“Yeah,” Wrennyn responded, a little breathless. He was so in awe at Reaves and his existence and his... everything. “I love you back,” he answered, pulling Reaves’ down so that his weight was against Wrennyn because yes, that felt right. He hummed and pulled Reaves’ face back up, kissing him deeply, softly, with every ounce of emotion he had because he wouldn’t get to touch him for hours and Wrennyn might die and live with making out with his paintings.

Reaves’ hand tangled itself in Wrennyn’s hair softly as he gazed down at his boyfriend, heart completely full of… something. Something beautiful. “Yeah?” He replied, voice near a whisper. “Alright, but make me look really, really cool,” He joked as he rested his nose on Wrennyn’s cheek. Reaves was comfortable. Work sounded like torture; he didn’t want to move. “I love you so much,” he breathed, his eyes closed. His lips rested against the boy’s jaw. “I’m sorry I keep saying it, but I just do.”

Wrennyn hummed as he felt Reaves' weight on the bed. "I do. Love you without pants. Love you without underpants." He giggled softly and squeaked at the kiss to the corner of his mouth, cheeks flushing cherry red. He flushed crimson when he was kissed, smiling against the other boy's lips. "I'm going to paint you," he whispered when he pulled away.

Wrennyn pouted and sighed when he touched his back. Nodding at his words, he reluctantly agreed because yeah, he was right. He yawned softly when Reaves pulled away, pouting again. “I like you without pants,” he said honestly before falling down backwards onto the soft bed, closing his eyes, dark eyelashes fanning across his cheeks. “Like. You have amazing thighs,” he said, painting them in his head.

Wrennyn pouted and sighed when he touched his back. Nodding at his words, he reluctantly agreed because yeah, he was right. He yawned softly when Reaves pulled away, pouting again. "I like you without pants," he said honestly before falling down backwards onto the soft bed, closing his eyes, dark eyelashes fanning across his cheeks. "Like. You have amazing thighs," he said, painting them in his head.

“Basically, yeah,” he responded, smiling, “There’s a little stand I saw. It has yogurt with fruit.” He hummed, running fingers through his hair as he watched Reaves put his shirt on, and he thought there was honestly no one prettier. He thought he was so lucky, so fantastically lucky, to have Reaves by his side; what with all his gold skin and brown, deep eyes, and pink, pink, pink lips, and thick eyelashes and freckles and hair and pink, pink, pink lips and–Wrennyn giggled as he heard Reaves’ words. He turned around and kissed him softly. “Yes, like brown sugar. Don’t go to work. Stay with me,” he whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to Reaves’ cheek and grinning widely at him and his dark eyes and pink, pink, pink lips.

"Basically, yeah," he responded, smiling, "There's a little stand I saw. It has yogurt with fruit." He hummed, running fingers through his hair as he watched Reaves put his shirt on, and he thought there was honestly no one prettier. He thought he was so lucky, so fantastically lucky, to have Reaves by his side; what with all his gold skin and brown, deep eyes, and pink, pink, pink lips, and thick eyelashes and freckles and hair and pink, pink, pink lips and--Wrennyn giggled as he heard Reaves' words. He turned around and kissed him softly. "Yes, like brown sugar. Don't go to work. Stay with me," he whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to Reaves' cheek and grinning widely at him and his dark eyes and pink, pink, pink lips.

Wrennyn nodded and placed a tiny kiss on his lips, ever so softly. He smiled gently when he pulled away, taking yet another moment to just stare at how beautiful and incredible his boyfriend was. “I’m allowed to just have yogurt,” he said, “But my food advisor or whatever doesn’t like when I do. ’M not really hungry.” He was hungry, but not to the point where he needed a proper breakfast. Yogurt was fine, he’d been eating yogurt for weeks. He got up from the bed, stretching his tiny body out and yawning. “I feel warm brown,” he answered, smiling at the other boy gently. He didn’t want to seem unhappy or whatever, because he was happy. Very.

Wrennyn nodded and placed a tiny kiss on his lips, ever so softly. He smiled gently when he pulled away, taking yet another moment to just stare at how beautiful and incredible his boyfriend was. "I'm allowed to just have yogurt," he said, "But my food advisor or whatever doesn't like when I do. 'M not really hungry." He was hungry, but not to the point where he needed a proper breakfast. Yogurt was fine, he'd been eating yogurt for weeks. He got up from the bed, stretching his tiny body out and yawning. "I feel warm brown," he answered, smiling at the other boy gently. He didn't want to seem unhappy or whatever, because he was happy. Very.

