#nwrites

“Zach?”

Eugene closes the door behind him and toes out of his shoes. He’s not wearing socks. The cold under his feet is more than welcome after the frankly outrageous hot weather he experienced outside. The foam container he’s holding isn’t helping, warm to the touch. He knows that it smells good when Bowie comes out of Zach’s room, pawing happily towards Eugene.

“Hey, buddy,” Eugene says, crouching down to give him a good rub behind his ears and a kiss to his head. It’s almost a bad decision: Bowie tries to reach for the package and nearly topples Eugene over. “Hey, hey,” he laughs, standing up and keeping the food out of Bowie’s reach. “This is for your dad. Be nice.”

“Bowie, stop hogging my friend!” Zach’s whine comes down the hallway. Eugene laughs.

After laying the food carefully on top of the fridge, he goes to Zach’s room. He’s not surprised to find Zach in a nest of sorts. His friend lies amidst sheets, pillows, and what looks like half of his wardrobe. He looks small, sad, and quite honestly—

“Pathetic,” Eugene says, stopping for a second at the door, then walking inside to feel Zach’s forehead. “You can’t be that bad .”

“Oh yeah, and how can you know? Do you have a stuffy nose that won’t stop running like the goddamn Niagara Falls?”

It all comes out in a rush, very much through his red nose. He sounds a lot like Donald Duck.

“Stop acting like a baby and get up, I brought you food.”

“Food?” Zach looks hopeful, but that immediately turns into a scowl. “Food? I don’t know if I can eat today.”

“Too bad, because you will. Come on.”

Eugene offers a hand that Zach takes, letting Eugene help him out of bed.

“And what I mean by that is that it can’t be that bad that you need to cocoon yourself like this,” he motions to Zach’s mess of a bed as they head to the kitchen. “It’s not even, what, 80º outside?”

“It’s comfy, though,” Zach says, and Eugene can’t contain a smile – even a slightly amused one.

Bowie follows them happily into the kitchen, wagging his tail. Zach starts to pull out plates, but Eugene stops him, takes the plates from his hand, and indicates the table with his head, “Sit.”

“You know, I really am not that bad. I’m just being dramatic because I hate this.”

“I know. But you’re taking too many meds at once and I don’t like that,” Eugene says simply. “Your tiny body can only take so much.”

“Wow, thanks, man.”

“That was a compliment,” Eugene says as he finishes setting up the table and reaches for the food on top of the fridge. “You need carbs, but you also need meat to keep functioning like a human being, so I brought two dishes, actually.”

He makes sure to set everything nicely on the table, opening container after container until Zach can see all that he has brought with him.

“Oh my god, this looks so good.”

“It smells pretty nice, too.”

Zach just gestures dismissively at his stuffed nose, “I’ll have to take your word for it. How much was it? I can transfer what I owe you.”

“Shut up,” Eugene says, dropping a generous portion on Zach’s plate first before getting some himself. “I told you, this is on me. You owe me nothing more than a couple of nights babysitting my babies.”

“Eugene, that is hardly payment, I enjoy doing that. Besides, this is like the third time this week you’ve brought me food.”

It is. Eugene hesitates only for a second, because it hadn’t occurred to him that he has been here on Monday, Tuesday and today, Thursday, making it the third time that week alone. Zach has the week off, fighting an allergy-turned-mild-cold that comes and goes around this time of the year. And it’s not like Eugene has been the only one over – Keith has been keeping tabs on him, too, and even if Ned is trying to avoid Zach, not wanting to risk getting Ariel sick, he personally rearranged Zach’s schedule so that Zach wouldn’t have to miss anything important that week. Really, Eugene is not doing more than his part here.

Or so he tells himself.

“I don’t want your money,” he says. “Just, you know, get better so I don’t have to babysit you. And so I can go back to babysitting your dog.”

Speaking of which, Bowie is sat between them, eyeing one and then the other with the cutest eyes Eugene has ever seen. Zach laughs, “You’re just using me to get to Bowie.” He takes his first bite and closes his eyes, groaning. “Oh my god, Eugene, I love you. This is amazing.”

