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stumble and fall with the head spin i got

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Curtis falls asleep in his plush red seat for all of ten seconds before his mother taps him on the shoulder, her face pinched with disapproval. Falling asleep in theatres is, he knows, disrespectful, but to be fair, he doesn't really think any of the performers on stage before them can see his face, too busy contorting their colorful spandex bodies over the trapeze. He should have gone back to his stateroom. Wesley must be asleep by now, Curtis guesses; he's been in this show for more than an hour and Wesley snuck off to their cabin even before then under the guise of 'letting Curtis' mother spend some time with her son on their vacation,' though he had spent the better part of dinner mumbling to Curtis about how he was still exhausted from the night before. He wanted to get a nap in before their last night of vacation, he said, low against Curtis' ear before he left for their stateroom, making coils of heat burn in the pit of Curtis' stomach.

But now Curtis imagines Wesley tucked into his (their) bed, nothing but a tuft of curls peaking out from a mound of stark white sheets, and that's almost better, crawling into bed beside him and unfurling his limbs so Curtis can take his proper place within them. The bed would be warm already against his bare skin, but not as warm as Wesley's body, wrapped firmly around Curtis' so their chests and arms and knees meet, the sheets smelling like a mix of lemon detergent and Wesley's cedarwood cologne.

Curtis checks his watch. There's still twenty minutes at least before the acrobatics show is over, his only exit strategy requiring climbing over his sister and her friend to get to the aisle at the risk of his mother's wrath. He sighs.

By the end of the show, his muscles ache with the tension in them, the longing desire to leave. He fantasizes about running out of the theatre before the bows end, beating the crowd to the elevator, and it's almost disgusting at this point because he realizes how needy that sounds but God, he hates Wesley for abandoning him with his mother and his sister and his sister's annoying friend, even if it was only for two hours. He wills himself not to run out of the theatre early, standing with the rest of the audience at the final bow and wandering out with the crowd towards the row of glass elevators. A child resting against her mother's hip jabs the Up button over and over again, clapping her small hands together in excitement as the gold doors glide open, her fingers splayed wide as she tries to hit them together. Curtis chuckles softly to himself. He knows exactly how she feels.

He crams into the elevator with a large handful of the crowd, crushed between the glass wall and an elderly woman whose pointed elbow wedges between two of his ribs. She reeks of too much perfume and powder. A man in a tacky Hawaiian shirt makes another version of the same used joke that Curtis has heard every single time he's gotten on a crowded elevator on this ship, something about the elevator's weight capacity and how he's glad he passed on dessert that night. His deck level is already pressed, Curtis notes, leaning his head back against the glass and closing his eyes as the elevator begins its ascent, stopping at just about every floor until it finally reaches fourteen. Once they're out of the elevator, his sister looks at his mother with her big eyes and asks for permission to go to the Kids' Club on the top deck, where all the cool twelve-year-olds hang out or something like that.

"Please, Mommy?" Ceres begs, squeezing her friends' hand tightly, "It's our last night on the ship. I want to say bye to all my friends."

Curtis shoves his hands into his pockets and prays this doesn't take long. He just wants to get back to his stateroom. His mother takes a moment and purses her lips, clearly mulling it over, before nodding, "Just don't stay out too late. You know we have to be out of our rooms early in the morning."

Ceres beams. "We won't! Don't worry!" She takes her friend and leads her to the stairway, too impatient to wait for the elevator. Curtis grins over at his mother and starts down the hall in the direction of their staterooms.

"I assume you will be meeting up with your friend as well," his mother says, raising an eyebrow, "Going to the bars again?"

Curtis chuckles. "Probably," he lies, "But I'll make sure we're out of our room in time."

His mother sighs and shakes her head, waving her hand dismissively. It's a cruise and he's almost twenty-two, anyway. She can't judge. "I'm just going to change shirts before I head out," he says, not much of an explanation for why he's got to go to his room still but she buys it anyway, nodding as she opens the door to her stateroom and disappearing inside. Curtis smiles as he walks down two more doors to his and Wesley's room, sliding the card into the door slot and opening the door slowly, quietly in case Wesley is still asleep.

