“Let your need guide your behaviour.”

Vegas wakes up slowly. His body protests; apparently it thinks that he needs a few more hours of rest, and Vegas would love nothing more than to turn around and go back to sleep, but there seems to be a phone ringing somewhere. Hmmm… that’s not his ringtone though. Maybe he’s still dreaming. But even if he is dreaming, the sound is irritating, and it’s keeping him from falling back asleep. Vegas groans in protest and tries to sit up, only to become aware of several things at once. First, this is not his bed. From the feeling of it, this must be the couch. Also, he seems to be wedged between the back of the couch and something else. Something large and solid and warm. His left arm seems to be stuck under that something; it has fallen asleep and is now tingling painfully. In fact, he seems to be totally entangled with that heat source. And he seems to be covered with a blanket as well. What the heck?

Disoriented, he opens his eyes only to be temporarily blinded by the light. Where is that damn phone? He blinks several times. So damn bright. His arm is still stuck, so he lifts his head instead to get an idea what is going on. The bright blur adjusts, everything turns clear and …

… he finds himself looking straight into the very sleepy face of Pete, who seems to be equally disoriented for a moment, then sighs and tries to pull the blanket—their blanket—over his face.

Vegas is dumbstruck. What the heck is going on? How did he end up on the couch? And with Pete? The last thing he remembers is closing his eyes for a moment because he was exhausted after that emotional rollercoaster he was put through last night. Wasn’t Pete supposed to leave? What are they doing sleeping together on the couch? Another thought strikes him. Shit! Did they…? He looks down at himself, and breathes a sigh of relief. Clothed. Both of them are fully clothed. And still… he can feel himself starting to hyperventilate. This was not supposed to happen.

“Chill Vegas.” Pete’s voice is raspy with sleep. He looks at Vegas with half-open eyes, apparently unwilling to fully wake up. “Just ignore the phone and go back to sleep.” And then he closes his eyes and promptly snuggles deeper into the blanket and against Vegas, who inhales sharply. Pete might be sleepy but Vegas is wide awake now. Shit.

“Stop overthinking,” Pete mumbles. Vegas can feel the heat of his breath against his shoulder. “Can you not relax for a little while longer? Let’s go back to sleep, okay?”

Thankfully the phone, Pete’s phone, has stopped ringing. But the silence doesn’t make things better for Vegas. He spent the night with Pete on the couch. It is mind-boggling. This has never happened before. Never. The sad truth is that he has never spent the whole night with anyone. This is the first time he’s waking up next to someone, and he’s entirely unsure how to deal with this. And they didn’t even have sex! In a way, this makes it only worse. The aftermath of sex he can handle. But just sleeping together and waking up next to each other is a whole new level of intimacy that he’s in no way prepared for.

Pete sighs and reaches out to lightly smack Vegas over the head. “Stop overthinking! I can practically hear the thoughts racing through your mind. Chill, okay? Nothing happened. We were both exhausted, you fell asleep. I was too tired to drive home so I decided to stay. End of story.”

End of story? My foot. Vegas is hyperaware of Pete, their bodies are pressed against each other so closely that he can feel Pete’s chest move with every breath, he can even feel his heartbeat. Their legs seem to be completely entangled as well. Not to mention that Pete’s head is using Vegas’ arm as a pillow and one of Pete’s arms is slung over his hip, resting there comfortably, his finger absently stroking back and forth. All of this feels simply overwhelming and unexpected and Vegas wants to flee, to run away as fast as he can because if he allows himself to enjoy the moment, he will get used to this; he will want more.

“Well, did you have to stay on the couch?” Okay, so maybe he should voice this in a more polite way but Vegas is panicking. “There is a perfectly fine bed in the bedroom, why didn’t you go sleep there instead? Or wake me, so I could use the bed and you could take the couch?”

Pete turns his head to look Vegas in the eyes, and gives him a charming dimpled smile that nearly knocks the breath out of him. “I don’t know myself what got into me. You fell asleep on my shoulder and I didn’t want to disturb you? Do you have any idea how cute you are when you are sleeping? Of course you don’t. You look so at peace, Vegas. All those worry lines disappear. It’s such a stark contrast to that violent part of yours, it’s fascinating to look at.” And then Pete raises his hand and lightly feathers his index finger over Vegas’ brows. “I don’t think I have looked my fill yet. Go back to sleep so I can watch you some more.”

