#flambert february

I felt inspired by this Flambert February prompt made by @anglerfishmenagerie, thanks to them !

I want to do the Funguary too so I don't know if I'm gonna do more, but 28 ideas of Flambert isn't something I'm gonna pass by

I’m probably not gonna follow any other prompts but I had an idea for this one

Prompts by @anglerfishmenagerie

Robert finds himself simply showing up at his boyfriend’s door more and more often.

At first, he always had a reason or an excuse to. He would have a report he wanted Chad’s input on. Or they would’ve planned to hang out, snacks and skincare in Robert’s arms as a surprise gift that became more of a given once he learned what brands Chad liked. Or Chad had sexted him something that made Robert smother his grin with a flush before driving over and tackling him the second the door opened.

It would always be under the pretense that they were doing something.

But he can’t remember or pinpoint when that changed.

Because now he was sitting on Chad’s couch with a lapful of long, dark hair that he was carding his fingers through, a rom com playing on the tv, and he was wondering how he got here.

Less so how he actually got here (by means of his fixer-upper Toyota Camry), but more so how he ended up with Chad.

Of all people.

The man who, just a few years ago, was on the other end of his plasma blade in the sweltering remains of a bank.

Whose life he changed forever, then never saw again, until six months ago when he heard that raspy, accented voice mocking him in his ear.

A hero who doesn’t consider himself one, not yet, but Robert sees all the traits of one in him.

A man who’s scarily powerful, his flames melting through metal and evaporating the moisture in the air around him.

Yet who knows how to be gentle. Who’s a natural with kids, who delivers handmade gifts and dishes to his friends, who drops everything to take care of him family.

Gentle hands and gentle words that Robert hasn’t known in over a decade.

He feels he might shatter, when Chad looks at him like he deserves the world and like he’s ready to give everything to him. Robert kisses his fast and deep so the tears don’t fall.

Robert thinks he doesn’t deserve him. Chad’s a better person than him, he’s sure. He’s kinder than Robert could ever hope to be.

But then the man lying in his lap draws absent circles into his kneecap and his breath warms Robert’s thigh.

And fuck, he gives Robert hope. He might break under the weight of it, but for once he isn’t terrified of that because he knows the hands that will catch him will never let him fall alone.

Robert doesn’t realize that his eyes are wet, burning his sinuses, until a drop lands perfectly in the curve of Chad’s ear.

He immediately turns his head, staring up Robert with clear concern. “Whoa,” He pushes himself to sit up, bracketing his arms on either side of Robert’s waist. Robert blinks, warm trails making themselves known on his cheeks. He doesn’t wipe them away, Chad gets to them first.

“Hey, hey, baby.” The back of his fingers brush away the tears. More take their place. Robert’s chest barely heaves. He doesn’t feel like he’s crying, but the way that Chad keeps looking at him, worried and open, means that he probably is.

Maybe he doesn’t know what it’s supposed to feel like. That’s why he has no idea what’s going on.

When he doesn’t say or do anything, Chad grimaces and rests his hand on the side of his boyfriend’s jaw. “Robert, what’s up? C’mon, talk to me. Or— do something. I don’t know.”

Robert twitches into the light touch, his eyes flickering closed. A couple more beads slip out of their corners, sliding alone the curve of Chad’s palm.

“I’m fine, azizam.” Robert murmurs. He turns minutely to press a kiss to Chad’s wrist, watching the concern seep out of Chad’s gaze and morph into naked fondness.

The corners of his eyes crinkle with it.

Fuck, it’s a little too blatant for him to bear.

“I just—” Robert starts, then takes Chad’s hand softly, entwining their fingers easily, even with Chad’s shorter digits.

He’s trying for gentle. He only ever got tough love. He wasn’t allowed to be anything but strong and unbreakable, immovable.

But with the vivid memory of warm hands and somehow warmer smiles, he found a way to love through someone he never expected to care for this deeply.

Maybe that’s what makes him say, “I love you.”

Robert doesn’t realize he said anything at all, let alone that he whispers those words into Chad’s skin with a press of his lips.

Not until Chad is looking at him, wide eyed and close to joining Robert in crying, and his voice cracks on, “I love you too.”

Mere seconds later, Chad tilts his chin and kisses Robert fully, firm and fighting a smile. Robert actually does break it with his own bubbling laugh. He has to duck away to prevent their teeth from knocking together.

