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Luke and AJ were walking together on the way back to AJ’s after the pub. Sam and Tom had gone home rather suddenly after some hushed, tipsy giggling, so Luke and AJ had to make their own way home – or risk bearing witness to the mass of cephalopod-like limbs they tend to become at times like this.
Walking home, AJ seems to sober briefly, leaning into Luke’s space and touching his arm.
“D’you… Um,” He starts, almost immediately losing track of what he’s saying, blinking heavily to try and clear his thoughts. He’s not particularly coherent at the best of times, and with both of them tipsy it’s not likely to get very far. The thought makes Luke laugh, and AJ does too, both of them needing to stop and lean against a wall.
With no idea what either of them were laughing about, Luke stares into space as the laughter dissipates into the night. Like… silk in a muddle. Or something. Pilk. What was he thinking about?
“I mean,” AJ starts again, “D’you ever actually feel… whatever it was you were playing at feeling?”
“What?”
“Like… being short. S’it just for funny? Cause…” He forgets again for a minute.
“S’just for mostly funny. Bu-‘m not-” Luke burps “-that short, not really. Just cause you’re tall. N’Tom’s fuckin… Tall. Makes me look sort. Sort. Sort. I can’t say sort.”
“I don’t mind… bald joking. Hmm? Sort. Short. M’okay. M’not that drunk.”
He realises he’s sitting on the floor. He had wondered when Luke had got so tall.
Luke walks in circles a little around a streetlight, throws up in a bin, and hauls AJ up, who stumbles, blinks, and looks down at Luke, who squints up at him.
“You don’t mind… bald joking. Issat like…” He thinks, working out what the funniest thing to say would be, “Issat like… when y’re mould… but it’s funny?”
AJ takes a minute to try and parse through what Luke’s said, not understanding it in the slightest. Luke on the other hand collapses into laughter, leaning on the streetlight until he almost falls over, stumbling and steadying himself on AJ’s jacket. AJ frowns.
“I mean… s’what we did b’fore okay? In party kir- kir- kawirks. Quirks.”
“I dunno. S’like…” He trails off, trying to work out what he means.
“Quirks.”
“S’mostly fine. N’then, f’it isn’t, s’still funny. Yeah?”
“Quirks. Uh- What?”
“It’s like James Acaster. On bake-off.”
AJ frowns again, trying to remember something from before yesterday, as Luke pats his chest, happy with his summary, and strides off. Well, walks. That is to say, doesn’t immediately fall over.
-----
AJ tugs the spare mattress out from under his bed, finding a pillow from fuck knows where, and hands it to Luke, who grabs it and promptly passes out, leaving AJ to grab him and lower him onto the mattress. He looks very pretty, all lashes and blond hair once AJ’s put his glasses on the side table. He grabs a glass of water for each of them, knowing they’ll need them in the morning, and collapses onto his own bed.
-----
At about five am, Luke wakes, drinks the whole glass, and goes for a piss. After the longest pee of his life, he comes back and, out of habit, tucks himself into AJ’s arms. Somewhere between still-tipsy and head-on-fire, he falls back to sleep.
-----
AJ wakes up in the morning with a splitting headache, and a Luke in his arms. He gulps down a glass of water, and regrets everything he’s ever done. Well, apart from Luke. He frowns, hoping they didn’t- they wouldn’t. If they’d been drunk enough for him not to remember, they were too drunk to attempt clothing. He checks, and his own belt is still buckled, pressing uncomfortably into his waist.
Luke wakes up and mewls softly, needy, rolling over to face AJ and tuck his face into AJ’s chest. AJ wraps an arm around him, miserably uncomfortable but sacrificing himself for Luke. It’s later than either of them would usually get up, and the sunlight makes it impossible for AJ to go back to sleep. Still, he lies there, letting Luke doze for another two hours before either of them get up.
From there it’s food, shower, gym, shower, food, chatting, texting, food, sex, back to bed. All in all, a good day, by AJ’s standards.
Luke just wants to be held. Small? Never. Smaller? Passable, he supposes, spooned and loved and well-fucked and content.