“It’s early.” Malik rolls over and grabs at him, sleepy and uncoordinated.
“Yes,” Tyler says, rubbing his palm, fond and soft, over the barely there roughness of Malik’s hair. “Today is Downtown Street Eats. I promised Asher I would help him and George, remember?”
“Ugh.” Malik rubs his eyes and sits. “When’ll you be home?”
“This is gonna be an all-day thing,” Tyler says. Dawn is breaking but their curtains hold most of the early light out. He fumbles for his clothes. Malik lies down, making sleepy, not-so-happy noises. Once dressed, Tyler sits carefully and kisses his cheek and jaw. He hates when people are annoyed with him. “I love you,” he whispers into the safe bowl of Malik’s neck.
“Mm.” Malik kisses him back, fleeting, soft. “You too.”
Brandon is still sleeping, so Tyler tries his hardest to be quiet as he grabs a toaster pastry and his work bag with serving clothes. He walks down the hall to the stairs, pressed forward by an unsettling silence from the other residents; everyone else has the good sense to still be sleeping.
He devours the pastry, cold and sugary, as he waits for the bus. The sparse beginning of morning rush hour trundles past along Woodward. Tyler begins to sweat despite his thin shirt and imagines the sun resurrecting the dew, imagines the August humidity coming up from the ground, wilting and thick. It’s probably not how humidity works, but he’s always loved the image; thinking of the dew drops lining all the leaves like zombies ready for rebirth.
The bus is a loud interloper, startling him out of his thoughts. He swings up, yawns through paying his fare and lets himself doze. Asher doesn’t come to the door when he rings; the dumpster they share in the alley with the other storefronts is almost full; he waves to Demitri, the cook from The Black Swan, and resorts to calling Asher.
“Sorry about that,” Asher says, opening to door. He locks it behind Tyler. Inside it’s warm—over-warm—and the breakroom is a mess. Asher’s hair is a thick riot. It’s unfair how Asher makes rumpled seem so sexy.
“Did I wake you?”
“Yeah,” Asher admits. “I think I hit the snooze button about twenty times.”
“I understand that, honey.” Tyler smiles. “Usually because I’ve had a great night the night before, though.”
Asher shrugs, but it’s good-natured. “Nothing thrilling in my life right now.”
Did I overstep? Tyler follows Asher to the kitchen where George is singing and prepping food to go.
“Don’t worry so much,” Asher says, reading him perfectly. His genuine and bright smile, a rare and lovely thing, diffuses Tyler’s apprehension. “It was a bad joke.”
“Okay.” Tyler traces the shape of a floor tile with the toe of his shoe. He looks up and into Asher’s steady gaze.
“Ready to work?” Asher asks. Tyler nods and shelves the moment for thought later.
The morning’s wilting humidity has nothing on the afternoon. Despite the shade of the pop-up tent, they’re all sweating.
“It’s like breathing through a sponge,” Tyler complains. George hands him a napkin he’s dampened with water to wipe his face.
“Hi!” A little girl and her mother come up to the table.
“Hi there.” Tyler bends down so he’s on eye level with her. She’s adorable with her hair in two snowball buns on the sides of her head and a sweet, bashful smile and chocolate smudges on her face. “How are you doing today, sweetie?”
“I got ice cream,” she says proudly. “Before lunch even.” She widens her eyes; next to him both Asher and George chuckle.
“This must be a special day, then,” Tyler says. He glances up at her mother. She looks worn, sweaty, but fond.
“Not so special we shouldn’t try to eat some lunch, right, Abigail? And maybe some vegetables.” Abigail makes a face, and Tyler winks, leans forward, and stage-whispers. “Don’t worry, we put magic on our vegetables.”
George has already put together a small offering—their pulled pork sliders and, on the side, fried Brussels sprouts with a balsamic glaze.
“What’s ’at?” She points at the Brussels sprouts.
“How about I’ll eat one if you do?” Tyler offers her one and solemnly takes his own. He senses Asher next to him. He doesn’t mind being watched; he glances back and offers a teasing smile. He turns back to Abigail, toasts her with his Brussels sprout, which makes her giggle, and encourages her to eat hers at the same time. Her eyes widen and a big smile breaks out on her face. By the time she’s finished chewing, Tyler has fist-bumped her and handed her mother a card.
“You should come over,” he says. “Our Grand Reopen is next week.” He winks at Abigail. “Lots of magic veggies there, too.”
They’ve gathered a small crowd: some people looking to see what’s going on and others on tiptoes to see what they’re offering.
