"What do I have to do? Please … just tell me… I want to be with you Patrick Murray. Only you. Until our pubes are grey and our cocks are shrivelled. Just tell me what I need to do to prove that to you. I've already declared to our entire office that we're together. This flat. It's all my way of proving to you Patrick. Do you need me to take you to the U.K. and parade you through the streets of Romford? Do we need to throw a fucking party here, and I'll wear a T-shirt saying "Patrick Murray's cock is the only cock for me" so all the neighbours realise. Do you need a fucking marriage certificate and I'll change my name to Kevin Murray? Change my gym membership? Make sure you remain by my side at all times, even when I have to shit? Give you access to my emails and phone at all times? What do I need to do to prove to you that I am fucking in love with you, and only you…." Kevin ran his hand slowly down Patrick's cheek. "You need to trust me."
"Were you … are you … did you… just ask me to marry you?" Patrick whispered nervously; his eyes never leaving Kevin's.
Kevin laughed a short, bitter laugh. "Out of everything I just said…. That was what you took from all of that. Of course… If that's what it fucking takes, to prove to you, that you are enough for me … then yes, I'd marry you tomorrow. To prove to everyone here, no. Fuck them. To prove to YOU that we're it for each other. But Patrick? … When I ask you to marry me Patrick Murray, and it will be when, it will not be as part of the same angry rant about our grey pubes and shrivelled cocks."
"And Zac Efron…?" Patrick questioned quietly.
"Fuck him. Fuck the lot of them. Well … no. Don't fuck them. That's the point. I'm only fucking you… I don't know Patrick. I really don't. You just have to trust me."
"But do I have to trust you to not touch their cocks when they're out in the gym and begging you for a threesome? Or to trust that you'll be honest about it after and tell me after you've shagged them all? And then, that'll be all I can picture Kevin. You, with Zac Efron, and Mark Ruffalo, or whoever else the fuck flirts with you and your cute British accent. That's all I'll be able to see, is you, with these other guys."
"Patrick…" Kevin's voice broke, as he croaked out a mere whisper. "There won't be any other guys. Patrick. Not if that's not what you want. Those guys. They were nothing compared to you. They could never give me what I needed to have with you. And I've got you now. We've got each other. I'm not losing that." Kevin paused for a moment. Trying to gauge the unreadable expression on Patrick's face. Kevin took a deep breath. " I'll talk to you. Ok? If anyone comes on to me at the gym, or here, or when I'm getting a fucking bagel. I'll call you up Patrick Murray. And we'll come straight here, and you can take me up against that glass window, to prove to any hot guy on the street below, that you are all I need. And if Zac Efron proposes an epic threesome. I'll tell him I can't, unless my fucking hot boyfriend joins in too. I will talk to you Patrick Murray. I will tell you how I feel, and then we'll fuck it out of my system. But it will be you fucking it out of my system. No one else. Ok. We'll talk and we'll be honest. Because that's how a relationship works. But please Patrick. No more running off to Richie every time I screw up? I just don't think I can take that."
"Ok." Patrick took a deep breath. "Ok."