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Is it supposed to be this hard to say three little words? Tommy wonders as he watches Evan sleep in his bed. Which is where Evan seems to be more nights than not, these days. And isn’t that just something Tommy’s terrified of getting used to?
It’s early morning. Pre-alarm. Pre-dawn. Not even the birds are up this god-damned early.
But for some reason, Tommy Kinard is.
And it’s not because he needs to piss or Evan’s kicked his ankle in the middle of the night or he’s nearly fallen off the bed again because Evan’s inched them closer and closer to Tommy’s side with his insistent cuddles (all things Tommy loves despite how much he might complain about them).
No. Tommy’s awake because he had that dream again. The one where he and Evan are on a date.
Some fancy place with spotless white tablecloths and waitstaff so silent and graceful that they’re practically ninjas. Something Evan points out in a voice slightly too loud, so it cuts over the refined music and the percussive chorus of cutlery. Evan blushes. And it’s adorable.
Tommy doesn’t think it’s possible to become even more besotted with the man across the table from him, but his dream-self proves him wrong. There’s something about the way the candlelight highlights the gold streaks in amongst the brown of Evan’s hair, the twinkle in the pale blue of Evan’s eyes, the way Evan still stares at him with a hunger Tommy can hardly comprehend. Even after everything.
And so, in his dream, Tommy leans across the table, grips Evan’s hands. Words start to bubble in his throat. Three of them. One syllable each but heavy in meaning. “I,” Tommy says and then he wakes up. Every time.
He wakes up to a raw throat and those three words ringing in his mind, the truth of them naked as the man beside him.
Tommy loves Evan.
He loves everything about him. He loves Evan’s curls and his eyes and the way his birthmark is the same pink as his lips.
Tommy loves Evan’s scars: proof of how hard Evan’s fought through life to get to where he is now.
He loves Evan’s smile. His laugh. The way he’s the most awkward ball of sunshine Tommy’s ever met: magnetic and yet prickly. Hell, Tommy even thinks Evan’s jealousy is loveable. Not like Tommy’s own which is a swampy, muddy thing that contaminates every good thing he tries to have.
Tommy squeezes his eyes shut against the moment of self-criticism. They’re not as frequent as they used to be and that’s mostly thanks to Evan. Evan who forgave Tommy for breaking his heart and accusing him of having feelings he didn’t have. Evan who took Tommy back and who apologised for his part in their breakup and for lashing out at Tommy in anger, and for not doing more to fight for what they had when Tommy tore it apart.
God, Tommy wishes he could voice those words caught in his throat.
But is it too soon?
Or maybe it’s too late?
They’re practically living together now even if they haven’t actually made it official. Evan barely remembers to stop by his apartment once a week to check the mail. At this point it’s only a matter of time before Tommy gives in and asks Evan to move in.
But shouldn’t the first “I love yous” come before they move in together? Is that the correct order? Is that important?
Maybe Evan’s been waiting for Tommy to say something, disappointment growing with each passing day those words go unsaid. And every day Tommy goes without saying it is another day closer to the end.
Tommy pinches the bridge of his nose with the hand not trapped under Evan’s shoulder.
He needs to go back to sleep.
Needs to break out of whatever witching hour bullshit has him sitting sleepless in bed with a hot as hell guy laying next to him, borrowing trouble. Dooming himself to failure.
Tommy’s not going to let that happen.
Not again.
He drops his hand from his face and wraps Evan in an embrace, snuggling closer, trying to climb into Evan’s too warm skin and forget his own inadequacies.
“Mmm, Tommy?” Evan asks. “What’s happening?”
“Sorry, sweetheart,” Tommy says. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“What time is it?” Evan asks.
“Way too early,” Tommy says.
“Can’t sleep?” Evan asks, sounding a bit more awake and a whole lot more flirtatious. He cocks his brow in question and how can Tommy resist?
#
The next night, Tommy falls asleep and finds himself back in that same restaurant with its pristine tablecloths and ninja waitstaff, a bowl of stuffed shells sitting tantalising before him.
Evan’s managed to splash red sauce down his white button up and his attempts to clean his shirt have only resulted in making the stain bigger.
Laughter bubbles up in Tommy’s throat, carrying those three words with it. “God, I lo – ”
Tommy’s eyes flash open.
A sliver of light from the streetlamps filters through the horizontal blinds where they’re slightly bent. Beside Tommy, the bed is empty. Cold. Evanless.
