Author's Notes: I'm glad these are being well received! :D It makes me a happy authorpants. Right now I'm going through a bit of a dry period so I'm glad I've already got these up and running. This story is a little depressing, and I'd forgotten that since having last read it. But, I like it. Hope you all do too!

Oliver looked at the table in front of him. It had taken several bloody hours to get it just right, but damn it, it looked right. The soft glow of the candles cast a gentle light over the table, with each piece of china and stainless steel silverware holding a reflection of each little flicker. That had been the hardest part, at least for him. Oliver had never been good at decorating.

They had been together for a year now. It was hard to believe! The step from rivalry to friendship had been more than enough, so it was indeed surprising when their relationship had taken an interesting turn when Marcus asked him out to dinner one night. It had been a three-course meal, including a delicious salad, mouthwatering steak, potatoes and corn, with cheesecake for the dessert. Both of them had so thoroughly enjoyed that Oliver, being the sentimental little bugger he was, made note of it; he was going to remake it for a very special event. What was more special than a first year anniversary dinner?

Everything was done, and now all Oliver had to do was wait. What Marcus didn't know was that he had taken off the day to prepare this, and would be pleasantly (hopefully) surprised when he came in and saw what was before him. If there was one thing Oliver enjoyed doing, it was surprising Marcus. He made it entirely too easy. Then again, that might have been because Marcus just didn't expect things like this out of Oliver. Hell, Oliver didn't even expect these sort of things out of himself. That was half the fun, though, wasn't it?

Tempted though he was to seat himself Oliver remained standing, looking over the food at the table. It had just come out, and he had done his best to time it to when Marcus was going to be home. Oliver didn't think much of it when five minutes passed. Then came ten. Then fifteen. Twenty. A half-hour. An hour…

Oliver glanced at the clock on the wall. Little over two hours had passed, and Marcus still wasn't home. He didn't have a phone, otherwise he would have called him…but why couldn't Marcus have let him know he wasn't going to be home right away? It didn't take but a minute to say "Hey! I'm going to be late. I apologise." He had done it before. There really was no excuse.

On their anniversary, nonetheless.

Letting out a sigh, Oliver leaned over the table and blew out the candles. His stomach was growling at him but he wasn't going to eat. This meal had been made for him and Marcus, and that was exactly how it was going to be eaten, even if it was several hours later. The once good-smelling food was now cold, untouched, and its smell was mediocre at best. Oliver's worry had risen considerably within the first hour, only now he was feeling much more irritated. How dare Marcus not show up? Granted, he hadn't told him he was planning this, but he should have guessed it. Marcus was supposed to know him well.

Three hours had passed by now, and things were beyond ridiculous. Oliver finally had given up on waiting, which seemed to be the key. As he wandered into the living room, intending to head to the bedroom, the front door creaked open and Marcus slowly slipped on in.

"Marcus!" Oliver said suddenly. A baffled mix of emotions bubbled about inside of him. Though he was relieved to see him in one piece, he was also incredibly infuriated that he had missed the dinner, and was feeling his worry pop back for a brief moment.

Somehow he managed to settle on relief. Quickly he approached the other, wrapping his arms around his waist. He didn't fail to notice that Marcus only half-heartedly returned the hug.

"Where the hell were you?" Oliver asked, concerned. He tried to look his lover in the eyes, only to find that those opposite him refused to meet with his.

"Out," Marcus replied vaguely.

"Where?"

"Somewhere. With friends."

The anger inside of Oliver began to grow more prevalent. He furrowed his brow, cheeks turning slightly pink. "Somewhere, with friends? Marcus, you know what tonight is, don't you?"

Marcus only shrugged. "Yeah, I know, Oliver."

Oliver folded his arms over his chest. "Then why weren't you fucking here?"

There was something in the way Marcus was holding himself; the way he shifted side to side; the way he bit his lip; the way he responded quietly, timidly—a completely unnatural way—that made Oliver's heart fall into the pit of his stomach. Their eyes finally met, but only for a brief moment. The smaller one looked down.

"I've met someone…"