A mechanic. Rahi’s mouth tugs at the slightest of smiles, but really he’s thinking he’d never imagine such humble beginnings from such a proud man.
“Most people that depend on their brains and not their bodies,” Rahi answers. “Professors, philosophers,” — gag — “and whatnot. The best way to train those muscles is with time.” As though to fix any damage done, Rahi is quick to shake his head. “I mean, I— If I had kids, or something. I’d have to pause. It’s not… fair. But then again, how long should a pause be? Everything in the first few years is really important. I don’t wanna miss anything, and— what if something happens? I can’t do anything if I’m in the middle of the sky.” He’s already worried for Abel and his brothers as it is. “It would kill me.” It would kill all of us.
All too knowing, Rahi nods. You’re in your prime. Even if he’d already known it, it’s validating hearing it from an outside source. Young, intelligent, beautiful and a natural charisma made exclusively for people who never wished for public attention, but got it anyhow. So many notable lists under a NASA tool-belt that he’s lost track, including, Most Likely to Make History.
“It’s just really hard,” he says, voice starting to drag, “choosing between dreams.”
Rahi does raise his glass to meet David’s, though it’s almost empty. He kills it with the next sip. Intentional or not, David’s move catches his attention once more. Rahi’s drunk, and whatever little ability he has to hide his gaze is deemed null when drowned in alcohol. He forgets what he’s supposed to be answering, for a moment.
“…No, not really.” It’s true. Things are never not fantastic, between him and Abe. To the lawyer, every little problem is just a little problem. To the crash pilot, solutions come easy. “But he’d kill you if he knew you were here.”
David is taken aback, openly baffled by Rahi’s very normal, human concerns about future, family, and legacy. There’s much to process at once, even further past the glaring anomalies; for a brief moment, the conversation at hand escapes him. It’s shown in the furrow of his brow, the sudden lack of focus in his gaze that suggests it’s turned inward.
First and foremost, the apparent possibility of Abe Rousseau being wiped off of David’s mental to-do list without any meddling necessary. Forever the martyr, Abel would surely slink into domesticity if it meant the man he loved could actualize his full potential. It’d be easy— unless—-
The baby of a gay, biracial political power couple? A renowned district attorney and a fucking astronaut? On second thought—
“You don’t have to choose.” He shifts his eyes up from the floor and, instead, directs the intensity of his gaze towards Rahi. “Are you kidding me? A man like you.” It’s not a question. Dave sits up straight only to rest his elbows on his knees, leaning in to catch Rahi’s eye with a keen sternness in his own. The same sentiment laces his tone when he speaks the next words, firm and sure: “You never have to choose.”
It’s as though he’s searching for a response in Rahi’s expression for a few seconds before he sits up straight again, polishing off his glass and clearing his throat. “Me and Anaïs, for example. Neither of us wanted to choose. And we both respected each other too much to make the other one choose. So we ended it.”
David stands and ambles into the kitchen, coming back with the bottle to top them both off— which he does, before sinking into the couch and continuing. “We found each other again, both satisfied and secure in what we’ve accomplished as individuals, and it was clear that all we needed was some room to grow.” Now he gives Rahi a look that’s so painfully earnest, he can physically feel the skeezy grin of pride blooming inside his own chest. It’s not that he’s lying, but exactly the opposite. And it’s working for him. God, what a brilliant woman.
“Would he, now?” A beat, and the smirk returns, expelling all sense of seriousness. “Is Abel a jealous man?”
