Every so often Chris would decide that Justin's cinematic education had been deficient, and that he needed to be indoctrinated in what he referred to as "The High Culture of Motion Picture Societies." At the moment, he was on a musical kick, which was why they had just watched Fiddler on the Roof and Singing in the Rain, and were now in the middle of My Fair Lady.

Justin adored Chris when he was in cultural mode, because he would put on his glasses, pull out a yellow legal pad and pencil, and take notes on the movie. For his part, Justin had found early on that, as much as he enjoyed a good musical, he had far more fun watching Chris than the screen. Later, when Chris was napping, Justin would drive to a music store and pick up the soundtracks, listening to songs he liked until they go so ingrained in his memory that he wouldn't notice he was huming them until he looked up from chopping celery and caught Chris' grin.

Usually, he hardly even listened to the words, but with My Fair Lady the words were almost more important than the music -- he had written a three and a half page paper for Chris on how Rex Harrison's speech-singing was an early form of rap music, and helped underscore the fact that Professor Higgens was a linguist. A talker.

The words printed themselves on his brain, and he found that he had to rent the movie again, so that he could see the scenes in his mind as he mimicked Harrison's tonal speech.

It was then he noticed. Somehow, the words had eluded him before, the meaning. But now, watching Higgins talk about Eliza, with Chris off yelling at Dani about sales presentations and clothing lines, now he listened. Now he wondered.

He wasn't good with grand gestures. Everything he did always ended up over the top, cheesy. It was great at making Chris' laugh, but didn't do so much for his romantic side. Chris appreciated an oil change more than a box of chocolates and satin sheets. But Justin was determined to try.

Chris knew something was up right away, of course. Justin couldn't hide things from him -- had never been able to. Chris read him like an open book, and liked it that way.

"Always know where I stand," he'd told Justin once.

Which was sweet when Justin wanted someone to hug him out of the dolldrums without having to talk about it, but it made it hard to plan a surprise. As soon as Chris knew he was keeping a secret, he was on Justin like a guarddog.

Finally, Justin lost it.

"Look," he told Chris, "I'm trying to fucking cook us a nice dinner, okay? I can't exactly check on the pork chops with you hanging off my back all the time!"

"Sorry," Chris said. "Pork chops?"

Justin shrugged. "They're healthy."

"Jup, there's no such thing as a second white meat. Unless you're referring to yourself, of course, in which case I'm more than happy to eat some, but the kitchen isn't necessarily the best place for it."

"I don't want you to--I mean. Not now. I have to stir fry vegetables."

"Do you even know how to use a wok?"

"Yes."

Chris raised an eyebrow.

"I asked Joey."

"Joey's Italian, kiddo, not Chinese."

"Would you let me fucking *do* this?"

"Would you tell me why? I mean. Cooking? Candlelight dinners? I suppose there's a trail of rose petals leading up the staircase?"

"No."

Chris slid up behind Justin, wrapping an arm around his waist and kissing the back of his neck. "What's going on, J?"

"I just. I love you."

"Justin. I'm gonna say something, now, and I want you to listen to it with the full knowledge that I love you back, okay?"

Justin nodded.

"Okay. I've known you loved me for three years now, stupid. You tell me every day. You moan it into my mouth when we fuck, you whisper it first thing in the morning, when you kiss me even though you haven't brushed your teeth yet, you tell me randomly during the day when we fight over the remote, or argue, or want to embarrass our friends. What gives?"

Justin sighed, and twisted around so he could look Chris in the eye. "I don't. I don't want you to think I've grown accustomed to your face."

"I don't understand."

"Professor Higgins. He. He wants Eliza around because he's *used* to her, and I. I never get used to you, and fuck, I'm saying this all wrong, but I love you, okay, and it doesn't matter if you banter with me, or make me coffee or what the fuck ever, I just. I love you. However you are."

"Even if I don't like pork?"

"Since when do you not like pork?"

"I notice you haven't said yes."

"Yes."

"Well then," Chris said. "Let's get Mexican, kay?"

"Chris."

"I love you too, stupid."

"Okay."

"Okay. Turn the oven off, Eliza." Chris grabbed Justin's hand, tugging him towards the stairs. "I'm hungry. And I kinda feel like the other white meat."