“Here’s to Harold finally finding a fucking hobby.”

It wasn’t the first toast at the retirement party, nor the most colorful language, but it brought cheers, laughter, and applause to the room.

Harold was one of the longest-serving captains in the airline fleet. He’d been in the Air Force before becoming a commercial pilot. His stories were legendary, as was his devotion to the skies, and his lack of outside skills, hobbies, or even people surrounding him. Hell, he owned a little Cessna of his own that he flew in on his days off.

It was a typical story, but one that made Roman sad when he thought about it. Harold had gone through three wives, each marriage ending in a neat and tidy divorce when she realized she couldn’t keep him on the ground for more than a day at a time.

“I don’t need a hobby, as long as ol’ Betty lets me ride her!” Harold retorted, to more cheers and applause.

Roman tried not to think about that and drank the nonalcoholic fruit punch, ate cheese, and toasted Harold. The burns and compliments grew steadily less clever throughout the night. Above all, he tried to avoid the inevitable one-to-one.

But Harold was making his rounds, steadily more drunk throughout the night, and he eventually found Roman hiding out by the buffet table.

“Feeding that growing stomach, eh?” Harold teased, slapping Roman’s back. “Thanks for making it.”

“Of course. My pleasure.” Roman meant it, too. For all his quirks and his obsession with flight, Harold was a stand-up guy. He was the kind of guy to teach you a few new things on every flight, and let you believe you’d discovered them on your own.

“You got that long-haul spot, didn’t you? Great job, kid. You’re young for it, too.” Harold thought everyone was young, but Roman resisted pointing that out.

“I got lucky that nobody else wanted it.” Most pilots his age were resisting settling down and wanted long-haul. Plus, most of the work was in pre-flight preparation, so one long flight was less work in many ways than several return trips in a day. But Roman had waited a long time and impressed enough people to get his chance.

On the other hand…

“And what about your love life, eh? Meet anyone exotic?” Harold gave him a wicked grin. “That’s the best part of those long trips. A girl in every port. Or a fellow.”

It always took Roman aback how open Harold was to it, but it had only taken one or two half-told military stories before he got the idea: Harold didn’t care who did what with whom, as long as they were happy.

Roman looked down for a second. “Yeah, yeah. That’s good.”

Harold didn’t miss a thing. “You doing anything besides work with your life, kid? And that bunch of friends you talked about. Once they all get married off, life gets a lot longer, let me tell you.” He was definitely drunk off his ass, but he wasn’t about to be stopped, even when Roman tried to press another drink on him. He just took the drink, sipped, and went back to his spiel. “Don’t let the fame and money get to your head, kid. Or you’ll be staring a lonely retirement in the face. Not that I’m lonely when I’ve got Betty, ha ha, but I’m not sharing her!”

Roman joined in the good-natured laugh, but there was something in Harold’s tone that pricked at his heart. He suddenly felt less like fruit punch and more like wine, or the harder stuff. “I’ll remember that.”

Harold clapped his arm, gave a few more words of advice, and moved on, but Roman didn’t stay much longer. He made his excuses and ducked out within a few minutes, grabbing his coat.

Without thinking about it, he set a course for Blane’s house.

* * *

“Hey, man.” Blane opened the door, and for once, Falcon wasn’t hovering over his shoulder. “Come in.” He automatically ushered Roman inside.

God, Roman was glad to have him around. Until he gets married, anyway. Harold’s words were nagging him now. Normally he might have laughed them off, but they must have hit something deeper inside. “Thanks,” he said, a little more meaningfully than he meant to.

Blane looked at him quickly. “Of course. You all right? Want a beer?”

“Nah, I gotta drive. I’ll take a pop or whatever.”

Blane brought out two Cokes and settled on the sofa with him. They spent a few minutes talking about nothing at all—Blane’s day at the zoo, Roman’s last flight, their plans for the next week.

Finally, Blane broke into Roman’s attempt to calm down with non-conversation with a blunt, “What’s up? You’re not yourself.” Roman tried to shrug it off and Blane elbowed him hard.

“Ow. Fucker.” It didn’t really hurt, but he had to say it anyway.

Blane glared. “That’s for brushing me off.”

Roman sighed and rubbed his ribs, then shrugged. “I just got back from Harold’s retirement party. That’s the old guy, the Air Force pilot.”

“Yeah, I remember him,” Blane nodded, folding his arms and waiting.

Roman fidgeted with his can, pressing his thumbnail into it while he tried to figure out how to say it. “I’ve been thinking I want a relationship. Is that weird?”

He didn’t expect the burst of laughter from Blane, which rolled into even harder laughter when Blane saw the look on his face. “Sorry,” Blane managed after a few more seconds, rubbing his face. “I just…” More laughter.

Roman couldn’t help but laugh at his best friend’s laughter, even if he was vaguely pissed off about not being taken seriously. “What? You don’t think I can?”

“No,” Blane quickly answered, catching his breath and wiping his eyes. “No, it’s just… man. Did you hear yourself?”

“What’s wrong with wanting that?” Roman’s shoulders rose defensively.

Blane slapped his shoulder. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’ve been flinging yourself at every guy you’ve looked at twice since high school. We’ve talked about this before. How many times have you mentioned marriage on a first date?”

