Archive of Our Own

Ant first noticed it when Sam said no to dessert.

It was such a small thing, easy to miss if you didn’t know him the way Ant did. But he did.

Years of living on the streets had carved Sam into someone almost unrecognizable. The first time Ant saw him again -really saw him- he’d nearly been sick. Sam’s ribs had pressed sharply against his skin, each one stark and undeniable. His hair had thinned at the temples, and as Sam sat beside his hospital bed, he’d realized with a kind of quiet horror that he could count every vertebra that made up his spine.

There had been scars, too. Old ones, new ones, some jagged, some thin and pale, others layered over each other. Tattoos Ant didn’t recognize, inked sometime during those missing years, their meanings locked away behind a version of Sam he had never met.

Even after Ant brought him home, Sam hadn’t settled. Not at first. For the first two months, he slept on the floor, curled in on himself. Ant had tried not to push, swallowing down every instinct that screamed to fix it, to make it better, to do something.

So he waited.

Even now, years later, Sam rarely slept through the night. Ant would wake sometimes to the faint shift of movement, the quiet creak of floorboards, and know that Sam was awake again.

But for all the changes, all the things that felt foreign and fragile and uncertain, there was one thing Ant thought he might never get used to.

Sam had finally learned how to stay.

He stayed through the bad nights. Through the quiet mornings. Through the days when words came easily, and the ones when they didn’t come at all.

Antonio was grateful for that, in a way.

Because now that Sam was here -really here- Ant could finally do what he hadn’t been able to all those years ago.

He could finally help him.

After coming back from rehab, Sam had been quiet.

They’d both agreed he needed to go. There hadn’t been a fight about it, no dragging him there, no ultimatums -just a quiet understanding that it was a necessary first step.

But it still felt like Sam had left as one person and come back as another.

Then, not all at once, not in any single, obvious moment -but slowly, things began to change.

Months of home-cooked meals and steady routines softened the sharp edges of his frame. The hollowed angles filled out, little by little, until Sam looked less like someone on the verge of disappearing. He eventually let Ant take him to get a haircut, sitting stiff and uncertain in the chair, as if unsure he was allowed to want something as simple as looking like himself again.

A doctor recommended a cane. Sam stubbornly resisted it at first but eventually accepted it, his fingers had tightened around the handle like he was bracing himself for something he didn’t quite trust.

The therapist took longer.

Ant never pushed, not really. He just offered, again and again, until one day Sam said yes. Even then, he’d gone reluctantly, shoulders tense, jaw set -but over time, something in him began to ease. Not fixed. Never fixed. But… softer. A little less guarded at the edges.

A little more present.

And then, eventually, years later-

A ring.

It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t some sweeping, perfect moment. Just something quiet, something that was theirs. A decision made not in spite of everything that had happened, but because of it.

Because finally, they were sticking together. 

Life was easier, in semi-retirement. Especially now that they had each other. 

Ant had already pulled back from most of his responsibilities at the studio. These days, he only hosted a single late-night block, spending the rest of his time mentoring and directing the newer hosts. The days of him -of Mr.Tenna- being featured on every block were long gone. He’d had to step back.

Sam wasn’t the only one who had changed.

Though, it had taken getting shot -and hospitalized- for Ant to finally realize it.

He still remembered waking up in fragments, the world blurred by pain and medication. At first, he thought he’d lost his mind. Because surely -surely- it couldn’t have been Sam sitting at his bedside. Not like that. Not after so many years. Not looking like he needed a hospital more than Ant did, when Ant had just barely survived being nearly killed in his own studio.

But months later, after the dust had settled, Ant returned to work -and quietly handed off most of his shows to their respective cohosts.

Then, a year or two after that -he couldn’t quite remember how long it had taken- he started walking into the studio again, side by side with Sam, just like they used to all those years ago. 

This time, not as cohosts.

Sam had taken up his old role again: bookkeeper. The same quiet position he’d held when he first arrived at the studio.

