#kingvav

---

Michael Jones is not the name that trails up Gavin's thigh, just before ending at the bottom of his hip. It's not the name Gavin's destined to meet, not the one he's destined to love, not the one he's destined to live the rest of his life with.

But it's the name of the person who never fails to make him laugh. It's the name of the person who understands him the most. It's the name of the person he chose to live his life with.

---

Gavin Free is eight when he realizes that soulmates aren't as wonderful as they're made to be.

In school, he's taught nothing but the good in soulmates. Every person is born with at least one little black blob on their body, and as they get older, their person's name gets easier to read. He's taught to constantly ask people's name. If it's The Name, his soulmate mark would burn brightly, and a sense of completeness would wash over him. (And Gavin's thankful for that, it would be embarrassing if he needed to look down his pants every time he asked for a name.) He's taught that a soulmate is literally the missing piece. Nothing but happiness awaits whenever a soulmate is found.

By age eight, Gavin knows that it's all a load of toss. If a soulmate meant nothing but happiness, why did his parents fight? Why did his mother cry so much, why were there some nights his father refused to come home? He asked his teacher one day. She smiled at him as she bent down, ruffling his hair.

"They're soulmates," she had said simply, "Don't you worry, they'll make up. Everything will be alright, in the end."

Except it didn't get better. His parents screamed at each other. Gavin can't understand what they're saying, he doesn't understand the meaning of the words, but he knows that it's certainly not good. Somewhere during their fights, both of them realized that their words weren't working, so they stopped talking altogether. It lasted a full month before Gavin's dad brought home the papers.

Divorce isn't illegal. It's looked down upon, sure, but it happens. Gavin's heard of it in hushed whispers around the playground, seen the dirty looks the kids would shoot at victims of it, but it's certainly never affected him. And when everything is finalized and his dad leaves, it still doesn't feel real. That wasn't how love happened in the books. Where was the part where everyone made up, like his teacher had said? Wasn't his dad supposed to rush in suddenly one day, and profess his undying love for his mom?

Gavin holds on to the thin glimmer of hope for six months, hoping, praying that his dream will come true, just like in the movies, before it withers out and dies.

-----

Michael presses a lazy kiss to his cheek on one morning. Or, at least, he tries. He's groggy from sleep and ends up kissing Gavin's eye, but Gavin appreciates the sentiment.

"'Ello," he mumbles sleepily, blinking multiple times until he can actually see Michael.

"I didn't know it was possible, but your nose's even bigger in the morning," Michael replies, much to Gavin's confusion.

"What are you on about? A nose can't just grow in the middle of the night!"

"Yours did," Michael says, before rolling over and giving a loud groan and a stretch.

Gavin rolls his eyes and watches him. It's been… god, it's been years now, hasn't it? since he and Michael had gotten together. It's almost worrying to think about all the times he's woken up in Michael's arms. Worrying, but not off-putting.

His soulmate still hasn't shown up yet, and Gavin's thankful for that. He doesn't know what he'll do if he does meet the owner to the Name. He glances at it, frowning, pondering endless what-ifs and hypotheticals he knows he won't have the answer to. When he glances up, Michael's staring at him, before abruptly turning away and grabbing some clothes.

"You getting ready soon?" He asks, as if he hadn't been looking. Gavin nods, as if he hadn't caught Michael looking, and gets up.

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbles, and begins his day.

It's always like that. Gavin pretends that there isn't a real person attached to the Name that burns on his skin, he always hopes that his soulmate doesn't just naively believe. He tries to justify his reasonings, yet every single time, he ends up the loser. After all, he was the one who chose to throw away what destiny called perfect, and screwed his soulmate up in the process.

It's my fault, Gavin thinks to himself, absolutely certain that it's the truth. But when he steals a glance at Michael, who's stolen one of his oversized sweaters, he can't help but add, But I wouldn't change it for the world.

-----

Approximately 97.37% of people have a soulmate. That's another thing Gavin's learned from school. He also knows that Michael is part of 2.63% that doesn't.

Gavin knows that little fact because he asked about it one day, completely drunk while partaking in some swimmy bevs.

He's already shared his sob story, so in his drunken state of mind, he feels Michael should do the same. "Can't, you fucking asshole," Michael groans, pushing Gavin's squirmy body of of him. Gavin flops back-first into water, though he immediately tries to get up and cling on him again, as if it would be convincing.

"Michael, why not, Michael?" Gavin prods at his cheek. "Do you not love me?"

If Gavin hadn't been wasted, he might've felt the way Michael stilled. "Course I do," Michael speaks with an easy confidence, "Doesn't mean I'm going to tell you."

"But why?" Gavin is practically draped across Michael's back. But Michael strong, and the water makes him lighter, so he's sure Michael can handle it. "I told you 'bout mine!"

"I never asked you to!" His voice rises higher in pitch, "You shared it out of your own… volition!" Drunk Michael struggles with the word.

"But it's not fair, Michael! I shared!"

"I just said no one wanted you to-"

"But I did, Michael!" Gavin insists, "I shared!"

"Oh my god, fine!" Michael lets out a huff of exasperation while Gavin cheers victoriously. But he does settle and lean off Michael as he gets up and exits the pool. Gavin frowns. Surely Michael wasn't upset with him?

"I can't share my soulmate's name cause I don't have one," Michael doesn't say it with any anger, he just states it like it's fact.

"Oh," Gavin retreats. Now he's made things awkward. Inwardly, he kicks himself for pushing Michael.

But Michael's continuing, "It's so fucking stupid, how everyone really pushes that soulmate stuff down your throat, when nothing's ever that perfect."

"Yeah," Gavin agrees softly, because that's his sentiments exactly.

"Don't pretend you understand," He hears Michael mutter under his breath.

Gavin all but flails indignantly. "I do understand!" He insists, continuing in a lower tone, "I told you, remember?! My parents are divorced!"

He turns away quickly, not wanting to look for Michael's reaction. They both fall silent, but surprisingly, it's not awkward. Gavin plops up to sit on the edge of the pool and Michael does the same, and they both stare off into the distance.

"I'm sorry," Michael says eventually. There's no pity in his voice, and Gavin couldn't express how thankful he was for that. It's not some token apology either, something to say just to fill up dead air. It means something, Gavin can feel it, so he clears his throat before replying.

"Yeah," he agrees, "me too."

-----

Months afterward, he realizes he loves Michael.

Of course, it's not phrased like that in his mind, it's more like an accumulation of little thoughts, like,  how much he likes Michael's hair, or how he really wants to make him laugh, or how he likes the way Michael's face crinkles up when he smiles, or that he just likes Michael, he really likes Michael…

And then Gavin realizes he's got it bad.

Then there's the messy problem of his Name. It burns almost painfully whenever he thinks of Michael, reminding him that, somewhere, his soulmate is waiting. And a part of him feels guilty, because what if his soulmate's actively searching for him? What would he do if his soulmate showed up?

So Gavin keeps his mouth shut, content to just ignore the problem in hopes it would go away. But despite all that, Michael's the one to confront him. "Alright so," he begins, putting down his headphones, "What the fuck is up with you?"

They're in the Achievement Hunter office, months after what Gavin dubs, 'the Pool Incident'. For once, it's quiet; everyone's gone out for lunch. Gavin (and apparently Michael) had stayed behind to finish editing some videos.

Gavin debates on whether or not he should pretend he didn't hear Michael. He had been dancing around him for the past couple weeks, for two reasons. One, he was in love with Michael. Two, he was in love with Michael.

But, like an utter fool, he finds himself glancing up to face him. He's frowning, looking pointedly at Gavin.

"What do you mean?" Gavin's throat fails him, cracking as if he were a teenager.

"You're won't stay in the same room as me, you don't answer my texts, you barely talk to me during recordings," Michael rattles off, like he prepared for Gavin's answers, "Don't give me shit excuses."

Gavin opens his mouth, but then closes it, thinking. Soulmates were utter crap, he knew that, but they were easier than confronting people. If Michael didn't like him back, then their friendship would be intensely awkward, assuming they would have a friendship at all. Keeping his mouth shut would meant that things could go back to normal. And yet…

"Okay," Gavin agrees, nodding slowly, "It's…" he begins, before trailing off.

Michael continues to stare expectantly. Gavin awkwardly clears his throat. "Um, do remember that time we were having swimmy bevs, and you told me about… you know?"

"Is that what this is about?" Michael doesn't sound angry, he doesn't have any tone at all, and that's what scares Gavin. "That happened months ago."

"No, no!" Gavin backpedals hard, "I don't mean that!"

"Then what do you mean?" Michael asks plaintively.

Shakily, Gavin stands to his feet, figuring he might as well look Michael in the eyes. "I mean… um…"

Silence. Gavin fumbles with words without even getting one out. Michael continues to stare, waiting. Softly, the old analog clock ticks.

Until finally, Michael throws his hands up. "For fuck's sake, I guess I'll do this."

And suddenly, Michael's lips are on Gavin's, more tender than Gavin could've imagined. Gavin's mind grinds to a screeching halt. He can't register what's happening, or how long they've kissed, or how his nose did not get in the way, but somehow, Michael pulls away.

"Oh," Gavin says dumbly, because  oh. Out of all the things Gavin was expecting, a kiss was not one of them. He wants to ask a lot of questions, but instead, he just settles for one. "Why?"

"I'd hope it'd be obvious," Michael shrugs. "Do I need to do it again?"

"Maybe one more time, yeah," Gavin grins dopily, because wow he was not expecting any of this and wow Michael was a bloody good kisser.

Michael complies, and Gavin feels like he's ascended to heaven. It's not as tentative as the first time,  but it's just as sweet. Gavin's nose doesn't get in the way this time either.

Things devolve from there. They don't shag in the office, (because it's the Achievement Hunter office and there are already enough suspicious stains on the carpet) but the group seem to know what's up when they enter after lunch. Geoff gives a shit-eating grin upon seeing them, Ryan and Jack share a knowing look, and Jeremy pretends to be all-knowing and wise by nodding sagely.

It's a good day.

--------

They're at Michael's pool again, and it's years after that exchange, but they're both very much sober. No bevs have been drunk, no dives in the pool were taken. They're both just sitting on the edge of the pool, with their legs absentmindedly kicking in the water. Michael's nursing a can of soda, while Gavin opts to drink no liquid, drinking in the beautiful view of the sunset instead. The sky's filled with warm hues everywhere, and Gavin can't help but soak it all in. His eyes scan everything, before settling on the wonderful view of Michael's face against the sky, staring at him dopily for a while. Michael definitely takes notice, but doesn't say anything until a couples seconds later.

"You gonna stare at me all night, or do you actually want to talk?" He asks, sounding slightly annoyed.

"I can't do both?" Gavin says nervously. Michael rolls his eyes and that reassures Gavin, but he knows if he doesn't start talking now, he never will.

So he clears his throat obnoxiously before starting, wishing he were a little drunk to be more confidant. "So, um, Michael… I love you."

He pauses, trying to think of where he's trying to go. This would be so much easier with a bit of booze in his body.

"Well, I sure hope you do," Michael breaks the silence, "It'd be kinda awkward if you didn't."

"That's not what I meant-"

"Oh, so you don't love me?" Michael feigns shock, "And after all this time-!"

"Michael, shut up you bloody tosspot, that's not what I'm trying to say!" But Gavin's grinning now, and he feels a lot more at ease.

