"Hey".

Mark slowly looked up from his camera roll and he took in a sharp breath as he saw Thomas standing before him. There was a certain stillness in his posture that gave away Thomas's nerves. Mark decided to bite down his feelings and pretend nothing was wrong. Thomas had wanted to act like strangers.

"Hi," Mark said, as he squared his shoulders and adopted an air of nonchalance.

Thomas quickly glanced around, noting that that pesky reporter was nowhere to be seen and that no one stood too close to them. He let out a jaded breath and bit the inside of his cheek.

"We have to talk," he said as fast as he could.

"We do?!" Mark replied with a raised eyebrow. "I thought we just met. Whatever would we have to talk about?" He was being petty and he loved it. This was all Thomas's fault.

"Don't be like that..." Thomas muttered with a sigh. "I need to talk to you," he pleaded.

Mark stood up, smacking his lips while doing so, and smiled down at Thomas. It had taken Thomas a week of daily practices to go up to him and say something more than an introduction. And this was all he could come up with? I need to talk to you.

"What you have to say to me... is about," Mark paused, acting as if he was thinking deeply, "seven years too late".

"Mark," Thomas snapped, sucking the breath out of Mark's lungs with his sharp tone. "I'll text you the address. Please come to my apartment after practice. To talk," he said.

Mark shook his head. "I've changed my phone number. I'll get your address from Dean".

***

About three hours later Mark was doing breathing exercises on his way up the apartment building where Thomas lived. He had chosen to walk up the stairs, even though Thomas lived on one of the highest floors. Mark didn't like elevators at all. He was thoroughly out of breath by the time he reached the floor Dean had told him. How much money did Thomas make to afford to live this high up?

Hesitating for a second, he finally knocked and waited for Thomas to open up. Thomas's hair was still damp from the shower he had taken after practice. He was wearing an oversized, long-sleeved shirt and low-hanging, gray sweatpants. He didn't say anything to Mark, but he made space for him to enter.

"How much money do you make?!" Mark exclaimed, not being able to hold himself back, as his eyes went over the room.

Thomas lowered his head and awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. There was a definite blush on his face.

"More than I deserve..." he muttered.

Mark rose an eyebrow at that, unable to respond as he was still aghast by everything before him. Every piece of furniture he could see had to have to cost a fortune and he couldn't even begin to fathom the view the glass wall offered.

"Don't be like that. I saw your car..." Thomas said. Mark turned to give him a pointed look.

"I own a sports car, not a fucking luxury penthouse!" he snapped with a smile.

Thomas bit his lip and didn't say anything, allowing Mark to take everything in. A few moments later, Mark stopped looking at his surroundings and turned to Thomas, seemingly ready to hear him out.

"Do you want a drink?" Thomas asked him.

Mark's lips parted and he squinted at Thomas. "It's midday..."

Despite Mark's reply, Thomas walked to the tray on the console table behind him and poured himself a glass of what looked like whiskey. He looked at Mark, who had one eyebrow raised, lifted the glass to his lips, and finished the drink with one swing. The liquid burned his throat as it went down, but he didn't flinch. Instead, he looked at Mark and let out a heavy breath.

He opened his mouth to say something, but the sound of Mark's phone ringing stopped him short. Mark pulled it out of his back pocket, looked at the screen, and declined the call with a lick of his lips.

Thomas couldn't help but look over him once again. He had changed so much. Mark was wearing a pair of denim jeans that were tight-fitting and a button-up shirt under his gray undercoat. A week ago, when Thomas had seen him up close for the first time in years, it hadn't felt right. Without the combat boots and the leather jacket and the colorful handkerchiefs, it didn't feel right. It didn't feel like his Mark.

"I didn't have a choice," he blurted out, cursing himself for not starting the conversation as he had thought out. Mark stayed silent and just looked at him, waiting for more words to leave Thomas's mouth. "I was building my future. Breaking up with you was the only option that I –"

"That's bullshit and you know it," Mark cut him off. "You had thousands of other options to choose from. You just couldn't see them."

"There was only one other option, which was staying with you and screwing up my future!" Thomas replied. Mark laughed bitterly and shook his head.

"That wasn't the only other option. Our relationship wasn't going to doom your future".

"I didn't ask you to come here to have that same conversation again..." Thomas said under his breath and walked up to Mark.

"Then what did you want to talk about?" Mark asked him. His phone went off and he declined the call again, this time keeping the device in his palm and not putting it back in his pocket.

"I just wanted –"

That obnoxious ringtone interrupted him and Thomas glared down at the screen. Sarah with a heart emoticon. Mark looked at his phone again and decided to turn it off.

"That's an awfully clingy friend you got there..." Thomas noted, not intending to finish his previous sentence.

"That would be my girlfriend," Mark replied and then put his phone in his pocket.

"Girl–" Thomas' shoulders slumped and he let out a heavy breath. "So you have a girlfriend now... when did that happen?"

"Some months ago," Mark said with a crisp tone.

"So, you're bisexual?"

"I prefer the term queer, but sure".

"Queer..." Thomas repeated with a lower tone. He let out a soft snort and lowered his eyes.

"What?" Mark snapped at him, unsure of Thomas's train of thought.

"Nothing. I just thought of what I would give to be like that..."

Mark shook his head negatively and crossed his arms before his chest. Thomas continued not facing him, but Mark couldn't place what exactly made it hard for him to look up.

"Don't. Don't feel bad about your sexuality. You are who you are and you feel as you feel because you were made this way," Mark told him. Thomas smacked his lips.

"Well, I didn't ask for this! I didn't ask to be gay. I didn't ask to be different!" Thomas yelled.

"Of course you didn't ask for it..." Mark muttered, but Thomas cut him off.

"Cut the therapist crap," he growled. "What the fuck happened to you? Where did my bad boy go?"

Mark squinted at him, hating how his heart fluttered when Thomas called him his. He was over Thomas. It had been seven years. He was over his feelings for Thomas.

"Your bad boy," Mark started, "grew up. I'm not the guy you knew. And you're not the soccer captain who met me and started questioning his sexuality. We grew up. We changed. We moved on".

"You moved on," Thomas whispered. Mark was left looking at him with knitted brows.

Without another word, Thomas moved his hand and brought it up intending to touch Mark's face. But as soon as his fingertips grazed his skin, Mark's hand shot out and grabbed him by the wrist, halting his movements. Thomas let out a sob, even though Mark wasn't hurting him. He ached to touch him.

Courage he didn't know he possessed overtook him and Thomas rose to the tips of his toes. His tear-filled eyes didn't leave Mark's for a second and they almost close as his lips ghosted over Mark's. But before they kissed, Mark reached out and softly pushed Thomas back with his free hand.

"I have a girlfriend," he said with a hoarse tone, as a tear rolled down Thomas's cheek. "I don't cheat," he added and stepped back, letting go of his wrist.

His skin felt cold and strange now that Mark wasn't holding onto him and he broke down. A loud sob ripped through him and more tears started to split out. Mark took another step back. He didn't say anything, turned around, and left, his heart burning with each sob that Thomas let out.

Silent tears started to travel down his face as he walked down the stairs. We moved on. What a pathetic lie that was...