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Thomas and Micro had been dating for the better part of a decade, which meant that by now, there should have been very little left to discover about each other.
It was enough time to memorize the little things. Enough time to know how Micro always rubbed sleep from his eyes with the heel of his palm instead of his fingers, enough time to know Thomas needed exactly two alarms every morning despite insisting he’d wake up after the first one. They had long since crossed the threshold of thinking they knew everything there was to know about each other: the exact, disgruntled pitch of the other’s morning voice, how they took their coffee, and which cabinet doors they were universally prone to leaving open.
They had learned each other in pieces over years and years until there was no longer a distinction between discovering and simply knowing. Thomas knew when Micro was upset before he said anything. Micro knew the specific look Thomas got right before he was about to say something uncharacteristically stupid. They knew each other well enough to anticipate every mood and reaction, having spent birthdays, holidays, and countless ordinary Tuesdays together.
By all accounts, they had already done this before.
Over the years, they had practically lived out of each other’s pockets. Micro had stayed over at Thomas’ apartment so often that traces of him had gradually settled in without either of them really noticing—a hoodie tossed over the couch, a toothbrush tucked beside Thomas’ sink, a charger permanently occupying the outlet beside the bed.
Thomas had been no different, leaving bits and pieces of himself behind often enough that his presence barely felt like that of a guest anymore. Not that it stopped him from complaining dramatically about how Micro never had enough blankets. Over time, these stray belongings and little traces of each other simply became a standard part of the decor.
They knew what it was like to wake up beside each other. They knew what it was like to brush their teeth side by side, to cook together, to exist in the same space while doing entirely separate things. They knew the comfort of falling asleep with someone’s breathing close enough to hear. They genuinely believed they were used to each other, that the transition to marriage would mostly be a bureaucratic formality with a grand celebration attached to it, a simple change of tax status for two people who were already as settled as a pair of old shoes.
So really, marriage wasn’t supposed to feel all that different.
And yet, somehow it did.
The moment the ink dried on the certificate, the universe shifted on its axis and maliciously restarted the clock, rendering them both completely helpless. It was an entirely unexpected regression; suddenly, they were acting like giddy, breathless teenagers again, hyper-aware of each other in a way that made absolutely no sense for two grown men who had shared a bed for years.
It was in the way Thomas looked at Micro over something as ordinary as doing the dishes, or how a rush of warmth would spread through Micro whenever Thomas’ wedding band caught the morning light. All those years of playing house during weekend stays and extended vacations hadn’t prepared them for the weight of permanence—for the realization that there was no countdown hanging over their heads anymore, no inevitable goodbyes waiting at the end of a Sunday evening. This was simply their life now, and somehow that certainty still had the power to leave them breathless.
Maybe that was why everything felt just a little different afterward. The comfort they had built over years was still there, grounding them, but it was coated in a fresh layer of novelty that made even the most mundane routines feel entirely sacred. The most jarring symptom of this newlywed delirium, however, was the sudden, collective loss of their ability to use singular pronouns.
The first time it happened, they didn’t even notice. Micro was holding up a throw pillow in the middle of the store, squinting at the tiny price tag tucked into the seam, when Thomas leaned over and said, “Our couch could probably fit these, right?”
Our couch.
Micro blinked, then grinned so wide his cheeks ached. The expression lingered even as he turned back toward the shelves, fingertips drifting over stacks of folded blankets and pillows like he was trying very hard to act unaffected.
It lasted all of a few seconds before his attention began settling on the options in front of him, the smile softening as he ran a hand over the fabric of another pillow beneath the bright store lights. Thomas had seen that look before, Micro’s I’m-trying-to-calculate-if-this-is-worth-the-money face, but now it lacked its usual intensity, as if he wasn’t putting much effort into being practical today.
“We could get this,” Micro said, holding up a plain deep plum blanket while completely ignoring the patterned one draped beside it. “Our living room’s gonna look cluttered if we just keep throwing random stuff into it.”
Our living room.
Thomas bit down on his lower lip to keep from laughing. It shouldn’t have felt so monumental. They’d shared spaces before, borrowed each other’s things for years, but the word our landed differently now, solid as a stone dropped into still water. He nudged Micro’s shoulder with his own. “You picked the most boring one.”
Micro looked offended immediately. “It’s simple.”
“It’s plain.” Thomas grabbed the other blanket beside it and held it up, this one covered in some subtle stitched pattern. “Look, this one actually has something going on.”
Micro simply stared at it for a moment. “There’s too much happening.”
Thomas let out a laugh. “Micro, if I leave you in charge, our living room’s gonna end up looking like one of those apartments people post online where there’s a couch, one plant, and some caption about intentional living.”
Micro narrowed his eyes at him. Then he carefully folded the blanket over his arm and stepped closer. “You say that now,” he said, “but when you’re sitting under our blanket in our aesthetically pleasing living room, suddenly I’m a genius.”
