“Are you sure you don’t want to figure something else out?”

Oscar couldn’t help but laugh at Falcon from his spot on the couch. His best friend had deposited him there and warned him firmly not to move as he packed for him. “You make it sound like Roman’s a serial killer or, I don’t know, leaves dirty socks around the house.”

“Hmm. I haven’t asked Blane.”

“If he’s a serial killer?”

“Or, more importantly, a serial sock-scatterer.” Falcon shook his head. “Trust me. It’s important.”

Oscar laughed. “Is Blane?”

“No, I have him trained to use the basket now,” Falcon said with a world-weary sigh. He sat back on his heels and looked around his place, then at both full duffel bags. “Is that it?”

“I think so.” Oscar didn’t have much physical stuff to bring around with him—he traveled too much, and storing shit at one of his parents’ houses was just too much hassle. “Thanks, man.”

“No way,” Falcon shook his head. “I feel horrible I can’t help more. Like, Jesus.” His gaze strayed down to Oscar’s knee again.

Oscar’s chest jolted, and he avoided Falcon’s gaze, instead looking around. They hadn’t had the discussion yet about what this meant for his future. “I could go for a cup of coffee before we tackle the stairs again, though.”

“Stay there. I’ll make it.” Falcon nearly sprinted to the kitchen counter along one side of the airy studio apartment.

Oscar laughed. “I ain’t moving,” he promised, raising both hands in a surrender. “Roman told me off enough for trying to stand long enough to cook breakfast.”

“That’s the other thing.” Falcon was back to worrying, his usual smile turned into a frown, brows furrowing together. “He’s away half the time, isn’t he? Who’s going to look after you?”

Oscar turned his hands palms-down and pushed them down slowly. “Breathe. This isn’t the first time I’ve been injured, and it won’t be the last. What’s really worrying you?”

He waited for the answer, and it was quick.

“You and Roman.”

“Well,” Oscar laughed. He appreciated that Falcon was honest enough to get straight to the point now that he’d asked. “We’re adults, hon.” When Falcon brought him the coffee, he carefully tugged his friend down to sit next to him. Then, he wrapped his hands around the steaming mug to let it cool off.

Falcon grumbled and looked away. “I know. I just… don’t want to see you hurt, and lately…”

Oscar winced. He’d managed to avoid telling Falcon about him and Jef, but he didn’t expect that to last forever. All Falcon knew was that he’d had his heart trampled lately—the inevitable consequences of sleeping or dating within your company. Jef’s hot-and-cold moods certainly hadn’t stopped him sleeping with the guy.

Falcon bit his lip when Oscar didn’t say anything, but he didn’t push. He just squeezed Oscar’s shoulder. “Whatever makes you happy. That’s all I want.”

Oscar leaned in to hug him. “I know. But look how things worked out for you and Blane, hm?”

The moment it came out, he knew he’d made a mistake. The gleam in Falcon’s eye, barely-restrained teasing, was all too familiar. “Oh?” Falcon commented innocently.

“Shut up,” Oscar instantly told him, wagging a finger, but Falcon’s grin just spread.

“Is that on the table?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like it to be?” Falcon asked, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth in mischief.

Oscar swatted his shoulder. “I’m not telling you anything.”

“Fine. I see how it is,” Falcon grinned, but at least he looked less worried. “Withhold information, why don’t you.”

“By the time you admitted things were serious, you two were halfway to engaged,” Oscar retorted.

“Only because you were so busy on tour—” Falcon broke off, looking guilty.

And here they came to the thornier issue. Oscar sighed, knowing damn well they had to address it outright now, or it would only fester. “I’m out for six to eight weeks. I’ll miss this show, and probably the next. And I was about to get…” he trailed off, then waved a hand. “I had a shot at a good thing. That’s all. It’s not like I’ve lost everything. My career isn’t over.”

He repeated Raj’s sentiments from the ER waiting room as if doing so would make him believe them more, but it didn’t work.

“Good,” Falcon said. He rose to his feet and shouldered his duffel bags. “All right, take your time and finish your coffee I’ll get these to the car first.”

As Oscar watched after him, he came to the sinking realization that Falcon had believed those words about as much as he did. Avoiding the subject was his way of avoiding crushing any hopes Oscar held.

Despite his cheerful words to anyone who asked, hope was growing pretty damn slim.