Eugene’s heart skips a beat. He does something with his hands that makes the piece of broccoli he had on his fork go flying through the room.

He’s not sure what just happened, but he can’t meet Zach’s eyes. He doesn’t have an answer either, so he stuffs his mouth with food instead. Something’s not right. He’s overwhelmed, surprised, and speechless, all at the same time.

It doesn’t make any sense; his mind is just a swirl of what the fuck’s and fuck me’ s. He doesn’t know to react, so he focus on gulping down mouthful after mouthful. Zach doesn’t seem to notice anything’s out of the ordinary. “I can barely taste anything but what I can taste is tasty as fuck and it made me realize I was starving, so thank you,” he says.

“Sure, no problem,” Eugene answers, risking a glance. Zach’s not looking at him, busy with his food. Eugene looks down again.

This. All of this. It feels too... intimate? Maybe. They are alone, having lunch together. Lunch Eugene has brought Zach, for the third time that week. It all feels too fucking cozy, too—

Too domestic.

Eugene loses his appetite all of a sudden. He manages a couple more bites, but he starts to feel anxious - his palms start to sweat, and he has the urge to get out of there. This is not a full-blown anxiety attack but it's close enough to make him stand up, cleaning out his plate and giving Zach some lame excuse about needing to be back early for a shot. He’s gone before Zach can say anything.

It’s not until he’s in his car, driving back to work, that he starts to put his thoughts together. First things first: the thing about coming over several times, well... It's not likes it's something new. He isn’t just worried now because Zach is sick – although, yeah, he has been extra worried this week –, he is always worried about him. Not in an overprotective way, just... Thinking about him. Wondering if he’s alright. If he needs anything. If he’s as happy as he should be.

That’s something a friend would do, of course, Eugene reasons with himself, but the panic building inside of him tells him otherwise. He is kinda, sorta, ridiculously attached to Zach. Everything he abhors, from spending the night watching films on a couch that’s too small for the both of them, to missing Zach’s texts when he doesn’t text him in the morning... That’s not something he does with everyone else.

That’s not something he does, period.

“Hey,” Kelsey puts a hand on his arm as Eugene walks into the office half an hour later, too dazzled to have even seen her. “You alright there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know,” she gives him a once-over, as if trying to find out what is wrong. “You look like you just saw a ghost or something.”

You could say that, he thinks to himself.

“Too much in my head,” he says, giving her a smile that he knows will convince her. It does. “Gotta go, but we’re still on Friday, right?”

“Of course!”

They part with a flying kiss from her, and Eugene goes to his desk. It’s still early for most people to have come back from lunch break, so he has at least an hour until the desks around him are busy again. Except for Zach’s, which has been empty all week; a post-it on his screen says, in Ned’s handwriting, “GONE TO HONOLULU! BYE BITCHESSS”.

The thing is, Eugene thinks as his login screen loads, he likes Zach. That much he can admit to himself. But where does friendly affection end and romantic interest begin? He hasn’t been in many relationships, always avoided them when he could. It just doesn’t work for him – that’s how he’s wired, and he doesn’t think there’s any point in trying to fight it.

But then he thinks back to Zach’s kitchen, about how he can easily find his way in his apartment. He thinks about Zach’s laugh, the dorkiest and yet most adorable thing Eugene can think of, especially when it's early in the morning and Zach can barely open his eyes. He thinks about all the times one of them was out of town, and about how it has become second nature to him to text Zach all day when that happens. He thinks about the times he’s entertained the idea of kissing Zach and blaming it on the alcohol – and the two times he actually went through with it.

Hiding his face behind his hands, Eugene sighs. This doesn’t sound good. At all. He wonders briefly if he should drop by Zach’s after work to check on him, to make sure he hasn’t left Zach with the wrong impression, but of course he hasn’t. Why is he so worried about what Zach is thinking? Why should he worry about that?

He tries the opposite of what he usually does. Instead of shutting himself off and ignoring whatever it is he is feeling, he lets his mind wander. He thinks about being with Zach – being here meaning more than just hanging out together. He wonders what it’d be like to kiss him, completely sober now, with no excuses. He wonders what it’d be like to be the one Zach texts first, and realizes with a jolt that he might as well already be. Suddenly the idea of maybe cozying up together on that tiny couch at Zach’s isn’t all that weird, which is weird in itself, because since when does Eugene think about cuddling?

