Most Ardently

by Gabe Cole Novoa

It was a special thing, to have one’s reflection in harmony with who they were.

Being recognized for who he was brought him a euphoria like nothing else he had ever experienced. You see me, he thought, and it made him so happy he wanted to laugh out loud.

“I would love to,” Oliver said, and then the strangest thing happened. Darcy smiled. Just a little.

“We could bring a guest every week if we wanted to. I’d be happy to make you mine.” Oliver arched an eyebrow. Darcy’s face flushed pink. “My … guest. That is.”

Darcy’s smile was small and sweet—and Oliver found he couldn’t look away. For some reason, he didn’t want to.

There was a time when being referred to as a girl or a woman felt off, like trying to force two ill-matched puzzle pieces together, damaging both in the process. But the discomfort that was once easily ignored became exponentially more painful once Oliver experienced the euphoria of being seen as himself, as a boy, for the first time. It seemed the longer he spent in the bliss of being the boy he was always meant to be, the more miserable he was forcing himself to play the part of the girl he never was.

“You should know my name is Oliver. And I’m … I’m your son.” Mr. Bennet’s smile grew into a full grin, spreading across his face like a plant turning its leaves to the sun. “You most certainly are,” he said, and then his arms were around Oliver.

“I can’t imagine,” Darcy said, “that you could ever be unextraordinary.”

“I’d rather be secretly happy with you than openly living a lie.”

I admire you, Oliver Bennet. Your spirit, your wit, your open honesty—I have thought of nothing else since we first met.” Tears blurred Oliver’s vision, spilling hot over his cheeks and cooling in the rain. “Darcy—” “I love you, Oliver,” Darcy said. “Most ardently.”

“I love you, Fitzwilliam Darcy,” Oliver said. “With my whole heart, I love you.”