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“Oh sweetie, no.”
Kevin knows that it is too late to minimize the window but he does it anyway, then looks up and smiles sheepishly at his boyfriend. Connor tends to move around the apartment without making any sort of sound and it is really not good for Kevin’s nerves. “I’m just daydreaming,” he says. “I promise.”
“You better be.” Connor looks surprisingly authoritative for someone wearing a baby blue flannel pajamas. He has one hand on his hip, the other holding his toothbrush that he uses to point at Kevin. “We don’t have time for a dog.”
Kevin sighs, tracing circles on the mouse pad with his finger. “You don’t have to tell me that.”
Their apartment is too small, they can’t afford it, and between the two of them they work too much to have the time it requires to take care of a dog. But it would be nice, Kevin thinks. Dogs are easy, somehow. Dogs don’t judge, and a dog would need him. Kevin is still embarrassed when he thinks about how sincerely he used to believe that he would do something that would matter to people, and he can’t quite get himself to admit, even to himself, how difficult it is to accept that maybe he won’t ever get to do such a thing.
Connor’s eyes soften, the wrinkle between his eyebrows smoothening out, and he can’t possibly know what Kevin is thinking but he looks sympathetic nonetheless. He walks closer, stops right beside Kevin’s chair and drapes an arm across his shoulders. He smells nice, and still feels warm from the shower. “Show me, then.”
Somewhat reluctantly, Kevin brings the window up, waiting a moment for Connor to read the description.
“Lara, two years,” Connor reads aloud. “Gentle and shy? Kevin–”
Kevin shrugs, not sure why he feels embarrassed. “The shy ones never get adopted.”
“I’m sure she’ll find a good home.” Connor’s arm around his shoulders tighten for a short moment, then he leans down to kiss the top of his head. Kevin relishes the feeling, even though his embarrassment. “Once it’s the right time, we’ll adopt a sweet, shy dog.” He pauses and makes a face. “Preferably one that doesn’t shed too much.”
“Yeah.” Kevin finds that he can’t spend more time reflecting and forces himself to close the window. Once he gets started he may or may not end up in a downwards spiral. It is better to focus on the good things, then. Connor’s shower-warm body, the soft flannel. The relief of fresh air in his lungs, the soft whirring of his laptop, everything that is a sensation of the present and nothing of the past. “Go brush your teeth. I’ll get changed.”
“I can’t watch?” Connor teases, shimmying his shoulders as he whirls the toothbrush around his fingers once. Kevin closes the laptop and stands up, huffing at the question, doesn’t quite have the energy to banter. But Connor doesn’t seem to mind, only kisses his cheek quickly and heads back to the bathroom.
Kevin watches him go, focuses all his thoughts on the present, and feels okay.