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It had been a long day, possibly even the longest Rodger had in a while. Burnout had crept its way into his system, and joy in his work was hard to come by these days. His solution was counterintuitive at best, but he wasn’t exactly the best solver of his own problems. Drowning himself in his work, rather, trying to squeeze every happy chemical from it he could, was the best he could do, even if it meant forfeiting sleep and welcoming hunger pains.
Now, though, he had the luxury of not thinking about all that. Toodles had a bedtime routine to be completed. It was something he never, ever dared to miss. There were teeth to be brushed, a room to be cleaned, and, most important of all, a bedtime story to be read.
Toodles pulled the sheets over her shoulders, wriggling into a more comfortable position. Her eyes were already beginning to fall shut, her eyelids heavy and lazily fluttering as she desperately tried to stay awake. Rodger had picked up The Hound of Baskervilles, one of the few books he had been able to acquire before the shutdown. Toodles had already heard the book dozens of times by now. Hell, the kid had probably memorized it word-for-word by now. Still, she requested it just about every night, saying it gave her ‘detective dreams.’
With one last sleepy grunt from Toodles, Rodger closed the book, creasing the page’s worn corner to mark where they had just left off. After years of bedtimes, he had gained a unique sixth-sense for when she crossed into sleep — and, of course, when it was time to stop reading. His bagged eye lingered on the child for a moment, and he couldn’t help but smile. She was his solace through the day. He always had these little moments to look forward to.
He stood from the child-sized chair he had pulled to the side of her bed, cautiously pushing it back to its respective coloring table so as not to wake her. Returning to her bedside, he gently adjusted the covers, making sure she was tenderly tucked into the blanket. He gave her head one last fatherly pat and turned to the door, tip-toeing his way back to the hallway.
As soon as he was through the door, that same heavy feeling returned to his shoulders. His shift into a weary slouch was almost comical, like he had been a soda can subjected to a car tire. For now, he thanked the heavens that his room wasn’t far, and that any toon wanting to chat him up probably wouldn’t catch him before he could make it through his doorway.
He slipped his wrinkled suit jacket off of his aching shoulders, practically throwing the thing onto the coatrack at his side. Immediately, he was presented with his disaster of a room — dozens of coffee mugs, some empty and some half-full, littered every surface, papers were scattered about the place, and research capsules took up what little remaining surface area there was. The place was a mess, and so was he, now that he managed to catch a glimpse of himself in the reflection of one of the empty glass capsules.
His necktie had been lazily undone, hanging crooked and slack over his shoulders. Half of his button-up sat tucked under his belt, and the other out of it. By now, he had rolled up his sleeves, growing hot with the mounting pressure he felt to get out of this funk. Even faced with himself, the motivation to do anything about it evaded him. So, he collapsed into the reading chair cowering in the corner of the mess, wiping his face downwards with a clammy, overworked hand.
“Oh detective~!”
As if to add insult to injury, his lover, the one person whose opinion of him he actually cared about, was calling to him from beyond his door. He shot up almost immediately, trying to fix whatever he could in the heartbeat he had to prepare. It was a fruitless effort, for the mirror was already standing in the doorway with a wrapped sandwich in hand.
Looking up, the shock on his face was palpable. Glisten’s jaw hung agape, glancing around at the mess that was the usually orderly detective’s room, detective included.
“My god, Rodger!” Glisten entered with a huff, setting the sandwich aside to begin collecting the discarded mugs in his arms. “I knew I was right to be worried about you! I haven't seen you in days- god, I don’t even think you’ve been outside of this hall!”
Rodger stood dumbfounded, maybe embarrassed, watching the man pick up after him like he was a slob. Maybe his problem was that bad. Even so, he didn’t dare think about it with company around.
“Ahem… I, er, have just been a bit too busy to stay on top of things.” He shrugged, hesitantly beginning to take some coffee mugs too.
“Uh, yeah, I can see that!” Glisten’s arms were full of the mugs now, some haphazardly stacked on top of one another to make room. He was probably the last person who should be carrying mugs like that, but Rodger didn’t dare comment on it now. “You look like hell — uh, no offense.”
“None taken.” The bags stacked over a heavy dark circle spoke for itself, honestly.
“Here- hand me those, please.” Glisten scooped up the remaining couple mugs from Rodger, stumbling toward the door. “You stay here and start eating that sandwich. I know you haven’t eaten in days.” He looked back with a pout. “And don’t you move a muscle!”
With Glisten’s exit, Rodger’s eye stayed fixed on the door, absolutely bewildered by what just happened. After a moment, he allowed himself a sigh, grabbing the sandwich and opening its wrapper. He bit into the thing as he sat down, noting the flavor profile. Chicken, ham, and cheese on rye with tomatoes, lettuce, pickles, and light mayonnaise — his favorite. Glisten must have made it himself, or at least requested the bakers make it to take to him.
