"Sometimes I'm still afraid that I'll wake up and it'll all have been a dream" says Timothy, one post-coital morning in bed, because after all, it's true. Also, he'd promised to himself to try not to keep secrets from Jonathon, except for stuff like birthday presents, which he most assuredly did not buy two months early. All right, he had, but in his defence, the tickets to rugby games he would never normally watch, apparently operate on a first-come first-served basis. His mom had always said that the lack of trust on his father's side had been a contributing factor to their eventual break-up, and although he knew that she was mainly saying that so that he wouldn't blame himself, it still helped. His father was an asshole, anyway.

"It?" Jonathon asks, and Timothy finds it hard to concentrate, because Jonathon is curled into him, or maybe he is into Jonathon, and his fingers are trailing all over Timothy, light touches seemingly designed to drive him insane. Mad with want at least, if the seductive glint in Jonathon's eyes is any indication.

"You know, this, you, us," because the town's acceptance, Jonathon feeling the same way, still feel like the after-effects of the pansy's magic, and sometimes he fears that they too will fade away after enough time, like the memories of other townspeople, and he'd be left with the bitter memory of something that was still too clear to be a dream, and the longing will be so much worse for, having actually had Jonathon, even for a such a short time, would make it infinitely more painful to be forced to give him up.

"I'm not going anywhere," Jonathon says, and it sounds like a promise, no matter how unlikely it is that someone like Jonathon could ever be happy with someone like Timothy, who can't see himself ever willingly letting him go.

"Promise?" he asks, the second syllable turning into a gasp as Jonathon brushes his thigh gently aside with one of his own and straddles him, eyes dark.

"I promise thee," Jonathon whispers; because somehow after doing the play Shakespeare had become their language of endearments and whispered promises, and leans down to kiss him. They don't say anything coherent again for quite some time.