"No, you beat the egg in with the rice-"
"No, you add the egg at the end, that's what Jamie Oliver said-"
Tommy takes the rice and eggs away from Evan and narrows his eyes at the man he loves. "Jamie Oliver doesn't know shit about egg fried rice."
Evan folds his arms and glares. "He's a professional chef."
"Who knows nothing about egg fried rice." Tommy points to the abomination in a jar on his table. "That 'chili jam' is proof."
They stare at each other, neither backing down. With a huff, Evan leaves the kitchen.
"Where are you going?" Tommy calls after him.
"I'm getting tacos!" Evan yells back. And then the front door slams shut.
--
It's a stupid fight, and they both know it's a stupid fight. But two big men with a lot of pride and a lot of stubbornness can drag a stupid fight out for a week, easily, especially if they also have mismatched shifts.
Eddie says he is on Evan's side, more out of loyalty than actual knowledge of how a good fried rice should be made. But Tommy and Eddie manage to meet at a boxing gym for a couple of hours on their matching day off (Evan requested an additional shift, just so he can keep giving Tommy the cold shoulder). As Tommy punches the heavy bags and rants, Eddie listens and makes "Mm hmm, yep" sounds that suggests that he's not really listening.
"Look, I make a decent mac and cheese. Anything more complicated than 'throw in a pot and stew the hell out of it' is not my forte," says Eddie. "And honestly, is this about the fried rice or something else?"
Tommy lets his arms go slack. He's breathing heavily and he wants to feel some physical pain, damn it. "I don't know. Come on, beat me up so I can get out of my head."
--
It's a stupid fight and he wants to make up for it, but it's hard trying to get time to see his boyfriend.
Tommy is coming off-shift, waiting at an intersection and sending his usual message to Evan to say that he's done for the day (yes they're fighting, but they're not going to forgo the regular mutual reassurances that they are safe) when an SUV screeches across the junction and crashes into the side of his vehicle.
He's slammed out from his seat, the seatbelt digging into his chest, and hears the crack of bone as his head makes contact with something hard. Just before he faints, he thinks, Shit, Evan's gonna blame himself.
--
"...mie Oliver, I'll never look at his cooking videos again I promise."
The words drift over Tommy. He blinks. His brain is too big for his skull. "Ev'n?"
"Tommy?"
Evan's blotchy face. Red-rimmed eyes, pale skin, stubble. Beautiful.
Tommy smiles. "Baby. S'ry." His mouth is dry. "Water?"
Straw. Sips.
"Sorry," Tommy says again. Ouch. Ribs. And he can't move his left hand. "Made you worry."
Smiling damply, Evan brushes Tommy's hair back from his forehead. "It's okay. Go to sleep, wake up better."
Tommy lets his eyelids close.
--
It's not about Jamie Oliver and his monstrosity of an egg fried rice. It's about Evan not wanting to try things Tommy's way sometimes. It's about Tommy not entirely willing to cede his territory to someone else, even if it's to someone he loves.
It won't be their last fight. But Tommy knows that their next one, he'll remember how it felt to think he was going to die and leave Evan before they made up. He'll remember that, and never let that happen again.
