Title: I Love You on Days Ending in Y
Title: I Love You on Days Ending in Y
Author: x_heterophobic
Pairing: Neal/Archie
Rating: R to be safe.
Summary: Every day is different. Every day is new.
Disclaimer: This is only for fun. I do not know either Neal Tiemann or David Archuleta and this is a piece of fiction solely from my imagination and not based on any true events.
Author Notes: Thank you to sir_yessir, sophie_448, otherbella, and aohatsu for the wonderful help and encouragement. :)
Warnings: None. (Okay, some angst. And lots of romantic sap.)
Word Count: ~3000
Monday
Neal thinks the goggles look stupid, but he’s not an idiot and always wears them when he’s working with the buzz saw. He wipes away the layer of sawdust that had settled over them and frowns at his work, running his finger along the smooth edge of the plank of wood he was working with. He wanted this to be perfect. It was going to be a bookshelf for Archie, since when they moved in together and Archie had seen his large collection of books, he mentioned something about wanting to read more. And Neal knew - he didn’t want Archie to feel obligated to stick to only what Neal liked and read (even though his taste in books was pretty eclectic) and he wanted Archie to have his own ‘space’ - his own space to put his own budding book collection.
He sighs and leans away from his work, pushing the goggles up to his forehead, his hair sticking up every which way. It’s a gift - a gift for Archie, for their new home, for their new life. He wants it to be beautiful, and elegant, and meaningful, just like Archie is. He’s afraid it’s going to be awkward, and blunt, and out of place, like he is.
There’s a noise from behind him, the door from the house to the garage quietly closing. When he turns, Archie is sitting on the steps of the garage, smiling at him. He’s a cold beer in his hand, and he extends it towards Neal.
“Working hard?” Archie asks with a smile, and then leans curiously to the side to see what Neal was working on. “What are you making?”
Neal takes the beer with one hand and settles down on the step next to his boyfriend, throwing his arm around Archie’s shoulder.
“Nothing,” he mumbles, leaning in to kiss Archie on the cheek.
Tuesday
Tuesday nights are usually Taco Nights at the Tiemann-Archuleta household. Whether they’re making them from scratch, or Neal’s picking them up from Taco Bell, Tuesdays are always Taco Nights, and usually the one night they clear their schedules to actually sit down and eat together.
Tonight Archie is cooking, spatula in hand and sleeves rolled up. Neal likes watching Archie in the kitchen when he cooks, likes the preparation stage where Archie puts all the ingredients to their dinner in little white bowls and lays them out neatly before putting on an apron and turning on the stove. He always looks so focused, but he always looks like he belongs there, humming under his breath, a jingle or a song he heard on the radio, his hair sticking up every which way after a long day.
“Neal, set the table?” Archie calls from his spot at the stove, poking the sizzling tortilla in its pan idly. It’s not complicated, making tacos, but Neal loves how Archie pays close attention to what he’s doing, determined not to crack the taco shells he cooks. Neal slides up behind him, wrapping his arms around Archie’s waist and places a dry kiss against the back of his neck.
Archie laughs and jerks away a little, ticklish. “Don’t distract me!” he chastises.
“I can’t help it,” Neal rumbles into his hair, nuzzling the back of his head and smiling. Archie sighs and leans back into the warmth of Neal’s body for a moment, before straightening and pulling away.
“I mean it, or you won’t get dinner,” Archie warns, pulling completely away.
“I don’t care,” Neal growls, tugging him back into place, fitting his body perfectly against his boyfriend’s, running his hand up Archie’s chest. Archie laughs and elbows him gently, turning in his embrace, a spatula still in one hand.
“There’s plenty of time for that after dinner,” he says, lifting up on his toes to kiss Neal’s nose. “And I, for one, am hungry.”
Neal sticks his bottom lip out a little (not pouting), but does as he’s told, trying to ignore the warm tug at his heart when he finishes setting the table for two, and Archie appears at the doorway, announcing that dinner is ready to be served.
He can’t ignore it. (But it feels nice, so he doesn’t mind so much.)
Wednesday
Neal wakes up to tiny, open-mouthed kisses along his chest and jaw, and Archie’s sleepily hooded eyes staring down at him apologetically. He automatically puts a hand on Archie’s lower back, his fingers spanning the width of it, and holds him close, as Archie kisses him slow, and gentle, and sweet. He curves his hand down around the swell of his boyfriend’s ass as he kisses back, introducing a little heat, a little want, despite his foggy, sleep-addled brain. Archie sighs happily into his mouth, rocking his body against Neal’s, his skin always so smooth and perfect as it slides against his own.