He knows that those words were spoken in truth when he hears the sound of Chad’s squeakier cackle and he falls in love all over again.

“I love you.” Robert repeats with a hitching grin before he pulls Chad back in for a kiss so sweet he thinks he might die.

“I love you.” Chad responds in kind, pressing Robert’s shoulders into the couch and changing the angle to kiss him deeper. Robert gasps his next “I love you” into Chad’s open mouth.

Robert is pulling Chad in by his shirt, shifting to lie back and let his boyfriend throw his leg over his hips.

His back is way too fucked up to be able to go full couch makeout session without repercussions, but for now, he’s too lost in the pure joy that courses through his veins when he hears Chad whisper “I love you”’s as he peppers his face in open-mouthed pecks.

His heart might burst from this kind of love, but if he dies in Chad’s arms, surrounded by it, well.

Flambert February Day 1: Morning

Starting off with a simple doodle of the two getting ready to start yet another day of keeping the city safe

In my head Flambae is only *half* a morning person, very much a "but bed soft and warm" kind of guy who still manages to leave the house on time but would very much like to spend a few extra minutes cozy.

Below is my original post with the prompt I made if you'd like to follow along! I'm gonna try to make it through the full month, having it be for both writing and drawing should make it easier to come up with ideas , happy Flambert month y'all!

A few weeks ago a nonnie asked for a Flambae texting Robert w/ pick-up lines (u can read it here), and in the comments of that post the amazing @lemon-on-a-plane suggested a sequel where Robert’s the one sending the pick-up lines...

So... what better excuse for some Valentine’s Day texting fluff than that?? hope u enjoyyy <3

Robert stays late at the office. He doesn’t mean to. He loses track of time as he’s shuffling through a mountain of paperwork and files that he decided to start organizing and couldn’t bring himself to stop.

It takes Beef whimpering and nuzzling against his pant leg and scratching him through the fabric to break him out of the reverie.

“Sorry, buddy.” He rubs his knuckles on the dog’s head and under his chin as an apology. He switches off the desk lamp.

The late afternoon showers had turned into a full blown thunderstorm. The skies had darkened and they were threatening a worse downpour than what was already pattering against the windows.

Robert packs up quickly, hoping to catch it before the real rain starts. But he can hear the growing crescendo and knows it’s hopeless.

Even worse that he didn’t bring an umbrella.

He digs his spare jacket out of his bag. It’s got bold decals on it, a recent part of the new Z-Team merch shipping. He had pieces from everyone’s collections: A pair of dazzling earrings from Alice’s, a vivid colored track jacket from Herm’s, a pair of jagged but sleek hair clips from Janelle’s. Many things he would never find the occasion to wear, but items he loved to have because he loved them.

However, the jacket, bomber style and faux leather (the latter fact making the man whose collection it belonged to tsk and grumble about SDN being cheap as fuck with him), was something that was beginning to find its way into his weekly closet.

It helped that at least the jacket style was one he wore often. The brightness of the flourished detailing was eye-catching, and he liked how it looked.

He might be so forward as to say it was his favorite piece. Though that might have to do with who it reminded him of than him explicitly loving the clothing.

So he shrugs it on and scoops Beef up and hopes that the leather isn’t so cheap that the rain could damage it.

He makes his way through the darkening office, listening to the noise of the weather’s effects. The wind hissing against the walls, making the building creak in places, and the deep shhhh of the rain blanketing the world.

Honestly, he could fall asleep to this. The held, powerful lull beyond the cover of his shelter.

The noise brightens when he steps outside, the metal awning making erratic, almost melodic tinking. Beef yaps at it. Robert soothes his hand over the little guy’s tummy.

He looks up at the cloud cover. Yeah. Not an end in sight. He judges the distance from the lobby door to his car.

He’s about to suck it up and let himself get soaked when he hears and sees the side door open in his periphery, along with a muttered string of swears.

Flambae shoulders his duffel bag, stepping into the rain before speed-walking to duck under the awning a foot from Robert. He narrows his bright eyes at the rain like it’s personally targeted him today.

Notably, he’s wearing a loose jacket too. Robert recognizes the exact shade of faded teal and the subtle outline of the stylized M on the back. It tugs a smirk onto his face.

“Didn’t know you were staying late.” Robert muses.

He hears a grumble from his companion. “Working out. This place has decent facilities. Why pay for a membership.”

