Starting Over

Starting Over

Posted: April 13, 2007
Title: Starting Over
Author: Decadence and Sileya
Type: RPS
Characters: Craig/Marton
Rating: R
Disclaimer: We don’t know them, and we don’t claim to. We just like their faces and names.
Beta: Sileya

Summary: Newly divorced Marton has no idea what to do with his new life, and Craig turns his cold world upside down for the better.

*****

Turning off his computer screen, Craig leaned back and stretched, reaching his arms far over his head. His chair tilted back, affording him a view of the cubicle across the way. Marton was still at work, too. It was nearly midnight, and the other man seemed to be gnawing thoughtfully on the end of a pencil as the glow of the computer lit his face.

Craig had been watching Marton for weeks now. Every night he was the last one to leave. Craig knew because he’d leave before Marton ever budged from his desk, and he at least had the excuse of working second shift. He knew Marton worked first shift. Curiosity had gotten the best of Craig, and he’d finally asked the janitor exactly how late Marton stayed. His answer was ‘well after two most mornings.’ When he’d asked why, the janitor had shrugged.

Rising from his chair, Craig grabbed his suit coat, draping it over his arm as he headed toward the door, taking the long way around - right by Marton’s cubicle. Stopping nearby, he leaned on the barrier blocking the desk from view. “Marton.”

Blinking in surprise, the man in question looked up from the spreadsheets all over his desk. His computer showed more sheets, and yet more were piled on the floor. “Oh, hey, Craig,” he said mildly, setting down his pencil. The fluorescent light in the office, while great for looking at computers, made him look like shit, Craig thought, and the dark shadows under his eyes were even more pronounced. “Something I can help you with?” he asked politely. No one ever came to talk to him unless they needed something. He showed everyone else the same courtesy and kept to himself.

“Nah,” Craig shrugged, studying the other man’s face. “I’m done for the night.” He reached out and touched a spreadsheet, letting his fingernail flick at the corner. “Aren’t you about ready to go home?”

Marton frowned slightly, more out of confusion than anything. “Home?” he echoed, looking unsure.

“You know...that place you go to sleep? Nice warm bed with a willing mate inside?” Craig joked, smiling at Marton’s confusion.

Marton’s eyes flashed with pain as he looked quickly down at his desk, all of his polite smile falling away. “Yeah, I know about it,” he murmured, picking up his pencil, planning to go back to working on his project.

Seeing the other man’s polite facade drop in the blink of an eye, Craig straightened up. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to touch on a sore subject. I just wondered... do you even have a place to go home to?”

Marton looked up in surprise. “Of course I have a place,” he said, though his voice faltered, and he looked rather unlike his usual businesslike self.

Craig’s eyebrow lifted in question, doubting the sincerity of Marton’s words. “Do you ever go there?”

Looking even more nonplussed, Marton sat back in his chair. “Of course I go there,” he objected, but his voice was even weaker than before. Hearing that and hating it, he pressed his lips together hard and shifted the spreadsheets around. “If there’s nothing I can help you with, I’ve work to do,” he tried to say steadily, scrambling to get back into the shell that had somewhat pushed the pain away lately.

“Let’s go for a drink,” Craig said impulsively. “There’s a pub just down the road that has the best brew around.”

“Macallister’s,” Marton said absently, making a tic mark on one of the papers. With a sigh, he looked up at Craig. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not going to let me be?” he asked, his voice more like its normal tone, a dark rasp.

“If I was going to do that, I’d have walked out of here without a word,” Craig informed Marton. “Besides, you look like you could use a stiff one.”

Raising an eyebrow, Marton looked down at the papers, sighed, and tossed down his pencil. He stood up, grabbed his jacket and walked out from behind the desk. “All right. I could use a bite anyway,” he murmured. He had no idea why Craig was doing this, but it wouldn’t hurt anything. Maybe give him something to think about besides work. And Nicole. He sighed and led the way to the elevator.

Marton was silent all the way downstairs and as they stepped out the door, Craig stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’m not half-bad, you know. If you want to talk or anything, I keep to myself.”

Looking up at the other man, again surprised, Marton took his time looking over Craig. He knew the man did good work, and he’d never had any problems with him. Marton knew he was popular in the office, and he often made good suggestions in staff meetings. What Marton had no clue about was why the guy would want to be friends with him, or why he would make such an offer. “Ah...thanks,” he said awkwardly, not even sure what to say.

They walked on in silence for the half a block it took to get to Macallister’s. “It’s on me,” Craig told Marton as they sat down at a small table away from the door. “Order anything you want.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Marton said without thinking - it was the proper thing to say, after all.

“I want to,” Craig replied, pushing the small paper menu to the other man. Something about Marton called out to him. It was more than the lovely hazel eyes and deep auburn hair that graced the other man’s features. It was instinctual, a need to get to know. He’d not realized he’d felt it until he found himself watching Marton’s work habits.

Still confused but not willing to be so rude as to argue, Marton opened the menu and looked over the familiar selection, choosing a midrange appetizer and a pint of beer. Once the waitress took their orders and left, he felt awkward again. Business, he could handle all day. Even business mixing with clients and such. But just out in a bar with friends? He considered asking about footie, but he didn’t know if Craig followed the teams. He could have talked about work, but that would be rude if Craig was trying to relax. In the end, Marton just stayed quiet, although he did steal a few glances at the other man.

“Care to share why you’ve been working yourself to death lately?” Craig ventured, knowing it was a risk to ask such a forward question so soon. “I mean, I know you’re salaried, so the overtime’s not the bonus. And you’re never behind in work.” Taking a wild guess, he asked, “Trouble at home?” He bit his lip as he glanced up at Marton, hoping his blunt question wouldn’t send the other man running in the other direction.

Marton mused that Craig just might be the most surprising person he’d ever met. After that line of reasoning, all he could do was shrug and answer quietly. “Not anymore.” And when he looked up at the other man, he didn’t see pity or dismissal.

Craig nodded in quiet understanding. Marton’s wasn’t the first marriage to go belly-up at UrbanTrust. “I know I’m repeating myself, but in light of recent understanding, I’ll ask again. Do you have somewhere to go?” Craig’s voice was gentle, not pitying, but concerned all the same.

The face Marton pulled was one of clear distaste. “Yeah, I’ve still got the house...”

Craig leaned back in his chair, taking a long swallow of beer. “Lonely, I bet. After being filled with a family to be so suddenly...well - empty - again.”

