“Look, I meant to. Yesterday. I—I—” Aaron patted his jeans.
“Aaron.” Oscar straightened against the counter as Aaron continued looking around like he expected something to materialize out of thin air. “Aaron.”
Finally, Aaron stopped, finding Oscar’s eyes again. His eyebrows had sprung so high, they almost reached the edge of his bangs. Oscar wished he had the guts to cup his cheek.
“I’m joking. You know I only eat cookies and gummy bears when I’m alone.” Oscar turned to the coffee machine as it beeped for a mug.
“Are you sure?” Aaron asked.
“Yeah. Of course.” Oscar glanced at the shelf to Aaron’s other side, where his mugs sat, waiting to be filled. “Let me just…”
Oscar stretched, reaching. As he leaned behind Aaron’s back, his other hand brushed against Aaron’s side, settling there like it was built to wrap around him, steadying Oscar, grounding him, making him real.
Time stalled in the moment it took to grab the two mugs between his fingers, palm still wrapped around Aaron’s waist, and Oscar wasn’t sure whether Aaron hadn’t emotionally registered the touch or if it just felt so incredibly right that he hadn’t even thought to pull away.
But as he let go to prepare the coffee, the sudden absence of Aaron’s body left his hand feeling cold and empty, andOscar knew that he would never feel right again unless Aaron was within touching distance.
His heart chose this moment to remember they weren’t yet supposed to be this familiar. It chugged to life like a steam engine, furnacing his cheeks red hot, and Oscar looked away, because if Aaron looked any measure of uncomfortable, he would take the bread knife and stab himself in the stomach.
Determined not to bleed all over the breakfast Aaron had labored on, Oscar avoided his gaze and poured out their coffee. Through the corner of his eye, he spied the flame dying, a pale freckled hand wrapping around the spatula, plates entering his field of view.
He peeked, forgetting all about proximity-too-soon, chin nearly brushing Aaron’s shoulder, but he was quickly swatted away with the plastic spatula.
“No peeking. Go to the table,” Aaron said. His tone sounded comfortable, not in any way indicating that the other man might run from his apartment and post his face all over the forums warning all the others that this guy was a touch-starved idiot who lived off jokes and coerced dates into sleeping in his apartment and standing at his stove so he could touch their waists.
Oscar wouldn’t test his luck. He took the mugs to the table, returning to the pantry for the sugar and his carton of milk, even though he knew perfectly well Aaron drank his coffee unsweetened and black.
When Aaron turned, his slight frame blocked the window. He looked like he had fallen from the sky, haloed by the sun. What seemed to Oscar like excitement bounced off his skin in waves as he approached the table with two full plates, placing one in front of Oscar and another one opposite.
Oscar’s lips began to twitch, stifling laughter as he eyed the presentation. Aaron had plated him two eggs with ketchup of all things forming Xs on their large yellow yolks.The cut up toast made up the arms, the bacon formed legs, the fried tomato what looked like a head, and the beans, a stomach.
“Ketchup crosses?” Oscar asked, reaching for his knife and fork.
“To celebrate being boob-free.” Aaron’s eyes were alight.
Oscar remembered how Aaron had made him laugh at the clinic. Right now, Oscar didn’t want to laugh. He wanted to smile. He wanted to lean across the table and brush Aaron’s bangs away, tell him he was gorgeous.
Instead, Oscar retreated to the familiar.
“I still have nipples, for the record,” he said, arching his eyebrows at his plate as he cut into the first egg.
“It’s called artistic license, Spike. Look it up.” Aaron clicked his tongue repeatedly.
“No sausage for breakfast?” Oscar asked in between chews, pointing at the plate.
“I didn’t know if you preferred sausage,” Aaron said, looking at him through the corner of his eye.
“Breakfast can be good with or without sausage, in my opinion,” Oscar said. “I don’t…”
“Don’t what?” Aaron asked, arching his eyebrows.
“Have one…” Oscar wanted to bite off his tongue and turnthatinto sausage meat. “I don’t really want one, actually.”
“I don’t have one either. And I don’t need sausage. Not for breakfast, lunch,ordinner.” It breezed out of his mouth like something owned and known, something natural. Something obvious. It was earnest enough that Oscar looked up before he could stop himself.
“I didn’t ask if you needed it,” he murmured. The egg marked its passage all the way down his gullet, ticking away the seconds between Oscar’s response and his mind making sense of how it must have sounded to Aaron.
“I’m telling you anyway,” Aaron said. He didn’t lookflustered. Oscar would have been flustered in his shoes. Hell, he was flustered in his own dingy slippers covered in cat hair.
