Wesley hated his goddamn motherfucking stupid tie.

It was light blue with little white stripes and it was the worst fucking thing he’d ever worn. He tugged on the knot, loosening it for the fifteenth time in as many minutes.

He hated this tie and he hated the suit he was wearing because it was the nicest one he had and it was still a size too big and off gray. It was ugly and his tie looked bad and his hair was a frigging rat’s nest and—

Wes hadn’t been on a date in a long time.

It was safe to say he was a little nervous.

The idea of even going on a date made him want to throw up or pass out or do something so entirely unappealing that his date would inevitably leave and the situation, ugly as it was, would be over.

He had been at the restaurant for at least thirty minutes and judging by the amount of odd looks he was getting from the wait staff, he looked as bad as he felt.

Wes wanted this date. He did, he really did. He wanted to be the kind of guy who didn’t pine and wish for things he knew he couldn’t have. He wanted to be the kind of guy who was charming and handsome and took charming, handsome guys out to Italian restaurants that had decent reviews on Yelp. He wanted that kind of life.

So here he was, at the only Italian restaurant in all of Poplar, sweating like a goddamn pig, and waiting for his blind date to start.

He was going to try really hard and he was going to have a nice date, dammit.

If the guy ever got there, that is.

“Wesley Adams?” Wes’s head shot up and he nearly blacked out from the intensity of the movement. The guy standing at his table smiled widely when Wes nodded a bit haphazardly.

“Killer,” the guy said. “I’m Nick Jones.”

Nick Jones. His date.

Shit. His date was here.

Wes jumped up, wincing when his knees knocked the table a little. He blushed and held his hand out, praying it wasn’t too sweaty.

“I’m Wes.”

Nick smiled. It was nice. “Nick.”

Wes gestured towards the seat in front of him and they both sat, still shooting each other awkward smiles.

“This place seems nice,” Nick said, unfolding his napkin across his lap.

Wes scratched at the back of his neck, nodding. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard good things.”

“Oh?”

From Yelp. “Yeah from— you know. A friend.”

Nick nodded. “Right, right.”

“I haven’t been here before though. Like, before tonight.”

“Oh, yeah, me either.”

Wes scrambled for something to say. Anything, really. God, when was the last time he spoke to someone he didn’t already know? When was the last time he was charming?

Wes was anything but charming. God damn.

“So—“

“I heard—“

“How are you two doing tonight?”

Their waiter popped up in the space between them, breaking through the uncomfortable silence they had both been trying to fill. Both men turned gratefully towards the new addition to their table.

“Good!” Wes’s voice was a bit too loud but he pretended it wasn’t. “We’re doing good!”

“Good!” the waiter parroted back, smiling. He looked much more at ease than Wes felt. Nick looked fine, too. Was Wes still sweating? He hated his tie.

“What can I start you off with tonight?”

Nick looked at Wes, raising an eyebrow. Wes felt unable to do anything but shrug. He kind of forgot to look at a menu or even think about food.

“I— Well, I was thinking about a glass of red. Whatever you recommend,” Nick said to the waiter.

Wes nodded emphatically. “Yes, sure, same.”

“Perfect,” the waiter grabbed their drink menus and smiled at them. “I’ll be back soon.”

He left and Wes tried not to mourn his departure. It was easier with something else to focus on rather than just how much he was bungling this up.

“I have to admit something,” Nick said, cocking his head. Wes’s heart hammered a little; he was surprised at the idea of it.

“Yeah?” Wes leaned closer, folding his hands on the table.

Nick grinned. “I don’t know a single thing about wine. I don’t even know if I prefer red to white.”

Wes’s laughter bubbled out of him, taking him off guard. He threw his head back, laughing much too loudly for as nice of a place as this was.

“Oh my god,” he said, between fits of the laughter spilling out from his mouth. He was surprised by it, by the genuine harshness of it. “Honestly, me too. Thank god. I would not have been able to hold up a conversation about its undertones or fuck-ever.”

Nick laughed, too. It was a deep, throaty kind of laugh that reminded Wes of autumn nights and hot chocolates. It was surprisingly endearing. “No way. I would’ve sooner died.”

Wes nodded, solemnly. “Amen, man.”

The waiter came back and dropped off their drinks. When he asked for their food order, both men looked at each other, shrugged, and ordered the special.

“You aren’t very finicky,” Nick said, contemplatively. Wes raised an eyebrow and leaned back, grinning. Nick rolled his eyes and continued. “I mean that as a compliment.”

“I just figure that either your taste in food is good or it’s shit and I need to know that right away,” Wes replied.

Nick laughed again. “Fair enough.”