They kept wandering through the home section after that, moving with no real destination in mind, just letting themselves drift wherever their eyes landed. Thomas pushed the cart with one hand, the wheels squeaking faintly every few feet, while his other hand kept reaching out to absentmindedly brush over whatever happened to be nearby. Micro walked beside him, occasionally nudging the cart back in the right direction whenever Thomas started steering them toward displays they definitely didn’t need.
Thomas wasn’t actually into anything wild or over-the-top either. He just liked seeing what Micro would do. So naturally, every few aisles, he’d stop and hold something up with complete sincerity painted across his face. A decorative chain link sculpture. A set of oddly shaped candle holders. A tiny ceramic fish dish with bulging eyes and a weirdly puckered mouth that looked unsettling from every angle.
Micro stopped beside him and stared at the monstrosity sitting in Thomas’ hands. His expression didn’t change.
“Put it back.”
“You didn’t even think about it.” Thomas turned the trinket around in his hands like he was genuinely considering it. “Look at him. He’s cute.”
“I did think about it.” Micro leaned over slightly, squinting at it for another second. “And after careful consideration, I decided I hate him.”
Thomas let out a laugh loud enough that someone a few feet away glanced over. He set the fish back on the shelf, shoulders still shaking a little.
A few minutes later, he spotted a lamp with an absurdly oversized shade and immediately reached for it. He lifted it toward Micro with both hands like he was presenting something priceless. “Okay, but imagine this in our living room.”
Micro slowed to a stop and looked at it. Then at Thomas. Then back at the lamp.
His eyes narrowed. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
Thomas pressed his lips together, already losing the fight not to smile. “Answer the question.”
Micro looked at the lamp again, tilting his head slightly like he was actually giving it thought. “I’m imagining it.” He paused. “I’m also imagining throwing it away.”
Thomas folded over the cart handle laughing.
Still, every now and then, they’d stop at something they both genuinely liked. Something one of them would pick up only for the other to immediately lean closer for a better look. Things they’d set down, walk away from, then circle back to a few minutes later without admitting they’d been thinking about it. And every so often, Thomas would glance into the cart and realize something had mysteriously appeared there while he wasn’t paying attention, which usually meant Micro had eventually decided it was worth getting after all.
And somewhere between all of it, between the teasing and the wandering and the decisions made with too little or too much thought, the word kept slipping out naturally. Our shelves. Our coffee table. Our rug. Our place.
Neither of them pointed it out. But every time it happened, there was always that tiny pause. A glance that lingered a second too long. A smile that showed up before either of them could stop it. Then they’d fall back into conversation again like nothing had happened.
By the time they finally made their way toward the next aisle, Thomas glanced over and caught Micro smiling to himself again, small and absentminded this time, like he hadn’t even realized he was doing it. Thomas didn’t say anything. He just reached over and hooked two fingers through the belt loop of Micro’s jeans, tugging him a little closer as they walked, and Micro let himself be pulled without protest. The cart wheels rattled softly ahead of them while their conversation carried on, drifting from one thought to the next about what their place was going to look like.
⟡
Living together also meant Thomas was finally getting unrestricted access to one of his favorite things in the world: taking care of Micro.
It slipped into his days the same way sunlight slipped through blinds, finding its way into little corners without asking permission, turning ordinary things warmer simply by being there. Somewhere along the way, paying attention to Micro had become second nature.
Because the thing about Micro was that he got distracted. Constantly.
One task would split into two, then three, then somehow branch off into something completely unrelated. He’d walk into the kitchen to refill his water bottle and end up reorganizing a drawer because he noticed it looked a little messy. He’d open his laptop with the intention of replying to one email and somehow get sidetracked into reading about something Thomas was fairly certain had not existed in his life ten minutes earlier.
Thomas had spent enough years beside him to know the pattern by heart. So he adjusted around it the same way people adjust around things they love, naturally, without really thinking about it. Little things. Things that took him all of thirty seconds but shaved tiny inconveniences off Micro’s day before he ever had to think about them.
If Thomas noticed Micro’s water bottle sitting empty on the counter while passing through the kitchen, he’d refill it and leave it beside his laptop. If he saw Micro’s phone battery sitting at three percent with the charger abandoned somewhere across the room, he’d plug it in before Micro even realized it was dying. If Micro tossed his jacket over the back of a chair while rushing to do something else, Thomas would hang it up on his way past without even thinking.
Half the time, Micro didn’t even notice it happening.
The other half of the time, he absolutely did.
The afternoon sun spilled through the kitchen windows, streaking pale bands of light across the countertops and catching the thin ribbons of steam still curling up from the coffee machine. Micro stood in front of it with his arms folded over his chest, his eyes narrowed into a sharp glare directed entirely at the digital display.
