"It's not worth it."
"I know." He sighs, putting his drink down.
"But you still want to." You try to catch his eye, to make him look at you; it doesn't work.
"Yes." He looks toward the door, and you wonder if he's rethinking it.
"Why?" You ask, and he seems surprised at the question.
"Why do you want to do this?" You pause, waiting for a response. One doesn't come, so you continue. "I mean, your husband loves you, I know that. And you know what it's like to be on the other side, why would you-"
"Stop. Just, stop. I know what I'm doing. I know it's not really worth it, but for fucks sake, would you just tell me if you want this too?" He's looking at you with desperation in his eyes, a look you've seen in the mirror too many times.
You don't say anything, you just take another long pull of your scotch, then set it down next to his. He's still staring at you, trying to figure out what you're going to say, or do, and he's about to say something when you stand up. His eyes, red-rimmed already, start to water.
"I'm sorry, Bl-" You lean down, and kiss him. He sighs into your mouth, his body relaxing as he realizes that yes, you want this too. You both know it's wrong, but in that moment, you can't be the better man. It's been years since you've felt the soft touch of his lips to yours, and you'd be insane to deny him.
You pull him to standing, holding his body tight to yours. The years have been kind to him; his shoulders are broader than they were when you were nineteen, and his stomach is still firm beneath your hands. You're not too bad, either, although your hair has a bit more grey than his. None of that really matters, though, when he starts taking off his clothes, and yours follow. It's been a long time, but you still know every sensitive spot, every place to touch to get him to fall apart.
He kisses you, long and deep, and you stop thinking, and just be with him.
"I still love you." It's a whisper, but you know he hears you.
"I know."
"He loves you too."
"I know."
"This can't happen again."
"… I know." He ties his shoe laces, and stands up. "I have to get home. Adam will be worrying about me. The twins are probably giving him hell, since they're potty training." It's awkward, him talking about his family. His husband, his kids, his life. It's so put-together, at least on the surface. It's so different from yours.
"You don't need to make excuses, it's alright." You don't look at him, you can't. "Go home, take care of your family. I get it."
He smiles at you for a second, a sad, almost pitying smile. "Goodbye, Blaine."
You watch him leave, not saying anything. It's too late. He found someone else.
