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“These things are gonna kill you before I get the chance.”
Robert considers keeping his gaze trained on the horizon glistening across the Pacific Ocean, all his hopes and half-formed dreams rising to the surface like seafoam.
Instead, he turns towards the rough voice beside him and allows Flambae’s thumb to light a spark.
“Don’t smoke in front of Eun-yeong-ee.”
She doesn’t trail after Umma, not until Umma takes her by the wrist and pulls her along; she doesn’t want to listen to the ajummas gossip, she wants to watch the ahjussis light up their cigarettes and hack up their spit. Like they’re consecrating holy ground in tar and abandoned dreams.
Robert lets out a drag, away from Flambae’s face, and hums softly at the feeling of too-warm fingers pinching a knot in the back of his neck. He leans into the touch, like a cat that craves yet another nap, and eyes Flambae with mischief.
Coolly, calmly, Robert answers him, “I gotta finish this pack before you knock me up.”
A smug self-satisfied grin breaks out across his face at the way Flambae burns, gawking like he’s still got room to hold any and all of Robert’s audacity. He looks away, snorting, and grounds himself at the sight of the water once more.
Ashes flutter off the edge of his last oath.
“Fucker. You haven’t even asked me to move in yet,” Flambae grouses, sounding more apprehensive than he does put out. Like he can’t decide which of the two of them would be the worse role model.
Robert uses his free hand to grab at Flambae’s, lacing their fingers together. He holds up their arms, showing off not only Flambae’s prosthetic but the dappled burn scar kissing his pinky and ring finger. “I thought you already proposed?”
“We’re still doing shit out of order,” he retorts for the sake of argument.
“My toothbrush, my good jeans, my dog, they aren’t all at your place?” Robert intones, dripping with sarcasm.
“Robert.”
“What sounds better to you? Robert Noorzai? Daryab Robertson? Robert Noorzai-Robertson?”
Robert howls with laughter as he’s tackled against the rooftop door, cursing as the push bar digs into his back, swatting at Flambae as he starts kissing up his neck, towards his ear—”Cheater.”
Just when he’s ready to give back, just as he’s about to give in, Robert feels the wind pick up and Flambae backs off, leaving him to suffer. Robert peels off the door and rubs at his back, sighing. “Come on, Dary, what’s this about?”
“Your momma named you after ‘the sea’?”
He looks at Alice, sees the way she’s trying so hard not to laugh, and grumbles, “Ugh. It’s this shit she’d always say, growing up: Gorra khwagawa halwa khwagigi. ‘The deeper the well, the warmer the water.’ The harder you try, the better.”
“I don’t think that’s a bad thing. Sounds like she wanted you to, you know, make something of yourself.”
Flambae eyes the cigarette on the ground, blown out by the ocean breeze. “I…”
Robert steps around so that they’re facing each other, patience in his gaze.
“Look, Bob Bob,” he begins, falling back on the ol’ insult-turned-endearment, “I’m gonna be frank, since you won’t stop fucking around: I literally cannot imagine a future without you in it. So when you do shit that jeopardizes your health, I think I’m allowed to feel a certain way about it. —and ask me things like a normal person. You’re allowed to ask for things you want. You might actually get them.”
State-mandated or not, the fact that Flambae’s been attending therapy far longer than his bitch ass shows.
Robert averts his gaze, letting the gravitas of the moment wash over him. Inhale, exhale. He throws his arms around Flambae and holds him close, like he might evaporate in a wisp of smoke the second he dares to give any of this a name.
“What if what I want is everything? You. Your name. Your kid. Your hopes and dreams.”
Flambae presses a kiss against the crown of his head, sealing the promise. “Uh, have you been listening to literally anything I’ve said the past ten minutes? Feel like I’m going fucking crazy, except I’m already mentally ill over you, but like, in a good way. Shit, man.”
Just to prove a point, Robert pulls the pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket, waving it around in the space between them. Then, with years of honed hand-eye coordination, he tosses them over the edge of the roof.
“You know what the fine for littering in Newport is?”
“You gonna arrest me? You, a real actual superhero?”
“It might be more satisfying than lighting your ass on fire, think I need to take a page outta Mecha Man’s playbook.”
Well, that answers Robert’s question of whether or not Flambae still wants to kill him. Like he went through the trouble of getting close to him, seducing him, only to stab him in the back because he shone too bright. He chases off the intrusive thoughts with a quiet laugh, only to get swept up in the urge to kiss Flambae again.
So he does. And he will. As many times as the sea pulls him away from the destructive roar of the flames, sparks, embers.
Robert’s coming off a high note, euphoric, when a terrible idea comes to mind. He almost reconsiders, before he finally blurts out, “¿Te gustaría pasar el resto de tu vida conmigo?”
And, of course, to his horror, Flambae starts to laugh. “Bebé, that… that’s…! Where’s the fucking ring?”
“Shut up. Is that a proposal? I wasn’t just being poetic? Fuck!” - Robert groans, dragging his hands down his face - “I wasn’t trying to get your hopes up, I swear, I just—”
Flambae squeezes him tight enough that his spine cracks and he can’t spiral any further. “One, pull up your calendar. Two, we’re canceling your lease. ¿Comprende?”
Robert nods as a rough wheeze escapes from him. When his feet hit the ground, he topples over and coughs, bracing his palms against his knees. He pats at his pocket, and fishes out his device. (Imagine, for a second, if he had tossed this instead of the cigarettes. He’d never live it down.)
Absent-mindedly, he starts heading for the stairs, and suddenly he remembers why the fuck they came out here in the first place: “If I run downstairs and buy a donut, then got down on one knee—”
“You think I wouldn’t bully Victor into using his fucking degree? Convince Bruno and Katon-Ur to unionize? Burn Mandy’s office down? If all you can afford is a fucking donut hole? Robert Noorzai-Robertson, when I get your ass—”
As Robert races down the stairs, two at a time, he’s already thinking about how he’ll slip a joke into his vows about how dying by Flambae’s hand doesn’t sound all that bad, actually, in like a fun sexy way.