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The entire time Carson has known him, Aaron has worn glasses. From what Carson has seen, the frames are always blue (Carson's pretty sure that's been Aaron's favorite color since birth), and they are always top of the line. Even as a child, Aaron was vain enough to brag about them. When Carson first met Aaron, when they were only five, he had never seen glasses before—not on anyone he cared about, at least—so the spectacles absolutely fascinated him, much to Aaron's disdain.

It was because he didn't understand them, Carson's pretty sure. Aaron told him that they helped him see; that he was far-sighted, so sometimes reading would give him terrible headaches that the glasses would prevent. This didn't mean much to Carson, however. It just meant Aaron had something he didn't, and he wanted them.

So he stole them on a regular basis.

'Stole' was probably too malicious a word. It turned into a game for the two of them: Carson tried to snatch the spectacles, and Aaron did his best to stop him (or at least get them back quickly). The dark haired boy always acted as if it bothered him, but later he (begrudgingly) admitted that it amused him too.

Whenever Carson managed to win their little game, he rewarded himself by trying to see through the glasses he'd won. He knew full well that he couldn't; they blurred his vision and all but immediately gave him a headache. Aaron could see through them, though, so it didn't make sense that it wasn't the same for Carson. He couldn't understand, even after Aaron's explanation, that not everyone's eyesight was the same.

He gets it now, of course. He knows exactly what glasses do, and even how they're made. He knows about far and near sightedness, and how certain glasses correct it. Yet, he still has some sort of fixation on his friend's glasses.

Currently, Aaron wears a dark blue, thick framed pair with the letters D&G in engraved on both wings in small, silver print. D&G means something, apparently, but Carson has no idea what. Probably something expensive. The glasses rest low on Aaron's nose; Carson suspects the other man is too engrossed in his work to realize they're slipping. Aaron doesn't normally wear his glasses to work; then again, he seems to be breaking all his other protocols today as well: he's usually dressed better than a button down and jeans (he doesn't even have on a tie for some reason), and his hair is usually combed back and held flat as possible with gel instead of left down so it almost covers his eyes. Of course, Aaron never ceases to surprise and confuse him, so this is pretty much standard procedure.

Aaron always works through his lunch hour. As if having two jobs in the first place isn't bad enough, the fact that he insists on doing them both at the same time really makes Carson doubt his friend's mental health.

As Carson watches, Aaron's long fingers drum on his laptop's keyboard. His hands are practically a blur as they skim across the keys, pressing down ever so slightly and rarely ever straying towards backspace. Aaron knows what he's doing. He probably has an entire manuscript for the article built up in his head, and is following it letter for letter. He is efficient to the point where it makes Carson nervous. It's like work is the only thing that matters to Aaron when he gets like this, and Carson doesn't think that's any way to live.

"What're you writing?" he asks, mostly for the sake of distracting his friend.

"Car review," Aaron answers in a monotone. His eyes don't leave the screen for a second, and his fingers keep on flying.

Of course it's a car review. That's Aaron's job. Carson knows it's his job, and he doesn't appreciate that Aaron thinks he's too clueless to remember that.

"I knew that much," he grumbles. "Which car are you reviewing?"

"New Ford."

Carson quirks an eyebrow, unimpressed. Aaron is just being vastly unhelpful today. Thank god he only gets like this near a deadline. If this was a normal day, Aaron would be leaning back in his chair with a wry smile, either humoring Carson's attempts at conversation or arguing with him. He's not normally so antisocial; normally Carson can't get him to shut up.

After studying Aaron's screen, he finds out for himself what Aaron is too vague to tell him. He's reviewing the new Ford Taurus, and he thinks it could be styled better, but it's exactly what you expect for its price range. His sentences are longer than usual, more drawn out and with bigger words. This, Carson's figured out, means Aaron is bored. He doesn't like the car at all, but he's trying to make up for his lack of enthusiasm by using big words. Carson knows how Aaron writes almost as well as he knows Aaron's body language. Aaron uses Carson as a focus group before he sends finished articles off to be edited, so he gets to read everything Aaron writes for the magazine and then some. This, plus inferring from Aaron's usual pattern of speech, means he knows how to interpret Aaron's writing better than the journalist himself can.

