Richard had mapped out his confession perfectly. He had agonized over it for weeks and weeks—practiced in the mirror, even, speaking coolly and evenly into his echoing apartment. Never mind that his insides had felt like putty the entire time. Practice made perfect—or it would have to, at any rate.

All of that being said, he can't for the life of him understand why his confession is coming out now, in this run-of-the-mill bar, while he's wholly sloshed and Seigi's pressing a third chocolate eclair across the table to him.

"Richard, oh my God," Seigi says with a small jolt. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little inebriated himself. He rubs the back of his neck in a sort of sluggish awe. "Me? Why me?"

"Why you? How could there be anyone but you, Seigi?" Richard is aware of himself on two levels: the completely, utterly shitfaced Richard, and the fully sober one, on some remote plane of existence, looking mortified. The two Richards who are both disastrously in love with this hero of justice in front of them.

"Richard," Seigi leans forward, rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie. The bar's patrons are shouting over each other while glasses clink and clatter, but it's all muffled by the weight of Seigi's words: "I've been in love with you since I can remember. You must have known that."

A knot forms in Richard's throat. "You—you—"

"Maybe we should talk about this somewhere private."

Rain begins to fall, cold as sleet—and just in time, too, now that they've crossed the threshold of Richard's apartment. His head's a little clearer now, but he still needs Seigi's help turning the key in the lock. After four failed attempts to get the damn thing in, no less.

Seigi laughs shakily. "Richard, you're such a mess," he says, not unaffectionately. Richard feels his face flame, confirming this statement. He loosens his tie, fussing with his collar.

The apartment is spacious, luxurious, just as Seigi had expected. It contains several pieces of expensive furniture—a blue-and-purple upholstered sofa, a silver, fully-stocked bar cart, a matching cherrywood desk and bookshelf. All impeccably organized, of course, but the room still has an empty quality to it, even after Seigi's flicked on a lamp. It's very much the apartment of just one person. The apartment of Richard, and Richard alone.

"This place is incredible," Seigi says, glancing at the heavy silk curtains, the large bay window. "I'm not surprised, though."

Neither of them speaks for awhile as rain pelts the window outside. Thunder begins to rumble, creating a strangely pleasant ambiance.

"Did you mean what you said?" Richard asks, slipping what were typically a fine jeweler's hands clumsily into Seigi's own. Seigi turns and meets his gaze directly. Richard can hardly stare back; the expression on his assistant's face is too open, too earnest to meet head-on.

"Of course," Seigi says, appalled. "I flew all the way to London to find you, Richard. To think all this time I thought I was the oblivious one."

"But Seigi, I—" Surely it's not too late to recite some of his lines, the ones he practiced so painstakingly in the mirror?

"Shh. Don't think so much," Seigi says, bridging the gap and touching Richard's mouth to his own.

Seigi's kisses are just as earnest as his expression. After each touch of his lips, he seems to ask a silent question: Is this okay? And what about this?

Richard follows his lead, dizzy, wine-drunk, hair falling in his face in what he only hopes is a fetching tangle. His head falls back with laughter as Seigi's mouth tickles his neck. He can't remember ever laughing with such abandon like this, certainly not before Seigi. He can't remember the last time he was ever this okay with his best-laid plans falling through.

"You good?" Seigi asks, ever the chivalrous knight, as he touches the small of Richard's back.

"Perfect," Richard says with a shaky breath, not entirely sure that Seigi can hear him.

Richard wakes just as pale gold sun slants through the window. He rubs his eyes; half of his face has been pressed up against a rough couch cushion all night.

Seigi, to his alarm, is snoring away at the other end of the couch. His hoodie has been abandoned, but he's still wearing his t-shirt and jeans.

Richard pulls himself into a sitting position. His tie is missing, but his shirt is intact, albeit a little rumpled. He yawns, performing a meditative, full-body stretch. He's calm and relaxed on the surface as ever, while his insides are screaming.

