When the cabin emerged from between brown and red trees, it didn’t take long for Tank to spot his friends outside, and he relaxed.
He parked his truck by the white van and approached the front of the building, already smelling the smoke and fresh burning wood. “Dining al fresco tonight?” he asked before Clover dashed into his arms.
“We’re roasting brats over the fire!” Clover said with the excitement of a kid on his first scouting trip, not a twenty year old who’d been through more than he should have.
“I’m starving.” Tank smiled and lifted Clover into his arms, squeezing him tightly.
His boy wouldn’t appreciate what Tank was about to say, so it made sense to indulge him before the news had to be delivered. He carried Clover toward the fire pit by which the others sat, but he only got a better look at him as they approached the flames.
“Your hair. Is it the light, or are you back to your natural color?”
Clover kissed the side of Tank’s head, his blue eyes glowing. “You like it, Daddy?”
“We took him shopping, and he decided he needed a hairdresser too,” Boar said and swallowed some of the painkillers he took to deal with all the pain in his recovering body.
Clover’s cheeks went red, but he leaned closer to Tank, tilting his head so its bright color, much closer to the naturally pale hue than the dishwater blond he’d recently sported, shone in the glow of the fire.
Clover was beautiful regardless, but the light hue complimented his skin so wonderfully Tank leaned in and kissed the top of his head. “It looks amazing,” he said, though what mattered to him more was the significance of Clover going back to the way he’d been before tragedy had struck. The fact that he no longer feared to show off his natural coloring meant he felt safer, more like himself.
“I can’t hide who I am all my life,” Clover said when Tank put him down.
And Tank didn’t want that either. After months of watching Clover regress to a young man scared of his own shadow, seeing him show such resilience made Tank all the more protective. He stroked the pretty, bright hair in awe, remembering just how much Clover had taken his breath away when they’d first met.
“You won’t have to, I’ll make sure of that.”
Clover laughed and slipped his hands into the pocket of Tank’s warm hoodie. “I have the best Daddy.”
Tank hated that he’d have to spoil Clover’s playful mood, but that could still wait a while. “What else did you get?”
Clover led him to the fire pit by the hand. “Marshmallows. Duh.”
With Pyro looking as if he hadn’t had any sleep for the past two days and lounging on a large outdoor pillow, Drake seemed to have taken on the role of cook and perched a stick with three brats over the fire.
“We got you the fat-free ones,” he said, smiling at Tank as he prepared more of the food for everyone.
Tank groaned. “How many times do I have to say it’s carbs, not fat—never mind. Thank you anyway.”
Clover pointed at Drake. “See? I told you!”
Drake rolled his eyes. “Fine. You can add some mayo, dip them in lard or whatever,” he said and put some bread in a contraption made of metal before resting it by the fire.
Tank snorted. “Thank you for making dinner, dear,” he teased, sitting with Clover on a blanket near Drake, where he could sense the intense heat of the buzzing flames.
Drake sucked in air and glared at him like a dragon about to breathe fire. “I’ll make yours extra burning hot.”
“He likes that too,” Clover said, cuddling up under Tank’s arm.
It was as if the last months hadn’t even happened, and the relaxed atmosphere made Tank want to put off telling them what he’d achieved, because reality was too pleasant to spoil.
“How are you ever gonna make a good husband if you don’t remember the little things?” Tank asked, gleefully watching Drake’s growing exasperation. It was a joy to have him around again, without the persistent gloom.
“That’s right, Drake. Learn from the best,” Pyro said and patted Boar’s chest.
Boar met Tank’s gaze over the fire, but his attention was soon back on Pyro, hand petting the bald side of his lover’s head.
Pyro still wasn’t back in shape, but the persistent hunger and agitation was over, replaced by fatigue interlaced with brief outbursts. Tank hoped he’d be ready for action soon.
“Maybe when I have a husband who deserves me remembering the little things,” Drake said, turning the stick carefully, so the heat could cook the other side of the brats.
Boar whistled. “Buuurn, Tank!”
Tank still snorted. “He loves me anyway.”
Clover stroked Tank’s stomach with a menacing smile. “He is giving you sausage after all.”
“Seriously?” Drake shook his head. “Sausage jokes? Is this how low we’ve fallen?”