Antoine Radson sat at his desk down at the shop, the workspace hub for maintenance (aka "Infrastructure") of the nuclear plant. He was leaned back in his chair, boots on the edge of the desk, tossing a roll of duct tape to himself. Work had been slow today. He'd sent Laney and Stewart on as many side projects as he could find. He wanted a bit of quiet time to sit and think.
Thinking; something Antoine would tell people he was no good at, though that was hardly the truth. There were many different types of intelligence, he knew. He was brilliant when it came to solving mechanical problems. He could think in terms of three dimensions, rather than seeing the world as flat. Such skills made him feel better, though admittedly they didn't offer solution to his current situation.
He wished he could say his mind was on work, but it wasn't. In truth, it was probably upstairs in the administrative wing, lurking in a corner of Preston's executive office.
Preston.
It wasn't fair that one person should be on his mind so much lately, Antoine decided.
Though it had been some time since the ill-fated rave that Preston and that Keith guy had gone to, Preston still took off some evenings. He'd leave, without Antoine, and return later in the night. Not so late that Antoine was lead to wonder if something happened; but the more times Preston went out, the less Antoine realized he could stand it.
He kept his mouth shut, tried not to let on that it bothered him. After all, hadn't that been something they'd agreed on? That Preston could have a bit of a "social life" on the side?
Well, Antoine thought as he flipped the roll of tape in the air and watched spin lazily, sometimes things change, right?
He'd been struggling with trying to find the right words to tell Preston how he felt, and not make it sound controlling or petty. Words, unlike mechanics, were not his forte. He'd been trying to subtly drop clues.
Preston apparently was either missing them completely, or deliberately ignoring them on disbelief.
There had been that time on their cruise, Antoine had referred to himself as Preston's boyfriend. It had been a hard thing to say, something he wanted to repeat, but couldn't. When they got home, he'd pulled Preston into a full hug, and kissed him on the cheek. He'd hoped the gesture could be seen as tender. He was trying to be romantic, in his own way. At that moment, he wouldn't have minded if Preston had kissed him back.
But it hadn't quite gone that way. And Antoine didn't force the motion. He liked hugging Preston, savored the way the lean man felt against his body.
At least Preston wasn't so thin anymore. He would never be stout man, but his face had finally lost that sunken hollow look he'd worn for way too long. When Antoine pulled Preston against him, he hadn't been jabbed in the flank by the jut of the young CEO's hip bones like he had in the past. Preston had easily gained back fifteen pounds, though he was still a "stick insect" in Antoine's words.
Antoine ran a hand over his familiar paunch, noting the way his polo shirt stretched a bit tightly. They'd both gained weight, technically; Antoine more than Preston, ironically. Not that Antoine minded his own addition.
He'd never told Preston about his early teen years, after he'd become an emancipated minor. There had been a few times where eating daily was an expense he couldn't afford. In contrast to those literal lean-times, this was definitely preferred. Also, Antoine found he liked both the look and feel of being "cuddly."
Occasionally Preston had taken to expressing concern over his eating habits. It hardly annoyed Antoine. As long as he kept himself in the range of two-hundred, he was still within the weight restrictions as a pilot. Pushing the upper limits, admittedly, but Antoine would never risk his dream job by choice.
Over lunch one day, he'd been eating a double cheeseburger and fries, enjoying a large Coke to complete the meal.
Preston, eating a tuna salad sandwich and a bag of baby carrots he'd brought from home expressed his disapproval with both words and tone.
Smugly, Antoine set the burger down. Until we're married, Preppy, you have no right to complain about my diet.
It had been Antoine's way of testing the waters. Dropping the "m-word" into casual conversation, and gauging his housemate's reaction.
Fine, fine, Preston replied with a sigh; and said nothing more.
Antoine mentally kicked himself, and finished his lunch in silence. Since then, he'd occasionally thrown the word in other situations too. One night, they'd been arguing. Something stupid really; Antoine couldn't even remember what started it. Probably him being insensitive, or maybe Preston being the opposite. It didn't matter at this point.
Antoine had looked up from his bowl of cereal and announced: Jeeze! If we're gonna bicker like an old married couple, why don't we just make it official already.
Preston, clearly thought Antoine was being overly irreverent. He threw his hands in the air, made a snappy remark, and stormed off to his room, pulling the door shut behind him.
