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"Lipton!" The voice comes through as soon as the call connects.
"Hello?"
"Hey, it's Bill," his voice crackles over the line, but he could never mistake it. "Your old pal."
"Yes, I know who you are," Carwood laughs, leaning against the kitchen wall. "What's up?"
"Just callin' to see how you're doing," Bill shushes someone in the background. "So, how are you doing?"
"Chugging along, same as always."
"Great, good to hear," there's a pause. He plays with the phone, wrapping it around his fingers, and waits for the inevitable other shoe to drop. "So, you still livin' down there in West Virginia?"
Here it comes.
"What do you need, Guarnere?" He sighs, amused.
"What?" He exclaims. "What makes you think I need anything?"
There's more shuffling in the back, a muffled shut up!
"The only time you boys come calling is when you need a favor," he explains.
"Well, shit, Lip," he sighs. "We're here to see you, not any other kind of favor."
"Wait, you're here?" Lip's brain catches up. They had not been expecting visitors, "'We?' Who's 'we', Bill?"
"Oh," there's more shuffling. "Well, just Babe, Roe, and me."
"Three of you?" He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Where are you? In town?"
"I think we're on your street corner," Bill replies. "That's what Roe said anyway. You know he's the responsible one, heh, address book and everything."
"Sure," Lip sighs again. He isn't quite sure how this is going to work out. "Are you looking to come up or are you inviting me out?"
A pause.
"How about both?"
Lip curses silently, letting his head thump against the wall.
"Alright," he sighs. "Are you looking for a place to stay?"
"Kind of," Bill admits, "But, that ain't the only reason we're here, honest. Even if you couldn't house us, we want to see you."
"I believe you, Bill," he says. "But, just so you know. I've also been housing Speirs recently."
"Oh," Bill doesn't hide his surprise and Lip doesn't even want to know what he's thinking. One of the other two must ask what his reaction is about. Bill's voice comes through, weakly, explaining what he just told him.
"Are you down at the payphone?"
"We are."
"Alright, come to the front of my building and I'll meet you there."
"Good deal, Lip. See ya," he says, quickly hanging up the phone.
He doesn't bother to grab his jacket, only taking his keys and slipping his shoes on. He takes the stairs down two flights to the main level of the building. Approaching the door, he can already hear Guarnere and Babe arguing.
"There were no signs! That's what I'm tryin' to tell you!"
"I get that, but I'm saying I don't agree with you."
"Boys," Lip announces, opening the door, "what is the drama out here?"
Babe and Guarnere both cheer his name and Roe tells him hello through the chatter. There's nothing quite as loud as two Philly boys.
"Hey, guys, you're waking up the whole neighborhood. What are you arguing about?"
"Lip," Babe starts, "is it free parking out front of your building here?"
"Yeah, I think so," he shrugs. "I don't drive much, but Ron would know. We can ask him when he comes home."
He doesn't miss the look Bill and Eugene share.
"They won't ticket this late, right?" Babe asks nervously.
"You should be fine," he assures him, propping open the door for them to come inside. They crowd to the side of the entry space, allowing him to lead the way up the stairs.
He is also nervous, but not about the parking. For a reason, Ron and him do not take guests to their apartment. Mainly, Speirs can be odd about other people entering his space. There was even an adjustment period to them living together. Lip, on the other hand, was raised in a shared space. He expected to not recognize the faces at the breakfast table growing up and was taught to let in anyone who needed a home for the night. Unfortunately for Ron, that is exactly how they ended up in this situation.
They enter the apartment and he takes his shoes off at the door, leading by example. The others copy without comment, hanging their jackets on the hooks and resting their bags on the floor.
"Get a load of this, huh," Guarnere shoves an elbow in Babe's direction. "Snazzy place here, Lip."
"Thanks, I'm pretty fond of it."
"Just the one bedroom?" Bill asks, not being very subtle at all. Lip hears Eugene scoff at the question.
"No, there's two," he explains, pointing a finger. "That door is the bathroom."
"Can we look in Sparky's bedroom before he gets home?"
"I would suggest you didn't."
"Jus' leave it alone," Roe says, pushing past Bill to sit in the living room. The rest of the crowd follows him, helping themselves to seats, but Carwood hovers awkwardly. He can't seem to shake his nerves.