Pushing his own beer glass around, Marton chuckled wryly. “Well, I don’t guess I’d have called it a family. An absentee wife and her two yappy dogs.” But just as quickly the levity was gone. “But it is empty,” he murmured before taking a long gulp of beer.

“You should get a flat, mate,” Craig suggested, leaning forward in his seat once more. “Small, cozy, no memories to haunt you. You should come see mine. I’ve been there for five years now. It’s a real home.”

Reaching for some of the fresh-fried chips, Marton actually considered it. “Hadn’t thought of that,” he said distantly. “Just been caught...” he frowned and snapped his mouth shut. He didn’t need to be burdening Craig with all this.

Craig reached for a chip of his own, not intending for his fingers to brush over Marton’s like that, but not at all sorry they did. “Caught?” He prompted, hoping Marton would share more with him.

Marton’s eyes refocused on the other man, who seemed genuinely interested. “Caught up in trying to forget,” he muttered, sitting back with his beer. “I guess you’ve been through this, then?” he asked cynically.

“Not personally,” Craig admitted honestly. “But my brother went through a painful divorce. He’s never been quite the same. Closed himself off from his friends,” his tone grew bitter as he continued, “His family. I don’t want to see that happen to someone else.” Craig looked up to see Marton’s gaze focused on him, and he colored slightly under the intent regard.

“You’re a real ‘nice guy’, aren’t you, Craig?” Marton said with a hint of a smile. “Take out a guy you hardly know from work, buy him dinner and a beer, offer to take ...” he shook his head, not sure if what Craig had said was meant to be taken literally.

Craig wriggled his eyebrows. “Yeah. I’m a really nice guy.”

Marton’s eyes widened, and after a moment’s pause to tell if Craig was joking, he actually smiled and laughed quietly.

“That’s what they all say, after all,” Craig continued, grinning. “That Craig Parker, he’s so nice. He’s like a brother to me.” He shook his head ruefully. “Men, women, it’s hard to get a date when all they think is, ‘He’s a nice guy’.”

It took a few moments for it to register with Marton why Craig’s words seemed so unusual, and when they did - men? Dates? He swallowed his beer a little quickly, tilted his head and looked over the other man. He knew there’d be no way he could play off his surprise, and so he didn’t try. “I haven’t had to try to get a date for more than 10 years,” he muttered. “You’re still better off than I am, especially since you’ve got twice the field.”

“So I can get rejected by TWO genders?” Craig laughed. “Something tells me you won’t have any difficulty in getting a date, Marton. Yeah, you look tired, but you’re still handsome and fit. It won’t be difficult for you at all.”

Unsure of how to gracefully accept that compliment from an admitted gay man - well, Marton didn’t know if Craig was actually gay or just pansexual - but still...Marton flushed a little at the compliment. “You’re not bad on the eyes either,” he retorted. “I’d cast you for a cover ad,” he said, referring to their work in the advertising agency.

Craig flushed a little. “Be careful there or I really WILL take you home.”

Marton smiled and rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I’m a keeper. A 35-year-old new bachelor who can’t even sleep at night because the house is too quiet.” He made a face at the ceiling.

Growing serious, Craig invited recklessly, “Seriously - come home with me. I have a very comfortable sofa...you could use the company. It’s Friday night. You don’t have to be back to work until Monday.” He reached across the table and wrapped long fingers around Marton’s wrist. “Come on. Do it.”

It was completely illogical. Not at all good sense, totally uncalled for and probably silly, to boot. But Marton looked at the blue eyes trained on him and said, “Okay.”

A wide smile spread across Craig’s face. “Good. I was looking for something to do this weekend. Now you can do it with me.”

Marton blinked in confusion. “Did that come out right?” he asked. Craig wanted him to look for something to do with him?

Craig blushed. “No - I meant that I had been looking for something to do this weekend, and since you were coming home with me, you could enjoy the weekend with me.”

The sight of Craig actually blushing did weird things to Marton’s insides - he just wasn’t sure what to think. And those blue eyes just seemed to glow...”I’ve not spent a weekend at home for...a while,” he admitted.

“I have just the plan, then,” Craig gushed, mind whirring dizzily. “I’ve got a double-feature of old Dracula films - the ones with Christopher Lee? - and we can order in takeout or I can make us some pasta - and some popcorn. I’ve got plenty of beer in the fridge... what do you say?”

Marton had to laugh. “Hell. I’ve not done anything like that since college. Sure, why not?” He chuckled. “I’ll just need to run back by the house and pick up a bag.”

“I’ll give you my address,” Craig pulled a napkin toward himself, scribbling the street name and number on the small piece of paper. “I’ll wait up for you.”

==

Feeling nervous and out of place again, Marton stood in front of what he hoped was Craig Parker’s door, a duffel bag in hand. He’d started doubting as soon as he was in the car on the way to his house - and the doubts had only gotten worse. He’d even crazily thought that this might be some kind of ploy to get him in bed - and Marton didn’t even know what to think of that! Swallowing hard, he decided he was going to knock. Whatever Craig’s motivations, they couldn’t be as bad as going back to that empty, memory-filled house for another night.

Having speed-cleaned the flat after arriving home, Craig had wasted the last several moments watching for Marton outside his door. Peeking through the slatted blinds, he figured he’d end up watching all night, as he fully expected Marton to ditch him as soon as he left the pub. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised to see Marton amble up his walk, clutching nervously at an overnight bag. Butterflies began to tumble inside Craig’s stomach as he opened the door before Marton could knock. “I’m glad you didn’t change your mind.”

Holding his hand in midair to knock, Marton just stood there feeling silly for a moment, then shrugged. “I said I would come,” he said quietly, and it was true.

“Come in, come in,” Craig offered, stepping back to sweep his hand in an inviting gesture. “Welcome to my humble abode. It is what it is, and what it is, in fact, is purely me.”

Marton stepped in to find a neat flat decorated in pleasing colors, and he immediately relaxed. He wasn’t sure what he had expected - a bachelor’s flat, after all. As he looked around, he noted it was the details that made the apartment home. An overflowing bookshelf with stacks on the floor in front of it, a gathering of photos on a windowsill, framed playbills hanging on the walls and leaning against others, a bright, soft-looking throw on the couch in front of a stack of shiny electronics.

Craig watched Marton as he studied the flat. Marton already looked more relaxed, having changed into a soft-looking sweatshirt at some point. Reaching out, he took Marton’s bag. “Sleeping options are limited. There’s the couch, which I can take if you’d rather, or my bed. Your choice.”

