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James stares at his phone, thumb hovering over the little blue pin like it might explode. If only that would make this whole thing easier. He glances over at Danny, who is stuffing clothes into a bag for his usual December disappearing act. One weekend in Houston where he can grieve or pretend he doesn't need to. James has spent seven years telling himself to stay out of it. He is here to hold Danny together when he finally cracks, not to force him into feeling.
But he thinks of Sherrinford and his chest tightens. If that bomb had gone a little farther, if the universe had tipped one degree toward cruelty, he would be living that nightmare right now. And Danny lived it, not after a few months of romance but after eighteen years of building a home with Esmeralda. Eighteen years of laughter and bills and burnt toast and Christmas mornings.
He remembers Esmeralda like a sister. She handed him a real family when he had none. Before her, his holidays were fancy and freezing. Champagne. Do not touch that, James. Your best angle is over here, James. Do not rip the paper, James. It is for the aesthetic. No eating, it is for the pictures only. He hates thinking about it. He hates admitting it out loud even more, but Adrian would've had a childhood way too close to that nightmare. Danny needs someone who makes him laugh without effort. And Adrian could maybe use someone who knows what love looks like when it is real.
Sherrinford doesn't even look up from the shipping logs he is combing through from Primrose’s rumored last known location. He just mutters, “Send it already. You are agonizing.”
James rolls his eyes. “Next time I am leaving you trapped in London.” He taps send before he can talk himself out of it.
Text to Adrian:
Hey fuckface, you made it to Houston? If you want to help, go there. Be there by 10pm. Do not let him drive home, he will try. Take him to your hotel. Offer to drive him home tomorrow. We're having pozole.
The message flies through and James exhales. “If Danny shoots me, make sure it is not in the face. I am too pretty to die with a hole in my cheek.”
Sherrinford snorts, which is basically a laugh in Holmes language, and keeps typing like James did not just make a life choice for everyone involved.
@Adrian Niven @Danny Hernández Mentioned: @Sherrinford Holmes
Adrian Niven
He was halfway through unpacking when James’s text pinged, looking exactly like the kind of thing you don’t want to see from someone who is rumored to never panic even when the building is literally on fire.
He blinked at it.
Once.
Twice.
Nope. That was still alarming.
The shirt he’d been unfolding slid off the bed and crumpled on the floor. He didn’t bother picking it up. He thumbed out a reply immediately.
Text from Adrian:
James. Dude. Lifehack: Lead with anything other than “fuckface” when you want help
I’m going. He’s not driving himself anywhere, ok? Promise
He hesitated, then sent a second message before anxiety could talk him out of it:
Thanks for trusting me with… whatever this is
Phone in hand, he grabbed his wallet and room key and bolted. The hallway smelled like air freshener and jet lag. The elevator dinged but took too long to open, so he hit the stairs instead.
Houston humidity slapped him in the face the moment he stepped outside, that gross warm wall of air that felt like walking into someone else’s exhale. He kept going.
The entire walk to the parking garage, his brain wouldn’t shut up.
What exactly had James meant?
What important thing did Danny need help with?
Was he injured? Sick? Drunk? Sad? Angry?
Did someone die?
Did someone almost die?
Was this work-related?
Personal?
Something between?
Adrian didn’t know. And the not-knowing was significantly worse than any option he could imagine.
They’d been talking almost every day since Rio. Video chats squeezed in between flights. Half-asleep late-night calls. Stupid memes at random hours. Danny acting like he wasn’t worn out. Adrian pretending he didn’t notice. They kept trying to meet up again, but life kept throwing obstacles at both of them, and then James drops a text like a grenade with zero additional context.
Something was wrong. Not in a casual, he’s in a mood way. Adrian had sensed it creeping up, but as usual, hadn't wanted to push. But James Sterling wouldn’t contact him unless he thought he was the best option. Sterling wasn't exactly low-key about not liking Adrian much.
Adrian reached his rental car, yanked the door open, and muttered under his breath, half-frustrated, half-worried:
“Daniel, I swear, if you’re having some existential crisis without spilling the tea, I’m going to stage an intervention and you’re not allowed to complain.”
He dropped into the driver’s seat and pulled up the pin James sent. Fifteen miles away. Which could take entirely too long with Houston’s ever-present traffic problem. Adrian gripped the steering wheel, forcing his thoughts into something that resembled strategy instead of panic spirals.
