#ejwritestarlos

Carlos was about to do just that when he saw the bite mark. It was instinct to pull Michelle back and take out his gun, point it at the other man.

Strand flinched, stumbled back, but then straightened, jaw clenched so tightly Carlos thought he might break a tooth. "He's bit!"

"No shit, sherlock," Strand muttered, face flushed and eyes fixed on the gun in Carlos' hand.

"Carlos," Michelle said, stepping in front of his gun, "he's immune, remember? The bite is how we knew."

He relaxed, lowered his gun after only a moment of hesitation.

He looked at Strand again, and the man stared defiantly back.

Oh, Carlos thought as his heart skipped a beat, then stumbled, then started beating faster than it should be.

Oh, he thought again, I'm in trouble.

.

"So, you're my babysitter," were the first words Tyler Strand ever said to him.

"Listen, Tyler-"

"It's TK," he interrupted him, aggressively tugging at the cuffs, as if that would actually accomplish anything other than hurting him further.

"What does the K stand for?" He asked curiously.

TK raised an eyebrow. When Carlos just looked at him steadily, he scoffed and looked away.

"Hey, are you seriously not gonna tell me?"

He continued to ignore him.

"Come on, I really want to know."

"Well," he drawled out, not even bothering to look back at Carlos, "I really want to get out of these cuffs, and I really want to get out of this place- guess we're both not getting what we want."

"Okay, fair," he said, then smirked. "You know, I can just guess."

There was a flicker of a smile on his face, but it was gone so quick Carlos thought he might have imagined it. "You can," he muttered, "but I won't tell you if you guess right."

"I can guess that, too."

Another flicker of a smile, but this one lingered just a little longer.

They stopped at the door of the room temporarily assigned to TK. Carlos saw the man's shoulders tense up, and only then realized he'd been somewhat relaxed during their short conversation.

"Hey," he said to get his attention, "it's gonna be okay."

TK scoffed, shook his head. "No, it's not," he countered, opening the door. He entered, slammed it shut without even a backward glance.

.

"Are you always this quiet?"

Driving gave him an excuse to not look at TK, so he missed whatever look his question earned him.

"When I'm in the car with a stranger who's probably leading me to my death? Yes, I'm always this quiet."

Another few minutes passed. "Is it Kevin?" Carlos asked suddenly, shooting him a quick look.

"What?" He sounded incredulous.

"Your middle name," he answered, "is it Kevin?"

"Are you serious right now?"

He looked at him, shrugged.

TK shook his head. "It's not."

Carlos nodded.

.

Twenty hours into their drive, Carlos' eyes started to droop. Ten minutes after that, he almost wrapped the car around a tree and TK forced him to stop.

"One of us has to keep watch," he told TK. He was hesitant to leave him alone because he didn't really know the guy and didn't trust him enough to not run or try to kill him in his sleep.

TK rolled his eyes. "I'm not going anywhere, Carlos."

He shrugged.

The other man sighed, extended his hand. "You can handcuff me if you want."

Carlos pursed his lips. He didn't want to, actually, but it would ease his mind.

He took out his cuffs, made sure the cuff around his wrist was comfortable, and put the other one on the steering wheel.

He turned on his side, facing him. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

TK ignored him.

.

When he woke up, TK was in the same position; head leaning on his closed fist, staring unseeingly out of the window. Carlos desperately wanted to know what he was thinking about.

He cleared his throat, and TK startled, looked at him.

"Morning."

"You snore."

Carlos sat up, spluttering. "I do not!"

"Yes, you do," he told him calmly, turning on his side to face him. He wiggled his arm. "Uncuff me?"

Carlos immediately did, and felt guilty when TK started to rub at his wrist.

He ignored it, started the car.

"You know, before all this, I used to like being handcuffed."

Carlos choked on air, shot him a look. He found TK looking back. "You're unbelievable."

TK smiled, looked away.

.

