Craig bit deeply into his toast. The sharp tang of lime marmalade awakening his senses far more than the half drunk mug of coffee had so far managed.

The later in the year it got the more Craig hated mornings. There was something unnatural about forcing himself to climb out of a warm bed while it was still dark outside and the sound of rain was battering against the window. There was something even more unnatural about having to drag himself away from John Paul's side, knowing that the day would pass without Craig being able to see or touch him again until almost six that evening.

John Paul giggled as Craig chewed thoughtfully on his breakfast, unaware of the large smear of sticky marmalade that had found its way onto his cheek.

"Messy," John Paul teased as he leaned over to wipe the sweet mess from his boyfriend's face, only to hesitate and, at the last second, close the gap between them a little further so that he could lap up the marmalade with his tongue.

Craig smiled as John Paul's tongue swept from the corner of his mouth to his cheek, the heat bathing his skin as it was cleansed.

John Paul pulled the sweetness of the preserve into his mouth, his tongue still tingling from the roughness of Craig's unshaven face.

"You're such a scruff," John Paul teased, his mouth still only a fraction of an inch from Craig's skin as he spoke.

"You love me like this," Craig replied with a grin.

"It scratches," John Paul laughed, his lips pressing against Craig's stubbled cheek as if to illustrate the point.

"Yeah… that's what you like about it…"

John Paul kissed Craig's cheek harder, nuzzling at the rough bristles as they scratched over his skin. He couldn't deny that there was something about Craig's preference for a light coating of stubble that he found incredibly erotic. He didn't know if it was the slightly enigmatic look that it gave his already sexy lover, or possibly the rough manly feeling as it scratched his face when they kissed, or maybe it was the way it felt as it brushed over his thighs as Craig…

John Paul swallowed hard as the image of Craig's face between his legs filled his mind, every inch of his body desperate to experience the feeling of that stubble against his soft skin again.

Grabbing Craig's face in both hands John Paul kissed him hard. Their mouths pressing together furiously as their tongues sort each other out with earnest.

Breathless and flushed John Paul forced himself to break the kiss and, stealing a glance at his watch he grimaced. He wanted nothing more than to drag Craig back to their bedroom and fully enjoy the feeling of his lover's stubble against his skin but reality had other demands on his time.

"I've gotta go," he said pitifully.

"Another five minutes," Craig pleaded, moving forward to try and claim another kiss. He hated saying goodbye to John Paul in the mornings, even more than usual lately.

"I can't," John Paul replied with a sorrowful smile, "I'm gonna be late…"

Craig pouted and let out a sigh. "Well go on then… off to work with you… see you later…"

"And don't forget I'm working back tonight…"

"AGAIN? That's the fourth time in the last two weeks," Craig complained. As if ruining their trip a couple of weeks earlier hadn't been bad enough now John Paul's work was stealing their evenings as well.

"I know… I'm sorry… but it won't be for much longer. I promise!"

Brushing another quick kiss to Craig's cheek John Paul raced from the kitchen.

"See you later," he called from the hallway as he put on his coat. "Love you."

"You too," Craig called back as he heard the front door opening.

"Craig… the post's here… bye…"

There was the sound of the post being slapped down on the hall table, followed by the closing of the front door. And then silence.

Craig sat at the table and stared at his half eaten toast, his appetite for it completely gone.

The post had arrived.

The post. Usually a non-event that required little more than sifting through the bills and throwing away the junk.

The post. Something that now filled the dark haired man with a sense of foreboding.

Dragging himself to his feet as if hoisting lead weights Craig plodded into the hallway and scooped up the envelopes that John Paul had thrown down on the table.

Flicking through them Craig could recognise the familiar energy and telephone bills that would have already been taken care of by direct debit and needed no more attention than to be filed away.

And then he saw it. Nestled in the middle of the innocuous post was a simple white envelope, much like countless others that were posted through doors every day. A simple white envelope with Craig's name and address printed neatly in its centre.

