The place is cheap(something the landlord tells them frequently), so there's no reason to actually complain because, all in all, they can't afford a better place, and there's nobody willing to throw in a few bucks to help smoothen out their paycheck to the point where they could settle into something more decent. Not to say this place isn't decent. The kitchen and bathroom are fully functional and they have internet and friends that don't live too far down from where they're currently resided.
And it's just been... difficult.
They only have one large room to share and that's where they keep a mattress that lies in the middle of the floor, something that is void of any other furniture since they both came to an agreement that couches weren't a necessity. They do have a love seat, though, just for the purpose of some type of false sense of personal space. Other than that, they're looking at each other daily.
"I don't care," Blake would tell him. He says this when they wake up in awkward positions, legs entangled and someone's face buried into the other one's neck, breath so warm along their skin that it raises hairs.
"I don't care," Blake would say. "As long as you don't."
And maybe there's a point in time where Ansel does care. He cares about how they're acting on a slightly more than platonic level, which is worrisome, and maybe only noticeable to him and only him. Blake probably doesn't think this way - that or he doesn't realize it yet - or he fucking has and easily covers it up since he's so ridiculously prideful. It's hard to tell what goes through his mind, mostly, and Ansel isn't sensitive enough over the subject to flat out question him on the spot.
After all, he'd only joke about it in the end.
There is one day in particular that manages to fully catch Ansel's attention. It's a time when certain troubles were a thing concerning his family and all that really seemed appealing was sleeping or being consistent over YouTube video updates - generally being nonproductive.
On a personal level, he knows they don't share their issues, so it doesn't bother him when Blake blatantly ignores his unusual behavior.
It was around midnight, probably, right when Blake finally stepped through the front door, hat powdered with snow, is when he realized that Ansel had been sitting in the same spot from when he had left a few hours back. The only difference is that an half-emptied Frosted Flakes box was being hoarded in the crook of his bare arm and there was a lack of his glasses.
Ansel remembered the awkward silence, how out of place everything seemed when they briefly made eye contact. It's one of the first times he's witnessed Blake being uncomfortable. Admittedly, it's less satisfying than he originally expected, especially when Blake awkwardly shifts towards the fridge and starts drinking from a carton of orange juice while maintaining a weirdly bent posture to keep his face hidden.
From there, there isn't much left to say except when the clock reaches past two in the morning, and Ansel can feel fingers gently brushing over the back of his neck in his sleep. It's enough to make him stir, not so obviously that it'd interrupt anything, but he does realize who's doing the gesture.
It's weird. So weird that Ansel never brings it up. He let's a month pass by and another, then another. Even when they're out smoking at a park alone, moon softly silhouetted against their figures and Blake keeping an arm wrapped around his shoulder, their cheeks barely grazing - he never brings it up, because:
