1 ✓1 - Wrong Day.

Chester woke up that cursed morning parched and sore all over. His first thought went to Brock as he reached over to the other side of the bed for warmth. The harsh cold stung his fingers— It's been long he'd lain on it.

Then he listened closely for anything; his eardrums picked on a sneeze coming from the living room.

Brock was up early again

It was becoming more often these days which led Chester to believe it was because of the harsh fever which held him down most nights and knowing the sort of man he'd married, Chester was sure Brock would refuse medication at all possible cost.

He craned his head over the headboard and sat up, shamelessly aware of his nudity. The little trimmed room that'd always been neat sat in chaos before him, with the blanket ripped in shreds and dangling from the ceiling fan, clothes piled up in a line out the door, and the hot passion of the night before bringing a hasty smile to his lips. Sex had never been a bore with Brock in control and with the way things currently were between them, it'd be long before such occasion repeated itself.

He picked up his Calvin Klein shorts and slipped it on without a word, wandering into the sitting with his fingers running through his broad locks. He saw that Brock had already fixed himself a coffee and was now perched on the double settee scrolling through the emails on his tablet — dressed for court too.

Chester noiselessly slid an arm around his waist — Brock stiffened, shutting the tablet at once, his full attention on his husband. He placed the gadget on the medium-sized footstool and turned — leaning in for a kiss.

"Good morning squirt," he murmured, his lips moist and demanding as he hoisted Chester up to straddle him. It was becoming a tradition. "Why up so early?"

"I feel sore," Chester squirmed, pulling back to search his face. "Last night had me wrecked."

"You enjoyed it huh?" Brock stated, smug enough to make Chester blush.

"You know I did. Were you disturbed so much by the fever that you'd have to leave now?" Chester followed him into the kitchen — taking out a doughnut from the refrigerator.

Brock sighed, pouring the rest of his black coffee into the sink, and walked back into the living room. "The Beasley case is proving a hard nut to crack."

"What's the prosecutor saying?" though he hardly involved himself with such matters, Chester felt the court was just dragging the case on and on for so long so it'd be dropped on thrown out. He hated seeing his partner stressed even to the point of having no personal space or spare time for fun. Brock had been determined to help Rita Beasly — the young skirmish widow who looked half as innocent as she claims. She was becoming a regular guest in their small starter home with his husband growing fond of her charm. That on its own unsettled him so much he began to loathe her.

Brock shrugged. "Ay, the same stuff. She killed her husband for wealth, got jealous when she heard he had a mistress downtown...bla bla bla. Rita feels helpless. She says it's all false and would have hurt herself right there in court."

"Oh God," Chester clumped a palm tightly across his lips. "Poor her."

Although his sympathy was born more out of spite than pity, he was careful enough to mask it well in front of Brock who'd get upset if he found out his partner hated a client all because he felt insecure. "I send my regards to her. Hope she feels better."

Brock nodded wistfully, twisting the doorknob, and drew the entrance door open. Chester glimpsed the bustle outside. "Thanks, I'll have to be going now."

"Goodbye." he leaned in for peck Brock, then withdrew — feeling awkward. He watched the door slammed, loneliness sinking in gradually. A lot of things were changing and he hated it.

Humming quietly as he took out the trash and tidied the room, Chester reflected on the advice he'd given his sales assistant; Preston, the previous day. Had it been wrong telling the boy to take things calmly with his boyfriend Rex even though it was clear from all believable doubt that he was emotionally abused? Shouldn't Rex be charged to Court for inflicting pain on the poor little boy unintentionally? But whatever happened, he knew quite well that relationships had their ups and downs and maybe it was time for theirs.

Sometimes he found himself wondering if these past five years with Brock had ever happened. Surely their marriage missed the usual feel to it all because Brock insisted on rushing into things. He wasn't the typical knight in shining armor which Chester had always dreamed about in his childhood days but he was more than he'd ever been thought to be. Their home had been calm, filled with light-hearted conversations and sex — lots of it. Chester missed those days when Brock never got tired of making the rounds at night when he wasn't so bothered by the Beasly case and would sit back most mornings to ask how his previous days went and what he'd like to eat for dinner — but most of all, Chester missed those days when Rita didn't have to step foot in their home each day like she owned it.

After showering and downing a bowl of Cheerios, he placed a few calls over to Chock Candy; the little sweet shop he owned. Preston would be there by now, filling out their last batch for their Quedines birthday party. The hard purple sugared confection was becoming a novelty everyone in town had to try.

It took ages for him to get the business to boom like this. The recipe had been a godsent — a mere paper suddenly becoming a cure for Brock's throaty long coughs. When he'd first prepared the candy two months ago, he'd been apprehensive it'd work, but when administered and seeing his husband sleep soundly for days, Chester became sure that this would be the changing point and true to his expectations, Chock Candy currently ranked among the best selling businesses in Massachusetts.

Judy picked up at the fourth ring, much to his surprise. The sharp-mouthed twenty-year-old fellow had earlier proved a nuisance to the business due to how much he talked. "You made it first today. Has Preston come in yet? If so give him the phone."

"No Sir," Judy answered a bit too muffled that it made his brow hitch. "Is something wrong? How's the batch coming along??"

Judy hesitated. "Sir, I think you should head over fast before things get out of hand."

This made Chester's heart leap. Perhaps the shop was under fire or worse.

"I'm on my way."