“It’s important to know what they think of the future before you… okay,” Roman groaned when Blane looked at him pointedly. “Fine. But I’m happy with what I’ve got. A fellow in every port.”

Blane’s grin faded to a smile as he looked at Roman, his gaze flickering between his eyes. “Are you? Or is that what you say ’cause you keep scaring them off?”

That stung. Roman closed his mouth and looked away for a second, trying not to take it as an insult.

Blane punched his arm gently to get his attention. “Hey. It’s not a bad thing. Any port in a storm, to piggyback on your metaphor. Everyone likes fun. Hookups are fun. But I already knew you’re the settling-down type. You knew that.”

Roman looked back at him and nodded, paying attention now. Blane was the type to make fun of him, but only to get through his defenses. “Right…” he trailed off dubiously.

“So slow down a little, and stop trying to plan your garden layout every time you meet a guy. Get to know them as friends first.”

“Without sex?” Roman was aghast. The idea of getting to know someone before he even knew if they’d work in bed was so not him.

Blane laughed at his expression again. “Friends with benefits works. Just not, future husband, with every guy you stick it in.”

Roman snorted and took his turn to elbow Blane, hard. “Not every guy.” His cheeks burned at the accuracy, though. I bet he’s just been waiting for me to ask. Now that he’s with Falcon, and Deen and Nico are together… oh, shit. I’m a project. “Are you coaching me here?”

“If you don’t put yourself out there, I’ll make you start running windsprints,” Blane cheerily told Roman. “But don’t force the romance and you’ll be amazed how fast it happens. Just put yourself out there as, like, a friend. The guy we see. Not the eligible bachelor seeking same.”

“But then you’re telling me not to expect what I should be expecting…”

“Don’t overthink it,” Blane added. “That goes for the romance, too. When it happens, you’ll know.”

That was about the least useful advice Roman could imagine. He briefly considered punching Blane, then decided to just chug his Coke before he scoffed. “Just like everyone says.”

“For real, though.” This time, Roman anticipated Blane’s kick enough to fend it off. “Don’t sit around moping… and don’t get so attached to your image as Mr. Slick that you can’t see a good thing staring you in the face.”

“It’s like… I’m going zero or a hundred on the romance,” Roman said slowly, and the grin on Blane’s face as realization dawned was no less annoying than his laughter earlier. “I guess you’re right. Asshole.”

Blane laughed. “You’re welcome.”

“I better get home and make sure Oscar fed himself.” Roman pretended not to see the glint in Blane’s eye. “See you next weekend? Or the weekend after?”

“I’ll make it,” Blane promised, clapping him on the shoulder and seeing him to the door. “Keep me posted.”

“I will.”

It was all Roman could do not to look like he was fleeing, even if he felt like he was.

* * *

By the time he got to his house, he felt like he had a plan. He was already doing well with getting to know Oscar as a friend. Maybe they were fucking a little too much for friends, but there were definitely benefits.

So he’d tone back the sex, dial up the friendship, and see what happened. At the very least, he could use more friends, and befriending his near-brother’s boyfriend’s best friend… as much as it twisted his brain to think of the label… well, that seemed like a good idea.

He burst through the door with a cheery, “Evening!”

Oscar was on the couch watching TV, his leg propped up on the couch. He nearly jumped at the entrance. “Jesus! Someone’s in a mood. Party went well?”

Much better than earlier, thank God. Roman just beamed back at him. “Really good. Harold seems happy to retire. He’ll be up in that little Cessna every day.” When he sat on the couch, Oscar ran his hand up his thigh and back down, less than subtly. It was hard work, but Roman kept his focus. “Have you eaten?”

“Huh?” Oscar blinked. “Oh. No. Just snacks.”

“I’ll make food.”

Oscar looked surprised as Roman stood again. “Are you sure? Are you drunk?”

Roman snorted. “I wouldn’t drive drunk. I just went to see Blane, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Oscar brightened. “How’s he doing? And Falcon?”

“I didn’t ask about the move. Last time I did that, he started muttering about inspections and shit,” Roman laughed. “But he seems good. Falcon wasn’t there.”

“Mm. Must be packing.” Oscar hesitated, then tried to stand. “Need a hand with supper?”

“Nope.” Roman wagged a finger. “While I’m here, you rest, I’ll cook. You’ll have time enough to cook when I’m off to London next week.”

Leaving town with a man he didn’t know very well living in his house felt bizarre, but given the circumstances, not unsafe. Hell, weirdly enough, even if he hadn’t known Oscar through Blane and Falcon, he’d trust him here. Oscar seemed honest, if overly flirtatious.

He only let Oscar move to the table to eat, then took care of the dishes himself and led him back to the couch for a movie.

And, to Roman’s enormous credit, he managed to turn down Oscar when he started rubbing his upper thigh again. He covered Oscar’s hand with his own and held hands for a bit, then looped his arm around his shoulders affectionately.

Oscar didn’t try again, though he did give Roman a few quizzical looks.

Friendship. By the time Roman headed to his bedroom, he was feeling pretty damn proud of himself. I didn’t fuck him. I mean, benefits are nice, but we can’t get to know each other if all we do is fuck.

By turning down the handjob, he’d already found out tonight what kind of movies Oscar liked, and some of his fond memories of Christmas movies.

I can do this with guys. Start with Oscar. Move on when… when he loses interest. No sweat.