some may say it's silly to celebrate a fictional character's birthday. to that i say, where's your sense of whimsy and fun? i'll take any excuse to celebrate my favorite cowboy, and i'm inviting all of you to join in! just like the invitation says, feel free to send me any and all sorts of rhett goodies. i'll do my best to answer everything. happy birthday rhett, your show might've been canceled but you still live on in our hearts, safe from the questionable canon of the outer range universe đ
briefing: late night sleep struggles leads to two men just falling deeper and harder in love with each other.
words: 4.7k
warnings: tooth decaying fluff, light teasing, food mentions, playful banters.
author note: hope you guys like this!! Let me know what you think!
--
Bob wasnât sure what had woken him up.
For a while, he just lay there and stared at the ceiling.
The room was dark, the kind of dark that felt heavier because he wasnât in his own bed. Not unfamiliar, exactly. He had spent enough nights in Toddâs room by now that he knew the shape of it in low lightâthe desk shoved too close to the window, the sweatshirt draped over the back of the chair, the stack of books on the floor that Todd insisted was organized because he knew where everything was.
But it still wasnât his room.
It still smelled like Toddâs laundry detergent and old wood and whatever cologne Todd had used earlier that evening. It still had sounds Bob wasnât used to.
The faint creak of the hallway.
A door closing somewhere downstairs.
Someone coughing once through the wall.
A burst of muffled laughter from somewhere far enough away that it was probably outside, maybe on the porch, maybe from one of the other houses on the street.
The frat house was quieter at night than Bob had expected, but it was never actually quiet.
Beside him, Todd was asleep.
Very asleep.
Bob turned his head slightly.
Todd was sprawled on his stomach, one arm bent under the pillow, the other thrown out like he had been reaching for Bob at some point and had given up halfway through. His hair was a mess against the pillow, soft and ridiculous in the dim light. The blanket had slipped down around his waist because Todd somehow slept like he was always too warm and too cold at the same time.
Bob watched him for a moment.
He liked him like this.
Not that he didnât like Todd awake.
He did.
A lot.
Todd awake was easy in a way Bob still didnât fully understand. Loud when he wanted to be. Amused by most things. Too charming for his own good. Too good at noticing when Bob was drifting too far into his own head. He had this way of making space for himself in a room without demanding that Bob fill it with him.
But Todd asleep was softer.
Younger, maybe.
Or just unguarded.
Bob exhaled carefully.
He tried closing his eyes again.
It didnât work.
His brain had already decided it was awake, and once that happened, there was almost no convincing it otherwise. He wasnât anxious, exactly. Not upset. Not afraid. There wasnât one single thought circling sharp enough to explain it.
He was just awake.
Restless.
Hungry, maybe.
That thought made him open his eyes again.
He lay there for another minute, debating.
Then, as carefully as possible, he eased the blanket away from his legs.
Todd stirred.
Bob froze.
Todd made a soft, grumbling noise and shifted his face deeper into the pillow.
Bob waited.
Nothing.
Still asleep.
He slid out of bed, moving slowly because the floor in Toddâs room had one very specific board near the door that creaked like it had a personal vendetta. Todd had pointed it out the first time Bob stayed over, mostly by stepping on it, waking up half the hallway, and then whispering, âYeah, donât do that one.â
Bob avoided it now.
He found his sweatshirt on the chair and pulled it on over his T-shirt, then padded barefoot into the hallway.
The house felt strange at this hour.
During the day, it was all movement. Voices, music, doors opening and closing, someone yelling from downstairs, someone else yelling back. Even when it wasnât chaotic, it felt full.
Now it felt hollowed out.
Sleeping bodies behind closed doors.
Empty cups abandoned on side tables.
A pair of sneakers in the middle of the hallway that Bob had to step around.
Someoneâs hoodie was balled up on the banister.
He moved quietly down the stairs, one hand trailing along the railing.
The kitchen was empty when he reached it.
Thank God.
Not that he disliked Toddâs friends. Most of them were perfectly nice. A few of them were a little too much before noon, but that seemed like a personal flaw rather than a crime.