Thomas slowed in the doorway, drying his hands absently against a dish towel as he took in the scene. His eyes moved from Micro’s expression to the counter, then immediately back again. Leaning one shoulder against the doorframe, he folded his arms loosely and tilted his head. “Should I be worried?”
Micro didn’t answer right away. He kept staring ahead for another second before finally saying, very flatly, “I was going to make coffee.”
Thomas blinked once. “Okay?”
That got a reaction. Micro turned his head toward him immediately, lifting a hand to point an accusing finger straight at his chest. “You already made it.”
Thomas followed the direction of his finger with exaggerated confusion, glancing down at himself before looking back up. “Me?”
“Thomas.”
Thomas looked past him toward the counter instead, toward the mug sitting beside the coffee machine. It was already filled to the brim, the color of the roast precisely how Micro preferred it, with just the exact splash of milk.
Then he looked back at Micro with complete innocence painted across his face. “What?”
Micro stared at him for a long moment, finger still suspended somewhere between accusation and disbelief. “I explicitly said I was going to do it.”
Thomas held his gaze for a second before the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “Were you?”
Micro looked offended by the question itself. “Yes.” He lowered his hand and gestured vaguely toward the kitchen around them. “I literally walked in here to make coffee.”
Thomas pushed himself away from the doorway and wandered farther in, settling against the edge of the counter beside him. “Okay, but technically…” He tipped his chin toward the waiting mug. “You don’t have to anymore.”
Micro dropped his hand completely and crossed his arms tighter across his chest, exhaling through his nose. He was trying very hard to look irritated. Trying to keep his expression pulled into something stubborn and unimpressed. Unfortunately for him, the warmth curling up from the mug beside him was making that significantly harder to commit to.
It had become a recurring thing lately. Not because Thomas thought Micro needed him to. Not because he thought Micro couldn’t handle things himself. He knew better than anyone that Micro was perfectly capable. He’d watched him juggle deadlines, responsibilities, entire weeks packed so tightly they barely left room to breathe. If Thomas left everything alone, Micro would still eventually get around to every task waiting for him.
This had never really been about that.
It was just Thomas.
Caring for Micro had threaded itself through Thomas over the years until he could no longer tell where the instinct had first taken root. It lived in the routine of paying attention, of seeing a need and instinctively putting Micro’s comfort before his own.
Micro looked down at the mug in his hands. Warmth seeped into his palms while steam curled against his face. Beside him, Thomas was still leaning against the counter, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Micro narrowed his eyes. “You know I’m a grown man, right?”
The words lacked real irritation. The accusation came out soft, worn down before it fully left his mouth.
Thomas let out a quiet laugh, dropping his gaze for a second as his smile pulled wider. He pushed himself away from the counter and crossed the small space between them until his shoulder bumped lightly against Micro’s.
“Yeah,” he said, reaching over absentmindedly to smooth down the collar of Micro’s hoodie where it’d folded inward. “I know.”
His fingers lingered there for a second before sliding up along the side of Micro’s neck. Then he leaned over and pressed a kiss against his cheek, quick and familiar and thoughtless in the way only Thomas could make it feel.
“I just like doing things for you.”
Micro lost his train of thought completely.
It was always like this with Thomas. He dropped those kinds of admissions casually, with the same delivery he used for casual small talk. Thomas, who somehow kept giving so much of himself away without seeming to notice. Thomas, who had apparently gotten even worse after marriage somehow, which Micro genuinely hadn’t believed was possible.
Years together should’ve built immunity by now. They should’ve. It should’ve been enough time to get used to someone. Enough time to stop reacting to little things.
And yet there was still this stupid, infuriating warmth that kept unfurling somewhere beneath his ribs every time Thomas looked at him like that.
Micro stared at him, his expression weakening. “…I hate you.”
Thomas’ grin arrived instantly, slow and smug. He took Micro’s wrist, guiding the mug a little closer to his face. “No, you don’t.”
Micro looked at him over the rim and took a sip to avoid answering. Of course it tasted exactly the way he liked it. The coffee settled warm against his tongue, familiar in a way that felt almost irritating considering the circumstances. It figured that even this had Thomas written all over it.
He swallowed and exhaled through his nose. “…Yeah,” he muttered. “Unfortunately.”
Thomas looked entirely too satisfied with that answer.
Micro rolled his eyes and turned toward the living room, already walking away with his coffee still cradled in both hands. A few seconds later, footsteps sounded behind him.
He didn’t have to turn around to know Thomas was there. After all these years, some things had become predictable. Thomas following after him was one of them. So was the way he’d inevitably reach over and steal a sip of Micro’s coffee despite having his own, or straighten the blanket draped over the couch, or quietly take some tiny piece of the day and make it lighter before Micro even thought to ask.