Soon his coworkers start to come back from the break, and Eugene has to pretend he is incredibly focused on whatever is open on his screen. That forces him to actually pay attention to the work at hand, putting a stop to the storm inside his head.

Eugene doesn’t want to think.

Better yet: he doesn’t want to think about that. He needs to think. He needs to put his mind on work, because that’s where he should be putting his mind on, anyway. This is a crucial time, and they have a lot on their hands – Eugene has a lot on his hands already, without the added anxiety of having to think about his friend who he may or may not harbor feelings for.

It’s kinda ridiculous, he chides himself once, when he’s at the break room, getting a cup of coffee. His mind wanders to that Thursday, again, the nth time it has done so that week. He thinks about how easy it is to be around Zach; how comfortable he feels to open up cabinets in his kitchen and in his bathroom; how safe he feels when it’s just the two of them, no cameras, no nothing. He thinks about being around himon camera, and how much more fun and much more at ease he feels when Zach's there filming wih him, no matter how stupid the video they’re doing is.

Coffee spills over his cup and onto his hand. It burns - he hisses and dabs a bunch of napkins on his hand, cursing under his breath. This is not who he is. He’s not one to be getting distracted at work thinking about soft hands and easy smiles. This is not who Eugene has worked so hard to become.

So he starts avoiding Zach.

It’s for the best, he tells himself. And it’s nothing too on the nose, either. He makes sure that Zach still has everything he needs while he’s at home - and even when he’s back at work the next week - but he avoids being alone with him. Avoids being too close, or too intimate. Strict business, his demeanor says, and Zach starts to look at him a little odd, but doesn’t push it. He’s too nice for that. Besides, he has always respected Eugene’s space.

No one tries to ask if anything’s different, even though Eugene catches Keith watching him when the four of them are in a room together. No one ever does because Eugene has mastered the art of concealing his emotions, and so it doesn’t show that he feels, well, like crap. Inside and out, he feels like he’s trying too hard to just be. He pulls a muscle at the gym on a Monday, two weeks into this new Avoiding Zach routine. His skin is all sorts of wrong, and his products aren't helping. He keeps forgetting things, from his keys to the time of meetings, which is new to him.

Everything sucks, but no one notices it.

Maybe it’s for the best, he reasons with himself.

That’s until he’s had more than his fair share of cocktails at one of Buzzfeed's parties. It feels like the entire office is there, more so than in past years. It’s one master event, and the place is so big that people are spread out in clusters, a lot of them already occupying most couches and benches. He has been talking to Kelsey – Impicciche, not Darragh –, Annie, and two other people he’s sure he’s learned the name of, but can’t remember anymore, when someone touches his elbow.

He turns to find Zach, no glasses, holding a cup of something reddish in color.

“Eugene, can we talk?”

“Mmmmm,” Eugene pretends to think about it, then, “Nope.”

He pops the ‘p’, and Zach snickers, “Please? I know—I know this isn’t the best place but I can’t stop thinking that you’re mad at me and this has been eating me from inside out forever now, and I really, really wish you’d just talk to me—”

“We don’t have anything to talk about,” Eugene says, slurring a bit. He has had a lot to drink. A lot. He realizes that when he considers just walking away, both from Zach and from the group he has been standing with, and his legs take quite longer than usual to understand the command. “I don’t have anything to say,” he adds, raising both hands. He fails to notice he has spilled some of his own drink.

“Ok!” Zach says, rather defensively. His face is flushed, and if Eugene were a little less drunk off his ass, he’d see Zach’s had plenty to drink, too. “But I do have something to say. Or actually, to ask. I have things to ask. And I don’t know, man, I can’t just corner you at work, that would be a dick move, even if this is technically work but not really, because we’re not being paid to be here tonight... Sorry, I’m getting carried away, but seriously, can we—?”

