The wind bit, a dull, insistent ache through the thin denim of Eddie’s jeans. His breath plumed, a fleeting, ghost-like thing in the glow of a distant lamppost. He was hunched over, fingers numb inside cheap knit gloves, wrestling with a discarded fast-food wrapper impaled on a particularly thorny rose bush near the faculty parking lot. The thing mocked him, flapping just out of reach, frozen stiff and refusing to tear. It felt like a perfect metaphor for his entire semester: persistent, annoying, and ultimately pointless.
His old scarf, the one with the frayed edges his grandmother had knitted years ago, offered little warmth around his neck. It was more a comfort blanket, a relic of better, softer times. Now it just absorbed the damp, cold air, heavy and ineffective. He tugged, grunting, a stray branch scratching at his cheek. Fine. Let it stay. Let it rot. Let the campus look like a garbage heap; it matched the general state of his internal landscape anyway.
A shadow detached itself from the deeper darkness of the parking lot, moving with a deliberate, unhurried pace that felt out of place in the hurried, scuttling world Eddie inhabited. He registered it peripherally, a tall figure, dark coat, hands shoved deep in pockets. Probably some grad student hurrying home, eyes fixed on the pavement, ignoring the minor urban blight that was Eddie and his current, pathetic battle.
But the shadow didn't pass. It stopped. A few feet away. Eddie froze, half-bent, mid-tug on the wrapper. He could feel the weight of a gaze, not hostile, not curious, just… present. He straightened slowly, trying to project an air of, 'I was merely contemplating the existential futility of human waste,' rather than, 'I was trying and failing to remove a potato chip bag.'
Tyler. The name surfaced from the depths of his mental roster. The quiet one from his 'Contemporary Social Theory' seminar, always sitting in the back, never speaking unless directly called upon, then delivering a razor-sharp, concise point that usually made Eddie feel vaguely under-researched. He had that kind of face that didn’t give much away, all sharp angles and a sort of calm that bordered on unnerving. Tonight, it was illuminated by the faint, icy light of the streetlamp, making the planes of his cheeks look almost sculpted.
“Having trouble?” Tyler’s voice was low, a smooth baritone that cut through the wind without raising in volume. It wasn't mocking, not exactly. More like… a statement of fact, delivered with a slight, almost imperceptible tilt of his head.
Eddie felt a flush creep up his neck, despite the cold. His fingers twitched inside his gloves. “Just… admiring the tenacious spirit of litter,” he said, forcing a grin that felt more like a grimace. “It clings.”
Tyler’s eyes, dark and steady, dropped to the wrapper, then back to Eddie. “It does.” He took a step closer, and Eddie felt a sudden, inexplicable jolt, a strange hyper-awareness of the space shrinking between them. Tyler’s presence was a physical thing, a subtle pressure in the air. He reached out, not for the wrapper, but for a stray branch of the rose bush, carefully bending it away.
Eddie stared at Tyler’s gloved hand, the clean line of his wrist emerging from his sleeve, then at the wrapper, now fully exposed. He felt a weird, almost childish surge of annoyance, mixed with something else, something like… gratitude? It was confusing. He’d wanted to be left alone, had been perfectly content in his private, pathetic struggle. But now, with Tyler here, the struggle felt magnified, illuminated.
“Oh. Right.” Eddie finally managed, feeling stupid. He reached in, plucked the wrapper free. It felt flimsy and inconsequential now that the thorny obstacle was gone. He crumpled it into a ball, shoving it into his coat pocket where it would likely stay for the rest of the night.
Tyler straightened. He didn't say 'you're welcome' or 'glad I could help'. He just stood there, the wind whipping at the lapels of his dark coat, his gaze still on Eddie, steady and unblinking. It was an interrogation without words, an unspoken question hanging in the frigid air.
“What?” Eddie asked, a little too sharply. He felt suddenly defensive, like he’d been caught doing something utterly embarrassing, which, arguably, he had been. He hugged himself, pulling the frayed scarf tighter. The wool felt scratchy against his chin.
“Nothing,” Tyler said, a ghost of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “You looked… dedicated.”
Eddie barked a laugh, a short, humorless sound. “Dedicated to avoiding my next essay, probably. Or just dedicated to cold hands and pointless tasks. It’s a gift.”