"You should probably eat," Carson says out of the blue. It was one of those things that just popped into his head, and he couldn't keep it from escaping. That happens to him on a regular basis. "I'm pretty sure that's what lunch hours are for."

Aaron's focus stays on his work again, but he manages an answer: "Didn't bring any food."

Once again, he's stating the obvious. He's just all about that lately. Aaron's lack of lunch is hard to miss, thanks to the laptop where a plate would be and the journalist's quietly rumbling stomach. The man is obviously hungry; why must he choose work over food?

Carson glances down at the remains of his own lunch, wishing he'd saved more of it. All he has left is half a bag of chips, and it was just one of the little bags that come in big boxes from the warehouse store near his house. He doesn't even know if Aaron likes chips. The journalist strikes him as a picky eater. He has no proof of this, but Aaron is picky in every other aspect of life, so it seems probable.

"Here," he offers anyway, nudging Aaron's shoulder with the bag. "You can have the rest of these."

Aaron simply shakes his head and keeps on typing.

"Please?" He waves the bag in front of Aaron's face; the other man pauses in his typing just long enough to swat it away. "You've got to eat, Aaron. You look like you need it."

Even if Aaron did eat the remnants of Carson's lunch, he'd still look half starved. Many missed lunches over the course of his lifetime show in his lean face and anorexic figure. Carson's not sure how it got so bad; stress from two jobs probably doesn't help, though.

"Don't want any," he says with just a hint of a pout. "Too busy. Leave me alone."
Carson glowers as he sets the bag down next to Aaron's computer. Aaron is easily the most stubborn man Carson's ever met (his father takes a close second, and his uncle a third); Carson has to pull out all the stops if he wants to get Aaron to do something (even if it's something Aaron was already planning to do; he'll resist just to be contrary). Immediately, his gaze falls on the other man's glasses.

Stealing Aaron's glasses was more than a game to Carson back when they were in school. It was leverage. Aaron would do almost anything to get his precious glasses back, even if that meant listening to Carson for once. He hasn't stolen Aaron's glasses since they were in middle school. Perhaps it's time he restarted the game.

Carson sighs deliberately, doing his best to sound exasperated. Aaron probably isn't paying attention to him, but trying to trick him couldn't hurt.

"Whatever," he mumbles to himself, surveying Aaron carefully. As he suspected, Aaron's entire focus is on his laptop. Perfect.

With one last precautionary glance, he slides his chair a little closer to Aaron's. When the journalist doesn't respond, Carson strikes. He darts forward, clasping the wing of Aaron's glasses and stealing them away in one quick maneuver.

"God dammit, Carson!" Aaron spits, turning toward him with a venomous scowl on his face. "Give them back."

Carson leans back, balancing his chair on its back legs. "And why would I want to do that?" He smirks, examining his quarry for a second before sliding them on.

Carson's brow furrows as he pushes the glasses on all the way. Something's wrong. While the glasses had definitely blurred his vision before, it had never been nearly this bad. He can't see a thing!

"Because I need them," Aaron answers coolly. He holds out a hand, beckoning with his index and middle finger expectantly. "Hand 'em over."

Carson removes the glasses, blinking frantically in an attempt to chase away the quickly building headache, but makes no move to return them. "What's wrong with them?" he asks.

"Nothing," Aaron says, glare lessening for a second as he frowns. "Unless you've broken them. Knowing you, that's exactly what happened," he adds as if in afterthought.

"They weren't that blurry before," he insists, still studying the spectacles.

Aaron lets out an aggravated huff before leaning forward and grasping for the glasses. He only manages to catch Carson's wrist, though, and it's not even the right one. "Fuck!" he snarls. "C'mon, Carson! Give them back!"

"No," Carson says haughtily, forgetting about the momentary confusion to return to his mission. "Not until you eat."

Aaron pouts, but leans back. "Fine. Whatever. Where are the goddamn chips?"

Carson frowns. How odd; surely Aaron can see them. "By your computer."

