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Last-call came sooner than he expected, the bartender shooing him through the door with a deep frown and a muttered “I don’t care where you go, but you can’t stay here.” He thought he would wander the streets for a bit, maybe huddle up on a park bench until sunrise, but there was only one thing that stopped him from doing either of those. His angel, his beloved partner, his better half - Mac.
It’s late, nearing 3AM, and they’re sure to be asleep but he ambles to a nearby payphone anyway. He needs to hear their voice, needs it more than he needs cheap beer or oxygen. He’s tipsy, but when he thinks of them he feels a peace wash over him that alcohol could never achieve no matter how much he drank. Regardless of what he goes through, or where he goes in life, Mac will always be his calm, his comfort, his heaven.
The streets are quiet, not a soul besides him lingering on the sidewalk, the shops and bars all closed for the night. It’s the closest thing he’ll get to privacy, and it’ll have to do. He finds the nearest payphone, residing beneath a flickering streetlight in a shady nook, and he casts a weary glance around him to make sure there are no unsavory characters skulking around. It wouldn’t do for him to get stabbed on the phone with his lover.
But everything is completely still, the buzz of electricity from the light above and the rustling wind kicking a few leaves down the block the only things he can hear. He picks up the phone, digging through his pockets for a couple quarters until he triumphantly pulls out the handful of change he carries for situations like this. Mac’s number is punched in, the sequence pure muscle memory at this point; he’s almost 100% sure he could put their number in blindfolded with one arm tied behind his back.
He wedges the phone between his ear and shoulder, pouring the coins back into his pocket for later. The line trills in his ear, ringing once, then twice, then thrice before he hears them pick up. “Hello?” They say, their voice thick with sleep. The reaction is instant; his shoulders relax, the buzz in his head quiets down to a low hum, and a dopey smile crosses his lips.
“Hey sweetheart, did I wake you?” He can hear the rustle of linens, and he pictures them sitting up and clicking on their bedside lamp. “Jimmy, honey, it’s 3 in the morning. Is everything okay?” They’re more alert now, worry creeping into their voice and the notion warms him to the bone. Having someone who worries about you, who cares about your wellbeing? It’s something he would cherish forever.
“Yeah, I’m okay. I just wanted to hear your voice.” There’s a beat of silence and when Mac speaks, their words are tinged with affection. “How much have you had to drink, Mr. McGill? You’re not usually this sappy.” He can’t fight the smile, not that he really wants to. Who’s going to see it, anyway. Mac isn’t there to tease him about it, so if he wants to smile like an idiot, he will.
“Hey, c’mon, I’m allowed to be sappy every now and then. And besides, you love it.” Mac hums, and Jimmy can hear more rustling; likely just his lover getting more comfortable in bed. “I wouldn’t say I love it, but I do like being the only person who sees this side of you.” Jimmy huffs out a laugh, “yeah, that’s because I have a reputation to uphold. Do you think anyone would take me seriously if I went around being sweet ?” Mac doesn’t say anything, but he knows them. What they’re doing right now is rolling their eyes and mockingly mouthing his words.
They sigh, “no, I suppose you’re right.” Again, he knows them. He knows their snark, their sass, better than he knows himself. What they really wanted to say was, “people take you seriously?” He lets it go, lets them have their silent victory - the victory that only exists in their heart. “Anyway, I’m sorry I woke you up, sweetheart. I’ll let you get back to bed.”
Mac clicks their tongue, a quiet disapproval, “Jimmy, you’ve already woken me up. You might as well come over, because I know you’re not going home.” He has a quip, a taunt, a teasing little innuendo ready and poised on his tongue, but they cut him off before he has the chance to speak, “come over and sleep, James McGill. It’s late and I have work in,” they pause, likely glancing at their clock if the muffled groan is anything to go by, “3 hours. So, no funny business, got it?”
Jimmy would never pass up an opportunity to hold his lover, even if it means sex is off the table. So, with a new pep in his step, he agrees. “Alright, I’ll be over before you can say Albuquerque.” He slams the phone down on the receiver before they can - joyfully - prove him wrong and starts the quick walk to their apartment.
It doesn’t take long for their building to come into view and he’s suddenly nervous. They have that effect on him; there’s something about their eyes, piercing blue with a hint of golden brown surrounding the pupil, that have him tripping over his words and stumbling into coffee tables and corners. And that’s not even getting into their smile, their laugh, their voice, the way the light hits their hair and turns it into spun gold.
