Chapter 7
WOVEN COMFORT
Screaming matches were household staples when Oscar was growing up.
Much like bread and butter, you could find one every time you opened a cupboard or a fridge.
At least, every time Oscar did, his mother would find something to say about it—about his stomach or his cheeks or his thighs.
Every time he moved a muscle in a direction not to her liking, the woman would implode.
And Oscar had learned early on to give back just as badly.
After, when the shouting ebbed and the water jug sitting on the tainted dinner table was gulped down to soothe scratched throats, Papa would nudge Oscar out and take him on a needless errand.
A lot of the time, they’d drive around with no real destination, and in the end, they’d stop at Paulie’s and buy something they didn’t need, so his mother wouldn’t question the excursion.
Oscar wished he’d spent more of those hours talking to Papa, but he cherished them still.
He knew now more than ever the value of a man tired from work, exhausted by a home life that took far more than it gave, still willing to drive around wasting fuel he couldn’t afford so his son could listen to depressing rock music and look out of the window, pretending he was one of the people in the music videos, running away from home once and for all.
Except Oscar wouldn’t have back then. Not with Papa living in that house.
He thought about him now, brow pressed against the cold glass of the bus window, the white fluorescent tubes blinking above the aisle obscuring his view of the rolling buildings of the approaching town, the edges of his reflection blurring with each puff of breath as Oscar bit down on his lip and labored not to cry.
CowBoy0705: How was the pizza? *Seethes in envy*
Oscar’s lip wobbled as Aaron’s text pinged in.
Oscar wished he’d seen more of him. Aaron had gone on a mysterious errand after their breakfast and then he’d started working at all his odd jobs again, and Oscar had continued racking up the hours at his beta testing gig.
He’d have to make the most of what remained of summer before he switched to part-time hours for the semester.
But they had texted endlessly. Back and forth.
Every single day. At every hour they could spare. And boy, did Oscar like him.
Spikey: :(
Before Oscar could return to his depressing rock music and the vision of his own warped reflection in the glass, his ears began to beep, the phone vibrating in his grip.
Despite the panicked skittering of his heart as it tried to claw its way up his ribs, Oscar answered, because Aaron giving up was not an alternative he wished to explore.
As much as he hated video calls, this was an opportunity to see Aaron in more than just a still shot in an apron and a cap, a chance to watch him move and brighten and smile.
Something lit up in his chest at the sight of Aaron’s face taking over his screen, those freckled cheeks and the pretty lips Oscar hadn’t yet kissed.
His hair looked indeed quite red beneath the warm lamplight, but Oscar could only get a glimpse of it; Aaron’s bangs were pushed back with what looked like a stretchy headband with bunny ears, soft and yellow, with googly eyes and cotton teeth.
Something was misting up his glasses, curling up from a spot below the screen.
“Get back to dinner,” Oscar murmured despite himself.
“What’s going on?” Aaron asked. His eyebrows curved low, denting the skin above the bridge of his nose. “Why aren’t you in your sister’s dorm room eating junk food and watching shows on her laptop, like you were supposed to?”
Oscar shrugged. His eyes darted to the right. The bus was quite empty but there was an old lady a couple seats back and a woman with two small children in the front.
“You can’t talk.” Aaron’s lips wrinkled as he pressed them tight. His expression altered, eyes narrowing. “Are you on a bus?”
Oscar nodded.
“On the way home?” Aaron asked, perking up.
His bunny ears flopped and it drew the edges of a smile on Oscar’s mouth. What he wouldn’t give to play around with Aaron’s hair, to watch him wind down in his bunny headband and pajamas before they went to sleep. Oscar nodded.
“Have you passed the cathedral yet?”
Oscar leaned back in his seat, eyes focusing on the street outside, the familiar appliance shops with their old 2000s signs in those large blocky fonts, now trying hard to become techy, the pawn shops, the massage parlors and waxing salons that crowded this part of the city.
“Two more stops,” Oscar mumbled.
“I’ll meet you there.” Aaron flashed him a smile that dimpled his cheeks and Oscar wished he could become a crumb so he could fit in one of them and nestle there until his feelings faded.
Aaron hung up before Oscar could confirm, which left him with few options except to ring the bell the moment they passed the middle school.
