The first thing Gethin did on Saturday morning was hang the yellow mini dress and the green skirt suit up in his wardrobe behind his other clothes. He steeled himself as he touched the green wool fabric, afraid of hearing the voice in his head again; it had been echoing through his fitful night's sleep, shrill and scolding through his dreams.

Closing the door on the dresses, he told himself he was closing his mind to the voice, shutting it away to deal with later, when he had time, and courage, to explore in tentative steps the full implications of it.

But not now. Not in the brightness of morning; it was time to set the things of the night aside and get on with the day.

Bit of time left before breakfast and work. And he knew exactly what would put a smile on his face; doing something for Jonathan.

Getting out the oversized glitzy brooch did, indeed, lighten his mood; he put it, with the freshly laundered fifties dress, and Jonathan's frock from the wardrobe, in a carrier he could slip inside Jonathan's overnight bag at some point during his visit.

During the slow moments of the morning, and over his lunch break, he wrote a note, having decided it would be too dramatic to hand the parcel over tonight or tomorrow, too embarrassing to admit the blue-green dress had been there all the time; it might look odd, perhaps. Suspicious, even.

'Saw this and thought your coat needed a bit of a zhuzh,' he wrote. 'Found the little blue number on the floor of my wardrobe, it isn't at your mother's waiting to jump out of the closet at her. And I thought the other one might be good for your Gloria. Hope finding this cheers you up when you get home. X'

'You're in a happy place tonight,' Jonathan said, grinning as they walked from the last pub of the night to Gethin's flat. 'Every time I look at you, this little secret smile...'

'Well, not so secret. I am happy, out with you.' And the thought, of course, of Jonathan getting home on Sunday night, unpacking to find the brooch, the clothes... 'But you're in a good mood, too, I hope?'

'End of the week, of course. Just one week rehearsals and then we go live, darling! Three weeks and it will all be over... until the next time!'

'Well, it's been interesting, that's for sure... Want something to eat on the way home? Or wait until home?'

'Full of lager, don't need food. Not yet. Just you. You're enough.'

'Just me it is, then. And you, of course.'

Gethin, and Jonathan, Jonathan and Gethin, together at the end of the evening, early hours of the night, first thing in the morning. Enough, more than enough. Plenty, in fact, Gethin thought, trying to make biscuit sandwiches with Jonathan nuzzling his neck, pressing against his back next day.

But always room for more, he thought, smiling as Jonathan's profile against him became even more interesting...

'This is great,' Jonathan said, lazing on the sofa in the middle of the afternoon, his arm around Gethin in easy affection, music spilling softly from the record deck. 'Just what I need, a little oasis of calm and an armful of Gethin... I don't mind admitting, I got some flack on Thursday, got to be on my best behaviour now... starting to wind up, to feel it's really going to happen, this thing... this is where the nerves get you, when you're in the last throes of prep, and you know you know your lines, but you wake in a sweat in the dark, dreaming your mind went blank, the words on the script changing every time you look at them... still, not much longer, eh? Are you going to come and see me?'

'Course I am. If you don't mind.'

'Mind? No, it'll be lovely! Bring Maeve, too. I'll see you get tickets.'

Perhaps the mood of the day was too lazy, too easy, perhaps it was just too tempting to assume everything was fine, because, on the surface, it was.

But there were Jonathan's last-week-of-rehearsals nerves, a reminder of his fragility, his over-excitability and insecurity, and there was a green skirt suit in Gethin's wardrobe that Jonathan didn't know about, and while a part of him desperately wanted to say, 'Jonathan, I did this, I wore it, it's okay, it wasn't the dress after all, I knew it, but I couldn't prove it...'

But the risk was that Jonathan would want to know what it had been about, and Gethin needed time to work it out for himself, and the... no, it wasn't deceit, it was just waiting, not-yet-sharing, but it was that not-sharing that was hard, and especially because Gethin wasn't used to having someone to share with.

That was why the dress (now snugly tucked away in Jonathan's overnight bag, put there when he was singing into the mirror while pretending to shave, for him to find in private) a little push towards knowing Gethin was okay with the cross-dressing, mostly.

So there were definite undertones, if you'd looked for them.

It shouldn't have been such a surprise, really.