Wrennyn nodded, but he knew it’d be hard. Even as it was, with all the therapy and rehab and treatment, he was still calculating his yogurt calories and all that. He figured he’d always be that way, and only last time did he realize he was the only one around him who did that. He’d always figured it was normal, but he realized it wasn’t. That was part of the reason he was actually better (again, hospital view) and not faking it. He sniffled again, liking the fact that Reaves kept holding him tighter, as though he’d never let go. “It’s okay,” he assured him, “Really. I don’t mind it, as long as you don’t do it anymore.” He flushed red, praying Reaves couldn’t see it. He hated asking for things; he really did. “Also,” he rushed to say, to cover up the previous statement, “I have to eat soon or I’ll be called and I don’t like being called and having those conversations.”

Wrennyn nodded, but he knew it'd be hard. Even as it was, with all the therapy and rehab and treatment, he was still calculating his yogurt calories and all that. He figured he'd always be that way, and only last time did he realize he was the only one around him who did that. He'd always figured it was normal, but he realized it wasn't. That was part of the reason he was actually better (again, hospital view) and not faking it. He sniffled again, liking the fact that Reaves kept holding him tighter, as though he'd never let go. "It's okay," he assured him, "Really. I don't mind it, as long as you don't do it anymore." He flushed red, praying Reaves couldn't see it. He hated asking for things; he really did. "Also," he rushed to say, to cover up the previous statement, "I have to eat soon or I'll be called and I don't like being called and having those conversations."

Wrennyn hummed and nodded. “That’s how I felt, too,” he mumbled, “I’m used to depending on calories.” He scrunched his nose up and sniffled, intertwining their legs. He relaxed when Reaves was touching him again, sighing contently. He shrugged. “I’m only a little mad, and I’m mostly mad at the situation I was in,” he explained softly, suddenly feeling quiet and shy, hiding his face in Reaves’ underarm, closing his eyes. He didn’t want Reaves upset with him because he was mad. Because he wasn’t, not really. He was only… flustered. And a little frustrated. But not mad. Certainly not. He didn’t want to reprimanded or told to process it again, either, though, so he stayed quiet, holding the blanket tightly.

Wrennyn hummed and nodded. "That's how I felt, too," he mumbled, "I'm used to depending on calories." He scrunched his nose up and sniffled, intertwining their legs. He relaxed when Reaves was touching him again, sighing contently. He shrugged. "I'm only a little mad, and I'm mostly mad at the situation I was in," he explained softly, suddenly feeling quiet and shy, hiding his face in Reaves' underarm, closing his eyes. He didn't want Reaves upset with him because he was mad. Because he wasn't, not really. He was only... flustered. And a little frustrated. But not mad. Certainly not. He didn't want to reprimanded or told to process it again, either, though, so he stayed quiet, holding the blanket tightly.

“I’ve processed it,” he responded, almost defensive. He’d spent too much time being told he needed to process things. He was sick of it. He processed it, he just didn’t mind. He knew it was Reaves’ family. It wasn’t like he could control them. He hummed when Reaves touched his hair; he really needed it cut, but he didn’t really care all too much. He looked at him seriously, eyebrows furrowed, and he nodded at the last sentence. “That was dumb of you to do,” he whispered, cuddling closer and holding him tighter, pressing his face into his chest. It was a lot. He didn’t care, though, nothing could make Wrennyn hate him or something dumb like that, but it was a lot, and it did sort-of frustrate him that while he was working his ass off to get better (er, the hospital’s view of better), Reaves was getting worse. But, it was okay. This was his Reaves. He didn’t care.

“I’ve processed it,” he responded, almost defensive. He’d spent too much time being told he needed to process things. He was sick of it. He processed it, he just didn’t mind. He knew it was Reaves’ family. It wasn’t like he could control them. He hummed when Reaves touched his hair; he really needed it cut, but he didn’t really care all too much. He looked at him seriously, eyebrows furrowed, and he nodded at the last sentence. “That was dumb of you to do,” he whispered, cuddling closer and holding him tighter, pressing his face into his chest. It was a lot. He didn’t care, though, nothing could make Wrennyn hate him or something dumb like that, but it was a lot, and it did sort-of frustrate him that while he was working his ass off to get better (er, the hospital’s view of better), Reaves was getting worse. But, it was okay. This was his Reaves. He didn’t care.