“Pete!” Vegas hisses and turns his face away from the touch while trying to disentangle himself. “Did you not hear a single word I was saying last night? You have to stay away from me! This is not staying away from me!”

“I heard you. I just decided to ignore what you said.” Totally unimpressed, Pete hooks his ankles around Vegas’ legs, making it damn difficult for him to get up and away.

Vegas curses and struggles; this is vaguely reminding him of the times when he was a kid and wrestling with Macau, but this time it isn’t Macau, it’s Pete, and he really needs to get the hell away from him. “Let go!” He huffs, trying to kick his legs free of Pete and that bloody blanket they’re wrapped in. Damn, this is frustrating. “Pete, I am warning you, let go or else…!”

Vegas finally gets his arm free and uses the opportunity to give Pete a hard shove. They need some distance from each other now! Unfortunately he forgets about the blanket. So when he shoves Pete off the couch, that blanket goes along, as does Vegas, who hasn’t managed to disentangle himself from it yet.

Both of them hit the floor hard, with Vegas landing on top of Pete who groans in pain and then immediately starts laughing. Vegas is instantly enchanted. This is a side of Pete he hasn’t seen before. Right at this very moment if feels as if he’s getting a glimpse of the real Pete beneath all the masks he has seen so far. This Pete is carefree and playful. Not the carefully controlled, distanced therapist. Not the coldly furious manipulator playing mind games. Not the teasing devil with words as sharp as knives either.

“This is such a rom-com trope…” Pete’s whole body is shaking with laughter. “I didn’t think something like this could happen in real life.” His genuine amusement is adorable to look at, and Vegas feels his own lips curving into an involuntary smile as he gazes down at him. He should probably get up, but he doesn’t move a muscle.

“If this was a rom-com, the trope would require us to ‘accidentally’ kiss as we land on the floor,” he reminds Pete. Did he just say that? Yes, he did. And he’s not sorry for saying it either. They’re just joking around after all. They have a truce.

“With eyes wide open in shocked surprise, frozen in place for an unreasonable amount of time, lips firmly closed and pressed against each other in what is supposed to be a real kiss?” Pete wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and then winks. “I can do that…” And he promptly purses his lips in a parody of kissy lips, opening his eyes wide, while trying not to dissolve into more laughter.

Pete is so damn charming that Vegas is starting to feel all warm and fuzzy inside and his heart is melting. He should probably move. Instead he’s lying on top of Pete, feeling his body heat through their clothes as the morning sun shining through the living room windows bathes them in a ray of warm light. His hands are next to Pete’s shoulders; he’s holding himself up to keep some of his body weight from crushing Pete. This position gives him a great opportunity to just look at Pete in his full, silly glory, lying underneath him. “I hate to tell you, but you need to work on your acting skills if you’re planning to get hired as a rom-com lead. This won’t even get you past the first audition.”

“Ouch. Such harsh criticism. I swear, I am really good at this. Just give it a try?” Pete looks up at him with laughing eyes and wiggles his eyebrows again. “I dare you.”

“I thought we still had a ceasefire?” Vegas asks shakily, feeling slightly surprised by the intense way Pete is suddenly gazing at him.

“Ooops…” Pete’s lips quirk into a mischievous smile. “Forgot to tell you: the truce just expired.” And with that he reaches upward, loops his arms around Vegas’ neck, slowly drawing him down, and Vegas allows him to. Their mouths hover an inch from each other for a few seconds, both of them feeling hesitant all of a sudden. This is crazy, Vegas thinks. What the hell am I doing? Then their lips meet, just barely brushing against each other, and both of them exhale a shuddering sigh.

This kiss is as different from the rooftop madness as day and night. Vegas’ eyes flutter shut, he tilts his head to the side for better access and then their lips meet again. And again. It is just a soft press, the lightest of touches; lips lingering, separating and meeting again in a seemingly endless circle.