A simple white envelope that was virtually identical to the five others he had already received. A simple white envelope that made him feel physically sick.

Sitting back at the kitchen table Craig held the envelope in his hands, turning it over and over in some vain attempt to decipher its contents without actually having to read them.

Trying to ignore the shaking in his hands Craig slowly tore open the envelope, the ripping of the paper reverberated loudly in his ears screaming for him to stop, to throw it away unread. To pay it no heed.

Craig slipped the letter from its covering and, unfolding the single sheet of paper, he read its contents.

It was the same block capital writing that made his blood run cold carrying almost the same message as all the previous letters.

"Is John Paul working late again this week? Are you not wondering who he's fucking yet?"

Closing his eyes Craig could still see the words illuminated in the darkness of his mind, glowing and taunting him.

It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. But if Craig was so sure that the letters were nothing but poisonous lies why had he not mentioned them to John Paul yet? Why were three of the previous four stuffed in the back of his sock drawer, the first letter being the only one he had managed to destroy?

Craig sighed as he ran his hands over his face, a sudden feeling of weariness gripping him. He needed John Paul. He needed John Paul to tell him that everything was fine and that there was no one else. But what if there was?

The words of the other letters flitted through Craig's mind in a cascade of pain and fear, filling his heart with "what ifs" until he was gripped with panic.

"John Paul is cheating on you."

"Do you know who your boyfriend is screwing tonight?"

"He's making you look like an idiot. John Paul is fucking around behind your back."

"If he loved you would John Paul be fucking that other man?"


Craig sat in the semi darkness of the living room, the only illumination coming from a single lamp above the dormant television.

He had barely moved for the last half hour but instead he sat in silence, his eyes fixed on the large round clock above the mantle, watching every passing minute. Every passing second. Each minute felt like an hour and as one moved into the next Craig's temper grew shorter.

It was already nine-thirty, even for John Paul this "working late" was going well past his usual hours.

After another ten minutes Craig heard the sound of the front door followed by the footsteps of the man he loved approaching the room.

Craig straightened in his seat and took a few deep breaths as John Paul entered the room.

"Hi sweetheart," John Paul said brightly as he dropped his jacket on the back of the sofa, "Sorry I'm so late, things just got away from us."

"I bet," Craig said under his breath.

"What was that?" John Paul asked as he ran his hand lightly over Craig's hair and leant forward to kiss the man on the cheek.

"Have you been drinking?" Craig asked, his head snapping round to face John Paul as the unmistakable aroma of lager filled his nostrils.

"Well we stopped for one on the way home…" John Paul began.

"Just one? Smells like more than that to me…"

"OK maybe two…"

"Rather than coming straight home?"

"It was a hard day, we needed to unwind…"

"You couldn't unwind with me?"

"Craig what is this… what's wrong?" John Paul's brow furrowed in concern and he stroked his hand gently over Craig's cheek, a gesture that was quickly batted away. "Please Craig, tell me what's going on…"

"Funny," Craig spat, "I thought that would be MY line."

"Your line?"

"Yeah… as in what the fuck's going on John Paul?"

"I don't know what you're talking about… Craig please…" Once again John Paul tried to touch Craig's cheeks but his hand was pushed away as Craig got to his feet and his dark brown eyes flashed angrily as they looked deep into John Paul's soft blue depths.

"Don't," Craig said quietly as John Paul touched his arm softly.

"Craig?"

"Who is he?"

"Who… who is who?"

"The new guy you're fucking…"

"The… what… who… I don't know…" John Paul shook his head in confusion. Craig couldn't have just said that, could he? Why would he say such a thing? Why would he think such a thing? "Craig what are you on about?"

"Don't lie to me," Craig said between gritted teeth as his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. "I saw you…"

"Saw me when? Doing what?"

Closing his eyes Craig turned his back on John Paul. He couldn't look at him. He couldn't bare to look at him.