“I won’t put you out of your bed,” Marton insisted. “The couch is more than fine.” He released the bag, letting the interesting points in Craig’s apartment distract him. There was a rolltop desk in one corner, with stacks and stacks of CDs next to it, and he saw the hallway that obviously led to the bedroom and bathroom.

“Quick tour,” Craig invited, reaching for Marton’s hand and tugging him alongside. “Kitchen and breakfast nook through the door to the left. Drinks are in the fridge. Bathroom’s to the right in the hallway,” he rushed to the end of the hallway. “Bedroom’s in here. Anything in the apartment is yours for the taking.”

Marton raised a brow, but decided not to comment. He wondered if Craig had ever met a stranger, and without thinking he asked just that as he trailed Craig back to the lounge.

Craig smiled at Marton’s question. “I’ve met some strange people, but I have excellent instincts. My first impressions are always right, and you’re in need of a friend. I can do that, if you’d let me.” He turned serious eyes toward Marton, wishing he could say he’d be more if given the opportunity.

Marton stood with both hands shoved in his pockets, head tipped down at the carpet as he considered. He’d never been the friends type - too busy, too focused, too tired, too married. He wasn’t at all outgoing - but it seemed Craig was an extrovert enough for both of them. Then he looked up, a cautious smile on his face. “I’d like that, I think.”

Craig’s entire countenance brightened at Marton’s somewhat cautious agreement. Borne of his physical nature, he unthinkingly hugged the tall man close for a moment before stepping back. He deposited Marton’s bag on top of a hall table. “Drink? Conversation? Sleep?”

Raising an eyebrow, Marton wondered how he was supposed to know what to do. “Ah, drink?” he asked, voice again the low rasp he hated. But it was his voice, no matter how much his wife had told him it made it sound like he was trying to get every person he met in bed.

“Sit. Relax. Take your shoes off and stay a while,” Craig joked, pushing Marton toward the plush couch that divided the entry way of the small flat from the rest of the living room.

Letting Craig push him along, Marton chuckled a little and slipped out of his loafers, pushing them under the low table so no one would trip over them. His wife had always nagged him about that - leaving his things all over the house - but he didn’t know where else to put them for now. He could stash them in his bag later...in the meantime, he wandered over to Craig’s bookshelves.

In the small kitchen, Craig grabbed a small bag of crisps, poured them into a bowl, and grabbed two beers from the refrigerator. He returned to the living room to see Marton studying the titles in his bookshelf. “I’m afraid you won’t find much unless you’re a fan of Tolkien, Lewis, or morbid murder mysteries.”

Marton straightened and stepped back from the shelves. “Ah, sorry, I’m nosy,” he murmured.

“I don’t mind.” Craig hummed, setting the crisps and drinks down on the table as he sat down on the sofa. He glimpsed Marton’s rather large shoes tucked under the table, and he smiled, the sight of them warming him somewhat. “There may be a few travel guides as well. I buy them all the time as I fantasize about my dream vacation.”

“Dream vacation?” Marton asked, accepting the beer Craig held out as he glanced back at the shelf. There were stacks and stacks and piles of books on the shelves, and he smiled lopsidedly.

“It was Ireland one year. Paris the next. Lately it’s been Fiji.” He leaned back and propped his feet on the table. “I’ve never actually been, but someday I will go. I will.”

“ Fiji?” Marton asked in surprise. “That’s a bit far afield, isn’t it? What about someplace like...I don’t know, Disney World?” He hadn’t been out of the eastern United States, himself, his entire life.

Craig shrugged. “I’d love to travel anywhere. I guess that Fiji is somewhere untamed and unparalleled in my mind. Sensuous and free, I guess. But Disney World does have it perks, I’m sure.”

“It was just a for instance, I’ve not been there, actually. Vacations are a waste of money,” Marton said quietly, automatically. Without really realizing what he’d said, he took a drink from the can and looked again over the bookcase.

Craig internalized Marton’s words. “What would I use the money for? I have no family to keep, no lover to lavish gifts upon. I might as well spend it. It does nobody any good in the bank.” He moved to stand near Marton, actually pulling a vacation guide for Disney World out of the myriad of books and passing it to the other man.

Craig’s works struck Marton enough that he frowned, and he accepted the book, looking down at the cover. “You actually HAVE a book on Disney World?” he said in disbelief, mostly to cover his embarrassment. He hadn’t meant to make a blanket assumption. Just because he and his wife had done things one way...

“Fantasy vacation, four years ago.” Craig’s voice was quiet, soft as he studied Marton from a close distance.

Marton looked up to see Craig nearby. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply...” he carefully offered the book back.

“It’s okay. People often do,” Craig tried to appease Marton. “It’s no big deal.”

“Yes, it is. You’ve been nothing but nice to me...” Marton stopped and sighed. “I’m...not very good with people. My wife always tells me I should only speak when spoken to, because I always seemed to stick my foot in it.”

“I like your refreshing opinions,” Craig grinned, wishing he could soothe the worry from Marton’s brow. “I’d rather not have a mate that blows smoke up my arse, if you please.”

“I don’t smoke, it makes your clothes smell bad,” Marton said like a trained automaton. He winced, thinking he had a lot to NOT thank his now ex-wife for. “Maybe I should just...” he gestured to the couch. “ah, be quiet.”

Craig’s grin grew even wider. “I think that maybe you should just loosen up. Forget her? She’s obviously turned you into someone you’re not comfortable with.”

“Forget her?” Marton echoed, sitting down hard. He’d been with Nicole for almost 20 years - they’d gone to school together, even. “I don’t think it’s possible,” he murmured.

Feeling chagrined for suggesting it, Craig sat down on the table in front of where Marton sat on the sofa. “Well - maybe forget is too strong a word. How about move on? Find someone to make new memories with.”

Marton just looked at Craig, mind pretty much blank. For months now he’d been just getting through, trying to cope and make things work. He’d not even conceived of finding a way to start over. “I don’t know how,” he said.

“It’s rather easy,” Craig pointed out. “Or at least it should be for a looker like you. You find someone you like. Ask them out or drag them back to your cave, as it were. They won’t turn you down, not if they’re worth half their salt.”

Eyes widening, Marton just stared at Craig in near-shock. “Looker?” he asked in surprise.

“You’re a very handsome man!” Craig grinned.

Marton’s brow rose even higher. “I am?” he asked, completely oblivious.