As the door opens, he sees a soft, warm glow of light illuminating the dark room, nothing like the bright bulbs in the room's lighting fixtures. Curtis' heart constricts a little at the sight of it, rows of red and white tea lights lining the desk, bedside table, and vanity. One last tea light sits in the center of the coffee table at the far end of the room, fixed between two plates of chocolate raspberry cheesecake and two wine glasses, where Wesley, his Wesley, sits behind the coffee table on the couch, dressed in his suit from the night of the Captain's Dinner. "Hey, you," he says, standing as Curtis makes his way into the room, reaching out a hand for him.

"…Wesley?" Curtis asks when his voice finally finds his throat again, resting his hand in Wesley's and sitting beside him on the couch, "What is all this?"

Wesley smiles and kisses his cheek once they're settled on the couch, Curtis still watching him with awe and confusion, his heart pounding against his ribcage. "I don't know," he shrugs, "I know we can't go to that Sweethearts Gala thing tonight, so I thought I'd bring it to you." He nudges Curtis' side and gives him a sheepish grin. "It's really cheesy, I know."

"Yeah, it is," Curtis chuckles, cupping Wesley's cheek and kissing him sweetly. "It's perfect." Wesley's smile broadens, like he's finally gotten the approval he was looking for, and he leans in to kiss Curtis again before opening up the bottle of red wine on the coffee table and pouring some into their glasses while Curtis takes a bite from the chocolate raspberry cheesecake, humming in approval as he savors it. He eyed it on the room service menu once or twice but never mentioned it; now Curtis wonders how Wesley knew.

"Good?" Wesley smiles, holding his glass of wine in one hand and Curtis' heart in the other.

Curtis nods, taking his own glass from the coffee table. "It's delicious," he says, giving Wesley a soft kiss. He holds up his glass. "Cheers."

"Cheers," Wesley nods, clicking their glasses together. He turns the television on, already set to one of the music channels, soft jazz filling the room. Curtis chuckles softly and kisses him again.

"You're so lame," he breathes against Wesley's lips.

Wesley smiles. "I know." Curtis closes his eyes as Wesley kisses him. "You love it."

"I do," Curtis says, nudging the tip of Wesley's cheesecake onto his fork and offering it up to him. "Try the cheesecake."

Wesley takes the bite and grins, nuzzling Curtis' nose. "It is pretty delicious. I did a good job, huh?"

Curtis smiles and pats his leg. "You did alright, babe."

It takes them at least an hour to get through the cheesecake and wine between their kisses and whispered confessions, but Curtis hardly tracks the time, only checking the clock once when Wesley steps out to place the plates and glasses on the polished silver tray outside their door. He loses track of everything again when they sway together, Frank Sinatra crooning smoothly from the television while Curtis wraps his arms around Wesley's neck and leans his cheek on Wesley's shoulder, Wesley's hands at Curtis' hips as he hums softly with the music. They move together in slow, small circles around the tiny open space of their stateroom until they've exhausted the repertoire of Frank Sinatra songs the cruise channel has available, changing the channel back to slow jazz as they keep swaying together.

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you," Wesley whispers against Curtis' ear, barely audible, breaking the comfortable silence between them for the first time since they found their rhythm.

