached for everything like a starving man.

Well, maybe not everything. I stopped short when I saw a thirst trap Joseph print--poster-sized, hyper-stylized, tank top hiked just enough to reveal a suspiciously oiled six-pack and an aggressively low-slung waistband. The entire background was pink sparkles and dramatic roses. Turning to Dylan, I pointed, grinning.

"No chance in hell," I declared. "That's not even subtle. That's, like, hentai-adjacent. Look at the hand placement."

Dylan squinted. "Is that... glitter around his crotch?"

"Yes. Yes, it is."

We both cracked up. The artist behind the booth looked up with a smirk, more amused than offended. "Don't judge," she said sweetly. "You know he'd do it."

"She's not wrong," Dylan said thoughtfully, nudging me as we walked away. "I might have a new headcanon." I chuckled warmly at that.

I moved like a pinball after that, bouncing from table to table, picking up keychains, stickers, tiny zines with shimmery covers. I felt myself grinning nonstop, fingers twitching to touch everything. It was like dopamine with a price tag.

Dylan trailed beside me, not rushed, not distracted--just there. Sometimes he'd lean in to look. Sometimes he'd ask a quiet question. But mostly, he let me whirl around the booths like a human firework, watching me with this amused little smile I pretended not to notice. I decided I'd let him enjoy his silent mirth. Even if it was only because of how much I loved seeing his smile.

At one point, Dylan's footsteps paused. I'd just snagged a stack of Hollow Knight prints -- beautiful, melancholic -- and added them to my already teetering basket. I glanced up, to see him looking me over. Contemplative. A little intense.

"What?" I said. "I like Hollow Knight."

"Sorry." He laughed softly, expression lightening. "Just... you weren't kidding about being a big spender."

I glanced down. My basket was a mess of fandom chaos--One Piece stickers stuck to my Jojo zine, tiny Persona buttons clinking against my Pokemon enamel pins.

"Okay, yeah, maybe I have a bit of a problem," I admitted. "But it's not my fault they make the merch so tasteful."

He looked at me like I was the punchline to a joke he hadn't told yet. It made me feel warm inside.

---

Regretfully, I soon decided I had to put the kibosh on my merch-hunting. My basket had gotten dangerously full, contents jostling with every step. I'd have to wait till I could stow my current haul back in Renee's car. Letting out a long breath, I slowed myself down to a more sedate pace, falling into close step behind Dylan.

Dylan, for his part, seemed content to window-shop. He didn't buy much, but he always stopped to compliment the artists. I watched one girl light up when he said her color choices reminded him of an old Ghibli palette. Another blushed brightly when he leafed through a Princess Mononoke zine, telling her the cover "felt like a dream he wanted to walk through."

As I trailed him, I couldn't help but take him in. The way he moved. The way he noticed things. The way he made everyone feel like they mattered. I felt like I couldn't look away. It didn't help that he was very easy on the eyes.

At one booth, he paused, flipping through a gritty, black-and-white zine of Lisa Lisa drawn in a noir-inspired style--trench coat, cigarette holder, heavy shadows.

"This is sick," he murmured. "It looks like a storyboard."

"Lisa Lisa always struck me as a badass," I agreed, stepping close to peer over his shoulder. I'd always thought the femme fatale of Jojo was a serious goth icon. "She's got badass mommy Bayonetta vibes. Like, she'd beat your ass and then steal your drink." That got a chuckle out of him.

He held the zine open between us, angling it so I could see. Our shoulders brushed. "Should I get it?" he asked.

"Dude," I said, "I'm literally the last person who'd talk you out of buying something."

He smiled--crooked, genuine. "Fair." He handed over the zine, and the man behind the counter bagged it with obvious delight, like Dylan had just made his day.

We'd been weaving through the artist booths for maybe twenty minutes when Dylan suddenly veered off toward a tiny table tucked between two louder, glossier displays. I almost didn't follow him--thought he was just dodging the crowd. But then I saw what he was looking at.

A small stack of zines and hand-drawn prints. The sign on the table said "Handmade. Mistakes included for flavor." The display was a little crooked. The art was scratchy, earnest, a little chaotic. It wasn't the kind of stuff I'd have gone for, but Dylan seemed deeply intrigued.

He gently fingered a Spirited Away print - Chihiro and Haku kissing under an umbrella. The anatomy was slightly off. The ink had bled a little in one corner. He smiled.

"I like this one," he said.

I looked over, surprised. "Yeah?" To me it just looked messy. A little amateurish. But it was clear Dylan saw something different.

"You can tell someone really loved what they were drawing."

I glanced down again, re-evaluating. He wasn't wrong. There was something about it--maybe the way the umbrella was too big, or the way Chihiro's face had been redrawn in softer pencil like the artist had changed their mind halfway through. If you looked carefully, you could see a story peeking out behind the awkward edges. Messy, amateurish, and bursting with character.

I hummed thoughtfully, watching him flip through the rest of the pile--slow, deliberate. He held up a stapled zine covered in little sparkly stickers. "This reminds me of stuff my friend used to make in college. We'd trade pages like Pokémon cards."

"You made zines?" I asked.

"Nah," he said, smiling faintly. "I just hoarded them."

