Thank you, Sun, for your awesome edits. 8D <3
Word Count: 2191
“Paris, come on, get off the stairs. I thought you wanted dippin’ dots.”
The musical stairs at the Museum of Science in Boston had amused him as a kid, as they continued to amuse kids to this day, as evidenced by the handful that pranced up and down while Chris stood at the bottom watching. The chimes rung out through the Omni Atrium, a song of random notes that had no rhyme or reason but somehow sounded beautiful despite that. Perfect imperfection.
Or maybe it was the look on Paris’s face that did it.
Chris hadn’t seen Paris look so happy in a long, long time. He wondered if he’d ever seen it, or if this might be the very first time Paris’s happiness had been so true. Two Mays ago, when they’d first begun seeing one another, he might have seen bits and pieces of it in a steadily softening smile or a mischievous twinkle in Paris’s eye, but Paris had been more guarded then, keeping his secrets and shielding parts of himself so much that Chris hadn’t really known him. Not until later, when the veil had vanished and he knew the truth.
And later, last December… there’d been flashes then, too. He could remember the way Paris looked at him, with a sort of fondness and a warmth that was once restrained but which, at that time, Paris had seen no need to hold back anymore. The way they’d touched and kissed and held one another, truly, for the first time, had been eye-opening, and Paris had no longer seemed like such a stranger, but a piece of him—a small piece then, yes, but growing larger every day, so large now Chris couldn’t imagine (didn’t want to imagine) a world without Paris in it.
But this was a different Paris. Sure, Paris had always been affectionate, free with himself, with his thoughts and feelings, once the trust had developed between them and Paris had grown comfortable with the way things were, and yes, Paris loved his fun and often found it in childishly obnoxious ways. Paris had always been vibrant, always full of so much energy even during those terrible summer months that they’d been apart and Paris had been suffering, and yet Chris knew he’d never seen Paris smile so openly, and laugh so freely, as he was smiling and laughing now.
It’d been half an hour since they’d returned from their morning Duck Tour, and Paris had spent most of it playing on the stairs. He hopped from one stair to the next, skipping one or two in the attempt to form a melody, only to give up when his music was interrupted by dozens of other feet, moving down, up, and back again as his notes joined in with all the rest. His cheeks were pink from all the activity, his knit beret slightly skewed over his fair blond hair, and one of those stupid Duck Tour quackers bounced against his chest with every jump or hop, used previously (and liberally) during their tour around Boston.
Chris had never seen Paris act so young.
It was kind of amazing.
“Paris,” he tried calling him again when his first attempt was ignored. He tried to sound annoyed even though he wasn’t, but it was really hard when he just wanted to scoop Paris up and never let go.
“Five more minutes!” Paris called back happily.
“You need to eat!” Chris countered.
“I will!”
“We have a planetarium show to go to in an hour!”
“I can eat after!”
Chris forced a sigh. “So much for keeping to your schedule.”
That gave Paris pause, and he stopped halfway up the stairs to turn around and look down at Chris. For a moment his smile faded away and Chris worried that he’d said the wrong thing, prepared to agree to anything if it meant bringing the smile back, but it returned on its own, stretching across Paris’s face brightly as Paris hopped down the rest of the stairs and joined Chris on the ground.
Chris gave into the compulsion and grabbed Paris by the waist, hoisting him up until Paris had his arms around his neck, hanging securely against him.
“I don’t know what I want,” Paris said.
That statement could probably apply to many different things, but Chris took it to be about the issue of food.
“You wanted dippin’ dots,” Chris reminded him again.
“Yeah, but I should probably eat real food before that,” Paris said.
“Let’s just go look and see what they have. You can have ice cream after.”
For just a second Paris looked like he wanted to resist, tempted back toward the stairs, but Chris kissed him before Paris could respond and any argument he might have wanted to make was forgotten.
They ate an early lunch at the museum’s Riverview Café, thus Paris’s usual schedule was disrupted anyway, but Chris figured it was better for him to eat earlier rather than later, when he could easily forget or come up with some other excuse, some other cause of adventure and excitement, that might put off the meal for another couple of hours. Sitting across from one another, Chris listened as Paris rambled on about this or that, the Duck Tour or the musical stairs or the exhibits he wanted to see before and after their planetarium show—“The dinosaurs, Chris. Oh, and the chick hatchery! Are we going to have time for the electricity thing? I want to see the pirate exhibit, too!”
Chris agreed to what he could and promised another visit for what they wouldn’t have time for when the museum closed early that afternoon, staring into Paris’s eyes and thinking to himself how stupid he’d been before, giving into fears and uncertainties and insecurities when he’d never known anything more perfect in his life.
When they were done eating and Paris had finished his banana split dippin’ dots, they made a quick walk through the Blue Wing before returning to the Red Wing, slipping into the Museum Store so Paris could buy souvenirs for his mother and baby sister and friends before Chris was forced to speed him up and usher him out as the time grew closer to 12:30.
They passed the musical stairs again on their way down to the planetarium. Chris kept his arm around Paris’s shoulders to stop him from being distracted by them, steering him toward the Discovery Center outside of the planetarium, where Paris finally broke free long enough to make a quick perusal of all of the models of the planets on display, coming to a stop by Jupiter.
