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Seeing Evan’s jeep parked in front of his house fills Tommy with far too many butterflies for a man in his forties, but this is the first time since Tommy gave Evan a key to his place that Evan hasn’t texted first to make sure it was okay to come over.
“You’re allowed to show up whenever you want,” Tommy had said the third time Evan had checked with him. “That’s why I gave you the key in the first place.”
“I just don’t want you to feel like I’m intruding on your space.”
Tommy had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from blurting out the question that had been on the tip of his tongue for weeks. It was too soon, he kept telling himself. They’d only just celebrated their six month anniversary. Giving Evan a key had been Tommy’s compromise to himself – an attempt to appease the part of him that purred in satisfaction whenever Evan looked completely comfortable in his home and wanted more.
“Evan,” he’d said, “I want you in my space.”
Evan’s cheeks had turned a pleased pink, and Tommy was helpless to do anything but kiss him then.
So, it seems like Evan’s finally gotten the message about showing up unannounced. Smiling to himself, Tommy carefully pulls in behind Evan’s jeep and kills the engine. His shift had been pretty standard, with plenty of downtime to text back and forth with Evan throughout the day. He hadn’t thought he was too engrossed in his phone, but Lucy had snuck a picture of him gazing at his phone with a frankly embarrassingly lovesick expression and sent it to the shift’s group chat, and he’d had to endure good-natured teasing for the rest of his shift.
It’s nice, having something to be teased about. Someone.
Tommy hops out of his truck and makes his way up to the front door. He finds it unlocked and frowns. Makes a mental note to tell Evan not to leave the door open when he’s home alone. Stepping inside, Tommy drops his bag at the front door, then shrugs off his jacket and hangs it up in the closet. After placing his shoes on the rack that Evan bought a few weeks ago – “you can’t just kick off your shoes at the front door like an animal, Tommy, I keep tripping over them”, “I wasn’t aware animals were renowned for their ability to wear shoes, Evan” – Tommy makes his way down the hall towards the kitchen. There’s the faint smell of meat and spices in the air, like Evan’s cooking something. Tommy’s stomach rumbles appreciatively.
“Smells good in here,” he calls, taking a couple steps in the direction of the kitchen.
Then his gaze lands on the floor and the smile slips right off his face.
There’s blood on the floor. A few splatters in a line, like the blood had fallen as someone hurried out of the kitchen into the hall. It’s not enough to indicate a serious injury but given that Evan is the only other person in the house and that he hasn’t responded to Tommy’s greeting, Tommy feels his heart rate kick up.
“Evan?” he calls, walking faster. “Where are you?”
There’s another prolonged beat of silence – Tommy’s pulse spikes even more – but then finally, blessedly, he gets an answer.
“In the bathroom,” comes Evan’s glum reply.
Thank Christ. Tommy takes a deep, steadying breath, and tries to banish the thoughts of kidnappers and home intruders from his mind. He still hustles to the bathroom, cataloguing more drops of crimson on the floor as he goes. The bathroom door is slightly ajar when he reaches it, and he knocks once before gently pushing it open.
The scene that greets him has him sighing in sympathy. “Oh honey, what did you do to yourself?”
Evan’s hunched over the sink, the water running over a nasty-looking gash on his palm, surrounded by wads of wet, bloody paper towels. Tommy’s first aid kit sits closed on the toilet tank, like he hasn’t had the time or the coordination to get it open yet.
Glancing over his shoulder, Evan shoots him a sheepish grin. “I was trying to make guacamole.”
Tommy closes the distance between them, coming to stand next to Evan at the sink. He takes Evan’s wrist and gently turns his hand so he can get a better look at the damage. “How did guacamole turn into you maiming yourself?” he asks.
“The knife slipped when I was trying to get the pit out.” Evan hangs his head. “I’d just sharpened it, too.”
“When did this happen?”
“Only a couple minutes ago.” Evan sighs. “I thought I timed dinner perfectly. So much for taco night.”
“Baby, don’t even think about that.” Tommy presses what he hopes is a comforting kiss to Evan’s cheek, then turns his attention back to his injured palm. A pang of distress hits him square in the chest as he examines the gash, but he forces his brain to shift into first responder mode. It’s not deep enough that he thinks Evan will need stitches, thank god, but Tommy does want to get the wound wrapped up.
“You got yourself good, huh?” he murmurs. “I don’t see anything in the cut. We should put pressure on it to try and stem the bleeding.”
He bends down and opens the sink cabinet drawer where he keeps the bathroom linens, grabs a clean towel and tries to hand it to Evan – but surprisingly, Evan pulls his injured hand away and shakes his head.
“Evan,” Tommy says, thrusting the towel towards him. “Take it.”
Evan shakes his head again. “I don’t want to ruin it.”
“It’s fine, it’s just a towel. I’ve got plenty.”
“Or you get one of your cleaning rags that’s meant to get ruined. I’m not going to bleed out in the time it takes you to go to the kitchen and back.”
Tommy barely resists the urge to roll his eyes, but settles on the path of least resistance. “Fine. Sit tight.”
