Page 315 of End Game

His mouth softens slightly.

He gets it.

Micah, Dex, and I have our own shape.

That doesn't threaten what Ronan and I are.

Or what Ronan and Micah are.

Or what any of us might eventually become.

Equality is not sameness.

Sometimes equality looks like letting something belong to people without needing a matching version of it for yourself.

Ronan waits until the afternoon to give me anything.

This is probably intentional.

Dex's Valentine's explosion has mostly been contained.

The balloons are now tied to the back of his chair because Ronan threatened to puncture the dinosaur.

Micah is at the shop for a flash tattoo sale.

Dex is getting ready for work.

Griffin has texted between calls.

I am in my bedroom trying to outline content for the next week when Ronan appears in the doorway holding a box.

A large box.

My eyebrows raise. “I thought Valentine's Day was manufactured romantic capitalism.”

“It is.”

“You have a box.”

“The two facts are not mutually exclusive.”

He brings it in and sets it on my desk.

I turn it around.

Then blink.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Ronan.”

It's one of those ridiculous creator stands I've watched videos about approximately one-hundred times and never bought because I kept telling myself my current tripod works fine.

Auto-tracking.

Rotates with you.