“Vegas…” Pete whispers whenever he draws a breath. “Vegas…”

And Vegas is mesmerised. This is perfection. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that kissing someone could feel like this. This unexpected level of intimacy is earth-shattering, it’s like a drug, both terrifying and addictive. He has kissed his fair share of people, but nothing has ever come close to this.

A sliver of fear runs through him. Off limits. Vegas pulls away with a shaking exhale, his forehead dropping onto Pete’s shoulder.

Pete wraps his arms around his neck even tighter. “Don’t,” he mumbles against Vegas’ hair. “Stop overthinking. Don’t ruin this moment. Please don’t ruin it… This is so nice… I like this so much…”

If he were capable of coherent thoughts, Vegas would perhaps reply. Because he agrees. This is really nice. But right now he’s just a confused mess of twirling emotions. He takes a long deep breath, Pete’s scent enveloping him like a soothing caress. “You smell really nice…” he whispers. It feels safe to say that.

“So you keep telling me,” Pete points out, with amusement in his voice. “You want to run, right? I can feel you heart racing. Please don’t. Stay with me.”

Clever Pete, he has interpreted the signs correctly. Yes, Vegas wants to flee. Again. He seems to be doing that a lot lately, running away from Pete, and his own emotions. He makes a frustrated sound against Pete’s shoulder and then feels Pete’s fingers combing through his hair. Damn, this feels nice. But they shouldn’t be doing this.

To make things worse, Pete starts pleading softly against his ear. “Give me half a day, Vegas. Just half a day. This is so nice and normal, I never had anything like this before. Just half a day, all right? Half a day of pretending we are someone else, just a perfectly normal couple. Then I leave you alone and you can run as far as you need, okay?”

“I’m scared.” There, he said it. “I don’t think this is a good idea at all.” But at the same time he leans more into Pete’s touch.

“Trust me,” Pete whispers into his ear. “Just trust me, Vegas. Half a day. That is all I ask for. It’s what we deserve. So we don’t have to wonder in a couple of years where this could have led. Let’s just do this, all right? Please?”

Dammit. Vegas wants this so much. The inner conflict is almost tearing him apart. Once again his emotions are all over the place, his heart is racing, his fight or flight instinct screaming. “Pete,” he mumbles, and then takes a deep, steadying breath. He can do this. “Pete… ” and finally Vegas lifts his head again and pushes himself up on his hands so he can look Pete in the eyes. At first Pete seems reluctant to let go; for a moment his arms tighten around Vegas’ neck, but then he sighs deeply and lets go, but watches him anxiously.

“Fine, half a day.” It takes so much damn courage to say this but once the words are out it feels as if a heavy weight has been lifted from his shoulders. His reward is the dazzling smile lighting up Pete’s face in response. I am so going to regret this, Vegas thinks. I wish I didn’t want you so much.

They smile at each other. “Just one more thing,” Pete adds. “No sex.”

“Huh?” Vegas blinks. He’s feeling so overwhelmed right now, he hasn’t actually thought about how they would spend their time together, but now that Pete mentions it…

“No sex,” Pete repeats. “If we end up in bed we’ll be spending the whole day there…”

Hell yes, the whole day in bed seems like a great idea.

“… and then it would just be like another one-night-stand. And I want this to be different.”

Well, Pete’s got a point. Vegas nods in agreement. “Fine. No sex. Anything else?”

“Nothing I can think of.” Once again, they end up staring at each other.

Vegas could stare at Pete for hours. “Uhm… what now?” he eventually asks, because he’s unsure how to proceed.

“How about we start with getting up? And then… breakfast?” Pete suggests.

Vegas is loath to move; he quite likes his current position on top of Pete, but he acknowledges that they can’t spend the whole day on the floor. With a sigh, he rolls off Pete and sits up. And notices the chaos in the living room for the first time this morning. “Well, shit… You didn’t land on any glass, did you?”

“Nah, I am fine.” Pete sits up as well and looks around. “We should probably clean up a bit. I’ll help. After all it was my fault that you got so angry.”