He touches Eugene’s elbow again, using his head to indicate that they can step aside, closer to the bushes, away from the group. He is looking so good tonight, Eugene thinks – he almost looks like he’s glowing under the artificial lighting, the pale of his eyes more clear than ever, his cheeks rosy from the alcohol. Eugene looks down at his lips, and his stomach does something weird, like somersaults. Zach doesn't look nice, he looks gorgeous. His hand has left Eugene’s elbow, because he doesn’t force contact if Eugene doesn’t let him, he never does, and fuck, why does he need to be so nice all the time?

“Fine,” Eugene says, walking away with him. If only to hear more of his voice, which he hasn't been hearing a lot of lately – avoiding Zach comes at a great cost, he concludes.

Zach just walks them a little to the back of the crowd, so they can hear each other better, and maybe not be heard by anyone else. They’re outside, and it’s quiet beyond the perimeters of the party – they can’t hear anything else in the neighborhood, and it feels almost otherworldly to be there that night. It certainly feels weird to want to touch Zach’s arms, and his face, when Eugene is standing this close to him.

“So,” Zach starts, clearing his throat. “I just—I just, you know, I wanna know if I’ve done something wrong? If I’ve hurt you, or—I don’t know, if, if—You’ve been distant, Eugene” he says, looking up at Eugene.

And fuck, man. Fuck. Eugene can’t deal with Zach’s big, beautiful eyes, looking up at him like that – nervous, sad, hurt. It makes Eugene feel like the biggest jerk ever, and all he wants is to make Zach understand that nothing is his fault. Nothing about this is on him, it’s all on Eugene, and he shouldn’t be the one looking at him like that.

“It’s for the best,” Eugene says, repeating the words he has been saying to himself a lot lately.

“What do you mean, ‘it’s for the best’? Whose best? Why is that the best for anyone?”

“Because it is! You don’t want me fucking up your life, do you?”

“Eugene, what the fuck?” Zach looks confused. “Why would you fuck up my life? What’s going on?”

Eugene looks away, shaking his head. He feels embarrassed. He understands, deep in his core, that this is all his fault. For letting himself feel any of this, feel this way towards one of his closest friends. Just how dumb is he, really? It’s not like he doesn’t know what would happen. What is happening.

“Forget it,” Eugene says, but Zach is adamant.

“I can’t forget it, not when you’re trying to keep me away from you.”

“It’s—Jesus Christ, Zach, it’s the other way around. You got it all wrong.”

“Yeah? And how exactly did I get it wrong, Eugene?”

“I’m trying to keep myself away from you so I can stop feeling the way I feel about you.”

A pause. Zach stares at him.

“Which is...?”

“This,” Eugene gestures to himself, which in his mind makes perfect sense. He’s showing Zach the walking mistake, the man that can’t get attached, the man that’s bound to make a mess and hurt him and just— “I can’t hurt you. I just can’t. I don’t want to and I don’t think I can fucking handle it.”

“Well, that’s good,” Zach starts, but Eugene isn’t finished; he feels the words tumbling out of his mouth before he has processed them.

“Because that’s what would happen if I let myself have feelings for you, or if I let myself get too attached to the idea of being with you, because that’s who I am. I—I fuck up, I make messes, and I don’t—I don’t know how to be with anyone, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before,” he laughs, incredulous. “Fuck me, I’m in my thirties, it’s way too late to learn this shit. I just can’t.”

Zach doesn’t say anything at first, staring at him, wide-eyed. Eugene is trying to stop laughing, but he’s now giggling uncontrollably, looking at Zach.

“This is ridiculous. Isn't it? How a person can fall for a friend and ruin one of the best friendships, relat—work relationships he’s ever had? Of course I’d do that,” Eugene opens his arms wide, takes a couple steps back. He’s grinning from ear to ear. He says even louder this time, “Eugene Lee Yang, a fucking moron!”

“Stop that,” Zach says.

“I don’t care if they listen.”

“I don’t mean that,” Zach gets close again, tries to take the drink away from Eugene’s hand. “I mean, don’t call yourself that, don’t—You’re not a moron.”