The air nipped at Oscar’s cheeks. Even in the summer, the nights were never too hot in their little town, and Oscar was glad. He hated sleeping with an open window, because then Luigi would have to sleep out on the couch, or else he’d jump out and get lost.
An old man sat on the quiet bus stop, nibbling on something, probably not waiting for a bus, given the only route that passed through town had just driven off.
Oscar glanced at his phone. It had only been a few minutes since Aaron had hung up. The wait felt endless, every moment between Oscar’s now and the potential of seeing Aaron an ocean that Oscar had no strength to swim across.
But then, all he needed to do was float. Wait for the raft.
And it came in the form of clopping flip flops against paving stones, a breathless wheeze that carried him back to the coffee shop and curled his mouth into a smile despite Ryan and his big asshole mouth.
Oscar turned in time to watch Aaron come to an abrupt halt in front of him, his hair messy, a jacket thrown on over sweats, flip flops showing off black painted toenails. Oscar had never really understood how anyone could like feet, but Aaron’s were perfect. Everything about him was.
“Hi,” Oscar said.
“Come.”
Aaron reached out a hand, slipping it into Oscar’s as though they’d done this a million times.
Oscar wished he had superhuman hearing so he could figure out whether Aaron’s heart was beating quite as loudly and as quickly as his own.
His skin felt as flushed as the reddish tint in Aaron’s brown hair, his hand embarrassingly clammy in Aaron’s grip.
But Aaron seemed unfettered as he led him down the alley alongside the cathedral boundary, around corners and across a square to an older building overlooking the graveyard, rows upon rows of buried dead, among whom Oscar’s papa was not.
They’d buried him next to his own father.
Oscar only had a few memories of Grandpa.
He’d also died quite young, although not as young as Papa.
At least he’d watched his son grow up and get married, have kids.
He’d had the opportunity to fill Oscar and Lina up with candy despite their mother’s withering glares, flashing them winks while he stuffed their pockets with more treats to have throughout the week.
Aaron released Oscar’s hand to fish around his pocket for his keys, and the distance now felt catastrophic, like perhaps an alarm should be raised to warn the town that something was amiss and it would only be corrected should Aaron touch Oscar again.
A national emergency, really.
Lock down the schools.
Fucking hell, Oscar wanted to kiss him.
The door groaned as Aaron pushed it open. The stairwell was lit, perhaps from when he’d come down running to retrieve Oscar from the bus stop like a lost lamb. Well, Oscar wouldn’t mind sprawling across Aaron’s shoulders to be carried home.
In fact, all he could think about sometimes was spreading—
“We’re up on the top floor. I hope you don’t mind all the stairs,” Aaron said, cutting into Oscar’s colorful thoughts.
Oscar simply nodded, because if he tried to make words, they would be the wrong ones. Who was he to assume that Aaron even wanted anything like that?
They hadn’t even kissed after their date, nor after breakfast. Aaron had hovered at the door as he’d said goodbye and then he’d turned and gone, promising to text the moment he was on the bus.
And Oscar wished he’d at least walked with him, stolen some more minutes, but he hadn’t.
Now he got to watch Aaron’s pretty ass as he ascended four flights of stairs, climbing to the attic.
Outside were two low shelves lined with shoes that seemed to belong to three different people.
Aaron’s sneakers were easy to identify alongside large chunky boots belonging to some other man for sure, which made Oscar jealous to know he was living with Aaron, and then there were ballet flats and pumps and pretty girly Converses that reminded him of Lina.
But he didn’t want to think about his sister right now. Not after what had happened.
Oscar bent down to unlace his boots and set them by the shelves while Aaron kicked off his flip flops and reached for the door handle.
Warmth and spice engulfed Oscar the moment he stepped through, sealing himself in as the door clicked shut behind him. It was a small apartment, with a sloping ceiling that for once made him glad he wasn’t all that tall, but it was pretty. And cozy. Oscar could imagine liking winter here.
Lamps sat on every piece of furniture, shaded in burnt orange and mauve, showering the place in amber light. Pretty vines wound around twinkling lights over the large wall unit where a TV stood mounted against the wall, paused on what looked like the middle of a dinner scene.
The kitchen was even smaller than Oscar’s, the table square with a shiny surface and matching chairs that reminded him of diners from the fifties.