He didn’t need the job. They both knew that. But Sam liked it -liked having something to do, liked earning his own money again, liked the structure, the purpose. After so many years of nothing but surviving, it mattered to him.

And Ant… Ant couldn’t help but watch him sometimes.

Glasses perched low on the bridge of his nose, brow furrowed in concentration as he leaned over paperwork. His suit jacket draped over the back of his chair, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, exposing pale skin marked by time. There was something quietly, unbearably handsome about it.

So of course, when they got home, Ant had taken Sam straight to the bedroom, swearing he only wanted to cuddle.

Which wasn’t a lie.

Ant did love to cuddle. And Sam did too, even if he still protested now and then about how clingy his partner could be.

What Ant hadn’t accounted for -and probably should have- was how quickly that would change.

Cuddling turned into soft, passing kisses -punctuating half-finished questions about each other’s day. Those kisses lingered. Deepened. Grew warmer, slower at first, then sharper, more insistent.

And then, suddenly, there was nothing slow about them at all.

Sam had always kissed like a man starving -like he’d die if he wasn’t pressing his lips against Ant’s. It was one of the few things that hadn’t changed.

Ant barely had time to breathe between them before Sam was pulling him back in again, kisses growing messy, desperate. Their conversation dissolved into broken murmurs, swallowed by the press of lips and heat and the familiar, overwhelming presence of each other.

At some point, they shifted -no longer side by side, but Sam straddling his hips, bending down over him. Ant could feel the warmth building under his skin, that rising, dizzying heat that drowned out everything else.

Sam was here.

Sam was kissing him.

Sam had loosened his tie at some point and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. Ant had no idea when that had happened.

Sam pulled back for just a second, saying something Ant couldn’t hear past the pounding of his heartbeat, the rush of blood in his ears. All he could focus on was the line of Sam’s throat -long, pale, just beginning to glisten under the dim bedroom light.

This -this had to be the moment.

When Sam leaned down again, Ant expected his lips.

Instead, Sam pressed a kiss to his forehead. Then his hairline. Breath warm, uneven. His neck exposed, vulnerable, offered without words.

He didn’t need to be told twice.

It was, after all, one of the reasons he’d once been such a celebrated host -his willingness to lean into anything, to follow the moment wherever it led.

Especially an old classic.

He tilted his head, pressing in, relishing the soft, low moan that slipped from Sam the second his lips met his neck. The sound vibrated faintly against his mouth, warm and alive, and Ant chased it -kissing, sucking, lingering.

Sam’s legs trembled around him. His careful composure fell apart, replaced by breathless sounds spilling freely into the open air. Ant adjusted his angle, dragging his mouth along the side of his neck, nipping gently with his teeth, soothing it over with his tongue, his lips, his everything.

He lost track of time.

Of how many times he lingered in one spot.

Of how long he stayed there.

At some point, he shifted -just slightly- tilting his head, adjusting the angle, letting his mouth drag to a new place along Sam’s neck. Not far, just enough to chase a different reaction, to feel the way Sam’s breath hitched in a way it hadn’t before.

But it had to be then.

One of those moments -one of those kisses- had to have done it.

It had to be.

Because soon after, Sam was pulling him back into another kiss -lips crashing together again, harder this time, more insistent- giving Ant no chance to recover before swallowing him up in it.

And after-

When everything settled, when the world slowed again and they were left tangled together in the aftermath -sweaty, bare, content- they slipped back into conversation as if nothing had interrupted them at all.

It was then, almost absentmindedly, that Ant asked if Sam wanted to walk to the fast food restaurant down the street and get ice cream.

It was Friday, after all. Fridays were meant for small, spontaneous things like that. Maybe they’d come back and watch a movie, or finally finish the puzzle that had been spread across their dining room table for the past month.

But Sam declined.

Said there was still a pint of Cherry Garcia in the fridge -something Ant had insisted on buying- and that Ant should finish it, since Sam had already made it very clear he didn’t like cherries.

