67. Playing the Melody

As he darted from rack to rack, pausing for split seconds to examine various articles of clothing, Aaron continued to babble. "It's so great to finally have a guy to go shopping with," he gushed. "I mean, girls are nice company and all, but they always assume things about guys that like clothes." He paused, brow furrowing. "Liking clothes doesn't make me gay, does it?"

Carson gritted his teeth as he fought to quell the rage beginning to take him over. "'Gay' means liking men, not clothes."

Aaron quirked an eyebrow, giving Carson a humorless smile. Aaron was the only person Carson had ever known who could say 'no shit, Sherlock' without even opening their mouth. "I know, but everyone seems to think gays have some sort of fixation on clothes."

"Not all of them do," Carson assured him in a grumble, hoping his meaning was clear.  Aaron was a smart guy; he could pick up on hints.

Aaron shrugged nonchalantly, favoring his right shoulder as he always did, and returned to his oh-so precious clothes, thumbing through a rack marked 'clearance'. "Well, you're the expert."

Carson stiffened his jaw and tried harder to calm himself. He tried to assure himself that this wasn't Aaron thinking; he was simply repeating what he'd heard on TV. It was the media's fault, obviously. Aaron just wasn't that narrow minded. As sound as his reasoning was, he knew he was partially to blame. He should've just told Aaron he hated shopping and clothes; going out to appreciate both was not his idea of a nice Saturday, but, no. He'd been too afraid of letting down his friend. That meant it was also his fault that he was tagging along as Aaron rushed through the mall and asked Carson's opinion on clothes he couldn't even pretend to care about. Carson was happy with a ratty pair of jeans, any old tee-shirt, and his favorite Chuck's. Aaron liked things called 'Armani' and 'Gucci' and 'Dolce & Gabbana', whatever those were. It was exasperating, and Carson couldn't find the resolve to keep up with him.

He must have groaned or something, because Aaron abruptly set down his latest acquisition, a dark brown dress shirt that looked suspiciously like one he already owned, and turned to Carson, a curious frown where a blissful grin had been only moments before. "You aren't enjoying yourself, are you?"

Carson let out a light snort. "You just figure that out?" he sneered as he crossed his arms across his chest.

Aaron's frown deepened, and his brow furrowed to match. "If you didn't feel like shopping you shouldn't have come with me."

"It's not that I don't feel like shopping," Carson clarified, lifting his chin, "it's that I hate it."

Aaron gawked at him, as if the thought of a gay man disliking shopping was blasphemy. "But you—"

"We just had this conversation," he cut in, narrowing his eyes. "Not all gay men like shopping."

"I thought it was not all gays like clothes," Aaron said, tossing his hair out of his face haughtily. "And anyway—"

"Same idea," Carson insisted. "I'm not like what you see on TV, okay? I'm my own person. Not all gays are the same."

Aaron wrinkled his nose and leaned back a little. Carson wasn't sure why Aaron was the one acting affronted; Carson wasn't the one throwing around stereotypes. "Did I say they were?"

"You're thinking it," Carson snapped before he could stop himself.

The dark haired man stepped forward, still managing to be menacing, even through their height distance. "You know I'm not like that, Carson," he growled. "I know you're your own person."

"Then stop treating me like the stereotype!"

"I'm not!" He was up on his toes, now, managing to be almost eye level with the blonde.

"You are so," he accused, fixing Aaron with the most violent scowl he could manage. He doubted it would threaten Aaron at all—that man was the master of glaring; Carson's amateur glower probably wouldn't even shake him—but it was worth a shot. "You just assumed that I like clothes and shopping because that's what you've heard about gay guys. Do I just assume that you like cooking because you're Italian?"

"No," Aaron admitted, looking to the right for an instant before guiltily meeting his friend's gaze, "but that's different."

"How do you figure?"

"You already know I'm a terrible cook; we've never really talked about clothes before."

"Yes, but even before I realized you couldn't cook, I didn't decide you could because Italians generally make great food. Why did you think I liked all the 'traditional' gay stuff just because you know I'm gay?"

Aaron pouted. Carson knew this meant he realized he was losing this battle, but intended to keep fighting purely for the hell of it. That was enough to throw Carson off the edge.

"Screw this," he snarled with a roll of his eyes. "I'm going home." He wasn't going to hang around here and debate stereotypes any longer. He was tired of playing the melody he'd heard a thousand times before.

"Hey!" Aaron barked as Carson turned his back, "No, Carson, wait!" he launched from his place as Carson kept stalking away, quickly breaking into a sprint and catching Carson by the arm and staring up at him like his life depended on it. His eyes were wide, wider than Carson had ever seen them, and practically glimmering. "I wasn't trying to offend you, or anything," Aaron assured him, knitting his brow a little more, just about perfecting the look of innocence he had going. "I just wanted to do something together, and shopping was the first thing that came to mind! It didn't have anything to do with your sexuality— hell, I forget about it half the time!"

Carson considered this for a moment, nibbling on his lip as he pondered. Aaron had only wanted to hang out? That… that sounded legit, actually. Much more plausible than Aaron being a stereotypical bastard.

Wait a second. Had he started this argument by assuming Aaron had assumed something of him? Shit! Just when he was starting to think he wasn't really all that stupid. Aaron must think he's the most hypocritical person in the world.

He let his glare soften. "I'm sorry," he muttered, refusing to make eye contact. "I think that was mostly my fault."

Aaron didn't nod, or laugh, or even shoot him one of his smug smiles. He simply cocked his head and kept staring at him with big, innocent eyes. "If you don't like shopping, what do you want to do instead? I'm up for anything."

Carson wasn't sure he wanted to do anything but go home. He always hated when he made a fool of himself, especially in front of Aaron, and chances were, the dark haired man's peaceful façade (he knew it was a façade; Aaron was the least peaceful man Carson had ever met) wouldn't last, and he'd be taunting Carson before he knew what was happening. Worst case scenario was Carson did something stupid again, and instead of being accepting, Aaron would double over with laughter, and would never let Carson forget it.

But Aaron looked hopeful, somehow, as if he actually wanted to spend time with Carson. Aaron was the only one, besides his uncles, who ever took the time to hang out with him, and he was also the only straight man Carson could call a friend. If he just went home, Aaron might be hurt, and then he'd never invite him to do anything ever again. Screw his last idea; this was the worst case scenario.

"We could go to my place and play video games," Aaron offered with a slight smile. "I just got a few new ones; I think one's one of those platformers you like so much."

Video games, of course! Video games were the answer for everything. Aaron was a genius.