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Well, THIS was not on the bucket list for this new year.
“I think you mean Bingo card,” Greg’s mind automatically corrected itself in HIS smooth voice.
Of course, it’s his voice. It’s always his voice. Shush!
This was their second holiday season apart since Greg left London for New York. Being away from his beloved London last year was excruciating for its own reasons. This year was less so, but still hurt.
It has been months since the letter exchanges between them began.
But it was just that -letters, only letters.
They had not called. They had not emailed or messaged. They had not Skyped or used WhatsApp or… or…
So, Greg was utterly gobsmacked to see the ID on for missed text as he came out of the shower.
Greg plopped onto the side of his bed with the phone, his hands trembling.
Mycroft. He TEXTED me? After all this time? Why now? You know you're going to read it, Greg, do it already.
Greg opened his messages.
>>TEXT: Forgive me; I know this is this is out of our new ordinary, but needs must. – MH
>>TEXT: I will be incommunicado for a few days. I did not want you to wonder. – MH
Greg understood what that meant.
The letters. I will not be receiving them daily while he is not in town.
>>TEXT: You need not respond. I’ll understand. - MH
It was late at night for Greg in New York, meaning it was very early in the morning in London.
Still, he reached out to me. I can do no less.
<<TEXT: Thank you. I admit I would have been concerned. – GL
Greg was not in the least surprised to see the active dots indicative of an immediate response. It was not unusual for the man to be awake at such an ungodly hour for that side of the Pond. It’s who he was.
>>TEXT: Truly? – MH
>>TEXT: Do you ever think about me? About us? – MH
Oh, he’s exhausted. He certainly had not meant to type that.
>>TEXT: DAMMIT! – MH
And definitely not that.
The proof came immediately.
>>TEXT: Apologies, you don’t have to answer that. I overstepped; I know. – MH
<<TEXT: You know damn well I do, Mycroft. You gave me no choice. – GL
Greg glanced at the boxes stacked neatly within his line of vision.
How can I not think of him with daily reminders in literal boxes before me?
<<TEXT: And, yes, you have overstepped, texting me like this. – GL
Greg went to the bar and fixed himself a brandy. It was undoubtedly time for a drink.
Are we texting now? Will the letters stop?
>>Text: I am sorry. I shall not text again. – MH
<<TEXT: No, wait. That is not what I meant. - GL
<<TEXT: I understand letting me know you will be incommunicado, and I appreciate it. I just was not ready for that question. - GL
>>TEXT: I will not stop writing if that was your fear – MH
<<TEXT: It was. Thank you, but since we are texting now… - GL
<<TEXT: So... you changed your mind? - ML
>>TEXT: Yes? No? It’s the holidays? I apologize. I don’t know how I feel about this. - GL
>>TEXT: I understand. Then, I will sign off here as I do my letters.
Love letters, written by Mycroft and read by Greg, are tangible in the here and now.
Once the boxes became too much, Greg moved the excess to a shelf within easy reach, with only the most recent box of letters on his desk. Greg knew what Mycroft's sign-off would be. It was how he ended each letter to him.
>>TEXT: Happy Christmas, Greg. I love you. – MH
This was familiar to Greg. He breathed easier seeing it. This, he could handle.
He sipped his brandy and again looked at the boxes that held the ghosts of what once was of their past as lovers.
And perhaps the ghosts of future us?
No, Greg was not ready to contemplate that, but it did not fill him with heartache as it once did.
That has to count for something.
Ghosts are apropos of the season, I guess. Greg shrugged at the fairy lights hung in his living room windows for the season.
A part of Greg smiled as he responded with his own sign-off, the way he ended his own letters to Mycroft. Yes, this was their second Christmas apart, but Greg was beginning to suspect it just might be the last.
<<TEXT: Happy Christmas, Mycroft. And God help me, I still love you. - GL