Vegas casts him a sideways glance and his eyes come to linger on the very visible bandage on Pete’s neck that he has so far ignored. He swallows dryly. “We should probably change the bandage as well,” he mumbles, and looks away again. Pete’s neck has started to bruise not only around the bandage, but where Vegas’ hands choked him as well, and he feels once again like a terrible human being.

“Let’s start with breakfast. I’m hungry.” Pete rises and offers Vegas a hand. When their hands touch as he’s pulled to his feet, Vegas once again gets goosebumps. He wonders if it will always be this way. “What would you like to eat? Porridge or rice with omelette? Or maybe bread?” Coming to think of it, he knows so little about Pete. “And what would you like to drink? Coffee? Tea? Soy milk?” Damn, this feels awkward.

“Black coffee, please.” Pete heads for the kitchen, sidestepping the broken furniture. “And rice with omelette will be perfect.”

Vegas wonders if all this is perhaps a dream. It feels a bit surreal. Is he really awake? Has all of this really happened? Did he just kiss Pete and agreed to spend part of the day with him? What the hell is he doing?

“Let me prepare the coffee, the machine is a bit temperamental…” he mumbles, and trails after Pete into the kitchen.

He shows Pete where the rice is stored and while he’s fixing the coffee, Pete starts washing the rice. The rice cooker is a standard model and Pete apparently knows how to use it. Surreal. Vegas finds himself leaning against the kitchen workbench, watching Pete move around in his kitchen as if he belongs here. Surreal.

“You know… you can touch, if you want,” Pete rummages through the kitchen cupboards, searching for a frying pan for the eggs.

“How do you do that?” Vegas can’t help asking. “Am I that obvious? Or can you actually read my mind?” Because he has been thinking about touching Pete, but he’s unsure about what he’s allowed to do and what not, in this situation.

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Pete looks over his shoulder and casts Vegas a quick smile. “It’s just an educated guess. You probably feel the same as I do, am I right?”

“Honestly, most of the time, and definitely right now, I don’t have a clue what you’re thinking, let alone feeling, Pete. I’m so damn confused, I have never been in a situation like this before. What do couples do all day? And what do you expect from me?” Vegas runs a hand through his hair, feeling slightly stressed as he watches Pete crack the eggs into a bowl, stirring them with the chopsticks in preparation to fry them.

“No clue,” Pete replies cheerfully. “This is a first for me. I didn’t have any role models for adult relationships; my parents died when I was young. What did your parents do all day?”

Vegas snorts in wry amusement. “Are you kidding me? You are asking me about role models for healthy relationships? May I remind you that my father is a violent mob boss and that my mother killed herself when I was a kid? My family life was hell on earth.” The fact that he can joke about this with Pete is nothing short of a miracle. Normally he avoids talking about his family.

“We will just have to play it by ear and hope for the best,” Pete decides after a moment of contemplation. “Now where’s my coffee?”

And then they’re drinking coffee in the kitchen, waiting for the rice to be cooked, standing next to each other, and the whole situation is so staggeringly domestic that Vegas keeps thinking he must be hallucinating for sure. Pete insists on preparing the omelette while Vegas is setting the table; he seems to be enjoying himself immensely. Whenever Vegas looks at him, his emotions run amok in a most confusing way. In the end he can’t help it, he needs to reassure himself that this is real, and so he walks up behind Pete, who is humming some unknown melody while fiddling with the frying pan, and leans in, burying his nose in Pete’s hair. Yeah, seems pretty real.

“Took you long enough.” Pete leans back into him and Vegas can hear the smile in his voice.

“Smartass. Don’t burn the omelette.” And then Vegas has to step away, because all this feels too overwhelming.

They eat in contented silence and even do the dishes together afterwards. It’s insane. Part of Vegas wants to scream and run out of the apartment. The other part of him wants to curl around Pete and purr. How is he supposed to survive this day? Pete isn’t helping; he is constantly finding excuses to brush against Vegas, like a cat that wants to be petted.

