after.midnight // v.naked
Summary: Those bedside drawers are still empty.
Disclaimer: The boys belong to Cowlip.
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Ten years and two very short, but ultimately futile relationships later, the drawers next to the bed are still empty.
It's stupid and ridiculous and more than a little pathetic, but he can't bring himself to actually put anything in them. He's tried, more times than he cares to count, but whenever he actually puts something in them, boxer briefs, jockstraps, socks or even a bag of weed and a pack of cigarettes, he can only think about Justin never putting anything in them at all.
Relationship #1 ended after twenty-two short days when Marc, or Mac or some other name that began with an M but was definitely not Michael, tried to put a t-shirt and a pair of boxers in it. He had tried to explain, slowly and with small words so Marc could understand, why those particular drawers were off limits, but Mac hadn't gotten the message and that was the end of that.
Relationship #2, whose name was defintely Taylor, only lasted two months when the drawers once again became an issue. That and the fact that Taylor hadn't liked that everyone referred to him only by his last name.
They're sacred now, the drawers, the only thing he'll allow in the loft that reminds of the past, of Justin. He stares at them when he's alone in bed at three in the morning (because clubbing at 45 is pathetic, even for him), slightly buzzed on alcohol and high quality drugs, opens them up and looks inside and feels just as empty. And some days he pretends they don't exist because it's the only way he'll ever get through his day.
He feels like an ass for letting a set of drawers mean so much, but, in retrospect, he feels worse for letting someone so important think he meant so little.