This is the first conclusion Wesley comes to as he stretches himself awake, unfurling from the position he was previously curled up in and extending his limbs along the length of the couch. His hands are just as shaky as he reaches out for the glasses he’d set on the coffee table before dozing off, slipping the specs over his ears through a trembling exhale of breath. The tense bundle of nerves currently knotted just at the pit of his stomach had yet to lessen, and with his mind currently clogged with thoughts of an in-class presentation, focused around a subject he could literally give two fucks about, he couldn’t see the anxiety easing off anytime soon. “Who the fuck even assigns presentations for calculus?” He grumbles aloud, sitting up against the arm of the couch and slipping the blanket back up to his shoulders. The assignment was a simple concept, really– centered solely around linear and quadratic approximations; but the mere thought of standing up in front of the unreasonably large lecture hall just to stumble through a powerpoint made Wesley’s fingers itch with unwarranted anticipation, his chest tighten with unreleased tension.
He thinks about texting Naeem at first, knowing that the boy would be able to ply him with just the right amount of weed and thick, comfortable silence for him to relax somewhat, but instead, he’s thumbing down his contact list until he lands on a different name all together: Gav. He takes a minute to admire the old picture he’d set as his contact photo, fingertip tracing all along the edge of his own smile, the one that’d seemed to be solely reserved for the other boy at that time.
wesley: how absolutely inappropriate would it be for me to ask you to come over for a cuddle? because i suppose that’s sorta what i’m doing rn.
wesley: door’s open, if you do decide to stop by xx
Then he’s settling back down into the couch cushions, feeling equal parts sated and overwhelmed now that the message had been sent. And just so he doesn’t end up watching his phone, lying in wait for a response, he lets himself curl back up into the warmth of his blanket– not even taking the time to slip off his glasses before he’s dozing off once more.
It’s good that Wesley doesn’t wait with bated breath for a response, because he isn’t going to receive one. Initially, Gavin is working when he texts him. It’s always busy around supper time here, but today has been particularly brutal, and by the time his shift actually finishes, he’s got a bandage wrapped around his right hand -- his dominant one -- from a particularly nasty burn that hadn’t been his fault in the least. This, understandably, has set his mood off, souring it for probably the remainder of the night, whereas before he’d at least been manageable. As it stands, he needs about twelve fucking cigarettes, and after shoving his way past a couple of his irritating coworkers, he exits through the back and lets his breath out slow with the feeling of the cool air washing over him. It seems to center him a bit, at least. Makes him feel a touch less closed in upon.
There’s a cig between his lips before he even bothers to struggle his phone out of his back pocket, feet already carrying him towards his dorm with the sole intent of climbing into his bed as soon as he possibly can. Only... There’s a slight hiccup in that plan when he registers that two of the seven missed text messages on his lock screen are from Wesley. And they are very much something that he needs to melt that ice that’s nestled inside of his chest right now, giving him difficulty breathing, difficulty functioning. Christmas time always makes him feel like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders. It’s always worse than any other time for the breadwinners of the family. They can’t provide, after all. Not for gifts, not for decorations and all the things that kids should have during the holidays -- he feels like he’s letting them down.
This isn’t something that he can exactly talk to anybody about, though, and he isn’t even sure if there’s anything that could help distract from it, but he’s hoping that this open invitation will do him some good at least. He’s made the decision to accept it the moment it’s registered, and before he knows it, he’s slipping his phone back into his pocket and carrying on with a bit more determination.
Two cigarettes later, and Gavin finds himself stood outside of Wesley’s room, reaching up with his non-injured hand in an attempt to knock that he stops dead in its tracks before it’s even finished. He’d said the door was open, after all, so there’s no need for him to do that. Instead, he’s reaching for the handle, gently pushing it inward with the slightest of creaks and slipping inside the dimly lit space. As seems to be the case whenever he’s invited around here, Wesley’s roommates are wholly missing, and it takes him only a moment or two to find his small form curled up in the lounge, seeming for all the world to be slumbering peacefully.
A tug in his chest is what he chalks the slight curve to his lips up to, the pain in his hand fading into background noise as he shrugs his jacket off over his shoulders and lays it over the back of the sofa when he approaches. He’s kneeling on the cushion next to Wesley’s feet and holding himself up with the palm of his good hand right next to his head when he speaks. “Get over, then. Give us some space.” His voice is low, more a murmur than anything, and he’s close enough to nose lightly at his shoulder, as if prompting him with the gentle touch.
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