Neville seemed normal on the walk back to the flat. When they entered, the warmth from the radiator met them. He thought about the evening when Max had kissed him at the entrance of his unit, almost the moment they walked in. There had been anticipation then. A heat that felt unmistakable.

Tonight felt quieter. An ordinary weekday night.

Neville turned on the hallway light, and they settled into the dining room.

He went to wash his hands in his bathroom, while Max said he would just use the kitchen sink. When Neville returned, he paused just inside the wide archway leading into the living room. Max stood at the sink, rinsing a couple of mugs left there. When Max finished and turned with a small smile, Neville instinctively looked away, as if he’d been caught watching him.

“Thanks for washing them,” Neville murmured. He left the dining room and went to the couch alone.

“Do you want some water too?” Max asked from the archway between the dining room and living room, unbuttoning his sleeves, a bit of his chest showing.

“I’m alright,” Neville answered, reaching for a book on the coffee table.

Max walked slowly across the living room and sat beside him. When the couch sank under Max’s weight, Neville stopped breathing for a moment. The hand holding his book tensed.

Max reached for the remote and turned on the TV.

“Oh yeah, I missed this over the weekend,” he said as an NFL replay came on. Players in deep green and navy blue moved across the field on the screen. Neville wasn’t interested in football and didn’t look up. He silently flipped the page.

“Oh shit,” Max murmured as a defender intercepted a Jets pass.

As Max’s attention stayed on the TV, Neville remained silent for a few minutes. Then he closed the book, stood up, and disappeared into the bedroom.

“Neville?” Max called softly as he saw Neville’s back disappearing through the bedroom doorway. He paused for a second, then picked up the remote and lowered the volume of the TV.

Inside the bedroom, Neville sighed without sound. The memory of Max’s touches flickered through him—the feel of his dry lips at the park. What unsettled him was the strength of his own desire. He sensed the edge of the place where he kept himself controlled begin to blur, and it frightened him. The wanting stayed in him, unspoken and unmoving.

He slipped on the burgundy hoodie Max sometimes borrowed and lay down on the bed.

I want him.

He could probably tug Max’s arm, and Max would understand immediately. And yet, he couldn’t make himself do it.

After a few more minutes, when Max realized Neville wasn’t coming back, he went to peek into the bedroom.

The door was slightly open; when he pushed it wider, he found Neville lying face-down, hugging a pillow, now changed into a hoodie.

“Are you tired?” Max asked gently.

“Not really.”

Neville answered in a stiff voice, still not moving, still showing Max his back.

Max sat down on the bed.

“If there’s something you want to say, why don’t you talk to me?”

“There’s nothing,” Neville said, his voice tight.

“But… you seem different from usual, so I was a little worried,” Max said in a low, warm tone, his voice velvety and smooth.

He lay down beside Neville, leaving a little distance. The bedsprings creaked. The room was dim. Max reached over and switched on the lamp on the side table. The warm amber light settled between them.

Max didn’t speak. He waited.

After a long moment, Neville finally whispered,
“…I guess I’m frustrated.”

“What are you frustrated about?”

Max shifted closer, quietly taking in the tension in Neville’s back.

Neville’s shoulders tightened. His ears were faintly red.

“I’m not used to feeling like this.”

He breathed out, raw, unsure which word he should even choose.

“…Since the moment I saw you tonight, I just wanted to be closer to you.”

After saying it, Neville braced himself. He was sure Max was behind him, smiling in that teasing way he always did. And Max would probably reach him and turn things physical.

No matter how Max interprets what I just said, we’ll still end up in bed. So that’s fine, isn’t it?

A flicker of loneliness passed through his head.

But Max didn’t tease. Instead, in a quiet, unexpectedly earnest voice, he said,
“Nev… I see saying this wasn’t easy for you. Right?”

Neville blinked. He had never heard Max shorten his name before. And the words that followed were nothing he expected.

The bed dipped slightly, and the next moment, Neville felt Max’s chest press gently against his back. Strong arms wrapped around him, steady and warm. Neville swallowed.

“You never really say you want anything… so,” Max murmured, resting his forehead on Neville’s shoulder.
“It’s nice to hear.”

Max’s voice lingered warm near his ear. He didn’t move after that. He just held Neville quietly, no pushing, only gentle. Neville felt the subtle rise and fall of Max’s chest, his breathing warm against his back.

Something almost like an ache, but warm, settled in him. Neville felt his face grow hot, a faint heat gathering behind his eyes.

Is it okay… to want him?

Everything was uncertain. Yet there was something steady in Max’s arms as they held him, strong, but not pressing, simply there.

To reach for something I really want. For once?

Quietly, the ache deep in his chest shifted into a calm certainty. Max could accept who he was—even the parts he rarely showed anyone, the desire he usually kept under control. His throat tightened.

To this man, I want to lay myself bare.

A small, broken sound escaped his throat.

Neville turned toward him, pressed a hand to Max’s shoulder, and pushed him onto his back as he climbed over him, his breath turning unsteady. As he pulled his clothes away with a quick, unthinking motion, Neville kept his eyes on Max. He noticed the warmth in Max’s gaze, light passing through it, steady and unflinching.

Neville leaned down and kissed Max as if a strong current, long held back, had suddenly lost what restrained it. Their breath mingled, a faint trace of whisky still between them. Max’s arm lifted as if to hold him, but Neville’s movement kept him just out of reach. Before thought could stop him, Neville’s fingers slipped beneath Max’s shirt. He pressed his fingertips to Max’s chest, leaving a faint imprint, as his lips followed, moving from chest to stomach.

Max let out a small, aching sound when Neville’s lips passed his navel. His body jolted beneath him, his hand tightening in Neville’s hair.

“Wait,” Max said, his voice coming out rough.

Neville looked up at him, his gaze almost blank.

“Come here. I want you closer,” Max said, opening his arm.

After a beat, Neville shifted, kneeling on the bed to steady himself before moving slowly up beside Max, laying his head level with his. Their faces were close now. For a few seconds, they only looked.

Almost without deciding, fingers reached for one another. Their legs tangled together.

Neville heard himself. A sound pushed up from deep in his throat, unfiltered, responding to Max’s touch. At first, it surprised him; then he allowed himself to let it be, pausing only to draw breath between the sounds. Something long held inside him began to give way, one snap at a time.

Between breaths and broken sounds, there was a stillness. Their bodies fully focused, intent on feeling each other.

As Neville let himself go in his arms, Max’s desire flared. At the same time, something unexpectedly tender stirred inside him—something close to what he had once felt, years ago, toward someone else, on those nights of reconciliation.

This feels closer than it should, Max thought.

It was the last thought he remembered having that night.