"I came to meet you out of work," Craig said quietly, "But you'd already gone… gone to the pub I was told so I thought I'd join you there…"

"I never saw you…"

"You wouldn't… you were too busy with him…"

"Who? Craig who? I'm not… there isn't…"

"I mean it's not like I wasn't warned," Craig said, almost to himself.

"Warned? I don't know what you're talking about, Craig you're talking in riddles, please, I don't understand…"

"Read for yourself," Craig said, pulling the letters from his pocket as he spun around to face John Paul and slammed them forcefully into the man's chest before pushing past him and almost running from the room.

John Paul's eyes grew wider as he read the accusations that had been levelled at him. Accusations that Craig had believed. Why had Craig believed them?

Leaning against the bathroom door Craig's chest heaved, his breathing coming in sharp gasps as he tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.

He had been in high spirits earlier that evening as he formulated the plans to surprise John Paul by meeting him from work. And even when he discovered that the blonde man had gone to the pub rather than heading straight home he hadn't been annoyed but had simply changed his plans and gone to join him. Craig had ignored the little voice that had whispered in his ears, suggesting that he only wanted to meet John Paul that night to prove to himself that the man WAS working late, and had all but convinced himself that he didn't believe the lies he had been told.

Or at least he had convinced himself until the moment he walked into the pub and saw for himself.

John Paul had been stood in one corner, a lager bottle in one hand while his other rested on the shoulder of his companion. A rather attractive fair haired man who was stroking John Paul's arm affectionately as they laughed together, their faces only inches apart, on the verge of a kiss. A kiss that Craig hadn't been able to stay and watch, instead he had raced back to the house he shared with the man he thought he knew and pulled out the letters from their hiding place to confront John Paul with when he got home. If he got home.

"Craig it's all lies," John Paul called through the bathroom door. "These letters… what you've read… it's not true… none of it's true…"

"I saw you," Craig called back.

"I don't know what you saw… what you think you saw… Craig please… I haven't, I wouldn't…"

The bathroom door was flung open giving John Paul no time to react before Craig's fist connected with his jaw, sending the blonde man staggering backwards.

"Get out," Craig screamed, his eyes flashing as if possessed.

"Craig please…"

"Get out." Craig's voice turned into a shriek and his body trembled with rage.

"Craig…"

"If you don't get the fuck out of here right now I will kill you."

John Paul hesitated, his hand pressed against his jaw as the metallic tang of blood filled his mouth. He knew Craig well enough to know that there would be no reasoning with him until he had calmed down.

"I'm coming back," John Paul said quietly as he turned to leave.

"Don't bother."


John Paul didn't have a destination in mind when he closed the door. All he knew was that he needed to put some distance between himself and Craig, the look in Craig's eyes had told him that. The dark anger that had burned inside those chocolate pools had been quite unlike any that John Paul had witnessed before and he knew that the dark haired man was in no frame of mind to be reasoned with. He needed time to cool down, to realise what he was saying and to hopefully realise his mistake.

John Paul shivered in the cool night air. He had left in such a rush that he hadn't even grabbed his jacket and the evening chill bit through the cotton of his shirt.

Within a few minutes John Paul was pushing open the heavy wooden door that he had walked through countless times before. The door to the club in which he was still allowed to indulge his DJ fantasies. The door to the club where he had seen Craig again for the first time in years.

John Paul breathed deeply, the familiar odour of the club filling his nostrils. A strange mixture of beer and sweat, countless aftershaves and perfumes, a hint of desperation and desire, a multitude of fragrances that came together to define the nightclub that he knew so well.

Glancing around the room John Paul was relived to see that the patrons were few in number, just a scattering of students who had no lectures in the morning. The Tuesday night DJ was slumped against the wall with a bottle in one hand and an attractive blonde in the other, obviously paying no attention to the music that John Paul assumed was being provided by a pre-recorded compilation of tracks that no one was listening to anyway.

