Dusk was setting over Fitton, and yet he was still there – sitting on a bench, staring at the lights of the Air Traffic Control Tower. He hadn't realised how cold he was until a jacket was draped around his shoulders, a warm hand lingering at the nape of his neck.
"There you are," a very much familiar voice muttered in an undertone. Not hurt or upset though; it was more understanding than anything, with an undercurrent of affection that threatened to shatter all of his well reasoned resolutions.
"I am, yes. Well spotted," he said, his smirk failing to be particularly convincing; but then again he was the one who'd fled after their almost kiss not half an hour ago, not the other way round.
"You can't hide forever, Douglas," the younger man pointed out gently. "I understand you're scared, and heaven knows I am too. But if there's anything life has taught me, is that trying and failing is better than not trying at all."
"Give it another twenty years," he sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Life will have taught you quite a different lesson by then, I'm afraid."
Silence fell as Martin sat down next to him, his thumb rubbing comfortingly against his shoulder blade. "I see where you're coming from, but it doesn't always have to be like that," his friend murmured at length. "How about we cross that bridge when we get to it, shall we?"
Douglas said nothing, his body leaning further into the touch out of its own volition. He knew only too well he was an old fool as well as a hopeless romantic, and that they were probably headed for disaster; still he didn't pull back when Martin wrapped him in a hug, his arms coming around the other's back like he'd denied himself for so long.