“I have to go in early today,” Archie whispers against his mouth, rubbing his nose against Neal’s cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m glad you woke me,” Neal says, even though he’d barely fallen asleep a couple of hours ago. He didn’t like waking up and having Archie gone - they’d had a huge fight about it actually, and though they’d agreed that it would be okay as long as Archie left a note or something, he definitely preferred it when Archie woke him up to say goodbye.
Archie runs his fingers through Neal’s hair, stroking through the length affectionately. “I’m going to be gone all day. I’ll miss you.”
“Miss you more,” Neal whispers back, and holds Archie gently in his hands as they kiss, because this thing is delicate and fragile, and he doesn’t want to crush it even though sometimes he feels like his emotions are too heavy and he’s afraid of scaring Archie away. He just wants to hold onto this, because this is all he wants.
Thursday
When Neal gets home in the afternoon, Archie is bent over his truck, hood popped and half-way inside the car’s engine. All he can see is Archie’s ass and legs, the upper half of him completely hidden. He blinks, lets himself stare a little perversely at the way his boyfriend’s jeans hug his ass and thighs, and then knocks on the car roof, getting Archie’s attention.
“What are you doing?” He asks when Archie emerges, a smear of grease on his cheek, and all over his hands. He has a filthy rag slung over his shoulders, and he’s wearing one of Neal’s rattiest old t-shirts. (Neal should maybe be pissed at him for wearing one of his shirts to get dirty in, but the v in the neck hangs really low on him, and he looks tiny and rugged and like he walked right out of Neal’s fantasies, so he can’t actually be that mad at him.)
Archie smiles widely. “Sorry, you mentioned the truck needed it’s oil changed, and I figured why go to a mechanic and pay a ridiculous amount of money when I could just do it at home? I wanted to surprise you.”
“Consider me surprised,” Neal says, grinning. Then he slides his hand around Archie’s neck and pulls him in for a rough ‘thank you’ kiss, not even minding when Archie forgets himself and puts his dirty hands on Neal’s chest to brace himself. He can always wash the shirt, and Archie makes a pretty hot mechanic after all.
Friday
It’s like the opposite of date night, Friday nights, for them. It’s sort of their night to hang out with their friends and even though Neal usually sees his friends almost every day anyway, it’s important for Archie to have other people in his life, he guesses. (Honestly he’d rather just bring Archie with him to hang out with Dave and Andy and them, but - it makes Archie happy, so he lets it go.) (He’s also terrified maybe he’s getting too clingy, so he swallows his jealousy and reminds himself that Archie always comes home, to him.)
He’s only on his second beer but on his third argument about lyrics with Dave when his cell phone rings. He cuts himself off mid-sentence as soon as he sees that it’s Archie, and shushes Dave with a hand motion as he gets up and leaves the room to answer.
“Archie? What’s up?” He asks cautiously, unsure if he should be worried by the phone call or not.
“Hey babe!” Archie greets cheerfully, and Neal relaxes, leaning against the wall. “I was wondering - I’m at Benton’s right now?” Neal knew that, already, but it was funny how Archie always thought he had to remind Neal where he was.
“Anyway, he wants me to take some lemons home - they have a lemon tree and way more lemons than they can use - and I was wondering, do you mind? I might make some lemonade or something. They look really good - really fresh.” Archie breaks off with a laugh. “Sorry, Benton’s - he’s juggling the lemons. Pretty badly.”
”Think I should join the circus?” Neal hears Benton in the background, and Archie laughs again.
“Um, don’t quit your day job?” Archie says and Neal smothers a grin.
“Sure Arch, do whatever you want. And if we can’t drink all the lemonade at least we can set up a lemonade stand on the corner,” he teases, rubbing his fist over his chest, which had gone suspiciously tight.
“Haha, okay Neal. Are you going to be late tonight?”
Neal looks into the living room where the guys are laughing over some story Andy was telling, and thinks about it for a minute, then thinks about Archie coming home with a boxful of lemons and an excited expression on his face and smiles to himself.
“No. No I won’t be late. See you at home?” He says.
“Yeah, yeah! Okay. I love you Neal.”