Eugene bats away Zach’s hand, keeping the drink close to his chest. He doesn’t remember what’s in his glass, but it doesn’t matter, because he knows it’s alcohol. Just what he needs, and will always need. At least drunk he doesn’t need to worry about a thing, he doesn’t need to hide or calculate his words. Zach looks weird, now – his smile has dropped, and his eyes look shiny, and he’s not looking Eugene in the eye.

And that’s when Eugene understands what he has just done.

“No,” he says, heart starting to beat faster. “No, fuck, forget I said anything.”

“You can’t ask me that.”

“I just did. Please, Zach—”

“You know, I think we should have this conversation some other time,” Zach looks at him, immediately winces, and looks away. “I—I should go.”

“Zach—” Eugene tries, but Zach steps around him and then away, not looking back.

Eugene’s heart tightens as he watches Zach’s hunched figure dart between the crowd before he vanishes from sight. It’s a stupid muscle, Eugene gathers, and he must’ve pulled it too because it hurts, now. Not something he has ever felt, but like his heart is a tiny bird flapping its wings very fast, trying to fly out of a cage that’s a size too small for him. It keeps throwing itself against the bars, hurting, hurting, hurting, and it never stops, it won’t stop. Eugene feels sick. He chugs the rest of his drink, trying to quell the awful feeling in his chest; the liquid burnshis throat on the way down.

It hurts, and it doesn’t stop hurting the next day. His head is exploding when he wakes up just after lunch, mouth dry and stomach lurching. He hasn’t thrown up in a long time, but if it continues like this, he might be bending over his toilet later. After he has taken care of his most basic needs – water, peeing, a toast to keep his blood pressure where it should be – he checks his phone.

One name stands out in his notifications, and it all comes back to him. His heart clenches again, thinking about the night before.

Zach.

Eugene regrets opening his mouth, but he doesn’t blame the alcohol. If anything, he blames himself. He should’ve known better – he does know better, and fuck, since when does he let any kind of feeling dictate how he should behave? Since when does he let his heart, hurt as it is, dumb as it is, take the reins?

The message simply says “can we meet?”. It was sent around 10 a.m., because of course. Zach probably has a headache, too. He always has when he drinks too much, even if his too much is miles away from Eugene’s too much. Eugene groans just thinking about it. He knows Zach so well, and he knows himself so well – why did he need to say anything?

He texts back with a “Sure”. He’s far from sure, but he owes Zach this. If he can at least explain it, explain why he didn’t say anything before and why he was such a jackass, then maybe... Maybe Zach will just leave it all behind.

Maybe.

After some more awkward, emoji-less texts, they settle for 4 p.m. at Eugene’s place. It gives him enough time to shower, order in some lunch, get onto some important emails. He calls his mom, too, when he’s sure she’s not at church. It’s a weird conversation; he doesn’t know how to explain why he sounds so tired, or why he’s giving one-word answers. He wants to tell her, even if just to let it out of his chest, but this is not something they talk about. They never have, and they’re not starting now. She wouldn’t be comfortable with the topic, and he probably wouldn’t either.

His apartment starts to feel very suffocating.

He does his best to clean up after he hangs up, opening the blinds, changing the towels in his bathroom, taking out the trash. It helps him keep focused, even if his head is still sore, and his thirst never ending. 

Zach is there at 4 p.m. sharp.

It’s a weird thing to have him there, in front of him. Eugene is scared when he opens the door, which is something he isn’t expecting to feel at that moment. Zach, wearing a cap, hands hidden inside the pockets of his hoodie, smiles.

Eugene tries to smile back, but his heart is doing that stupid thing again.

He doesn’t want to lose Zach. He doesn’t want to see that smile any less. He doesn’t want to walk on eggshells around him because he doesn’t know how to keep his emotions in check.

“Hey,” Zach says, walking inside. He doesn’t look uncomfortable, which is good, but he does hesitate, standing in Eugene’s living room before he crouches down to rub Pesto's belly. “Should we, uh… Should I sit down? Can we sit down?”

“Of course,” Eugene follows, but doesn’t sit next to him on the couch. He perches himself on the only armchair there is. Emma is taking the seat, so he opts for the arm.