Knowing that Marton already knew he liked men as well as women, Craig shrugged. “I think so.”

Blinking a few times, Marton finally settled on saying “Thank you” quietly before flushing slightly. His wife had said upon occasion that he was lucky he had her, that with his dark looks and dark skin most people wouldn’t care for him like she did. He chanced a look up at Craig, with his bright blue eyes and light brown hair, much more fair than he. And, he supposed, Craig did have an opinion about men, so he was rightly flattered.

“You’re welcome. My only regret is that you probably don’t think the same of me. I mean - married for how long? Probably not gay.” Craig mused in a slightly sad tone.

Marton raised a shoulder. “Probably not gay,” he agreed. “But I do think you’re...a looker,” he added. “Like I said, I think you’d be stunning in a display ad. Maybe Versace.”

Infectious laughter bubbled from Craig at Marton’s words. “So - I’m unattainable? Is that why I can’t get laid?”

Brows snapping up again, Marton was surprised. “What do you mean, you can’t get laid?”

“Been a rather...dry spell the last couple of years.” Craig admitted sheepishly.

Years. “Doesn’t sound any different from marriage,” Marton muttered.

“Should it really be like that?” Craig questioned. “Why give up the passion? Why not do everything possible to keep it from dying?” He gazed off toward the window for a moment before looking back at Marton. “I’m not questioning you in particular...”

“Now it really sounds like you’re talking about marriage,” Marton said wryly, relaxing some more into the couch.

“Do you think you’ll ever find anyone else?” Craig mused, meeting Marton’s gaze. “Do you think you’ll ever find another love?”

A sad look crossed Marton’s face, and he wasn’t even aware of it. “I’m not so sure I had one to start with, Craig,” he answered, that exhausted look clear again. “How can I even think of trying to find someone else? I don’t even know what to look for.”

“Maybe we’re both looking in the wrong place,” Craig suggested, moving to flop onto the sofa beside Marton.

Marton turned his chin to look at Craig. “Maybe we are,” he agreed quietly.

“How do we change that? You be gay and me be straight?” He giggled at the thought.

Chuckling, Marton laid his head back on the couch. “From what you said earlier, I figured you for...bisexual,” he said.

“I’ve tried both,” Craig admitted ruefully. “I tend to like guys better, though.” He propped his feet up again, the action bringing him slightly closer to Marton. “What about you? Have you ever wondered what it’d be like?”

“Being bisexual? No, I guess not,” Marton said, finding the bizarre conversation somewhat amusing. “I got married at 18.”

“Young thing locked into one thing for all his life. Poor guy,” Craig commiserated.

Marton blinked. “Poor guy?” he questioned, smile pulling at his lips.

“Yeah - it’s a great experience.”

“Being bisexual?” Marton asked, being deliberately obtuse.

“Being bisexual, yeah - but I was thinking more of what it’s like to be with a man.” Craig shifted a bit, tugging at his trousers in a way he hoped wasn’t too obvious.

“Oh.” Marton looked down at the mostly empty beer can. “Well, as you know, I can’t relate,” he said awkwardly. “And since we’re being so unusually bizarre, I have to admit I couldn’t really say the same about what it’s like to be with a woman. I’m not much interested in sex.”

“You’re not? With that...um...well...” Craig blushed.

Marton’s brows drew together. “With what?” he asked, turning his eyes on Craig.

Craig turned to face Marton. “With that body. And those eyes. You’re practically made for sex.”

Tilting his head, Marton peered at the other man, more bemused than anything. “I...don’t know what you mean,” he admitted. “But I’m flattered.”

Craig’s eyes passed over Marton’s face, and he subconsciously licked his lower lip. He could picture those dark eyes alight with passion, those lips pulled back over those white teeth in a grimace of pleasure. He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean much coming from me, but it’s the truth.”

“I appreciate the truth,” Marton said quietly. “I’ve had damned little of it over the years, apparently.”

“She really worked you over, didn’t she?”

Marton sighed and dropped his head. “I guess so. I keep running into things...” he shrugged. “I suppose I’m really ‘well trained’,” he said, a touch of bitterness in his voice.

Craig couldn’t restrain himself any longer. He had to touch Marton. Reaching across the short distance between them, he touched the other man’s short hair. “You’ll find yourself.”

He didn’t move - didn’t pull away, didn’t shift closer. Marton just sighed and closed his eyes. “Thanks,” he finally whispered. “For the couch...for the company.”

“My pleasure,” Craig murmured, letting his fingers continue to touch the soft strands of deep auburn.

==

Marton woke up the next morning, blinking and confused. He sat up on the couch, blanket falling to his hips, and he remembered. He was at Craig’s. They’d stayed up late, talking about anything and everything, and Marton had opened up more than he remembered doing with anyone in a long time. Eventually he’d drowsed, and Craig laid the blanket over his legs and urged him to lie down, and he’d turned out the light. Marton remembered being comforted by the quiet sounds of someone else moving around. And he’d slept better than he had since before the divorce.

Shutting off the taps to the shower, Craig fastened a towel around his hips and grabbed another towel, rubbing vigorously at his hair as he stepped from the bathroom. Glancing toward the sofa, he saw a pair of sleepy hazel eyes looking around. “Good morning. I hope you slept well.”

Rubbing at his eyes, Marton nodded and looked around some more, seeing the apartment in the light of day. The sheer drapes let in more light than he had expected, and he didn’t know how he’d slept that way. Nicole had always wanted the bedroom kept pitch dark...shaking himself, he looked back at Craig, realizing he was hardly dressed, and he quickly averted his eyes politely.

Thinking nothing of his state of dress - or undress, rather - Craig approached the couch, giving his shoulders a cursory swipe as he picked up their bottles and the bowl of chips from the night before. “You can lounge as long as you’d like. After I dress, I’ll make us a waffle or something.”

Marton nodded, not mentioning that he was used to cooking a full meal every morning. He was the guest here, after all. He glanced up carefully to see Craig’s toweled hips walk into the kitchen, so he swallowed and took the opportunity to head to the bathroom, snagging his bag on the way. Once there he peeled out of the pants he’d worn the day before, then the sweatshirt, and looked down at himself in dismay. Hard again. Must have been dreaming, he told himself. With a grimace he found a towel and got into the shower, setting the water for lukewarm.

Craig hummed as he pulled out the waffle iron, letting it heat as he pulled on some sweats. Returning to the kitchen, he made a large stack of waffles, even having strawberries and whipped topping and syrup by the time Marton came out of the bathroom.