He paid for two prints and a zine without blinking, tucking them carefully into his bag before we moved on. He didn't say anything more about it. But I found myself glancing at him a little differently as we walked. Like I'd gotten to see a side of him he didn't normally let out.

---

Several more times, people stopped to gawk at us--pointing, whispering, eyes wide with delighted recognition. A girl in a Dio shirt actually squealed. A passing Jolyne did a double take and threw us finger guns. With each one, I felt my confidence surge like a repeatable buff stacking in real time.

When a guy in a Kakyoin crop top looked at me like I'd descended from Mount Hamon itself, I gave a cheeky flex, forearms tight, headband tilted just so. "Show-off," Dylan murmured beside me. But I caught the smile he tried to hide. I shrugged, all fake innocence. "Just giving the people what they want."

I had just struck a final pose--one knee bent, arm flared outward, pure Caesar drama--for a pack of Jojo fans when they started chanting. "Caesar! Caesar! Caesar!" Like it was a WWE match and I was the headline fight. I laughed, flushed and a little overwhelmed in the best way--until my phone buzzed in my pocket. And again. And again.

The bubble burst. I winced. Renee.

Three missed messages. One final text:

"??? Hello???"

"Uh oh," I muttered.

Dylan looked over from a pin display. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just... one sec," I said, already swiping to answer as I stepped slightly aside. "Hey, Ren--"

"Oh, you better pick up this phone, Caesar Salad," came her voice, dry and dangerous. "Are you aware that I've been standing in a sweaty line for twenty-seven minutes, alone, surrounded on all sides by fifteen-year-old Genshin simps?"

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh. "Uh... sorry gurl. Stuff happened. I'm down at Artist Alley." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dylan still flipping through pins, seemingly engrossed. But his ears were definitely cocked towards me.

"I can meet you at the café." I offered. "Boba's on me?"

I could hear the smirk forming through the phone. "Okay. But you'd better have some tea to spill."

"Deal."

She hung up. Dylan glanced over just as I tucked my phone away. "All good?"

"Yeah," I said, rolling my eyes playfully. "Just Renee being melodramatic."

"Is that the friend you ditched to come hang out with me?" he asked, with the world's most smug eyebrow.

"She'll live," I said with a sigh, before shooting him a mournful look. "I really should be going though. My chances of survival are down to, like, ten percent."

We looked at each other. I shifted my weight. The moment felt weirdly... heavier than it should've. On impulse, I stepped forward and gave him a bro hug. Just a quick one. Except it wasn't quick, not really. He gasped softly--surprised--but then I felt his arms come around me too. Strong, secure. Not casual at all. The hug lingered for a bit, a pleasant citrus scent re-entering my nostrils. I felt a delicious thrill stir in my lower body.

"It was really fun hanging out!" I blurted, too abruptly, pulling back, trying to smile like I wasn't buzzing in every direction. "I guess I'll see you around?" Cheeks hot, I turned to leave, before I could make things weird. Or worse, sappy.

"Wait." his hand caught my shoulder. I turned, startled.

"Any chance I could come with?" he asked softly. His eyes seemed just a little too wide. Not nervous exactly--but unguarded in a way I hadn't seen before. If his smile had lit up my day, his puppy eyes made my heart ache.

How could I have said no?

---

I found Renee exactly where I expected her: perched imperiously at a corner booth in the café, one leg tucked under her, sipping her taro milk tea like it was a martini. Her Chun Li buns were still immaculate. Her eyes, however, were pure chaos.

The second she saw me, her mouth curled into a smile that spelled danger. I slid into the booth across from her and, without a word, set a small Totoro charm on the table like a peace offering. Still slightly winded from weaving through the crowd. Her grin widened as she picked up the charm and turned it over in her fingers. "Your offering is accepted," she intoned, clipping it to her bag with the flourish of a barbarian king accepting tribute from a conquered rival.

Then she leaned forward, eyes sharp. "Now. Spill."

"There's not much to spill," I said too quickly.

She didn't blink. Just took another lazy sip through her straw, before swallowing deliberately. "Oh no. No, no, no. You don't vanish for half an hour, blow off queue duty, and show up glowing like you just got Jojo'd against a wall and say there's 'not much.' Try again."

I groaned, letting my head fall back against the booth. "Okay. Fine. I might've met a guy."

"I knew it." Despite her petite frame, her grin had turned absolutely carnivorous. "How hot?" I hesitated a beat too long. She slapped the table, cackling. "Oh my God, you're blushing. You are so busted."

"I'm not blushing," I muttered. She ignored me.

"So. Scale of one to 'spontaneous nosebleed,' what are we working with here?"

"I don't know! Like... seven?"

She snorted. "Liar. You look like you just walked off the set of a BL anime. Hair tousled, shirt clinging, vibe unsettled." Her gaze narrowed. "Was it the Joseph you were posing with?"

"Maybe."

"That was an eleven, Kyle."

I tried not to smile. Failed. "He was just chill, okay? We hit it off. Did some poses. Bought some merch. That's all."

"Sure". Renee shot me a sly look. "When can I read the fanfic?"

I flipped her off lightly. I was accustomed to Renee being endlessly thirsty about my love life. Sometimes it felt like she just saw me as some clueless rom-com protagonist. I was relieved when, a moment later, I felt a familiar presence approach.