If only this weren't your own damned apartment, he muses. He can't bolt like a startled foal here, the way he usually does when life—when feelings—become too difficult. He can't hop on a plane again and fly to London, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs with the sick hope that Seigi will follow.

A living jewel. Seigi had once described him like that. Polished and refined on the surface, without a flaw. Whatever he is, his façade is cracking, leaving him bare. At the mercy of this unassuming college student, this arbiter of justice, this genuinely kind young man. A man who deserves a more worthy companion than a former criminal, someone who's hard and brittle as a precious stone.

The previous night returns to Richard in fits and starts. Seigi's arms are wrapped around him, offering the lightest of touches. He's giving Richard the option to stay or to go, whichever he should choose. His mouth is soft, accommodating, though Richard vaguely recalls several moments of heat, of tongue, of soft moans. His? Seigi's? Who's to say?

I've been in love with you since I can remember.

Since when? Since his first day at Étranger? Since he saved him from the mugging, all those months ago? Such a daft pretty boy he must have looked then, Richard ponders with a wry grin. A fish out of water, an ignorant foreigner in a startling new culture. He must have looked exactly what he was.

What I am.

Seigi shifts in his sleep and rolls over. As much as Richard would love to sit there forever, gazing upon that lovely face, he knows it can't last. Soon the full force of the sun will be shining through the window, and Seigi will wake, will see him watching. And then Richard will flee, because that's what he does, that's the de Vulpian way.

Richard smooths his trousers and moves at what he hopes is a steady pace to the bathroom. A vision of Seigi, sucking greedily at his collarbone, dances in his head. Steady hands, holding his slim hips. It's Richard's favorite place to be touched, though Seigi wouldn't have known that. Not until last night, anyway.

Richard shivers gently, closing the bathroom door behind him.

Seigi wakes to the sound of water running, to steam wafting out from underneath the bathroom door. It's stopped raining outside; it's both sunny and foggy in a way that feels just right, this early in the morning.

He examines the draperies, the bookshelf, the tasteful floor rug. As he rubs the sleep out of his bleary eyes, he connects the dots. Begins to understand why those expensive throw pillows litter the floor, why Richard's tie is peeking out from under an armchair.

Holy shit.

Seigi examines his person. He's fully dressed, minus the hoodie. Not that he would have minded either way; he's fantasized about undressing Richard, pleasing him more times than he can count. All the same, he'd rather not take things too fast, especially when Richard, after all this time, is still so hard to read.

A gentle hum sounds from the bathroom, curling out along with the steam. Not singing, exactly, but some sort of merry tune nonetheless. Seigi flushes, thinking of Richard scrubbing himself clean in there, a light little melody on his lips.

Seigi shuffles towards the kitchen, poking through cupboards. He quickly locates royal milk tea, preparing a cup while he brews some coffee for himself. He has half a mind to make pudding from scratch just as the water shuts off. Instead he continues to stir Richard's tea, if only for something to do with his hands.

"How's the hangover?" Richard asks, his voice silken. His blonde curls are damp but appear freshly towel-dried; he's wearing a lilac dressing gown that compliments his eyes.

He looks expensive, Seigi thinks. From a different world than me entirely.

"R-Richard!" he yelps. "I made tea."

"Seigi," Richard says appreciatively, crossing the room and accepting the porcelain cup that's held out to him.

"I was going to make pudding, too—"

"Seigi, you really are too good a person," Richard says with a sad little smile. "Don't trouble yourself. As it is, I don't have the ingredients for pudding around here anyway."

"You don't!" Seigi startles himself with a laugh. "The Richard Ranashinha de Vulpian, without the means to make his favorite sweet?" He doubles over in laughter, clutching his sides. "Grown used to your assistant making it at work, eh?"

"I suppose I am," Richard allows himself a charmed little grin, taking a seat at the center island.

Seigi stands across from him at the counter, alternately staring down at his coffee and out the kitchen window. Birds chortle outside, swooping in circles high above. Seigi's not sure why he's aware of birds all of a sudden.

"Look, Seigi …" Richard says, breaking the silence.

