(This just happened to coincide with Autism Awareness Week, so that's funny.
I understand that particulars in autism vary severely but this is based mostly on my experiences living with my youngest brother who is autistic and an absolutely wonderful guy.
Love you Thomas.)
This was a big move for both of us, though most likely bigger on his part.
We had been dating for nearly two years, known each other for four and had finally made the decision to take the next big step and move into our own place. A huge step that had concerned us both greatly, what with having to adapt to one another's lifestyles and making compromises.
Well, it was really his place and I moved my stuff into it to make the transition easier on him, especially seeing as the big change of having someone else and their belongings around permanently to potentially mess up his order was stressful enough.
To try and ease the tension, we moved my things in slowly so they could be gradually integrated in with his belongings.
One of the things that took some getting used to as we befriended one another was his need for order, almost to the point of obsessiveness at times. He had an idea in his mind's eye of where things needed to be, this would come to include my belongings as they made their way in and found a new resting home.
Luckily, I never really had an issue with his need for things to be in certain orders, in fact, it had led to a few fun hours of decorating as we moved in together
His need for order was more intense than my naturally chaotically ordered habits but I had always been pretty open to things, being neutral to a lot of changes probably made things at least a little easier for him and I had no qualms with letting him take the lead on putting things how he liked them to be.
I wasn't too bothered when he set about an organising task, watching him go about it was always somewhat comforting in a way. Seeing him working things out through mere eye movement and slight shifts in his facial expression as he thought always fascinated me, so I had no issues with him having to reorganise the DVD's when we got a new one to add to our collection or anything similar.
When he'd first set about organising my, admittedly a bit too vast, collection of ornaments, ranging from fandom figures to random knick-knacks, we had had fun putting them, especially the Funko Pops, into a certain order.
"We should keep the ones in certain series together," I had said, looking over the collected set of soulless eyed figures.
He nodded, looking them over while falling back into his habit of rocking while standing, "But otherwise, maybe they should be set alphabetically by name?"
"Fandom name or character name?"
"I'd say character name."
I smiled and gave an affirming nod myself, "Okay, so I'll point out the names and you can set them up on the cabinet shelves, yeah?"
"Yes, I like that."
By the time we were done, my Funkos had never been more organised and put together and he looked pleased with his work.
"Now, we just need to figure out where to put the rest of my stuff," I laughed.
We had fun decorating together, there was something peaceful about making these decisions that took a lot of the stress away from such a large first step for both of us.
There was, however, one room that I wouldn't set foot into.
Much like my brother, who had a music room for him to bound around in when he needed an outlet, he had a separate room that was for him and him alone while I, in return, got a section of our new living room dedicated purely to my ever growing collection of books.
The rules for that were simple; I only entered his safe room when I needed to and he would leave my books to the destructive order that I had my to-read piles in, the titles gradually going into alphabetical and numerical order as I read more and put them away as such.
What he used his room for was his business, but from what I can tell it was mostly his quiet space where he'd spend some time unwinding doing a hobby or two. Perhaps watching some show he'd taken a liking to or building a model.
He didn't tend to stay in there long, maybe an hour or so, sometimes as short as twenty minutes, but I'd use this time to catch up on things I may have otherwise been too distracted to do or listening to my own music.
Sometimes I used this time to look up things he enjoyed and read wiki articles so that I could at least vaguely follow what he'd enthusiastically ramble about and actually be able to join in on the conversation.
Though during times of stress, which were easy to pick up on from an increase in ticks such as handwringing and lip smacking, he would spend considerably longer in his room and became easily irritated if questioned.
For such a soft spoken and kind person, he couldn't half jump on the defensive and be stubborn when he wanted to be but it was all part of adapting, though there had been some moments of tension caused by his lack of communication and me being too pushy.
At times he could come across considerably younger mentally than he was physically and it felt like I was taking on the role of a guardian more than a lover, but he made up for it with kind gestures that others may take for granted.
Small things like being given one of the two cupcakes he had bought or spontaneous hugs would mean the world and hearing the words; "I love you," were such a rarity, even though I knew that he did in his own understanding, always made my heart swell and could bring tears to my eyes.
His lack of empathy or understanding of certain emotions could be a difficult hurdle to cross, but that made small nothings considerably bigger events.
It took us a while to settle and adjust to being around each other nearly all day every day, but eventually we worked our way into a routine that we could both comfortably live in around one another and I learned the way he liked things he was particular about to be to make it easier for us both.
Though his insistence on having his meals on a black plate or in a black bowl as opposed to our same designed red ones continued to baffle me, it was easier than I thought it was going to be.
"This hasn't been so bad, has it?" I said one night, looking at him with a smile.
He looked around the room, probably taking a minute to take everything in and think it over before finally looking at me with a smile.
"It's been nice."
"Only 'nice' huh?" I laughed. "I'm almost offended."
"No, that's not how I meant it," he shook his head, "I just mea-"
"Relax, I was only messing around, I know what you mean."
He pouted a little, looking adorable in the process.
"I hate when you do that."
"I know, I'm sorry, but otherwise I'm a dream to live with, right?"
"For the most part," he nodded slowly, "though you still put the toilet roll on the wrong way."
"Ah, sorry, I'm still adjusting to it actually mattering."
"It's okay, you'll get used to it."
I hummed my agreement and looked at the clock hanging above the TV.
"It's getting late, we should get to bed," I said, grabbing the remote from the space between us, "someone has the dentist tomorrow."
He groaned, jutting his bottom lip out in another pout.
"I hate the dentist."
"I know," I snickered, reaching over to lace our fingers together, "but I'm still going with you, so that should be some kind of consolation."
He squeezed our hands, glaring at the now turned off television.
"It is, thank you for coming along."
"Don't mention it, sweetie."
Giving his hand a little shake, I unlinked our fingers and pulled my own away and stand up to stretch my aching back muscles.
"You'll return the favour someday," I smiled, turning to head to our shared bedroom, "maybe by not stealing the covers for once."
"I'm not that bad!" He called after me, scrambling up from his seat to follow after me.