ᴄᴏɴsᴄɪᴏᴜsɴᴇss

Warm. –It’s the only coherent thought Wesley’s able to form in that moment, shifting a bit beneath the blanket, and leaning towards the newfound source of mysterious warmth that had hovered over his form just moments ago. He really only becomes aware of the fact that the warmth is emitting from someone else’s presence – the only presence Wes particularly cared about being in, no less – when a nose is nudging at his shoulder, words spoken so softly it very nearly pulls a shiver right out of the older boy. It causes a small grin to quirk at the edge of his lips, right before he lets his eyelashes flutter open – gaze instantly met with a sight he’d long sense grown far too fond of.

“Hey.” His voice is still edging on gravelly as he greets Gavin, smile soft in every aspect of the word as he stretches himself awake, shuffling over in order to make room for the other boy – as per requested. It’s only another moment before he realizes he’d left his glasses on just before dozing off, cheeks flushing at the state of disarray they were currently in, before slipping them off and tossing them over towards the coffee table. His vision was significantly less clear after doing so, but anything that happened to get in the way of allowing Wesley to press his face into Gavin’s neck, was something completely expendable in Wes’ humble opinion. He shifts a bit more until he’s turning into the other boy’s side, cheek pressing against the outer edge of Gavin’s shoulder, taking the time to adjust the blanket so that it fell over the two of them. “Just get off of work?” He asks through a half-hearted yawn, arm tentatively moving to rest along the top of his torso – hesitant in the way he touches him, almost as if he was still unsure of the places his hands were allowed to rest.

So maybe his shoulders were a bit tense in that moment – which, in all reality, probably wasn’t entirely warranted. After all, Gavin had been the one to initiate the hand holding not so long ago, correct? – ( a fact that still left Wesley in a constant state of horribly-cliched stomach flutters and overly fond grins ). So it wasn’t as if the moment actually called for the nerves currently buzzing just along the outside of his skin, the boy feeling equal parts sated and anxious at being this close to his ex-something again.

“What happened to your hand?” Eyebrows quirk up in curiosity, forehead furrowed in a quick look of concern as fingers wrap around Gavin’s wrist, quietly surveying the bandage folded around the outside of his skin. It was as good of a distraction as any – hopefully one that brought the boy’s attention away from the fact that Wesley’s hands are very nearly on the verge of shaking, as his fingers encase the skin of Gavin’s wrist – warmth bleeding from the simple press of skin-on-skin.

The intimacy of it hits him like the first wave of warmth when entering your house in the dead of winter. Frost has nipped at his cheeks, his fingertips, his nose in the time that he’s spent so far away, and now that he’s here, he can feel all of that bleeding out to be replaced by the heat of him. Wesley’s scent envelops him as he shifts, the rasp of his voice not quite eliciting Gavin’s smile, but making his heart flutter nonetheless. His bad mood is slowly but surely being filtered out, and he settles in beside him, their bodies pressed together due to the close confines of their current location. A sofa doesn’t exactly give one elbow room, after all -- Gavin’s not complaining about that fact in the least. 

There’s a lull of silence between Wesley’s greeting and what he says next, which Gavin takes full advantage of in the form of studying his face and the way the shadows fall over the sharpness of his features. Delicate. That’s how he’d describe his structure, the curve of his lips, the button of his nose, and most of all, the way his eyelashes look like spilled ink on his skin. They look soft somehow, and his fingers twitch, a yearning to reach out and touch them nestling into his chest and spreading out to his muscles with a passion that’s difficult to ignore. It’s a good thing he chooses that moment to speak, or he may of kissed him. 

“Someone slopped hot soup on it.” His displeasure is clear in his voice when he says that, as low as it may be, and he lets Wes hold his wrist, lets him examine what of his wound he can see. It would be the exact thing that Gavin would do if their roles were reversed, some sort of animal instinct to verify for yourself that your mate is okay. That it’s not life-threatening. It reminds him of how wolves lick one another’s wounds, and this thought does bring a smile to his face, however small and muted as it may be. He knows he’ll notice. He always does. 

