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Taffy wakes up rather late in the morning, as was his habit these days.
The doctors said it was something about healing, recovering from the trauma that had occurred to him. He needed a bit more rest these days than most. He could understand that at least, and tried to not bemoan the lack of waking hours too heavily.
He wasn't quite built for the easy-going, careful lifestyle he was now living in, but it had its perks. Every morning he got to see was a gift that he had not been promised with— he tries to not take them for granted.
And there was, of course, the even greater gift of it, of taking this time away from the circuses of motor racing.
Phil had them set up in a nice little property of his, a relatively small house in the beautiful sunshine of California. It had a porch that let ample light pour into the room, a nice sea breeze wafting in when the door was held open. It never got cold here really, and that was pleasant— He had a hard time keeping his body temperature where he needed it to be, always feeling a bit more chilly than most did.
Speaking of Phil, the man is absolutely nowhere to be seen as he rises from the bed to shuffle into the kitchen to grab a coffee and a small snack. There is a basket of fresh strawberries on the counter to greet him, the sweet ones he always liked to grab whenever he could convince Phil to pull over to stop by the roadside stand.
It's a small gesture, but it makes him smile.
Something of a small domestic tranquility he was becoming dreadfully used to with the other man. A different kind of peace formed in the small confines of a home rather than that of a grand castle as they had shared previously.
He can't find himself missing it much, though— something about the simplicity of it lets them breathe a bit more steady. more casual, simple, and warm in a way unlike the home he knew before. A smaller space that is easier to fill.
Just with them— a healing race car driver and his partner who had somewhat gone missing.
He grabs just a few of the berries, throwing them into the pockets of his pants as he grabs his cup of coffee and starts his hunt for Phil.
It doesn't take him long to find him, and in a rather interesting position as he does.
He is in the garage with the hood of whatever project car he is working on, hood propped open with him stood atop the bumper and bent over to reach whatever the hell it is he's attempting to fix at the moment.
It's a simple, practical stance, but Taffy would be lying if he said his cheeks didn't turn a bit redder at the sight of Phil's ass being presented to him in such a way.
Phil doesn't notice him as he comes in, eyes still focused on the task at hand as he hums along to whatever top 40 hit is playing quietly from the radio he has on.
Taffy leans against the doorway and just watches him for a long moment, sipping at his coffee and eating those delicious berries the other had picked up for him.
Eventually, after what feels like ages, Phil rises from his work and wipes a greasy hand across his forehead without notice before picking up a rag and cleaning them up proper.
Taffy gets a nice look at the soft smile on his face as he stares at the engine, an even better look as the other man starts to turn away from the car, and the small smile turns wide and bright upon noticing him.
"Good morning." Phil greats as Taffy passes him a grin in return, soft and kind as the other man walks up to him and presses a kiss into the corner of his lips before stealing the coffee from his hand and taking a sip.
Taffy gives him a playful glare for it before he reaches up to wipe the schmutz off his face and pull him in for a proper kiss.
"It's almost noon, no need for good mornings." He laughs softly. "What are you working on?"
Phil lights up at the question, setting down the coffee cup after just a sip before he grabs his hand and pulls him forward to look at the car.
"I went and got a new timing belt last night to replace the old one. You should have seen the state of it when I pulled it out! almost completely shredded, it was a good thing I got this new one when I did." Phil starts out, pointing to things on the inner workings of the engine that Taffy just nods along to.
It was something of an open secret that, despite racing cars so often, he didn't actually know all too much about how they worked, nor did he really care about the details as long as the thing went fast enough for him to be competitive.
Honestly, he never cared for the mechanics of them at all until he met Phil. Those things that once bored him sounded more interesting when Phil explained them to him. Maybe he just liked to hear him talk.
He only understood about half of what the other man was talking about on most occasions, but it was always a treat to hear him speak so passionately about them regardless.
He looked his best when he got to show off his knowledge of these things, even if Taffy was the only one who could properly appreciate that fact.
He continues to nod along as Phil leads him around the car, continuing to ramble on in such soft tones as he explains what he wants to do next and all his plans for getting the car into top shape. Taffy's smile just grows wider and wider with each passing word until Phil notices, smiling awkwardly as he looks to him.
"What is it? Something on my face again?" he asks.
"No— I'm just looking at you."
It's hard to see unless you know to look for it, the way a small blush rises under sun-tanned cheeks. Taffy always knows how to look for it.
Taffy takes great pleasure in having studied Phil enough to notice it.
The small moment of it is spoiled by the sound of Phil's stomach growling loudly. It makes him laugh some.
"Lunch time I suppose?" He jokes as Phil smiles and gives him a playful nudge before walking inside to grab the keys to a car that isn't currently in pieces in their garage.
He returns with a Panama hat perched high atop his head in a way that makes his hair tuft out around his ears, as well as the black cowboy hat Taffy adores. He places it on his head with an easy smile before putting his hands in his pockets to walk towards the convertible.
Taffy knew he wasn't meant to drive right now but it doesn't stop him from asking to, something Phil shuts down with a soft sideways glance as he opens the door for him before climbing into the driver's seat.
Such a gentleman he was, it's no wonder his mother liked him so much. He should make note to invite her here one day. Some of the sea air and the temperate climate would do her well.
