He and Mal go for another forkful at the same time, and Rowan quips, “Looks like I got you to eat rabbit food this time.”

Mal stabs him with his fork, the tines leaving four white dots on his hand that disappear before Rowan’s laugh fades from his lips.

WHEN THEIR food arrives a short while later, Rowan has to admit that the burger looks and smells delicious. He squirts a large pile of ketchup on his plate, watching in horror as Mal squirts zigzags of ketchup directly on top of his fries.

“You’re such a barbarian,” Rowan comments.

“All goes to the same place, Red. More efficient this way.”

They eat in relative silence, save for the occasional jab at how the other is eating despite there being no classy way to eat the greasy, messy burgers. All the same, Rowan watches with rapt attention every time Mal’s tongue darts out to collect a bit of sauce from his lips.

It feels weird to be at the diner and sharing a meal when they’ve already discussed their scene. Every other time that’s been more or less the main reason to come here—to wind down and hash out anything that didn’t work and figure out what did, all while getting some much-needed calories back. And while they’ve gotten considerably more comfortable with having regular conversations that don’t revolve entirely around sex, thanks to their frequent texting, in-person is still a different story.

But it isn’t awkward by any stretch. Rowan thinks that Mal might actually be the easiest person to talk to he knows, aside from Jay.

As they eat they toss back snippets of conversation. Mal snatches some of Rowan’s fries off his plate even though he still has plenty of his own. In turn, Rowan scoops up the tomatoes that Mal picked off of his burger and left on the side of his plate.

The meal and the atmosphere and—most importantly—the company are soothing in a way that fills all the spaces in Rowan’s body and mind. There’s a soft rock song playing on the jukebox that Rowan doesn’t recognize until he hears Mal softly humming the chorus.

Ah, “Summer Breeze.” He’s not even sure Mal knows he’s doing it until his eyes meet Rowan’s over Mal’s chocolate milkshake. And Rowan knows he’s smiling like an idiot—can feel his cheeks start to hurt from it. Quickly, Mal clears his throat and wipes his already-clean mouth with the back of his hand.

The display is enough to make some deeply buried part of Rowan awaken and long for something he never thought he’d get to have. Someone to come home to, someone to cook with, someone to wrap his arms around at night. Something that goes beyond the shallow things he’s called relationships in the past. A life. A love. And fuck, Rowan wants it. It isn’t clear how long he daydreams of it, but the song has changed at least twice by the time the bus girl drops off the check at the table.