They are in silence for a couple of seconds before Eugene says, “I think I have—No, nevermind, I don’t. Water?”

Zach chuckles, “No, thanks. I’m guessing all you have to offer is alcohol?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

They laugh; Eugene feels his shoulders tense and tries to relax, but it’s hard. He’s hugging himself, almost, arms crossed in front of him. Zach looks small on his couch, like he’s trying not to take too much space.

“About yesterday, I think I should—"

“Wait, Zach, no,” Eugene interrupts him, sighing. He lets his head hang low for a brief moment before he’s looking Zach in the eye again. “I need to apologize. That’s the first thing that’s happening here. I was… Well, I was a dick yesterday. And I…” He tries to find the right words for this, but nothing sounds right in his head. “I don’t know, I think I had some kind of breakdown. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

Zach watches him, patiently. When he’s done, Zach looks down at his hands and nods.

“It’s alright, I wasn’t—You were drunk, we were bothreally drunk.”

“Yeah, well, that’s still no excuse,” Eugene says, mumbling the words. Zach smiles at him.

“You’re right, it’s not.”

There’s a moment of silence in which their eyes meet.

“Did you mean it?”

Zach’s voice is so low and soft, it’s barely a whisper. Eugene hesitates, mouth hanging open as he tries to think of a way to answer that at the same time that it dawns on him that Zach was most probably holding back tears the night before. The glasses he's wearing now catch his attention, reminding him of how at the party Zach's eyes were clear, shining with tears. He doesn't know how he missed that.

“I—” He stops, wets his lips. “Yeah. I did mean every word of it.”

“So you have feelings for me?”

Eugene nods. He’s proud of himself for not avoiding Zach’s eyes when he does.

“But you don’t… like anyone.”

A beat. “I don’t. Usually.”

“Wow,” Zach blinks, looking down at his fingers again. “A lot to process there.”

Eugene can’t help but chuckle a little, because yeah.

“Why did you act like that was a bad thing, though?”

“Because—” The words die on his throat. Because maybe this isn’t real and I’d only hurt you, he thinks. I’d ruin our friendship by starting something that’s not gonna last. He doesn’t have the courage to say any of this, not right now. Something inside of him is screaming for him to not say it. The part of him that thinks that this is different. That this is not just a fling that may be worth keeping around. He and Zach have known each other for so long now, they know each other so intimately well, it’s absurd. They have talked about everything under the sun, except maybe the things Eugene tends to keep for himself. But he realizes in that split second that he wouldn’t mind maybe - who knows - sharing those with Zach, too. Slowly, someday. The idea of sharing some of the things hidden in the corners of his mind with him isn’t so bad. Zach means all the good things Eugene can think of, including...

Home.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Eugene finally says. His voice cracks a bit.

Zach’s eyes on him are soft, understanding. “Neither do I. No one does, I think.”

“Ned does,” Eugene argues. “Keith does, too. Shane and Sara—”

“Well, maybe some people do,” Zach stops him right there, shifting forward so he’s on the edge of the couch. “But not everyone. I certainly don’t, you know I haven’t had a relationship in forever.”

Eugene shakes his head, both negating what he just said and also to shake off any tears or uncertainty from his voice. “It’s different.”

“How?”

“You’re—” Eugene gesticulates, trying to find the right way to say what he has only felt so far. “You’re open. You wear your feelings on your sleeve and you’re fine with it. That’s how people should be in a relationship. I—I’m guarded, closed off, I—I don’t know—Fuck,” he presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, refusing to let himself get teary-eyed. “I’m not a good partner, ok? I just know that. And you don’t deserve it. Not that I know what you deserve, all I know is that you deserve someone better than me.”

There’s the rustling of fabric before Eugene sees Zach has walked over and is now kneeling in front of him, one hand on Eugene's knee. He’s looking up at him, the corners of his mouth curving up; he looks lovely. He islovely, and this is too much. Eugene wants to touch him, wants to caress his cheek, wants to just know how his skin feels like in a touch that lasts longer than a mere second.

“I disagree with everything you just said, and that’s fine, because you’re wrong,” Zach says, making Eugene laugh. “You’re so worried about not being good enough that you haven’t even asked me how I feel about this.”

