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“In one kiss, you'll know all I haven't said”
Pablo Neruda
Given Gwyn’s vocation, Carlos supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that TK has scheduled Zoom meetings with his mom, but he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t find it a little strange. Before the break up, they were meticulously planned every week or so, whenever Gwyn could fit TK into her tightly packed schedule, and TK could manoeuvre a call around his shifts. These days, they’re daily.
Carlos doesn’t blame Gwyn, not when – by all accounts – she’s received the call that no parent should ever have to receive, multiple times. The one where someone has to tell her that TK is hanging onto life by a thread; that he might not make it; that she should prepare for the worst. He can’t comprehend the kind of anguish that a call like that would strike into the heart of any parent, let alone one that has seen their child at their lowest, and their most volatile. He imagines that Gwyn expected those kinds of calls to stop coming a long time ago, or maybe she didn’t, given that TK is a first responder (and so is her ex-husband, Carlos rationalises), and it is an inherent part of the job. He wonders whether he should ask her for some tips.
Carlos and Gwyn have spoken since TK woke up, albeit briefly, through a patchy hospital Zoom connection while TK was barely conscious and kept falling asleep against the pillows. Since then, the calls have been predominantly during Owen’s TK-shift, and if Carlos knows them well enough (which he thinks he does), he imagines that those calls are full of Gwyn berating Owen for being a hermit in the woods while his only child was on the cusp of death.
Today, Gwyn is calling TK early, and Carlos guesses that TK might appreciate some time with his mom and just his mom. Carlos should probably take the opportunity to sleep in, given that he’s decided to go into the hospital a little later than usual, but he’s been struck with the early-Saturday morning need to do something useful. That, and given the progress they’ve been making over the days since TK woke up, he’s going to give in and let himself be a little optimistic.
During the break up, he’d created a specific album on his phone containing photos of TK, one which could be shoved to the bottom of his gallery and subsequently ignored while it hurt his heart to even think about his ex-boyfriend, let alone be assaulted by his intriguing green eyes and his crooked, beautiful smile. Much like the hope he refused to let go of, Carlos didn’t have the courage to delete them completely, and he used to think that was a sign of weakness; an inability to face reality. Now, he’s incredibly grateful for that decision. It wouldn’t feel right to start over again from a blank slate. They already have so much of their story written down. They just need to add the next few lines to smooth over the previous paragraphs.
As he drinks his coffee on the sofa, his feet tucked underneath him in a position that was definitely learned from TK, he flicks through the photos with a wry smile. There are so many of TK laughing at something out of frame or pulling stupid faces, and a bunch of candids that Carlos has taken when his boyfriend wasn’t looking. If it didn’t sound creepy and obsessed, Carlos would readily confess to his burning desire to catalogue every single one of TK’s expressions and just drown in the perfection of them; understand all of their components, what they mean and who they’re meant for.
There’s a few of TK and Buttercup, playing in the yard at Owen’s house, that Carlos particularly likes. TK looks so free and unguarded, his mouth curved into a surprised smile as Buttercup tugs on the toy that TK has in his hand. Then, there’s the one that Paul took at the bar the 126 used to hang out at, with Nancy practically locking TK in a chokehold and pressing a kiss to his cheek, his nose wrinkled up in that unnamed expression that Carlos knows means he’s only pretending to hate it.
There’s a couple with TK, Owen and Gwyn, from Owen’s remission party. Owen is looking at the tumour-cake like it’s personally offended him, and TK is laughing at his expression with Gwyn’s arm around his waist and a genuine smile on her face. There’s a few from the first time Carlos took TK to the ranch, namely one where he’s looking up at one of his father’s American Quarter Horses with some kind of fascinated horror, and another of him inexplicably holding a chicken in his arms.
There’s a stack of photos of TK fast asleep – some of them in ridiculous places, some of them just because Carlos wanted to preserve how angelic he looked – and a video of TK talking in his sleep that Carlos laughs out loud at. He hasn’t played that video for months, he realises, probably because it was taken in the townhouse and for a long while he found it really difficult to think about that place without dredging up complicated memories of the fire. He wonders what TK will think of it now, his sleepy face pressed into the pillow as he mumbles about his tooth falling out and having to go and get it fixed.