Aaron turns toward it and squints determinedly, then reaches out carefully, patting at the table a couple times before his hand falls on the bag. He snatches it up as if he thinks it'll run away, then fumbles for a chip. Carson watches, head tilted to the side as he puzzles. Something is very, very wrong here. Aaron's vision wasn't that bad before, was it?

He returns his attention to Aaron's glasses, turning them over in his hands and testing their weight. The lenses are thicker than he remembers them being.

After stuffing a chip in his mouth, Aaron slowly lowers the bag back to the table, scrunching up his eyes again. He sets it down half on the laptop and half off, and a couple chips fall out as it slides to the table. "Can't see a fucking thing," he growls. "Give me my glasses."

"Wait a second." Carson turns his gaze on his old friend, realizing that Aaron's dark blue eyes are fixed on some point over his head and not on his eyes. Aaron always looks people right in the eyes. It's part of his attempts to look menacing. "What's going on?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Aaron crosses his arms and glares over Carson's head.

"You go without your glasses all the time," Carson points out, "and nothing's wrong then. What's going on?"

Aaron rolls his eyes. "Contacts, of course. How else would I see?"

"But it wasn't this bad before!" Carson persists.

"I'm old now," Aaron reasons.

"You're twenty-two! That's not old!"

"Older than I was when you knew me before," Aaron says. "My eyes got a lot worse. Do you know what you look like to me right now?" When Carson shakes his head, he goes on: "You look like a blur. I can tell that you're pale and blond, and I get a suggestion of blue eyes, but beyond that…." He shrugs. "Now, give me my fucking glasses!"

Carson returns the lenses quickly, and Aaron has them back on before Carson can even blink. The smaller man is still scowling, and Carson winces as he realizes what will happen next.

"I was working, Carson," he begins. "My deadline is in three days, and I can't afford to miss it." He taps gently at the frames of his glasses. "Do you have any idea how much these things cost? Almost a hundred and fifty dollars, and that's just for the frames."

Carson hangs his head and tries to avoid eye contact. "Sorry," he mutters, voice cracking.

"Not done yet!" Aaron says, sitting up straighter and crossing his arms. "I know it was funny to steal my glasses when we were kids, but we're grown up now. These glasses," he pokes at the frames again, "are mine, and they will remain that way. You have no need for them."

"I know," Carson chokes out, then begins chewing nervously on his bottom lip.

"You can't take them anymore. Got it?"

Carson peers up at him and nods vigorously, knowing his voice will fail him if he tries to speak.

Aaron lifts his chin and narrows his eyes. "Good."

As Aaron turns back to his laptop, Carson swallows hard and fights off tears. It's a stupid thing for a man his age to cry over, he's sure, but Aaron is one of the only friends he has. He's already almost lost him because of doing something stupid once, and he can't believe he's done it again. He just hadn't realized how angry it would make Aaron; it was never that serious when they were kids.

He bites his lip harder, drawing blood this time, but at least it distracts him from the urge to cry. He'd never forget it if he cried in front of Aaron. He doesn't think he could take the mortification.

Thanks to his panic, he doesn't notice that Aaron's been staring at him until the dark haired man speaks up.

"Carson?" His voice is little more than a murmur; barely a fraction of its intensity only minutes before.

It takes a second for Carson to look his way, but he finally manages to meet the other man's eyes.

Aaron's brow is knitted, and his lips purse for a second before he speaks. "Y'know," he begins, kneading his hands together uncomfortably, "most of the salesmen take lunch at their desks."

Carson tilts his head. He isn't sure what he thought Aaron was going to say, but he figured it would be at least a little relevant to their earlier argument.

"I eat here instead because this is where you are," Aaron admits, clears his throat, and then quite promptly turns back to his computer and begins typing furiously.

Carson smiles as it dawns on him: this is the closest thing Aaron will let himself get to an apology. Aaron is a proud man; much too proud for his own good. He can't admit when he's wrong (or at least he refuses to), and god forbid he should apologize for anything. Instead, he does things like this. Not only has he given Carson a complement (he thinks that's what it is, at least), but he's let Carson into his head, and that's the highest honor you can get from him.

Aaron still refuses to talk to him for the rest of the day, but Carson decides just to chalk that up to Aaron being Aaron.