But that didn’t make sense.

Sure, Ant had the bigger sweet tooth -but Sam would never say no to a quick trip downstairs. Not now, not when the summer air was warm and easy on his leg.

So Ant, ever dramatic, put on a worried tone and sat up, asking Sam if he felt alright.

Sam humored him, getting up with a faint, amused reluctance. Ant followed, pressing a hand to his forehead in mock concern, playing at checking his temperature-

And then he saw it.

Right there.

On his neck.

A fresh, blooming bruise -deep purple against pale skin, the color still rich and vivid, as it had only just surfaced. The edges were soft, feathering faintly into pink, but the center was darker, unmistakable. It stood out starkly against the clean line of Sam’s throat, right where his pulse would flutter -tender, warm, and newly marked.

Something in Ant lit up at the sight of it. Something sharp and pleased and quietly triumphant-

-and then, just as quickly, it dropped out from under him.

Replaced by pure, immediate terror.

“A-Annnnnt?”

Sam’s voice cut through the moment, and Ant froze.

Completely.

His hand still rested awkwardly against Sam’s forehead, their little game forgotten entirely as the reality of the situation slammed into him all at once.

It was right there.

Front and center. Impossible to miss. Impossible to hide beneath a dress shirt.

How could he have been so stupid?

He was usually careful. He knew how easily Sam bruised. He always kept those kinds of kisses lower -much lower, near his collarbone, somewhere safe.

Ah.

Right.

He’d forgotten one very important detail.

The hair pulling.

One hand had been anchored at Sam’s hip, keeping him steady -while the other had been tangled in his hair, gently pulling him upward, exposing his throat, pulling him up higher than he usually sat.

Ant watched, helpless, as realization slowly dawned across Sam’s face.

As his eyes widened and mirrored his own horror.

“You f-fuuuuckin’ di-dn’t-”

But he did.

Oh, he absolutely did.

At this point, Ant could only be grateful it was just one.

Because he had definitely been working over more than one spot for a while there.

Sam scrambled to the dresser, and Ant -under normal circumstances- would’ve been distracted.

It was hard not to be.

The movement alone drew the eye -the quick shift of muscle across his back, the line of his waist, the way his hips moved as he bent forward. His body had filled out over the years, but it still had that lean edge to it, something wiry underneath.

And yeah -his ass was right there, fully on display, solid and perfect and impossible to ignore.

Ant’s attention caught on it for a second out of habit-

-and then shifted.

Because from where he sat on the bed, even with Sam’s back turned, Ant could see his reflection in the mirror.

And at this moment, that was more important.

Ant had always been the more expressive of the two. Sam, on the other hand, had always been harder to read -guarded, elusive, prone to brushing things off or hiding behind that practiced aloofness.

But not with him. Not anymore.

So Ant had a front-row seat to the exact moment it happened.

Sam’s eyes landed on the mark.

That deep, blooming purple against his skin.

And everything in his expression dropped.

First -fear. Sharp and immediate, like his body had reacted before his mind could catch up.

Then anger.

Oh.

Ant was done.

Sam spun around too fast, all sharp movement and sudden force, and lunged for the bed. Rage carried him forward, hands outstretched, reaching straight for Ant’s neck.

“No, no, no -Sammy, please!”

Ant ducked instinctively, tucking his chin down, shoulders hunching as he tried to shield himself, but Sam was relentless.

Ant had always been big. At six foot three, he was usually the tallest person in any room, with broad shoulders and -ever since his retirement- a more comfortable build, giving him an imposing presence without even trying.

Sam, by comparison, was smaller. Nearly a foot shorter, lean where Ant was solid, his frame still carried that lingering thinness despite years of hearty meals.

But what he lacked in size-

He more than made up for in sheer, unfiltered fury.

Ant twisted, turning his back to him, arms coming up to guard his neck, but it didn’t stop Sam in the slightest. His fists thudded against Ant’s back -quick, sharp hits that carried more emotion than force. He grabbed at Ant’s shoulder, shaking him roughly, fingers digging in like he could rattle sense into him.