“Love you too,” Neal mumbles back, and wonders how much shit the guys will give him if he bows out early. He decides he doesn’t care.
Saturday
They take Sixx to the dog park on Saturday afternoon. (They would have taken him in the morning, but Neal had woken up to Archie bringing him breakfast in bed, wearing slippers and old bathrobe, and he’d carefully placed the tray aside to drag Archie into bed and fuck him, slow, syrupy flavored kisses starting their morning and Archie’s moans as his soundtrack. It had derailed their plans for a couple of hours.)
Sixx is kind of a baby. Well, he’s definitely Neal’s baby, but he’s sort of a chicken, despite being as big as he is. And usually when they get to the dog park, all the other dogs and their owners are a little intimidated by the big black and white Great Dane, who only wants to be their friend, but is too afraid himself to go and show it. (Neal secretly thinks he and Archie intimidate a lot of the other dog owners, too. He got enough looks when he used to come here by himself, tattooed and pierced, scowling at people from behind his sunglasses when they’d leash their dogs to pull them away from Sixx. Now he knows they stare because he’s tattooed and pierced and holds hands with Archie, who has the sunniest smile and the world’s greatest laugh.)
“Go on Sixx,” Neal says, unclipping the leash from Sixx’s collar. “Go play.” Sixx whines a little, pressing his weight against Neal’s legs. He sighs and shoves the dog a little with his calf.
“Don’t pressure him Neal,” Archie admonishes, and pats Mr. Sixx fondly on the head. “You’ll give him even more insecurity issues than he already has.”
“Look at you, Mr. Mom,” Neal teases, but then Archie turns to look at him, startled, this look in his eyes sort of like longing, and Neal’s mouth goes dry suddenly with the realization.
Archie seems to catch himself quickly though, and looks back at their dog. “Sixx is just special, aren’t you boy?” he rubs the Dane’s ears gently. “We’ll just wait for another dog to come over, and then you’ll feel better, won’t you buddy?”
Sure enough, one of the bigger dogs got curious enough to come over to see Archie, sniffing his hands and wagging his tail, and Sixx wags his tail back hopefully. Pretty soon they’re darting around the park, chasing each other, and Sixx looks like the happiest dog in the world.
Neal settles on the bench beside Archie, putting his arm around his shoulders, and Archie leans his head against him. Archie starts talking about some new song he was working on in the studio, but Neal can’t forget the look on his face.
Sunday
On Sundays Archie goes to church. Neal does not go with him. Neal has never gone with him. It’s always been a sore spot between them, Archie and his faith. Generally they just pretend the issue doesn’t exist, but sometimes on Sundays Neal feels like there is a chasm yawning wide and dark between them. Archie is always uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn, never touches Neal more than he has to in the mornings before he leaves, and it makes Neal feel like dirt, like he’s not enough, like he’s wrong, somehow.
He hates the way Archie will sometimes come home with red eyes and puffy cheeks, as if he’s been crying, and he wants to badly to ask him why, why he goes if it causes him so much emotional turmoil. He wants to ask Aren’t I enough? Don’t I make you happy? but he’s terrified of the answers.
He just can’t stand to see Archie like that, wrung out and exhausted, looking so unsure of himself and everything. He won’t say anything though, not unless he wants to fight about it, because Archie will always say something that touches a nerve, ignites his temper when he doesn’t even mean to - so Neal says nothing, but is always home when Archie returns from church.
Neal is reading on the couch when Archie gets home that afternoon. He lifts his eyes from the paper and watches as his boyfriend loosens his tie and stands at their kitchen window, looking pensive, before turning and going down the hall towards their bedroom. He didn’t say hello, but Neal swallows back the hurt he feels.
He doesn’t hear Archie come back out, but the paper is being gently taken from his hands and folded up, tossed to the coffee table, and Archie, now in sweat pants and a loose cotton shirt, swings his leg over Neal’s lap, looping his arms around Neal’s neck, pressing his face against Neal’s neck. Neal automatically slides his hands around Archie’s back to hold him gently, petting the long, broad expanse affectionately. Archie sighs in content, and kisses Neal’s collarbone reverently where his shirt has gaped open.
“I love you,” Archie says softly against his skin, and Neal can feel every word as if it was burned into him.
He holds on a little tighter. “I love you too,” he says back, kissing the top of Archie’s head. This is enough, what they have - it’s enough.
