Oscar didn’t want to stop anywhere on the way home, didn’t want Aaron to go back to his own apartment, where he would have to sit and talk to his roommates. Lovely as Joe and Anna were, this felt personal, and Oscar wanted to shroud him in a bubble of soft privacy.
He whipped out his phone when they were close enough to home and ordered two large chicken kebabs, asked them to fill Aaron’s with as much rice and corn and couscous as would fit in it, to slather it with enough garlic sauce that he would regret it in the morning, and got his with double creamy potato salad and rice, because there was no such thing as too many carbs, and hot sauce, because that went well with mayo, in Oscar’s opinion.
Maybe neither one of them should be allowed to have a kebab again.
But tonight, Aaron would.
Oscar held him by the shoulder as they walked from the bus stop, slowing his pace a little so he’d arrive with the delivery guy he kept tracking on his phone, and when they got there, Aaron glanced at the man waiting in blue but didn’t say anything, not even as Oscar whipped out a cash tip and took the bag.
They went up to the apartment, Aaron bending down to say hello to Luigi still, murmuring and mumbling—too subdued for Oscar’s comfort. He found the next episode ofSchitt’s Creek, Aaron’s favorite show, since the last one they’d put on together and put the kebabs in the warming oven while he ushered Aaron into the shower to clean away the smell of their afternoon.
“Join me?” Aaron mumbled.
So Oscar did. He tore his clothes off like shedding skin after a sunburn, peeling them away layer by layer until he was as naked as Aaron, and stepped into the shower with him. Aaron cried beneath the water, and Oscar let him. Maybe Aaron could pretend like Oscar couldn’t tell beneath the running stream of water. Or maybe he was fine with Oscar seeing, with them sharing.
Oscar pulled him close, wrapping his arms around his stomach from the back, kissing him over and over on the sideof his head. He scrubbed Aaron’s hair with his own shampoo, pressing the tips of his fingers and thumbs into his head, hoping it gave him some relief, and then he ran his comb through the shorter strands with the conditioner, and soaped up Aaron’s back and neck, kissing as he went, eyeing the little hairs he’d failed to trim away at the nape.
“I love you,” Oscar mumbled into his skin.
Aaron took his hand and squeezed.
They came out fresher, wearing Oscar’s most comfortable clothes, bigger on Aaron, but maybe he liked it, because he snuggled into the blanket like a baby on the couch and ate his kebab and watched the Roses interact with the people of Schitt’s Creek. And Oscar understood whyhemade Aaron laugh, why someone so lovely would glance twice his way.
Oscar only looked at David Rose once the entire evening because his eyes never strayed from Aaron’s face after that. Aaron was the entertainment Oscar chose for his dinner, each curve of his mouth while he tried to laugh filling Oscar with hope.
In the middle of the second episode, Oscar got up and made a batch of Papa’s cookies. Aaron tilted his head back, eyeing him, but Oscar gestured for him to watch TV, so Aaron lay down on his side, still covered by the blanket, the kebab foil wrap scrunched up on the coffee table, his chilled soda empty. Luigi snuggled by his side, head resting on his shoulder while he purred. And Oscar knew this was the true meaning of family. Of home. Of love.
He brought the cookies piping hot to the coffee table, but Aaron had fallen asleep, and Oscar wouldn’t wake him. They’d have them for breakfast. Noiselessly, he milled about, cleaning up after their dinner, sealing the cookies in a box the moment they were cool enough, putting Aaron’s clothes on a quick cycle and tossing them into the dryer so he’d have something to wear come morning.
And then, when the episode ended and the apartment was settled, Oscar slid his hands beneath Aaron, blanket and all, and carried him to bed. Maybe his surgeon would have something to say about him lifting a grown person like that, but Oscar had healed from worse things than loving someone.
When Aaron nearly stirred, Oscar shushed him, pressing a butterfly-soft kiss to his temple.
“Rest, boo,” he mumbled. “I’ll be right here.”
And all night long he watched him sleep until his own eyes drooped.
15
SICKDAY
The concept of an alarm clock had always grated on Oscar. In general, the entire idea of waking up at a time set by obligation didn’t sit well with him. And in most cases, his body had rejected the notion by refusing to take into account any of the shrill ringing that might ensue.
That morning, though, with his nerves as open as his bleeding heart, Oscar was startled awake by the first beep of Aaron’s alarm, shuttling him from the warm snuggle of the bed they now shared on more nights than not and straight to his bedroom floor, grasping at the brick Aaron called a phone to turn it off.
Aaron had lines on his face from the deep slumber he’d settled into after Oscar had put him to bed. His hands were wrapped around the edge of the blanket, which was far too thin for the cold that had started to set in during the evenings. He mumbled his displeasure as he started to shift into wakefulness.
“Go back to sleep,” Oscar murmured, crouching down by the bed and brushing his short bangs with his fingers. “You’renot going to work today. Who do I have to text to call you in sick?”
“I can’t,” Aaron groaned, “I have the makeup stand today.”
Oscar huffed through his nose, and it was strong enough to ruffle Aaron’s bangs, for one of his eyes to flick open, his lips to twitch.
“Someone feels very strongly about this,” he said. And Oscar would write an entire paper about his opposition if it meant he could see a fraction of a smile on Aaron’s face again. “I’ll try to call.”
His fingers tapped on the nightstand, swift spidery movements, grasping at air until he found his phone in Oscar’s hand. In the minute that followed, Oscar learned that a yawn could be beautiful if performed by a mouth such as Aaron’s, a mouth Oscar wanted to kiss.
“H-hi,” Aaron said, half sitting up as someone on the other end answered. “It’s Aaron, the temp guy. Aaron Thake. I’m just calling to say I’m not feeling well today and to ask whether I could?—”
