Takes place after: X

(619 words)

Light was beginning to creep up on the horizon, dying the sky outside of Hitch’s windows ever brighter. He wasn’t watching that, though; instead, his eyes were on the man laying in bed beside him, soundly asleep with his chest rising and falling beneath the sheets. Exhaustion had long since seeped into Hitch’s bones, and he knew he’d regret the lack of rest tomorrow. But how was he supposed to sleep? - he was still half-afraid that when he woke up, something would have changed. That the chemistry between them would fizzle out and Tolliver would move on and Hitch would be right back where he started. No, worse than where he started; he knew what he was missing and he already had his mother’s eyes on him. He knew what she’d think.

Smoking in bed was a completely terrible idea… so of course he did it, fumbling for a cigarette in the pack lying on the floor beside his bed, and the rush of nicotine was a welcome relief to the tension he was holding. He didn’t think he’d made a mistake. No, he knew he hadn’t. He just - he close his eyes tight and tried to block it out. No. He still wasn’t ready to think about it. Just accept things as they are, Logan, take them as they come. Don’t you dare ******** ruin this.

He balanced the cigarette between his fingers and flicked the ashes into the tray, bringing it back to his lips as he tilted his head again to stare at Tolliver. The splash of freckles along his face, his arms, his chest… his legs… They were tucked beneath the blanket, out of sight, but he could still easily recall the scar from memory alone. Burns, it’d looked like. He wondered not for the first time what Tolliver’s story was, reaching out with his free fingers to brush a lock of hair from his lover’s face. He stirred, but did not wake, and Hitch felt a fresh surge of fondness surge through him, lips curling around his cigarette in a smile.

Rash. Stupid. Impulsive. Selfish. Those were all things he’d been since Tolliver had entered the picture. There were so many things he should have done differently, maybe never done at all. But did he regret it? Did he regret where they were now? - no. He couldn’t bring himself to regret the first time. He was long past regrets now.

About half an hour later, it was time to wake up anyway. Hitch did everything he could have normally done, just more quietly; got up, showered, pulled his hair back, got into his work clothes, nothing out of the ordinary.

Except for two things:

First - He left a note, hastily scrawled and with a key crudely taped to it reading, ‘Hey babe. Sorry, work. Keep this. Cereal’s in the cabinet. Milk’s dubious. Godspeed. You better text me when you wake up.’ This was a risk, but not really. If Tolliver did want to take anything, the only things that would really matter were the drumset and the photos. It was worth the risk. All this was.

Second - Hitch crept back up to the bed again, lingering there at the edge for a second. Then he got down onto his knees at the side of it, Tolliver’s side. He leaned in and very, very gently pressed his lips to his lover’s temple. He lingered there a second longer, inhaling the scent of shampoo and Tolliver, before he got up and headed for the door.

He glanced back, just once, over his shoulder - and then when he turned forward, it was lame as ******** and he knew it, but somehow the day seemed to stretch out just a little brighter before him.