Robert hums his assent. Beef yips in his hands again, desperate to get going.

“Didn’t think you were much of a fan of my alter ego either.”

Flambae’s broad shoulders twitch. He spins around, mouth already twisting into place for a scathing retort or scalding insult, but he seems to stumble when he catches sight of what Robert is wearing.

“Where— what—” Robert is trying his very hardest to hold back from snickering at Flambae’s flustered stuttering.

He doesn’t succeed very well. He does a little turn, showing off just to tease him even more. “Got it from the sample merch collections. It fits pretty nicely, don’t you think?”

The prompting only makes Flambae’s jaw grit tight and he has to blink hard multiple times for him to snap out of it.

“Why the fuck are you wearing that.”

Robert feigns innocence. “Forecast called for rain.” He gestures with his free hand at the torrential downpour. “I didn’t expect this much. But still.”

Flambae’s cheeks are aflame, licks of fire appearing then extinguishing just as fast. He sighs heavily to put them out for good, then steps toward Robert. Easily, he reaches for the jacket’s collar, and Robert is entirely prepared for him to haul him close and kiss him senseless.

Instead, Flambae tugs it tighter around Robert’s neck, muttering about the terrible choice that he’s made in jackets and the bad fabric quality and how of course he got the short end of the stick when it came to merch designs and how he’s rather design his own merch he already has patterns and sketches for everything.

Robert likes the pleasant flush that steals over him from the attention and the hyperfocused way that his boyfriend fusses over him.

“Even fucking Mecha Dick’s jacket is more comfortable and higher quality. How is that fair at all?” Flambae spits under his breath, his hands lingering at Robert’s nape to adjust the stiffer back of the collar.

Robert’s smile gets a wry edge. He tilts into the touch. “Is my new merch a hit then? Are the fans satisfied.”

“Fuck no.” Flambae snarls with none of the vitriol is needed. “Alice gave it to me. I didn’t want it, but I’m not wasting a perfectly well-designed jacket.”

“So you wear it to work. Where you know I am. Because it means nothing.” Robert outlines with a growing smug grin.

Flambae jabs him evilly, avoiding the doggo in Robert’s arms. “I could say the same shit about you. You’re so fucking obsessed with me, it’s creepy, get a life, Bob-Bob.”

It’s impossible to miss the way Robert’s smile grows fond in two milliseconds flat.

“Yeah, I kind of am.”

That fiery blush returns with new kindling. “Kind of?” Flambae looks him up and down skeptically.

“Okay, Chad, my boyfriend who wears my merch out and definitely didn’t wait for me before finally leaving the building despite the obvious thunderstorm,”

Robert tugs on the lapels of the jacket in question, bringing Flambae down to his level and whispering into the shell of his ear. “I’m the one who’s obsessed.”

His boyfriend’s hands, feverish, steady themselves on his waist, finding their way under the vivid fire-detailed hem on instinct, before he pulls away abruptly.

He’s not gone for long, as he swiftly wraps his arm around Robert, shielding his head and the creature in his arms with the wide, branded jacket.

“I’m kidnapping you now. I’m getting payback for this bullshit.” Flambae says and he starts dragging his boyfriend across the parking lot quickly, beelining for Robert’s car. The rain steams up when it hits Flambae’s skin, and the makeshift shelter of his arm actually proves to protect Robert from the worst of the slanted assault.

He gets to the driver’s side and crowds Robert against the door, a likely excuse being to shield him from the weather. The warm press of his body is more than a bit of a distraction.

“I’m gonna assume I’m still driving.” Robert raises a brow up at him.

Flambae grins toothily and cranes down to press a kiss to the side of Robert’s mouth. “Part of the repayment.”

“And when my debt is paid?” Robert chases after his mouth, beautifully hot in the wet chill. Flambae, starting to be surrounded by steam, gives him what he wants, licking into his mouth and nearly scalding Robert’s tongue. He pulls back with a smirk.

(I have a full fic wip partially inspired by this, but have some of my thoughts)

Robert has days where he just feels off.

Not explicitly bad, just wrong.

He doesn’t think he can put a name to the cause. It’s never consistent.

Sometimes it’s waking up and feeling his body screaming at him like his wounds, deep in his muscles, were reopening.

Often his back. Sometimes his neck. Sometimes the joints in his legs.

