Don’t bother coming in today. TTYL.

It was by far the bluntest text Falcon had gotten from Blane at work, but to be fair, it was also sent around 9:30—not during his lunch hour, when they often chatted about how their days were going.

Nothing about the situation put Falcon at ease. He tried sending a text back.

What’s going on? Call me at lunch?

But lunchtime came and went—even the late lunch Blane usually took after food prep—and he had no word from Blane.

Falcon tried to distract himself with work, but it was no use. Backgrounds were about the most intensive thing he could bring himself to paint today, and even that took focus.

He tried another text after lunch: Want to meet after work?

Still no answer. Falcon’s mind went to the worst: he’d been fired. He was sick. Something horrible had happened at the zoo. He searched news headlines, but found nothing.

Until he clicked back in the search results and something caught his eye—the review page for the zoo, with a way lower average than he’d expected.

Curious about what on earth anyone could find wrong with the place, he clicked. Sure, it was a bit shabby, but they put their money into animal welfare, not new signs and gourmet restaurants.

“What the hell?”

The last five reviews were all one or two stars—no, more than that. He quickly scanned them, eyes narrowing. All left within the last week or so, and all mentioning different combinations of things: zoo upkeep, animal welfare, you name it.

Falcon narrowed his eyes. This would explain why upper management was getting touchy. Did Blane know yet? He couldn’t very well tell him by text message.

I’m coming to pick you up from work. Be there at 5, he texted Blane.

He reached the parking lot a few minutes early to find a spot, then waited by Blane’s car again.

Falcon still had no answer as five o’clock came and went, but the unmistakable rolling gait of the man approaching caught his attention.

He could practically see the storm clouds around Blane’s head, and it took him a dizzying moment to resist the urge to run.

It’s Blane. I’m okay. He’s not angry at me, he reminded himself, chewing his nail.

Blane looked startled and stopped for a second, then raised a hand to wave and walked faster toward the car. “Hon? What are you doing here?”

“I texted you.”

Blane frowned. “Sorry. My phone died. I was pretty intensively… Googling stuff over lunch.”

“Pizza,” Falcon said firmly. “You and me. We have to talk about this.”

Blane swallowed but nodded. “Yeah, we do.”

He dropped his stuff off in the car, and then Falcon led him toward his own ride.

Pizza would help. It had to help.

* * *

Once their order was delivered to the car, Falcon rolled up his window, opened the pizza box, and turned to Blane. “I Googled the zoo.”

Blane let out a slow sigh and shook his head. “Shit. Okay. You found the reviews?”

“Yeah. Did you know about them?” Falcon tore the lid off the pizza box and handed it over.

“Not until today.” Blane took a couple slices, then shifted in his seat to face him better, drawing a leg up under himself. “And there’s more. Did you look at the reviews?”

“Yeah, some of them. A lot of bullshit.”

“There’s a review complaining about me. It’s not like all the reviews do. Just one, so it looks innocuous.”

It hit Falcon like a ton of bricks. He sat up fast, almost dumping the pizza box off his lap and onto the floor. “Shit,” he hissed, catching it, but his thumb went into the melted cheese and steaming hot crust. “Fuck!”

Blane leaned over to grab his hand and pull it into his lap, then calmly took the lid off his cup of water and guided Falcon’s thumb into it.

“Oof,” Falcon grunted as cold water hit tingling skin, but the relief was almost immediate. “Goddamn, their pizzas are hot.”

“Yeah, but it shouldn’t be serious,” Blane told him. “Just keep it in there for a minute.” His hand was still on Falcon’s.

Falcon offered a little smile. “How the fuck can anyone say you’re less than professional when… that happened?”

Blane’s expression darkened instead of cleared. “Because it’s Spencer.”

“Yeah. I just figured that out,” Falcon admitted. “Do you know for sure?”

“I can’t tell for sure, no. But I sure as hell plan to find out,” Blane told him, finally letting go of his hand. “How’s that?”

Falcon drew his thumb out and flexed it, then nodded. Just a little sting. “I’ll be fine. Thanks, hon.”

“Anytime,” Blane said, finally relaxing out of the cool, collected medical professional mode. He blew on a pizza slice and started eating while Falcon did the same.

After a few minutes, Falcon shook his head. “But you knew something was going on before? Did you suspect it was him?”

“Yeah. I kind of had an inkling. The timing…”

“Tell me,” Falcon urged him, setting down his pizza slice. “We can’t do this if we keep secrets.”

Blane hesitated and worked his way through a pizza slice, and Falcon gave him a minute to compose his thoughts. Finally, Blane said, “I thought hearing about him might upset you.”

“No,” Falcon shook his head firmly. “Besides, why not get me involved? I’m the only person who can talk sense into him.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Blane reached out for Falcon’s hand again, but this time, he squeezed. “That’s what he wants.”

Now that he put it that way, Falcon could see his point. “Oh. Shit, yeah. I thought it was just, like, a revenge thing.”

Blane shook his head. “I wouldn’t trust the creepy git for a second.”

“Me neither. So what do we do?”

“Well, for starters, I keep my head down at work and do everything perfectly, because they’re gonna be watching me the closest,” Blane muttered. “Asshole.”

“What did they say?”

“That I act unprofessional with the animals. Too familiar with them. I don’t know. Dianne said, but I was… well, trying not to lose my cool.”

Falcon sat up straight. “Okay, this is going to sound creepy, but bear with me.”

Blane raised a brow.

Falcon fought the blush and cleared his throat, taking a deep drink before he spoke again. “So, uh, I had to take a bunch of photo references with animals. And a lot of them have you in them.”

After a second of staring at him, Blane started to crack a smile. “You were stalking me.”

“Was not.”

“Totally were,” Blane laughed. “Taking photos of me at work?”

“I… wanted you in the background of some of my paintings,” Falcon muttered, avoiding Blane’s gaze.

But Blane took his hand again. “God knows I’m not complaining. If you’re saying what I think you’re saying, you might just be about to save my neck.”

“Yeah?” Falcon looked up at Blane. “Think it would work?”

“I think we have to tell them everything.”

Falcon winced, but he nodded. “I’ll come in with you tomorrow, if that’ll help. Or tonight. Whatever you need.”

Blane squeezed his hand for a long moment before letting go. “And that’s why I love you.”

“Love you too,” Falcon murmured with a smile.

“Love to take photos of me at work and study them when I’m not around, more like…”

“Oh, God.” Falcon rolled his head back against the seat. “I’m never gonna hear the end of this.”

“Nope,” Blane cheerily told him. Already, his mood was so much brighter than when he’d walked up to him in the parking lot, and it made Falcon smile regardless of the teasing.

“How much do I bribe you for your silence to your friends? And mine? Oscar would lose it,” Falcon groaned.

“I don’t know if there’s any amount that will work,” Blane told him. “I think I can get years of mileage out of this.”

Years? When Falcon looked over at Blane, the expression on his face—love, gratitude, hope—made his heart melt.

“Years,” he repeated in a murmur. “Now eat up.”