Description
The entire time Carson has known him, Aaron has worn glasses. From what Carson has seen, the frames are always blue (Carson's pretty sure that's been Aaron's favorite color since birth), and they are always top of the line. Even as a child, Aaron was vain enough to brag about them. When Carson first met Aaron, when they were only five, he had never seen glasses before—not on anyone he cared about, at least—so the spectacles absolutely fascinated him, much to Aaron's disdain.

It was because he didn't understand them, Carson's pretty sure. Aaron told him that they helped him see; that he was far-sighted, so sometimes reading would give him terrible headaches that the glasses would prevent. This didn't mean much to Carson, however. It just meant Aaron had something he didn't, and he wanted them.

So he stole them on a regular basis.

'Stole' was probably too malicious a word. It turned into a game for the two of them: Carson tried to snatch the spectacles, and Aaron did his best to stop him (or at least get them back quickly). The dark haired boy always acted as if it bothered him, but later he (begrudgingly) admitted that it amused him too.

Whenever Carson managed to win their little game, he rewarded himself by trying to see through the glasses he'd won. He knew full well that he couldn't; they blurred his vision and all but immediately gave him a headache. Aaron could see through them, though, so it didn't make sense that it wasn't the same for Carson. He couldn't understand, even after Aaron's explanation, that not everyone's eyesight was the same.

He gets it now, of course. He knows exactly what glasses do, and even how they're made. He knows about far and near sightedness, and how certain glasses correct it. Yet, he still has some sort of fixation on his friend's glasses.

Currently, Aaron wears a dark blue, thick framed pair with the letters D&G in engraved on both wings in small, silver print. D&G means something, apparently, but Carson has no idea what. Probably something expensive. The glasses rest low on Aaron's nose; Carson suspects the other man is too engrossed in his work to realize they're slipping. Aaron doesn't normally wear his glasses to work; then again, he seems to be breaking all his other protocols today as well: he's usually dressed better than a button down and jeans (he doesn't even have on a tie for some reason), and his hair is usually combed back and held flat as possible with gel instead of left down so it almost covers his eyes. Of course, Aaron never ceases to surprise and confuse him, so this is pretty much standard procedure.

Aaron always works through his lunch hour. As if having two jobs in the first place isn't bad enough, the fact that he insists on doing them both at the same time really makes Carson doubt his friend's mental health.

As Carson watches, Aaron's long fingers drum on his laptop's keyboard. His hands are practically a blur as they skim across the keys, pressing down ever so slightly and rarely ever straying towards backspace. Aaron knows what he's doing. He probably has an entire manuscript for the article built up in his head, and is following it letter for letter. He is efficient to the point where it makes Carson nervous. It's like work is the only thing that matters to Aaron when he gets like this, and Carson doesn't think that's any way to live.

"What're you writing?" he asks, mostly for the sake of distracting his friend.

"Car review," Aaron answers in a monotone. His eyes don't leave the screen for a second, and his fingers keep on flying.

Of course it's a car review. That's Aaron's job. Carson knows it's his job, and he doesn't appreciate that Aaron thinks he's too clueless to remember that.

"I knew that much," he grumbles. "Which car are you reviewing?"

"New Ford."

Carson quirks an eyebrow, unimpressed. Aaron is just being vastly unhelpful today. Thank god he only gets like this near a deadline. If this was a normal day, Aaron would be leaning back in his chair with a wry smile, either humoring Carson's attempts at conversation or arguing with him. He's not normally so antisocial; normally Carson can't get him to shut up.

After studying Aaron's screen, he finds out for himself what Aaron is too vague to tell him. He's reviewing the new Ford Taurus, and he thinks it could be styled better, but it's exactly what you expect for its price range. His sentences are longer than usual, more drawn out and with bigger words. This, Carson's figured out, means Aaron is bored. He doesn't like the car at all, but he's trying to make up for his lack of enthusiasm by using big words. Carson knows how Aaron writes almost as well as he knows Aaron's body language. Aaron uses Carson as a focus group before he sends finished articles off to be edited, so he gets to read everything Aaron writes for the magazine and then some. This, plus inferring from Aaron's usual pattern of speech, means he knows how to interpret Aaron's writing better than the journalist himself can.

