𝐀𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚. ⁽⁽⁽ᵐᵃᵗᵗʸ ʰᵉᵃˡʸ⁾⁾⁾

Epilogue ~ Hydra.*

A/N: Matty and Joanna's parallel 2020 is a lot better than ours - they get festivals and a proper summer holiday on a Greek island. The story officially came to an end in the last chapter, but I've always had an epilogue mapped out, to give you a glimpse of their future together.

It's been such a pleasure to have so many readers and such lovely feedback! Thank you so much if you've commented, voted, or just enjoyed following. This has been the first long story I've actually managed to finish, so I'm quite attached to it. It's unlikely I'll write a sequel, though further one-shots in this vein aren't impossible.

Maybe a bit rushed, but cute, I hope - so without further ado, some pretty NSFW fun in the sun...

Playing On My Mind

The camera clicked and whirred in my ear as I pressed the shutter down firmly, one eye clamped shut as I focused my line of sight in the viewfinder. Although there was no way of knowing until we got home, I suspected I'd got a perfect shot; Matty, lit up by the strong afternoon sun, in crisp white and dark sunglasses, kneeling by the impossibly blue Mediterranean water that lapped gently against the side of the harbour. 'You look so sophisticated.'

'Sophisticated? Moi?' He stuck his tongue out and crossed his eyes then, hands on hips. I rolled the film forward hurriedly, snapping another picture before he dropped the pose.

'I take it back. Beautiful idiot.'

'Careful. Just one step, and...' He darted up and hooked an arm around me, making me shriek as my foot flew out from under me, mere inches from the water's edge.

'Matty!' I shrieked, clutching the camera to my chest. 'I'll kill you!'

'I've got you, hey.' He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. 'How long do you think we have until it gets dark?'

I spun around to face him, pushing my own sunglasses up and off my face. 'A couple of hours, maybe. Why?'

'I want to get some more pictures of you. You've just been snapping away at me the whole day.'

'Or we could ask a local to take one of the two of us.'

'Locals... they must hate people like us.'

'I don't know. We eat in their restaurants and sleep in their hotels. It's a finely balanced symbiotic relationship.'

Apparently satisfied with this conclusion, Matty released me and took my hand, swinging it a little as we wandered back along the waterfront towards the hotel. It was as warm as any heatwave back home, but not so hot as to be unbearable. Wonderful smells emanated from the roadside, where restaurant grills were being fired up, small kitchens readying themselves for diners.

We were staying in a place that was only letting about four rooms, but they were decadent ones, in an understated way. There were rich blue sheets on the dark, antique bed, a thickly piled rug to match and wide, cushioned armchairs in front of the patio balcony; there were his and hers sinks in the bathroom, and mismatched, hand-painted tiles on the floor. And that was before you factored in the view, sweeping down over the terracotta roofs of buildings lining the Greek hillside, curving around to hold us neatly in the bay like a giant hand carrying precious cargo in its palm.

The price we paid for this view was the uphill walk back to the hotel, and by the time I flopped down onto the bed, I had sweated through my t-shirt. Matty dropped the keys on the bedside table and went to collapse on top of me.