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Taylor loved Chuck in the way that a dandelion would love the sun. Always searching, moving, yearning for more, more, more. And when he was gone, he missed him dearly. It was as if he was wilting, rotting away. Or, at least, that’s what it felt like.
To summarize the long, romantic rant, Chuck was everything he could ever hope for. Everything he’d ever need. When he was with him he could never want, for his every wish had already been fulfilled. On every candle, every dandelion, every eyelash, he’d wish for Chuck, his roommate.
His roommate. He didn’t quite like how that word sat on his tongue. How it sounded when he spoke it. It left an ill taste in his mouth. What would he prefer? What would he want Chuck to call him when talking about him to someone else?
His boyfriend, obviously. They weren’t in an exclusive relationship, not even close. They’d professed their love, shared kisses and beds, and yet he couldn’t call the man he loved his boyfriend. He was completely at fault.
Roommate. Friend. He hated that word. Didn’t want to use it, not now, not ever. He would have to go through with asking him, Taylor decided. He felt like a love-smitten teenager, blushing and going about as he was. But he couldn’t go another day without calling the man he loved his. And so it was decided.
That day he’d taken Chuck to the beach. He let him talk, droning on about how the beaches in Calypso were heavenly compared to the ones in Tastyville, how the waves were just as good for surfing, though, how he’d finally be able to tan like he wanted, etcetera, etcetera. Truthfully, he didn’t mind his rambling. He could really look at Chuck this way, without the other man shoving him, cracking a joke, asking him whether or not his mother ever told him that it was rude to stare. It calmed him, just a bit, lifted the weight off his chest and the world from his shoulders.
The beach was alright. Truth be told, Taylor didn’t have much of an opinion on it. He’d certainly prefer to be in the comfort of his own home, in his own room, with his television, a source of light that wasn’t the blaring, sweltering sun.
Chuck liked it, however. And if Chuck liked it, then so did Taylor. So Taylor lay on the beach towel he’d brought, watching as Chuck rode the ocean waves as he loved to do. He looked beautiful, smiling as he did when he caught a good wave, eyes glistening so brightly he swore they’d blind him before the sun did.
And when he was tanned and tired they went home, tracking sand into the house as they laughed and laughed and laughed. They showered, Taylor first, with Chuck’s persistence.
Taylor went to bed then, and was nearly dozing off when he felt Chuck climb in beside him, covering them both with the blanket.
‘This would be the perfect time’ he thought to himself. But oh, he was nervous. He wrapped his arm around the other man’s shoulder and pulled him closer, as close as he could.
“Chuck?” He murmured, sleepily.
“Yeah, Tay?” Chuck responded, eyes flickering up briefly.
“…y’know I love you, right?”
“Yeah. I love you too.” Chuck hummed. Taylor could practically hear the smile in his voice. He took a breath before continuing.
“I was wonderin’ if..if you wanted to be like, I dunno, exclusive.” He murmured. Chuck paused, seemingly contemplating what he’d said.
“Like boyfriends?” He asked.
“Yeah. Boyfriends.” He confirmed, clearing his throat. “If that’s okay with you.”
Chuck grinned, laughed a little, and Taylor’s nerves instantly settled.
“Hell, that’s more than okay. That’s perfect.” The other man said. His boyfriend said. He sat up a bit, just to lean down and kiss him. A smile spread across Taylor’s face.
“Well, I love you.” He hummed, pulling the other man against him again, his hand running through his blonde hair, smooth now that he’d washed the gel out of it.
“I love you, too. You know I do.” Chuck grinned. “Goodnight.”
“Night, Chuck.”