Bruno texts him the morning after the Telegraph article is out. ‘Good for you for speaking up,’ it says. ‘Took you long enough.’
Craig rolls his eyes fondly, reaching for his morning coffee. He knows Bruno had been less than impressed by how long Craig had let Damon’s insinuations go uncommented. But he’d just been so… tired. Getting involved in some kind of media war over the whole thing had seemed like too much effort for too little gain. People would believe what they wanted and Craig didn’t have the energy to start tilting at those windmills.
Bruno knew that too of course, and had respected Craig’s plea of ‘just let it be’, if grudgingly.
‘Glad you approve,’ Craig texts back. He pops a piece of croissant into his mouth, eying the clock. It was time to get moving. It wouldn’t do to be late for rehearsals when you were the one directing them!
Just as he’s rinsing his breakfast dishes, his phone vibrates with an incoming text message again, rattling against the kitchen table. Craig dries his hands, swipes the message open… and sits down heavily.
‘Did you mean it?’ Bruno’s text asks. ‘About still being open to falling in love?’ Only that’s not exactly what he’s asking, and Craig knows it. Knows it with a bone deep certainty that makes his heart beat faster, makes his breath catch, makes him think ‘now?’ and ‘after all this time?’ and ‘of course now.’
His fingers are steady, unhesitating when he texts back. ‘Yes,’ he writes, and then: ‘You got someone in mind?’ because he can’t help it, grinning a little. Friendship means that he can ask a question he already knows an answer to. And because what’s between the two of them has always been a little something more than just friendship, something sharp and bright, with an undeniable frisson of maybe, Craig isn’t even a little bit surprised by Bruno’s reply.
Instead he laughs, open and uncomplicatedly happy, as he read’s the text. ‘I’ll tell you over dinner,’ it says. ‘Wear something fabulous.’