Frustrated, Antoine set the tape roll on his desk and hunched over it, sliding his legs to the floor. He drummed his feet against the tile absent-mindedly. What was he really trying to get at anyhow? He certainly didn't know. All Antoine really knew for certain was that he wanted Preston to be a part of his life, a very close and significant part, and he had utterly no idea how to propose such an arrangement. He folded his arms on the desk and stared morosely at the grey roll of duct tape.
It yielded no answers. He hadn't expected it to. Quitting time rolled up, but Antoine didn't feel like rushing home. He sent Preston a text that he'd be out on the trails around the plant, then went to change.
"How are things going with you and Antoine lately," Janet Tucci's voice flowed smoothly through the speaker of Preston's phone.
"We're doing well, Mom," Preston spoke into his Bluetooth headset as he walked the downtown avenues, polished shoes daintily pointing as he walked. The evening was cool, brisky, pleasant. Leaves swirled around his feet, caught in the drafts of a passerby. He stepped to the side, and straightened his windbreaker. The air was delightful, the shop fronts illuminated in the evening light. Preston felt like he was prancing through the scene of a movie.
"I'll admit we do bump heads sometimes," he added. "I've never been in this sort of relationship before."
There was a pause on the line. Preston adjusted his earpiece. "Cohabiting like this," he clarified.
"Is it something you're happy with? Do you think this is something you're going to make long-term?"
A flash of colour caught Preston's eye. He paused, regarding the perfume bottles in a window. They looked like pieces of a captured rainbow. "Antoine's, well… he and I have different thoughts on everything a relationship entails," Preston answered delicately skirting the issue: Antoine's asexuality. Thought his parents had accepted him as gay, and learned he'd had more than a handful of encounters since leaving for college, Preston was quite sure they didn't want to think about the physical component to his past relationships.
He was also not particularly interested in discussing it either.
"All relationships involve compromise, Preston," his mother nudged.
Preston ran his hand through his wavy hair, thinking. Her voice in his ear, it felt as if she were standing beside him. He could almost forget she wasn't.
"I'm sure you and Dad had to compromise on a few things," he chuckled.
"Oh, my dear, you have no idea what a strong man your father can be. I knew he was the one for me the first time we met, but that Italian personality can be more than a little overwhelming. And, considering how his father pushed him, it's no wonder he tried to take that same controlling attitude towards me. We… had more than a few discussions about that."
Preston resisted the urge to laugh. "I can't picture Dad bossing you around."
"That's not for a lack of trying, at least in the beginning," his mother laughed. "Ah, there were times I almost wondered what I had gotten myself into. But I loved him, and he loved me; and we'd made a commitment to each other to work things out. With those elements established, the rest was details.
"Your father has very rigid ideas," Janet continued. "At first he thought my intention of continuing my career once we were married was ridiculous; but at the same time I think he was proud to see it. Ah, Preston, it was worth it in all aspects."
Preston pivoted around a corner, leaned on a streetlamp, and waited for the "walk" sign to light up. "Even me?" he asked.
"Of course you! Why would you even question that?"
The light turned. Preston jostled in with a sea of pedestrians, cutting to the next avenue. "Sometimes I feel like Dad… like I didn't turn out the way he wanted."
"Your father grew up running with the bulls, the way his father pushed him. It's not you. He takes that edge with everyone."
A southern breeze wrapped around Preston's face, bringing with it the tang from the Hudson down below. It was soft, salty, and unexpectedly warm for the time of year. Preston remembered the cruise he and Antoine had shared with his family.
"Dad seemed to take to Antoine quickly enough," Preston said with a huff. "The way they started gambling over golf. But that's Antoine for you. He's different than most people. He has a way about him. People meet him, and they like him."
Preston's voice trailed off. His wonderings had taken him down as far as Monument Park. The statues were illuminated by small lights, set into the marble at their feet. They appeared to be glowing; larger-than-life figures illuminated against the cloudless urban night sky. He walked slowly towards the fountain, set in the lowered center of the plaza.
Visions of Antoine flashed through his mind. The first time he'd met the man in Dimas' office. Their years working together. The night in Florida when he'd thought they were going to make love… the simple evenings on the couch spent arm-in-arm. The times Antoine had seemed a bit less than asexual, a touch more than platonic. Preston wondered what it would be like, to know Antoine in that way.
Janet was silent, waiting patiently. Sometimes their conversations had lulls, but Preston soon learned it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. It was, like his mother had said, getting to know each other as two adults, not as parent and child.
"Antoine's hard to figure out," Preston admitted, sitting down on one of the marble benches overlooking the river far below. "Since we got back from our trip, he's started this new phase of making jokes I'm not sure I like."