IT WOULD PROBABLY MAKE SENSE for Arden to at least go to her last set of classes before winter break set in – and, admittedly, she’d woken up with every intention to do just that. Last night’s hangover settled in about halfway through that morning’s shower, however, and caused her to drag her feet over to the on-campus coffee shop instead – too mesmerized by the prospect of tea and cranberry scones to pull herself free from the warmth radiating within the confines of the coffee shop, and endure a string of lectures she barely even understood most of the time. Which was what currently brought her here in that moment – scrunched up in the corner of her favorite booth, blowing cool air against her freshly brewed english breakfast and aimlessly sketching at the empty lines of her notebook. “Who even came up with the idea for secret santa? Like– a. I already have a shit ton of shopping I need to do for my own family, and b. it’s not like everyone doesn’t go back and exchange the gift a week later anyways.” Her list of gift ideas remained blank and forgotten for her own secret santa, and she had no intent to return to it until the night before the upcoming party. Surely, it coud wait a little longer.

Gavin shouldn’t even be spending money. Not on coffee, not on anything, but if he had to call something ‘essential,’ then it would be caffeine. A lot of his peers would look down on him for that particular choice, but there’s always just been something about it that struck him as a tad more revitalizing than any tea ever could be, and as he bounces on his heels in anticipation of his order being filled, he idly wonders why that could be. His train of thought ( or rather lack thereof, considering how scattered he feels today ) is interrupted when he’s handed a steaming cup, and he mutters a gruff ‘cheers’ in response before turning to face the rest of the cafe. It’s not that he exactly chooses to sit in the exact spot to overhear somebody’s loud complaints, but rather that he’s extremely unlucky, and as her voice floats over to where he’s settling into his chair, he can’t help but agree with her. In a way, anyhow. “Honestly, I’m not getting my ‘secret Santa’ recipient shit. I don’t have money for that, I don’t have time, I don’t have patience. Here’s a half-empty pack of gum, enjoy.” He takes his first sip of coffee on the tail end of that, burning the tip of his tongue, but not particularly seeming to care. If he can’t even afford presents for his siblings, how the fuck can he be expected to buy for a total stranger? Rich people.

The nap hadn’t helped

This is the first conclusion Wesley comes to as he stretches himself awake, unfurling from the position he was previously curled up in and extending his limbs along the length of the couch. His hands are just as shaky as he reaches out for the glasses he’d set on the coffee table before dozing off, slipping the specs over his ears through a trembling exhale of breath. The tense bundle of nerves currently knotted just at the pit of his stomach had yet to lessen, and with his mind currently clogged with thoughts of an in-class presentation, focused around a subject he could literally give two fucks about, he couldn’t see the anxiety easing off anytime soon. “Who the fuck even assigns presentations for calculus?” He grumbles aloud, sitting up against the arm of the couch and slipping the blanket back up to his shoulders. The assignment was a simple concept, really– centered solely around linear and quadratic approximations; but the mere thought of standing up in front of the unreasonably large lecture hall just to stumble through a powerpoint made Wesley’s fingers itch with unwarranted anticipation, his chest tighten with unreleased tension.  He thinks about texting Naeem at first, knowing that the boy would be able to ply him with just the right amount of weed and thick, comfortable silence for him to relax somewhat, but instead, he’s thumbing down his contact list until he lands on a different name all together: Gav. He takes a minute to admire the old picture he’d set as his contact photo, fingertip tracing all along the edge of his own smile, the one that’d seemed to be solely reserved for the other boy at that time. 

wesley: how absolutely inappropriate would it be for me to ask you to come over for a cuddle? because i suppose that’s sorta what i’m doing rn. wesley: door’s open, if you do decide to stop by xx

Then he’s settling back down into the couch cushions, feeling equal parts sated and overwhelmed now that the message had been sent. And just so he doesn’t end up watching his phone, lying in wait for a response, he lets himself curl back up into the warmth of his blanket– not even taking the time to slip off his glasses before he’s dozing off once more.