He didn’t know what he was walking into.
He didn’t know what Danny needed.
He didn’t even know if Danny wanted him there.
But James had reached out. And the tone of that text said enough. Whatever this was, Adrian wasn’t letting Daniel deal with it on his own.
Not tonight.
Not when the universe was clearly done pretending everything was fine. Not when logistics had cockblocked them for way too long already.
He pulled out of the hotel garage and into the Houston night, pulse thrumming hard enough to feel in his fingertips.
Danny Hernández
“Slow down, Hernández. You still gotta crawl your ass on stage. It's almost ten.”
Danny snorts and knocks back his fourth shot. It burns, but not enough. “You got your guitar, Frank?”
This dive bar has not changed in years. Cracked vinyl seats. Flickering neon. The same old music looping on the jukebox because the owner refuses to update it. It is nothing special, but it mattered to them. He and Esmeralda would come here every December. It was their tradition. And after she passed, he kept coming because breaking the tradition hurt worse.
The regulars know his story. They don't stare. They don't ask. They just nod at him, like he is still part of the world.
Frank gives a short laugh. “Of course, pendejo. I keep it here just for your sorry ass.”
Danny smiles, but it wobbles. He rubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Give me a sec.”
Frank returns from the back and sets the guitar on the bar. He looks at Danny for a moment before saying, “You should have brought the boyfriend.”
Danny picks up the beer and the guitar. “Boyfriend. Aren't I too old to be a boyfriend?” His voice cracks. He clears it and tries again. “He has better things to do. No one signs up for a holiday with a widower who falls apart once a year.”
Frank pushes another shot his way. A steady hand. A silent message. “We do, amigo.”
Danny nods, because anything else might make him fall apart right here. He downs the shot and heads toward the stage. His boots sound loud on the worn wooden floor.
He raises his beer in a half-hearted toast. “Frank made me do it.” The regulars laugh softly. This is all routine. It is what they do for him.
He sits on the old stool. The guitar feels heavier than usual. “Ya’ll remember when my wife used to drag me up here? She loved seeing me embarrass myself.” A few people smile. Someone raises a glass for Esmeralda.
Danny looks down so they won't see his eyes. He takes a breath. Esmeralda would tell him to sing. She always had a song for every mood, every memory, every crack in him.
He thinks of Fabian’s small worried voice.
Dad, who was that person on the phone who made you cry?
He thinks of Adrian, who deserves better than someone who keeps one foot in the past.
His fingers press the strings. The first chord comes out shaky. He swallows.
“I did not bring her back tonight,” he says quietly into the mic. “But maybe I can remember her right.”
Another chord. Stronger.
“And maybe I can figure out how to move forward too.”
The room goes quiet. Nobody laughs now. They just listen.
Danny closes his eyes, heart pounding, and lets the words come. His voice is rough and real.
He sings for Esmeralda.
And he sings for Adrian.
Adrian Niven
Turned out the pin was some dive bar. Adrian couldn't say he was surprised, considering how they'd met. He pushed through the door expecting noise, chaos, some familiar bar stink to greet him. He didn't expect this.
Daniel stood at the edge of the stage, if you could even call it a stage, moving like every step cost him. His boots hit the worn wood too loud, too heavy. He was drunk. Not fun-drunk. Not flirty-drunk. Not “Rio beers on the beach” drunk. This was the kind of drunk that came from trying not to feel something.
Adrian froze near the entrance, pulse jumping.
Frank called something supportive from behind the bar. A couple people clapped lightly. The air shifted with a quiet that felt practiced, like everyone in the room knew exactly what night this was.
Then Daniel sat. Shoulders bowed. Hands trembling around the guitar.
“Y’all remember when my wife used to drag me up here?”
Adrian felt like he'd been kicked in the throat.
Wife? What wife? Why did no one mention a wife? Is Daniel straight? Did I imagine the entire Rio situation? Am I projecting? Just stupid and hopeful? No. No wait. Past tense. He said didn’t bring her back.
And then it clicked and his stomach sank.
There were a few murmured yeses to Daniel's question, someone lifting their beer, someone else tapping the table softly in acknowledgment. Then a voice from the back, gentle, warm:
“For Esmeralda.”