In an ever growing daze, Vegas finds a fresh toothbrush for Pete. And even a set of clean clothes. At least Pete’s shoes have mostly dried overnight. They each take a quick shower. Not together! Vegas hides in the kitchen while Pete is showering to avoid getting another glimpse of Pete wearing only a towel. Madness madness madness! Why on earth did he agree to this?

While Pete gets ready, Vegas starts stress-cleaning again. It’s either that, or he will break his promise and walk right out the door. Pete eventually emerges from the bedroom, fully dressed; he takes one look at Vegas, who is in the process of taking apart the broken table so that it’s easier to throw away, and then walks over to him, slips an arm around his waist and gives him a quick, tight hug. “Breathe. Everything will be fine. Why is this stressing you out so much?”

Vegas drops the screwdriver he is holding and shrugs helplessly. “Fuck. I don’t know. I just don’t know. Why are we even doing this? Won’t this make everything even more complicated? My life is already a shit-show; I don’t need even more complications. How are we supposed to go back to normal after this?”

“We are doing this because you owe me.” Pete takes a step back, calmly reaches up to his throat, and tears off the soaked bandage. “Take a good hard look at my neck, Vegas. This day is your compensation to me for nearly killing me.”

Once again, Pete wields his words like knives.

Vegas pales and flinches away. The neck wound looks terrible. Puffy and red and blackish-blue. And there are even more bruises all over the neck from Vegas nearly strangling him. He did that to Pete. He’s a fucking monster who should probably be locked away. Why is Pete not angry at him? He has every right to be furious. But instead of yelling at Vegas all he says is: “Please change the bandage. It got all wet in the shower.”

Vegas swallows hard and nods, looking away from Pete. He gets the first aid kit and quietly patches the wound up again, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. “I am so sorry,” he mumbles but then remembers that Pete does not want his apologies. He just wants this day, and so Vegas will give him what he wants.

The light-hearted atmosphere is gone, and Vegas despairs quietly. He messed up again. When Pete suggests they continue with the clean-up, he agrees instantly. It will give him something else to think about. Together, it goes relatively quickly.

“You need new furniture,” Pete decides, glancing around. Which is kind of a no-brainer, it’s just that Vegas thought he would deal with this problem another day, and not on this special day. “Let’s go shopping.”

“Uhm… I can do this on my own, you know? Wouldn’t this be wasting our time together?”

Pete shrugs and smiles. “This seems like a very couple thing to do. To go furniture shopping together. So let’s give it a try.”

Vegas has a flashback to his first impression of Pete’s office and his eyes widen in sudden terror. Furniture shopping with Pete will be a disaster. He can already see it before his inner eye: Colours. Curtains. Weird non-functional shapes. Decorations! Oh shit.

Apparently Pete also envisions all this because he gets a very determined gleam in his dark eyes. “This place could use a make-over,” he mutters as he looks around, and Vegas gulps. He can see the interior-design-monster hatch before his very eyes.

“Why don’t we just go for a walk instead? I heard this is very popular with couples? Or perhaps a boat ride on the river?”

Pete replies with a smirk and Vegas knows he is in deep trouble.

----------------------------------------

Pete has dragged him across town to IKEA. Of all the places to go, why did they have to end up here? He should have known Pete is an IKEA person. He should have seen the signs and resisted this stupid, stupid idea more vigorously. Too late now. Looking at the huge blue and yellow monstrosity of a store, Vegas feels as if he’s being dragged to his execution.

“All we need is a table and some chairs. And new picture frames. That’s all,” he reminds Pete sternly, as they enter the store. “Why don’t we use the terminals over there, do a quick search and get the shelf locations directly, so we can save time?”

“Nice try,” Pete replies cheerfully. He actually takes Vegas hand and pulls him towards the escalators to the upper floor. They’re holding hands. In public. Vegas is almost halfway up before he gets over the shock and hastily pulls back his hand. What if someone sees them? What if someone recognises them? Pete narrows his eyes, but Vegas pointedly looks the other way. He won’t compromise on this.

And then they’re in furniture hell. Pete of course thinks of this as heaven; Vegas can see him brimming with enthusiasm. “We just need a table,” he mutters, when Pete coos over the couches on display. He has a perfectly fine couch; he does not need a new one. Even if Pete thinks it’s too hard to sleep on. He’s not planning to sleep on his couch much anyway. And no, he’s perfectly fine with his couch being beige. A red couch would not suit his living room at all. Neither would an orange couch.