"I love you," he repeats, softly, "I love you a lot. And I want this to last forever."

He doesn't say marriage, nor does he give him a ring, because all marriage has given him is sorrow, but he looks at Michael and he understands. And the Name burns from his side, but he doesn't care. Michael makes him happy, and he wouldn't give that up for anything.

Ray has run out of batteries.

This is a conclusion he reaches with a tired sigh of resigned acceptance as he tucks his dead flashlight back into his bag and starts shuffling around the undergrowth, looking for a good spot to settle for the night.

Preferably not in the nest of a mother raccoon again. The scars up and down his arms are still pretty fresh from that one.

There’s not much moonlight to speak of, but it isn’t too cold out tonight, and Ray hasn’t been hearing anything that might concern him- no wolf howls or coyote yips or mysterious barks and/or roars- so it’ll probably be okay to just sleep on the ground. It’s not like he can climb without any light to see what he’s grabbing.

He happens upon a small clearing and settles on its edge, pulling his poncho from his bag and using it as a shitty blanket. God, he’s in desperate need of a town. First he ran out of gum, and then his jacket was destroyed in the forest fire he barely escaped, and then his fidget spinner broke, because God just hates him for some reason.

Definitely has nothing to do with when he used it as a makeshift part in a shoddy attempt at a fishing pole the other month and had to smash it against a rock a few times to get it loose from the mechanism he had constructed. Nothing like that.

He hadn’t even caught any fish.

Tomorrow, he resolves to climb as high as he dares on the tallest tree he can find and search for any sign of a road or path that could lead him to a ruin. Ray tends to stay away from them, if he can- where there’re supplies and resources, there are gangs of raiders and thugs- but he needs batteries if he’s going to make it through the next winter, and he needs ammunition if he wants to eat again anytime soon.

At the thought of food, his stomach growls dramatically. Ray tries to sate himself by nibbling on a cracker and pretending it’s a big, juicy burger. He can feel the heat on his fingers through the bun, can smell the spices and seasoning and feel the way the lettuce and onions crunch under his teeth as he takes a bite-

But it’s a shitty little saltine cracker, and no amount of imagining will convince his stomach otherwise.

Ray adds calories to the list of things to look for in the next settlement.

The chirping of crickets and rustling leaves lull him to sleep.

-

The game trail he’s been following for the past couple of days spits him out onto an asphalt miracle. Gravel would have been a blessing, but here he is, staring slack-jawed at an actual fucking road, with painted lines and guardrails and everything.

The relief makes him want to cry. He doesn’t, because he already loses enough hydration to sweat as it is.

He does allow himself a pack of fruit snacks as he walks to celebrate this great victory, because it’s important to acknowledge when he does a good job. At least, that’s what the parenting book he picked and read out of sheer boredom a few months back said. He pops a tiny apple shape into his mouth and pats himself on the back.

Good job, Ray. Not dead yet.

-

He’s so dead.

Picking which direction to go was a toss of the dice, but Ray must have rolled pretty poorly, because he’s been walking for five days, and he hasn’t seen a single private drive or break-off road. A few dilapidated signs warned him to slow down for the upcoming curve, or informed him that the speed limit is 45 mph, but he’s found no indication of where he is, or where the next town is. His chances of survival plummet every day he goes without finding another water source. Ray has been carefully rationing what’s left of his supply, but it’ll only stretch so far, especially while he’s walking like this.

God really does hate him after all.

-

The only good thing about this shitty road is that he’s been going downhill for most of it.

-

Ray sees a deer through the trees and reaches for his gun before remembering that he doesn’t have any bullets, and hasn’t had any for a month.

-

The night sky is so much prettier now than it was before.

There’s no more light pollution- very little pollution of any kind, he imagines- so every clear night is like a laser show up above his head. He lived in cities, so he never saw more than a handful at once, and he knows he never saw them come alive like this. Ray had never imagined that they would flicker and dance across the blackness, and he never saw that there were stars even in the blank spots, so dim that they couldn’t be seen when looked at directly.

Are there other planets up there with living things on them?

If so, Ray hopes they don’t have to have an apocalypse before they can appreciate the beauty of what’s above them.

-

The theoretical aliens probably don’t have light pollution. Or any kind of pollution. Ray bets those fuckers have 100% clean energy and live lives of leisure and relaxation. Those bastards.

-

He’s been kicking a rock along for two hours.

The sole of his left shoe finally tears at the front on a particularly enthusiastic kick, and he ends up stubbing his toe on the damn thing.

Ray swears and throws the rock as hard as he can into the trees. Fuck that rock. Fuck this road. Fuck the world, and fuck whatever deity decided it was a good idea to put Ray on it. When he finally starves to death on this damn asphalt treadmill, he’ll have some real stern words for whoever’s in charge.

-

Something finally changes.

It’s his first day after completely running out of water, and Ray has started accepting that he’s going to have to give up on the road to look for water, but then he turns a final bend and in the distance, he can see the trees thin out and another sign, far ahead. There are buildings beyond it. Buildings! He may not be dead after all!

Ray gives the guardrail a respectful pat and starts walking with a grin on his face that doesn’t seem to want to leave, even when his jaw starts hurting.

-

The first buildings are completely stripped barns. The rest of town is behind a chainlink fence with barbed wire at the top. The fencing itself is at an odd angle, like it was installed incorrectly, or has simply been punished by time- regardless, it goes straight across the road with a padlocked gate smack in the middle, and Ray sticks to the trees and observes for a couple of hours before risking approaching. He would have liked to walk the whole perimeter of this thing first, maybe scouted for a couple of days, but he’s out of water and out of options.

The lock is a bit rusted, but still sturdy. Ray pulls out the little metal piece he found on the ground a long-ass time ago and quickly jimmies it, flinching as the noise rings out through the relative quiet- but he doesn’t hear a flurry of footsteps or shouting, so he carefully puts the metal piece away and opens the gate just enough to slip through.

Hopefully, whoever lived here is long gone.

The ‘town’ is little more than a smattering of old shops, decrepit brick buildings, and a few rotting houses. Ray is able to walk from one end to another in a few minutes- the buildings outside of the fence perimeter look to have been picked clean, like the ones he saw before he came in.

Huh.

-

The first three shops are empty of everything useful. The convenience store has a few rotting porno mags (all women, of course) and a full stock of alcohol (hard pass), but all of the food is gone, along with the batteries and the fidget spinner display. The music store next door is full of instruments and not much else. Ray doesn’t bother doing more than sticking his head through the door of the diner- the smell of long gone food is all he really needs to know.

Next down the line is a little Mom and Pop bank. Strangely, the door is locked, and with a proper cylinder one no less. Even tiny towns like this took the security of their money safely, he guesses- too bad it’s all useless now.

But when Ray peeks in the window, he thinks he can see something like sleeping bags and boxes. Whoever lives or lived here put their shit in the bank and locked the door.

He thinks he saw paperclips in the convenience store. It wouldn’t be the first lock he’s picked since the fall of civilization.

“Hey there.”

-

Oh. Fuck.

-

Ray turns around slowly, schooling his expression to keep the fear away. Confidence is key. He can talk his way out of this.

A man stands in the road with his arms folded across his chest, having apparently been watching Ray look into the windows. His jeans look surprisingly new, but Ray is more focused on the strange metal piece on his head- What the hell is that?

“Whatcha doing?” The man asks.

“Just- Passing through,” Ray forces out, pressing his fists against his thighs to keep his hands from shaking. The dude might not have a visible weapon, but he looks about twice Ray’s size, and. He doesn’t like those odds. Not when he’s out of water and exhausted from hiking on the road for days.

The man looks Ray up and down. “Got any weapons?”

Well. Isn’t that the question.

But there’s no way he could have gotten here without any kind of protection, and this guy definitely knows that if he’s still alive, so Ray decides to make the best peace offering he can think of.

“There’s a gun in my bag,” He says, gesturing backward with his chin. “I’m out of bullets, though.”

The man takes a couple of steps forward, putting the distance between them at about five yards or so. “Throw the bag over.” At Ray’s look of apprehension, he quickly adds, “I won’t steal any of your shit. Just can’t be too careful.”

Ray agrees with that sentiment, and he figures this guy would have clocked him while his back was turned if he wanted to take his stuff, so he shrugs the bag off and carefully tosses it in the man’s direction.

He catches it easily. “Front pocket,” Ray says, and the man quickly finds the pistol and checks the clip. It is, of course, empty, and Ray earns a nod of approval.

While the guy quickly checks the rest of the backpack, Ray gets a better look at his weird hat, and decides it must be a crown, based on the shape. But it’s made of iron, and rusted all to hell, like the man fished it out of a fucking river or something, and Ray can’t keep his fucking mouth shut, so he says-

“Wow, uh… Iron, huh? How’d you even get it wet enough to rust that bad? Why not, like, gilde it, or something?”

The man looks up sharply. “Oh,” he says, dropping Ray’s bag and crossing his arms. “Oh, oh, I’m sorry I don’t carry gilding materials around. Sorry I’m not prepared, like you. Where’s your crown, huh?” He gestures to Ray’s head and raises an eyebrow. “You don’t have one? I didn’t think so. Watch yourself.”

Ray blinks. “I… Okay.”

“Anyway,” The man says, nudging Ray’s backpack away with his foot. “If you’re just passing through, you can be on your way.”

...Alright. Maybe he didn’t think this through, because he still needs water if he’s going to get anywhere.

“Or, if you were lying earlier about your intentions, I have a couple more options for you.”

“Uh,” Ray intones.

“If you’re one of those raiders from San Angelo, and you bring violence to my door, I will destroy you and all of your friends. But you don’t really look like the raider type.”

He seems to be waiting for a response, so Ray shakes his head.

“If you’re a wanderer in need of supplies or somewhere to rest, we’re always willing to trade food and shelter for good work.”

“Are there more of you?”

The man snorts. “Do you think I put that fence up by myself?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Ray says, carding a hand through his hair. “You’re wearing a rusty-ass crown, man. I’m not making any assumptions.”

He considers this for a moment. Then he nods. “That’s fair.”

“Okay, well, uh… Can I have my stuff?”

“Sure.” He picks up Ray’s bag and tosses it over to him.

“Thanks, man.” Ray carefully pulls it back on, making sure the straps didn’t get fucked up. “I might take you up on some of those supplies. I ran out of water, and I could use batteries, if you happen to have any you can spare.”

“Water I can do. Batteries are gonna be a little more tricky.”

“Sure.” Ray tries to mask his disappointment.

“Tricky,” he says, “But not impossible. How about I show you what we’re looking for, and you decide if you want to stick around?”

“Sounds good.”

-

The man shows him a few spots where the fence is particularly bad, and explains that it needs to be repaired by holding it straight and piling up more dirt around the support poles. He takes Ray to a decently sized vegetable garden that needs to be fertilized, and shows him the barn where a few cows and chickens are hanging out. Finally, he points out the vines growing up the side of one of the brick buildings.

“Those need to be cut back,” he says. “But we don’t have a very good ladder, and the lightest person in our group is afraid of heights, so we haven’t been able to take care of that.”

Ray looks up at the vines, then over at the ladder lying on the ground nearby. It’s one of those simple rung ones that you just, kinda… Lean on stuff. And it definitely looks a bit beat up.

“Are you afraid of heights?”

“No,” Ray says. “But I’m afraid of breaking my neck after a shitty ladder dumps me on my ass.”

