Archive of Our Own ^beta

Long ago in the English countryside, there was a hill. On that hill was a house, though most who saw it would consider it akin to a castle. This is because most of the people in the village had never truly seen a castle, so they had no way of distinguishing a rather extravagant manor from a palace where royalty would live. No, on the hill was a house, nothing more.

Inside that house lived a boy. Two, really, and that didn’t account for the boys among the dozens of servants, but despite not being the only boy living there, he did, indeed, still live there. The boy in question was quiet, never speaking much, especially not to his mother, the woman who owned the manor. She wasn’t his real mother, as she’d adopted him at the age of five, and his brother a few years earlier at two. He referred to her as mother as his real parents had passed away, though there was little affection in her relationship with either of her sons. As the boy grew older and learned about heirs, inheritance, and the like, he developed a growing suspicion that she’d had more motive than simply the goodness of her heart.

Outside of the house there was another boy. This one had never met the woman who owned the house, and probably never would. He worked in the gardens, tending—a bit clumsily, the boy in the house noticed—to the roses. So, the boy in the house began to call him Rose, as he felt too afraid to go learn his actual name. Throughout his pre-teen years, he would watch Rose every day, even when he was meant to be studying.

However, unfortunately, his brother had eventually caught him in the act.

“Jon, you should go talk to him.” His brother had encouraged. His brother was a couple years older, and throughout his childhood, Jon had always felt a sense that he had a good deal more figured out than he did. As he got older though, he realised that this was, in fact, not the case. Jon had been twelve at the time, his brother fourteen, and the older of the two had recently begun taking more risks and breaking many of the rules their mother had set in place.

“Mother said we’re not supposed to talk to the servants.” Jon replied. “She said it’s not proper for someone of our status to speak to those below us, unless we’re giving orders.”

His brother groaned. “God, you sound just like her.”

“She did raise me,” Jon pointed out.

“Well, she raised you to be a bit of an idiot.” His brother sighed. “I get along just fine with Michael, and he hasn’t…I don’t know, pulled me through some secret door and never let me out. Whatever the woman’s worried will happen, it isn’t going to happen.”

Jon shrugged and attempted a smile. “Maybe she’s just trying to keep us separate from them so we don’t start trying to wash our own dishes.”

“See? You get it.” His brother returned his grin. “So, are you going to go talk to him?”

Jon shuffled uncomfortably. “I don’t know, Gerry. I don’t even know his name, what if I accidentally call him—” he cut himself off, not wanting to tell his brother about his made-up name for the boy.

“Call him what?” Gerry narrowed his eyes playfully.

“I call him Rose. In my head.” Jon muttered, bringing his knees up to his chest as he tried to sink a bit further into the couch.

“ Rose?” Gerry let out an incredulous laugh. “Oh, now you have to approach him and call him that. God, that’s funny. Do you fancy him that much?”

“He works with the roses!” Jon protested. “It makes sense!”

“You have what is essentially a pet name for him,”

“It’s a placeholder name,” Jon corrected. “Until I know his real one.”

“And you’d learn his real one,” Gerry pointed out, “If you went to go talk to him.”

Jon sighed. His brother was right, though he’d never say it aloud. “You’re only doing this for laughs,” he protested as he slowly got up from the couch. “Fine, fine. I’ll…I’ll go tomorrow.”

“Why not today?” Gerry questioned.

“I have studying to do.” And while this was technically true, he wasn’t planning to use the time for it. Or, at least, not all of the time.

Once his brother left, he waited a bit, before quietly making his way to the library.

He felt incredibly lucky to have a library in his own house. One of the things he’d always loved about his life since his adoption was, alongside a rather comfortable life, access to this many books, which were all surely somewhat expensive. There was something in there for just about any subject—and, thankfully, that included the one Jon needed to read up on.

The next day he’d woken up at one of the library desks, face-first in Caring for and Cultivating Flowers: A Guide. He blinked once, then sat up immediately, realising he’d fallen asleep reading again. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence—if he was honest, he woke up with a book more often than he did in his own bed. He’d be reading late into the night, time slipping away from him as he focused, and the next thing he knew he’d be awake with the smell of old pages right next to his nose.

He adjusted his glasses, which had nearly slipped off in his sleep, and hurriedly put the book away before heading to his room. He’d probably need a change of clothes if he’d been in these ones all night. And he certainly needed to comb his hair a bit.

So the boy went that morning down the stairs, slipping past the breakfast hall and making sure he’d retained everything he’d learned last night. He’d need a conversation topic if he was to speak to Rose, and what would be a better topic than, well, roses?

It took him a while to navigate the gardens. He didn’t go there often, favouring the library almost any day. But he knew the roses were right outside his window, so all he needed to do was find where his room was in relation to the rest of the garden.

Eventually after a few too many run-ins with the daisy gardener, an older girl he mentally called “Daisy”, he eventually found the roses, and the boy tending to them. He cleared his throat, and Rose turned his head, jumping a bit as he did.

“Hello,” Jon began. “I noticed you…like roses.” He could practically hear his brother’s voice in his ear, teasing him mercilessly. You really don’t know how to begin a conversation, do you?

I do know how! Jon mentally retorted, before turning his attention back to the gardener boy, who seemed to be caught off guard.

“I…I guess?” He stammered. He turned around fully, and Jon noticed they were around the same age, though Rose was quite a bit taller than him. “I sort of just work with them.”

“Ah.” Jon tried to think of something to say. After a bit, he settled on “did you know that a rose is the national flower of England?”

The boy blinked. “I did not know that.” He said. “Um…sorry, did I do something wrong? I know you’re not really…I mean, uh…you're generally only supposed to talk to me if I’ve…messed up somehow?”

“No, you didn’t, I…um…” Jon rushed to think of an answer, before he noticed the rose bushes. “You’re supposed to prune more towards the centre,” he said, walking towards the bush and examining it closely. “It allows for more light and air. And how often have you been watering them?” He turned towards Rose, who just stared, confused.

“I…I don’t know, um…” He stammered. “Every day? Not too deeply, though.”

Jon shook his head. “That works, but it isn’t as efficient. It’s better to water them deeply around two times a week. More if they’re looking a bit dry.”

The boy turned his gaze towards his feet. “Right. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Jon told him, confused. “I’m just giving you advice. I mean, what are you, twelve?”

“Thirteen,” The boy murmured, but Jon continued.

“Surely you’ve only been tending to the roses for a few months now. No doubt after the last gardener passed away. You haven’t had much to teach you about roses, so I thought I would so that you could do it properly.”

Rose looked confused at this. “You’re one of Gertrude’s sons, though.” He said.

Jon wasn’t sure where he was going with this. “Basically, yes.”

“You don’t need to be spending time on gardening,” Martin said. “Don’t you have reading to do, or, I don’t know…knight…training…?”

Jon actually nearly laughed at this. “Rose, I hope you don’t actually think I could fight with my size. Besides, I don’t think Mother would want me going off to battle.”

The boy paused. “ Rose?”

Jon felt his stomach drop. Oh, no. “I’m—sorry, I just—you work with the roses, and it, I don’t know–”

“Made you think my name was Rose?” The boy was laughing now, making Jon want to just disappear like the ghosts he’d read about in stories.

“That’s not it, I just…I don’t know your name,” Jon admitted.

The boy was no longer laughing, but he was still smiling. “Well, all you had to do was ask. My name’s Martin. Martin Blackwood.”

“I’m Jon,” Jon told him in turn, holding out his hand like his mother had told him to do.

Ros— Martin took it carefully, shaking it once. “I…actually knew that. Well, I knew you were called ‘Jonathan’, but…” he trailed off.

Jon nodded. “Right, of…of course.” He cleared his throat. “So…I should…probably be going. Studying, as you said.”

“Right,” Martin agreed. “Well, I’ll…I probably won’t see you later, you’re still not really supposed to—”

“I’d like to see you again.” Jon interrupted quickly. “Well…at some point, I guess I will. I can come back here. If you want. I mean…I don’t suppose you’d want to spend your afternoons with me?”

Martin smiled, a bit of a pink flush on his cheeks. “I’d like that,” he admitted.

“Alright,” Jon nodded once, before turning around and beginning his walk back out of the garden.

“ Rose, Jon, really?” He heard as he began to leave.

“Shut up, Martin,” he replied, though he was smiling.

Suddenly, the boy in the house on the hill had more to his life than studying and reading. He’d always had his brother, and they’d been close, but it felt nice to have a friend who wouldn’t tease him the way Gerry did. While Gerry had never fully gotten over the “Rose” incident, Martin had let it go quickly, insisting that it wasn’t a problem and that it was sort of sweet that Jon wanted to call him something even if he didn’t know his real name. He even added that maybe he’d call Jon “Hyacinth”, but one horrified look from Jon made Martin quickly confirm that he’d been joking.

Unfortunately, Jon had already known that Martin did not tend to the roses at the house every day, always taking weekends off. So instead, Jon passed some of the time he wasn’t there by talking to the daisy gardener, whose name, he was amused to find out, was actually Daisy.

Daisy was a couple years older than Jon, possibly closer to Gerry’s age, but she didn’t seem to mind talking to him. Once the two had begun to converse a bit, Jon had made sure to read up on daisies, too, so that they had something to talk about. He was worried at first that she’d find his rambling about the flowers to be annoying, but she actually didn’t seem to mind it too much. He learned that her name was actually Alice, but that everyone called her Daisy. She told him it came from a scar she had, though when he asked to see it, she explained that it was on her back and that it would be incredibly indecent, so Jon took her word for it.

