Bennett wrote.

It was either that or think about how he'd lost Jamie, and he couldn't think about that. Any time he came even close to the subject, his mind came to a screeching halt, like he'd been running down a trail and abruptly come to a cliff's edge, the ground crumbling beneath his feet as he scrambled to keep from falling.

So instead, Bennett wrote.

When the words came, they came all at once, like a summer thunderstorm. He was sitting at his kitchen table, the cursor blinking at him accusatorially, just like every other time he'd tried to write before.

He sighed, scrubbed a hand over his face, looked around the room—

And then, suddenly—

He typed.

I wasn't always afraid of the dark.

One sentence became two became a paragraph became a page, unspooling out like silk caught in the breeze.

The sun had risen when he finished, and Bennett looked around the room blearily, blinking, as if he'd just emerged from a dark cave and hadn't seen sunlight in years. He scrolled back through the pages he'd written, skimming, and it didn't hurt to reread. In fact, he didn't feel much of anything at all.

Though he hadn't slept, he didn't feel tired, so he showered and got dressed, and when it was reasonable hour, he invited Peter over for brunch.

"I missed you," Peter said, practically climbing up Bennett to hug him when Bennett opened the door. "It's been weeks."

"Sorry," Bennett said, disentangling his friend. "Start of the semester is always busy."

Peter followed Bennett into the kitchen.

"Where's the enfant terrible? There's a photography exhibit at the Linfield Museum of Modern Art I want take him to."

"He's not here. We… broke up," Bennett said, concentrating very intently on the coffee he was pouring.

Peter was silent, and when Bennett glanced over his shoulder, he saw Peter looking profoundly confused.

"You—what?" Peter said.

"We broke up. Well, he broke up with me."

"Bennett, when did this happen?" Peter said.

"About two weeks ago," Bennett mumbled, not quite meeting Peter's gaze.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Peter demanded. "Bennett—what happened?"

"I—I was… embarrassed," Bennett said. "I didn't want to talk about it."

He handed Peter a mug and Peter perched himself on a chair at the kitchen table.

"You don't have to talk about it if you really don't want to," Peter said gently. "I just hate to think of you… suffering by yourself."

"I wanted to tell you," Bennett said, shrugging. "I had to lick my wounds a bit."

"He broke up with you?" Peter said, frowning.

"Why are you saying it like that?"

"Well," Peter said, getting up and grabbing milk from the refrigerator. "He was so into you… I would have thought, if anything ever happened, it would be you having some sort of I'm a cradle robber crisis and doing something rash."

Bennett glared at his friend, who ignored the nasty look.

"My concerns about our age-related differences are—were—perfectly valid."

"Oh, get over yourself. So what happened?" Peter settled back onto his seat, cupping the mug in both hands and blowing on the surface, sending the steam spiraling out.

"I… arranged to cover some of the costs for his grandmother's care," Bennett said, and he haltingly explained the series of events that had led to Jamie discovering the envelope from Shadybrook. "So… he left. And now he won't return any of my calls or texts."

Peter was quiet for a moment, looking at Bennett with one eyebrow raised.

"What?" Bennett said.

"Honestly, what did you expect was going to happen?"

"You're supposed to be on my side," Bennett snapped.

Peter rolled his eyes.

"Of course he's upset," Peter said. "He's probably completely humiliated—"

"I don't see why it has to be such a thing—I have the money, his family doesn't—"

"Bennett, don't be obtuse," Peter said. "You're brilliant—I shouldn't have to explain the imbalance of power to you."

Bennett pressed his lips together and sighed. Peter was right, as usual. A part of him had really, honestly believed that perhaps there was a way to pull off his stupid idea, that maybe Jamie would just… accept things and not care and Bennett could magically solve all his problems.

"Well, it's too late to do anything now—"

"It's not too late," Peter said. "And are you sure you're broken up? Did he explicitly say things were over?"

"He said, 'I can't do this anymore,' and left. Literally ran out of the house. It seems like things are pretty over." Bennett squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples. His heart ached so acutely it felt like a physical injury, which was something he was somewhat of an expert on now.