There is so much clutter in the sample rooms on display—how could anyone actually live in rooms like this? Vegas feels he’s getting a sensory overload as Pete drags him along. If it weren’t for Pete, Vegas would run screaming out of the store. But instead he does his very best to be patient. Just watching Pete enjoying himself does help to calm him down.

Eventually Pete has manoeuvred him into carrying one of those huge IKEA bags, which he loads with ‘essentials’—at least that’s what Pete calls them. Vegas calls it clutter, and quietly disposes of whatever is put into it whenever Pete isn’t looking.

“Table,” he reminds Pete, and pulls him past the kitchen area of the store. No, he does not want to renovate his kitchen with new colourful cupboard doors, and no, everything is already very well organised in his kitchen; they do not need to buy boxes and plastic containers and all that crap.

When they finally arrive at the kitchen table area, Vegas zeroes in on a simple white table. Perfect. Pete complaints it is boring, and ‘so Vegas’, and wants him to go for something round and black, with legs arranged in a twisted modern way so that you just need to look at the table and it will surely fall over. Not happening. Vegas writes up the shelf number of the boring table of his choice and ignores Pete’s other suggestions.

The next problem is the kitchen chairs. Vegas damaged two out of his initial four chairs. Since he can’t get two more of the exact same kind, he now needs to buy four new ones. “Why?” Pete asks, confused. “Just buy two new ones, maybe even in some other colours? That would be a delightful mix and lighten up things a bit.”

Vegas groans. “The mere thought of having four different chairs is giving me anxiety. I don’t do ‘mixing’ very well.”

“You really need to loosen up a bit, Vegas. How about the same style but different colours then?”

Vegas just shakes his head. “I don’t think four different colours will work.”

“Two then. Two chairs with one colour each.” Pete suggests with determination.

“Do we have to? Can we just go for one colour, please?” One look at Pete and he knows that he will loose this argument. Okay, time for damage control then. “No red. And a simple design.”

Ten minutes later he has four new kitchen chairs, two blue and two green ones. And Pete is happy, while Vegas feels steamrolled. And on the wild shopping tour goes.

“I don’t have the money for this…” Vegas pulls Pete past the home office section. “None of the cupboards are damaged, I refuse to buy a new one,” he insists in the wardrobe section. “No, I don’t need lamps like this, they’re dust collectors, just look at that shape, and it barely gives any light.” He refuses to even think about exchanging his perfectly fine lamps for some edgy design pieces.

He would have thought Pete would be frustrated with him being so uncooperative by now, but he gets the strong feeling that Pete immensely enjoys teasing Vegas like this. What a brat! A pretty adorable brat. Even when he is trying to drive Vegas insane, he is so damn cute while doing it.

The bedroom section proves to be a real challenge. The second Pete throws himself on one of the beds to try out the mattress, Vegas gets a very vivid flashback to drunk Pete on his bed with the leather pants undone, and he feels himself flushing at the thought. He quickly looks away, but he’s pretty sure Pete noticed. Aren’t they done yet? Surely they must be getting closer to the exit soon, right? It is pretty warm in here, a bit of fresh air would be nice.

“Help me up again?” Pete holds out his hand and Vegas takes it, to pull him up. Instead he’s yanked down onto the bed and with a surprised huff, he lands on top of Pete. For the second time today!

“Have you lost your mind?!” Vegas hisses and immediately rolls off him, as Pete starts laughing.

“Lovely bed, isn’t it? Very comfy mattress. But not as nice as your bed,” Pete teases, while Vegas glares at him and hurries to get off the bed. He’s blushing and he hates it.

“Jerk. Get up yourself then.” Vegas turns around and stomps away. Where is that damn exit? Of course he forgot that they need to walk through the whole lower part of the store before getting out. The part of the store that really challenges his ability to remove stuff from their cart as fast as Pete puts them into it.

