At least thirty? He still had a year and some change before he hit his thirties and Basil was telling him he looked at least thirty? Gus frowned as he glanced down at himself. He’d wager he was a lot fitter than most people their age given his former profession and he certainly didn't feel like thirty, let alone look that old! “I’m not bloody thirty,” Gus grumbled under his breath, although the other’s movement caught his gaze as he scratched the back of his head. It was endearing.

“No, you didn’t make me uncomfortable. God, Basil. I’m bloody crazy about you. I’d kiss you stupid every day if you let me, and there’s nothing more that I want in life than to spend it with you. Even if society says I’m not allowed to, I still want it.” Gus said, reaching out to cup his hands against Basil’s cheeks. And he would want it for the rest of his life - a stupid, unattainable want. He knew not to say he was in love - that was a lesson he’d learned the hard way and the words still stung. What do you mean you love me? It’s not biologically possible!

Gus leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together with a smile against his lips as the other returned the sentiment of being perfect. If only he knew he wasn’t. He’d made a mistake that had shattered this version of Basil. This moment wouldn’t last but it didn’t mean he could soak it in, right? What harm would it do to pretend for just a moment that things had gone entirely right rather than entirely wrong.

"You really think I look thirty?" Gus mumbled, although his was grin was wide

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