"So how long will you be gone?" Thomas asked, walking inside Mark's apartment and taking off his hood and sunglasses.

"About two weeks. I haven't been back home for almost half a year and I want to spend some time with my parents," Mark replied, looking at the dead fern on his dining table. He shook his head, deciding it was not worth saving since he would be gone for the two weeks to come. "Aren't you going to go back home for Thanksgiving?"

"My family doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving..." Thomas said, looking around the apartment.

It was significantly smaller than his own. The kitchen was attached to the living room, with the dining table essentially separating them. On his right was a door that led to the bedroom and next to that door was a door that led to the bathroom. Quite small. But also, quite Mark.

Pictures were hanging on the walls, some in bigger frames looking more professional, some just stuck to the wall frameless. Between the two windows opposite the front door was a rainbow flag hanging. Thomas wondered whether that was the flag he used to have in his bedroom back when they were teens. The dead fern was the only dead plant in the apartment, a few succulents, and cacti next to the TV and on the windowsill of the kitchen, still green.

Without saying anything, he watched Mark pull out his suitcase from underneath his bed and start putting clothes in it. When Mark came back it would be two months since they started dating. And just two weeks before it was two months since Frank's death.

It was weird. Thomas would wake up and forget that that had even happened. He would forget that Frank died until he ended up in practice not seeing him. And that moment of remembering hurt, but it was nothing like how he felt that first week. That first week after his birthday was a blur. It was something his mind didn't want to open itself to.

On the few days where he completely forgot, he would end up remembering late at night. He only made it through those nights while cuddling with Mark after having drunk too much. He could see that his drinking saddened Mark, but he needed it. Or so he thought during those nights. The next morning, he would end up hating himself for drinking, but he never had the guts to throw away the booze.

"Are you sure you're okay with me leaving?" Mark asked him, before zipping up his suitcase. Thomas snapped out of his haze and looked up at Mark.

"Go visit your family, I'll be fine... don't worry about me," Thomas said brushing him off and looking away quickly.

"That's impossible. I always worry about you," Mark said and kissed him on the forehead. He turned to zip his bag up and spoke up again, "I'll text as soon as I get there".

"Do they know about us?" Thomas asked him out of the blue.

"I mentioned that we got back together... a while ago," Mark replied slowly.

"How much do they hate me?"

"They don't hate you," Mark said with a heavy exhale and turned to cup Thomas's face in his hands. "They weren't exactly thrilled about it, but can you blame them? Considering..."

"Considering I broke your heart," Thomas said and softly pulled Mark's hands down.

"They know you make me happy. And that you care about me. So, they'll have to get over their feelings," Mark said and angled Thomas's chin to kiss him. "I love you. You hear me. I don't care what anyone else thinks. Okay?"

"I love you too," Thomas said while wrapping his arms around Mark.

***

"I'm home!" Mark yelled out as he opened the door and walked inside to his family home. Despite only living here for a few years and having many bad memories connected with the time he lived here, he loved his home.

This was the house he lived in when he was with William. This was the house he had had so many awful panic attacks in. This was the house he spent so much time with Thomas. Where they got to know each other. Where they had sex for the first time. Where they fell in love. He hated this house. But it was his home. And he loved it for that.

When he got no response, he figured that his parents were out grocery shopping for the holiday. He set his camera bag on the table close to the front door, next to a vase with orange flowers, and took his suitcase upstairs to his bedroom.

Nothing had changed. His pride flag was still on his wall. His leather jackets and ripped jeans and handkerchiefs were still in his closet. And his walls were still all covered in photographs, but that one spot where it was stripped. He had wanted to fill it up soon after the break-up, but he never sat down to do it. Never found the strength.

"Mark?" Marigold McGregor's voice echoed from downstairs and smiling Mark got out of his room and went to greet them.

He helped his parents unload the car and then hugged both of them for an extremely long time. Some minutes later they were all holed up in the kitchen, Sean chopping down some vegetables, Mark cutting chicken breasts into small pieces and Marigold sitting on the kitchen island looking at her boys.

"So, how is work?" she asked Mark, trying to seem genuinely interested. He looked at her through half-lidded eyes and smirked.

"I know what you really want to ask me. So, go ahead," he replied turned around and washing his hands as he was done with the chicken.

"How are things with Thomas?"

"Good. I mean... good," Mark said. "It's good". Sean and Marigold shared a look and waited for Mark to turn around and face them. When he did, he sighed. "Frank's suicide... it broke him. Which is completely understandable. I mean, they were friends and Frank coming out in his note and the fucking tabloids were just horrible and with the way he has been conditioned in the past seven years it totally makes sense".

"Wait, what makes sense?" Sean interrupted him.

"He's drinking. A lot," Mark said, and his shoulders slumped.

"Oh, Mark..." Marigold said with a shake of her head.

***

Nobody really stayed in the city during Thanksgiving. At least nobody from his group of friends. Dean and Matias went back to Dean's hometown, where they would celebrate alongside Dean's father and stepmother. Rachel and Bryan had also traveled back home. Ronnie had gone on a trip and as for the rest of Thomas's team, they were celebrating with their own families.

What he had told Mark wasn't a lie. His family didn't celebrate Thanksgiving, but they did get together during that holiday. They just had a nice dinner and maybe played some board games. Or at least they used too. After moving out, Thomas had slowly drifted away from his family. He talked less and less with them and eventually, he ended up talking to his parents maybe once a week, at best. It hadn't been very hard. A little after George was born, Abigail's son, she got pregnant with twins and everyone in the Heissmann family had their hands full.

Thomas didn't really mind. At least, now his mother only asked him once a week whether he was happy and fine and great. He hated lying to her, but he didn't want her to know that he had been constantly in pain for the past five years. Five years. It had been five years since he last saw his family up close. George went to first grade. The twins were in preschool. He wanted to go back and see them, but he never got around to actually doing it. It always hurt too much.

"We don't need anyone," he cooed at Kenzie and flapped her ears. She softly barked at him and curled up on his lap.

For a few moments he looked at her without moving a muscle, but then he stood up with the confused dog in his arms. He went to his bedroom, where he let Kenzie down, and he opened his closet door. Then he reached up and took the box the was hidden behind all sorts of tangled washed sweatpants. Kenzie walked up next to him and leaned over to look inside the box.

Thomas laughed at her and pulled out the first picture on the stack. In the picture, Thomas and Mark sat in the bed of the truck in the garage, both shirtless and smiling. Thomas remembered that day as clear as day. It was a couple of hours after he had come out to his parents. Whenever he would go through this stack of photographs he always choked when he reached this one.

That day... that life seemed like a dream. It didn't feel real anymore. Coming out to Dean and his parents and Rachel and the guys, that had happened, but he only vaguely remembered it. He had blocked it all out. And he was afraid that going back to his hometown would bring it all back. He was afraid he wasn't strong enough to relive it all.

He ran his thumb over the photographed young Mark and smiled to himself. Kenzie sat down next to him and turned her head to the side in a questioning manner. Then she whined and walked off to go sit on the discarded shirt Mark had left on the floor, that Thomas hadn't picked up yet. She smelled it a bit, lowered her ears, and curled up on it.

"Yeah, I miss him too..." Thomas muttered, grabbing some more of the photographs.