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Martin felt underdressed, as he always did when not in his uniform. Arthur had assured him (multiple times) that he looked fine and shouldn't be so worried. Of course, this came from a man wearing a tie shaped like a guitar. It made Martin beam to see it, though, his mind flashing back to a conversation in an airport bar two years ago to the day.
They had celebrated their one-year anniversary with a night in, enjoying each other's company immensely in the dingy attic flat. That night, and every other night that featured Arthur, it had seemed almost cosy rather than too-small. Lived-in rather than run-down. Now, they had their own lovely little home that saw plenty of delicious nights in, and so they thought to celebrate two years with something a bit more special.
Martin kept thinking about the ill-fated date so long ago when he'd planned to take Arthur to the second nicest restaurant in Fitton. Of course, the van had broken down, so they'd walked back to the Shappey residence for a night in, clearly their favourite sort of date.
Tonight, however, their luck had held. Douglas had long ago relinquished his hold on Arthur's car (even if it still smelled of duffle coats and was a horrible colour), and tonight, they'd managed to get reservations at Fitton's nicest restaurant.
Granted, it wasn't the poshest restaurant in all the land, but it was no fast food place. This was the sort of place with tablecloths and lobster and bread baskets. Both men had saved up for this night, and it was well worth it.
"How's your food, Skip?" Arthur asked around a mouthful of potatoes. While the habit was generally annoying, it was endearing when Arthur did it. Everything Arthur did was endearing. Martin always wanted to either hug the man or, well, do things a bit less family-friendly than hugging.
Martin smiled as he pierced a spear of asparagus with his fork.
"It's excellent." And it was. Steak, crisp salad with just the right amount of dressing, garlicky asparagus, and potatoes that were anything but sad. It was perfect. He'd have dreams about this meal. "How's yours?"
"Oh, it's brilliant!" Arthur enthused in true Arthur style, cutting into his own steak.
Martin knew that everything was brilliant if he was there. They could be stuck in a grimy little airfield overnight because of bad timing, and it would be brilliant. They could spend the day driving across the Spanish plains in a baggage cart and it would be brilliant. And, thanks to Arthur's eager brightness, Martin was beginning to see the incandescence in just about every moment. Provided Arthur was part of it, of course.
Yes, two years in, and things were still just as golden and shining and perfect as when they first got together. They bickered about silly things occasionally, like when Arthur would leave the milk out, or when Martin was a bit too cheap, but that was what happened when you lived with someone. They loved each other absolutely and unconditionally, both certain in the knowledge that this thing they had was forever. And it was blissfully so. This was the most perfect thing in each of their lives.
Dinner and dessert both passed easily, both men enjoying the sumptuous sweets, and when they went home, they were well past sated. Nevevertheless, they had the energy for a night very well spent. They both forgot about their presents that night, so they exchanged them over breakfast. Each got lovely little things they hadn't even known were necessary until now (new paints for Arthur in unwittingly perfect hues, and three new mystery novels for Martin).
They were grinning like loons all the way to the airfield, and even past that. Their anniversary had been perfect, but they were fast learning that, in all honesty, every day spent together was perfect.