Chapter Text
you drive me crazy (for you baby)
In hindsight, Tommy should have realized earlier.
Looking at his boyfriend across the parking lot by West Hollywood’s finest lounge, taking in the glow of the sodium lamps becoming catchlight in his red-rimmed eyes, and trying to slow down the pounding of his own heart, that was all he could think.
I should have realized earlier, that it would come to this.
It’d been the impetus setting them into motion that night in Evan’s loft after all. Exactly a year ago tonight. The only shape Evan’s feelings – his insecurities, his attraction, his fear of the unknown – had known to take. The undercurrent, the through-line, of the first real conversation they’d had. Beyond the “I’m Evan– Buck! Buckley,” and “I’m calling shotgun!” and “I guess that night was the most fun I’d had since being struck by lightning.” In Evan’s defense, he’d been honest about it, open, from minute one. It was Tommy who hadn’t really considered how it would all come around when Evan had told him that night, “That's usually my problem. I can get pretty jealous.”
As all the quirks making up this puzzle of a man Tommy had decided to – slipped into – fall in love with, it’d started as endearing, lovely, lighting up Tommy’s heart chamber by chamber even at the very beginning, when neither of them could have known where all this was going.
“Do you think Ravi is hot?”
Tommy had been sprawled next to Evan for thirty seconds at most when the question had come. He’d turned his head where it’d been resting on the back of the couch and found the other man with his gaze directed toward the station’s kitchen. Ravi had been unpacking snacks for the spring charity the 118 had been saddled with that year, making faces at Bobby’s instructions.
Tommy had scrunched his nose. “Isn’t he, like, twelve?”
Evan had hummed and tapped something on his phone. Tap, tap, tap had beaded along as Tommy had sat there with the exhaustion from his own shift before he’d come to help Evan and co. He’d rolled his neck; he’d extended his legs.
“Do you think Eddie is hot?”
The tapping had been paused.
“I mean,” Tommy had murmured, eyes closed. “I have eyes.”
Another “Hm,” had come and more tapping followed. Tommy of today would recognize Evan’s zone of hyper-focus immediately, but Tommy then had needed a minute. A minute with some more tapping – who the hell used their phone with the haptics on? – some more hums, some restless leg shaking, and Evan oddly keeping quiet otherwise.
Till, “Do you think Chimney is hot?”
Tommy had opened his eyes; he’d turned his head. “Sorry, what is this about again?” He’d shuffled on the couch to catch a glimpse of Evan’s screen. “Is that—” A frown had found his face. “Is that a spreadsheet?”
His brows scrunched in concentration, his lips pursed in deep thought, Evan had mumbled, “Yeah. I’m trying to figure out your type.”
Tommy’s brows had gone up.
Evan had looked at him. “You know? Bears, otters, pups, cubs, chubs?” he’d said with big eyes before turning back to his phone. “I subscribed to this gay magazine last week, there was an article about it on page seven, and like, no one told me there were so many types, you know? Or tribes? Like on Grindr and stuff. Let’s say you had an account, hypothetically—”
“Hypothetically.”
Evan’s eyes had come back up. “...Do you have a Grindr account?”
Tommy had shrugged. “Sure,” he’d said, holding back a grin. “An inactive one.”
A series of micro-shifts had rippled on Evan’s face. That happened sometimes – most times – when he was having a silent battle with himself to try and tamp down his reactions. A tiny little thing at the end, though, always gave him away. It’d been the tweezing of his mouth that day.
“Okay,” he’d said quietly. “So, uhm, what did you say y-you were into when you were u-using this account?”
With a contemplative noise, Tommy had shifted closer. “Hm, something like 6’2, 200 pounds, blue collar, blue eyes, loooves making color-coded spreadsheets to sort his coworkers into gay tribes.”
Evan’s lips had pursed more. “This is kind of serious, Tommy. I don’t even know what I am, you know? Not a bear. Not a twink, surely. Am I a jock?” He’d frowned and looked down at his list again. “Maybe a cub?”
“You’re too old to be a cub,” Tommy had said with an apologetic face, knowing the look he was going to get.
The snort had escaped him before offense had even fully set in Evan’s eyes.
“Hey,” he’d said, leaving the teasing behind. “You know all of this shit is made up, right? No one cares about this.” He’d taken the phone off Evan’s hands and slotted their fingers together instead. “At least no one worth your time. I never did and I certainly don’t now.”
Evan’s huge eyes bored into his again. He’d had his bottom lip sucked between his teeth, a small and unconscious gesture testing Tommy’s ability to keep from fully grinning. Almost too nonchalantly, if not for the faint pink finding the tips of his ears, he’d asked, “W-why?” His fingers had tightened around Tommy’s. “Why don’t you care, now? C-certainly?”
Tommy had failed with the smile thing. “Because,” he’d said, caressing Evan’s knuckles. “I started dating this guy a couple of weeks ago and I really like him. And not just because he can bench press me on a good day – not that that hurts – but because he honest-to-God has a spreadsheet called Tommy’s Type in Men. And he gets this line here sometimes—” He’d tapped the frown between Evan’s brows. “—that I am very very fond of. I like this type, okay? I. Like. You.”