Curtis smiles, thinking of the second night of the cruise, when they were sloppy and drunk and could barely keep their hands off each other in front of Curtis' family. When they had sex against the bathroom counter and then twice on each bed to properly break the room in because they were too tired the night before. When, after everything, they weren't drunk anymore but pretended to be, whispering shyly that they thought they'd found The One. He thinks of the third night, when they figured out how to be just best friends in front of his mother and lovers in the sanctity of their cabin, when Wesley told him how he hated the word lover but he didn't hate it for Curtis, and the fourth, when they teased each other with flirty girls at the bar until they realized they didn't want to waste their precious alone time with tricking girls. He thinks of the fifth morning, when Wesley whispered sober that he hoped he and Curtis would be together forever, and the fifth night, when they didn't even have sex but just kissed and cuddled and it was just as good. He thinks of the sixth night, when he was on top and sent Wesley to that place he goes after Curtis has been really rough, where his pupils get huge and his cheeks stay flushed and he can't form complete thoughts for two hours, when Wesley wasn't entirely there but still promised he and Curtis would spend the rest of their lives together. When Wesley taught Curtis that he really wanted all those promises.

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you, too," Curtis says, leaning up to kiss Wesley's lips.

"I mean it," he says, not raising his voice a decibel. "I was thinking when we got back to school I could go buy you a ring and do it all proper. I've been saving, I could buy you a nice one."

Curtis' heart lodges itself in his throat. "Yeah?" he says, the only syllable he can muster as he looks up at Wesley, eyes shining. "You really want to marry me?"

Wesley nods, cupping Curtis' cheek and brushing his thumb across the bone. "I really do," he says, pressing a kiss against Curtis' lips. "More than anything in the world."

Curtis bundles Wesley's jacket lapels in his hands, tracing the folds with his thumbs. He wonders if they can barge into the bridge and ask the captain to marry them right then and there. His mother wouldn't approve - his mother might never approve - but Curtis finds himself hard pressed to care because no one will ever love him like Wesley loves him. He will never love anyone like he loves Wesley. Curtis tightens his grip on Wesley's lapels and slowly guides him back towards the twin beds at the head of their stateroom, buckling his knees when he feels the backs of them hit the edge of the bed.  "You suck at dancing," he whispers as they fall into bed together, chuckling softly. "You better learn for our wedding."

"Hey, the sway thing works for slow dancing," Wesley smiles, kissing Curtis softly, "That's what all the couples do."

"I guess," Curtis says. He tucks one of Wesley's curls behind his ear to no effect, his dark hair still falling over his forehead. "Maybe we could go on a cruise like this for our honeymoon."

"Maybe," Wesley nods. "But both our vacations together have been tropical, maybe we should try something else." He grins, then, wiggling his eyebrows. "Let's go to Canada."

Curtis chuckles, shaking his head. "I want to go somewhere exciting." He runs his fingers over Wesley's chest, starting to undo the buttons of his white dress shirt. "Let's go somewhere we've never been." Wesley nods again, firm with his lips pressed together in a thin line, like this might be the most certain he's ever been in his entire life. The only time he's ever been certain in his entire life, with his ever-changing majors and career paths and all the cracks just under his confident facade. Curtis kisses him.

Wesley gets up and blows out all the candles so the room smells smoky and vanilla, sliding the balcony door shut and closing the curtains while Curtis undresses. This must be what perfect darkness looks like, he realizes, setting an alarm on the clock at his bedside before turning it upside down so the faint glow of light disappears, no soft hum of electronic lights anywhere, the outside world completely shut out. The bed shifts a little as Wesley climbs in, sneaking his way up from under the sheets at the other end of the bed, pressing little kisses to the insides of Curtis' thighs, then up his abdomen and chest and throat before landing on Curtis' lips, sending shivers up Curtis' spine and back down to his fingertips. He wonders if Wesley will ever get tired of kissing every inch of skin like that, prays that he doesn't. Curtis tries to visualize the curve of Wesley's body under the duvet, crawling slowly up to the head of the bed, but he can't see anything, can't even tell if his eyes are closed or open. He likes to be able to see Wesley's face during everything, but it's quiet and intimate like this, moans broken down to breathy shudders, movement directed entirely by touch.

"I want a summer wedding," Curtis whispers as he rests his head on Wesley's chest after two rounds and Wesley's cleaned them up politely, "So it's warm and beautiful and everyone's in a good mood." Wesley's nails trail lightly over the skin on his back.