Walking over to the bar John Paul lowered himself onto a stool and sighed. He couldn't understand what had happened and until he could understand he had no idea how to make things right.

"We don't normally see you in here in the week."

John Paul looked up at the man addressing him and offered a half-hearted smile as acknowledgement.

Damien was in his late thirties and had been the manager of the club for the past three years. Despite having little interest in the type of music his club favoured Damien was skilful enough in promotion to have been able to dramatically turn around its flagging profits and secure the employment of its entire staff whilst also taking on a new, part-time and very successful DJ.

Running one hand over his short-cropped light brown hair Damien grimaced as he noticed the new bruise that was beginning to form at the edge of John Paul's jaw.

"What happened?" he asked with genuine concern for his favourite, and if truth was told most popular, disc jockey.

John Paul's fingers reached up to touch his face wincing at the sharp pain as he touched the place where all too recently Craig's fist had connected.

"Long story," John Paul said with a shrug.

"Want to talk about it?" Damien asked kindly as he pulled up a stool next to John Paul and beckoned over the barman.

"Whiskey," John Paul said as the young fair haired man approached. "Damn," John Paul said in annoyance as he reached for his wallet only to remember it was still in the pocket of his jacket that he had left hanging over the back of the sofa, a quick look through his pockets revealing little more than some spare change and his keys.

"On me," Damien said, "Give him a double… it looks like he needs it…"

"Thanks," John Paul replied with gratitude as the small glass was placed before him. John Paul savoured the familiar burn as the golden liquid trickled down his throat. A few more of those and he might find some peace, or at least a touch of oblivion, but he knew one thing he wouldn't find would be answers. Only one person held those, the person who had been sending Craig letters for god knew how long.

"So? Wanna tell me?" Damien asked with an encouraging smile.

"Not sure," John Paul admitted.

"Was it Craig?"

"It's not what you think…"

"How d'you know what I think?"

"We had a fight…"

"Well I didn't think it was a love bite!"

John Paul laughed at the absurdity of Damien's words, the absurdity of the situation. What was he doing sat in a nightclub when he should be at home sorting things out with Craig?

"He thinks I'm cheating on him…" John Paul continued.

"And are you…"

"NO! No I'm not… I've never… I wouldn't…"

"Alright calm down, I was only asking…"

"Sorry," John Paul said with an apologetic shrug. "I just… I don't know how he could believe it so easily… after all this time… after everything we've been through how could he believe that I would do that to him? Maybe what we've got isn't what I thought it was…"

"So why does he think it?"

"Cause someone told him… well no, not told him… at least that I could have respected, if they'd had the bottle to actually make themselves known… but this? Letters… nasty little letters telling Craig I've been up to god knows what… And then he sees me in the pub after work and jumps to all sorts of conclusions… oh shit I was talking to Colin…"

"Colin? Oh the guy who whispers all the time?"

"Exactly," John Paul said with a sigh. "No wonder Craig thought I was getting close… that bloke talks so low you have to lean in just to hear what he's saying! But if it hadn't been for those damn letters… Who would do that Damien? What kind of sad bastard would get their kicks that way? Christ who hates me that much that they'd want to split me and Craig up like this…"

"Oh!" Damien's eyes widened for a moment as a thought struck him suddenly.

"Oh? Oh what?"

"It's just… I mean I never thought… but maybe… I dunno I could be wrong but…"

"What? Damien what… tell me?"


Craig paced the living room. How dare John Paul walk out like that? How dare he leave just because… well just because Craig told him to.

Craig knew he was being irrational but he couldn't help it. He felt irrational.

He wanted John Paul there telling him it was all lies, that there was no truth in those letters. But when John Paul had been there doing just that Craig hadn't believed him, or maybe it was that he couldn't believe him.

Stomping into the kitchen Craig looked at the letters that he had laid out on the table. Each word taunting him with John Paul's betrayal, each one telling Craig that he wasn't enough.