It was hard to find any flaws in TK Strand, a fact that was as frustrating as it was inconvenient for Carlos Reyes. The man was attractive, funny, charming and worst of all, kind- though Carlos only got to see glimpses of it here and there, like when he allowed him to handcuff him just so he could sleep, or when he offered to trade his crappy Mac and cheese for Carlos' even crappier tuna and noodles. They were little things, but in the world they lived in now, kindness was rare.

"It's getting cold," TK said, shivering.

"Yeah," Carlos agreed.

Minutes passed, and though both of them tried to sleep, they failed. After listening to the violent chattering of TK's teeth for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes, he finally had enough. He got out of the driver seat and immediately hopped into the back. TK was looking at him like a crazy person.

"Come on," Carlos told him.

"What?"

"You're cold, I'm cold..." he trailed off to let him put the pieces together. "Come on, TK, this is the best we've got."

He only hesitated for a second before he nodded. "Okay, but I'm not getting out of the car."

Carlos grinned. "Fine. Just hurry up."

Carlos scooted into the corner to give him room to move and took off his jacket. Once he and TK were both sitting beside each other, Carlos laid down, pillowing his head on his jacket. "Take off your jacket," he told him, words hushed. TK did, no words said.

It felt way more intimate than it should have.

Carlos turned so that he was laying on his side, back to the seat. TK lay beside him, head pillowed on Carlos' arm. Carlos held his breath, put his hand on the man's hip and left it there, hesitant. TK covered them both with his jacket, then grabbed Carlos' hand and pulled it closer, until it was wrapped around his chest. Carlos used it to bring him flush against him.

Warmth and desire surged inside him at once. He relished the warmth, and ruthlessly pushed down the desire.

"Is it Kenneth?" he asked, needing to distract himself.

"What?!"

"Your middle name? Is it Kenneth?"

"No," TK answered, shaking with silent laughter, "no, it isn't."

"Guess I'll have to keep guessing then," he told him, closing his eyes.

"Guess you will," was TK's quiet response, "g'night, Carlos." TK's breath tickled the inside of his forearm, making him shiver.

He took a step inside, then another, heart pounding so loudly in his ears it was the only thing he could hear.

He made it deep inside, found the cabinet with the broken lock, and opened it.

He breathed out a sigh of relief.

"What are you doing?"

He jumped, startled and whirled around. "Alex?" he asked, confused, "what- how did you find me?"

"I followed you."

TK frowned. "Why?"

"Because I knew you would do something stupid, TK," he told him, "and it looks like I was right."

TK pursed his lips, stepped away from the cabinet and stormed out, brushing past him. He was so close to getting out when Alex grabbed onto his sleeve and pulled him back towards him. He stumbled, caught off guard, right into the other man's chest.

There was a moment of stillness, of silence, then Alex's eyes flickered to his lips, and he leaned in. TK was too shocked to do more than freeze, but then, just before their lips touched, he managed to push him off. "Are you kidding me, Alex?!"

"TK, would you just ca-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," he hissed, "is this a game to you?"

"I- look, it was an accident- an almost accident- I just... I still love you."

He laughed, a little hysterical. "Fuck you and your love that means absolutely nothing."

"Did you take anything?" he asked as he jogged after him.

"None of your business."

"TK," he sighed, exasperated.

"Alex," he sighed, mocking.

"Please, just- oh God," the fear in his voice had TK looking back at him, and the sight he was greeted with was terrifying. Twenty, maybe more, walkers (or infected, or whatever they were supposed to be called) were stumbling around, walking in their direction. Alex was frozen in fear.

He grabbed onto his ex-boyfriend's arm and put his finger to his lips. He shoved Alex behind him and walked backwards, ever so slowly.

They almost made it.

Alex stumbled, and he must have gotten hurt because he howled in pain. TK cursed inwardly as one of the infected cocked its head to the side and turned in their direction.

The others followed.