Still, Bob liked the kitchen better like this.
Dim.
Still.
Lit only by the weak yellow light above the stove and the bluish glow from the microwave clock.
3:17.
That seemed about right.
He opened the refrigerator and stood there for a moment, letting the cool air hit his face while he considered his options.
Leftover pizza.
Eggs.
Some kind of pasta in a container with no label, which he immediately decided against.
Cheese.
Butter.
Bread on the counter.
That was enough.
Grilled cheese.
The decision settled something in him.
Small task.
Simple steps.
Bread, butter, cheese, pan.
He could do that.
He found a skillet after opening three wrong cabinets and only making one questionable clattering sound. Then he set everything out on the counter and got to work.
Butter softened against the bread.
The pan warmed on the stove.
Cheese peeled away from the stack in neat, square slices.
Bob moved slowly, carefully, like the whole house might wake up if he breathed wrong.
The first sandwich had just started to sizzle when he heard footsteps.
He glanced toward the doorway.
Todd appeared a second later.
Or maybe emerged was the better word.
He looked like he had been dragged out of sleep by force.
His hair stuck up on one side. His hoodie was crooked, one sleeve pushed halfway up his arm, the other swallowed over his hand. His eyes were barely open, and there was a crease on his cheek from the pillow.
He stopped in the doorway and stared at Bob.
Bob stared back.
Todd blinked slowly.
âWhy are you awake?â
Bob raised his eyebrows. âWhy are you awake?â
Todd frowned like that was rude.
âYou left.â
âI was hungry.â
Todd shuffled into the kitchen without another word.
There was something deeply unfair about Todd, even when he was half asleep. He should have looked ridiculous, and he did, a little, but mostly he looked warm and familiar and so much like himself that Bob had to turn back to the stove before his face did something embarrassing.
Todd came up beside him, leaned heavily against the counter, and looked down at the pan.
âGrilled cheese?â
âYes.â
Todd nodded.
Then reached around him and stole a slice of cheese from the open package.
Bob looked at him.
Todd folded it in half and put the entire thing in his mouth.
Bob stared. âI was using that.â
Todd chewed.
Bob waited.
Todd swallowed and said, âYou have more.â
âThatâs not the point.â
âThat is exactly the point.â
Bob sighed, but he was smiling before he could stop himself.
Todd noticed.
Of course he did.
He always did.
His mouth curved, lazy and pleased, and he leaned a little closer into Bobâs space. âYou came all the way down here to make grilled cheese at three in the morning?â
âItâs not that strange.â
âItâs a little strange.â
âYou followed me.â
âBecause you abandoned me.â
Bob flipped the sandwich. âYou were asleep.â
âI noticed your absence in my sleep.â
âThat isnât possible.â
Todd made a face like he didnât care what was possible.
Bob shook his head and focused on the pan, but he could still feel Todd beside him. Warm. Sleepy. Watching.
After a few seconds, Bob glanced toward the cabinets.
âDo you guys have tomato soup?â
Todd went very still.
Bob closed his eyes for half a second.
He already knew.
He knew from the silence.
He knew from the way Todd slowly turned his head.
He knew before he even looked at him.
When Bob opened his eyes, Todd was staring at him.
âDonât,â Bob said.
Toddâs eyebrows lifted. âI didnât say anything.â
âYou were about to.â
âI was not.â
âYou absolutely were.â
Todd leaned his hip against the counter. âYouâre making grilled cheese.â
âYes.â
âAnd you need tomato soup.â
âI donât need it.â
âUh-huh.â
âItâs better with tomato soup.â
Todd stared at him like Bob had just admitted to needing a bedtime story.
Bob pointed the spatula at him. âItâs a classic combination.â
âItâs a kidâs meal.â
âIt is not.â
âThat is what they serve seven-year-olds when their parents want to pretend they ordered real food.â
Bob let out a quiet, offended laugh. âThatâs not true.â
âIt absolutely is.â
âItâs comfort food.â
âItâs a childrenâs menu item.â
âTodd.â
Todd was grinning now, fully awake in the most annoying way possible. âDo you want me to cut the sandwich into triangles too?â
Bob turned back to the stove. âI can cut my own sandwich.â
âThat wasnât a no.â
âIâm not dignifying this.â
âDo you want a little apple juice box with it?â
âTodd.â
âMaybe some dino nuggets on the side?â
Bob tried to look annoyed.