There’s a whole bunch from the various dates they’ve been on over the years – Austin restaurants and food trucks, hikes out in the Texas Hill Country, a moonlight cinema and a weirdly competitive round of lawn bowls. There’s a few in particular he likes; selfies of them taken by TK on a bright and cloudless day. They were picnicking somewhere – Carlos can’t exactly remember the location – but TK is wearing a familiar hoodie and a happy, relaxed smile, while Carlos’ expression is just as content, his face half-buried in TK’s neck.
There’s nothing particularly memorable about the photos, but Carlos is drawn to them anyway. It feels as if, in that moment, TK captured the best part of their relationship: the way they just fit together, their inescapable, unwavering attraction, and the way they make each other immeasurably happy. He favourites two of the best ones, along with a few pictures of TK and his parents and Carlos with his own, tossing and turning over the rest before favouriting a few more.
He doesn’t register exactly how eager he is until he pulls up at the mall and realises that there’s still ten minutes until it even opens. There’s something about the post-coma days that feels so invigorating, like Carlos has found his drive again, like he has a purpose to living outside his work and his family, with someone to dedicate his free time to. He wonders whether it would be too forward to start clearing space for TK in his closet. On the one hand, he doesn’t want to put any additional pressure on the relationship while it’s still healing. On the other hand, TK literally asked for it.
Once the mall finally opens, Carlos finds himself alone at the photo-processing stall. He supposes not many people print their photos these days, and he’s not exactly sure why he’s decided to do it. It just feels important somehow, like TK should have a physical presence in his home because he belongs there, even if he isn’t ready to live together again. That, and Carlos really likes the idea of TK’s face adorning his shelves. One day, when they get married, he’s going to order a massive print of one of their wedding photos, and make an impassioned argument as to why it needs to go on their wall.
As he waits for the clerk to collect his items, Carlos browses the frames, picking up a couple of simple ones he thinks will look nice with the furniture in the loft. He hopes TK likes what he’s done with the place, although Carlos would be very open to making design changes if it meant TK would be more comfortable there. The more he thinks about it, the more excited he gets at the concept of showing TK the space. Maybe if TK likes it enough he’ll decide to move in faster.
The thing is, Carlos doesn’t want to rush this process. He doesn’t want to do anything that will push TK away again, or simultaneously feel like too much too soon on his own. He’s still grappling with the hurt and anger he feels, although every conversation they have seems to wash so much of it away, like they’re being cleansed somehow, and when he thinks about it, he wonders whether he’s holding onto the idea of being mad a little too hard.
Maybe, he wonders, it’s because he feels like he should be mad. Because if he searches the deepest, most vulnerable spaces of his heart, he realises that he might not really be mad at all.
“All done,” the young clerk smiles, drawing Carlos out of his reverie and handing him a brown envelope. “I don’t mean to pry,” she adds, “but you make a very good looking couple.”
Carlos looks down at the envelope and exhales through a cautious smile. “Thanks,” he replies. “I– Uh, he does most of the work for us.”
“Not true,” she says with a wink, turning back to the printer. “Anyway, it’s all in the body language. Y’all are meant to be together.”
Carlos stammers another thank you, exits the store and sits in the Camaro with an uncontrollable smile on his face as he flicks through the photos. Then, he puts the frames in the backseat of the car, carefully tucks the envelope into the pocket of his hoodie, the same one that TK is wearing in two of the printed pictures, and grins the entire way home.
When Carlos gets to the hospital, TK is out of bed and fiddling with the hospital room window.
“Hey,” Carlos says, sliding through the doors and closing them behind him. “What are you up to this morning?”
TK throws him a brief smile before reaching up on his tiptoes again and tugging at the opening mechanism. “You know,” he replies mildly. “Minor home renovations.”
“Did you break it?” Carlos asks drily, arching an eyebrow when TK frowns in his direction.
“No,” he protests hotly, before biting his lip. “Well, maybe. I’m not sure. It’s stuck.”
“Want me to help?” Carlos asks softly, beating down the compulsion to physically pick TK up and put him back on the bed.
“It’s fine, I’ll just—” TK grunts, then drops his arm with a defeated sigh. “I keep forgetting how weak I am these days.”
Carlos hums thoughtfully and offers TK an outstretched palm. “Come on,” he says, trying to be as soothing and calming as possible, “I’ll help you.”
