Mapping exits.
Tommy loved that about him.
How steady he was.
How he always looked like he could carry the situation if Tommy couldn’t.
They walked up the driveway together.
The closer they got, the louder everything became.
Music.
Laughter.
Voices spilling out every time the front door opened.
Logan’s hand found the small of Tommy’s back as they stepped onto the porch.
Not possessive.
Placement.
I’m here.
Tommy leaned into it for half a second.
Then the door opened and the noise hit them full in the face.
Heat. Perfume. Food.
Someone hugged Tommy before he’d even taken two steps inside.
“Oh my god, Tommy!”
Another voice followed.
“Look at you!”
Tommy smiled automatically, nodding, greeting people whose names he remembered and people whose names he absolutely did not.
He let himself be pulled briefly into the flow of the party , coats, trays of food, someone explaining a story that started three sentences before Tommy joined the conversation.
But he barely heard a word.
His eyes kept scanning the room.
Looking.
Searching.
He hated that he knew exactly what he was looking for.
Logan murmured something polite to a neighbor while keeping his hand at Tommy’s back like a tether.
Tommy tried to focus on familiar faces.
His mom’s friends.