"Hey," Dylan said, sliding into the booth beside me with two drinks in hand. "Got yours with brown sugar, hope that's right."

"Oh," I said, stupidly pleased. "Yeah. That's perfect."

He set the cup in front of me, then took a sip of his own, completely relaxed. His thigh brushed mine under the table, casual but steady.

Renee blinked once. Twice. Dark orbs readjusted and focused on Dylan, who met her gaze, unruffled. "You're Joseph," she said, voice deceptively level. He smiled, unbothered. "Dylan, when I'm not in costume." For a moment, all was silent. Two sets of eyes flicked quickly to me and back. Some hidden understanding seemed to pass between them. Like they'd suddenly gotten on the same wavelength about something.

Then Renee broke out in a wide grin, a distinct gleam in her eye. "So," she said, toying with her straw, voice now silky sweet. "Dylan. What's your cosplay background? How'd you two meet? And--important question--do you always bring brown sugar boba on your first dates?"

I made a strangled sound in the back of my throat. Dylan, unfazed, offered a slow, easy smile. "Only when I see someone cute." Renee grinned like a cat presented with a bowl of cream. "I like him."

I stared at the table, mentally weighing the pros and cons of stabbing a straw through my own heart. Really, it was unhealthy for Dylan to egg Renee on. If I didn't pop her inflated ego soon, she'd reach critical pressure and spontaneously combust.

Dylan took a sip, utterly relaxed. "We actually met in line. He had this incredible Caesar setup--clean, detailed. The headband was what sold it." I glanced up. "You noticed that?" He met my eyes, smiling softly. "Of course I did. It looked like it was mid-Hamon ripple."

Renee let out a low whistle. "And you just strolled up?"

"He made it easy," Dylan said lightly.

My stomach did a weird somersault. I scrambled to stay upright. "We just hit it off. Talked Jojo, bought merch. Standard con stuff." Renee's eyes sparkled. "Standard con stuff," she echoed. "Sure. Did the two of you also standardly giggle your way through the artist booths and accidentally fall in love over merch?"

"Renee," I groaned.

She ignored me. "Because the energy I'm seeing? Is not standard."

Dylan chuckled. "Somebody did buy out half the floor." Renee cackled.

"I didn't mean to," I added, defensive. "They were just... really good."

"They were," Dylan agreed, tipping his head toward me. "It was pretty cute how excited you got over them."

And there it was. That look again. That soft curve to his mouth. That tone that should've felt like teasing but didn't--it just felt... kind. Warm. My retort died in my throat.

Renee clocked it instantly. "Wow," she said, fake-casual, "is that the sound of Kyle being silenced by a compliment? Mark the calendar."

I flipped her off, but my heart wasn't in this one. I could feel Dylan's knee still brushing mine under the table, steady and unbothered.

Renee sipped, victorious. "God. You're so cute when you're flustered."

"I'm not flustered," I said. That came out faster than I meant it to.

"Mmhmm," she hummed. Then, to Dylan: "So how long are you in town?"

"Until Monday," he said, smirking back at her. Briefly, he glanced my way. "Plenty of time."

Renee raised her brows. "You hear that, Kyle? Plenty of time."

"Cool," I mumbled. "That's... cool."

---

I sat there, staring into my boba like it held the answers to the universe. In the background, they kept talking, falling into an easy rhythm like they'd been bantering for years. The conversation had shifted away from me. Renee was giving him grief about his scarf--something about cosplay boys and accessory trauma--and Dylan was taking it all in stride, quick on the draw and smooth as hell.

I should've been used to this. I was used to this. Renee could sling verbal mockery like most people breathed, and Dylan? He clearly knew how to play the game. They were riffing, bouncing off each other, exchanging little barbs that came with easy smiles and mock indignation.

Except... every so often, Dylan's eyes would flick back to me. Just a glance. Barely a pause. But it was there. Like I was still the one he was talking to, even when he was laughing at something Renee said. I caught one of those looks over the rim of my cup and felt something tighten low in my stomach.

God. Maybe it was just part of the bit. Maybe he was really good at this. The smooth voice, the open expression, the light physical contact. I'd seen guys like that before--flirty by default. Touchy, charming, always "on." It usually didn't mean anything. Just bros hanging out. Chilling.

But then again... he'd bought my drink without asking. Called me cute in front of Renee like it didn't even register as risky. Complimented my cosplay with an attention to detail that didn't feel like a line. Was it all just him playing along with the bit? Or was it something... more? I shook the thought away, heart pounding a little too fast.

Renee raised a brow at me again, like she knew exactly where my brain was going. I gave her my best withering glare and slurped my boba aggressively to kill the tension.

It didn't work.

---

Eventually Renee stood dramatically, her boba cup drained. "Alright, enough sitting around," she declared hotly. "Time is money. And money is merch." Without further ado she hustled us back onto the con floor, Dylan and I swept along like bubbles in a gale.

By now, I was reasonably aware that I was crushing hard. I drifted after Dylan, heeling him like a lost puppy. Hanging on to his every word. Trying to choose all the dialogue options that might bring out that megawatt smile again. And when it worked? When I said something clever enough to earn a soft laugh, or made some offhand comment that made his eyes crinkle?

