Mayson woke in a panic, the vestiges of the nightmare still clinging to him like the sweat on his skin. He looked around momentarily confused. He was alone in a place that was largely unfamiliar to him. He looked around slowly before everything came back to him, his sleep-addled brain coming slowly awake.

The room was bright with the morning sun, and the white lofty curtains blew gently in the breeze from the open sliding glass door that separated the bedroom from the back deck. Mayson listened for outside sounds indicating that's where Jonathan had gone but heard nothing other than a few gulls attempting to catch a fishy breakfast.

Mayson untangled himself from the bed linen, careful not to trip and injure himself further, climbed down from the king-sized bed he'd been sharing with Jonathan on their stay, and slowly made his way to the sliding door.

He peeked outside and found Jonathan sitting at one of the tables that lined the deck. He sat staring at the ocean, lost in the waves as it tried to reach further up the shore. They reminded Jonathan of fingers gripping onto something that they can never keep; something that would always be just out of reach.

"I'm Tantalus. And he is my receding river..." Jonathan said to himself as he compared his situation to the Greek myth of Tantalus and his torture. He sighed wistfully, heartache stuck in his throat and making it hard to breathe.

He was dog tired which brought all his emotions to the forefront of his mind, too tired and too emotionally wrung out to be able to properly push it all back and lock it away. And so the thoughts kept bombarding him with counts of his failure and how Mayson deserved so much more than him. His own demons laughed at his distress as he tried to slow his heart rate and thoughts.

Just as he was about to get up and take a walk, unable any longer to sit and listen to the laughing in his head, heard a noise, and looked back and over his left shoulder. His smile was instant and he felt the fist around his heart and gut unclench at the sight of Mayson joining him in the early morning sunlight.

"Hey, good morning, beautiful," he greeted with a smile. Mayson smiled sleepily and plopped into the chair next to him, leaning heavily into Jonathan, his head resting securely on his much broader shoulder.

Jonathan smiled and began combing his fingers through Mason's shaggy hair. Mayson smiled into Jonathan's neck, reveling in the feeling of peace that overcame him as Jonathan played with his hair.

"How'd you sleep?"

"Bad dreams."

"Yeah. Woke me up a couple of times...but I was able to calm you down without having to wake you up."

"Sorry," Mayson sighed sadly.

"For what? It's not like you went to sleep with the intended purpose to wake me with bad dreams..."

"I don't know. Just felt like I should apologize."

Jonathan kissed Mayson's forehead. "Sweet one, if you don't know why you're apologizing, there's no need to apologize, okay?"

Mayson nodded but didn't further comment. Instead, he concentrated on Jonathan's unique scent as it flooded his senses with each inhalation of breath. Jonathan chuckled lightly and Mayson burrowed deeper into him, his arm snaking out across Jonathan's middle, lightly grasping his shirt between his closed fingers. Slowly Jonathan dropped his arm from Mayson's hair, bringing it around to trace lazy patterns along exposed portions of Mayson's right arm and shoulder, and lightly down his side.

"It's so peaceful here," Mayson said as if to himself. "I wish we didn't have to leave."

"Who says we're leaving, hm?" Jonathan asked still staring out into the endless depths of the clear waters. Mayson smiled gently and on impulse, lightly kissed the side of Jonathan's neck. After a moment of comfortable silence, Jonathan spoke. "How you feeling, little duck?"

Mayson shrugged. "Sleepy. Sore." Jonathan nodded, his fingers still running over the soft, smooth skin under his fingertips. "Jon?"

"Yeah, little duck?" 

Mayson sat up, studiously lucubrating Jonathan's features. He wouldn't look at him but instead stared, continuously, out into the never-ending waters that lay before them. He was too controlled. From the way he sat, forcing himself to appear relaxed, to the blank expression in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice almost shook. If he hadn't had known him so well, Mayson would have missed it. Though he tried to mask it, Mayson saw a storm gathering behind his eyes. "What's the matter?"

Still, he didn't meet Mayson's worried scrutiny, though a tight smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Don't worry about me, little duck." His voice did break then, and he slowly blinked, inhaling deeply.

"Jonath-" Mayson began only to be interrupted.

"Please, Mayson...not now." Mayson felt small ripples vibrating into his arms where he made contact. Tears gathered in Jonathan's eyes, though they didn't fall, eventually evaporating back into the storm clouds.

They sat silent after that, Mayson leaning into Jonathan to give what comfort he could to battle an unknown ailment.

The need for nourishment eventually brought them back inside, where Jonathan decided to make them blueberry pancakes. While he prepared and cooked breakfast he talked on lighter subjects, giving Mayson real smiles and laughter that was only a bit forced. Jonathan knew Mayson was aware of his attempt at distraction and was grateful Mayson went along with his facade.

They ate companionably, each making moaning sounds of appreciation as the sweet tang of blueberries burst across their tongues.

"I feel like a bum with you not letting me do anything to help," Mayson complained as Jonathan washed up once they'd finished their meal.

"Mayson, my little duck..." he turned from the dish in his hand and spoke as if he were explaining something for the fifth time to a slow child. "The entire point of me dragging our asses out here was so you, my love," he pointed decidedly at Mayson, "can heal, rest, and generally be a bum, as you say." Then turned around and finished the dishes.

Mayson rolled his eyes and laughed, putting his hands up in a surrendering motion. "Alright, alright, you win. I'll be a bum."

As Mayson watched Jonathan do the dishes he thought about how good it felt to laugh with the moment. To be able to engage in jovial conversation without fear of saying the wrong thing. Without speaking out of turn. Without worrying that their playful banter would turn violent.

He smiled to himself. Is this what love is? Could love really be something that gives him this feeling that seems to be trying to worm its way through?

"Show me what love is..."

His words echoed across his head from the conversation on the beach a few days ago. The truth was that that conversation scared the shit out of him. He didn't know what was expected. He didn't know the rules to "love" and he didn't know how to play.

But what if...

What if this was it? Right here. This. He watching Jonathan wash dishes after a delicious breakfast. Enjoyable conversation he was allowed to have opinions on, and fun bantering that ended with laughter, not violence.

Is this love?

He hoped so. It was strange and foreign and exciting. He wanted and yearned for equality with a lover. He wanted the tenderness and reassurances and safety.

The thought terrified him, yet elated him, and decided he'd allow himself this moment to trust fully in Jonathan to give him the only thing he'd ever really wanted.

Love.