Then they were running. He hauled Alex up and off the ground and took off running, trying desperately to keep quiet. Alex tried, too, but he was obviously in pain, so he kept making small, pitiful noises, and TK resisted the urge to put his hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds. When he looked back, not all of the walkers were still after them- only four, so he took his knife out of his pocket and held onto it tight.

"You should leave me here," Alex grunted.

"Shut up," TK panted as he tightened his grip on him.

"I'm only slowing you down, TK. You have to be smart about this."

"Shut up."

Two seconds later, TK was tackled to the ground, and his grip on Alex slackened. Three of the infected were on Alex in a second, and TK watched in muted horror as they sank their teeth in his neck, in his torso, in his legs.

The sound of a snarl only registered seconds before an infected lunged for him. TK rolled onto his back and lifted his arm to protect himself.

It was instinct.

The pain of the bite didn't register until after he'd lifted his arm and stabbed the thing in the head.

He swallowed down the pain, and the sorrow at the sight of Alex's mutilated body. As quiet as can be, TK stood up and stumbled away. He looked back every few seconds, just to make sure he wasn't followed and breathed out a sigh of relief when every time, he wasn't.

It was a small mercy that at least the infection seemed to take out their sight, weakened their hearing, because otherwise, TK would have been screwed.

He looked down at his arm, at the two bite marks, and didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

He was already screwed.

.

Quarantining in a 6x6 cell, with a raging fever and unimaginable pain, was not an experience he ever wished on anyone. His bones ached so badly that all he could do was lay curled up on his side, waiting for the end.

"TK?"

"Hey, dad," he rasped, attempting to sit up.

"Don't. Don't get up, son."

He let out a breath, relieved, and slumped back against the floor. "Is this normal?"

"What is?"

"The fever, the pain- I thought the infection only got really bad towards the end?" he said, moving just enough to so that he's able to look at his father, "this feels like getting the flu, only it's ten times worse."

Owen shook his head helplessly. "I don't know, kiddo."

"That's okay," he assured him, smiling.

"It's not."

He didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing at all.

.

He didn't know he was screaming until there were arms around him, pulling him up against a warm, solid chest. It took him a second, but he recognized it was his father holding him, and he relaxed. "Dad, what the hell is happening?" he panted into his father's chest, "this isn't- this isn't right. Something's wrong, dad."

His father murmured something, but TK couldn't hear it.

"Kill me," he begged him hoarsely, "please, dad, please."

"TK," he whispered, horrified, "I can't-"

"Please, dad, I don't want to turn into one of those things."

His father's arms tightened around him. "You won't. You're not gonna turn, TK."

"I don't want to," he managed to say through the haze of pain, "dad, I don't want to turn."

"I know, kiddo. I know." He rocked him gently, side to side, like he'd done when TK was a boy, and he couldn't say it wasn't a comfort.

"Please."

"Shhh," Owen whispered, running a hand through his hair, "go to sleep."

TK sank into the embrace and let sleep take him.

.

Hours passed- there was no headache, no nosebleeds.

The second day passed- there was no memory loss, no seizures.

The fifth day passed- there was no hearing loss, and he could see everything as clearly as ever.

The seventh day passed- he was still alive.

He didn't get to see anyone beside his father, who looked both happy and concerned during each visit, so when Joe and David came one day, he knew something was wrong. "What's wrong? Where's my dad?"

They shared a look, one he couldn't read, then opened his cell.

TK backed away until his back hit the wall. Something didn't feel right.

"Joe?"

"I'm sorry, TK."

"What-"

David grabbed onto his hands from behind, and though TK struggled, it was futile.

Joe produced a syringe, already filled with whatever the hell they wanted to give him, and TK lost it. He screamed, he kicked, and clawed and bit and begged, but none of it mattered.

There was a prick of a needle, and ten seconds later, he started to feel the effects.

He slung the deer over his back, ignoring the blood running down his back, and broke out into a run. 

He was quiet as he did it, months of practice making him light on his feet, but it didn't matter- the smell of blood was strong in the air.