“Give me some cards,” Tyler says over his shoulder to Asher. “And smile!”
He skirts around and out of the booth. Without the shade, the heat ramps up; he barely notices. He wanders a little; happiness fizzes through him. Surrounded by community, with music on a stage to the left and so many people happy who have come together share this experience—this is one of many things he’s always wanted for Detroit.
Tyler loves people and he knows how to make them love him. He mills around introducing himself to people. He’s a boy from a different world in the same city, and today he gets to be a part of bridge-building. Every now and then he catches Asher’s eyes on him through the crowd. Tyler convinces people to go taste their food. He hands out cards, and when the park thins, Asher comes out to walk with him.
“You’re so good at this.” Asher is direct, and his admiration is clear and Tyler is so, so grateful.
“Thank you,” Tyler says by way of acknowledgment for everything. “This was so much fun. Can we do it again?”
“It was. Plus I could probably use more fun.” Asher falls in step with him. “Confession? Time for fun is a distant memory.”
“Well then, you definitely need to try it more,” Tyler says.
Asher looks up into the sky, squinting against the bright sun and unending blue of the cloudless day. “Should I ever manage to get Idlewild floating again, maybe. It’s been so long, I think I’ve forgotten how to have fun.”
Tyler touches Asher’s shoulder.
“When we’re done here, we should go get a drink.”
Asher blinks and smiles. “That sounds…yeah. How about I take you and George out, as a thanks? I don’t know why I don’t think of these things.”
Because you’re fucking exhausted. The food trucks are shutting down, but people are still gathered at tables, talking and drinking. At their tent, George is packing up.
“We should probably go help George,” he says to Asher. He puts a hand on Asher’s back to guide him to their stand. Even through the shirt his skin is warm. Tyler tucks his hands into his pockets and takes a breath. Asher is quiet; Tyler can tell he’s contented. They share a sweet smile and affection curls in Tyler’s stomach.
George demurs when Asher offers to take them for a drink. Tyler hugs him before he leaves. “Give your family kisses from me.” Tyler winks, and George laughs. He’s never met George’s family, but knows they could all use some laughter. He hopes when he makes George laugh it’s a lightness he carries home with him.
Asher decides to walk down Monroe toward Greektown, where there’s a cluster of restaurants. “Some of these have changed, and I haven’t checked them out in ages,” he confesses. Tyler is happy to follow. It’s been a long day, but he’s the best kind of tired, the kind that comes with doing rewarding work. This is how he feels when he does volunteer work.
“Oh, my god, Flood’s!” Tyler exclaims. “Dace told me I should come here some time. Can we go?” He’s aware that he’s hopped up onto his toes.
“Sure,” Asher says. He leads them into the restaurant, which is dark and, since it’s relatively early, only about half full.
“Soul food,” Tyler moans theatrically. The slight drama is totally worth it when he’s rewarded with Asher’s laugh. They make small talk until their food comes. Asher’s more intent on playing with his side of macaroni and cheese than eating it.
“Asher, can I ask you something?”
“I’d normally say no,” Asher teases, “but since that’s the first time you’ve used my name instead of ‘boss,’ I will.”
Tyler ducks his head. “All the heat wrung the professionalism out of me.”
“Boss makes me feel a million years old. I’m older than you, but not that old. You have got to stop.”
“You aren’t that much older than me, are you?”
“That’s your big question?” Asher smiles in a way Tyler hasn’t seen; his eyes brighten. He seems more unguarded.
“No,” Tyler laughs. “Though I am curious.”
“I’m thirty-two,” Asher says. “Ancient to you.”
Tyler bites his lip. “Haven’t you heard? Thirty is the new twenty.”
Something fleeting crosses Asher’s face before he smiles again. Tyler swallows a flutter of worry.
“I would do that again in a second,” Asher says.
“What? Your twenties?” Tyler asks.
“Yeah. They were good.”
Tyler knows about Asher’s husband—well, that he had one and he died a while back.
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be; it’s fine.” Asher spins his beer. “Maybe one day things will be settled and I can kick things up like I’m young again.”
Tyler rolls his eyes. “Like I said, you are young.”
“Young and stupid then,” Asher says, and smiles brighter when Tyler giggles. “So what was your real question?”
Are you lonely? Tyler bites it back. “Have you ever done karaoke? Because I hear they start at seven.”
“Oh, my god. Not for a long time. My karaoke days are over.”
Tyler just lifts one shoulder. “Don’t underestimate my powers of persuasion.”
After a long pause, Asher smiles, and the moment passes. “I won’t.”