TK reluctantly allows himself to be sat on the bed, making an adorable, little appreciative noise when Carlos kisses his forehead, and watches Carlos fiddle with the locking mechanism.
“I don’t really know what you’ve done here, babe,” he admits, tugging it gently. “But whatever you did, you did it pretty good.”
“It wasn’t me,” TK says darkly. “It was Dad. He’s all about an aversion to cold air now and it’s driving me nuts.”
“Can’t imagine why,” Carlos mutters under his breath, before he finally manages to yank the locking mechanism free and roll the window open. “Is that what you want?”
TK sighs and lies back on the bed. “Perfect,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. “This is why I think you should take all of Dad’s shifts. I only need one person here, and it’s you.”
“What about Nancy?” Carlos points out, “or literally anyone else from the 126? What about Judd?”
TK waves a hand, his eyes remaining closed. “Yeah, they’re good I guess,” he admits. “But they’re not as easy to look at.”
Carlos snorts. “Well if that’s all you want me here for—”
“You’re a bit far away,” TK interjects, opening one eye and looking up at Carlos. “It’s much easier to appreciate your stupidly hot face when you’re right next to me. Also, did you bring coffee this morning?”
“It's in the thermos, but don’t hold back on the demands,” Carlos mutters, sliding the grey canister onto the hospital table, kicking off his shoes and sliding onto the hospital bed next to TK. He nuzzles his face into TK’s hair as TK rolls onto his side, shifting a little to navigate around his broken ribs.
He sighs contentedly as Carlos wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him into his chest. "I might have another demand," he mumbles into the folds of Carlos' shirt. "If you'd be open to it."
"Mhm?" Carlos hums, breathing in the comforting smell of TK's shampoo. "What's that?"
"I have a consultation with Dr. Sharma today,” TK says, squeezing himself impossibly closer to Carlos’ chest. “I was wondering if you could come with me?”
Carlos pauses for a minute, unsure why he’s required for a consultation since his medical knowledge is limited to the basic first aid training all patrol officers receive. “Sure,” he replies softly. “But do you think Tommy or Nancy might be a better choice if it’s going to get all technical?”
TK presses a kiss to his clothed sternum. “No, it’s for post-discharge instructions,” he replies. “I just want someone else there in case I forget them. Plus, you never believe me when I tell you that I’m allowed to—”
“TK,” Carlos interrupts, drawing back slightly and craning his neck to look down at his chest. TK’s wide, green eyes stare back up at him. “Don’t you think your dad would have been a better person to bring to that meeting?” he asks. “I mean, he’s going to be your primary caregiver when you go home, right?”
TK gives him a slightly guilty look, then groans and nudges his head against Carlos’ pectoral muscle. “I was so comfortable down here,” he sighs, “but I guess now we’ve gotta—”
He cuts himself off as he untangles himself from Carlos’ arm and gingerly pushes up into a seated position on the bed. Carlos, unsure about what’s going on and becoming more and more convinced that he’s missing a crucial part of the discussion, mirrors his actions, drawing his feet up underneath him to sit cross legged on the bed in front of TK like an overgrown elementary school student.
“What’s going on?” he asks, the suspicion evident in his tone.
TK bites his lip and looks down at his hands in his lap. Carlos notices that he’s wringing them together nervously, and his heart flips in his chest as he waits for TK to respond. “Well,” he starts, “I’ve been thinking.”
“Always dangerous,” Carlos mutters, raising his eyebrows in TK’s direction. “Out with it, TK.”
“Um,” TK says softly, grimacing slightly at his hands. “I don’t really know how to say this without sounding kinda crazy,” he admits. “But it makes sense in my head, I swear.”
“Hey,” Carlos replies, reaching into TK’s lap and capturing one of TK’s hands in his own, blanketing it with his palms. “I’m sure it’s going to sound perfectly logical—”
“It’s just that—” TK begins, wincing and then starting again, his free hand now rubbing through his hair. “Look, Carlos. I appreciate that we’re going to need to do a lot of things to…rediscover each other in the next few months. You know, remember how to be a couple and what we each like and don’t like and how to communicate better and coordinate our schedules—”
“I hope your schedule is very empty for the next little while, TK,” Carlos frowns. “Not until you’re medically cleared for work.”