Sometimes it’s due to him staying up too late and his lack of sleep making him short and snappy. He can’t survive on two hours of sleep and five cups of coffee the same way he did when he was twenty-four.

Other times it was the nightmares.

Those just contributed to the lack of sleep. So nothing new. Just new faces, new situations, combined with the old.

And if those factors just trail into the workday, he can’t really stop it. He just downs another cup and hopes he doesn’t pass out. From exhaustion or a caffeine overdose.

But, point is that he isn’t pleasant to be around.

He glares—more like glowering, he’s told his resting judgement face turns into a resting bitch face—at nearly everything. He curses at every ache in his body that sets off a string of more pain. Everyone keeps a five foot distance and his paperwork is rerouted to be delivered while he’s on lunch.

Which is not any better because then he comes back to a few new folders and a stack of papers and he gets the overwhelming desire to bash his skull in until the migraine stops.

It typically never gets worse, most of the pain being taken out on himself or held in until he can drive home and cuddle with Beef for an hour.

But today, he’s faced with Prism’s livid indignation over the comms after he lectured Malevola and Waterboy on a mission they’d just barely managed to scrape by with a victory on.

Which would’ve been fine, probably fair for him to be annoyed by the addition to the long list of close calls they’d been having all week.

If he hadn’t completely snapped and nearly yelled at them.

The raise in his voice was uncontrolled and unexpected, from either his team or even himself.

Robert pressed the heel of his palm into his forehead to keep himself from giving in and snapping back at Prism, and Sonar who was finally joining in as a less than ideal voice of reason.

Galen, who typically co-dispatched with him, peered over the cubicle wall to see his friend shrimp-postured over his desk with his head in his hands. He’d just heard the absolute shitshow of an interaction.

The tinny voices emanating from the headset were clearly part of the cause of Robert’s headache. But he’s been working with him long enough now. This was far from normal, and he was beginning to worry deeply for the man.

Without hesitation, he plucked the comms off of Robert’s head, holding a hand up to his protestations when Robert tried to half-heartedly snatch it back.

“Take a break, Robert.” Galen said, voice just as tired and flat. “Come back when you got your head screwed on right. I got you.”

Robert just fixed him with the same glare—more like a pinched knit of the brow—he’s been giving everyone all day. But it relaxed slightly at his final words, almost apologetic.

Galen understood. He passed Robert a five, then sat back down.

Robert considered the money then stuffed it in his pocket. He swiped his hoodie off the back of the chair and disappeared down the hall towards the stairs.

His legs take him somewhere. He doesn’t really know, he just tries to walk off whatever the fuck is making him hurt his friends. Galen was right. He was going insane and letting it affect how he did his job.

He wasn’t going to get up from his desk on his own without the man forcibly stopping him.

He can’t help being a little grateful, even as the niggling guilt of responsibility trickles back in.

Before he can even consider turning around, the door to the test lab is hissing shut behind him, and he finds himself stood a few feet away from where his mech was positioned.

It was solitary and quiet, keeping vigilance over the garage space.

Robert had done this a few times before already, escaping during lunch and after shift. He wasn’t meaning to make it a habit outside of breaks.

It was in danger of becoming one.

Robert stares up at it. Like he’s asking for a reason to turn around. A sign.

A hand that never reached to help him up gently, but to drag him back into work.

Robert doesn’t think as the cockpit opens with a hiss of pneumatic air and hydraulics shifting. He feels his racing pulse slowly lowering, his chaotically unfocused thoughts settling, as he climbs into the pilot’s seat.

He presses his back to the seat and fits his arms in the rests as the door shuts slowly.

The hiss of the seal comes with a sudden, overwhelming quiet.

It’s never terrifying. It might be the most comfort he’s ever felt.

The machine hums around him, fluctuating as it power on to the lowest of settings. The screen remain dim, the sensors pulsing with a wavelike rhythm in his periphery.

A breath he’s been holding rushes out of him in a half wheeze, half sob.

He doesn’t bother hiding—who’s going to see him breaking down anyway?—the way his chest heaves with each frantic, labored inhale-exhale.

The shake in his hands as he runs them roughly through his hair and over his neck.

He forgets to breathe. Or maybe he stopped just to feel the consistent, predictable pain in his chest spread outward, making his limbs and head go fuzzy so he can stop fucking thinking.

He wants the walls to close in if that only meant he’d be held.

