Author's Note: There is a very real awards ceremony in this chapter, but I have taken ample creative liberty with how the award recipients are chosen/how the ceremony is run.

Thomas's photos of survivors and rescuers from Ground Zero soon graced news stories and newspapers all over the world. Piles of publications featuring his pictures were bought and stacked in his darkroom next to the issue of The Independent that featured Trent's interview with Giles Trowley.

A month away from London soon turned into two, with Thomas juggling his responsibilities for his hospitality magazine job with the freelance work he was being hired for from a number of international outlets. Two months soon turned into what could be forever.

"They want me to stay in New York indefinitely," Thomas said excitedly during a late night call with Trent.

"Is that what you want?" Trent asked, already knowing the answer.

They had been together more than five years—Trent knew every inch of Thomas, inside and out. Marriage wasn't a legally binding option for them, but they were completely devoted to each other… and their work. The past couple years it was the latter more than the former, though. For Thomas, the need to take photos was akin to needing air to breathe, just as writing and reporting was to Trent. Both determined to excel and advance in their fields, they promised to always be supportive of each other in that quest. Being in a relationship in mostly the same city was hard enough as-is. An ocean away would be impossible.

"Would you hate me if I said yes?" Thomas asked.

"I could never hate you for living your dream," Trent said softly. "But I won't do this if you stay. Us, I mean. Long distance. I can't." He sniffled as he tried to hold himself together. "So, I'm not asking you to choose between me and your job—I'm telling you you don't have to."

"I love you, Trent," Thomas said tearfully.

"I love you too," Trent replied. "I always will."

Thomas came back to London for a long weekend at the beginning of December to pack up his things. Trent helped him bring some larger items to his parents' house and drop whatever was left at a charity shop. It was decided they would give up their flat once the lease was up, with Thomas paying the rent for the next few months as an apology/going away gift to Trent.

His last night in London was a somber one. They went to Thomas's favorite restaurant and walked around the park he loved to practice various lighting setups in. That night they took their time, desperately memorizing every touch. Lips scattered salty tears of shared experiences and unfulfilled promises across bare backs and up inner thighs.

"This isn't goodbye, though, right?" Thomas asked hopefully, burying his nose in Trent's hair and inhaling the minty conditioner he used. ("You're a year-round candy cane," Thomas would always say.) He wrapped both arms around Trent and held him close. "Next time I'm in London, can I call you up?"

"I do hope you'd call me before then," Trent said. "Or email. Or text. Or send up a smoke signal. Just to tell me how you're doing. What new adventure you're on. Who you teased into kissing you next." He put his hands on Thomas's and squeezed them gently. "I want you in my life forever, Thomas. In whatever capacity that is. Plus… you never taught me how to ride a bike. You still have to make good on that someday."

"I would hate to break that promise." Thomas sighed. "I can't believe I'm leaving."

"I can," Trent said softly. "You were always so much bigger than this city."

"But what about you?" Thomas asked.

"I'm still finding my way."

Allie let her brother mope for a few weeks after Thomas left before she started forcing him out into the world again when the new year started. They had a standing weekly dinner date where she would not so subtly hint that he needed to find a way to make some more friends. She said he could borrow her family's dog and try to pick up single blokes at dog parks. Or borrow one or both of her two kids and take them to museums or the zoo or whatever to get them all out of the house. (Trent loved his nephews, but his favorite part of visiting with them was handing them back over to his sister and Antony at the end of their time together. He couldn't understand how people would want one child, let alone multiples.)

In the meantime, Trent had befriended some people at rival publications. After the success of his article about Giles Trowley, he was given a trial period of covering some National League games and got to talking with some of the other reporters in various press boxes he was finding himself in. No one seemed like a potential best friend or anything, but he had been invited out for beers a couple times and that hadn't been as scary as he thought it would be. Not everyone was happy to see him, as there were a few people who were still quite vocal about a gay man covering sports (as if sexuality had anything to do with whether someone was or was not able to write well about a game where people ran around on a pitch and kicked a ball…), but Trent tried not to let the angry minority ruin the acceptance and invitation more and more people were openly offering him.

Going to gay clubs by himself in his late 20s was not quite as fun as when he went in his teens. He went with Thomas a few times while they were together, but then he had someone to focus on and distract him from the too-loud music and how self-conscious he got when he danced. He wished it were possible to meet someone at a library or sitting in a park, but he also enjoyed his alone time because it was the first time he had truly been on his own since the second year of university.