“Yeah, I know that,” TK huffs. “But my dad’s weird schemes take up a surprising amount of my time, and so do my loveable and slightly overbearing friends. Anyway, I get that we have a lot of work to do, and that we will probably need some space from each other at times to do that, but I also think we need to be together a lot to work those things out. And I know that we’ve been broken up for months and that we can’t just go back to the way things were instantly, but equally, I don't think we can start again as if the time we spent together before the break-up never happened. Does that make sense?”
“Yes…?” Carlos replies cautiously, “and no. I don’t really understand where you’re going with this, babe.”
TK inhales shakily and sucks his bottom lip through his teeth. “What I’m saying is, I don’t think we should start again from the start.”
Carlos feels his face go slightly blank. “I agree,” he says softly. “But I still don’t—”
“I think we should start again from the day before you bought the loft,” TK says.
“TK,” Carlos sighs, “I can’t just pretend the loft doesn’t exist. I mean, I own it— Well, technically speaking, we own it—”
TK scrunches up his nose. “No, I don’t mean—” he groans. “I’m really not explaining this well.”
“Are you saying that you want to stay away from the loft for a bit?” Carlos asks gently, rubbing TK’s forearm with one hand while he interlaces their fingers with the other. “Because it’s okay if you want that. I understand that it might be hard for you to be there—”
“No,” TK interrupts, still worrying his lip between his teeth. “I’m saying the exact opposite of that.”
“Oh,” Carlos says. “Well, I mean, you’re welcome there anytime. You can stay over a few nights a week if you want? Whatever makes you most comfortable.”
“No, I don’t mean that either, I—”
“TK,” Carlos interjects, ducking his head to catch TK’s gaze which has slipped away onto the sheets again. “Can you please just tell me exactly what you want?”
TK makes another little frustrated noise and tugs Carlos’ hand. “I think we should live together,” he blurts out, a panicked expression etching its way onto his face as the words leave his lips. “If you want,” he adds hurriedly. “If you don’t want to, I totally get it. It’s just…it makes sense to me that we’re going to be able to grow back together faster if we’re doing the same things we were doing immediately before everything went wrong.”
Carlos takes a deep breath and tries to catalogue all the swirling, jumbled thoughts in his head. He’s not exactly sure what he was expecting when they first got into this conversation, but it certainly wasn’t this. He expected TK to be hesitant to return to the loft, so maybe—
“Wait,” he says. “You’re not asking me to move back in with your dad, right?” he asks. “Because I love your dad, but no.”
TK lets out a surprised, slightly strangled laugh. “No, I’m not asking that,” he says. “I know it’s a lot, and maybe you don’t want me in your space right away, but I just thought I’d put it out there because it makes sense to me, Carlos.”
Carlos nods, trying to quash the very rampant desire to immediately say yes. He feels as if he should be thinking harder about this, acting more hesitantly; as if he should still be processing the break-up, not ready to let TK back in so easily. He grapples with the overwhelming excitement and enthusiasm, warm and glittering over his skin, trying to find the anger and the frustration he felt mere days ago, but it’s been lost somewhere.
He feels as if he’s desperately clinging onto reservations, as if being cautious and restrained is the correct way to heal from his trauma. But then again, he doubts whether there even is a correct way. The sequence of events that lead them to this place is something that only they have experienced, and there’s no roadmap to successful decision making. They’re going to have to navigate this unique route on their own.
Then, there’s the anger, lingering only at the edges of his consciousness. Most of it feels as if it has been washed away, cleansed from his skin over the hours spent talking and listening and understanding TK in a way he’s never really appreciated before. The unnamed increments of time spent splashing each other in the shower and cuddling into each other on the hospital bed, the endless days of Carlos’ head resting against TK’s legs and the tears and the touches and all those beautiful, sacred words spun out under the bright, harsh, hospital lights.
He wonders where the anger really lives anymore, because it’s not in his heart. The anger feels as if it only lives clutched between his fingertips, like it could be let go with no difficulty at all, if he chose to do it.
He thinks about what he told TK during one of their conversations, about the risk of love, and wonders whether holding onto that anger is a way of holding out on the risk. The fact of the matter is that TK, whether he lives in the same loft or not, will always have the power to break Carlos’ heart. He’ll always have the ability to take Carlos’ world between his hands and shatter it; throw it out, discard it or lose it somewhere it can’t be found.