And then -at one point-

He bit him.

That one stung a little.

The rest didn’t.

Ant knew that was the only reason Sam was letting himself go like this -why he was hitting, grabbing, lashing out at all. Because somewhere underneath all that anger, Sam knew he wouldn’t actually hurt him.

In fact-

Ant shifted just enough to glance back.

To really look at him.

Sam’s expression was wild -eyes blown wide, frantic and burning, his scarred mouth pulled into a tight, furious grimace. His movements were quick, almost erratic, fists rising and falling against Ant’s back in uneven rhythm.

There was something raw about it. Something unfiltered. Honest in a way Sam rarely allowed himself to be.

Ant felt something soften in his chest.

And despite himself-

He smiled, just a little.

Sam was always so cute when he got mad.

Their eyes met -Sam’s bright green boring into Ant’s dark brown- and Ant realized his mistake a second too late.

Sam’s expression twitched.

Then he dove in.

Small hands wrapped around Ant’s neck, barely gripping -something that might’ve felt almost tender in any other context.

If he hadn’t immediately started shaking his head back and forth.

“ANTONIO. YYYYO-U-U M-MORON-”

And that was fair. That was completely fair. This had, in fact, been a deeply moronic decision on his part.

“Y-OOOU A-ABSOLUTE DUM-B-BASS-”

Ant let out a wounded whine. Okay, cursing was a little far. Sure, he’d made a mistake -but they’d both been caught up in the moment! It took two to tango!

He threw his hands up to shield his head, doing his best to sound apologetic without letting any of the lingering fondness in his chest slip through.

“Sammy -please! I’m sorry!”

Sam’s response was a laugh- low, sharp, almost disbelieving in its anger.

“SOORR-Y W-WON’T FIX THE FACT I-I’M A 52 YEAR OLD M-MAN W-WITH A H-H-HICKEEEY ON M-MY NECK L-LIKE A STUPI-ID TEENAGER.”

…Okay.

That was, admittedly, a little embarrassing.

It wasn’t the first time Ant had left a mark. Of course it wasn’t.

He could still remember a much younger Sam -shirt half-open, breath just a little uneven- bruises blooming across his chest in shifting shades. Blue at first, then deepening into purple, before fading out into green and yellow over time.

Ant had traced them, fingertips light, almost absentminded, following their edges like he was memorizing them.

Sam had tried to act unaffected, looking away, jaw set -but he’d still reacted, subtle as it was. A shift in his breathing. A slight tension, then something softer.

Ant had wanted more.

Wanted to see them, to leave them, to linger just a little longer than he should have-

-but never anywhere visible.

Because there were limits.

They had jobs. Employees. Dignity.

He supposed it could’ve been worse.

Sam could be going on camera.

Ant was still half-curled in on himself as Sam continued pounding uselessly at his back. He found his mind drifting despite everything.

TV Time Scandal: Secret Sordid Love Affair Between Cohosts?

…A little wordy.

Time To Turn Off Your TV?

Not specific enough.

Behind the Broadcast: Cohosts’ Hidden Love Goes Off-Script

Still wordy -but at least it was funny enough to make up for it.

He let out a quiet chuckle.

And suddenly-

The hits stopped.

Ant froze.

That was too fast. There was no way Sam had burned through all that anger already. Something else was coming. There had to be.

Then-

The unmistakable creak of the bed.

He lowered his hands slowly, cautiously, and glanced over his shoulder.

Only to get a faceful of fabric thrown directly at him.

“G-GET YOUR PAAANTS ON.”

Ant blinked, pulling the cloth off his face. Cartoon eggs.

Right.

His boxers.

He slipped them on, glancing up just in time to see Sam bending to grab his own -bright blue, covered in little cartoon toast slices.

Ant remembered buying those. Remembered how hard they’d both laughed in the store at the idea of matching underwear.