⟡
Another symptom of whatever newlywed disease had apparently taken over their apartment was that they suddenly seemed incapable of keeping their hands off each other.
Somehow, the distance between them had started shrinking in all the smallest places. A few steps across the apartment suddenly felt like enough reason to lean closer, to brush shoulders, to let fingers trail across skin for no reason beyond because you’re there.
Micro found himself reaching for Thomas without even thinking about it. Passing each other in the narrow hallway wasn’t just a matter of stepping aside; Micro would put a palm flat against Thomas’ ribs, sliding it slow and heavy across his shirt until he reached the small of his back, holding him there for a second just to feel him breathe.
Even the most ordinary parts of the day somehow ended up pulling them together. When Thomas stood at the sink with soapy water running over his forearms, Micro would slide in right behind him. He’d press his whole front against Thomas’ back, hooking his chin over his shoulder. The warm steam and the smell of soap mixed with the familiar scent of Thomas’ skin. Micro’s hands would slide under the hem of Thomas’ shirt, his fingers tracing the line of his hip bones, pressing in firmly.
Thomas would let out a breath through his nose, shoulders shifting slightly as he leaned back into him on instinct. He wouldn’t turn around. He rarely ever did. Instead, he’d dry his hands absentmindedly against a dish towel and tilt his head just enough for his cheek to brush against Micro’s temple.
“The water’s getting cold,” he’d murmur.
Micro would only tighten his hold a little, face tucked against the side of Thomas’ neck. “Then let it,” he’d mutter, arms drawing Thomas back against him until the last bit of space between them disappeared.
Over the weeks, the random touches slowly started gathering meanings of their own. Affection gradually developed its own language. The weight of a hand, where it landed, how long it lingered, all of it started saying things neither of them had to put into words anymore.
The back hugs eventually evolved into something very specific. What had started as simple clinginess turned into a request for attention disguised as affection. Thomas would be sitting on the couch with his laptop balanced across his knees, eyebrows pinched together as he focused too hard on whatever had managed to capture his attention, and sooner or later he’d feel familiar arms sliding over his shoulders.
Micro would fold himself against his back without a word, burying his face against the curve of Thomas’ neck and letting his weight sink forward little by little until Thomas was carrying most of it. His thumbs would drift along the tense muscles at the base of Thomas’ neck, pressing slow circles there absentmindedly, lingering just enough to ease away the strain sitting beneath the skin.
He never actually had to say anything. The message had become easy enough to understand on its own: stop for a second and pay attention to me.
Thomas would always pretend to think about it first, dragging out the moment just enough to hear Micro make some muffled sound of annoyance against his shoulder. Then his hand would lift automatically, fingers finding Micro’s where they rested against his chest, gently weaving through them before giving his hand a soft squeeze.
Their days slowly started arranging themselves around these tiny rituals. Forehead kisses became one of them, planted at both ends of the day like bookends.
Every night, once the lights were off and the blankets had settled around them, Thomas would shift closer and slide an arm around Micro’s waist, tugging him over without a second thought. Micro always went willingly, turning into him before Thomas even had to pull. His face would end up pressed against Thomas’ chest, cheek resting against warm skin while his fingers curled loosely into the fabric of Thomas’ shirt. Then Thomas would lower his head and press a kiss against the center of his forehead, letting it linger for a second.
Micro never said anything about it. He’d just curl a little closer afterward, eyes already falling shut as his breathing slowly evened out.
Mornings found their own version of it. Sometimes Micro woke first, blinking awake beneath the gray light slipping through the blinds and stretching across the bed in thin lines. He’d stay there for a while before moving, propped up on one elbow while he looked down at Thomas’ sleeping face. Sleep always softened him somehow. The crease that liked to settle between his brows during the day disappeared, his mouth resting slightly open against the pillow.
Micro would brush his thumb absentmindedly along Thomas’ cheek before leaning down and pressing his lips to that same spot on his forehead.
Most of the time Thomas wouldn’t wake up fully. He’d just let out some sleepy noise beneath his breath, his arm tightening around Micro’s waist before pulling him back down against him. Then he’d bury his face somewhere against Micro’s shoulder or neck and settle right back into sleep, holding onto him the entire time.
Leaving the apartment took time, too. Even a quick trip down to the corner store required a stop at the front door. Micro would block Thomas before his hand could touch the doorknob. He’d grab the fabric of Thomas’ jacket, pulling him back, his other hand sliding up Thomas’ jaw to tilt his chin up. The kisses never really stayed quick. They always stretched a few seconds longer than intended, turning into one more kiss, then another. Thomas would drop his keys onto the small entryway table with a loud clatter before his hands found the loops of Micro’s jeans, pulling him closer until there wasn’t any space left between them and whatever errand waited outside suddenly felt a lot less important.
