"Ben?"
For a moment Dylan is certain his mind is playing tricks on him; that he actually fell asleep in his armchair cradling the first glass of whiskey, and he is only dreaming now, conjuring visions of Lofty standing there in the doorway, still wearing that stupidly attractive blue shirt.
But then he gives Dylan a sheepish smile, and holds up a bottle of Dylan's favourite whiskey. "I just thought, since you didn't want to come to the pub, that I could bring the drink to you."
His eyes flick to the ground, and there's a hint of nervousness in their depths when he looks back up, as though he half expects Dylan to turn him down again.
It is this, more than anything, that convinces Dylan that he really is here; if it were a dream, the Lofty in his subconscious would not have forgiven him, because he cannot forgive himself for the way he acted. His punishment is that he'll never forget the hurt look on Lofty's face as he turned away for what Dylan expected to be the last time.
He realises he has been silent for too long—catches himself just before Lofty has the chance to turn away again and leave him. His hand is half-extended before he can pull it back, reaching out to stop the man in front of him from moving before he can beg it with his lips.
As it is, the words struggle to come, as they always seem to do when it matters so much. He silently curses himself for the inadequacy, but it's too important this time – he has to make sure he says the right thing, because saying the wrong thing again will surely mean that he will lose Lofty, for good this time. You can only push someone away a certain number of times before they don't come back.
"It's not just about the drink though is it?" he says, a question laced in his words. Lofty seems to stiffen, and Dylan curses himself, curses that those had to be the first words out of his mouth. "I mean –" he hastily clarifies, "it wasn't really the drinking in the pub part I was averse to."
The words hang between them in the silence, Lofty clearly waiting for a better explanation than a hasty brush-off. There's a hint of something else in his eyes now though, something more than the nervousness with which he'd made his offer of the drink. Dylan thinks of his own inept question, the way Lofty had almost inadvertently recoiled, as though –
Oh.
Perhaps Lofty sees the dawning realisation in his eyes, because he offers up, "What were you averse to then?" - and Dylan would have to be the world's most stupid man to ignore an opportunity like that.
"Saying goodbye to you."
It is a relief to say it, to finally, finally be honest after all this time of lying to himself, never mind anyone else who might have taken an interest. There's a brief flash of regret for the way he spoke to Zoe earlier – yet another person he hurt by trying to mask his feelings – but she doesn't linger long in his thoughts tonight, not when Lofty is looking at him like all of his Christmases have come at once; which, knowing how much Lofty loves Christmas –
Oh.
He stands for a moment, blind-sided and in awe that he didn't see this sooner. He had thought it was just him – that he'd let his feelings colour their every interaction and that they couldn't possibly be reciprocated, but Lofty is here isn't he? He is the one who sought Dylan out, even after the harsh words that could only ever have been interpreted as a rebuke, no matter how they'd actually been meant. He must have felt there was something worth coming back for.
"Ben," Dylan says, and then pauses because he doesn't know how the sentence was meant to end.
"It's okay you know, I'm not going away forever," Lofty offers, and bless him, bless him for trying to make this easier – for giving him a way out if Dylan wants to take it.
He doesn't.
Instead he steps forwards, close enough that he can see the blue of Lofty's eyes darken at the proximity.
"Good," he murmurs, though he can't really remember what he's responding to.
"You were right," Lofty says, after what feels like an age of just staring into each other's eyes, "it wasn't just about the drink."
It takes Dylan a few moments to register that he's spoken. "Oh?" He feels like he's missing something.
"I mean, I didn't come here tonight just to have a drink with you." Lofty gives him a smile, and Dylan can only stand there, dumbstruck and hopeful. "I came to do this."
And finally he leans forward, and presses his lips to Dylan's.
There will be time later to make all the promises they ever wanted to say to each other, all the vows they yearned to whisper against each other's skin; a time to atone for their failings and express their apologies and regrets in loving actions; a time when they are ready to move on, together.
For now though, the soft slide of lips and gentle clasp of hands is enough to reassure them that this is not their ending—it is only the beginning.