Archive of Our Own

He wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

He wasn’t supposed to feel his chest tighten, his breath hitch, or his face grow red at every interaction. He wasn’t supposed to be stuck here while Galo spoke, staring at his mouth and struggling to comprehend what he was saying without being distracted by his dumb fucking face. He barely knew the man, barely understood what he was saying at any given time. And besides, Galo wasn’t his.

Galo and Lio’s relationship, while maybe still complicated, was no secret. While neither of them were direct about it, gentle touches and lowered voices peppered throughout their exchanges did not go unnoticed. They had a different energy when they were around each other. Something new, entirely different and separate from their own. It was almost like they were meant to find each other, somehow. Despite the squabbling and theatrics that intensified their regular disagreements, they always seemed to just... click right back together afterwards. They were perfect for each other, and Gueira was always happy to see his Boss happy.

So why did it bother him so much?

Gueira grips his fork, staring intently back at Galo as he attempts to ground himself again. He still wasn’t grasping what the other man was saying. Something about the fire truck and... no, still not following. Maybe he was telling a story? Gueira is left resigned to just stare at him dumbly, poking at his lunch with his fork. He should be eating on his break, but ever since Galo had rooted himself beside him his stomach had been in knots.

He should be glad, right? He should be happy for Lio. He should be happy that Lio is happy, that should be enough. He shouldn't be hung up on this- anything about it. Anything about Galo.

"-you okay?" His eyes flutter as he gets dragged into the present once again, now realizing that Galo is speaking to him rather than at him. He blinks cluelessly at the other man, his head tilting ever so slightly.

"What?"

"I asked if you were okay," Galo repeated, his eyes reflecting the concern in his voice. "You're not eating anything, you've just been staring at your lap this entire time."

Gueira stared back at Galo, as if he couldn't personally recall what he'd been doing. Instead of answering, he straightened up a bit, eyes turned now to his lap. He was sitting cross legged on the bench, a tray of takeout leftovers now lukewarm in his lap. Staring at it made his stomach twist even more.

"I'm not hungry."

"Yeah, I can tell," Galo answered quickly, in stark contrast to Gueira's mumbling. "Are you sick? I could run to the drug store and get you something."

The offer that the opposite effect on the former Burnish than it should have. His shoulders tensed, posture regressing as he curled in on himself again. "Nah. I'm good."

There was a moment of silence. He didn't have to look up to figure out how Galo was looking at him. While he hadn't spent enough time with the young firefighter to really guess what was going on in his head, he was enough of an open book that Gueira just knew that Galo was looking at him with concern right now. Eyes flickering over his hunched form, mouth pressed shut as he tried to discern what to do in response. His innate urge to help the people around him was probably showing through. It always did.

"Well... feel better. Okay?" Galo's words were not quiet, but held a different energy than his voice had during his narration minutes ago. It was still loud, strong, but now somber and low with genuine worry. Galo was worried about him. The words were punctuated with a gentle clap to the back, Galo's hand warm where it rested over his shoulder blade. Galo was worried about him. It was ringing in his mind over and over again. 'Galo is worried about me.'

"Don't work yourself too hard." Galo's hand slid away again as he stood, casting one more look at Gueira's sulking figure before leaving him alone.

He stayed like that for a while, curled around food he knew he wasn't going to eat. He even poked at it once or twice with his fork, but his appetite just didn't return. His thoughts settled instead to his shoulder, now feeling cold where Galo had laid his hand. The room felt too quiet now. He hadn't been actively listening to the story that was being spouted at him earlier, but without Galo's voice to fill the space, the locker room had begun to feel... too empty.

Long minutes passed before Gueira finally moved, cursing under his breath as he unfolded himself to stand up. Balancing his tray in one hand, he shifted to his feet, feeling slower and heavier than usual. He cursed again, boots hitting the floor hard as he trudged over to the trash, letting his meal slide heavily off the tray. He hesitated for a moment before, out of sheer bitterness, dropping the tray in too. Only seconds passed before his swung his leg back, kicking the can hard with a much louder, more pitched expletive. His shrill voice echoed in the locker room, reflecting almost tauntingly off of the blanched tile walls, making him doubly aware of the crack in his voice that he'd initially felt more than heard.

This wasn't fair. He shouldn't feel so... so hurt by this. By his voice, by his touch. By him walking away. The hand on his shoulder had just been a kind gesture, nothing more! Galo was just a nice person!

That rings in his head for a moment before, again, his posture falls. Galo was a nice person. Too nice. There was no reason he'd ever want anything to do with someone like him. There was no reason he should hope for it. Galo was kind... he might be an idiot, but he was the kindest person Gueira had ever met. He cared about people he barely knew, something Gueira could only start to understand. He'd spent years caring for other Burnish, but besides that? He couldn't be bothered to care too much about strangers he passed on the street. Galo was the type of person to drop what he was doing to help someone he'd just met in passing. That was just how he was, everyone knew that.

He sniffs, rolling his shoulders as he attempts to redirect his mind. It was fine... it wasn't like he hadn't gone over this with himself over and over again already. He just... he needed to get past it. He frowns into the trash, giving the can one more tiny kick before walking away, towards the doorway. That's what work was for. Work was a good distraction... He and Meis had plenty to get done by themselves. A few more hours where he would be distracted, a relief from this train of thought that managed to resurface every time he set eyes on the charming, kind, lovable blue-haired idiot. And whenever it did, he just... had to focus on something else. The jealousy was riddling him with guilt.