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There was nothing inherently suspect about it: Asbel had grown to be nearly as tall as his father now, he was at home, where the housekeeping staff had already made their rounds for the week, and there was no one around but the two of them for the day. It wasn't scandalous in and of itself, merely... an odd choice.
Aston allowed himself a measured glance, his voice not wavering in the slightest as he continued his phone call. Asbel helped himself to the leftover breakfast, apparently at ease, very much underdressed for being in the presence of a CEO handling a business call, even one who was his father, but completely acceptably dressed for a young man having a late breakfast on a Sunday morning. It would be considered homey, domestic, romantically picturesque even, the way the slightly too large shirt hung off his shoulders, dwarfing his sleep shorts, if the other man in the room had been a lover.
He wasn't.
Aston ended the call with the same professionalism and courtesy he always had for company matters. By then, Asbel had made himself at home on the other edge of the dining table, pausing in eating himself to refill Aston's tea. Aston forwent a 'thank you'.
"Asbel," he began, and then faltered at the look he received. Asbel set down the tea kettle with a clatter that rang too loud in the silence of the manor.
His son gave him the same look he always did, expectant, slightly nervous, overly eager to assist. Not for the first or last time, Aston was reminded of a much younger boy, who wore his heart on the sleeve just the same but whose eyes were driven with a wild fire.
Asbel had never been one to deceive, his deception had always been far too obvious to work. Asbel looked at him like it was any other morning, like him wandering around in Aston's shirt, legs bared from mid-thigh to the hem of his socks, was completely normal.
"Yes, Father?"
Aston inhaled quietly.
"Thank you," he took the refilled tea cup. "Eat."
The weight of what hung between them, unspoken, was Aston's alone to bear.
He averted his gaze. He could have said any number of things, about Asbel needing to dress appropriately, not to wander around the house still in his pyjamas, not to go through Aston's closet, any sort of correction that would have sounded perfectly neutral coming from a high society father.
Instead he let Asbel pick up small conversation about the company, the town, the community centre that Asbel spent so much of his time with, and Aston treated it like any other day, just as Asbel did.
And if his son looked a little more at ease, drowning in Aston's shirt on the couch later that day, well--surely it was only Aston's mind making it seem more suspicious than it truly was.