“Shut up, they’re about to do the house reveal,” Ghost muttered, almost too low to hear.
In no time at all, Oliver had convinced JD to fill them in on the deal with Queer Eye. They were now up to Episode 3, and the only thing they agreed on so far was that it accurately reflected the dynamics of a group project, which always results in unequal workloads.
“Does that cooking guy do anything except make guacamole and sandwiches?” Ghost complained.
“He makes up for it by being the handsomest,” Carlos replied.
“You’re out of your damned mind,” Marcus said, shaking his head emphatically at Carlos. “The black guy’s the real stud here,” he argued, prompting an all-out war about who thehandsomest member of the team was, and whether ethnicity and skill made a difference in the final determination.
Aberlour shook his head at how ridiculous they all were. If only their old drill sergeant could see them now: The Few, The Proud. More like The Dumb, The Loud.
HisDumb and Loud, he thought, rather fondly. Aberlour didn’t know if he’d ever loved anything or anyone as much as he loved his team. The thought hit him square in the chest. Like an arrow hitting the bullseye.
“Oli can settle it,” JD decided, loudly, pulling Aberlour out of his thoughts.
“I can?” Oliver asked, surprised and amused.
“Your house, your rules,” Marcus agreed with a shrug, quickly endorsing JD’s plan.
“Well—” Oliver said, turning back to the TV. The episode was almost over. They were hugging the participant, saying their goodbyes, and wishing him luck. Aberlour wondered if anyone stuck with it after the show, or if once the gang had left, the people went back to their old habits. Their comfortable habits. Their easy habits.
Oliver cocked his head, as though giving it some thought, then he turned to Aberlour in sudden panic.
“Help,” he whispered, as though the others couldn’t hear him.
“Not Abe! He has terrible taste!” Carlos protested loudly.
“The man walks around looking like the bottom of an old ashtray,” Marcus agreed.
Aberlour could have pretended to be wounded by their words, but he didn’t. He didn’t care what any of them thought about his looks. Hell, it was a pretty good description if he was honest.
“Have ya’ll looked into a mirror lately?” Oliver chastised jokingly. Then he turned to Marcus, having finally made up his mind.
“Dumber’s the handsomest,” he said with petulant confidence.
Aberlour barked out a laugh he hadn’t known was in him.
“Oh, fuck off, Darling,” JD exclaimed angrily, while the three others looked equally outraged.
“Marcus and Carlos are objectively better looking than Abe,” Ghost muttered under his breath.
“Oliver’s house, Oliver’s rules!” Aberlour interjected loudly.
More protests, more shouts. Justified ones, too. It wasn’t that Aberlour wasn’t good looking, it was simply that he didn’t give a flying fuck. His chestnut brown hair was currently three weeks past needing a good buzzcut, and showing all the uneven cuts of the rusty sheers he’d used the last time he’d cut it. His dark grey eyes were set beneath heavy brows that made most people feel uneasy when they looked at him. His expression was shadowed by his constant frowning. His smile was uneven—a small white scar from falling out of a tree as a kid cutting across his top lip and pulling it crookedly upwards on the right. He’d always been a bit scary, even as a child. Something was off about the twinkle in his eyes or his perpetual smirk—but now that he’d bulked up, he was downright menacing. He had the frame of a swimmer with a thick neck setting squarely on heavily muscled shoulders. Handsome was not a word anyone would have used to describe him. Dangerous, perhaps.
“Yo, hold up! The dude just proposed,” Carlos announced, instantly halting the debate as everyone turned to stare at the screen again.
“The blond one,” Aberlour whispered once everyone was staring at the screen again.
“Huh?” Oliver asked. In the light of the TV screen, his blue eyes turned greenish, and his blond hair was messed up. He was smiling though. That same familiar smile that Aberlour secretly thought of as his.
“He’s the handsomest one,” Aberlour said with confidence.
Oliver cocked his head.
“Really?” he asked.
“I dig blonds,” Aberlour replied with a shrug, before turning back to the show.