That’s the risk of love, Carlos thinks. Putting your whole world in someone’s hands, even though they could destroy you, and trusting them to hold it gently instead.
This place, this hospital, this half-way house and everything that came before it is just a prelude. A prelude that Carlos wants to build into a lifelong love that will consume him and sustain him and light him up from the inside out.
He just has to answer the question.
“Yeah,” he whispers, squeezing TK’s hand between his own. “Okay.”
“Okay?” TK asks, arching an eyebrow. “That’s all you’re gonna say?”
Carlos nods, unwilling to trust himself to say anything else without the words choking up in his throat. Instead, he untangles his legs and slides himself down the bed, pulling TK gently into his arms and letting out a surprised, muffled yelp as TK pushes him down onto his back instead, and straddles his hips in a way that is far too smooth for someone with broken ribs.
“TK,” he hisses. “You know those doors are glass right? And the curtains aren’t even closed—”
TK shrugs. “They’ve been watching us spoon each other and shower together and kiss without kissing for ages now. I think this is the natural progression of my admission.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Carlos snorts, reaching up to press his hand against TK’s chest. “God, I can’t wait to do this for real.”
“With no clothes on?” TK teases, waggling his eyebrows. “Look, babe, I’m still a little sore from the catheter, so—”
“Uh, TK,” Carlos coughs. “I didn’t mean that— I mean, don’t you need medical clearance for those kinds of activities?”
TK grins down at him brushing his thumb against Carlos’ lips as he cups his jaw in one hand. “Maybe,” he admits, his smile turning mischievous. “I’m gonna ask Dr. Sharma, and you’re going to blush so hard. It’s going to be adorable.”
“Please don’t,” Carlos groans. “I can’t come back to this hospital as it is, not after your dad practically walked in on us showering yesterday. I heard the nursing staff whispering about it when I was leaving, and I can’t look any of them in the eye ever again.”
TK laughs, the sound of it puncturing Carlos’ heart and filling the holes with syrupy contentment. He could listen to TK’s laugh all day, he realises, and then feels his cheeks pull his lips into an infectious smile at the thought.
“What?” TK asks, leaning over slightly as he braces his hand against the mattress next to Carlos’ head. “What’s that smile for?”
Carlos looks away furtively, unsure why he feels so shy. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I just can’t believe this is real.”
“Oh,” TK replies, in a serious tone that draws Carlos’ attention. “It’s very real. You’re going to believe it’s very real the moment I get back to Dad’s house after the hospital and we have to start packing all of my stuff into boxes again. Do you remember what happened last time I moved into your place?”
“We?” Carlos asks, trying to maintain some incredulity and struggling. “Why do I have to be subjected to that torture? You’re the one that can’t stop yourself from accumulating useless junk.”
“Hoodies are not useless junk, Carlos,” TK replies flatly, his expression morphing into a frown. “And I see you’re wearing one today, so you have no leg to stand on.”
“This is my only non-APD hoodie,” Carlos retorts. “Which, as I recall, you also like to wear.”
“Yeah,” TK agrees, flicking Carlos’ earlobe softly, a little smile working its way onto his face again. “And it’s gonna be going back on my side of the closet soon enough.”
“Oh sure,” Carlos retorts, his hands resting on TK’s sweatpant-covered thighs. “Over my dead—”
He’s silenced by TK’s finger pressing against his lips and rolls his eyes, kissing it. “Shh, baby,” he whispers. “You’re getting morbid again.”
“That’s very rich, coming from you,” Carlos smirks, watching TK lift his finger to his own lips to cover it with another kiss.
He fixes Carlos with a brilliant, intoxicating smile, one which reaches the very corners of his eyes and covers his entire mouth. “We’re really gonna do this, right?” he asks.
“I think we’re really going to do this,” Carlos agrees, a little breathlessly. “Don’t let your dad bring a blender this time though,” he adds. “I already have one.”
TK shakes his head, before reaching back down to smooth Carlos’ curls back from his forehead. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asks softly. “It’s not going to put too much pressure on you?”
Carlos gives it a moment’s thought, and can’t find a crumb of resistance. He’s ready to take the risk, he thinks. Besides, TK’s taking the risk right alongside him.