“It’s fine,” He replied absentmindedly. “I don’t need them.” For a split second, Reaves felt strange. Like he should call up James… just to see what’s new. If he’d ever ended up marrying the she-devil, or if he still had his job. But the feeling left as quickly as it came. “You don’t think it’s an issue?” He asked Wrennyn, rubbing his side with his hand. “Maybe you haven’t processed it.” How could he expect Wrennyn to? He hadn’t even done so himself. Part of him almost wanted to tell Wrennyn what had happened after he’d moved out of James’ place, but he decided to keep that information to himself. For now. He knew, however, that he’d feel guilty if he didn’t tell Wrennyn about his actions while he was away. They were together during that time, so, it was different than incidents two years removed. “Uh– so, you know what?” He asked as he ran a hand through Wrennyn’s long hair. “There’s some stuff I should probably tell you…” Reaves gathered his thoughts. “It really, really sucked while you were away. This past month, I mean.” He wanted to tell him how he’d felt. Raw. How it seemed like the whole world was pain and that every good thing was just a method of taunting and would be swiped away once you began to believe the lie, but he couldn’t. Reaves couldn’t undo years of suppression in one night. “I fell into some bad habits. I wish I could blame it on hanging out with Parker, but it was really my fault. I smoked a lot of pot the last few weeks. I did x – err, ecstasy. A couple days ago.” He didn’t speak for a moment, unsure of how Wrennyn would respond. “If you didn’t come back, it would’ve gotten worse. I think. I mean, not like, heroin or anything. I’m not a complete dumbass, but I still should’ve been more careful.”

Wrennyn frowned and kissed Reaves' nose. "I'm so sorry, darling. I wish I could say something else, but I can't. That sucks, I'm sorry, I love you," he whispered, cuddling close as possible and holding his boyfriend tightly, as tightly as possible without constricting air or something stupid.

Wrennyn nodded at it all, too stunned to really respond. He felt awful. He leaned forward after he was done, kissing him softly before pulling away and looking in his eyes. “I’m sorry you had to deal with all that,” he whispered, taking his hand and nodding to urge him to continue. He had no idea how he was meant to respond, but he wasn’t upset or anything. A little shocked, perhaps, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He was still his Reaves.

Wrennyn nodded at it all, too stunned to really respond. He felt awful. He leaned forward after he was done, kissing him softly before pulling away and looking in his eyes. "I'm sorry you had to deal with all that," he whispered, taking his hand and nodding to urge him to continue. He had no idea how he was meant to respond, but he wasn't upset or anything. A little shocked, perhaps, but nothing he couldn't handle. He was still his Reaves.

“You look gorgeous, I love you so much, and I don’t remember how I did it, but it stung quite bad,” he responded, and then nodded, snuggling close. “Tell me your deepest secret,” he requested, nuzzling into his neck and closing his eyes so he could listen. He wasn’t worried, not even slightly. He knew that no matter what Reaves said, he’d still love him just as much, if not more. He was just curious, and as much as he liked having secrets, he was fairly certain lovers weren’t supposed to have them. Although, he wasn’t sure; his parents held a lot of secrets, but they hadn’t really been lovers, had they? He didn’t know. They’d separated when he was a teenager and the only one he’d had contact with since then had been his mother, and she only called on holidays to tell him not to skip the sweets. So, he supposed, secrets ruined relationships, or at least that was what he’d learned over the years. 

“You look gorgeous, I love you so much, and I don’t remember how I did it, but it stung quite bad,” he responded, and then nodded, snuggling close. “Tell me your deepest secret,” he requested, nuzzling into his neck and closing his eyes so he could listen. He wasn’t worried, not even slightly. He knew that no matter what Reaves said, he’d still love him just as much, if not more. He was just curious, and as much as he liked having secrets, he was fairly certain lovers weren’t supposed to have them. Although, he wasn’t sure; his parents held a lot of secrets, but they hadn’t really been lovers, had they? He didn’t know. They’d separated when he was a teenager and the only one he’d had contact with since then had been his mother, and she only called on holidays to tell him not to skip the sweets. So, he supposed, secrets ruined relationships, or at least that was what he’d learned over the years. 