He heard their growls, their panting breaths, their running footsteps, but he didn't let that deter him- he just ran faster. 

His cabin was within sight when he was blindsided by one of the infected, who tackled him to the ground. He fell with a grunt, but rolled over quickly and pushed them- once a human, now something else entirely- off him first with his hands, then with his feet to its rotting chest. His foot connected with its ribcage, making a squelching sound that used to make him sick to his stomach but now was something he barely noticed, and he quickly grabbed his gun from his ankle holster. 

One shot to the head, and they're gone- dead for good. 

He scrambled up off the ground quickly, grabbed his pack and the deer, and made a run for the cabin. 

Carlos burst in, threw his kill on the ground, and wasted no time in settling in by the window, his second rifle already set up in a way that gave him full view of the ground surrounding his place. He waited, one minute, two, seven, ten- there was nothing. 

He breathed out a sigh of relief, rested his head on the window sill and closed his eyes. He gave himself one minute, just one to rest, then got up. 

.

He hated this part- skinning and chopping and cleaning- almost as much as he hated the act of killing the animal, which is saying a lot. He'd been doing it for a while, and yet, he'd never gotten used to it.

It took the better part of his day, and the rest of it was spent trying to get the blood and the smell off him, the water so cold it made his teeth chatter long after he finished his shower.

He started a fire, grabbed his book and settled down on his makeshift bed for the night. He knew, just a few seconds later when he couldn't get himself to focus, that tonight was going to be a restless, sleepless night, as per usual.

He groaned, abandoned the book and stared into the fire. The only sound was the crackling of the fire. It should be peaceful.

It should be good, because it was the thing he'd always craved- peace and quiet. 

And yet- it was not.

Carlos had gotten used to being on his own. He'd gotten used to it, but it never stopped hurting, still a bleeding, gaping wound. 

He missed being a cop and helping people, he missed going to the farmer's market and the grocery store, he missed Sunday dinners with his parents, his sisters and their families. He missed the absence of brutal violence he now inflicted daily. He missed the touch of another human being on his skin. 

Six months.

It'd been six months, and the ache in his chest for everything he had before, everything he's lost, only gets worse with time. 

.

He spent his days looking for supplies (food, blankets, medications) and his nights staring at the ceiling, barely sleeping, until he eventually passes out for no more than two hours at a time. 

Six months of this, and he's just about ready to give up. 

Before quarantine was implemented, Carlos tried to find his family. He'd gone to his parents' house, then to both of his sisters', and he'd found nothing- all three houses had been deserted. 

He'd panicked, and searched, but ultimately, there was nothing he could do, nothing to go on. 

And when he'd gone back home, two hours later, he'd been horrified to find it burnt down, the people gathered around celebrating Carlos' loss, and he'd seen red. 

He'd flown off the handle, firing off a round in the air and threatening to shoot, but even as a part of him took satisfaction in their fear, ultimately, he realized it was pointless. 

Whether or not they were afraid meant nothing.

Carlos had lost everything.

He had no home. 

He didn't know where his family was.

He was alone, in an unknown world.

It was terrifying.

.

The first time he killed one of the infected, it had been a boy, probably fifteen or sixteen, and no amount scrubbing had helped clear off the image of the boy's blood on his hands.

As much as he hated to say it, he'd gotten used to killing them since then. It wasn't any easier, but it was a necessary evil. Thinking of them as things, rather than people helped, too. 

After nearly a month of living in his car, he'd eventually found a small cabin, deep in the woods, and settled there. The days were long, the nights even longer, but he somehow made it through. Not without scars, or nightmares, but, still- he was alive, and relatively okay. 

It wasn't much, but-

What else was there?

.

On one of the many sleepless nights, Carlos decided to venture out more in his scouting the next day. His supplies were dwindling, and the nearby stores had already been emptied long before he even got here, so things like medications, canned food and anything generally useful were hard to come by these days. 

The next day when he woke up, the sun was barely out, so he set out to prepare his pack, his weapons and used the last of the coffee beans to make himself a cup. 

