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Tim laughed as he sat down at the table where he was having dinner with Martin and Jon, a tradition they'd started sometime after everything happened with the coffin, after his return from Oakhurst and helping Shelby and co move to the Goldsmith manor in New York. When he returned home to see Martin and Jon in his house, asleep on his couch, his tv on like they'd been waiting for him to come home.
After that a tradition started.
Every Friday after work Martin and Jon would come to Tim's and the three of them would have dinner together and then watch a movie. Martin and Jon would stay the weekend. Martin made breakfast every Saturday. Jon made dinner every Saturday. On Sunday mornings Jon and Tim would make breakfast together. Monday morning Tim would wake up to a thermos of tea from Martin along with muffins for the week.
Friday would come and the routine would repeat.
Every week this routine continued for two years.
Tim watched as Martin and Jon moved in together, as they fell deeper and deeper in love with one another.
He fell deeper and deeper in love with both of them as the years went on.
He wished he could say something, that he could tell them how much he loved them, how much he adored both of them.
He didn't.
He couldn't.
Not when he was going to outlive them.
Not when he was going to lose them.
Not when they were going to grow old together while he watched, unageing.
Maybe it would be kinder to move to New York now so he didn't need to watch them die.
No.
No he couldn't do that.
Sasha wouldn't let him live it down.
It was Thursday when Tim heard a knock on the door.
He opened his door to see Owen stood outside.
"Owen. I didn't think you were coming until next week."
Owen was meant to be here next Monday.
Not this Thursday.
"Surprise."
"Come on in, the guest room is yours."
"Thank you. I'm just here for the night, I know your weekends are your days with your not boyfriends."
Tim sighed.
"They're not my boyfriends Owen."
"That's why I called them your not boyfriends."
"Owen."
"Tim."
The two stared at one another for a few moments before Owen stepped inside and made his way to the kitchen where he sat at the island while Tim started to cook. Tim enjoyed cooking for people, enjoyed making sure those he cared for were fed and cared for.
There was silence for a few moments as Tim got the ingredients out for dinner.
As soon as he began chopping vegetables Owen began talking.
"You should talk to them."
"I do talk to them Owen."
"Not about your feelings."
"They're going to die, Owen."
"In a few decades, sure. But you have- what? Thirty? Forty? Fifty years with them? You're going to live for centuries, Tim. If you don't say anything to them you'll spend those centuries regretting it. It's better to have some time with them than none."
"I have time with them Owen. We spend every weekend together-"
"When you could spend every day together."
"Owen."
"Tim. If I had the chance to have any more time with Louis, from days to weeks to years, no matter if I knew I'd outlive him or not I would have taken it. You- you're just going to regret not getting that time Tim. Talk to them. For the love of everything Tim fucking talk to them. Just because you're immortal doesn't mean you also have to be miserable. You deserve some joy, Tim and they bring you joy. Talk to them. Make some memories."
Tim was silent.
He didn't want to lose them.
"I don't want-"
"Tim you're going to lose them. You are. You're going to lose them whether you tell them you love them or not. Don't let them die not thinking you love them."
Silence filled the kitchen for a few moments before music filled the room.
~~~~
It took two weeks for Tim to say anything.
Two weeks for Tim to get the confidence to tell Martin and Jon how much he loves them.
Tim set dinner on the table with a smile as he listened to Martin talk about a yarn shop he'd found nearby.
How was he to tell them?
He'd wait until after dinner.
Once dinner was over Martin shooed Tim towards the living room, insisting that since Tim cooked so Martin should do the dishes, a weekly thing that happened.
Tim and Jon sat at the island while Martin washed dishes and refused to let them help.
Once the dishes were done Tim stepped into the kitchen again to make popcorn while Martin made tea and Jon found something for them to watch. It wasn't long before they were curled together on the couch getting ready to watch a movie.
The words slipped from Tim's lips as Martin handed him a mug of tea. They weren't the words he was reaching for, but they were ones he meant nonetheless.
"I love you."
The response was instant, Martin's arm wrapped around him while Jon curled closer against him.
Martin's voice came first.
"I love you too, Tim."
Then Jon's.
"I love you too, Tim."
They-
Tim took a deep breath.
"Like. Really love you. Not like friends but more. I want to spend however long I can with you two by my side but I know you two love one another and I don't want to get in the way of that and I know I'll live longer than you. That you'll age and I won't, not as fast as you. Not as fast as I should but fuck I love you. Both of you. And I know- I know that I've fucked up and I just- if you'll have me-"
Tim was cut off by Jon kissing him.
Jon rested his forehead against Tim's, a small laugh on his lips.
"Haven't we been dating?"
What?
. . .
What?
Since when?
Tim stared at Jon.
"We are?"
Jon looked over at Martin, Tim following suit. Martin whose mouth was open slightly in shock.
Martin who then started laughing.
"Jon, dearest, my love. We talked about adding Tim to our relationship together, but we didn't talk with Tim yet. Remember you had that plan on how you wanted to ask him and everything?"
Tim turned to look at Jon in time to see realization dawn on his face.
"…oops."
Tim couldn't help it, he burst into laughter, leaning against Martin and holding Jon against him.
"I love you."
He loved them.
He'd let himself love and be loved.
He'd be happy, even if it wouldn't last but a few decades. That's more time than most get.
He'd hold them until he no longer could.