She’d noticed his near–daily meet-ups with Martin, so they talked about him sometimes. Jon had a lot to say about the boy, and Daisy listened, letting out a soft chuckle every once in a while. When Jon inquired about her apparent amusement, she simply smiled and told him she was glad he’d found someone like Martin. And, at the time, he was sure he didn’t know what she meant.

It wasn’t until almost a year later that he did. He’d spent the day in the garden, reading a book about northern birds. The two had spent most of their time in silence, which they found rather comfortable, though it was often broken by Jon’s excitedly telling Martin about a new fact he’d learned. Martin seemed content to listen, smiling softly every time he saw Jon’s eyes light up—never meeting them, as Jon had admitted he wasn’t very comfortable with eye contact—and always asking questions, which Jon was always incredibly excited to answer.

Martin had left that evening, his work for the day done, leaving Jon to return to his room and continue reading. He’d hardly gotten a chance, though, as he’d run into Gerry and, to his surprise, Michael, sitting by the peonies.

“Hey, Jon,” Gerry greeted him, while Michael kept to a simple “Hello.”

“Hi,” Jon replied. “I was just spending time with Martin.”

Gerry grinned. “Don’t you mean Rose?”

Jon knew his brother wasn’t being malicious, but he still turned his gaze to the ground, his face burning with embarrassment. “His name is Martin. ”

“I know, I know,” Gerry patted the ground next to him. “Come sit with us?”

Jon hesitated, then took his place next to his brother, glancing up at the rose-streaked evening sky.

“Martin’s a nice boy,” Michael told him. “I’ve run into him a few times on my way out from the kitchens. I’ve asked him about his day, and he keeps telling me about this mysterious friend he’s made.” He looked over at Jon with a smile. “He seems to like you.”

For some reason, Jon felt his face warm a bit. “Of course he does,” He said matter-of-factly. “We’re friends.”

Michael and Gerry gave each other a look that Jon couldn’t read, so he resolved to pretend he never saw it in the first place.

“In other news, our mother’s been trying to find a future wife for me.” Gerry muttered.

“A what?” Jon looked at him. “You’re fifteen!”

“Yup,” Gerry nodded, popping the ‘p’. He opened his mouth to speak, grimaced, then sighed and shook his head. “Honestly, by the time I’m old enough for her to marry me off, I might just run away with Michael.” He joked.

Michael grinned. “What, like we agreed to do as little kids?”

“ Exactly like we agreed to do as kids,” Gerry agreed. He looked up at the sky. “Worst case scenario, I just wait ‘till she’s gone and then do what she did and adopt an heir to continue the bloodline. Worked out pretty well with us, didn’t it?”

“You’ve never thought about getting married?” Jon asked.

“Oh, sure, plenty of times,” Gerry replied. He glanced at Michael, a smile Jon couldn’t decipher the meaning of on his face. “Just not to some random girl for the sake of money.” He turned back to Jon. “You can understand that, right?”

Jon hesitated. “I guess so? I haven’t ever really thought about it.” He nodded. “Yes, I think…I think if I was going to marry someone, I would want it to be someone I loved.”

“Just some advice to consider, Gerry,” Michael teased.

Gerry playfully shoved Michael. “You know I couldn’t even try to marry down while my mother’s alive to say anything about it.”

Jon narrowed his eyes. “Wait, marry down? There isn’t someone…” he paused, eyes widening as he put the pieces together. “Oh. Oh. You two…” Michael flushed a bit and looked away with a small smile, though Gerry just laughed a bit.

“Finally figured it out, did you?” He asked Jon, who was still gaping at them.

“I thought…but he…you’re not even supposed to be talking to him, and you’ve fallen in love with him?” Jon stammered.

“It isn’t like that’s stopped you .” Gerry replied casually.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jon asked.

Michael’s eyes shone with amusement. “I think he’s talking about Martin.”

If Jon’s head was not already reeling, it certainly was now. “I—what? Martin? I mean, he’s—he’s nice, of course, but I never—we’re not…” He trailed off, face warming and mind trying to process too many things at once. “I’m going to go.” He stood up quickly, walking quickly back to his room.

That was ridiculous. Jon hadn’t developed a crush, and certainly not on Martin. He was just the boy—he was a boy, for one—who tended to the roses. Merely a good friend of Jon’s. Jon was friends with Daisy. He was even sort of friends with Michael, but that was more because he was close to Gerry. Gerry, who had been friends with Michael, who now was in love with Michael, and, damn it , who was to say the same couldn’t happen to Jon?

Martin was nice, of course. With the way he always listened to Jon when he talked about birds or plants or whatever had captivated his interest. The way he’d always listen when Jon was complaining about his mother, or admitting his fears of being watched. And he was, Jon could acknowledge, rather pretty. With his sky-blue eyes that he never forced Jon to meet, or his strawberry-blonde hair that caught in the late afternoon sun just the right way, or—

Oh. Oh, no.

Talking to people had never come easily to Jon. The world always seemed to have a set of unspoken rules that everyone but him knew, and it made it incredibly difficult to communicate with others, even those who understood that he hadn’t ever been informed of those rules. Speak with a calm tone when you’re angry, but don’t be monotone and clipped. Pretend you’re comfortable, even when you aren’t. Be affectionate, even when you have no reason to be, but don’t come off as needy or creepy. Don’t cover your ears or shut your eyes, even when the talking is too loud or the sun is too bright. Say exactly what you mean, unless you’re in a situation where you shouldn’t. Others didn’t understand how he felt, how he lived. So it was hard to talk to them, even if they were kind to him.

Martin had been one of the first people who it’d been easier to converse with. Jon didn’t think Martin was exactly like him—he seemed to understand the world’s unspoken rules, though didn’t seem to care much for them. But he did seem to understand what it was like to have nobody get how you felt, not really.

But just because Martin was easier to communicate with didn’t mean Jon knew what to say while sitting in the rose garden the next day, under a tree while Martin carefully watered the roses’ soil. Jon had brought a book about rocks, but he couldn’t manage to focus on it, instead watching his friend more closely than he had before. After certain…revelations…had occurred, Jon had no idea how he was supposed to face Martin without being a blushing, stuttering mess. He was good at hiding his feelings—he’d always had to, when food made him gag or when noise made him cry—but it was different around Martin. The mask that he’d built for himself was falling apart around the boy, and Jon was getting worse at hiding his feelings from him.

However, thankfully, he hadn’t seemed to take notice of Jon’s sudden change in demeanour—or if he had, he’d not said anything about it. He had noticed, however, that Jon hadn’t told him about his book in a while.

“You’re quiet today,” Martin commented. It wasn’t accusatory, no deeper meaning behind it, just a simple observation.

“Sorry,” Jon shook his head. “I’ve been…thinking.”

“It’s alright. About what?” Martin inquired.

You. He wanted to say. How I think I might be incredibly infatuated with you and I don’t know how to handle it because we’re both boys and I’m not even supposed to talk to you, but I would really like it if you felt the same way. But he didn’t, instead settling on “My brother and I had a strange conversation.” It wasn’t a lie. Just not the whole truth.

“Oh, no,” Martin began with a smile. “Was he giving you that ridiculous talk about girls?”

“...Not exactly,” Jon muttered, putting his book aside and bringing his knees to his chest. “We already had that one when I was ten after I kissed a girl named Georgie.” He added, then sighed. “No, Mother’s trying to find a woman to marry him off to.” He paused. “He already loves…someone…but he can’t marry them when he’s old enough. Well, not while our mother is around to say anything about it. And he started asking me about…any romantic developments I may have had.”

“Oh.” Martin glanced away, and Jon wondered if he imagined the pink flush that had crept into his face. “Are there? Any…developments with anyone?”

Yes. There’s you. “No.”

“Oh.” Martin nodded. “That’s…that’s probably for the best. I mean, what are you, thirteen now?”

“Something like that,” Jon nodded. “We don’t know my real birthday, so…we sort of made one up.” He laughed nervously. “I don’t, um…I don’t really know much about myself that I didn’t learn after my adoption.”

Martin sat down beside him. “Well…when is your birthday? The one you made up?”

“July thirteenth.” Jon told him. “Do you know yours?”

“August fifteenth.” Martin replied. “Hey—July thirteenth. That’s pretty soon, isn’t it?”

“Somewhat,” Jon agreed.

“Then we’ll both be fourteen,” Martin said. “For a month, anyway.”

Jon smiled. “Is it any different? Being fourteen?”

“Nah,” Martin shook his head. “I barely even noticed the difference. Still don’t, really. I dunno, though. Maybe it’ll be different for you? You might have more responsibilities and stuff.” He shrugged.

“I don’t know.” Jon admitted.”Probably just more studying, if Gerry is anything to go by.”

“Well, don’t forget to make time for me,” Martin teased. “I still need to see you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Jon promised, and he meant it.

“Remember when I told you that my mother was trying to find a wife for Gerry?”

“Yeah?”

“Well…now that I’m fifteen, she’s been trying to find one for me, too.”

Martin sat up. “What?”

Jon sat up as well, letting out a sigh of relief as the prickly sensation of the grass left his back. “I think she really wants us to continue the bloodline, but it isn’t as if she ever got married, and it worked out just fine for her.”

Martin didn’t respond for a while. “What do you want?” He asked after a bit.