Then, it was time to leave.

He took a deep breath, locked his door, though he knew it would be useless if anyone came across the cabin and decided to break in. 

His car, the only thing he got to keep from his old life, was still running by some miracle, so he used that to venture out of the zone he'd assigned himself when he first got here. 

.

He came across a mall about an hour into his venture, and he entered cautiously. He had his gun out, flashlight off, and was on high alert as he cleared every corner, every store. Hangers were mostly empty, shelves were dusty, and anything useful seemed to have already been taken. His shoulders slumped, but he kept going, even as hope slowly diminished the longer he spent here.

He was about to turn around and leave when he heard a snarl, and two seconds later was shoved into the wall, the breath leaving his chest in a rush. His heart beating wildly against his chest, he immediately shoved the thing off him and fired off two shots- one missed, the other hit its intended target. 

The problem was, he discovered a minute later as he made his way down the stairs cautiously, the gunshot attracted the attention of about a dozen other infected, and now they were migrating towards him. He knew, as long as he kept quiet, they would have trouble finding him, but keeping quiet on a broken escalator was a lot harder than it seemed. 

One wrong move, and they were on him. He shot two, three, five, but one went for his arm, and the gun fell. His back hit the edge of the escalator belt, making him wince, then he lifted up a knee and dove it into the infected's stomach. It didn't do much, but it did allow him a little space to maneuver himself out of the small space he'd been trapped in, and he used it to take out his hunting knife and jam in into its skull. Two more were on him before he could take a breath, and he realized with a sinking feeling that he was gonna die here. He wasn't giving up, but he didn't see a way out of this one. 

It gave him peace, the thought of not having to be in this fucked up world anymore. 

His grip on the knife tightened for a second, then slackened. 

Then a gunshot rang out, followed by about a dozen more. 

The body fell off him, and Carlos collapsed to the ground.

A hand was thrust in his face, small and delicate, but obviously strong as he was lifted up and off the ground in one swift motion. The bandana covering the woman's face was pulled down to reveal- 

"Iris?!"

"Hey, Carlos," she said casually, smile big "fancy meeting you here." 

He was just about to hug her wher eyes widened and she pushed him out of the way. 

The infected, probably a seven or eight year old girl, attacked, and Iris hesitated for beat. 

That split second cost her. 

.

"Where is she?! Where's my sister?!"

Michelle looked terrified as she came barelling out of the gates, and Carlos felt his heart break all over again. Iris was in his arms, her arm where she was bitten covered with a cloth from Carlos' shirt. He was flanked by Judd, a firefighter he'd met on the job a few times, and his wife, Grace. 

Grace hurried forward, intercepted Michelle just before she reached Iris, and the older woman fell to her knees. Grace went with her, holding her. Carlos looked away, the guilt eating at him, and his eyes landed on Iris' too pale face. 

The guilt intensified. 

He closed his eyes.

.

Iris was taken from him the second they entered the compound. He was given clothes, a towel and a nudge in the direction of the showers. 

It was only three hours later when someone knocked on his door. 

"Come in," he called out. 

It was Iris who walked in through the door. Carlos immediately stood up and walked over to her. She waved off his offer to help her and sank down onto the bed. 

The watch on her wrist flashed with the number of hours before she would turn, and a lump formed in his throat at the thought. "I'm so-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," she cut him off. "I made a choice, and I would do it all over again if I had to."

He closed his eyes. 

She grabbed his hand, squeezed it. "I always felt like I was meant to die young," she told him, smile serene, "I love being right."

"I should've paid more attention. I should've kept you safe."

"Carlos, I love you, but it is not your job to do that. I had the opportunity to save you, so I took it. You'd have done the same."

He nodded. "I would've. In a heartbeat."

"I know. Hey, promise me you'll take care of Michelle?"

"I don't think she'll let me."

Her eyes were glassy, filled with unshed tears. "Try? For me?" 

"I promise."

