Hers | ✔ | (Editing)

28| Adamantine

Aaron smiled lightly, letting a small chuckle brew his chest. "Can I be excused?"

"Did you deliberately divert the topic of this meeting and publicly humiliate me because you wanted to be excused?"

Aaron shrugged. "I tried telling you before, it wasn't working."

"So you embarrass your boss?"

"You're not my boss,"

"You're fired."

"You're still not my boss."

"For Christ's sake," Steve muttered. "Go. Leave."

Aaron sent him a sickly sweet smile. "Thank you."

"That's half your salary deducted Aaron."

"You're still not my boss Steve,"

"Don't make me force you to work overtime."

"Oh for fuck's sake."

➳➳➳

It was always so easy to have a house wasn't it?

A kitchen, a bathroom, perhaps two bedrooms if you will, and a dining room was always enough to make a house. A meter or two of wallpaper, a couple of chairs and a table along with a sofa.

It was always easy to have a house.

But you see, it was always harder to have a home.

A home where his Mom's homemade pancakes wafted through the morning air; a home where Aaron was able to smell his Dad's cologne even if he was miles away from him. To recollect the memory of that stain on that chair; of that scratch on that table. To be able to compare his Mother's smile to the early sunrise; to be reminded of his Father's sparkly blue eyes whenever he saw the sky at dawn.

You see, a home was something Aaron never had. He had a bed to sleep on, and he had a table to eat on, but there was nothing that made it feel like he belonged. Like it was his to cherish or remember; that even though all those things were for the DeGarner family, it never felt like they truly made it their own.

Even after years of use, the chairs were still brand new and the tables were spotless; the wallpapers were as clear and unwrinkled just like the first time they bought it.

The house seemed like nobody ever lived in it; that children were never a bit too reckless to spill some spaghetti sauce on the chair, or that toddlers were never a bit too excited to peel off some of the wallpaper, or that the parents were never a bit too confused on how they were going to cover up the juice stain on the couch.

It seemed as though the house was always just a house –it was never a home.

A home where stains and peels were something normal; where it was okay if dust and dirt were on the edges of old chairs and tables. A home where it was a place with its very own scent; a place where Aaron could sleep in and feel like he belonged.

A home where everything was normal.

"Aaron you okay there?" Rose nudged his shoulder with her own, her caramel eyes dotted with specks of concern.

"Yeah," He breathed, letting out a tired breath of his own. "Just thinking."

Rose exhaled. "Thinking about what?"

"Stuff that doesn't matter."

She smiled softly at him. "It matters if it got you thinking so hard about it."