Wes couldn’t help the smile that grew when he saw the way that Nick’s face sort of lit up when he smiled.

He was a pretty handsome guy.

Sure, he was no—

Well, no. Wes wasn’t going to compare him. It wasn’t fair to compare a guy he’d just met to who Wes had previously assumed was the love of his life. That was unfair.

Nick was a cute guy. He had really red, really curly hair that seemed more like a mop of strands than it did a hairstyle and blue eyes that were completely surrounded by laugh lines. His smile seemed natural on his face; all the little lines and dips in his face seemed to be etched into his skin specifically to highlight his smile. His jaw was square and strong and he had just a smattering of a five o’clock shadow that made him look a little more rugged than Wes had expected.

He also was wearing a perfectly fitting tie. Of course.

He was handsome and he seemed like a nice guy, too.

Wes hadn’t expected his first blind date to treat him so well. He was really prepared to not be attracted to the guy at all.

And, more, the longer that Nick spoke, the more he said and revealed about himself, the more attractive he became. He wasn’t just a cute guy— he seemed like he was a good guy. Wes could really do with a guy that was good.

By the time their food had arrived, Wes had forgotten all about the nerves that had plagued him before the date began. He barely wanted them to stop talking long enough to try the, admittedly delicious looking, food which sat before them.

Nick thanked the waiter genuinely; Wes added it to the growing list of things he liked about Nick.

Wes made a mental note to thank Ashley profusely when he got to work the next day. The woman was kind of a godsend.

“I’m not saying that my mom is going to want to meet you right now or anything,” Nick continued on with his story, pushing the pasta around his plate with his fork, “Only that if she knew you existed, she would one hundred percent expect me to dish with her as soon as this date was over.”

Wes whistled, trying to smother the growing grin on his face. “Should we just go ahead and stop by when we’re done with dessert? Or, hey, we could just bring her some, too.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying, if she’s going to give you the third degree, she should at least see how cute I am first.”

“I regret even telling you I had a mother.”

“Your mom is going to love me. Absolutely adore me.”

Nick took a bite of his food, shaking his head. He looked a bit like he was hiding a grin as well.

The food was actually pretty good. Not the best he’d ever had, but the Yelp reviews seemed at least honest, if not a little generous. Wes wasn’t sure he’d be able to tell if it was bad, though. He felt a little high from the idea of enjoying a night out.

“What about your family? Are you guys close?”

Wes took a huge bite. He chewed slowly, debating how to answer the question.

Honest answer: Hell fucking no with a side of childhood trauma and a backstory that rivaled a PBS special.

Appropriate answer: Not particularly anymore.

Desired answer: Yes, we have that in common. I, too, love my family.

Wes hated this part of getting to know people.

He swallowed his bite and sighed.

“Not really,” he said, twirling more pasta onto his fork. He lifted it to take another bite. “I mean, when I was a kid, I guess.”

Whether it was because the answer was satisfactory or he could tell he shouldn’t probe any further, Nick just nodded.

“Yeah, I think I’m a bit unusually close to mine. Family is just, like, the most important thing to me.”

Wes’s heart swelled so much he thought he would choke on his pasta.

Family. The one thing that Wes wanted so goddamn badly, the thing that Wes knew was the most important to him, was the most important to this guy. This random guy he’d almost never met.

“I want a big family,” Wes found himself admitting. “I know that’s harder, you know, because—well, you know, but still.”

Nick nodded. “Me, too. Can’t imagine not.”

Wes sat his fork down, taking a swig of his wine. It was good. Or maybe not. He really didn’t know anything about wine.

“My best friend, Tom—do you know Tom Carlisle? He’s such a great guy. Anyway, Tom has this kid called John and he’s so freaking cute.”

Nick curled his hand around his chin. “Yeah?”

“I really love him. I like to think I’m the best babysitter.”

Nick laughed again. It was one of the nicer parts about him, for sure, Wes decided. “I’m sure you are.”

Wes’s chest puffed out a little in mock pride. “For damn sure.”

They stared at each other for a bit too long, both taking slow sips of their wine.

Wes asked about Nick’s work, listening intently. It seemed like everything Nick said or did was endearing. He was the perfect guy to fall for.

Wes hummed around a mouthful of his supper; when his plate was nearly empty, he started talking about his job at the bank so that Nick could take his chance to eat uninterrupted. It was a smooth flow that hadn’t been intentional but made the evening that much more nice for it. Wes was surprised at how effortless it felt to be near Nick.

Even if he didn’t fall for him, Wes hoped they’d be friends. He seemed like a nice guy.

