Letting him have the time he needed felt excruciating, but he let him have it.
It wasn’t as though he could completely avoid him. There was still rehearsal, and it consumed so much of their waking lives that not talking about it, not asking him about it was maddening. He wants to know what Peter thinks of it, if, knowing now what he knows, if he’d change his mind, if he would be willing to try. Peter’s the only one who hasn’t pulled away when they saw, and the rumors of those who had had nearly driven him away.
The only save was rehearsal. Dancing with Peter, and conveying to him what they weren’t discussing aloud. There’s still that desire that’s obvious with every touch, every brush of their bodies together or Roman’s hands on him, but it’s intimate. It’s a conversation between them carried out without words, says that if Peter will just let him, Roman will be there for him just like this, close and warm behind him, a promise of something like symbiosis, that they would fit together like this. He’s confident they will, in their own way.
They both need something and maybe they don’t yet know how the other will fill the lack, but they haven’t had the time or the opportunity to explore that. Roman just knows things sometimes, and this is one of them.
Maybe that’s what kept him late one night. In reality, he knew it wasn’t that, wasn’t Peter and any feeling of knowing. It was him avoiding going home, actively trying to piss off Olivia that had kept him late. He’d spent the time alternately going through the routines alone in the main studio and lounging against the wall, staring out at the dark seats, a lit cigarette between his lips.
Finally, he’d been about to leave, and was on his way to the dressing rooms to change when he switched directions suddenly. There wasn’t a sound that had tipped him off, he just had a feeling that he needed to follow. He stepped into one of the smaller studios and saw Peter asleep on a thin mat. Even without a blanket, Roman understood that he meant to stay the night here.
He wondered if Peter had nothing to go home to. There was a twist in his chest at that, more the fact that he didn’t know one way or another, the fact that so much of Peter was a mystery to him and all he wanted was to be let in.
He crossed the room in silence, movements carelessly graceful until he came to sit down beside Peter, careful not to make a sound that would wake him, and crossed his legs comfortably. When Peter didn’t stir and Roman was confident he could press through the space between them slightly more, he rearranged himself somewhat closer.
Close enough that, when he dared, he was able to tuck a stray lock of hair back behind Peter’s ear.
no subject
It wasn’t as though he could completely avoid him. There was still rehearsal, and it consumed so much of their waking lives that not talking about it, not asking him about it was maddening. He wants to know what Peter thinks of it, if, knowing now what he knows, if he’d change his mind, if he would be willing to try. Peter’s the only one who hasn’t pulled away when they saw, and the rumors of those who had had nearly driven him away.
The only save was rehearsal. Dancing with Peter, and conveying to him what they weren’t discussing aloud. There’s still that desire that’s obvious with every touch, every brush of their bodies together or Roman’s hands on him, but it’s intimate. It’s a conversation between them carried out without words, says that if Peter will just let him, Roman will be there for him just like this, close and warm behind him, a promise of something like symbiosis, that they would fit together like this. He’s confident they will, in their own way.
They both need something and maybe they don’t yet know how the other will fill the lack, but they haven’t had the time or the opportunity to explore that. Roman just knows things sometimes, and this is one of them.
Maybe that’s what kept him late one night. In reality, he knew it wasn’t that, wasn’t Peter and any feeling of knowing. It was him avoiding going home, actively trying to piss off Olivia that had kept him late. He’d spent the time alternately going through the routines alone in the main studio and lounging against the wall, staring out at the dark seats, a lit cigarette between his lips.
Finally, he’d been about to leave, and was on his way to the dressing rooms to change when he switched directions suddenly. There wasn’t a sound that had tipped him off, he just had a feeling that he needed to follow. He stepped into one of the smaller studios and saw Peter asleep on a thin mat. Even without a blanket, Roman understood that he meant to stay the night here.
He wondered if Peter had nothing to go home to. There was a twist in his chest at that, more the fact that he didn’t know one way or another, the fact that so much of Peter was a mystery to him and all he wanted was to be let in.
He crossed the room in silence, movements carelessly graceful until he came to sit down beside Peter, careful not to make a sound that would wake him, and crossed his legs comfortably. When Peter didn’t stir and Roman was confident he could press through the space between them slightly more, he rearranged himself somewhat closer.
Close enough that, when he dared, he was able to tuck a stray lock of hair back behind Peter’s ear.