Monday
It’s unnaturally bright when Neal wakes up, and he squints against the sun shining through their bedroom window. They must have forgotten to close the blinds before going to sleep last night, and then sun spilled in bright and warm, illuminating the bed.
Neal’s body feels heavy, the way it always does after a long, hard night’s sleep, the kind where he doesn’t move at all, when he feels like the mattress could swallow him whole. He doesn’t want to move, but the haze of sleep is wearing off quickly and he knows he won’t fall back asleep, so he opens his eyes.
Archie is still asleep, laying a few feet away. His mouth is parted and he’s making soft, breathy, almost-snoring noises, perfectly peaceful in his slumber. It’s rare enough to wake before Archie does that Neal almost holds his breath just to watch, just to enjoy this quiet moment in the morning and catalog the way Archie’s eyelids tremble a little, the way his dark hair falls over his forehead and sticks up behind his ears.
When Neal first started dating Archie, all he wanted to do was write songs about him. There were notebooks with dozens of half-filled out pages full of notes and lyrics and chords scattered throughout his room, full of all the things he felt and couldn’t say. Some of the songs were good, some of them bad, but all of them stayed secret, songs to work on and play and tweak when Archie smiled at him and made him feel something new. He could pick out melodies that expressed what he needed to say when his words got stuck in his throat trying to tell Archie. But all of those songs were for him, not for anyone else, not even for Archie.
Now all Neal wants to do is write songs with Archie. (He’s sure they can, if only he would ask.)
Archie stirs a little, his forehead wrinkling as if can tell Neal’s staring at him. He looks confused and drowsy as he blinks awake. Neal waits until his gaze focuses, keeps his hands to himself and stays still, but he doesn’t even have to breathe a ‘good morning’ before Archie is smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling up.
“Morning,” Neal says, and Archie flops onto his stomach, turning his head to maintain eye contact with Neal.
“I think it’s going to be a good day,” Archie says in return, and Neal rolls his eyes a little at Archie’s bright optimism, even though he’s smiling despite himself. Archie props himself up and scoots closer to Neal. “I think it’s going to be a good week.”
As Archie drops a brief kiss on his forehead, Neal curls his hand around Archie’s wrist and thinks maybe he agrees.
Author: x_heterophobic
Pairing: Neal/Archie
Rating: R to be safe.
Summary: Every day is different. Every day is new.
Disclaimer: This is only for fun. I do not know either Neal Tiemann or David Archuleta and this is a piece of fiction solely from my imagination and not based on any true events.
Author Notes: Thank you to sir_yessir, sophie_448, otherbella, and aohatsu for the wonderful help and encouragement. :)
Warnings: None. (Okay, some angst. And lots of romantic sap.)
Word Count: ~3000
Monday
Neal thinks the goggles look stupid, but he’s not an idiot and always wears them when he’s working with the buzz saw. He wipes away the layer of sawdust that had settled over them and frowns at his work, running his finger along the smooth edge of the plank of wood he was working with. He wanted this to be perfect. It was going to be a bookshelf for Archie, since when they moved in together and Archie had seen his large collection of books, he mentioned something about wanting to read more. And Neal knew - he didn’t want Archie to feel obligated to stick to only what Neal liked and read (even though his taste in books was pretty eclectic) and he wanted Archie to have his own ‘space’ - his own space to put his own budding book collection.
He sighs and leans away from his work, pushing the goggles up to his forehead, his hair sticking up every which way. It’s a gift - a gift for Archie, for their new home, for their new life. He wants it to be beautiful, and elegant, and meaningful, just like Archie is. He’s afraid it’s going to be awkward, and blunt, and out of place, like he is.
There’s a noise from behind him, the door from the house to the garage quietly closing. When he turns, Archie is sitting on the steps of the garage, smiling at him. He’s a cold beer in his hand, and he extends it towards Neal.
“Working hard?” Archie asks with a smile, and then leans curiously to the side to see what Neal was working on. “What are you making?”
Neal takes the beer with one hand and settles down on the step next to his boyfriend, throwing his arm around Archie’s shoulder.
“Nothing,” he mumbles, leaning in to kiss Archie on the cheek.
Tuesday
Tuesday nights are usually Taco Nights at the Tiemann-Archuleta household. Whether they’re making them from scratch, or Neal’s picking them up from Taco Bell, Tuesdays are always Taco Nights, and usually the one night they clear their schedules to actually sit down and eat together.