The man laughs. “We’ll have to beef that thing up, then. There’s another job you could help with.”

“Yeah.” Ray tucks his hands in his pockets and looks around. This place… Is really nice, actually. And while they were on their little tour, he noticed the solar panels on one of the buildings as well as the water pumps near the edge; that, in combination with secure(ish) walls and healthy livestock? It’s all the makings of a paradise, right here in the middle of Nowhere, Texas.

All that’s left is to see if he meshes well enough to be tolerated.

-

He starts with helping the man repair the fence. It’s the least he can do, since he broke their lock- not that he’ll be sharing that detail anytime soon.

Ray finds himself holding the fencepost up while the man transfers over earth from a pile he’s already made nearby.

“So,” he says between shovelfuls. “What’s your name?”

“Ray. You?”

“Ryan.”

“Cool.”

There’s a pause while Ryan wipes the sweat from his brow. It’s not the hottest weather Ray’s dealt with, but he’s still glad Ryan’s the one shoveling dirt in direct sunlight, and not him.

“What did you like to do, before?” Ryan asks.

“Video games.” Ray instantly replies. That’s what he misses the most. More than showers, and more than burgers, he wishes he had something to fill all of the empty hours, because books are usually too bulky to justify keeping around, and he broke his fucking fidget spinner.

Ryan perks up upon hearing his answer. “What kind of games?”

“First person shooters, mostly. But I played anything that interested me.”

“Ever play Fallout?”

“Of course.”

“Three was my favorite.”

“I’m a New Vegas man myself,” Ray replies, “But Three is definitely a close second.”

“They really got a lot of details wrong about the apocalypse,” Ryan says, jamming his shovel into the ground so he can lean on it and look around. “No one’s out here starting up radio stations or making new currencies or anything like that.”

“They got the bandits right, though.” Ray suppresses the urge to touch the scar on his abdomen from his last run-in with them.

“True.”

They work in quiet for a few minutes, and while they’re moving on to the next post, Ray maybe, might have just noticed that the dude has a nice butt. Ryan is the first friendly person he’s seen in literally months, okay? He can’t be blamed for appreciating him.

“God,” Ryan says, breaking the silence. “I really don’t miss taxes.”

Ray snorts. “Where’d that come from?”

“I was just thinking about money, and monetary systems, and how organized governments are a requirement for civilization- but they rely on taxation to maintain themselves, so if you want the benefits of society, you have to pay into it. And, I mean, that’s only fair, but doing my taxes every year fucking sucked.”

“Amen to that. I always made my friend Tina do mine for me so the IRS wouldn’t come steal all my shit.”

“Not sure if that’s how it works,” Ryan says with a smile. “Pretty sure they would just put you in jail.”

“Oh, hate that. I’d end up someone’s bitch in record fucking time.”

“Maybe you could be someone’s cuddle bitch.” He stops to pack down the dirt. “Get all of the protections with none of the anal.”

“Nah. I’m all or nothing,” Ray says.

Ryan laughs, and Ray realizes two things:

He likes Ryan’s laugh. It’s kind of breathy and chuckle-y.

He probably shouldn’t have made a joke about anal sex to a strange man he just met, particularly in the south.

Unfortunate, but at least he didn’t get his teeth kicked in.

-

After a couple of hours of labor (or, in Ray’s case, hanging out and holding a pole), Ryan takes him to the bank building and unlocks the door with a key hanging from a chain around his neck.

“Everyone else is out foraging at the town a few miles out,” Ryan explains. “You can take my bed. I’ll use one of theirs.”

“What are they looking for?” Ray asks, taking a seat in the spot Ryan indicated. “You guys seem like you’ve got a pretty sick setup.”

“Bullets. Medicine. Toilet paper. Any new books or magazines, since we’ve all read everything here. All of the stuff that we can’t replace on our own.”

Ray nods. “Makes sense.”

“We try to be as smart as we can with what we have, but there will be emergencies or circumstances that we can’t predict; maybe a solar panel will go down, or a cow will die, or someone gets sick. If we’re prepared for that, it makes us stronger.”

None of the groups Ray has been with in the past had ever thought that far ahead. They’d have been satisfied to sit on their asses with a setup like this; aside from maybe one or two people he’s met, everyone seemed to become content with letting things rot, after the world ended. He didn’t blame them- still doesn’t- but seeing this, seeing what a settlement could be, Ray doesn’t want to go back.

-

He asks that night, when Ryan turns out the lamp- powered by batteries recharged with the solar panels- and the room is dark, save for the tiny amount of ambient light filtering through the windows.

“What’s up with the crown?”

In the dark, he can’t see Ryan beyond a basic silhouette, so all he has to go off of is the sound of his voice.

“It makes people think I’m crazy, which is helpful, because crazy people are unpredictable, so bandits don’t like to fight them.”

“Ah.”

“It’s also fun to think about how I could declare myself king, and there’s no one to stop me. Monarchies were never built on anything substantial to begin with. Who’s to say my name can’t be the next royal lineage?”

Ray hums, because he has no fucking clue how to respond to that.

“But mostly it’s because my nickname in college was The Mad King, and it’s nice to be reminded of happier times.”

“‘The Mad King?’” Ray repeats. “How’d you get that one?”

“We were doing democracy simulations in my government class. Things escalated.”

Ray shifts to settle more comfortably against the pillow. “Escalated how?”

“Well, the farm animals were taking up too much space, so all I did was suggest that we keep them underground.”

Ray snorts. “Like, in tunnels?”

“Like in holes.”

“Oh.”

There’s a pause.

“People weren’t being receptive to my ideas, so I wrote legislation that allowed me to annex more power until I was functionally a dictator, and then I declared myself king. And the animals in holes thing saved us millions, in my defense.”

“You’re fucking weird, man.” Ray mutters, but he’s smiling.

Ryan chuckles. “Can’t argue with that.”

-

The group returns three days after Ray’s arrival. In the interim, he helps Ryan repair the remainder of the fence, weed the garden, fertilize it to get ready for planting, and cut some of the growth on the lower portions of the buildings. All the while, they talk, about nothing and everything- the past, the future, their experiences with the new world, their experiences with the old one. Ryan is funny in a dry, quick-witted sort of way, and kind of terrifyingly smart. He seems to know something about everything. But he’s not an asshole about it; he offers his knowledge to contribute to a conversation, rather than to talk down to Ray, and he appreciates that.

They just… Get along. And by that third day, most of their conversation is an exchange of jokes that flow fluidly between them.

It’s normal.

But the normality is interrupted when they hear a great commotion, and Ryan’s face lights up with excitement as he splits into a grin and runs for the gate. Ray follows at a slower pace, already aware of what’s going to be waiting there and more than a little bit nervous for it. He really like Ryan. He really like living here, where there’s infinite water from the ground and a shit ton of food, both from cans and from the vegetable garden.

He never thought he’d see a familiar face in the small crowd that enters town.

-

Ray didn’t let himself think about his friends. It hurt too much.

But there’s Michael, looking maybe a bit more haggard and a great deal more tired, grinning as he slings an arm around the shoulders of the tanned man next to him.

Michael’s alive.

-

“Ray?!” He cries as he spots him meekly approaching.

All of the previous chatter comes to a grinding halt and all six of the newcomers are now staring at him.

“Holy shit,” Michael says, releasing the man beside him to rush forward- Ray takes an instinctive step back, but Michael doesn’t stop- and he barrels straight into him, wrapping him in the tightest hug he’s received in a very long time. “Holy shit!” He repeats, much louder this time. “You’re alive! You fucking asshole, I can’t believe- How the fuck did you end up here?”

Ray makes a small choken noise and Michael’s grip instantly softens, allowing Ray more room to breathe. “I- I don’t know,” he stammers. “I got lost, and I followed the road.”

Michael pulls back but keeps his arms on Ray’s shoulders. The weight makes Ray feel more certain that this is real, and that Michael won’t just disappear when he blinks.

“Jesus, I can’t believe it’s you. I’m so fucking happy to see you, man.”

“Me too,” Ray says, wistful. And he means it.

-

Going from being by himself to being around Ryan wasn’t too hard.

Going from being around Ryan to being around Ryan, Michael, and their five groupmates? A little more tricky.

Everyone is pretty friendly to him. Ray learns that the tan guy’s name is Gavin, and that he and Michael are… Something. He asks Ryan one day while they’re pumping water to bring back in those big five gallon jugs.

He laughs. “Geoff’s convinced it’s a really long game of Gay Chicken. Jack thinks they just need to fuck and get it over with. Jeremy and Matt think they’re just genuinely unaware of how gay their friendship is.”

“What do you think?”

Ryan smirks. “I think they know.”

“Oh?” Ray raises an eyebrow.

Ryan looks over his shoulder and leans in to Ray before whispering conspiratorially, “I walked in on them making out last week.”

“Fuck, guess that’s that.”

“Yeah. They haven’t said anything about it though, so it might not be… Formal?”

“Makes sense.” Ray accepts the full cooler from Ryan and loads it onto the Radio Flyer.

“Do you think you could ever be in a formal relationship, after everything?”

“Like, after the apocalypse?” Ray asks. Ryan doesn’t look at him, but nods. “I dunno. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

Ha. That’s a lie.

“Would you?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says. “With the right person, I think I would.”

-

Ryan places his hand on Ray’s shoulder. “I’m headed out.”

“Okay, man. See you later. Be safe.”

He watches Ryan head out the door. It’s been a few months, but he can still appreciate that view.

“Really, dude?”

Ray’s attention is snapped back to the card game he’s playing with Michael. “What?”

“You still haven’t made a fucking move.”

“Shut the fuck up, you have no room to talk.”

Michael raises his eyebrows. “And how’s that?”

“Have you told Gavin you want to be more than bros yet?”

He tosses his cards down and folds his arms. “That’s different.”

“I don’t see how. Embrace the bromance, Michael. It’s the only way.”

“Hey man, I’m just saying- I get to make out with him even if I don’t actually talk about feelings and shit with him. When was the last time you got any?”

“When was the last time you did? We all sleep in the same fucking room.”

Michael smirks.

“No,” He says. “You do not fuck in here.”

“Whatever you say, man.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Michael. Really?”

“Sometimes it’s not even one of our beds that we end up on. Things get confusing, in the heat of the moment-”

“Gross,” Ray says. “Awful. Horrible. I’m burning all of my bedding.”

“Nah, I’m fucking with you.”

“I’m not taking that risk.”

“Maybe you can share with Ryan instead.”

Ray buries his face in his hands. “I fucking hate you.”

Michael laughs.

-

The raiders come in the middle of the night.

Jeremy is the one on watch, but he has to do his watch from the ground, because he’s afraid of heights, so he doesn’t see them sneaking up from the opposite side while he’s on his perimeter walk, and they’re inside before he spots them.

Ray has never been good at fighting. His hands shake violently as he loads the clip into his pistol, flinching with every bullet that flies over his hiding spot. He was with Gavin, but they got separated when Gavin ran off to help Michael after seeing him get punched by one of the raiders, and now Ray is alone, and he doesn’t know what to do.

He locks the clip into place, takes the safety off, and counts down from three in his head before popping up, surveying the scene, and dropping back down. Not a heartbeat later, a bullet flies right where his head was. Ray chokes on his breath and spends several seconds coughing and wheezing.

He glances around- still no sign of the others around him, but he can hear their shouts and the sounds of returning fire.