He really did.
But Todd was laughing under his breath, all pleased with himself, and Bobâs mouth kept trying to betray him.
Todd reached past him and stole another piece of cheese.
Bob caught his wrist this time.
Todd froze.
Bob looked at him.
Todd looked down at Bobâs hand around his wrist.
Then back up.
There was a pause.
Todd smiled.
Bob immediately let go.
âStop stealing ingredients.â
Toddâs smile got worse. âOkay.â
Bob did not trust that at all.
Todd backed away, hands lifted in surrender, still grinning. âFine. You want soup?â
âI asked if you had soup.â
âThatâs not what I asked.â
Bob sighed. âYes. I want soup.â
âBecause youâre eight.â
âBecause itâs good.â
âBecause youâre eight and itâs good.â
Bob pointed the spatula at him again. âCan you please just tell me if you have it?â
Todd rolled his eyes as if this were a tremendous burden.
Then he walked to the pantry.
Bob expected him to search. Expected cabinet doors, maybe a muttered complaint, maybe another joke about juice boxes.
Todd did not search.
He opened the pantry, reached for the second shelf, and pulled down a can almost immediately.
Then he turned and tossed it to Bob.
Bob caught it against his chest.
Tomato soup.
For a second, he just looked at it.
Todd had already turned away, opening another cabinet for a pot.
Bob blinked.
âYou have tomato soup.â
Todd glanced over his shoulder. âThat is what you asked for.â
âNo, I know, I justââ Bob looked down at the can again. âI didnât think you actually would.â
Todd set the pot on the stove. âWhy?â
âI donât know.â
Todd gave him a look. âItâs soup, Bob.â
âI know itâs soup.â
âYouâre holding it like itâs evidence.â
Bob loosened his grip.
A little.
Todd opened a drawer and rummaged for the can opener.
Bob watched him.
There was something casual about the way Todd moved. Like the soup had always been there. Like this was normal. Like Bob asking for it at three in the morning was no different than asking where the cups were.
âDid someone else buy this?â Bob asked.
Todd paused.
Then looked at him again.
âWhat?â
âThe soup.â
âNo.â
Bobâs fingers tightened around the can again. âYou bought it?â
Todd blinked. âYeah.â
âWhy?â
Todd stared at him for a second.
Then, slowly, like Bob was the one being strange, he said, âBecause you like it.â
Bob didnât say anything.
Todd waited.
Bob still didnât say anything.
Toddâs brow furrowed slightly, but then the sandwich hissed in the pan, and Bob quickly turned back toward it before it burned.
Because you like it.
The words were so simple.
So obvious, apparently, to Todd.
Bob flipped the sandwich onto a plate.
His chest felt weird.
Not bad.
Just tight.
Warm, maybe.
Too full all at once.
Todd took the can from him and opened it, still looking mildly confused, then poured the soup into the pot. It slid out with a soft, unpleasant sound that made Todd grimace.
âRomantic,â Todd muttered.
Bob huffed a laugh.
Todd looked pleased that he had gotten one out of him.
Then he stirred the soup and said, âYou always ask for it.â
Bob looked at him.
Todd wasnât even looking back. He was standing at the stove in his crooked hoodie, stirring tomato soup at 3:25 in the morning like this was simply something that happened.
âYou noticed that?â
Todd shrugged. âYeah.â
Bob swallowed.
He looked at the plate.
Then the stove.
Then Todd.
âHow long?â
Todd frowned into the pot. âHow long what?â
âHow long have you been buying it?â
Todd stopped stirring.
Not because the question was important to him, Bob realized.
Because he genuinely had to think about it.
That made it worse.
Somehow, that made it much worse.