Not to say that Wes didn’t like him—only, it was hard, after all those years of loving or liking or whatever he did with Sam, it was hard to go from that to a crush on a perfect, attainable, attentive guy.

He didn’t feel the way he did when he was around Sam; or even when he thought about Sam. That was something—that was something whole. Something that was out of his control. Now, here, Wes felt like he was in charge of how he felt. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not, wasn’t sure what was better. But it was different and he almost didn’t want it.

But more than anything else, Wes wanted to be the kind of guy who liked someone and was liked back. He wanted to want to be around Nick and he wanted to be the kind of person a guy like Nick would want to be around. If he was going to try with anyone, maybe Nick would be the ideal person for that.

“Lost?” Nick sat his fork down, resting his chin on his hand. He smiled a little softly and Wes was taken back by how kind the man looked.

He was attractive, too. Wes hadn’t lost his ability to see handsome in his quasi-depression. No, Nick’s bright looks were all the more attractive when he was leaning in close, a concentrated look of concern playing on his expression.

Wes swallowed around a surge of affection and nerves. He nodded.

“A little. I do that sometimes.”

“It’s okay,” Nick said, leaning back in his chair. He drank the last of his wine. “So long as you come back, I guess.”

Wes didn’t know how to reply. The waiter popped up before it became an issue.

“Dessert, gentlemen?”

Nick made a surprised face and turned to Wes, shrugging. “Up to you!”

Wes contemplated.

On one hand, he wouldn’t mind the date going on a bit longer. He liked learning about Nick and he liked feeling like he was normal and on land. Talking to this guy, who had no idea that he was hung up on a guy who didn’t even have the decency to tell his family he was alive, felt incredible. Wes felt incredible.

On the other hand, dessert meant more wine which meant more of a chance that this date wouldn’t end with just a pleasant hug and a promise to call. Which, sure, Wes could see the appeal—it had been so goddamn long since he’d touched anyone, kissed anyone. And Nick would be one hell of a kisser, Wes was positive of that. It would be a hell of a kiss, at least. But it would also mean that this date wasn’t a one off, that Nick and Wes had some sort of feelings and that could mean Wes getting really attached or falling in love and being left, deserted, ignored; it could end with Wes, a few weeks from now, in a worse off position.

He also couldn’t help the nagging thought in the back of his mind: he’s not him. He’s not him. Was it even fair to have dessert, to have a date, when he couldn’t stop for a second comparing and thinking.

He couldn’t decide. How did anyone decide?

“I’ll bring the menu and let you look it over and decide,” the waiter said, looking from between them. Nick nodded his thanks.

Wesley felt like he was probably sweating.

“Wes, you alright? I’m sure a few calories won’t kill you.”

The joke fell flat. Wes was too distracted to pick it up.

“Here you guys are. I’ll be by to check on you in a few.”

Wes downed the last of his wine. It was fine. It was fine.

“Okay, I’m just going to look at these options while you deal with whatever sort of existential crisis you’re going through,” Nick waved his hand absently, already focused on the menu. “Oh my god, they have mocha tiramisu.”

Wes wanted to go home and never talk to Nick again. He also wanted to make out with him for at least an hour.

Wes shook his head. What the hell was wrong with him? He didn't need to plan a whole future right now.

Maybe that was his problem after all. Maybe he needed to stop seeing someone and immediately planning a whole life, seeing all their traits and flaws as adorable things that make them special. Wes needed to be able to compartmentalize and take things slowly and learn that people weren’t all good or all bad; they weren’t all in all the time.

Wes needed to separate his hope for the future from his feelings for people.

He had doomed his relationship with Sam the first time he met him.

He’d seen a tall, pretty boy across the street and wanted to kiss him. He’d seen a man who wanted to be good to his family and protect the ones he loved, and Wes had wanted to marry him. He idealized Sam to the point that, even though Sam did hurt him and ignore him, there was hardly a way for Sam not to. Wes probably would have been upset no matter what Sam did, because a real person couldn’t live up to the expectations he’d created in his head.

Wes was doing that to Nick, too. He was giving the man two options: marry him or break his heart. It didn’t have to be both. It didn’t need to be either.

Wes could just enjoy spending time with Nick in the now and not think about a future with a house and a picket fence and a 401K. He could just think about how handsome he looked across the table and how, if they split the tiramisu, they’d both taste like chocolate when they kissed.

Wes had to learn how to live now and take things for the way they were. He couldn't keep jumping into the future before people were ready.

“Let’s get the tiramisu,” Wes said.

Nick jumped. “Jesus! You were quiet for so long.” He put a hand over his chest, shaking his head. “Fucking scary.”