He thinks about the sparsely filled closet and the completely empty storage cage in the parking lot that’s waiting to be filled with TK’s possessions. He thinks about the photographs he printed that morning, TK’s favourite meals all tabbed in his recipe books and the side of the bed that’s been empty the entire time Carlos has lived in the loft.
“Yeah,” he answers honestly. “I’ve been waiting for you to come home for so long.”
"Are you mad?" TK asks, prodding Carlos in the ribs as they walk down the hospital hallway. They've just left TK's discharge consultation with Dr. Sharma, and Carlos is wondering why he hasn't yet passed away from embarrassment.
He gives TK a reproachful look. "Did you have to ask specifically about anal sex?" he asks, rolling his eyes. "I mean, would 'sexual activity' have sufficed? I think it's pretty clear that we're gay."
TK snorts. "I thought you'd want a timeline of when I'll be able to—"
"TK, there is absolutely no rush on those things."
"From your perspective or from my perspective?" TK counters, as they slide through the glass doors to his room. "Because from my perspective, I'd like you to fuck me as soon as humanely possible."
“TK.”
“What?” TK asks, as if he didn’t know exactly what kind of reaction those words would inspire. He turns to the thermos that’s still on the hospital table. “Do you think this will still be hot?”
Carlos groans. “I forgot how annoying you are,” he mutters, catching TK around the waist – low, so he doesn’t touch anywhere tender – and pushing him towards the bed. “You’re lucky we’re in a semi-public place right now.”
“Oh really?” TK teases, cupping Carlos’ face momentarily in his hands, before his legs hit the back of the bed and he sits obediently. “What would you do to me if we weren’t?”
There’s a low, frustrated sound that works its way out of Carlos’ lips, and he scrubs one hand through his hair roughly. “Nothing,” he bites out, “because unfortunately, you asked Dr. Sharma exactly how long we have to wait to perform any kind of sex act on each other, and he said a minimum of two weeks.”
TK frowns. “I think those timelines are kinda stretchy.”
“TK you asked about every single sex act individually,” Carlos points out. “I don’t think the timelines are stretchy. If anything, they’re incredibly prescriptive.”
TK’s frown morphs into a scowl. “What if I wear the heart rate monitor band and we make sure it doesn’t go over—”
“That would be very strange,” Carlos interjects, a soft laugh bubbling up from his chest at how ridiculous this whole situation is. “It would feel like we’re measuring your sexual performance.”
TK smirks. “Wouldn’t be so bad,” he says devilishly. “You love it when I praise you. Maybe I’d like it too?”
Carlos coughs loudly. “Who says it would be praise?” he asks weakly.
“Come on, baby,” TK croons, rubbing the spot on the bed next to him. “You know I would be so good for you.”
“Okay, no,” Carlos says, swallowing thickly and snatching TK’s water bottle up from the nightstand to cool himself down. “This is terrible. You’re terrible. We can’t be doing this here.”
TK laughs softly, looking very pleased with himself. “Okay, okay,” he acquiesces, before his expression turns into one of mock sincerity. “Unless you’d like me to pull the curtains and—”
“We’re pulling the curtains anyway,” Carlos replies, tugging them around the bed, “because you can’t be trusted. But we’re not doing anything that would get us in trouble. I don’t know the legalities around having sex in a hospital, but I feel like it’s—”
“Do you think you’d have to arrest yourself?” TK teases, kicking the hospital-issue slides off his feet and pushing himself back against the pillows. “That could be fun.”
Carlos arches an eyebrow. “Might be a bit hard for you to access the loft without me.”
“I’m sure I could flirt my way in.”
“Don’t know how susceptible the deadlock is to flirting, but you can always give it a try.”
TK laughs and holds his hand out over the bed. “Come here,” he coaxes, shuffling himself horizontally across as he grapples with the tips of Carlos’ fingers and pulls him closer. Carlos doesn’t even attempt to resist, kicking off his own shoes and allowing himself to be shuffled into the spot TK wants him, wincing at every sharp intake of TK’s breath as he tries and fails to avoid all of the sensitive spots on his chest.
When they’re lying facing each other, Carlos props himself up on one forearm and watches TK run a tentative hand over his clothed chest. “Careful where you’re going with that,” he says flatly, raising his eyebrows again in TK’s direction.
