Chapter Text
day one.
Justin pulled open his front door, a grin lighting up his face when he saw Zach standing there. “Zach? What are you doing here, come in!” He exclaimed brightly, reaching out to pull him inside, hand warm on Zach’s wrist. His eyes went to the heavy rucksack slung over Zach’s shoulder and his smile faltered. “Oh, what’re you..?”
“Mind if I stay for a bit, Spence?” Zach spoke over him, flashing Justin his easy smile. “My landlord’s having some work done.” He moved past him into the flat, knocking their shoulders together with casual familiarity, and let the rucksack thud to the floor.
Justin’s flat was exactly as Zach remembered: bright and spacious, minimalist, with black and white photographs on the walls. Justin's work, probably: impersonal cityscapes and architectural shots, nothing with people in them. An imposing but comfortably worn brown leather sofa took up most of the immediate floorspace, with a blanket trailing over the arm – Justin must have been curled up with it when Zach knocked. A couple of photography books sat on the coffee table, edges neatly aligned.
Justin was still standing rooted to the spot, clearly trying to come up with a response, and Zach’s smile began to feel strained as he watched Justin hesitate, bare feet peeking out beneath the too-big pyjama pants that were dipping down his hips. Zach knew it was probably stupid to come here instead of his sister's place, but he'd already hauled his bag up four flights of stairs.
"Come on, Spence,” he said. “Don't leave me standing here like a lost delivery."
“How long for?” Justin asked. He still hadn’t closed the front door, long, delicate fingers gripping the edge of it tightly. There was uncertainty clear in the straight line of his back, and Zach worried that if he let the moment hang any longer, Justin might actually say no. He flopped onto the sofa, hooking his legs over the arm and kicking his shoes off as he reached for the TV remote.
“Couple of weeks, mate. A month, tops. Upstairs left the bath on or something, my whole ceiling’s caved in,” he said lazily, fiddling with the guide button on the remote. “Hey, you’ve got Sky Sports, right? What number – why’s it not in your favourites?”
Zach caught Justin’s exasperated smile, the gentle curve of his full lips. “Because I don’t watch it, Cooper. It’s 401. A whole month?”
Zach tapped in the numbers and folded his arm beneath his head, settling back to watch. “Probably less. I promise not to bring any girls over. Why d’you pay for a subscription, then? And have you got any beer?”
The silence stretched long enough that Zach glanced over. Justin was still standing by the door, something unreadable crossing his face.
"As long as you promise," he said carefully. The door clicked shut.
“There’s some beer in the fridge, but you can get it your bloody self. And –” at this, he reached over and tugged the remote from Zach’s hand, changing the channel. “I was watching something.”
Zach huffed as Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey filled the screen, his eyes following Justin’s slim frame as he folded himself into the armchair across from him, knees pulled up to his chest. He was all angles and pale skin. He looked delicate, though Zach knew otherwise from the rugby pitch at school.
Despite Justin’s casual air, Zach could see a flush creeping up the back of his neck and staining the tips of his ears pink, and he decided not to press for an answer on why Justin had Sky Sports; the chances were that he bought the subscription – and the beer – solely for Zach’s benefit, and admitting that opened up too many questions.
Instead, he pulled himself to his feet and grabbed his rucksack, leaving Justin to his film while he went to unpack.