Evan’s eyes had sparked, his lashes had fluttered, pink had traveled to his cheeks. He’d breathed out, “Okay.”
And what else could Tommy do but kiss him? Nothing.
So he had, pressing their mouths together in a soft but deep kiss. Evan had returned it whole-heartedly, sharing breath and heat for the longest beat, before he’d pulled back with a whispered, “Uhm. I know you said you’re not using it anymore but you d-deleted the app, right? The Grindr app?”
Tommy’s chest had rumbled with the sudden laugh that’d come over. He could only smother it with more kisses on Evan’s sweet and earnest face, shushing his questions and eventually making him forget about gay tribes, spreadsheets, and Grindr.
That’d been Evan at the beginning, a little unsure and unforthcoming in his steps, his jealousy nothing more than questions he hadn’t known how to ask and nothing Tommy couldn’t handle. Then there’d been Evan – more possessive, more territorial, simply more in ways Tommy loved to handle.
He’d been sitting on his bed with a receipt organizer in his lap, going through everything he’d filed over the years to see if any of it was worth bringing along to their new place. Evan had been on the other side of the room, cleaning out Tommy’s closet when he’d snorted a loud laugh.
“I didn’t know you were into Spice Girls.”
Tommy had looked up, finding him with a t-shirt held up to his chest, smiling. “I’m not,” he’d said simply. “It was this guy’s I used to hang out with. I think his favorite was Posh. Or Ginger.”
It’d been an October of difficult winds, that morning no different, yet the weather shift in the room – the flattening of Evan’s expression – had been swifter.
“An ex?” he’d asked, voice stripped.
Tommy had made a noise. “More of a hook-up.”
Evan’s fingers had curled around the fabric of the shirt; he’d lowered it slowly. Casual, he’d asked, “Why did you keep it?”
The truth was Tommy hadn’t even remembered the shirt’s existence till that moment. He hadn’t thought about it or the guy a minute after they’d stopped hooking up and had no attachments to it whatsoever, not even as a memory. And to Evan’s casual question, he could just give that answer, except Tommy knew that casual Evan wasn’t a thing. He was also terrible at playing it, leaving Tommy with no other choice but to play along.
“It’s in good condition,” he’d said with a shrug. “Comes handy on laundry days.”
He’d dropped his attention back to the folder in his lap but kept his ears perked for his boyfriend who’d taken one beat, two beats, three beats of silence before murmuring, “Makes sense.”
Noon had come and gone after that. Tommy had thrown out most of what he’d had in those files, and Evan had hummed and hemmed at the right parts as they’d continued conversing – casually – through the cleaning. At one point, Tommy had been left alone in the bedroom – Evan leaving for the garage with a mumble of needing more boxes under his breath – and his gaze had drifted to the shirt reluctantly left by the keep pile.
He’d felt a little silly, a little giddy, and a little mean as he’d made his way through the house. He’d found Evan folding – beating – a box into shape, his breaths coming out harsher than the task required.
“I think he learned his lesson,” Tommy had joked by the door.
Wiping his forehead, Evan had turned around.
He’d frozen.
“Wh–Why are you wearing that?”
Tommy had plucked at the fabric covering his chest. “Oh, this? I wanted to see if it still fit.”
“It doesn’t,” Evan had almost barked, lunging toward Tommy. “Take it off.”
Tommy had dodged him. “Hey!”
“It’s not yours.” The red had deepened on Evan’s face. “Take it off. Take—” He’d fisted the offensive piece of fabric in both hands, pulling it off Tommy’s head. “Not yours,” he’d mumbled. “Not his. Mine.”
“Are we still talking about the t-shirt?” Tommy had asked, his grin slipping out, sounding loud to even his own ears. It’d earned him the hottest guttural noise from his boyfriend and insistent hands stripping him down and manhandling him around. The next moment, Evan had been shoving him to the Muay Thai corner of the garage, then down on the rubber flooring, as a throaty laugh had made its way out of Tommy’s mouth.
Evan had growled. “You’re doing it to get a rise out of me.”
“Mhm. I do.”
“You’re, you’re so— Ugh!”
His broad and strong palms had pushed Tommy back, his legs had squeezed around Tommy tight, and Tommy had chuckled out, ”Possessive brat.”
The possessive brat had covered his mouth in a fierce kiss; Tommy had succumbed to it without thinking.
Most days, Tommy felt privileged for being the one Evan felt comfortable sharing the least attractive, most prickly parts of himself with. The full spectrum of light if you knew just how to angle your mirror – with a little teasing, a little sex – that could get you the right colors. Other times, it was a bit more complicated, a bit more green.