Adrian’s brain, normally a nonstop feed of commentary, snark, and mental tabs, went perfectly silent. Completely blank.
He had worried about labels.
He had worried about mixed signals.
He had worried about being too young, too dramatic, too everything.
And Daniel had been carrying this. Adrian felt sick. Not jealousy, not confusion. Just the sudden, awful understanding that Daniel had been carrying something immense that he’d never let Adrian see. Not fear, like Adrian had wondered, but grief. Deep, old, marrow-level grief. A grief the whole bar clearly knew by heart. Grief the likes of which Adrian knew nothing about personally, but he knew this hurt.
Daniel adjusted the mic. His jaw flexed like he was physically holding himself together. The first chord came out thin, almost breaking. Adrian’s chest tightened painfully.
As he listened to the song, his eyes began to sting. Every note felt like an open wound. Still unseen, Adrian edged away from the doorway, feet moving like sleepwalking, the decision already made before it registered. The piano in the corner was ancient, uneven, probably out of tune, its bench crooked like it had been sat on by a thousand ghosts. Perfectly ignored by everyone.
He slid behind it quietly, like slipping into someone else’s memory. The bench wobbled under him. He steadied it with his knees. Daniel inhaled into the mic, breath trembling as the song continued. Adrian lowered his hands to the keys.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a low, warm tone under Daniel’s melody—something soft enough that if anyone noticed, they’d assume it was planned. Something that wouldn’t interrupt but could rise to catch him if he faltered. It wasn't that badly off-key.
Daniel didn’t look up. Didn’t seem to realize anyone else was playing.
Good.
Adrian didn’t want to be seen right now. He didn’t want thanks. He didn’t want questions. He just wanted Daniel not to have to sing alone.
As the song unfurled, rough, aching, honest, Adrian followed him, matching each shaky chord with something steadier, building a net beneath him note by note.
For the first time since he’d landed in Houston, he had no jokes, no flirt, just this.
And if he was crying, no one could see him anyway.
Danny Hernández
The song fades out, strings vibrating one last time. Danny lifts his beer and the people who know him and know her lift theirs too. The rest join in because the mood is contagious. He forces a smile.
“Now put the fucking jukebox on, Frank, so these people can dance,” he calls out.
Frank fires off a loud curse in Spanish and hits the button. Music fills the room again, cheap and cheerful.
Danny starts to set the guitar against the stool. Simple motion. Should take one second. Except he freezes halfway through.
Someone is sitting at the old upright piano against the wall. Someone he was absolutely sure would not be here.
His heart kicks up. Panic first. Because almost nobody knows he comes to this place. Then the logic catches up. There is exactly one person who could have told Adrian where to find him.
“Mother fucker..." Danny mutters and moves off the stage.
He makes it to the piano, breath caught somewhere in his chest. Adrian is staring at the keys, shoulders shaking slightly. Tears on his face.
It knocks the wind out of Danny.
Danny sits beside him on the unstable bench that feels like it might collapse any second. He places his hand over Adrian’s where it rests on the piano. His voice is soft and steady.
“Hey, kid. Why are you crying? Who did you lose?”
Adrian Niven
His eyes lifted slowly, still wet, still unguarded, unashamed.
“I haven’t lost anybody,” he said. “Not like you. Not even close. And I’m not crying because of my past. Poor rich kid.”
He drew a shaky breath, staring down at their joined hands for a beat before looking back up.
“When you sang… it made me imagine my world without you in it. And I hated that picture. It hurt in this really stupid, sharp way I wasn’t ready for.”
A small, helpless shrug followed.
“That’s all I’ve got. I’m not trying to steal your grief or make it about me. I just… why didn't you tell me?”
With that plaintive question, he threw his arms around Daniel and held him close.
Danny Hernández
At first Danny barely registers the movement. Then he realizes Adrian is hugging him. Full on arms around him, face tucked in like he belongs there. Danny reacts a beat late, surprised because Adrian has always kept his touching light. Always careful. Always waiting for permission Danny barely knows how to give.
But Danny hugs him back. Tight. Like he's been needing this more than he lets on.
He's not that drunk. He knows exactly what those words meant. And somehow, the hug makes it even clearer.
