the progress project [3]

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aidan

he's speed-walking down the empty pavement in harlem, running behind to meet preston for a late dinner at 10 p.m. the street lamps illuminate the sidewalks dimly, and there are only a few other people in the neighborhood.

he's so paranoid that it's a major problem he should talk to a therapist about, but he rushes anyway, into the restaurant. he looks around wildly, until his eyes catch his friend's and relief blooms through his chest. he finds his way to their table and sits down. "hey."

"hey, yourself," preston says coldly, looking at the menu. "thanks for taking so long."

"i'm sorry—"

"don't be," he winks. he sets the menu back down and stretches his arms above his head, cracking his joints. "i'm kidding."

"oh."

he rolls his eyes. "loosen up, porter."

"fuck off," he grins.