Paris put one of his hands on the side of it and stared at it with a curious expression on his face.
“It’s weird seeing it like this,” he said, trailing his fingers close to the Great Red Spot.
“Why’s that?” Chris asked.
“I’m used to seeing it in the sky,” Paris explained. “It’s just… kind of weird… thinking that I’ve seen it so close… that I’ve been on it before.”
“I guess it is.”
Paris probably expected that Chris was looking at the model too, but he wasn’t. He was staring at Paris’s face, watching the emotions flick through his eyes, noting the ones he recognized and studying the ones he didn’t until he was sure he knew what they were. His arm moved from Paris shoulder so his hand could lift and adjust the hat on Paris’s head, his fingers sliding through uncovered sections of Paris’s hair, pausing to wind a curl around one of his fingers.
“You don’t believe in fate, do you?” Chris suddenly asked.
At first, he had no idea what had prompted it, especially since he wasn’t always sure he believed in it himself, but when he felt around in his pocket with his other hand, and his fingers encountered the object that sat safely and secretly guarded there, his heart skipped a beat and he thought ‘what a perfect moment this is.’
They were alone. His grandmother wasn’t around to stare at him expectantly, his mother wasn’t there to giggle girlishly or give it away with her romantic sighs, and Peter wasn’t there to interrupt and ruin the moment with any number of obnoxious antics. There were a few people milling about outside the planetarium doors, and a few others meandering through the models of the planets, but they weren’t so close that he was afraid the witnesses might disturb Paris as much as the question he wanted to ask him might.
“I believe in coincidence,” Paris answered, his hand still lightly touching the model of Jupiter, “and I think sometimes I agree with people when they say God works in mysterious ways, though I’m still not sure how much I believe in God either.”
“But do you think you and I were meant to be together?”
He thought Paris might start drawing away, perhaps uncomfortable by the topic Chris couldn’t have picked a stranger place to bring up (or maybe it wasn’t so strange, with Jupiter there in front of them but the war so far away). Instead, Paris smiled warmly and took a small step closer.
“Sometimes I like to think so,” he said. He paused, his expression turning odd. “I feel like an idiot when I remember that I didn’t even give you my number that night we first met. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Chris laughed quietly and shook his head. “I don’t know that I would have called if you did.”
“Really?”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t really looking for a relationship.”
“Not even a good time?” Paris needled, nudging Chris in the side with his elbow.
“Maybe. Not with a stranger, though.”
“And now?”
“Now?” Chris wondered.
“How do you feel now, when you look back on everything?”
Chris didn’t have to take long to consider it. He knew the answer even before Paris finished the question. The hand in his pocket kept fingering the object inside, his heart skipped another beat in his chest, and he thought ‘yeah, right now.’
“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he said.
His knees bent like he meant to lower himself to the ground, but his eyes remained locked on Paris’s face, on Paris’s eyes, which were always so bright and so expressive and the most beautiful color Chris had ever seen. Right then they were wide, and sparked with happiness and… something else. Something Chris couldn’t really put his finger on, but he suddenly had the feeling that Paris knew, that he’d given himself away somehow, probably with his last comment, and the confidence he’d had only moments ago began to seep away.
What if he didn’t get the answer he wanted?
What if Paris was afraid the way he’d been afraid?
What if he was moving too fast, and this wasn’t the perfect moment he thought it was?
When his plan had first started to coalesce, he hadn’t known when or how he wanted to follow through with his intention, just that he wanted to do it. Now that he had the means, now that everything else was ready and all he had to do was ask the damned question, the urge to just plow right in was overwhelming. If he hadn’t been sure of what he’d wanted before, months ago, he was now.
And it was this. Everything about this. Every moment of this. Every smile, every tear, ever stupid argument, every tiny little thing that made them who they were.
But Paris was looking at him with mingled happiness and fear, and Chris suddenly chickened out.
He finished lowering himself to the ground since stopping now would look foolish, but he looked away and reached over to fiddle with one of his shoes, hoping but not believing it looked as if he’d intended to do just that all along.
“Sorry, shoe’s loose,” he mumbled lamely.
He felt like an idiot. He felt like the biggest moron in the world, like a coward and a fool and the stupid kid he’d been all summer, muddling through his feelings and taking his time with sorting them out instead of just going for it like he should have, like Paris always did when he wanted something badly enough, because Chris wanted this. There wasn’t any doubt in his mind that he wanted this. All of those had been washed away the moment he’d first told Paris what he felt, never to return again.
But he couldn’t do it. Not yet. Not now.
But when?
Paris looked pensive when Chris found the courage to glance up at him again. Slowly, once he thought he’d spent enough time on his shoes, Chris rose to his feet, and Paris reached to take both of his hands into his own.
“I love you,” Paris said quietly, his voice a little weak, his eyes a little shadowed.
Chris tried his best not to let himself think it was Paris’s way of saying “I would have said ‘yes.’”
The moment was gone.
He would have to wait for another day.