Tyler’s gaze lingered on Eddie’s face, then dropped to the frayed scarf. It wasn't a casual glance; it was focused, almost possessive, as if he were cataloging every thread, every imperfection. Eddie felt a blush bloom on his cheeks, hot despite the cold, a strange, electric current shooting through him. He instinctively pulled his chin down, trying to hide the worn fabric, feeling suddenly exposed, ridiculously vulnerable.
“You're out late,” Tyler observed, shifting his weight. He had a way of speaking that wasn't exactly slow, but it was deliberate, each word weighted, almost. Eddie felt like he was being dissected, not in a cruel way, but in a precise, careful manner. It made his skin prickle.
“So are you,” Eddie shot back, finding a sliver of his usual bravado. “Night owl, or just… avoiding your dorm room?” He immediately regretted the implication, the personal jab. It wasn’t witty, just defensive.
Tyler’s smile widened, just a fraction. It transformed his face, softened the sharp angles, made his dark eyes crinkle at the corners. It was a beautiful, unsettling thing. “Both, perhaps. Or perhaps I was looking for someone who finds meaning in freeing litter from flora.”
Eddie blinked. That was definitely a dig. But it was delivered with such an understated, dry tone that he couldn't quite feel offended. He just felt… caught. “And you found him. Lucky you.” He tried to keep his voice light, but it cracked on the last word. The cold, probably.
“Lucky, indeed.” Tyler’s eyes held his, and the casualness of the statement was undercut by the sheer intensity of his gaze. Eddie felt a tremor run through him, a strange flutter in his chest. He cleared his throat, suddenly desperate for a distraction. His hands felt too big, too empty. He shoved them back in his pockets.
“Well, mission accomplished, I guess,” Eddie said, gesturing vaguely at the now empty rose bush. “I should… head back.” He started to turn, but Tyler’s next words stopped him, a quiet anchor in the blustery night.
“There’s no rush.” Tyler’s hand came up, not touching him, but hovering. Eddie felt the heat of it, even through the layers of his coat, a phantom warmth on his shoulder. It made his entire body hum, a strange, low frequency. He turned back slowly, his eyes drawn to Tyler’s face, which was now closer than he'd realized.
“No rush?” Eddie repeated, his voice barely a whisper. “It’s freezing. And I have… things. To do.” He thought of his dusty dorm room, the half-eaten ramen, the looming essay that felt like a mountain he had no desire to climb. Nothing. He had nothing to do.
“Things can wait.” Tyler's voice was soft, almost a murmur against the wind. His eyes were still on Eddie, unwavering. “Sometimes, the things that wait are the most important. The ones you’re afraid to look at.”
Eddie’s breath hitched. That was a bit too close to home. He swallowed, the cold air scraping his throat. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, trying to sound aloof, but his voice was thin, reedy.
“It means,” Tyler stepped closer still, the distance between them dissolving into a charged, electric space, “that you're not meant to be alone out here, trying to save the world, one chip bag at a time.” He paused, and Eddie felt every nerve ending in his body fire. “Unless you prefer it.”
That last part, the gentle challenge, hung in the air. Eddie stared, speechless. He didn't know what to say. He didn't prefer it. He was lonely. Profoundly, achingly lonely. But admitting it, even to himself, felt like a concession, a weakness he couldn't afford.
Tyler’s hand finally settled, lightly, on Eddie’s shoulder. Just a brief, feather-light touch, but it felt like a brand, searing warmth through the layers of fabric. Eddie’s entire body tensed, a dizzying mix of alarm and something else, something soft and yielding. He felt his pulse quicken, thrumming in his ears, a frantic drumbeat against the quiet insistence of Tyler's gaze. Tyler's thumb, still gloved, brushed the collar of Eddie’s frayed scarf, a small, intimate gesture that stole Eddie’s breath entirely.
“Come on,” Tyler said, his voice a low rumble now, barely audible over the wind. “There’s a twenty-four-hour diner down the street. Their coffee is terrible, but the heating works. And I hear they have pie.” He removed his hand, leaving a lingering ghost of warmth. The sudden absence felt like a withdrawal, a vacuum. Eddie swayed slightly.
Eddie stared at him, then at the empty space on his shoulder. The offer was so mundane, so… normal. And yet, Tyler’s eyes, still locked on his, made it feel like a grand invitation, a path laid out in the freezing darkness. It felt high-stakes, ridiculously so, for just terrible coffee and pie.
“Pie,” Eddie repeated, a small, incredulous laugh escaping him. “You’re offering me pie to save me from… myself?” He shook his head, a weak attempt at defiance. “I’m good. Really.”