At some point, all the hallway touches, back hugs, and mandatory kisses at the door had snowballed into something a little out of hand.
Marriage had done strange things to them. Strange, clingy things, settling into all the spaces between their routines until affection started spilling into every part of the day.
Neither of them seemed particularly interested in doing anything about it.
⟡
Thomas eventually realized Micro had developed a rather peculiar habit.
Whenever a thought crossed Micro’s mind, the distance between rooms apparently stopped mattering. If he wanted to say something, he simply said it, fully expecting Thomas to somehow receive the message wherever he happened to be in the apartment. Whether Thomas was one room away, across the hall, or separated by several walls seemed completely irrelevant.
One afternoon, Thomas had claimed a section of the living room floor for himself, surrounded by scattered bookshelf pieces and an instruction manual he’d only been pretending to look at for the last fifteen minutes. Sunlight had shifted across the rug enough to warm one side of him while the other sat beneath the softer shadow cast by the coffee table. A screwdriver rolled lazily beside his knee as he stared down at two nearly identical wooden panels with growing distrust.
He was pretty sure one of them had to go on the left side.
Pretty sure.
Then, somewhere farther down the apartment, something reached him. Faint enough that it barely registered. A sound drifted down the hallway and brushed against the edge of his attention before disappearing just as quickly.
Thomas lifted his head slightly. His eyebrows pinched together.
“…Hm?”
Nothing followed after that, so he sat there another second before looking back down at the bookshelf in front of him. He’d probably imagined it. Or maybe Micro had gotten caught up on a call.
A few moments later his name floated down the hallway again, clearer this time.
“Thomas??”
Thomas looked up immediately. “Yeah?” he called back.
No response came this time either. He waited for another second, then glanced toward the hallway with a small frown before returning to the screws scattered beside his leg. Maybe Micro had figured it out himself. Maybe he’d gotten distracted. Both were equally likely.
A few seconds later, footsteps made their way toward the living room. Thomas glanced up just as Micro rounded the corner with his phone still in hand. His eyebrows had drawn together slightly, and there was a faint crease between them, but the expression sat somewhere closer to excuse me? than anything serious. Like Thomas had committed a very small offense and Micro was still deciding how personally he wanted to take it.
“You didn’t answer me.”
Thomas blinked up at him from the floor. “I did answer you.”
Micro lowered himself beside him with a quiet huff and folded his legs beneath himself on the rug, shoulder settling against Thomas’ automatically. “No, you answered the second time.”
Thomas stared at him for a second before realization spread slowly across his face.
“Oh.”
Micro looked at him expectantly.
“I thought I imagined the first one.”
Micro turned his head and stared at him like he’d said something deeply unreasonable. “How do you imagine hearing your own name?”
Thomas immediately looked at him. “You’d be surprised.”
Micro narrowed his eyes a little before lifting his phone and holding it directly in front of Thomas’ face.
“Anyway.”
Thomas looked down. Some random video was paused halfway through, captions covering half the screen while comments kept rolling underneath it. Micro shifted closer beside him, shoulder pressing more firmly into Thomas’ as he pointed at the screen with complete seriousness.
“If vampires bite each other,” he asked, brows drawing together slightly, “are they, like, giving each other hickies or does it count as cannibalism?”
Thomas stared at the phone. Then slowly lifted his eyes toward Micro. Micro stared back without even the slightest hint that he found anything strange about this interaction. His expression stayed perfectly neutral, completely waiting for an answer like this was a normal question people asked each other in the middle of an afternoon.
“You called me from another room,” he said slowly, “for that?”
Micro shifted one leg beneath himself, still leaning against Thomas’ side without moving away even an inch. “I needed another opinion.” His eyes dropped back to the phone for a second before returning to Thomas again. “Because if you think about it, it feels like there’s no middle ground. It has to be one or the other.”
Thomas continued staring at him. Really staring at him now. He was trying very hard not to laugh, which immediately became impossible the longer he looked at Micro’s face. Because Micro looked completely invested in this. Completely serious.
His head dropped against Micro’s shoulder as laughter finally escaped him, shoulders shaking hard enough to bump into him repeatedly. Beside him, Micro frowned down at him in mild offense before his hand drifted up automatically into Thomas’ hair, pushing it away from his forehead.
“Thomas,” he said, trying to sound reprimanding and failing miserably because his mouth had already started twitching at the corners. “I’m serious.”
Thomas looked back up at him, eyes narrowed slightly from laughing too hard. “You are absolutely not serious.”
“I am.” Micro held the phone closer to him again, nudging it toward his chest insistently. “Think about it.”
Thomas looked at the screen. Then at Micro. Then back at the screen. A few seconds passed. Then his expression changed. “Oh my god.”
Micro immediately straightened a little beside him. “Right?”
Thomas pointed at him accusingly. “No, because now I’m thinking about it.”