"I'm going to see if I can catch Speirs on the phone before he leaves. He doesn't like surprises," he takes a few steps, then turns back. "Can I get anyone a drink?"
He takes mental note of their drinks and slink away into the kitchen, he hears their bickering commence again in his absence.
He hastily dials the number for the bar Ron went to with some work friends, cursing softly when nobody picks up. He dials a second time and the line rings for an eternity before someone finally answers the call.
"Papa's," they announce. Carwood waits a moment too long for them to continue. "Hello?"
"Hello, sorry," he shuffles in place, "I was wondering if you could pass a message to someone at the bar?"
"I can try to find them. Who is it?"
"Speirs. Ron Speirs, please."
"Alright," they leave without saying anything else and Carwood waits for a moment, arm wrapped around himself. The voice finally returns. "No one here."
"Are you sure? It would be a group of guys in uniforms," he sounds desperate, but that's exactly how he feels.
"Oh, they're in the back room," the voice mentions nonchalantly, as if it doesn't even pertain to the topic at hand.
"Did you ask them?"
The voice sighs, "no."
"Can you please?" He pushes, getting frustrated.
"I'm not going to do that, man."
"What?"
"I saw a bunch of them leave earlier. Your guy was probably in there."
"How long ago?"
"Maybe fifteen minutes."
"No, he would probably be here by now."
"Okay," the voice replies. "Well, if I can't help you with anything e-"
"Can you please just go ask the back room? Please," he huffs into the phone.
"Come on, guy. I'm trying to get back to work here." The voice grunts, but he hears the clack of the receiver being placed down. A moment passes before they return.
"No dice, man."
"What did they say?"
"They said he left with the group. Like fifteen minutes ago. Like I said," the voice is obviously agitated with this disturbance to their night, but Carwood isn't above fighting someone over the phone.
"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I really trust that you asked anyone."
The voice scoffs.
"I'm just trying to get an easy answer here and you're fighting me on this. Does it really need to be this difficult? Cause I'm not trying to make it difficult."
He catches movement slipping into the kitchen. Probably one of the guys coming to see what's taking their drinks so long. Before he can point them in the right direction, the voice replies.
"It actually seems like you're the one calling me, man. Why would I lie? I'm trying to finish my shift. So, at this point you are being difficult."
"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way," he says sarcastically. "I was only hoping you could be of help to me."
"I tried, but you're being a princess," the voice replies. "Now, I'm just trying to get you the hell off of my phone."
"That's a rude thing to say," he says, finally being drawn out of the conversation when someone steps in front of him. He distractedly says a goodbye to the employee and hangs up the phone. "Ron."
Ron is there. In the apartment. Not at the bar.
His cheeks are a little flushed and his clothes a little rumpled. There's an amused twinkle to his eye and Carwood sinks into himself wondering how much of the conversation he heard.
"Carwood," he finally says. "So, what's going on?"
"They just showed up," Lip puts his back to the wall, slouching, and explains the situation in a hushed tone. "So, it seems we have guests for the night."
"Yeah, the guys actually filled me in. Who were you arguing with just now?"
He hesitates, admits, "a Papa's employee."
"Were you trying to reach me?" His voice is low, almost seems like he's touched at the prospect.
"Yeah, sorry," he pushes off of the wall, moving to the fridge to prepare drinks for the guys. "The guy was giving me a hard time about it, but I figured you'd appreciate a heads up."
"Yeah," he huffs a laugh, "that would have been nice.
"And it's of course on a night where you don't come straight home after work. Then we both would have been here for the call," Lip rambles, thinking out loud. "Or if they had called, say, ten minutes earlier. I probably could have caught you at the bar, you know?"
"Lip," Speirs pauses him, a hand on his shoulder. It's heavy and warm. "It's fine. It's your home to allow people into as you see fit. And if I don't like it, then I've got a bedroom I can hide out in."
Lipton removes the bottle caps off the four beers, they clatter to the countertop.
"You're being awfully open about this," he comments, eyeing the other.
He shrugs, "they told me their story, pulled on my heartstrings a little, I guess."
"Aw," Carwood draws out, "you're a little drunk."
