The heavens open the next evening.

It rains so hard that Jason wonders if it’s hail striking his skylight rather than rain. He mutes the TV news keeping him company in the kitchen and heads to his living room to peer through the window. He can barely see beyond the garden wall. Only the headlights of cars are visible, arcing as they encounter speed bumps. Their brightness dazzles, blinding him for a moment just as Vanya approaches, hurrying and clearly soaked through.

Jason gets to the front door before he can ring the doorbell. “Come in,” he urges. “It’s filthy out there.” Vanya hesitates on the doorstep, his hair so much darker when wet, his clothes completely sodden. He’s truly drenched, shivering as the warmth in the hallway hits him. “Come in,” Jason repeats, this time tugging until Vanya stands inside, his canvas shoes swamped by spreading puddles. He shivers so hard that water droplets flick from his fringe, and he doesn’t argue when Jason says, “You should shower to warm up.” Vanya follows where he’s led and, once in the bathroom, attempts to untie his laces with bone-white shaking fingers.

“Let me,” Jason offers and kneels.

“Don’t,” Vanya gets out, his teeth chattering. “Will get wet too.”

He’s right. A new puddle forms already, liquid leaching into the denim at Jason’s knees, icy cold and soaking. Jason ignores it and unties Vanya’s shoes. “I’ll put these on a radiator. If you get out of that wet gear, I’ll put it in the dryer.” It’s easy to stand and turn on the water in the shower cubicle, much harder not to offer more help when Vanya struggles out of clothes that cling wetly to him.

“O-okay.” Vanya’s teeth still chatter, his shirt caught at the wrists, the rest of the fabric inside out and tangled. “C-can help.” His nipples are tiny and tight, his chest streaked with rivulets of water that are hard to look away from. “Or could just watch while I….” This time, Vanya’s shaking is forced.

“Shiver. The word you want is shiver.” Jason listens as Vanya carefully repeats him. It’s ridiculous how Vanya’s accent does something visceral to him. He’s caught himself listening out for it all day long, ears pricking at accents he normally wouldn’t even notice on multilingual worksites. Today, he’s noticed distinct differences in lilt and cadence that led to him asking questions. Some of the craftsmen he questioned were uneasy as they answered, perhaps expecting the same go-home reaction the tabloid newspapers are currently full of. Others talked more freely about hometowns he’d never heard of, sharing photographs of the families their expertise supported.

None of their accents sounded quite right because none of them were Russian.

The urge to admit that out loud is almost overwhelming, but what the mirror currently reflects distracts Jason—Vanya’s naked behind him, testing the temperature of the water. His lean lines blur as he steps under the spray—by far the best sight Jason’s seen all day long.

Jason leaves the bathroom before he can blurt that too, then he leans his head against the door of the dryer before he loads it. “Get a grip,” he mutters while emptying Vanya’s pockets. He sets his wallet to dry on a radiator and rescues a lumpy paper bag that’s damply spotted. The final thing he retrieves is a sodden, rolled-up strip of fabric. It’s a black tie that unfurls, perfectly plain apart from several spots of vivid yellow.

They’re bees, he sees when he holds it close.

Tiny bees embroidered with minute, perfect stitches.

It’s a reminder of one of their very first conversations; a black and yellow gag gift, perhaps, that’s actually very thoughtful.

Warmth suffuses his chest.

The tie might not be intended for him, he tells himself as he sets the dryer going. Jason snatches his phone off the kitchen counter and texts fast, regardless.

How did you know it wasn’t just sex?

It’s an abrupt question, so he types a quick addition.

I mean, how did you know Chantel was the one?

Andrew replies just as quickly.

When home was too quiet unless she was there.

The sound of the shower filters into the kitchen as Jason nods. No wonder Andrew’s interviewed for new jobs. He can’t say he blames him. Riversmeet used to be where they both balanced their weekday work lives, but Chantel’s whole life is down there; of course Andrew should relocate too.

He checks on the beef dish in the oven while he thinks about Andrew’s answer. It smells good to him as he stirs in some sour cream, but he worries if it’s as authentic as the internet suggested. Another text arrives with a ping.

Got to be honest, I could have noticed sooner.

Three dots appear underneath that message, Andrew still busy typing.

How did I know for sure? I knew when I wanted to do things to please her.

Little things to begin with.

Like remembering her favourite things. She loves Turkish Delight. I buy her a bar whenever I see it.

Jason tugs the damp paper bag close that he found in Vanya’s jacket. It contains a flapjack, square and squashed and sticky.

Then bigger things tipped me off, Andrew continues. Like wanting her to take the spare key and insisting that she use it even when I was in London.

I wanted her in my home, even if I wasn’t there. That was a pretty big clue.

Even if that meant eating her cooking every weekend.

Because here’s the thing, mate.

She wanted to do things for me as well.

Lots of little things that mattered. Like trying to cook my favourite dinners.

He follows that with a green-faced emoji.

Jason smiles as he tidies the counter, wiping around the bunch of dill he bought for the first time to use in what he hopes is a typical Russian salad. Then he sees the meal he’s made for Vanya through new eyes. Little things that matter. Searching the net for Russian cooking tips wasn’t a usual use of his time. His gaze cuts to the tie drying on his radiator as he heads to his bedroom. Andrew’s last texts arrive as he grabs his robe from the back of his bedroom door.

