Archive of Our Own ^beta

They are a tangle of limbs, warm brown meeting pale cold, both holding the other down in the early morning light. The couch is bigger than their old one, large enough that the two of them could lie, side-by-side, the length of their bodies pressed together, shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip, ankle-to-ankle, hands clasped between them. Close, but not uncomfortable. They would be able to turn their heads, noses and foreheads meeting with ease.

Despite the width, the edge of the couch remains unused, untouched in the face of their need for each other. Carlos lies sprawled over TK, leg bent over his hip, arm circled around his waist, head pressed against his own, pushing him in, in, into the seam of the couch.

Soft breaths trail across TK’s forehead, gentle and even in Carlos’ sleep. He had long grown heavy, quiet snores replacing his words. They had talked for hours, trading stories and regrets and desires and secrets in the way that only happens in the middle of the night between best friends. The quiet darkness, the hush of outside traffic, the sleep of their neighbours, provides a safety for them to delve into the deepest, darkest parts of themselves, to lay those fears bare for the other to gently cup in the palm of their hand and treat with the utmost care.

At one point, Carlos had voiced his protestations about falling asleep in their current position, citing TK’s still recovering health and the perfectly reasonable bed just a few metres behind them. In response, TK had merely pulled Carlos even closer, arms encircling Carlos’ head so he had no choice but to follow, squished into the junction between TK’s neck and shoulder.

“You’ll have to pry yourself from my dead, cold hands before I move,” TK had mumbled into a mess of curls, peppering kisses haphazardly.

“Too soon,” was Carlos’ only reply, but he was laughing. It was a joyous sound, his mouth pulling into a smile against TK’s skin. TK had taken a moment to memorise it—the sound of his voice, his laugh, the feel of his lips, his gloriously warm skin, the softness of his curls, the all-encompassing weight of another body on top of him.

Carlos has been asleep for going on five hours now. TK had drifted off at one point, but between the weeks of bedrest and the elation of being in this loft, on this couch, beneath this person, sleep had been hard to maintain.

TK now knew what the loss of Carlos felt like. The sharp ache that penetrated him so thoroughly, never numbing, always present. The dullness that had infiltrated his daily life, seeping into every nook and cranny until the entire world became about the lack of Carlos by his side.

The anger and fear and resentment that had taken a hold of him so quickly, so defiantly, like a rush of fire—fast and burning and ruthless, with the sole intent to destroy, careless of the pain left in its wake. It was the only thing he had felt, the last time he stood within these walls. As he had examined the high ceilings and warm light and polished floors that he had so quickly fallen in love with, the fire had started climbing, climbing, climbing until it was all that he knew, all Carlos could see.

He doesn’t know the words he threw like weapons—not exactly, not the precise articulation of them. But he knows the nature of them. That is burned into him, packed into the oversize luggage bag of shame that he carries with him always. He had been accusatory, vicious and nasty, cruel in a way that shocks him still.

It really shouldn’t—TK knows who he was, who he still is, the basest version of himself that was easily found as soon as he wasn’t in complete control of his mind. He’s lost friends, lost lovers. The only reason he didn’t lose his parents was through their shear willpower.

He had taken every part of Carlos that he knew would hurt. Cherry-picked the parts of his love that he had once collected like gifts, grateful to learn the messy and bad and private. Parts of Carlos that he had never shared with others, that he had carefully let show around TK, a flower blooming in spring, an enclosed bud slowly blossoming wide and colourful into something so beautiful. TK had taken those beautiful gifts and hurled them back at Carlos so that they pierced him, a thorn pricking with the intent to scar.

TK’s mom calls him her sweet boy, pinches his cheeks and hugs him close like he is worthy of the love and affection she so freely gives him. How can he be? When he had so intentionally hurt the love of his life, had blown up the first real good thing in his life, a grenade launched at a single flower, the magnitude of his assault far outweighing it’s cause.

But, the rational part of his mind thinks, piping up through the downward spiral of his traitorous thoughts, he didn’t blow it up. Not completely. The broken parts had been pieced together, careful and thorough. Carlos had given him love and forgiveness. TK had returned his own because his anger, while overblown, had not been misplaced. It was like the kintsugi bowl that had lived on his mom’s mantle, gifted by Enzo a few years into their relationship. They had rebuilt each other, more beautiful and golden for the scars left behind.

TK trails his fingers up and down Carlos’ back, soft enough not to wake him. Not that much would, TK thinks, as his lips find the only part of Carlos they can reach. The underside of his jaw the same angle he had traced so many months ago, scratchy with stubble. Carlos is out of it, in such a deep sleep that not even the sound of a car door slamming just down the street wakes him.

