Chapter Text
The number
of hours
we have
together is
actually not
so large.
Please linger
near the
door uncomfortably
instead of
just leaving.
Please forget
your scarf
in my
life and
come back
later for
it.
-’For M’ by Mikko Harvey
Owen: on the subject of fathers
Carlos had been used to not having friends. It wasn’t that he was lonely per se, but he was an introverted control freak, and at some point, he always seemed to scare his friends away with the weight of his anxiety or bore them with his need for well-laid plans or they’d simply stop replying when they no longer needed him.
Even with his family, he was used to feeling unnoticed or misunderstood. Quiet was often easier than stumbling through half-baked truths and awkward omissions, and quiet was definitely much easier than confrontation.
TK’s family was not like that. His relationship with Owen, however strained it was, always seemed to be defined by conversation. TK could express his distaste with his father and know that, even if not completely absorbed or implemented, it would at least be heard.
Which is perhaps why, after the arson, Carlos is so quick to accept Owen’s offer for them to stay at his house. It felt easier to exist around TK and his open dislike of his father’s role in the destruction of their home, than to go back to Gabriel and Andrea’s ranch and have to hide his own anger for his father behind pleasantries and tight smiles.
TK had shouted and raved at Owen in the car home, barely pausing for breath. TK’s hand is clenched tightly in Carlos’ and it’s only that touch that is keeping Carlos steady. Breathing is hard, made only harder by the weight of guilt that sits dead centre on Carlos’ chest. He lets TK’s words become white noise, guilt only increasing when he thinks that maybe he should be backing his boyfriend up in his fight against Owen. But, Carlos isn’t sure he knows how to fight with a father on a good day, let alone a day where the ashes of his home still linger under his fingernails.
Carlos has never fought with Gabriel before. He learnt quickly how to please Gabriel and how to hide what wouldn’t please him behind half-truths and secret omissions. Now, knowing his father’s own role in the destruction of their home, Carlos wishes he could do what TK can. He wishes he had the language to shout at his father, to point out exactly where he had hurt him, to demand apologies for these tender wounds. He wishes he had the language to tell his father the truth of all of his failings and have him tell him that it’s okay. Don’t be so soft , echoes in his head instead. The words taste like smoke on his tongue.
Once home, TK’s anger simmers into something sadder. Carlos feels heavy now, tired and shaken. He watches from the doorway as Owen tries to hug TK, but TK steps backwards, murmurs we’ll talk tomorrow , before he drags Carlos upstairs, into the shower, and then into bed.
Now, a few hours later, Carlos still cannot sleep. TK is curled into his side, passed out after such a trying day, and Carlos wishes he could also achieve such relief from his racing thoughts.
He’s lost everything. It feels reductive to say it like that- everything isn’t a big enough word for what has now turned into ash. All the childhood toys, all the awards and certificates from college, all the polaroids and handwritten notes and momentos- everything that meant something to Carlos is lost. There’s something haunting about being completely alone in the world with only the clothes on his back- he is an untethered ghost, he is a whisper on the wind.
It is only TK’s head on his shoulder that keeps him tethered. He cannot be anything other than Carlos Reyes when TK is with him, because Carlos Reyes is the man TK loves. If he has lost everything else, he hasn’t lost that.
It’s a relief to feel TK’s gentle breaths on his skin. He’s been close to death before- comes with the territory of being a first responder- but Carlos has never experienced such stark belief that he was about to die. Not just him, but TK too. He can’t stop seeing it in his mind's eye: TK plummeting out of that window, landing awkwardly and smashing his skull. Or, TK choking on the growing smoke, eyes bugging out as he can’t get another oxygen. Or, TK getting caught in the fire, the smell of his flesh burning as it engulfs him before Carlos can even blink. Even in the dark with TK safely in his arms, he cannot shake that fear of losing him now, like a vampire Carlos unwittingly invited in.
