4. Coffee and Pancakes #2
He knew it must be strange to someone else, for him to joke about something like that, something that had made him want to shrivel up and cease, something that had stopped him showering on more nights than he cared to admit.
But if he didn’t joke about it, Oscar would explode, because it wasn’t fair he’d had to pay so much and hurt so much and hate himself so much to finally be the person that he was.
It wasn’t fair he’d had to spill his ugliest at therapists’ feet, time and time again, just so they could give him needles to put inside his body, just so they’d agree to take his money and his parts.
“It sure does.” Aaron pushed away his empty plate and wrapped his hands around the mug, taking a sip of coffee. “I like it.”
“What?” Oscar asked.
He wanted to keep his eyes on the street outside, on the people passing by with groceries in tote bags, because everyone loved the environment where he lived.
He imagined he looked pensive and cool, studying the streets from the old-fashioned coffee house, so much like a diner.
He imagined Aaron could look at him and think he wasn’t bothered by anything in the world.
Other than chests, of course. That cat had leapt out of the bag the moment the two of them had met.
And now, so did the illusion of his pensive coolness.
As if he could resist turning his gaze back upon the man that sat before him with those freckled cheeks.
“That you’re always making jokes and laughing about everything.” Aaron’s lips thinned as his mouth curved. “It’s…it helped me before my surgery. It’s nice.”
“Well, good.” Oscar shrugged.
He didn’t know what to do with earnest compliments.
Life had taught him different things. Like when his mother told him his jeans looked nice, she’d follow it up by saying how he was finally getting hips and looking a little more like she did at his age.
Or when Ryan, Lina’s boyfriend, said he looked like he’d bulked up, he’d say something like Oscar should be careful with how many cookies he had. So Oscar switched to what he knew.
“Your avatar is a catfish.”
“Oh?” Something in Aaron’s face fell, making Oscar realize how it had sounded. Shit.
“I mean, you lie, Aaron. Honestly. The glasses are chunkier in the avatar, and your hair looks like a firetruck.” He gestured at Aaron’s head. “A firetruck.”
Aaron laughed, his shoulders easing as he leaned back in the booth.
“It was the closest color they had! It’s not any other type of brown,” Aaron complained. “And the glasses weren’t customizable.” He threw his hands up.
“And you’ve changed your hair since then, so the style is also a blatant lie.” Oscar narrowed his eyes.
“Old habits.” Aaron bit into his lower lip, running a hand over his head.
“I used to cut it military short before. You know…to make up for other things.” Aaron shrugged.
“And after the surgery, I just…felt a lot of things at once. I needed to do it one more time.” He fluffed the short bangs on his forehead, the hair on top of his head sticking up.
“I’m sure you rocked every haircut you ever had,” Oscar said. He swallowed the giant rock of spit that had formed in his mouth and traced its passage to his stomach. “You always look nice.”
Aaron’s lips twitched, nose crinkling. Oscar wanted to leap across the table. He wanted to sit in Aaron’s lap. Oscar wanted to devour him whole and keep him locked inside his chest forever, tuck him through the seams of his stitches and hold him in his heart.
“Sorry…” The waitress shook Oscar out of his trance, stopping Aaron from the response he’d been about to make, lips parting. Her eyes were bright as she looked at both of them with a massive grin on her face. “It’s been lovely to have you, but we’re closing.”
“Oh.”
Oscar pulled out his wallet and clapped it to the surface of the table, taking the bill from her.
He eyed the total, heftier than normal, but he’d sell half a kidney to have these hours he’d just spent with Aaron.
In the end, this man was far more worthwhile than any bell pepper ever could be, and Oscar was glad to slap the total and then some into the waitress’s leather bill holder.
“Thank you.”
He and Aaron shuffled out of the booth at the same time, standing awkwardly with the waitress like they were about to start throupling in the aisle between the empty tables.
“Well, I hope you had a nice date!” she said.
Oscar wasn’t sure whether to regret his tip or double it. He supposed it all depended on Aaron’s reaction, but there was no way in hell Oscar would be able to look at him now. Instead, he turned and started walking away.
“It went great,” Aaron murmured behind him. Oscar wouldn’t read too much into it. Not unless Aaron asked him out again. He couldn’t be making assumptions. He wouldn’t.
Oscar was still suffering his internal rambling when Aaron caught up with him at the door. They fumbled around who’d walk out first, and in the end, they walked out together, although not together. Oscar wished they were, hoped they would be.
“That…flew by, didn’t it?” Aaron said. He bounced on his feet, old white trainers that had lost their brightness squeezing as he moved. They were almost the same height.
Perfect for kissing, Oscar thought. But he would never. Not unless he was sure. He couldn’t fuck this up.
“Do you want to meet Luigi?” Oscar asked.
Nice one, king.
Aaron’s expression altered, eyes widening behind his glasses, teeth digging into his lower lip.
Oscar prepared a nonsense response of it’s okay if you don’t, even though it wasn’t okay, because Oscar didn’t want to go home without him now, even if nothing ever happened.
He couldn’t say goodbye already. And surely, with all that coffee in his system, Aaron couldn’t be tired.
“It’s—”
“I’d love nothing more,” Aaron said.
“Yeah?” Oscar hated when his voice went soft, but he didn’t mind it now. Not with Aaron. Maybe he would never really hate anything with Aaron except the prospect of goodbye.
“Yeah,” Aaron replied. “Lead the way, Spike.”
In his heart, Oscar knew one thing: if he were still around to meet Aaron, Papa would have approved.