Micro’s smile finally broke through properly after that. Slow at first, then wider when Thomas continued staring at him like he’d personally ruined his afternoon. Thomas shook his head and wrapped an arm around his waist anyway, pulling him down against his side until Micro tipped into him completely. Micro settled there immediately, like he’d been waiting for that part the entire time.
For a while after that, the bookshelf pieces stayed forgotten around them on the rug. Micro kept scrolling through whatever rabbit hole on his phone had apparently brought him to vampire cannibalism in the first place, occasionally turning the screen toward Thomas whenever something else caught his attention. Thomas barely looked half the time. He just sat there with his chin resting on top of Micro’s head, absentmindedly tracing his thumb back and forth against his side while Micro leaned more and more of his weight into him without realizing it.
By the time Thomas finally glanced back down at the scattered bookshelf pieces around them, Micro had somehow ended up nearly folded into his lap entirely. Neither of them made any move to sit up. The screwdriver sat abandoned somewhere under the coffee table, forgotten along with the rest of Thomas’ plans for the afternoon.
They stayed exactly where they were.
⟡
The notes started out practical. At first they were nothing more than quick reminders scribbled down because one of them was already halfway out the door or because they couldn’t be bothered to open their phones and send a text. Grocery lists left on the counter. Reminders stuck onto the fridge. Tiny scraps of paper abandoned in places the other person would eventually wander into.
we’re out of dish soap
don’t forget your appointment at three
pick up eggs
Somewhere in the middle of reminders and shopping lists, extra things started slipping in. Completely unnecessary things. One day a reminder had an extra sentence added beneath it, and after that they just… kept multiplying. Things that had nothing to do with groceries or errands or anything important at all.
There was something embarrassingly endearing about finding them too. Because they could’ve texted. It would’ve been easier to text. Faster too. Instead, one of them had apparently stopped in the middle of whatever they were doing, found a sticky note somewhere, uncapped a pen, and physically written something down knowing the other person would find it later.
Seeing someone’s handwriting made it feel different. The slight slant of Thomas’ letters whenever he wrote too quickly. The way Micro sometimes pressed harder on certain letters without realizing it. Tiny things that turned a note into proof that someone had paused in the middle of their day and thought, wait, Thomas is gonna see this later, or Micro would laugh at this.
Thomas opened the fridge one morning and found a sticky note tucked beside the orange juice carton.
buy milk
also hi :)
Micro found one stuck onto the bathroom mirror after his shower, the corners curling slightly from steam.
good morning <3
your hair is doing something interesting today
not in a good way btw
Thomas found one folded beneath his wallet while getting ready to leave.
eat lunch today
yes i’m serious
yes i’m assuming you’ll forget
Micro discovered one tucked into his laptop later that afternoon.
drink water
please
you can’t survive entirely on caffeine
Thomas found one inside a kitchen cabinet while reaching for coffee mugs.
you keep putting these back wrong
i still love you but we’re gonna work on this
After a while, the little purple squares simply settled into the space around them. They clung to the fridge door and bathroom mirrors, peeked out from under wallets, hid between book pages and jacket pockets. Every now and then one of them would catch a note while walking past and smile before continuing on with whatever they had been doing.
Sometimes old ones stayed up longer than they needed to. Not because either of them forgot to take them down, but because neither of them really wanted to. Grocery reminders would disappear after a day or two, errands would get crossed out and thrown away, but the pointless ones tended to linger.
A note with have a good day :) stayed on the fridge for almost two weeks. One with drink water. this is a threat lived beside the coffee machine until the edges started curling.
The apartment carried a warmth to it by then, something that settled into the walls and threaded itself through the mundane. It felt full in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with furniture. It was the weight of a life being built in the gaps. Every surface seemed to hold traces of shared time, where affection didn’t just happen in the moment, but stayed behind, settling into ordinary spaces and lingering long after the hands that wrote the words had moved on.
⟡
Rain had been falling since sometime that morning. The sky had stayed a dull gray for hours, hanging low enough that the apartment felt tucked away beneath it, wrapped inside its own little world. Days like this always seemed to move differently. The hours stopped feeling separate from one another and simply melted together, stretching out lazily until morning became noon, and afternoon became evening.
Thomas and Micro had surrendered to it hours ago.
Most of the day had disappeared on the couch. Blankets had gradually multiplied around them over the hours, gathering over legs and shoulders in a tangled mess of fabric that shifted every time one of them moved. Some show had been playing for long enough that neither of them had any real idea what was happening anymore. Every now and then one of them would glance up at the television and realize they had completely missed the last ten minutes.
Micro had drifted lower against Thomas over time, gradually sinking until his head rested against Thomas’ chest while Thomas sat with one arm around him. Thomas’ fingers had been moving through his hair for so long that the motion had softened into something absentminded, slow strokes through pale strands that never really seemed to stop.
