Shawn's POV

Here I am, once again, sitting in a hotel room, waiting for him. I don't know whether he'll show up or not. How did we get to this point? It feels like we've been together forever. We've been best friends even longer than that. I honestly can't remember a time in my life that he wasn't there. He's a part of me, really.

I remember the good old days. All of us just hanging out together, just being friends, having a good time. I remember how we went beyond that.

I remember the first time we kissed. We were in a hotel room, not much different from this one, really. The guys had headed off to their own rooms, leaving us here in ours. I was sitting on the side of my bed, and he was putting stuff away, getting ready to climb into his own bed. We'd all been drinking, and I made some joking comment about I could think of better things for him to do before he went to sleep than putting our room to rights, that's what hotel maids were for, after all. He asked me what the hell I was talking about, and I stood up and walked over to him, tugged his head down and kissed him. Full on the lips. That's it. That's all we did that night. I kissed him, and he didn't resist, just looked down at me after I kissed him in wide eyed surprise before kissing me back. Then he went to his own bed and climbed into it.

I laid in my bed, wide awake, watching him sleep all night that night, convinced I had fucked up my friendship with him. Never get involved with someone you work with, and even worse, someone you're friends with. How many times had I heard that? Too many to count, but I'd gone and kissed him anyway.

Thank God, nothing seemed to change after that. At least not for the worse. Hell, the next night before climbing into bed, *he* kissed *me*.

I remember the first time it went past that. It was about two months later, and every night when we were on the road, which was six nights out of seven back in those days, we had kissed goodnight.

On that night of nights, he kissed me, but instead of moving away to go to bed once he had done it, he wrapped his arms around me and asked me what happened next. Oh, he was no virgin, so that wasn't what he was asking, I knew. He was asking me where we were headed. Were we just really good friends, or was it something more. I looked up into his beautiful hazel eyes and told him I loved him. That was it, just those words as an answer.

My heart beat a mile a minute, waiting for him to process that, make sense of it, and turn it into the answer he was looking for. And he didn't disappoint me. He smiled and told me he loved me, too. Then he kissed me again and climbed into my bed instead of his own. All night, he held me. We didn't make love that night, just held each other all night long, as though we were afraid the other would disappear if we let go.

I remember the first night we made love, too. It was about 3 months later. We were slow about building up to it. Trying to make everything perfect, not let ourselves mess up and go too fast, ruin what was going to be the best thing to ever happen to us, what was going to last forever.

So tenderly we made love that night. Gentle, tender hands and lips worshiping each other's bodies. Memorizing them, to the point where even now, especially now, I know the feel of his body better than I even know my own.

We were never apart after that. We spent our off time together, taking turns between my house in Texas and his in Connecticut. My wife knew, and understood about us, and later, when he married, she knew, as well. Nothing changed our love for each other.

So how did we get from that, to this? I still love him with my entire heart. He says he loves me, too. But still, I know, I've lost him. There is no question about it. He's let go, and I can't hold on by myself. I've lost not only my lover, but my best friend, as well, and worse, I've lost myself, because how can I be me anymore? I can't, not without him.

The door opens, and I look up at him. I see the pain, the regret on his face. He doesn't even fully come into the room, just stands in the doorway.

"Don't say it. Please, Hunt, don't say it." I tell him, not wanting to hear the words. I can see it in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Shawn." He tells me. He seems to hesitate for a moment before he comes into the room and walks over to me, bending down and gently kissing me. "Goodbye."

And then he's gone. My head falls into my hands, my heart is dead, and I can't stop crying.



End.