“I know!” Luke groans. “And it’ll probably be a really nice, really thoughtful something, and I just…” He makes a helpless gesture.
“You’ve only known him your whole life. Can’t you think ofsomething?”
“Will!” Sandy scolds.
“No, he’s right,” Luke says. He rubs his temples; he feels a headache coming on. “It’s just…”
“It’s your first Valentine’s Day together,” Sandy says. “It’s normal to be nervous, to want to get it just right.” The scrape of her shoes moves across the kitchen, away from the table.
Will leans forward, bony elbows on the table, and for a moment, in the fall of sunlight, his wrinkles are blasted away and he looks a lot like his granddaughter did yesterday. “Kid,” he says, serious, “don’t take this the wrong way, but Hal ain’t a woman. He doesn’t need diamonds and roses.”
Luke smiles. “Yeah, I didn’t figure.”
Will drops his voice another fraction. “You know what men like best about Valentine’s Day?” He waggles his gray brows.
Luke chuckles. “Yeah, I figured.”
Will reaches across to pat his hand. “He thinks you hung the moon. Don’t get too worried about it.”
And oddly enough, that helps.
~*~
Before Luke moved in, Hal liked his life in DC. He liked running down the cold but pretty streets of Georgetown; liked spending his work days with Matt. Liked gym time, and beers with the guys, and the high thread count on his sheets. It was a very comfortable, sustainable,nicelife. And helikedit.
And then Luke came, and now Hal loves all of it. Loves it like breathing: the way Luke makes his quiet little apartment a home, with his toed-off skater shoes and the splatters of coffee creamer on the counters, and his glasses folded up nice and neat on the nightstand. Hal’s life feelsalivenow, in a way it hasn’t for so long. Every morning he wakes with a warm body beside him, Luke’s quiet, shuffling breaths against the pillow. He knows that if he puts his arm around his boyfriend and snuggles him close Luke will murmur a pleased sound in the back of his throat. And he knows that if he climbs on top of him, Luke will wake hungry, reaching for him.
The quiet, formerly-lonely moments of his day are full of companionship, and teasing, and sweet touches, and the kind of sex that is both life-affirming and dirty, and which he’s never had before. It’sperfect. Luke is perfect.
How the hell is he going to get him something for Valentine’s Day that demonstrates that?
He wonders, sometimes, if Luke believes him when he professes his love. He wonders – when he catches Luke watching him with a serious look on his face – if Luke remembers what happened three years ago and still hurts.
Hal still hurts. He aches when he thinks about the way he rejected his best friend. The love of his damn life. It wasn’t even rejection, not intentionally. But he panicked back then, and he doesn’t know if he can ever apologize enough.
He swings by the store when he leaves the Maddoxes, and arrives home with a bag of chicken, and flour, and spices. A half-dozen baking potatoes.
When he lets himself into the apartment, he’s welcomed by the warmth of lamplight, the low murmur of the TV – ESPN with the volume down real low – and the sight of Luke settled on the sofa with his laptop. He’s dressed in an old pair of Hal’s sweats that are too big on him; they hang off his bony hips and pool around his feet. His hair sticks up at crazy angles and his glasses have slipped down his nose a fraction. He consults one notebook, another open on the sofa cushion beside him, pencil clenched in his teeth.
He grunts a hello without looking up.
“Hi, baby,” Hal says as he goes to the kitchen and sets his bag down. Unwraps his scarf – a Christmas present from Luke, Virginia Tech colors – and shrugs out of his jacket. “Good day?”
“Uh-huh,” Luke murmurs, distracted.
Hal smiles to himself and grabs two wine glasses off the rack, the bottle of red he opened last night, and pours some for each of them. Then he goes to join Luke on the sofa.
He has to set the notebook onto the coffee table, and is careful not to spill the wine. When his hands are free, he takes Luke’s face between his palms – Luke startles and lifts his head with a quiet “oh” of surprise. He gets too invested in his writing sometimes and forgets to be a person; forgets to take care of himself. Hal wonders if he’s eaten enough today; if he’s stayed hydrated.
Luke’s face goes from pale and tired to flushed and warm within Hal’s gentle grasp, cheeks heating beneath the careful sweep of Hal’s thumbs.
Hal nudges Luke’s glasses back up to where they’re supposed to rest. “Hi, baby,” he repeats, and feels as warm inside as Luke’s face feels in his hands. Warm and bursting with love. “How was your day?”
Luke quirks a sweet, still-surprised smile, too caught off guard to show his usual snark. “Hi.” Hal has his undivided attention now. “It was good.”
“Good.” Hal leans forward and kisses him. He doesn’t want to pull away, after; wants to pull Luke into his lap and run his fingers through his messy hair, reach beneath his shirt to feel the heat of his skin, and the sharpness of his hipbones. But he knows the night will slip away from him if he does that. So he eases back.
“I got stuff to make dinner.”
