Page 41 of Gunpowder

Wren had his head resting on one of his hands, his chin sitting atop his gloved fingers, and his eyebrow raised in amusement at Blair’s response. “The ‘internalized existential crisis’ look.”

“I wasn’t having a crisis,” Blair mumbled. He definitely was.

He was saved by the waitress appearing with two glasses of white wine. She took their orders, and Blair hadn’t even looked at the menu so he ordered the first thing that sounded vaguely like an entree and hoped for the best.

Once the waitress was gone, Wren bit his gloves off and laid them on top of each other on the edge of the table. Heat crept over Blair’s face while watching what should have been a mundane action that had his heart skipping beats.

Wren took a sip of wine, then grimaced. “That’s terrible.”

“Then why did you order it?” Blair asked, laughing at the disdain on his face.

“I don’t know. Isn’t wine a thing on dates?”

Blair laughed even harder. “You live in Manhattan and have all this money, how have you never tried wine? Do you not go anywhere? Ever?”

“No,” Wren said, looking as though he couldn’t even fathom such a thing. “My apartment has my computer. And my books. Why would I leave?”

“No wonder you have the conversation skills of a live cactus.” Blair took a drink of wine and his grin fell immediately. “Oh, god.”

“Told you.”

Blair flipped him off and Wren smirked.

“How has your rotation with pediatrics been?” Blair asked.

“Loud and bright. The kids scream and I’m tired of wearing Scooby Doo.”

Blair chuckled at the outright misery in his voice. “Better switch back to the Invader Zim ones you had when I brought Tristan in.”

“You remember what I was wearing?” Wren asked, his tone giving no indication as to whether or not he was going to tease Blair for his answer.

He remembered everything about that night. He remembered the moment he realized the hot guy in cartoon scrubs was the blurry figure from after he was shot. He remembered Wren’s scorn at being called Sunshine and the way Tristan had seen through his bullshit long before Blair did, recognized the slightly less awful person that hid under the pissy exterior. Now, sitting across from him at dinner, with the two of them together in their own messy way, he said couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah. I remember.”

“How are your sewer rats?”

“Huh?” Blair asked, a word he was becoming all too familiar with that night, before he remembered the comparison he made at Wren’s apartment. “Oh, Phantom. We finally drew some of them out yesterday. Low level guys. We’re hoping they pass it along to the boss and Isaac finally comes to face us. Phantom is based out of the internet, so picking off their members one by one won’t matter. There’ll just be more where that came from.”

Wren snorted. “Please tell me how a gang is based out of the internet. Please find a way to make that make sense.”

“They have an app. Most of the members have never even met Isaac, they get their orders virtually. Some people think he does it that way because he’s young and just kind of a geek about technology, but I think it’s a safety thing. Spencer told me Phantom died out years ago. Back then they were your average gang, until they got worn down in a territory war and disbanded,” Blair explained, leaning forward in his seat. He’d never gotten to talk to anyone outside of Incindious about any of this. “Then Isaac shows up out of the blue, tracks down some of the old members. One of them was the guy that shot me. They have an assassin with them, too, and we think that’s how Phantom got their territory back so fast.”

Wren stared at him blankly. “And you and your band of merry men are going to fight these people.”

“Well, yeah. They shot me and they hurt Adam.”

Wren slid his fingers under his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “I might as well just reserve you a bed in the hospital.”

“We’ll be fine! This is what we do,” Blair said, grinning. He didn’t always have the most faith in himself but he did have faith in Incindious.

“And I have no idea how you’ve all lived this long.”

The waitress brought their food out on a rolling silver cart, along with a pitcher of ice water and two glasses. Blair admired the meticulously plated meal that was placed in front of him. His experience with food was more along the lines of not caring how it looked as long as it tasted good.

The skyline was dark by the time their empty plates were taken away. He watched Wren put his gloves back on. “This was great. I wish it didn’t have to end.”

“We could go to our room, if you want,” Wren said, signing the receipt the waitress had dropped off.

“Our room?”

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