John had been the engineer of the 118 during Tommy’s tenure at the house. He’d been there for longer than Hen, longer than Howie, and longer than Tommy. He’d been married, then he’d been divorced, and on a lovely January evening a couple months back, he’d been getting married again. A vineyard wedding in midwinter wouldn’t be Tommy’s first choice, but this was California, with its rolling hills awash in gold, the rows of bare vines looking both rustic and romantic, and the scent of crushed acorn and mulled wine enough to cast warmth over the attendees.
When they’d arrived at the reception, Evan’s cheeks had been glowing that rosy blush Tommy loved so much. He’d been chattering with Howie and Bobby – the newly reinstated captain of the 118; Tommy hadn’t asked for the details of how that’d happened but he knew Hen had been involved somehow – the way he always chattered, unfettered and overindulgent, inciting the most enamored eyes from Tommy. Their hands had been laced on top of Evan’s thigh, their outfits complementary, and their mood as lovely as the night. The table had drunk, laughed, and occasionally got greeted by fellow LAFD peeps, old friends and new sources of gossip, and one of them had been Sal Deluca.
Tommy hadn’t seen Sal in years. It wasn’t that they’d fallen out but after Sal’s clash with Bobby and the two of them leaving the station within a few months of each other, their involvement in each other’s lives had petered out and died. That was why after a pulse check around the table, Tommy had embraced him with a big hug and a clap on the back, Sal had taken the empty seat next to him with a wide grin, and the members of the 118 – former and current – had started talking louder, laughing harder, and reminiscing the years past.
Even Bobby had been all grins – seemingly the hatchet with Sal buried sometime during the last decade – that it’d taken Tommy a beat to realize his hand had been uncoupled from Evan’s, resting free on his own thigh. He’d taken one look to his side and stopped.
Evan, for all his sunshine disposition and lovely face, wasn’t the best with new people. Especially when he perceived them as a threat to his place within the circle and felt left out from the sense of camaraderie, as Tommy knew from personal experience. At one point after smiling at Sal in greeting, he’d withdrawn, his gaze had turned to the table, his arms had crossed over his chest, and his rosy face from earlier had drawn tight with whatever he’d had going on in that beautiful head of his.
Tommy had been taking it all in when Sal had laughed near his face, his broad hand coming up to squeeze Tommy’s nape.
Evan’s eyes had snapped to the point of contact.
Oh, Tommy had thought.
This wasn’t just a case of feeling left out and being grumpy about it. This was about Tommy. Because Sal was a lot of things: big in presence, loud, touch-prone, and Tommy’s closest friend at one point in his youth whom – as admitted to Evan in a passing conversation previously – Tommy had a fleeting crush on once.
“And remember when this guy here had to—”
“Wanna dance?” Tommy had asked.
Evan’s eyes had flicked to him.
Reaching out a hand between them, Tommy had got to his feet. The table had gone silent all around, but he hadn’t minded, he’d just waited.
Evan, with his expression unchanging, had got up at last and followed him.
Once on the dance floor, Tommy had pulled him close by the waist. Hands had come up to his shoulders, reluctantly, but Evan had kept looking away. Swaying them slowly, Tommy had ducked his head to catch those blue eyes. “Am I seeing a little green on your face today?” he’d asked teasingly.
Evan had shot him a look, unimpressed.
A huff had left Tommy. He’d kept swaying them to the sound of what he’d realized was Steven Tyler crooning about his girl driving him crazy and asking what he could do for her to change her ways. It was apt, Tommy had thought. He’d tried to be a little silly with his moves, tried to catch Evan’s eyes again, poked him, ribbed him, teased him, but none of it’d landed.
“You know,” he’d said at last, running his hands down Evan’s back. “People are right. Weddings really make you feel… amorous.”
“Hm.” Evan had murmured. “You should tell Sal about that.”
Tommy's hands had stopped. “Really?”
It wasn’t like jealousy was a foreign concept to Tommy. He had his fair share of fear over losing what was his and the awareness of all the ways he lacked. He’d been the kid at school events eyeing his classmates with their parents, mouthing the word mom and all its variants to see how they’d fit his mouth. He used to see men with their wives and girlfriends and bitterly think how easy they must have it, then he'd see men with their husbands and boyfriends and just as bitterly think how easy they’d made it seem. Over Evan too, he wasn’t immune to it. He couldn’t be when his boyfriend was goddamn attractive and a natural flirt, fully aware of the first, and totally blind to the second.
Tommy just didn’t like this air-sucking feeling. The obstinate way Evan not only stood his ground but also kept it in this place where every exchange pulled the space between them tauter and tauter. Tommy didn’t like it because Tommy didn’t like that moment of snap, the potential of it becoming a fight. He hadn’t liked it when they’d danced around each other about Gerrard, he hadn’t liked it when Evan had hurt himself and all Tommy could hear was the snarky voice in his head, and he hadn’t liked it when he’d been driven nuts and pushed to the edge on Thanksgiving day.
