Matt’s standing in the middle of the grocery store, staring at the frozen macaroni and cheese dinner options, when he’s run into—quite literally—by a cart.

The cart slams into him, metal wheels squeaking and Matt’s body shooting out of the way from the path that the cart is plowing for itself. He nearly trips, legs crisscrossing and arms flailing as he tries to take control of his limbs.

“God!” One hand clutches at the edge of the frozen food display while the other flies to his side, gripping at his throbbing hip. “Oh, sweet God.”

“I’m so sorry!”

Matt closes his eyes. He’s just trying to pick out a single microwave meal for dinner—already a very sad, unfortunate event that he’s trying not to think too much about—and now the universe has decided that he needs to suffer more.

He knew coming back to Poplar meant he’d run into people he didn’t want to, and he even knew that fate was going to keep punishing him once he saw Deputy Anders that second time at the bar. He just hadn’t realized that the guy would literally plow him over every time he went out into public.

As usual, his safe places have only been his parent’s house and Amelia’s. He’s almost impressed with the cross-decade continuity in his torture.

“Deputy Anders,” Matt forces himself to pry his eyes open. Standing in front of him, hands white-knuckled around the shopping cart’s steering bar, the deputy blinks at him owlishly.

He lets go of the cart as if he was the one offended by the item. “Mr. Collins,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking—”

“I suppose you are the bad driver now,” Matt grumbles, rubbing his hand over his hip. It stings and though the pain is starting to recede, Matt knows he’ll be bruised at the spot of the collision. He used to imagine getting bruises from Sebastian; they were always a bit nicer than this one, though admittedly, in a similar spot.

Matt straightens a little and lets go of his death grip on the freezer. His head swims, but he thinks that has more to do with Deputy Anders than it does the crash; he always felt a little light headed around the stupid, infuriating, very attractive man.

No more crushes on straight guys, Matt thinks to himself. It was a mantra and life decision he’d stuck to since he went to college at eighteen and he wasn’t going to break it now just because he was back in this little, closeted, country town.

He was better than this now. He was better than crushing on someone who was, literally, nothing more than a pain in his side.

“I’m really sorry,” Deputy Anders repeats, looking all the while like he actually is.

“It’s all right,” Matt sighs. The man looks pretty repentant and, out of his brown uniform, he looks a little less intimidating. Deputy Anders looks—well, he kind of looks nice, and not just in a “oh, he’s so hot, nice” way.

He’s in a pair of light blue jeans and a faded t-shirt. There are moth-eaten holes in the neck and the band’s name is so faint that Matt would have to really squint to figure it out. It’s a bit tight on him and if he wasn’t also wearing a jean jacket, Matt thinks he’d probably be able to see the deputy’s biceps, big and on display through the thinness of the t-shirt.

Even in double denim, the man looks infuriatingly good. Matt sighs a second time, unable to stop the rush of air from expelling itself.

The deputy lets go of the cart and steps around it, sticking his hand out. His lips pinch and his eyes are wide, a look of worry so unexpected that Matt almost looks around to see what’s bothering the deputy.

“I’m Sebastian Anders,” he says, hand twitching as it hangs in the air between them.

Slowly, Matt lifts his own hand. “I’m aware.”

“I mean, yeah.” He clears his throat. “We’ve met but not, like, formally.”

“You pulled me over the other day,” Matt points out. When their hands touch, a shock jolts through Matt’s palm, his spine shivering as the electricity flies through his whole body. He can’t help the air that’s punched out of his lungs, a small gasp that hurts as much as it soothes.

Deputy Anders’ hand tightens, and his mouth parts before he shakes his head a few times. “Yeah, but that was deputy business. This,” he drops Matt’s hand and gestures between them, “is friendly town business.”

“We also went to high school together,” Matt mutters, preoccupied by the heat his hand is radiating. He rubs his palm on his jeans, trying to control the pounding inside of his veins.

Surprisingly, the deputy’s face brightens pinkly. Recognition is clear on his face, though Matt had been sure that the deputy hadn’t recognized him. “Yeah, but, okay. Just. Hey.”