There was none of that laughter now.

Sam yanked them on and turned back, still glaring.

“And G-Getttt the cond-dom wrapper off th-e floor.”

Oh.

He had done that, hadn’t he?

Ant’s memory snapped back in flashes -rifling through the drawer one-handed, barely even looking at what he was doing. The other hand had been planted firmly on Sam’s chest, fingers splayed over warm skin, idly toying, pinching one of his nipples between two fingers just to hear the way Sam’s breath hitched.

He hadn’t been focused on the condom.

He’d been focused on getting back to him.

On getting his mouth back to being useful.

Sam had looked so pretty beneath him.

Flushed pink from collarbone to cheekbones, that color deepening every time Ant touched him. His eyes had been half-lidded, glassy and unfocused, struggling to stay open, like he couldn’t quite keep himself grounded. His lips -already swollen and reddened from all the kissing- had been parted just enough for soft, breathless moans to slip out, completely unguarded and adorable. 

Ant could still feel the way he’d reacted under him -how his body had arched up into every touch without thinking, like instinct had taken over before pride could catch up.

How he’d tried to stay quiet.

And failed.

Every breath had come out uneven, catching in his throat, slipping into soft, broken sounds he clearly hadn’t meant to make. The kind he’d normally swallow down, force back -but couldn’t, not like that, not when Ant had him pinned beneath him, working him open touch by touch.

It made finding that stupid condom feel like the most frustrating delay in the world.

The memory hit a little too vividly.

Ant felt it immediately -low, familiar, wonderful but unwelcome.

He glanced down.

…Yeah.

Still wrapped. And now, half hard. 

He blinked once. Twice.

Then shifted quickly, dragging his thoughts somewhere safer -work, schedules, studio meetings, anything boring enough to kill the momentum- as he carefully peeled the condom away, tying it off with practiced ease. He grabbed the discarded wrapper from the floor, doing his best to act like this was all very normal and not at all a situation he’d accidentally made worse for himself.

A snort broke through from across the room.

Ant glanced up -and felt heat immediately crawl up his neck.

Sam was still glaring, his brow furrowed -but the anger had cracked just enough to let laughter through, sharp and incredulous.

“You’r-re ridiiiicul-lous.”

Ant huffed, running a hand through his hair, still a little flushed as he stood up to get dressed.

Sam was waiting for him by the door by the time Ant had finished getting himself together.

His yellow cane was already in hand, the tip resting against the floor, posture tight with impatience. It was written all over him -the set of his shoulders, the way his foot tapped once, twice, against the ground.

Ant knew that stopping to take him in was only going to make things worse.

He did it anyway.

He couldn’t help it. 

For so many years, the only thing Ant had of Samuel were photographs. Old ones, carefully locked away, brought out only on the nights when bitterness dulled just enough for longing to take its place. He would sit with them in silence, tracing the outlines of familiar smiles with gentle, almost reverent fingers.

Now those same photos hung framed on their walls. No longer hidden away and even joined by new ones. 

And Sam-

Sam was here.

Changing. Moving. Breathing. Real.

Some part of Ant still couldn’t quite believe it.

It seemed his lover had decided on wearing the largest hoodie he owned, the fabric swallowing his frame, paired with a loose pair of shorts. His work socks were still on -of course they were, they’d forgotten to take them off earlier, caught up in other things- but instead of his usual polished shoes, he’d slipped on a pair of worn house slippers.

Ant glanced down at himself -t-shirt, loose pants, perfectly reasonable for the heat- and frowned slightly.

Had he missed something?

Sure, Sam ran cold but it was the middle of summer.

“Darling?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Are you feeling chilly?”

Sam didn’t even hesitate.

“N-Noo. But I-I ammm feel-ling STUPID.”

And when he turned his head, Ant saw it again.

That bright, blooming purple mark on his neck -half-hidden beneath the oversized hoodie, but not nearly enough.

Ah.

Right.

