That was as much as he could ask for — more, really. He'd been preparing to open the door and let Arthur leave without a fight; he knew it would have been the smarter thing to do. Having this moment was more than either of them were entitled to. He moved the plate from his lap to the end table and sat up on the couch, shifting his position until he could lean in to kiss Arthur. Three years, and some change. It had started like anything else; haphazard meetups, cryptic letters. Emrys didn't know exactly when it had transitioned into something else, but it was undeniable now. He may have offered Angelica the answer last night because he told himself it was pointless to argue, and an answer was the fastest way through the conversation... but as he'd turned it over after she left he hadn't come up with a way to talk himself out of it. He remembered how he'd clung to Arthur when they were both broken and bruised in the sinkhole; realized the simmering anger from last night when Angelica turned the conversation this direction hadn't just been for his own sake. He wrestled with the very real possibility of saying goodbye, of losing him. There was nothing to attribute this degree of pain to except love.

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