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While Asa Fell and Anthony Crowley only went out on a proper date once or twice a week, they talked near constantly on the phone.
Anthony’s day of lecturing would end, and Asa’s shifts at the bookshop too, and they’d spend the evening on the phone. Some nights they talked about everything and nothing, discussing their families, their work, plays and music and books and ducks. Other nights were quiet, marking papers and reading with the other’s soft breathing for company. The phone calls continued until one or the other finally noticed the time, yawned, and bid goodnight.
It was rather late when it finally came out— Anthony was watering his plants in his pajamas, Asa tucked into bed with a book in his lap.
“G’night, Angel, still on for dinner tomorrow? I’ll come pick you up after work?”
“I’d like nothing more! Good night, my dear boy. I love you.” It was so casual, something that came so naturally Asa nearly didn’t realize he’d said it.
He’d hung up like usual, leaving himself in the silence of his room as he began to panic. Neither of them had said that yet. They’d only known each other for two months, neither of them were young anymore, confessing love was something serious, required a moment with proper gravitas, oh what if he’d scared Anthony off, come on too strong, he hadn’t even realized he’d said it— the phone rang.
“… Anthony?”
“Angel! Me too. Love you, that is. I know its fast, and I dunno if you even meant to say it just now but. I do.” Asa laughed in relief; he could hear Anthony’s grin in his voice.
He hadn’t scared him away, he hadn’t gone too fast. Asa Fell loved Anthony Crowley and Anthony Crowley loved him just the same.