another bit of my aaron survivors guilt fic! thank you friend!
John was supposed to be safe. John was supposed to be someone who he could sleep safely next to, someone who would make those long, lonely nights where he couldn’t sleep better. John had slept the same way he’d done everything else – with military precision. He had a routine, that even Aaron couldn’t disrupt, earplugs that he insisted he needed to wear if he was to be able to sleep.
It had made Aaron even lonelier. Nighttime was the hardest – it always had been. The night brought memories of the way Gordon had snuck into his bedroom, the worst times of his life. Nighttime was a reminder of those long nights where he’d sit alone in Paddy’s living room, wondering why he couldn’t be brave enough to just do it – to kill himself, and be done with it, so he didn’t have to suffer, anymore.
He'd liked having someone to talk to, during his worst nights. Robert was always happy to be woken up, carding his fingers through Aaron’s hair as they talked long into the night, about movies and their next holiday and every deep, dark secret and thought that they’d ever had. Robert had never begrudged him the late nights, even when he’d been tired, dark circles under his eyes as he’d ran out the door for a meeting. He’d never held it against Aaron; had known how much he’d needed it.
Now he was thinking about it, Aaron wasn’t sure if John had ever stumbled upon Aaron during one of his sleepless nights, Aaron always relocating himself to the kitchen so he wouldn’t run the risk of waking John. John had never appeared, sleepy-eyed and scruffy, in the kitchen, the way Robert had, explaining he’d felt the bed shift when Aaron left it and had come to see what was wrong. No, John tended to get a perfect six-to-seven hours of sleep, barely stirring, a stark contrast to the way Robert had always tended to toss, and turn, kicking Aaron, mumbling nonsense in his sleep. On paper, John was the perfect bed mate – quiet, the kind of man to keep his hands to himself. Aaron had just been too used to the way Robert was, he supposed – affectionate and oh-so present, even in his sleep.
send me a 🌹 and I’ll post a random sentence from my wip
as someone who is also hopelessly confused about the timeline over the next few weeks, i wonder if the idea is for aaron/john to initially go for a short break somewhere with the intention of eventually making it permanent? a bit like tom tried to do with belle (but without the domestic abuse side of it lol)
It's nice to know that others are also confused, haha. The timeline is crazy at the moment. I can see John suggesting someplace temporarily until they decide on a permanent landing spot for sure. And I have wanted John isolating Aaron for ages. It feels like it works with what we do know of their dynamic. I was afraid the show might think it's too close time wise to the end of the Belle/Tom stuff, and that's why they haven't done it up to this point, but I hope that's partly why they're allowing them to leave for a bit now. I just like the idea of Aaron kind of piecing things together when he's basically trapped alone with John. Because knowing John, they're about to escape to some secluded cabin in the woods.
ok ok a fluffy prompt for you! how about aaron pulling off some sort of surprise or big romantic gesture for robert (maybe for an anniversary or his birthday or just because??). after so many years of robert being the one making the grand gestures, aaron's super smug that he finally manages to do one himself 😊
fic: every day is another day i love you more
nb: happy valentine’s day everyone! xx
read on ao3
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Robert awoke to three distinct things; the warmth of the duvet wrapped around him, the rich smell of freshly-brewed coffee, and the heady scent of...roses?
Rubbing at his eyes, he slowly pulled himself upright and blinked a few times, stretching, just as Aaron padded into the room with a smile on his face that couldn’t be described as anything less than enamoured.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning over to press a kiss to Robert’s lips, still smelling of minty toothpaste and shampoo. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmured, and Robert sank into it, pushing himself closer to Aaron’s body while still remaining very much in bed and not yet quite fully awake.
“I didn’t even realize,” Robert said apologetically, his hand coming to rest on Aaron’s thigh. His fingers tapped a nervous rhythm there. “My sense of time hasn’t quite come back yet, I suppose.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Aaron protested. “I wasn’t expectin’ anythin’, not really...” He bit his lip, blushed a deep pink that had nothing to do with the fact that he’d just got out of the shower. “I wanted to do somethin’. For you.”
He leaned across him to the bedside table, seemingly reaching for something - and that’s when Robert noticed the steaming mug of coffee, in a brand-new bright blue mug he had never seen before. Next to it was a tall glass vase of water with a single, deep red rose, the bloom almost as big as his palm and the scent intoxicating, each petal the colour and texture of crimson velvet.
Robert forgot how to speak. Or even how to breathe.
Aaron plucked the flower from the vase and handed it to him, a gentle smile spreading across his pink-cheeked face. “Because I love ya.”