All those little things started to add up.

That’s how I knew she must be special.

He ends with a simple sentence.

Good luck, mate.

Steam billows when he opens the bathroom door. Vanya dries off with one towel while another wraps his waist. He accepts the robe Jason offers, but before he takes it from him, his fingers—warm now instead of icy—slip around his wrist to pull Jason closer. “Thank you.” Vanya’s kiss is warm too, his torso still wet in places when Jason wraps his arms around him, hands easily skimming from his shoulders all the way down to the curve of his arse where the towel clings damply.

Vanya’s pink cheeked, smells of Jason’s shower gel, and might be the best thing he’s ever found in his bathroom. When he says, “Thank you,” again, like a simple shower and bathrobe mean the whole world to him, Jason can hardly speak.

“It’s nothing,” he finally gets out as he backs out of the bathroom, steam curling into the hallway with him. “Get dry. Then come and choose something of mine to wear while the dryer’s running. I’ll be in my bedroom—left at the end of the hallway.” He’s digging through his chest of drawers when Vanya finds him, damp hair finger combed into neatness, swamped by a robe several sizes too big. “Here.” The joggers Jason pulls out have a drawstring waist. He finds a long sleeve jersey that’s shrunk. “These aren’t exactly couture, but they should do you until your stuff’s dry.” He snags a jacket from his wardrobe. “And this might be a bit big, but it’s waterproof and padded. I know you’re all about being fashion-forward, but it will keep you warm and dry on the way home. Take it with you later.”

Vanya doesn’t answer.

When Jason turns, he’s studying a picture, one that’s hung on the wall for so long it barely registers these days. It’s a cross section of a building showing each brick and joist and noggin. “That was my first paid project for Dom.”

“Where is…?” Vanya points. “Where is wood? Biggest wood. Long, like you showed me?” He frowns at Jason’s laughter. “What is so funny?”

Jason tries hard to keep a straight face. “The word ‘wood’ sometimes has another meaning.” He stands behind Vanya. “It depends on context, but I do like that you’re interested in mine.”

“Yes?” Vanya leans back, his body radiating heat now that seeps through what Jason’s wearing. The robe slips from his shoulders when he twists. “What is other meaning?”

Jason kisses bare skin, lips brushing the pale slant of Vanya’s traps, his throat, and his lips before answering. “I’ll show you after dinner.”

Vanya tugs up the robe. “Reminds me. Have something to discuss later as well.” He keeps his gaze on the picture. “Or could just say now. Maybe would be better.” His tone is flatter somehow, his back rigid where it had been relaxed, but he still leans against Jason.

“If something’s bothering you, get it off your chest.” Jason’s fingers spread where the robe gapes open, Vanya’s heart skipping under his fingers.

“Asked friend about wedding. About helping Chantel.”

“Did you?” Surprise must bleed into his tone. Vanya hadn’t sounded keen when he first raised the subject. “What did Kaspar say?”

Vanya’s chest rises under his hand, like he needs a deep breath. “Would be other friend, Anna. She works in wedding department, so is perfect to help out. Will be happy to book personal appointment.”

“Really?” Jason asks. “And she’s someone Chantel will get along with? You trust her to do a good job?”

“Yes,” Vanya says very quietly. “I trust.”

“That’s great!” Jason’s hold around Vanya tightens, a squeeze of thanks and relief. “Because that’s what makes personal shopping so special—complete trust in a professional.” It almost seems like Vanya stops breathing, so he loosens his grip. “If you trust her, that’s good enough for me. I’ll talk to Chantel later. I need to run it by her, but it would take a lot of work off her shoulders if Anna could help her, especially while Chantel’s working extra and studying at the same time.”

Vanya’s voice is still quiet. “Sh-should find out price before agreeing.” He tugs at Jason’s forearm. “And should let go before you break ribs.”

“Sorry.” Jason only lets go slowly. “I can’t say that I care about the cost, to be honest, not if she charges anywhere close to what you did. It’s just a perfect way to help Chantel.” And to prove to Andrew once and for all that he’s genuinely trying harder to be a much better best man. “You mind if I ring her right now?”

“Go ahead.”

He leaves Vanya to get dressed and calls Chantel as he serves their supper. She’s pleased and somewhat nervous. “There’s nothing to it,” Jason promises, watching as Vanya walks in, cosy in clothes that are the opposite of his usual tight and stylish, his hair fluffy instead of smooth, all his sharp edges softened.

“You list what still needs arranging for the wedding; the wedding planner makes it happen.” Vanya’s surprise at the plate Jason slides in front of him adds to pleasure that only deepens when he passes Vanya a bowl of chopped tomato, cucumber, and dill. “We’re about to eat,” he says to Chantel. “Think about it overnight. If you want to go ahead, I’ve got it covered. Let me know in the morning?” She promises she will and then asks what they’re eating.

“For supper? Oh, nothing special,” Jason lies as he retrieves the stroganoff he hopes passes muster from the warming oven.

Vanya lets out a small whimper.

Just a lot of little things that matter for someone special to him.