Thinking about how Chim probably keeps in regular contact with Eli again after spending all that time living with him in Boston, and how even if we didn’t see it on our screens he was probably at/invited to Chim’s wedding (and of course he came, he’s so happy Howie and Maddie worked things out, he misses Jee-Yun) and how he would be pleasantly surprised to run into Tommy there. He heard about the helicopter adventure, of course, and he’s not surprised that he was invited but he didn’t expect him to be there. Of course Tommy is dead on his feet so they don’t get to talk much, but he notices how Howie’s brother in law is doting on him, and extracts a promise from Tommy to grab a coffee before Eli has to go back to Boston. He notes how free Tommy seems, how much lighter he is. And he’s glad.
The way Tommy’s cheeks heat the longer the conversation drags on, the way his heart pounds, rampant against his ribs like it’s plotting an escape clear out of his chest.
He’s wedged shoulder-to-shoulder with Sal in the engine, the guy radiating warmth like he pocketed a piece of the fire they just put out and decided to take it home with him.
The sharp crack of Sal’s laughter startles Tommy back into himself – back into the conversation that’s left his palms damp and his mouth dry.
“What?” Sal says, throwing his arms wide. “She wanted to thank me.”
Hen snorts beside him and shoves his hand away. “You’re ridiculous,” she says. “Her husband was right there.”
“Exactly!” Sal fires back, looking to Chim and Tommy to back him up. “It’s not like she was doing anything outta line.”
Tommy can’t help it. The smile sneaking up on him and curling, uninvited, up into his cheeks. A result of the memories that flood his mind. His own family laughing too loud, huddled around a crowded kitchen island with the scent of garlic and oregano curling through the air. His mom, his aunts, his nonna – hands worn from years of washing dishes, baking bread, of time spent over stovetops.
Tommy leans forward, catching Hen’s eye. “He’s right. That’s the Italian in him.”
Sal cracks crooked grin and raises a brow at Tommy with a wink before spinning back to the group. Tommy rolls his eyes but feels the flutter of butterflies at the base of his gut, fluttering and re-igniting the thump of his heart yet again.
“So you just…kiss each other?” Chim asks, grimacing.
“You don’t?” Sal shoots back.
Hen and Chim shake their heads synchronized denial and Sal shakes his in disgrace. By the time they’re back at the station, he’s defending every kiss he’s ever given like it’s a matter of principle, accusing the entire 118 of being emotionally repressed while Tommy leans back and watches, equal parts amused and charmed.
Just like he is every time Sal falls into a debate like this. Sal never does anything halfway. Even this – especially this – gets his full conviction.
At the end of shift, Sal’s gone before the rest of them have even had a chance to change, tossing out an offer to meet up for drinks at the bar down the street later and promising to give his mom a kiss from each of them when he drops off her groceries.
Tommy comes out of the showers to Hen, Chim, and Eli knee deep in discussion – dissecting why they’re the odd ones out, why they’re missing whatever effortless affection Sal seems to hand out like spare change.
“You wanted to raise the stakes on that last bet, right, Wilson?” Eli says, brow arched as he ties his boots. “What about a kiss?”
“Pass,” Hen says immediately, digging through her bag. “You’re great, Eli, but I’m a lesbian.”
“Not talking about me,” Eli laughs. “Twenty bucks each. Who can get a kiss from Sal before he figures it out?”
Tommy stills.
His heart kicks hard at the thought. Sure, he’ll peck his family and friends in an easy display of affection. But this…this is different.
Because he’s already halfway gone on Sal. Has been, for longer than he ever wants to admit. Never mind he just ended a two-year engagement to a woman.
If Sal kisses him, he’s worried there’ll be no turning back – not for him, at least.
“Earth to Tommy?” Chim waves a hand in front of his face. “You in?”
“I don’t know if–”
“Fork it over, or I’m calling you a homophobe,” Hen says with her palm outstretched.
If she only knew.
Tommy exhales, digs into his wallet, and hands over a twenty, stacking it on the waiting pile of bills already there.
And, maybe a little desperately, hopes he loses.
*
*
Okay. So.
The thing about losing is that Tommy’s actually starting to get annoyed.
Eli barely tries and gets a kiss in under twenty-four hours. All it takes is tracking down some specialty deli meat Sal had been whining about not being able to find for his ma.
Eli reaches out, five pounds of meat the bridge between them, and Sal peeks inside with a huff before spotting the goods, face lighting up as he pulls Eli into a broad hug. He leans back and plants a loud, unapologetic kiss right on his mouth. Then his cheeks. His forehead. His chin. One more for good measure at his temple before he labeling the bag and tucking it away for the end of his shift.
Eli practically demands the pot right then and there, but no – apparently Sal “didn’t know,” so the game continues.
Chim pushes his luck dangerously, nearly passing out after locking himself “accidentally” in the oxygen deprivation area where they run drills. His voice crackles through the radio painfully gasping as he calls for help.
Hen gets there first, yanking the door open and dragging him out while he gasps like a fish tossed ashore. Somewhere between breaths, he tries to mumble something about needing rescue breaths from Sal before Hen snaps an oxygen mask over his face and calls him an idiot.