“Stop it. I don’t need this. I don’t want this. I don’t have money for all of this.” But despite all his objections, Pete just laughs, winks playfully at him and continues with the madness. Vegas knows he will never be able to go to IKEA again. He will forever associate this with Pete and it’s going to be too painful to bear. He should have said no. He should have refused to spend this time with Pete. He should have known better. Well, he knew. He just decided to do this anyway. He’s such an idiot.

They get the picture frames. They get some extra pillows for the couch, in warm, vivid colours that Pete loves. They get a couple of plastic plants that Vegas won’t be able to kill off no matter how hard he tries. They get the flat box with table and chairs. When nobody is around to see, Pete gives Vegas a quick peck on the lips that leaves him even more dazed. Then they stand in line for the cashier with numerous other families and couples and it all feels so incredibly surreal. So normal. As if they’ve done this before and will do this again. Vegas is starting to panic again. He mustn’t get used to this!

When everything is loaded into the car, Vegas has a near meltdown. He just sits in the car, holding on to the steering wheel for dear life and tries to get his erratic breathing back under control.

“Everything is going to be fine,” Pete whispers next to him, running his fingers through Vegas’ hair. “You are overthinking again. Just try to relax. How about we grab some take-away and then go sit in the sun and eat somewhere? You can do this, right?”

Vegas nods. Yes, he can do this. He has to. The alternative is dissolving into tears right here and now, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing as hell?

So they drive around, park the car, and stop at one of the many carts selling street food. Vegas picks some Pad Kra Pao, Pete goes for the Pad See Ew with a lot of additional dried chilli flakes, and then they end up on a bench by the waterfront. There is a light breeze, the sun is shining, but the heat is bearable. The food is good. Vegas is following Pete’s advice and tries very hard not to think about what the hell he’s doing. They sit there for a while and inconspicuously hold hands, and it feels so damn nice. Pete is utterly content as well, relaxed and simply happy with his life. Vegas likes this look on him. He likes it a lot.

Eventually they end up in Vegas’ apartment again with all the spoils from their shopping trip. Pete insists on helping to put the new furniture together, but soon enough Vegas is ready to scream with frustration. Pete apparently thinks manuals are for wimps and unnecessary, and one can figure out instinctively what screws to use where and in what order. “If you touch another screw I am going to nail your hand to the floor,” Vegas eventually threatens, and almost means it. “Go and deal with the pictures and reframe my posters. I’ll fix the table.”

Pete gives him an intrigued look and for a moment it seems as if he wants to say something, but he stays silent and goes to deal with Vegas’ posters instead. Soon the apartment looks pretty decent again, the evidence of last night’s chaos all but gone.

“Looks pretty sturdy.” Pete walks up to the table Vegas has just finished putting together and touches it to see if it is wobbly, then he hops up to sit on it and grins at Vegas. “Well done. You have hidden talents, it seems.”

Vegas, in the process of putting the tools away, stops and rolls his eyes. “It’s not rocket science, you know. All you need to do is read the bloody manual and follow the instructions.” Pete is sitting on the edge of the table, wiggling his feet happily, and Vegas’ throat gets tight. He wants Pete, he wants him so damn much. Against his better judgement, he forgets about the tools and instead walks up to the table, like a moth fluttering closer to the flame. The flame being Pete, who is tilting his head to the side with a wicked smile as he watches him approach. Vegas pushes Pete’s legs apart in order to step between them. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. But it is so damn hard to resist the temptation. It really was inevitable, it’s a miracle he lasted this long. Just a quick touch perhaps. Another peck maybe.

“Why don’t we find out how sturdy this table is?” Pete suggests in a low teasing voice. He reaches out and hooks a hand around Vegas’ nape, pulling them toward each other without any resistance from Vegas, who is caught up in the moment, and spellbound.

“Smartass,” Vegas manages to mumble, before their mouths meet and once again it is like a spark igniting a sea of gasoline. With a whoosh there is ignition and then everything is on fire. Their lips open and tongues touch. Vegas’ fingers are in Pete’s hair, Pete’s hands are gripping the back of Vegas’ t-shirt and then pushing aside the fabric to get to the bare skin underneath it, the sudden skin contact sending a delightful shockwave of pleasure through both of them.