Finally willing away his erection, Marton shut off the shower and got out, dried off and dressed, all in a minute or so. He packed up his bag and carefully hung the towel on a drying rack, hoping that was all right. He left the bath and set the bag back where Craig had left it the night before. Before heading to the kitchen he stopped at the couch and folded the blanket, straightening the cushions.

Craig could hear Marton in the other room, so he peeked around the corner, taking in the damp hair that swung down over Marton’s forehead as he worked on plumping the cushions. He smiled, realizing that he liked the sight of Marton in his home so early in the day. He’d gone to sleep with a smile, knowing that Marton was asleep in his flat.

As satisfied as he could be that he’d returned everything as it should be, Marton straightened and looked right up at Craig, blinking in surprise.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Craig murmured, “but thank you for it. I’m not the neatest person on a good day.” He turned back to the kitchen, grabbing a couple of glasses for the juice. “Coffee will be ready in a few.”

Surprised to be thanked, Marton just followed along behind Craig, back to the nook where he sat down, carefully choosing a chair that would not be in Craig’s way. Craig looked across the table to where Marton had chosen to sit. So far away. He busied himself with pouring the juice rather than thinking about why the other man deliberately chose to be so far away from him. He thought he knew why, but he wouldn’t ask only to have his suspicions confirmed.

“Is...there anything I can help with?” Marton asked hesitantly. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help, but the kitchen was small, and he was tall and took up a lot of space.

Craig placed the glass of juice on the table in front of Marton before setting a plate in front of him as well. It was piled high with waffles, fruit, and cream. The syrup was taken off of the stovetop, where he’d had it warming in a little pitcher. “I think I have things under control, so far.”

Marton looked over the waffles and smiled before he could hide it away. “This looks great,” he said.

“I manage,” Craig shrugged, finally pouring the coffee into a carafe before settling it on the table as well. “Tuck in,” he invited, moving back to the refrigerator for the creamer.

Waiting for his host to return to the table, since that was the polite thing to do, Marton lifted his fork. “Thank you,” he offered, cutting into the waffles.

==

Wadding a sheet of paper into a small ball, Craig tossed it across, looking to make sure it made it into Marton’s cubicle instead of someone else’s. God forbid it fell into Miranda’s cube. He shuddered at the thought. He only hoped Marton would open the paper and read the note he’d scribbled inside.

Blinking as a wad of paper landed right in his lap, Marton looked around though he couldn’t see anything but his cubicle walls. Brow furrowed, he uncrumpled the paper to see writing on it.

*You...me...pub...9pm. ~C*

Marton smiled genuinely. At least twice a week Craig made him get out of the house. Not to mention he nagged him about staying late, so Marton was rarely there past eight anymore. That wasn’t the only thing that had changed in six months, but it was a biggie. He glanced at the clock. 5 p.m. He decided to knock off early for a change and go home for a lazy shower, so he’d give himself two more hours work time. In the meantime, he pulled up the instant messaging software and pinged Craig.

MCSOKAS: You’re on.

CPARKER: Dress pretty. ((bg))

MCSOKAS: Isn’t that your style? You’re not going to try to fix me up again, are you?

Craig chuckled loudly enough that he was sure Marton could hear him next door. “No-oooh,” he called out, knowing that nobody else would understand what he meant by it.

Marton grinned before he could stop it and then looked around furtively to see if anyone noticed.

MCSOKAS: Fine, I’ll make an effort. Just for you.

CPARKER: Watch your words, Marty. I’m beginning to think you loo-ooo-ve me.

Marton snorted aloud, and Miranda glanced up from her cubicle across from him with a frown. He blinked at her blankly before typing again.

CSOKAS: You are my dream, you know that...idiot.

Craig laughed out loud at that. “In my dreams,” he mumbled, hoping Marton hadn’t overheard it.

Shutting down the IM, Marton got back to work, although he idly wondered what he would wear. All he had were work clothes and a couple T-shirts he’d managed to hide from Nicole. Maybe he’d leave even earlier and go shopping...

==

It was right at 9 p.m. when Marton entered the pub, leather jacket zipped against the winter air outside. He scanned the room for his friend, hoping he’d managed to get a booth. Marton hated sitting out where people could walk behind him all the time. It made him jumpy.

Seeing Marton walk into the pub in what appeared to be a new jacket, Craig waved at his friend. Marton caught sight of him and wandered over to the booth. Craig’s eyes followed his graceful movements and as the taller man approached, he let out a low whistle.

Flushing, Marton unzipped the thigh-length jacket and shrugged out of it, revealed new black jeans and a deep red suede shirt. The woman at the store had been very helpful, and after the fact, he had realized she was flirting.

“Wow. You must have somewhere to be. We can make the drinks quick or even have a rain check if you’d rather,” Craig offered, watching other patrons check Marton out. The colors meshed perfectly with the older man’s coloring.

Marton frowned as he slid into the booth. “You told me to dress up,” he said in confusion.

“This is all for me?” Craig grinned widely. “Wow.”

Flushing a little, Marton ordered a beer, as usual. “Well, I guess it was time for some new clothes,” he said hesitantly.

“You look great!” Craig gushed, motioning for another beer for himself. At this rate, he’d be sloshed before ten, much less midnight. “Good enough for a date, man.”

Marton shrugged. “No one to date, Craig,” he reminded, shifting his beer back and forth on the table. He peered at his friend. “Speaking of dates...how did it go with...David? Was that his name?”

“David?” Craig chuckled. “He’d make a great friend. That’s about it. He’d be more your type if you gravitated that way.” Craig took a long swallow, draining half the beer in one gulp.

“My type?” Marton asked mildly. Since he’d started hanging out with Craig, he’d gotten used to sexuality and, well, sex, being a part of their normal conversations. It didn’t bother him anymore and only sometimes caught him up surprise. Craig was so honest, and he never tried to hurt him or make him feel ignorant, so Marton just went along.

“Easygoing, accepting. He wouldn’t try to change you,” Craig replied. “We just - we didn’t click.”

Marton raised a brow. In the six months or so since he had pried Marton out of his shell, Craig had gone out with maybe five people, for varying lengths of time. Marton had tried to be subtly supportive and nonjudgmental, and he figured he had succeeded. But he hated seeing Craig sad. “I’m sorry,” he offered.

Craig shrugged and drank the rest of his beer in another gulp before motioning for another. “Someday.”