Tyler stays late to help Asher with the inventory he abandoned to do Eats. Asher didn’t ask him to, but Tyler can tell he’s grateful. They’re both tired and clumsy.
Tyler pants as he grips the metal shelf. “Why do you keep paper plates back here when you have room in other spots?”
“Fuck, I have no idea,” Asher says. “I didn’t even realize I had them.”
“Well then.” Tyler wiggles forward, grabs the commercial packages of paper plates and passes them back. He can’t reach them all and he can’t climb onto the shelf so he wiggles back slowly. When his feet are close enough, he feels Asher’s hand on his leg, guiding it back to the step stool, and when he wobbles, on his thigh to steady him. He winces as his shirt pulls against the shelves and his stomach scrapes against the metal. It’s impossible to ignore the heat of Asher’s hand, which doesn’t move even when he’s safely landed. Their eyes connect. It’s not only the heat of that palm Tyler feels but Asher’s eyes steady on his, dark in the dusty storeroom. The heat curls into Tyler’s core and flushes over his skin. He exhales, trying to ignore recognition of that feeling; its flavor is like the one earlier, the moment of honest connection over dinner. Only now it’s sharper and so, so much easier to define. Asher snatches his hand away.
“God, sorry,” Asher says, almost inaudibly. He’s turned away. From Tyler’s perch on the stool, an extended hand is meant to comfort Asher. Tyler tries to ignore the power imbalance of the position, to calm him without condescension or false words.
“It’s fine,” he says. He steps down and moves the stool over when Asher takes a step back. Asher inhales, harsh and sudden, and turns back with his face neutral and blank. Tyler smiles, and Asher does as well; if he wants to act as if nothing happened, Tyler is willing to play along.
Tyler comes in the next morning dead on his feet. He was close to dead on his feel when he got home last night, but Malik was feeling frisky and he kept Tyler up even later. Asher lets him in, and rather than start opening, they sit in the office, make small talk and eventually doze off.
The ringing of the back doorbell startles Tyler. Asher snorts and wakes with a jerk, accidentally kicking Tyler in the shin.
“Fuck, time ‘izit?” Asher scrubs his hands over his face. The bell rings insistently.
“Too early,” Tyler says over the shrill noise. “God, shut up. I’m here.” Tyler opens the door and lets in Claudia and Santos.
“What the fuck were you doing? You look like crap,” she says. He smiles, the bitchiest one he can muster. “No, really,” she insists.
“I fell asleep on the desk,” he admits. He tries to crack his neck, because he can feel the crick in it. “We were here late after Eats.”
“God, you’re so much more devoted than I am.” She cracks open an energy drink and slumps on the stool with a sigh. Tyler roots around in his bag for his serving shirt. Halfway out of the shirt he’s wearing, he hears someone clear his throat.
“Undressing in the breakroom?” Asher says. Tyler pulls on his work shirt.
“Sorry,” he says. “That’s probably not a good idea, is it?”
Asher’s lips do that thing, the quarter-quirk that’s close to a smile. His cheeks are a little red. Tyler holds his own smirk in. It might not be professional or right, but it’s flattering when someone finds you attractive. “Perhaps not.”
Tyler salutes him. “Duly noted, boss.” He and Claudia laugh when Asher rolls his eyes. Tyler tucks his shirt in and stuffs the other one in his bag.
“Can I have the keys back?” Asher asks.
“Oh yeah, sorry.” Tyler fishes them out of his pocket, wiggling a little. Claudia snorts and slaps his ass.
“Can you even breathe with those on?” she asks.
Tyler winks at Claudia and tosses the keys to Asher. “The point is to make it hard for the other boys to breathe, honey.”
“Ooh, now you’re a player?”
Tyler shrugs. “Hardly. You know me.” He looks at Asher and explains. “I’m hopelessly monogamous. I might be the last man standing on that island.”
“No, definitely not,” Asher says. He’s swinging the keys in jerky circles over his finger.
“Aw, this is so sweet. Sharing circle at the crack of dawn.” Claudia mimes throwing up.
“Shush.” Tyler covers her mouth and doesn’t meet Asher’s eyes. He’s flustered and at the sound of the office door swinging shut he breathes a sigh of relief.
“What is up with you?” Claudia demands.
“I have no idea,” Tyler admits. “Come on, let’s go get everything set up.”
“Ignoring thin—”
He cuts her off. “Yes. Please.”
She pauses. “Okay. I’m here. If you need an ear.”
“Thanks, honey.” He beginning to learn that Claudia is genuinely caring under her gruff exterior. Maybe with time, she’ll become a true friend.