For a while, neither of them said anything.
Micro’s eyes stayed on the television, though Thomas was fairly certain he wasn’t paying attention either. His fingers had curled loosely against Thomas’ side beneath the blanket, tracing absent little shapes against the fabric of his shirt.
Then Micro shifted slightly against him, lifting his head just enough for his chin to rest against Thomas’ chest. His eyes wandered around the apartment for a moment, moving without really settling anywhere. Toward the television stand, toward the kitchen, toward all the little corners they’d slowly filled up over time.
“You remember when we used to talk about all this?” he asked quietly.
Thomas looked down at him, his hand slowing in Micro’s hair. “All this?”
Micro made a small motion with his hand, gesturing vaguely around them before letting it fall back against Thomas again.
“Our place.” He smiled a little to himself. “Living together. Marriage. Stupid stuff we’d talk about at, like, two in the morning.”
Thomas felt his mouth curve before he could help it. He did remember.
Little conversations thrown around carelessly during car rides or while lying in bed late at night. Our place should have a big couch. I want a kitchen with enough room. We’re getting a coffee machine. We’re absolutely not getting that coffee machine because it’s expensive. Little pieces of a life they kept building with words before they had anywhere to put it.
“I used to think about it a lot,” Micro admitted quietly. “Just… us living together.” He smiled a little to himself. “I think I imagined it so much that I forgot eventually we’d actually get here.”
Something shifted in Thomas’ chest at that.
Because he understood exactly what he meant. There had been years of later. Years of when we have our own place and one day and eventually. So many plans that had sat ahead of them for so long that they’d almost started feeling permanent there, like stars fixed somewhere in the distance. Easy to point at. Harder to imagine reaching.
Thomas felt his hand slow where it rested in Micro’s hair before his fingers slid down, brushing lightly along his cheek until his palm settled there instead. His thumb moved once beneath his eye, absentminded and gentle.
“We’re here now,” he said quietly, smiling a little as he looked at him. “We made it here.”
Micro lifted his head a little at that. For a second he just looked back at him, and Thomas watched something shift across his face, watched the smile tug slowly at the corners of his mouth while his eyes softened around the edges. There was still a trace of that disbelief sitting there too, like some part of him was still catching up to the fact that all those years of later had eventually turned into now.
Thomas felt his own smile tugging at him now.
“And we’re still figuring things out,” he said. “Still making stuff up as we go.” He shrugged one shoulder slightly. “But I don’t know.” His fingers brushed lightly against Micro’s temple. “I think we’re doing okay.”
Micro looked at him for another second before shifting upward and pressing his face against the side of Thomas’ neck. “Yeah,” Micro murmured. “I think so too.”
They stayed there for a while after that, letting the conversation settle between them while the television continued carrying on in front of them. Thomas’ hand moved slowly along Micro’s back beneath the blanket, tracing absent paths without thinking about it. The room had gone dim around them, evening slipping in quietly while rain continued threading itself against the windows.
Micro shifted against him after a while and tilted his head just enough to look up. His fingers curled a little more firmly into the fabric at Thomas’ side, and for a few seconds he just watched him. There wasn’t really a reason for it. He was simply looking at him.
Then his mouth lifted slightly.
“I love you.”
Thomas felt it immediately. Every single time. It still reached him in exactly the same place, still unfurled inside his chest with that same warmth that always caught him off guard. Time had never seemed to dull it. If anything, those words felt fuller now. They carried all the little things that had gathered around them over the years; all the mornings spent waking up beside each other, all the conversations stretched late into the night, all the tiny moments that had quietly built a life together piece by piece. Somehow three words still managed to hold all of it.
Thomas looked at him for a moment before his hand slid up from Micro’s back and rested against his cheek. His thumb brushed lightly beneath his eye, then along the curve of his cheekbone, slow and absentminded as his smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.
“I love you too,” he said softly, looking at him like he still couldn’t quite believe he got to say it himself. “More than I know what to do with, honestly.”
Micro’s smile widened a little at that, and Thomas barely had another second to look at it before Micro leaned forward.
The kiss met him slowly, lingering from the very beginning. There wasn’t any rush behind it, no hurried collision of movement, just Micro inching closer until Thomas felt the warmth of his breath first, then the soft press of his mouth against his. Thomas’ hand shifted against his cheek, his thumb brushing once along his skin before settling there more firmly, holding him close.
Something in Thomas’ chest seemed to loosen the moment he kissed him back. The warmth that had been sitting there all evening spread further, curling through him until he felt almost embarrassingly full of it. Full in that way that made him want to pull Micro closer despite the fact that they were already pressed together, as if there was still somehow distance left to close.
