All The Ways We Touch [BxB]

twelve - sweet dreams pt. two

Stepping inside, Elliot quietly shut the door behind him, looking at the cramped space. In one corner was a twin-sized mattress, the bed left a mess of sheets and a pile of blankets. In the opposite corner was a faucet and sink with a microwave, hot plate, and small refrigerator.

"I wouldn't cook even if I had a stove," Jamison said, putting the bottles of face wash and moisturizer in his bathroom. Removing his jacket, he placed it on a pile of folded clothing in the other corner of the room, a couple of milk crates acting as organizers.

"I have one and don't cook either," he said, keeping his back pressed against the door, trying to give Jamison as much space as possible. He wasn't kidding about the place being small.

Jamison pulled at the bottom of his hoodie and looked at Elliot for a moment with flushed cheeks. It wasn't like he was going to fully undress, but there was still something that made him feel like this was more intimate than it seemed on the surface, and his stomach churned at the feeling. Finally, he committed and pulled it up over his head.

As Jamison did so, Elliot couldn't help but watch, his own cheeks tinted pink as the hoodie pulled up the shirt he was wearing beneath it, this time exposing up to the bottom of his ribs. It made sense in the context of his flat stomach and prominent hip bones, but Elliot was concerned to see his ribs stick out so much. He hadn't realized how much the hoodie and jacket obscured his lithe figure. 'Fuck, he needs to eat more.'

Pulling his shirt down, Jamison sighed and reached into the pocket of his jeans, removing a fancy-looking pen. Turning, he set it down on the counter and waved his hand. "You can sit on my bed if you don't want to stand. Or on that cushion. Whatever."

Now that Jamison had stopped undressing, Elliot's gaze was fixed on the walls, his eyes going across dozens of sketches, drawings, and paintings of trees, plants, and people—including Wren—that were pinned up. This was his first time seeing his work, but he was amazed by it, both objectively and with the bias of their friendship. "You're incredibly talented."

"Thanks, you're welcome to any of them if you want," he said, going back to the milk crates and pulling a clean outfit out of them. "But I won't be offended if you don't."

"Do you always carry that pen around with you?"

Jamison nodded.

"Why? It looks really fancy." He returned to looking around the room. There were a couple of books of poetry stacked on the floor by his bed with a lamp, and a set of pencils left open next to an unfinished drawing in the middle of the floor, but other than that, very little else that he could see.

"I'll wish I had it if I need it."

"Isn't that the case with everything?"

"Not like this," he said, crossing back by him to slip into the bathroom. He'd finish undressing in there, somehow, despite it barely having enough room for the door to close.

"There's the cryptic Jamison I'm used to," Elliot laughed, shaking his head. Crossing a few feet, Elliot sat down on Jamison's bed, denying the urge to wrap himself up in his blankets. Not only because it was quite cold in the room, but because of wanting to be close to him, and what other way than in his blankets? "Do you not have a heater?"

"Uh, technically there's one but it's really inefficient and the insulation is awful, so I only run it at night," he said as he tried to undress without knocking anything over. "Otherwise, my electricity bill is really expensive. It's a waste to try to keep it warm in here."

Elliot was not pleased with the answer, but again, expected nothing less from Jamison. He couldn't help but wonder if he was saving most of his money, or if rent was just that high here. Or maybe art supplies were just that expensive. "So what're your plans for after work?"