Rowan shook his head, his voice low and soft. ‘No. Don’t apologise. I want this... That’s the problem.’
Marcus’s breath caught.
For one dizzying second, all he could hear was the soft hum of the fridge in the tearoom, Atlas’s steady breathing from the new quiet zone, and the thunder of his own pulse.
‘I don’t understand,’ he said, though perhaps he did. Perhaps he understood too well.
Rowan looked down, his hand tightening on the edge of the grooming table. ‘Wanting things makes them matter.’
Marcus’s chest ached at the roughness in his voice.
‘Yes,’ he said carefully. ‘That’s usually the point.’
Rowan gave the faintest huff, but there was no humour in it. ‘Not for me.’
The words sat between them, heavy and unfinished.
Marcus wanted to reach for him again. Wanted to smooth the worry from his brow, pull him closer, kiss him until that guarded expression cracked completely. But he had already spent toomuch of his life making himself easy for other people. Easy to laugh with. Easy to rely on. Easy to misunderstand.
He would not make himself easy to want and impossible to choose.
‘Rowan,’ he said softly, ‘I’m not asking you for perfect.’
Rowan’s eyes lifted to his.
‘I’m not asking you to have everything worked out,’ Marcus continued. ‘Good grief, look at me. I’ve got half-stripped wallpaper, a front door that looks like it’s been attacked by an angry badger, and a dog competition being held together by Christine’s text messages and Old Po’s cable ties.’
For the briefest second, Rowan’s mouth moved.
Almost a smile.
Marcus held on to it.
‘But I can’t be something you punish yourself with,’ he said. ‘And I can’t be someone you step towards only when the room is quiet and then step away from the moment it starts feeling real.’
Rowan swallowed.
The silence stretched, but this time Marcus did not rush to fill it.
At last, Rowan said, ‘I don’t know how to do this.’
The honesty was so bare it made Marcus’s throat tighten.
‘Then don’t do all of it tonight.’
Rowan frowned slightly.
Marcus took a small step closer. ‘Do tonight. Do this minute. Do standing here with me and not running for the door because you felt something.’
Rowan’s gaze dropped to Marcus’s mouth.
Marcus forgot every sensible thought he had ever possessed.
‘And if that’s too much,’ he added, his voice barely above a whisper, ‘then say so.’
Rowan did not say so.
Instead, he reached for Marcus slowly, as if giving him every chance to move away. His fingers brushed Marcus’s wrist first, cautious and warm, then curled around his hand.