Micro moved closer at some point during the kiss, though Thomas couldn’t tell exactly when it happened. He only realized afterward that there wasn’t any space left between them anymore. One of Micro’s hands had slipped up along the side of his neck while the other had curled into the fabric of his shirt near his chest, holding there loosely. Thomas could feel his fingertips shifting every now and then, tiny movements against the fabric, keeping him there simply because he wanted to.
The kiss stretched on for a while, uncounted seconds slipping by unnoticed. Thomas felt Micro smile against his mouth halfway through it, small and helpless, and immediately felt himself smiling too before he could stop it. He kissed him again after that, softer this time, because suddenly one more didn’t feel like enough. Then another one after that, because neither of them seemed interested in pulling away yet.
When they finally did separate, it wasn’t by much. Their foreheads stayed pressed together, noses brushing lightly whenever one of them breathed or shifted even slightly. Thomas kept his eyes closed for another second, smiling faintly as he felt Micro’s breath fan gently across his face.
Neither of them made any effort to move away. Rain continued slipping down the windows outside, smearing the city lights into soft streaks while the apartment sank deeper into evening around them. The television kept running, forgotten in the background, filling the room with distant voices and scenes neither of them had been paying attention to for a while now.
Then the dialogue faded into music. Something slow spilled through the speakers and drifted across the room. Thomas felt Micro’s expression change before he even saw it. He watched the corners of his mouth twitch slightly, watched his eyes shift toward the television for barely a second before looking back at him again.
Immediately, Thomas groaned.
“No.”
Micro’s smile widened right in front of him. He finally pulled back enough to slip out from beneath the blankets, and Thomas watched them slide down around his legs in a tangled pile as he stood beside the couch. For a moment Micro just looked down at him, one hand pushed into his pocket while the other stretched out toward him expectantly. His fingers curled once, inviting.
Thomas looked at the hand. Then up at Micro. Then back down again.
Rainy days always seemed to do something strange to the apartment. Hours slipped by differently inside it. The outside world felt farther away while everything within those walls felt closer, warmer, wrapped up in itself. Like the evening had folded around them and decided they didn’t need to be anywhere else.
Micro tilted his head slightly, his hand still waiting.
Thomas let out a breath through his nose, already losing the fight against the smile pulling at his mouth. He reached up and slipped his hand into Micro’s.
“You are impossible,” he murmured as Micro immediately curled his fingers around his and tugged him up from the couch.
Thomas nearly stumbled forward from the force of it, laughter escaping him as his hands found Micro automatically to steady himself. One settled at his waist while the other slid around his back, and before he could even fully straighten up, Micro had already stepped closer again. His arms looped around Thomas’ shoulders, his body fitting against him like that was simply where he belonged.
For a while they barely did anything besides sway. Thomas shifted his weight and Micro followed without thinking, then another step carried them across the rug, then another. They moved in slow uneven circles that could hardly be called dancing at all. Thomas brushed the coffee table once with his knee and felt Micro laugh against the side of his head before his arms tightened briefly around him.
Thomas’ hand had drifted lower at some point, resting loosely at Micro’s waist before his fingers absentmindedly intertwined with his. Their hands shifted together with every step, and his thumb brushed over the familiar band sitting against Micro’s finger. Once. Then again. The movement slowed there for a second, tracing lightly over the ring like he was still getting used to the shape of it, like some part of him still found a little disbelief in being able to touch it at all.
He lifted their joined hands slightly without thinking and turned his head just enough to press a lingering kiss against Micro’s knuckles, right where the ring sat beneath his lips. He felt Micro smile immediately against the side of his head, felt him pull a little closer.
It felt almost impossible to hold this moment all at once. Not because it was something huge or overwhelming, but because there was nothing particularly extraordinary happening around them. In a couple more decades, the details would inevitably blur. They wouldn’t remember the melody of the music or what had been on the television; they wouldn’t recall the date or the exact hour the rain had started falling.
Yet, the feeling would remain indestructible. This exact moment of being held in the middle of a room, untouched by the passing of time around them. They would always remember that sudden, breathtaking awareness that the dream was no longer something waiting for them in the distance, that this was the life they had fought so hard to build, and that they were already safely inside it.
Tomorrow morning they’d wake up beside each other again. One of them would steal more space beneath the blankets. Coffee would already be waiting before the other could make it. Hands would find familiar places without thinking. Names would be called from different rooms. Little notes would appear in pockets and mirrors and countertops. The day after that would bring more of the same, and then another after that, and another after that.
Because all this time, love had been building itself in the ordinary. In the routines they created unconsciously. In all the little things that repeated themselves day after day until they became woven into the shape of their lives.
They had a lifetime ahead of them now. And with their arms wrapped around one another, swaying slowly while the world carried on outside, they knew with absolute certainty that if this was what the rest of their lives looked like, they would spend every day walking toward it gladly.