Tyler didn’t move. He simply waited, an immovable object in the shifting wind. His stillness was a challenge, a quiet insistence that Eddie couldn't ignore. The silence stretched, filled only by the whisper of the wind through the bare branches and the frantic beat of Eddie’s own heart.
“Your scarf,” Tyler said, breaking the quiet, his voice dropping another notch, almost a conspiratorial whisper. His eyes were on Eddie’s neck again, on the familiar, worn wool. “It looks like it’s seen a lot. But it’s not doing a very good job of keeping you warm. You’re shivering.”
Eddie hadn't even realized he was. But now, he felt it, a persistent tremor deep in his bones. The direct observation, devoid of judgment, hit him harder than any accusation. It was a raw truth, spoken without fanfare. He was cold. He was always cold, lately, both inside and out.
“It’s… it’s fine,” Eddie mumbled, looking away, down at his scuffed boots, the damp concrete beneath them. He felt a profound sense of self-pity, suddenly, acutely aware of his threadbare coat, his cheap gloves, the entire meager presentation of his life. Tyler, by contrast, looked perfectly put together, effortlessly warm in his tailored dark coat, his quiet confidence.
“No, it’s not,” Tyler countered, his voice firm but gentle. “Being cold isn’t ‘fine.’ It’s just cold. And pie helps with cold. The terrible coffee just helps you stay awake long enough to complain about the cold.” He even offered another of his rare, devastating smiles. It felt like a small, private sun breaking through the winter clouds.
The sheer, absurd pragmatism of it, combined with the unexpected warmth of Tyler’s smile, disarmed Eddie completely. He felt a laugh bubble up, genuine this time, a short, sharp burst against the wind. “You make a compelling argument for terrible coffee, I’ll give you that.”
“I try.” Tyler’s eyes crinkled again. He turned, a silent invitation, and started walking, not looking back to see if Eddie would follow. He just *knew* Eddie would. And Eddie did. He couldn’t help himself. The thought of lingering alone in the biting wind, surrounded by his own swirling thoughts, was suddenly unbearable. The faint scent of Tyler’s cologne, something clean and sharp, like pine and cold metal, drifted back to him, a subtle pull.
He watched Tyler’s broad shoulders, the easy swing of his arms, the way his dark hair ruffled slightly in the wind. Tyler walked with an almost languid confidence, as if the cold and the late hour were minor inconveniences, easily dismissed. Eddie, by contrast, felt like he was perpetually bracing against the world. He quickened his pace, trying to fall into step beside him, feeling a strange mix of relief and trepidation.
The walk to the diner was mostly silent. Eddie kept glancing at Tyler, trying to decipher him. Tyler seemed to sense it, sometimes turning his head slightly, just enough for their eyes to meet, and in that fleeting contact, Eddie felt a rush, a sudden surge of heat that had nothing to do with physical exertion. He’d look away immediately, pretending to be utterly fascinated by a particularly dull patch of ice on the pavement.
He hated how easily Tyler saw through him. The ‘dedicated to pointless tasks’ comment, the observation about his shivering, the quiet challenge about preferring to be alone. It felt like Tyler had a direct line to the parts of Eddie he kept carefully hidden, the messy, vulnerable bits. And the worst part? He didn't quite hate it. It was terrifying, yes, but also… a little thrilling. Like being seen, truly seen, for the first time in a long time.
The diner was a relic, an all-night beacon of questionable culinary choices and fluorescent lighting. The air inside was thick with the smell of stale coffee, sizzling grease, and a faint, cloying sweetness from over-sugared pastries. It was warm, though. Blissfully, undeniably warm. Eddie felt his shoulders slump, the tension draining out of him, replaced by a weary comfort. The heat prickled his skin, making his cheeks flush a deeper red.
They slid into a booth, the red vinyl cracked and sticky. Tyler sat opposite him, his long legs stretching under the table. He peeled off his gloves, his movements economical, precise. His hands were strong, with long, elegant fingers. Eddie found himself staring, a weird fascination seizing him. He quickly averted his gaze, busying himself with pulling off his own gloves, fumbling slightly.
A waitress, her tired eyes barely registering their presence, dropped two menus on the table. Tyler picked his up, scanning it with a serious, almost academic air. Eddie just stared at the plastic-encased monstrosity, the greasy fingerprints on the laminated surface. His stomach rumbled, a sudden, embarrassing growl that felt amplified in the relative quiet.
