The letter disappears into his pocket, crushed into a tight ball.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, it's nothing." Chris's voice stays light but his eyes dart away. "You could say some debtors didn't get the memo about payments being up to date."
"Debtors?"
Dennis blinks, his eyes narrowing as pieces shuffle into place, trying to click—luxury car and rundown apartment, designer boots with bargain jeans, clothes he’s never seen Chris wear, probably used for who knows what.
Dennis’s head tilts, eyebrows pinching together as he takes a step closer to Chris. "Chris, are you mixed up with loan sharks or something?"
"Hey, hey, don't even worry about it." Chris cups Dennis’s face, trying to soothe. "Just some old shit sorting itself out. Business as usual."
The casual tone doesn't match the tension radiating from him in waves.
"That sounds dangerous." Dennis grabs Chris's wrists, needing him safe even if he has to remind himself it's not his place to worry. "If you're actually dealing with this kind of thing—"
"Aww princess." Chris's dimples appear but something in him retreats, that same wariness Dennis saw when they first visited his apartment, like he's looking for the emergency exit. "Getting protective over little old me?"
"Why would I be?" Dennis forces an eye roll, shoving down the urge to demand answers.
It's not his business. They're just... convenient. Just two guys who fuck. He needs to stay in his lane.
"You're a big boy."
"The biggest." Chris waggles his eyebrows until Dennis groans. Steals a quick kiss that feels like deflection. "Now, about those beams..."
They return to work, but Chris's usual easy confidence has vanished.
Even as he jokes and teases, unease winds through him like a pet python one doesn’t quite trust, coiled and waiting to choke.
His hand keeps brushing that pocket, checking the letter like it might bite.
Dennis pretends not to notice.
Pretends the questions aren't piling up like overdue deadlines.
Pretends this thing between them is still uncomplicated.
But nothing about Chris has ever been simple.
And Dennis wonders how long he can keep pretending before everything unravels around them.
27Mother Knows Best
Dennis trudges through City Hall's revolving doors, suited up complete with briefcase and architectural renderings of sustainable materials and various files and papers stuffed under his arm.
The zoning board wants proof that bamboo can handle Sacramento's climate variations—as if the standing business pavilion isn't evidence enough.
The presentation drags past noon. By the time he reaches the construction site, Jason's pacing near the temporary offices, phone pressed to his ear.
"Hey." Dennis clips his sunglasses to his open collar, suit jacket and tie draped over one arm to escape the summer heat.
His rolled sleeves and mussed hair isn't what he's normally used to, but the more time he spends with Chris, the more he feels comfortable letting himself go.
Chris messes him up so much anyway—from the first time he gets his hands on Dennis in the morning until they're in the privacy of the apartment at night—that no matter how flawlessly he dresses himself for work when he finally gets back to his own apartment (which is beginning to look like a showhome with no owner), the tidiness won't last long.
Jason ends his call. He looks up at Dennis with both eyebrows in his hairline. "Your mother's here."