Danny pulls back just enough to wipe the tears from Adrian’s cheeks with his thumbs. He tries for a crooked little smile.
“Ah, but you are my poor rich kid, verdad? And still pretty even when you cry.”
It is lame humor, but he needs to see Adrian smile. Even a tiny one.
Danny’s chest rises with a shaky breath. “I didn't tell you because… it's not easy to talk about. And the time we spend together is good. Special. And I didn't want to put this weight on it. I didn't want to... ruin anything. And there are a whole lot of reasons I am not saying while sitting on a bench that feels like it is about to break in half.”
He stands and holds his hand out. Adrian takes it. Danny leads him back toward the bar, head ducked, avoiding the spotlight. He sits them in the corner booth, hidden from the regulars who know too much already.
Danny pats down his pockets for his keys. He knows damn well he had them earlier. “Let me take you to the hotel.”
“Already handled,” Frank says as he walks up. He jingles the keys in front of them. “I took these the minute you put them down, amigo.” Then he nods at Adrian. “Nice to finally meet you, I'm Frank.” He slides two beers across the table and lowers his voice. “No one will bother you here. Holler if you need anything.”
Frank leaves them alone.
Danny drops his head into his hands for a second. The guilt hits him hard and fast. The weight of his grief. The burden he feels like he is placing on everyone who cares about him.
“I'm sorry,” he mumbles. Quiet. Defeated.
Adrian Niven
Adrian let out a breath that sounded like it hurt, then glanced up at Daniel through damp lashes. The corner of his mouth tugged into a crooked little half-smile, the kind he used when humor was the only tool left in the box.
“You’re not allowed to apologize for singing beautifully and emotionally destroying me with it,” he said, voice still thick. “I’ll invoice you later. Itemized. With interest.”
The joke landed softly, not enough to undercut the moment, just enough to pull Daniel’s head out of the undertow for a second, he hoped. Adrian’s hands curled around the edge of the table, knuckles pale, as if grounding himself.
The smile faded, replaced by something quieter, warmer, painfully honest.
“You’re allowed to hurt,” Adrian said. “You’re allowed to miss her. You’re allowed to have a past. None of that scares me off. I'm just worried you felt like you couldn't tell me.”
His thumb brushed a stray tear from his own cheek, almost annoyed it was still there.
“And I’m allowed to sit here with you while you crash out, okay? I want to be here. That’s how this works, right? We’re… in each other’s orbit. Even when it’s messy.”
He took Daniel's hand, peeling it from where he's hiding his face, and enfolded between his own.
“But don’t apologize,” he added softly. “Let me help, you stubborn man.”
Danny Hernández
A soft laugh slips out of him, tired and rough around the edges. “I don't know how,” he says again. He drags in a long breath like he has been holding everything inside for too long. “I want to try, but I'm…” He stops when a table nearby erupts in laughter. Normal people. Having a normal night. No grief sitting on their shoulders.
His jaw tightens. “I need to get out of here.” His voice drops, tight with panic he does not want to admit to. “This is not the place for this.”
He pats his pockets again like the keys might magically appear. "Just..." Then he remembers and curses under his breath in Spanish.
“I don't want to do this here,” he says quietly. “I don't want to fall apart in front of strangers.” He looks at Adrian, eyes pleading. “Can we go?”
Adrian Niven
Adrian brushed a kiss across Daniel’s knuckles, barely there, meant to anchor him instead of claiming anything. His chest felt too tight for the size of the moment, like his heart was trying to push its way up into his throat, but he kept his voice calm.
“Yeah. Let’s go. Right now.”
Sliding out of the booth felt like waking up from a dream he hadn’t realized he was in. His legs were unsteady in that adrenaline way, the kind that said he was holding it together by vibes and stubbornness. He straightened anyway, shoulders back in a soft imitation of confidence, because Daniel needed steadiness, not whatever emotional disaster was happening inside Adrian’s skull.
A glance toward the bar caught Frank watching them with the resigned accuracy of a man who had figured out this entire situation hours ago.
“Hey, Frank,” Adrian called, lifting his hand. “Keys?”
Frank didn’t even sigh. He just reached under the counter, grabbed the ring Daniel had abandoned, and tossed it. Adrian caught it one-handed without thinking, which would have felt cool if his heart wasn’t currently doing parkour.