Wes threw his head back, laughing. Nick didn’t say anything about how long he’d been silent or the way he was almost definitely super sweating. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, me too. Because there’s no way in hell I’m splitting my dessert.” He tossed the dessert menu over the table and Wes caught it, surprised. “You’re going to have to order your own, man.”

* * *

There was a certain kind of satisfaction that came from a good date. Wesley thought that it couldn’t be replicated or experienced in any other sort of situation.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt it before.

He’d had good dates in the past, sure. But none of the others had come hand in hand with a romantic-induced emotional revelation about how he needed to change the way he lived his goddamn life. That was some epiphany shit and it made his date a whole lot better.

The door closed behind him with a slam. He was a little tipsy and his lips were a little kiss bruised and chapped from being in the cold for so long, but god, he felt good.

Wes wanted to feel this good all the time. He liked the idea that he was becoming the kind of person that felt good.

He felt like he hadn’t been in water in years.

Nick had pressed him into his door and gave him long, sweet kisses until they both had pulled off to yawn. They’d hugged and both said they’d call at the same time and then they’d laughed and then they’d kissed again.

Wes thought Nick might be the nicest person he had ever met.

He was going to have to buy Ash a goddamn fruit basket.

The house was empty and cold and the way he’d left it that afternoon, so there were clothes strewn everywhere and empty coffee mugs on nearly every available surface.

Wes didn’t mind it much tonight, though. He stripped off his awful tie and threw it down, not caring that it landed in another pile of clothing. He toed off his shoes and gathered as many mugs as he could carry into the kitchen, dumping them all in the sink.

Wes would call Nick. Maybe, like, in a week. He would call and pretend to be busy and set up a time and he'd work really hard on not fantasizing about getting a mortgage with the guy. He’d sleep a little more, maybe, and drink less caffeine, and not think about Sam every top of the hour.

Or maybe he would. But he’d try not to and he’d eventually stop thinking about him in a longing way. Because Sam hadn’t called and Sam hadn’t written and Wes couldn’t blame a man for not living up to a dream. He had to stop acting like he was a victim to love when, really, he was just too sensitive to handle it.

He cleaned the cups and kicked all the clothes into a single pile. Good enough.

Nick wasn’t the love of Wes’s life. But he was nice and Wes wanted that to be enough.

He was going to try to make that be enough.

The phone ringing distracted him. Wes shook out thoughts that bordered on comparisons and searched in his pockets for the phone.

He found it a second after it stopped ringing in his discarded jacket pocket. It started vibrating and humming a moment after he picked it up.

Tom’s name stood in large, block letters on the screen. Wes answered it mid-ring.

“Tommy, man, you won’t believe who left their house ton—“

“They found him.” Tom’s voice sounded like it had been shaken in a bottle and then thrown down a deep well; it sounded gurgled and pressed in from all sides. “They found Sam.”

Wes sank to the floor next to the pile of clothes. His legs were a thousand pounds of dead hanging weight.

He felt all at once too drunk and so sober. Wes felt like he was submerged.

“—And they don’t really know what happened, not exactly, but he was—man, he was being like—they said it’s pretty bad but he’s here, or, well, not here, but he’s being flown into the St. Cardinal’s in Wichita and I’m—shit, man, he’s alive!”

Everything stopped.

Wes stopped.

The world could have stopped.

He’s alive. Sam. They found him. He’s here. It’s pretty bad but he’s here. He’s alive. They found him. Sam.

He’s alive.

He’s alive.

“He’s alive?”

Tom stopped for a second. Through the static and the panic and the whirring sound of water in his ears, Wes could hear his best friend sigh. “He’s alive.”

Wes could taste pennies. The copper taste was strong and heady and he focused on it, running his tongue across the flavor even as it stung and hurt just a little. He couldn’t focus a thought or a breath or a heart beat around anything except the copper taste. It took him a minute until he could finally recognized the taste as blood. It seeped slowly out from a cut he’d dug into his bottom lip with his teeth.

He could taste the blood. The hurt ground him in the moment.

Tom’s voice wafted back in mid-sentence as if he hadn’t been speaking at all.

Wes clenched the cellphone tighter. “What? What?”

“I’m going to see him—Sara and I, we’re going right now.” Tom sounded out of breath. Wes felt out of breath, too. News like this did that to a person.

Going to see him. To see Sam. Because Sam was here and Sam was alive.

“When will he be here?” Wes tried to stand up but his legs were still too weak.

Wes swiped his thumb over his bottom lip, gathering the small petals of blood that had blossomed there. He smeared it with his index finger, wiping it away until it was nothing. His lip stopped bleeding, at least a noticeable amount. Wes wanted to see it again, wanted to wipe it away again, wanted to really see how injury and blood and damage could be extinguished as easily as a swipe of a thumb.