“Aaron,” Robert whispered, taking the rose with a shaking hand and inclining his head to smell it; it was wonderful, like nothing he’d ever smelled before, “I - I don’t know what to say, you shouldn’t have.” He inhaled deeply again. “The smell is amazing. I didn’t know roses could smell like this.”
Aaron shrugged, as if it was nothing. Robert looked up at him, sincerity and seriousness plain on his face. “Thank you.”
“That’s not all, actually,” Aaron said, getting up and smoothing down the fabric of his joggers over his thighs. He took Robert’s hand, practically pulling him out of bed, and something about the warmth of his skin and the tightness of his fingers in Robert’s made Robert’s heart skip several beats. “C’mon, there’s somethin’ else I wanna show ya downstairs.”
“There’s more?” Robert started to ask, but wasn’t given an answer as Aaron threw him an old hoodie of his that was lying across a chair from the night before. He pulled it on, relishing in the softness of it; he always liked wearing Aaron’s old clothes precisely for this reason, they were worn down with time and use and well-loved, which made him by extension feel well-loved.
He grabbed the mug of coffee and pocketed the rose he was still holding as he was dragged out of the room and down the stairs, Aaron far too eager and too bright and too - un-Aaron-like.
He’d already done enough for him, didn’t he realize that? Just welcoming Robert back, bringing him back into his life and accepting him the way he was now, a bit damaged and rough around the edges, was enough.
But it seemed Aaron was adamant, and Robert wasn’t going to complain. It felt nice, after so long without the real company of others or any kind of affection, and especially coming from the person he loved the most.
“Here,” Aaron said nervously, practically bouncing on his toes, sweeping an arm out to indicate their kitchen table. Robert followed his gaze, mug halfway to his mouth to take a sip of coffee - and then he stopped, arm hanging uselessly in the air as he stared.
And stared some more.
And then a little bit more.
On the table, in a vase much bigger than the one that had been left upstairs, was a bunch of huge red roses identical to the one he still had in his pocket, lighting up the room with their deep colour and sweet scent; he could smell them now, the perfume of them wafting over to him, bringing with it that same sensation of being - well, loved.
It was too much; he put his mug down on the table and flung himself across the small kitchen to where Aaron stood, beaming, his arms going round his neck as he pulled him into a tight embrace. He buried his face in Aaron’s shoulder, his bottom lip wobbling, and willed himself not to soak his pyjamas with tears that desperately wanted to spill.
“You got me roses,” he mumbled, hugging him tighter, impossibly so. He felt Aaron’s arms go round his waist, solid and strong. He’d only gotten fitter and more defined with age, and he could feel his muscles flexing against his back. “You got me beautiful red roses.”
“Yeah, I did,” Aaron replied. “There’s - well, there’s actually a dozen, but if you look-”
He gently pulled Robert away from him, pointing towards the flowers.
“If you count them, there’s eleven there, one for every year we’ve been together. It would have been less, but y’know, I added some extra ones for when - for when you weren’t here,” he said, his own voice trembling slightly at the reminder of their most recent separation, but his blue eyes remained fierce and serious, “to show you that I never forgot you, you were never far away from my mind even when I got on with stuff and it stopped hurtin’ as much. And then there’s this one,” he bent down to pluck it from Robert’s pocket, “and if I put it here,” he did so, inserting it back into the bunch, “that’s twelve. I would’ve stopped at eleven but the odd number just felt a bit weird, so.”
“An extra rose because I’m extra special?” Robert countered, his voice light but still coming out in barely a whisper.
“Somethin’ like that, yeah,” Aaron murmured back, reaching up on his tiptoes to kiss him again; a soft press of the lips, sweet and chaste. “You’re worth the embarrassment I felt when I first walked into the flower shop. You’re always worth it, and I don’t tell ya that enough.”
Robert reached for him, scooping him into a hug that wasn’t quite a hug; he pressed him close, his hands on his waist, feeling the warmth of his skin through his clothes. “Aaron,” he said, and it felt like a prayer or a clarion call. “Aaron Dingle, you bought me a dozen red roses.”
Aaron leaned his forehead against Robert’s; they swayed together slightly, lost in their own little bubble. “Yeah. I did.”
“Going soft in your old age?” Robert asked, eyebrows raised, and Aaron gave him a barely-there slap on the chest.
“Nah,” he said, burying his face in the hollow of Robert’s throat to breathe him in, sweat and coffee and cotton sheets and the lingering perfume of a dozen red roses. “I just love ya, for some reason.”