"I don't think things are over between you. That's not Jamie's style. He's a lover. He forgives."

"No offense, Peter, but you weren't there, and I know him better than you. I've never seen him angry like that—betrayed—"

"Maybe you do know him better," Peter said, with a sharp edge to his voice. "But I know how he looks at you, and how you look at him. It's not over."

In that moment, hope was far more painful than heartbreak.

"Can we please talk about something else," Bennett asked weakly, and Peter relented.

"Fine," Peter said. He reached over and squeezed Bennett's hand. "I love you, you know that."

Bennett tried to smile, but it came out more as a pained grimace.

"On the bright side," Bennett said, "I've done some writing."

"About—"

"Yes," Bennett said. "Would—would you like to see it?"

"If you feel comfortable showing me, then yes," Peter said.

Bennett retrieved his laptop, pulled up the document, and set it in front of his friend.

"I wrote it at four this morning—"

"Of course you did—"

"And I haven't edited it at all—"

"Bennett, honey, I'm a writer, I know the process. Now let me read."

Even after winning awards—tangible proof that at least a few people thought he was a decent writer—Bennett still got self-conscious showing new work. He felt like a snail without a slug, unprotected, vulnerable, on display.

He went into the other room and pretended to occupy himself on his phone while he waited for Peter to finish.

After a little while, Peter came into the room, sat down quietly on the couch next to him, and wrapped his arms around Bennett, pulling him in for a tight hug.

"I'm so proud of you," Peter said softly. When he pulled away, Bennett saw his face was streaked with tears. "It was beautiful."

Bennett looked away, his face flushing at the praise.

"It's… been a long time coming, I suppose," he mumbled.

"Have you thought about submitting it anywhere? Or did you just write it for you?"

"For me, mainly," Bennett said. He shrugged. "A few years ago, the thought of… anyone knowing about… all of this… made me feel sick. But now… I don't think I'd care." He trailed off. "It felt good to put it on paper. Maybe it would feel good, maybe it would help, to send it off into the world."

When Bennett had started writing, the story that had come out had surprised him. He'd always expected to write about the events themselves, but Bennett had found himself drawn to the aftermath, writing about nightmares and nightlights, about the gulf that opened up between him and his wife, about walking down the street feeling like a bag of shattered glass—mostly whole on the outside, fractured on the inside.

"Thank you for showing me," Peter said.

They sat quietly for a long time in a comfortable companionship borne out of the sheer number of years they'd known one another.

After a while, the doorbell rang, jerking Bennett back to the present. Peter hopped up off the couch to get the door, and Bennett twisted around on the couch to see—

Jamie.

"I was just on my way out," Peter said, squeezing Jamie's shoulder. "Good to see you, love." Peter nodded at Bennett, but Bennett was focused on Jamie, standing nervously in the entryway like he had that first snowy night in October.

"Jamie," Bennett said, standing up. His voice was hoarse.

Jamie looked tired—there were dark circles under his eyes, and he was paler than usual.

"Can… we talk?" Jamie said in a small voice.

"Of course—sit down," Bennett said, jumping into motion like a nervous host at a dinner party. "Do you want—can I get you anything—"

"I'm okay," Jamie said. He sat down at the very edge of the couch, perched on the cushion like he might dart off at any moment. Bennett sat down again.

They spoke at the same time.

"Jamie, I'm so sorry—"

"I shouldn't have—"

They both stopped, and Jamie laughed weakly, his face lightening for a brief moment.

"I owe you an apology," Bennett said, plowing forward. "I was completely out of line and I betrayed your trust and—"

Jamie held up a hand to stop him.

"Look," Jamie said, drawing a deep breath. As he spoke, he looked down at his lap, twisting his hands nervously. "We both know what you did was really fucked up. We're past that. The thing is… fucked up or not, that was also… weirdly, like, the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

"I—"

"Hang on—" Jamie said. "Last night—well, I realized that—not everyone is as lucky as I am, to fall in love with someone that loves them back, that treats them right—even if sometimes it takes him a while to say it."

