[Aaron]

*~*~*

A lifetime of words;

Doesn't make up for the moment of treason;

Only if you start with a clear firm intention,

Will there be a fruitful conclusion.

*~*~*

"Good for you to be promoting such a good cause Aaron." A man, I think his name is Leonardo, don't quote me on that, pats me on the back. Laughing heartily as he takes a sip of his wine, he was speaking with Sebastien just moments ago, they seem to hit it off pretty well, glad to know the old man isn't rotting away in his personal bubble that no one can permeate. I run this company, sure, but the people that I interact on a weekly basis exceed the hundreds. I would love to have Skylar's ability to remember names like a phone book but I can't.

My response was a nice laugh and thank you. I should really be speaking to Sebastien and the rest of 'the others' but then again, they remind me of something not so pleasant. I'd have my head on a platter if Roman comes in and makes an argument about whatever it is he decides to throw around. Though, I can't say I would hate some romantic development tonight. I need a lay and I'm not ashamed of it.

I'm frustrated with myself, mentally and sexually. Both of which end up making me sleep unwell and cause me to fall into a pile of human scum. The fact that I stand and still be able to speak to hundreds of people is amazing, not to toot my own horn or anything.

My end of event speech is in about 20 minutes. And I'm not going to lie, this is a boring ass event. I would've done something more interesting like a carnival (throw back Thursday, except it isn't Thursday) but the amount of money I need for this cause is not going to be coverable by a carnival. And the only way to get that type of money is ether my bank account or this kind of social event for old people.

To be fair, I'm surprised this many people decided to come, not many people at 50 or 60 are very acceptant of the whole LGBTQ+ scene. And it's stated very strictly that I wouldn't tolerate any derogatory language or behaviour, and if anyone should have an opinion on this matter they can speak to me directly. Luckily, no one scheduled anything yet.

I feel a hand on my bicep. If this is one of those gold digging hags then I am going to implode and then explode. My eyes meet with hazel ones, it's Owen. Oh thank God, I'd be hanging a twitching smile if it were a gold digger. He drags me to the stage, I thought my speech was in 20 minutes, I don't have my script ready, shit.

And then the lights shut off.

Oh fan-fucking-tastic. Power cuts off, and people leave and this event will be a failure and fall into the list of charity events that never were. To be honest, I can't say I'm mad, as good a cause this is and as passionate about it as I am. I need some rest, like actual bed rest where I get to sleep more than 3 hours and don't have to jerk myself off into fatigue and oblivion.

I sound like I am 50 but I really am not. Sorry Sebastien.

Faint piano music plays. It's a very familiar tune, I didn't know that we had a piano set up in here. This is either going to be a proposal thing that someone has set up behind my back or this is going to be a serial killing and the piano is our last supper. That doesn't even make me laugh. I wouldn't be able to deal with either, I'm not prepared and I'm not even 30! One year makes a big difference you know?

"Tale as old as time..."

My head whips over to the sound of the voice, only noticing it is everywhere because of the speakers. The voice is so familiar, velvety and a slight vibrato at the end, I'm no music expert but I know a good voice when I hear it.

"True as it may be..."

I continue spinning around in circles, looking at the balconies, if there is going to be a piano, it's going to be up there. But no, nothing. That is until a spotlight turns on and it beams on the centre of the ballroom. I follow the light, taking note of the bits of floating dust, then a spotlight comes on straight at me.

Well fuck if this ain't embarrassing.

"Barely even friends..."

My eyes settle on an icy blue colour, the type that encourages shivers and trembling, but it doesn't look like it this time. It's a fair blue tinted with silver. Still piercing but not abrasive. In front of said eyes were a pair of glasses, thick black frame with lenses that shine as bright as those eyes. The long natural neutral brown hair with blond tips three quarter's way down, tight at the back of his head, held together by a simple hairband. A beard that matches the colour of his hair roots, groomed and just the right length, adding an infinite amount of maturity and mystery.

He stands tall at 6"7', trumping my own 6"2' effortlessly, prideful as ever, not wavering a step as the spotlight follows him like an entourage in tow. It is all so familiar, those strong arms, that broad chest, his firm back and long, muscular legs all clothed in a tailored suit and a tie that matches his eyes. It's all too similar.

I guess his name makes sense. He would look like a Roman warrior, or dare I say, Roman God.

The one thing that has changed, and never would I think is possible, is the ghost of a smile. The beard covers most of it, but you can tell from the very faint lines at the outer corner of his eyes, the lifted cheeks and the glint in his eyes.

He smiles, of course he does. But this particular one, isn't an excuse to dismiss a conversation, it isn't one to show the word that he is alright, not that he does that anyway. This is one that shows gratitude, apologetic and sincere. It's a different calibre.

Roman is standing right in front of me now.

"Then somebody bends..."

He bows at a 45 degree, right hand outstretched, eyes looking up. He's still taller than I am. "May I have this dance?"