Todd leaned against the counter, spoon still in hand, eyes narrowed slightly like he was trying to remember a date.
âI donât know,â he said finally.
Bob waited.
Todd shrugged.
âMonths?â
Bob stared at him.
Todd went back to stirring.
Months.
Bob turned that over in his mind.
Months of Todd seeing tomato soup at the store and putting it in his cart because Bob liked it.
Months of Todd keeping it in the pantry without saying anything.
Months of Bob asking for it and Todd teasing him and acting like he was ridiculous while still making sure it was there.
Bob didnât know what to do with that.
It was soup.
It was just soup.
A cheap can in a messy frat house pantry.
And yet.
Todd had noticed.
Todd had remembered.
Todd had made room for Bob in a place that was already so full of other people and noise and mess.
He had stocked something Bob liked because Bob liked it.
Not for credit.
Not for praise.
Not as some grand romantic gesture.
Just because.
Bob looked down.
The second sandwich was burning.
âOhââ
Todd reached around him and turned the heat down. âYou good?â
âYes.â
Toddâs hand lingered near his waist for half a second before dropping away.
Bob nodded too quickly. âYeah. Sorry.â
Todd narrowed his eyes.
Bob focused very hard on the sandwich.
He rescued it before it got too dark, though one side was definitely more toasted than the other. Todd, thankfully, did not comment. He just kept watching him with that look on his face.
The one Bob knew too well.
The one that meant Todd had noticed something and was deciding whether to let Bob pretend he hadnât.
Bob plated the second sandwich.
Todd turned off the burner under the soup.
Neither of them moved for a second.
Then Todd said, âOh my God.â
Bob closed his eyes. âWhat?â
âYouâre doing the thing.â
âIâm not doing anything.â
âYou are absolutely doing the thing.â
Bob opened his eyes and looked at him. âThere is no thing.â
Todd pointed at his face. âThat. Thatâs the thing.â
âThis is just my face.â
âNo, thatâs your âIâm having twelve feelings and trying to make them nobody elseâs problemâ face.â
Bob stared at him.
Todd stared back.
Bob looked away first.
Toddâs voice softened, but only a little. âBob.â
âItâs nothing.â
âThat has never once been true when you say it like that.â
Bob rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. âItâs stupid.â
Todd immediately made a face. âOkay, so itâs definitely not nothing.â
âIt is.â
âWhat is it?â
Bob looked at the soup.
Todd followed his gaze.
Then looked back at him.
There was a beat.
Another.
Then Toddâs expression changed.
Slowly.
His mouth parted a little.
âOh my God,â he said again, quieter this time.
Bob frowned. âWhat?â
Todd stared at him. âYouâre getting emotional over soup.â
Bobâs face went hot. âIâm not.â
âYou are.â
âIâm not emotional.â
âYouâre looking at that can like it proposed to you.â
âTodd.â
Toddâs teasing smile came back, but it was softer around the edges now. Less sharp. Less amused at Bob and more fond in a way that made Bobâs chest ache.
âYouâre ridiculous,â Todd said.
Bob looked down. âYou bought it for me.â
âItâs soup.â
âFor months.â
Todd set the spoon down.
Then crossed the small distance between them.
Bob didnât move.
Todd stopped in front of him, close enough that Bob could see the pillow crease still faintly marking his cheek. His hair was still a disaster. His hoodie was still crooked. He looked warm and tired and impossibly dear.
âYeah,â Todd said.
Bob swallowed.
Todd tilted his head slightly. âBob.â
âI know itâs soup.â
âDo you?â
âYes.â
âBecause youâre acting like I carved your name into the moon.â
Bob let out a helpless little laugh, but it caught somewhere in his throat and came out softer than he meant it to.
Toddâs expression changed again.
He noticed that too.
Of course he did.
Todd always noticed.
Bob looked at him and tried to explain it in a way that wouldnât sound ridiculous.
He didnât know how to say that he still wasnât used to being remembered in little ways.
He didnât know how to say that grand gestures were almost easier to accept because they announced themselves. Flowers, dates, anniversariesâthose things came with instructions. They said, this is affection. This is attention. This is something you are allowed to understand.