The health monitors start to awaken, beeping and blinking red. Robert gasps an inhale.

He waits for the beeping to stop. The health monitors go silent after a moment.

But there’s one still softly alerting in the otherwise deafeningly quiet space.

A proximity sensor. Scanning a large, warm body just outside the door. Their hand is pressing against the exoarmor. They know Robert can see everything they do, so they don’t even have to knock. They don’t say anything at all.

He doesn’t even have to turn on the visuals to know who it is.

Robert waits a moment, trying to still his shaking and failing. He fumbles to open the hatch, then sits up, ramrod straight as faint fluorescent light filters back in. At least Flambae had been kind enough to shut off the overheads.

The near painful press of the crown of his head to the padded seat makes him screw his eyes shut.

Maybe he also just doesn’t trust himself not to break down again. He doesn’t want to cry right now. His sobbing had been dry before, he can’t do it today. Not in front of him. He just can’t.

The hatch clicks open in full. The warmth grows closer, slowly until hands, textured yet soft, brush his neck.

They guide Robert’s skull away from its death press to the headrest. Gentle and careful.

Robert’s forehead is pressed to a warm, solid chest. He smells of smoke. Familiar and sweet.

Robert lets out a distressed groan, leaning in closer to get more of that scent ingrained in his head. His hands blindly search for a waist, wrapping around a mesh-covered back and just holding.

Not pulling in or pushing away. Just touching and needing. Grounding himself in the unspoken comfort.

Those hands on his head card through his hair, smoothing the ragged strands out and massaging gently at the back of his neck. His large hand rests against his nape, nearly enough to cover half of his neck. That fact makes his breath hitch every time.

But today it only serves to choke out another aborted sob.

Another wall shattering.

Another grateful acceptance.

Robert finally pulls. The man in his arms goes willingly, folding himself into Robert’s lap tenderly. He closes the hatch for Robert, sitting still until the seal’s hiss punctuates it.

Neither of them say a word. Just touches and soft breaths and solid bodies.

Robert’s hands tracing Flambae’s spine through his clothes.

Flambae’s thumbs smoothing over the edges of scars that barely hurt, pressing just enough to make Robert quietly whine.

Robert’s shaky exhales as his mouth is pressed to Flambae’s chest.

Flambae’s easy, firm direction as he tilts Robert’s head up just enough to kiss his hairline.

Robert’s head has never been so quiet.

He hugs Flambae closer.

Robert didn’t notice the thin gold chain hanging around his boyfriend’s neck until today.

Actually, not that he hadn’t noticed it, per se. Just that Chad wore a lot of jewelry and he would always have a small collection of gold necklaces and pendants on when they went out together.

Today, sat in a simple booth at a decently nice steakhouse for a Friday evening dinner date, it was different.

Chad only had one necklace. That thin gold chain, so very noticeable now. Stark contrast against his dark top and a turn from his usual complimentary layering combos.

But whatever hung on those solitary links was hidden beneath his shirt collar.

For once, Robert wishes he would commit to his usual, deep-V style. The one day he doesn’t, and Robert feels like he’s doing it on purpose.

Like he’s hiding it from Robert. Wanting him to ask, waiting for his curiosity to get the best of him.

Well, Robert was getting predictable. And Chad was spot on.

“What’s that?” Robert points with his fork stained in marinara sauce.

Chad swallows his bite, eyes flicking across the table. “What’s what.”

Robert makes an ‘obviously’ gesture with the same hand. “Your necklace.”

Chad blinks at him, barely a reaction. “What about it?”

Robert’s head tilts, hoping to catch a glimpse of it at a new angle but to no avail. “It’s new.”

Chad nods, twirling his food around a fork and entirely focused on masterfully avoiding any acknowledgement of the topic of interest.

“Yeah.” His response is brief, nearly professional. “Last month.”

Chad stabs at his food; his shoulders rise ever so slightly, a new tension held in them.

Robert catches that shift.

Okay, yeah, apparently this must be a point of genuine offense. He knew that Chad prided himself on his appearance and yes, that extended to physical presentation as well.

So to have something that was clearly a matter of great importance and care go unnoticed for as long as a couple weeks was a disappointment on his boyfriend’s end.

To be fair, Robert was usually more attentive about these things.

But to be even more fair, Chad typically showed him everything. Flaunted them, almost. New earrings, a new top, a belt he thrifted with Alice.