“It wasn’t a fight,” he’d said that day and Evan had replied, “You always say that.” That was right. Evan’s bike had scratched the paint job of Tommy’s car last summer, they’d exchanged a few words, and Tommy had just joked, “This one was a tiff at best.” Evan had butt-dialed Tommy sixteen times at work, made him worry goddamn out of his mind, and Tommy could only murmur, “I’m just glad you’re okay.” Just last week, he’d used the last of Tommy’s almond milk for an Easter milk punch recipe he'd found from God knows where, fully aware Tommy used it in his post-workout shakes, and Tommy had bitten his tongue, grabbed his keys, and left for the store.
“Really?” he’d said on that dance floor that evening as they'd kept swaying with no rhythm to their moves.
Evan hadn’t given an answer. He’d just dropped his gaze to their out-of-step feet, watched for a long moment before mumbling, “You suck at this.”
“Yeah,” Tommy had muttered back. “So do you.”
And that'd been the end of it. Because they’d been at a wedding. Because Evan had been still recovering from his incident. Because Tommy didn’t like how his voice resembled his father’s when it veered into a shout. Because it wasn’t worth it.
So, they’d just danced. Off-beat.
Tommy didn’t know what made him so naive to think that he could keep everything in a box labeled non-fights. Under the yellow lights of the parking lot, face-to-face with Evan’s wet and angry eyes, he knew better.
But before that, there’d been the soft buzz of the restaurant, clinking glasses and low murmur of conversation. The upper echelon of the city was out savoring the pleasant spring night in the lounge Evan had managed to reserve for their anniversary, where everything felt chic, cast with just the right smells, the right lights, and the right feeling.
Tommy followed the waiter to their table and slid into one of the booths, noticing only then that Evan was standing frozen a couple steps behind.
“You sure you wanna eat standing up?” Tommy quipped.
“What?” Evan said, then shook his head. “Sorry. I was going to pull out your chair for you, but there are no chairs. There are booths. Not that there’s anything wrong with booths, I just didn’t know they had booths. Probably should have told them that we needed—” His eyes met Tommy’s; he swallowed. “Never mind.”
With narrowed eyes, Tommy watched him move and take the seat across from him. There’d been a charge in his behavior since they’d met earlier in the evening, but it wasn’t the unease Tommy could readily read on him. It was him bouncing on the balls of his feet, missing his aim while giving Tommy a kiss, then brushing it all off with an awkward laugh caught in his throat. It was neither agitation, nor pure excitement.
As the waiter set their menus in front of them, his eyes started darting around.
Reaching for one, Tommy casually asked, “Everything okay, baby?”
Evan’s eyes jerked back. “Yes! Y-yeah.” He laughed. “Just excited.” His face lit up with a grin. “This is better than Micelli’s, right?”
Tommy hummed, watching the curl of Evan’s smile. Because whatever that extra buzz in his step was, it was still partly excitement. Evan had been calling this place for months, pushing to get a table for the day of their anniversary – their first kiss, they’d agreed on – and it’d worked out only at the last minute when it’d seemed like all hope was lost. Admittedly, it was a bit too fancy for Tommy. He’d rather be home, have sex, cook together, have sex again, and keep Evan as close as possible after the hellish week of mismatched shifts they’d had, but Evan smiling – though a bit crimped – always made it worth it.
“It is,” Tommy agreed, flashing a smile of his own. “Now let’s hope these seared garlic-lemon coconut-basil scallops taste as good as they sound.”
A light giggle left Evan, the sound melting into the pleasant lull of the night. He looked down at his menu, and seeing his face caught in the warm glow of the candles between them, Tommy thought that a week could really be too long sometimes.
Tommy poured water; Evan read out the names of the dishes; Tommy made faces at the most pretentious-sounding ones; Evan laughed all sweet. They were just done placing their orders when a curious “Tom?” cut through the soft backdrop.
Tommy looked to his side; a surprised smile broke on his face.
“Eli?” he said, standing up. “Hey! Hey!”
“The one weekend I visit the city,” Eli said with laughter in his voice, solid arms yanking Tommy into a hug. “And look who it is I come across.”
Tommy’s laugh mirrored the other man’s, his hand clapping him on the back. He looked bigger, older, than Tommy remembered, with the face of a twenty-something-year-old little shit gone and only the animated eyes left behind. He was still a little slighter than Tommy, but the hand he’d placed on the middle of his back felt strong, and so did his punch on Tommy’s arm.
Tommy wobbled back, eyes catching Evan’s curious face.
“Eli here’s an old friend,” he clarified, breaking away from the hug.
“Hey, man.” Eli waved.
Tommy moved to sit down. “He’s with Cal Fire in Ramona.”
Eli – chronically gregarious and cavalier – plopped down next to him.
Evan’s brows did the slightest jump.
“Sacramento now,” Eli said, oblivious. “Made it operation manager at McClellan.”
“Oh, wow,” Tommy said genuinely. “Good for you, man. No one’s ever deserved it more than you.”
“Yeah, it’s been a long ride.”
Across the table, Evan cleared his throat.
Tommy’s gaze moved. “Oh, sorry. Eli, this is my boyfriend, Evan.”
