Page 67 of Gunpowder

Spencer chuckled but had enough mercy not to say anything else about it. Paper began shooting out of the printer under the bar, rows of numbers and percentages that were all jibberish to Blair, but were just another foreign language Spencer was fluent in: money. Blair took them out as they printed so the tray wouldn’t overflow into the floor. All of it looked the same until it spat out one last page that had Blair squinting curiously.

“What’s this? Doesn’t look like the blueprint for the bar,” he said, sitting down his stack of papers to better inspect the grainy image.

Spencer looked over. “Ah, Wren came through. He said he could get it.”

Blair waved the piece of paper at him. “Yeah but what is it?”

“The blueprints for the warehouse. Wren said with it being in the city limits of College Point that there should be blueprints on file with the Queens County building inspector. I can’t imagine how he got his hands on them but these will be a lot of help.”

“Y’know, he kind of scares me sometimes,” Blair said, looking at the blueprints.

“Good thing he’s on our side.”

Blair didn’t bother correcting him that Wren was on his side, not Incindious’, even though Blair felt they were one and the same. He didn’t want to give them any reason to question Wren’s loyalty when everyone was already so far on edge. They had just started making plans the night before and he wasn’t going to shake the fragile trust they had established.

The next few days went by too fast. He cooked Wren dinner at his apartment, he went to Wren’s place a couple times with coffee. One night Wren fell asleep with his head on the coffee table. The other nights, though, all ended the same way—on a couch or a bed where Wren could make Blair forget everything else, at least for awhile. The changes over those days were gradual. The closer it got to Wednesday, the more desperate their touches became, the longer he stayed with Wren before he went back to his own apartment.

Tuesday night, Wren laid to one side of the bed. He didn’t say anything, but Blair accepted the silent invitation, climbing in next to him. Blair switched the lamp off and heard Wren shifting next to him. He turned towards the sound, reaching out, and found Wren’s hand laying on the bed, fingers loosely curled around nothing. Blair took it, tangling his fingers with Wren’s.

“Blair,” Wren said softly.

“Yeah?”

“Incindious. You’ve explained it before, but it still doesn’t make any sense. I know you didn’t fit in with your family anymore, but… a gang? You told me once that you hung out with nerds in highschool. Turning to crime and risking your life seems like a pretty big leap to make over some family drama.” Wren traced the lines in Blair’s palm, voice dropping even lower. “Couldn’t you have picked a less dangerous way to get out of the house?”

Blair huffed a quiet laugh. He usually got defensive when it came to Incindious, especially if his belonging there was being questioned, because he wondered that too often already. But Wren’s words were absent of their usual sarcasm, replaced by petulance steeped in concern that Wren would never admit to. “It wasn’t just about getting out of the house. Before mom remarried, they depended on me. Her, and my little brother and sister. My whole life revolved around taking care of them. Protecting them. Then one day… they just didn’t need me anymore.”

“You were lost.”

“I was lost,” Blair agreed, resting his forehead against their joined hands. “I never realized how much I depended on them, too, to give me a purpose. Then I met Felix, Spencer and Julian. Ran into them on the streets and thought they were gonna beat my ass. One thing led to another, and Felix offered me a place with them. It was hard, the first few times I had to threaten someone or beat them up, but the rest of the gang was always there to pick me back up. They gave me something to dedicate myself to again, and letting go of my morals was a small price to pay—which I guess means my morals weren’t all that great in the first place.”

Wren sighed. “Did you ever consider just living for yourself? You having a purpose isn’t directly equated to what you’re providing for other people.”

Blair opened his mouth to respond but found himself without an answer. His silence must have been answer enough, as Wren ended the conversation by pulling Blair toward him. Blair tucked his face against Wren’s neck and threw an arm over his waist. He was used to waking up with Wren in his arms or vice versa, but he’d always assumed they just gravitated to each other throughout the night. Wren usually only initiated affection like this after sex. Aftercare, he called it.

On the edge of sleep, Blair thought of what Wren had said to him. Even if Blair left Incindious—not that he planned to—he couldn’t do what Wren suggested and live only for himself. Incindious wasn’t the only thing Blair lived to protect anymore.

They didn’t sleep through the night. Blair didn’t know what time it was when he woke up, but there was no light showing around the curtains. He blinked into the darkness and tried to figure out why he was awake.

“Get out,” Wren muttered, his back tense against Blair’s chest.

Blair drowsily raised his head to look down at him, realizing Wren had turned on his other side at some point. “What’s wrong?”

Wren jerked suddenly, and though Blair couldn’t make out much of his face in the shadows, he started to wonder if Wren was talking to him after all. He stayed propped on his elbow, waiting, and Wren kept repeating himself, his voice getting louder but also less coherent.

“Wren?” he said. Wren’s repetitions fell off into hoarse whispers, and Blair moved the arm he had around Wren’s waist to shake his shoulder. “Hey, wake up.”

Wren started thrashing against him. Blair caught his arm before it could swing back and connect with anything and pinned it along with the other one against Wren’s chest, both arms wrapped around him to keep them in place before one of them got hurt. Wren shoved back against him with considerable strength but he was still no match for the thickly corded muscle in Blair’s arms.

“Wren, hey, you’re fine,” he said as close to Wren’s ear as he dared, with the risk of Wren throwing his head back and breaking Blair’s nose.

Wren made a wordless sound of protest and started trying to twist away again. It would have been easier to let him go but Blair wasn’t sure he was coherent enough not to smother him with a pillow the second he was free, or worse, fall off the bed and hurt himself.

“Wren!” he shouted.

He heard a sharp intake of breath and Wren went still.

“Blair,” he said, voice cracking with sleep.

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