'What do you do about Sunday Dinner?' Jonathan asked.

Gethin lifted his head. Breakfast in bed, the coffee hot, this time, preceded and followed by suggestive, snuggly and satisfactory lazing hadn't prepared him for this sort of question.

'Dunno. Whatever's in the fridge. Are you hungry again already?'

'No...' Jonathan readjusted his arm under Gethin's neck. 'I meant Sunday Dinner, not your midday meal on what just happens to be a Sunday. You know? Roast and all the trimmings? It's almost eleven, need to get started cooking soon...'

'Oh, I see. Well, I don't bother, generally. It's a lot of fuss, for one.'

'So I suppose there won't be anything in... lucky I raided the fridge at the flat, then, I think I can put something together... mind, it probably won't be much and without knowing what shops are like round here, even if you have any other than for great books and old TVs and risible fashion...'

On the point of asking if a roast dinner really mattered, Gethin stopped himself; it did actually sound important to Jonathan.

'It's a lot of work for you,' Gethin said. 'We could go out, if you like?'

'And will we get a proper Sunday Dinner round here? I'm asking, I really don't know... Besides, I like cooking. Plus, if we're going to see Ivan the Hospitalized later on, it's going to take a bit of time to get ready and if we go out and come back to get changed and go out again...'

'I suppose,' Gethin said, not quite sure why they wouldn't be able to go straight to the hospital from wherever they might end up, and not a little surprised that Jonathan had been serious about visiting; and so it was this latter to which he turned his thoughts. 'You meant it, that we should both go to see Ivan?'

'Best way I can think of to get the message across.'

Jonathan's hand started rummaging under the blankets, and Gethin began to lose all interest in Ivan.

Still.

'Which message might that be, exactly?' Gethin asked, distracted by Jonathan's wonderfully clever fingers.

'That you're not interested in him and, I hope, because it's because you're interested in me...?'

'Well, what you're doing now is... very interesting...'

'So it should be; warm-up exercises for fluid hand-gestures using individual finger control... and just you wait until I demonstrate putting tight gloves on, one finger at a time...'

Eventually leaving the sanctuary of the bedroom, Gethin sat wrapped in his dressing gown at the kitchen table and watched Jonathan put together the basis of a meal.

'Thank God for Luke's penchant for a good sausage now and then,' Jonathan said. 'Can you peel those spuds for me, Gethin-love? Cheeky little Toad-in-the-Hole coming right up... it's not a proper roast, I know, but it'll do the job, and there's always next week...'

Next week?

Gethin grinned as he realised that, well, if Jonathan didn't mind, neither did he. So much for free-spirits-no-ties... still, early days, of course. But if one evening spent together talking could lead so quickly to Jonathan bringing his things over, and a proper, go-out-dancing date lead to having Sunday Dinner cooked for him and a planned trip hospital visiting, who knew where it would end?

If, indeed, it would.

And, for all that Gethin had resisted the conformity of a steady boyfriend in the past, he was already wondering if that was only because he hadn't met the right person before...

Over the meal, Jonathan raised the topic of the hospital visit again.

'So, I don't know much about Ivan,' Jonathan said, stabbing a piece of sausage with particular vigour. 'Except that he's the wrong sort of blond, apparently...'

'Ah, you remembered that?'

'I did, been meaning to ask, what's the right sort of blond...? Never mind, anyway, Ivan... seems to have plenty of friends trying to fix him up with other people, is musical, bit of a drama queen (and I should know), bit sniffy about men in frocks... and doesn't seem to get the message very quickly... had one like that once, there's a sort of scale...it can range from 'endearingly determined' to 'rather scarily obsessive' and, if you ask me, Ivan's heading towards the 'Deranged Killer' end of the spectrum...'

'Seems to be, yes. Sorry you got dragged into it.'

'Oh, I don't know, made me more determined to rescue you. Not that you needed rescuing, obviously. Maybe I was rescuing myself instead. Because of you, if that makes sense? Anyway, where was I?'

'No idea. You not knowing much about Ivan, I think.'