"Okay," Wesley says. Curtis hears his smile in his voice. "What colors do you want?"
 
"I don't know yet," Curtis chuckles. He's never actually planned his wedding colors before. Weddings always seemed like this far-off distant thing that Curtis wanted but was never really sure he would have, and it seemed stupid and girly to try to figure out all the details of his wedding when he had no idea who he would be marrying. When he had no idea what kind of person he would be marrying. He thinks Wesley probably wants something small and private, just family and their closest friends. If it were really up to Wesley, they would end up going to City Hall as soon as their flight landed the next day and signing a certificate, probably. But Curtis wants to show the whole world how good they are together. Their wedding has to prove that they belong together and, fuck, Curtis can't keep their wedding small. He needs every single person he knows there because he knows his family won't be. Theo and Travis will go, and his aunts, but Wesley has enough family to fill up two strings of a football team. Curtis can't compete with that.

"Maybe green can be one of them," Wesley offers. His voice is gentle and warm, like he can feel the sadness starting to work its way up Curtis' toes to his chest. "It'll bring out your eyes."

"And yours," Curtis says, reaching out to turn on the bedside lamp, wincing as his eyes adjust to the sudden light before stroking the hair on Wesley's forehead, just watching him. He has this smile at the corners of his lips that looks so small and natural and warm that Curtis guesses Wesley doesn't know he's smiling at all, which is the best part of it. Wesley always looks at him that way, lost in something but maybe not wanting to be found. Curtis will never understand what it is about him that makes Wesley light up like that, but he guesses that's how he knows this whole thing is real, the way they seem to be mutually amazed by each other and mutually bewildered by that fact. That probably means they're meant for each other.

"I wanted to see your eyes," Curtis whispers.

Wesley's fingers glide up and down Curtis' spine. "Yours are nicer," he says. "I'd ask you to trade but then I wouldn't get to look into them during moments like these."

From anyone else, it would sound like a line, but with Wesley it's all genuine, like he's never heard the cliches before. He just pulls them out from between his atoms and makes them sound fresh and new and perfect again.

"I wouldn't want to be looking into my own eyes, either," Curtis smiles, kissing the corner of Wesley's lips. "Just yours." He turns the lamp off and they just lie together, the room silent and dark except for their shared human sound and the quiet rhythm of Wesley's heart beating just under Curtis' ear.








He swears as the alarm goes off, feeling like he's only just closed his eyes and prepared to throw the damn thing at the wall. Wesley chuckles softly beneath him, eyes still closed, and groans in displeasure, trying to slide out of bed from beneath Curtis, but Curtis just wraps his body around Wesley's and pins him down.

"Babe," Wesley says, his voice even thicker and slower with sleep, "Babe, we've got to pack." And Curtis knows that Wesley is right - they have a lot to do before they're ready to disembark from the ship, starting with hiding all the candles so they don't get into trouble with housekeeping for having illegal objects in their cabin and ending with throwing all their clothes into their suitcases because the cruise staff will be coming around to collect them at nine. But Curtis can't bring himself to do any of that. He rolls his hips fluidly against Wesley's instead. Wesley moans somewhere deep in his chest, too tired to make any real noise, and swats Curtis' butt meaningfully. Curtis chuckles against his collarbone.

"Don't be a dick," Wesley laughs, stretching his arms high above his head, "We don't have time for that."

"Fine," Curtis says, sighing dramatically. "You're probably still dripping out of me anyway." Which is true, and actually kind of gross if Curtis thinks about it even though he doesn't really mind, but Wesley's eyes get all dark and lusty for a moment and Curtis smirks, satisfied. "It would make the plane ride really uncomfortable."

Wesley unravels himself from the tangle of Curtis' limbs and the sheets, smacking Curtis on the ass again. "Go shower," he chuckles, bending down to kiss Curtis' temple before walking over to the other bed and tossing the sheets around a bit to make it look properly slept in.