But wasn't that always the way in the end? Whatever he had tried to be Craig was always left with a feeling of inadequacy. Family, friends, lovers, they all left him in the end, or he left them, either way he would end up alone.

Even before the letters, before he had any reason to doubt, Craig had still wondered when things with John Paul would end. There wasn't ever anything so good that Craig Dean couldn't spoil it.

With a growl of frustration Craig swiped the letters onto the floor before picking up a coffee cup and launching it at the wall opposite, watching the fragments of porcelain shatter and rain down to the floor.

He could just stand around and wait for things to come to an end.


"Damien tell me," John Paul insisted as the older man chewed thoughtfully on his lip.

"Look it might be nothing…" Damien began.

"Just tell me…"

"I mean I never thought anything of it at the time… and I never said cause… well there didn't seem any point…"

"Damien!" John Paul's patience was starting to wear thin as his friend seemed determined to spin out his information indefinitely. "Just tell me…"

"Last week," Damien explained, "When I was arriving for work…"

"Yeah?"

"I saw Simon… he was just hanging around outside and when he saw me he walked off…"

"Simon?"

John Paul paused. Simon. The man he had once anticipated spending his life with until Craig had returned to remind him where his heart really belonged. Simon. The man he had cheated on and hurt and let walk away without a second thought. John Paul felt a flush of guilt as he realised that he hadn't so much as thought of the man who was once such an integral part of his life since Craig had returned.

"Simon…" John Paul repeated in a whisper. A few years ago John Paul would have laughed off the idea that the grey-eyed man would be capable of such malice, but then a few years ago John Paul would have laughed at the thought that he would have found love with Craig again.

"Oh my god it was Simon…" The certain realisation struck John Paul as he recalled the writing on the anonymous letters. It had seemed vaguely familiar but John Paul hadn't really had the time to study it, but now he knew with certainty. The way his name had been printed, exactly the way it had seen it written before on a valentine's card from a "secret admirer" that Simon had once sent as a joke.

"I can't believe he would do that," John Paul said. He knew he had hurt the man by choosing Craig over him, but he didn't realise just how much, he didn't realise his one time lover would hold on to that hurt for so long before seeking some form of revenge. "I've gotta go and tell Craig… Damien thank you… I could kiss you!"

Damien laughed. "Probably not a good idea eh? You never know who might be watching!"


"Craig!" John Paul called the second he pushed open the front door. "Craig I know who sent them… Craig where are you?"

The living room was empty.

Walking into the kitchen John Paul saw the evidence of Craig frustration, the shattered cup and the scattered letters. Reaching down to pick up one of the notes John Paul confirmed in his mind the author of the poison. Where was Craig? He needed to tell him.

Racing into the bedroom John Paul stopped dead. Several drawers were pulled open and items of clothing hung from them as hands had obviously reached in and grabbed what they could.

"Craig no," John Paul gasped as his knees buckled and he fell onto the bed. "We promised… no more running away… we agreed… no more being apart…"


Craig raised his hand nervously, hesitating for a second before taking a deep breath and knocking on the door. It was a familiar front door but one he hadn't seen in many years. Just as he hadn't seen the occupants of the small house since that day three years earlier.

The door seemed to open slowly and then she was stood there. Her eyes wide with shock at the sight of the man on her doorstep.

She had hardly changed Craig thought, maybe a little older looking, but still the same blonde haired woman that he had always loved.

The sharp slap across his face came as no surprise. Craig had been expecting it and he knew he deserved it. Being pulled into her arms came as no surprise either. Whatever else happened Craig knew she would always love him.

"Craig…" The blonde woman gasped as she held him tightly, not quite daring to believe he was really there.

"Alright mum?"

Releasing her hold Frankie Osborne stepped back to look at her youngest son.

"Where the hell have you been?" She asked angrily, consumed with the urge to slap him again, or to hold him again. "Three years Craig… no one has heard from you in three years! You walk out on your wife and disappear… you'd better have a bloody good explanation…"

Craig shrugged. "Do I at least get to come inside first?"


