justprompts: Wrong
It had been a good idea, getting a job for the summer, too, and Aaron was glad that he'd listened, even if he'd been reluctant. It had been such an overload, back at the beginning of summer; he'd barely been able to make heads or tails of it all. Okay, so parts of it he still couldn't, truth be told, some of him still insisting so very pointedly (parts of him? Memories of others? Sometimes he was sure. Sometimes, not so much.) insisting it was wrong.
It was better for not sitting at home all day long to think himself sick, that much, he recognized by now.
Plus, having something to do made the days go by faster. Not to mention that getting things done - and, well, some habits weren't that easy to break, having people's approval and praise and even pride in him, despite anything and everything he might be doing... off hours - was good, he could see it was good for him. To the point where he actually got, that day, to call Dale and let him know he had to stay late to finish something, he'd grab food on his way back, but if he got hungry, help himself?
Felt so domestic, when he hung up, that the mental hit almost made him nauseous. And yet... didn't exactly feel wrong, either. Feelings, boy? It's your mind you should listen to.
He did his best not to get distracted by all of that, anyway.
The apartment was dark when he got there. There was a pang, that Dale would have gone out without calling him, but also a bit of a smile, that somebody might have called him to. He hadn't registered the alone-at-a-new-place anxiety back when his then-brand-new boyfriend had come with him to Ipswich. He was... starting to tune in. He kicked his shoes off, dropped the boxes of Chinese on the counter, and ambled over to check what was on TV, flipping the switch on in the living room - and skidding to a halt, socks actually slipping a bit on the hardwood outside the outline of the carpet.
Dale wasn't out, after all. Instead, he was passed out on the couch, deep enough that neither the noise nor the light woke him; Aaron still reached back and dimmed the lamps a bit, the dial convenient as always. Then... stepped over to the couch to check in on him, anyway.
He seemed... just calmly asleep. Like his day, even if sooner over in hours, had been even more tiring, and he hadn't meant to fall asleep but it had just happened. One arm curled on the cushion, under his head. The other folded over his chest. Face... god. Like a child's, almost, relaxed and peaceful.
It wasn't the way he saw him in the night, when he woke up in his arms, curled in against the larger, warm body like a shelter against some invisible storm; this was... helpless? vulnerable. And, at the same time, easy.
Aaron couldn't take his eyes from his face.
He perched on the couch's armrest, one elbow up over the back. Reached the other hand to brush a strand of blond hair away from his nose or mouth, oh so lightly. His fingers remained tangled in the hair half-fanned out.
He tucked his cheek against his arm resting against the back of the couch...
... and just watched.
He didn't care if it was wrong, no matter how many times or how harshly the repetition echoed in his mind.
It was easy and it was peaceful and it was belly-clenchingly beautiful, and it was...
Perfect.
It was better for not sitting at home all day long to think himself sick, that much, he recognized by now.
Plus, having something to do made the days go by faster. Not to mention that getting things done - and, well, some habits weren't that easy to break, having people's approval and praise and even pride in him, despite anything and everything he might be doing... off hours - was good, he could see it was good for him. To the point where he actually got, that day, to call Dale and let him know he had to stay late to finish something, he'd grab food on his way back, but if he got hungry, help himself?
Felt so domestic, when he hung up, that the mental hit almost made him nauseous. And yet... didn't exactly feel wrong, either. Feelings, boy? It's your mind you should listen to.
He did his best not to get distracted by all of that, anyway.
The apartment was dark when he got there. There was a pang, that Dale would have gone out without calling him, but also a bit of a smile, that somebody might have called him to. He hadn't registered the alone-at-a-new-place anxiety back when his then-brand-new boyfriend had come with him to Ipswich. He was... starting to tune in. He kicked his shoes off, dropped the boxes of Chinese on the counter, and ambled over to check what was on TV, flipping the switch on in the living room - and skidding to a halt, socks actually slipping a bit on the hardwood outside the outline of the carpet.
Dale wasn't out, after all. Instead, he was passed out on the couch, deep enough that neither the noise nor the light woke him; Aaron still reached back and dimmed the lamps a bit, the dial convenient as always. Then... stepped over to the couch to check in on him, anyway.
He seemed... just calmly asleep. Like his day, even if sooner over in hours, had been even more tiring, and he hadn't meant to fall asleep but it had just happened. One arm curled on the cushion, under his head. The other folded over his chest. Face... god. Like a child's, almost, relaxed and peaceful.
It wasn't the way he saw him in the night, when he woke up in his arms, curled in against the larger, warm body like a shelter against some invisible storm; this was... helpless? vulnerable. And, at the same time, easy.
Aaron couldn't take his eyes from his face.
He perched on the couch's armrest, one elbow up over the back. Reached the other hand to brush a strand of blond hair away from his nose or mouth, oh so lightly. His fingers remained tangled in the hair half-fanned out.
He tucked his cheek against his arm resting against the back of the couch...
... and just watched.
He didn't care if it was wrong, no matter how many times or how harshly the repetition echoed in his mind.
It was easy and it was peaceful and it was belly-clenchingly beautiful, and it was...
Perfect.