Curtis sighs and drags himself out of bed and into the shower, turning the water up to a relaxing temperature and wishing the stateroom showers were big enough for two people. He takes his time, lathering expensive product into his hair and letting the water wake him up. By the time he emerges from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, there's no traces of the previous night at all, the tea lights all stuffed into bags beneath fake garbage for them to dump into a trash bin somewhere, undetected and their bags open at the foot of each of their beds, clothing folded neatly inside. Curtis blinks.

"You work fast," he says.

"I did most of the packing last night while you were at the show," Wesley shrugs. "I didn't want to light the candles too soon in case the smoke alarms went off, so I finished setting up pretty quickly." He kisses Curtis' cheek, then walks into the bathroom for his own shower. They've worked out a system where Curtis always showers first because it takes Wesley at most half the amount of time to get ready, so he can shower and dress during the painstaking amount of time it takes Curtis to do his hair. Curtis carefully shuffles through the layers of folded clothes in his suitcase before pulling out comfortable loungewear and a beanie, ultimately deciding there's no point in making himself presentable when they're just going to get on an airplane in a few hours. He's just about finished blow-drying his hair when there's three sharp knocks at the door, Curtis opening it to find his mother on the other side.

"Good morning, Curtis," she says, stepping into the room and taking a sip from her coffee, "Just wanted to make sure you two are awake."

"Yeah," Curtis nods, "We're up. Wesley's showering, he should be out soon."

"That's good." She looks around the room. Curtis can't help getting nervous when her gaze lingers on the beds, like she'll realize that only one of them was slept in last night, or somehow she'll smell the lingering sweat in the air even though Wesley already opened the balcony door to make sure the room aired out. "Don't forget to leave your bags outside the door for the staff. Meet us upstairs for breakfast at nine, nine-fifteen?"

"Got it," Curtis nods again, checking his watch. They've still got half an hour. "No problem. I'll see you there." He smiles and waves his mother off, pulling a maroon beanie over his hair and sweeping the fringe over his forehead in time for Wesley to emerge from the bathroom, already fully dressed, and tuck his toiletry bag back into his suitcase.

"You smell nice," Curtis says.

Wesley chuckles and presses a kiss to Curtis' cheek. "I used your body wash. I'm out." He winks, then, and adds, "I'll have the smell of you on me all day."

Curtis makes a show of pouting about how he's going to miss the smell of Wesley for the day while he floats about the room, packing up any last hair products and toiletries before stuffing them into the corner of his suitcase. Wesley gives his hair a quick blow-through with the hairdryer before shaking the wet ends out like a dog, sending a spray of water in every direction, and combing it with his fingers. Curtis huffs every time Wesley does that, annoyed at how easily Wesley gets his hair to look the exact same way every time, but somehow it's terribly endearing. He never thought he'd end up wanting to marry a green-eyed puppy of a boy.

He zips up their bags and places them outside the door while Wesley finishes getting himself ready for the day, barely back inside before Wesley is swooping him up and spinning him around and kissing at his jaw, Curtis' legs reflexively wrapping themselves around Wesley's waist.

"Hi," Wesley says.

"Hi." Curtis leans in to nuzzle Wesley's nose. "We're getting married."

"I know," Wesley chuckles, beaming. "I can't believe it. You're my fiancé."

Curtis smiles broadly at the word, letting it play over and over in his head. Fiancé. He is Wesley's fiancé and Wesley is his fiancé and they are going to be married.  "I can't wait to plan it. If I fail this semester, it's your fault."

Wesley grins. "You could let me plan it."

"And let you think you're actually in charge of this relationship?" Curtis smiles. "Never."

"Hey," Wesley says, practically throwing Curtis onto one of the beds and climbing over him, "I'll show you who's in charge."