TK looks up at him mischievously, the flash of green encompassed by the sweep of dark, full eyelashes. “Carlos,” he asks quietly. “When are you going to kiss me?”
Something in Carlos’ stomach swings like a pendulum at the words, low and foreboding. There’s a prickle of anticipation over his skin and his tongue feels thick in his mouth, and, much like the dissipating anger, he can’t find any of the resistance he felt three days ago.
The nasty, petty part of his mind dredges up the memory of TK kissing other men, and although it stings, it doesn’t dissuade him this time. Instead, he feels overcome with a need to rectify that, to claim TK as his own, like TK’s lips are meant to be pressed, firm and sweet against Carlos’. Like TK’s tongue belongs in his mouth, swiping across his bottom lip or licking the inside of his cheek.
It’s so familiar and yet so deliciously foreign, and there isn’t a single part of Carlos that hesitates in pushing TK gently over onto his back and leaning carefully over his chest, the hand that’s not braced into the mattress reaching out to cup TK’s cheek.
“Do you want me to kiss you?” Carlos asks, his voice sounding a little tight. There’s a buzzing, all-consuming feeling in the air, like a magnetic field, drawing them together.
TK reaches up to thread his fingers through the curls at the base of Carlos’ head. “Yes,” he says softly. “I just don’t want to rush you.”
“I want to,” Carlos murmurs, sweeping his thumb over TK’s skin. “I really want to.”
There’s a little pause, one in which they just breathe into each other’s space, and Carlos can’t recall leaning over, but suddenly they’re mere inches apart and he can feel TK’s fingers tighten in his hair.
“Then have me, baby,” TK breathes, his other hand stuck between them but somehow finding one of the belt loops on Carlos’ jeans and tugging impatiently.
Carlos can’t help but smile, feeling the space between them dissipate like smoke into cool air. He takes a breath, and hears TK take one too, the nervous energy between them palpable, like they’re sharing their first kiss, which Carlos supposes it kind of is, in a way. Not their first kiss, but one in which all the broken shards of their former relationship work their way back together.
TK’s exhale skates over his skin, and Carlos licks his lips in response, the closeness drawing him in. There’s the familiar brush of his nose against TK’s cheek and a little, soft noise from TK’s throat, and it takes all of his willpower to be gentle and tentative, because TK’s body vibrates beneath him like it needs to be consumed. Carlos wants to burn happily along with him, giving into the burning desire he feels lick on the inside of his abdomen.
Carlos wonders when he became such a walking cliché, because as soon as their lips meet, he feels his world shift. Something falls back into place easily, like it was always supposed to be there, and a slow, comforting feeling seeps through his skin as he melts into the kiss.
TK’s lips are sweet and gentle, and it feels as if his body is so pliant, moulding to Carlos’ touch, as if it was carved out for him. The kiss only lasts a few seconds before Carlos draws back breathlessly, but when he does, it lingers on his lips with a tingling sensation.
“Was that right?” he asks tentatively. “Did you like it?”
TK stares at him for a second, before choking out a very incredulous laugh. “Did I like it?” he asks. “You're ridiculous and I love you a stupid amount.”
“Is that a yes?” Carlos asks, biting his lip. “Should I do it again?”
“Do it again,” TK begs, rubbing the back of Carlos’ neck with his hand and smiling into the next press of Carlos’ lips on his own. “Do it until your lips fall off.”
“Demanding,” Carlos murmurs into the space between them, before capturing TK’s mouth in something a little more searing.
That night, when he arrives home from the hospital, Carlos calls Mateo. He has a strong aversion to the concept of TK doing any heavy lifting for the next few months, and he suspects that the only way to stop him is to move all of his boyfriend's stuff to the loft while he's still corralled in a hospital bed.
Then, Carlos cooks dinner – carefully wrapping another two portions and sliding them into the refrigerator – showers, brushes his teeth and climbs into bed, sandwiching himself between the sheets. When he looks over at the empty side of the bed, the one he always imagined that TK would occupy, he smiles. Soon, it will be full of messy brown hair and bright smiles and a man that steals so much of the comforter that Carlos has to chase him across the bed in his sleep.
Carlos swears he’s never going to complain about it again. TK can have as much of the comforter as he wants, as long as Carlos has his arms full of TK.
TK is pretty much everything he needs, after all.