She pulled him into her arms, kissed his forehead gently. "Take care of yourself, too, and don't feel guilty about this."

He pursed his lips, hugged her tighter. 

"No regrets, no guilty conscious," she said as she was pulling away. When she cupped his face, she wiped a few tears that had escaped and smiled. "And- I know the world is all fucked up now, but don't forget to live, Carlos. Don't just survive- live."

She looked down at her watch, turned it off. He knew what that meant, and it instantly made his heart sink into his toes. "Iris-"

She shook her head. "If I'm gonna die, I'm gonna do it on my terms. And you know me," she joked, squeezing his hand again, "I hate deadlines."

.

The day after they buried Iris, Carlos considered leaving the compound. He couldn't look Michelle in the eyes, and apart from her, there's no one he really knew there. Judd and Grace were good, kind people, but he didn't know them that well, and they were grieving in their own way. 

He was surrounded by people, yet somehow, he was still alone. He wondered if that would ever change. 

.

A month into the new arrangement, Carlos finally felt settled in. He still spent most of his time alone, but the people around him weren't strangers anymore. He knew them, he was friendly with them, and though none were people he would particularly call friends, having them around helped. He slept better, he ate better, and he finally felt human again. 

He'd found his equilibrium.

So of course that was when life decided to throw him a curveball.

.

"What's this about, Michelle?" 

His friend walked briskly, two steps ahead of him. "We have someone very important coming in from the New York branch. We need transport to LA, someone I know I can trust. That person is you, Carlos."

He skids to a stop, stunned, but then shakes himself out of his stupor and runs ahead to catch up. "Wait, why me? Michelle, there are-" 

She whirled around, stopped him with a hand on his chest. "I need someone level headed, sharp. I need someone who's a good shot, and knows how to protect. That's you, Carlos."

"Judd-"

"-has requested to not be sent away for too long. He has a wife and daughter here."

He nodded, thinking that it made sense. 

"Will you do it?" 

One breath in. One breath out. "Yes."

She smiled. "Good."

"Hey, who is it? The person coming in."

"TK Strand, he was a firefighter with the NY FD with his father."

"Why does he need protection?"

She hesitated, but ultimately seemed to cave. "Rumor has it," she started softly, "he's immune."

He raised an eyebrow. "You were kidnapped by a serial killer," he told him incredulously, his voice shaking just a little, "and you died. You're not fine."

"Then why did you ask, dad?"

He sighed. "I was hoping for the truth."

"The truth is, I'm not fine. I keep seeing them every time I close my eyes, and I keep thinking, if-" he trailed off, biting his lip.

"If?"

"If she hadn't untied me, if you guys had been just one minute late, I'd be dead."

His father looked away, but not before Carlos saw the tears in his eyes. "We weren't," he told him firmly after a few seconds, "and you are very much alive."

"Thanks to you and TK."

His father smiled. "You should have seen him, son," he muttered, "he nearly bit the detective's head off, more than once," he told him, eyes alight with fondness, "he's also the one who saw the connection to Daryl."

Carlos looked down, smiling slightly. "Speaking of TK, where is he?" He asked anxiously.

"In the cafeteria, with Iris. He seems to have taken it well? The news about your marriage."

Carlos nodded. "Too well."

"What's going on, Mijo?"

Carlos wasn't used to this. He never used to talk to his father about his relationships, or things that bothered him for that matter, but- "When Iris didn't sign the divorce papers right away, TK went to talk to her. The day after that, she went missing."

His father sat back in the chair and nodded. "And you thought it was his fault."

He closed his eyes. "I hurt him, and we didn't get the chance to talk about it."

"Carlos," he waited until their eyes met, "that boy loves you, and you love him. As long as that holds true, you can fix anything."

There was a faint knock on the door, and he looked up to see TK standing there, a cup of coffee in one hand and a paper bag in the other. He looked tired, but happy, and Carlos found himself smiling at the sight of him. His father stood up. "I'm going to go check on your mother." Carlos nodded. "Talk to him," he whispered.

