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“This is undignified.”
Tommy will forever deny the grunt he lets out as he posts himself through the far-too-small space, limbs ungainly, ABV too high for any kind of elegance in the manoeuvre.
“Remind me,” he wheezes, lungs compressing uncomfortably as his knees are forced into his chest, “why it was a good idea to make the owner of the tiniest car our designated driver?”
“Because,” Lucy stresses, palm narrowly preventing his head from smashing into the lip of the roof, “the owner of the tiniest car is the only one on antibiotics and is kindly saving your drunk ass from stumbling home in an Uber.”
Over the fold of the driver’s seat, he casts a final, jealous look at Melton, face smashed into the window, oblivious.
“How come Melton got the passenger seat?” He whines for the hundredth time. “It’s my birthday.”
He straightens, spine cracking gratefully, towering over the increasingly irritated glare of his friend and colleague.
“Oh my god,” she sighs, beyond exasperation, regretting every one of her life choices. “Because, you big baby, he gets motion sick in the back and I’m not having a repeat of last year’s fourth of July.”
“What kind of pilot gets fuckin’ motion sick?” Groans Levi, scrambling out after Tommy, quickly followed by an, “Oof!” as his foot snags in the driver’s seatbelt, sending him sprawling to the pavement.
His giant melon catches Tommy in the thigh, hard enough to goose him, trick knee collapsing into the door as he staggers with it.
“Jesus Christ, you two.” Lucy moans, head dropped back on her shoulders in defeat.
The car rocks on its suspension, a bark of laughter following them from within. It’s infectious, Tommy sputtering, crumpling with the force of expansive giggles, leaning heavily against the window frame. Even Levi joins in from his legless heap, one foot still snared in the car.
“Seriously, Xo?” Lucy questions, ducking to grump into the back seat, “You, too?”
“C’mon, babe,” she gulps between bouts, “it’s physical comedy gold.”
“You’re all a buncha lushes. I don’t know why I bother with any of you.”
Tommy gives the pilot a smile, suspects it looks dopier than intended. “’Cause you’re a damn saint, Lucy Donato.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She tries to brush off the sincerity underlying his tone, only to let out an uncharacteristic squeak when he wraps his arms around her with a squeeze.
“You’re the best, Lucyyy!” Xo shouts, lying across the bench to peer up at them.
Tommy buses a kiss against her temple as he releases her, “You are, you’re the best, Luce.” He insists, syllables melding under his heavy tongue. “Thanks for the – for the lift. And the party.”
Her facade cracks with a reluctant huff, fond amusement tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You’re welcome, you big ol’ goof.”
“Hey,” Levi yanks on his jeans, denim sliding alarmingly, belt catching and straining at his hips. “Hey, help m’yup.”
“Whoa.” Tommy grabs reflexively at the fabric. “Yeah, yeah, c’mere.” He bends to offer an arm, struggling to make sense of the various appendages he’s presented with. “Dude, which way up are you?”
Levi latches on to his wrist, strong grip pulling Tommy past his shifted centre mass. He starts to topple, unceremoniously dropping his friend back to the floor, barely saving himself the same fate.
“C’mon, guys.” Lucy mutters, stooping to lend a hand. Between them, they manage to get Levi upright and propped against Tommy’s shoulders as Lucy attempts to unwrap the seatbelt from his foot.
Something about the sustained eye contact strikes them as funny, Tommy’s palms on his waist, Levi's forearms resting on Tommy’s traps.
“Shall we dance?” Levi snickers, only to immediately fumble, unable to balance on one foot.
Tommy catches him, chests colliding, laughter growing once more.
“Right,” Lucy straightens. “You’re free, little bird. Now fuck off - go be someone else’s problem.”
“Yessir, Donato, sir!” Levi offers her a sloppy salute, turning and ambling off unsteadily towards the house.
“Happy birthday, Tommy!” Xo yells, arm flailing in a sloppy wave.
“Night Xo, make sure this one gets home safe.” He thumbs at Lucy, who scoffs like she knows she's the only one in possession of the braincell.
“See you in a couple days, Kinard. For God’s sake drink some water.” She prods her girlfriend’s limbs back into the car, disappearing down the street with a cheery flick goodbye.
“Good night, man?” Levi checks in as he falls into stride.
Tommy tilts his head to the sky, enjoying the cool night air on his overheated cheeks. Smiles, grateful.
“Yeah, good night. Good company.” Tommy gives him a gentle jostle. “Thanks for coming out.”
“Are you kidding? Boozy bowling with you and your new crew?”
Tommy chuckles at that - Levi classifies any team formed after 2004 as ‘new’.
“Forget about actually celebrating you for once.” The older man jabs a pointed finger in his side, eliciting a hiccup as he squirms away, weakly batting at his hand.
“Get out of it.” Tommy mutters, but he feels light, eminently thankful to have these people in his corner.
His birthday has never been all that special. If anything a mark of survival, another year around the sun. Last year he was fresh off the breakup, pretty well numb to much all else. This year… This year he’d dreaded being alone. And on a Monday, of all days, the week at its lowest ebb.
It’d started with an invite to Levi, a whim, but a pleasant surprise when he was able to make it. The fellow vet had immediately conspired behind his back, reaching out to Lucy, who corralled Harbour and a smattering of trivia friends to an adults-only bowling night in WeHo. He’d even squeezed in a forty-five minute coffee break with Sal on his way out to the airport that morning. And a nap.
