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It was early enough that Greg could almost pretend that the absolutely harrowing image of himself in the toilet mirror was mostly just dire because of the dim lighting and lack of sleep.
Key word being almost.
Having finally finished what may have been the world’s longest piss, and he made a mental note to mention that to his GP at some point, even if inevitably meant another prostate exam that he’d rather avoid if at all possible, he leaned over the sink to examine his reflection more closely under the dim light, pinching the horrible, loose skin of his neck and prodding the bags underneath his eyes.
Then, because he apparently enjoyed his early morning ennui with a side of masochism, he took a step back from the mirror and turned to the side, examining his profile as he stood in his pants, hastily retrieved from the bedroom floor on his way to the toilet. He jiggled his belly with both hands, pulling a face. “Horrific,” he muttered, feeling like the word summed it up nicely.
He sighed heavily and turned back to the mirror, rubbing a hand along his jawline and wondering when, precisely, he had crossed the threshold from middle-aged into old. He might’ve carried on in that vein for quite some time, plumbing new depths of his usual self-deprecation, were it not for the pair of arms that snaked around his waist from behind and the pair of lips and accompanying beard that brushed against his back.
“Good morning,” Alex murmured, the word delivered mostly against Greg’s skin. “What are you doing awake this early?”
“Needed a wee,” Greg said honestly, turning around to face him, leaning against the sink. “Then got sidetracked by a little existential crisis.”
Alex let out a little hum. “Typical morning, then,” he said lightly, though he didn’t smile at his own joke, instead searching Greg’s face for a moment. “Crisis about anything in particular? Or just the usual?”
It spoke volumes about Greg that he had a ‘usual’ crisis.
It spoke volumes about their relationship that Alex both knew about it and hadn’t yet fled.
“Just feeling old,” Greg said, which was true. “And fat.”
“Very old,” Alex agreed, his expression not so much as twitching. “Very—” His eyes flickered to Greg’s stomach and back. “Sturdy.”
Greg couldn’t help but laugh, a weak and reluctant sort of chuckle, aware as he was that this was Alex’s attempt to drag him out of his doldrums. “Fuck off,” he said, without any real heat.
Alex hummed again, the noise interrupted by a yawn he hastily stifled. “Dunno,” he managed when the yawn subsided, “I think I’d rather fuck on.”
Greg laughed again, a more genuine laugh. “What does that even mean, you weirdo?”
“Mm, too tired to figure it out.”
Greg shook his head with genuine affection, drawing Alex close so he could kiss the side of his head. “If you’re too tired to figure it out, perhaps that’s a sign you should go back to bed.”
Alex rested his head against Greg’s shoulder. “But then who would stop you from feeling sorry for yourself?”
“I’m not feeling sorry for myself,” Greg lied, and not particularly well.
Alex didn’t even bother lifting his head to give Greg a look. “Mm.”
“I’m not!” Greg protested, which was now technically true insofar as Alex had thoroughly interrupted his pity party and now he was just mostly feeling irritation. “I’m just seeing myself the way everyone else sees me.”
It was, admittedly, a little maudlin, even for him, and he probably deserved the eyeroll that Alex gave him, even if he only felt it in the movement of Alex’s head against his shoulder. “Who is ‘everyone’?” Alex asked, amused.
Greg shrugged, the movement a little more forceful than necessary so as to jostle Alex appropriately. “Casting directors, mostly,” he said, seizing on the latest and greatest indignity he’d suffered. “Or do you think it’s a coincidence that the most high-profile role I’ve landed recently is Father fucking Christmas?”
Alex straightened, his expression entirely unreadable. “Ah,” he said, the single syllable equally inscrutable.
Greg’s eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Alex said, his tone indicating the opposite, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I just suppose I ought to have realised that’s where this is all coming from.”
Greg scowled. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Wouldn’t I?” Alex asked, unusually sharp, especially for him. “Because between the two of us, the one who looks like he’s aged far more over the past decade is me, not you.”
“That’s different,” Greg said dismissively, because it was. Alex was settling into middle age unbelievably well, and Greg was just lucky he got to enjoy it so closely. “Especially because grey hair looks unbelievably sexy on you.” He paused before adding, saccharine sweet, “Even if you’ve put your pants on backwards.”