Carlos nodded again.

TK wordlessly handed his father the paper bag as he passed him. Gabriel smiled, squeezed his shoulder. "Thank you, son."

"You're welcome," his fiancé responded. Once his father left, TK came in, and took his place by the bed. He took Carlos' hand in his and lifted it up to his lips. The kiss he placed there was light, but lingering, and Carlos fought back the tears that threatened to fall. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

TK's confusion was plain on his face as his brows furrowed. "What? Why are you sorry?"

"TK, I-" he stooped, took a breath, tried to figure out where to start. "I'm sorry for not telling you about Iris sooner-"

"Carlos-"

"Let me finish, please, TK," he pleaded with him. TK nodded.

"I'm sorry for making you feel like you had to go talk to her, and I'm sorry that I let you think her going missing was your fault," he blurted out, "God, the way I treated you after-"

"Carlos," he cut him off firmly, "Carlos, baby, none of that matters."

"It does. And you're gonna brush it off now because I almost died and-"

"It doesn't matter," TK exclaimed, chest heaving and eyes glistening, "it doesn't matter, because you didn't almost die, you did die. For two minutes, you were dead and I had to-" his breath hitched, "I had to-"

"TK," he said softly, soothingly, extending a hand out to him, "come here."

He put his shaking hand in Carlos' and Carlos gripped it tight, used it to pull him closer. "Come here."

TK sat on the edge of the bed, let Carlos tug him into him, and TK all but collapsed into his arms. Carlos rocked them gently, one hand around TK's shoulders, the other running through his hair. “I love you.”

The first sob took him by surprise, but he only tightened his hold on him. TK stiffened, obviously trying to hold back the tears, so Carlos gently pushed him away, just far enough so he could look at him. "TK," he said calmly, heart breaking at the sight of his red rimmed green eyes, "baby?"

"Yeah," he managed to say.

"It's okay," he said simply, holding his face between his hands. He screwed his eyes shut tightly, and Carlos pulled him back into his arms, pressing kisses to his neck, to the side of his face, to his hair. "Breathe," Carlos whispered, again and again.

TK's eyes, which have been drooping for the past few seconds, fly open and he sits up. There's an adorable frown right in between his brows, and Carlos leans forward and kisses it away.

TK's smiling at him when he pulls away, that soft ‘I'm in love’ smile that never fails to make his heart skip a beat. "Carlos, of course I'm still excited," he reassures him.

"Are you sure?"

The frown is back. "Hey, talk to me- what brought this on?"

"I don't know, you seemed more excited about the wedding before."

"Before dad butted in and became a dadzilla, you mean?" he jokes, hands finding Carlos'.

He shakes his head. "Before you found out about Iris, and I got kidnapped."

TK's eyes soften. "Carlos," he sighs. His hands find their way to either side of his neck, and he presses his lips to Carlos’ in a soft kiss. "Baby, almost losing you just made me realize that all I want is to marry you. It doesn't matter to me what we're wearing, what type of cake we're eating or what flowers are used for the centrepieces.”

He pulls away, raises an eyebrow. TK rolls his eyes. "Fine, I do care a little bit, but- like I said, as long as the day ends with us married, I won't care about anything else."

Carlos scoots closer, puts his legs on either side of TK's hips so he's all but sitting in his lap, and kisses him. It's meant to be a soft, sweet kiss, but that changes very quickly.

TK's hands find their way under his shirt, and the scrap of his nails against Carlos' back make him shiver. They both move closer at the same time, never breaking the kiss that has turned hungry. Carlos pushes TK back, isn't exactly gentle about it, and TK gets this gleam in his eyes that tells Carlos he likes it.

He takes a moment to look at him, eyes bright and happy, mouth pulled into a beautiful smile, hair a mess, and he genuinely can't believe his luck.

TK yanks him down impatiently, wraps his arm around Carlos' neck and kisses him thoroughly.