But this?
This was Todd walking past a shelf and thinking, Bob likes tomato soup with grilled cheese.
This was Todd buying it.
Putting it away.
Never mentioning it.
Never asking Bob to notice.
Just making sure it was there.
That kind of care got under his ribs before he had time to defend against it.
âYou remembered,â Bob said finally.
Toddâs face softened.
Only a little.
Enough.
âYeah,â he said. âI do that sometimes.â
Bob looked down again.
Toddâs hand found his.
Not dramatic.
Not urgent.
Just fingers wrapping loosely around Bobâs, warm and steady.
âYou make it really hard to tease you,â Todd said.
Bob huffed. âYou seemed to be managing fine.â
âI was. And then you got all sweet and tragic about canned soup.â
âIâm not tragic.â
Todd squeezed his hand. âNo, youâre not.â
Something in his voice made Bob look up.
Todd was smiling at him.
Not laughing.
Just smiling.
It was worse, somehow.
Bob looked at him for another second, then shook his head and tried to step away. âThe foodâs getting cold.â
Todd did not let go.
âThe food is grilled cheese and tomato soup. I think itâll survive another minute.â
Bob gave him a look.
Todd ignored it.
Instead, he backed up until he reached the counter, then hopped onto it with the easy confidence of someone who had been told not to sit on kitchen counters his entire life and had learned nothing from it.
Bob watched him.
Todd spread his knees slightly and tugged Bob closer by the hand.
Bob went.
Of course he went.
He stepped into the space between Toddâs legs, close enough that Toddâs knees brushed his hips.
Toddâs free hand settled at Bobâs waist.
Then the other.
Bob stood there for a second, not quite sure what to do with himself, even though this was familiar now.
Todd touching him.
Todd pulling him close.
Todd making space for him like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Bob rested his hands lightly against Toddâs thighs.
Todd looked down at him.
âYouâre really worked up over this,â Todd said, but his voice was gentle.
Bob shrugged one shoulder. âA little.â
âBecause I bought soup.â
âBecause you noticed.â
Toddâs thumbs moved lightly against his waist.
Back and forth.
Barely there.
Bob could feel it through the sweatshirt anyway.
Todd was quiet for a moment.
Then he leaned forward and kissed Bobâs forehead.
Bobâs eyes closed on instinct.
Todd stayed there for a second, lips warm against his skin.
Then he murmured, âI notice you all the time.â
Bobâs throat tightened.
Todd pulled back just enough to look at him.
Bob opened his eyes.
âThat one might be worse,â he said quietly.
Todd smiled. âYeah, I kind of heard it after I said it.â
Bob laughed softly.
Todd looked pleased with himself again, but not smug.
Just happy.
Warm.
Awake now in the yellow kitchen light with the whole house asleep around them.
He reached up and brushed a piece of Bobâs hair back from his forehead.
âYou want to know something really embarrassing?â
Bob narrowed his eyes. âFor you or for me?â
Todd grinned. âFor me, probably.â
âOkay.â
Todd glanced toward the pantry. âThere are two more cans in there.â
Bob stared at him.
Toddâs grin widened.
Bobâs mouth parted slightly. âTodd.â
âWhat?â
âWhy?â
âBecause you keep eating them.â
âI donât keep eating them.â
âYou absolutely do.â
âIâve had tomato soup here maybe three times.â
âFour.â
Bob stared harder.
Todd looked delighted. âSee? I notice.â
Bob dropped his head forward against Toddâs shoulder.
Todd immediately laughed, quiet and bright, and wrapped both arms around him.
Bob stayed there.
His forehead pressed against the soft fabric of Toddâs hoodie.
His hands resting on Toddâs thighs.
Toddâs arms around his shoulders.
For a moment, the kitchen faded into background noise.
The cooling pan.
The weak stove light.
The hum of the refrigerator.
Someone shifting upstairs.
Toddâs hand slid up the back of Bobâs neck, fingers gentle.
âHey,â Todd murmured.