"Richard?"

Richard swallows, pale blue eyes fixed on his cloudy milk tea. "What happened last night …"

Seigi freezes. "Are you having second thoughts?" His insides—every muscle, every joint—is in knots.

"No, no," Richard says, waving a hand. He narrows his eyes, rubs at his temples for what feels like an eternity.

"Richard, what's wrong?"

"What happened last night … I liked it. I loved it, actually. I had a lovely time, what little I can remember." Richard smiles, but seems unable to make eye contact. "And that … that terrifies me. I don't deserve to have a lovely time. Not with my history—the person I was before. More importantly, you deserve better. You're a good person, Seigi, the best person. You—" He's babbling, he can feel it.

"Richard!" Seigi says, startled. Without knowing entirely what he's doing, he's crossed the room and taken Richard's hands in his own, pulling them away from their obsessive temple-rubbing. Richard's eyes lock on Seigi's at last.

"Seigi—"

"You idiot, you absolute moron! Of course you deserve to have a lovely time! What are you even talking about? It's me who doesn't belong with you."

"Seigi!" Richard says, all of his composure forgotten. "Are you out of your mind?"

"You're a jeweler, for God's sake! You—you drink fine wine and wear immaculate three-piece suits and foot the bill for our fancy dinners every other night! You belong with someone sophisticated, someone from, I don't know, Oxford or Cambridge or—what I mean is, you don't belong with me. Not some deadbeat college kid."

"Deadbeat." Richard's voice is level, but he sounds practically livid. "Deadbeat? The single best person I know? The most genuinely giving person?"

"I'm a nobody," Seigi says, voice faltering. Shoulders slumped. "You're, well, look at you." He waves an incredulous hand. "All this time I've been waiting for you to snap out of it and realize you deserve someone much better than me. Someone wealthy and cultivated, with otherworldly good looks—"

"Seigi, for God's sake, stop talking," Richard says, bemused by his anger. "You were … you wanted to make me pudding this morning," he says lamely. "You made me royal milk tea, like you always do. You're a thoughtful person. You make me want to be a thoughtful person, too. A better one." He takes a deep, steadying breath. "And I wish you wouldn't talk all this nonsense about my being out of your league or whatever. For the record, I find you immensely attractive, if you couldn't pick up on that last night." He looks at Seigi through narrowed eyes, half-peering, but half-teasing, too.

Seigi nods slowly, setting his coffee cup down on the counter. "Thank you, Richard. I'm going to try my best to believe you. Really, I am." A pause. "Only promise me one thing."

"Hm?"

"Please see yourself as a good person. Just because you made some mistakes in the past doesn't mean you're not one. Just the fact that you want to become a better person says so much about you already." Seigi drums his fingers against the counter in an even rhythm. "And I guess I've made it pretty clear by now you make my heart flutter," he says with a burst of laughter.

Richard breaks into a full grin. "Yes, you've made that very clear to me, not just last night, but in front of many a bewildered client, too."

"Richard, don't tease me," Seigi says, wiping at his eyes between laughs.

"By the way," Richard says. "In answer to what you said last night …"

"Huh?"

"I love you, too."

"Thank you, Richard. And I love you, of course."

Seigi leans across the center island and kisses Richard full on the mouth. He could get used to this. Maybe the day will come when he knows he deserves it, too.

Richard considers Edward Baxter, the man he was before. Edward Baxter would have passed Seigi on the street without a moment's thought, perhaps even a snide glance. Seigi would have been an easy target in a conman's world, or so he would have imagined.

He can't possibly think in such a way now. He can't imagine looking at Seigi and seeing anything but that bright, honest face, those warm brown eyes, that gentle grin. He can't recall a time when he wasn't completely smitten, when he wasn't a glorious, happy mess. Those days of uttering his lines just so, of remaining forever calm and collected, seem so far away already, and that's okay.

Richard opens his mouth wider, smiling into Seigi's kiss. It's not much in the grand scheme of things, but it's certainly a start.