He hears a pained cry nearby that makes his blood freeze.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Ray is dashing out of cover, rounding the corner and coming into view of two of the raiders, a crumpled form between them, one aiming a gun at a head partially covered by a rusty iron crown.

The scream he lets out is primal, and Ray doesn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.

When their buddy with the gun falls to the ground, the other raider turns and sprints at Ray, brandishing a knife. He shoots again, but misses by a mile because his damn hands won’t stop shaking- fuck, did he hit Ryan- and then they’re upon him, tackling him to the ground, and it’s all he can do to keep their arm away from him, to keep the knife from piercing his skin.

God, this is how he’s gonna die. Whatever. He’s seen worse.

But then the raider is thrown off of him, and Ray is splattered with blood as Ryan smashes their head in with a baseball bat they found when they went scavenging together a couple months back.

There’s a pause, while Ryan pants, and Ray tries to catch up with what just happened.

“I don’t think the autograph is valid anymore,” Ryan says grimly, and Ray breaks into wheezing hysterical laughter right there on the ground.

-

They manage to drive out the raiders without losing anyone, but there are injuries.

Ryan’s ribs are bruised to hell and a couple of his fingers are broken on his left hand. Jeremy took a nasty hit to the head that’s left him concussed. Most worrying is Michael, who was ‘lightly stabbed’ (his words) when a couple raiders came at him at once.

It’s a pretty sorry sight the next morning, with the injured set up on the teller counters while Jack patches them up. Ray and Gavin elected to stay and ‘help’ Jack rather than clearing out the bodies with Geoff and Matt. Neither of them have the stomach for it, so here they are, watching as bones are set and bandages are wrapped.

Ryan insists on going to help as soon as he’s wrapped up. Ray stands to go with him.

“Don’t let him lift anything heavy,” Jack warns.

“If he lifts something heavy and makes his ribs worse, I’ll break them myself.” Ray promises.

“Okay. Don’t actually do that.”

“I don’t think he even could,” Michael pipes up. “Look at those twig arms, Jack.”

“Good point.”

-

Geoff takes one look at Ryan’s bandaged hand and the way he hobbles over and points in the direction of the garden. “Go make sure the vegetables are okay. Don’t even think about trying to move any of these fucker’s bodies in your condition.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “Okay, Mom.”

Geoff jabs his finger and goes back to dragging one of the corpses into the wheelbarrow.

-

“I think the vegetables are okay.” Ryan says. In spite of Ray’s protests, he’s down on his hands and knees, visibly flinching with every move but carefully inspecting the trampled plants. “A little fucked up, but they’ll make it.”

“How can you tell?”

Ryan sits up and brushes the dirt from his arms. “I’m a botanist. I know these things.”

“You were a theatre major.” Ray points out.

“You got me there.”

Ray extends a hand, helping Ryan up when he takes it. He lets go.

Ryan doesn’t.

“Listen, Ray…”

Ray swallows, shifting his weight from foot to foot while Ryan seems to collect his thoughts. He’s still holding on to Ray’s hand.

“I was so scared last night that I was going to lose you.” He turns his gaze to Ray, locking their eyes together. No amount of nerves would be enough to turn Ray’s attention. “You’re really important to me. What we have right now- this is important. But, uh… I mean, you’ve probably already figured it out- I’m not so great with the whole ‘subtlety’ thing. But I really like you.”

Ray’s heart skips a beat.

“If you’re- If you’d be, uh, if you would want to maybe… Like, potentially try to…” Ryan trails off, face tinted pink and looking a bit frustrated with himself. “Fuck, why can’t I say this. I-I would be- You would be…”

Ray huffs out a small laugh. Ryan’s facade of smooth confidence has completely melted away, and all that’s left is the stuttering nerd underneath.

He uses his free hand to cup Ryan’s face.

“You’re a dork,” he says. “I like you too.”

Ryan lights up like Ray just handed him an endless supply of Diet Coke. But he’s still just sitting there, looking shocked and happy, so Ray makes the move for both of them and presses up on his toes to kiss him.

Ryan reciprocates, and it’s a short, tender thing, and then Ray steps back, maintaining their hands as a point of physical connection.

“Wow,” Ryan says after a moment, looking almost in a daze. “If some measly broken fingers were all it took for you to kiss me, I would have snapped them myself ages ago.”

Ray snorts and squeezes Ryan’s fingers. “Careful. Keep talking like that and I’ll start demanding regular sacrifices.”

Ryan uses his index and middle finger on his bad hand to brush some hair back from Ray’s face, and he’s kind of relieved that he got covered in blood last night, because they don’t usually bother making trips to go bathe in the nearby creek, and he had built up a decent stink before the raiders came.

“What kinds of sacrifices are we talking here?”

“Oh, you know,” Ray replies, leaning into Ryan’s touch. “Fat stacks. Weed. All of the gum you can find.”

“You know we live in a bank, right? I could get you as much money as you want.”

“Oh, shit, you’re right. Guess you’ll have to give me your crown instead.”

Ryan laughs. “That’d have to be a pretty damn good trade. What are you offering in exchange?”

“Hey,” Geoff’s voice carries from probably around a block away. “You two better not be fucking in my garden.”

They look in the direction Geoff’s voice came from, then back at each other, and burst out laughing.

“It’ll help fertilize the crops!” Ray eventually manages to call out.

Geoff’s responding cry is a mix between anguish and disgust.

-

Ryan stops by the table to kiss the top of Ray’s head and drop off a bottle full of water before heading toward the door. “Be back in a bit, dear.”

“Aight,” Ray replies, reaching out to trail his fingers down Ryan’s arm as he passes. “Later, babe.”

Michael makes an exaggerated gagging noise.

Gavin stops staring at his cards in befuddlement to give Ray a similar look. “How do you guys already sound like old people?”

Ray blinks at him. “What?”

“Y’know,” Gavin gestures vaguely. “Like you’ve been married fifty years.”

“It’s because they’ve been dating for, like, two years, Gav.” Michael says, giving Ray a pointed look.

Ray sticks his tongue out.

But Gavin has a point, confusing as his wording might be; they’ve barely been together two months, but it seems like all of the ease that came with their friendship has only increased when romance is added into the equation. Now Ray doesn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing or letting a touch linger too long, because there are no secret crushes to accidentally reveal, and no friendships to permanently ruin with unreciprocated feelings.

“I’m being serious, Michael,” Gavin protests. “It’s like you just flipped a switch!”

“Good dick will do that,” Ray sagely replies.

Gavin turns bright red and Michael makes another noise of disgust.

Ray grins and plays his card, winning himself the game and the two pieces of candy they had bet on it.

“Son of a bitch,” Michael groans. “Fuck you, Ray.”

“You wish.”

“I really don’t.”

“Your loss.” He says as he claims his candy.

-

The world is empty and dangerous these days, but Ray has staked out his claim of simplicity, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to defend that.

Luckily, as their family grows, the resources they find grow with them: two guys called Trevor and Alfredo, along with their dog, Teeko, lead a decent-sized herd of sheep with them as they cross Texas, searching for somewhere safe to settle. A woman named Mica comes and stays for a few days, disappears, and returns a month later with hundreds and hundreds of seeds for all sorts of edible plants. Lindsay and Meg come in the dead of winter with a horse-drawn wagon filled with canned goods that pull them comfortably through the cold. The best addition comes from Larry, who informs them that the raider tribe that had been living in the nearby town has apparently cleared out, leaving their sizeable cattle herd behind. With some careful planning and help from Teeko, the herd is relocated to the fields around their town, and the barns are refurbished to accommodate the new population.

They expand the fence perimeter and reinforce it. Trevor works with Matt to devise a way to insure their water supply stays reliable. The garden grows, and they have access to meat now that they have all of this excess cattle.

Things are looking pretty fucking good.

-

Ray is sitting with his feet dangling over the rooftop’s edge, Ryan sat criss cross beside him, pressing his knee against Ray’s thigh.

“Do you think things will ever go back to normal?” Ray asks.

Ryan contemplates for a moment. “I hope not.”

Ray turns to look at him. “Why?”

“Humans weren’t very good at being nice to the planet,” he explains, gaze soft as he watches the sunset. “We fucked it up pretty good. Nature took back over.”

“Nature got tired of you putting farm animals in holes,” Ray says, plucking the crown from Ryan’s head and placing it on his own.

“It was a very economical use of space,” Ryan argues, but he’s smiling. He leans in to kiss Ray, and while he’s distracted, steals his crown back.

Ray grasps his chest dramatically. “I can’t believe this,” he says. “Betrayed, by my own boyfriend.”

“Be happy I didn’t cut your hand off, you little thief.” Ryan replies, patting Ray’s knee.

“You’re so fucking weird.” Ray leans against Ryan’s chest and sighs contentedly as he automatically reaches around his shoulder to tuck him in closer.

“Yeah, but you knew what you were getting into.”

“I certainly did.”

They both pause to watch the last sliver of the sun disappear beyond the horizon. Stars are already winking into view in the darker portion of the sky; it’s shaping up to be a beautifully clear night.

They retreat to the blankets they laid out earlier and lie back, watching as a few points of light turn into hundreds, then thousands, and they have a clear view of the meteor shower playing out overhead, pressed together on the rooftop, hands clasped.

When Georgia outlawed superheroics- whoops, outlawed dangerous vigilante justice- Ryan had felt lost. He’d spent the better part of his 35 years of life defending the streets of Brunswick and now the local PD, government, and general populace scared by propaganda was sending a clear message: We don’t want you.

He knew it was coming. When Alabama began making pioneering legislation on a statewide level to ban the practice of superhuman powers, it would only be a matter of time before the rest of the South followed suit, not willing to be outdone by any other bastion of conservative traditionalism. But he was still unprepared, still dropped his morning coffee, still sat on his knees just beyond his front door, numbly reading the headline over and over and trying to make any sense of it.

It was a terrible couple of weeks. By the end of it, he had given up his lease, packed up his meager belongings, quit his job, and taken all of his money out of his savings account. Now, he’s sitting on the empty hardwood floor of his living/dining room (not his anymore), ignoring how his laptop has started to burn his thighs and scrolling through the flight lists out of the Brunswick Golden Isles Airport.

He wants to stay local, but Ryan knows that’s not a good idea. The only valid long term choices before him lie on either coast, where the ideas are progressive and the cities are corrupt. He makes a short list on a piece of paper, tears it into strips with a city name on each, and mixes them up in his favorite baseball cap. Then he sits with the thing in his lap, staring at the contents, wondering what the hell his future holds.

It was never a question for Ryan, whether or not he should continue to protect people from the evils of the world; he’s been in this game for a long, long time, and he’s not about to drop his morals, his obligation to the innocent just because things got a little hard. People get scared. Politicians make moves. Bills get passed, change gets banned, and lives are permanently changed in the name of public interest. He can’t bring himself to resent the people he’s given his life to for rejecting him- if Ryan were just another citizen trying to live his life with such frightening things clouding his reality, he would be scared, too.

So he picks a crumpled ball out of the hat and unfolds it without further hesitation.

And within five minutes, Ryan has booked his flight to Los Angeles.

Apartments in the city are fucking expensive. Many times more so than anything in Brunswick- but at least there are jobs in Ryan’s field here, with flexible hours. Still, he’s not able to afford living on his own, so he gets in touch with an old friend who happens to live in the area.