Alex glanced automatically down at his crotch before switching his disapproving look back to Greg. “You, my wife, and about a dozen people online are the only ones who think so, but that’s not the point.”
Greg sighed. He should’ve known better than to think Alex would just drop it. “Then what is your point?” he asked tiredly.
Alex’s expression softened, just slightly. “Mostly that I do understand looking and feeling older, even if I’m not entirely sure why it’s spawned this latest crisis.”
But Greg wasn’t so mollified. “It’s not just looking and feeling older,” he pointed out.
Largely because, if that was all it took, he’d’ve been in a constant state of crisis for the past four decades.
Which he had been, but again, not the fucking point.
Alex nodded. “Right, and being asked to play Santa Claus,” he said in that annoyingly helpful way of his.
Greg glared at him. “See, this is why I don’t want to get into it with you, because you’re physically incapable of not making a fuck joke out of everything—”
Alex held his hands up. “For once, that wasn’t me joking,” he said quietly.
“Oh,” Greg said, a little sheepishly.
“That was me literally repeating your words back to you.”
Greg’s eyes narrowed once more. “Well, now you’re being a smart-arse.”
Alex didn’t bother denying it. “A smart-arse who’s not going to let you wriggle your way out of telling me what’s really wrong, and why you’re really feeling this way,” he said instead.
Greg sighed heavily and scrubbed both hands across his face. “Because,” he started reluctantly, regretting starting this so early in the morning, “if I’m old enough to play Father Christmas, then I really am old.” Alex opened his mouth but Greg didn’t let him interrupt with whatever inane joke he had planned on making. “Not just in a joking, feeling sorry for myself way, but in an actually one foot in the grave way. Should be thinking about retirement way. Making sure the BAFTAs have the most updated picture for my in memory spot way.”
“No need,” Alex said evenly. “I think Rhod’s going to make sure they use that picture of you in the speedo.”
But Greg refused to laugh or even smile. “That’s not funny.”
Something flickered in Alex’s expression. “Sorry,” he said softly.
Greg sighed again, and reached out to grab Alex’s hand. “No, I’m sorry,” he said, and he really was, more than he could possibly say, even if he was mostly just sorry that Alex had somehow gotten himself stuck with him. “I know you’re just trying to make me feel better, and I’m the one who’s insisting on acting a fat, miserable prick. You should just go back to bed. I’m going to go make coffee.”
He made as if to slip past Alex, who didn’t move to let him pass. “Just another example of your stellar acting range, then.”
Greg huffed an attempt at a laugh. “There’s trying to make me feel better and then there’s kicking me when I’m down, mate.”
“Wasn’t trying to make you feel better,” Alex said. “You are a fat, miserable prick, and it is probably to the point where we should toss ‘old’ on there, too.”
Greg stared at him. “Well, thanks, that’s exactly what I needed to hear this morning—”
“What I don’t understand is why any of that matters,” Alex interrupted.
“Sorry?”
Alex crossed his arms in front of his chest again. “You’ve been a fat, miserable prick the entire time I’ve known you, and I’m not entirely sure why the inclusion of ‘old’ in that should inspire this early morning crisis.”
Greg mirrored his pose. “Of course you don’t.”
Alex raised both eyebrows. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re not old!” Greg burst, his frustration with both the circumstances and Alex’s refusal to be anything other than an obstinate prick getting the better of him.
Alex stared at him. “But why does it matter if you are?”
“Because—”
Greg broke off so suddenly that his teeth clacked together, and Alex waited a beat before prompting, in a slightly gentler tone, “Because what?”
It was gentler bordering on pitying, and that just made Greg feel worse. “Forget it,” he muttered, again trying to brush past Alex, though he wasn’t remotely surprised when Alex again didn’t move.
“No, I’m not going to,” Alex told him. “Something’s bothering you and I would be very surprised if it was solely that you’ve been asked to play Father Christmas.”
Greg pulled a face. “I mean, you wouldn’t be that surprised.”
Alex didn’t smile. “Greg.”
Greg huffed a sigh and looked away. “You’ll think I’m being silly. And melodramatic.”
“Maybe,” Alex said. :But luckily, I love when you’re silly and melodramatic.”
“This may actually test the limits of that,” Greg muttered.
“Try me.”