Matt’s lips twitch despite himself. “Hello.”

He shifts a little. “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?”

Matt cocks his head, frowning. “But you know who I am. You read my license.”

“It’s the principle of the matter,” he says, throwing his hands up.

“Is it?” Matt doesn’t see the point. His palm still feels prominent. “Fine. Matt Collins.”

“Nice to meet you, Matt,” he says, grinning. It’s a nicer look on him than the smirk he wore at the bar.

Matt shakes his head, hating himself a little for not stomping away. “And, you, Deputy Anders.”

“No, no,” he interrupts. “Not on duty. Just Sebastian.”

It sends a warm thrum of something sweet like honey through his veins, pooling in his gut. He wants to swim in the warmth and also never feel it again. “Okay. Sebastian.” The name tingles his tongue, comfortable and happy to sit in his mouth.

“What are you doing here?” Sebastian asks, tilting his head.

Matt raises an eyebrow. “At the grocery store?”

His eyes dart away, and he runs a hand through his hair, the strawberry blond strands standing up in places that his fingers drag through. Matt takes his embarrassment as an excuse to look at him.

Although his skin itches, Matt lets his gaze settle on Sebastian fully.

Sebastian stands a few inches taller than Matt who, at five foot eleven, thinks that the over six foot man is a bit excessive. His shoulders are broad, and Matt remembers the way his muscles had pressed against his uniform in the bar, the way he’d stretched out his shirt in such an appetizing way that Matt had momentarily let himself be lulled into a conversation with him. His eyes are a deep blue that seem too dark for his light hair and freckled skin. It makes him positively mesmerizing, and Matt remembers with vivid punctuation how he’d felt in high school about this man.

“Yes, at the grocery store,” Sebastian repeats, rolling his eyes at himself. The conversation slams back into place and Matt forces himself to stop ogling him. He averts his eyes as soon as Sebastian seems to overcome his embarrassment and looks back at him.

“Macaroni and cheese,” Matt answers, gesturing towards the freezer.

Sebastian looks between Matt and the freezer section a few times. “What?”

Matt frowns. “Macaroni and cheese,” he repeats, slower.

Sebastian glares. “Yeah, I heard you.”

“Oh, well, you seemed—”

“You’re just going to,” he lifts a hand before letting it drop, “eat frozen mac and cheese for supper?”

Matt raises an eyebrow. “I’m staying at the Sunnyside Motel for the time being. There’s not exactly a gourmet kitchen to work with.”

“That’s sad,” Sebastian says. His eyes widen.

“Well,” Matt can’t really deny that, “yes.”

Sebastian opens his mouth, closes it, and then crosses his arms. “Come to my place.”

“What?” Matt is hearing stuff. He’s had too many collisions with the giant sheriff’s deputy and the physical trauma is affecting him now.

“Come to my place,” Sebastian repeats, this time more firmly. He squares his shoulders and nods. “That’s too sad. I can’t let you eat frozen macaroni in a motel room.”

“I’m fine,” Matt says, shaking his head. He lifts his hands in a placating gesture. “I appreciate it, really, but I’m happy to have my macaroni.”

“You are not,” Sebastian dismisses. “It’s sad. Come to my place. I’m finally going to perfect my chili cheeseburger recipe.”

The hard look leaves and he smiles, arms falling to his side.

Matt tries not to be swayed by the openness. “Perfect your recipe?”

Sebastian nods, taking a half step closer to him. “Yes. I’ve been working on it for a while, but I think I’ve finally figured out what will take it to the next level.”

“And what is that?”

“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” Sebastian winks and Matt resigns himself to agreeing.

Matt looks up towards the sky. The ceiling gets in the way but the oppressively fluorescent supermarket lights seem more fitting than an open sky with clouds anyway.

“Come on,” Sebastian says. “You have to say yes. Give us a chance to,” he falters, “I don’t know, catch up.”