Curtis laughs and reaches up to wrap his arms around Wesley's neck, just in time for Wesley to grab his wrists and pin them down to the bed, grinding his hips into Curtis'. "We only have like, five minutes," Curtis warns, wiggling his eyebrows in a challenge as Wesley leans down and kisses him hard, tightening his grip on Curtis' wrists. He knows they won't be doing much of anything - Wesley doesn't like to rush things, and Curtis appreciates his dedication - but the kiss is heated anyway, making Curtis' entire body arch up into it as he kisses back.

He hears a sharp knock at the door, just in time for Curtis to throw Wesley off of him and off the bed, his heart slamming against his ribcage.

"Why am I not surprised," Curtis' mother says from the doorway.

Fuck. He hadn't closed the door entirely after he came back inside from putting the bags out. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Curtis' chest tightens as he focuses all his attention on not throwing up. They'd done so well. They'd improvised endless accounts of girls they met on the cruise without fail to explain why they were burned out and exhausted, why there were scratch marks on Wesley's back when they went to the beach after they remembered not to leave any hickeys but forgot about the other visible marks. They'd rolled around in both the beds so both would look slept in. They'd taken every care not to get caught and now Curtis had ruined it.

Curtis switches his gaze between his furious mother and Wesley, who desperately tries to explain something, anything, but Curtis can't make out any words over the roar of his blood pounding in his ears. Wesley's eyes start to gloss over, his hands shaking, but if Curtis' mother notices, she doesn't show it. It all comes in fragments, Wesley's panicked "I swear" and broken syllables of other words until his mother turns her glare on Curtis.

"Is that true?" she says, a threat in her voice.

"Y-yeah. Yes." Curtis wishes he knew what he was agreeing to.

From the corner of his eye, Curtis sees Wesley look down, biting hard onto his lower lip. Curtis spares him a glance, aching to look at him but terrified of what his mother will think. He's never seen him like this before, not even when they got into a fight the previous year that left them giving each other the silent treatment for almost a week, neither one of them sure their relationship would make it to Friday. They only stopped when Wesley showed up at his door at two in the morning, begging for forgiveness when Curtis couldn't even remember which of them was mad at the other for what anymore. He was paler and thinner than usual, his eyes rimmed with red and shadowed by dark circles; Curtis bets he must have looked like hell, too, but he avoided looking at mirrors.

Now Wesley looks just like he did the night before when he greeted Curtis with a candlelit room, tall and warm and genuine, all the same except for the tears threatening his eyes, yet he looks like someone else entirely. Small. Fragile.

"After today, I'll never bother him again. Honest. I'm so, so sorry."

Curtis puts together the pieces of Wesley's story, of how supposedly they were best friends but Wesley thought that even with all the girls and everything, maybe underneath, Curtis' taking him on this trip meant something more. Of how he had been too scared to make a move and he thought maybe Curtis was, too, which was why they kept courting random women they met on the cruise. Of how this morning, when they were packing, he thought it was his last chance to make his move, so he just kissed him, and of how Curtis mother walked in at the wrong time because Curtis didn't accept the kiss, already shoving Wesley away before she knocked. Of how Wesley was painfully enamored with his best friend, but Curtis didn't love him back. Not even a little bit. Not even at all.

That was the story Curtis agreed to. He closes his eyes and takes a moment to breathe, trying once again to do anything but throw up.

He knows when Wesley says, 'I'll never bother him again,' he really means, 'I'm just saving face in front of your mother.' He means he's just telling her what she wants to hear so that she won't disown Curtis in his last semester of school when he's so close to finishing everything. He means that as soon as they're out of her sight, they'll be able to laugh about this, cuddling on the bus on the way to the airport. He means, 'I love you' and 'I need you' and 'I'll protect you' all at the same time. He knows that Wesley means once they're alone, everything will be fine. They'll still get married.   They'll still spend the rest of their lives together. But just hearing the words makes him feel like he's dying, I'll never bother him again, honest echoing in his ribcage where his love used to be.

"I should hope so," his mother says. Anise says. "Come along, Curtis. I think our business here is done."

