Monday morning, Jonathan leaving, his face glum, kissing Gethin as if he'd never stop, clinging as if he were the only safe anchorage in all of the world.

'I don't want to go,' he said.

'You don't have to,' Gethin told him.

But still, he went.

Half seven that evening, Gethin was staring at the phone in the hall of the flat. Downstairs, the hum of voices, the latest group installed in the back room, the time his own until just before nine, and nothing to do, now, except wait for the phone, hope that Jonathan's rehearsal would be over, soon, that he'd ring, as he'd promised.

Eight o' clock, he made himself go into the living room, tidy up a bit, put the kettle on for a drink he didn't want. Twenty to nine, at last, the phone.

'Hello?'

'Gethin-love? Gethin?'

'Yes, yes it's me, Jonathan, are you okay?'

'Long bloody day, that's all.' A sigh, drawn out down the phone line. 'What about you?'

'Got some political children in tonight. Young, eager... me, five years ago, maybe. But a couple of them brought books in for the display.'

'Yes? Anything interesting?'

Gethin reeled off the titles, heard Jonathan's laugh, himself smiling at the sound.

'So now what happens?' Jonathan asked. 'With the books?'

'We log them, along with the name of the person who brought them in. Then we'll have a social night in a couple of weeks, everyone can vote for a couple of titles, pick a winner, I'll offer some prizes. Really, how are you?'

'I'm okay, just tired. You?'

'I miss you, of course. Food isn't the same. How are the digs?'

'Clean enough. Basic. Horrid bed. Shared kitchen. Others from the company here, though, so it's not like I'm amongst strangers.'

'Good, that's good. As long as you get on with them...'

'You know me, all sweetness and light, Gethin-love, amicable to a fault...'

A series of high-pitched beeps interrupted. God, a bloody pay phone?

'What's your number, Jonathan, I'll call you back...'

'It's...'

The line went dead.

Gethin hung up, waited, hoping Jonathan would call back, that he'd enough change to feed the phone, but no.

He stayed looking at the phone as if it had betrayed him until it was time to go downstairs to take the attendance list and lock up, and wash up, after the young politcals had left, returning to the empty flat and the empty bed with all its cold, empty space.

Tuesday passed in a haze of tiredness – he hadn't slept well – but he did remember to ask Maeve about Thursday.

'Could you do the morning? I'll be here to unlock and let you in, get you sorted, and back behind the counter for one...'

'Yes, of course I can. Going out?'

Gethin grinned and looked down. 'Staying in. Jonathan – he's got a new schedule, you see. He's not around as much, so when he is...'

'O-kay!' Maeve said. 'You can stop there, no need to explain... he is nice, though, why are there no nice straight boys left?'

'I'm sure there must be, somewhere,' Gethin said. 'It's just you're not likely to find them in a gay bookshop.'

'Well, maybe the new display will change that,' she said. 'Make people think a bit. Once they've stopped giggling, that is.'

Quarter past seven that evening, the phone.

'Gethin?'

'Jonathan? What's the number, I'll call you back.'

'Well, I'm phoning from the theatre tonight, got lots of change, don't worry. Listen...'

'Yes?'

'I had this great idea. When you have this social thing for your book contest, I'll compere it for you, if you like. See if I can scrounge a couple of tickets to the show as one of your prizes...'

'Jonathan, that'd be great!'

'Work permitting, of course, but we're not starting our run until after the Easter weekend, so it shouldn't be a problem; I can get out of the odd rehearsal here and there... what do you think?'

'I think it'd be wonderful. You sound better tonight?'

'Yes, we got on well today, ended the session with some positive praise, so I thought I'd talk to you now, before the gloom sets in on the way home.'

'You know, you can phone me later too, if you want. Say goodnight, properly.'

'Oh, I'd love to say goodnight properly...' Jonathan sighed. There came a high pitched beeping, the sound of money being fed into the phone. 'There, got a few more minutes. How was work?'

'I dunno, really. I was tired, felt like I was sleepwalking. Maeve's going to do Thursday morning for us.'

'Great, that's good. It's only tomorrow, not long now.'

'Is it that obvious I miss you?'

'Well, I miss you, too. And your bed, frankly, Christ, the one here, if the mattress was any thinner you could see to read through it... I'd be better sleeping on the floor...'

Or here. Why not just come back here?

Gethin didn't ask, just in case he got an answer he didn't like.

'It sounds dire.'

'Well, it's convenient. And the director likes to have us together, I think, so he can round us up at a moment's notice for extra rehearsals.'

'Is it worth it?'

Jonathan sighed, and Gethin wondered if that, too, had been left unasked.

'That's the thing, you never know until the critics turn up to slate you, and you count the bums on seats, and the agents arrive with a gleam in their collective eyes... so you put in the hours and you pray someone, somewhere, notices, this time.'

'Sorry, shouldn't have asked. But it went well today, you said?'

'Yes, yes, it did. First act's already shaping. So we'll move on and forget all the things we've worked out and have to work them out again...'

The pips interrupted, shrill, demanding.

'Okay, I'd better go. Goodnight, Geth-love.'

'Goodnight. Call me from the flat?'

But the line was humming its call-ended tune.

Twenty to ten, the phone shrilled into life.

'Jonathan?' Gethin said, hungry for Jonathan's voice.

'Gethin.'

'Have you just got in?'

'No, why do you ask?'

Was there a sharpness in Jonathan's tone, did he answer Gethin's question too quickly?

'I didn't mean... I just thought, it was two hours ago...'

