Work Text:
What If?
“Do you ever wonder...” Galo begins - before reaching over and rummaging through the popcorn bowl. He insists on adding raisinets despite them always sinking to the bottom. A few crunches later, he continues: “...wonder what we might be doing now if we hadn’t met?”
“Literally?” Lio deadpans. “Because the world would literally be gone.”
“You know what I mean ,” Galo snorts, face contorted into a slight pout - which Lio can’t help but find endearing.
“Hmm, well, let’s say the world hadn’t exploded. That it wasn’t our meeting which prevented such an atrocity. And that there wasn’t a warrant on my head, either,” Lio then pauses to consider for a second. In the dead air of the conversation, some big-name actor pantomimes a dramatic conversation on the T.V. screen; the volume’s low so they can talk over all the explosions and loud car races.
Galo’s feet keep tapping Lio’s own where they’re tucked beside him on the small couch. If it’s on purpose, Galo doesn’t let on, though he keeps finding excuses to move around their small living room, ruffling Lio’s hair each time he thinks he can get away without a playful swat. If Lio was more honest, he might admit he liked this gesture. But he won't give away that secret. Not yet.
“How does this scenario sound: there’s this apartment on the eighth floor in Promepolis that’s notorious for setting off the fire alarm. It’s, miraculously, situated in Station 3’s district - in case you were wondering. But it’s never anything serious. No people on fire, no ruined furniture or keepsakes. And each time, it’s a daring man with blue spikes that keeps trudging all the way up those stairs, never wavering, to check that apartment 803’s inhabitants are alright.”
Galo’s listening intently, having completely relinquished the search for more chocolate-covered raisins in the sea of popcorn. “So why does the fire alarm keep going off? It’s pretty standard protocol to run diagnostics or replace the system if it’s that temperamental.”
“That’s been tried, of course.” Lio notes, having spaced on the job’s technicalities (which are so second-nature to Galo). “But perhaps someone is doing it on purpose.” He raises both eyebrows in mock surprise. Galo chuckles.
“Around the sixth or so time, our fire-fighting hero is off duty for the day. He does all the normal things, like errands and jogging and helping absolutely anyone who so much as blinks at him. And he catches a glimpse of the residents of that eighth floor apartment meandering their way from the supermarket back home…”
“So, next you’re gonna say something cliché like ‘suddenly, the attractive blonde one looks across the street at juuust the right moment, locking eyes with the dashing firefighter who’s just finished helping not one, but three kittens out of a tree.’ Yeah?”
“Not quite, Shakespeare,” Lio gives Galo’s shoulder a slow pat; a smile brushes the corners of his lips.
The window on the far wall glares with passing headlights; it’s only quarter-to-nine, but the autumnal sky is black and clear. Half-open, it supplies a bitter drift, to which Lio fails to stifle a shudder. A commercial break loudly interrupts last-year’s now-televised blockbuster - it’s some ad for a crazy new stain removing detergent with the loudest announcer in recent history- and Galo makes a quick excuse to vacate the loveseat.
It’s a little colder with Galo gone, another fact Lio hates to admit to himself. Each day ticking closer to wintertime serves as a reminder of the missing warmth nesting within his core. So Lio lets himself fall over onto the empty segment of the couch, inhaling the lingering smell of smoke and the residual body heat of it’s recent inhabitant.
“Lio,” Galo calls soon after from somewhere beyond the hallway, “need anything?”
“No,” he finds himself answering without actually having considered the question.
“M’kay .” It sounds distracted. Lio understands why after Galo emerges from the narrow hallway bulkier than he went in, now bearing the mass of three throw blankets.
“All those for yourself?” Lio sarcastically asks, but he honestly wouldn’t be surprised if that were true.
“Something like that. Hey! Scoot over, you're taking up the whole couch!”
“Fine, fine,” Lio reluctantly obliges, sitting upright again. He’s too tired to taunt Galo this time.
But Galo must have caught on, because once he’s seated and comfortable again, he pulls Lio against his side. Another swift movement wraps a fleece blanket across both their shoulders. Galo’s smiling, not directly looking at Lio, but Lio knows it’s for him.
The movie is back on, but neither one of them is too interested in it anymore; it was subpar and all the fancy cars are out of the picture.
“You never finished the story earlier.”
“No, I didn’t.” Lio relaxes a little more into the embrace. Galo’s always comfortable to be around, but Lio’s still getting over some of his own stuff. Galo understands and accepts all his troubles. Maybe that’s why he can smile with such care around the man. “Do you want to help me?”
“Hmmm ,” Galo hums a little while he thinks. “Maybe, on his day off, the super stud of a firefighter - who’s totally not me - builds up the courage to jog across the street and meet up with the other guys. He’s probably rambling and nervous and keeps fidgeting with his hair, when he introduces himself formally to the three guys whose butts he’s been saving from ear-aching alarms for the past couple months.”
Lio seamlessly continues the narrative from there: “And all the while, the - as you said earlier - attractive blonde plays it cool on the outside, but he can feel a prickle of amusement or irritation - perhaps both - singing his veins. He’s cool and curt, but softens a little because the man who’s been running up eight flights of stairs to stop their smoke alarm seems like a genuinely nice person. A little too nice sometimes, but it’s a decent flaw to have.”
Galo absent-mindedly, or maybe comfortingly, traces the hem on the blanket where it wraps around Lio’s outer arm - the one that’s not pinned to Galo’s side. They both enjoy the silence for a moment, gazing passively around the room. It’s past nine and it’s warm despite the rustle of leaves and cars passing the window.
“So when do they start going out?” Galo breaks the lingering question.
Lio laughs aloud. “Oh, probably after the twenty-second time the detector goes off, and this particular firefighter’s co-workers all pressure him to just bite the bullet and ask the blonde on a date.”
“And does he accept?"
“Yeah.” Lio nods, though he’s not sure Galo can see.
“Glad to hear it.”
“Me too.”