~Jesse's perspective~
There he is again. Standing in front of my door, as if it is normal, as if it is a habit. But it still feels special, it still makes my heart beat faster. I hope I never grow tired of his presence.
And now he's sitting on my couch as I hand him a cup of tea, his scent filling my nose, his laughter filling my ears, and his beauty filling my eyes. I feel myself get more comfortable as I sit down next to him, his legs curled up against the back of the couch, his eyes following me as I hit the pillows.
I can't explain why, but the way he holds his cup- I can't stop staring at it. It's not that special: He just holds the handle, his thumb placed on the place where he will drink and his other hand is just holding the cup. But it makes me feel something.
"So, how was your day?"
I get snapped back into reality by his voice. I take a sip as I look him in the eye.
"I-ahh that's hot" The tea almost spills as I try to cool my tongue down. His tea almost spills because he's chuckling. It's a cute chuckle-
"It's not that funny."
"Well, it- ouch!" a little bit of tea spilled on his hand. He puts down his cup as he shakes his hand.
"Karma."
"Oh, boohoo. But what happened today?"
"Well, I watched the debate."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"Uhh- yes. You were really -uh- good."
"Why, thank you."
Is he blushing?
"But I-uhh-" God how do I put this? Now that I see him sitting in front of me I do not want to let him down. Maybe he is counting on me to come back. Don't be stupid, why would he be? His eyes penetrate mine. God just say it, quick, like a band-aid. He needs to understand that you need time.
So I do exactly that- "Idon'tthinkI'mreadytogetbacktowork"
"What?"
"I-I- I don't think I'm ready to get back to... work. I think I need more time."
"That's okay... may I know why?"
Shit, what do I say now? He is looking at me so patiently, so caringly, I can barely bring myself to say what I want to say.
"I don't know why, but when I think about...." a cold feeling strikes me. I feel panic coming up. Oh no, calm down. "When I think about work-" I try to say it louder to suppress the feeling "-I just get... overwhelmed?"
"Okay, okay. That's normal. Do you need anything?"
He is still looking at me as if I am a wounded animal. I hate it. I don't want him to pity me.
"I don't know. I just think I need time. I need to figure it out."
"Should I leave then?"
"NO! Uhm- I mean no... I don't want to be by myself."
"Okay, then I'll stay. Do you want to do anything?"
"Don't you need to do stuff for work?"
"Tomorrow is my day off."
"It is? I didn't even realize."
He looks at me thoughtfully. I feel like a lost dog, needing the guidance of the man sitting across from me.
"I think that you also need to get back into a normal routine before you get back into your work routine."
"Yeah, I suppose that's true.." Maybe I do first need to find a normal routine, maybe that's the problem.
"So, did you eat dinner already?"
"Oh, I wasn't really hungry.."
"That doesn't mean you don't eat. Come on."
We find some ingredients scattered around the kitchen.
"Okay first thing you need to do is go to the supermarket." he walks towards the fridge and picks up the marker of the to-do list. He writes down "Go to the supermarket". I follow his hand and admire his handwriting. I have always liked his handwriting. Especially how he writes his a. He writes it as standard 'a' in Arial. It's quite cute, and he does it so effortlessly.
"Now, I see spaghetti, so if we throw some ingredients together we can make a pretty nice Italian dinner."
"Not every random mixture of ingredients on pasta is Italian.."
"Are you sure?"
His smug face reminds me of the chamber, and of the better days when I could stare at him, unknowing of my feelings. It took me some time to figure out I had feelings. But when I did, I suppressed them out of respect for my relationship and his. But when he looked at me like that, they came back.
"Yes, I'm pretty sure."
"Oh yeah, name one pasta combination that isn't from Italy."
"Mac and cheese."
"That doesn't count."
"Oh yeah? Spaghetti bolognese isn't actually Italian."
"What?"
"Yeah, it should be tagliatelle with ragu, a more meatier version of bolognese."
"Okay, but that still is kind of Italian."
"Spaghetti and meatballs."
"Okay, okay. Not every pasta combination is Italian."
"And whatever this is going to be isn't either, if we're inventing it right here."
"OKAY, we'll make some pasta with.." he picks up a carrot, ".. a carrot? And uhh.. yeah this one's still fine.. uhh."
"Let's just make it."