It felt like a critical hit straight to the chest.

The rest of the afternoon seemed to just float by in a blur of light, fabric, sound. It was like the whole convention center had decided to tilt on its axis, just a few degrees, and suddenly everything was almost too much. Too vivid. Too fun. Too charged. I kept waiting for someone to break the spell. But no one did.

---

Artist's alley, round 2. Renee flitted ahead like an agent of chaos. She acquired bubble wands, temporary tattoos, three new badge ribbons, and a questionable anime body pillow she swore was "for irony." She also started referring to Dylan as "JoJo Daddy" within forty minutes.

To his credit, Dylan took it in stride. "What can I say?" he said. "I contain multitudes."

"You contain fan service," I muttered, before I could stop myself. He blinked, startled--then grinned. "Oh? Someone's getting bold."

"I'm just calling it like I see it," I said, trying not to choke on my tongue. That earned me an actual laugh. God, it felt good. Like getting the finishing hit in a boss battle.

---

Photo booths. Renee bullied us into matching poses. Dylan struck a smolder. I pointed dramatically offscreen and yelled "Yare yare daze!" just as the camera snapped. The result was a masterpiece of stupidity.

"That one's going on a T-shirt," Dylan said.

"Only if I get royalties," I replied.

He turned his phone to show me the photo, but didn't swipe away. Just stared at it a beat too long. His eyes didn't stay on the picture. They tracked up to me--like he was comparing the real thing. When he looked back up, the smirk had faded a little. Like he'd seen something that caught him off guard.

Something he liked.

---

Snack break. We split takoyaki at a food stall. Dylan tried to pick one up and nearly lost it to gravity. I caught it mid-fall--pure reflex. It was undoubtedly the coolest thing I'd done that day.

"Yare yare-- careful. Or you'll make a mess." I wiggled my eyebrows as I said it. I handed the takoyaki ball to him like a smug anime protagonist, tossing my head just slightly, so my headband rippled along with me.

He took it from me with a low laugh, eyes glinting. "Maybe I like messes."

My smirk slipped a little. His gaze slipped down my face, pausing at my mouth like he was trying to memorize it. The air between us went thick--just for a second. Then the moment passed. He looked away like nothing happened, leaving me with just a fleeting memory and the lingering sensation of heat curling up my spine.

---

The con kept moving around us. Panels came and went. Lights shifted. People cheered somewhere in the distance. Time blurred.

And me? I stayed locked in a weird, slow burn.

Half of me wanted to believe it was all just a game--playful con flirtation, the kind that disappears when the badges come off. But the other half? The part watching Dylan track me with his eyes, lean closer when I spoke, mirror my body language without even trying?

That half was starting to hope.

The afternoon stretched, golden and timeless. I floated through it, heart full, savoring the moments spent with friends old and new. Wishing it'd never end. And at the same time wondering what might come next.

---

Eventually, as it always did, the convention drew to a close.

As the sun sank and the booths began to empty, the three of us joined the trickle of people making their way out of the center, tired, sweaty, laughing. We made a pit stop at Renee's car, where Renee and I promptly dumped our respective hauls into the back of her car.

Another wonderful start to a convention. Renee shot both of us a wide grin, raising her hands. Laughing, Dylan and I hi-fived her. She let out a whoop.

"Time to celebrate!"

---

It was at Dylan's suggestion that we found our way into an afterparty, a small satellite event in a cordoned-off area of a local bar. Around us, people lounged, makeup smudged, costumes half-off. A Princess Peach I'd seen earlier that day had removed her wig, revealing jet-black hair with spunky purple highlights.

I sat across from Dylan, our knees grazing under the too-short table, a shared plate of fries between us. Renee had insisted on ordering three dipping sauces. "Because choices are power," she'd said before skipping off to the ladies' room with a dramatic spin.

And then it was just the two of us. Quiet. In the confined space of our corner booth, the din of the party seemed to fade into the background. I reached for a fry, fingers accidentally brushing his. Just enough to make my breath catch a little.

"Hey," Dylan said suddenly. His voice was softer now. I looked up.

"I wanted to ask..." He hesitated. "Renee. You guys aren't...?"

"What?" I blinked. Quickly I realized what he meant. I laughed weakly at the absurdity of the thought. "No. God, no. I've never thought of her that way."

His eyebrows lifted slightly, surprised. "Oh?"

"She's basically my sister," I said. "We've been hitting cons together since high school. I've seen her try to glue rhinestones to a sports bra at 3am while crying into a bag of Doritos. That kind of bond can't be romantic." I smirked, letting my voice grow fond. "Honestly, she's more like a natural disaster than anything remotely sexual. If I weren't around to keep her in check she'd hit critical mass and go supernova."

Dylan laughed quietly, the tension easing from his shoulders. "Yeah. Terrifying. But in a fun way."

I picked up another fry and looked at him sideways. "Why'd you ask?"

"No reason," he said. Too quickly. Then, after a beat: "Just curious."

He wasn't looking at the fries anymore. He was looking at me. And something about that look--the tilt of his head, the slight crease between his brows, like he was thinking something he wasn't ready to say--sent a hot spark zipping down my spine.