It’s good that Wesley doesn’t wait with bated breath for a response, because he isn’t going to receive one. Initially, Gavin is working when he texts him. It’s always busy around supper time here, but today has been particularly brutal, and by the time his shift actually finishes, he’s got a bandage wrapped around his right hand -- his dominant one -- from a particularly nasty burn that hadn’t been his fault in the least. This, understandably, has set his mood off, souring it for probably the remainder of the night, whereas before he’d at least been manageable. As it stands, he needs about twelve fucking cigarettes, and after shoving his way past a couple of his irritating coworkers, he exits through the back and lets his breath out slow with the feeling of the cool air washing over him. It seems to center him a bit, at least. Makes him feel a touch less closed in upon. 

There’s a cig between his lips before he even bothers to struggle his phone out of his back pocket, feet already carrying him towards his dorm with the sole intent of climbing into his bed as soon as he possibly can. Only... There’s a slight hiccup in that plan when he registers that two of the seven missed text messages on his lock screen are from Wesley. And they are very much something that he needs to melt that ice that’s nestled inside of his chest right now, giving him difficulty breathing, difficulty functioning. Christmas time always makes him feel like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders. It’s always worse than any other time for the breadwinners of the family. They can’t provide, after all. Not for gifts, not for decorations and all the things that kids should have during the holidays -- he feels like he’s letting them down. 

This isn’t something that he can exactly talk to anybody about, though, and he isn’t even sure if there’s anything that could help distract from it, but he’s hoping that this open invitation will do him some good at least. He’s made the decision to accept it the moment it’s registered, and before he knows it, he’s slipping his phone back into his pocket and carrying on with a bit more determination. 

Two cigarettes later, and Gavin finds himself stood outside of Wesley’s room, reaching up with his non-injured hand in an attempt to knock that he stops dead in its tracks before it’s even finished. He’d said the door was open, after all, so there’s no need for him to do that. Instead, he’s reaching for the handle, gently pushing it inward with the slightest of creaks and slipping inside the dimly lit space. As seems to be the case whenever he’s invited around here, Wesley’s roommates are wholly missing, and it takes him only a moment or two to find his small form curled up in the lounge, seeming for all the world to be slumbering peacefully. 

✧ ° ｡—— “so how was your week then?” this time she tried to start off by talking about her guest; not herself. and while she waited for his reply she bit back a few petty tears. it was nothing serious - though we all had them moments where a good cry made it all better. the rain, some peers and even the work of her own memories had caused her short week to be a gruesome one. talking about it was the last thing she wanted though. bringing it up would ruin the christmas-y cheer around them. so instead she took a bite of her christmas themed cookie and listened to her friend’s reply. smile, alfie. she told herself. it was all she had to make the end of the week a little better.

honesty hour.

honesty hour.

honesty hour.

honesty hour.

honesty hour.

wesley.

“As much as I’d like to give some half-assed ‘you already know how I feel’ answer, I don’t think that really does it justice. Like… I dunno, I suppose I appreciate it too much; the divine coincidence, the supreme fucked-upness of the very notion that we would exist at the same time together, let alone cross paths, and there’s more to it than I can put into a few words, but here we go. 

Wesley. Wesley is absolutely one of the most ridiculous human beings I have ever met in my entire life, and you’d be fucked if you knew even half the people I’ve come into contact with. Like, he acts as if he doesn’t have any feelings, or like he doesn’t care, and he tries to be this Big Bad inside of this small little body, and damn, it’s cute. Really cute. More than that, though, it’s just bullshit. It’s bravado, and effect, and playing it up because it’s easier to do than to face any sort of real vulnerability and the fact that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t want to be quite as lonely as he pretends. 

If you’d asked me this a month ago, I would’ve said I didn’t want anything to do with the fucker, and maybe in some ways, that could still be true. But mostly? Mostly I’m just grateful that he’s here, and that’s actually the most ridiculously pathetic thing I’ve ever admitted to, but the whole point in this is to be honest, right? So honestly, even if I can’t trust him right now, even if I might not be able to trust him again – I don’t know, I really don’t – I do believe wholeheartedly that beneath the theatrics, the charades, Wesley is a good person. 

And he’s important to me, no matter what’s happened.”

afia.

“I think Alfie’s pretty cool, yeah? Like, I don’t think she deserves half the shit that she gets from people, and I’m not really grasping the why of it either, but eh. Not my business. All I care about is that we stay smooth, and otherwise it’s all good.”

wynter.

honesty hour.