This wasn’t going to be the worst trip they’d ever made for ice cream.

…but it was definitely making the top ten.

They rode the elevator down in silence.

Ant offered the doorman a polite wave as they stepped out; Sam, meanwhile, hunched further into his hoodie, tugging it forward as if it might hide him completely. His cane struck the floor with a little more force than necessary -sharp, rhythmic, just shy of aggressive.

And Ant-

Ant hated seeing him like this.

He hadn’t seen Sam this self-conscious about being seen since that first year after he’d come back. Since everything was still new and fragile and uncertain.

So even though he could practically feel the annoyance rolling off of him, once they stepped outside and began walking down the street, Ant quietly extended his hand.

He always walked on the side opposite the cane.

Just in case Sam needed the extra support.

…or just in case Ant wanted to hold his hand.

Like he did now.

He bit his lip as Sam let out a long, put-upon sigh. Then, with a small roll of his eyes, he reached out and took Ant’s hand anyway.

And that-

That was its own kind of spark.

Something warm unfurled in Ant’s chest, soft and bright, as Sam’s rough, calloused fingers tightened around his own.

Emboldened by it, Ant leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple.

Sam immediately groaned.

Then swung his cane and whacked Ant square in the leg.

It didn’t hurt.

(It never did.)

But he should probably tell him not to do that. Otherwise Sam might start doing it at work, and Ant wasn’t sure the accounting department deserved that kind of retaliation.

Still-

Looking down at him, at the thinning hairline, the way he was already starting to sweat under that oversized hoodie in the summer heat-

Ant couldn’t bring himself to care.

He softened, voice dropping.

“Thank you for still going with me to get ice cream,” he said quietly. “I still get a treat tonight.”

Then, with exaggerated sorrow:

“Even though I messed up. I am still sorry.”

He leaned down again, pressing another kiss -this time to Sam’s cheek.

Sam turned his head away immediately, shoulders tightening, irritation flaring again. When he spoke, his voice came out low, almost a growl.

“You-u’reee r-right. I don-n’t know-w whyyy I’m rew-warding you. I sho-ould mmmake y-oou take me-e to g-get pie.”

For the first time in this entire scenario, Ant blanched.

Oh no.

Not pie.

Sam’s favorite pie? Pie from that diner?

The one across town with impossible parking and a twenty-minute walk from the nearest station? The one whose cleanliness score hovered stubbornly at a B? The one where the waitresses were entirely too familiar with Sam and gave Ant dirty looks when Sam had his back turned?

The one right next to one of the dumpsters Sam used to frequent before Ant had finally brought him home?

That diner?

Ant felt his thoughts spiral, dread blooming fast-

Only to be pulled out of it by Sam’s low, husky chuckle.

And the soft squeeze of his hand.

“Do-on’t worrrrrry,” Sam muttered. “It’s-s too h-hotttt fo-r-r pie.”

The walk to the fast food place was quiet after that.

They moved side by side, the city filling the space between them -distant traffic, the hum of voices, the occasional burst of laughter from passersby. Ant, as always, pointed out every dog they saw along the way, each one earning a soft, distracted nod from Sam.

It was easy. Familiar.

Comfortable.

It wasn’t until they were seated -both of them with their soft serve cones (vanilla, of course, this place never had any other option)- that something began to feel… off.

Sam sat across from him, slowly licking at the ice cream before it could melt, focused entirely on the task.

And that’s when Ant realized.

Sam was actually upset.

Not just the sharp, reactive anger from earlier. Not the bristling, defensive frustration.

Something quieter.

It showed in the way Sam wouldn’t meet his eyes -how his gaze stayed fixed stubbornly on the cone in his hand. The way he ignored Ant’s hand resting on the table, palm up and waiting.

Normally, Sam would’ve taken it without thinking. Would’ve placed his own hand over Ant’s, letting Ant shift their fingers together into something more secure, more familiar.