As it happens, later that day, Sal gets a call about courtside Lakers tickets, grabs Chim in his excitement, and kisses him mid-celebration without a second thought.
Hen’s next and beyond over it – frustrated and annoyed she even has to lock lips with a man, let alone this man. But she knows exactly where to hit next, bemoaning the dating world and claiming she’s going to swear off women forever. She leans into it, complaining loudly within Sal’s orbit, lamenting her fate.
Sal listens for about ten seconds before grabbing her by the back of the neck and kissing her.
“Did that help?” he asks.
“Shockingly, no,” she replies flatly.
“Well, then it’s not men that are the problem,” Sal says, already flipping through the magazine in his lap.
Hen grins – mission accomplished – and Chim swings in behind her to point accusingly at Tommy while Sal’s none the wiser.
Tommy wants nothing to do with this.
…That’s a lie.
He wants everything to do with kissing Sal. He hasn’t stopped thinking about kissing Sal since the minute he met the guy. The way he’s all muscle and warmth wrapped around a mouth that never stops and a kindness that sneaks up when least expected.
But Tommy has tried.
He brought cannoli from Sal’s favorite bakery and earned nothing but a grin and a “you’re a lifesaver.” Cleaned up the trucks after the worst call of the month, one that involved a potato gun and used diapers. Sal sat back and told him he’d missed a spot before tossing popcorn into his mouth and offering Tommy a few extra kernels when the job was done.
He’s cozied up to him in the break room, the loft, dinner prep, at the bar after work. Nothing’s worked. Maybe his crush will cool down if all he can earn with his flirting is a couple of “atta boy’s” and a smack on the shoulder.
At the end of their string of shifts, Sal and Tommy are the only two left in the locker room. Tommy’s twenty is long gone, probably already sitting on the bar where Hen, Chim and Eli are waiting for their first round.
And Tommy’s not mad – really, he’s not – but he might be sulking, just a little.
“What crawled up your ass and died?” Sal asks, buttoning his shirt, hair still damp, specks of gray already shimmering in the low light of the station at dusk.
“Nothing,” Tommy says automatically, and maybe a little too quickly, slamming his locker shut. “I’m fine.”
Sal huffs a quiet laugh, fastening his watch. “You sure about that? Doesn’t seem like it.”
Tommy doesn’t answer right away. He laces up his boots and bites his tongue, counting the seconds as Sal’s patience grows exponentially. He’s always been able to read Tommy so easily and, for some reason, that only gets under Tommy’s skin more.
“Yeah, I’m good.” he mutters, grabbing his bag and heading for the door.
His hand is on the handle, ready to leave. But he stops. Turns around before he can think better of it, heart already out ahead of him.
“Why won’t you kiss me?”
The words escape hurried and hurt, trapped in a swirl of emotion.
Sal blinks. “What?”
“You said it’s not a big deal,” Tommy presses, his voice trembling just barely. “And you’ve been kissing everyone else. Eli for the basketball tickets, Chim because he was sitting next to you…hell, you even kissed a lesbian before me.”
Tommy looks at Sal, chest heaving, hand gripped around his bag so hard his knuckles are white. He expects a joke, a deflection, a dismissal like he’s always gotten, but Sal doesn’t rush to respond.
Instead, he gets up slowly, closes his locker with a careful click, and steps closer to Tommy.
“Is this about the bet?”
Tommy falters. “You…you knew about that?”
“’Course I knew,” Sal says, waving it off. “You guys aren’t exactly the shiniest spoons in a set.”
“Sharpest knives in the drawer,” Tommy corrects.
“Tomato, tomahto,” Sal says, closing the distance with another careful step. “You want me to kiss you?”
Tommy looks at Sal and swallows hard, watching the way he licks his lips. He steps closer still, eyes bright, skin rosy and warm from his shower and Tommy’s heart flutters.
“I-I want…I want you to want to kiss me,” he tries as a last-ditch effort, an arm outstretched as he freefalls into the unknown.
“I always want to kiss you,” Sal murmurs, bringing a calloused hand up to Tommy’s jaw, pressing heat into Tommy’s skin. Stopping his freefall or jumping with him, Tommy’s not entirely sure.
“Then why didn’t you?”
Sal’s thumb shifts, just slightly. “Because I didn’t want our first kiss to be like that.”
The admission feels like it’s been building for years. Through fires and high rise collapses and floods, through time and building confidence in who they want to become. In who they’ve always been.
“Wh-what did you want it to be like?” Tommy asks quietly, uncertain.
Sal finally leans in, hand sliding to the back of Tommy’s neck, pulling him in with heat and magnetism and everything Tommy can’t stop thinking about.
Their lips collide and sparks flash, the butterflies in Tommy’s chest growing into a tornado, spinning wildly as they kick up every giddy thought and memory along the way.
Time spent with Sal, a promise of a future that means more than just partners on an engine.
The world around them evaporates, the station so quiet the only noise that lingers is the soft whisper of shared breath and the low, aching moan that longs for more trapped between them.
When they finally pull apart, Tommy feels like his entire world has shifted in an instant.
It’s never going to be the same.
He doesn’t want it to be.
“Like that,” Sal says, a slow grin pulling at his mouth.
#project hail mary
#world cup
#photography
