In sleep, Avery looks like something more wholesome than he actually is, more whole than he'd ever been before in his life. This was a boy with no worries to clump at his temple, giving him headaches and invisible lines that might appear in six years or sixteen. Maybe never for Avery. He looks like clean bedsheets smell, and he looks like an egg feels. He looks like a flower when Jack walks in, and when Jake, already there, touches his face, Avery turns his face up to Jake like a flower to the sun.
Jake's arms, always a source of fascination for Jack, ease themselves under and over Avery, lifting him slightly then clutching him close, to Jake's chest. Because Avery is still asleep, he rests against Jake's chest the way anyone would, the way a doll would, but his face is still turned up to Jake's. To be kissed, naturally, and so Jake kisses him, his hair and his lips and his face over and over. He's still the sun the way that his skin absorbs any little light that's in from the windows, the way that he always looks like someone's idea of masculine beauty. An old Italian painter, maybe. Or Sophie's. Jack watches how completely he loves Avery, the thing that originally attracted him to Jake. It's still attractive, the look on Jake's face and the way that he closes his eyes to smell Avery's hair. Does Jake look that way with Jack? Jack hasn't noticed, but--maybe when he sleeps, too.
Jack puts his pencil down and goes to sit on the bed. Jake eases his grip on Avery, kisses his cheek, and tucks him in again. He looks at Jack with a silent question and Jack watches him for a moment before smiling. Jake's going to be a wonderful father. But for now--boyfriend. "Come here," Jack says, leaving out the contraction that is Jake's trademark. Jake turns to him, and Jack rises on his knees to hug him properly, after a moment leaning in, just like Jake had with Avery, to smell his hair.