Could it be? Did he...?

We just sat there amidst the buzz of the party, fingers barely touching over a pile of half-soggy fries, the overhead lights casting long shadows across the tabletop. I felt an uneasy feeling bubble up inside me. There was something I wanted to say. Something on the tip of my tongue--soft and real and stupid, the kind of thing you only say when it's late and your walls are paper-thin. I didn't even know what the words were yet. Just that they were there. Building like heat within my chest.

Dylan was watching me. His gaze gentle, unblinking. His smile barely there, but real. I felt warm and fuzzy inside. And I thought--maybe this is it. Maybe I could just ask. Say something characteristically dumb and dangerous. With the way the afternoon had gone, I was sure I'd land a nat 20.

I leaned forward, lips parting. As I did, my hand slipped around the drink I'd been holding.

"Shit--!"

The cocktail glass fell into my lap, sloshing its contents directly over my chest and pants. I flailed uselessly for napkins as something neon-blue and named after Megaman soaked into my shirt and boxers. As I cursed, I heard Dylan start laughing. Not mocking--just surprised. A little breathless.

"Pretty sure you just rolled a one on dexterity," he said, still chuckling, already leaning over to grab napkins. "Critical self-own."

I blushed, too mortified to say anything. In my usual manner I'd gone and ruined any moment we might have been having.

He handed me a wad of napkins, but we both knew it was too late. My clothes were a swamp of shame and sticky regret. Dylan straightened. "It's no use," he said, still smiling. "You'll have to clean it off properly. Come on, my place isn't far."

I blinked. "Your place?"

"Yeah. If you want." He said it so plainly, I was second guessing myself. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? I nodded weakly, before I could overthink it. "Thanks", I said, moving to follow as he stood.

And just like that, we were leaving the booth behind. Me trailing Dylan out the back exit. Messy. Dripping. And a little unsure of what exactly the night ahead was promising.

---

It was a short walk to Dylan's hotel. The hallway smelled like dust and old carpet glue. I was still a little sticky, a little flushed, very-much-aware that I was heeling Dylan to his hotel room like some clueless yaoi protagonist who forgot his plot armor. I'd practically heard Renee sniggering through the phone when I'd texted her on the walk over. "Cleaning up at his place" was a phrase even I couldn't defend, no matter how many crying emojis I'd added.

We stopped at one door out of many. The lock clicked as he tapped a card to a panel set in the wall. Then Dylan was turning the handle, ushering me in. Closing the door, he rifled briefly through a suitcase. "Here," he said, tossing me a towel and a change of clothes. "Those should fit."

"Thanks," I mumbled, stepping into the bathroom. I could have sworn I felt his eyes lingering on me as I closed the door behind me.

At least the hot water helped me relax. I sighed deeply as it hit my neck and back, erasing the accumulated grime and filth of a day's worth of convention-ing. My ruined clothes lay in a pile on the floor outside. The soap smelt fragrant and fruity as I lathered, then rinsed. Ahhh - shower.

A while later, I shut the water off, feeling rejuvenated. Steam curled around me as I dried myself thoroughly, humming softly. Setting the towel down, I gingerly stepped into the pair of boxers and gym shorts Dylan had lent me. It was a little small - I felt the pinch around my waist and crotch. Hopefully Dylan wouldn't mind if his boxers came back a little loose.

After that it was Dylan's turn to shower. I'd barely stepped out of the bathroom when he closed the door behind him, and I heard the hot water turn on. It'd all happened too quickly for me to really register.

Flummoxed, I sat down on one side of the bed, hands timidly folded in my lap. The mattress beneath me felt soft, inviting. I suddenly felt the accumulated fatigue of a long day, weighing on me.

Would he get mad if I just curled up in his bed?

---

His pillow smelled good. I lay there, breathing deeply, covers pressed to my face. They were still warm from where he'd been lying on the bed earlier, full of his scent. It was familiar, grounding, cozy. Like he was there with me. A warm, fuzzy heat enveloped my lower body.

I'd just started to drift a little when I heard the bathroom door open.

I snapped promptly upright, throwing the covers off my face. Dylan stepped out, barefoot, shirtless, steam curling behind him like stage fog. He'd washed the spikes out of his hair, long curls now pulled back in a tight man-tail. Looking every bit like he'd walked straight out of a fan-made doujin--drawn with too much love and just enough sweat.

And he was looking straight at me.

His eyes flicked down--briefly--to where I sat in his boxers, awkwardly stiff. The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. Not quite teasing. He crossed the room slowly, towel in one hand, and crouched slightly to meet my eye.

"You okay?" he asked, voice low. Gentle.

I nodded, too fast. "Yeah." I glanced at his pillow guiltily, where my damp hair had left a patch. "I might have gotten your bed wet."

"You're fine," he murmured, tilting his head. The look in his eye made me tingle. "The clothes fit alright?"

My face went hot. "I... They're tight."

"Yeah," he said, and now the smile was there--lazy, crooked, warm. "I noticed."

My breath caught, and I swear my cock swelled a little. Feeling my cheeks grow hot, I fixed my gaze on a spot on the floor. Fidgeting. What was I supposed to say to that? The mattress caved slightly as he sat beside me, close enough that our knees bumped. For a long, suspended moment, he didn't say anything.

