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Aaron gazes blankly at the popcorn ceiling of his friend's bedroom, lying awake in a bed parallel to his. He closes his eyes against the nagging burn of sleep deprivation, and almost believes that he isn't still at his uncle's house, that he isn't still at Princeton. After so many emotions, to feel alright is to feel empty. It frightens him to realize that he almost wishes he was still with his uncle. He curls in on himself under the soft comforter and digs his index finger into a bruise on his wrist, to make sure that he's real. It hurts, but it's more conceivable than the immaculate mattress under him. He still doesn't know why he's here. Aaron is good at keeping quiet; he could drive back to Massachusetts and stay with his uncle and feel something again and hurt his friend without remorse.
He could.
His eyes sting, at the thought of leaving and staying in equal parts. Aaron pulls the comforter above his head and flexes his toes against the sheets restlessly. The elder Bellamy had made dinner for him, and he'd graciously eaten it all despite it paining him to do so, but now he feels hungry, like his stomach has been scraped empty and his chest has been dealt with similarly. Hot tears stream down his cheeks before he even has a reason to cry, and he only hopes that the sobs wracking through his body aren't conspicuous enough to wake Jon up. He doesn't want to cause his friend any more trouble, and he doesn't want anyone to see him like this. Jon, especially, with his deceitfully kind eyes. Maybe he would be disgusted with Aaron for wanting to go back to his uncle, to go back to his dorm at Princeton. Like an endlessly loyal pet coming back only to get kicked and forget the lesson he is taught within a day.
He sobs harder, and it's more difficult to hide.
"Aaron?" He hears his name called from the bed parallel to his own. His bed.
"I'm okay," he lies, and it sounds weak even to his own ears. He doesn't know how to say that pity is unnecessary, that he just wants to go to bed, that Jon doesn't really want to be his friend, that he isn't fit for friendship. All that comes out is an involuntary reedy noise that comes out when he feels the mattress dip beside him. Jon peels the comforter out of his clenched fists and looks down at him, not with pity, but with some twisted sense of understanding.
"Aaron, tell me what's wrong," he says. "What can I do?"
Nothing's wrong, Aaron wants to say, that's the problem.
"I don't know," he lies again, and Jon's eyes narrow. They see right through him. He withers under the look, ashamed that the truth is worse to him than any lie he's ever told. Aaron makes another attempt. "Being here feels wrong."
Jon takes his hands and squeezes one of his wrists, making the bruises burn. Aaron's not sure that he even knows what he's doing, so he stays quiet. "I know. You would feel better in a place where you know what's coming," Aaron nods. "But you aren't safe there. You aren't safe with him."
He almost asks, what about Princeton? But he doesn't want to suggest another lie to Jon, and William's emails from last semester lay read but unanswered in his inbox. What he doesn't know can't hurt him.
"You're right, I'm being stupid," Aaron says, hoping only to placate him.
"You're not being stupid," he replies simply, his grip on Aaron's wrist tightening for just a split second before he lets go. Jon instead wraps his arms around Aaron, and he wants to resist, wants to tell him that he doesn't want to be touched like this. He wants to push him down, tell him you know you're special, they don't get you like I do, I don't do this with other students but-
No. He doesn't want to do that. Why would he do that?
Jon embraces him anyway, and he thinks he's going to cry again, but it's genuine and warm. All the fight drains out of him. He remembers how tired he is and slumps against Jon, pressing his face into the other man's shirt. Aaron hugs back. He waits for Jon to admonish him for tensing up at a hug, but it never comes.
"I've got you," he says instead, rubbing his cheek against Aaron's, and presses a kiss to his shoulder beside the tank top he has on. His lips are warm and dry, and Aaron believes him. Jon pulls away slightly and peppers more kisses at his jawline. "Is this okay?"
That's a rhetorical question, Aaron thinks, but after a few seconds of silence, the kisses stop. His heart sinks at the thought that Jon has already lost interest in him, but he doesn't want to be scolded for neediness, so he stays put.
"Is this okay?" Jon repeats the question, with more emphasis.
Oh.
"Yes," he says.
"Please," he adds.