Noticing how much Craig was drinking, Marton frowned but didn’t comment. “Plans for tonight?” he asked casually, thinking they’d need to get to them soon or Craig would be too drunk. He knew from the past that four was Craig’s limit before he started feeling the effects.

“No. I’m disgustingly without a plan tonight,” Craig murmured as he peeled at the label on his beer. “Hence the public drunkenness.”

Marton raised an eyebrow and decided he should intervene. “Why not come over to my place? We can watch a movie,” he suggested warily. He’d never asked him over before, always meeting at Craig’s apartment.

Craig realized it was an offer that hadn’t been made before. So he accepted it gracefully. Or at least as gracefully as a tipsy Craig could. “Suuuure...”

Marton sighed. “All right. Give me your keys. You’re staying with me tonight.” Tomorrow was Saturday, he could take him home then.

“If you insist.” Craig giggled, digging deep into his pocket for his keys. He flung them carelessly on the table. “I’ve never had a man DEMAND for me to stay with him before.”

Marton blinked. This was such a different Craig than the one he always saw. “Time to go home,” he decided, thinking Craig must really be feeling sorry for himself. “C’mon, Craig,” he said, standing and pulling on his jacket before pulling on Craig’s arm to get him to stand up from the booth.

Craig followed along, only stumbling slightly. “Thanks. I tend to get rather shit-faced after a couple beers. You saved my dignity.”

“Four beers,” Marton corrected absently as he walked Craig to his car.

“Mere technicality.” Craig laughed, swaying closer to Marton.

Glancing at his friend’s listing steps, Marton slid his arm about Craig’s shoulders as they walked to the nearby lot where his car was parked.

“Careful there,” Craig laughed. “People might think we’re a couple.”

Marton chuckled. A few months ago that would have bothered him, but not now. At least not with Craig. “I could do a lot worse,” he said companionably as they approached his car.

“Matter of opinion.” Craig turned slightly morose.

Unlocking the car, Marton opened the passenger door. “Thought you valued my opinion,” he said, voice not at all censuring.

Craig chuckled again. “You hang around with me. Your opinion is questionable.”

Making sure Craig was buckled in, Marton leaned against the top of the car, looking down at his friend. “I guess I’m the only one that matters, when it comes down to it. Concerning my opinion, I mean.” With that, he shut the door and walked around, got in the car, started it, and then they were on their way.

Craig drowsed as they drove, only waking up a bit when Marton pulled into the drive of a large home. “This yours?”

“Yes,” Marton confirmed, keying the garage door opener. That was the other reason he’d not brought Craig here - he didn’t want him to treat him any differently when he found out how much money Marton had. Truth was, Marton didn’t have to work. Ever. But Nicole wouldn’t allow it, and since the divorce he’d wanted to be out of the house as much as possible. So he’d stayed at his job at the agency.

“Nice.” Craig mused, thinking the house didn’t at all suit the personality of the Marton he knew. “Big.”

Marton shrugged as he parked the car inside next to his truck and turned it off. “Yeah. I use about three rooms of it,” he muttered. He’d thought several times in the past few months about selling it. Every time he considered it, the idea was more tempting. Wouldn’t Nicole have a fit? He actually laughed at that thought.

“Find a new fling. Fuck in every room. Make it yours.” Craig blushed as he realized what he’d said. He tried to clamp his lips on the words, but they were already out.

Raising a brow, Marton didn’t comment, but his lips twitched. He climbed out of the car and headed to the door atop the steps, stopping to press numbers into a mounted keypad. The door opened smoothly, and he looked back the car. “Coming, Craig?” he asked.

Craig followed behind, trying his best not to be in awe of the place. A task that was slightly easier when drunk, he figured. “I need another beer,” he mumbled.

“I’ve got some in the fridge,” Marton said, shutting the garage door and tossing his keys on a small table. He hung up his jacket and led the way out of the wide open living space toward the huge, professional kitchen done in white and cobalt blue.

Craig pretended to be blinded by all the stainless steel and gleaming white tile. “I’m blinded!” He swooned, falling into a stool near the free-standing island.

Marton snapped around, but saw that Craig was horsing around. He sighed and rolled his eyes, pulling two more beers out of his mostly empty fridge, screwing the tops off and sliding one across the island to Craig. “There you go. Want a tour? If your eyes are working, that is.”

“Are the other rooms as bright as this one?” He questioned, peeking between his fingers to watch Marton’s face.

Chuckling, Marton shook his head. “Come on.” He moved back into the living room and led Craig around, pointing out a study, four bedrooms, four bathrooms, a foyer and mudroom, and then up a spiraling staircase, a huge master suite that took up over half the upstairs. “And in there’s another bathroom,” he said, pointing into a room that had a pale blue glow inside.

“I like the light of that room.” Craig pushed through, nudging the door open. He was left breathless by the room that was as big as his kitchen. “Can I sleep in here?”

“Craig, it’s a bathroom,” Marton objected, but he flipped on some of the low, recessed lighting. The room was huge, probably his own favorite room in the house. There was a shower and a huge jacuzzi tub, a steam room and a walk in closet. Not to mention a double bowl sink and a counter he could sit at to use as a desk, if he wanted.

“So? Give me a blanket and a pillow and I’d be comfy in the tub,” Craig offered, before rethinking the offer. “Or I could just sleep on the sofa. That’d be good.”

Chuckling, Marton leaned back against the counter. “There are four guest rooms, all with beds. But if you want to sleep in the tub, you can. I have, upon occasion. Course, there was hot water in it...”

“Nah. The sofa’s okay,” Craig looked down, picking at the hem of his shirt. “And I’m pretty tired.”

Martin narrowed his eyes. “I could run the bath for you, turn on the jets...it’s really relaxing,” he said persuasively.

“I’d probably drown,” Craig smiled.

“I’ll stay and keep you company, if you want,” Marton offered, pleased at the thought to be able to do something nice for Craig for a change.

Craig looked over at the tub again. “It does look nice.”

Marton started to smile. He walked over and turned on the taps, running the hot water, and he set out some towels as the tub filled. Once the water line covered the jets, he turned them on and kept the water going.

Craig waited around, normally not very shy about his body, but this was Marton - his straight friend. “Should I step into the closet to undress?”

Glancing up, Marton raised a brow. “Ah, if you want...didn’t figure you’d be embarrassed...” He straightened. “I’ll step out,” he said hastily.

“I’m not embarrassed,” Craig blurted out. “But I - I just didn’t figure you’d want...to see me.”