"Hey, Kyle..." His voice was impossibly tender. I felt my pulse quicken. "Can I ask you something?"

"What?" I breathed.

"Are you... nervous?"

That hit me like a sneak attack. "Uh..." I trailed off, awkward. A lump formed in my throat.

What kind of question was that? Of course I was nervous. Sitting here bare-chested beside a sweet, gorgeous specimen of a man, feeling totally inadequate and exposed. Trying not to let my eyes linger too long on him. And trying not to show how desperately horny I was. I was sure the boxers weren't helping me at all.

"Because... I'm really nervous too." Dylan said softly, eyes meeting mine.

I turned to stare at him, stunned. Suddenly re-rolling for perception. I took in his flushed cheeks. The faint tension in his hunched shoulders. The way his hand fiddled with the edge of the towel like he didn't know what to do with it. We looked at each other. Quiet. Still. Then Dylan leaned in--slow, cautious.

"To be honest, there's this guy I'm pretty into right now." he said, face impossibly close. "He's sweet, funny, and adorably clueless. Do you think he likes me back?"

My breath caught. The words felt electric. I felt like--suddenly, finally--a Bamboozle had been purged from my status bar. Like some part of my mind was finally screaming--

Yes, Kyle, you idiot. Dylan wants it too.

---

That was all the impetus I needed. I melted into him like he'd cast Liquefaction on my bones. My eyes fluttered shut. His mouth brushed mine, tentative. I kissed him back like I meant it--like I'd been wanting to do it since the second I'd laid eyes on him. Quickly the kiss deepened. Got messier. We necked furiously, his stubble rasping me deliciously, as his grip tightened on my shoulders. My hands wandered over his chest, warm and solid under my palms, stroking and tugging on the curls of hair that dusted his chest. He gasped into my lips as my thumbs brushed his nipples.

We broke apart for a beat, both panting heavily. My gaze raked over him - breathless, flushed. God, how did he look even hotter out of costume? Character select screen, ultra-rare skin, fanart-nsfw-tag hot. I felt like I'd discovered my newest piece of fab merch.

"Kyle..." he breathed, eyes hooded.

Something inside me snapped further. Barrelling forward, I buried myself in his chest before I even knew what I was doing. Musk and citrus mixed in my nostrils. I savored the taste of salt and sweat, kissing and licking every inch of exposed skin. His hands tangled in my hair as I made my way down the ridges of his chest and belly, leaving a light trail of slobber in my wake. Pausing above his waistband, I eyed the sexy midriff that he'd been flashing all day, and gave it a long, sensual lick. I heard him gasp, fingers tightening around my temples.

Egging me on.

I sank lower, a man possessed. My hands dug into his hips, mouth tracing down his stomach, kissing the hairs on his navel. I was going to worship him. Like, ancient shrine vibes. Offerings of tongue and spit and reverence.

His cock stood, prominently framed beneath thin fabric. Greedily I pulled down his boxers, letting it spring free, before I engulfed it with heady anticipation. It throbbed as I ran my lips up the shaft, pausing at the top to suckle on the swollen head. Like every other part of him, Dylan's dick was delicious. I couldn't get enough of it. I bobbed a few times, wetting the top few inches of his perfect cock. He gasped as I flicked his slit with my tongue. My throat opened as I prepared to sink deeper, hungry for more. I wanted to give him everything I had.

"Kyle!" Suddenly I realised he'd been calling my name for some time. The sharpness in his tone gave me pause. Oh no -- had I done something wrong? I pulled off quickly, my eyes questing upwards for reassurance.

Dylan looked back down at me with a strained look on his face. His expression softened as he caught the worry in my eyes. "It's alright", he said, stroking my temple gently. "Jesus, you're incredible. Just... You're going to make me cum if you keep that up."

"But I want it..." I whined on my knees, like a big lovesick puppy. The look on my face must have been rom-com classic. Dylan smiled down at me like a million bucks.

"Don't worry." He paused, the look on his face changing. Settling into something darker. More intense. "I'm definitely giving it to you."

He smoothly pulled me to my feet, before pushing me back onto the bed. Gentle, firm. It was so hot how he manhandled me effortlessly, even though I had the bigger frame. I sprawled back, arms above my head, heart racing. My mind crackled with white hot static as he climbed on top of me, a low, possessive heat on his face.

He kissed me again, deeper this time. His hands were everywhere--waist, thighs, chest--like he was cataloguing me. One hand pinned my wrist above my head. The other slid under my ass. My hips lifted automatically for him as he pulled my boxers down.

I was so hard it hurt. His hand found my cock, beginning to stroke me with long, tender motions. I let out a tiny whimper as he brushed the sensitive flap of skin under my cock. His fingers caressed my ballsack, feather-light, before returning to wrap around the base. Squeezing my eyes shut, I willed myself not to spill all over his knuckles.

"You've been driving me insane all day," Dylan murmured huskily, nibbling my earlobe. "Posing like you weren't getting off on it. Laughing like you didn't know what it did to me. Zipping around like a little minion of chaos."

Briefly he dipped down, nuzzling my tip with his nose. My cock jumped as he licked a loving stripe along the underside. I made a sound. A wrecked, high-pitched little whimper.