“Thank you so much, Geoff,” Ryan repeats as Geoff leads him up the stairs of his new building. “Seriously. You’re a lifesaver.”

“No problem, man- But I don’t know how long you’ll be thankful. Gavin’s like a brother to me, but he can be… A bit much.”

Ryan shrugs. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Besides, you got me a place to live, someone to split rent, and put me in touch with someone interested in recruiting, to boot. I have no idea how I’m gonna make all of this up to you.”

Geoff glances back at him with a lopsided smile. “Invite me over for enchiladas. And don’t kill Gavin.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow. “You know I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Geoff mumbles. “Still. I know you’re capable of a lot more than you let on, Mr. Of-Course-I-Know-How-To-Throw-Knives.”

That brings out a chuckle in Ryan as Geoff unlocks the door and pushes it open.

The laughter ends in the same moment that Ryan is able to get a look past Geoff and see what’s inside.

There’s shit everywhere. Boxes, clothes, crumpled up plastic packaging, wrappers, stacks of dishes, empty Red Bull cans- there’s barely a square inch of flat surface that hasn’t been covered in some way by mess. Ryan goes stiff just at the sight of it.

Geoff, too, has gone stiff. He breaks out of his temporary freeze to pinch the bridge of his nose and call out, “Gavin, didn’t I fucking tell you to clean your shit up?”

There’s a distinctly bird-like sound from somewhere out of sight, and then a head pokes around the corner in the hall. Ryan sincerely hopes that the kid with a giant nose and hair that looks like it was just attacked by a ceiling fan isn’t Gavin. Simultaneously, he knows that this must be Gavin, because his eyes bug out when he spots Geoff, and then he disappears, giving an alarmed call when Geoff immediately makes chase. He practically has to wade across the living room to reach the hallway.

While Geoff takes off after Gavin, Ryan takes a single step through the threshold and rolls his bag against the wall beside the door, surveying the space in closer detail. It’s… Not as bad as he originally thought. Most of the mess is surface-level stuff that’ll be taken care of by a quick pickup. The furniture seems clean and on the higher end range of quality, and there’s no smell of rotting food or noticeable stains, so Gavin must be capable of keeping things at least sort of tidy. Maybe he’s just had a bad week, like Ryan. Had he not put all of his belongings in boxes and limited his meals to things that come in styrofoam or paper bags, Ryan is certain that his own apartment would have ended up littered in empty Diet Coke cans and discarded socks.

Geoff returns with presumably-Gavin tucked under his arm in a loose chokehold. The man is stumbling along and batting weakly at Geoff’s arms. Ryan fails to suppress an amused snort at the sight of his pathetic attempts at breaking the hold.

“Ryan,” Geoff says, finally releasing his prisoner, who springs to the side and quickly starts reordering his shirt and running a hand through his hair. “This is Gavin Free, mess maker extraordinaire. Gavin, this is Ryan Haywood. He just moved here from-”

“Georgia, yeah, I know,” Gavin cuts in. His voice is thickly affected with a British accent. “You only told me a few thousand times, Geoffrey.”

He finishes dusting himself out and thrusts his hand in Ryan’s direction. Ryan automatically clasps Gavin’s hand in his own and they shake. Gavin, he notices, has a warm hand and a firm grip. “Nice to meet you.” Ryan says, still going on autopilot.

“And you.” Gavin releases him and crosses his arms over his chest. Geoff elbows him in the ribs and Gavin jumps dramatically out of reach with a small noise of protest, then adds a quickly mumbled, “Sorry for the mess.”

“Gavin here has a bad habit of forgetting to live like a normal human being when he’s on a deadline,” Geoff explains. “So if you come home and he looks like he’s dead, just poke him a couple of times, and he should revive.”

Gavin sticks his tongue out at Geoff, then looks down at his feet- which leads his gaze around the cluttered floor, and he shrinks subtly back. “I, uh-” He gives a short laugh. “Sorry. Hadn’t realized how bad it’s gotten. I’ll, ah, I’ll grab the bin and… Take care of some of this.”

Ryan nods, tensing under the somewhat awkward air the room has taken, and turns to start fiddling with the luggage tag on his suitcase.

Gavin notices. “Where’s the rest of it?” He asks.

“There’re a couple of boxes being delivered, but other than that, this is all I have,” Ryan explains, shrugging the shoulder supporting the strap of his carryon for emphasis. “I tend to live lightly.”

“Oh,” Gavin replies, then quickly returns to picking his way across the room to the kitchen. He returns a moment late with a small trashcan and an empty liner.

Geoff sighs, shaking his head, and turns to Ryan. “Well, let me know if this cock sucker causes you too much trouble. For now, I gotta get back to the office. Jack’s already getting on my ass for taking a long lunch today- no need to give him any more reason to complain.”

“Sure. Thanks, Geoff.”

Then Geoff leaves him alone with Gavin. It takes Ryan exactly ten seconds before he asks, “Where are the trash bags?”

“Under the sink,” Gavin replies. “Why?”

Ryan quickly retrieves one and starts helping pick up. Gavin mumbles something appreciative and they work in silence until the main area is in a more acceptable state, Gavin occasionally making trips down the hall loaded down with a box or a pile of laundry. It doesn’t take too long, between them, to get the job done.

“I’ll take the rubbish bags downstairs, if you want to go check out your room,” Gavin offers. “It’s the second door on the left.”

Ryan is fairly certain that ‘rubbish bag’ isn’t a term that’s actually used in England, but he doesn’t say anything. Gavin’s already embarrassed enough as it is. No need to make Ryan’s presence something traumatic to his new roommate.

The room is a decent size, and it has good closet space. There’s already a bed frame with a mattress and a dresser shoved into the corner. Ryan isn’t sure if he’s meant to use them or if they belong to Gavin, so he sets his bags down on the floor and changes into some clean clothes, plugs in his nearly dead phone to charge, then returns to the living room to test out the couch.

He’s appreciating Gavin’s shelf full of XBox games when the man stumbles back into the apartment, nearly tripping over his own feet, but saving it at the last minute and stumbling onto solid footing. He glances up at Ryan and visibly deflates, because yeah, there’s no way in hell Ryan didn’t catch that graceful display- he’s looking right at him.

“Are the dresser and bed yours?” Ryan asks, hoping to skip the hellishly awkward interaction that would follow.

“The what?” Gavin squints at him for a moment before perking up. “Oh! Yeah, I guess. Haven’t exactly been using them, though. You can have them.”

Ryan blinks. “I… Are you sure? They don’t exactly look cheap.”

Gavin waves a hand dismissively through the air. “Yeah, s’no problem. I’ve got money.”

Ryan presses his lips together, uncertain of how to respond to the gesture. Luckily, Gavin doesn’t seem to be looking for any grand response, as he just plops down on the other end of the sofa, flips on the TV, and boots up his XBox.

“D’you play Hitman?” He asks as the main loading screen starts up.

Ryan nods, slowly. It’s sort of ironic for a superhero to enjoy a game where you commit crime, but Ryan has always found the simulated violence somewhat soothing in ways he can’t quite explain.

With his phone charging in the other room, there’s not much Ryan has to do except watch Gavin play. He could always get up and wander back, set out on the task of unpacking his few belongings and retire early, but he quickly decides that Gavin is entertaining enough to make hanging around worth it.

“Ah! Got you now, you mincey little prick-” He starts, while the character onscreen stalks after his target. But a security guard appears pretty much out of nowhere, startling the both of them- only, Ryan manages to keep his reaction internal, whereas Gavin gives a grand shout and practically flings his controller into the air. It sails in a clean arc directly for Ryan’s head. He tracks the motion, almost lazily, before snapping his hand up at the last moment and snatching it out of the air.

Gavin stares at him, eyes wide and apologetic, as Ryan returns the controller.

“Good reflexes,” He eventually mumbles in lieu of an apology.

“Thanks,” Ryan replies through a short laugh. “Though I would prefer it if I didn’t need to use them.”

Gavin ducks his head and sets about restarting the mission- it seems the hitman was shot dead during the confusion.

After just a couple of hours, Ryan becomes acquainted with a great many new terms, none of which he had ever heard used before in his conscious life. Among them are ‘mingey spaff,’ ‘toss pot,’ and ‘absolute ponce.’ They sound completely fake, but when Ryan raises his eyebrows and asks, Gavin repeatedly insists that they’re not only real, but common, back in England. Ryan neglects to mention that he’s been to England a few times on (superhero) business, and has never heard anything like them.

At 11:00 PM, a few hours into Gavin’s Hitman marathon, Ryan starts eyeing the wall clock and weighing his options mentally. He hadn’t been planning on going out tonight- he’s jetlagged and assumed he would need to take time to adjust to his new surroundings before donning his suit and taking to the streets- but being around Gavin seems to have given him a boost of energy, and Ryan is itching to go out and start exploring the city and getting a feel for his new home.

He lets a half hour pass without making a decision, and then Gavin suddenly stiffens, staring up at the clock, and swears under his breath. He quickly saves and exits out of the game.

“What’s up?” Ryan asks.

Gavin’s already halfway to the hall when Ryan speaks, and he freezes, seemingly just remembering that he is not, in fact, alone. “Oh, uh…” Gavin shrugs lamely. “Got a deadline I forgot about. I need to work.” Then he disappears. Ryan hears a door open and shut, and then he sits in silence for a few moments, blinking away the confusion and heading for his own room to retrieve a jacket.

Since Gavin is now apparently busy, he’ll just walk around for a bit in plain clothes and start mentally mapping out the territory, seeing who’s around and what areas seem the most in need of his attentions.

The air outside is slightly brisk at worst, and way too warm to justify his coat regardless, so he rolls up the sleeves and tucks his hands into his pockets, then sets out down the street. He’ll take some time to wander and start getting a mental layout, and if he gets lost, well, that’s what Google Maps is for, right?

The street lights cast everything in a cold golden light. It’s quieter here than other parts of the city, Geoff assured him, but it’s still pretty damn loud; cars constantly roll past with varying adherence to the speed limit, and if he listens, Ryan can hear a mixture of wind through the trees and the hum of the technology keeping security systems and HVAC systems and traffic lights running.

About an hour into his walk, Ryan passes a small park that is little more than a block of grass dotted with benches and decides to go sit down for a few minutes. He can check in on the police scanners, he decides, and see where the action is this evening.

Just as he settles down onto what a small sign assures him is a wooden bench made from reclaimed milk cartons, he hears the unmistakable click of the safety being taken off of a gun, less than a foot behind his head.

“Gimme the phone and your wallet,” A hoarse voice says. “And no one gets hurt.”

Oh, Ryan thinks. How you’ll wish that was true.

He raises his hands in surrender and slowly stands, turning to face the mugger. He already has a plan for how he’ll proceed by the time the man’s face (completely uncovered, not very professional) comes into view, but that all goes out the window when he catches sight of another man, half hidden by the trunk of a tree a few feet away from the mugger. His green form-fitting suit is a pretty big giveaway that he is not, in fact, backup for the mugger. Another giveaway is the gloved finger he presses to his lips as he steps out from behind the bark and starts creeping closer.

The kid looks like he’s at least a decade Ryan’s junior, and it takes all of his willpower to resist rolling his eyes as the kid nearly steps on a fallen branch and gives himself away.

The mugger raises his eyebrows expectantly and gestures to Ryan’s pocket with the gun. “Are you stupid?” He asks. “Phone! Wallet! Now!”