“I think I probably look more like a drooling mess when I sleep,” Reaves countered, laughing softly at Wrennyn’s statement. He closed his eyes as Wrennyn kissed him, the best ‘good morning’ he’d ever received. It’d taken so much for their first kiss to happen, and now, now it just happened freely. It was wonderful. They hadn’t even been throwing around the word ‘love’ for a full day yet and it already felt just as natural. He held on to Wrennyn’s hand with his own. “I love you, too,” He replied, the words carrying just as much weight as the first time he’d spoken them. “You don’t have to tell me anyth–” Reaves began to say before Wrennyn told him a story about an orange. “Wait, how does that even happen?” He asked, curious. Wrennyn was acting like a child. Happily. Reaves didn’t want to ruin it, but he needed to say something. He’d put off the nagging feeling all night, but now, guilt was starting to consume him. “I guess, uh, I should tell you more about myself, too. Right?” He asked, staring at their hands. He wanted Wrennyn to reply with a “no”, though, he knew it’d come up again eventually, anyway.

Wrennyn’s tummy flipped at each compliment, burying his face in his hands. “Goodness, thank you,” he whispered, throwing the pad behind him and hugging him tightly. “I’ll do a better one later,” he promised, “I just love you so much, I wanted to draw you asleep. You look like an absolutely angel when you’re asleep, it’s crazy.” He was breathless and he grabbed Reaves’ cheeks, looking into his eyes and taking a shaking breath. “I’m serious, you look absolutely stunning unconscious,” he smiled as he said, knowing it sounded like something a serial killer would say, and then he kissed him deeply, smiling as he pulled away. “I wanna make you food, but I can’t cook,” he confessed seriously, “And I wanna tell you all my secrets, but I think you know most of them.” He took a moment to think, studying Reaves’ face, committing it to memory. “When I was eight,” he whispered, leaning forward to whisper in Reaves’ ear, “I cut my finger on an orange.” He leaned back and nodded solemnly.

As he looked down at the picture Wrennyn had drawn, Reaves was met with a picture of himself. A very polished, very glorified version of himself. “Well, you’re always a nerd,” He joked lightly. Quickly, he glanced up at Wrennyn and squeezed his arm. “I mean that in the best, most adorable way,” He added with a smile. His gaze shifted back to the drawing, amazed. “It’s beautiful,” He spoke. It was. It was far, far more beautiful than his true self. Almost painfully so, as if he’d deceived Wrennyn all these years. If this was how he saw him, he was surely in for disappointment. Wrennyn was beautiful. Artistic and wonderful and soft. He was just Reaves. Not the boy in the drawing. Unless he was with Wrennyn or Emma, he was nothing to anyone. Even himself. He smoked, and had sex with strangers, and had a complete imbalance of emotions, and cursed too much, and abandoned his family, and was passive as hell, and quick to anger, and closed himself off to people, and didn’t have dime to his name. Suddenly, it didn’t make sense that Wrennyn loved him. Maybe he only loved this idealized, unrealistic version of himself. As soon as he told Wrennyn the truth – that this boy didn’t exist – the glass would shatter and he would lose him. He would lose the one thing in life he found wholeheartedly beautiful. The thought put his stomach in knots. Reaves looked up at Wrennyn, breaking his stare at the paper. “You’re fantastic.”

Wrennyn’s hands shook with excited nervousness. He wasn’t sure if Reaves had ever seen anything other than his skeletons, in which case, this would be a huge surprise. He’d stopped drawing his skeletons while in rehabilitation, mostly because the rehab guy said he couldn’t release him “in good conscience” if he did another notebook check and he saw skeletons and darkness and that. He’d started doing portraits of his fellow rehab-inmates, drawings of chairs and paintings of sunsets and skyline. He had, in fact, been at the top floor of the hospital, which lent to him many a lovely sky and cityscape, which lent to nearly all of his paintings being of such. He liked painting, and the people in rehab place supported it, which meant he got art supply funding, pretty much. Painting was smooth and slow. He liked it when he was nervous or jittery, but he preferred drawing much more. He was a doodler at heart; it was only natural. He turned it around, biting at his thumb. “Do you like it? Am I a nerd for drawing it?” he asked, flushing to the tips of his ears, a dark crimson color often associated with ripe cherries and other things of the rich, blushing sort. His blue eyes flitted over Reaves’ face, searching for every little indicator of a reaction, praying for a positive one, because, well, he knew it was weird, but Reaves hadn’t ever really found him unpleasantly odd and this would be an unwelcome shock, but it wasn’t below him to think his art might extract an awkward aura of someone. Just, perhaps, not Reaves.

