Oscar had learned about Aaron’s favorite school subjects and about Marissa from ninth grade and how she’d been such a bitch to Aaron for no real reason. Aaron told him about hisbest friend Tobe, who lived an hour away back in Aaron’s hometown, how Aaron had known Tobe since kindergarten but hadn’t been real friends with them until they were sixteen. More precisely, until the day Tobe had come to school with a shaved pink head, and Aaron had known in his heart that something about them was the same. Oscar learned so much about them and about Marta, who Aaron had met shortly after getting close to Tobe. Aaron told him about moving apartments after his surgery and how nice his new flatmates were. He told him that his username was an ode to Highland cows andnotMatthew McConaughey or Jake Gyllenhaal.
And Oscar told him about Lucas. Because he didn’t have hometown friends. He admitted that the out-of-town friends he’d spoken about before surgery were actually one man more than ten years his senior that he’d never met in real life.
But then he told him about Grandma and a little bit about Lina and her stupid boyfriend. And by the time Oscar got round to telling him about college, Aaron had started dozing off. Oscar had slowed his speech and lowered his voice, watching Aaron’s eyes grow droopier, his features softening as he dove into comfortable sleep, curled up on the couch.
Oscar had watched him for a few minutes. Then he’d brought a blanket and covered him to the neck, resisted the urge to kiss him on the temple, and gone straight to his own bed.
And now, Aaron probably thought he was a creepy stalker who’d spiked his hot chocolate to get him to sleep over. Maybe Oscar should have woken him up and walked him to the bus stop. Maybe he should have seen him home.
Oscar reached for his phone, hoping for a text to ease his brain, to let him know that Aaron hadn’t blocked him and reported him to the police as a fucking creep.
There was only a text from Lucas, asking him how everything had gone and whether he was okay. Oscar opened thethread, ready to reply, taking a deep sniff of the air and clearing his throat.
Wait.
Lucas went face down as Oscar drew in an even deeper breath through his nose. Something was definitely cooking. Leaping out of bed, Oscar forgot all about the notions of morning breath and bedhead, ignoring the fact he probably had crusts in the corners of his eyes and puffy skin from pressing his head into the pillow all night.
“I hope you don’t mind!” Aaron had a chirpy voice when he was busy doing things other than sitting in a booth or on a couch looking like the definition of something beautiful.
Oscar walked across the open plan and took in the scene unfolding before him. Aaron stood at the stove, his attention divided between two pans, toaster plugged in, Luigi rubbing against his ankles like he’d known him forever. Oscar hoped he would. He studied the way Aaron leaned across the counter to get the spatula, socked feet lifting off the floor, T-shirt hiking up over the waistline of his pants, showing pale skin Oscar very much wanted to feel.
His heart shifted to fifth gear when Aaron turned to look at him. He wasn’t wearing his glasses yet, his blue eyes sitting bare and large over his pretty nose, that inimitable smile gracing his lips.
“Morning,” he said.
“I’ll just…brush my teeth,” Oscar replied.
“Go ahead. We eat in fifteen.” Aaron bent down to rub the fur between Luigi’s ears, the cat arching into the attention.
Oscar crossed to the bathroom, mortified at the sight that awaited in the mirror. His hair was messy and kinked at the ends, mattress lines decorating his cheeks. He looked like he’d come out of a cave after a hundred years of sleep.
Shit.
Five minutes later, Oscar walked back out with a freshly-washed face, slightly tamed hair, and minty teeth he could proudly smile with. He slowed his pace as he approached the kitchen, as though Aaron was a fawn that would be startled out of his apartment by the interruption.
If anything, Aaron was a stag, beautiful and lovely and magical, manning that stove with a bright energetic smile, soft hair feathering the temples where his pulse would beat against Oscar’s lips if only he could kiss him.
“I’ll make coffee,” Oscar murmured, eyeing the unplugged machine.
He moved into the narrow kitchen space, suddenly aware of how terrible it was at fitting two people at the same time. The machine whirred to life, and Oscar blamed it for the sudden heat, even if he knew that Aaron’s proximity was the thing making every single one of his nerve endings light up.
“That smells sogood,” Aaron said. He squeezed his eyes shut, sniffing the air with a groan of pleasure.
Oscar tried very hard not to be the kind of person who imagined other things when he heard that sound coming out of Aaron’s mouth, but it was about as successful an attempt as most of the days he’d spent battling that blobby boss in his video game.
“So does breakfast,” he replied, clearing his throat as he leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. It was nice he could do that without worrying what it would look like when he pressed his shirt against his body.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked, but I went with the ingredients in your fridge. I hope that’s okay,” Aaron said. His eyes darted to Oscar’s, drowning out past, present, and future. If Oscar looked at him a moment longer, he’d disintegrate.
“Yeah, by the look of it, you’ve used upallthe ingredients in my fridge. I’ll starve to death until payday now,” Oscar said, snorting.
Aaron’s expression fell, eyes widening. He opened andclosed his mouth repeatedly, like a robot gone haywire, looking for language and finding it had none.
“Relax.” Oscar narrowed his eyes, allowing his smirk to soften. “Pulling your leg. I’ll only starve until I get off my ass and go to Paulie’s.”
“I didn’t know!” Aaron blurted out, looking at the pans worriedly and shaking his head. “I’ll…what do I?—”
“Aaron.”