Marton paused and turned back, calming down in the face of Craig’s anxiety. “Craig, it’s not like it’s something I’ve not seen before,” he said. “Or do you think I’m concerned that you’ll jump me?” As soon as he said it, he felt flushed. It surprised the hell out of him – he was reacting to the thought of Craig jumping him?

Craig blushed even harder, moving to step into the closet. “You’re right. I’m being silly.”

As the door shut, Marton considered this new development. “Not at all,” he murmured. Unconsciously, he adjusted his jeans before moving to tip some bath oil in the water. How in the world did he deal with this?

Craig removed his clothes quickly, looking around to find something to wrap around his waist before realizing he was being stupid. Holding his hands over his groin, he stepped out into the bathroom once more. “I’m ready.”

Aware that Craig was feeling awkward, Marton didn’t turn to look. Instead, he kept his back turned and walked to the closet. “I’m going to get you a robe,” he said as he disappeared into the next room.

Craig took the opportunity to slip inside the tub. The feeling of the hot water making his muscles convulse was nearly orgasmic, making him grow half-hard in the dim light of the room. Hearing Marton move around in the closet made him feel warm inside.

Figuring he’d given Craig enough time, Marton walked back out to see him relaxing in the tub. Something about seeing him there made Marton smile. He dragged the chair over next to the tub. “Comfortable?”

“Thank GOD for bubbles,” Craig sighed, closing his eyes as he leaned his head back against the tub.

Marton chuckled and offered Craig a washcloth. “You can wet this and lay it across your eyes,” he suggested.

Craig opened his eyes and swung his gaze toward Marton. “I’d rather look at the...scenery, if you don’t mind.”

Gazing at his friend, the steam dampening Craig’s bangs and eyelashes, Marton laid the cloth over the edge of the tub and reached out to lightly touch Craig’s cheek. He didn’t really think about it, he was just enchanted. Craig’s head tilted toward the gentle touch, but his eyes held Marton’s gaze.

Marton rubbed his thumb over Craig’s cheek, just considering, wondering. “Why anyone wouldn’t want you I don’t understand,” Marton murmured. He wasn’t exactly talking about sex, but...he felt like he wanted Craig in a way he couldn’t explain. It was nearly incomprehensible to him.

The statement made Craig’s face heat, and he turned slightly away. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Marton swallowed. “Craig...”

Wondering why Marton sounded so conflicted, Craig turned back. “Marton? What’s wrong?”

Tilting his head, Marton asked quietly, “How do you know when you want someone?”

Could Craig explain how he felt to Marton? The man he actually wanted? “It’s difficult.”

“Is it?” Marton asked as he shifted in the chair and leaned over the edge to lightly press his lips to Craig’s.

Craig gasped at the sudden contact of Marton’s lips on his. His mind whirled with questions and doubts. Not pressuring, not pushing, Marton kissed him lightly, gently, his lips closing about Craig’s lower lip when he gasped. Then he pulled back, looking at his friend, wondering how he would react. Marton himself hadn’t realized until that moment that he’d wanted to kiss Craig - he was almost sure the other man would react poorly, despite all his teasing.

Craig’s eyes opened when Marton backed away, and he stared at his friend, wondering if Marton had really meant the kiss or if it was just an experiment. He sat up slightly, sloshing the water a bit before reaching a wet hand up to tangle in the strands at the back of Marton’s neck. He moved close once more, eyes focused on Marton’s, wondering if another kiss would be welcomed.

Surprised when Craig moved, Marton blinked and straightened until he felt a warm, wet hand curl about his neck, and then he met glittering blue eyes. He felt his gut clench for a moment, and his lips parted on a silent moan - then he leaned forward and kissed Craig again. Craig’s tongue flicked out, tasting Marton’s lips as they settled against his own. He hummed in delight, other hand coming up to trace wet patterns on the older man’s face.

Inhaling deeply through his nose, Marton’s breath broke on a sigh as the kiss remained gentle, Craig’s fingers caressing him, and his eyes fluttered as he felt a swirl of heat in his groin. Oh God...he groaned silently. What do I do now? I’m attracted to my best friend...my MALE best friend. He curled his shaking hand to cup Craig’s cheek as the kiss continued. Craig was careful to keep the kiss tame, not wanting to scare Marton away. This was everything he’d wanted for several months now, and it was perfect in execution. The only lingering doubt was that Marton was simply overcome with desire for anyone, and that who Craig was had nothing to do with it.

As their lips moved slowly, catching and rubbing, Marton realized he’d wanted this for some time - why else would he watch Craig so carefully when he talked, or listen so closely to the warm voice, or in amusement give into his suggestions for leisure and relaxation? No one had ever cared for him like Craig did, unconscious or not. And Marton thought the way Craig was responding was also reassuring.

Shivers danced along Craig’s spine, causing him to slide deeper in the water, unknowingly pulling Marton down with him. Without thinking, Marton slid forward until his elbows fell off the side and he lurched into the water, his lips falling away as he oophed when his chest hit the side of the tub.

Craig sat up again, reaching out to make sure Marton was okay. His hands straightened the other man up and he tugged at the buttons of Marton’s new shirt. “You should take that off before it gets any wetter.”

Righting himself and looking down at the wet suede, Marton nodded and let Craig undo the buttons, revealing his chest. Once it was loose, Marton shrugged it off his shoulders, pulling his arms free of the wet, clinging fabric. He laid the shirt over the back of the chair he half sat in and looked back at Craig, studying him, trying to decide if he wanted to kiss him again (he did) and if another kiss was welcome (he hoped).

“You look confused,” Craig murmured. He bit his lip, settling back into the tub.

Marton tilted his head. “Contemplative,” he corrected.

“There’s a difference?” A smile crossed Craig’s face at the question.

“Of course,” Marton said with a small smile. “Confused would be if I didn’t understand why I kissed you. Contemplative is deciding if I want to kiss you again,” he explained in that low rasp.

Craig’s eyebrows drew together. “I don’t understand.”

Marton chuckled. “Are you confused?” he teased, relaxing.

“I’m not confused,” Craig bantered back. “I’ve known what I’ve wanted for a long time now.”

Marton raised a brow. “And what is that?” he asked, sitting up from where he had leaned on the tub.

Craig sat up too, following Marton’s lead. “You,” he spoke matter-of-factly.

Taken aback, Marton just blinked at him. “Me?” he finally answered.