As the 2000s rolled on, Trent kept moving up the ladder at work. He was still enjoying what he was doing and grateful for any articles and interviews that came his way or were approved after he pitched them. The shelves of his home office contained piles and piles of issues of The Independent, as well as whatever papers and magazines Thomas would send from New York. Trent asked for original copies of his favorite pictures, which he framed and dotted around his apartment. Thomas would sometimes tell him about the people he went on dates with and Trent's heart hurt a little less each time, though the pain never fully went away.

The rise of online dating and dating apps on one's smart phone was a game changer for Trent. Gone was the pressure of having to introduce yourself to someone in public—that was such a relief. Trent was glad that the written word (and an appealing profile picture, which Allie made him change too many times to admit to anyone else) was how he could first contact someone else. He was good at that and wished guys wanted to chat just a bit longer before meeting up in person. Someone's grammar and punctuation mattered to Trent, but that was hard to gauge when most people responded with a Hey or U Want 2 Hook Up?, which was fine, but that wasn't really the best showcase of someone's personality.

First dates often led to second ones, though few second dates led to third dates. There were a several people Trent saw for several months apiece over the years, with one relationship almost making it a year. A couple of Trent's boyfriends even met his sister and her husband. He could never see a real future with any of them and no one was brought home to mom and dad. Trent had eased himself back into Sunday night dinners with his parents once a month at most. They never asked about his dating life, but he didn't exactly offer up any details either. Work kept him busy. The apps allowed him to find someone to fool around with if he was in the mood when he wasn't seeing someone. Things were fine. It wasn't the most exciting existence, but he was mostly content and fully comfortable being himself at work and in public. That, to him, was the biggest accomplishment.

Trent's 40th birthday happened to coincide with the British Sports Journalism Awards. He had moved up the ranks at work and was now covering Richmond's Premier League football club, in addition to writing more in-depth pieces about people and places within the realm of British football. Everything from interviews to investigative pieces about the use of performance enhancing drugs in and out of the locker room boasted Trent's byline. He was largely responsible for The Independent's notoriety for quality journalism and that year he was formally being recognized as Sports Writer of the Year. It was a big deal and, if Claire was to be believed, long overdue. Trent tried to take the accolades in stride—he hadn't set out to win awards for his writing, but, at the same time, it was humbling to have proof that people valued his hard work.

Dressed to the nines in a form fitting sleek black suit with matching cranberry colored tie and pocket square, Trent was standing at the open bar waiting patiently for a whiskey in between awards categories. He hadn't told anyone it was his birthday and declined his plus-one invitation because his sister was unfortunately busy. They had plans to go out the following weekend, but it did disappoint him a bit not to have her there that night.

"Of all the gin joints in all the towns in the world," Trent heard someone say behind him. The voice sounded bizarrely familiar, but there was no way it could be…

"Thomas," Trent said as he turned around and was face-to-face with a man he hadn't seen in several years. Their correspondence via email and phone calls had dwindled, though they would reconnect in person when they could during the times Thomas had come back to London to visit his parents. It had been a while, though, so seeing Thomas that night was a genuine and unexpected shock. "You're here."

Thomas ducked his head and chuckled. "I am."

"No… I mean, you're here," Trent emphasized as he gestured around. "Why are you at the SJAs? You didn't say anything about being back in London."

"When I saw you were being honored and that the ceremony was on your birthday, I wrangled an invite," Thomas said softly. "I thought I'd surprise you."

"Well, consider me surprised," Trent said as he shook his head. "I'm sorry, I just… I can't believe you're here. How are you?"

"I'm well," Thomas said with an easy smile. "Even better now. Are you here with anyone?"

Trent touched a hand to his glasses as he shook his head. The bartender reached over the bar and held his drink out to him, which he took with a grateful smile. Thomas pulled out his wallet and stuck a large bill on the bar as a tip.

"My category is up soon," Trent said apologetically. "I have to get back to my table."

Nodding in understanding, Thomas said, "I know you have to schmooze afterward, but can I meet you outside after the event? Take you for a proper birthday drink?"

"I'd like that very much," Trent said. "It's good to see you, Thomas. I've missed you."

