Trevor knew something was up when the notes began to appear.

It started out innocently enough—he would open his briefcase at work and discover a little yellow post-it note, its graceful script peppered with blatant innuendo and elegantly drawn hearts. I love to hold your hand, but I love to hold your willy even more.

It was all John’s doing. Trevor thought nothing of it until the notes began to appear more frequently, their contents becoming increasingly suggestive and sometimes outright disturbing. What month shall we have the wedding? I love cake, but I love you even more. My favourite colour is red.

I miss you.

Trevor gazed at the notes and struggled to make sense out of them. How could John misshim? They saw each other every day—they lived together. Was there some sort of alternate meaning to these strange little notes? Were they coded? Trevor studied every word down to the last letter, the curvature of the handwriting, the slant, the hardness of the ink on the paper. The answers eluded him, and the mysterious notes prevailed.

Soon, it appeared that John grew bored of pasting notes onto inanimate objects, so he moved on to the next best thing—pasting notes onto Trevor. After a long embrace, it wasn’t uncommon for Trevor to discover that a note had been discreetly attached to the back of his shirt.

Finally, one night, Trevor caught John in the act, committing the deed. As they kissed goodnight, Trevor snatched John’s wrist and beheld a post-it note, held between two slender fingers, ready to be covertly attached to something.

John smiled charmingly. “Oh, Trevor…”

“John.” Trevor frowned a little. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“Maybe.” John’s baritone purr softened into a whisper. “It’s just that—I know you don’t like to talk very much…you know…about all that lovey-dovey stuff.”

“I…see…” Trevor struggled to conceal a grin. “Well. Uh…carry on, then…”

“Does it annoy you?” John inquired.

“No…”

“Seriously, I’ll stop doing it.”

“Uh—“

“Alright, I’ll stop. It was getting a bit out of hand, I admit…”

“No.” Trevor quickly silenced his partner with another kiss, intent on challenging John’s ability to form coherent sentences. Sure enough, John was quickly reduced to unintelligible moans, coarse and undignified, lying prone on the bed. Trevor observed the want and need in John’s darkened eyes as they rocked together steadily, and on through the night.

When John woke up in the morning, he found the note attached to his pillow.

I love you too.

The words were moving, but somehow lacked comparison to the way Trevor simply looked at him with that peculiar intensity, or the way Trevor touched him afterwards, as they were on the cusp of a heavy sleep.

As John read the note, he came to realize that there were some words that he could probably live without.

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A/N: A mysterious one-shot. There might be more, who knows?! Trevor is the intellectual property of nite3, and yes, I've got fucking permission.