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Casey had been off all morning. He tried to be subtle about it, that much was clear, but unfortunately whatever had worked its way into Casey’s mind was stuck. Luke knew he’d bring it up at some point, he always did even if it took a little time. (This happened, sometimes. Luke had learned that it was very hard for Casey to ask for things he wanted.) He knew, at the very least, that it wasn’t anything bad because any time he caught Casey’s gaze, the man would huff out an indignant sigh and whip his head around, trying to hide the flush that rose quick and warm to his cheeks.
Luke had been first to wake that morning, taking a couple minutes to just stare at his boyfriend, whose pale skin was bathed in the early morning light. He looked so peaceful in his sleep, soft lips parted as his breath came in quiet, little sighs. Eventually the need to move started to itch at Luke’s limbs and he oh so carefully extracted himself from the bed, not bothering with a shirt as he shuffled out to the kitchen. He brewed a pot of coffee knowing Casey would wake up within minutes of his exit from bed regardless of how quiet he tried to be. What he hadn’t expected, however, was for Casey to audibly fuck around with the sheets and then the drawers, aimlessly pilfering through their contents for a while. On any other day, his partner would sense his departure from bed like some sort of psychic and immediately go find him. The man eventually wandered out, still in his pajama shirt and boxers, and finally beelined right to Luke. Warm hands splayed across his belly and he let himself be pulled up close to Casey, back pressed up against his chest.
“Mornin’, sweet thing.” Luke whispered with a fond smile. Casey just hummed, pressing his face into the crook of Luke’s neck and pulling in a deep breath before heaving it out in a dramatic sigh.
“Coffee?” He asked as he grabbed Casey’s mug from the counter and urged it into one of the man’s hands. Casey was a furnace against his back, chest radiating heat through his shirt. Luke loved the feeling, stealing what warmth he could from the man’s body as he woke up. Luke knew something was up for sure when, instead of letting Luke go get ready for the day on his own as normal, Casey hooked one of their fingers together and followed him, trailing behind looking like a lost puppy.
Luke slipped on a ratty old tank and a pair of gym shorts then lounged back on the bed to watch Casey get dressed. He whistled, low and smooth, when Casey slipped his sleep shirt over his head. Casey had developed more defined muscle while they’d renovated the house they’d bought, and Luke would take every single moment he could to appreciate and honor the body that helped build their home. Casey rolled his eyes but tossed his clothes for the day over to the bed so Luke could watch him get dressed. Jeans, henley, and Luke’s absolute favorite addition to his usual get up, a fucking cowboy hat. He was fairly certain the main reason Casey actually wore it was because he’d given it to him as a silly little gift when they’d finished the house, but it pleased him nonetheless to see him wear it. It felt a little like a mark of ownership.
The rest of the morning passed by with plenty of coffee refills and (mostly) quiet company. Casey had some routine maintenance to do for the Malibu, so Luke kept himself busy washing their other cars. It was a good mindless task, something he could do while also shamelessly watching Casey in his element. It also meant that he caught him popping up from the engine bay just to look around in search of Luke and, like each time before it, the moment they locked eyes Casey would frown, cheeks flushed that perfect pink, and whip his head back down to focus on his work. Luke let that pattern go on for a couple hours, he couldn't help it. He loved when Casey got flustered, when his already quiet words would stutter, brow furrowed, a crease forming on his forehead that Luke loved to lean in and kiss. Eventually he decided to wander off to their shop, a large garage towards the back of their property, and put away some of the tools he’d left out the night prior instead of distracting his partner.
Lunch time finally came around, Casey still bent over and half inside the engine bay of the Malibu. Luke decided it was better to let him finish whatever task it was he was doing than interrupt, so he entered the kitchen through the backyard and set to work making lunch. Perfect timing, on his part, as he heard Casey put away tools and close the hood of the car just as he finished putting everything out on the table. Footsteps sounded closer and closer until the garage door opened and Casey stepped in, blinking in surprise when lunch was already made. It wasn’t anything fancy, just some sandwiches and chips, ice water already set on a coaster at Casey’s place at the table. Luke couldn't help the surge of pride in his chest, though, as Casey rounded the table and leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek.