Jamie glanced up at Bennett with a faint smile.

"But—I'm still mad as hell at you, and embarrassed, but also—fuck, Bennett, I've missed you so much, and I don't—I don't want to not have you, and if you still want me back then—"

Jamie didn't get the chance to finish, because Bennett was on him then, pulling him in and kissing him fiercely.

Jamie pulled back after a moment, dazed and a little breathless, his fists wrapped in the fabric of Bennett's shirt.

"So I guess that's… a yes?"

"Of course it's a yes," Bennett said. "How could you think… that I wouldn't want you back?"

"Well, I did ignore you for two solid weeks—"

"I’m the one that fucked up—"

Jamie laughed then, a real laugh, bright and warm, and the exhaustion on his face was momentarily erased.

"You did fuck up," Jamie said, clambering onto Bennett's lap. "You did, you did, you did—" He punctuated each word with a kiss.

Bennett gripped Jamie's waist, pulling him close.

"But at the end of the day—" Jamie said, sitting back on his heels, warm on Bennett's legs. "I fucking love the hell out of you, even when you're being a dumb asshole."

"I love you too, Jamie," Bennett said. Jamie leaned in close, nuzzling his face into the crook of Bennett's neck, and Bennett wrapped his arms around Jamie. "The past few weeks have been awful—"

"You look like shit," Jamie said, his voice muffled. "Like you haven't been sleeping at all."

"I haven't. Not that I ever sleep, but I was also distressed thinking I'd lost the love of my life—"

Jamie pulled back sharply then, so quickly he banged his head against Bennett's jaw painfully.

"Oof—" Bennett said, rubbing his chin.

"You mean that?" Jamie said brightly.

"Yes, that really hurt—"

"Oh, yeah, sorry—but I meant the love of your life part."

"I—" Bennett stammered.

"You did mean it," Jamie said triumphantly. "I knew you liked me."

Bennett snorted, running his hands up and down Jamie's sides.

"I think we established that very early on last fall."

"It's still nice to hear," said Jamie.

Bennett brought his hand up to Jamie's face, running his thumb along the arch of his cheekbone, and Jamie shut his eyes, leaning into Bennett's touch.

"I'm sorry, Jamie," Bennett said again. "I should have talked with you about it instead of going behind your back—and I hope you'll still consider it—"

"I don't really have any other options," Jamie said with a grim shrug. He glanced away. "It's… not a great feeling. But at the end of the day… I'd rather… have my grandma in a great place—and I'd rather have you—than my pride about something like money."

He looked back at Bennett, and Bennett felt his throat tighten at the beauty of his eyes, flecked with gold and green and amber.

"But I don’t wanna talk about that now," Jamie said, shifting his weight so he was pressing down on Bennett's cock, which had been steadily hardening as Jamie sat on his lap. Bennett inhaled sharply as Jamie braced his hands on Bennett's shoulders, slowly rocking his hips and grinding against Bennett's. Jamie's eyes were lust-dark, his lips slightly parted.

"What do you want to talk about?" Bennett said, sliding his hands up under Jamie's t-shirt, feeling the smooth heat of his skin, the taut and lean muscle beneath.

"I don't want to talk," Jamie said. "I want you to take me into the bedroom and fuck me."

With a growl, Bennett stood up, picking up Jamie, who squeaked in surprise and wrapped his arms and legs around Bennett. Bennett ignored the sharp stab of pain in his leg and carried Jamie into the bedroom, tossing him down onto the mattress. Jamie laughed as he scrambled out of his clothing, and Bennett did the same.

"Fuck," Jamie breathed when they were both naked, looking up with wide eyes at Bennett, who was still standing over him. "God, you're so fucking hot—" Jamie reached down, stroking his cock, the tip already beaded with precum.

And—oh god—Jamie looked beautiful touching himself, and Bennett filed away a mental note that someday, he'd love to simply watch Jamie make himself come like that.

But now, Bennett climbed onto the bed, laying on his back as Jamie eagerly climbed on top of him. Jamie buried his head against Bennett's neck, and Bennett felt the sharp, clean bite of Jamie's teeth against his skin as Jamie ground his cock against Bennett's hip, moaning.