Matt wants to say no. Sebastian has done nothing to make it seem like it’s even a little bit of a good idea to go. He was a borderline menace in high school, and ever since getting back, all he’s really done is scold or physically crash into Matt. He’s in every way the kind of guy Matt should avoid; he was the prototype that helped Matt figure out what kind of guys to avoid.

Then Matt lets his gaze fall from the ceiling and he catches Sebastian’s eyes, wide and hopeful, with a pink blush spread on his cheeks below, and Matt feels all the resolve he has inside of him wash away.

“All right,” he agrees. His skin feels hot and his spine shivers once, then twice, at the brightening of Sebastian’s smile. “I’ll go with you.”

Sebastian looks like he won something besides an unwelcome guest for the evening; his hands twitch at his side and his lips can’t seem to settle into anything but a widespread grin.

“Follow me, then,” he says, going around to the front of his shopping cart. “Probably safer for you if you’re not in the front.”

Matt laughs, the sound surprising both of them.

He’s not sure why he’s saying yes or how it’s going to go; maybe it’ll be fine, or maybe it’ll be so awkward he’ll be cringing for a month, or maybe Sebastian will say something terrible, the way he always used to, and Matt will be left feeling two feet tall and dumb as hell, like he always did at sixteen.

There’s really only one thing that’s for sure: Sebastian looks at him, shooting him a quick, nervous grin from behind his shoulder, on the way to the checkout, and Matt knows for sure he is definitely, undeniably screwed.

Since Matt had left his rental car parked at the motel, they both pile into Sebastian’s truck with a bag of groceries each. Matt tries not to think too much about what he’s doing or the fact that he’s going to a secondary location with no way of leaving with a guy who was just this shy of violent in high school.

Which, all right, Matt knows that is a bit of an overstatement...or a lot of one. Sebastian had said some hurtful things and laughed along with a lot of even crueler stuff, and once he’d knocked him into a locker with his shoulder, but he’d never been violent or anything. He’d barely been hateful; Matt had just felt that particular mistreatment a bit more strongly because of his stupid, tiny crush. And he knows he’s just panicking because he’s a dumbass who might maybe still have that stupid, tiny crush. He’s not in any actual danger.

But his heart still pounds beneath his shirt, and he feels sweat start to bead at his forehead and the nape of his neck.

Matt should’ve just eaten at Mom and Dad’s.

They pull into a little driveway less than five minutes after climbing into the truck and Matt relaxes a little; at least he doesn’t live out in the middle of nowhere. Being confined inside of the town limits makes him feel a little better. He can easily walk back to to the motel later and his shoulders fall, some of the tension easing out of his muscles.

The house is thin and long, a little duplex. The side that Sebastian pulls the truck into has no decorations, except for a welcome mat that, the closer Matt gets, looks to have a guitar etched onto it. The other side has lawn ornaments and flower beds, and Matt raises an eyebrow to it as they approach Sebastian’s side. Sebastian shifts his keys to unlock the front door.

“You know Martha?” Sebastian asks when he catches the look that Matt’s giving his neighbor.

Matt can only think of one who would have that many flowers. “The receptionist for the motel?”

“The one and only. She lives there,” he juts his head towards the little garden gnomes.

Sebastian gets the door unlocked and gestures for Matt to enter before him.

Matt takes a deep breath and hopes that Sebastian hadn’t heard it before stepping off the stoop and into the apartment.

He hadn’t really given any thought to what the apartment would actually look like or how Sebastian’s home would be decorated. But if he had, Matt wouldn’t have thought it’d be like this.

The living room bleeds into the kitchen, one long line with a hallway jutting off halfway through. The walls are plain beige and the carpet is white, but there’s color everywhere else. The refrigerator is coated with what looks to be paintings and photographs and even a report card or two; the walls have pictures hung up and the couch has a blanket and throw pillows. A bookshelf is pressed near the hallway, overflowing. His coffee table is covered with magazines and take out containers, a few soda cans littering the kitchen table.

Matt rakes his eyes across each detail, slowly. He eyes the pictures on the wall, almost all of some variation of Sebastian, an older woman that has to be his mom, and a younger girl with his same red hair. He considers the DVDs and books and frowns at a questionable heart shaped pillow.