With a sigh John Paul put the telephone receiver back in its cradle. For the last half hour he had been calling anyone and everyone he could think of in the hope that someone had heard from Craig, but with every negative response he felt his hopes failing.

In a last vain attempt to track the dark haired man John Paul dialled a number he had had no cause to call for many years.

"Hello. The Dog in the Pond…"

The voice was unfamiliar and John Paul licked his lips nervously. He could hear the background sounds of empty glasses and hollow footsteps. Glancing at the clock John Paul realised that, at just past midnight, the bar was probably closed for the evening.

"Yeah err… sorry for calling so late…" John Paul stammered, "I was looking for Frankie…"

"Frankie?" The young male voice replied in a tone that sapped away the last of John Paul's hope.

"Yeah Frankie Osborne, or Jack Osborne… they own the place… well, they did…" John Paul shook his head. It had been foolish to assume that the ownership of The Dog in the Pond was still in the hands of the Osborne's after so many years but it had been the last link to Craig he had been able to think of. Craig had so rarely mentioned his family that John Paul realised he didn't know anything of their lives since the day he himself had left Hollyoaks village far behind.

There was a muffled sound as the receiver on the other end was covered with a hand for a moment before the barman's voice spoke again.

"Right… yeah," he said, "They sold up a few years ago mate… decided to retire and move…"

"I don't suppose you know where to?"


Craig stood in the unfamiliar living room, nervously waiting as Frankie did what she always did when visitors called, even if that visitor was a son she hadn't seen for years. She put the kettle on.

Craig had only been to the house two, maybe three times, since Frankie and Jack had moved in and, although it had only been a few years ago, to Craig it felt like a lifetime had passed and he wasn't entirely sure that he had made the right decision in going there.

Standing by the mantle Craig let his eyes wander over the selection of photographs that were laid out for all to see. Snapshots of moments long gone, memories of happy times and a permanent reminder of the life that Craig had fled. Nestled at the back of the selection of silver and wooden frames stood one picture that caught Craig's eye and, without thinking, he reached out and picked it up.

She looked so beautiful that day. Her rich ebony hair glistened in the early autumn sunlight as it curled gently onto her shoulders; and her eyes, so dark they were almost black, seemed to sparkle with life and love as they smiled into the camera.

If only she had known that day how quickly things would change her smile would not have been so bright.

Craig had loved her, cared for her, wanted to make her happy, but even that day as he stood before their friends and family he had known it wasn't enough. Even as he had vowed to love her for the rest of his life he had known he was lying. Craig knew there was only one person he could ever truly make that promise to.

Running his fingertips lightly over the polished glass that housed his wedding photograph Craig realised, possibly for the first time, how completely opposite to John Paul the woman he married really was. Everything about her, her looks, her manner, her interests, it was as if Craig had sought out the total antithesis of the person he really loved in some misguided attempt to convince himself that John Paul was out of his life and more importantly out of his heart.

"Why did you do it Craig?"

Craig turned around as Frankie walked back into the room and placed two mugs on the small coffee table before sitting on the sofa and looking up as her youngest son with dismay.

"Why just leave the poor girl like that?"

"I don't know," Craig said with a sad sigh as he took a seat beside his mother and reached for the warmth of the hot drink. "It wasn't working… I couldn't think… I just had to… had to get away…"

"But to go without a word, do you know what that did to her? To all of us? Craig we didn't know if you were alive or dead… you just upped and left without a word… do you know how cruel that is?"

Craig rested his eyes on the surface of his drink. Three years ago he'd run away. A few hours ago he'd done the same. Both actions had seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

"Is she OK?"

"Do you care?"

"Mum… please…"

"You should go and see her…"

"Yeah I… I will… in the morning… only… I can stay here tonight can't I?"