Phil pulls back slightly as Taffy gets lost in thought, a small almost worried expression on his face which quite unfortunately was a rather normal expression for him that Taffy is quick to soothe.
"Can we go out to the pier for lunch? That is always a nice time," he says, relaxing back in the seat.
Phil is quick to nod, staring up the engine before reversing out of the garage.
It's nice to feel the wind on his face again, even if Phil is driving a bit slow for his tastes— he has nothing if not time now that racing is fairly out of the picture. He uses the time to study Phil as he drives, just like he always had.
Phil was always so particular with his cars. It's hard to reconcile this man with his hands firmly at ten-and-two with the same man that given him such hell on the tracks in these last few years.
Gulls sail on the wind as they pass palm-tree-lined roads, casting speckled shadows across the hood of the car as Phil turns the radio up just a touch more. Taffy liked to watch the way his fingers tapped along to the song as they went, as if trying to decipher the melody as his shoulders relaxed into the ease of it.
He doesn't have to guess where they are going. He's already pretty sure he knows the place.
A tiny, extremely kitschy German restaurant by the pier. He had joked once, walking past it, that it reminded him of home, and Phil took it at face value.
Truthfully, the place was fairly mediocre, but the bratwursts were good and they served a beer at midday. He wasn't really supposed to be drinking with his recovery, but he figures going here with Phil is the most responsible way to do it. Phil didn't drink so at the very least he had a sober driver who knew the town well enough to get him help if he were to start feeling ill.
They settle into a booth by the window in a gentle domestic sort of quiet as they watch the people enjoy such a beautiful day.
They both share a small look and a laugh as a young man pulls up to a group of girls and revs the engine of his car. They split a bratwurst and some bread and Taffy has his drink and Phil picks up the tab before Taffy can even argue it.
He is so lucky to have him. To have this.
Life after the racing— a home so far from home.
For the first time in his entire life, Taffy feels okay with not chasing anything. To settle, to grow proper roots somewhere stable.
Not in boat or a car or a transient hotel room filled with bad decisions and one-night stands. He is too old for that life now— he never thought he'd become too old for something.
Phil nudges him up from a half-asleep state as they pull up to the house again, lifting his hat from where he had pulled it down to block the sun from his eyes.
"Mid-afternoon nap?"
"Mm— Food coma." He mumbles back with a lopsided smile. Phil just smiles back.
"Go rest a bit— you can never have too much of that." He says, and he slides out of the driver's seat and rotates around to pull his door open for him. Takes his hand and lets him pull him out some.
"No— I'm going to sleep now will ruin the rest of my night," he says, shaking his head slightly and rubbing at his eyes to wake himself up some. It makes Phil laugh as he rolls his eyes at him and pulls him into the living room.
"Sit then, I'm going to play some piano. It would be nice to have some company." He says as he pulls Taffy down onto the bench with him, only releasing his hand to set his fingers on the keys.
Instinctively, as the music starts, Taffy leans against his shoulder. Phil doesn't notice it, or if he does, it doesn't seem to bother him in the slightest as he starts to tap out a soft melody.
Between the warmth of his body and the fullness of his stomach and the soft lull of the vibrations, it's no time at all before his resolve breaks, and his eyes slip shut.
The sun is significantly lower in the sky when he opens them again.
The music has stopped. Only the sounds of crickets beginning their evening chirping and the soft sounds of car horns in the distance filling the space, as well as the deep sounds of breathing to his side.
There is a weight atop his head that makes him smile slightly.
It seems that neither of them were quite immune to a midday nap on a beautiful day such as this.
And as much as it pains him to do so, he shifts slightly, poking Phil in the ribs to wake him from his slumber.
"You'll hurt your neck if you stay like that," Taffy says, gravel still in his voice from sleep, but it makes Phil rise slightly, rolling out his neck as he stretches.
Taffy tries to not let his eyes linger on the small strip of skin he catches sight of as he does so.
Taffy is not good at being subtle.
Phil blushes something awful as he tugs his shirt back down, making Taffy laugh brightly as Phil stands from the piano bench with a soft grumble and moves towards the television.
Taffy goes to join him without a word, flopping down onto the couch and leaning over to grab the phone and start dialing.
Phil gives him an odd look as he spots him doing so.
"What are you doing?" He asks as he flips through the channels.
"I'm hungry, and we're both tired. I'm ordering in." Taffy explains as he finishes punching in the number, cradling the phone with his shoulder as it rings and opening his arms in invitation.
Phil takes it as it stands, tucking himself right against his side as they settle, an episode of some western playing on the television at low volume as Taffy starts to place an order of pizza to-go.
Phil likes the way he can feel the vibrations of the words as he presses his cheek to the man's chest.
"Are you comfortable?" Taffy asks with a small laugh once he puts down the phone, his hand coming up to card through his hair and scratch at the nape of his neck.
Phil only nods in response, keeping his head pressed to Taffy's sternum.
Food arrives, and the Television plays on, but it's really just background noise as they lull into that liminal space between resting and waking.
The setting sun paints the room as red as the strawberries on the counter. It makes him think of the old phrases, something of red skies at night and the delight it brings.
He doesn't know, nor does he care. He just sits softly as the evening winds down, humming gently as Taffy starts to drift off.
A soft song, warm as the day ends, kept in perfect time to the metronome of their still beating hearts.
How lucky of them to have this—
How lucky indeed.