Tonight Archie is cooking, spatula in hand and sleeves rolled up. Neal likes watching Archie in the kitchen when he cooks, likes the preparation stage where Archie puts all the ingredients to their dinner in little white bowls and lays them out neatly before putting on an apron and turning on the stove. He always looks so focused, but he always looks like he belongs there, humming under his breath, a jingle or a song he heard on the radio, his hair sticking up every which way after a long day.
“Neal, set the table?” Archie calls from his spot at the stove, poking the sizzling tortilla in its pan idly. It’s not complicated, making tacos, but Neal loves how Archie pays close attention to what he’s doing, determined not to crack the taco shells he cooks. Neal slides up behind him, wrapping his arms around Archie’s waist and places a dry kiss against the back of his neck.
Archie laughs and jerks away a little, ticklish. “Don’t distract me!” he chastises.
“I can’t help it,” Neal rumbles into his hair, nuzzling the back of his head and smiling. Archie sighs and leans back into the warmth of Neal’s body for a moment, before straightening and pulling away.
“I mean it, or you won’t get dinner,” Archie warns, pulling completely away.
“I don’t care,” Neal growls, tugging him back into place, fitting his body perfectly against his boyfriend’s, running his hand up Archie’s chest. Archie laughs and elbows him gently, turning in his embrace, a spatula still in one hand.
“There’s plenty of time for that after dinner,” he says, lifting up on his toes to kiss Neal’s nose. “And I, for one, am hungry.”
Neal sticks his bottom lip out a little (not pouting), but does as he’s told, trying to ignore the warm tug at his heart when he finishes setting the table for two, and Archie appears at the doorway, announcing that dinner is ready to be served.
He can’t ignore it. (But it feels nice, so he doesn’t mind so much.)
Wednesday
Neal wakes up to tiny, open-mouthed kisses along his chest and jaw, and Archie’s sleepily hooded eyes staring down at him apologetically. He automatically puts a hand on Archie’s lower back, his fingers spanning the width of it, and holds him close, as Archie kisses him slow, and gentle, and sweet. He curves his hand down around the swell of his boyfriend’s ass as he kisses back, introducing a little heat, a little want, despite his foggy, sleep-addled brain. Archie sighs happily into his mouth, rocking his body against Neal’s, his skin always so smooth and perfect as it slides against his own.
“I have to go in early today,” Archie whispers against his mouth, rubbing his nose against Neal’s cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m glad you woke me,” Neal says, even though he’d barely fallen asleep a couple of hours ago. He didn’t like waking up and having Archie gone - they’d had a huge fight about it actually, and though they’d agreed that it would be okay as long as Archie left a note or something, he definitely preferred it when Archie woke him up to say goodbye.
Archie runs his fingers through Neal’s hair, stroking through the length affectionately. “I’m going to be gone all day. I’ll miss you.”
“Miss you more,” Neal whispers back, and holds Archie gently in his hands as they kiss, because this thing is delicate and fragile, and he doesn’t want to crush it even though sometimes he feels like his emotions are too heavy and he’s afraid of scaring Archie away. He just wants to hold onto this, because this is all he wants.
Thursday
When Neal gets home in the afternoon, Archie is bent over his truck, hood popped and half-way inside the car’s engine. All he can see is Archie’s ass and legs, the upper half of him completely hidden. He blinks, lets himself stare a little perversely at the way his boyfriend’s jeans hug his ass and thighs, and then knocks on the car roof, getting Archie’s attention.
“What are you doing?” He asks when Archie emerges, a smear of grease on his cheek, and all over his hands. He has a filthy rag slung over his shoulders, and he’s wearing one of Neal’s rattiest old t-shirts. (Neal should maybe be pissed at him for wearing one of his shirts to get dirty in, but the v in the neck hangs really low on him, and he looks tiny and rugged and like he walked right out of Neal’s fantasies, so he can’t actually be that mad at him.)
Archie smiles widely. “Sorry, you mentioned the truck needed it’s oil changed, and I figured why go to a mechanic and pay a ridiculous amount of money when I could just do it at home? I wanted to surprise you.”
“Consider me surprised,” Neal says, grinning. Then he slides his hand around Archie’s neck and pulls him in for a rough ‘thank you’ kiss, not even minding when Archie forgets himself and puts his dirty hands on Neal’s chest to brace himself. He can always wash the shirt, and Archie makes a pretty hot mechanic after all.