Bob hummed.
âYou still want your kidâs meal?â
Bob turned his face slightly against Toddâs shoulder. âI changed my mind. Iâm eating yours too.â
Todd laughed. âRude.â
âYou stole my cheese.â
âI was helping.â
âYou were not.â
âI helped you realize how much cheese you truly needed.â
Bob lifted his head.
Todd was already looking at him, eyes soft and amused.
Bob kissed him.
Just once.
Quick and quiet.
Todd smiled against his mouth like he had won something.
Bob pulled back before that could become unbearable.
Todd made a small disappointed noise.
Bob ignored it, mostly because he liked it too much.
âThe food,â he reminded him.
Todd sighed dramatically. âFine.â
But he didnât let Bob go immediately.
Instead, he pulled him in again and kissed his temple.
Then the side of his head.
Then his cheek.
Bob started to smile despite himself.
âTodd.â
âWhat?â
âThe food.â
âI heard you.â
âYouâre not moving.â
âNeither are you.â
Bob paused.
That was unfortunately true.
Todd looked extremely proud of himself.
Bob stepped back before Todd could say anything else, turning toward the stove and hoping his face wasnât as warm as it felt.
Todd hopped down from the counter behind him.
Together, they finished the meal.
It was not graceful.
Todd poured soup into two bowls and spilled a little onto the counter. Bob cut the sandwiches in half. Todd looked at the halves, looked at Bob, and very seriously asked why they werenât triangles. Bob told him he could starve.
Todd laughed hard enough that Bob had to shush him, which only made him laugh more.
Eventually, they ended up sitting on the kitchen floor with their backs against the lower cabinets because Todd claimed the chairs were too far away.
They were six feet away.
Bob didnât argue.
The tile was cold beneath him, but Todd sat close enough that their shoulders touched. Their knees bumped occasionally. Todd dipped his grilled cheese into his soup like he had not just spent ten minutes mocking Bob for wanting exactly that.
Bob noticed.
Todd caught him noticing.
âWhat?â
Bob raised his eyebrows.
Todd took another bite. âShut up.â
âI didnât say anything.â
âYou were thinking loudly.â
âI was thinking that youâre enjoying your childrenâs menu.â
Todd pointed half a sandwich at him. âFirst of all, itâs good.â
Bob smiled.
Todd narrowed his eyes. âDonât look so smug.â
âIâm not smug.â
âYouâre a little smug.â
âYou made fun of me.â
âBecause itâs fun.â
âAnd then made the same thing.â
âBecause itâs good.â
Bob laughed quietly and dipped his sandwich into the soup.
Todd watched him for a second.
Then nudged him with his shoulder.
Bob nudged him back.
They ate in comfortable quiet for a while.
Outside, the world was starting to shift.
Not sunrise yet.
Not really.
But the black at the windows had softened into something less complete. A faint blue had started to gather along the edges of the sky, barely visible through the kitchen window above the sink.
Todd finished first because Todd always finished first, then set his bowl aside and leaned his head back against the cabinet.
Bob took a slower bite.
Todd looked at him.
âWhat?â Bob asked.
âNothing.â
âThatâs usually my line.â
Todd smiled faintly. âI know.â
Bob looked down into his bowl.
The soup was cooling now.
Still good.
Still warm enough.
After a moment, Todd reached over and took Bobâs free hand.
Bob let him.
Todd played idly with his fingers, turning Bobâs hand palm-up, tracing one line, then another.
Bob watched him do it.
He wondered if Todd knew.
How much of this he did.
How often.
Little touches.
Little notes.
Little things bought and remembered and tucked away somewhere Bob wouldnât notice until the exact moment it undid him.
Maybe Todd did know.
Maybe he didnât.
Maybe that was part of what made it feel so honest.
âYeah, but now youâre doing it at the soup.â
Bob laughed.
Toddâs thumb brushed over his palm.
Bob leaned sideways until his shoulder pressed more fully against Toddâs.
Todd shifted immediately to make room for him.
Like he had been waiting.
Like, there was always room.
Bob finished the last of his sandwich and set the plate aside.