The apartment is lived in. It’s a home in a way that Matt’s apartment back in Wichita just isn’t.

Sebastian sets his bag of groceries down before sweeping the soda cans into the recycling bin and going back to toss out the takeout containers. He toes off his shoes by the door, and Matt quickly sets down his own plastic bag on the table before taking his shoes off, too, and setting them next to Sebastian’s.

“It’s nice,” Matt says honestly. It’s not decorated expertly but it’s nice. It’s friendly. It makes Matt’s chest feel warm, and he likes the way it softens the edges of Sebastian.

“Thanks,” Sebastian rubs at the back of his neck, looking down at his socked feet. They’re purple and Matt is distracted by that so much, he almost misses what Sebastian says next. “My sister mostly decorated. She runs the place.”

Matt’s eyebrows shoot up. He hadn’t realized Sebastian had a sister. “Oh. Does she live here with you?” It would explain the report cards and the homey feel that Matt can’t unsee.

Sebastian looks back up and seems to relax a little from the question. “Nope,” he pops the p, going back to the table and starting to unload the groceries from the plastic bags. “She lives with my mom. But when I moved here, she decided this was her clubhouse, and now I’m barely allowed to make any decisions about, well, anything. Definitely not the decorations.”

Matt lets that roll across his mind, trying to picture Sebastian begrudgingly giving up all the decisions about his house to a little sister; or, at least, he assumes she’s younger than him. Something about the quiet affection in his voice makes Matt assume that Sebastian is the caretaker in the scenario. He pulls out a head of lettuce and a bag of hamburger buns. “Anything in here your decision?”

“She hates that, but I’m the one paying the bills, so.” He nods towards the fridge and shrugs.

The ingredients laid out in front of them, Sebastian goes to the cabinet and starts pulling out spices. He turns on a burner, the little tick sounding off seconds before the faint smell of gas fills the kitchen.

“How old is she?” Matt would’ve remembered another Anders if she was near their age.

Sebastian smiles, the soft look replicating itself inside of Matt’s chest. “Sixteen,” he says. “A sophomore now. She’s great.”

Matt considers. This side of Sebastian doesn’t fit the person he’d built in his head; this guy who lives in an apartment with a whole bookshelf full of Disney DVDs and wants to have a perfect chili cheeseburger and loves his sister with a tenderness that Matt doesn’t even have for his brothers. This guy who wears bright socks and keeps freaking crashing into him and was his first crush and who invites him over for dinner just because it’s the nice thing to do. Matt isn’t sure who this guy is. His head swims, and he clears his throat.

“Can I help?”

Sebastian’s smile turns to something less intrusive and he shakes his head. “No thanks, buddy. No offense, but if you’re the one to perfect the recipe, then I can’t win.”

“What’re you trying to win?” he asks.

Sebastian shrugs, toying with a small bottle of salt. “I don’t know. Permanent access to a great burger.”

“I won’t argue with that, then,” Matt says.

“Can’t have you tampering with the results.”

Matt concedes. “I accept that I’ll just be in the way of an honest victory. What should I do while you work?”

Sebastian gestures towards the living room. “Don’t care. Make yourself at home.”

“All right,” Matt hesitates before swallowing around a lump in his throat. He pulls out a chair and sits in it, a bit more firmly than strictly necessary. Sebastian looks up, quirking an eyebrow. Matt fidgets under the scrutiny but studiously ignores the heat rushing up his neck. “Well, I’m not going to sit alone in a stranger’s living room. Besides, if you do happen to perfect your recipe tonight, I deserve to know how you did so.”

“Is that so?” Sebastian hums after the words, hands flying as he starts grabbing a cutting board and knives and bowls. He spreads his utensils across the table. “You would be the inspiration, I guess.”

Both of them blush at that. Sebastian clears his throat and starts chopping while Matt stares at his hands, trying to control the muscles of his throat.

“What have you been up to, then?” Sebastian asks, interrupting the silence that only just borders on awkward. “Since, um, high school, I guess.”