In the months they had lived at his dad’s, occupying the spare bedroom, the smallest of noises would wake Carlos, startingly him from timid sleep. That was if he slept at all. Bags had been present under his eyes for the first few weeks, until TK had taken charge. After too many nights sleeping alone, he had found Carlos locked away in Owen’s office at two in the morning, scribbling hurriedly about something. TK wasn’t sure because Carlos had insisted that TK didn’t need to worry about any of the paperwork following the fire.

Placing the weight of the world on his shoulders, unaccepting of help in any form no matter how hard TK tried. A precursor to their inevitable downfall.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, TK had dragged his boyfriend from the room, stubborn in the face of Carlos’ protests. He had lead him through the quiet of the house, Carlos stumbling behind him, until they reached their room.

TK didn’t really think of it as their room, not in the way that the bedroom in the townhouse had been. Even after the first night he stayed over at Carlos’, when he was still denying they meant anything and was ostensibly staying for a good shower and more sex, he had felt a certain peace, calmness that surprised him. The spare room in his old house did not provide the same safety, forced onto the two of them through the destruction of their home.

He knew for sure that Carlos also didn’t think of it as their room. He referred to it as the spare room and that they were staying at Owen’s house. No part of him accepted that it was theirs, even if it was only for a while.

TK forced Carlos into pyjamas before ordering him to get in bed. Bemused, Carlos had complied, lying on his side of the bed. TK had followed, crawling until he blanketed Carlos, pulling the duvet over the both of them. It would get too hot eventually, in the summer warmth, but TK could deal with that later. In the meantime, he closed Carlos’ eyes, preening inside at the smile that it pulled from Carlos, started petting Carlos’ curls and whispered sweet nothings into his ear.

Under TK’s ministrations, it hadn’t taken long for Carlos to succumb to sleep, deep and restful, much like he is now. It fills TK with immeasurable warmth, being able to witness the way Carlos has so freely given himself away to the depths of sleep, the way his shoulders slump, tension released. His hand sits at TK’s waist, limp where before he had been sweeping soothing lines with his thumb.

TK takes the hand in his own now, craning his head. Enough so that he can see where their hands join, but not too much as to disturb Carlos. He plays with the strong, thick fingers gently, fitting them between his own. They are soft and calloused and TK knows them intimately, missed them like they were his own.

He didn’t realise how much he would miss all of the small things—the way their hands fit together, the breakfasts Carlos would make when neither of them were working, the curls that disappeared into gel every morning, going to the Farmer’s Market, having their friends over, Carlos dropping by the Firehouse for lunch, their back-and-forth texts through long shifts. He permeated every aspect of TK’s life, filling up every hole or gap he could find, and TK hadn’t minded one bit, had wanted him by his side at every opportunity.

TK hadn’t just lost his boyfriend in the breakup; he had lost his best friend, his home. Their physical home may have burnt months prior, but a least through the pain and mess and stress of finding somewhere new, they had each other.

And then they didn’t.

That first night without Carlos, TK had still been burning. His body seethed with heat, the sheets he wrapped around himself singed him, the room filled with smoke. He hadn’t been able to sleep, so instead gathered Carlos’ things—his clothes, his books, his glasses, his chargers, his jewellery—the few items they had been able to buy since they lost everything.

Owen had arrived home from a 24-hour shift as TK dropped a packed duffle bag by the front door. At that point, Owen was filling in for captains at various stations. It wouldn’t be long until he escaped to the Hill Country.

“TK,” Owen said, surprise colouring his face. (He didn’t know yet; TK hadn’t called to tell him. It had been four hours and twelve minutes since the door had slid closed behind him on the cursed loft. Four hours and twelve minutes since Carlos had been left behind in an empty room full of shattered dreams.) “What’s happening?”

It didn’t a genius to immediately click that something was wrong. The smoke was still billowing off TK.

“It’s Carlos’ stuff,” TK replied, short and sharp and stinging. “We broke up.”

“You did?” Owen had cupped his elbow, forcing TK to meet his eyes. “Today? What happened?”

(TK could easily picture it, the slumped shoulders of his favourite person. His head would have hung forward, fists clenched as he tried is damnedest to fight off the tears—a useless endeavour, they had both been crying as they hurled words at each other. Carlos would have curled up small in the aftermath of TK’s anger, as he does. He could morph from a strong, immovable force to something so tiny and in need of protecting. The dip of his shoulders, the closing off of his body, shrinking, alone in a loft meant for two.)

“I don’t want to talk about it. Can you just—” TK gestured uselessly around the house—Owen’s house, not there’s. That was a pile of ash and rubble in Lynwood Avenue, in downtown Austin. “Can you grab the rest of his stuff, please? I’ve got everything from the spare room. I’ll get him to pick it up tomorrow.”

“Of course. TK…” his dad had stepped close, pulled him in a tight embrace that made TK feel like he was tearing himself up from the inside out. “Are you okay?”