“Thank you.” His voice was no louder than a whisper but Luke heard loud and clear. He pushed a plate of fruit, still cold from the fridge, over to Casey, who picked out all the grapes and apple slices. Luke laughed when he accidentally got a blueberry on his fork, flicking it off with uncharacteristic disgust.
“What did that berry ever do to you?” He asked, watching as Casey pushed more of the offending berries away from him. He rolled his eyes, deciding he was done with the traitorous fruit, and moved the plate back in front of Luke.
“They’re inconsistent. And sour. And mushy.” Casey grumbled, stabbing a grape with his fork as he spoke. Luke couldn't deny that, blueberries were fairly inconsistent in their taste, but the reward of a sweet berry far outweighed the risk of sour ones. No matter, more for him. Lunch moved on with no further fruit crimes, a fact that Luke pointed out and earned himself a sharp jab to the ribs for.
“It’s true!” He shouts, dodging a second honed attack to his ribs in a fit of laughter. Casey narrowed his eyes, humming as if considering something, then relents.
“Fine. You're safe for now, but you’re on thin ice.” Luke laughs again as he gathers the dishes, shooing Casey away from the kitchen despite his best efforts to help.
“No, no. Go sit on the couch and look pretty for me, yeah? Let me do the work.” Once more Casey looked like he wanted to argue, that same flush Luke had caught so many times that day rising to his cheeks, but he relented. He’d had enough teasing for one afternoon, he decided, eventually wandering to the couch and sitting as he was told. Luke watches from the corner of his eye as Casey adjusts how he’s sitting a total of six times in two minutes. He wants so badly to give in to the curiosity, to ask what thoughts are so loud in Casey’s mind that he can’t sit still. He doesn't, of course. He trusts Casey, an earned feeling that goes both ways. Casey will tell him whenever he’s ready. In the meantime, Luke will wait patiently.
For the most part.
A small interrogation reveals that Casey is done with vehicle maintenance and neither of them have anything they absolutely need to get done that afternoon, so Luke decides for them that the activity of the afternoon will be a lack there of: a nap. It was too hot outside to do anything in the sun, and the temptation of getting to lay out on their bed with Casey’s face tucked into his neck, arm across his waist and fingers settled just under the band of his shorts, was more than Luke was willing to deny. He makes his way to their room first, listening as Casey once more takes his sweet time following. He hears a door open and close somewhere, a couple times he realizes distantly, but Casey finally appears in the doorway. There's a box in his arms, decently sized, and he's clutching it close to his chest like he's afraid to drop it.
Luke shoots a brow up in question, but realizes Casey isn’t looking at him. His gaze is trained at the floor and he's worrying his lip between his teeth so hard the skin is white. Concern immediately floods Luke and he steps into Casey’s space, one hand under his chin, lifting gently until Casey relents and looks up. Luke is struck by the fear in his blue eyes, bright and wet, like he might cry at any moment.
“Case, angel, what's goin’ on? Are you ok?” Casey just frowns, tightening his grip on the box. He tries to look away, even succeeds for a moment, before Luke easily guides him back. “Sweetheart, you can't look at me like that. You're crying, what’s wrong?”
Casey’s eyes widen for a moment, looking down at Luke’s hand as he wipes tears with his thumb, as if his own tears had betrayed him. Luke waits patiently, or at least he hopes he seems patient, because he’s only seen Casey cry two other times and he’d rather not go back to those moments, thanks, and if this keeps up he’s gonna start getting real worried real quick. He holds it together though, well enough, watching as Casey opens and closes his mouth, physically fighting with words Luke knows are just at the tip of his tongue.
“For you.” He says, quickly and quietly, shoving the box into Luke’s chest. Not the direction he thought this was going. He takes the box from Casey anyway, holding it carefully. It’s a lot heavier than he expected it to be, but the box has give and he can tell it's filled with something soft. He moves to go sit on the bed but Casey darts a hand out to Luke’s wrist and holds tight. Okay. He’s opening the box here, that works too. Luke can’t stop himself from looking back up to Casey, the tears on his cheeks, fear evident in the way his hand trembles despite its grip on his wrist.
It’s hard to open the box with one hand, what with Casey refusing to let go of his wrist, but he manages. Luke tosses the top of the box towards the bed and when he looks back down he’s greeted by a beautiful swirl of colors. It's thick, made with a very soft yarn, and with some careful maneuvering Luke is holding up what he finds to be a massive square blanket. It’s got rows and rows of stunning colors, all different with no set pattern. It’s beautiful, the simplicity of it allowing the colors to be the main focus.