Matt rubs his lips together, trying to think of the most concise way to answer the questions that Sebastian will likely throw at him. People always do that; follow up questions on his career and degrees, while simultaneously demanding he answer and being bored out of their minds the whole time. He knows that for the most part, it’s nothing against him, but it still sends a small thrum of anxiety through his stomach.

“Well,” he clears his throat, stalling. His throat is scratchy and he pushes his hands together, intertwining his fingers. “I’ve been in Wichita. I moved there for my undergrad right after high school. I’m a PhD candidate, currently, and I teach the undergraduate students.”

Sebastian’s hands don’t falter as they work, and he hums before his follow up question. “What’s your degree in?”

“I have a BSC in Aerospace Engineering, and my MSC is in the speciality of Aeronautical Engineering.”

Sebastian glances up, blinking. “I only understood a few of those words.”

Matt’s smile cracks across his face. “Airplanes and spacecraft.”

“Ah,” Sebastian grins, nodding. He looks back down at the patties he’s forming. “And what’s the PhD in?”

Matt explains the basics of his dissertation and what he’s studying, trying to keep the topic as brief as he can. Sebastian keeps humming and nodding, asking follow up questions that would never have occurred to his brothers or parents.

Sebastian goes over to the stove and starts stirring in random things into the chili that’s stewing there. He’s adding spices and spoonfuls of things from jars that seemingly have no place going inside a chili, but Matt isn’t going to question the guy. If he wants to add mayonnaise and honey to his dinner, he’s allowed.

Matt can only just see his face from this angle, just the sharp side of it. He’s a little less nervous now that he’s not looking at him head-on. Matt thinks it’s easy enough to pretend like Sebastian isn’t Sebastian when he’s just looking at the long lines of his shoulders and the stretch of his muscles as he stirs.

“So,” Sebastian looks back at him, frowning, “essentially, you have to get all of that data and do the theory stuff, plus the actual building and experimenting—all before, what? May?”

“The end of,” he says. “But I’ve been working on it for awhile now. I went straight from my Masters to my Doctorate.”

The nerves inside of his stomach are still there but they’re not the anxious ones, born from fear of being boring. Sebastian’s questions are pointed and frequent and the interest that layers on top of his voice, even if contrived or fake, is comforting. Matt feels a bit raw, a bit seen, and it pulls at his thoughts and skin in an entirely new way.

Sebastian turns around, leaning against the cabinet next to the stove and crossing his arms. He whistles, long and low. “Wow, man. Just—that’s a lot. Impressive.”

Matt’s cheeks burn, and he brushes off the compliment. “It’s not, it’s just a commitment. Not unlike your commitment to your job.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Sebastian pushes off of the cabinet and comes back to the table, rifling through the ingredients still scattered there.

“I would,” Matt says. Sebastian’s close now, close enough that Matt can see the scattering of freckles and the way the sharp lines of his cheekbones are highlighted by the light, barely-there hints of a five o’clock shadow. Matt’s face still feels hot like the blush is lingering and he’s not really sure what he’s even saying anymore. He climbs out of the chair and crosses the kitchen, going to peer into the chili pot.

It’s only bubbling a little, a light simmer rather than a roaring boil. It smells incredible, and Matt doesn’t know enough about cooking to know if the ingredients he’s seen haphazardly thrown in will taste good together, but the smell alone makes him willing to try.

Matt takes a second to close his eyes and clear his head. He feels like he’s got bees under his skin, buzzing and flying around just underneath. He can’t wrap his head around the idea that Sebastian Anders is here, making him dinner and having small talk. He’s just being a—nice guy, a genuinely nice guy, and it pushes up against the idea that Matt has of him, of who he used to be, so much that it makes his head swim.

He opens his eyes, swallowing down the sigh that’s crawling up his throat, and turns around.

He inhales a rush of breath too much like a gasp and his hand flies to his chest, covering his pounding heart.

Sebastian stands a few inches away, right in front of Matt’s face. He must’ve been intending to come up behind him while Matt was still facing the chili, and stand next to him in the small space between the fridge and the stove. Matt had spun around though, and now they stood face to face, eyes wide.