Jon hesitated. His feelings towards Martin hadn’t changed in the year and a half since he’d first discovered them. If anything, it had grown stronger, to the slight frustration of Jon, who would really rather not have spent his time pining after a boy who he could never have. Part of him wished to tell Martin that Jon did want to get married someday—but not to a girl from another wealthy family, but to Martin . He didn’t even know if he’d be allowed to—but he wanted to try.

But he didn’t say any of that. Instead, he said “I think I want to keep coming out here to the rose garden for the rest of my life.”

Martin smiled. “What, instead of getting married, you just want to be with me?”

Jon felt his face flush, and he wondered if Martin’s equally red face was due to embarrassment or something else. Probably the former. “Well, I…” he trailed off.

“Sorry, sorry, that came out wrong.” Martin interrupted hurriedly. “I just meant…it’d be nice to stay here. Two, uh, two friends in this rose garden on the hill.”

The best of friends, Jon thought bitterly, though the frustration was softened when he saw Martin smile at him. “I certainly hope we do,” Jon replied. “If you stopped coming here, I swear I’d run straight into the forest and never come back.”

“Never?” Martin asked.

“Gerry wants to run away with Michael,” Jon pointed out. “I’m sure they would take me if I asked.”

“And what about Gertrude?”

Jon shifted uncomfortably. “She’s nice, and she loves us in her own way. But I don’t really think she’s the thing keeping me here.”

“And I am?” Martin asked softly.

“You and my brother.” Jon replied, then added jokingly, “and maybe Michael and Daisy.”

Martin shoved him playfully. “You like me, admit it,”

“I just did!” Jon laughed, then added a bit more seriously, “I’m not lying, Martin, the surest I’ve ever felt of myself is when you’re on my mind. When I’m with you.”

Martin smiled softly. “Jon, that’s—”

“Jonathan,” A cold voice startled the two from their teasing moment.

Jon looked up, and his face, which had been tinted with a bright red before, went pale with panic. His mother stood in front of him, a sharp glare adorning her face. Jon stood up hurriedly, wiping the dirt off of his pants. He was in deep trouble now.

“I knew you’d been going to the gardens rather frequently in the past few years,” she began, “But I thought you knew that you are not to talk to the servants there unless you are giving orders.”

Jon nodded, eyes not meeting her face.

His mother grimaced further. “Look me in the eye, Jonathan,” she told him, and he complied, feeling the alarms going off in his head. Something about eye contact always overwhelmed him, and he could barely hear what his mother was saying, too occupied with the things in his head.

“He doesn’t like making eye contact.” A quiet voice beside Jon said.

His mother turned toward Martin. “Excuse me?”

“He doesn’t like making eye contact,” Martin repeated, more confidently now.

“It would benefit you to remember who you’re talking to,” the older woman said slowly, “And what your place is.”

“He was only trying to help me!” Jon protested.

“By being insubordinate.” His mother replied. “Come along, Jonathan.”

Jon waved to Martin, a small and sad goodbye, before his mother fixed him with another harsh glare and he lowered his hand. He could have sworn Martin returned it, though, as he turned away.

“You know the rules, Jonathan,” his mother said as she sat across from him, her gaze no longer a grimace but a cold, withering stare. “I would, perhaps, expect this kind of behaviour from Gerard. But certainly not from you.”

Jon didn’t have it in him to reply, so he merely nodded.

“You’re aware that we have a reputation to uphold, and we cannot tarnish it by frolicking about with servants.” Her voice kept an even tone, and if Jon hadn’t known her better, he would have thought she was perfectly calm about the situation.

“You’re fifteen years old,” She continued, “Old enough to be making better decisions.” She stood up. “I can’t stop you from going to the gardens again—but I can fire the boy.” She began to walk away, adding, “Just something to think about.”

Jon had cried for over an hour that night, only stopping after Gerry had come in to comfort him.

“That was bloody messed up of her,” His brother had spat, staring out the window while Jon lay curled up on his bed. “You didn’t deserve that. You and Martin aren’t hurting anyone! The world isn’t going to collapse if our ‘ reputation is tarnished’ .”

Jon sniffed, trying to blink back the last of the tears. “You and I know that,” he pointed out, “but she doesn’t.”

“Well, maybe she should!” Gerry shouted out the window. Jon flinched, but his brother didn’t seem to notice. “God, this is…” He trailed off.

“Do you and Michael really want to run away?” Jon asked quietly.

Gerry turned towards him. “Jon, we…” He sighed. “I don’t know. Michael’s got a mother, siblings. I have you. We talked about it when we were kids, sure, but we didn’t realise how much we’d be leaving behind back then.”

“If you do,” Jon began, “would you take me?”

Gerry paused. “I…I guess, I…we haven’t really talked about it beyond just playful teasing, reminiscing about the past and all that.”

“Oh.” Jon said simply, before adding, “I wish I could run away with Martin.”

Gerry turned back to the window. “I wish you didn’t have a reason to.”

The mail came the next day. Normally, Jon didn’t notice when that happened. Everything consisted of letters for his mother that he didn’t concern himself with, as even if he had reason to, he found them boring with their repetitive words about money and taxes.

But today, the mail came with a letter for Jon.

His mother had been incredibly confused, especially as she had never heard of any “Sasha James”, but the letter looked official enough that she’d allowed Jon to open it.

So, once he’d gotten a moment alone, he’d curiously torn open the envelope and began to read.

Jon,

This is Martin. This letter is actually being sent from my friend, Tim. He knows how to write and has a friend who agreed to help us, and he owes me a favour. He says to tell you that he’d rather you keep in mind that he’s helping me because he’s a good friend and wishes to see me reunited with—Christ, Tim, don’t call him that! No, stop writing

There was a bit of ink smeared there.

Anyway, I know you aren’t allowed to see me in person after your mother told you not to. So I thought I would write to you. Well, Tim’s the one writing to you. He has a friend named Sasha whose family he used to work for. Her parents are much less opinionated on who should talk to who than your mother is, so he’s been allowed to write to her.

I don’t want to stop being friends with you, but I understand if you can’t. Or don’t want to.

Sorry, hello, this is Tim here. Please keep being friends with Martin. He’s quite nice, but I’m sure you already know that. In fact, he really—

More ink smears.

Alright, this is Martin again. Or Tim writing for Martin. Whatever. You said something once about going to the forest, and I wanted to know if maybe you could meet me there. It would be at night so nobody would see us. It’s alright if not. I understand.

Hoping to see you,

Martin

Jon felt his face break into a smile, and immediately grabbed paper and a quill to write his reply.

Martin,

I cannot tell you how much I already miss walking to the garden and meeting you. Yes, I would love to continue our time together in the forest. Outside the house’s gates is a patch of trees, and there is a path leading into it. If you follow it, it will lead to an old, abandoned cabin. Gerry and I played there often as children. I understand that your parents may not let you, but…I don’t suppose you’d want to break a rule or two?

I will wait there on Saturday evening, hopefully the day this letter is delivered.

I hope to see you there,

Jon

Once the letter was finished, Jon tore through the halls and hurried down the stairs to the front door. Unfortunately, he wasn’t alone.

“Jonathan,” His mother regarded him, “Do you have somewhere to be?”

“Sending my reply to Miss James,” Jon replied hurriedly. “I believe she made a mistake in addressing it. Or, perhaps, she mistook me for another Jonathan she knew when finding out where to send the letter. Regardless, she seemed to be kind, and I asked that perhaps we write to each other more. Since I’ve…” He trailed off, before adding. “I’ve had a lack of…acquaintances. Recently.”

His mother, thankfully, seemed to be satisfied with his lie. “Alright. Do be quick, though.”

Jon nodded, hurrying out the door as soon as he was given the chance.

Jon knew his mother would chastise him for the way he sprinted into town, but he hardly could bring himself to care. He needed to get this letter to Martin.

When he entered the post office, a young boy about his age was standing at the counter. He was tapping a pen absentmindedly, staring off at god knew what, until Jon cleared his throat and approached the counter.

“Are you Tim?” He asked.

The boy nodded. “I take it you’re Jon?”

“Yes,” Jon told him. “I have a letter for Martin. Can you give it to him?”

Tim took the letter, observing Jon as he did. “Heard what happened with your mom. She seems scary as hell.”

Jon didn’t reply, not wanting to speak ill of his mother but not wanting to lie, either.

“But, hey,” Tim continued, “it’s pretty cool of you that you’re still trying with Martin. He really likes you, y’know.”

“I’d hope so,” Jon told him, trying not to feel flustered at the idea that Tim could be insinuating anything but the fact that Martin liked him a normal, healthy amount for a boy to like his friend. “He’s sort of my only friend, aside from my brother and another gardener who I’m not as close with.”

Tim narrowed his eyes. “Right. And that’s it? You’re friends?”

“ Yes. ” Jon told him. “Why does everyone always think we’re…not?” He finished awkwardly.

“Just the way Martin talked about you…” Tim trailed off. “Nevermind. Anyway, I’ll give it to him.”

“Thank you,” Jon said, before adding, “and give my thanks to Sasha.”

“I will, though she’ll probably say not to worry about it.” Tim shrugged. “We had a bet going, but since her parents wouldn’t give her any money to spare, she owes me a favour. And, well, I owe Martin after I accidentally got him in trouble with his mum. That woman’s evil incarnate.” Tim shivered a bit.

Jon paused. “What do you mean?”