They’ve always had an effect on him; they’ve always been able to render him speechless, always been able to make him blush like a schoolboy with his first crush. Even when he’s being an idiot, even when he’s saying things he shouldn’t, they’ve never judged him - they have torn him a new asshole when he’s been especially stupid, or when his bright idea is so illegal that they have to physically knock that idea out of his head.
In the 25 years he’s been on earth, he’s never met another person like them. And he’s so fucking lucky to have them. He’s been floating, listless, moving through life like a ghost whose only purpose is to cause trouble and make a couple quick bucks doing it. But they bring him back down to earth and they remind him that his life, his existence, has a purpose. He just has to find it.
He climbs the last few stairs and hesitates at their door. He’s got a key, Mac gave it to him after 5 months together because they were tired of him waking them up at 2AM just to let him in, but he knows they’re awake right now. Is using the key the way to go? Should he knock? Should he knock and then use the key? Fuck, why is he overthinking this. It’s Mac! They know who he is, they know what he’s like! He groans, careful to keep it quiet so he doesn’t disturb anyone else tonight, and digs through his pockets.
He finds the key but a second later, before he can get the chance to stick it in the lock, the door swings open and Mac stands there with a hand on their hip and one dark brow raised. “Were you planning on sleeping on the welcome mat?” He ducks his head, embarrassed as he scrubs a hand against the back of his neck.
“I wasn’t planning on it, but I would if you asked me to.” Mac’s eyebrow raises higher, and they smirk, “oh, would you? Duly noted.” They step back and gesture for him to come inside, “let’s go to bed, my sweet little menace.” He slides past them, stopping only to accept the kiss they lean up to press against his cheek. They pull back with a grimace, their nose wrinkled with disgust. “You smell like beer. Not even good beer, like bottom-of-the-barrel beer.”
“Cheap beer gets the job done just as much as the expensive stuff,” he says, following them back to their bedroom. His eyes are drawn to their clothes, and he snorts quietly. “Hang on, are those my boxers?” His gaze moves to their shirt and he laughs, “is that my shirt? Are you stealing my clothes?” Mac shoots him a look, and Jimmy might be drunk and tired but he can see the shyness hidden in their eyes clear as day.
“You sit here and make fun of my sappiness, but here you are sleeping in my clothes.” His hands find their waist and he pulls them in close. Their chin is pressed against their chest, but there’s no hiding the pink on their cheeks. Warmth spreads through him, and his heart clenches almost painfully.
“Hey, look at me.” Their reply is a muffled uh-uh, and while he adores his lover’s stubbornness, he really wants them to look up. He grabs their chin between his thumb and pointer finger and raises their head until he can look into their eyes. “I love you. I love that you wear my clothes, and I love that you care enough about me to lose sleep making sure I’m safe. And I love when you get all sappy on me, even though you try to hide it.” Their eyes shine in the low light of their bedroom, and the pink on their cheeks deepens to a darker shade.
“I love you too,” they say, a tiny grin lingering on the corners of their lips. He leans down, the 7 inches between them suddenly feeling like a solid foot as his back protests against the movement. But the twinge in his spine is worth it, because the touch of their lips against his sends a spark of pleasure through his body and the pain disappears as quickly as it came.
“C’mon, sweetheart, let’s get you back to bed.” Mac shuffles towards the bed, their exhaustion coming back full force and he feels a pinch of guilt as he watches it wash over their face. Their eyes fight to stay open, and their mouth splits in a jaw-breaking yawn that has him fighting one of his own. “Ah, Mac, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called.” They shoot him a weak glare, the effect softened by the way they’re swaying on their feet. “Don’t apologize, if I had a problem with it, I would’ve told you so.”
He can’t argue with that, really. He keeps his other apologies to himself and starts stripping out of his clothes instead, tossing them into a pile by their closet door. By the time he’s down to his boxers and socks, Mac is already curled beneath the covers, watching him with a mischievous gleam in their eyes. “Hey, my eyes are up here, sweetheart. Have some respect, I am a gentleman.” They roll their eyes with a snort, not bothering to reply.
The comforter is soft against his skin, and he forgets what a luxury it is to sleep in an actual bed. Mac leans over and clicks off the light and then shuffles back against him, slotting themself perfectly against his front. His arm curls around their waist and he presses one final kiss against the top of their head, “goodnight, Mac. Sweet dreams.” Mac hums, nuzzling further into his embrace, “goodnight, Jimmy.”