Sebastian blinks, lowering the dripping chili spoon that is clutched tightly in his hand.

“Sorry,” Sebastian says. His voice is quiet and airy, as if it’s coming out on top of a breath, a sigh. Matt can’t reconcile the man with the breathy voice and the man in his memories and, for a second, he doesn’t try to.

This close, Matt has to look up a little to see him. Their chests aren’t touching but the back of Matt’s knuckles graze the front of Sebastian’s chest when he lowers his hand. His skin tingles and he watches, unblinking, as Sebastian’s breath hitches and his throat works, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

Matt’s vision narrows to the single motion and when it’s done, his mind replays it again and again, until from his peripheral, he sees the way that Sebastian sways toward him, just a little.

It’s like the bees are all awake now, all inside of him and all encompassing. He buzzes and buzzes and buzzes until he’s swaying, too until they meet in the brief middle.

The press of Sebastian’s lips against his are a surprise, even as Matt longs for it.

The buzzing stops and instead, something bright and soft explodes.

It’s only the briefest of moments, just lips pressed light against one another, Matt’s eyes fluttering closed and everything inside of him goes still. The moment holds itself the way he would hold his breath, yearning for more air and time to exist in the small space. Before long though, the moment slips out between his lips just like a sigh, gentle and warm and leaving his lungs wider.

Sebastian recoils, snapping his neck back. His hands fall from their spot on his neck—when had his risen? Matt doesn’t remember him raising them, touching him—and the chili spoon falls with a clank to the floor.

“I—got chili on you.” Sebastian takes a step back, pointing.

Matt looks down; there’s red-brown sauce on his shirt, dripping slowly down the buttons. He looks back up. Sebastian’s several feet away now.

“It’s okay,” Matt says. He’s frowning—he knows he’s frowning—but he can’t stop. Did he kiss Sebastian? Did Sebastian kiss him?

No more crushes on straight guys, he groans to himself.

The farther away Sebastian stumbles from him and the more time that elapses between the kiss and where Matt stands frozen, the farther away the memory of Sebastian’s kiss becomes. He’s pretty sure he didn’t kiss him—he wouldn’t do that. Sebastian is a jerk—or was a jerk—and he ran into him a lot and he’s straight and he’s the sheriff and Matt’s pretty sure he won’t get arrested for assaulting an officer but if he does, his brothers are never going to let him forget it.

His head swims, but instead of the pleasant lapping of water that Sebastian’s closeness brought him, now it’s all rough waves slapping against his skull. He’s a half second away from asking for aspirin when Sebastian bumps up against the table.

“I have to go!” Sebastian blurts out.

Matt raises his eyebrows. “This is your house.”

Sebastian lifts his hands to his chest, palms out, as if Matt’s holding a weapon. “You can keep it.”

Matt bristles.

He knew it was a bad idea to come here, to talk to Sebastian. He hadn’t meant to let his old, stupid, stupid crush from high school back in—he hadn’t even realized he had until their lips were pressing together.

Matt is also pretty sure he’s not the only one who swayed. He’s not the only one who kissed, and he’s also not sixteen anymore; he’s not going to feel bad because Sebastian wants him to. Not anymore.

Matt rolls his eyes and pushes away from the cabinet he hadn’t realized he was leaning into. He crosses the room, grabbing his coat, studiously trying to ignore the way that Sebastian flinches when he passes him.

“Don’t bother,” Matt says over his shoulder as he storms towards the door. He has to slow down to get his shoes back on, grumbling under his breath as the tongue of the shoe catches. Eventually, his feet are shoved in and he’s throwing the door open. “Have a good night, Deputy Anders.”

The door slams a bit louder than Matt intended, its sound echoing through his head as he walks back to the center of town.

The cold air sticks to him and he feels bees flying around the sand castle in his gut. Matt should’ve known better. With a bruised ego and lips that feel twice as tender, he tries to shake the feeling of being a kid again off of his shoulders. Matt really thought that he had known better.