“Martin’s mum’s awful.” Tim repeated. “Ever since his dad left. I mean, I know everyone’s got difficult parents, but she hates him. When we were kids he sometimes talked about running away to live with me. Then he got the job at your place, and, well, didn’t see her as much after that. My guess is it’s more tolerable when he’s only around her in the evenings or on the weekends.” He paused, and a small smile grew on his face. “But he still spends plenty of time with me.”

Jon blinked. “I didn’t know.” He said simply.

“He doesn’t like to talk about it much.” Tim explained.

“Right.” Jon nodded. “Well…thank you for delivering the letter. And for telling me.”

“It’s no problem,” Tim replied. “And, Jon? Don’t…tell him I told you. About his mum. I think he wants to tell you himself, if he ever does.”

Jon nodded again, leaving without another word.

The forest was dark, but Jon had brought a lantern. It was cold as well, but Jon had brought a cloak and he’d never really had much trouble with the cold either way.

Jon remembered this path well. He and Gerry had travelled it countless times as children—and as the two got older, occasionally with Michael. Jon hadn’t gone on most of the Michael trips, and looking back, that may have been for the best.

As he walked closer to the cabin, he couldn’t help but feel worried. What if Martin hadn’t gotten his letter? What if he couldn’t find the cabin? What if his mother kept him inside? What if, what if, what if.

He remembered what Gerry had told him about ‘what ifs’ so long ago. “There’s about a hundred things in the world that could happen, Jon. If you spent all your time worrying about them, it’d be like when your head is trying to hear everything at once. You’d never get anything done, and you’d just be really tired.” Jon was playing his brother’s words on repeat now, afraid that if he stopped his mind might begin going down some rather unpleasant rabbit holes.

The cabin was empty when Jon entered. His lantern illuminated the dust sent flying from when he opened the door, but aside from that the house was still. It was a cosy place—abandoned, and clearly beginning to succumb to mother nature’s influence, but cosy nonetheless—and Jon had many a fond memory of the place. From pretending they were knights until they learned that could be their reality someday, to talking about the futures they wanted, this had been the place where he and his brother had spent the most time together, and was probably the cause of the relationship they had now.

As he stood there, admiring the little place, he heard the door creak behind him. There was Martin, no doubt cold due to only wearing a shirt and pants as always, without a lantern or other light source. Jon wondered if the journey had been as leisurely for Martin as it had been for him. Probably not.

“Hello,” Jon said somewhat stupidly, not sure how else to convey how he felt standing there in front of Martin. It had only been a few days, hadn’t it?

“Hi,” Martin replied. The two stood there for a moment, before Jon stepped forward and pulled Martin into a tight embrace. Normally, Jon wasn’t one for physical contact, but he knew Martin well, and he trusted him to respect his boundaries, so the hug felt comfortable as opposed to overwhelming.

Well, he supposed it was a bit overwhelming in a sense, because Martin, who he loved, was here, even when the two had been told they couldn’t be near each other, especially not like this.

“I take it you got my letter?” Jon asked as Martin pulled away to face him.

Martin nodded. “Thank god for Tim.” He said, a bit of a laugh in his words. “You should have seen him when he gave it to me, he kept—” he paused and shook his head. “Nevermind. I’m just glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad you’re here, too,” Jon replied. After a moment, he asked, “So…how have you been?”

Martin shrugged. “It’s sort of weird. Going to your house and not seeing you,” he admitted.

“It’s strange seeing you out the window and not going to talk to you,” Jon said. “It’s like I’m twelve again, calling you Rose but being too afraid to actually introduce myself.” He sighed. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if I hadn’t.”

“We wouldn’t have met at all if you hadn’t.” Martin pointed out.

“Hm, true,” Jon agreed, a small grin on his face as he thought about how far he and Martin had come from those days just a few years ago.

The two continued like that for a while, catching up on the events or lack thereof of the past days. Jon gave Martin a brief tour of the cabin, joking that maybe if he ever really did run away to the forest, he’d go there. Martin made clear his approval of that plan, as then “I’d know how to find you, and we could still see each other.” Jon resisted the urge to tell him he’d just want Martin to come with him.

When the two began to feel tired, they agreed that they should maybe both leave for the night, neither wanting to collapse halfway to their respective homes. And so they said their goodbyes, parting with another tight hug that could have gone on anywhere from half a minute to half an hour—it felt so long and all too short to Jon.

Jon had hoped to return to a silent and, save for his family asleep, empty house. This was, unfortunately, not the case.

“Jonathan,” his mother greeted him coldly as he stepped through the door, and oh, why hadn’t he climbed through a window instead, he wondered? “Do you have any idea how late it is?”

Jon discreetly flicked his wrist out of anxiety. “Past midnight?” He asked quietly.

“Long past.” His mother replied. “Are you going to give me an explanation, or am I to assume you were simply taking an evening stroll?”

“I was meeting miss James,” Jon blurted before he could stop himself.

His mother did not seem to have expected this answer. She tilted her head, giving him a look he couldn’t decipher. “If you wanted to meet her in person, you needed only ask. I would have arranged a meeting with her parents.”

Jon nodded. “Y-yes. Right. Of course.” He stammered.

“I am curious to meet this Sasha of yours,” his mother continued, and Jon felt his stomach drop. “I think I ought to send a letter to her parents inviting them over. Perhaps it won’t be as difficult as I thought to find you a bride, after all.”

“You told her you were meeting Sasha?” Tim asked, incredulous.

“What was I supposed to tell her?” Jon shot back. “That I was meeting Martin? Or perhaps going out alone for a midnight walk? The first would get us both in trouble, and she’d never believe the second!”

“Well, this isn’t exactly going to go well, either!” Tim pointed out. “Your mum’s going to force you to marry Sasha!”

“I know that!” Jon sighed, burying his face in his hands. “The idea of running away with Martin sounds more and more enticing by the minute.”
Tim glanced at Jon curiously. “You’d rather run away with Martin than get married?” He asked.

“Yes, I just—” Jon paused, catching Tim’s meaning. “Oh. I didn’t mean—we aren’t—”

“I knew it!” Tim interrupted. “You’re in love with Martin!”

“I never said—”

“You heard that you might have to get married, and your first thought was how you want to run away with him.” Tim said. “Not to mention your face is incredibly red right now.”

Jon sighed. “Alright,” he gave in. “Yes, I am. But I don’t know what to do about it. It’s not like he—”

“ Tim! ”

Jon turned around to see a familiar face standing in the doorway, breathing heavily as though he’d just been running.

“Speak of the devil,” Tim said with a grin aimed at Jon. “What do you need, Martin?”

Martin’s eyes widened as he saw who else stood there. “Jon?” He let out a sigh of relief. “Perfect, alright. So my mum, she caught me sneaking back inside, and, uh, I sort of told her I was meeting a girl.”

“You two are far too similar,” Tim chuckled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Martin asked.

“Oh, just that Jon told his mother he was meeting Sasha.”

“And now she’s planning to invite the James family over for dinner,” Jon added. “She’s been trying to find a wife to marry me to, and now…”

Martin paused, putting everything together in his head. “So, she—so you’re going to have to— oh.”

“You know I don’t want to marry her,” Jon assured him.

“Does he know that?” Tim chimed in, and Jon glared at him.

“Maybe,” Jon continued, “We could try to convince my mother—and Sasha’s parents—that she and I aren’t a good match. Or, at the very least, if they do decide to arrange a marriage, convince them to postpone the wedding.”

“Postpone until what?” Martin asked.

“Until…” Jon hesitated, but continued before Tim had a chance to jump in with whatever it was he was planning to say, “Until we have a plan to call it off.”

“I know Sash’ll be happy to help,” Tim told him, “she’d probably be just as enamoured by your tragic story as I am.” He smiled. “We’re the Mercutio and Benvolio to your Romeo and Juliet.”

Jon flushed, though a glance at Martin reassured him that his friend had no idea what Tim was talking about. “Well, whatever you are,” he added hurriedly, “I appreciate your help.” He paused. “That just leaves the issue of Martin’s mum.”

“She thinks you’re meeting a girl, yeah?” Tim asked. When Martin nodded, he continued. “Does she want to meet this girl?”

“She was hoping I’d bring her home today. That’s why I came here” Martin admitted. “Because I don’t know what to do.”

“Today?” Tim clarified.

Martin nodded.

Tim smiled, and turned towards Jon. “How do you feel about wearing a dress?”

“So,” Tim’s friend, Basira, began. “You’re Lady Robinson’s son?”

“One of them,” Jon responded absentmindedly as he stood awkwardly in Basira’s room while she and Tim looked through clothing options for Jon. Martin stood next to him, seeming just as fidgety and unsure of himself as Jon was.

“You don’t happen to know someone named Daisy, do you?” Basira asked. “Or is it just you and Martin?”

“Actually, I do.” Jon said. “Why, do you?”

Basira paused. “Something like that,” she replied, though gave no further explanation.

“She’s nice,” Jon continued. “I mean, she scares me a bit sometimes, but she’s nice.”

“Hm,” Basira smiled. “I think she’d like to be thought of that way.” She held up a brown skirt and a white blouse. “Do these work?”

“I think they would,” Martin cut in. “My mum isn’t expecting, well…” He trailed off.

“A noble’s son?” Tim finished.

“Yeah,” Martin agreed.

“Remind me why we aren’t just sending Basira?” Jon asked.

“This is my first time meeting Martin!” Basira protested. “How do you expect me to act like he’s been courting me?”

“Well, he isn’t courting me either,” Jon mumbled, ignoring the snicker from Tim that he failed to hide.

