Thomas was woken up by the sunlight that crept inside his bedroom. The curtains had been drawn, keeping his room fairly dark, but there was a small slither of light that made it through. And with his luck, of course, that slither of light fell right on his eyes. He cleared his throat and he opened his eyes to look around. He was alone.

"A fucking dream..." he muttered while letting out a sick chuckle. "Just another dream," he added and pushed away from the covers, only to shock himself.

He never stripped when he got drunk. He was only surprised for a few moments though. This wouldn't be the first time he did something wild while drunk. Maybe now he was gaining a stripping habit. Just keep piling them on. This would definitely not be his worst habit.

He got out of bed, only paying attention to the soreness for a moment, and got into the bathroom that was attached to the bedroom. There were small little bruises on his thighs, but he barely looked over them. Instead, he took a quick shower, regretting having drunk so much.

As the warm water ran over his body, he thought back to last night's dream. Most of the time his dreams consisted of the things he remembered. The garage. Mark's old room. So many memories.

Realizing how pathetic he was —crying in the shower once again— he turned off the water and got out. Pathetic, he thought, looking down at his own reflection in the misty mirror. Pathetic little gay shit.

He got dressed in his usual oversized sweater and a pair of sweatpants and then headed to the kitchen. He heard it when he got out of his bedroom. A soft cutting sound. With slow steps and shaky breaths, Thomas went to the kitchen, not wanting to believe it. It was a dream. It was just a fucking dream. He wasn't here. He can't be here.

When his eyes fell on Mark he let out a sharp breathy laugh. He wasn't losing his mind. Mark had been there last night. Mark had been with him the previous night.

At the sound, Mark stopped cutting and turned around to smile at Thomas. He was wearing last night's clothes, black pants, and a black button-up shirt. Most of the shirt's buttons were open, leaving a large part of his chest exposed. Thomas' eyes wandered to his neck and he saw the little mark he had left.

"Good morning ... or should I say day," Mark said. Confused, Thomas looked at the clock on the wall and saw that it was almost one p.m. He was surprised to have slept in but didn't show it. "I'm just heating them up. We can eat whenever you want," Mark went on, nodding to the lit oven.

"You made those?" Thomas asked, staring at the crepes that Mark was referring to.

"Yeah, I took some cooking and baking classes last year. Learned some things... "Mark replied and turned back to the fruit he had been cutting.

"Where did you find those?" Thomas asked, hesitantly stepping closer and examining the fruit.

"Went grocery shopping... your kitchen was in dire need of it," Mark said and turned around, holding onto a piece of mango. He offered it to Thomas, who gulped unsurely and then leaned forward and ate it from between Mark's fingers.

"Why?" He asked a few moments later after Mark had turned his back on him again and was cutting an orange.

"I figured you'd wake up and..."

"No," Thomas interrupted him. "Why did you sleep with me?"

Mark set down his knife and turned around, wiping his hands on a paper towel. He looked at Thomas while biting the inside of his cheek. He had been trying to answer that same question all morning to himself. He had been trying to figure out another reason other than "I needed it". That wasn't good enough. Not for Thomas and definitely not for himself.

"I wanted to know. I wanted to know whether what I felt was real or whether it was just me being nostalgic of that time," Mark replied.

"Oh... so what does the verdict say?" Thomas asked, lowering his head with slumped shoulders.

"I'm still here, aren't I?" Mark's answer brought fresh tears to Thomas' eyes. Mark took a step closer to Thomas and after thinking it through for a second he reached out and touched Thomas's cheek. Thomas's eyes saddened Mark. They were so big and teary and broken. "Did you mean it?"

"Did I mean what?" Thomas muttered, not taking his gaze away.

"What did you say last night... did you mean it? Do you love me?"

"I never stopped," Thomas said. "God, Mark... I'm such an idiot. I shouldn't have-"

"Don't do that. Don't put yourself down anymore. You made a choice. You lived with it. Don't think back to it. Think about now. What choice are you going to make now?" Mark cut him off.

"Can I choose you?"

"Of course you can, babe." Thomas almost sobbed. Having Mark call him that was like finding water in the desert.

Without hesitation he pulled Thomas into his arms, hugging him tightly and hiding his face in Thomas's hair. He felt Thomas's hand wrap around his waist and smiled to himself. Thomas was there. Thomas was with him.

What made them pull away was the oven that started beeping, signaling that their breakfast - or rather lunch - was ready. Thomas let out an awkward laugh and watched Mark take out the oven tray. The crepes smelled heavenly. And just like that, despite the initial shock, he accepted Mark's new baking skills.

"So what else is new? Or rather different?" he asked as he took a bite from one of the crepes as they sat next to each other at the kitchen island.

"About me?" Mark asked eating a slice of orange. "Less than I would like to admit. I'm not that angry with the world anymore, or at least I don't let my anger control me. I still fucking hate homophobes, but I try not to get upset over their bullshit. I'll call them out but only to let others know I'm against them," he said, resting his head in his palm. "I don't need medication anymore. I'm better. I'm... happy".

Thomas lowered his head, trying to hide the sadness in his eyes. Mark was happy. Mark had gotten better. Mark had gotten better without him and now Thomas had made his way into his life again and again he was going to fuck it up. He was pathetic.

"Do you remember the rooftop?" He asked Mark with a small voice. He still hadn't raised his head, despite wanting to look at Mark. He didn't wait for an answer, "You said that liking you was a mistake," he paused to sniffle his nose and shake his head. "I'm the mistake, Mark."

"I love you".

The words fell from Mark's lips softly and with no hesitation. They didn't leave any room for Thomas to assume they didn't hold the truth. They didn't allow him to doubt them. He nearly broke down once again. He looked up with the brightest smile he had had for years and laughed when he saw Mark.

"Why did I steal seven years from us?" Thomas asked him.

"Because you thought you were doing the right thing. And maybe you were right. Maybe we needed these seven years apart. Maybe you needed to build your career. Maybe I needed to get better. Regretting your choices now will get us nowhere," Mark said and reached out to touch his forearm.

Thomas was left looking at him, unable to form a response. Mark was right, feeling bad about breaking Mark's heart wasn't going to do anything for them. But he didn't know what else to think. He didn't know what else to feel. He only felt bad. Bad for making Mark cry. Bad for breaking his heart. Bad for lying to him. Bad for wasting so much time. Bad for being himself. The list was unending. The list of reasons for how bad Thomas Heissmann felt was unending.

"Thomas!" A voice called in a sing-song tone, as the front door was unlocked.

Thomas jumped up from where he sat and looked around all while panicking. Mark, on the other hand, took another bite from his creep and looked at Thomas somewhat confused. Before Thomas could as much as react to Mark's calmness, footsteps came to a halt and Matias stood at the kitchen's doorway, his jaw slacking.

"Mãe de Deus!" He said out of breath as he saw Thomas and Mark before him. "What is ... are you two... what's going on?"

Mark looked over at Thomas, who was frozen still, and then back at Matias. He gave him a half-smile and shrugged.

"We're dating again".