“Evan,” Eli said with his grin broad and hand stuck-out. “Nice meeting you, buddy.”
“Buck.”
Eli’s head tilted.
“Only Tommy calls me Evan.” Evan took his hand, giving a smile back. “I go by Buck.”
Tommy’s eyes flicked from Evan’s face to their joint hands, and up to Evan’s face again. The smile from earlier had been crimped, yes, but it still had that loose and saccharine nature to it that Tommy could recognize. This one was strained, regarding, in a way Tommy wasn’t sure if he’d seen on Evan’s face before. Something told him this was the in-between stage of Sal arriving at the wedding and Evan shutting down that Tommy had missed.
“Buck.” Eli laughed, big. “Good name.”
Except Sal had only been a friend.
Evan chuckled, tight-lipped.
Looking between them, Tommy pressed his lips flat.
“So,” Eli said, leaning back and throwing an arm over the booth. “You still at the Harbor, flyboy?”
“Yeah,” Tommy said with a slow nod. “Debono won’t let me go. Not that I have any desire to be anywhere else.”
“She’s a good one. I don’t know what’s keeping her in LAFD when she could be in waaay better places,” Eli teased. “You firefighters are a weird bunch.” He shot Evan a grin. “Honestly, I don’t know how you deal with the hours this guy keeps.”
“I’m a firefighter, too.”
Eli’s eyes widened. “Hah. Of course, you are,” he said with a laugh. “Should’ve guessed.”
“Should’ve asked,” Evan murmured under his breath.
Tommy met his gaze.
Reaching for his water, Evan looked away.
Under the table, Tommy rested his shoe against his. A gesture that felt ridiculously preventative.
“So, what’s the occasion?” Eli asked, chuckling. “Since when are you this fancy-schmancy, Tom? You’ve always been more of a laidback guy.”
“Yeah, it’s—”
“It’s our anniversary,” Evan cut in, eyes fixed on Eli. “First anniversary.”
Eli’s eyes shot open. “Well, I’ll be damned, buddy. You made it past the honeymoon stage with someone?” He thumped Tommy’s chest, good-natured. “I remember when three months of us trying was the most serious thing you’ve ever had.”
Tommy locked his jaw to stop his wince. “Just needed the right person,” he muttered, knowing it hardly mattered when Evan’s face shifted instantly at Eli’s words.
“Three months of you?” he asked, voice tight.
“Yeah.” Eli shrugged. “We used to hang out.”
“Long time ago,” Tommy said, looking at Evan. “Fizzled out almost as soon as it started.”
“We did, didn’t we, flyboy?”
Tommy loved Eli. He did. He was a great guy and has been a great friend when Tommy had been just beginning to understand who he was. He was also terrible about what to say where and – as it seemed – at recognizing Evan’s death glare no one could ever mistake for anything else.
“We’ve always been better as friends," he went on. “At least that’s what my sister used to say during those days I spent mourning the loss of the greatest guy to exist within a two-hundred-mile radius of Los Angeles.”
“Uh.”
“No, I’m serious, Tom.” He chuckled, slapping Tommy’s arm. “Why do you think I’m single, man? It’s certainly not how I look.”
“Sorry,” Evan said, the heavy drop of his hand making the table rattle. “Did you miss the part where I said this was our anniversary?”
For the first time since he’d sat down, Eli’s smile wavered. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to crash.”
Evan snorted. “Yeah, okay.”
“Evan,” Tommy murmured.
“It’s fine.” Eli gave a tight chuckle. “I think I came off too strong.”
“No, it’s—”
“You think?”
“Evan.”
Evan’s eyes snapped to Tommy. They were stripped of any quality but coarse ire, ice-hot, the shift from tampered irritation to full anger happening in the blink of an eye. The foreignness of it pinned Tommy down where he was sitting.
“You know.” Eli got up. “It was good to see you, Tom. You look great—”
“He does, so can I goddamn enjoy it, please?”
“Evan!” Tommy balked.
“Tom—”
“People are looking at us,” he whispered with an edge to his voice.
“Yeah.” Evan laughed, pushing off his seat. “We wouldn’t want that.”
He grabbed his coat and turned around.
“Ev—” Cursing under his breath, Tommy took out a couple bills and slammed them on the table. “Sorry, man,” he mumbled to Eli before rushing after his boyfriend.
Outside, the spring air licked his face. His eyes cut to Evan bolting down the parking lot where they’d left the car.
“Evan!”
Tommy followed him, running.
“Hey! Where are you going? Evan!”
He caught Evan’s wrist; Evan yanked it away. He spun around with lucent eyes, burning eyes, the pair matching Tommy’s thundering chest in their abandon.
His throat bobbed with a swallow; a shuddering exhale left Tommy.
In hindsight, Tommy should have realized that Evan’s jealousy would blow up one day. He’d been honest about it, open, since minute one, but they’d been dissonant about it, inharmonious, just as early. After all, it’d been the ground where their first non-fight happened.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Tommy had said, sitting on the steps of Evan’s loft, looking at the distressed curve of his spine. It’d been a late night, a good night, till the mood between them had upended on its own head with Tommy’s words.