“I did say act, ” Basira sighed. “You’ve got a girlish enough appearance, and your voice hasn’t changed enough that you can’t hide it. So, if you want to pull this off, then play the part.”

So Jon agreed, asking everyone to leave the room while he changed into the skirt and blouse. When he finished, he looked down at himself, and to his surprise, smiled. He’d expected to feel uncomfortable, like he was being forced into a role he didn’t fit. And yet, he actually liked this look for himself. He knew it wasn’t exactly traditional for him to wear a dress or a skirt, but he found that he actually enjoyed it. He hoped the others would think the same. When he called them in, he was relieved to find himself meeting the same approval.

“What do you know?” Tim grinned. “You look good.”

Basira nodded. “Untie your hair,” she advised. “It’ll frame your face and help hide your jawline.” When Jon complied, she nodded again. “Now you look convincing.”

“What do you think?” Tim asked Martin, who had stayed silent so far.

“You look incredible,” Martin said quietly, before adding, a bit louder, “Not that you don’t look great normally, that’s not what I—”

“I think he gets it, Marto.” Tim interrupted, which Jon was thankful for, as he worried his face might actually combust if it got any warmer.

“In that case, shall we send them off?” Basira asked.

“If they’re ready,” Tim agreed.

“We’re right here, you know,” Martin commented.

“Right, then,” Tim nodded. “Good luck, Romeo and Juliet.”

Jon found his face growing warm once again. “You do know how that play ends, yes?”

“Of course I do,” Tim replied flippantly. “There’s kissing.”

This part, at least, seemed to clue Martin in on what Tim meant, and Jon noticed Martin flush deeply from embarrassment.

“Tim,” Martin began quietly, but Tim was already hurrying them out the door.

“Now, now, Martin,” he said in a mock-professional tone. “You’ve got a paramour to introduce to your mother.”

So, after a rather awkward and rushed goodbye and “thank you” to Basira, Jon found himself and Martin standing in front of a cosy house, neither lifting their hand to knock on the door. Martin stiffened and turned to look at Jon, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“Before you meet my mum,” he began, “There’s something I ought to—”

“I know,” Jon interrupted. “Tim, he…he told me. Martin, I’m so sorry, I had no idea…”

“It’s alright,” Martin cut him off. “I…I have Tim. And you. And maybe Basira, now.” He paused. “But I’m sorry if she doesn’t…approve of you. Even as…Christ, what do I call you?”

Jon hesitated. “You remember when I used to call you Rose?”

Martin smiled. “What, do you want to finally take up my offer on Hyacinth?”

“No!” Jon shook his head, then added, more softly, “No. I thought maybe you could…I don’t know. Return the favour.”

Martin’s smile widened. “Alright then, Rose,” Jon felt Martin grab his hand, their fingers lacing together. Jon squeezed once, trying to ignore the increased rate of his heartbeat in that moment, and Martin did the same before raising his hand to the door.

“And, Martin?” Jon added quickly before he could knock. “If I’m being completely honest with you…from what I’ve heard, I’m not sure I want your mother’s approval. If she thinks I’m doing everything right, I’m almost certain I’m doing something wrong.”

Martin’s grin returned, though it didn’t meet his eyes this time. “Yeah. I suppose so, huh?”

This time Martin finally knocked on the door, and after a moment it swung open.

Seeing the woman standing there, Jon found it impossible to believe that she was even related to Martin, let alone his mother. Unlike Martin, she was short, and had sharp intimidating features where Martin’s were round and soft-looking. Her dark hair was in a tight bun, and her brown eyes scanned the two as she stood silently.

“So,” She said after the silence stretched on for an unbearable amount of time. “This is the girl you’ve been so very coy about?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Martin affirmed.

The woman grimaced. “Small. A bit boyish.” Jon suppressed a flinch, and he knew Martin was thinking the same thing as him—she had certainly been a bit too close to the truth for comfort.

“I have a brother,” Jon offered, and at least that much was true. “My father is a farmer, and they need my help quite often.”

Martin tensed as his mother spoke. “Not particularly ladylike of you.” She sighed, stepping aside for the two to enter. “Come in.”

Martin’s mother led them to a table, where Jon awkwardly took a seat next to Martin and across from her. She was silent for a moment, clearly still observing Jon carefully.

“What’s your name?” She asked when that moment had passed.

“Rose,” Jon answered immediately. “Sims.” Martin shot him a look, and Jon hoped his face said “I’ll tell you later.”

“I’ve never heard the surname before,” She narrowed her eyes. “Certainly not in this town, anyway.”

“Her family isn’t the most well-known,” Martin jumped in. “They, ah, what was it you said? Keep to themselves most of the time.”

“That’s right!” Jon agreed. “My father, he, ah, really likes being alone.”

“I suppose I wouldn’t expect a farmer to covet much company,” Martin’s mother murmured. “Tell me, then, how did you two meet?”

“Oh, you know,” Martin chuckled nervously. “Work.” Jon had to commend him for the response—it was true, after all.

“I tend to the hyacinths.” Jon added. “In the gardens. For Mo—for Lady Robinson.” He hadn’t entirely forgotten the potential nickname, and the small smile Martin gave him as he squeezed Jon’s hand once again implied that he remembered as well.

“I see.” Martin’s mother’s eyes flitted between them. “And yet you two felt the need to meet in the night. Might I ask why?”

Jon mentally chided himself, but thankfully, Martin came to his rescue. “Rose was moved to the kitchens.” He said. “So, we, ah, didn’t see each other much.”

“But why at night?” She asked. “Why sneak out? You two didn’t happen to be doing anything you knew wouldn’t be approved of , now, did you?”

Jon didn’t need to look at Martin to know that his friend’s face was just as flushed as his own. They both knew exactly what she meant.

“No, ma’am,” Jon promised hurriedly, and this, if only when keeping in line with her meaning, was true. “Honestly,” he added, “We haven’t even kissed.” This made Martin flush deeper, but his mother seemed satisfied with Jon’s answer.

“That’s good to hear, I suppose,” though she didn’t smile. “It’s a relief to know my son isn’t entirely useless when it comes to courtship.”

“Actually, I’d consider him quite good at it,” Jon replied coolly. “He’s kind. Devoted, even to people who don’t deserve it. He respects me, not just because he loves me, but because he respects everyone. And if it isn’t me, I envy the girl lucky enough to have his hand in marriage.” He stood up, adding “thank you for having me. It’s been a pleasure.” before making his way toward the door.

He heard a quiet “I’ll see her out,” before Martin followed him outside. Once no longer inside the house, Martin pulled Jon into a tight hug.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he whispered.

“I did,” Jon replied. “If I hadn’t, she would have continued to say things like that about you, probably even worse. I wasn’t going to sit by idly while she insulted my…my friend.” Jon finished, and Martin went silent at that.

“Why Sims?” He asked after a bit.

Jon let out a small laugh. “It was my parents’ name. My real ones, before my mother adopted me. I was worried she’d recognise it, but…I guess we got lucky.”

“Yeah,” Martin agreed. “Yeah, we did.” He paused, then added after a moment. “Did you mean it? What you said in there?”

Jon nodded, his arms still tightly around Martin. “Every word.”

Martin smiled, pulling back a bit. “Thank you.” He said quietly. He broke their embrace, stepping back a bit. Then, before he turned to leave, he briefly pressed his lips to Jon’s cheek.

Jon stood there for a moment, surely blushing deeply, before Martin’s eyes widened and he hurried inside without another word.

Jon’s mind was racing. Why would Martin do that? He didn’t…it wasn’t like he…he was likely just keeping up appearances. For Christ's sake, his mother was watching! Surely she expected some sort of romantic goodbye from a courting pair. Not that he and Martin were…well, they had to act like they were. That’s what it was. It had to be just an act.

“Or he just feels the same way!” Gerry protested.

Jon paced in his room, resisting the urge to touch his hand to his cheek for what likely would have been nearly the hundredth time. “I don’t even know if he’s…you know, like us!”

“You mean that he likes boys?”

“I suppose, yes!” Jon agreed. “And anyway, I was pretending to be his lover. Maybe he knew his mum would be watching, and thought she’d expect something!”

“He didn’t have to kiss you, though,” Gerry pointed out. “And you didn’t think I was attracted to men either, until I told you about Michael.”

“That’s different, you…” Jon trailed off.

“I what?”

“I don’t know!” Jon admitted. “But things like that, they just…don’t happen to me.”

“Why not?” Gerry inquired.

“They never have.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“Even for this?”

Gerry smiled. “Especially for this.”

Jon stopped pacing, making his way toward his bed and flopping down on it unceremoniously. “What do you suggest I do?” He asked after a bit.

“Well, normally I’d tell you to dramatically confess your feelings before kissing him absolutely senseless—”

“Gerry!”

“—But I won’t! Not yet, anyway. Honestly, I’d just ask him if he meant anything by it.”

Jon buried his face in his pillow. “I can’t.” He mumbled.

“What?” His brother asked. “Why not? Sure, I know you struggle with communication and all, and confessing’s scary, but you’ve faced scarier things. Our mum’s a lovely example.”

“It’s not that,” Jon muttered into the pillow.

“Then what is it?”

Jon lifted his head. “What if he didn’t mean anything by it?” He asked quietly. “What if he only did it because his mum might’ve been watching, or he was just caught up in the lie, or something, and all I did was embarrass myself by saying I envy the girl who gets to marry him? Then what do I do?”

Gerry considered this for a moment, before replying, “I don’t know.”

