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Spot thought he’d arrive home to a bouquet of flowers arranged on the coffee table, right in the center of a freshly baked Italian dinner. Maybe it would be paired with a grotesquely overdecorated card, signed “With love, Racer.” Even a dollar store box of chocolates would have been enough.
What he didn’t expect was to come home to an empty apartment.
Every light was turned off, every shutter closed. It was so silent he could hear the sink dripping in the distance, small, spaced out plinks from when he’d forgotten to fully close the tap that morning.
Dropping his briefcase onto the tiled floor, Spot frowned. He checked his watch. 6 pm. Checked the date. February 14. Checked the house. Silence. He checked again, and then, ever so faintly, the rustling of bedsheets met his straining ears.
With quick, purposeful steps, he made his way to the bedroom, pausing only briefly before throwing open the door.
Race blinked back at him, seemingly surprised by his abrupt entrance. Then he sniffled, and Spot fully took in his boyfriend’s appearance. Flushed cheeks, watery eyes, tear stained face. Oversized sweatshirt —Spot’s sweatshirt— draped over his lean frame, hands balled up in the ripped pocket.
He froze, considering his options. After a long moment, Spot toed off his shoes, taking off his tie and suit jacket at the same time. He approached the bed slowly, keeping eye contact with Race as he crawled onto the bedcovers. The blonde-haired boy didn’t say anything, just watched with wide eyes as his boyfriend moved closer, never once looking away.
Once Spot was close enough to touch him, the dark-haired boy reached out a gentle, hesitant hand, placing it on Race’s arm. In an instant, the other boy was scrambling into his arms, shoulders heaving and gasping sobs leaking from his mouth as he buried his face in the shorter boy’s chest.
Spot rubbed soothing circles into his boyfriend’s back, rocking him slightly as he allowed his eyes to travel around the dimly lit room. A million different thoughts ran through his mind, but he didn’t voice any, allowing Race to cry himself out.
Finally, Race’s sobs trailed to a halt, and his breathing began to ease. His head lifted, and he took a shuddering breath in before looking Spot in the eyes.
The dark-haired boy smiled slightly, holding his hand gently and tracing circles into his skin.
“You feeling any better, Racer?”
The other boy ducked his head, looking embarrassed. His voice faltered. “Spot I- I’m so sorry, I know- I know it was Valentine’s day, and I wanted to- wanted to do something special, but then my mom called, and she- she-“ His voice broke off, and he blinked his eyes rapidly, warding off tears.
As Spot gazed up at him, eyes still pink and nose still running, he felt nothing but overwhelming love for this beautiful boy that he got to call his. Internally, he cursed his boyfriend’s parents, hating the hold they had over Race, hating how cruel they could be. He shook the thoughts from his mind, focusing instead on the boy in his arms.
Spot shook his head, brushing a kiss over Race’s forehead. “You never have to apologize. Never.”
As the blonde-headed boy opened his mouth to protest, he shook his head again, pressing a kiss to his open mouth.
“I mean it. You don’t have to apologize for something like that. You can’t control your family. You can’t control how they affect you.”
Race sighed, then nodded. He leaned into Spot’s side, voice muffled by his shirt. “Still feel bad. Ruined Valentine’s day.”
The corner of Spot’s mouth lifted up as he tugged his boyfriend away from his chest.
“I don’t give a fuck about Valentine’s day,” he declared, reaching out to move a piece of damp hair off the other boy’s forehead.
Race repressed a laugh, and Spot could see him slowly lowering his defenses, leaning in toward him.
“Really?” He said hopefully, a slight hitch in his throat.
Spot smirked. “Really.” He punctuated the remark by kissing Race quickly on the lips, intertwining their hands as he did so.
The other boy smiled then, a real, genuine smile, shaking off the pain his mother had forced upon him. In one quick motion, he flipped the two of them over, pushing Spot back against the bed and straddling his hips.
“Good,” Race breathed against his lips. His hands fumbled with the buttons on the shorter boy’s shirt, and Spot melted into his embrace.
The sudden mood shift disarmed him, but he welcomed it. Anything was better than Race crying, and if Race could, with Spot’s help, brush it off and be happy, he was happy.
Finally Race pulled away from the kiss, gasping for breath. “You shoulda never... become... a lawyer. Too much fuckin’ clothes,” he grumbled.
Spot just laughed, discarding his wrinkled button up and helping Race to pull the sweatshirt over his head.
Right before his boyfriend dragged him down into another kiss, Spot smiled. It may not have been the Valentine’s day he was expecting, but it didn’t matter. This was perfect, just the way it was.