Curtis follows dutifully, certain any hesitation will blow gaping holes into their tentative cover. As his mother walks out the door, Curtis gives Wesley one last look, longing and apologetic. He reaches out to touch him but doesn't, afraid the touch will be too much and he'll shatter Wesley into thousands of pieces. They leave and round up the girls from his mother's room, making their way to breakfast, the girls chatting idly and Anise occasionally telling Curtis about how shocked she is, how she thought Wesley was such a nice boy even though she made it abundantly clear she believed no such thing. He pokes at his pancakes.

"You know, I have always heard about these boys who go off to college and suddenly decide they want to experiment with homosexuality," Anise says, raising an eyebrow. "I'm glad my son is not so foolish."

Curtis imagines flipping this table over and telling his mother that he is that foolish. He would tell her how he's in love with Wesley and how they're going to get married and how he knows he's bisexual and maybe he isn't experimenting with homosexuality so much as the first part of his life was a failed experiment in heterosexuality. But if he tells her that then all of Wesley's hurt will be for nothing and he'll have to drop out of school and he has no idea what will become of him then, or what will become of them if he can't even live in New York to be with Wesley anymore.

"He's still my friend, Mom," Curtis says quietly, sinking in his seat. "It…never bothered me that he likes guys and girls."

"You knew?" she hisses, eyebrows raised, "And you still brought him on our family vacation?"

Curtis closes his eyes tightly. "He never made a move on me or anything. I've only ever seen him interested in girls, anyway."

"I see," she says, her voice harsh. "Now that you know he has ulterior motives, I trust you will stay far away from that boy."

"Yeah," he says weakly.

The passengers have until two in the afternoon to leave the ship, but most people have no where to go, gathered around tables in the three-level dining room until their flight numbers get called over the PA system so they can check out and get bussed over to the airport. He sits at a table with his  mother and the girls, staring at the pattern in the table cloth and checking his phone obsessively under the table. The only saving grace of this whole thing is that he and Wesley have to fly back to school, while his mother and the girls are going home, so he gets to leave without them and sit with Wesley on the plane and lift the armrest between them and lean against his side and promise that everything is going to be fine. He just wishes he could get service on his phone. He wishes he knew where Wesley was.

"I have to go to the restroom," Curtis says, shoving his phone into his pocket and standing.

His mother watches him stand, looking, as always, unamused. "You've gone twice already."

"I drank a lot of coffee at breakfast," Curtis shrugs and walks off, pulling his phone out of his pocket as soon as he's out on the entrance deck while people take one last stroll through the collection of shops. No service. He sighs and wanders through the shopping plaza, going into the little cupcake shop to buy some for Ceres and her friend. At least it's something to do. He spots someone tall and dark-haired with broad shoulders and Curtis' heart starts racing a bit, but when he turns around he's not Wesley, not even close.

Once he thinks he's gone through just about every shop and every deck of the dining room with no luck, Curtis resigns himself to his table and brings the cupcakes back to Ceres and her friend, apologizing to his mother about the wait - long line at the shop, but I remember Ceres really wanted one of the cupcakes and I didn't think she ever got to try one. He never finds Wesley until they're on the bus to be taken to the airport, the checkout process long and grueling when Curtis has to suffer through it alone. But he finds Wesley and that's all that matters, sees him sitting towards the back of the bus and staring out the window.

"This seat taken?" Curtis asks shyly, glancing at the open seat beside him. Wesley stirs like he's just woken up even though he was already awake, his face filling with something like relief as he sees Curtis.

"Nah," he says. His smile is small but it's still a smile. It doesn't look much like Wesley's recovered from the morning, but Curtis sits down next to him anyway, leaning against his side.

"I'm so sorry about this morning," Curtis whispers into Wesley's shoulder as Wesley wraps an arm around him. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Shh." Wesley pulls Curtis' beanie off and cards his fingers through his hair. "It's okay. It's not your fault."