“What?” Jon glared at him. “Aren’t you, I don’t know, the expert on this?”

“I’m seventeen,” Gerry said, “Hardly an expert, ”

“But you’ve been with Michael, for, what—”

“Three years,”

“—Three years!”

“Three years,” Gerry repeated, “of requited love. And he’s the first one I’ve told. I’ve never been rejected before.”

Jon groaned, pressing his face back into the pillow. “You’re no help.”

“I never claimed to be.” He paused. “So, what are you going to do when Sasha’s family visits?”

Jon sat up. “With any luck, convince her parents they don’t need to come back.”

“And if you can’t?”

Jon shrugged. “That cabin in the woods is inhabitable,” he began, “So I might go there. Maybe I’d even take Martin with me.” He smiled. “We could be happy there.”

Gerry moved to sit down beside him. “Well, if you do…I don’t suppose you’d have room for two more?”

“We’d make do,” Jon said, and his brother returned his smile.

The two sat there for a bit, not saying much but hardly needing to. Eventually, Gerry stood up, saying he thought he ought to turn in for the night.

“You should, too,” He told Jon. “You’ve had a long day.”

Jon didn’t protest at this. Between meeting Basira, pretending to be Martin’s lover, and the kiss, the day had left him exhausted. He buried himself under the covers, hearing the door shut as Gerry left. He closed his eyes, and for what may have been the hundredth time, replayed the moment outside of Martin’s house in his head.

Jon knew what it meant when his mother called him downstairs a week later—Sasha and her parents were here.

He, at first, tried to appear formal as he descended the stairs. He immediately realised, however, that the point of this, as far as he and Sasha were concerned, was to make both parties of adults not end the night with a marriage agreement. He proceeded to drop his facade, fidgeting as much as he needed to and forgoing his stiff posture his mother had spent years teaching him. The disapproval on his mother’s face as well as those of Sasha’s parents was, for once, a relief.

Sasha herself wore an expression Jon couldn’t read. She didn’t seem comfortable in the overly frilly dress she wore, and Jon had a feeling she hadn’t picked it out herself. She absentmindedly twirled a lock of her curly hair with her finger, glancing at Jon curiously as she noticed him descending the stairs.

“This is your son, Jonathan, I take it?” Sasha’s mother asked, clearly realising she was grimacing and straightening her face.

“That would be correct,” Jon’s mother replied. “And this is Sasha?”

“Certainly is,” Sasha’s father replied.

Jon grimaced at how forced everything they said sounded. It wasn’t that he didn’t wish to meet Sasha—Tim had assured him that she was lovely—but if neither of their parents wished to be in attendance, why was anyone even here?

“ Jonathan, ” he heard his mother say, likely not for the first time, stunning him from his reverie.

“Yes, sorry?” Jon’s head snapped up toward his mother.

“I asked if you’d like to give Sasha a tour of the grounds.” She narrowed her eyes. “I’m sure she would like a brief trip to the gardens.”

Jon knew what his mother meant. Normally, he would have taken everything exactly as said—that he was being asked if he wanted to, rather than being told to, and that Sasha truly did want a tour of the gardens. But years of living with his mother had taught him better—she wasn’t asking, and he wasn’t to spend too much time in the gardens.

Luckily, he did want to go somewhere else with Sasha. He wasn’t sure he could handle the constant dry small talk between his mother and Sasha’s parents, and he did want an excuse to go into the gardens. He technically still could—but he was worried what his mother would do to him, or, worse, to Martin, if she caught them again. Especially in light of…recent developments.

“I would,” Jon told her, nodding once before turning to Sasha. “Follow me, Miss James.”

“There will be no need for such formalities,” She replied, following him out the door. “Please, call me Sasha.” When they were safely outside with the door closed. Sasha sighed and turned to Jon again, her face infinitely more expressive than before.

“Thank you for agreeing to that,” She sighed. “I don’t think I could spend another minute standing there just listening to them talk about how they want to marry me off to you.”

“That makes two of us,” Jon agreed. “You’re aware of the plan, yes?”

“Make them think we’re less than compatible?” Sasha asked. “Sort of, but I’m not sure how we plan to do that.”

“I suppose we just act like someone who they wouldn’t want us to marry,” Jon shrugged. “Someone they wouldn’t approve of.”

“Right,” Sasha nodded, and her face broke into a sly smile. “And then you can go off and kiss your Martin.”

Jon flushed. “He’s—we’re not—I’d hardly call him mine— ”

“I was teasing,” Sasha interrupted. “Though in the future, you really ought not to tell Tim things you don’t want getting out. He’s not the best at keeping secrets.” She waved a hand. “Anyway, how about that tour? I’m actually rather eager to see the place.”

“Right, of course,” Jon agreed. “This way,” He didn’t need to tell Sasha where they were going. They both knew Jon wanted to see the gardens first.

As the two entered through the gate, Jon felt like it had only been yesterday that he still came here every day, sitting under the tree and talking—or existing in comfortable silence—with Martin. Martin, who had kissed him, who might feel the same way that Jon did, who—

He shook his head to clear it, grinning as he saw a familiar face on the first turn.

“Daisy!” He exclaimed, rushing to meet his friend.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Daisy commented.

“Sorry,” Jon sighed. “My mother caught me with Martin. And, well, I’m still allowed to come here, but…”

“I get it.” Daisy told him. “I’m sorry, though.”

“Yeah,” Jon replied, not sure what else to say.

Sasha cleared her throat. “So…are you going to introduce me, or…?”

“Oh! Right. Sasha, this is Daisy,” He nodded towards Daisy. “And Daisy, this is Sasha. My mother wants me to marry her.”

“But you aren’t going to?” Daisy inquired.

“With any luck, no,” Sasha replied. “No offence to you, Jon, but I am very much not interested in you.”

“None taken,” Jon assured her. “I mean, you’re nice, of course, I just—”

“Love Martin?” Daisy finished.

Jon felt his face flush again. “ Why does everyone —”

“It’s sort of obvious,” Sasha pointed out. “Even if Tim hadn’t told me, I would have known.”

Jon sighed. “Right.” He’d given up trying to hide it by now. “Well…we’d probably best be going. My mother was very clear about how long she wanted me to be here, and, well…I want to stop by the roses.”

Sasha smiled and rolled her eyes, while Daisy just let out a small laugh. As Jon and Sasha turned to leave, Jon briefly looked back at Daisy.

“I met Basira, by the way,” he told her.

Daisy looked at him curiously. “When?”

“Long story,” Jon admitted. “But she seems lovely.”

Daisy nodded, a wistful smile on her face. “Yeah. She is.”

Then Jon and Sasha were off again, walking in silence as neither of them were sure what to say. It was a lovely day, but Jon refused to make conversation by speaking about the weather. Those conversations always felt fake and were incredibly boring to Jon. He’d rather talk about birds or plants or whatever had captured his fancy recently.

“So,” Sasha began, breaking the silence. “You like boys?” The question wasn’t accusatory or laced with any hidden meanings—just a simple confirmation.

“And girls,” Jon said. “I’ve found myself attracted to women before. But…this time, it’s a boy.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Sasha said. “I’m not sure why people think couples have to be a man and a woman. I mean, your mother adopted you and your…brother?” When Jon nodded, she continued. “So it can’t be about reproduction. Or if it is, it isn’t logical.”

Jon nodded. “Yeah.” He said, because he wasn’t sure how else to reply. Instead, he gave the conversation back to Sasha. “What about you? Boys? Girls?”

Sasha shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve only ever been in love once.”

“Is it Tim?” Jon asked before he could stop himself.

He expected Sasha not to answer, or to tell him it wasn’t his business, but she just laughed. “Yes, it’s Tim,” She said. “We’re not really sure how we want to go about it, though. My parents don’t take issue with me befriending him, but they’d sooner send me to a nunnery than let anything else happen.”

“Oh.” Jon replied, once again not sure what else to say.

“But I’m sure you know all about that.” Sasha added, sympathetically as opposed to teasingly. “Though, I can imagine it’s much more difficult for you, considering Martin’s, well…”

“Also a boy?”

Sasha nodded, glancing upward. “We’re almost to the roses,” she said, elbowing Jon playfully.

Jon’s heart leapt in his chest, but he immediately felt it drop when he remembered how he and Martin had parted last. He knew he should have reached out, asked him, but he couldn’t bring himself to. As much as Jon hated to admit it, this painful middle ground was oddly lovely. Yes, he and Martin weren’t together in any sense of the word. But now he had a sliver of hope, that maybe his unrequited love would go somewhere beyond watching out a window or talking about birds during their afternoons. The middle ground was safe. He was far from happy, but he could hardly be disappointed.

Martin’s face flushed deeply when he noticed Jon approaching, and Jon dared to hope that perhaps it was for the same reason Jon’s was also a deep shade of crimson. Sasha glanced at him, a grin on her face as she non-discreetly pushed him closer.

“Hi,” Jon said a bit stupidly, and he began to fidget with his hands a bit.

“Hello,” Martin replied, his voice noticeably higher than normal.

“I can’t stay for long,” Jon blurted. “My mother wants me to be brief in the gardens.”

“Right,” Martin nodded. “Um…do you…are you busy tonight? I could try to slip away to the cabin—”

“Yes!” Jon agreed enthusiastically. “I would love to. Um…I could ask my brother to help. I’m sure he’ll cover for me. He’s…he wants us to be happy.”

Martin nodded. “Right.” He paused. “Um…in that case, I’ll see you tonight?”