'Yes, so, where I'm going with this... how far have we got to go to make sure he gets the message? I mean, we could just start groping each other in front of him, but we might get thrown off the ward... it might be more subtle just to use the B word...?'

'Subtle? Casting aspersions on his parentage...?'

'No, the other B word... 'Boyfriend'? Do you think you'd mind calling me that? Just for the afternoon?'

'No, I think I can bring myself to do that, Jonathan. Just for the afternoon?'

'Well... that's another thing, how many nights out – or nights in – does it take to go from friends to boyfriends? In your opinion?'

Gethin shrugged.

'Not really sure I have an opinion... I suppose it depends on the person.'

'And there was me thinking, shop full of books downstairs, you must be the best-informed bloke in London...'

'I sell them, don't get much chance to read them. And I haven't really been looking for a boyfriend.'

'Ah.' Jonathan turned his attention back to his plate. 'Just the afternoon, then.'

'No, I mean – hadn't been. Hadn't thought about it, hadn't met anyone I wanted for more than just a one-nighter until you. So longer than the afternoon is fine. Really. I like the thought of you being my boyfriend.'

'Now, you're just saying that to be nice...'

'No, I'm not!' Gethin protested. 'Really, though, if we say it to Ivan, you can bet he'll pass it on to Gordon, who will tell Peter, who is a dear and good – and only ever platonic – friend, but he does have a bit of a megaphone-mouth for gossip, bless him – so as long as you know, just the afternoon isn't going to be just the afternoon by the time the story gets round. I'm fine with boyfriend. Are you fine with boyfriend?'

'Oh, I'm absolutely fine with boyfriend. Especially as you sound so... so almost fierce that I might not be... of course, there's always the chance you might change your mind...'

'Jonathan.' Gethin shook his head. 'The only chance I might change my mind would be if I had a fit of the stupids. Who wouldn't want a hot, right-sort-of-blond like you for their boyfriend?'

Jonathan grinned.

'You do say the sweetest things, Gethin.'

After dinner, Gethin tackled the washing up while Jonathan went to get ready. That was the downside of a proper Sunday Dinner, it looked as if every pan and plate and utensil had been used, every surface covered with bits of peelings or splodges of gravy, or batter, or condiments, but eventually, the kitchen was back to its usual state of nearly-organised chaos.

Well, at least one room in the flat looked as he was used to it looking; there were still bags and cases all over the living room and the landing.

With a sigh, Gethin set to, ferrying them up to the next floor, at least.

And Jonathan still wasn't ready.

The guest room door was open, so it looked as if Jonathan was making free in the master bedroom again. Gethin supposed he'd have to accept that; it was where the dressing table was, and therefore where Jonathan would be.

Except...

Why would he need access to the dressing table just to get ready to go hospital visiting?

'Jonathan?' he called out. 'I need to get in and find another shirt – will I disturb you?'

'Help yourself,' Jonathan called, and the door opened. 'I'm just ready. Will I do, do you think?'

Gethin stared as Jonathan presented himself for inspection, momentarily dumbstruck. Finally, realising his silence might be misinterpreted, he hurried to speak.

'You have made an effort!'

'Not too much, do you think?'

'No, it's just... wow. Lovely colour on you, that purple.'

'It works best with subtle make-up, I must admit, I don't often do subtle... I'm not sure about the flat heels, though, not with this length skirt...'

'Well, you've got the knees for it... Are you...?'

Really going hospital visiting wearing a purple and blue print above-the-knee dress and eyeshadow?

No, Gethin couldn't bring himself to ask; it sounded harsh.

'...going to be warm enough?' he finished, hoping it sounded as if that had been what he meant to say all along.

'I've got a blue jacket that goes; it's hanging in the wardrobe... Oh, you brought more of my bags up, that was kind.'

'No problem. Thought it would help.'

Gethin edged past, heading for his wardrobe. His arm brushed Jonathan's hip, and he found his hand taken, himself pulled into a friendly a cuddle, looking up into those wonderful brown eyes... no mascara today, he noticed absently, just a little purple eyeshadow, and Jonathan placed a swift, light kiss on his lips... no lipstick yet, either...