Vegas burns. He uses all his pent up anxiety as fuel for this madness, they fall backward onto the table (which is indeed sturdy enough to deal with this unexpected assault), never breaking their frantic open-mouthed kiss. Pete hooks his legs around Vegas’, moaning breathlessly into his mouth and it is driving Vegas insane. They’re grinding against each other, and it feels so damn good. But then Pete’s hands slip beneath his jeans, and Vegas suddenly snaps back to reality. No no no! They shouldn’t be doing this! This is getting out of control, going too far. He tears his mouth away from Pete, panting hard. “Stop!”

Pete is breathing hard as well, and is obviously displeased with Vegas putting a stop to this insanity. “Damn it! You are doing it again! Didn’t I tell you to stop overthinking?! Fuck, you are ruining it. Again.”

Vegas cringes but pulls himself free, backing away. Yeah, he’s ruining it, but he has reached the limit of what he can endure. This was a stupid idea from the start.

“Time’s up. I think you should leave.” If only his voice was more calm instead of sounding decidedly shaky. If only Pete would not make him feel so much, this is exhausting. If only he was better at controlling his emotions. “You had your half day, more so even. This needs to be enough. I can’t deal with any more of this. I’m sorry.”

“Bloody hell.” Pete sits up and then slams his palms against the table in frustration. “Fine. Have it your way.” He is obviously upset and has every right to feel this way. They’re both horny and frustrated and completely out of their depth because neither of them seems to be able to put a final stop to this.

“I’m sorry,” Vegas repeats quietly. “I really tried, okay? And the day was great. I did enjoy it. But now we need to stop. This was supposed to be a temporary thing after all. It isn’t real. It can’t be real. And that’s why we can’t let this get out of hand. I’m truly sorry, Pete.”

“Yeah, so am I,” Pete replies bitterly and jumps off the table, straightening his rumpled clothes. His hair is a mess and Vegas reaches out to straighten it, but Pete slaps his hand away. “Don’t touch me.” He angrily fixes his hair himself, and Vegas can’t help thinking that he looks like someone who is very likely going to snap sometime soon. He has learned the hard way to be wary of angry Pete, because he can be catastrophically unpredictable.

“I am sorry, Pete,” he tries again, following Pete to the door. “But deep down you know this is for the best. I am not the right person for you or anyone really. I am way too broken. You are better off without me.”

“Vegas…” With the hand on the doorknob, Pete stops and turns around to face him. “Just shut the hell up. You know as well as I do that this between us is far from over.”

Vegas draws an unsteady breath upon hearing that. “You said you’d leave me alone after today…”

Pete gives him a long hard look. “I lied.” And with that he storms off and slams the door shut.

He lied… of course he did. Vegas leans his back against the door and tries to catch his breath, because suddenly there seems not to be enough oxygen in the hallway. He slides down along the door until he’s sitting on the floor, and finally allows himself to fall apart. It’s an ugly cry; shuddering big wet sobs and snot and all that, but no-one is around to see anyway, so it’s okay. He’s starting to fall for Pete and it’s breaking his heart, because this absolutely must not happen. He’s going to get Pete killed.

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Returning to work the next day feels strange, like waking up from a long dream. At least he’s had a good night’s sleep, so exhausted that he slept like a log. And of course—how else could it be?—on the way to their shared office, Vegas runs into Pete. Time stretches for a moment as they stare at each other. Awkward doesn’t even begin to describe how Vegas feels. Pete seems unsure as well. Both of them nod stiffly in greeting and then avert their eyes at the same time. They’re back to simply being the detective and his therapist, at least as far as Vegas is concerned. The dream’s over, time to wake up. He’s got work to do and a killer to catch. And so he heads to their office, Pete trailing behind him in silence.

With surprise, Vegas notices that their office isn’t locked. Huh? He opens the door and the first thing he sees is that there is a new third desk inside the room. A desk occupied by a very familiar figure.

Tem pushes back in his chair, swirls it towards the door and gives Vegas a warm, welcoming smile. “Guess who’s back, partner?”