"I'm going to fuck your ass now," he breathed. "Safe word is Hamon." I twitched, eager, overwhelmed. Hamon dat ass, I would have said, if I wasn't totally incapable of speech at that moment.

He reached for the bedside table, a small tube appearing in his hand just a moment later. I watched, panting, as he quickly lubed his fingers. My legs came apart without thought, his fingers finding my hole. One slipped in. Then two. Slow, sure. All the while he studied me closely, warm breath tickling my lashes.

"Fuck, you're tight," he said quietly. "Don't worry, we'll take it slow and steady."

I was gone. Brain static. Body heat. I couldn't even pretend to be chill. Up till now I'd thought his smiles were like the sun. But all his smiles felt like mere candles compared to the blazing look he was giving me now. I moaned as his fingers scissored inside me, patiently working me open. As I squirmed, I stared up at him, eyes wide, spread and fully open. He seemed to be drinking me in, like a man dying of thirst.

God, how could Dylan - tender, gorgeous Dylan - be looking at me with such intensity? Like I was the one taking his breath away. It felt surreal.

At last he judged me ready. My hole clung longingly to his fingers as he withdrew them. When he lined up--condom on, cock slick, gaze locked on mine--I tried to say something appropriate, like please or yes or I've been thinking about this since the artist alley. But then he thrust in--one smooth, delicious plunge all the way to the root. I nearly blacked out.

"Holy shit," I struggled, finding my voice at last. He grinned at me, eyes dark with desire. Slowly, he started to thrust. Deep. Rhythmic. Perfect. I bucked under him, my cock smacking against his stomach with every thrust. I gasped. Moaned. My thoughts were unraveling.

"Jesus, how I've wanted to get you like this." Dylan's voice sounded above me. His cock felt long and thick as it pistoned smoothly in and out of me. Dragging my insides in all the right places. I stared up at him with glassy eyes. Words refused to form in my mouth.

"You're such a treasure", he panted. "So earnest. Messy. Authentic." I gasped as he withdrew almost completely, then thrust into me powerfully, knocking the breath from me as he breached me anew. "Fucking incredible," he hissed. Oddly, he sounded as wrecked as I felt.

My head swam. Dizzily I thought back to the Spirited Away fanzine he'd bought earlier that day. Over the top. Messy around the edges. A little amateurish. I remembered the way he'd looked at it with open adoration. Just like the way he was looking at me now.

He shifted angle. Hit something inside me that short-circuited my whole system. I grabbed at him like a lifeline, gasping, fingers tugging at the curls on his chest. I was falling apart. And he saw it.

"Look at me," he whispered.

Our eyes met. For a moment he lay still, buried deep inside me, his weight pressing me down into the mattress. His eyes were soft, full of emotion. For once, he wasn't smiling. His lips found my ears, breath hot on my skin.

"I think... I fucking love you."

And I broke. Came hard between us, spurting thick globs onto our bellies, gasping his name like a prayer. He followed seconds later, thrusting deep, pulsing inside me, his mouth crushed to mine. When it was over, he collapsed next to me. One arm still wrapped around my waist.

I felt wrecked. Wrecked and safe. Full of him. Full of something I didn't have a word for yet. I pulled his chest close to mine, breathing in his scent. Making sure I'd never forget it. Clumsily I chewed my way up to his ear. "I think... I love you too," I said. My voice sounded weak and trembly, but I hugged him tight so he'd know I meant it.

He squeezed my arm in response. The touch was full of the unspoken. For several heartbeats we lay quietly, tangled in the darkness. His breath warm against my neck. My hands clutching him close.

---

Eventually, I shifted, rolling slightly closer into him. He nuzzled closer, finding the perfect spot in the crook of my neck to rest his head. God, I still couldn't believe he'd fucked me like that. I had a stupid, dopey smile on my face. Feeling wonderfully content and sated.

"So," I said, voice a little thick, dazed. "That was. Um. Peak con experience?"

He chuckled hoarsely into my stubble. "Legendary drop."

"SS-tier."

He kissed the side of my head. And I let myself fall asleep like that--tangled, sore, stunned--convinced I'd just unlocked a secret ending.

---

Renee picked up instantly when I dialed her late the next morning.

"Hey you." Her tone was suspiciously chipper. Expectant.

"Morning," I croaked, voice wrecked. I'd called because I felt bad about having ditched her last night, but I was already beginning to regret my choice.

There was a beat of silence. Then: "You whore."

I groaned, burying my face in the pillow. "It's too early for this."

"Zip it, lover boy. What are you wearing? No, wait--where are you?"

"In a hotel," I muttered.

"Oh my God." She screamed. Wincing, I hastily withdrew the phone from my ear, holding it at arm's length. Her voice echoed loud and clear regardless. "You little con-slut. You fucked Joseph Joestar."

From beside me, Dylan stirred--still shirtless, hair messy, one arm draped possessively across my waist. He blinked at me sleepily, then grinned, a slow, devastating thing. "Tell her I said hi."

I shoved the phone under the pillow. "You're not helping," I hissed.

"She deserves to know the truth," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the curve of my shoulder. "You were incredible last night."