From where he’d been standing at the base of the stairs, Evan had looked up. “How many different ways can you mean if I’d like to open this relationship?”
“You’ve just discovered you’re into men,” Tommy had said with a raised shoulder. “I’m just saying that if you want to date other people, it’s fine.”
There’d already been dark circles under Evan’s eyes that night after a sleepless forty-eight he’d pulled, but the stillness of his face, the dithering look in his gaze, had cast him more aweary. He’d asked, quiet, “Have you been dating other people?”
“No.” Tommy had sighed. He’d pulled himself up to his feet. “You know I wouldn’t assume something like that.” He’d stepped down the stairs and closed the space between them as much as he’d dared. “I don’t want us to assume, Evan, that’s why I’m asking you.”
“Asking me if you can date other people?”
“Asking you if you want to date other people.”
Evan had huffed. “What could possibly make you think that, Tommy?” He’d rubbed his skull and shifted his jaw. He’d looked to his side. “W-were you lying to me about the hookup apps?”
Tommy’s brows had gone up. “Are you hearing yourself right now?”
A car had loomed in the distance, the wind had brushed past Evan’s drapes, the loft had hummed with static, and Evan hadn’t looked back at Tommy.
“Look,” Tommy had said finally, closing another inch. “I don’t wanna date anyone else, okay? Regardless of what you want.” He’d wanted to touch Evan’s arm but refrained. “I just wanted to let you know that it’s an option if you want to, I don’t know, experience more of what’s out there.”
Lips pursing, Evan had nodded. “You know,” he’d said, barely above a whisper. “I think it’s better if you sleep at your own place tonight.”
Tommy had looked at him for another beat. He’d nodded and left.
They’d made up soon, or whatever the equivalent of making up was when there’d been no arguments, no fights, not even a cold shoulder. Just uncertainty, which had resulted in them having a phone conversation the next day. Evan had called Tommy in the middle of the shift, asking if he had a minute; Tommy had glanced around the station before shutting himself in the lockers. There’d been apologies and clarifications all of which had decided nope, neither of them wanted an open relationship, and yes, they were both still in this.
“Just uhm,” Evan had said just as they’d been about to hang up. “Would you really be fine with it?” His voice had sounded small. “If I said I wanted to date other people?”
It was a question put to words simply because Evan hadn’t understood. How could Tommy be okay with sending him on his way where he could find someone better? How could Tommy risk the possibility of this – what they had – not lasting?
Because for Evan relationships had meant that the other shoe could drop any minute if you looked away just for a moment.
“Fine… Yeah,” Tommy had admitted. He’d drawn in a deep breath and added. “I never said I’d enjoy it.”
Because for Tommy relationships had meant playing safe, treading lightly, even if that’d meant taking and leaving at your own expense.
He wasn’t treading lightly now.
“What the hell’s going on?” he asked, voice cut with disbelief.
“What’s going on—” Evan said with a shaky breath. “—is you spending our anniversary making chitchat with your ex.”
“He just wanted to say hi,” Tommy said, throwing out an arm. “It was a five-minute talk.”
“Yeah,” Evan scoffed, turning for the car. “The five minutes you didn't spare me all week.”
“What?”
“And you know how long it’s been since we had sex?” he almost shrilled. “Longer than a week!”
Tommy missed a step, confused about the change in topic. “We had opposite shifts, Evan.”
Evan kept marching.
“Sorry,” Tommy said with a scoff. “Are you telling me you’re acting like this because I couldn’t fuck you in the last, what, eight days?” He barked a mirthless laugh. “Because if that’s the problem, baby, we can fix it right here right now.”
“I’m not in the mood for that type of talk,” Evan muttered.
“No, you’re in the mood for acting like a child.”
Evan spun around. “Well, did you have to be so inviting when he said hi?” He blew out a seething breath. “You’re just so–so chill all the time!”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means your need to be buddy-buddy with everyone drives me crazy, Tommy!” Evan shouted, turning back.
“Oh.” Tommy sped after him. “You don’t wanna argue about who’s driving who crazy right now.”
“I said it, not you. But good to know it’s my entirety you have a problem with.”
“That’s— that’s not what I said!”
“He was all up in your space!” Evan spun again, stopping Tommy in his tracks. He walked into his face. “Were you gonna say anything about it or just let him k-keep doing it in front of my face?”
In a city of four million people, with hundreds of cars parked in this lot alone, a distant part of Tommy didn’t understand how there was no one else around. But the part of him that was here, the part looking at the challenging gaze of his partner, the part taking in the heaving shape of his chest, was glad that no one was here to witness how insane he sounded. Tommy felt the shake of his own hands. His pulse was at his throat, his skin burning, but more than anything, he was baffled. By the intensity of Evan’s reaction, by his face at the cusp of tears.
It’d been a while since Tommy couldn’t fathom Evan.
