Mars turned to look at Dylan. I care about him. I shouldn’t, because it’ll get me nowhere. But I do. When the hell did that happen? And what do I do about it? Well that’s easy enough to answer. Nothing. If I let him know…He’d laugh, probably. No. He’s not like that. He’s honest, so he’s say he’s sorry but he doesn’t feel the same way about me. And I’d lose someone I think has become a real friend. God only knows I don’t have many of them. Our life, what we do, doesn’t allow it. Not really. Friendship, but not friends. “I’m not sure that makes sense, but…” he murmured. Yeah, I’ll keep my mouth closed and accept that Dylan and I will never be more than what we are now. Friends…He grimaced, with benefits.
* * * *
“Morning,” Alastair said when Mars and Dylan came into the living room, on their way to the kitchen, Thursday morning. “You’re taking this R&R to heart.”
Dylan glanced at the clock and winced. It was ten-thirty. “Sorry.”