Work Text:
I see them about once a week, in the park, always holding hands. It's been about a year now since I arrived in Beacon Hills and almost that long since I've been taking my lunch breaks either on a park bench or at the cafe on the opposite side of the park from my office, and I often wonder if they're doing the same.
I wonder how long they've been together.
Sometimes they greet other people. Sometimes they spend some time sitting on a bench just being quiet. Other times, the slimmer one chatters on constantly and the dark haired one just smiles as he listens.
They're both handsome, older gentlemen. Yeah, gentlemen. They wear suits that fit them comfortably, and they have that distinguished look that men of a certain age get, even if the one is unshaven about half the time. It makes him look even more handsome.
I can look. Just because they're obviously gay doesn't mean I can't look.
And wonder.
I suppose I could ask around for their identities, start actually listening to the gossip at work, but I don't really want to spoil the mystique.
I do know that the darker one is named Derek. Sometimes the other man talks a bit loudly. And he seems to be known by every deputy sheriff in town. Actually, pretty much everyone in town knows them both, so I figure they've been here a long time, maybe their whole lives.
This week--it's a Thursday--I come around a corner and they're sitting on a bench and they're kissing. Just kissing like teenagers, all hands and mouths and happy noises, completely unconcerned.
It makes me happy that love like that exists in the world, and that age doesn't stop you from making out on a park bench.
It's really sweet.
End