Frank nodded once. The universal signal for: good luck, kid.
Turning back to Daniel almost knocked the breath out of him. Every line of Daniel’s body was strained, overwhelmed, barely keeping it together. Adrian’s instincts screamed stupid things like hold him, take him home, make the world stop for five minutes, but he kept those thoughts behind his teeth where they belonged.
He let the keys dangle lightly from his fingers, voice steady. “I’m driving. You don’t have to worry about that part.”
Daniel’s eyes lifted to his, searching, and something in Adrian’s ribs tried to crumble. He stepped closer, not touching, just existing in Daniel’s gravity.
“We can go anywhere you want. Just tell me what feels okay.”
A softer breath followed, nearly a whisper. “And if nowhere feels okay… you can come back to mine.”
The offer hung there, gentle, not a demand. The last thing Daniel needed was pressure. Adrian held his hand near Daniel’s arm, giving him the choice to take it or not.
“Whatever you need tonight,” he said quietly, every word meant, “I’ve got you.”
Inside, his thoughts were a frantic mess of please trust me, please let me help, please don’t shut down now, but his expression stayed calm, open, steady in the way he wished he felt.
Because Daniel deserved that steadiness, even if Adrian had to fake it for a little while.
Danny Hernández
“Let’s just… go to your hotel.”
The words come out low and tired, but they are honest. Adrian’s hotel feels like comfort. Like Rio. Like a place where he can breathe without everyone watching him fall apart.
Danny takes Adrian’s hand, squeezing it once before nodding toward Frank. Frank gives him a sad little look, the kind that says he knows what kind of night this is turning into. Danny manages a quick goodbye and steps out into the humid air.
They walk across the lot. Danny pulls his duffel from the truck bed. “Trust me,” he mutters. “The truck is less likely to get broken into overnight than that fancy convertible of yours.”
The car ride is quiet at first. Houston blurs past them in streaks of orange and white. Danny’s throat is tight. His chest is tight. Everything feels too full.
“Thank you. For coming,” he finally says, reaching over to rest his hand on Adrian’s leg. It is small, but it means everything.
They reach the hotel. The penthouse, of course. Danny almost laughs. Figures. He had booked a budget place ten miles away because he refused James’s offer to upgrade him.
Inside, Danny drops his bag and sinks onto the couch. He drags both hands down his face. Nothing sobers you faster than realizing you have to tell the person you are falling for about your dead wife.
“I'm sorry I didn't tell you before.” His voice is low, wavering. “It's not that I thought I couldn't. I was just… scared of what would happen afterward.”
He looks up and his eyes are wet, tired, worn down. “I really care about you. And I…” His voice breaks. He swallows hard. “I don't want to lose you.”
He takes a breath and begins.
He tells Adrian how he met Esmeralda at sixteen. How he knew that day that he wanted to marry her. How they were together for eighteen years. How she was loud and stubborn and brilliant and the only person who ever made him feel like he was more than the angry kid he used to be.
He tells Adrian he works for the CIA. That he takes cases he can't talk about. Classified work that will always sit like a wall between them. He tells Adrian that some of the work he does for James is the kind the CIA would arrest him for, and maybe he is not nearly as noble as everyone likes to think. He hates admitting it out loud.
His tears come fast after that.
He tells Adrian about the kids he saved. The case he thought was closed. The phone call years later that shattered everything. He remembers Esmeralda’s voice over the line, the panic, the gunshot.
“She died because of me,” he whispers. His breath catches and he sobs. “And I never told her I love her back. I was trying to convince her I could fix it because I was scared. I wanted to make myself feel better. I didn't tell her I love her back.”
His biggest regret spills out like a wound that never healed.
He wipes his face with the back of his hand, trying to steady himself.
“And we have a son. He is just like her. Looks like me, but he is all her on the inside.” He gives a broken little laugh. “And he wants to meet you.”
He covers his face with his hands again. The words come out raw.
“I can't have the same thing happen to you. I can't watch someone else I care about get hurt because of me. I don't want you to suffer for being with me.”
His voice drops to almost nothing.
“I don't think I could survive it.”
Adrian Niven
Adrian’s own tears threatened again and he squeezed Daniel's shoulder gently. “You’re not the reason she died. And you’re not going to make me disappear by letting me see who you really are.”