Eugene doesn’t know what to say, so he just looks at him.

“I like you, Eugene. Like, as fuck. As in, I want to hug the hell out of you and also maybe have some crazy, hardcore sex, all in one. Or maybe we don’t hug all that much because I know you’re not crazy about hugs, and I completely understand that.”

“Wait, what?”

“I must say, though, that I’ve been pretty vanilla all my life so I pictured more of a slow buildup for our sex live. If we were to have one, of course. Not that I’ve been fantasizing about you but we’ve talked so much about sex, it just comes out like this, sorry.”

“You like me?”

Zach gives him the softest smile Eugene has ever seen, and yeah, Eugene’s heart has stopped throwing itself against its cage; it flies free now, everywhere, giving him the sensation of… fucking hell, butterflies in his stomach.

“Yes, I do. Very much so.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Look who’s talking!” Zach shoots back, laughing. “But nah, I didn’t think you’d reciprocate, you know? Like, even if you somehow looked at me that way despite all the gorgeous people you’re usually making out with, I figured you’d worry about making it weird between us.”

“Well, yeah. We work together.”

“All the better. Office sex,” Zach jokes, and Eugene almost chokes on his own spit, bursting into laughter. “No but seriously, we’re grownass men, we can handle a possible breakup. Although I don’t think we will have to.”

“We don’t even have anything to break—”

Eugene doesn’t get a chance to finish. Zach stands up to reach his face and kisses him, just a press of lips that shuts Eugene up instantly. It’s surreal. It’s what Eugene has been dreaming about doing for what? months now. It’s all Zach - Zach’s soft lips, Zach’s aftershave, Zach’s entire being and existence just in reach...

“Now we do,” Zach says as he parts, smile so big Eugene can’t help but open one of his own. “Please don’t breakup with me, though.”

“Are you sure about this?”

Because as much as Eugene wants this, and oh god, he wants it so much… As much as he wants this, he still fears what the future holds for them. He’s still unsure about his ability to give Zach all that he needs, all that he deserves, and he’s terrified that he’ll eventually hurt him. But Zach kisses him again, this time closer, harder, and Eugene finds himself holding him by the waist as Zach’s arms sneak around his neck.

“I’m sure,” Zach says against his lips. His voice is an octave lower, and Eugene is so terribly, ridiculously in love. “We’ll talk about this, but for now can you do me a favor and just kiss me until I can’t feel my lips? Thank you.”

Eugene grins, and kisses him again.

"Wait, wait, wait," Ned says, smirking. "I got this. The gift from Eugene was... a collar."

The room explodes in laughter as Ariel slaps his arm. 

"What? It's possible! They're two consenting adults..."

"That would be hilarious," offers Keith, red-faced from laughing too hard and from the wine he has been nursing.

"Jesus Christ, can we not talk about our sex lives this early in the evening?" Zach says, but he's laughing. Eugene has an arm around his waist, so he feels Zach shaking with laughter under his touch. "I'm gonna need way more beer for that."

"Good idea!" Eugene kisses his temple and walks out of the room, towards the kitchen. He runs into Becky coming back and asks her about the drinks; she directs him to the right fridge.

It's when he's bent down, piling beers on his arms, that he hears whistling. He turns around just as Zach says, "Damn, I'd so tap that."

Eugene laughs so hard he nearly drops a bottle. They manage to get six of them on the counter, and Zach uses the opportunity to say, "You think we should tell them?"

"Only if you want to. I mean, I think we'll enjoy Venice a lot more if Ned isn't texting us every ten minutes. But if you want to tell them, I don't mind. It's your present, so it's your call."

"Nah," Zach rests his chin on his hand, leaning on the counter. "They're having too much fun to trying to figure it out. But if we get stranded on a desert island on our way there and need them to find us we're so fucked."

"We're fucked either way if that ever happens, but I promise not to eat you."

Zach smiles, "Aw, baby! Thank you! I promise not to eat you too."

They laugh, and Zach leans forward to give Eugene a peck on the lips. "Happy anniversary," he says.