Cécil tugged at his tee-shirt, head facing downward as tears streamed down his eyes, his brown, curly hair concealing his face. He flipped his hair in an exhaustive effort to prevent it from being soaked in tears. "You… you make me feel at home, Fras. Which is pretty funny, I think." He uttered a nervous laugh and sniffled, oblivious to Frasier budging himself closer to him. "You're from Seattle. I'm from upstate New York. You once lived in Boston, which is a few hours from New York City, so that kind of counts?" He fanned his eyes in an attempt to ensure his crying wouldn't resume.
"You're just so… so warm and inviting. Our conversations last for hours and I feel like we still have so much to discuss. You make me laugh to the point where my stomach hurts and I'm in tears. You like to eat foie gras and caviar, and I like to eat medium-rare filet mignon. You're overly critical of things and often make sarcastic quips. You're stubborn and you don't like to admit when you're wrong." Frasier wrapped his arm around Cécil's waist, processing his declarations of love with full attention.
"Despite your shortcomings, I can never stay mad at you or hate you. It only makes me appreciate you more because I'm stubborn, too. I have a strong moral compass like you, but maybe it's exaggerated because of my OCD." He tittered, using everything in his power to not break down again. The radio personality squeezed Cécil tightly, embracing him. He was reminded of when he fell asleep beside him at his apartment—the same event where Cécil was cold and didn't want to be under a blanket. He remembered how he wanted to hold him in his arms while he rested on his shoulder. It killed him on the inside to sit next to him in his living room without taking his hand. What stopped him was he didn't know if it was the right place, the right time, to do so.
"I love you, Frasier. If I gave you all the presents in the world, it wouldn't be enough to show the extent of my adoration for you." The high of his confession leveled off and blanketed him with nausea, his breath trembling with the quivering of his lip. "I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." His voice cracked plaintively. "I know you've been saying 'no apologies' since you've been here, but I just ruined everything."
"Céci, what makes you think that?" Frasier delicately inquired, letting go of his waist. The tearful Cécil craned his neck to observe him. Frasier moved his torso to face him, wiping the newly formed teardrops from his cheeks using his thumb.
He opened his mouth to answer, but was at a complete loss of words. With a lump in his throat, Cécil examined Frasier, whose mouth was agape. He could see the subtle tint of crimson dappling his face, his chest rising and falling with every profound breath, his crystal blue eyes staring intensely; yearning.
He was absolutely smitten and unlike Cécil, who declared his feelings with intense vigor, the proclamations he desperately wanted to divulge in dissipated. For a man whose lexicon is comparable to that of a poet, he was exceptionally reticent. He wanted to reveal to him that it was more than the night they slept on the couch that contributed to his feelings. He wanted to impart that it was hearing his cackle and slamming his fists on tables from amusement, his incredible focus and passion for his career, and the excitement he felt as he attentively listened to him talk about his former life in New York. It was everything about him that he cherished, and he despised himself for being unable to recite the most captivating of sonnets for his dear Céci.
Cécil, who couldn't stomach the soundlessness in his apartment for another minute, swallowed heftily. "If you don't feel the same way, just tell me." He beseeched.
While he anticipated his reply in suspense, he felt his left hand being tenderly stroked by Frasier's right palm. Even the uncertainty that chipped away his very soul was quashed by the doctor's gentle embrace. The familiar Versace L'homme enveloped him in repose he exclusively felt when he was swaddled in Frasier's plush eiderdown. A stray lock of hair obscured his view of Frasier, to which the talk radio host pushed behind his ear with a sensual swipe of his opposite hand. Shifting his hand to cup Cécil's cheek, a chill ran down his spine as he felt his fingertips graze his skin. He wriggled his left digits, latching onto Frasier's hand with conviction and ardor. Feeling Frasier's pulse pounding in his wrist, Cécil surrendered into the weight of his chest as he entwined him in his arms, his lips linking with his amorously. The strong, emotive aroma of patchouli, sandalwood, and vanilla invigorated his spirit as he osculated in return. After what felt like minutes, they hesitantly parted to catch their breath.
