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"why can't we...?" rhett starts, the words die in this throat when he hears your fork against your plate. a little irritation strikes through him when he looks up at you, seeing the stress engrave itself into the relaxed posture you woke up with. when he sees the way you drag your hand over your eyes, hears "baby" in your voice, sleep deep and tinged with irritation.
"i'm being serious."
you're not his boyfriend. and you've never been under any illusion you ever will be.
he doesn't talk to you like people do when they want to date. he doesn't flirt, doesn't ask you on dates, doesn't say sweet things. not unless rhett's drunk. because he doesn't like men, doesn't like you, in that way. he's said as much, never sounds like he wholy believes it, but he says it.
he only really comes over when he feels like shit, or it's one of those nights. one of those nights where he stuck around till last call. because rhett has a tendency to do that when you're working closing shift. one of the nights he was feeling a little bolder than usual, or maybe his older brother or one of the tillerson's got him riled up. one of the nights you have to distract him to steal his keys, because he's never gotten a dui after one of your shifts, and he won't be starting soon. it was one of those nights you took him home with you, because it's closer. because he'll whine about it if you try to take him back to the abbott ranch in your car. because your car is a piece of shit. maybe a bit too old to make it up the laneway and back, and far too loud to come up to the ranch that late. it's junk on wheels until he wants to go any further than wabang town lines. because he'll never let you drive his truck. because he'll never take a cab.
so your place it is, as it always is on nights like that. nights that "we just play house when you're fucked up, rhett."
"fucks that supposed to mean?"
"you only come around drunk or with that kicked puppy look." you have never liked this conversation. fortunately, it's rare.
much less fortunately, he's always stubborn when he brings it up. you've long since dropped it.
occasionally, when he's feeling some type of way, when he's not ready to face the world outside of you yet, when he's desperate enough to consider bringing you into his world, he drags this dead end conversation back up. digs his heels in, convinced it'll be different everytime
it never is.
nothing you've said is new, nothing he's said so far was either.
you've long gotten used to that soft look he gets at this point in the conversation. he's wrapped in one your blankets, an ugly green one he's obsessed with. dressed in your clothes. he can't look at you directly, keeps his eyes on the plate you set in front of him a few minutes earlier.
you hate how well you know him sometimes. hate that you know he wishes he'd waited until he finished his food. he's lost his appetite and instinctively he looks to you apologetically. it's rude to waste food, that's something rhett was raised on and even now there's something endearing about how his eyes flick from his plate to your face. about how he's fighting the urge not to change topics to apologize. so he settles on,"i don't have a kicked puppy look."
"yeah, you do, you have it now."
"i do not." his voice pitches a little higher. just barely, just enough to remind you he is someone's little brother.
you smile at that.
it's a loss and a win, rhett figures.
he doesn't really know what to say now. rhett never feels like he knows what to say. rhett's not the brightest, he knows that much. bull riding isn't really something you do when you're the academically inclined type. he knows there's not much he can offer, realistically, and talking about how he feels isn't one of the few things he can. talking about anything is a weak point for him, really. rhett thinks as much. he's never really been good with the talking part.
that's one of the things he really likes about you. there's never a right answer in the way that there's no wrong one, either. he's never felt like he's fucked up when talking to you.
"i really hate this conversation."
even now.
rhett knows how you feel about this topic. it's different to hear it though. "sorry."
a beat.
"i'm not going to be your side peice forever." the words aren't upset. just even and factual. a reminder as gentle as you can manage it, one that you won't stick around forever.
"you're not now. that's not-"
"rhett."
"i mean it." it's a naive thing to say. rhett knows that before it comes out of his mouth, but he can't really stop it
"but, i'm not your partner. ive never met your family, they don't even know about me." it'd be easier if you'd slept together, rhett thinks. and you do occasionally. when you're both too drunk, when you're too drunk to care he'll never be out, when rhett's too drunk to care that you're a man. on those nights, you find yourself being tugged between his legs.
if that was extent of it, if you didn't have nights like last night, it'd be easier. and rhett usually takes the easy route with people, even you.
for example, he doesn't bother arguing when you push him towards the shower door when you bring him home. doesn't turn down the clothes you hand him. he doesn't mind that your demeanor gets a little miry when he's dressed in your clothes, either.
on the nights he's fussy about sharing the bed, the nights he insists on the couch. because it's wrong. because it's too much. he might protest, but he's far too drunk to do much about it when you push him down, it's easier to just take the bed. it's disorienting and he hates that you do it. hates that you're gone; already grabbing water and advil for him, already setting yourself up for the couch, or doing any of a million things you seem to do before bed; by the time he gets his bearings about him, so he stopped protesting.
rhett has learned to accept that you'll fret about him until you tire yourself out. he's learned that's just how you are. if it wasn't him, it'd be something else. and there's a comfort in that. he's become just another one of your things to take care of before bed.
"it's hospitable," you always argue. he doesn't really believe that, doesn't know if you do either. rhett doesn't really care to argue back. he doesn't really want to confront that he likes that about you. likes watching you when you do that.
"you don't even like men."
"i love you."
"fuck off," it shoots out of your mouth. you barely hear what he said.
that's... different from how this conversation usually goes.
to say the absolute least.
"i mean it." he's starting to sound like a broken record. he says it, that kicked puppy look having never left his face.
it's only starting to work now.
"ok," a little tired and exasperated is all you can muster.
"ok, what?"
"i don't know," you almost call him baby.
he knows that, hears it in your voice. satisfied that you still defaulted to that instead of his name. "you don't have to say it back."
"i know."
"like i'm not expecting it."
you push your chair out, abruptly. plucking your plate from the table, you head to the sink. you don't want to face him, you really don't want to have this conversation.
you have a few moments to yourself, scraping off your plate and running it under water, before rhett joins you, plate in hand. empty.
"thought you weren't hungry, anymore." your voice is quiet, no more than a hum.
he shrugs, setting it in the sink.
rhett doesn't leave your side as you clean, not knowing what to do with himself. dumbly, "what're you thinking?"
turning the off water, you glance at him. he's still wrapped in that blanket.
it's cute.
it's an omen.
if you'd been a bit more awake, you might've seen this coming. rhett wears extra layers like armor. hoodies, jackets, anything extra that he can roll over his shoulders, it's something that brings comfort to him. he's always a bit calmer, always seems a little more clear headed with his fabric armor.
it's your turn to shrug.
"oh."
"you?"
"dinner?" quiet and weak, it comes out. rhett would be more embarrassed, more frustrated with himself if he weren't so glad anything came out at all.
"you're sure?" it's an out you hate that you give out compulsively.
one he doesn't take. "i'm sure."