Actor Leo and photographer Sam are happily married and planning a future full of cats and kids and family. But they both lead busy creative lives, and when Leo has a break from filming, Sam’s in New York for a photo shoot. Leo’s home by himself, and he’s feeling lonely, wondering about new projects and balancing their life together, and missing his husband.
So it’s a good thing that Sam’s coming home early, as a surprise ...
“I can eat all your attempts.”
“Maybe only one or two attempts. I don’t have time for more; I’ll need to start working on character, assuming this meeting goes well, and learning about colonial printing presses, and there’ll be wardrobe fittings, and also working with their dialect coach ...”
“Shouldn’t the Revolutionary War colonists sound sort of English?”
“Yes, but I’ve got the accent of a twenty-first-century dentist’s son, and I haven’t got Colby’s ear for tone and pitch, so --”
Sam, without breaking eye contact, put a hand out and touched Leo’s wedding ring.
“So I’ll have to put in the work,” Leo finished. “Thank you, but not necessary, at this moment; that was honesty, not self-deprecation. I know my own strengths and weaknesses, as an actor.”
Sam gazed at him for a second, but nodded.
Leo paused for tea, since Sam had made it for him; set the cup back down. Next to his brand-new rock-heart, for the collection. For their collection. “When do you need to leave again?” He had a vague idea, and it was on the ruthlessly color-coded calendar, but he was too lazy to check.
“Not for a while. I’ve got editing to do, and also the nice part of being kind of ... weirdly famous ... is, I can say no to some offers. I’ve already said I’ll do Colby’s celebrity charity book for this year, and there’s a fashion shoot in Milan, but that’s not until September.” Sam had a hand around Leo’s wrist, loosely; his thumb rubbed along the inside, over sensitive thin skin and the pulse-point. “I thought you had a break between projects, too. I was going to ask if you wanted to go home -- London, I mean, so we can open up that studio and rescue Ben and Bea from your parents and too many cat treats.”
“My parents adore their grand-kittens,” Leo observed, “with the amount of love that makes our vet suggest diet cat food. I do want to go back, but ... I did have a question.”
“You said you did.” Sam traced a heart against Leo’s wrist. “And you looked ... when I came in ... are you feeling okay?”
“Oh. No. Yes, I mean. I mean I’m okay! I’d tell you.” He tipped his head back to fling a hasty kiss in the direction of love and worry. “I always do.” He did. “Open book, and all that.”
“Hmm,” Sam said, a judgment which contained older memories about Leo and noisy jokes that covered up the depth of crevices beneath; but he also looked at Leo’s eyes, and exhaled, and let it go. “Yeah. You do. Okay, so, what was it?”
“If we were thinking ... we said we did want to, about children, not just kittens, not that I don’t love our cats, we could have more cats, maybe even a dog, or a ferret --”
“Leo. Also two is enough, we’ll see, and probably not.”
“Right, yes. So ... I was thinking about our hypothetical children, because we do want that --” Sam nodded. “-- and with this very American history movie, and all, Anne-Marie asked me about citizenship. Applying for it, I mean. If I’d ever want to.”
Sam did not immediately say anything, expression unreadable, so Leo explained more. “It’s not automatic, but it is easier, since I’m married to you, and obviously we’ll be married far longer than their silly requirement, but I would have to prove that I live here, at least primarily, for a while -- oh, and I’d have to count as being of good moral character, so, you know, perhaps this is a terrible idea, but I was thinking about it, at least getting things in motion, if we did want to, er, children?” And then he hoped that Sam, who was good at speaking Leo, could figure all that out.
