“Okay,” Tommy says, turning away from the mirror before he gets too soft about it. “Are we… doing this?”
Logan’s mouth quirks. “We’re doing dinner. The rest is yours to decide.”
Chase lifts an eyebrow. “That’s not what you were saying five minutes ago.”
Logan’s grin flashes and vanishes again, something playful, restrained. “I can multitask.”
Tommy rolls his eyes, but the sound that comes out is a laugh. He reaches down to adjust his waistband, then stills for half a beat, not because anything hurts, not because he’s uncertain, but because the awareness is there.
The secret.
It isn’t loud. It isn’t uncomfortable. It’s just present, like a quiet hand resting at the base of his spine from the inside out.
Chase’s words from earlier float back up:something small to carry with you.
Tommy hadn’t expected howsweetthat would feel.
“How you doing?” Logan asks, like he can read the shift on Tommy’s face.
Tommy nods. “Good. Just… aware.”
Logan’s fingers graze the back of Tommy’s neck, a grounding touch that makes Tommy’s shoulders unclench. “If you want it out before we go, we take it out.”
Tommy glances at Chase. Chase doesn’t push. Doesn’t look eager. He just watches Tommy with that steady patience that somehow feels like respect.
Tommy swallows, then shakes his head.
“No,” he says, surprising himself with how certain it comes out. “I want to keep it.”
Logan’s eyes darken slightly, not heat, exactly. Something like pride.
Chase’s mouth softens into a small smile. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Then it stays ours.”
They leave the apartment like a normal couple plus one, jackets, keys, casual conversation. They ride the elevator with a neighbor who barely glances at them, like three men standing close is nothing more than a coincidence of geometry.
Tommy keeps his face neutral anyway, because it feels like the point.
He is walking around in public with a secret.
And the secret is not shame.
It’s care.
Outside, the air is colder than he expects. Logan drapes his coat over Tommy’s shoulders without asking, and Tommy lets him because fighting Logan’s caretaking is a losing battle, and also because it makes his chest feel warm.
Chase walks on Tommy’s other side, hands in his pockets, close enough that their sleeves brush now and then.
Tommy can’t tell which contact is doing it, the coat, the brushing fabric, the steady company, but he feels calmer than he has in weeks.
Not numb.
Chosen.
The restaurant is small and softly lit, the kind of place where you can hear other people’s laughter but not their conversations. Candlelight flickers in little glass holders. A server greets them with practiced warmth and leads them to a booth near the back.
Tommy slides in first, naturally, then pauses.
The booth sits two on one side, one on the other.
