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The walk from the Torrance branch to José’s taco stand was precisely nine minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Robert knew this because he’d timed it on three separate occasions. It was a straight shot down a sun-bleached sidewalk, past a laundromat and a payday loan place, ending in the cracked asphalt lot where the little blue-and-white trailer permanently resided, smelling of grilled meat and cilantro.
Right now, though, the only thing he was acutely aware of was the warm, solid weight of Nasir’s hand in his.
Nasir’s fingers were laced through his, their grip firm and a little sweaty from the late afternoon heat. He’d been talking since they’d cleared the SDN parking lot. Non-stop. And Robert was listening, his thumb tracing absent circles on the back of Nasir’s hand.
“—and then Prism, خدا, she decides the best way to demonstrate the reflective properties of her new costume mesh is to use the toaster oven door in the break room. As a mirror. So she’s there, posing, and Sonar walks in humming something in, like, G-sharp, and he stops because the light’s all wrong, and he just tilts his head and goes ‘The toaster is projecting a ninety-decibel squeal at a frequency only detectable by canines.’ And Prism says ‘Does it make my ass look big?’” Nasir’s laughter boomed, making an old lady watering her geraniums jump. He didn’t seem to notice. “And Sonar, vay, he didn’t even hesitate. He just hummed a little scale and said ‘The projection is aesthetically proportionate.’ I almost choked on my coffee. Proportionate. He’s a poet.”
Robert smiled, a soft, private thing. He’d been there. He’d been the one to finally unplug the toaster oven because the high-pitched whine was giving Beef anxiety. But he didn’t say that. He just squeezed Nasir’s hand.
“So after that, Blond Blazer’s all about ‘operational focus’ and I get put on inventory. Which is code for ‘count the fire extinguishers so Nasir doesn’t get bored and animate them.’ I counted seventy-three. Seventy-three, Robbie. I know where every single one is. I could draw a map. If there’s a fire, I am the most prepared, most bored man in the—”
“We’re here,” Robert said softly, nodding toward the taco stand.
Nasir blinked, as if suddenly noticing their surroundings. “Oh. Right. Tacos.” He didn’t let go of Robert’s hand, pulling him gently toward the order window. “You want your usual? Two carnitas, extra onion, lime on the side?”
“You know I do.”
“I do. I’m just confirming. Because a good dispatcher confirms his intel.” Nasir finally released his hand to dig his wallet out of his back pocket, leaning into the window. “Hola, José! ¿Cómo estás? Give us… let’s see… four carnitas, two al pastor, a horchata, and a coke. And extra limes. And a handful of those radishes.”
Robert leaned against the sun-warmed side of the trailer, watching him. The late sunlight caught in Nasir’s dark hair, turning it bronze at the edges. His gestures were still broad, animated, as he joked with José about the Dodgers’ chances. He was recounting the toaster oven story again, in simplified Spanish, making José wheeze with laughter.
They got their food, piled on a red plastic tray, and found a spot at one of the wobbly picnic tables under a faded umbrella. The first bite was, as always, perfect—the pork crisp and tender, the salsa verde sharp and bright.
Nasir took a huge bite of his al pastor, chewed, and pointed his taco at Robert. “Okay. So. After the great extinguisher census, I had to file the form. And the drop-down menu for ‘Reason for Inventory’ didn’t have ‘Preemptive Pyro Containment’ as an option. Scandalous. So I had to pick ‘Routine Maintenance.’ Which is a lie. It was very specific maintenance. So I wrote a comment. A detailed comment.”
Robert sipped his coke, the fizz sharp on his tongue. “Let me guess. You suggested adding a new category.”
“I wrote the new category! I drafted a whole proposal. With bullet points. One: Psychological Deterrent. Two: Asset Familiarization for Thermal Personnel. Three—” he waved the taco, “—Improved Response Time Through Intimate Knowledge of Suppression Geography.”
“You sent this to Blond Blazer?”
“I CC’d her. It was mainly for the logistics database. Steve in dispatch emailed back saying ‘Form field not editable. Please use provided options.’” Nasir shook his head, a mock-tragic expression on his face. “The bureaucracy, Robbie. It smothers innovation. I’m a pioneer, trapped in a drop-down menu.”
A laugh bubbled out of Robert, low and genuine. He reached across the table, his fingers finding Nasir’s again amidst the crumpled napkins and lime wedges. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m thorough.” Nasir’s smile softened. He looked at their joined hands, then back at Robert’s face. “You’re not bored right?”
The question was quiet, almost shy beneath its usual bravado. Robert felt something warm and solid settle in his chest. He’d listen to Nasir read a municipal plumbing code aloud. He’d listen to him describe paint drying. The subject was irrelevant; it was the voice, the energy, the sheer, unedited Nasir-ness of it all that he craved.