“Well, yeah,” Craig lowered his gaze, afraid he’d overstepped the boundaries they’d so carefully drawn. “For a long time now.” In for a penny...

Curious, Marton ducked his head to try to catch Craig’s eyes. “How long?” he asked. Had it only been recently? Or had the teasing since day one been flirting that he had just totally missed?

Deciding the moment called for total honesty, Craig met Marton’s eyes. “I’ve always found you attractive, but I’ve only f...I’ve really wanted you for a couple of months now.”

A couple of months. Out of a little over six, Marton thought. He sat back, thinking about how that made him feel. Warm, mostly. Craig was a good friend, one of the best he’d ever had. Then something occurred to him. “So when you told me to wear something nice, it was because...”

“Because I wanted to look at you. I wanted to pretend you were dressing for me.” Craig lowered his gaze again, reaching out to brush at the ball of his knee where it protruded from the water.

“You wanted me to choose what to wear on my own so you could appreciate it, hoping I chose what I did because you might like it?” Marton asked slowly, tilting his head as he worked through it in his own convoluted way. What he liked most about it was that Craig didn’t even try to TELL him what to wear, other than ‘something nice’. He didn’t demand, he didn’t pick things out. He left that to Marton. He blinked several times as he thought about it.

“I wanted you to choose something that would make you comfortable enough to be yourself,” Craig contradicted. “Not something to please me. You only have to please yourself now, Mari.” Craig blushed as he shortened Marton’s name to the affectionate nickname he’d used in his head for months now.

Discovering himself enchanted, Marton reached out again to touch Craig’s cheek and feel the warmth of his blush. “Mari?” he questioned, amused. No one had ever called him anything but his proper name. And Nicole wouldn’t allow him to call her by anything but her given name. He decided it was intimate. Yes. Intimate.

Craig sat straighter in the cooling water. “I’m sorry, I should have asked. It’s just - I’ve been thinking of you as Mari for a while now. You’re different than the Marton I first met.”

“It’s okay. I think I like it,” Marton reassured him. “What do you mean? Different.” He shifted off his knees to sit on the step next to the tub, since it seemed like he’d be here awhile. He didn’t think he minded.

“You’re - well - you’ve relaxed in the last few months. You’ve become more of what I expected you to be...if that makes sense. Before you were a product of your marriage. Now, you’re just Mari.” Craig blushed as he wrapped his arms around his upraised knees. “But I really like Mari.”

Marton’s lips pressed together. “Me before marriage. I have very little memory of that boy,” he said quietly. “The past few months have been like a dream - doing what I want, when I want. I sometimes have no idea what to do with myself. Then you’re there and -” He pauses, dipping his fingers into the warm bubbling water idly, whiles he chooses his words. “And I don’t worry so much. It’s easier. I don’t have that numbing feeling that I might be doing something wrong. Too many years with that sort of thing hanging over me, I guess.”

“You’re doing well,” Craig commended Marton on his progress. “I wonder if some people are ever brave enough to really live again.”

“I don’t know if I would have been,” Marton admitted. “If I hadn’t met you.”

Craig flushed at the praise, turning his face toward Marton and reaching across to nuzzle his cheek. “Don’t ever underestimate yourself.”

Marton chuckled wryly. “Craig, I’ve never estimated myself at all. Nicole always did that for me.”

Huffing indignantly, Craig started to rise from the tub, reaching for the robe Marton had brought him. Leaning back in surprise, Marton pointed at the robe and slid back so he wasn’t splashed. He watched Craig, wondering what he’d said.

Wrapping himself in the robe, Craig turned to face Marton once more, hands on his hips. “How did such a smart, sweet, wonderful man such as yourself marry such a self-righteous bitch?”

Marton’s brows flew up, and he just sat there in surprise, having no idea how to answer that. He’d already told Craig that he married at 18. What else was there to tell? Leaning back against the double vanity, Craig crossed his arms, not caring when the robe split high on his thigh. He watched Marton closely. Measuringly. Blinking, Marton just sat there, feeling his cheeks warming as Craig looked over him frankly. But instead of being put off or embarrassed, his pulse started to race. What was Craig thinking?

“Why did you invite me here tonight?” The younger man asked, still watching Marton’s face. “Am I an experiment?”

“What?” the older man asked in surprise, even flinching back. “No! I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t do that,” he insisted. Surprised that Craig had thought that, Marton realized he was also hurt. He stood up, turned off the jacuzzi and headed for the door.

Catching Marton by the arm, Craig begged for forgiveness with his eyes. “I had to ask. You don’t know how many... I just had to ask. I’m sorry. I’ll go now.”

“What do you mean, I don’t know how many...” Marton shook his head, wanting Craig to explain. “I don’t understand what I did to make you think that.” His face reflected his confusion and hurt.

Finding his clothes, Craig tugged his trousers on, shoulders shaking as he attempted to fasten them. He failed miserably, somehow managing to destroy the button in the process. His excuses didn’t matter. He’d managed to hurt Marton with his insecurities, and now the other man was doubting himself again.

“Craig...Craig.” Marton grabbed Craig’s wrists, trying to get him to stop long enough to listen. “For Christ’s sake, Craig. You are the first person to ever want me to be who I want to be. To like me, despite my faults. To want me for me, as I am. How could I not fall in love with that? How could I not fall in love with you?” he asked desperately, losing his usual calm at the idea of losing Craig’s friendship.

Craig struggled for a moment or two longer before stilling completely, going limp in Marton’s grasp. “You love me?” He was afraid to meet Marton’s eyes, in case the other man might just be telling him that to make him stay.

“I’ve never fallen in love before, so I’m rather new at it,” Marton offered awkwardly, hands loosening. “But I know I feel more for you than I have for anyone, even Nicole when we were young. I can’t explain it.” He shrugged. “I just...feel it.”

A relieved smile spread across Craig’s lips as he finally met Marton’s gaze. “I - I love you, too,” he whispered, stepping closer to Marton once more and lifting a hand to spread across Marton’s chest.

Covering Craig’s hand with his own, Marton looked at him longingly. “I don’t know what to do or where to start,” he admitted. “But I know how I feel. Is that enough?”

“We can work on the rest,” Craig promised, moving into Marton’s arms and laying his cheek against where his hand had been. He listened to the taller man’s thundering heart, elated that it was beating like this for him.

Marton just stayed put, turning to press his cheek to the top of Craig’s head. Tomorrow would take care of itself. For now, this was the perfect way to start a new life.

*****

THE END

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