So there we are, two men in a kitchen trying to make dinner with little ingredients. It goes as well as you could expect. I'm usually pretty good at cooking, and there's no doubt that Rob could cook as well. But this time we were terrible. The pasta boiled over 2 times, we accidentally burned half the vegetables and while grabbing the plates I accidentally broke one.
I forgot I was holding a plate and watched him try to prevent the water from spilling over the sides. He turned around with a grin and probably wanted to tell me how great of a cook he was when he made a misstep and slipped. I dropped the plate to catch him. And now I am holding him in my arms, his face so very close, our eyes fixed on each other.
I almost lean in because of how soft his lips look up close, but restrain myself as I steady him and move backward. My eyes move away from his face and down to the floor, where a red liquid is pooling. I follow the stream up his leg and see a shard sticking out of his leg.
"Oh my god Rob, you're bleeding."
"Oh shit."
"Hold this towel against it, I'll finish cooking, and then we'll.. yeah okay."
~Rob's perspective~
It was weird, right? It was weird how close he was, right? It was weird how long it lasted... right?
Now he's just standing with his back towards me, completely focused on making food. I look under the towel he gave me. It's not a deep wound, but we'll probably still have to wash it. I could just do it myself, but his face just prevented me from saying anything. So now I'm sitting here, watching him cook. How does he keep surprising me with just... being okay? One moment he's talking about how overwhelmed he feels, and the next he's cooking me dinner while I'm sitting with a bleeding leg. I feel useless, so I get up and pick up some pieces of the shattered plate, just to feel useful. A hand drops on my arm.
"No, sit down, we don't want you to cut yourself again."
and just like that, he's back to cooking, as if the moment didn't happen. Finally, a timer rings. He turns down the heat and turns towards me. I feel the heat rising in my body as he looks me in the eye. He moves closer and reaches out his hands.
"Okay... may I?"
"Uh, yeah.."
He really asked for consent- His soft hands remove the towel and his face is close to the wound. I observe him as he presses down the skin.
"Okay, yeah, it's just a surface-level cut, so I'll just disinfect it. It is on a spot where the skin stretches a lot, so it might be better if you didn't move your legs too much, otherwise, the scab might rip."
"How do you know that."
"I have three sons." He smiles at me and turns around to search in a cabinet.
"So I just have to sit still?"
"Well, I don't know if you have to move your legs a lot when you're on your way home..."
"I have to bike."
"Yeah, that's, yeah. I could drive you, but then your bike would be here so...."
My heart beats faster, I'm praying he will say what I want him to say.
"Maybe you could just stay over. It would be easier..."
His head is still in the cupboard, so he doesn't see me blushing.
"Oh yeah, that's also fine."
He has slept in my house a couple of times. He needed some quiet space as he worked on a big speech, so I invited him over. It became too late and I offered him the guest room. No big deal, just a friend helping out a friend. Then, of course, came the times he stayed over because of the divorce. Still just being a good friend. But something shifted when Sjoerd left. That night we cried together... it felt like something changed between us. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but you could feel it. I felt the urge to go to his room that night, to knock on the door and tell him how alone I felt. I wanted to hold him, and not let go until the morning sun would reach our eyes. But we were both technically still in a relationship. So I stayed in bed. I stayed until the morning sun reached my eyes. I stayed until I heard him moving around. But now, I'm staying over at his house. I'm staying over tonight. But is this the right time?
"Alright, let's clean." he turns around while wetting a towel with rubbing alcohol. He smiles at me and I hope I'm smiling back in a normal way.
"Now, this is going to sting a little bit, and that's good, okay? I'm not doing this because of a weird pain kink or something.." what- why would he- but before I can analyse his interesting comment I feel a sting in my leg. "Ouch, okay."
Suddenly there's eye contact. For a split second, he looks at me differently, it's almost... lovingly? He dabs around the open skin for a little bit longer and stands up. He's now towering over me. "Now, if you want, I have some fun band-aids."
"I'm gonna be very disappointed if there aren't any clovers."
He laughs and turns around with a band-aid with Lightning McQueen.
"For big, strong boys like you."
"I'm disappointed."
"Shut up." He says jokingly, and the eyes are back. Fuck. I feel his soft hands once more as the band-aid sticks to my skin.
"Now that we got you through your battle scars.."
"You made a bigger deal out of this than me!"
"... let's get you something to eat. And by the way, I hurt you, and I do not like doing that."
And as he turns around to serve dinner, I am once again left in confusion by his comments.