It’d been a perfect day. The happiest in a long time.
“Hey, who’s that?”
Tommy picks his gaze up from their feet, taking in his surroundings for the first time. There’s a figure sat on the porch steps, backlit by the overhead light. His steps falter, stalling out as he recognises a familiar halo of curls.
“Oh.” Levi pauses, looking back at him with growing understanding. “Is that? Look, I can clear out of here -”
Tommy shakes his head. “Don’t be stupid, c’mon.”
“No, man, I don’t wanna intrude.”
With a roll of his eyes, Tommy strides forward, snaring a handful of Levi’s jacket and dragging him determinedly up the drive, trying to disguise the way his heart is hammering in his chest.
Evan scrambles to his feet as they approach, anxious hands swiping over the seat of his jeans.
“H-hey, Tommy, hey.” Evan darts between them, unsure of the situation, his welcome.
“Evan,” he shakes his head, at a loss for words, “What are you doing here?”
The younger man’s face shutters. Tommy feels wretched, hurrying to back pedal,
“I-I mean, I’m just surprised to see you hear… Is what I mean.”
“Christ.” Levi mumbles under his breath, pretending like he isn’t watching in morbid fascination.
“Shut up,” Tommy hisses, elbowing his arm. He remembers his rudimentary manners. “Oh, um, Evan this is Levi – my buddy from Vegas.” He gestures between them, stilted and awkward. "Levi, Evan - B-Buck."
“Oh, yeah, yeah - Tommy used to mention you, Levi. Good to meet you.” Evan steps forward palm outstretched.
Levi takes his hand, pumping enthusiastically.
“Likewise, man. Tommy talks about you all the time.”
“Fuck, Levi, Christ.” Any thicker and he’ll need a fucking trowel. He tries to level him with a death stare but it’s admittedly pretty half-hearted. “Could you cut me some slack here?”
Evan lets out a nervous chuckle.
Levi shifts suspiciously, affecting a casual air. “Yeah – uh, hey, Tom, wanna give me your keys? I gotta… I gotta go do that thing that we talked about.”
Tommy stares at him for a beat, baffled by the dreadful put-upon act. “We went through a warzone together, man. I could swear you were a better liar than that.”
It’s Levi’s turn to scowl. “Just give me your goddamn keys.”
He snatches them out of Tommy’s proffered hand, flouncing up the steps with the uncoordinated grace of a newborn calf.
“Nice to meet you, Buck.” He nods on his way past, shooting Tommy a final obscure gesture that’s either encouraging or vaguely sexual, before disappearing into the house.
The silence is deafening in his wake, the pointed snick of the door, even the crickets seem louder, sharper than mere seconds ago.
“So are you two…?"
The question hangs between them until its meaning dawns on Tommy. “Oh, no. No, no.” He rushes to clarify. “He’s, uh, he’s my token straight friend.”
“Oh, not Eddie?” There's a beat of stillness, Evan’s mouth twists sourly with instant regret.
Tommy purses his lips, amused, despite himself. “Me and Eddie aren’t so much friends any more. Aren’t anything, really.”
A humourless chuckle. “Yeah, well, if it makes you feel any better I think we’re in the same boat there.” There's more than a tinge of bitterness colouring the younger man's tone, a glaring klaxon of unresolved trouble. But that’s not for now, the day late enough to slip into morning.
“Why are you here, Evan?” He gentles his tone as much as he’s able.
“It’s your birthday.” He states, like that explains anything.
“It is.” He confirms slowly, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“I just…” Evan sighs impatiently. “I-I was thinking of you. And-and I missed you.” He suddenly turns back to the porch, scooping up a large, inverted tupperware box. He pulls the lid off to reveal, “I made you a cake.”
“Oh my god.” Tommy murmurs in amazement. It’s picture-perfect, three layers, crumb coated, delicately piped peaks of buttercream studded around the perimeter, each topped with a plump blueberry.
Evan offers it out, “It’s lemon-blueberry. Your favourite.”
“It’s gorgeous, Evan.” He stresses, only breaking eye contact with it to ask, full of wonder, “Did you make this?”
“Uh, yeah. Yeah. Baking… I-I’ve got really into baking over the past year.” A worried set overtakes his expressive features. "You didn't have a cake already, did you?"
"Oh, no. No." It's not too much of a lie, really. Cupcakes don't count. They're different.
Evan fishes about in his pocket, freehand wobbling under the lid. Tommy hastily steps forward, hands coming up to steady his grasp, loathe to let anything happen to such a beautiful creation.
“Here.” Evan produces a lighter, touches it to the lone candle in the centre of the cake, flame glowing warm between their bodies. “Happy birthday, Tommy.”
He’s overwhelmed, speechless with it. Does the only thing he can think to do and closes the short distance between them. Their lips meet, a soft slide, cool flesh and humid breath, a press of muscle memory and belonging.
He rests their foreheads together, confesses into the stolen air, “I’ve missed you too.”
Evan grins, happiness pulling at flushed cheeks. He glances pointedly at the candle burning between them.
“Make a wish.”
When Tommy blows out the candle, it’s easy.