He settled deeper into the clothing. He couldn’t fathom leaving the pile, standing on his own legs, thinking or being real.

“They’re flying him in right now, man. He should be there within a few hours.”

Few hours. Wes looked around for a clock; he couldn’t remember what time it was. He had no idea. How many hours were a few hours?

“He’s alive, man. He’s okay.”

He’s alive. He’s okay.

He had, at one point, not been okay. That was what that meant. For him to be okay right now, that means he wasn’t okay earlier. Wes had dismissed him. Wes had dismissed the idea that he wasn’t alright. Wes had gone on a date. And Sam hadn’t been okay.

He thought he might throw up. He thought he might really, truly throw up.

“Good,” Wes finally choked out. “Good, good, good.”

He heard Tom laugh. It was bigger than any sound or feeling than Wes was capable of at the moment.

“I’m gonna go, we’re gonna head out! I’ll call you tomorrow.” Tom hung up the phone, disconnecting the call.

Wes sat with the phone cradled in his hands, sinking into the floor. Wet and heavy like cement, pulling him through the carpet and into the earth and out of his body.

Sam was being flown from wherever the fuck he was for whatever the fucking reason he was there, back to Wichita. He was going to be okay but at one point, very, very recently, he wasn’t okay. He was going to be okay but he currently wasn’t.

Sam was going to be okay but he wasn’t right now and that was Wes’s fault.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t his fault. But he had barely been worried when Tom told him that Sam was missing. He’d barely even looked into anything, barely even cared. He was too mad about being jilted to actually care that a good man was missing.

Wes felt the bile rising in the back of his throat.

There might not have been much he could’ve done to prevent any of this, to make it so that Sam came home earlier or sooner. But what if there had been? What if he and Tom had made calls and demanded to speak to people? What if they had saved him an hour earlier or two or a day? What could he have gone through in those hours that Wes could’ve prevented?

He climbed out of the clothing in time to throw himself to his knees in front of his toilet, spilling out the romantic dinner he’d callously eaten.

Wes had gone on a goddamn date. And Sam wasn’t okay right now.

Wes laid his head on the toilet bowl.

Everything was stopped. Everything that mattered twenty minutes ago or twenty years ago barely counted anymore. Wes couldn’t fathom caring about those things.

His head was empty; his thoughts had stopped, too. The only thing he could think of was that first time he’d seen Sam Carlisle, across the street climbing out of his car.

He imagined how differently life could’ve been if Wes had crossed the street.

He would have swallowed the nerves and the anxiety and the excitement and he would have crossed the street, strutting right up to Sam and a much younger Tom. He’d wait until after their dad’s car had pulled away, even though Sam had been angry at that point. He’d wait until they were about to head to the market and then he’d interrupt them before they could dip into the store.

Wes would have tried really hard not to shrink under what he was sure would’ve been a furious glare from Sam. He’d ignore the beating in his chest and the ache in his fingers to touch the pretty boy’s hands or hair or face, and he’d shove a hand right in front of himself and introduce himself.

And he’d be Sam’s friend. Even if that version of Sam never liked that version of Wes, he would be his friend and he’d convince him to never join the military at all. He’d show him that Poplar could be a beautiful place, an important place, and not just a place to escape from.

He’d go back in time and he’d stop Sam from ever going missing. He’d fix everything, if he could.

They found him. He’s alive. He’ll be there in a few hours. They’re flying him into Wichita. They found him. They found Sam.

They found him.

Wes wanted to see him. Wes had to see him. He had to apologize for not taking Tom seriously, for being angry, for kissing him a year ago, for kissing Nick an hour ago, for not saying hello a decade ago when they were kids and life was still full of possibilities.

Wes used to think he had fallen in love with Sam because of the possibilities that had sprung up between them, a tree that didn’t need water or sunshine or anything but earth to grow from. Wes had been in love with the idea of a future that was a butterfly promise of someday but not a guarantee.

But he had been wrong.

Because he and Sam— they weren’t full of possibility. They weren’t hope or fate for a future.

Wes could have changed everything if he had been braver or more honest or anything. He could have fixed this all but he waited and waited and waited until all that they had was one night that was destined to fail and to sliver away into a destined disappointment.

Wes thought he and Sam might have been meant to be. And maybe they were. But now Wes knew that he had fucked it up, fucked it all up so much. He had done so much wrong to Sam that he had ruined their possibility.

Wes fell asleep on the bathroom floor with his arms around his head, dreaming of going back and doing something right.