His voice wavered but stayed steady enough. “I care about you. A lot. Enough that the idea of losing you tonight scared me more than anything in my own past ever has.”
He rested his forehead against Daniel’s shoulder for a breath, then Adrian sat forward a little, hands open on his knees like he needed Daniel to see he wasn’t hiding anything.
“Hey,” he said softly, “look at me.”
Daniel did, barely, eyes raw and shining.
“I can’t promise this is safe,” Adrian continued. “I’m not an idiot or a liar. Bad things happen, and you’ve had more than your share.” He shook his head once, hair falling slightly into his eyes. “But I can tell you this: I don’t scare easy and I think you're worth the risk.”
A breath escaped him, shaky but honest. “You didn’t lose her because you loved her,” he added. “And you won’t lose me just for letting me in. That’s not how this works.”
He reached for Daniel’s hand, slow enough that Daniel could decide if he wanted it.
“What's your son's name?”
Danny Hernández
There is nothing Danny wants more than to believe him. But seven years of guilt isn't something you just shake off. He will try though. For Adrian. For Fabian. For himself.
He skips the offered hand and pulls Adrian into a full embrace, holding on tight like he is afraid the moment might disappear if he loosens his grip. “His name is Fabian,” he says quietly against Adrian’s neck.
He pulls back just enough to see him. Really see him. The man who flew across the country, probably an ocean, because Danny was falling apart. The man who did not look away from the mess.
Danny brushes Adrian’s hair out of his eyes, his fingers slow and careful. A watery smile tugs at his lips. “I am so lucky,” he whispers, leaning his forehead to Adrian’s shoulder. He feels tired down to the bone. The kind of tired sleep doesn't touch.
He needs to break the heaviness before it crushes them both. So he forces a little grin.
“Are you my boyfriend? Or... do you even want to be?” He lifts his head, eyes searching Adrian’s. “I guess I haven't thought it through because I was too busy enjoying our time together. And I don't want to be with anyone else. I haven't wanted anyone in seven years.” His voice softens. “Until you.” He glances away, suddenly shy again, like the question might bite him. “Is this a weird time to ask?” he murmurs. “I've never been good at this.”
Adrian Niven
Adrian blinked like the question had ricocheted straight into his chest. His hands slid up Daniel’s arms on instinct, thumbs brushing slow, steady circles meant to keep them both from flying apart. When he spoke, his voice dropped into something warm and stupidly honest.
“Daniel… I’ve been falling for you since Rio. Like, embarrassingly early. I just didn’t say it because I didn’t want to freak you out or make you think I was expecting a whole relationship arc out of thin air.”
His fingers tightened a little, more grounding than grabbing.
“But if you’re asking me that…” He let out a breath that sounded half laugh, half disbelief. “Yeah. Yeah, I want to be your boyfriend.”
He leaned his forehead against Daniel’s, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.
“I want to be with you in the actual, real-life way. Not the flirting on Facetime way, not the ‘accidentally catching feelings on vacation’ way. Us. For real. If you want that too.”
Danny Hernández
His gaze drops for a second before he forces himself to look at Adrian again. A small nod. “Real,” he says quietly. “That's what I promised.” The words feel heavy and hopeful at the same time, like he's finally stepping into something he has been too scared to touch.
Danny pulls Adrian close, hiding his face in his shoulder while he works on getting his breathing under control. When he pulls back, he cups Adrian’s cheek, thumb brushing lightly along his skin. It's such a simple touch, but it feels like crossing a line he drew for himself months ago. He has stayed safe with kisses to shoulders, hands, cheek kisses. Safe places that didn't threaten to break the walls he built around his heart.
His pulse pounds in his throat. He hesitates, fear still clinging to him. Then he leans in.
He kisses Adrian.
Not a quick press of lips. Not a careful test. A real kiss. Firm and emotional and overdue. His fingers slide into Adrian’s hair, holding him there like he has finally stopped running.
It is clumsy and intense and absolutely perfect.
Danny rests his forehead against Adrian’s, eyes closed, breath warm between them.
“I want real with you, kid.”
Adrian Niven
Heat lingered between them in the quiet after the kiss, and for a breath everything inside Adrian went bright and unsteady. The moment struck harder than he expected, knocking thought aside and leaving only the vivid rush of finally touching what he had been afraid to reach for.