'Well, thank you.' Jonathan gave him a little squeeze. 'Oh, this is nice. Do we have to go out?'

'No, of course not. But you've gone to such a lot of trouble, it seems a shame. And, if we want to get the next train, we need to leave in ten minutes, all right?'

'And it was my idea, I suppose. All right. Are you going like that?'

'No, need a better shirt, that's all.'

Gethin opened his wardrobe, aware of Jonathan behind him.

'Oh, that green one looks nice. Far too good to waste on Ivan the Hospitalised... what about the brown one? Haven't you got anything that won't make you look fantastically desirable?'

'You know, I don't think it matters what I wear.' Gethin said, grinning at the compliment. 'He's not going to be able to take his eyes off you.'

And, certainly, when they walked in to Ivan's room at the hospital, he stared at Jonathan for far longer than he looked at Gethin.

Ivan was wearing a fine ice blue silk dressing gown, a blanket over his knees, and a huge comedy-style bandage on his right hand and wrist.

'Room to yourself, that's nice,' Jonathan said in a friendly tone. 'Is that because you were all fighty in the club and they're keeping you away from the other patients?'

'Why are you here?' Ivan asked, looking not at all pleased to have visitors, but directing his remark mostly to Jonathan.

'Oh, my boyfriend Gethin said you wanted him to visit, so, of course I came along too.'

'I did not be fighty with other patients,' Ivan protested. 'That is, I am a fine musician; of course, my hands, they are insured, and so I am in private room while I wait for the right treatment.'

Jonathan took a seat on the nearest chair, setting his handbag on his lap and resting his hands primly on top if it, making Gethin smile as he took the other visitor's chair, the narrow width of the hospital issue a barely-adequate barrier with Ivan on the far side.

'Peter said you needed an operation on your hand,' Gethin said. 'And that you wanted to see me. So, I'm here. And so is Jonathan, since he's my boyfriend now. Not sure if you two have been formally introduced...'

'I do not understand this language, sometimes!' Ivan said. 'He is not a boy. Nor dressed as one. It is confusing.'

'The point is, we are a couple,' Jonathan said, smiling and tilting his head towards Gethin. 'As in, we are seeing each other, going out together. Lovers. Nothing confusing about that, is there? Or do you need me to draw you a picture?'

Ivan flushed and shook his head, looking away. Jonathan turned to Gethin with a smile, shrugging up his shoulders.

'I could, you know,' he said. 'I'm quite good with a pencil. But better not, perhaps.'

'So, Ivan, how are you?' Gethin asked in the little silence that followed.

'I have broken some of the small bones, and it is a delicate thing, the hand. So they send for the best surgeon, and tomorrow, it will be done.'

'Good thing we didn't bring any grapes,' Jonathan said. 'You won't be able to eat after tonight. But we did bring you something...'

'Did we?' Gethin asked in alarm as Jonathan fished inside his voluminous black handbag and took out a small paperback claiming to be a user's manual for budding crossdressers... 'Ah. Yes, I see.'

'I put the money next to the till,' Jonathan said. 'Well, half of it. Help you pass the time, Ivan. Well, they said it was a one-handed book, but I'm not sure they meant it in quite the same way...'

He winked broadly and Gethin fought down the urge to giggle wildly; Ivan was looking more and more uncomfortable and cross with every moment.

A little bustle behind, and familiar voices.

'Well, hello!' Peter said, surprised. 'Gordon, look who's here!'

'I can see,' Gordon said. 'Although, when you said you'd both visit, I didn't think you meant it quite like this, Jonathan!'

'Well, I didn't want to be overdressed,' Jonathan said. 'You know, there is a sign, two visitors only at the bedside; I suppose we'd better be going, Gethin...?'

'Yes, I'm ready. Good to see you're not suffering too much, Ivan, hope it goes well tomorrow. See you, Peter. Gordon.'

'Sooner than you might think, Gethin – we might just pop in for a cup of tea on our way home...'

'Lovely!' Jonathan said. 'With a bit of luck, I might even have time to get a batch of scones in the oven. How does five-thirty sound?'