“Half an hour,” He repeated. Kind of a while, but he seemed fine with it. Everything seemed fine. Better than fine. His mind drifted to the previous night. Everything had been perfect. Reaves couldn’t have imagined Wrennyn’s return to be more perfect.  Every moment with Wrennyn held a rosey hue. It wasn’t like when he wasn’t with him. Reaves was two different people. With Wrennyn, Without Wrennyn. He didn’t know which was real and which wasn’t. He knew which one he preferred. But this morning, and maybe even a tiny bit the night before before he’d drifted off to sleep, it dawned on him that he couldn’t continue being two different Reaves. If he was going to make this thing with Wrennyn work – and god, he wanted to more than he’d ever wanted anything – then the two would have to somehow merge. There were things he needed to tell him, and he’d have to be very careful about how he did it. The thought made him nervous and his stomach twisted in an unpleasant way. He knew Wrennyn wouldn’t see him the same anymore, he couldn’t possibly, so he decided to put it off just a tiny, tiny bit longer. “Yeah, I wanna see,” He replied, propping himself up on his elbow to get a better look. 

“About half an hour, if that,” he responded softly, smiling at the hand on his arm. It was all so terribly reassuring, so terribly calming to know Reaves was there and not going anywhere anytime soon. It was also lovely to know he was alone, that he was wanted, that he, perhaps, was needed. He needed Reaves. There was no doubt in his mind that he needed the dark haired, dark eyed boy laying in front of him. The month without him had been long and hard and awful, as every month without him had ever been. He wasn’t... right, without Reaves. Reaves held him up, held him straight when he was slouching, held him steady when he was swaying. Reaves made sure he was okay, he was healthy, he was happy, what-have-you. Reaves made sure everything was okay. That was just how he was. It was how Wrennyn had known him to be. For Wrennyn, there was never any other type of Reaves. There was never any slight doubt in his head that Reaves would be someone other than the responsible, positive, uplifting Reaves that Wrennyn had known. He knew, of course, that this thought was foolish and that both of them had probably put on their prettiest faces for one another. However, Wrennyn wasn’t ever dishonest with Reaves. At his worst, Wrennyn was obsessive, and nervous, and terribly, awfully, annoyingly obsessive, but Reaves had seen all of that. he knew Wrennyn was like that. The worst Wrennyn had ever seen Reaves was worried and... well, the more Wrennyn thought on it, the more he figured the only negative about Reaves was that he had a tendency to keep things if they figured to be even slightly useful in the future. But he was always thankful, and supportive. He made Wrennyn want to be a better person, which was what Wrennyn figured love was supposed to be. “Do you want to see?” he asked Reaves, flushing red.

It was beautiful, really, waking up in love. Waking up next to his love. It was like a lullaby being sung softly, carrying his soul into the daytime instead of helping his consciousness drift off to sleep. His head was resting on a pillow and he was looking up at Wrennyn, studying him. After a moment, he realized Wrennyn was drawing him, but he didn’t feel uncomfortable about the situation at all. It was soothing in a way, having someone care enough to pay attention to minuscule details about him. The way, maybe, he cared about Wrennyn. It was difficult to imagine, though. “Yeah,” He replied, giving him a tiny nod, “It’s a good morning.” Reaves rubbed his eye with the palm of his hand, his other still resting on Wrennyn’s arm. Wrennyn was real; if he let go of him, that fact would become one more thing he didn’t believe. A small smile appeared on his face as he watched his boyfriend work, admiring his concentration. “How long have you been up?” He asked quietly, curious as to how long he’d keep him waiting. 

Wrennyn blinked at the movement of the boys lashes, quickly hiding the notebook before remembering this was Reaves and taking it back out, continuing to draw. “Mmm, I am,” he answered softly, casting him a shy smile and continuing to sketch Reaves’ lashes, thick and dark and nothing short of lovely, and the slight shadow of stubble the other man had on his jaw. Such whisper of hair made Wrennyn swoon with infatuation, blue eyes bright and happy in the still-dark, chilly air. He took slow, easy strokes when drawing Reaves’ collarbones, same with his shoulders, glancing back and forth between paper and real-life, getting lost in the drawing. “Good morning,” he said absent-mindedly, not really noticing the how absolutely correct the little phrase was. He quickly wrote Good morning in cursive above the sketch, drawing Reaves’ hair right after. “It is quite good, isn’t it?” he whispered, biting his lip as he continued. His hair was dark as ever, tousled elegantly, and soft, soft, soft. Wrennyn looked back at his boyfriend, smiling slightly before looking back down at the drawing of aforementioned human, adding a soft shading to his cheeks. If only he had color. He’d get to do that later. Not now.