Todd lifted their joined hands and kissed Bobâs knuckles.
Casual.
Sleepy.
Almost absentminded.
Bob closed his eyes.
Todd noticed that too.
âCome here,â he murmured.
Bob opened his eyes. âIâm already here.â
Todd tugged him anyway.
Bob let himself be pulled.
It was awkward on the floor, but they managed. Todd shifted, and Bob leaned into him, and eventually Bob ended up with his head against Toddâs shoulder while Toddâs arm came around him.
The kitchen was quiet again.
The kind of quiet that belonged only to very late nights and very early mornings.
Toddâs cheek rested against Bobâs hair.
Bob could hear him breathing.
Slow.
Steady.
Familiar.
After a while, Todd said, âFor the record, I also bought that tea you like.â
Bob lifted his head slightly.
Todd kept looking forward, casual as anything.
âAnd the weird crackers.â
Bob stared at him.
Toddâs mouth twitched.
âAnd those ginger candies you pretend you donât eat all of.â
Bobâs chest went warm again.
Todd finally looked down at him.
His expression softened immediately.
âToo much?â
Bob shook his head.
âNo,â he said.
Todd searched his face for a second.
Then nodded once.
Bob rested his head back against Toddâs shoulder.
Outside, the sky was getting lighter.
Not bright.
Just enough that the window had turned gray-blue instead of black.
Soon, the house would wake up.
Someone would come downstairs and find dishes in the sink. Someone would complain about the smell of grilled cheese. Someone would ask why they were on the floor, and Todd would probably say something ridiculous, and Bob would pretend to be embarrassed even though he wouldnât really be.
Not much.
Not with Todd there.
For now, though, it was only them.
The empty kitchen.
The cooling bowls.
Toddâs hand warm around his.
Bob let his eyes close.
Todd shifted beside him and kissed the top of his head.
âYouâre ridiculous,â Todd whispered.
Bob smiled.
âYou bought me soup.â
Todd laughed softly.
âYeah,â he said. âI did.â
Bob didnât answer.
He didnât need to.
Todd knew.
That was the dangerous thing about him.
The wonderful thing.
He knew.
And as the first pale light of morning slipped into the kitchen, Bob sat there against him, warm and full and quietly ruined by a can of tomato soup, thinking that maybe being known didnât have to feel terrifying every time.
Maybe sometimes it felt like grilled cheese at three in the morning.
Toddâs shoulder beneath his cheek.
A sleepy kiss pressed into his hair.
And a pantry shelf already stocked with proof that someone had been thinking of him long before he ever thought to ask.
Something I thought you might appreciate, I went to a film festival for a 48 hour film challenge. Not one, but TWO of the films were completely ai animated. They were written, composed, had sound effects and everything that was done by ai. In a FILM challenge.
When they were done playing, people booed them, and every time their "film" was on screen, it got booed.
Made me laugh, thought you'd appreciate a lil faith in humanity with it, cause I don't think they will be allowed to participate next year!
In case this is sent through a different account, @dixondystopia
At a film challenge is bold. Disqualification by default for using AI.
Genuinely, if you can't do it without AI, maybe just don't do it!!!
For my favorite fic Friday for the lewcest community, I give you a moodboard for @lewmeister Sunshines fic But Because I Love You...
I love Sunshines so much and this story truly brought them to life for me. The way you write Todd is everything and reading about him being so soft and so in love with Bob is just, ugh, perfection. Reading though their journey left me laughing, crying, and aweing in nearly every chapter. And my favorite chapter is, of course, the one that made me cry the most. We start off seeing them so in love and just acting so fucking adorable together at the party and the walk home until Todd's on his own, and shit goes bad fast. The hospital scene with Bob was like adding salt to the wound. So fucking good.
tumblr should add a "what the fuck are you talking about" button alongside reply, like, and reblog. you click the what the fuck are you talking about button when op is on some discourse they brought back from another reality that no one on this earth has ever heard of. and if a post gets more what the fuck are you talking abouts than reblogs op gets muted for 12 hours