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“<Richard, do you think I’m attractive?>”
Richard looked up from the guitar magazine he was leafing through, and raised his eyebrow; across the room, Till was looking at a picture. It was the two of them, out in some park where Till had demanded they go - he nodded.
“<Of course I do. Why?>”
“<Because I’m not.>”
“<…oh.>” Richard went back to the magazine, and then his brow furrowed; he set it down again, and looked up. “<Wait, why not?>”
“<I’m not exactly classically handsome, am I?>” Till leaned forward, and Richard realised he wasn’t looking at the picture; he was looking at his reflection in the glass, laurel eyes almost wistful.
“<You’re definitely good-looking. I wouldn’t ruin my aesthetic by dating below me.>” Richard picked up the magazine again, and then, when there was no reply by the end of the feature on semi-acoustic Gibsons, looked back up. “<Till, are you still…>”
“<I’m not, though, am I?>” Till said, almost too himself, voice so small and sad for a moment that Richard’s stomach lurched; he dropped the magazine and stood up. “<I’m… look at me. I’m so worn and scarred. I look like somebody hit me with a car.>” He turned around, and Richard stepped forward carefully, gently touching Till’s chest. “<I mean… look at you. You look like you front some American pop-punk band. You look like…>” He paused for a moment. “<Uh, Green Day. You know.>”
“<I know.>” Richard sighed, and shook his head. “<You’re a handsome fuck though. All the girls are running at you. Well, some of them divert my way, but can you blame them.>” He winked at Till, and knew it was bad when Till didn’t laugh, or push him playfully. He just sighed. “<What’s got you feeling like this?>”
“<I just saw myself in a picture with you.>” Till shrugged, staring at the floor past Richard as if plotting an escape barrel roll. “<I look like your father.>” Richard sighed, and Till shrugged. “<I suppose one of us had to be the cute one.>”
“<Shut the fuck up.>” Richard ran his fingers over Till’s cheeks, and then smiled. “<Seriously. Shut up. I want to fuck you. Do I not?>” He shrugged, and Till nodded, eyes still fixed elsewhere. “<And okay. Maybe you’re not classically handsome. Who cares?>”
“<I care. I feel like you could do better, and you will,>” Till said, sharply, and Richard rolled his eyes.
“<Till. Jesus, Till. You want me to go full-on Sonnet 130?>” he asked, and Till shrugged, cheeks pinking. “<Point is, to some people, you’re an ugly fucker. But to me, and to a lot more people, you’re handsome as hell.>” He rolled his eyes, and Till looked up at him. “<If you ever tell anyone I got this soppy, I’ll throw you into your own pyros, but… I had to spend how many years looking at your eyes and thinking maybe, one day, he’s going to look at me like he looks at girls and guess what? You did, and I love it. I’m a selfish motherfucker. I don’t like you looking at anyone else.>” He shrugged, and Till smiled slowly, widening from a shy smirk to a full-on beam of sunlight. “<If anyone ever hears I said that, I’m moving back to New York.>”
“<That was adorable. You’re shit at compliments, aren’t you?>” Till said in amusement, and Richard shrugged.
“<You’ve got shit self-esteem, I’m shit at compliments. What, you want us to be perfect?>” he snarked, and kissed Till. “<Right, you handsome fuck, that’s enough romance. I know how to show you I think you’re sexy.>” He grinned, and Till pulled him close, cradling his face to kiss him, hard. Richard grabbed his hand and began to lead him towards the bedroom, and Till laughed. “<Let’s go.>”