“Oh, really…”
“Everywhim.”
“What if I want you to be naked? My naked willing servant. I sort of like the idea.”
“Hey, if you want,” Kris agreed, and immediately tugged at his shirt.
Justin laughed more, and caught his hand. “You don’t have to. Though I like that you would. If I asked. Maybe…not yet, not now, but…maybe we could try something like that. Later.”
“Maybe,” Kris said, old battered heart absurdly lighter, ridiculous and foolish with a glimpse at sunshine. “When you’re ready. No rush. Come here, love, your pizza’s waiting.” 5
Three weeks and three days. Four. Five. Getting easier. If easier was the word. More normal, anyway. The lighter-heartedness—not wholly mended but less heavy—carried over into the future, and Justin smiled more often, and sang along when Kris put on music.