Archive of Our Own ^beta

The boom of the explosion echoed like a punch to the gut. Thiel forgot all about his bike and rushed into the building, eyes widening at the plume of smoke wafting up from the mailbox.

His mailbox.

“Boerne!” He was across the hall in two strides, heart pounding.

Boerne stood in the smoke like something out of a cartoon—Wile E. Coyote after something went wrong. His coat was smudged, hair sticking up at odd angles, fingertips blackened, and glasses askew.

“I can explain,” he said, which was a lie.

Thiel grabbed his arm without thinking, turning him slightly. “Are you okay? You were right next to it—Shit, you could’ve been seriously hurt!”

“I’m perfectly fine.” Boerne sounded breathless but smug. “Though your post has suffered a more permanent fate.”

“I’ll call it in. We need to get KTU here to find out who did this and get you checked out,” Thiel said, pulling out his cellphone.

“Thiel! Thiel, stop, I did it.”

“You?! You blew up my mailbox?” Thiel let go of his arm, half-relieved, half-infuriated. “That’s destruction of property! And what, burglary? Tampering with mail? Do you want me to arrest you?!”

Boerne shifted uncomfortably, squirming in that nervous, theatrical way of his, like whatever he needed to say was physically painful. Finally, he stopped, fishing through the scorched mail on the floor. With visible reluctance, he held out the envelope. Thiel snatched it from his hand without hesitation.

Thiel stared at it. The envelope was clearly addressed to him — in Boerne’s handwriting. He opened it slowly, brow furrowing as he scanned the typed lines.

“I was trying to destroy that.”

“A termination notice,” he said flatly. “You were evicting me.”

“I was upset.”

“You were petty.”

“I was momentarily... theatrical,” Boerne offered. “I sent it before we came to an accord.”

Thiel’s jaw clenched. “But you still sent it.”

“Yes.” Boerne looked genuinely regretful now, his usual bravado dulled. “And the moment I did, I regretted it. I wanted to get it back before you saw it, to fix it before this...”

Thiel folded the paper in half, then again. He didn’t look at Boerne.

“Well,” he said quietly, “you didn’t.”

“I didn’t mean it.” Boerne’s voice was softer than usual, careful. “I was angry … and hurt...”

“Hurt?”

“The video.”

Thiel scoffed. “Pppsh.”

“It shows you, sitting there, laughing, while I…” Boerne gestured to himself, self-deprecatingly. “So yes, hurt. I acted without thought. I don’t want you to move out. I don’t want you to go anywhere.”

Thiel didn’t speak for a long moment. He just stared at the charred remains of the mailbox, the paper cooling in his hands.

“Sorry,” Boerne said quietly.

“You really thought blowing it up was your best option?” he finally asked, deadpan.

Boerne smiled weakly. “It was a last resort. My other attempts had failed.”

Thiel shook his head, still not looking at him. “You're lucky you're not in the hospital. Or under arrest.”

“So you're not arresting me?”

“No,” Thiel admitted. “You’re just a jackass.”

“One with a tenant?”

“Yes. Next time, think first. You could have been hurt.”

Boerne smiled, small and sincere. Thiel turned toward the stairs and started to go up to his apartment. “And you’re buying the new mailbox.”

“Naturally,” Boerne agreed, following right behind him, stopping when Thiel came to an abrupt halt and turned to face him.

“And you’re reimbursing me for my apology wine.”

“Of course.”

“And—”

“And what, Mr. Thiel?” Boerne said, exasperated.

“And you’re giving me a long-term contract at a set rate, so this cannot happen again.”

Boerne hesitated for only a beat. “Gladly.”