Chapter Text
“This is it!” Dillon says as he unlocks the door, jiggling the key in a way that’s already become second nature when it sticks slightly. He pushes the door open with his palm flat against the wood, grinning at Lucas as he steps back with a wave of his other arm.
Lucas offers Dillon a tentative smile, hiking the strap of his bag back up onto his shoulder where it’s slipped down, but doesn't move forward, rooted to the spot in the empty corridor. His eyes dart from the open door to the hallway beyond, nostrils flaring.
He’s nervous, Dillon realises.
“Hey,” Dillon says softly, walking back to stand in front of Lucas, open door forgotten. He lifts a hand to cup the side of Lucas’ face, ducking his head until their eyes meet. His thumb traces the shell of Lucas’ ear to his cheekbone. “They’re going to love you,” he assures, voice barely above a whisper.
Lucas looks at him with wide eyes, the rings of his irises a deep blue. “Yeah?” he asks timidly.
“Yeah,” Dillon echoes. He holds Lucas’ gaze, smiling softly when Lucas eventually nods slowly with a deep inhale. He steps back, his hand dropping from Lucas’ cheek and his head tilting towards the door. “You ready?” he asks.
Lucas nods again and draws himself up tall, spine straightening in a habitual manner that tells Dillon he’s psyching himself up, before he steps past Dillon to cross the threshold. His shoulder brushes against Dillon’s chest as he does so, the familiar scent of Lucas’ cologne filling his nose.
Heat flares across Dillon’s sternum like a struck match.
Lucas turns quickly on his heel once he’s standing in the entryway, looking to Dillon expectantly for further instruction. His bag drops to the floor with a gentle thud. Dillon lets the door click shut, folding his hands behind his back and leaning his weight against it.
He can’t believe Lucas is finally here .
Six weeks of texts and phone calls and FaceTimes, both of them trying to make up for the fact that this was the longest they’d been apart since they got together — and long before that, even.
Six weeks of Dillon in Manchester and Lucas at home, both trying to settle into a new routine that still included each other but in a totally different way.
Six weeks of Dillon meeting new people and living in a new place and learning new things, and six weeks of missing Lucas like a lung, waiting for Lucas to be here .
He looks good , Dillon thinks.
He’s had a haircut since Dillon last saw him, the sides buzzed short again but the mess of curls still long atop his head, lighter after a summer spent outside. He’s sporting the remnants of a tan, too, accentuated by the heather grey of his hoodie, the skin of his throat just a shade paler.
Dillon mourns the days they’ve been apart, the subtle changes his boy has gone through that he's already missed. He wonders what differences Lucas is seeing in him, how he’s changed in a handful of weeks too.
“You’re staring,” Lucas mumbles after a moment, shifting from foot to foot as Dillon studies him. The tips of his ears are turning red, but there’s a small, pleased smile pulling at his mouth.
“Yeah,” Dillon admits easily in response to the accusation, shrugging. He pushes himself away from the door, closing the gap between them again with a single step and reaching down to twine their fingers together, the skin of Lucas’ palm hot against his own. “I missed you,” he murmurs.
Lucas’ gaze flits from Dillon’s eyes to his mouth and back up again, thumb brushing back and forth over Dillon’s knuckles. “I missed you, too,” Lucas says quietly.
There’s a scatter of faint freckles across the bridge of Lucas’ nose.
They lean in at the same time, pulled back into each other’s orbit as soon as they’re close again. Dillon’s eyes slip shut at the gentle press of their foreheads, the familiar way Lucas nudges his nose against his cheek. He can feel Lucas’ breath against his upper lip —
A shrill screech rips through the flat, and they spring apart like they’ve been electrocuted. Their heads whip round to look towards the end of the hall, where they can hear a faint banging and a muffled “ Fuck !”
Lucas shoots him a startled look.
“Shit,” Dillon curses. He grabs Lucas’ hand again to drag him towards the closed door of the kitchen. “C’mon,” he says distractedly.
The acrid smell of smoke greets them when Dillon pushes the door open.
“ Again? ” Dillon asks from the doorway.
Lucas presses close to his back. “What d’you mean ‘again’?” he asks in an alarmed tone. He curves a hand over Dillon’s hip, pushing under the hem of Dillon’s t-shirt.
Dillon’s flatmate is standing by the stove, desperately flapping a dish towel over the charred remains of what Dillon thinks might have once been cheese on toast. “I’m sorry ,” she moans, barely audible over the wail of the smoke detector.
“That’s the third time this week, Soph!” Dillon yelps, wafting a hand in front of his face. Lucas’ grip shifts from his hip to his biceps, nudging Dillon out of his way with a gentle squeeze. Dillon steps to the side without really registering it, looking at his flatmate incredulously.
“I got distracted!” Sophie cries, still waving the towel in the direction of the smoking tray half-heartedly. Her headphones hang around her neck.
“Then pay attention!” Dillon says with exasperation. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lucas grab a wooden spoon from the dish rack before he clambers up onto the kitchen counter. He rises onto his tiptoes with his free hand pressed over his ear, jabbing at the button on the smoke detector. Dillon’s stare snags, momentarily distracted, on the exposed skin of Lucas’ abdomen where his hoodie rides up.
“ Thank you ,” Sophie snaps, throwing Dillon a dirty look over her shoulder. Dillon consciously turns his gaze back to her. “I’ll try to remember that next —“ The screeching cuts off abruptly. “— time,” she finishes lamely, her arm finally dropping to her side, towel limp in her grip.
