Wilkes cleared his throat. “You going to invite me in then?”

“Yes, yes, of course. Come on!” Balkhi led him to a tiny lift in the corner of the vestibule and pressed the button for the third floor. When it arrived, they stepped in, waited to be delivered to their floor, keeping a respectable distance between them at all times, then exited. Another door stood between them and the flats. Balkhi pressed a keyring-type thing to a sensor, then pulled it open.

A moment later they were in front of flat number sixteen—Balkhi’s place. Finally. Once they were inside, once they had some privacy, they could say what they really meant, and do what they really wanted to do.

Balkhi couldn’t get that damn door open quickly enough, in Wilkes’ opinion.

Just pulled into a parking space downstairs. I’m here! H x

Balkhi would have to buzz him into the building—apparently they’d had issues with anti-social behaviour in the past, so the only people that could access the building now, even the communal areas, were those with keys.

Returning his phone to his pocket, Wilkes began gathering his belongings from the front of the car, before exiting and moving around to the boot. Popping it open, he retrieved his weekend bag, then closed up and locked the vehicle. Looking around—fortunately the car park was well-lit, so he could see where he was going—he spotted one of the doors that stood between him and his boyfriend. He strode purposefully towards it, not wanting to waste any more time—they only had the weekend together.

As he reached the outer door, he realised he wouldn’t need to be buzzed in, after all. Standing just on the other side, visible through the glass, was Balkhi. The Afghan swung the door open so quickly that Wilkes had to jump back to avoid being smacked in the face.

Balkhi gasped. “Shit, sorry!”

“It’s okay,” Wilkes replied, shrugging.

Then, unexpectedly, there was silence. Wilkes’ heart pounded again. Crap—what was going on? Since when did the two of them have nothing to say to each other? Then he realised—it wasn’t that they had nothing to say, it was that they had so much to say that apparently neither of them could decide how to begin. There was also the fact they were in public to consider.

His heart pounded as he flicked on the reading light, then grabbed a piece of paper from the passenger seat, which detailed his journey. He hadn’t needed it up until now—being fairly familiar with London—but a glance towards the bottom of the page gave him the details he needed to locate Balkhi’s block of flats. So close—he could see the damn building, but apparently needed to be on the opposite side to gain access to the car park. A set of traffic lights and a junction later and he was rolling over a speed hump… finally!

Meticulous as ever, Balkhi had even told him which part of the car park was closest to his place. If he could find a space in that section—although the flats had spaces, they weren’t allocated—then he wouldn’t have so far to carry his stuff. Not that it mattered—he was plenty strong enough and didn’t have anything heavy, anyway. Years in the military had taught him how to pack light. And he’d have carried an elephant if it meant he got to see Balkhi.
Spotting a slot, Wilkes headed for it, pulling in carefully, then turning off the reading light and the engine. Taking his phone from his pocket, he fired off a text message.