Jake’s boyfriend is an astronaut. Which is amazing, incredible, fantastic, and sometimes lonely, when Alex is up in space, and Jake’s here on Earth.
When they get to talk, it’s the best part of Jake’s day: sharing their lives, from Alex’s space-station algae-growing experiments to Jake’s sketches for the next award-winning animated film. Jake knows what he wants, and he’s thinking about forever. In fact, he’s planning a surprise for his astronaut. A certain question, once Alex is safely home.
Alex wants to come home to Jake every time, forever, but he’s afraid Jake doesn’t feel the same. Even from space, he can tell that Jake’s got a secret. And he knows how hard the distance can be.
Fortunately, Jake’s good at reassurance ... and he’s determined to make this proposal absolutely stellar.
Jake vaults onto the bed, arranges the laptop, waits for the video call. Two minutes.
He hasn’t been able to stop smiling, and so ends up leering at the laptop screen, but the computer’s used to that by now and doesn’t complain.
Alex pops on, that marvelous welcoming bubble-sound of familiar name. Exactly on time. As ever.
The video call flickers into slightly delayed pixilated existence. Technology. It’s a miracle. A miracle Jake’s thankful for every day. Not quite the same way he’s thankful for eyes like oceans and the strength in Alex’s hands, not the way he wakes up every morning amazed all over again that this is his life, but undeniable still: boundless gratitude.
The picture stops being fuzzy and decides to behave. On the other side, up in space, Alex is smiling.
That smile, as ever, knocks Jake’s heart sideways into breathless delight. For a second he can’t talk. He can’t even think. Stunned by joy.
“What,” Alex says, teasing, head tipped to one side, “not saying hello? And here I thought you might’ve missed me.” It’s only a delay of about a second: the marvels of modern engineering. His voice is as rich as a hug, the way it’s always been. That voice, those solid shoulders, thick dark hair, firm jawline: a hero, a recruitment poster, a space prince on a video call.
“I love you,” Jake says, whole heart in the words. His own hair’s a mess, standing out in awkward dark-blond angles because he’s run a hand through it a few times while working. There’s a little bit of grey nudging the blond, at his temples and in his beard, but not too much yet. He’s wearing sweatpants and an ancient CalArts shirt because he’s been home all day, and he knows Alex likes seeing him all soft and domestic and cuddly, and so he says it again: “I love you.”
“And I love you.” Alex stretches out a fingertip. Touches his tablet screen, all those miles away. “Of course you do. And I do. How was your day?”
“Mostly brainstorming,” Jake sighs. Alex, even from orbit, can tell when he’s restless or unfulfilled. Knows, every time. Knows him. Profoundly.
Alex raises eyebrows, inviting more, and curls up in whatever out-of-the-way spot he’s chosen. Looks like one of the observation windows; the Earth hangs luminous and serene as a jewel at the edge of the video. It’s the end of the day, for him; the crew’s got some free time before bed. Alex uses it to call home. And to look at Jake with exactly that expression.
“I didn’t get to draw much,” Jake clarifies, trying not to grumble. He loves working for Aurora, he really truly does; he loves the animation process and the elation of bringing characters to life. He’s a good artist and he knows he is. The problem comes between projects, when they sit around in conference rooms -- himself calling in from Houston, since no one cares where he works as long as he gets drawings scanned into the computer on time -- and collectively try to have the next great idea. “All talking. And so many sequels. I want to do -- I don’t know, y’know? Something different. Something more old-fashioned. I don’t have a good idea yet though.”
“Hmm.” Alex listens thoughtfully, the way Alex always listens. The way Alex wants to listen, when Jake tells him all the day’s stories, good and bad and startling and mundane.
It’d taken them a while, early on, to work through that one. Jake had tried to shoulder it all, to dismiss stress and everyday irritations on his end as unimportant -- Alex is in space, risking his life every moment, thin fragile layers of metal and plastic between his body and the void -- and it’d needed an actual shouting fight to get those emotions sorted out. Tell me, Alex had demanded. Tell me what you’re thinking, if you’re not okay, if you’re feeling anxious. I want to know, I know I can’t hold you but I can listen, if it’s important to you it’s important to us and I love you and it’s killing me not to know when you’re hurt, so tell me, tell me everything, please.
“Old-fashioned, you said.” Alex runs a hand through his hair. He’s wearing the standard NASA-logo polo shirt and khakis, and managing to look like a sinfully disreputable high-fashion model regardless. Stars shine in the background. Not as blue as his eyes. “Like ... the classic Disney, the fairy-tales, sort of old-fashioned? Is it a story issue?”