“He touched my shoulder, Evan,” he said with a sigh. “Do you know how many times a day Eddie touches your shoulder?”
“Well, Eddie and I’ve never had sex,” Evan said, voice wobbly. “And I don’t welcome people I have a history with with open arms.”
“What about the woman you cheated on your ex with, huh? I work with her, remember?”
Evan drew back his jaw. “You said that wasn’t a big deal.”
“It’s not.” Tommy huffed a breath. “So why are you making this into one?”
“Because h-he was all petting you.” Evan’s words stuttered. “A-and you didn’t even do anything. And he was so comfortable sitting down and y-you forgot to introduce me, Tommy, and y-you didn’t say he was your ex. Were you gonna keep it from me? I know I get jealous sometimes, but you don’t have to lie to me, that’s—that’s so much worse! We don’t lie to each other, since when—since when do we lie to each other—”
He carried on, breath catching, hands fidgeting, feet restless.
Something in his movements, something in his frenzy, in his distress, in his hysteria, made Tommy halt.
In this parking lot stripped down to nothing but bad lighting and cramped cars, he halted. His chest rose, his pulse evened, and he just watched. He watched Evan’s chin wobbling, as his syllables got more broken. He watched his hair getting ruined, his curls a victim to hands running through them in jitters. He watched his back hunched like a prey animal, waiting for a terrible blow, and in the case he could catch his eyes, he saw the fear, the insecurities, the freak-out.
The thing about puzzles, the ones that required you to look from all sides and consider them all-around, was that they all had a guiding logic. And once you figured it out, you strung the pieces together in an order. Tommy could see that Evan was spooked out, his words getting wetter, his face about to shatter. But it wasn’t that Tommy figured him out in that moment or even last year. Evan was too unreasonable for that, too big, too human. It was something closer to forty years and counting that Tommy had taken to see him at this moment, because Tommy had been this person. Tommy was this person. Afraid to take things for granted, he left a door open while Evan hugged with four arms. Not knowing how to actually speak, he let silence choke him while Evan had words tangle his tongue. Scared of what a fight could crack open, he tried to box it all up while Evan pushed and pushed and pushed.
It wasn’t that Tommy hadn’t known before, but he’d never realized like this. That saying about love, how it was seeing yourself in someone else, recognizing, relating, resonating. This was it. This was it for Tommy. They weren’t in trial and error anymore. He couldn’t leave with no casualties like he could a year ago or even yesterday.
“And he laughed at my name!” Evan’s voice echoed in the parking lot. “Did you hear him laugh at my name? And why does he call you Tom, you hate being called Tom, you hate it!”
“Has anyone ever told you,” Tommy heard his words, calm. “That you can be too much sometimes?”
Evan stopped dead in his tracks.
His face dropped.
“Yeah,” he said with a pained smile. “Exhausting, needy, heard it all, yeah.” He laughed. “You’d think that after everyone pointing it out I’d realize maybe it’s me—”
Tommy tipped his chin for a kiss. Evan’s words got muffled against his lips, his body standing motionless for a second before his hands dropped and his shoulders relaxed. He let Tommy ravish his mouth, his fingers gingerly curling around the fabric of Tommy’s coat, and he moaned as he gave back.
Tommy took it a beat longer, longer, and longer, before pulling back and resting their foreheads together.
“You’ve made a habit of that,” Evan whispered, rough, the kiss stealing away whatever breath he had left after all that babbling.
“Mhm.” Tommy nodded. “Your ramblings don’t stop otherwise.”
Evan’s mouth pursed. “Another thing I’m too much about?”
“Right. You can’t shut up to save your life.” Tommy brought a palm to his cheek. “Christopher called you a yapper the other day.”
Evan blinked. “Then why are you still holding me close?”
Tommy moved his thumb down his face. He stroked his pout. “Because I look at you, at you making an entire production out of this, overreacting, overexaggerating, just being too much like you are with everything, and all I can think is—” He blew out a punched-out laugh. “I’m so fucking in love with you.”
Evan went stunned. “You never said that before.”
“Of course, I have.”
He shook his head. “Not like that.”
Maybe. Because Tommy felt it too raw. Tommy, he realized, had sounded too raw. Something was tight in his gut while his jaw felt loose and all he could think about was arriving at the store on Easter Sunday, asking for the brand of milk he liked, and getting told it’d been pulled out of production. He remembered looking at the shelf for five minutes, thinking how everything in life was fleeting, like this innocuous almond milk, till his exasperation with Evan that day had fleeted away.
He thought about being on that dance floor, his chest feeling bruised because Evan hadn’t been looking at him. The scent of crushed fruit and winter, the twinkling lights around vines, and Evan’s navy suit all fitting right except for the gaze Tommy had tried but couldn’t catch. But Evan was looking at him now, with those pair of eyes now were something old, still something new, and the most beautiful something blue. But not borrowed, never borrowed, never something to be given back or given up, never something Tommy could entertain the idea of being fleeting.
