Chris’ bathroom – now his bathroom too – was as roomy and luxurious as the rest of the apartment. It was there, when Aidan was alone again, that it all hit him. The shower, with its sleek granite tiles and shiny golden faucets was far too big for him, the strong, steaming stream too punishing against his skin, and the perfectly balanced, undoubtedly expensive scent of the shampoo and bodywash completely foreign to him. 

Nothing really changed, he tried reminding himself. It wasn’t like he ever stood a chance in the first place. He always knew ’them’ was never a viable option. Yet, that fact, no matter how many times he repeated it in his head, did nothing to soothe the crushing pain in his chest. The hot water that cascaded down his body couldn’t stop it from shaking. It mixed with the even hotter tears that trailed down his face, and Aidan could only hope that the sound of the running water was enough to drown out his quiet, relentless sobs.

When he finally reemerged in the living room, the slight change in scene made it clear just how long his self-pity party went on for. Chris was sitting on the couch, apron-free, the coffee table in front of him set with two plates of roasted chicken and vegetables, two sets of silverware, two glasses, and one bottle of red wine. 

“Did you find everything you needed?” If he noticed the red hue of his eyes and the tip of his nose he didn’t say anything. “Sorry, I should have showed you where everything was. At least the hairdryer,” he looked up at the wet strands that stood in all different directions on Aidan’s head. “It’s in the-”

“I know where it is. It’ll dry.” Aidan dropped into the couch next to him. “Stop acting like I’ve never been here before, it’s freaking me out.”

“Sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” Ah, it was hard to be mad at Chris when he was looking so dejected, almost like he would blush if that was a thing he did. In fact, it kind of made Aidan want to kick himself in the ass. Was it too pathetic to start drinking before they ate? He eyed the open bottle in front of him. Dinner was on the table, so it wasn’t like he was doing the two things separately, right?

It must have been the silence that made Chris look at him in question, then follow his own gaze. Before he had a chance to make a decision he picked up the wine and filled up first Aidan’s, then his own glass. 

“Did you finish unpacking?” He asked lightly.

“Hmm.”

“Good.” Although Aidan averted his gaze, something about Chris’ voice made him bring it right back. He was smiling again, like he was truly happy about this.

“I know this isn’t exactly where you want to be right now, but… I hope you can still like it here. Or at least feel comfortable soon,” he handed him his glass.

“...Thanks.” Yeah, he definitely felt guilty. Aidan brought it to his lips, downing about half the content in one big gulp. The stinging bitterness that passed in his throat turned into a warmth that began spreading through him immediately. Chris only cradled his drink in silence while looking at him in a way that was far too soft. He looked away again and took another swig.

“You don’t want to talk about it.”

Aidan shook his head, staring into the deep crimson liquid contained in the delicate glass. 

“Got it. I’ll go get another bottle,” he stood up, though stopped for a moment to put his hand on Aidan’s arm and squeeze gently. “Don’t forget the food, okay? I’ll take it personally if you don’t eat.”

Seeing Chris’ kindness and wanting to feel none of it did Aidan’s guilt no favors. Perhaps that was why he finished his wine and poured another generous glass before Chris even returned. The rest of his night unfolded as expected. Random bouts of short conversation, soft silences, small bites of food that should have been delicious, but were overpowered by the mouthfuls of red wine that washed it down. Slowly, the blurred edges of his consciousness were becoming bigger, until they were covering up the entire picture.

Aidan could remember fragments of it, some real, some that felt like a hazy, shimmering dream – his head lulling onto a hard shoulder covered in a soft fabric, the scent of laundry detergent and the faint traces of cologne that was somehow both warm and masculine. A cheek, softly stubbled, resting on the top of his head. And somewhere, floating in the middle of all of it, the three words he dreaded just as much as he had longed for.