And maybe any other day, any other moment, it might have been different.

It almost was, anyway.

Evening, getting dark out, last cuddle, Jonathan getting out of bed and reaching for his clothes while Gethin dressed, smiling and rapping his knuckles on the dressing table.

'I see you've been keeping the old teak polished up for me.'

'It's been no trouble, I quite like it,' Gethin said, laying a hand on the corner of the dressing table. 'Bit like having you here, in a way. Company for me; you said, it's got...'

'You needn't have bothered, the mother's capitulated, I can borrow the bus, well, steal it next week, get it out of your way...'

'...your soul in it, no, don't do that...'

'...taking up space, intruding on your...'

'...Jonathan, no, don't...'

'...start emptying it now if you...'

'Don't, Jonathan!'

It was as close as Gethin had ever come to raising his voice in Jonathan's presence, the tone he used for belligerent customers, stern and lower than his usual speaking tone. It made Jonathan stare at him as Gethin found himself grabbing at the edges of the dressing table as if Jonathan was going to carry it off there and then.

'Please, don't take it, it's not in the way, no trouble, really...'

'Fuck's sake, Gethin, what's this about? It's my sodding dressing table!'

'I know, but it's... it matters, Jonathan, while it's here, I know you'll come back, that you haven't moved out yet...'

'We've been through this; I hadn't moved in, I was just... you were kind... I said, not moving out... Christ's sake, Geth, I can't cope with this now, not with what I'm dealing with at the moment...'

'And you're the only one with things going on, are you? You think I'm not dealing with stuff of my own?'

'Well, how the fuck am I supposed to know that if you don't say?'

'I don't say because you've got all your stuff and I'm trying to be supportive. Besides, it's what you do, share, what I do is internalize until it all goes away...'

'Except it hasn't gone away, has it?' Jonathan sighed. 'Gethin, love, we're not going to split up over a bloody dressing table...'

'What are we going to split up about, then, Jonathan? You wanting to wear a dress but not letting yourself, even though I told you, I keep telling you, it's all right? Duw, what's the point of talking to you if you don't listen?'

'I listened,' Jonathan said. 'Just didn't believe what I was hearing on the basis of the evidence... Christ, Gethin! I really can't do this right now. And I don't think you can, either...'

'What are you saying? Jonathan?'

'I'm saying, we're too good together to let this happen to us. Keep the damn dressing table, Gethin-love. I'll see you after the end of the run.'

'...No...!'

'We're not splitting up, you're still my boyfriend, but I can't do this. This is how it always starts, Gethin; a misunderstanding, I yell, you yell, we yell, we fall apart... I don't want that with you, I love you too much.' Jonathan glanced around the room, collecting wayward bits of clothing, talking as he went. 'I'm not going to lose you, not because of a stupid play! Look, I'll be in touch, just think of it as though I'm working away.'

'...Jonathan... please...'

Jonathan reached out to squeeze Gethin's shoulder, his eyes dark with love and anguish.

'Sorry, love, but I can't cope right now; I'm scared, Geth, scared if I don't back off we'll have a row and I don't want us to split up about a sodding dressing table of all things... look, I will, really, I'll see you after the production ends. I'd rather you didn't call... I'll get enough of a ribbing as it is...'

Down the stairs, he grabbed his coat and hat and scarf, rummaged in his pockets, and Gethin watched in dismay as he took off the spare keys to the flat.

'Only because it's too much temptation. And so you know I won't come sneaking in while you're at work and steal my dressing table.'

He said the last with an attempt at a smile, showing it was a joke, but it really wasn't funny.

'All right,' Gethin said. 'Working away. Three weeks. Right.'

'Right. Better go.'

Jonathan slung his overnight bag on his shoulder and took the last flight of stairs at a run, trying to get out of the flat before Gethin could catch him up, but at the bottom of the flight he paused, leaned in almost as if for a kiss before backing away, shaking his head and his eyes glittering.

'I can't; it hurts too much. I'm sorry, so sorry... See you in a few weeks, Gethin-love.'

'Take care of yourself, Jonathan-cariad,' Gethin said, a whisper.

Jonathan shrugged and shook his head, backing out of the doorway.

'I'll do my best,' he said.