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After running out of the venue, Luc and Oliver made it about two blocks before the adrenaline caught up to Luc and he had to stop, leaning on Oliver and laughing breathlessly.
“I don’t even want to look at my phone. Do we have to? Please tell me we don’t have to deal with logistics right now,” he said, relishing the soft look in Oliver’s eyes as he listened.
“I believe we would be forgiven for not answering our phones. And the logistics-” he swallowed, as though it was physically painful to admit this- “can wait an evening. And anything that cannot can be dealt with by Christopher and Priya.”
And Luc had to kiss him, this endearing, wonderful man who looked genuinely put out at the prospect of leaving logistics to someone else. He wanted to say this was the most disheveled he’d seen Oliver outside of their bedroom, and he gave his hair an affectionate flattening.
“You’re adorable.”
Oliver’s brow creased. “I admit I’m not at my best at the moment, but I’m not quite sure what I’ve done?”
Luc shrugged. “You’re just…you. You care about what happens next when all I want to do is kiss you for the next seven hours.”
Oliver’s lip quirked up. “Seven? Quite specific.”
“What can I say? Seven hour snog session might be the title of my sex tape.”
Oliver pulled him close and buried his laugh in Luc’s hair. “Oh, Lucien. You’ve become so sentimental.”
Luc squirmed a little, aware that they were standing in the middle of the sidewalk in full suits, looking mad. But he was too happy to feel self-conscious, and when had he ever been able to say that?
He hadn’t changed so much, however, that he wouldn’t ruin the mood. “Sentimental and hungry. I spent the night puking my guts out and then not eating this morning, and we don’t even get to have any of the food we fought about, so that is the only logistics I care about right now.”
Oliver sobered a bit at that and pulled away, though he still held onto Luc’s hand. “I believe we can manage that.”
They walked quietly, though Luc noted the silence was more companionable than the icy ones he’d become used to. It felt more like their walks around Clerkenwell, only with more passing glances. Oliver brought Luc’s wrist up to his lips to kiss and for the first time in months the anxious voice in Luc’s head wondering if they were alright was quiet.
“Oh fuck me, there’s a falafel shop.”
Oliver laughed. “I suppose I shouldn’t take it personally that the prospect of falafel has you the most excited I’ve seen you all day?”
“I would defend myself, except I’m starving, and we already know I don’t have things like dignity or self-respect, so, yes, at the moment, I am really more excited about falafel than our wedding.”
As someone who had frequented more than his fair share of drunken nights stumbling around for food, Luc had developed something of an eye for delicious, unassuming places.. After obtaining said food, he also showed off his keener eye for scoping out clear curb space to eat said food.
Luc flopped unceremoniously to the ground and dug into his prize. He looked up and smirked at the sight of Oliver going through the five stages of grief at the prospect of sitting on a curb in his suit, but he settled himself gingerly next to Luc on the curb.
“I’m sure the dry cleaner’s seen worse,” Luc said, in the closest he could come to comfort about something he frankly couldn’t give less of a fuck about.
“Personal experience, I presume?” Oliver asked, eyes sliding playfully over to Luc.
“I mean, I don’t think I own anything that would need to be dry cleaned, and you know that I see things like washing instructions as suggestions more than hard rules, sooo.”
“It is a wonder,” Oliver answered drily, “that you have any clothes at all at this rate.”
Luc leaned against him and blinked up at him with a smirk. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Lucien,” Oliver admonished, but he was blushing down at his food.
Luc continued, despite himself. “It would be very you to find laundry maintenance more of a turn on than me naked.”
“I must admit, if I came home and found that you had sorted the laundry and avoided drying items that clearly say “hang to dry”, I would likely be overcome with lust.”
“How about this: I will follow all the laundry rules for your birthday. I’ll even use cold water for the environment and fold everything.”
“Oh Lucien,” Oliver said, looking unbearably fond, “we can hardly start our life together on the basis of promises we won’t keep.”
Luc was now more determined than ever to domestic goddess the shit out of Oliver’s laundry for his birthday, just to prove a point, but he let it lie for now. “So…that new life thing. Where do we…go with that?”
Oliver paused. “Well, for the immediate future, I imagine it involves finishing our food and taking a cab home.”
Home. It occurred to Luc that for the past few months, home had been Oliver’s house, and his flat had been, well, just that. The flat. A place he went when Oliver was buried with work or they were fighting. “And after that?”
Oliver sighed. “I think, for now, I am quite spent when it comes to conversations about the future. I think I would just like to be with you. It appears I’ve quite missed you. The past few days especially, but even more in the last months.”
Luc still didn’t know what to do with the wobbly feeling in his stomach when Oliver said things like that, even after two years. “I missed you too. So much.” He laced his fingers through Oliver’s, squeezing and hoping the action said all the things that couldn’t quite leave his mouth.
Some of the tension left Oliver’s shoulders at that. “Yes? Even when I was being a wedding tyrant?”
“Yes, Oliver. Even at your most tyrant-ish, I am still always going to want you, and miss you if I’m not with you. I’m always going to want to go home to you. I’d rather-” he swallowed the panic at being this bare and continued, “I’d rather have you, neuroses and all, than not. And I’m not going to pretend that I’m not going to piss you off, or that you aren’t going to piss me off. But I’m not going anywhere. You’re…you’re what I think of when I want to go home. Okay?”
Oliver blinked back a few tears, which Luc generously pretended not to see. “Thank you, Lucien. I-you are home to me, too.”
Luc swallowed and leaned his head on Oliver’s shoulder, suddenly exhausted. “Oliver?”
“Yes, Lucien?”
“Take me home?
Oliver nodded. “Let’s go home.”