"A little," his shoulders go up and down again.
"What's the story that they told you?" He asked in a hushed tone, holding two beers in each hand, ready to leave the kitchen. "I didn't get the chance to actually learn why they're here."
"Roe is moving to Philly."
"What?" Carwood's eyes must bug out of his head. He settles back against the counter, his eyes focusing on the magnets on the fridge. Random things he's picked up over the years; one for everywhere he's visited, random photos he's been sent, and the few that Ron has acquired for them. His favorite is a smiling brown and tan pelican, standing solo, that Speirs had said resembled Carwood as he pressed it into him palm. He didn't bother asking where he had picked it up from, just cherished the sentiment.
He tunes back in when Ron gingerly removes the beers from his hand. He walks around Lip with a smile and enters the living room. By the time he joins them, Ron is nowhere to be found, but Lip's beer sits on a coaster beside his favorite chair. He sits, but immediately shifts to face Eugene.
"Doc," he gets his attention, "you're moving to Philly?"
Eugene's face darkens a few shades of pink.
"Yeah," he says simply. He takes a sip of his beer.
"How come?"
"I got into UPenn," a proud grin grows, "pretty excited about it."
Lip claps him on the arm, "that's great."
"Yeah," Babe rushes in, "and I'm just down in West now, so he's going to take my empty room and bus over for classes."
"That so?"
They nod.
"Convenient, ain't it?" Bill snickers into the rim of his bottle. Babe shoots him a glare, but leaves the comment where it rests.
"You gonna be a real doc then, Doc?"
"That's the plan."
"Congratulations," Ron enters from his bedroom, having changed into boxer shorts, a gray t-shirt, and socks and slippers. The other three watch him pass, wide eyed, like Bigfoot just walked out and began speaking. Noticing the attention, he pauses at the end of the couch. "What?"
No one speaks up, so he continues into the kitchen. Knowing his nightly routine, Lip figures he's getting a glass of water before settling in. He glances to Bill who's sitting in the chair across from him, closest to the kitchen.
"Lip," he whispers, leaning forward. "You've domesticated him."
"What?" He chuckles. "Why?"
"He looks cozy," he looks slightly horrified and Lip rolls his eyes.
"I didn't introduce him to pajamas."
"Suppose not," he agrees and Carwood smells trouble when his face morphs into a smirk, "by the way, I saw how you watched him walk away."
"What?" He asks again, taken aback.
"You ain't subtle," he laughs, looking to Babe and Roe. Roe gives Lip a sympathetic shrug.
"Oh, hell," he slouches in his chair, a hand over his face. Bill isn't wrong. He was certainly checking Ron out.
"Did you break him?" Comes the voice of the man in question, exiting the kitchen.
"No, I think you did," Bill chuckles.
"Guarnere!" Carwood scolds, removing the hand from his face. Ron watches him, a curious tilt to his head. "Just ignore him."
"I try my best to," he says, surprising Carwood when he crosses the room to sit down with his water glass. He sits on the end of the couch, next to Eugene, and places his glass next to Carwood's beer on the side table. "So, where are they sleeping?"
"Oh," he mumbles. They only have one couch and two loveseats. He can't expect a guest to sleep on a chair all night. He imagines of the guys could with sleep with him, the other with Ron, and one on the couch. But then he thinks about even bringing that idea up to Ron and decides against it. "Um, Bill on the couch. Gene and Babe in my room. And Ron, I'll sleep on your floor."
"Oh, is the 'the floor' what you call his-"
"Guarnere!" Babe and Lip scolded simultaneously.
"Sorry," he giggles, not sorry at all, covering a hand over his mouth. Lipton doesn't dare turn to the couch, but he can hear Roe and Babe chuckling to each other.
"Does that plan work or what?" He rubs a hand on the back of his neck, willing the blush on his face to go away.
"No complaints," Babe says.
"Yeah, Lip. That'll work for us," Roe speaks up.
"Guarnere?" Lip asks, tilting his head up.
"You know us. We can sleep in a hole in the ground."
Lip gathers some extra blankets from his bedroom before he gives Babe and Gene their privacy for the night. Shutting the door quietly behind him, he hands a sheet and comforter to Bill and watches him dress the couch for the night.
