After hundreds of text messages, dozens of emails, a handful of Skype chats, and two post cards, Glen was returning to Nottingham.
Russell waited on the platform, hands in the front pockets of his jeans. The chill in the air nipped at his nose and he blew out a long breath, watching the condensation dissipate as quickly as it formed. The second hand of the clock moved to the twelve o'clock position with an audible click. Another seven to ten minutes...
Twenty-five months ago, he'd hugged and kissed a man in public for the first time. Just there, on the platform, on the other side of the tracks. No promises or declarations had been made then or since.
The screech of brakes along the track drew Russell's gaze and the train came into view. He pushed off the lamp post and waited. The train came to a halt and its passengers began to disembark. Russell scanned the crowd, keeping his eye out for a red or—there it was. A yellow hoodie. And then Glen was stood before him.
Glen bit his lip, fighting a grin, and a wave of heat rushed Russell's cheeks. Thank goodness for facial hair. No, there'd been no promises, but if nothing else, they were mates, and Glen needed to know someone had missed him and was glad he'd returned.
"Still the romantic," he said.
Russell shrugged. "Yeah."
Glen bounced on the balls of his feet once, and then rose to press his lips to Russell's. "I'm glad. Thanks for coming."
Russell smiled and reached for the handle of Glen's wheeled case.