It takes Tommy a panicked moment to remember that Evan’s on a shift. That nothing’s happened. They’re still together. Everything’s fine despite his heart trying its best to smash out of his rib cage like a battering ram thundering against the heavy gates of a medieval castle.
He checks the time and then wishes he hadn’t because it’s closer to when he went to bed than to when he needs to wake up.
Tommy groans, pulls up his text thread with Evan. He’s not usually the type to reach out when he’s in his feelings. No, he’s always preferred withdrawing until those feelings eat him alive. But he’s trying to change. Trying to break the cycles that have kept him lonely and afraid all his life. “Miss you,” he texts.
“Can’t sleep?” Evan texts back almost immediately.
“Had a dream,” Tommy replies, picturing Evan laying in his bunk at the 118 – the same one that used to be Tommy’s favourite back in the day – birthmark illuminated by the light from his phone screen.
“Was it sexy?” Evan asks, pairing the question with a devil emoji.
Tommy chuckles to himself and to the dark. “We were at a restaurant. You got red sauce on your shirt.”
“Oh, man, I can’t even be cool in your dreams,” Evan replies, this time with a pouty face emoji.
And Tommy can just see Evan’s lower lip jutting out and his eyes growing wide and pleading as he weaponises his long lashes against Tommy’s final defences. “I wish I could kiss you,” Tommy texts. But it’s more than that. He wishes he could sink his teeth softly into Evan’s plush lower lip and suck. He wishes he could taste Evan on his tongue, hear Evan’s voice catch in the back of his throat, feel Evan melt into him like butter.
“Ugh, I wish I wasn’t at work right now,” Evan bemoans over text.
“Me too,” Tommy says. He contemplates sending Evan a more risqué and detailed text about exactly what he’d do if Evan was here in Tommy’s bed. But before he can string the first sentence together, his phone pings with another message from Evan.
“Got a call.” It’s followed by a heart emoji.
Tommy smiles. It’s not quite the words neither of them have said yet, but the sentiment is there, and they both know it.
“Stay safe,” Tommy texts back, thumb hovering over the heart emoji. It’s just pixels on a screen. It doesn’t have the same weight as words. He has to give himself a little pep talk to send the heart though. The voice in his head sounding like his old drill sergeant.
Tommy abandons sleep after that, climbing out of bed. He heads out to the garage to work on his current project car and that’s where Evan finds Tommy when he gets back from his shift. He’s got a stack of mail in one hand so he must have stopped by his apartment on his way back home.
At this point, Evan really should think about having his mail forwarded to Tommy’s house.
“Hey,” Tommy smiles, digging up a rag to wipe the grease from his hands.
“Hey,” Evan leans in for a sleepy kiss. “You get any sleep after we texted?”
Tommy shakes his head. “Just wasn’t in the cards,” he says.
“Come cuddle with me.” Evan drags him back into bed following a brief detour in the shower where.
Now would be a perfect time to say those words and ask Evan to officially move in, but they still won’t come. Stuck in his throat like a burr on a dog’s coat.
#
Tommy’s back in the restaurant only now Evan’s shirtless, tattoos somehow darker in the atmospheric lighting, like secrets only Tommy knows.
Evan’s talking, gesticulating with his fork, pasta and meatballs flying everywhere, deftly swerved by the ninja waitstaff who are now fully dressed in black, faces covered, throwing knives in their hands.
And Tommy is enchanted.
It’s Evan’s passion.
His openness.
His unadulterated Evan-ness.
Those words rise again, hammering at the backs of Tommy’s teeth, desperate to break free.
“I love you.”
“What?” Evan asks, rolling over in bed.
Tommy blinks, confused. They were just at the restaurant, weren’t they? But there were ninjas. What kind of Italian restaurant has ninjas? Tommy’s brain takes a moment to fully turn over into wakefulness, sorting dream from reality until he realises that he must have said those words in his sleep.
Which is ridiculous, right?
He’s kept them so closely guarded and they just slipped out and now Evan’s staring at him with so much wonderment in his gaze that Tommy gathers his courage and repeats them. “I love you,” he says, voice raw with sleep.
Evan grins, illuminating Tommy’s darkened bedroom with his joy. “I love you too.”
“Move in with me?” Tommy asks.
“Finally,” Evan groans.
“Is that a yes?” Tommy asks, barely containing his own grin.
“Yes, it’s a yes,” Evan says, rolling until he’s lying with his full weight blanketing Tommy.
“God, I love you,” Tommy breathes and it’s practically a prayer. Now that the damn is broken, he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to stop telling Evan that he loves him.