Carlos can’t lay here anymore, no matter how reassuring the rise and fall of TK’s chest is. His brain is spiralling, and the shadows of this unfamiliar room seem to be stretching towards him like phantoms, like smoke.
Carlos stumbles his way down to the kitchen. Before TK moved in with him, they would usually spend time at Carlos’ house anyway, so he’s not familiar with navigating Owen’s house in the dark. It’s not something he wants to get familiar with, but he doesn’t suppose he has much choice in that anymore.
Carlos grabs some water and sits at the counter, staring off into the darkness. He keeps his hands wrapped around his glass, the cold water anchoring him when he feels himself slipping.
He doesn’t know how long he is sitting there before a surprised “oh” breaks him out of his stupor. Carlos turns his head to see Owen in the doorway. They just stare at each other for a beat before Owen steps further into the room and switches on a small lamp in the corner. Carlos blinks suddenly at the sudden glow, harsh tears burning his eyes in a way that makes Carlos think they might be to do with something other than the light.
“I thought you’d be dead to the world for at least the next twelve hours,” Owen says as he grabs his own glass of water and settles opposite Carlos at the counter.
Carlos focuses on his glass, reluctant to let Owen see him blink away his tears. “I couldn’t sleep,” Carlos murmurs, as if that isn’t obvious by the way he’s lurking in the kitchen. “TK’s asleep though.”
“That’s good.”
Carlos hums in response, too tired and hurting and scared to try and continue a conversation, even if his silence is rude.
“What’s keeping you up then?” Owen continues, voice gratingly soft as if Carlos is about to shatter in front of him. Not that Carlos feels particularly stable right now- he feels susceptible to fracture. Hollow.
Perhaps he was already cracked. Perhaps there was already a gaping wound in Carlos that he can’t patch up fast enough. Perhaps that’s why all the words come spilling out of him like a deluge, like a relief.
“I really thought we were going to die,” Carlos says, slowly, testing each word on his tongue. “And it would have been my fault.”
Owen’s brows furrow at Carlos’ confession. “What do you mean?”
“I kept my fire extinguisher under the kitchen sink. I mean, how stupid is that. And I didn’t even have one upstairs.”
“Many people don’t even have a single fire extinguisher, Carlos.”
As if that matters. As if it changes anything when it was their house burning, when it was their lives flashing before their eyes.
“We would have burnt to death if you didn’t come.”
“I will always come.” Owen says emphatically. “And not just because TK’s my son, but it’s because that is my job. We’re here to pull people from burning buildings. We would never have let you die in there.”
“And if you were three minutes later?” Carlos shoots back, voice thick. “We would be dead now. That could have just been prevented if I had a fire extinguisher upstairs!”
“That fire was out of control, Carlos. A fire extinguisher wouldn’t have stopped it.”
“But it would have brought us time.” Carlos’ voice wavers, just a little, and he hates the way it makes him feel small. In this house he doesn’t know, in front of a man who he likes but who isn’t his own father, he just wants to go home- however impossible that is. He wants to be a seven year old boy, running to his mom crying because he skinned a knee; hush, mijo , she would say, all will be okay .
“We got to you in time,” Owen says slowly, as if trying to suggest that they didn’t need extra time, that everything is somehow- impossibly- okay.
“I could have had time to make a plan, or get us further away from the flame, or do anything that wasn’t just freeze.”
Carlos is angry at a lot of things. He’s angry at his father, and Owen too, a little. He’s angry at the man who snuck into his house and destroyed it because he wanted payback. But, mainly, he’s angry at himself- for not having an extinguisher, for not saying ‘I love you’ back to TK, for freezing. For nearly getting the love of his life killed.
Owen gives him a look, full of pity and sadness, and it makes Carlos’ skin itch. “TK used to be a firefighter. He should have known to put an extinguisher upstairs. Do you think this is his fault?”