Leaving Evan in the bathroom, Tommy makes a beeline to the kitchen. He can still smell the cooked beef in the air, but it’s tinged with a metallic odour that makes his stomach sour. As he hustles past the kitchen island, he gets a good view of the scene of the crime. There are red smears all over the countertop, like Evan had hastily tried to clean up while trying to tend to his wound, and the bloody knife and cutting board have been tossed into the sink along with the remains of the avocado. The sight makes Tommy’s stomach churn unpleasantly. He’s never been squeamish when it came to blood before – couldn’t afford to be, between the army and firefighting – but something about the fact that this is Evan’s blood has Tommy fighting back a wave of nausea.
He tears his eyes away from the blood and refocuses on his task. He tugs open the drawer with his cleaning rags and breathes a sigh of relief that he’d done laundry only a few days ago and has a plethora of options. After retrieving a rag that’s made from one of his old t-shirts, he hurries back to the bathroom.
Evan is right where he left him, holding his injured palm close to his chest. He smiles tentatively when Tommy enters the room again. Tommy holds up the rag, and Evan offers him his hand without needing to be asked. The cut is still bleeding, albeit sluggishly. Carefully, Tommy presses the cloth onto the wound and applies firm pressure, his chest twinging when Evan lets out a low hiss of pain.
“Sorry,” Tommy murmurs.
“’S okay,” Evan says. “Sorry about the mess in the kitchen.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.” Tommy brings Evan’s hand up to his mouth and kisses the back of it. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
Evan gives him a moony smile for a moment before it turns a little wry. “Well. Mostly. What’s the prognosis, doc? You think I’ll keep the hand?”
“I think you’ll live. Good thing it was your left hand.”
That earns him a startled laugh, and Evan swats at Tommy’s hip with his free hand. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“I don’t know what you’re implying,” Tommy sniffs. “All I meant was that you’re right-handed.”
“Whatever you say.”
Tommy clears his throat to cover up his chuckle. Then he slowly peels up the edge of the cloth to check on the bleeding. A few drops of blood bubble up, but otherwise Tommy doesn’t think there’s a danger of immediately bleeding through any bandages now. He tosses the bloody towel in the sink to be dealt with later and then thoroughly washes his hands before turning his attention to the first aid kit.
Evan watches him work with a bemused smirk on his face. “You’re taking this very seriously.”
“Of course I am.” Tommy tears into a package of gauze. “It’s you.”
A small, strangled noise gets caught in Evan’s throat, and Tommy can see him bite his lip out of the corner of his eye as Tommy gently smears some petroleum jelly over the cut. They’ve both shared what they jokingly refer to as their tragic backstories with each other at this point, so Tommy knows all about Evan’s complicated history with injuries and conditional love. Still, he’s determined to show Evan that he’ll never treat him as anything other than infinitely precious.
Tommy wraps some gauze around Evan’s hand a few times, then inspects the edges of the dressing. “Good thing you’ve got a couple days off to let this heal a bit. It’ll probably still hurt like a bitch under your gloves.”
Evan stares at his hand after Tommy has let him go, his blue eyes wide and maybe even a little wet.
“Baby?” Tommy says softly. “You okay?”
“Ye-yeah.” Evan sucks in a breath, then meets Tommy’s gaze with a tender smile. “Thank you.”
Tommy smiles back. “Anytime. Although I’d prefer it if you didn’t slice yourself open again.”
“Guess that means you’re dealing with avocados from now on.”
“Guess so.”
They grin goofily at each other for a few seconds before a low gurgling noise interrupts the moment. Tommy’s eyebrows fly up as Evan turns adorably red. He brings a hand up to the back of his neck and laughs awkwardly. “Sorry. I told you I timed dinner perfectly.”
“Is that a hint that I need to feed you now?” Tommy settles his hand to Evan’s lower back and steers them out of the bathroom. He avoids the kitchen – he’ll deal with the mess later – and takes them into the living room instead. He sits down on the couch, and Evan is quick to follow suit, settling into what has become his usual spot.
“Do you want to order in tacos?” Evan suggests.
Normally, Tommy’s never one to say no to tacos. But the aroma of the cooked beef is intertwined with the smell of iron in his mind now, and Tommy’s stomach rolls in warning. It might be a few weeks before he can think about tacos without also picturing the bloody wound marring Evan’s skin.
“How about Thai?” he counters. “We haven’t ordered from that new place you wanted to try yet.”
Evan gives him a sidelong look, like he knows exactly why Tommy is suddenly shying away from one of his favourite foods, but he doesn’t say anything. Just pulls his phone out of his pocket and tucks himself into Tommy’s side so they can look at the menu together.
As Evan flicks through the menu, providing his usual running commentary as he debates the merits of each dish, Tommy’s eyes slide away from the phone screen to Evan’s face. He wants this all the time. Sitting on the couch together trying to decide what to order for takeout after a long shift, cooking together, cleaning together, waking up and falling asleep in the same bed each night, patching each other up after an injury on the job or simply being careless around the house.
And for once, rather than immediately quashing that thought with it’s too soon, Tommy allows himself to think someday soon instead.
Evan’s lease is up in a few months – a fact that Eddie oh so innocently pointed out during their last boys’ night, once again at Tommy’s house, and then teased Tommy when he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to the loft.
Evan pokes him in the shoulder, jolting him out of his musing. “Babe?” he says, his tone indicating this isn’t the first time he’s tried to get Tommy’s attention. “Yellow curry? Yes or no?”
“Yeah.” Tommy leans in, the kiss he brushes across Evan’s mouth received with a happy hum. “That sounds perfect.”