What the fuck is he doing?
“Hey, love, what about this one? I like the colour, but I’m not sure the fabric will survive the boys, if you know what I mean.”
No, seriously, what sequence of events had led him here?
“…yeah, you’re right. Maybe a tighter weave?”
Since when did he know fuck-all about weaves?
Aaron looks down at Noah, blinking as the man bounces a little on the couch. The couch that they’re buying. Together.
“It’s really comfortable, though. Bouncy.”
A few months ago, he’d been ready to break Noah’s neck in his sleep and display his corpse on a stage. And now he's here. Buying a couch with him
“If you really like it, maybe we just take the L and have it refurbished every two years,” he hears himself say. “It’s not like it’s that expensive compared to all the others.” Because now he’s supposed to know things about prices and weaves and couches and colours.
“Why don’t you sit on it?” Noah asks him, patting the seat next to him, looking at him like he's the single most important thing in the whole universe. “See if you like it?”
And Aaron does, because he’s apparently completely fucking whipped.