The kid in green finally reaches the mugger and in a flash of movement, he smashes an open palm into his inner elbow, forcing him to drop the gun, then brings up a knee to smash firmly into the man’s groin. He goes down with a shout, smashing his forehead on the edge of the bench on his way down.

The kid grins victoriously as he kicks the gun out of the mugger’s reach and quickly retrieves it, placing a hand on the rim of his thick frame glasses and calling out, “Got him, Vav!”

Ryan looks around once more and notices yet another form hidden behind a tree- this one in blue. They’re too far and too hidden by the tree for Ryan to get a good look, but he catches a red-gloved thumbs up, then turns his attention back to the kid in green, who’s speaking again.

“Don’t fucking move, dirtbag,” He says. “I’ve got a new pair of glasses full of lasers, and I am itching for an excuse to use them.”

A quick tap into his powers allows Ryan to confirm this; the glasses indeed house a rather advanced heat guidance system which seems to be capable of channeling energy into beams. There’s no apparent power source; Ryan guesses that it come directly from the kid himself.

He seems to notice Ryan, turning to nod at him and stick his left hand out across his chest to shake. Ryan takes it and raises an eyebrow, silently asking for information like a good little civilian.

“Hey, man. How’s your evening going?”

“Beside being mugged?”

“Nearly mugged,” The man corrects, grinning. “Until some badass heroes swooped in and saved you. No need to thank us.”

“‘Us’?” Ryan repeats, glancing again at the blue one, who is still hiding behind a tree several yards away.

“Man,” He says, eyebrows raising. “You must be new here.”

“Just flew in this evening, actually.”

“Oh, sweet. Welcome to LA. I’m X-Ray.” He reaches across his chest with his free left hand to shake. “My partner Vav over there is calling the authorities. The police will want to talk to you, but…” X-Ray shrugs. “It’s your first night, so if you want to take off, it’s cool. This one’s pretty open and shut anyway.”

“Thanks,” He feels all of the exhaustion of the day hit him all at once, and it doesn’t take much for Ryan to make his decision. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

X-Ray nods. “Alright. Hopefully, you won’t ever have to seem me again. Goodnight, man.”

The apartment is quiet when Ryan returns, a little after 1 AM. He shrugs off his coat, grabs himself a glass of water, and heads for his room. The mattress is bare, but Ryan remembers seeing a linen closet in the bathroom, and he finds it full of everything he needs to dress the bed. He sets a note on his phone reminding him to check in on the delivery status for the rest of his belongings in the morning, then settles in.

And for once, his insomnia doesn’t keep him awake through the night.

Ryan goes out again at least four times a week for about a month before he decides it’s time.

During that month, he’s offered a job with the company Geoff works for, he receives the rest of his belongings and unpacks his room so it looks like someone actually lives there, he buys groceries so the pantry and fridge aren’t just home to lunchables and chips, and he spends a great many idle hours in the living room with Gavin. Thursday nights on particular have been consistently spent together, and Ryan has learned one fact over and over:

The dude is a fucking enigma.

Half of the time, he’s an idiot, plain and simple. He says things that make no sense, he asks completely random questions that hold little to no coherency, and he manages to trip over nothing but the air in front of him so many times that Ryan starts to seriously wonder if he was actually born with two left feet. He also stops even trying to keep his shit picked up after the first week, but Ryan’s long-sleeping paternal instinct curbs his irritation when he sees Gavin standing in the middle of the kitchen with an empty glass and a completely blank expression to go with his dark circles, and inevitably startles the shit out of him when he clears his throat or taps his shoulder to ask if he’s okay. It’s obvious that Gavin is tired most of the time, and not just normal tired, either- it’s the kind of tired indicative of weeks living off of minimal sleep. Ryan is familiar with that kind of exhaustion, and he knows better than to ask about it, particularly when they know so little about each other. So, instead, he sticks with humoring the other half of Gavin’s personality: debate, ranging from hypothetical to philosophical to even vaguely flirty in ways that often leave Ryan flustered.

“Ryan,” Gavin starts, as he usually does. “Do you get it when if someone says a nasty story about a penis, your actual penis hurts?”

Ryan peers at him over the top of his book.

“What the actual fuck are you talking about?

That one was… Not the most pleasant, since Gavin’s attempts to explain a situation wherein one might feel ‘empathetic penis pain’ nearly caused the man himself to vomit.

Gavin walks into the kitchen area with a look on his face that lets Ryan know immediately that he’s been contemplating whatever asinine thing he’s about to throw out into the air between them for at least an hour, maybe longer.

“If you sleep upside down, do you dream upside down?”

Ryan took a firm stance on that one- of course not, what kind of fucking question is that.

It’s entertaining, and Gavin never seems to push past what Ryan’s comfortable talking about, so he goes along with it and finds himself actively enjoying their conversations more often than not. Ryan decides that he’ll have to actually follow through with enchilada night, as a gesture of thanks toward Geoff.

Or so he thinks, until the incident after Gavin crashes in, drunk off his ass and stumbling into walls. Ryan has to catch him mid-fall to prevent him from cracking his head open on the coffee table.

“Ryan!” Gavin shouts, a combination of startled, observing, and delighted.

“Gavin,” Ryan greets, with considerably less enthusiasm.

“Ryan, did you know,” Gavin says, and Ryan starts to let go of him, but Gavin grabs onto his shirt and fists it tightly. “That you are very handsome?”

Ryan is taken aback. “I… Thanks?”

“Seriously,” Gavin says, eyebrows raising. “I’d do you. That’s not a lie. Michael bet me- Michael, that pleb. He owes me 20 quid now. He bet me I wouldn’t tell you.”

His brows press together. So Gavin was just… Following through on a bet?

“But he’s wrong. I was’gonna tell you, anyway. S’just scary. Can’t talk to a bloke without being piss drunk.”

Well. That answers that.

“...Come on,” Ryan says, gently gripping Gavin’s shoulders and steering him down the hall. “Let’s get you to bed.”

And if he remembered that conversation having taken place the next morning, he gives no indication of it.

Ryan buried his troubles in an indulgent glass of whiskey, and then he tried to follow Gavin’s example and pretend it had never happened.

But for right now, it’s finally time for him to suit up again. After over a month of inactivity, Ryan is eager to get back out and start protecting people again. He’s almost been desperate enough to start having conversations with his phone again, but having Gavin around deters most of the seemingly crazy behavior that he would otherwise be unconcerned about. Still, it’s come close.

Unfortunately, Gavin is home and out of his room this evening. Some nights, he goes ‘to get bevved up with Michael’ or locks himself away for hours at a time doing god knows what. This is not one of those nights. Instead, he’s curled up on the couch with a beer and a PS4 controller.

Ryan watches him for a moment unseen from the hallway before returning to his room, only slightly disappointed that he’ll be missing out on a Thursday evening of hanging out.

Superheroics is his calling, he reminds himself. It’s what he was born to do.

And it isn’t too difficult to get back into the right headspace for it, once he’s suited up and jumping out of his window.

His mask taps into the local police radios and scanners. There’s a massive overabundance of tech surrounding him when compared to things in Georgia, but he put on the helmet while locked in his room a few times before this to give himself time to adjust, and he’s used to the change by now. The helmet helps him to filter the incoming signals and finetune his power.

In under a minute, Ryan tracks down a signal for an armed robbery of a nearby convenience store. He taps into security cameras until he gets a view of the men in ski masks sprinting a couple of blocks down. With practiced ease, Ryan navigates the fastest path and cuts them off.

He senses X-Ray’s glasses around the corner, so he ducks back into an alley and lets them pass him, then steps out to help box them out when X-Ray pops out, blocking their escape. Their only other option is into busy traffic, which neither of them opts to take. With X-Ray’s assistance, Ryan manages to disarm one of the men, but the other punches him in the face- his knuckles skim uselessly off the helmet, but the blow had enough power to knock Ryan to the side- and slips past him. A flash of heat and light crosses inches from Ryan’s face, and then the man’s shoes are melted into the ground.

“Ha!” X-Ray cries. “Got you, asshole!”

The police catch up a few moments later, gratefully taking the men into custody. Their relieved smiles and breathy words of thanks make Ryan feel warm inside. It’s been a long while since his patrolling was met with gratitude, rather than suspicion or outright aggression.

“What can we call you?” One of the officers asks Ryan.

He smiles, though his expression is completely hidden by the mask. “Mechatronic.”

“Dude!” X-Ray shouts, and Ryan is seriously starting to wonder if this kid just has the one volume setting. “That name is cool as shit!”

Ryan is offered a gloved fist bump, which he accepts. “Where’s Vav?” He asks conversationally.

X-Ray shrugs. “He had shit to do tonight. I’m pretty sure he’s on a date, actually. Fucking nerd.”

“Dating someone makes you a nerd?”

“Of course! Us superheroes have to be married to justice! But I’m pretty sure this is just a sex thing, so.”

“Er… Right.” Ryan shakes his head at just how open X-Ray is about… Well, everything, if the few interviews he’s read are any indication. Aside from personal details which could reveal his secret identity, he seems willing to talk about and share just about any aspect of his life, including a fifteen minute rant with a CNN rep about the border between sexy teasing and annoying teasing. Ryan got about thirty seconds into that one before clicking away, face red.

“So, I’ve never seen you around here before,” X-Ray continues, apparently oblivious to Ryan’s slight discomfort. “Are you new in town?”

The cops are listening intently, apparently also eager to hear his answer.

“Yeah. I just moved here, and I want to help however I can.”

And so began his career as a hero of Los Angeles.

He stuck with X-Ray on a couple more calls that evening, then branched off toward home at around four in the morning. Gavin is passed out on the couch with a slightly alarming number of empties scattered around him. Ryan tucks the duvet laid across the couch around Gavin’s form before retreating back into his bedroom for the night.

Gavin is sulking the next morning. Ryan tries to ask him what’s up but receives only noncommittal grunts in return. His plan to just leave Gavin be lasts exactly until Gavin reaches for another beer at eleven in the morning, at which point Ryan retreats to his room and calls Geoff, because that shit is not normal.

“What did you do?”

“What did I do?” Ryan repeats, incredulous.

“Yes,” Geoff affirms. “He was fine up until you two started doing your fucking flirty dance. And even then, he was fine. But he called me last night to whine, and I couldn’t understand him because he was so fucking hammered. All I got was your name, and ‘Thursday’. So- What did you do?”

“I-I don’t…”

“Did you cancel a date to do superhero shit?”

Wow, does Ryan wish Geoff didn’t know his secret. “Geoff-”

“Fix it, Ryan. Seriously. I don’t want to have to kick your ass. Now, I gotta go. Some of us have to work normal fucking hours.”

And then he hung up, because Geoff’s a fucking asshole.

The pieces come together a few nights later, when he meets up with X-Ray in the same park where they originally met (though X-Ray does not know this), and for once, he’s not alone. Standing at his side is a man in what is pretty much a patriotic recolor of X-Ray’s suit. His face is obscured by a mask. It’s not enough.

“Sup, Mecha?” X-Ray greets. “This is Vav. Vav, this is the guy I’ve been telling you about.”

“I thought you’d be taller,” Vav comments, eyeing him critically.

Ryan’s brain short-circuits. He’d read a few of Vav’s interviews along with X-Ray’s, but since the two of them were basically a package deal from what Ryan could see, he didn’t bother with the videos, wary of repeating his earlier incident with X-Ray’s oversharing.