A small, startled laugh escaped him, soft against Danny’s mouth. He stayed close, forehead pressed to Danny’s, unwilling to break the fragile closeness that had formed between them.
“God, Daniel,” he murmured, the words catching slightly. “Yeah. Real. I’m in.“
Then a breathless chuckle. “Keep kissing me like that and you'll never get rid of me.”
Danny Hernández
A small laugh slips out of Danny, shaky but real. “I don't want to,” he says, and before doubt can sneak back in, he leans in and kisses Adrian again. This one is deeper. More certain.
His hand moves from Adrian’s hair to the back of his neck, thumb stroking warm skin. Adrian’s breath catches, and Danny feels it, feels the way their chests press together, the way the world pulls back and gives them space.
This is the thing he has been afraid of for seven years. This is the line he would not cross because crossing it meant letting someone in again. Letting someone matter. But right now, he cannot make himself care about the risk. Not when Adrian is willing to be all in on this.
He angles his head, lips parting with trust that makes his heart ache. Adrian responds in kind, gentle but eager, like he's been waiting too. Danny feels heat spread through his chest, not panic, not grief, something better. Something like relief.
His fingers curl into the fabric of Adrian’s shirt, holding on tight. He kisses him like he has something to lose. Like he has already chosen to try.
Adrian Niven
A shaky breath escaped Adrian, half laugh, half disbelief, the kind that slipped out when joy and adrenaline tangled.
“Jesus, Daniel… you’re good at this,” he whispered against Danny’s mouth, the words warm and breathy, like he hadn’t meant to say them out loud at all.
His fingers slid into Danny’s hair again, slower this time, steadier, letting the moment settle around them. He kissed him once more, lingering and unhurried, then let their foreheads rest together.
“Come with me,” he murmured, voice soft. “Let’s go lie down. I want to hold you again like Rio.”
He didn’t rush the shift. He just stood, still close enough for their hands to brush, then offered his own with a gentle, quiet invitation.
Danny Hernández
Danny looks down at Adrian’s hand and takes it, threading their fingers together as he stands. His palm is warm, grounding. “I don't want... not tonight. Not like this,” he says quietly. He lifts his free hand to brush his knuckles along Adrian’s cheek, soft and slow.
“I mean, I want to. I really want to. I just…” He huffs out a nervous little laugh, cheeks flushing. “I want to be sure you know it is because I want you. Not because I'm drunk or falling apart.”
His voice is unsteady, but his eyes are sincere.
He clears his throat and tries to lighten the moment with a small smile. “I do want to be in your arms. Not bruised and limping.” The joke is thin and tired, but it holds the truth. He wants their first night to be something good. Something they remember for the right reasons.
Danny squeezes Adrian’s hand, steady and honest. “Let me hold you. That's what I want.”
Adrian Niven
A small, breathy laugh escaped him, the kind that slipped out when relief hit harder than he expected. “Don’t worry. Same page. That’s exactly what I want too.”
Warmth bloomed through his chest as he said it. Not heat, not hunger, just a deep sense of rightness he hadn’t let himself believe in until now. Danny choosing closeness instead of shutting down felt like someone had cracked a window in a room Adrian didn’t realize he’d been suffocating in.
He tugged Danny’s hand lightly, thumb brushing over his knuckles as they walked toward the bed. Each step smoothed out the tension in his shoulders. Danny wasn’t pulling away. Danny wasn’t second-guessing. Danny wanted to hold him. That truth sparked its own quiet ache, one Adrian didn’t try to hide from this time.
The sheets rustled as they climbed in together. The lights dimmed around them, leaving the room in the soft glow of the city through the windows. Danny curled into him without hesitation, solid and warm against his chest. Adrian felt the shape of the moment settle in his bones, gentle and right.
He wrapped his arms around Danny and let himself breathe into the closeness, sinking into it like he’d been waiting since Rio for this exact feeling. No pressure. No rush. Just two people choosing to rest in each other’s space.
Later, when Danny had nodded off and was sleeping peacefully, Adrian carefully reached for his phone and tapped out a quick message.
Text Sterling
hey fuckface thanks again for the text earlier. we're good now
ok maybe not "good" but on the road there hopefully 💜
Adrian Niven
- end chapter -