Thomas kissed Trent on his cheek then leaned in to whisper in Trent's ear. Trent inhaled shakily as his eyelids closed, his body shivering every so slightly from the gentle touch of Thomas's lips on his skin.

"I've missed you too," Thomas murmured. "Every… single… inch… of you."

The rest of the awards ceremony was a blur. Not one for public speaking, Trent managed to get through his prepared speech fairly confidently, fueled by the fact that he would see Thomas once the SJAs were over.

In between shaking peoples' hands and stiltedly posing for press photos, Trent texted Thomas to let him know he would only be a few minutes more. Thomas wrote back with directions on where he was standing outside the front entrance and Trent's heart raced in anticipation of seeing the other man again.

Trent popped into a bathroom before he left, double checking he looked as put together as he could, given how uncomfortable he was in the suit. He saw the bags under his eyes behind his glasses and the tiniest sliver of silver hair swirling through the front of his curly dark hair. When he arrived at the awards show that night, he felt his age. But, after seeing Thomas, there was a carnal surge of want that he hadn't felt in years. It was like he was getting ready for the prom night he never had.

Award in hand, Trent strode out the front door with a practiced feigned confidence, desperate to hide the nerves he felt growing with each step he took toward the only man he had ever truly loved. The few nights with Thomas he spent over the past decade and change were just that—nights—so he knew he had to make this one count.

They fell in step as they walked away from the venue. No hug was shared or shake of each other's hand was offered, just a need to remove themselves from the manufactured glitz of the SJAs so they could be alone.

After walking several blocks, Thomas broke the silence. "So… birthday boy… would you like to go out for a drink or come back to mine?"

It was Trent who stopped first, grabbing Thomas by his arm. When Thomas turned to face Trent, Trent wrapped his hand around Thomas's back and pulled him close, eager to get a jump start on the reconnection he hoped was in their near future. "Are you staying far from here?" Trent asked breathlessly after he pulled away.

"Just another block or two," Thomas replied, just as flustered.

"Is there a pharmacy along the way?" Trent asked.

"There is," Thomas replied. "Across the street."

"Perfect," Trent said, sliding his free hand into Thomas's and giving it a squeeze.

Walking a little quicker than normal, Trent and Thomas made their way to the pharmacy. Thomas kissed him on the cheek and told him to wait outside. Trent pulled out his phone and saw a missed text from his sister saying she was proud of him for his award and hoped he was planning on celebrating after the ceremony. He texted her back, thanking her and letting her know he was with Thomas. She texted back a string of emojis he knew were meant to be interpreted as lewd, so he didn't bother responding. He would catch her up in person when he saw her next.

As he was putting his phone back in his jacket pocket, Thomas walked out of the pharmacy with a couple bags and a sad looking bouquet of flowers.

"For you," Thomas said, presenting the flowers to Trent as if they were much more substantial than they actually were. "And for us," he said, holding up the bags and giving Trent a knowing smirk.

The tension between them was electric as they crossed the street and entered quite a posh hotel. While they waited for the elevator, Trent looked around at the lobby. "Looks like somewhere you would have photographed for that magazine when you were first starting out."

"I did," Thomas said with a laugh.

Trent smiled as they stepped into the elevator and Thomas pressed the button for the top floor. He had gone on a couple shoots with Thomas at the beginning, just to see how the other half lived. Not that Trent was still poor now, but he certainly wasn't used to spending time at a swanky hotel.

Thomas's suite was more like its own flat. Multiple rooms, luscious fabrics on the furniture, walls, and floors. A full kitchen. A huge bed. A large bathroom with a waterfall shower and a jacuzzi. Thomas pulled two bottles of cheap champagne out of one of the pharmacy bags and threw the other bag (containing condoms and lube) toward the bed. He opened the freezer and took out a bucket of ice, placing the bottles in the bucket and setting the bucket on the counter.

"Rather bold of you to assume I'd take you up on your offer to have that drink at your hotel room," Trent said, setting his award and flowers down before walking over to where Thomas and the champagne were. He slid a hand down Thomas's arm and tugged lightly at the cuff of his jacket.

"Well… I had hoped," Thomas said, taking Trent's glasses off and setting them on the counter before burying a hand in Trent's hair. "Any idea of what we should do while that chills?"