Once Wrennyn was asleep, Reaves found it harder to stay awake. It was nice, though. Seeing Wrennyn so content. Flowery, pastel-colored sentences floated through his mind and he knew he’d forget them in the morning. He ran his hand through his hair and kissed his cheek and held onto him until he dozed off. Reaves dreamed that night. He didn’t know of what, but when he woke up, he had a strange sensation that he’d encountered some people from his past. It wasn’t necessarily a good or bad dream, just strange. Either way, the fragmented memories of dreams faded away as his eyes fluttered open and he found Wrennyn watching him with a pen in hand. “–You’re awake,” He said sleepily, hiding a yawn behind his arm. It was amazing that Wrennyn hadn’t woken him up by his movement. For years, Reaves had been an incredibly light sleeper. It was part of the reason he was so seemingly lazy – he was actually just tired 90% of the time. And lacked motivation for most things in life. But this morning, he’d slept through noise. He figured he’d been… comfortable. For once. Reaves reached out and placed his hand on Wrennyn’s arm. “Good morning.”

Wrennyn almost instantly fell asleep, cuddling close as was possible, smiling as he drifted off into dreamland. It’d been a while since he’d slept that well, and when he woke up, he was staring directly at the love of his life. He lit up like a Christmas tree, running his fingers over Reaves’ face gently, like butterfly wings or something equally soft and lovely. He took a moment just to study him as he slept, his fingers itching for a drawing pad or a canvas or, at this point, a pen and some lined paper (college ruled, of course). He looked around for something to draw with, ending up with a blank, small pad and a company pen, on which he began sketching Reaves’ face, all roundness and sleepiness and soft lips and soft cheeks. God, he wanted his pastels. The pinks and golds and reds, because that was the color of Reaves right then, all pink, creamy-colored cheeks and dark lashes and red lips and gold, gorgeous skin. He was so hopelessly in love with him.

His eyes flickered from Wrennyn’s eyes to his smile, back up to his eyes, their bodies so close he couldn’t catch his whole face in a single gaze. Reaves was perfect. Better than perfect, if that was a thing. Few people he knew could understand what overwhelming sense of security (and insecurity) having a bed, a home, after being homeless offered. But being with Wrennyn – that was a whole new world of wholesome security he’d never had. “Me too,” He nodded slightly, running his hand along the side of his face before tightly wrapping his arms around his body. Although he knew it was cliche, Reaves wished he could pause time. No – not pause it. Stop it. He didn’t want a tomorrow. Things were already perfect as they were, more than they’d ever been, and they never stayed that way. “I love you,” he whispered again, fighting his tiredness, focusing on his will to stay awake. Because that night, that fact was the only one that mattered.

Wrennyn nodded, cuddling impossibly closer. "I'm perfect. What about you?" he asked, looking up at him with a soft smile. He was so, so happy and content and now he was a little sleepy, honestly. He yawned, wrapping himself fully around Reaves, getting comfortable. He was positive this wasn't proper etiquette, but he figured he had a pass this time, considering he had no idea what the correct etiquette even was. It was a mystery as much as the rest of the journey had been, but he didn't ask, figured it'd be even worse etiquette to ask what the etiquette was. Perhaps this was one of those things you figured out as you did it more. He didn't know. He closed his eyes, drawing in his head, lovely swirls of neon on a black canvas, or perhaps pastels on a cream canvas. He'd figured out that whole thing later. Tomorrow, when he was awake and could draw.

It was way, way better than expected. Wrennyn had expected mediocre, but this—not even in his realm of understanding. He was pretty amazed, actually, unable to stop grinning afterward, even grinning through the little kiss. “You’re very observant,” he managed, the words breathy. He sighed and curled close, smiling to himself. Reaves was observant; it was probably why it felt so good, which was odd because no one’d ever paid that much attention to him. He closed his eyes, pressing his nose against Reaves’ neck and breathing him in, hands still shaking.