“Not even a little,” Robert said, his voice steady. “Keep going.”
And he did. Through the rest of the tacos, through the horchata, through the slow wipe-down of his fingers with a damp paper towel. He talked about the specific squeak of the third filing cabinet drawer in the records room, about a dream he’d had involving a sentient, judgmental bowl of phở, about his niece Aziza’s new obsession with glow-in-the-dark stars and how he was planning to cover her ceiling in them.
Robert listened, adding a murmured “mmhmm” or a soft chuckle in the right places, his gaze never leaving Nasir’s animated face. The sun dipped lower, painting the asphalt in long, golden shadows. The world narrowed to this table, this voice, this hand in his.
When the last taco was gone and the cups were empty, they sat for a moment in comfortable silence. The sounds of the city filtered back in—a distant car alarm, the clatter of José cleaning his grill.
Nasir stood up, gathering their trash. “Walk you home, dispatcher?”
“We live in the same apartment,” Robert chuckles.
“Semantics.” Nasir tossed the trash, then immediately reclaimed Robert’s hand. The walk back was quieter, their footsteps in sync. When they reached the alley that cut behind the laundromat—a shortcut that shaved ninety seconds off the trip—Nasir slowed, then stopped.
“Here,” he said, his voice dropping.
“Here?” Robert glanced around the dim, concrete-lined space.
“Yeah. Just… c’mere.”
Nasir didn’t wait for an answer. He turned, his free hand coming up to cradle the side of Robert’s face. His palm was warm, calloused in a way that spoke of gloves and gear and long days in the field. His thumb brushed slowly over Robert’s cheekbone, the touch lingering just long enough to make Robert’s breath catch.
Then Nasir leaned down.
Their mouths met in a kiss that was anything but careful.
It wasn’t chaste or tentative—it was deep and hungry, a sudden, focused conflagration after hours of scattered, cheerful sparks. Nasir kissed the way he talked: with his whole being. There was nothing restrained about it, nothing held back. One moment he’d been yapping about taco trucks and charity meetings and a weird-shaped cloud he’d seen on patrol, and the next he was here, pouring all that restless energy into the press of his mouth.
His other arm slid around Robert’s waist, pulling him closer until the space between them disappeared entirely. The movement was firm but not rough, grounding, like he’d simply decided that Robert belonged exactly there.
Robert made a soft, startled sound against his mouth before melting into it. His hands came up instinctively, gripping the front of Nasir’s shirt, fingers bunching in the fabric like he needed something solid to hold onto. The kiss deepened almost immediately, lips moving together with a heat that felt startling after the easy laughter of the walk over.
Nasir tasted like lime and cola and the faint, familiar smoke that always clung to him, something warm and spicy that Robert had long ago decided was just Nasir. The scent wrapped around him as Nasir shifted closer, tilting his head slightly to chase the kiss when Robert’s breath hitched.
One of Nasir’s hands slid up into Robert’s auburn hair. He didn’t pull—just threaded his fingers through it, holding him there, steady and close, like anchoring them together in the quiet pocket of the alley.
For a moment the world narrowed to heat and breath and the quiet sound of their mouths meeting again and again.
The city moved somewhere beyond them. Cars passed at the end of the alley. Someone laughed on the street. None of it touched them.
Nasir kissed him slowly then, not rushed anymore but deliberate, like he was savoring it after waiting all evening. His thumb traced along the edge of Robert’s jaw while their lips met again, softer this time but somehow just as intense.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing harder than before.
Their foreheads stayed pressed together, noses brushing. Robert could feel Nasir smiling before he even opened his eyes.
“Sorry,” Nasir murmured, his voice low and warm, though he didn’t sound sorry in the slightest. His thumb stroked lightly along Robert’s temple. “I just… I had to. After all that talking.”
Robert let out a quiet breath that almost turned into a laugh. His heart was hammering hard enough that he was certain Nasir could feel it through their chests.
“Don’t apologize,” he managed, voice rougher than he meant it to be.
Nasir’s smile widened, bright and satisfied in the fading light. He leaned in and stole one more kiss—quick, firm, like punctuation at the end of a sentence.
“Okay,” he said softly when he pulled back. “Now we can go home.”
He took Robert’s hand again, their fingers lacing together automatically, like they’d done it a thousand times before.
They walked the rest of the way in a charged, comfortable silence, the memory of the kiss humming between them like a live wire. Robert could still feel the warmth of Nasir’s mouth, the steady weight of his hand in his hair.
He thought, not for the first time, that he’d follow this man and his endless, brilliant noise anywhere.
He’d just have to remember to breathe.