Page 27 of Hold Me Down

"That telepathic thing you two have going on comes in handy in situations like this, I imagine."

"Well, there's nobody to call you out on your bullshit like a person who's known you since before you could grow out a proper beard."

Ian shrugged. "There's only one guy I still talk to from basic training, and that's every couple of months at best. You may envy me my cooking skills, but I envy you a relationship like that, and something tells me you wouldn't trade one for the other for anything."

Hoping he wasn't burning red, Dave waved him off.

"Not even your tamales are worth breaking in somebody new."

There was a pause, and when Dave glanced back at his friend, Ian had lost his smile and he was picking at the thread in the couch back cushion.

"I bet it would be a hard transition," he offered in a lowered voice, as if he was talking more to himself than Dave, but before Dave could react to that—how, he wasn't quite sure—he heard the front door open.

Turning around too fast made him hiss as pain shot down his leg, but what made him want to hiss even harder was the expression on Travis's face.

Or Travis in general, because the man looked like he'd been run down and then someone backed up one more time to finish the job.

The moment Travis noticed Ian, he straightened, but it was already too late. They were all paid big bucks to notice things, after all.

Thankfully, Ian didn't say anything, only stood up from the couch.

"Okay, I really have to go now," he said. "I'm going to make another delivery on Sunday, so if you want more of any particular dish or don't want a repeat of something from today, let me know before Saturday, okay?"

"You really don't have to—"

"Yeah, yeah, we've gone over this." Ian waved him off as he passed him. "Like I said, the deadline is Friday night, because I'm going shopping first thing on Saturday. See you, guys," he added, patting Travis on the shoulder on his way out.

And then he was gone, and Dave was perched on the couch while Travis was still too far away, looking like he wasn't sure how he'd gotten there.

This wouldn't do.

Dave got up slowly and grabbed his crutches but stopped himself before heading towards Travis, somehow sensing he should give him space.

It didn't mean he couldn't do anything, though.

After all, Ian's grandmother was right—food definitely helped with various ills.

"Our fridge is full, thanks to Ian, so we have our picks for dinner tonight. Tamales or a burrito the size of your forearm?"

Travis blinked once, then again.

"I'm not—" He paused before shaking his head. "I'd love some tamales, actually. But I need a shower first."

"Sure thing. I won't reheat them until you're back."

There were several questions Dave wanted to ask—what happened? How was the therapist? Was Travis going to go back there?—but he swallowed them all down.

An avalanche of questions wasn't what Travis needed from him right now, and Dave didn't need any telepathy to know that.

"Thanks." Travis finally moved from his place by the door and crossed the space in quick, easy steps, bypassing Dave altogether and heading straight upstairs. "I'll be back soon."

Narrowing his eyes at the loss of the touch that hadn't happened, Dave stared after Travis long after he disappeared from sight.

"One thing at a time," Dave muttered to himself in the end, returning to the couch. "One thing at a time."

It wasn't enough—far from it—but it was the best he could do right now.

Hopefully, the food and the company would be enough for Travis to lose some of the tension before bed.

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