Carlos can’t even fathom the question. “Of course not,” he exclaims, “TK’s only been living there a few weeks; he couldn’t have known that I hadn’t sorted that out.”
“But TK’s trained for this. So do you think he should have acted faster or noticed the fire sooner?”
“No. TK was perfect. He made a plan and stayed calm and-” Carlos’ voice breaks off then, leaving him floundering in the memories of that evening. He casts his gaze off Owen and his pitying stare, sipping his water to try and remind himself he is not in a room with fire flickering at the edges.
“If TK wasn’t at fault, then neither are you.”
“That’s not-”
“No, Carlos,” Owen interrupts. “There’s no buts or maybes here. You couldn’t have done anything to stop this. Having an extinguisher wouldn’t have stopped this.”
Carlos is silent then, fingers playing with the condensation his glass has left on the table. Across from him, Owen sighs.
“Your father and I,” Owen starts, “never wanted this to happen. And I am so sorry you both got caught in the crossfire of this harebrained scheme of ours. Because if this is anyone’s fault, then it’s ours.”
“No. You’re not the one who set the fire. That’s who to blame here.”
“Yeah,” Owen says with a small smile at Carlos, “I suppose you’re right.”
And Carlos realises that maybe Owen has driven this conversation in this direction just to get Carlos to say that. To get Carlos to admit that the arsonist is the one at fault here. And Owen didn’t do it to try and get forgiveness for himself, but to try and get Carlos to forgive himself.
“But,” Owen continues, “your father and I do have a role to play in this. We aren’t blameless. The only ones who are absolved of any blame in this are you and TK.”
Carlos offers Owen a jerky nod, breathing feeling a little easier now the shadows of the room don’t feel like they’re pressing down on his shoulders. Carlos still feels guilty, and the fear still runs through his veins, and his life is still in ashes, but at this kitchen counter, he feels less like everything is irrevocably ruined.
“I’d never heard my father sound that scared before,” Carlos whispers, words escaping before he even registers them.
Owen nods across from him, like he understands. “I was terrified.”
The problem with confession is that once one starts, it’s hard to stop.
“I’m angry at him for choosing his job over me.”
“Carlos-”
“Not just today,” Carlos interrupts before Owen tries to convince him that they had no idea what they were setting in motion with their ruse. He knows they didn’t want this to happen; that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting when this is the latest in a long line of moments his father had barely given Carlos a second thought. “Just- always. I’ve never been his priority.”
“He loves you, Carlos. I saw that tonight. He loves you more than anything.”
“It doesn’t always feel like that.”
A beat, a held breath.
“Sometimes fathers aren’t the best at showing their sons how much they love them.”
They’re both thinking of TK then. TK, who saved Carlos’ life tonight. TK, who looks at Carlos like he’s something worth loving. TK, who never hesitates to tell Carlos how proud of him he is, how much he loves him.
“I should get back to TK.” Carlos says, suddenly desperate to hold his boyfriend in his arms again.
Owen looks at Carlos for a long moment. “Don’t blame yourself, Carlos,” he says slowly. “Once you start down that slippery road, you can never stop.”
Carlos takes a breath; he gets it now, understands that Owen knows what it’s like to look death in the eyes, to survive against all odds. Owen understands the guilt that comes with that, the fear that haunts you in the shadows. There’s still anxiety and guilt and terror pressing down on his chest, but Carlos thinks of TK guiding him into bed when Carlos turned catatonic, of his parents rushing to the ashes of his home just to check he’s okay, of Owen sitting up with him in the dark so he’s not alone. He’s never been alone.
“Thank you, Owen.”
Owen nods.“Get some sleep, kid.”
Carlos places his glass in the sink and as he passes Owen, Owen reaches out to gently clap Carlos’ shoulder. Carlos offers a small, shaky smile, and Owen nods back at him.
And when Carlos crawls back into bed next to TK, he lays his head on his chest and falls asleep to the beating of TK’s heart.