"Are they going to have sex in my bed?" He asks from where he stands behind the couch.
"It's their first night together," Bill scoffs. "What do you think?"
"Gross. So, they're dating?" he slips a pillowcase onto a spare pillow, tossing it to him.
"Your chicks have left the nest, Lip. They're all grown up."
"That's good for them," he nods, meaning it. He is happy for them. And maybe a little envious, too. "Are you going to bed now?"
Bill settles down onto the couch, taking a moment to get his leg situated and grimacing while he does so.
"Probably," he answers. "Once I'm down, I try to stay down."
"I get it," Lip nods. He's stalling and he's sure Bill can tell by the fond smile on his face. "Okay, I'll leave you to it. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Lip. And thanks," he turns out the lamp beside the couch and they plunge into darkness as Lip walks to Ron's room.
He has, of course, been inside of Ron's room before. There was the mouse hunt of last April that had him running through it. But aside from that, he has never really shared time with the space. He's never really observed it aside from a quick glance here and there. It's a bit intimidating to stand on the precipice.
"Ron," he taps a knuckle to the door.
"Come in," he replies softly.
He's sitting atop the covers when Carwood enters, leaning back against the headboard with a book spread in his lap. He glances up at Lip, a smile tugging at the right corner of his mouth. He clocks Lip's hesitation.
"Are you shy?" His voice is smooth and quiet. A comment only for the two of them. And Lip feels his ears redden.
"No," he says defensively, puffing his chest and charging into the room with his armfuls of blankets.
Ron's room is smaller than his, but not by very much. He has his bed, dresser, a bookcase, and a storage trunk. The bookcase, beside the bed, is full of what looks to be textbooks, some memoirs, and historical nonfiction books. He's surprised to see a radio on the dresser, considering he's never heard a radio play from this room before, and a line of framed pictures. He doesn't linger on the photos, not wanting to be invasive.
He picks up the thickest comforter, prepared to lay it down beside the bed, but Ron swings his legs over the side and stands in front of him.
"What are you doing?"
"Making my bed," he cocks an eyebrow.
"No," Ron laughs. "You'll be in bed with me."
Carwood stares.
"We've shared a bed before, I think we'll be okay sharing one again."
"That was different," Carwood stiffens.
"How?"
"That was wartime," a simple answer, "plus, I was so sick I barely remember it."
"I remember exactly how sick you let yourself get, Lipton," he gives him a look and Lip feels the urge to hide like a scolded boy. "Come on, let's jog your memory, then." He gestures to the bed, pulling the blanket from Lip's hands.
"You can't order me into bed this time, Speirs," he tugs the blanket back and they both keep a firm grip. "Why do you want me in there with you so bad?"
"Cause I don't want you on my floor where I can step on you," he snaps back. "You deserve some comfort, Lip. You aren't even in pajamas for Christ's sake."
"Oh," he honestly had forgotten he was still in his pants and shirt from work. And it wasn't like he could go and get a change of clothes - he had already bid the boys goodnight. He rubbed a hand down his face, loosening his grip on the comforter. "Babe and Gene are having sex in my room."
Ron blinks at him.
"Guess you'll be borrowing something," he drops the blanket and Lip lets it fall from his hands, as well. It pools to the floor. Ron moves to his dresser.
"No, you're too small," he protests.
"I am not small," Speirs retorts.
"You're smaller than me. That will be more uncomfortable than my day clothes," he closes the bedroom door and begins to unbutton his shirt. "I'll just wear my boxers, is that okay?"
"I'll survive."
Carwood sheds his button-down, folding it and putting it on an empty section atop Ron's dresser. He glances up as he unbuttons his trousers, making eye contact with Speirs.
"Yes?" He pushes his pants down his legs and slips them off of his feet. He folds them and they join the same pile. Ron continues to watch him silently as he sits on the bed to remove his socks.
"What did Guarnere mean earlier?" He asks after the pause.
Carwood's stomach drops. He absolutely does not want to explain anything that Bill might have said.
"About the sleeping arrangements?" He decides not to play dumb, seeing no reason to delay. When Ron nods, he continues, "he was making a joke about me…sleeping on your dick."