"You should probably eat," Carson says out of the blue. It was one of those things that just popped into his head, and he couldn't keep it from escaping. That happens to him on a regular basis. "I'm pretty sure that's what lunch hours are for."

Aaron's focus stays on his work again, but he manages an answer: "Didn't bring any food."

Once again, he's stating the obvious. He's just all about that lately. Aaron's lack of lunch is hard to miss, thanks to the laptop where a plate would be and the journalist's quietly rumbling stomach. The man is obviously hungry; why must he choose work over food?

Carson glances down at the remains of his own lunch, wishing he'd saved more of it. All he has left is half a bag of chips, and it was just one of the little bags that come in big boxes from the warehouse store near his house. He doesn't even know if Aaron likes chips. The journalist strikes him as a picky eater. He has no proof of this, but Aaron is picky in every other aspect of life, so it seems probable.

"Here," he offers anyway, nudging Aaron's shoulder with the bag. "You can have the rest of these."

Aaron simply shakes his head and keeps on typing.

"Please?" He waves the bag in front of Aaron's face; the other man pauses in his typing just long enough to swat it away. "You've got to eat, Aaron. You look like you need it."

Even if Aaron did eat the remnants of Carson's lunch, he'd still look half starved. Many missed lunches over the course of his lifetime show in his lean face and anorexic figure. Carson's not sure how it got so bad; stress from two jobs probably doesn't help, though.

"Don't want any," he says with just a hint of a pout. "Too busy. Leave me alone."
Carson glowers as he sets the bag down next to Aaron's computer. Aaron is easily the most stubborn man Carson's ever met (his father takes a close second, and his uncle a third); Carson has to pull out all the stops if he wants to get Aaron to do something (even if it's something Aaron was already planning to do; he'll resist just to be contrary). Immediately, his gaze falls on the other man's glasses.

Stealing Aaron's glasses was more than a game to Carson back when they were in school. It was leverage. Aaron would do almost anything to get his precious glasses back, even if that meant listening to Carson for once. He hasn't stolen Aaron's glasses since they were in middle school. Perhaps it's time he restarted the game.

Carson sighs deliberately, doing his best to sound exasperated. Aaron probably isn't paying attention to him, but trying to trick him couldn't hurt.

"Whatever," he mumbles to himself, surveying Aaron carefully. As he suspected, Aaron's entire focus is on his laptop. Perfect.

With one last precautionary glance, he slides his chair a little closer to Aaron's. When the journalist doesn't respond, Carson strikes. He darts forward, clasping the wing of Aaron's glasses and stealing them away in one quick maneuver.

"God dammit, Carson!" Aaron spits, turning toward him with a venomous scowl on his face. "Give them back."

Carson leans back, balancing his chair on its back legs. "And why would I want to do that?" He smirks, examining his quarry for a second before sliding them on.

Carson's brow furrows as he pushes the glasses on all the way. Something's wrong. While the glasses had definitely blurred his vision before, it had never been nearly this bad. He can't see a thing!

"Because I need them," Aaron answers coolly. He holds out a hand, beckoning with his index and middle finger expectantly. "Hand 'em over."

Carson removes the glasses, blinking frantically in an attempt to chase away the quickly building headache, but makes no move to return them. "What's wrong with them?" he asks.

"Nothing," Aaron says, glare lessening for a second as he frowns. "Unless you've broken them. Knowing you, that's exactly what happened," he adds as if in afterthought.

"They weren't that blurry before," he insists, still studying the spectacles.

Aaron lets out an aggravated huff before leaning forward and grasping for the glasses. He only manages to catch Carson's wrist, though, and it's not even the right one. "Fuck!" he snarls. "C'mon, Carson! Give them back!"

"No," Carson says haughtily, forgetting about the momentary confusion to return to his mission. "Not until you eat."

Aaron pouts, but leans back. "Fine. Whatever. Where are the goddamn chips?"

Carson frowns. How odd; surely Aaron can see them. "By your computer."