So. This is where Gavin goes at night.

“Uh… Sorry, I was just… Joking…” Vav- Gavin- looks supremely uncomfortable, and Ryan realizes he’s been standing under the silent scrutiny of the mask for several seconds.

He forces out a laugh and shrugs. “I’ve gotten that one before.”

His mask disguises his voice, and Gavin doesn’t seem to see through it, so Ryan decides that he’s probably clear for the immediate future and resolves to go through the motions this evening and figure out what the hell he’s supposed to do with this information at another point in time. A point where the object of his reluctant affections isn’t staring uneasily at him from behind a mask and wearing a cape.

“So,” Ryan says a few days later, because there’s no better conjunction to start this mess of a conversation with. “What’d’you think of those superhero guys?”

“Which ones?” Gavin replies, completely relaxed and casual. Ryan has to give him props; he was expecting some kind of physical tell, but Gavin’s body language gives away nothing.

“X-Ray and Vav, I think they’re called?”

“Seem alright,” He replies carefully. “Keep the city safe, I suppose. Why?”

Ryan presses his lips together, then decides fuck it, no chickening out now. He takes his mask out from where he’s been hiding it behind his back and quickly pulls it on, taking advantage of Gavin’s turned back to seize the element of surprise.

“Because your secret identity would be much better protected if you even tried to hide your accent.”

Gavin whirls around, all pretenses of calm shedding like water, and in its place is pure alarm.

He sputters for a few seconds, then seems to just give up completely on speaking, opting instead to bury his face in his hands.

Ryan removes the mask and mentally nudges the lights until they dim slightly.

Gavin looks up, startled, then relaxes with a small laugh. “You’re really the technopath, then. You’re really Mechatronic.”

“And you’re really Vav.” Ryan replies, taking small steps across the kitchen linoleum.

“What do we do, then?”

“What do we do, normally?”

Gavin shrugs. “Play games. I drink and flirt with you while you pretend to go along with it. The usual.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow. “Who decided I was pretending?”

And that, of all things, earns him the most startled look he’s ever seen cross Gavin’s features.

Rather than watching him stumble over the beginnings of more words, Ryan kisses him. It’s a clearer form of communication, anyway.

Ryan sends out the text inviting Geoff to enchilada night. Gavin extends the invitation to Ray.

“Hey! You fixed it!” Geoff shouts when he catches Ryan with his arm around Gavin’s waist.

‘Ray’ is just X-Ray, sans the X and the outfit. “Whoa,” he says when Ryan answers the door. “You’re the dude I rescued in the park! Man, you just let me say all that bravado shit when you could have kicked that dude’s ass?”

Ryan nods and smirks.

Ryan drummed his fingers on the counter as he regarded the plain bouquet sitting in front of him. There was something missing, besides color, that is, and he couldn’t yet place what it was. When placing the order, the customer had specifically requested that they make sure the bouquet have that je ne sais quoi factor to it. Ryan wasn’t sure why that mattered for a bouquet of flowers for your girlfriend, but the man had the money, and Ryan had the skill.

He hummed and removed several of the calla lilies from the bouquet. The all white and virginal thing was an outdated and boring concept anyway. The customer would have to sacrifice his color scheme for the je ne sais quoi factor that he apparently coveted. He carefully placed purple orchids in the place of the calla lilies and took a step back. It was perfect. Significantly more expensive before, of course, but what could you do? Perfection didn’t come cheap and apparently neither did je ne sais quoi. He added the customer’s card and placed it on the shelf for delivery. Now to figure out what to do for his mother’s wreath of the month.

There were times where this job had been fun. In the beginning, Ryan enjoyed seeing the little glimpses into peoples’ personal lives. Proposals, weddings, apologies, funerals, anniversaries, affairs, schmoozing… It was interesting to know what everyone had going on. But now, he knew the pattern. A businessmen got caught with his mistress and sent his wife a ridiculously expensive bouquet to make up for his lack of discretion. A teen girl was taking her girlfriend to a dance for their first date—the girl’s name was Daisy so she wanted to give her daisies. The well-loved and ancient custodian at the local high school passed away, so the students held a fundraiser to pay for the flowers for his service. In isolation, the little things were touching or at least interesting. Together, everything was dull.

Of course, something always broke the pattern. Even florists had genuinely interesting customers. They were infrequent and often eccentric, but they often seemed to come right when Ryan started considering some other business venture. He thought that starting up a restaurant might be fun, or even trying to go on one of those Food Network shows, just for the experience. Or he could become a zookeeper. Feeding tigers wouldn’t get old quite as fast as arranging flowers for adulterous businessmen.

Ryan was turning to regard the wall of flowers behind him when the bell on the front door jingled cheerfully. Heavy footsteps plodded towards the counter and he turned in time to see a short man slamming a wad of cash down on the counter. Ryan took a half-step back, wondering how he had slighted this man who was gritting his teeth, eyes ablaze as if barely restraining himself.

“I need to say Fuck You in flowers, and I need to say it as loudly as possible.” Now this—this was interesting. Ryan regarded the man for a moment and he smiled. He hadn’t realized it, but this was exactly what he had been waiting for. This would do more than just break the pattern for sure. This was more than he could have ever hoped for.

“Give me 15 minutes, I know exactly what you need.”

Ray watched the florist as he worked. When he had formulated this plan, he had half expected to be turned away. Flowers were for love and apologies and for sadness, after all. He had never seen an angry bouquet before, he just knew that he needed one, and quickly. The florist—his name tag said Ryan—seemed to be immensely enjoying his task.

Ryan carefully selected the flowers for his task, picking the ones with the wickedly sharp leaves and deep colors. Petunia around the outside for resentment, tall basil for a straightforward “I hate you”, mistletoe for the greenery (with the benefit of telling them that they are a parasite), nightshade for (poisonous) bitter truth, and tansy to pull it all together. It was wicked, it was cruel, it was an awful, beautiful monstrosity.

Ryan tied the purple and yellow bouquet with a thick ribbon, binding it much like he would a wedding bouquet. He had no idea what this man might be upset about, but he was sure that this would get the message across nicely.

“Anything on the card?” Ryan asked.

“I hope your day is as pleasant as you are.” Ryan pulled out his favorite calligraphy pen and carefully crafted the message. He attached the card to the bouquet and turned to present it to the customer.

Ray smiled wickedly.

“Perfect.” Ryan gave the man a steep discount on the flowers, but didn’t mention it, only counting out the bills and returning the man’s money to him. The man introduced himself as Ray and thanked him profusely. Ryan made a mental note of Ray. He thought he liked him.

With that, Ray was gone to deliver his floral Fuck You. It was the best bouquet that he had ever arranged, and he hoped that it was going for a worthwhile cause. He should have thought to ask what it was for, but he was so immersed in the task that it didn’t occur to him. Most customers gave too much information when they placed orders. They were comfortable with the florist, or they wanted them to understand the feeling behind the bouquet.

The businessman would always mention his mistress. The girl would always mention what color hair her crush had and what kind of perfume she wore to class the day before (It had been vanilla. Daisy wore vanilla perfume on Wednesdays and tied her hair back in a yellow ribbon.). The bride would mention that she couldn’t have those flowers because her mother-in-law would have an aneurism if she got those flowers.

Ray did none of that, and it was intriguing.

Ryan found himself thinking about the bouquet—not the customer, he told himself, just the flowers—days later. Maybe it was because it was a break from the norm, or maybe it was just that it was a damn good arrangement, but it certainly wasn’t because Ray had been cute. Not that Ray wasn’t cute, of course, because he was. That just wasn’t why Ryan was fixated on the bouquet.

Ryan frowned as he threw out some wilted nightshade. He would have to start ordering in smaller batches, despite the fact that it was one of his favorite flowers. He checked the rest of his stock of flowers, tossing out blooms that were wilted or damaged. The tell-tale jingle of the door sounded and he turned to see a much more mellow-looking Ray. Fuck, he really was an attractive man.

Ryan drew himself up to his full height and approached the counter with a genuine smile.

“Didn’t expect to see you here again so soon. Need some flowers?” He asked. Ray was cute before, but without all the boiling rage, he was downright adorable. Ryan counted the leaves on an ivy wreath on the counter to keep from staring. He didn’t even know if Ray was single, in his age range, or into men.

“I do, actually. I wrote everything down, but I’m kinda in a rush. Can you, like, put a hold on my card or something?” He asked, holding out his debit card. Ryan looked at the extended list and debit card for a moment before registering the request. He took the list and declined the card.

“You can pay later. We’ll just make this a pick-up instead of a delivery.” He offered, jotting Ray’s name down on a folded index card and adding the card to the pick-up shelf.

“Oh. Yeah, thanks, man. See you later.” Ray awkwardly shoved his debit card back into his wallet and made his retreat as Ryan picked up the list to process his order.

“Oh, of course. See you later.” Ryan found himself hanging onto those words more than he should. He would see him later. He wanted to see him later. He shook off his thoughts and forced himself to focus on the slip of paper in his hand.

So I heard that Yellow daffodils represented new beginnings and forget-me-nots are pretty goddamn obvious. Fuck it, I don’t know how to put together a bouquet. I tried to look up flower meanings and shit but it made me feel stupid. So put whatever flowers together make you agree to go to an arcade with me?

-Ray

P.S. Oh fuck, also I didn’t go anywhere. I’m standing outside. Text Me. XXX-XXX-XXXX.

Ryan stared at the slip of paper for a long moment before he realized what he was reading. Ray was asking him on a date. The Fuck You Flower Boy had not only come back, but had come back for him. He dropped the list on the counter and grabbed his phone, walking to the door.

As he walked outside, he texted Ray.

You idiot, you could have just asked.

“And missed out on your fucking face when you realized? Yeah right. So, arcade?” Ray was leaning against the bricks of the building between the door and the window doing his best not to look like he had been desperately staring at his phone for the past five minutes. (He had been.)

It’d been a long time coming.

The weather reports only caught up twelve hours before the storm was destined to hit, at 11:30 in the evening, plastering all televisions and radios with loud warnings to shut and lock all doors and windows, find somewhere safe, and hunker down until the rolling doom passed.

Of course, Gavin never heard or saw any of the warnings. He didn’t need them, not really. Growing up in England, you tend to learn the signs of big storms pretty early on. In America, they talked about old men in rocking chairs babbling about aching joints when cold fronts were on their way, but Gavin had always found that listening to his senses told him everything that he needed to know. When he had calmly informed the rest of the office that there would be a storm carrying snow last year, they had all scoffed and called him an idiot. “It never snows in Austin,” they said. When he had calmly arrived at the office after a week of frost and occasional snowfall, everyone stared at him with wide eyes and muttered about witchcraft. After several more incidents of Gavin’s near-perfect internal weather tracking, his close friends stopped doubting.

When he and Michael walked out the door at 8:00 am on the day of the storm and Gavin froze mid-step, Michael turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow while Gavin stood still, eyes closed, breathing deeply through his nose.

“There’s going to be a huge storm coming in today, I think.” He said after several seconds of standing.

“That so?” Michael sounded thoughtful. The Jersey man pulled out his phone and confirmed Gavin’s prediction with a quick look at his weather app, which was plastered with warnings of lightning, high wind speeds, and torrential downpour.