Tyler looked up, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Hungry, I take it?”
“Starving,” Eddie admitted, a little shamefaced. “Ramen only takes you so far, you know? It’s not exactly… a balanced diet.”
“Indeed,” Tyler said, setting down his menu. “What are you in the mood for, besides a balanced diet?”
Eddie hesitated. “I don’t know. Something… warm. Something that feels like it’s actually going to do something.” He thought of the bland, tasteless meals he usually threw together in his dorm, the microwave meals, the instant noodles. It was sustenance, not food.
Tyler leaned forward slightly, his eyes holding Eddie’s. “You spend a lot of time eating things that don’t actually do anything for you, don’t you?” It wasn’t a question, but an observation, delivered with that same quiet certainty. Eddie felt another flush, a tightening in his chest. It felt like Tyler was seeing right into the hollow parts of him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie asked again, defensively. His voice was a little rough.
“It means,” Tyler paused, his gaze unwavering, “that you deserve better than things that only take you ‘so far.’ Whether it’s food, or… other things.” His eyes dropped briefly to Eddie’s frayed scarf, then back up to his face, a clear implication that Eddie couldn't ignore.
Eddie felt a strange mixture of anger and a sudden, sharp ache in his chest. He wanted to retort, to deny it, but the words caught in his throat. He just stared back at Tyler, feeling completely exposed. The fluorescent lights hummed above them, casting harsh, unflattering shadows.
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eddie mumbled, looking away, picking at a loose thread on the scarf. It felt like a childish evasion, even to him.
Tyler sighed, a soft, almost imperceptible sound. “Eddie.” His voice was gentle now, softer than before. “It’s okay not to know. But it’s not okay to pretend you don’t feel it. That chill.” He gestured vaguely, not at the weather outside, but at something internal, something Eddie carried with him.
Eddie’s head snapped up. He met Tyler’s gaze again, and this time, he didn’t look away. There was no judgment in Tyler’s eyes, only a quiet, understanding intensity. It was disarming. It made Eddie’s own facade feel flimsy, ready to crumble. He felt a tear prick the corner of his eye, a sudden, unwelcome rush of emotion he hadn't anticipated.
“I just…” Eddie started, then trailed off, unsure how to articulate the tangled mess of his feelings. The loneliness, the apathy, the crushing weight of expectation and the utter lack of motivation. “It’s just… a lot. Everything.”
Tyler reached across the table, his hand settling over Eddie’s. His touch was warm, firm, and grounding. Eddie flinched slightly at the unexpected contact, a small gasp catching in his throat, but he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. The warmth spread, an anchor in the swirling chaos of his thoughts. It felt utterly foreign, and utterly welcome.
“I know,” Tyler said, his thumb stroking the back of Eddie’s hand, a slow, hypnotic rhythm. “But you don't have to carry it all by yourself. Sometimes, just having a terrible cup of coffee with someone who doesn’t mind you complaining about the cold, helps. Or a slice of pie.” He gave Eddie’s hand a gentle squeeze.
Eddie looked down at their joined hands, Tyler’s strong, elegant fingers wrapped around his own clumsy, gloved ones. The contrast was stark. He felt a rush of something akin to fear, a tingling sensation that spread from his hand, up his arm, settling deep in his chest. It was the BL spark, undeniable and overwhelming. It was terrifying. And beautiful. He felt his face heat, a deep, consuming blush that had nothing to do with the diner’s stale warmth.
“So,” Tyler said, withdrawing his hand slowly, the lingering warmth a painful absence. “Pie first, or terrible coffee?” His voice was back to its usual calm, but his eyes, when Eddie met them again, held a deeper, more profound tenderness. An invitation. To something more than just pie.
Eddie swallowed. His throat felt tight. He looked around the diner, at the other patrons, lost in their own late-night solitudes. Then he looked back at Tyler, at the unwavering intensity in his gaze, at the quiet strength in his posture. He didn't know what was happening, or what this feeling was, but he knew, with a sudden, absolute certainty, that he didn’t want it to end.
“Pie,” Eddie said, his voice a little hoarse, but with a newfound conviction. “Definitely pie. And… what kind of terrible coffee do you recommend?” A small, genuine smile finally touched his lips, a hesitant offering. It felt fragile, but real. Tyler’s smile in return was a quiet triumph, a steady beacon in the fluorescent haze, and Eddie felt, for the first time in what felt like forever, a flicker of something that resembled hope.