That New Year's Eve was bitterly cold and snow was thick upon the ground, but Bush and Kennedy had found themselves the last warm room for rent at The Black Swan. They had taken their meals to their room to dine before the fireplace, and now they sat on the hearth rug, full and content, and sipped their wine.

Bush shivered and shifted closer to the fire; winter always sank deep into his bones and he felt chill despite their cozy surroundings.

"Still cold, William?" asked Kennedy.

"A bit," Bush admitted, "but it is the season for it."

"A new year at last," sighed Kennedy. "I believe we set a promise, did we not? To see the year out together."

"Yes," Bush said, and he held up his glass. "'To good fortune and good health.'" He and Kennedy touched glasses and drank.

"I do not wish to press," said Kennedy, "but... I would like to know if you have made your decision. Will you stay with us, William?"

Bush sat silent and watched the glint of the fire in his glass. "You will not rest until I answer you." It was not a question, but Kennedy answered it regardless.

"No, I am afraid I will not."

"We will both suffer my indecision, then," Bush replied. Kennedy groaned.

"You do this to torment me, I know it. Torment Horatio, by all means, but surely I do not deserve this."

Bush chuckled softly. "I do not do this to torment you, Archie. And no doubt Horatio suffers enough at this moment as he endeavors to renew himself to Maria."

"Then what ails you?" Kennedy asked. "Confide in me as I have in you."

"It is not so simple," Bush protested.

"What could be simpler? I will understand, whatever the matter."

Bush set aside his wine and watched Kennedy for a moment. The orange glow from the fire flickered his hair with light. Kennedy looked back at him with sincerity and a lingering affection. Bush turned away, feeling a prick in his chest.

"Archie, I... I do not wish to be hurt again."

"But Horatio..." Kennedy trailed off as a slow realization crept across his features. "William," he breathed.

"I do not wish to be made twice a fool," Bush said, a little harshly, but this he directed at himself. "I cannot expect more than what is given me. To lose your friendship..." he stopped, unable to continue, and blinked quickly.

"Oh, William," said Kennedy, and he moved close.

"...I would not trade it for comfort," Bush finished. He turned his face away from Kennedy and towards the fire. "You see now why I cannot stay. I had hoped it would fade, but time only feeds it. I did not ache so much when we were apart." He closed his eyes. "Your letters held less danger."

"William, why did you not tell me?"

"I could not," he shook his head. "I could not."

"Yet you have told me now," Kennedy said. "William, look at me, please." Bush turned, and Kennedy saw that his eyes were red. Kennedy reached up and stroked his cheek tenderly. Even close to the fire it felt cooler than it should.

"I took comfort from him, too," Bush whispered hoarsely.

"Oh, God," moaned Kennedy. But he did not drop his hand.

"I did not know what to do. You are..." Bush swallowed. "You have always been more than my friend, Archie."

"And you thought you could never be more than a friend to me?" asked Kennedy. "Was that it?" Bush did not reply, but his answer was clear in his eyes. They sat in silence, pressed close to each other, and the fire crackled and spat beside them.

"Do not leave," Kennedy said. "Do not leave, William, not like this. If you value me then stay by my side."

"How can I? I cannot bear to look upon you and never have you."

"You are so certain it is never," Kennedy said, softly, and Bush stared at him. "You decided such a thing without a word. No more letters, and you would leave me without a scrap of poetry tucked into my shirt. That is poor friendship, William." This last was a kindly scolding. With his free hand, Kennedy reached over and brought Bush's hand to his own face. It was cold on his cheek.

"Are you always so freezing, William?" he asked, disbelieving.

"In winter, yes," he said, joy shining from his eyes, "but I have been known to thaw in spring." And when Kennedy kissed him, his lips were warm upon his own.