“Should we call Geoff?” Gavin intoned after Michael showed him the bright, flashing warnings.

“Yeah. I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave the apartment. All of the warnings say to stay indoors.” Gavin was already dialing his former host’s number.

“Hey, Geoff-”

“Don’t bother coming in today. The schools are all shut down and the other guys already asked to stay in. Except for Ray. That asshole is probably still asleep.”

And that was that.

  Michael insisted on being productive. He got to work setting up his recording equipment to make an episode of full play. Gavin, in the meantime, ventured into their bedroom to get a little bit of Halo in. It’d been awhile since he’d been able to just sit down and play.

That’s what he did while the dark clouds rolled in, and that’s what he did when the rain started. By the time the howling wind knocked over the first tree, he had switched to Peggle 2. He’s still playing Peggle at 11:28, when the lights flicker and then completely go out. He stares at the dark screen of the TV for a few moments, brain still catching up with the events before him.

He’s just put it together that the power’s gone on when the screaming starts.

Gavin rushes out of the room and through the hallway to the living room, where Michael is screaming abuse at his laptop.

“Michael! Michael, what’s going on? What’s wrong?” Gavin cries over his boyfriend’s shouting.

Michael stops yelling and shuts his eyes tight, clenches his fists, and just pants for a while. Gavin slowly sits beside him, as close as he can be without touching the other man. After seven months of living together, he knows that Michael doesn’t like to be touched when he’s well and truly angry, and this is definitely one of those times.

“I lost everything.” Michael hisses.

Lost... What? What could he have-

Oh. Oh. The fullplay footage. Sure enough, there’s a corruption notification sitting right in the middle of Michael’s screen, as well as one informing him that the auto recover failed. Michael had been filming forhours already.

“You can just start back where you were though, yeah?”

“I saved.” Michael sighs in defeat and opens his eyes. “Fucking fuck.”

“Well...” Gavin tries to think of ways to cheer Michael up. They’ll be stuck together in the small space of their apartment for at least another four hours if the forecasts were accurate, and angry Michael is not someone you want to be trapped in a confined space with. The closet incident of 2013 had taught Gavin that better than anything.

Problem is, without power, there’s basically nothing to do. There’s books, but Michael probably won’t be able to read without tearing the pages right now. Puzzles and board games... Similar problem.

An idea hits him. “I’ll be right back, lovely little Michael!” Gavin exclaims as he jumps to his feet, racing back into the bedroom. It should be... Ah-ha! Sitting in Michael’s bookbag- still laying where he’d tossed it after the call with Geoff- is his 3DS. A few rounds of beating up bug catchers in Pokémon is sure to cheer his boi up. Gavin hurries back into the main room and finds Michael standing at the window, staring out into the raging storm.

Lightning flashes. “Michael!” Thunder.

He turns. Gavin thrusts the DS out in front of him, but Michael just stares at his hands like they’ve just turned purple. “Gavin...” lightning flashes again, briefly turning Michael’s lean form into a silhouette. The thunder shakes their building a bit.

“Play a little. It might cheer you up.” Gavin grins.

Michael pinches the bridge of his nose and crosses his arms. “Gavin.” He repeats, this time with much more irritation. “I just need to be left alone.”

Gavin’s face falls. He lets his arm drop to his side and visibly deflates. “Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s... It’s fine. I’m gonna go lay down.”

Michael heads down the hall. Gavin follows after him silently. The redhead collapses onto the mattress and rolls over to his side, facing the wall. Gavin begins to climb in after him, but pauses when he sees his boyfriend tense up.

“Gavin. What are you doing.” Michael doesn’t turn to look at him.

“Laying down...?” The Brit tilts his head to the side.

“Dude, I just fucking told you to leave me alone.”

“Yeah, but...” Gavin struggles to put his thoughts into words. It’s a real problem for him, phrasing things; half the time, he gets his words all mixed up or says something in a way that makes no sense to anyone but him. He used to get teased for it quite a lot when he was still new, but most people just took it in stride when they could these days. Despite this, he feels a surge of anxiety; Michael is a very grumpy bear that Gavin just accidentally poked with a stick, and he has to be graceful. He hadn’t thought his boyfriend would mind Gavin laying silently beside him. Just say that, you dope, he thinks, but his mouth gets all tangled up, like usual. “Didn’t expect you to get all bloody peeved about it.”

Michael rolls slowly to face Gavin, still half-leaning onto the mattress. “Gavin. Get the fuck out.” His face is blank aside from the murderous look in his eyes.

Damn it, damn it, damn it, you stupid idiot-

“Fine. Go ahead and be a prick.” Gavin mutters as he slides his knee off of the bed and starts to turn.WHAT ARE YOU DOING. STOP.

 “Fuck off, Gavin!” Michael throws a pillow at him. Gavin slams the door behind himself. Michael groans with exasperation, and then the apartment is silent aside from the rain and occasional thunder. Gavin stomps into the kitchen and throws the fridge open, rooting around for something to take the edge off of his guilt and irritation. He always does this. He always messes it up for no reason. Why couldn’t he have just left Michael be?

Gavin sighs when he finds the fridge void of bevs. He had forgotten that they were planning on going grocery shopping after work that day. That also meant that the food selection was rather poor as well. He ends up grabbing an orange from the fruit bowl and struggling to peel it for five minutes before accidentally crushing it and covering himself in juice. He’s tempted to slam his head into the wall when he remembers that Michael is mad at him, and currently occupying the room where clothing is kept.

He heads for the bathroom and wipes as much of the sticky juice off as he can. It doesn’t come out of his clothes very well, and his chest hair is now plastered against his skin in a very uncomfortable way. The Brit gives up and decides to take a shower.

He runs the water as hot as he can handle and smacks the tiles with the side of his fist when he gags at the temperature change. The steam fills his nose and the water hits him in a soothing massage of heat. It draws the tension from his shoulders. Gavin lets himself relax.

After about twenty minutes, Gavin walks out of the longest shower of his life and dries off. His clothes are still a sticky mess, so he decides to chance sneaking into their room to grab a spare set. With nothing but a towel tied around his waist, Gavin exits the bathroom, gags at the cold air, and tiptoes into the bedroom. Michael is, to his great relief, fast asleep.

Gavin eases open the drawer containing his pants and socks, grabbing a pair of the former at random, and then picks up a random shirt and pair of pajama bottoms. He tiptoes back out of the room, carefully shutting the door behind him. Back in the living room, Gavin quickly shuts the curtains and changes into the new clothes.

The shirt is short on him. It must be Michael’s.

In a moment of vulnerability, Gavin pulls the collar of the shirt up to his nose and inhales deeply.

Michael.

He flops onto the couch. The shower made him all warm, and Michael’s shirt is making him all sad, and with the curtains drawn and the apartment dark, he finds that a kip sounds really fucking lovely. Gavin closes his eyes and tries his damndest to shut out the rest of the world.

    Michael wakes up at around 2:30 in the afternoon. His head is clear and sound, finally free of the clouded anger from losing his footage. Yeah, it fucking sucks, and he’ll have to come up with something to do about it, but for now, he’s very much over the situation. What he isn’t over is how much of a dick he was to Gavin earlier.

He was just trying to help, and Michael told him to fuck off. Real classy, Jones. Way to be a gentleman. He drags himself out of bed and glances out the bedroom window. Rain, dark clouds, howling wind; the storm is still raging. The courtyard outside of his and Gavin’s apartment is already completely flooded. Michael hopes that the drains don’t get clogged up and make the streets flood. That would be a pain in the ass to deal with.

Michael finds Gavin asleep on the couch and instantly feels incredibly guilty. He must have been tired. He wanted to sleep, and Michael kicked him out. Fuck. Thinking it not to wake him now, Michael quietly enters the kitchen and finds his DS on the counter. He picks it up and heads to the dining room table to sit down and play.

“What the fuck?” He gasps when his arms hit the sticky surface. Michael flinches and glances up at his boyfriend, but he continues to sleep soundly. He stands up and runs some paper towels under the tap and starts wiping the mystery stickiness from the table’s surface. Throwing them away, he see the mangled remains of what was once an orange sitting in the trash. Ah. That would explain the smell of citrus.

Michael returns to the table and starts up Pokémon. His character is still wearing the ridiculous polo that Gavin had insisted he buy the last time Michael had played. The thing is a horrible shade of green with bright blue horizontal stripes. It looks ridiculous and clashes with the pants he has on, but it makes Michael smile anyway.

He dicks around in the battle tower for a while. At around 3:45 pm, Gavin stirs. Michael looks up and watches his boyfriend sit up and stretch his arms. His shirt pulls up, revealing a bit of his furry tummy. Gavin’s wearing his Fluttershy shirt. He must have snuck in while Michael was asleep and grabbed a change of clothes, probably after whatever happened with the orange. The Brit finally notices Michael’s presence in the room.

He smiles. Then, he remembers what happened, and the smile fades. He bites the inside of his cheek and climbs to his feet. Michael quickly gets up as well, striding to meet Gavin in the middle of the room. They stand in tense silent for a moment about three feet apart. Michael is still trying to work out what he’s going to say when Gavin begins to speak.

“I’m sorry, Michael. I was a complete arse.”

“No, you weren’t.” Michael shakes his head. “I lost my shit over something stupid. I shouldn’t have been so mean to you. You were just trying to help. I’m sorry.”

“I bunged it up, when I went to lay down with you. I didn’t mean what I said, and I just kept talking-” Michael takes another step forward and puts one hand on Gavin’s hip, and the other on his chin. Gavin stops talking and they just stare into each other’s eyes. Then, Michael leans forward and closes the gap between their mouths. Gavin’s hands fall on the small of his back and into his hair, fingers threading through his hair.

They pull apart to breath, and Michael giggles. “We’re both a bunch of fucking teenagers, huh?”

Gavin grins. “Yeah. I slammed the bleedin’ door. Haven’t done that since Year Eleven.”

Michael pecks his lips. “What is that in American?”

“No bloody clue.”

At 4:56 pm, they’re lying on the bed wearing nothing but their skin and passing the time. Gavin’s reading a book, some Game of Thrones thing, while Michael, draped across his stomach,  plays more Pokémon. The lights flicker back on above them. Gavin shuts his book and runs his fingers through Michael’s hair.

“Do you want to play something, lovely Michael?”

“Yeah, boi. That sounds nice.” Michael smiles and they kiss for a few moments, languid and lazy. It’s ridiculously domestic in a way that makes Michael blush. He’s had the best time of his life, living with Gavin. It was a big step that they both hesitated to take, but he is so goddamn glad that he did. Thatthey did.

“I love you, Gavin.” The words fall from his mouth without warning, and Michael freezes in panic.

Gavin’s smile grows. “I love you too, Michael.”

Relief washes over him, and a grin strikes his features as his flush grows darker. Michael surges forward and connects their lips once again, reveling in the ring of those words.

The rain finally stops at 8:37 pm. The power remains on for the rest of the evening. At 9:14 pm, Gavin receives a text from Geoff:

'see u assholes @ work tomrrw'

Gavin sends Geoff his and Michael's collaborative response:

'wouldn't miss it for the world, Geoffry'

and at 8:00 am the following day, Gavin stops a few feet from the front door and gazes at the blue and white sky.

"What's up, Gavvy?"

He smiles.

"Absolutely nothing."

And it was true; the sky is free of ominous lighting and rolling thunderheads, and the air is empty of static.