Greg sighed again and tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling as if it might somehow make what was really bothering him, what had been niggling in the back of his mind with each passing day as he got fitted for his Father Christmas costume, as he memorised his lines, as he sat in hair and makeup to get made to look basically the same age as he was, easier for him to explain. “Because– because if I’m old, then realistically, we only have, what, twenty more years together?” he asked, the words sounding harsher to his ears than he intended. “Maybe less?” He jerked a shrug, not quite able to make himself look at Alex. “I plan on spending the rest of my life with you, you know that, I just– I wish that meant longer than it likely will.”
He knew he was lucky, luckier than many, to get to find someone who was the perfect partner, who complemented him in every conceivable way, who was even willing to put up with him when he got like this. And even if he realistically knew that they never would have gone so well together were it not for the years they’d spent apart, that didn’t mean that Greg didn’t desperately wish they’d gotten fifty years or more together.
There just wasn’t enough time. And there never would be.
He could feel tears prick, hot and wet, in the corners of his eyes as Alex started softly, “Greg—”
But Greg couldn’t bear to let him finish. “See, I told you,” he said, forcing a laugh as he wiped angrily at his cheeks. “Silly and melodramatic.”
“No,” Alex said, his voice still soft. “No, it’s not.”
Greg jerked a nod and made for the third time as if to slip past Alex back to the bedroom, but instead of simply blocking his way as he had before, Alex’s hand closed around his wrist. With one smooth tug, he pulled Greg to him before turning them both so that he could crowd Greg against the sink, kissing him deeply and licking into his mouth as his hands roamed the familiar curved planes of Greg’s belly and chest. Greg groaned, tipping his head back as Alex’s lips traced down his neck. “Alex,” he managed breathlessly, regretting saying anything when Alex stilled.
But luckily, Alex didn’t pull away. “I love you,” he said instead, slipping his arms around Greg’s waist and bending down just slightly to rest his cheek against Greg’s chest. “And even if it’s only for ten more years – even if it’s only for ten more minutes ~ my life is immeasurably better because I get to share it with you.”
Greg ducked his chin to press a kiss to the top of Alex’s head. “I know,” he said quietly. “But we should have gotten to spend a lifetime together.”
“We have,” Alex said, something equal parts insistent and matter-of-fact in his tone. “We’ve done more together in the past decade than most couples get in an entire lifetime. And we’ve got so much more still to come.” He lifted his head to kiss Greg once more, a gentler, sweeter kiss. “It’s not about how many years we get, it’s that we get to spend them together.” Alex paused, pulling a face. “Well, as together as we can be. And if I’m going to regret anything—”
“Don’t you dare,” Greg interrupted, his voice husky. “I’m not going to let you pretend you regret your family, especially not to try to make me feel better.”
Alex smiled that wide smile that Greg loved, the kind that showed off the gap between his teeth and made the wrinkles around his eyes, testament to the time they’d spent together, deepen. “Fair enough,” he agreed. “So then I’m not going to let you spend any amount of our admittedly likely extremely limited time together feeling bad about the fact that we do get to spend the rest of our lives together, no matter how long those lives end up being.” He kissed Greg once more as if to punctuate the statement before adding, “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Greg told him, drawing him in for a hug and holding him as tightly as he knew Alex would allow. “Sorry for the existential crisis.”
Alex hummed, the noise vibrating against Greg’s chest. “Must be a day ending in ‘y’.”
“Fuck off.”
“Yes, Greg.” Alex leaned back, his expression suddenly serious. “You know, there is one way you can make it up to me.”
Greg had learned long ago not to answer such a statement with a kneejerk response of ‘anything’. “Oh?” he asked instead, arching an eyebrow.
Alex grinned. “I think you mentioned something about making coffee.”
Greg rolled his eyes. “Fuck—” he said, pushing Alex gently back towards the bedroom. “—off.”
“Yes, Greg,” Alex said. He paused in the doorway, turning back toward him. “Oh, and Greg?”
“Yeah?” Greg asked.
Alex’s eyes were wide and sombre, his tone entirely serious as he told Greg earnestly, “I think you make a very sexy Father Christmas.”
“Fuck off,” Greg repeated for the third time, but he was grinning, and he left the toilet to go make coffee without giving his reflection another glance.