"I left the door open," Curtis says. "I didn't mean to. It just happened."

"It's not your fault," Wesley repeats. As relieved as Curtis feels that Wesley doesn't blame him for this, he doesn't think it's right, wants to shake Wesley and just make him forgive him already. But Wesley looks tired and small and weak, so Curtis decides not to press the issue. There's no point in talking about something that's just going to hurt the both of them. They sit silently instead, just holding each other, breathing together. It's all the assurance Curtis needs, feeling how synchronized they are. They stay like that through the whole travel experience, only separating to get through the security checkpoint at the airport. Wesley falls asleep on the plane first, resting against the window while Curtis leans on his chest, and they sit like that in the cab, Curtis letting all his weight fall on Wesley's side and hoping somehow they'll melt together. He hopes school shakes the quiet out of them but he feels that they're okay, feels how securely Wesley holds him. Wesley is just tired. Curtis can't blame him for that.

When he opens the door to his dorm room, a wall of chill hits Curtis, seeping its way under his skin, covering his bones. He shivers.

"Heater must be broken," Wesley says, unwinding the scarf from his neck, his movements slow and deliberate. "I'll put in a maintenance request for you." He starts wrapping the scarf around Curtis' neck then, his long arms deft as they wind the fabric round and round Curtis' neck. Curtis smiles softly, burrowing into the mound of scarf around his neck and face a bit more as Wesley finishes, gripping the two ends of the scarf in his hands and making a crease in the center with his thumbs, running them down the thick cashmere in a line. Curtis steps forward when he feels Wesley gently tugging him closer by the ends of the scarf, closing his eyes and puckering slightly while he waits for Wes' lips. He feels them instead on his forehead, Wesley's nose nuzzling the soft hair at the top of Curtis' head.

Curtis smiles and opens his eyes. "I can do it," he says. He doesn't mean for his voice to come out so quietly but it seems appropriate, anyway.

Wesley shakes his head. "You'll forget," he says, smiling just at the corners of his mouth. "I don't mind." His hands still grip the ends of the scarf loosely, his thumbs tracing mirrored patterns into each end. Curtis bundles up the loose fabric of Wesley's coat in his fists, holding them at the waist, and steps forward again so that their toes meet. Wesley watches him, eyes fixed, like he's trying to memorize every detail of Curtis' face in this moment.

Curtis meets his eyes and just looks at him. He wants to say they should go curl up in his bed and keep each other warm. He wants to tell him he loves him. He wants to tell him that nothing matters, not his mom, not this morning, nothing but the two of them in this quiet stillness. He moves in to kiss him instead, hopes that'll say everything.

"I don't think we should be together anymore," Wesley says before their lips can meet.

Curtis gets that tight feeling in his chest again, like all he can possibly do is try not to throw up, his vision foggy and the sound all around him muffled by the blood in his ears. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Wesley breathes, his voice trembling, "Just - we just - we can't be together anymore. We can't. I'm so sorry." He looks at Curtis again but Curtis can't meet his gaze, too busy watching the entire world around him collapse into nothing. Curtis opens his mouth to speak, dragging his eyes up from the ground, but Wesley is already gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

Curtis grasps blindly at the scarf around his neck. It smells like lemon detergent and cedarwood cologne. Love drains from him, taking with it much of his blood sugar and water weight. He is like a house slowly losing its electricity, the fans slowing, the lights dimming; the clocks stop and go and stop.
i wrote a thing. college au. kind of a sequel to stay on my arm, you little charmer, only with the middle all gutted out. a start and an end, i suppose.

curtis and his family belong to *CloudStrife-Nocturne
wesley, the cheesy writing, and the random cast of other characters all belong to me
© 2013 - 2024 imise
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HopefulCloud's avatar
I'm literally just
crying my eyes out.
because they are meant to be, but they can't be right now and they already had a taste of what they wanted, but they couldn't have it yet
AND IT HURTS