Friday
It’s like the opposite of date night, Friday nights, for them. It’s sort of their night to hang out with their friends and even though Neal usually sees his friends almost every day anyway, it’s important for Archie to have other people in his life, he guesses. (Honestly he’d rather just bring Archie with him to hang out with Dave and Andy and them, but - it makes Archie happy, so he lets it go.) (He’s also terrified maybe he’s getting too clingy, so he swallows his jealousy and reminds himself that Archie always comes home, to him.)
He’s only on his second beer but on his third argument about lyrics with Dave when his cell phone rings. He cuts himself off mid-sentence as soon as he sees that it’s Archie, and shushes Dave with a hand motion as he gets up and leaves the room to answer.
“Archie? What’s up?” He asks cautiously, unsure if he should be worried by the phone call or not.
“Hey babe!” Archie greets cheerfully, and Neal relaxes, leaning against the wall. “I was wondering - I’m at Benton’s right now?” Neal knew that, already, but it was funny how Archie always thought he had to remind Neal where he was.
“Anyway, he wants me to take some lemons home - they have a lemon tree and way more lemons than they can use - and I was wondering, do you mind? I might make some lemonade or something. They look really good - really fresh.” Archie breaks off with a laugh. “Sorry, Benton’s - he’s juggling the lemons. Pretty badly.”
”Think I should join the circus?” Neal hears Benton in the background, and Archie laughs again.
“Um, don’t quit your day job?” Archie says and Neal smothers a grin.
“Sure Arch, do whatever you want. And if we can’t drink all the lemonade at least we can set up a lemonade stand on the corner,” he teases, rubbing his fist over his chest, which had gone suspiciously tight.
“Haha, okay Neal. Are you going to be late tonight?”
Neal looks into the living room where the guys are laughing over some story Andy was telling, and thinks about it for a minute, then thinks about Archie coming home with a boxful of lemons and an excited expression on his face and smiles to himself.
“No. No I won’t be late. See you at home?” He says.
“Yeah, yeah! Okay. I love you Neal.”
“Love you too,” Neal mumbles back, and wonders how much shit the guys will give him if he bows out early. He decides he doesn’t care.
Saturday
They take Sixx to the dog park on Saturday afternoon. (They would have taken him in the morning, but Neal had woken up to Archie bringing him breakfast in bed, wearing slippers and old bathrobe, and he’d carefully placed the tray aside to drag Archie into bed and fuck him, slow, syrupy flavored kisses starting their morning and Archie’s moans as his soundtrack. It had derailed their plans for a couple of hours.)
Sixx is kind of a baby. Well, he’s definitely Neal’s baby, but he’s sort of a chicken, despite being as big as he is. And usually when they get to the dog park, all the other dogs and their owners are a little intimidated by the big black and white Great Dane, who only wants to be their friend, but is too afraid himself to go and show it. (Neal secretly thinks he and Archie intimidate a lot of the other dog owners, too. He got enough looks when he used to come here by himself, tattooed and pierced, scowling at people from behind his sunglasses when they’d leash their dogs to pull them away from Sixx. Now he knows they stare because he’s tattooed and pierced and holds hands with Archie, who has the sunniest smile and the world’s greatest laugh.)
“Go on Sixx,” Neal says, unclipping the leash from Sixx’s collar. “Go play.” Sixx whines a little, pressing his weight against Neal’s legs. He sighs and shoves the dog a little with his calf.
“Don’t pressure him Neal,” Archie admonishes, and pats Mr. Sixx fondly on the head. “You’ll give him even more insecurity issues than he already has.”
“Look at you, Mr. Mom,” Neal teases, but then Archie turns to look at him, startled, this look in his eyes sort of like longing, and Neal’s mouth goes dry suddenly with the realization.
Archie seems to catch himself quickly though, and looks back at their dog. “Sixx is just special, aren’t you boy?” he rubs the Dane’s ears gently. “We’ll just wait for another dog to come over, and then you’ll feel better, won’t you buddy?”
Sure enough, one of the bigger dogs got curious enough to come over to see Archie, sniffing his hands and wagging his tail, and Sixx wags his tail back hopefully. Pretty soon they’re darting around the park, chasing each other, and Sixx looks like the happiest dog in the world.