He’d come back wearing them and Robert would see the new addition to the wardrobe and murmur his approval. His love for it.

Mostly because it was simply Chad who wore them, and he was always going to be gorgeous, but still.

It was almost like an initiation for the new piece.

To which, Robert realizes there must be something else at play.

Maybe it wasn’t offense, but apprehension.

He wasn’t upset that Robert hadn’t noticed, but rather, he was trying not to bring attention to it directly.

Which only made Robert endlessly interested in what it was that makes Chad flush lightly and ignore the subject.

So, as casually fluid as he’s grown to become around him, Robert waits until Chad has lowered his utensil before reaching across the table.

He hooks his index finger underneath the chain and draws it out. Maybe he pops one of the top buttons of Chad’s shirt open, but that part was a little unnecessary to get to what he wants.

The little choked noise that Chad makes is definitely necessary though. Robert can only hear it because he’s leaned in, squinting slightly at what hangs on the end of the chain.

It turns out to be a locket. Small strands in varying shades of gold entwining in a heart shape.

Robert can’t help the genuine, soft smile that settles on his lips.

“Were you embarrassed—”

“No.” Chad interrupts much too quickly. His face and neck are blushing badly. Robert runs his thumb along Chad’s jaw. Chad rolls his eyes at the gesture but relaxes a bit. “No. I’m not.”

“It’s not like you to hide, though.” Robert asserts. “I’d notice that.”

Chad grumbles, his fork clattering a bit as he places it down. “I was planning on showing you.”

“When the time was right?” Robert suggests with mockery.

Chad rolls his eyes even harder. “Fuck you.”

“Well—”

“Don’t say it. I will kill you.” Chad sticks a finger in his face. Robert huffs a laugh. Chad mutters something about low hanging fruit.

Robert refocuses on the locket when it catches the warm light from the single, small candle in the center of their table. He smooths his finger over it, the metal warmed from Chad’s skin.

“Can I . . .”

“Yeah, yeah.” Chad makes a half shrug, his eyes still fixed on Robert’s. “Go ahead.”

His gaze is searching now, the tender vulnerability in them almost surprising.

Robert slips his fingernail under the edge and clicks it open. His own gaze turns sentimental in a heartbeat, understanding.

He doesn’t know what he expected.

It’s a photo of him, of course. But one he’s never seen before.

He’s tired looking, more so than usual, and he’s leaning on what looks like their couch. He’s staring off into the distance, like he’s trying to focus on something and failing as his exhaustion tugs at him. The grey hoodie, undoubtedly Chad’s, helps with the scene.

There’s another photo on the hatch.

More awake, mid-laugh, crooked teeth smile on full display as he’s lit softly from above. He sees Chad’s arm around his shoulders. Robert doesn’t recognize this one either. But he’s realizing there’s a certain spark in this one, something he’s starting to see in himself.

There’s something in Robert’s chest that’s aching even more. He can’t place it for a moment, just holds the locket up to the light.

What he can place is that they’re both unbearably domestic. He’s soft and the crease between his eyes is gone and replaced by the ease of being around people he loves.

He’s hit with it suddenly. Oh.

This is how Chad sees him.

There’s not a trace of Mecha Man. Not a hint at the looming generational pressure. Nor a single glimpse of the stress of the job and what he’s tasked himself to do.

Robert doesn’t think he’s ever been able to recognize who Robert is. He gave up that person for becoming who his— the world wanted him to be. It’s jarring, but there’s a suddenly feeling of something clicking into place.

A jagged edge that’s finally found its missing fragment, mending together in the same gold making up the locket.

In these soft photos—

He finally looks home.

Huh.

He doesn’t think he’s ever had that before.

Not until Chad barged into his life and gave him one wholeheartedly.

Robert closes the locket. He presses a kiss to its surface before resting it on Chad’s chest.

“It’s beautiful.” Robert says reverently. Then, “Thank you.”

He doesn’t elaborate on those last two words. Chad doesn’t ask. Maybe he knows. He’s good with him that way.

Robert’s eyes burn with welling tears. He blinks them away. Chad’s hands cradle his face, halfway across the table.

He can’t resist not closing the gap. Not kissing Chad firmly, like a promise he’s been making for months. Not taking Chad’s hands in his and squeezing them tight to imagine another band along with his other rings.

He almost wishes he brought the it with him.