"Yeah, I got that part," he crosses his arms over his chest, cocking a hip to the side. Casual. "But, why?"
"Why, what?"
"Why did he make that joke? About you and me?"
"It's just some weird notion he has," he chuckles nervously. "Who knows why he says half of the things he does."
Carwood blinks and Ron is suddenly a few steps closer, as if he was about to sit next to him but decided against it. They hold eye contact for a moment of silence. Ron's eyes catch the shadows like they're prone to do and it leaves Lip a little mystified.
"What's the notion?"
"The notion…" he trails off.
"He has some idea in mind, right? And you must know what it is."
"Yeah, he," he cuts himself off, suddenly anxious and cornered. "He just keeps pushing this idea that we're interested each other. Like, more than friends. That we're more than roommates."
Ron hums, turning suddenly to sit back in his spot on the bed. He leans against the headboard, ankles crossed out in front of him, and opens his book in his lap. Carwood cranes his neck watching him, astounded by his lack of reaction. He turns forward, realizing he's still holding his socks, and adds them to the pile on the dresser. When he turns again, Ron is eyeing the stack of clothing, but he makes no comment.
Carwood approaches the other side of the bed— his side of the bed, and climbs in under the covers before he can begin overthinking it. He lays flat on his back beside Ron.
"I'm surprised you don't have anything to say about it," he picks up their conversation, not satisfied where Speirs left it.
"I have thoughts," he supplies, turning the page of his book.
"Thoughts?"
"Bill is more perceptive than I figured, for one."
Carwood's stomach fills with lead, heavy and cold. God, had Ron known about his crush this entire time? The thought is humiliating. He remains silent, not knowing how to reply, and doesn't turn his head to meet Ron's gaze when he looks over from his book.
"Stop freaking out," his cool voice commands. "I just meant that I have also wondered if we might be interested in each other as more than roommates." His tone is teasing, but he means what he says. It causes Carwood's heart to pound.
"Oh," he mumbles, playing with the edge of the quilt. He debates his response, thoughts flooding his mind. There's a risk here, maybe even a point of no return. "I can't say I've never thought about it."
Ron puts his book aside and pushes back the covers, settling underneath them. He turns on his side, watching Lip with his head on the pillow.
"Have you ever thought about kissing me?"
Carwood feels his face heat, his stomach flipping again.
"Ron, I have kissed you."
"Oh, so sharing a bed during wartime doesn't count, but a drunken bet during peacetime does?"
"That was peacetime," he clarifies, risking a glance at Speirs. His grin is gentle, his expression open in the lamp light. "But…I have thought about it, yes."
"Is it something you want?"
"Yes, but," he pauses, "not because of a bet. It would…mean something this time, I think."
"Okay," it's spoken so low that Lip almost doesn't hear it. "Would you let me, if I said it would mean something to me, too?"
This time, he doesn't glance at Speirs. He stares. He analyzes and absorbs every micro expression on the other's face. He turns on his side, facing him.
"I would."
Ron's palm on his face is warm and rough, and it's been so long since Carwood has felt someone else's palm on his cheek that he's startled by the heat and weight of it. An involuntary shiver runs up his spine and he grips lightly onto the front of Ron's shirt. A thumb strokes his cheekbone, and then Ron is leaning towards him. He lets his eyes fall closed and feels the pressure of lips against his own. Their lips part against each other, deepening the kiss, and the hand on his face shifts to cup the back of his neck.
Carwood pulls away, tucking his face into the pillow. Ron's hand falls to his shoulder.
"Sorry," he says muffled into the pillow. Ron doesn't reply, so he elaborates. "I got really embarrassed and shy."
"Why? I liked it."
Carwood pulls his face out. Ron's hair splays over the pillowcase, one cheek smushed against it, and looks at him like he's precious.
"Can we try again?" Ron asks, and Carwood knows he's sunk. Knows this will be the rest of his life. Maybe not this apartment, maybe not this city, but this man.
He leans forward quickly and Ron's hand reclaims the hold on the nape of his neck. When they part, Ron murmurs to him. Asking if he would like to try this out. Try them out. Carwood agrees, studying Ron's face where it smiles atop the pillow. He hates that he now has that smug son of a bitch Bill Guarnere to thank for his love life.