Jon nods and presses closer, kisses his forehead, his cheeks, his eyelids. He kisses the corners of Aaron's mouth, then finally his lips. It's sweet and, thank God, not cautious at all, firm enough to wipe away everything else. He doesn't shove his tongue into Aaron's mouth or bite his lip or make him pant. His arms unravel from around Aaron's midsection to hold his hands between their chests, and Aaron ignores how shifting hurts the bruises on his wrist to tangle their fingers together. He feels Jon smile against his lips, and finds himself able to smile back. Aaron has never been allowed to take before, and all Jon does is give. He gives, and he gives, and he gives, without expecting anything in return.
Jon withdraws from the kiss and presses his lips to Aaron's wrist instead.
"It's okay," he murmurs, and Aaron believes him. He moves to the other, and Aaron forgets why the bruises are there. Jon has him. He's safe here. "Was he angry about you taking a gap year?" Jon asks, perhaps looking for an explanation regarding the now yellowing fingerprints.
"Yes," Aaron says honestly, although it isn't the whole truth. Both of them were angry. William had given him bruises too. He'd never done that before, but it wasn't like Aaron had been surprised. They're faded by now; he wasn't as certain as Aaron's uncle. He'd seemed frightened, not by the idea of hurting Aaron, but maybe by the idea that he understood he was being hurt.
Now, the bruises aren't visible on his dark skin, but he can feel them if he touches his cheek. Jon had kissed them, probably not even aware of their existence. Still, Aaron thinks, that makes them his. Jon never hurts him, not even on accident, but Aaron doesn't want any part of him to belong to William or his uncle or anyone else. Jon has never once turned him away for showing up on his doorstep looking like a crushed flower petal.
"I'd give you the world," he'd said once, as he cupped his hand over a kidney-shaped mark on Aaron's shoulder. Jon embraces him again, and he does just that. Tears well up in Aaron's eyes once more. He clutches at Jon's arms desperately.
"Please kiss me again," he says, pathetic.
"Of course," Jon says, faultless.
And he does. He kisses Aaron so sweetly, he doesn't know what to do with himself. He pulls Aaron's small body against his and claims him like he deserves to be somebody's one and only. He can't imagine it now, but he thinks he'd like to, one day.
Jon regrettably pulls away, and it seems like it's hard for him to do so. Aaron smiles secretly at the thought. "You need sleep, Aaron," he says.
"Okay," Aaron replies, trying not to feel burning disappointment at the implication that Jon will have to go back to his own bed. He lies back down, and Jon pulls the comforter up to scoot beneath it. "What are you doing?"
"Is this alright?" Jon asks, resting his head on one hand. "Can I sleep with you tonight?"
Aaron thinks that he'd be confused if he hadn't forgotten about everything else during the kiss. William didn't ask, but Jon isn't William, and this isn't Princeton. He deserves this. He deserves to be asked. "Yes, just," he starts quietly. "What about your dad?" The elder Bellamy had been kind enough, but he was a preacher, and his uncle had always been religious. That never stopped him.
"He loves you. He loves me, and nothing would change that," Jon shakes his head and suddenly looks infuriated. Aaron knows better than to think Jon's angry at him, and he's proud of that. "Timothy is a sinner. He drinks, and he hurts, and he hates. You haven't done a thing wrong in your life."
Aaron can't say he agrees, but he nods anyway and tucks his shoulders in to make room for Jon's arms to go around him. "What about being a guy?"
"He's never used anything but male pronouns for you. He was the one to suggest I get you boxers for your birthday that one time, remember?" And Aaron does remember. He was 16, and almost cried when Jon came up to his bedroom to give him two packs of boxers, one all grey and the other all different colors. "So you can express yourself creatively," Jon had laughed, and he'd laughed too, with tears in his eyes, for the first time in a very long while.
Your handwriting is so sleek and lady-like, you may want someone else to write for you, one email in his inbox says. He's going to delete it in the morning. He's going to do it with Jon by his side because he deserves to know what has been happening
"What about being gay?"
Jon kisses his nose. "He knows about me, I have a feeling that he wouldn't mind you," he says earnestly, and then smiles. "Anyway, Lucy is usually the one to wake me up. She might spare me of another ice bath if I sleep here."
Aaron lets himself smile back and burrow into the soft comforter, into Jon's chest.
"You're safe here with me," Jon says, and Aaron believes him.
"I am," he responds, voice muffled by Jon's shirt, and for once he believes himself.