Archive of Our Own

It’s closer to 10pm when Adam coasts into the living area of their shared apartment, grabbing his light jacket off of the arm of the couch. 

Lawrence, the lone occupant of the couch, gives a questioning glance. He closes his book and sets it in his lap. He’s the first to break the silence.

“Where are you going?” 

Adam pauses for a second, his eyes darting around the room.

“Out,” he answers, after a moment. His face lights up in accomplishment as he catches a glimpse of his shoulder bag across the room.

“Dressed like that ?” Lawrence begins. “It’s freezing out.”

“It’s forty out,” Adam shoots back, rifling through his bag. He procures a smushed box of cigarettes, flicking the lid open.

“You’re not wearing a proper coat,” the doctor protests. He opens his mouth, glancing at his own coat, hung neatly on the coat rack. He looks down at the cigarettes in Adam’s hand, and shuts his mouth.

“What’s wrong with my jacket?” Adam counters, sifting through his pockets. He finds a lighter moments later.

“You’ll catch a cold.”

“It’s November , Larry. I’m not gonna catch pneumonia.” Adam shakes the pack of cigarettes in his hand before he shoves them into his jacket. “My lungs have seen worse than fresh air .” 

Lawrence glares coldly. Adam isn’t bothered, and heads for the door. He slips on a pair of worn down sneakers. He grins and waves, grabbing his set of keys and slipping out the front door. Lawrence returns to his book, gripping it harder than he needs to. 

–

It’s twenty minutes later when the lock clicks open, and Adam slides back into the apartment. He’s got his arms tucked into his armpits, an effort to warm up his fingertips. He sighs a sigh of relief as he enters the heated living room, slipping his coat off his shoulders. Lawrence only bothers a glance up.

“I told you it was freezing,” Lawrence mentions. I told you so . One of his favorite lines, when it comes to Adam. 

“ Barely, ” Adam argues, despite the shiver in his tone as he speaks. He throws his coat on the arm of the couch, falling back down onto it. The coat reeks of smoke, and so does Adam. Lawrence makes a face. They’re only silent for a moment or two, before Lawrence begins again.

“You need to quit already.”

“…What?” Adam glances over, not paying much attention.

“Smoking. It’s a disgusting habit.” Lawrence shoots back. Adam rolls his eyes, and glances away. 

“Don’t go all doctor on me,” Adam returns. “It’s my body, I’ll smoke what I feel like smoking.”

Lawrence, growing increasingly frustrated, slams his book into his lap. They’ve had this conversation, and it’s never gone anywhere. He takes a shaky breath, barely holding back his anger, and stands up.

“Where are you going?” Adam asks, quickly. His tone quickly changes from dismissive to an innocent, almost worried, kind of curiosity. 

“Bed,” Lawrence tells him in a cold tone, gathering his items and making it for the door.

“You’re mad at me,” The photographer points out, as if it wasn’t obvious. Lawrence gives a sharp sigh.

“It’s late, I’m tired , I’m going to bed. It’s got nothing to do with you.” 

Without another word, Lawrence walks out of the room. Adam makes a frustrated noise, and falls further back into the couch.

—

An hour or so later, the door to the bedroom creaks open, and Adam smells of cheap shampoo and soap. His hair is still wet, and he stays on his own side of the bed, backs turned to each other. Tomorrow, they’ll have a similar argument. Lawrence might even forbid Adam from buying another pack, which is a battle he’ll quickly lose. It’s routine. Tonight, despite it all, Lawrence still turns over, pulling the younger man closer, warming him up. They fall asleep entangled.