It was Trent who leaned in for the first kiss, but was a toss up of who made the first move to remove the other man's jacket. Ties were loosened, shoes kicked off, and dress shirts unbuttoned in between hungry kisses and eager touches along stretches of skin that were still achingly familiar even after years of being apart.

It was a delicate balance between wanting to take their time and rushing to feel and give and take and thrust and more and yes and yes and yes. It was only when both men were completely undone by the other that they took a moment to cling to each other and laugh, all too aware of their deeply interwoven past and the blank slate of what happens tomorrow.

"I think about you everyday," Thomas said as he brushed a damp curl away from Trent's forehead. "You're still the first person I want to tell everything to."

"So why don't you?" Trent asked as he smoothed the satin top sheet over his lap.

"I was the one who left, Trent," Thomas said.

Trent shook his head. "I could have asked you not to go. But I didn't." He leaned over and rested his head on Thomas's shoulder. "I wasn't going to stop you from following your own path just because it led you somewhere away from me."

Thomas kissed Trent gently on the top of his head then inhaled the minty scent from Trent's conditioner, smiling that he still used it after all these years. "What if my path found it's way back?"

Sitting up and turning to look Thomas in the eye, Trent cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

"My father had a health scare recently and it made me realize I needed to be closer to him and my mum. Closer to you," Thomas said softly. "I'm moving back to London this winter."

"Wow." Trent was floored. "I honestly don't know what to say," he admitted.

"I'm not asking to pick back up where we left off," Thomas said. "You have your life here without me and I know that."

"So what are you asking?" Trent wondered aloud.

"I guess I'm asking if we can start over." Thomas shrugged. "Let me woo you proper this time."

Trent's eyebrows furrowed, trying hard to meet each other between his eyes, as he glared at Thomas with an Are you fucking kidding? me look.

"Starting when, Thomas? Three hours ago when you popped up at the SJAs out of nowhere? Or was it two hours ago when you brought me here and made me think this was going to be one of our clandestine hook ups that happen less often than the winter Olympics?" Trent's voice had gotten louder than he meant it to.

"Are you mad at me?" Thomas asked, genuinely shocked.

"Yes." Trent was genuinely upset and was trying to collect his thoughts as to why. "I've missed you, Thomas. So much sometimes that it hurts. But now, here you come—waltzing back to London because you can—and inserting yourself back into the life I've worked so hard to build for myself, expecting me to just go along with it." Trent pulled the sheets off his lap, grabbed his underwear off the floor, and quickly pulled the black cotton briefs on before walking to the other side of the room. "How long have you known you were moving back? And why the fuck didn't you tell me?" Trent slid his glasses on and threw his hands up in the air to emphasize his point. "You know what—this is like university all over again. Somehow worse, though, because we're nearing middle age." He sighed. "I want what you want, darling. But not like this. Not again."

Thomas stared at the only man he ever truly loved, wondering how he managed for a second time to make Trent think that he was a supporting player in his own story. "It all seemed so romantic in my head—surprise you at the awards ceremony, celebrate your birthday, make plans for our future." He shook his head, ashamed. "I fucked up, babe. I shouldn't have… Christ, Trent… I'm so sorry." He tugged on his Hugo Boss boxer briefs and walked over to the kitchen where Trent was standing, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.

"We don't know each other anymore, Thomas. Not really," Trent said softly. "I have wanted a future with you for so long. I just want to be part of that discussion first instead of an assumed participant.

"I know," Thomas murmured, running a finger along Trent's bare arm from elbow to wrist. "What do you need me to do to make this right?"

Trent sighed, knowing Thomas would do anything he asked and hating that he had to ask to begin with.

"I need you to deal with your move however you need to and then call me once you're settled into your new place. We can talk about a new start then. Together." Trent put his hand on Thomas's chest and gave him a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you for tonight. But I'm going to head home."

"Okay," Thomas said, grateful Trent hadn't completely given up on him. "Many happy returns, Trent."

"Thank you," Trent replied as he picked up pieces from his suit and put them on. "It was good to see you and I very much look forward to seeing you again soon."

"I owe you a birthday drink," Thomas said.

"And bike lessons," Trent reminded him as he picked up his award and sad bouquet of flowers.

"And bike lessons. How could I forget?" Thomas said with a chuckle as he held the door open for Trent. "I'll see you in a few weeks."

Trent kissed Thomas gently. "I'll make sure I'm prepared to be properly wooed."