'Director called us back for 'one little scene' and kept us at it until gone nine, what did you think I was doing...? You said you wanted me to ring, I'm ringing, no need to go all jealous on me...'

'I'm not, Jonathan, God, no. I was worried, that's all. Glad you're okay.'

'Sorry, I'm tired.' Jonathan's sigh down the line sounded like the start of heavy breathing, or almost a sob. 'It always seems to be when I'm working that my relationships fall to bits. And I don't want that, not with you, Gethin-love, I... sorry.'

'Okay, it's okay. For reference – I'm not the jealous type. Doesn't mean I wouldn't go ballistic, mind, but I'm not... not a Luke about it, do you see?'

'Yeah, I think so.' The pips again interrupting. 'Bloody phone, look, tell you the number tomorrow, okay?'

'Can't wait to see you.'

'And you, Geth, I...'

Gone. Disconnected, and Gethin was shaking, almost.

What had all that been about?

Of course he trusted Jonathan, didn't doubt him for a minute, really had only been thinking, had it been a horrid journey? Or would it always take two hours from the theatre to the digs, in which case, why not just move back in here? That had been all.

So why was Jonathan so edgy, he didn't think Gethin would stray, did he? And, okay, great to know Jonathan thought of it as a relationship, that he didn't want it to fail, but what exactly about being an actor made that likely anyway? Was it the hours, the temptations on Jonathan's part? Was it that previous boyfriends just hadn't cared enough, or had been too demanding?

Gethin exhaled heavily and reached for the emergency vodka, pouring himself a half glass.

Well, as he'd said, he wasn't the jealous type, not the possessive, screaming, in-your-face, how-dare-you-let-someone's-eyes-rest-on-you! sort. He didn't think he was demanding... but he wasn't the type just to roll over and be a doormat, either. He didn't need to be in control, but he liked to know everything was under control, and he was quite happy to play a supporting role, in the background, not the limelight.

As long as it was Jonathan he was supporting, of course.

Maeve was behind the counter during the busy one-until-two slot and he helping a customer amongst the shelves, not in sight of the door, when the bell jingled and a few seconds later he heard a familiar voice.

'Good day, Maeve Bookshop... would you be at all interested if I told you I've got "Memorable Balls" just for you?'

Gethin heard Maeve giggle. 'Well, not personally, but I'm sure my boss would be... he's just with a customer at the moment...'

Jonathan! Here so early!

He made himself focus on the customer.

'Yes, so this section here is where we keep that sort of thing... if there's nothing here, I can check the catalogues for you...' He gave his professional smile. 'I'll leave you to browse.'

And there Jonathan was, leaning on the counter looking delicious in that stupid beret and coat, a scarf that looked like a tablecloth from a greasy spoon café round his throat, Maeve beaming and dimpling and making Gethin want to blush...

'Jonathan, you're here!'

'I am indeed. I argued that working late last night counted as double time, and if the director didn't want to pay me for an extra hour and a half, I'd take three off today. So here I am.'

'It's lovely to see you...'

'I'm quite happy to work until four, if that helps,' Maeve said brightly. 'You might like to log this book though. Not sure if you heard, Mr Blake brought his "Memorable Balls" for you...'

'Yes, I did hear that. Very kind of him...'

Jonathan winked.

'Oh, I think I've got "A Love Passage" somewhere, too...'

'Glad to hear it. Do you want to go up to the flat and put the kettle on while I hand over to my assistant? Once she stops giggling, that is?'

The extra time was nice, two unexpected hours, Gethin thought, heading up to the flat. Time to sit and look at each other, to talk and share the sofa and of course, he walked through the door and there was Jonathan smiling that happy-sad heartstring-tugging smile of his, spreading his hands, inviting Gethin in to hug him, so, of course, he had to, he needed to, and Jonathan was so warm through his shirt, his mouth so gentle, his hands so urgent that Gethin decided perhaps talking could wait until later, and led Jonathan up to the bedroom, peeling his shirt off him as they went, allowing his own tee to be stolen from his body on the way, stopping near the top of the flight while Jonathan nuzzled against his belly, holding his hips, Gethin's fingers drifting through the wayward golden curls until Jonathan looked up, and grinned, and bounced to his feet, bounding to the top of the stairs, pulling Gethin with him.

'You going to practice your RADA exercises on me again?' Gethin asked as Jonathan freed him of his jeans and briefs, pushing him gently onto the bed and tugging the fabric away.

'To start with, maybe.' Jonathan grinned and shed the rest of his own clothes. 'We do this thing, it's a bit like toning, you hum at a steady pace and a certain note and it sets up all these resonances... meant to be really good for the breath, but I think it might be fun in other ways... kiss you first?'

'Love you to.'

Jonathan laid himself across Gethin's chest, sparing him the worst of his weight but a very definite presence, his skin hot, his hands drifting with apparent lack of purpose but making contact in rather pleasant places, and Gethin gave himself up to the sensation, to the softness of Jonathan's lips, the warmth of his tongue, content to be touched, tasted, yes, and, oh, yes, taken, Jonathan kissing his neck and sliding down his body afterwards to fulfil his promise and his mouth, and yes, there was something about the resonances when Jonathan hummed, it felt silly for a moment and then Gethin didn't care how silly, how strange it might sound, because it felt wonderful, as if Jonathan was singing him to orgasm, and it was amazing...

'I'll never be able to listen to you humming without thinking about this, now,' he said, eventually, holding and being held and kissing and being kissed. 'Wonderful, the things you learn at drama college!'