TK pulled away, smoke in his lungs choking him. “I’m fine, Dad, I’m going to bed.”

He was not fine. His footprints had burnt the wooden floors as he trekked his way upstairs.

The second night without Carlos, TK hadn’t slept. He tossed and turned and cursed the world anew until eventually he stuffed his sneakers on his feet, threw a hoodie on and slipped out the front door. He walked. He walked and walked and walked until his legs were actually burning from exercise and his hands were tingling from the sharp wind against flushed-warm skin.

The third night he floated mindlessly in bed, adrift. The fire was cooling and with it came the prickly iciness of regret. Of shame and loneliness and overwhelming sadness. It was the same the following night, and the one after that and every night until a snowstorm blew through Austin, leaving destruction in its wake yet somehow righting everything along the way.

If he tries to think about it now, TK can’t recall how the two of them slept, that last night they had together. They didn’t know it was going to be their last and TK had been too consumed by anger to try to think about it in the following days.

What he will remember, however, is this moment right now. TK takes the time to memorise every detail about it, ingrain the weight and warmth and solidity into the grooves of his brain. The way Carlos’ leg is angled, how his arm is trapped under the heaviness of Carlos’ torso, the shadow of stubble grazing TK’s cheek. Every single detail is locked away in TK’s mind, to remain there forever, to be called upon at a moment’s notice.

TK brings his hand up to Carlos’ head, carding through long, soft curls. It had been nearing on two months the first time TK saw Carlos after. He had made sure he wasn’t home when Carlos collected his bags and Paragon has been located far enough away from Carlos’ patrol area that they were rarely on the same calls.

It was that day, nearing on two months (one month, 28 days and 14 hours), that TK had been distracted beyond reason.

Everything about Carlos looked the same. He hadn’t realised yet that their Paragon unit had arrived at the scene, so was controlling the forming crowd with ease—it was a gruesome car crash, which always gathered the awed attention of the public. He knelt in front of small girl, who spoke to him. TK wasn’t sure what, but it looked like a question, from the way Carlos nodded, taking the time to respond to her.

He looked exactly the same. The same beautiful face, the same curve to his shoulders, the same accentuation of his hips in the uniform. All was exactly as TK remembered. Except for his hair.

His hair was longer. Not radically so, not enough to be past regulation or to cause trouble in gelling it back, but it was noticeable, even from a distance.

It suited him, of course, the asshole. Possibly even more than the shaved sides.

“Strand!” Captain Vega had called, startling TK out of his reverie. It also caused Carlos to whip his head up, finally catching on to the arrival of their unit. “Need a hand here.”

TK pulled his spiralling self in enough to run to Tommy’s side and help, but a part of him remained in a daze, eyes flicking back without meaning to.

“Dude, you okay?” Nancy had asked as they wheeled a patient towards the rig. She ensured the gurney was locked in place before they pushed, the patient sliding smoothly into the ambulance.

“Yeah,” TK said, eyes flicking back for one last look. No, he wanted to say. His hair is longer, he stopped himself from saying. His hair is longer and I didn’t know because I haven’t seen him in one month, 28 days and 14 hours. Something about him changed and I didn’t know because I wasn’t there to see it happen.

“I’m fine.”

I didn’t know that his hair was longer.

A grunt pulls him from his thoughts. TK pulls gently on the curls, smiling.

“Hi, baby,” he says softly. He doesn’t need to speak loudly; Carlos is right there.

Carlos stretches out his bent leg, bones popping along the way. His fingers tighten from where their hands are still entwined. “S’time is it?” he mumbles against TK’s forehead, lips pressing against him.

“Don’t know, nearly morning.” The room was gradually getting easier to see, light creeping through the darkness.

Carlos shifts, attempting to sit up, but TK stops him, hand abandoning curls to push against his back so Carlos has no choice but to fall back down. He lets out a huff, asking, “What was that for?”

“Don’t move.”

“Okay.” His words are slow, moving through molasses and thick with sleep.

“Ever.”

TK feels the smile against his head. “Okay,” Carlos says again, pressing a kiss there. “Deal. Did you sleep?”

“A little,” TK replies, squeezing their joined hands.

“We should have slept in an actual bed.”

“We can christen it later.”

Carlos’ laughter turns into a snort, his nose pressed against TK’ s hair. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, baby.” The words are old and new and rusty from a lack of use but just as easy to say as they were before. TK sinks further into the couch, gathers the warmth around him, greedy and selfish for everything this man can give him. He squeezes their hands again. Kisses under his jaw. Rubs his back. Absorbs all of Carlos Reyes. “Thank-you for bringing me home.”

Carlos doesn’t respond, has been pulled under by the tide of sleep again. TK hums and watches the sun rise through their windows.