[mid-May] baby, 확 가게 확대

There was a time when J dreaded summer. Cramped though it was, he loved their studio, those early days when they first moved in together some of the happiest of his life. They were hard, too — S was freshly grieving then and making ends meet was a struggle when few people were willing to hire J. He was determined to make the summer count, knowing it would be worse when they went back to school, his hours limited. Even so, they were beautiful, the pair of them free to be utterly themselves, and maybe that's what finally pushed them from platonic into romantic love. There was plenty to weigh them down, but they were free. Seeing S in every stage of the day, knowing him even more intimately than before, having long stretches where there was no one to pretend for, J was in love well before he realized that was true. But aside from that, the home he grew up in and then their tiny studio were sweltering in summer, no air-con to cool them off, nothing but a fan sputtering weak gusts across the room, windows flung open as J sprawled on the floor. Summer was a time of hard work, saving what he could, working when he could, and melting away in all the moments in-between.

That was before — before a new start, before an apartment with air-conditioning, even if they have to be thoughtful about the electric bill. Before he spent autumn and winter committing atrocities, before he came here in spring, marking half a year with darkness and guilt and despair. Winter was shaky. There were days he had to do anything but think, because he knew, if he stopped, if he let himself mark the days, he'd lose his mind again. Even under the best of circumstances, it would have broken him if it weren't for S's love and care. Even spring has been difficult, taking his time to stretch his limbs, his mind, reaching gingerly out to see if he can still handle the world. But as the days get longer and the sun gets hotter, he finds himself slowly feeling more at ease. It's new — he used to look forward to winter more, to weeks off from school and then their anniversary, not summer — but he'll take what he can get. Summer was a time of freedom last year, too, a chance to learn all over again how to be himself and what that means now and how to let himself be loved. Summer means Pride is around the corner and, even if J still doesn't like crowds, he looks forward to going, at least for a while. Summer means a span of months without a single terrible anniversary to mark, no way to look out the window and see the falling snow, some shadow fear encasing his heart that spring would never come again, as if sometimes his heart and mind forget everything else has moved forward.

So he looks forward to summer, even if he still doesn't much like the heat. These days it's even more of a problem, all the more reason to be thankful for air conditioning; he wears long sleeves constantly when he leaves the house. He wears them inside a lot too, of course, but S has seen J's scars enough now that it's not such a shock to either of them. Much of the time, J doesn't think about it, but he doesn't want anyone else to see and ask what happened to him. It isn't worth it. As it is, he could use something new to wear. He's gotten good use out of what he got before and he's fairly accustomed to making things last as long as possible, but even so, he'd like to find something long-sleeved that isn't too warm, if such a thing exists. Besides, even if he feels a bit guilty about it, he gets bored wearing the same things all the time. Maybe it's a good sign, he tells himself. For a long time here, he really didn't care much what he wore, even when he went out, because he spent so little time outside and it stopped feeling like it mattered. He used to enjoy it, though, picking things out that felt like him. Maybe it's good that he wants to again.

In any case, it feels good, wanting to go out and do things, wanting to run errands that aren't strictly necessary. Even if that's the case, of course, or maybe especially because it's so, J doesn't want to spend very much, so when they head out, he points them toward a secondhand store in a quiet part of town. It's on the other side of the park, and though the ocean is blocks away, he can still smell the salt on the air as he opens the door for S.

He found this one after a search online trying to figure out somewhere he could get clothes that aren't painfully expensive but also aren't annoyingly bland. It's quiet and cluttered in a way that still manages to look somehow organized, daylight filtering through the large windows. J lets out a small breath as he walks in, thankful it's not full of glaring bright lights like the department stores he's gone to on previous shopping trips. Even if he doesn't find much, it won't be so anxiety-inducing, he hopes. There are only a handful of other people, which helps, too. Squeezing S's hand, he smiles, cautious, as he so often is on outings, but still pleased. "Come on," he says, "help me find something nice."