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Monty tapped his fingers against the desk, flicking his pen back and forth with the other until he felt something warm close over his free hand and interlace their fingers. Charlie's hand was bigger than his, smoother and uncallused. They fit together so imperfectly it was almost laughable but the gentle squeeze he felt was enough to get him to stop bouncing the pen and get back to writing.
But Monty loved him, his genius. His lovely, stupid genius who could talk for hours about bugs and always said the wrong thing at the wrong time, a man who tripped over his own feet a lot as he paced up and down the small office they shared when his body moved faster than his thoughts or his persistent leg shake when Charles finally sat down to concentrate and took a brisk sip of his tea (milk, no sugar. He was very insistent that sugar did not belong in a good cup of tea).
The only thing Monty would change is that he wished he'd held him closer before he left. He wished he didn't have to forget how the smell of outdoors clung to Charlie's jacket and the grip of his surprisingly strong arms as they held each other for the last time in that basement and the words Monty had accidentally let slip.
'I love you.'
He made eye contact with the other man, swallowing a thick layer of saliva. Charles slowly removed Monty from his arms, blinking furiously as his eyes began to soften. His eyes flowed away from Monty's, across his cheeks, down the bridge of his nose, his lips, his jaw and rested them, smiling, back at the deep brown start. He followed the pattern again, this time with his thumb, savouring, tracing over every last detail, every last freckle, every dark spot, every mole, every dimple that he had the pleasure of gazing upon every single day without the permission to touch. If sacred statues are meant to be left and admired from a distance, how can they properly be worshipped? When every chip in the marble, every weathered corner makes them even more lovable.
Charles loved the way Monty would indignantly keep his feet up on the desk and prance about the room, he loved how loud such a short man's voice could be in comparison to his own because he knew there was more underneath the façade; Monty was the only person he'd ever met who cared enough to care about him back and even though the other man might not have thought so, it was just enough for Charles. With his thumb now settling underneath Monty's chin, Charlie tilted Monty's head upwards and left a final, lingering kiss on his lips, tenderly handing over the last pulpy chunks of his heart.
'See you later, Monty.'
Monty wished he'd never even opened his mouth, alone in a cold, dark basement and blind to the meaty heap that lay at his feet on the tiled floors.