Aaron turns toward it and squints determinedly, then reaches out carefully, patting at the table a couple times before his hand falls on the bag. He snatches it up as if he thinks it'll run away, then fumbles for a chip. Carson watches, head tilted to the side as he puzzles. Something is very, very wrong here. Aaron's vision wasn't that bad before, was it?

He returns his attention to Aaron's glasses, turning them over in his hands and testing their weight. The lenses are thicker than he remembers them being.

After stuffing a chip in his mouth, Aaron slowly lowers the bag back to the table, scrunching up his eyes again. He sets it down half on the laptop and half off, and a couple chips fall out as it slides to the table. "Can't see a fucking thing," he growls. "Give me my glasses."

"Wait a second." Carson turns his gaze on his old friend, realizing that Aaron's dark blue eyes are fixed on some point over his head and not on his eyes. Aaron always looks people right in the eyes. It's part of his attempts to look menacing. "What's going on?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Aaron crosses his arms and glares over Carson's head.

"You go without your glasses all the time," Carson points out, "and nothing's wrong then. What's going on?"

Aaron rolls his eyes. "Contacts, of course. How else would I see?"

"But it wasn't this bad before!" Carson persists.

"I'm old now," Aaron reasons.

"You're twenty-two! That's not old!"

"Older than I was when you knew me before," Aaron says. "My eyes got a lot worse. Do you know what you look like to me right now?" When Carson shakes his head, he goes on: "You look like a blur. I can tell that you're pale and blond, and I get a suggestion of blue eyes, but beyond that…." He shrugs. "Now, give me my fucking glasses!"

Carson returns the lenses quickly, and Aaron has them back on before Carson can even blink. The smaller man is still scowling, and Carson winces as he realizes what will happen next.

"I was working, Carson," he begins. "My deadline is in three days, and I can't afford to miss it." He taps gently at the frames of his glasses. "Do you have any idea how much these things cost? Almost a hundred and fifty dollars, and that's just for the frames."

Carson hangs his head and tries to avoid eye contact. "Sorry," he mutters, voice cracking.

"Not done yet!" Aaron says, sitting up straighter and crossing his arms. "I know it was funny to steal my glasses when we were kids, but we're grown up now. These glasses," he pokes at the frames again, "are mine, and they will remain that way. You have no need for them."

"I know," Carson chokes out, then begins chewing nervously on his bottom lip.

"You can't take them anymore. Got it?"

Carson peers up at him and nods vigorously, knowing his voice will fail him if he tries to speak.

Aaron lifts his chin and narrows his eyes. "Good."

As Aaron turns back to his laptop, Carson swallows hard and fights off tears. It's a stupid thing for a man his age to cry over, he's sure, but Aaron is one of the only friends he has. He's already almost lost him because of doing something stupid once, and he can't believe he's done it again. He just hadn't realized how angry it would make Aaron; it was never that serious when they were kids.

He bites his lip harder, drawing blood this time, but at least it distracts him from the urge to cry. He'd never forget it if he cried in front of Aaron. He doesn't think he could take the mortification.

Thanks to his panic, he doesn't notice that Aaron's been staring at him until the dark haired man speaks up.

"Carson?" His voice is little more than a murmur; barely a fraction of its intensity only minutes before.

It takes a second for Carson to look his way, but he finally manages to meet the other man's eyes.

Aaron's brow is knitted, and his lips purse for a second before he speaks. "Y'know," he begins, kneading his hands together uncomfortably, "most of the salesmen take lunch at their desks."

Carson tilts his head. He isn't sure what he thought Aaron was going to say, but he figured it would be at least a little relevant to their earlier argument.

"I eat here instead because this is where you are," Aaron admits, clears his throat, and then quite promptly turns back to his computer and begins typing furiously.

Carson smiles as it dawns on him: this is the closest thing Aaron will let himself get to an apology. Aaron is a proud man; much too proud for his own good. He can't admit when he's wrong (or at least he refuses to), and god forbid he should apologize for anything. Instead, he does things like this. Not only has he given Carson a complement (he thinks that's what it is, at least), but he's let Carson into his head, and that's the highest honor you can get from him.

Aaron still refuses to talk to him for the rest of the day, but Carson decides just to chalk that up to Aaron being Aaron.