Jon smiled, briefly taking Martin’s hand in his. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” he promised. And then, before his courage failed him, he pressed a quick kiss to Martin’s cheek.

He didn’t have a sudden moment of realising what he’d just done —he’d known fully well what he was going to do. Even still, his fear of rejection still overpowered him, and in the end he hurried off before he could fully gauge Martin’s reaction.

Sasha caught up to him, not far behind. Jon thought he heard her whisper something about how she hated running in a dress, before she raised her voice back to regular volume.

“So,” She began with a grin. “That was something.”

Jon nodded mutely. He didn’t know how to respond or what to say at all, because he had actually kissed Martin. Not properly, he thought to himself, feeling his face flush as the thought crossed his mind, but still a kiss nonetheless.

“I wonder how long until I hear about it from Tim,” Sasha continued thoughtfully. “He’ll be so jealous that I got to be there.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “How often do you talk about Martin and I’s—about Martin and I?”

“Well, we’ve only had, what, two, three weeks since Tim even met you.” Sasha pointed out. “Though Tim would tell me about how his friend Martin seemed to have a rather close acquaintance.”

Jon resisted the urge to bury his face in his shirt collar, as he was sure it was several shades redder. He was doing a lot of that lately. “Well, it’s sort of weird.” He told her. “Whatever may or may not be going on between Martin and I isn’t really your business.”

Sasha tilted her head. “It sort of is, since you’ve gotten Tim involved, but point taken.” She shrugged. “If it makes you feel any better, you and Martin can gossip about me and Tim all you’d like.”

Jon smiled. “Alright, then. We will. We will do that.” And the two continued on throughout the gardens.

Jon knew that sitting down for dinner with Sasha’s family would be uncomfortable, but he was hardly prepared for the sheer level of awkward tension in the room. Nobody spoke, except the occasional “my compliments to the chef” from someone at the table. Jon began to wonder if perhaps Michael had helped to cook this, and he suppressed a small smile at the idea. He hoped so—he’d be better able to give such compliments if he had. He remembered suddenly that he needed to talk to Gerry and ask him to cover for him that night. He tried to catch his brother’s eye from across the table—he was the only one who Jon didn’t mind looking in the eye as much—but unfortunately his brother seemed lost in his own thoughts.

“How was your walk?” Jon’s mother asked after a while, breaking the heavy silence.

“It was lovely!” Sasha said politely. “It’s such a wonderful place.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Jon’s mother replied with a smile that did not reach her eyes. “Tell me, Miss James, is this a place you’d consider living someday?”

Sasha paused, glancing at Jon before replying. “Well…you see, Lady Robinson, it’s lovely. But I couldn’t possibly live here. There are…too many spiders.”

Jon felt his skin crawl at the idea. He hated spiders. He grimaced at Sasha, and Sasha shrugged.

“I thought you quite liked spiders,” Sasha’s mother said dubiously.

“Oh, I did!” Sasha replied. “But then I found one in my room one night, and it scared me, so now I don’t like them anymore.”

“I see,” Jon’s mother said slowly. “I haven’t noticed many spiders recently. Are you sure that’s your only reason?”

“I can assure you, I have plenty more,” Sasha promised. She paused. “I sneeze around flowers!” She added quickly. “I’d never be able to visit the gardens. It’d be dreadful, having them so close but never being able to visit.”

“That reminds me,” Jon’s mother turned towards him. “How were the gardens?”

Jon tried to suppress every memory of that moment with Martin from coming up to the surface. “They were…adequate.” He said, his voice a bit higher than normal.

His mother’s expression showed no reaction—only a calm stare. “I’m glad to hear it.” She turned back to Sasha. “Why else are you opposed to being here, Sasha?”

“ Because I don’t want to marry him! ” Sasha blurted out, her voice taking on a volume that made Jon flinch. She stiffened, her eyes wide as she brought a hand to her mouth.

The table was silent for a moment, before Jon turned to look at his mother. “I don’t want to marry her, either.” He hoped he wore the same cold, calculating stare that his mother always did. “Don’t get me wrong, Miss James is lovely. But I cannot see my relationship with her advancing past a close friendship.”

Sasha’s mother grimaced. “You wouldn’t be doing it in light of affection,” she said.

“All the more reason not to, I’d think,” Jon pointed out. “There’s little logic in a union like this.”

“Jonathan—”

“You know full well, Mother, that marriage is not necessary for keeping a bloodline intact.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless you’re forgetting where my brother and I came from?”

His mother didn’t reply to that.

“As for you two,” He glanced at Sasha’s parents. “I find it rather interesting that you seem so eager to send your daughter away.”

Sasha glanced at them. “I find that bit quite interesting, as well.” She narrowed her eyes. “You’ve said it’s traditional for women to be sent to marry eligible men. But you seem to show a complete lack of emotion towards the situation—towards me leaving forever . Then again,” her face took on a smile that didn’t meet her eyes, “it isn’t as if you know much about love, seeing as you didn’t marry Father in light of affection.”

“Sasha,” Her father began warningly.

“I’m sorry, have I offended you?” She asked. “Well, I feel a bit offended that you’re jumping at the first chance to marry me off, so I suppose we’ve both done a bit of wrong today.”

“You are being incredibly immature—”

“Maybe!” Sasha shot back. “Maybe I am! Isn’t that to be expected? We’re hardly more than children! And yet you want to pair us up for life when we haven’t even gotten the chance to find out what life means!”

“This isn’t specific to you,” Sasha’s mother hissed. “This is how things are.”

“Maybe they shouldn’t be!” Jon pointed out. “The wrong thing isn’t made right just because everyone chooses to do it.” He looked back at his food, which had gone untouched. “Now, if we’re quite done, I was under the impression that we were here to eat.”

The rest of the dinner was silent.

Jon sought out Sasha afterward as their parents left to discuss what Jon admitted to himself was probably the events of the evening.

“I think we did…well.” Sasha said awkwardly.

“You were incredible,” Jon assured her. “Though I think we may have been a bit…bolder…than I expected. We did just openly question everyone’s way of life.”

Sasha shrugged. “We weren’t wrong.”

Jon sighed. “No, I suppose we weren’t.”

The goodbyes were brief that evening. Jon and Sasha had simply nodded at each other, an unspoken farwell between the two. Once they had left, Jon had hurriedly gone up the stairs before his mother could begin to scold him for his behaviour. Once safely out of earshot, he directed himself toward his brother’s room.

Gerry had slipped away to his room as soon as the arguing had begun, and Jon didn’t blame him, rather wishing he would have been allowed to as well. He was sitting by the window, looking outside and humming a tune he seemed to be making up on the spot.

“Hi,” Jon greeted him as he entered.

His brother turned around and smiled. “Hello, Jon. I take it they’re gone?”

Jon nodded, sitting down on the edge of Gerry’s bed. “I need your help.” He said.

“If you want me to convince our mother not to make you and Sasha—”

“It’s about Martin,” Jon interrupted. “I, um.” He paused, bringing his knees to his chest. “I sort of…kissed him. In the gardens.”

Gerry’s eyes widened. “Did you really?”

“Well—” Jon paused. “Not properly, I just—” He pointed to his cheek, glancing away awkwardly.

“Oh.” Gerry stared at him, disbelief still written on his face. “I didn’t think you’d actually work up the courage to do something like that.” He chuckled.

Jon didn’t know whether to be offended or not, so he just replied “I’m meeting him at the cabin again tonight.” He paused. “Could you…”

“Make sure Mother doesn’t see you?” Gerry asked, lips upturned in a grin. “Anything to help you and your lover,” he teased.

“ Gerry.” Jon groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“Calm down,” Gerry told him. “I’ll keep her busy if she suspects anything.”

“Thank you,” Jon breathed, relief filling him.

“But, Jon?”

“Yeah?”

Amusement shone in Gerry’s eyes. “ Please just kiss him properly already.”

Jon didn’t dignify him with a response, instead throwing a pillow in his direction, but unfortunately missing him by at least a metre.

Jon was the first to the cabin again. He called out for Martin once, but once it was clear Jon was alone, he moved towards the old sofa, sitting down on it carefully so as not to stir too much dust. He looked around, the idea of running away coming back to him. His life would be considerably less comfortable if he ran away here. He knew that. But he let himself imagine it, if only for a moment.

That image was interrupted, however, by the door slowly creaking open. Jon stood up quickly, meeting Martin in front of the door. The two stood there in silence for an excruciatingly long moment, and Jon was about to try to say something, anything, before Martin spoke first.

Jon wasn’t sure what he expected the first words from Martin to be. Most likely “Hello”, or perhaps “so…are we going to talk about it?”. If he was feeling truly imaginative, “I love you”, but he knew that wouldn’t be said for a long while. But he knew what he didn’t expect, and that was “I’m sorry.”

Tears were welling up in the corners of Martin’s eyes as he continued. “I shouldn’t have kissed you that day. You probably thought you had to kiss me back—”

“Martin,”

“—and that was completely unfair to you—”

“ Martin, ”

“—and I’d completely understand if you want to stop seeing me—”

“Martin Blackwood, will you please stop talking and just kiss me already? ”

The look on Martin’s face combined with the deep red blush that was settling on his face informed Jon that he had not been expecting that answer.

“ What? ” Martin asked. “I—did you…” he paused. “Really?”

Jon sighed and rolled his eyes, though a smile settled on his face as he leaned closer to Martin. He wasn’t sure which of them closed the distance.