Frankie smiled, a deep genuine smile that radiated from deep within as she pulled her son into her arms and kissed the top of his head. He might be a grown man but he would always be her baby boy.

"I've missed you Craig," she breathed into his hair, "Of course you can stay."


John Paul drained his mug of tea and grabbed his keys. It had taken over twenty minutes of clever talking, pleading and ultimately begging, before the owners of The Dog had relented and given him the address of the Osborne's new house. He had been tempted to set off immediately but common sense told him that they were unlikely to welcome his arrival in the early hours of the morning, especially if it turned out that Craig wasn't even there. Instead John Paul had forced himself to go to bed and had spent a long restless and lonely night waiting for the first rays of daylight to begin his journey.

Pulling the front door closed behind him John Paul stopped in his tracks.

Standing on the street, with one hand resting on the roof of John Paul's car, was a very familiar figure.

His hair was shorter than John Paul remembered, almost cropped, giving the man a cold, harsh appearance and his frame seemed slighter, but the most startling change was the cold look that filled Simon's grey eyes. John Paul found it hard to believe that those same eyes had once looked at him with love.

John Paul felt anger bubbling through him, his fists clenching at his sides and his teeth grinding together as he walked slowly towards his one time lover, the man who had once held him with gentleness, the man who had recently driven Craig away with his lies.

"What are you doing here?" John Paul snarled between gritted teeth, valiantly fighting the urge to wipe the smug grin from Simon's face with his fist.

"Anyone would think you're not happy to see me," Simon said, his voice heavily laced with sarcasm.

"What do you want?"

"What's the matter John Paul? Problems in paradise?" Simon laughed, a sharp soulless sound that increased John Paul's desire for physical violence exponentially.

But instead John Paul shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets as he looked into Simon's empty expression. John Paul couldn't help but wonder if he had put that look there, if his actions had changed Simon from the gentle man he had once know to… to someone who would seemingly ruin his life for, for what? For kicks? For pleasure? There didn't seem to be any pleasure or satisfaction in Simon's twisted smile.

"Why?" John Paul asked quietly. "Simon why...?"

"Because I could," Simon replied with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

"But… why? Why would you even want to?"

"I would have loved you forever John Paul," Simon said, his voice flat and emotionless, "I would never have betrayed you. But that wasn't enough was it? It was always him… even before he came back it was still him wasn't it? He was always the one you wanted and I was… what? What was I John Paul… someone to pass the time with?"

"No…" John Paul objected, but even as the word left his lips he knew that at least some of Simon's accusation was true. He had loved the man once, but it was never the love he felt for Craig. Nothing and no one had ever been able to compare to his feelings for the brown-eyed man that owned his heart and soul.

"I would have done anything for you," Simon continued, a tang of bitterness coating his words, "Anything… but you chose HIM… you walked away from me and straight to him and why? Because he loves you? What kind of love is it that he would believe you're cheating on him because he gets a few letters? That's what you chose John Paul? THAT?"

"You don't know him… you've got no idea what we have…"

"So where is he now?"

John Paul averted his eyes. He couldn't bare the look of victory that flashed over Simon's face, nor the feelings of guilt that his selfish actions had caused such changes in the man he had once loved.

"Only I'm sure that was your oh so wonderful Craig I saw leaving with his bags packed last night…"

"You saw...?"

"Just a few letters and he takes off… is that really how little he loves you?"

"You don't know what you're talking about…"

"No?"

John Paul took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Simon was wrong, had to be wrong, it was all a misunderstanding and as soon as he saw Craig and explained…

"He loves me," John Paul said calmly as he opened his eyes and looked directly at Simon, gaining some small satisfaction as the man flinched and looked away. "Do you really hate me that much Simon… to do this?"

"I loved you," Simon replied bitterly.

"Then why?"

"Does it matter?"

"It matters to me…"

Simon shook his head and started to walk away. "Call it revenge," he said simply. "No, not revenge… karma…"