"Is he teasing you?"
Ah, and like that the momma bear tone comes up, Preston thought with a laugh. "No, Mom. No! Nothing like that. But he keeps making remarks like 'oh, if you're going to say that, you might as well marry me,' or 'we should just get married already.'" He stretched comfortably, listed a few more examples, then realized he'd been rambling. "Sorry, I went off topic a bit. I can't think of exact specifics right now, but that's the gist of it."
"Dear," Janet began slowly, gently, "are you sure he's joking? Because from everything that you've told me, it sounds more like he's serious, in his own way."
Preston felt the air catch in his lungs. He'd never even considered that option. He thought of the ways he'd dreamed of proposing in his fantasy world: on a knee, some elaborate preplanned event, to a gorgeous tan and muscled man. All perfectly executed, formal, traditional.
"You don't think he's seriously asking me, do you?"
Janet's voice was kind, patient. "I don't get the impression Antoine's the sort to imply a commitment if he's not willing to make good on it. That's not what I saw from him anyhow."
"That's true. You're right," Preston admitted, glad he was sitting down. He unzipped his jacket, letting the cool air soothe the heat that was creeping steadily up his neck and spine. Married to Antoine? In all honestly, it wasn't something he'd ever imagined. He'd been so preoccupied with his own life, both professional and social, to even consider that Antoine's teasing was in fact perfectly true.
"Could you see yourselves together like that?" Janet asked.
Preston fanned his shirt. "I'd never thought he might be serious. What do I do?"
"That's something only you can answer," Janet replied. "But he clearly loves you with all his heart, that was obvious from the first day of our trip. I think that's partially why your father warmed up to him as well. You're our son! We love you Preston, your father and I, even if we haven't always said it. Seeing someone who cares for you as deeply as we do? Of course we're going to take fondly towards someone who treats you the way we know you deserve. That man would do anything for you, Preston; it's plain to see in what he says, and how he acts."
"I'm not sure I'm ready for that level of commitment," Preston confessed.
"Then take your time, but if he's not the one for you, don't lead him on. And if he is serious in his marriage talk, it's best to be honest about how you feel. But try and be gentle, dearest, because I also get the impression he'd not had the easiest life. This is probably hard for him too."
Preston kicked back on the bench, and set his jacket to the side. "I wish we'd had these talks back when I was a kid." Preston gave a soft laugh. "It would've made my teen years easier for sure."
"We can't go back in time, Preston. We can only move forward. Even if we didn't talk then, I'm glad we are now."
"Me too," Preston agreed. He rubbed his face. His palms feel cool from the stone, refreshing against his flushed cheeks. "Thanks Mom, I mean it. Thanks for listening."
His mother's voice felt like a hug, he could almost imagine her arms around him, drawing him close. "I love you, we both do. Your father and I are both so proud of you Preston. Never forget that."
Preston let himself in and dropped his keys in the bowl by the door. He slipped his earpiece into its charger, and went to find Antoine.
It wasn't hard. Antoine was in his basement man-cave, wearing nothing more than a pair of sweats, and watching some inane reality competition, the sort that involved dodgeballs and foam cannons. He was sprawled on the length of the couch, one leg draped over an armrest.
"Hey Prep, you're back earlier than I expected." Antoine slid over to make room for his housemate.
"I just took the bus downtown and wandered around for a bit after work. Talked with my mother for a while."
"That's good. Didja tell Momma T. that I said hi?"
Preston loosened the top button of his shirt and climbed over Antoine. "Move over, Antoine," I want to lie down too."
"Uh, really?" Antoine asked, surprised. "Okay!" He tucked his body as close to the back of the couch as he could and held out an arm. "Put that footrest there if you need it, but otherwise, c'mon in, Prep!"
Preston snuggled in against Antoine's bare chest, feeling the heat from the man's body through his cotton shirt. On impulse, he laced his fingers through Antoine's and pulled his housemate's fingers to his lips. He gently kissed the rough palm of Antoine's hand, then each finger in turn. "I probably don't say this enough, Antoine," he began as he settled in deeper against Antoine's soft flank, "but I love you."
He felt Antoine's breath catch; heard him swallow in surprise. "I love you too, Preppy," Antoine whispered back, burying his face in Preston's shaggy hair. "You mean the world to me."
Wrapped together, arms and legs intertwined, Preston realized he couldn't have cared less what was on TV. In this moment, the only thing that mattered was the man beside him: Antoine, the man he loved.