The silence of Glisten’s absence was deafening, but short-lived. Glisten soon came prancing back in, a pout still plastered on his face.
“Now, we just have to take care of you.” Glisten pulled a cloth from behind his back, leaning down to the shorter man. Firmly, but carefully, he grabbed the rim of Rodger’s face, beginning to dab at the smudges defacing his glass.
Rodger went rigid first, his glass quickly growing foggy and warm. The air pushed itself from his lungs in one big wheeze, and a shudder went through his whole body. He couldn’t think, let alone function in that moment. He even dropped the sandwich.
Glisten leapt back, first glancing at Rodger, then the cloth, then the half-eaten sandwich splattered across the floor. He was dumbstruck. “I’m… sorry?”
“No, no, I-” Rodger was sputtering, fumbling for some answer as to what in the world just happened to him, when he truthfully had no clue. It wasn't something displeasurable — in fact, it felt quite good — but it was such an extreme reaction, and was something he had never felt before. He took a deep breath, collecting some semblance of composure, as well as the desecrated sandwich lying on the floor. “I’m so, so sorry, I have no idea what that was.”
“Do you… want me to stop-”
“No!” Rodger exclaimed firmly, suddenly, even surprising himself. “No, you’re… quite alright. Please keep going.”
Glisten looked the man up and down, unsure of his own touch. Slowly, he leaned into the detective again, grazing his face to continue cleaning. It happened again — Rodger’s heart felt like it was about to beat right out of his chest. He was sweating now, hot to the touch, but still jittery and shivering. Glisten pulled away.
“Look, Rodger, you can tell me if you’re uncomfortable.” Glisten’s brows furrowed, his concern for the other man growing deeper still.
“I swear, I don’t know why I’m reacting like that!” Rodger protested, setting the sandwich aside to grip the arms of his chair. “I mean, I don’t dislike you cleaning my face — or, I don’t think I do — and you’re my boyfriend, but I’ve… I mean…” He was growing more flustered by the second, his cheeks red and foggy. Butterflies bungled in his stomach, and his heart now threatened to explode up into his throat. Glisten examined him for a while, silently judging his truthfulness, before a stroke of realization hit him.
“Are you… touchstarved?” A sly smirk graced the mirror’s cheeks. He leaned in closer, almost at eye-level with the other toon.
“Am I what?” Rodger crumbled under the mirror’s gaze, slouching back in his seat. He gave the mirror a look riddled with confusion, though it was muddled with feelings of utter embarrassment.
“You know, like, you don’t get physical affection often, and this feels good.” Glisten placed a hand on Rodger’s, sending another shudder up his spine.
Rodger started to deny it — touchstarved was such a silly thing for the detective to be — but he couldn’t honestly say anything to the contrary. Really, it did feel good, like a comfort he had never had the luxury of experiencing. He shrunk further into his seat, and that was all the confirmation Glisten needed.
The mirror giggled, his bow fluttering ever so slightly. God, this was too cute. He never expected Rodger to have a soft side, but he was happy not to be the needy one for once. He gave Rodger’s hand a squeeze, tilting his head to the side. “Hey, is it okay if I love on you a bit?”
“Please,” the detective replied, meeting Glisten’s eye with a pleading stare. Glisten chuckled once more, holding a tender hand to Rodger’s warming cheek. Rodger melted into the touch, his weary eye fluttering shut. Glisten stroked the man’s cheek with one thumb, slowly sliding down to his chin. His index lovingly traced Rodger’s jugular, then his collar, to which Rodger was practically dissolving right there in his seat.
Slowly, Glisten climbed into the crevice beside him, squeezing between the chair’s arm and Rodger’s thigh. He wrapped his arms lazily around the magnifying glass’s shoulders, humming contentedly. He started scratching affectionately at his lover’s back, and his lover leaned in closer, so close the mirror could feel his gentle, shaky breath on his collarbone.
“My, you really are liking this.” Glisten’s smile softened as he watched the smaller man.
“I am,” Rodger mumbled. The tension seeped from his shoulders, almost seeming to disappear into the air. He hadn’t felt this light — this unencumbered — in a long time.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, occasional pecks to Rodger’s cheek being the only thing to break the stillness. Glisten watched the detective, whose breath was grumbling and heavy, yet still peaceful. He wasn’t sure if Rodger had fallen asleep in his arms. If he had, Glisten was far from complaining.
“Glisten?” Rodger’s low, rumbling voice cut the lull. His exhausted eye opened, finally matching the mirror’s survey.
“What is it, darling?”
Rodger squirmed nervously in his seat. “Could we do this more often?”
Glisten chuckled, resting his head against Rodger’s with a subtle clink. “Of course we can."
Thank you as always for reading! This may be a little choppier than my last — I didn't give it nearly as many passes over, but I think (hope) it came out alright.
