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Derek can’t predict when the bad days are – and as Aaron has told him dryly, neither can he or else he’d postpone them – but it’s easy to tell when they hit. They’re small signs hidden in plain sight. Much as he denies doing it, the tilt of his head and the pause in what he’s doing whenever someone speaks to him, because if he doesn’t focus on one or the other he struggles to do both; a startled blink at a noise quiet to the rest of them; the hand conveniently blotting out one eye when he pinches the bridge of his nose; the repetitive motion of his thumb skimming across his fingers. Everyday idiosyncrasies that start piling up.
Today is one of them. During the case Aaron had even relinquished the driver’s seat, a habit which tends to crop up when he’s edging towards overwhelmed, and on the flight home Derek had caught a glimpse of the faded bronze coins nestled in his palm as he ran his thumb over the embossing. Those are a rarer occurrence. A guarantee he’s not doing well.
Aaron doesn’t ask about the reservation as Derek drives them home but he checks his watch and the time on the satnav about every minute. Traffic is a frequent stand-in for whatever worries him – it’s always present and it’s a reasonable thing to be stressed about, if only the level of concern matched the chances. If he didn’t refuse to talk of what else was clearly brewing.
Derek is beginning to regret the dinner plans. For one it’s at a new place, and while Aaron is fine with that as a concept, it’s the not knowing which unsettles him. And secondly because it’s yet another thing for him to overthink and work himself up over. He’s never known someone to think quite as much as Aaron, and that’s bearing in mind he’s friends with Spencer Reid.
The moment they’re through the door, Aaron allows himself to lose some of the tension he carries with him. He drops his bag on the floor by the couch and pauses at the mouth of the hall like he’s just remembered Derek is here too. “I’m going to take a shower.”
They don’t exactly do small talk but their conversations aren’t normally as blunt as that. Aaron disappears into their bedroom without another word and Derek is left with a lingering discomfort; that surpasses Aaron’s general quietness and goes firmly towards overwhelmed, a distinction difficult for most people to notice.
Though he’s led to believe that’s the point.
He waits until the rumble of water comes through the pipes and flips open his phone.
Aaron pulls the knot loose with a sigh and starts over with his tie, frustration apparent in the sharp, jerky movements. He’s on his feet and has been since he got dressed, pacing a line up and down their room.
“Go without if it’s bothering you that much,” Derek suggests. “That’s what I do and nobody has ever had an issue with it.”
But it’s not about appearance to Aaron, at least not outwardly; it’s not knowing what other people will wear, not knowing if he’ll stick out or blend in, not knowing what the atmosphere will be like. Not knowing.
It’s the process more than the outcome, layering on clothes like armour, trying to shut off the overwhelming input – and struggling.
Derek can’t imagine it to be a pleasant experience, going out to eat when everything is overstimulating, sound most of all. It’s a work in progress, getting Aaron to willingly admit when his autistic traits are the reason behind reluctance. That he’ll admit it at all is, as far as Derek is concerned, huge.
This evening is going to be one of the times he needs prompting.
“We don’t have to go,” Derek says. Aaron’s eyes meet his in the mirror for a second. “You look like it’s a bad day.”
“Thanks,” Aaron says flatly. He does hesitate for a split second, so small Derek would have missed it if he wasn’t so well-versed in his body language, hands stilling. “I want to go.”
“I know,” he says. “I’m just saying if we don’t, it’s no big deal.”
“I said we would,” Aaron says, irritation bleeding into his tone. It’s directed at himself. “We’re going.”
Derek saunters up behind him and tentatively puts his hands on his shoulders, relieved when Aaron doesn’t move away from the touch. “Okay, if you want, but I’d rather do it when you’re gonna enjoy it.”
“I will. I want to go,” Aaron repeats, his thumb flicking over his fingers as his eyes flicker away from Derek’s in the mirror. He can almost hear him arranging his thoughts into something presentable. “I do.”
“I know,” Derek says, kneading the tough knots at the base of his neck. Aaron carries it there and in his shoulders, the stress he shuts off clawing its way out a different way. “And even if you didn’t I’m not gonna be offended.”
“You’ve paid,” Aaron says, and that’s a step in the right direction because it’s his reluctant admittance that he might actually prioritise himself for once.
“If I had a migraine and I said to you that light hurt and the smell of food was going to make me sick,” Derek says, “you wouldn’t give a damn about the money.”