"Unexpectedly..."

My head spins, I'm confused, is this set up for me? What did I do to deserve this?

Then I realise, I'm supposed to be mad with Roman. But I'm not.

So why the fuck not.

I place a hand on his palm. "You may."

"Just a little change..."

His left hand lands on my hip, while my right hand lays atop his strong shoulder. He's tense, very tense. Also very, intense.

It's good that I know how to dance the traditional female part, silently thanking my father for nothing but making me learn how to do the cheesy ballroom dance at the moment. "Turn the lights back on, I don't like attention."

As sweet as the gesture is, I can't say I am all too impressed that he thinks apologising with a hijack of my charity event and then making me dance in front of everyone is enough.

"Small to say the least..."

He smirks, then settles back into his nice, small smile. "You can take away all theirs but still have all my attention." As if on cue, the lights slowly come back on to a dimmed and dark ballroom.

I snap my jaw at Roman, he chuckles. Looking over his shoulder, albeit not easy, but I see more and more couples dancing to the song.

"Both a little scared..."

Roman pulls me up against him, chest to chest. "Is this an apology? Because I'm waiting for the words." I raise an eyebrow.

Step one, two, spin

"It gets better. I would stop here and just say the words but I'm already in too deep. Finish what I started, right?" He presses his forehead against mine.

"Neither one prepared..."

Skylar... he's the one singing. "Is this some sick joke that you are pulling on me? Allegorical to me being the Beast?"

"Allegorical?"

"Means it's got a hidden meaning you swine." I scoff and smack my forehead against his.

"Well. This is the bit where you are the Beauty." He takes out a rose from his jacket, I laugh, this is hilariously sappy, especially for someone like Roman. "Save my rose? Belle?"

I slap his shoulder with my right hand. "Fuck off, I'm already dancing the girl part without a choice."

"Beauty and the Beast..."

"That's the plan Mr. Solomon." Step one, two, spin. I take a step back after the spin and come back towards him, "Though, that stubble has to go if you are planning on being Belle." He runs his nose over it.

"Insult me once me and I will order to put cyanide in your dessert."

"Too late. Already have my dessert here." I tune out to the music, still stepping accordingly but more occupied with the feeling of Roman's lips on mine. This is way different from the time at the office, or the time at the party. It just isn't lust nor is it sensual. It's deeper than that.

We part lips. "You stooped to become a Maple tree with all this sap you're rubbing all over me."

"Not the only thing rubbing all over you, eh?" Mildly stereotypical but I'm not going to call him out on it, he's coming from a good place. And I started it. He continues to look me in the eyes, "I'm sorry Aaron."

"I know you are." I tease, prompting him to continue his speech because it would be a waste if he didn't take this opportunity and make the most out of it. Go big or go home. "And that automatically means you are blameless?" He bites his bottom lip.

"I'm sorry that I was being insensitive. I was frustrated with myself. I didn't know what to do and I felt complacent with Skylar's injury, I thought that he would make it out alive for sure... It was terrifying how little I thought I could feel. I'm so numb to everything." His confession should not have such a large effect on me, but it does. Admitting to his faults is one thing, we've done that once, albeit a much smaller scale apology but it is still an apology that meant something. That day when I threw my dog tag at him, it was to hopefully make him realise how hurt I am.

Apologies aside, pouring his heart out for me is a much larger step for all intents and purposes. He is going above and beyond, a desires to rekindle whatever he messed up, if he can persist this and keep it consistent I still cannot guarantee a problem free relationship, but I can gauge roughly how much smoother it will go. And let me tell you, I estimate than most my brain cells won't be fried to a crisp before I reach 30, which is this summer.

It's been more than 2 months that I've known him. At first it we were going quicker than Vin Diesel, we fucked up, we made up, we had an impromptu date, we kissed, we cuddled. The last thing we didn't do is fuck, and I'm pretty certain we would've worked towards that had all the drama not started. Not saying that it is a bad thing, from the introduction of Owen to New Years to Skylar's hypothermia-com-pneumonia incident, I have to say I've grown a lot, in the sense that I kicked my father out a company that was once his.

I'm living life according to my will.

Nothing's changed physically, I am still the same bastard that barely ever goes home, it's gotten to a point where I brought a blanket, pillow and casual clothes to the office so I can sleep on the couch. But the values have shifted, and oh how have the tables turned. I thought taking things into my own hands after all these years would mean that I have a better grasp at my sleep schedule and free time. But no, I'm doing the same times, at least it's not worse but then again, it can't get much worse. Point is, I am doing the same amount of work, but not for my father's name, I am doing for Aaron Solomon, for me.