“Case, it’s beautiful, where did you find this?” There was no way this came from the thrift store they shopped at, and it definitely wasn’t a mass produced item either. When Casey didn’t respond, just kept staring down at where he gripped Luke’s wrist, Luke gently eased them backward until he was sitting on the bed with Casey standing between his legs.
“Casey. Look at me.” The firm tone seemed to break through some of Casey’s panic, because he finally looked away from their hands. Not at Luke, not yet, but progress. “I really love the blanket, can you tell me where you got it?”
Casey shakes his head, a stuttered inhale shaking his whole body as he tries to breath. He hated seeing Casey panic, hated feeling helpless, especially when he wasn’t quite sure what was happening or how to help. Luke laid the blanket on his lap and with some strength, pulled Casey so he was sitting next to him on the bed. He places his fingers under Casey’s chin again, this time just holding him in place gently as he pressed a kiss to his forehead, the corner of his eye, his cheek, until finally he reached his lips. Luke felt Casey relax at the physical affirmations, the grip on his wrist loosening just enough to slide his hand down and lace their fingers together. Casey leaned forward, forehead resting on Luke’s shoulder, and took a deep breath. Luke felt him tapping out a countdown on the back of his hand.
“I made it.” He mumbled, clearly forcing himself to speak loud enough to be heard. The words took a moment to process but as soon as they did, heat flared behind his eyes and he was helpless to stop the tears on his own cheeks.
Casey… made the blanket? For him? That beautiful, intricate blanket full of vibrant colors was just for him? He distantly recognized Casey nosing against his jaw, soft kisses placed against the stubble-rough skin. It took Luke a moment to be sure his voice wasn’t going to crack when he spoke, leaning back to look Casey in the eye.
“You made this for me?” Luke hated how vulnerable his voice sounded to his own ears, the way it shook with such intense emotion. There was nothing he could do about it, though, when the realization that this was the first time someone had made something for him was so strong it felt like the feeling swept him off his feet. Casey nodded, looking down at the blanket in question. He ran his fingers along the plush yarn, tracing the triangles the stitches made.
“Mhm. ‘S crochet. Soft yarn. Feels safe, like you.” The mumbled admission hits Luke like a fucking freight train. A rough half sob, half laugh tears itself from his throat and the only thing he can do is pull Casey in, locking his arms around him so hard he knows it has to be uncomfortable. He loves this man, truly. It takes him a while to be able to move, though he doesn’t trust himself to speak yet. Instead, he gently pulls away from Casey enough to hold his face in his hands. A soft knock of forehead to forehead, Casey humming softly as he presses his nose to Luke’s cheek, and they both feel steady enough to separate enough to get their dirty clothes off. Luke watches as Casey actually fumbles with his clothes, refusing to take a hand off the blanket as if it were a lifeline. Luke doesn’t tease him this time, not with the way that thought fills him with emotion so painfully loud and clear he’s fighting off another wave of tears. Crying over a blanket.
Casey is finally rid of his greasy clothes, shivering in spite of the heat outside, and Luke gathers him up in his arms as if he weighs nothing. It’s like instinct, then, as Casey stretches out his legs and tangles them with Luke’s. It’s the same way they fall asleep every night. Luke pulls the blanket over both of them, its soft edges pulled right up to Casey’s chin that’s now tucked safely into Luke’s neck. He feels warm fingers slide gently across his stomach, stopping to lightly tangle in the hair on his stomach, before finally settling underneath the waistband of his shorts. He isn’t quite sure why Casey does that, never thought to ask when it seemed to soothe the man so much. Luke can physically feel the way Casey’s muscles slowly start to relax the moment his hand is against his hip. He presses his face into his partners dirty blonde hair, pressing kiss after kiss against the crown of his head.
Thank you. he wants to say.
I love you. Thank you for loving me. You are my everything. You make me feel like everything.
He can’t say any of that, though, and the weight of Casey’s already sleep heavy body soothes out any of the energy he’d need to do that anyways. It was so easy, then, to slip into that safe and sleepy feeling, and close his eyes.