Cass caught himself, too late, fixated on Vincent’s lips. Not quite clocking the tension held in Vince’s fingers as they had a quiet moment together, because in the office’s stillness he felt tense himself. The two of them braced for the loss – these intimate moments that blink in and out of existence far too quickly. Intimate moments that Cass will always stack up against the memory of that afternoon they first kissed. And the realization he had as an adult, how every soft moment they’ve shared thereafter – even this one – feels the same now, as it did then. Flutters in his gut and all. Like the very first time.

If this is not the most obvious indication of love…
Cassian still could never admit it.

It was easier to default to actions instead of words, anyway. Their arrangement no accident, their present and future as inextricable companions (so he hoped). This gift. Acts of service. The way satisfaction moved through Cassian’s chest as he watched Vince stand a bit taller and almost-smile. These are the ways Cassian found to convey the things he could never utter out loud.

“You’re welcome,” he said quietly, dropping one hand to the desk, the other at his side. For a moment, warm.

Though he could sense it - the distrust (Cassian couldn’t blame him. He’s never been very clear or consistent). Vince’s fingers kept him rooted at the spot, but he didn’t plan to move off anyway. Even with that withering look thrown at him. Cassian nodded when Vincent supplied the answer, which was only a small abatement from the fact that he deserved to know.

“Can’t,” he confirmed, almost as quickly as Vincent asked. He didn’t want this to even be a question. It wasn’t just Vince who wanted this, he craved it too. It aggravated him to feel torn away, especially when lately it felt like they existed on borrowed time. Everything would change with courtship, wives, family, duty... and he detested anything that got in the way of their ability to delay the inevitable. “Direction from fucking Greyback himself. I had no choice, and now I can’t…”

Can’t even finish a bloody sentence.

“...I can’t meet today,” he eventually managed, deflated too, because this meant quite a delay. There was work. There were these ghastly murders. Not to mention this hellish season with endless social commitments to crowd out their weekends. “But we can, soon. Once we’re out of these next few weeks,” he pressed, still not budging an inch from where Vince held him, blue eyes earnest. “Tell me how I can make it up to you. Shall we sail off into the sunset? Literally. Maybe a vacation somewhere warm,” he volunteered, the idea of the two of them on a boat off the Amalfi coast almost bringing a smile to his face.

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