“I…” Oscar’s joy popped like a bubble, the creeping vines of anxiety wrapping around his heart and squeezing. “You wanted it.”
Maybe Oscar was the lamb. His bleat was a thing of the slaughterhouse. A while before, or even now with anybody else, the sound of it would make him feel dysphoric, but never with Aaron. Not even with Aaron frowning like that.
“Oscar, no.”
“I’ve already bought it. I’m not going to return it,” Oscar replied.
Aaron huffed and turned on his heel, and Oscar stood there gaping, watching Aaron grow smaller as his short but impressively quick strides took him away from Oscar, from their date night, from togetherness.
Oscar’s lip wobbled, nostrils flaring dragon-like as he tried to blink away the tears that had started to assault him, grief and guilt and panic washing over him like a tsunami. The tote bag was still clutched in his grip, arms stretched out to the Aaron-less gap in front of him, frozen, Medusaed by his anxiety, which revved up in his chest like the motor engine of Grandpa’s 1992 truck on its highest gear, speeding speeding speeding with nowhere else to go, nowhere more to climb.
A breath sputtered out of him, choked.
Midway down the sidewalk, Aaron turned, pausing, head tilting.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
There was no need to shout. On Saturday nights, everyone went to the bustling center away from this side of town. Laura had already turned the shop sign toClosedand pulled down the blinds, and most of the coffee shops were starting to turn off the lights.
“Oscar…”
Oscar couldn’t move. His lip trembled on, twisting his face, scrunching up his expression, squeezing every inch of organ inside his body, butchering each functional thing into useless offal. It made him want to curl up on the pavement, turn into a ball that someone would kick into a net and forget.
“Spike…” Aaron’s voice softened.
In a few brisk strides, he was standing in front of Oscar again, eyes searching his face, hands wrapping around his arms, squeezing, grounding him.
Oscar was electric, and Aaron was a swirl of yellow and green.
Oscar was a flailing body, and Aaron was a parachute.
Oscar was?—
“Spikey…” Aaron inclined his head low, inching closer until his nose was brushing against his. “Baby…”
Oscar was a puddle on the ground.
His mouth found Aaron’s instantly, lips crashing like waves to rock, arms wrapping around Aaron’s back, tote bag and all. The car engine came apart in Aaron’s grip. Oscar sobbed into his mouth, shaking and trembling into his touch, overcome.
“Hey, it’s fine. It’s fine,” Aaron murmured, pulling away and bumping foreheads with him. “I’m not mad. Let’s go home.”
“I promised you coffee,” Oscar said, sniffing. He wiped hisnose with the back of his hand before suddenly remembering that he was with Aaron, the only person in the world he ever wanted to impress and that perhaps snot was not the way to do it.
“You can make me coffee at home.” Aaron wiped Oscar’s tears with his thumbs, pressing a soft chaste kiss to the tip of his nose. “You were grossly overcharged for those beans, but it’s better than the coffee house. Come on.”
Oscar conceded with a series of wordless nods and turned in the direction of the bus stop. When Aaron saidhomehe meant Oscar’s apartment. This was where the two of them spent their time alone. Besides, therewasno fancy overpriced coffee at Aaron’s. Joe tried, bless him, and there were plenty of different flavors of the instant jars. Oscar thought the gold was quite good. But Aaron could pick up a difference in thewaterused to make his coffee. Something like the wordgoldon a label wasn’t going to buy his affection.
As they got on the bus, Aaron reached for the tote bag and slung it over his shoulder, ushering Oscar to a seat near the back, over the wheel, because Oscar liked the way his knees were raised when he sat there, the way he could tuck them into his stomach and curl up invisible.
“I can carry it,” Oscar mumbled.
“But it’smypresent.” Aaron shot him a sheepish smile, cheeks glowing raspberry pink. “Can I look at it?”
“All Iwantis for you to look at it,” Oscar confessed. Naked truth was as hard for him as admitting he needed help. He glanced at the tote clasped in Aaron’s hands, jutting his chin in its direction.
Aaron sparked, excitement buzzing on his skin. His entire body jiggled on the seat and then he was peeking in, reaching for the book, picking it up with reverence. He turned it over in his hands, eyes aglow, lips curved into a small, wistful smile.
Aaron handled that book the way a connoisseur might aglass of immaculately aged wine. He sniffed it, turned it over, inspected every line of artwork, every inch of sprayed edge, peeked beneath the dust jacket and let out an excited squeal as he glimpsed the design of the hardcover underneath. In the end, he put it back in the bag and turned to share his reaction, but by now they were at Oscar’s stop, and they had to run to the front of the bus to avoid missing it.