I am passionate about my job, this event is a prime example, I am utilizing the money I earn and people I've known for a good cause. It's not a revamp or anything of the sort, it's just the change in how I see my job. I'm doing it for me, not him or her. It makes me happy, and I know I can reduce my work load, I just need to organise to break up the work into smaller packets for people that work for me. Trust isn't something I have on other people, especially when money is involved. But now that I am less uptight all the time, staff find me less terrifying which I wasn't in the first place.

People are building their trust on me and I am taking it under consideration and distributing my work to them.

Gone is the Aaron that slaves away under his employees, work and family.

This is the one that takes thing into his own devices. The one that is in control mentally, and is working towards trust.

"Can I go embarrass myself now?" Roman whispers, what is he going to do? Do a spelling bee? Lord knows his grammar and vocabulary is less packed than a fresh layer of Canadian snow. He chuckles, "Yeah, I know. Roman Perry feels embarrassed."

That's right. He did use the word 'feel' many times today. That makes me smile, very wide. I disregard my dress shoes and tiptoe to kiss him. "Alright, do what you have to do. I'm not going to stop you. Unless you start pulling out cards of humanity and looking for volunteers. I don't need anti-Semitic messages floating around."

"I'm Jewish, Aaron."

"Right, my point still stands." He pecks me once more, then pulls his head away and lays my hands at my side gently.

He walks off towards the mic stand. He looks back, jogs over once again and grabs my face to kiss me passionately. "I love you." He says, leaving me shell shocked.

Well fuck. I thought I'd be the one to say it first.

~

"Alright, I know I'm not on the programme. Don't have to call the security on me, Aaron is 5 meters away from the stage and he's approving this. I hope..." Roman points towards my table, my sister is here, but neither of my parents are. They called my secretary to say that they were 'under the weather' or it's just the fact that they got roasted too hard for ruining my childhood and brain cells. "The screen behind me is a timer, it's symbolic, just wait for it."

The timer is a rose in a glass case.

"Fuck he's hot..." My sister whispers in my ear, "Man buns are the shit bro."

I push her shoulder, "Watch your mouth, there are important people around. Also, hands off you have your own man." She wiggles her brows suggestively, and I couldn't help but to laugh a little. One petal falls.

"So... This speech I am about to give, is supposed to be given by Aaron or Mr. Solomon. I am delivering in place of him because of a point that I am trying to make." He looks straight at me, I'm confused, why would he just say the same things that I would've said. "This is both important to the event, and to him and I, on a personal level. Without further ado, on behalf of Aaron, I say the following." He smiles.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming and supporting the event. As of right now, men and women alike suffer from identity issues, not the kind that a middle aged father would have, but the type that determines who you love." That gets a laugh from a couple tables, it isn't in my script, "It is amazing how many of you support this cause, the world, much like our kitchen sink cupboards, is plagued with parasites that feed off of the misery of others, that much we know for sure." Another round of laughter, I'm surprised these old associates can appreciate his humour. I'm glad. That's 2 petals.

"Be it cultural background, religious belief, political viewpoints. I am not here to discredit what you think is right, but I am here to deliver a message. One that we should all have in common, or at least feel a little of every day. Take a look at your loved ones." He crosses his arms as everyone does as he tells them to, "Sir at table 7, I know you want to. Come on." I get scared for a moment that he called out an important person, then I look back and realise it was Sebastien. He's laughing his ass off. He himself turns towards me, no longer looking at the script but straight at me. 3 petals.

"You may have shared a lifetime with them, 1 month, 7 years, 8 decades, 13 billion centuries. Or since a primary school carnival 2 months ago." Someone at the back whistles loudly, "Good for you. Good for you." Roman chuckles slightly before continuing. "But the fact that you chose to look at this person upon my instruction, tells me that, you chose to love them. And the fact that they are looking back at you, should tell you that they love you too. If they aren't looking at you, there's a conference room to the left for you to talk it out. Small groups of 4 at a time, don't need bloodshed tonight." The whole room laughs, Roman keeps smiling.

"You may be looking at a man, a woman, a boy, a girl, both, neither. Love is plastic everyone," His eyes shine with something I've never seen before, it's either that or the strange pink light that is hitting most of his face now. "Just like the rising fame of reality television, it really doesn't matter. At least not to me." They are really loving this aren't they. 5 petals.

He places his script on the lectern, stepping down one of the four levels on the stage, still looking at me. "Love may be plastic, but it does not exist for everyone. Some people don't feel it, they aren't as privileged as you all would be. But again, it doesn't matter. What matters is when there is someone in front of you to love, but by some witchcraft you are too blind to see it." My sister is looking at her fiancé, I'm not looking at anyone. Well, false, I'm looking at Roman. 6 petals.

He sighs, "This part is my own experience. I am one of them. I was, one of them." The room grows silent, "No thanks to my family, I've been conditioned to think that physical strength trumps everything. I was so happy when I grew taller than everyone at school, no one loved me, and that was fine for me. I know that if I became strong, no one would hurt me. Ever." 7 petals.