When Gerry had told him about kissing before, he’d always described something like the crackling and popping of a fire—the wild brightness of an uncontrolled flame. Jon, in that moment, would have also described it like a fire. But instead of the little explosions he had expected, it was more like something from a fireplace—a warm sense of home, of belonging.

The two pulled back simultaneously after a moment, and immediately erupted into giggles, because that had actually happened. It wasn’t just an idea in their heads anymore—it was reality. They had just kissed each other.

Martin wrapped Jon in a tight hug, and Jon returned it, the two of them standing there together for who knew how long as they laughed and exchanged little kisses.

The next day was, for lack of a better word, excruciating. Jon and Martin had finally told each other how they felt—everything was out in the open, after far too long. And yet, here they were, only able to see each other through a second story window while one of them was on the ground. They saw each other, of course—they’d known where to look for years. But Jon found it was a bit frustrating to be looking out and not be able to have a conversation (or, if he was feeling like taking a risk, kiss him again).

His train of thought was interrupted by the door opening behind him. He turned around to see his mother standing in the doorway, which was a surprise, as she usually called for him to go to wherever in the house she was.

“Hello, Mother,” Jon greeted, hoping it wasn’t too obvious what, or rather, who, he was looking at through his window. “Can I help you with something?”

“No,” She told him simply. “I’ve brought news. Despite your… display last night—” Jon grimaced. “—Sasha’s parents and I have agreed that you two are going to be wed.”

Jon felt his breath catch in his throat. He’d known this would happen. And yet, hearing the words solidified it, and he could no longer live in blissful denial. He was going to have to marry Sasha.

He remembered his fleeting fantasies of running away with Martin. The idea had struck him as a possible alternative before, but it had never been more than that. An idea of what to do if the worst happened. But the worst had happened.

He didn’t hear the rest of what his mother said. He didn’t notice when she left. He didn’t notice when he started crying, or when Gerry came in, wrapping him in a tight hug as Jon sobbed into his shoulder.

Jon knocked on the door rapidly, desperately, yet still as softly as he could. In the absolute worst case scenario, Martin’s mother would answer, and Jon would apologise and say he’d got the wrong house. Maybe she wouldn’t recognise him as Rose.

Jon sighed in relief as the door opened to reveal a very confused Martin, his strawberry-blonde curls unkempt and his eyes drooping from sleepiness. He seemed to come fully to his senses when he saw Jon standing there, shivering from the midnight chill.

“Jon?” He whispered, hurrying out the door and shutting it slowly and carefully. “What are you doing here? It’s past midnight! We didn’t…we weren’t planning to meet tonight, were we?”

“No, no, I…” Jon trailed off, before continuing in a whisper, “I’m going to have to marry Sasha. My mother, she…they decided…” he shook his head.

“Jon,” Martin murmured, pulling him into a tight hug. He pressed a light kiss to Jon’s head before burying his face in Jon’s hair. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s…” Jon sighed. “It shouldn’t even be a problem, she…it’d be in name only, but I just…I really don’t want…it feels wrong, somehow.” He looked up at Martin. “Do you remember,” he began, his heart pounding in his chest, “how I used to talk about running away with my brother and Michael?”

Martin’s eyes widened. “Christ, are you really—”

“Maybe,” Jon interrupted. “I don’t know. But I wanted to…I wanted to ask if, maybe…if I did, you could…” he sighed. “I would want you to be there with me.”

Martin’s steady breathing faltered, and his eyes widened. “Jon,” he said quietly, “I don’t think I can do that.” He stepped back a bit. “I mean, could we even survive? What about food? We’d need to be able to pay for it. And I have my mother…” he trailed off.

“But she’s awful to you—”

“ She’s still my mother, ” Martin interrupted. “She needs someone to take care of her,” he shook his head. “And that’s me.” His gaze softened, and he tentatively placed a hand on Jon’s cheek. “You know how much I…” he paused, squeezing his eyes shut tightly for a moment. “How much I care about you. But I can’t follow you on this one.” He placed a quick kiss to Jon's lips before pulling back again. “If you do go through with it, let me know.” He whispered. “I’ll try to visit.”

Jon nodded. “I love you,” he told him. It felt like a goodbye. It might have been.

Martin smiled, and tears formed at the corners of his eyes. “I love you too,” he replied. And with that, he went inside.

As the midnight fog began to thicken around him, Jon could have sworn he heard the sound of a muffled sob from the other side—but maybe it had been the wind.

“Are we sure about this?” Michael asked softly.

“I’ve been pretty sure about it for a long time,” Gerry replied.

Jon nodded. “It’s not going to be easy,” he admitted. “And I don’t think we’ll be able to stay in the cabin forever. Just for long enough to figure out our real plan.”

Gerry smiled at him. “I can’t believe you’re willing to leave behind…everything.”

Jon shrugged. “I can’t believe it either.”

“I thought you were doing it for Martin,” Michael admitted.

“I was,” Jon replied. “But he…he’s not coming. So now I’m doing it for you two.” He tried to smile, but couldn’t manage more than a small quirk of his lips. “There’s no way I’m going to let my brother leave without me.”

“Right.” Gerry nodded. “Shall we head off, then?”

“Yeah,” Jon replied. “Just…one moment.” He turned back to look at the house he’d grown up in. He hadn’t been born there, nor taken his first steps or said his first words there. And yet, whenever he remembered his childhood, he pictured those moments there. His room, the library—god, he’d miss the library—or on the balcony watching the sunset, occasionally on the roof if he was feeling up to it. Spending time with Gerry. Or, later, Martin.

He’d said his goodbyes to Daisy and Martin that day. He’d gone through the garden one last time, telling Daisy what he was doing and why, then saying one final goodbye to Martin. Somehow, this one had felt hollower than the last one. The previous one had felt emotional and heavy—this one felt like rereading a death in a novel. It still hurt, but the momentousness of it had dissipated, leaving only an empty melancholy.

Jon turned back to Gerry. “I’m ready.”

“Well, then, best not to waste any more—”

“Jon!”

Jon turned around, his breath catching in his throat as he noticed a familiar figure rushing toward him. His eyes brimmed with tears as he recognised Martin, panting and out of breath, but still standing in front of him, a satchel full of items of some sort slung over his shoulder. He tried not to let hope rise in his chest, but he knew the attempt was futile as he asked “what are you doing here?”

“I…I wanted to come. With you.” Martin explained between breaths.

“But you said—”

“I know.” Martin shook his head. “I know what I said. But I began to think. This isn’t just some fleeting infatuation with someone I barely know—you’ve been there for years.” He paused. “And…some people aren’t as lucky as we are. There are probably hundreds of people like us who didn’t get the chance to be with the people they loved, didn’t get the chance to run away with them. And…I had this strange feeling? Like I’d felt this before. Wanting to run away with someone, but not being able to. And I thought…whatever it was, I…the person in question? I don’t know. But they couldn’t. I can. So…” he sighed. “I don’t know if that makes any sense. But I’m going with you.” He paused. “If you…if you’ll still have me?”

Jon could hardly believe that Martin thought there was any question about it.

Long ago in the Scottish countryside, but a considerable bit less long ago than the beginning of the story, there was a hill. On that hill was a cottage, which was rather small and decidedly un- castlelike, but the people living there didn’t seem to mind.

Inside that cottage there lived four men, though they were really hardly a few years older than boys. On the surface they seemed like quiescent souls, hardly ever speaking much. But around one another, they always seemed to light up, smiling and laughing like they fit together perfectly.

The tallest, with strawberry blonde hair and pale blue eyes, had taken a bit of time to get to know the older two, who he’d never known before then. But they proved to be quite friendly, and he was accepted by them immediately, so the three became fast friends.

One of the older men, the one with the golden curls and a perpetual awkward smile, would sometimes cook food for the others, when they had enough—and that was relatively often. They’d all found jobs that paid well enough, and together were able to put meals on the table whenever food was available. He seemed to enjoy it quite a bit—and the smile on his love’s face seemed to make it even more worth it.

The most talkative of the four had been quick to find them all somewhere to work, and even quicker to find them somewhere to live. He’d learned everything he could on how to secure him and his lover a comfortable life, and even with the addition of the younger pair, he’d taken everything very seriously. He’d been planning this for years.

The youngest man—the one who spent most of his time at the nearby library, and who always seemed to have something new to say about birds or rocks—frequently watched the other three in the evening hours, silently thinking about how lucky he was to have them all here. The three people he loved most in the world—his brother, a close friend, and a lover whom he considered his husband in all but officiality—were all here, happy and healthy. And most importantly, they were allowed to be. No longer did they have to hide in the dead of night, or in closets behind closed doors—and oh, how surprised he had been when he realised his brother had hidden his own relationship by hiding in closets ! Though not with the world, they were free to be themselves with each other.

“Do you remember when you used to watch me in the rose gardens?” His husband asked him one day. “When we were young?”

The man smiled. “As if I could ever forget, Rose. ”

His husband chuckled, leaning his head against the man’s shoulder. “Do you think we could have ever imagined then that someday we’d be here?”

The man shook his head. “No. But I’m glad we didn’t.” He smiled. “It’s almost like…every choice we made, every fleeting thought we had, led us to where we are now. And I wouldn’t change where we are now if you offered me the whole world.”

His husband chuckled. “That’s a rather elaborate way of telling me you love me.”

The man smiled. “Well, then, I’ll tell you simply. I love you.”

His husband pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “I love you, too.”

And in that moment, sitting there together while the setting sun bathed the hillside in golden light, that was all that mattered.