"Frasier, I…" he exhaled. "I see that you're wearing the same cologne you had on when we watched Citizen Kane. It was on the blanket you lent to me." He foolishly concealed his mouth with his hand, humiliated for commenting on his musk of all things after their fateful kiss.
"And I realized how much I want to stay with you." He professed ardently. Cécil uncovered his face in complete awe of what he heard.
"...Come again?" His mouth gaped, eyes darting left and right as he tried to make sense of the current state of affairs.
"I adore you, my darling Céci." Frasier planted a featherweight kiss onto his hand. His look of surprise unfolded into an elated, open grin as he joyfully hugged his romantic partner. Before letting go, he surprised him with a peck on the cheek, amusing him.
"You're quite the charmer, aren't you?"
"No, not really." Cécil chortled. "I just can't believe how good you are at kissing!"
"I would be more than happy to show you the ropes," He purred sensuously, the edge of his lips curling in a smirk. Hearing Frasier speak in such a coquettish manner made Cécil blush profoundly.
"Wow." He blinked, feeling himself perspire slightly.
"Was that too much?" Frasier quickly inquired, a layer of panic in his inflection.
"Not at all, Fras. I liked it… a lot."
"I'm pleased to have excited you, then."
"You'll just have to show me another time." He mischievously tapped his nose with the tip of his pointer finger.
"I wasn't aiming for that to happen tonight, Céci!" He clarified, the lovers breaking into hysterics. "If I'm being honest, I really could go for a movie before bed."
"Why don't you spend the night here? I mean, not like that, but you get what I mean. Hopefully." Cécil offered, stumbling on his words. "I have that television in my bedroom that I barely use because I'm always in the living room or at your place."
"I think that's a great idea, Céci. I'll let you pick what movie you want to watch. It's only fair since I picked the movie last time, more specifically when we watched Citizen Kane." His boyfriend nodded his head with enthusiasm at his reasoning. "It would be a lot more comfortable to lay beside you on a bed, too…" he added bashfully. "As much I wanted to cradle you in my arms that evening, it wouldn't have been what I envisioned due to the couch."
"Well, I hope you like Back to the Future, Fras," Cécil rubbed his nose against the psychiatrist's cheek lovingly. "Because that's what we're going to watch while cuddling under a soft blanket." He took Frasier's hand as he got up from the loveseat, elevating him to follow him into his room.
"That sounds perfect to me." His eyes trailed to the slumbering dog as they took a few steps. "Can we bring Snowball?" While Frasier relatively disliked dogs, he was quite fond of Cécil's half-pint pup.
"He sleeps with me every night, so yes. You probably should sleep without sweatpants on, though." He advised.
"Why's that? These pants are worn out, so I wouldn't mind if they got Snowball's fur all over them." He quietly scooped the small, fuzzy dog into the crook of his elbow. "A little dog hair won't stop me from hugging you from behind or holding you close to my chest." He cooed. "Unless it's Eddie's hair. He's due for a bath." Cécil snorted at his jab against his father's beloved pet.
"I think you'll get sweaty wearing them to bed. You go to sleep with nothing but your boxers, anyway." He playfully mocked his boyfriend's sleeping habits.
"And how would you know that?" He retorted, playing along into their jests. The door to Cécil's bed-chamber closed shut as they prepared to get ready for what technically was their first date.
What Cécil Fernandez and Dr. Frasier Crane perceived would be the worst nights of their lives, for exponentially different reasons, ultimately became the most significant night in regards to how they perceived one another. The revelation of their mutual feelings was cathartic and fulfilling.
That evening, they would slumber in each other's company, spirits alleviated of external stressors from work and family. The real challenge, or lack of, was to break the news. Little did Cécil know was that while Daphne, Roz and Martin (who went off of complete intuition) were aware of her feelings for Frasier, they, including Niles, were clueless that he was in love with him. Regardless of the reception of their newfound relationship, Cécil was in her home away from home, welcomed by a ragtag family who always had room for one more.
They were inseparable, their unyielding love and commitment for one another propelling them to succeed.