“Because you’d be ill.”
“Because I’d need time to let it pass,” he counters. “So do you.”
Aaron rolls his shoulders back, pulls at his collar until it isn’t poking at his neck. He figures it’s as good a time as there will be to tell him and hopes he hasn’t made a mistake.
“I rearranged it,” Derek says. “Got us a reservation next month instead.”
Aaron swallows. What if he’s given him the impression he’s changing it because he doesn’t think Aaron can cope, rather than doesn’t want him to have to. Then he gives a quiet sigh and begins to take off his jacket.
“I’ll call them back,” Derek offers. “I want you to have a good time, and not because you think I want you to, you know?”
“Don’t,” Aaron says. He rubs at the bridge of his nose. “You were looking forwards to it.”
“Yeah, because I get to spend time with you,” he says. “And I’d much rather stay in and know you’re not stressing over it than go and have neither of us like it.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
“Aaron,” Derek says. “I’m not doing it because I have to.”
He doesn’t quite believe it yet. He will, eventually. Derek’s going to make sure of that. But for now he contents himself with squeezing his shoulder and stopping at the doorway.
“Lights?” he offers, hand on the switch.
Aaron unbuttons his shirt. “Yeah.”
Derek flicks them off and goes to check what they’ve got in the kitchen as he undresses. Whipping up something will be better than ordering takeaway—he’s got the feeling this is going to be a quiet night and Aaron is still touchy around strangers at the door.
A warmth swells in his chest like he’s a teenager again, just discovering what it’s like to be in love, when he comes back into the bedroom and Aaron is in one of his old hoodies, a thick blue one. Those and the sweatpants are a pressure thing, he’s learnt. A way to minimize extra input and soothe the burn of the rest of them. The line between his eyebrows has eased and his hair is tousled from pulling on the sweater; he looks softer. Less stressed.
Aaron raises his head from the pillow and gives him a half-hearted smile.
Derek sits on the edge of the bed, eyes growing accustomed to the darkness. He’d come to ask about food but it feels irrelevant. He lets himself get a little lost, just he and Aaron, existing.
“I’m going to run out of sweaters,” Derek murmurs.
“You keep leaving them here,” Aaron says matter-of-factly, rolling onto his back. “It isn’t my fault they’re nice.”
“Well, yeah, that’s why I kept them,” he teases. He lies back, shifts onto his side to face Aaron.
“Ha ha.”
“What can I do?” Derek asks. The little things he’s already done – the TV is off and so are the lights, providing a modicum of peace and quiet – and he hopes this time it is something he can do. Sometimes all Aaron needs is to be alone. Not because he’s done anything wrong, he had explained, but because he just does and that applies to everyone. It’s the same logic as the restaurant, now that he thinks about it – Aaron wants that company but he needs something different to wind down.
“Can you..?” Aaron has his eyes closed but he finds Derek’s arm and slings it over his chest.
“Sure,” he says, trying not to sound too happy about being asked.
Derek shuffles further down on the bed and lays back across Aaron, his head and shoulders resting on his chest. He inhales the fabric softener and cologne and Aaron, warm beneath him, and gets comfortable against his side. Before Aaron he’d rarely be the one who got to curl up like this, be the one leaning on someone instead of being leant upon, and the closeness, the steady thump of his heartbeat, is a uniquely comforting feeling.
“That all right?” he checks. It still feels strange to be letting his weight fall on Aaron like that even if the pressure is entirely a positive for him.
Aaron’s response is a hum he feels in his chest more than hears.
Derek gazes up at him, the slope of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw. The occasional twitch of an eyelash. His breathing evens out into a slower rhythm as he relaxes. The only light spills in through the crack in the curtains, a silvery moonlight softening out Aaron’s features, melting away the stress of the day.
He rearranges his position until he can reach a hand across his chest and up to the side of Aaron’s head. Finds the spot behind his ear and splays his fingers out over his scalp, scratches lightly in lazy circles.
Aaron stretches out like a cat, pushing the side of his head against Derek’s hand with a contented sound. He takes Derek’s other hand in his and strokes his thumb over the back of it with soft, gentle sweeping motions.
“You’re cold,” Derek says.
“You’re warm,” Aaron retorts.
Derek can’t argue with that but really, why would he want to? He lowers his head and closes his eyes, happy to lie here with Aaron as long as he’ll let him. As long as it takes.