#rnmw

On one of the latter nights, when he's refused every call that's lit up his cell phone, Alex barges into his house. Kyle startles from the couch and bolts up, only minutely relaxing when he isn’t in immediate danger.

"Oh my god, Valenti," Alex swears. "You're just laying here? I have my crazy brothers running out there after you and you ghost me?"

Silent, he's incapable of thinking what he could possibly say to a war veteran about his civilian job. Blood and death were visceral and traumatic for Alex Manes in ways that Kyle would never fully understand. "Sorry," He settles. Frankly he’s surprised Alex cares that much.

Alex looks like he might yell again but takes in the scene where beer cans and take out containers litter the coffee table in disgusting fashion. "What… what's going on?"

"Just bachelor life," Kyle lies with a fake smile that doesn't feel like it reaches believable heights; his voice sounding hollow.

"You're usually a clean freak," Alex argues, his brow furrowing.

Shrugging, Kyle stands expectantly, trying to make things so awkward that Alex will leave.

He doesn't want Alex to leave.

Which he doesn't, despite the fact they don't talk. Wordlessly the couch becomes the setting for joint drinking and Kyle turns on movies from his Netflix to fill the silence he can't himself. An impromptu hang out is something that he never thought possible, but somewhere between spending terribly long hours destroying the remnants of Project Shepard and trying to keep it erased, they've found comfort in each other's presence. Safety even.

He doesn't realize he's extremely drunk until the night is dragging its way to turning morning and Alex asks him, "Will you tell me now?", and Kyle slips. "It'll be nothing to you."

"It will by default," Alex says, sounding soft in an unfamiliar way. There's the tiniest slur in his voice that Kyle only barely catches. Probably wouldn't have, if he wasn't trained to notice speech patterns. "It will if it's hurting you this much."

Exhaling, he tries to take in a casual and unemotional breath, but it still catches. "I lost a patient. Literally had their blood on my gloves and no matter how many antiseptic liquids I wash my hands with, I can still feel it. I can still hear the sobs of her mother, the angry grief of her father. The EKG monitor notification blaring... And now I'm complaining about being a surgeon to a disabled veteran like I have any right to discuss death."

"Kyle," the aforementioned man says softly. There's a deep sadness and understanding in his brown eyes that makes Kyle want to release the tears he's been building up between alcohol.

He waits for Alex to continue a response, but the former soldier can't seem to find one, not until he purses his lips before changing his mind and kissing Kyle instead. Surprise briefly drowns out everything else but it's Alex that jerks back first as if he realizes what he's done only after, and Kyle grabs his neck to kiss him again with hopeful reassurance. When their second kiss drags on and he can feel them begin to get carried away with the newness of it all, he reluctantly pulls back. Exhaling a long breath, eyes now focused intently on Alex who is still only inches away from being in his grasp again, he unwillingly tells him, “Probably a better idea sober.”

Alex clears his throat, looking lost in shock. “Yeah, of course,” he nods shortly, before focusing again. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“I wouldn’t count that as an interruption,” Kyle replied, a smile slowly waking up and stretching the curve of his lips at the formality.

“I wouldn’t count opening up about death as complaining,” comes the rebuttal.

Looking away, Kyle shrugs. Alex’s shoulder was still touching his against the back of the couch and it is giving him a selfish kind of warmth that's hard to fight against. He wishes more than anything he could trust in Alex’s current affection and not blame the whiskey, so he still takes the chance to open up and hope it will stick. "It's not the first death, obviously, and I feel like I should be hardened by now, you know? Move on to the next round of people, be strong, figure it all out. And I will. I have every time. But right now…"

Alex nods, his lips pursing and his eyes more distant.

“Look, this is what I meant, it’s not something you should have to listen--,” Kyle begins but is interrupted as Alex shakes his head fervently and argues. “No, Kyle, I get it. I do. You think I don’t think I should be over hundreds of things that I’m not?"

“That’s different--,”

“Of course it’s different,” Alex firmly replies. “But the burden of responsibility for whether a child sleeps in their bed or a casket that same night? That isn’t different.”

Silence briefly greets them again as Kyle stares into the man’s deep brown eyes, still unconvinced that this isn’t some drunk imagination and that Alex Manes actually had kissed him; and still unconvinced that his reaction to one loss was warranted. “I'll be fine, Alex."

"I know, Valenti," is the quiet response. "But I can be here when you're not."

"Why?" Kyle asks, his throat tight. "Why me, after everything?

Alex tilts his head with the same frustration he gives Kyle anytime he tries to make a nerd joke, but when he seems to realize the depth of insecurity he answers seriously instead. "You don't want to burn the world down anymore, you want to save it. Even if it kills you."

"Anymore."

With a scoff, Alex pulls ever so slightly away so he can glare. "So what , 'anymore'? We were teenagers, Kyle. If I'm one of the reasons other than your dad that you punish yourself for, let it go. Please."

Too tired to delve into that part of his psyche, he looks closely at Alex, wishing he was in a better place to kiss him. Quietly, he moves the conversation along. "I'll sleep on the couch. You shouldn't drive."

Alex nods in response, but doesn't get up. Within the twenty minutes where they mutely argue about when to start moving, they fall asleep.