“Marry me,” he said. “How about like that?”
If Evan had been stunned before, now he looked wonderstruck.
Tommy wasn’t. He hadn’t thought he’d say it till the words had left his mouth, but it felt right. It felt sincere and wasn’t that how he always felt with Evan? Marriage had been a blank space for Tommy. He hadn’t seen an example growing up; he’d never thought about it in relation to himself. It’d been a hollow word and nothing more. Till he’d seen the way Hen and Karen’s rings glowed together when they locked hands; till he’d heard Athena call Bobby husband as an address, as a name; till Maddie and Howie had kissed in that hospital room, and Evan Buckley had kissed Tommy too, and it all felt right.
“I don’t have a ring or anything…” he trailed off.
Evan shook his head frantically. “No. I mean, not no to that! Not no-no, I just.” He pulled back with a breath. His hand moved to the inner pocket of his jacket; he took out a box. “I was gonna ask you tonight,” he mumbled. “I bought it last week when you were on shift, but then you weren’t home, and I-I missed you and I started panicking, and both Bobby and Maddie said it was gonna be okay, b-but I didn’t know, you know, and then tonight I went a little insane, because I was gonna kneel in front of your chair to ask but they had no-no chairs. And then your ex. And uhm.” A long sigh left his lips as he opened the box; he looked up, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I-I really want you to be my husband, Tommy.”
Feeling his own eyes tear up, Tommy barked a laugh. “You don’t have to convince me, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m the one who asked you first.”
Evan smiled, wobbly. “Well, I’m the one who has the ring.”
“Actually popping the question weighs more than the ring, I think.”
“But I planned—”
Tommy dragged him into another kiss. It felt looser, in the way your chin felt looser when your body needed a good cry, and you felt weightless, free, unmoored from all the woe you’d weaned on all your life. “Yes,” he whispered, and Evan pressed their lips together again; “Yes,” Evan whispered back, and Tommy carded his fingers through the mussed curls. And for that one moment, it was just the two of them, in a crowded but empty parking lot, bathed in weak yellow lights, happy.
Evan leaned in, pressing his hot and teary face against Tommy’s neck for one beat, breathing warm and steady against Tommy’s pulse point, before pulling away with his face broken on a grin. He took Tommy’s hand, his own shaking, he took out the ring, and slid it in its right place.
Tommy pulled him in for another kiss.
Evan barked a wet laugh against his mouth.
The press of their lips quickly became making out, hands on waist moving lower, chests pressing closer. Tommy finally finally broke the kiss, smoothing his palm down Evan’s spine, palming the apple of his cheek.
“So what do you wanna do?” he asked, pressing another peck because while Evan had missed him last week and freaked, Tommy had been missing him too, and Tommy wasn’t really good at missing Evan. “After the celebratory sex, I mean. Wedding planning checklist or elopement in Vegas? I never know with you.”
Evan rolled his eyes but that was just him. Evan. He was too excitable one moment, had to make a step by step plan the next. He made late nights into early mornings in his little research cocoon, and the mornings into nights clinging to Tommy's back. Children shrieked with laughter when he was around, and old people patted his cheek all loving, while plants didn't like him that much. He was the best at his job, his bleeding heart worn on his sleeve, and he was a golden retriever totally, freely, artlessly unaware of where he could fit. He knew without Tommy telling him how to calm him down from nightmares, and he knew how to drive him up the wall from the passenger seat of the car as if Tommy hadn't been driving since before he'd known his ABCs. He was too cocky; he wanted all the reassurance. He was too stubborn; he'd give you anything in the world, you didn’t have to ask. He was too much, too smart, too impulsive, too earnest, and he was prickly, petty, bratty, unruly, redefining the phrase of high maintenance.
He was Tommy’s favorite person.
“You know,” he said with joking petulance. “You’re teasing me but you’re not the easiest person either.”
“Hm.” Tommy flushed him to his side, starting towards the car. “Do tell.”
“First of all, you can be too sarcastic. I sometimes don’t even understand when you’re being all deadpan, and like, you’re not rude, but people think it’s a bit blunt sometimes, you know? And you don’t say half the shit on your mind, and I’m not a mind reader, Tommy, but the worst part is you leaving your slippers in the weirdest corners of the house.”
“Dang. Should have thought about that before you agreed to marry me, though.”
“Yeah, I guess. It’s too late now.”
The spring air felt right on Tommy’s neck, Evan’s hip right under his palm, the faint hum of the car engines, and the bared-down lights all right. It was a harmonious moment, harmonious movement, the way they walked in lockstep, on-beat, the way they found their footing, with the ground planted under them always solid.
Homebase, Tommy thought.
“Hey, Tommy,” Evan said, and Tommy looked at him. At the soft gaze, the soft smile, the soft shadow of simple he was in love with.
“Hm?”
“I’m really really happy you’ll be my husband.”
Tommy smiled back. “Ditto, kid,” he said, pressing a kiss on Evan’s cheek. “Ditto.”
*
The End