Dillon sighs in relief. “Thanks,” he says to Lucas.
“No problem,” Lucas replies, tugging his hoodie down as he rocks back onto his heels. He offers a stilted wave to Sophie, the sudden silence in the room almost as deafening as the wail of the alarm. “I’m Lucas.”
Sophie looks up at him with an expression that’s equal parts embarrassed and bemused. “Sophie,” she says, resting back against the counter with a huff. She sweeps her dark hair up in both her hands, securing it in a bun atop of her head. “Nice to meet you,” she adds.
“You too,” Lucas says, dipping his chin once. He twirls the spoon between fidgeting fingers.
Dillon suppresses a fond grin when Lucas doesn’t move from the counter, Sophie evidently fighting to hide her smile in his periphery. “Babe?” he asks, eventually taking pity on him. Lucas’ stare turns back to him, and Dillon nods his head at Lucas’ feet. “You can get down now,” he teases softly.
“Oh,” Lucas says. He looks down at himself, as if he’d forgotten he was there. “Right.” The spoon makes a soft clatter as he sets it on the worktop. He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows before he braces one hand against the counter, crouching gracefully to hop back down to the floor.
Dillon zeroes in on the way the veins in Lucas’ arm stand out, stark against his tanned skin, and he swallows thickly.
Six weeks is far too long.
Lucas casts him a knowing look when he straightens, smirking.
“So,” Sophie says, both boys looking to her again. She draws the vowel out with mirth in a way that tells Dillon they’ve been caught. “You’re the boyfriend,” she says to Lucas, looking at him plainly and crossing her arms loosely over her chest.
“Um,” Lucas says, clearing his throat. Dillon looks down to hide his amusement at Lucas’ flustered expression. ”Yeah?”
“Dillon doesn’t shut up about you,” Sophie says.
Dillon scoffs at her words. “That’s not true,” he protests.
“Oh, it is ,” Sophie says, laughing. “It was like, the third thing you told me about yourself.” Dillon rolls his eyes. “‘I’m Dillon, I’m eighteen, my boyfriend is called Lucas,’” she mimics in a poor imitation, ticking each point off on her fingers. “You told me about him before you told me what you were studying.”
Lucas shoots Dillon an amused look. “You’re so obsessed with me,” he says without heat, shaking his head.
Dillon just shrugs, caught. He is obsessed with Lucas. “I love you,” he says easily.
Lucas’ mouth clicks shut, the retort dying on his tongue. His ears glow red again.
“Oh, god,” Sophie says, her voice breaking the moment. “You’re one of those couples, aren’t you?” she asks.
“Kinda,” Lucas admits as Dillon says, “Definitely.”
“ Gross ,” Sophie says vehemently, but she’s smiling as she does so. She pushes herself off of the counter before turning to the ruined toast, carrying it across the kitchen to dump it in the bin with a flourish. “Well,” she says, brushing her hands together, “safe to say the grill and I are not friends, either.”
“I don’t think it’s the grill’s fault,” Dillon points out. He looks to Lucas. “She burnt spaghetti on Wednesday, too,” he explains.
Lucas frowns, thick brows drawing together. “How?” he asks, confused.
“The hob has a vendetta against me,” Sophie says simply, blinking owlishly. Her hands settle on her hips. “Obviously.”
“Ah,” Lucas says. He nods sagely. “Obviously.”
“She also broke the kettle,” Dillon stage-whispers to Lucas.
Lucas widens his eyes dramatically. “They’re tricksy bastards, kettles,” he whispers back.
Sophie laughs. “Oh, I like him, Dillon,” she says, face bright as she looks between the two of them with glee. “He’s sassy.”
Lucas’ nose wrinkles.
“That’s one word for it,” Dillon laughs, eyes trained on his boyfriend. Lucas looks seconds away from sticking his tongue out at him, earlier worry apparently forgotten.
Sophie crosses the room again, this time heading for the fridge. “Are you here all weekend, Lucas?” she asks, head practically inside it as she rummages before she straightens with a can of Diet Coke.
“If Dillon doesn’t get sick of me,” Lucas says, a smile stretching across his face when Dillon shoots him a look.
“Cool,” Sophie replies as she lifts the tab of her drink, the can hissing quietly as she breaks the seal. “We should get a drink or something while you’re here. Y’know, since you’ll be around a lot.”
Lucas glances at Dillon. “That’d be great,” Lucas says slowly when Dillon shoots him an encouraging smile.
“Great,” Sophie chirps. She takes a sip of her drink. “What do you guys have planned for the weekend, then?” she asks.
Dillon can feel Lucas’ eyes on him. A familiar heat licks at the base of his spine. “Nothing special,” he says eventually. Lucas snickers quietly.
“Evidently,” Sophie says knowingly, raising an eyebrow. “Good for you,” she adds, winking.
The boys grin at each other across the room.
“ Anyway ,” Sophie says, “I’ll leave you both to it. I’ve got an essay to write.” She makes her way towards the door, pulling her headphones back up over her ears. “Have fun, boys!” she calls over her shoulder.
Dillon waits until he hears her bedroom door click shut. “So,” he says, "that's Sophie.”
Lucus snorts. “I got that,” he laughs. He raises an eyebrow at Dillon. “Are all of your flatmates like that?” he asks.
“Pretty much,” Dillon responds. “Maybe a little less chaotic. You’ll meet them later, I’m sure.” He stretches his hand out in Lucas’ direction, wiggling his fingers. “C’mon, I’ll show you around.”