The Quarantine Diary of Adam Garrett [mxm]

Day 7

If Day 6 was the best day I had in ages, Day 7 was... I don't even know. Maybe I'll know by the time I finish this diary entry. Maybe writing it down will help me process it.

We had a simple breakfast of toast and Mini Wheats. I turned on the news so we'd have something to fill the silence, because it was clear there was something awkward in the air. We ate, commented on things the newscasters and expert interviewees would say, but there was obviously something going on under the surface.    

After a couple hours of shallow conversation and TV watching, I was starting to wonder if I was imagining the weirdness, but once the noon hour news show ended Brad turned the TV off and shifted on the couch until he was facing me. He started talking.

"We need to talk," he started, which is definitely the worst way to start a conversation. He went on: "I'm so, so sorry for what happened yesterday. I woke up this morning and couldn't stop thinking about it. I mean, I hurt you. Yes, it was an accident, but I should have been more careful. And what if you'd been hurt worse? What if a bone had been broken or something and you needed a doctor, but we can't leave so we'd have to get one to come here and they came in, like, a hazmat suit or something? Anyway—I just feel really bad, because you didn't have to let me live here. I know I can be really high-energy and clumsy and I'm just so grateful you're letting me live here. If I'm ever too much, you can just let me know."

It all came out really fast, just a stream of words, but that was the gist. I said something along the lines of "oh, don't worry, it's fine, no problem." I don't remember. All I remember is that I ended my babbling with saying, "You're not too much."

Brad's big, goofy grin came back.

"I'm glad you think that," he said. "Because I had a really good time yesterday."

The fact that he said that kind of blew me away. Because we had spent the last chunk of hours in the day touching each other, and the last three or so hours of it with Brad sleeping on my shoulder. I just smiled and said, "Me too."

And then we... had a really nice day. We cooked, we watched movies, we played Clue and Monopoly and Scrabble. When I had to go to the bathroom, Brad wrapped my arm around his shoulders and helped me hobble over, even though I told him I didn't really need it.

"Well, it's best to be safe," he said as I trailed my hand down his arm and closed the bathroom door.

He fell asleep on me again. This time I couldn't help but think it was on purpose. I was sitting on the couch, my legs out on the ottoman. Brad's head was on my shoulder before he was even asleep. He kind of nestled down, tucked his legs up onto the couch, then placed his head on my shoulder and closed his eyes. Soon he was snoring, and I was just sitting there grinning my face off.

Then I got tired. I rested my head against his, and my eyelids started to droop. I fell into a shallow sleep, but it was a really happy sleep. I'm sure I was smiling.

Very late at night, a loud sound from whatever TV show was playing woke us both up. We were all tangled up in a heap—I had slumped over, rested my head on the arm of the couch, and Brad had kind of crawled up to lie on top of me, his head nestled against my ribcage. When we woke up and realized the position we were in, we sat up, but not that quickly. Maybe Brad was too sleepy to move very fast, but for a dude who has woken up all snuggled up with his male roommate, he moved like a sloth.

He gave me slow, sleepy smile before drifting off to the bathroom. I stayed on the couch, my head all muddled from sleep, listening to the sounds of Brad brushing his teeth. Once he had finished, he came back into the living room, his feet scuffing on the floor. When he was somewhere behind me, he groaned, and I realized he was kneeling down. He pushed his hands through my hair, nails lightly massaging my scalp.

I've never shivered so hard. I swear I convulsed. It was like a seizure of pleasure.

Brad whispered, "Goodnight, stud. See you in the morning."

I stuttered "goodnight," but I wanted to say so much more. "Stud"??? What the fuck was that? That felt like a step way over the light of whatever flirty game we'd been playing. The fact that he stood up, went into his room, and closed the door after feels incredibly unfair. I seriously contemplated storming in there and demanding answers, asking how he feels about me, whether he's toying with me or...

I can't even think the words. I don't want to get my hopes up. I went to bed, hoping to write all this out and process it and let it go, but now I'm more keyed up than I was before. In the moment, there's a lot of doubt over what's happening. You can convince yourself you're crazy, that you're misinterpreting everything.

Remembering it all and writing it all out, though... everything that happened seems so much more significant.

Should I try to talk to him about all this tomorrow?