Neal settles on the bench beside Archie, putting his arm around his shoulders, and Archie leans his head against him. Archie starts talking about some new song he was working on in the studio, but Neal can’t forget the look on his face.
Sunday
On Sundays Archie goes to church. Neal does not go with him. Neal has never gone with him. It’s always been a sore spot between them, Archie and his faith. Generally they just pretend the issue doesn’t exist, but sometimes on Sundays Neal feels like there is a chasm yawning wide and dark between them. Archie is always uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn, never touches Neal more than he has to in the mornings before he leaves, and it makes Neal feel like dirt, like he’s not enough, like he’s wrong, somehow.
He hates the way Archie will sometimes come home with red eyes and puffy cheeks, as if he’s been crying, and he wants to badly to ask him why, why he goes if it causes him so much emotional turmoil. He wants to ask Aren’t I enough? Don’t I make you happy? but he’s terrified of the answers.
He just can’t stand to see Archie like that, wrung out and exhausted, looking so unsure of himself and everything. He won’t say anything though, not unless he wants to fight about it, because Archie will always say something that touches a nerve, ignites his temper when he doesn’t even mean to - so Neal says nothing, but is always home when Archie returns from church.
Neal is reading on the couch when Archie gets home that afternoon. He lifts his eyes from the paper and watches as his boyfriend loosens his tie and stands at their kitchen window, looking pensive, before turning and going down the hall towards their bedroom. He didn’t say hello, but Neal swallows back the hurt he feels.
He doesn’t hear Archie come back out, but the paper is being gently taken from his hands and folded up, tossed to the coffee table, and Archie, now in sweat pants and a loose cotton shirt, swings his leg over Neal’s lap, looping his arms around Neal’s neck, pressing his face against Neal’s neck. Neal automatically slides his hands around Archie’s back to hold him gently, petting the long, broad expanse affectionately. Archie sighs in content, and kisses Neal’s collarbone reverently where his shirt has gaped open.
“I love you,” Archie says softly against his skin, and Neal can feel every word as if it was burned into him.
He holds on a little tighter. “I love you too,” he says back, kissing the top of Archie’s head. This is enough, what they have - it’s enough.
Monday
It’s unnaturally bright when Neal wakes up, and he squints against the sun shining through their bedroom window. They must have forgotten to close the blinds before going to sleep last night, and then sun spilled in bright and warm, illuminating the bed.
Neal’s body feels heavy, the way it always does after a long, hard night’s sleep, the kind where he doesn’t move at all, when he feels like the mattress could swallow him whole. He doesn’t want to move, but the haze of sleep is wearing off quickly and he knows he won’t fall back asleep, so he opens his eyes.
Archie is still asleep, laying a few feet away. His mouth is parted and he’s making soft, breathy, almost-snoring noises, perfectly peaceful in his slumber. It’s rare enough to wake before Archie does that Neal almost holds his breath just to watch, just to enjoy this quiet moment in the morning and catalog the way Archie’s eyelids tremble a little, the way his dark hair falls over his forehead and sticks up behind his ears.
When Neal first started dating Archie, all he wanted to do was write songs about him. There were notebooks with dozens of half-filled out pages full of notes and lyrics and chords scattered throughout his room, full of all the things he felt and couldn’t say. Some of the songs were good, some of them bad, but all of them stayed secret, songs to work on and play and tweak when Archie smiled at him and made him feel something new. He could pick out melodies that expressed what he needed to say when his words got stuck in his throat trying to tell Archie. But all of those songs were for him, not for anyone else, not even for Archie.
Now all Neal wants to do is write songs with Archie. (He’s sure they can, if only he would ask.)
Archie stirs a little, his forehead wrinkling as if can tell Neal’s staring at him. He looks confused and drowsy as he blinks awake. Neal waits until his gaze focuses, keeps his hands to himself and stays still, but he doesn’t even have to breathe a ‘good morning’ before Archie is smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling up.
“Morning,” Neal says, and Archie flops onto his stomach, turning his head to maintain eye contact with Neal.
“I think it’s going to be a good day,” Archie says in return, and Neal rolls his eyes a little at Archie’s bright optimism, even though he’s smiling despite himself. Archie props himself up and scoots closer to Neal. “I think it’s going to be a good week.”
As Archie drops a brief kiss on his forehead, Neal curls his hand around Archie’s wrist and thinks maybe he agrees.