A day off was a day to himself, to relax and separate himself from the job, but somehow he’d ended up in a diner with Wrench sitting across from him anyway. Not that he minded, because being with Wrench wasn’t like being around other people. It didn’t iritate him, Wrench didn’t get under his skin just with his presence like most did. Of course, he could get under his skin just as much (if not more) than anyone, but even then there was something different about it. Either way, they’d been messing around for a while now, sort of… opened up to something more between them, so even on their days off they had a tendency to gravitate toward one another. Numbers would ask Wrench if he had plans, or Wrench would say he wanted to go somewhere and Numbers would offer to go along. As an interpreter, at first, but then he stopped justifying it.
It was a greasy kind of place, but they were used to those. Far from romantic, it was an eggs and bacon brunch kind of deal, but at least the sun was pouring in from the place’s large windows, giving everything a nice glow. And as they ate, in silence as always, hands busy, Numbers felt content. Happy, even. Or close to it.
When he was done with his toast he wiped his hands together to get rid of the crumbs, then nudged Wrench’s leg with his foot.
« This a first date? »
It’s the first time he makes the allusion of them dating, an off hand joke for now, although it’s clear in the way his gaze doesn’t leave Wrench’s that he’s not making fun. They’re not dating, not boyfriends, but they are seeing each other, and they’re committed, and isn’t that the same thing?
Wrench’s eyes are a little wide but then he’s shaking his head and huffing (laughter, for him), flicking a piece of bacon that had fallen out of his plate away before signing his response:
« So you fuck first then ask out later? »
Numbers makes a face, waves his hand. Ehh.
« Something like that. »
Which isn’t entirely true. He rarely asks out. In fact, he’s never been anything quite like this before. He feels he should say so, at least once. Now that he’s not only feeling content but comfortable in that contentment, accepting of it. Yeah, he feels good with Wrench. He likes being with him.
« I usually don’t go back to them. Or commit. Or have brunch with them every day of the week. »
Wrench doesn’t say anything to that, stares for a second before ducking his head and moving his leftovers around with his fork. Numbers can see he’s smiling, so he nudges his foot with his, raises his eyebrows, but when Wrench looks up he just points to Numbers’ potatoes and signs:
« You gonna eat that? »
They’re back to squabbling instants later, after Numbers insists that he will, and Wrench insists they’ll get cold before Numbers will even get to them. This is good too, even when Numbers is gritting his teeth and wondering if Wrench will kick back if he kicks him in the shins. He likes being with Wrench — for the sex, the company, the trust, the greasy diners and the arguments. All of it.