#capseycartwright

“Not got a takeaway to collect or a deal to do?” Aaron ruins it because it’s what he has to do, it’s what happens. He braces himself for Robert to say something back, something meaner before he ups and goes.

Robert doesn’t do that though. He surprises Aaron by bowing his head; almost surrendering.

“I wanted to see if you were OK.” Robert says quietly, like there’s really no agenda to any of this. “My head was all over the place yesterday.”

Aaron chews his lip. “I told you my mum won’t say anything.”

Robert looks like he’s going to be sick. Aaron wants to reach over and borrow himself in Robert’s head for just a second or two, work out what’s going on in there. It’d be scary, terrifying maybe but Aaron knows he’d still love him. The feeling is just not budging. 

“I know.” Robert breathes all unevenly, so unlike him. “I just — it wasn’t nice seeing you like that, finding you so helpless.”

This doesn’t happen. This is said through breathless kisses and Robert making Aaron feel it when they’re pulled together. It isn’t said like this. 

Aaron carefully pulls a hand towards the middle of the bed and waits for Robert to meet him there. Robert stares at Aaron’s hand but doesn’t move towards him. Aaron curls his hand up into a ball, feels like a fool for a second.

“I’m fine.”

Robert scowls, he shows all this emotion on his face. “You’re not.” He says like it’s just a fact, no debating it apparently. 

Aaron turns his head away. He thinks about lying there in the cold, thinking about completely disappearing altogether. He thinks about how mind went to a dark place as he imagined no one finding him. He was thinking of Robert, he was thinking about the fact that if he did disappear then at least he met Robert, at least Robert knew him. Then Robert was there. Robert.

“You need to properly look after yourself.” Robert says now.

“I’ve had this from my mum, I don’t need it from you n’all.” Aaron runs a hand over his face and knows he’s being childish but he wants Robert to go now. He’s decided. Robert being here and checking in on him is everything he wants and yet everything he can’t have. It’s dangerous, reckless, it feels like something so close to feeling right that it makes Aaron feel dizzy.

“I’m just trying to —”

“Well don’t.” Aaron snaps. “Robert, you don’t need to stay.”

Go.

Go back to her.

Robert sits up straighter. “I know.”

Aaron chews his lip again, harder this time. “It wasn’t your fault.” He whispers. “If you’re here because you feel guilty or whatever.”

Robert looks at Aaron like he’s mad. He’s been doing it more often than not recently. 

“I know that.” Robert says but then he falters just slightly. “I wish we had longer at Home Farm too, you know.” He doesn’t say at his, he doesn’t say mine. 

He says it like he hasn’t made it obvious enough. That’s the thing though, he can’t make it obvious. Robert has to pretend and pretend and pretend and Aaron’s tired of watching it all play out right in front of him. 

He thinks about lying in Robert’s marital bed, kissing and touching and talking until their voices were sore from it. He has no idea how Robert could forget it just like that, with one text from Chrissie, how he could walk away from what this is time and time again. 

“I know. But Chrissie came back.” Aaron looks down at the bedsheets. “Wasn’t needed anymore.”

Robert looks angry. “Don’t say that.” He says, like the thought entering Aaron’s head is a ridiculous one, a stupid one that’s not got any weight to it at all. “You’re always —”

Aaron scoffs at whatever kind thing Robert is going to say.

“Nobody needs me Robert, that’s fine. I like it that way.” Aaron doesn’t. He wants Robert to need him the way he needs Robert. Aaron wants to know that Robert thinks about him when he’s not around, when he’s alone and with her and when there’s already a million other things swirling around his mind.

Aaron wants to know that Robert feels like he’s going slightly insane over what this is between them too. 

He wants to feel less alone but he can’t ask for any of that. He has to settle with the look of anger on Robert’s face at what he’s just said.

“I need you.” Robert blurts the words out without the finesse he usually likes to speak with. 

Aaron holds his breath. “Well I’ll be out of action on that front for a while. Sorry.” He plays with a thin thread of the bedsheet and then hears Robert make this sound. 

Suddenly Robert is off the chair. Aaron thinks he’s gone and for a second, something twists in his chest. It hurts, it always hurts so much.

Robert doesn’t go. Instead he sits down on Aaron’s bed and pulls Aaron’s hand towards his own. “I’m not talking about for that.”

Aaron can’t open his mouth for a second. “You don’t — don’t need me Robert.”

“Yeah. I do. For everything.” Robert just says things sometimes. It’s like he doesn’t know he isn’t talking to his wife, like he’s confused or something. “Didn’t I make that clear when I told you I — I love you.” He whispers the last bit out like it’s their second. Aaron supposes it is. 

Aaron does believe Robert, mostly. Robert loves him but he still goes. This isn’t enough. People don’t stay. But Robert loves him in a way that is probably messing with his head whenever he goes home and kisses his wife.

“I wasn’t lying.” Robert says, like he’s a little boy.

Aaron realises he hasn’t said anything. 

Aaron watches Robert run a thumb over their hands that are still joint. Aaron’s palms are suddenly sweaty.

“I know.” Aaron croaks out.

Robert drops his head to look at their hands. “Don’t say you’re not needed.”

“I’m not going to do anything daft.” Aaron says, because he sees this worry race across Robert’s face. 

Robert’s thumb strokes over Aaron’s knuckles. “You better not.” He says.

Aaron studies the look on Robert’s face. He sees this worry, this panic and fear and maybe it was all there yesterday too. The thought makes Aaron squeeze down on Robert’s hand a little. Robert’s shoulders relax at it like they’ve communicated something, like they’re on the same page now.

Then Aaron ruins it. He stares at Robert’s wedding ring. 

“Where should you be then?” Aaron says, because he knows he’s accepted it but he still wants to feel this ache for some reason. He still wants to remind himself every now and again. 

“Here.” Robert whispers. “Right here.” He doesn’t look, doesn’t stop staring at Aaron’s hands and the small cuts and the dirt still pressed under his fingernails.