Bennett reached over for the bedside table, fumbling blindly in the drawer until his hand closed around the bottle of lube. He slicked his fingers, reaching down to the cleft of Jamie's ass and teasing his fingers over Jamie's hole.

"Fuck yeah," Jamie said, pressing his hips back towards Bennett's hand. "I need you, Bennett—"

But Bennett didn't press inside yet, teasing Jamie for a little longer, enjoying feeling Jamie struggle to decide between grinding his cock against Bennett's body or his ass back against Bennett's fingers.

"God, come on—" Jamie pleaded. "Don’t make me wait—oh god, yeah—fuck—"

Bennett pressed his finger inside the tight heat of Jamie's body, slicking him, and Jamie's begging dissolved into beautiful little whines as Bennett began working his finger in and out.

Jamie sat back on his heels, bracing himself against Bennett's chest, rocking himself back down against Bennett's hand in rhythm.

"You're so perfect, Jamie," Bennett whispered, sliding a second finger in. Jamie's eyes fluttered shut, his mouth slack with pleasure as he moved with Bennett.

"Bennett—" he gasped, shuddering in pleasure as Bennett pushed in further and crooked his fingers. "Fuck me—please—"

Bennett slid his fingers out and reached for the bedside table again, but Jamie grabbed his wrist.

"Wait—" Jamie said, a sly little smile playing on the corners of his mouth. "If you're, like, the love of my life… maybe we… don't need condoms? I haven't been with anyone else since I was tested."

Bennett thought back quickly.

"I—haven't either. Are you sure?" Bennett said, his breath catching in his throat at the thought of being inside Jamie, hot and slick with nothing between them.

"Hell yes I'm sure," Jamie said. He reached down for the lube and slicked his hand before grabbing Bennett's cock, stroking him slowly. "I've jerked off so many times thinking about you coming inside me, filling me up—"

"Jamie," Bennett growled, thrusting up into Jamie's grip. "Stop talking and get on my cock."

Jamie's laugh was low and throaty, and Bennett watched hungrily as Jamie steadied Bennett's cock, reaching back to line himself up before slowly sinking down onto him.

"Oh god—" Bennett cried out, feeling his cock slide into Jamie, nothing between them. "Fuck—you're so good—"

Jamie's normal babbling stream of dirty talk had dissolved, and he shut his eyes as he sank down all the way, their hips meeting. They were still for a moment, their harsh breath mingling in the quiet of the house.

Jamie began to move, leaning back slightly and he gasped as the angle changed.

"That's it, darling," Bennett said, sliding his hands up Jamie's thighs and over his torso, hungry to touch every inch of skin he could reach. "Use my cock. Make yourself feel good."

Jamie whimpered, moving faster now, and Bennett guided Jamie's hand to his own cock. Jamie began to stroke himself, and Bennett dug his fingers into Jamie's hips, thrusting up to meet him.

"Perfect—" Bennett gasped.

When Jamie came, clenching tight around Bennett's cock, it pushed Bennett over the edge, and he cried out Jamie's name as he came inside him, hard enough to white out every other sense.

Afterwards, Jamie slumped down on top, Bennett still inside of him. He sniffled, smiling.

"Why are you—" Bennett started to ask, but Jamie cut him off.

"Because the planets are aligned? Because I had cereal for breakfast? Because it's Tuesday?"

"It's Saturday," Bennett said with a smile, bring his hand up to Jamie's cheek and wiping away his tears.

"I'm crying because… I love you, and I feel really close to you, and it was really intense and perfect to feel you come—"

"I love you too," Bennett said softly, pulling Jamie in for a kiss. "And… thank you."

"Thank you for what?"

"Being so perfect," Bennett said. "And so patient with me."

Jamie's eyes were soft and warm and full of kindness as he looked down at Bennett.

"I could say the same to you," Jamie said, laying back down on top of Bennett.

And for the first time, Bennett let himself believe Jamie's praise.