A noise escaped me. Something between a squeak and a moan. Renee's muffled voice came through the pillow. "Was that him? Are you muffling me?"

I fished the phone back out, cheeks burning. "Renee, I swear to God--"

"Tell me everything," she purred. "Was it good? Like, anime walls-shaking, scream-his-name-in-italics good?"

"I'm hanging up."

"You're glowing through the phone. I can hear your wrecked little whimpers."

Dylan chuckled low in his throat and pulled me closer. His morning wood pressed against my ass, hot and insistent. I bit my lip, feeling a rush of heat in my groin.

"Gotta go," I said quickly. "I'll text you later."

"YOU OWE ME A FULL RUNDOWN," Renee shouted as I ended the call.

I dropped the phone, face burning. "She's going to write fanfic about this, isn't she?"

"She's already writing it," Dylan said into my neck, smug and sleepy. "Come here."

I let him pull me back under the covers. Skin to skin. Mouth to mouth. No cosplay, no posing, just the raw, messy reality of two sweaty, sated nerds in love. I thought I'd peaked yesterday. But as he clutched me close, I realized how wrong I'd been. For a while we just lay there, enjoying the warmth of tangled bodies.

Eventually, Dylan sat up. He stretched out across the bed, completely naked, head propped on one arm, watching me with the kind of sleepy affection that should be illegal. Then, utterly casual, he rolled onto his side, facing away. He turned back, looking at me over his shoulder with a lazy smile.

"You know," he said, a little sly. "I missed out on getting fucked last night. Wanna help me fix that?"

Something in my brain just short-circuited. Words left me entirely. My throat worked. My hands twitched. I might've made a sound--something reverent, raw, almost feral. He grinned like he'd just beaten me at my own game. "I'll take that as a yes."

And I--well. There's no easy way to say it. I let myself go crazy for him. The way he moved. The sounds he made. The way he gave. All of him. Open. Willing. Unapologetically slutty for me. It wasn't just sex. I worshipped him, hungry and devoted. Together, we wrote a wordless fanfic no one else would ever read.

---

We never made it to the rest of the con.

The rest of the weekend vanished in a dream. Brunch with Renee. A rooftop photo shoot in half-costumes. A kiss that lingered so long I damn near missed my Uber. And raw, passionate lovemaking, with the kind of gusto I'd only ever mustered for cosplay. Dylan devoured everything I gave him, and fed it back to me in multiples. I came for him, over and over, overwhelmed by how much he seemed to want me.

Eventually, he did end up flying back to the West Coast, after two flight reschedules. But things didn't end there - how could they? We kept texting. Then calling. Then video calling. Sometimes in cosplay. Sometimes shirtless. Once both. He sent me a zine in the mail--one of the scratchy ones, with a note on the back that said: "Mistakes included for flavor." I sent him a Hollow Knight sticker and a half-written poem.

It wasn't perfect. Long distance sucked ass. There were time zones, missed calls, the ache of missing someone so badly you can't sit still. Despite the long, late-night calls together, it wasn't quite the same as being in person. We joked that we were just playing a really long visual novel with only one dialogue option: wait.

But the separation only made the rare moments together feel even better.

Two months later, I flew out to visit him. He met me at the airport with a bouquet of Pocky sticks and a "Caesar 4 Lyfe" T-shirt. In the end, we barely made it to the con at all - lying tangled in bed, arguing passionately about which Jojo characters would win in a fight. And of course, making love like there was no tomorrow.

We continued to meet at airports with signs, in cosplay, once even mid-run through a crowded terminal like something out of a cheesy anime opening. We spent weekends tangled up in bedsheets and con ribbons, our bags half-unpacked because we couldn't be bothered to stop kissing.

Eventually, Dylan convinced me to move out to San Diego, assisted by generous nagging from Renee. I told everyone it was because I'd gotten a better job offer there -- which was true. But really? It was because I wanted more mornings like that one. More time. More kisses. More ridiculous, tender declarations in bed and on sidewalks and in the local comic store.

I brought my costumes. My prints. My pins. And my stupid wire-frame headband, patched and bent and still floating. He met me at the door of his apartment with a cardboard sign that read: Welcome Home, Caesar. I knocked it out of his hands moments later with a crushing hug. eyes a little misty.

It was the start to a bizarre adventure that would have many, many more seasons to come.

---

I've always loved going to Comic-Con.

You know how, when you're a kid, Disneyland is the best place in the world? Comic-Con's like that. Only better. Because you don't have to grow out of it. Here, you can be anything. A princess. A superhero. A Gundam pilot. A demon girl. A bisexual vampire. Anything your imagination can dream up -- and your hands can hot-glue together.

And no one bats an eye. No one tells you to tone it down. No one calls you cringey. Even if you're a big man pushing forty years old, still stupidly prone to sudden outbursts and public displays of affection for your loving, hot-as-hell husband.

Dylan and I still cosplay together. Still bicker about which Jojo is best. Still flirt like we just met in line.

And the rest, as they say, is canon.

---------------

Thanks for reading all the way to the end--I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope you laughed, swooned, and maybe even felt a little seen. If you liked this story, or disliked this story, or had any nonzero thought about this story - I'd love to hear about it in the comments.