Making time for Carlos was something Cecil had become accustomed to doing even before they had started... well. Dating. All he had to do now was make more time for Carlos. There were worse punishments, he supposed; that they were allowed so much time around each other probably spoke well of their deception.
And, honestly, it was easier than Cecil would have expected to keep up a bright smile in public; to watch Carlos sidelong with fondness in his eyes when he was distracted by something else; to run fingers absently through his hair when they sat close; to tug him close at opportune moments and press a kiss to his cheek, or to the back of his hand, or to his mouth. True, these things were easy mostly because they were all things that Cecil had done anyway, or had desperately wanted to do, before circumstances had turned them from distant hopes to nigh-unpalatable reality. But-- details.
He saw Carlos' detail of Peacekeepers first, from his place at the top of the low, wide staircase leading out of the lobby into the museum proper. It was a game of image association to which he was becoming accustomed, finding the only Peacekeepers in any space who were stationed next to a labcoat. His grin grew about three sizes when he caught sight of Carlos; he raised a hand (with two tickets in it) and waved.
"Carlos!" he called, in a way that would be attention-grabbing both for his boyfriend, and for the crowd around them, from whom he had to assume some level of investment. Peacekeepers (and quarantine regulations) kept people more or less out of their way; but, well, this was a public relationship, after all. (He did not think about the fact that Carlos would likely kiss him as soon as he'd ascended the stairs; he chose not to think about this in general, outside of the basic expectation that it would happen. It was easier that way.)
no subject
And, honestly, it was easier than Cecil would have expected to keep up a bright smile in public; to watch Carlos sidelong with fondness in his eyes when he was distracted by something else; to run fingers absently through his hair when they sat close; to tug him close at opportune moments and press a kiss to his cheek, or to the back of his hand, or to his mouth. True, these things were easy mostly because they were all things that Cecil had done anyway, or had desperately wanted to do, before circumstances had turned them from distant hopes to nigh-unpalatable reality. But-- details.
He saw Carlos' detail of Peacekeepers first, from his place at the top of the low, wide staircase leading out of the lobby into the museum proper. It was a game of image association to which he was becoming accustomed, finding the only Peacekeepers in any space who were stationed next to a labcoat. His grin grew about three sizes when he caught sight of Carlos; he raised a hand (with two tickets in it) and waved.
"Carlos!" he called, in a way that would be attention-grabbing both for his boyfriend, and for the crowd around them, from whom he had to assume some level of investment. Peacekeepers (and quarantine regulations) kept people more or less out of their way; but, well, this was a public relationship, after all. (He did not think about the fact that Carlos would likely kiss him as soon as he'd ascended the stairs; he chose not to think about this in general, outside of the basic expectation that it would happen. It was easier that way.)