It was one of the few times holding hands while eating wasn’t inconvenient -ice cream being a perfect one-handed treat, which had, admittedly, been part of Ant’s reasoning when he suggested it in the first place.

Now-

Nothing.

Ant tilted his head slightly, trying to catch Sam’s eyes through the faint reflection on his glasses.

All he found was avoidance.

…and that mark.

Still there. Still only half-hidden. Still unmistakable.

Something in Ant’s chest tightened.

Because years ago he might have let it go. Might have ignored it or waited for it to pass, let Sam bury it the way he always did.

But they weren’t the people they were. Not anymore. 

“Sammy.”

His voice came out softer than before -gentle, careful.

Sam paused mid-lick, stalling just slightly.

“I really am sorry,” Ant continued quietly. “I shouldn’t have let myself get so caught up in the moment.”

Sam sighed.

Then, finally -finally- he placed his hand over Ant’s.

The gold band on his finger caught the harsh fluorescent light overhead, glinting faintly.

Ant had to fight the immediate smile that threatened to break across his face. Something as simple as a hand on top of his own still meant everything.

He forced himself to stay focused.

“A-Ant, it-t’sss fin-ne. Re-eaally.”

Sam turned back to his ice cream, taking a few slow licks before letting out another sigh -this one less dramatic, more real.

“I’m-m goi-ing t-oo tell yo-ou someeethi-ing,” he muttered. “Don-n’t get-t-t ups-ssset.”

Ant’s response was immediate.

“I can’t make any promises.”

Sam stared at him.

Ant hesitated, something faintly familiar tugging at the back of his mind -something their therapist had said once, about listening, about effort.

“…But I will try,” he added quickly.

And just like that-

Sam burst out laughing.

It came out messy and bright -snorts, half-choked sounds, unpolished and completely genuine. Ant felt it hit him instantly, impossible not to mirror, his own laughter slipping out to match it.

God, he loved that.

Loved having someone to laugh with.

Loved that it was Sam.

That had been the start of everything, hadn’t it?

Not just the looks -though those hadn’t hurt- but Sam was funny too. 

Even better, Sam thought he was hilarious!

Ant could still remember that meeting -some long, dull studio briefing where he’d thrown out a terrible, corny line just to break the tension.

No one laughed.

Except-

Someone he’d barely met in the very back.

From accounting.

And that was where it started. 

The rest had followed, for better or worse -and Ant wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Eventually, their laughter faded, leaving behind something softer.

Sam squeezed his hand once, grounding, before continuing.

“A-At workkk… earlier t-today-”

Ant nodded encouragingly-

Because Sam’s voice trailed off , and surely it had something to do with how he was feeling.

But then he realized, the pause happened because his partner had tilted his cone slightly, and the ice cream had started to melt faster than he was eating it, a thin line slipping over the edge and onto his fingers.

His words cut off immediately.

His gaze dropped to his hand, expression tightening as the cold drip spread across his fingers.

For a second, he just stared at it.

Then he huffed and brought his hand up, licking the melting ice cream away -quick, a little messy, more annoyed than anything.

“J-Jesussss…”

He licked at his fingers with a sharp breath, irritation creeping back in as he glanced up.

“A-Ant, can you go g-get-”

Ant was already standing.

A small, automatic part of him mourned the loss of Sam’s hand -but the larger part moved without hesitation.

“Napkins. Of course!”

He grabbed a stack from the counter across the way and returned quickly, sliding back into his seat. He handed a few to Sam, placing the rest neatly in the center of the table within easy reach.

But Sam wasn’t looking at him anymore.

Instead, his gaze had caught on another table.

Ant followed it, spotting a group of older women huddled together, giggling quietly. When they noticed him looking, they brightened and waved.

Fans.

Not as common as they used to be.

Back when he was younger, he and Sam could barely walk down the street without being mobbed -fans, admirers, people calling their names.

Now his fame had quieted.

And it bothered him less and less these days.

Especially now that Sam had come back.

Moments like this -quiet, simple and everyday- were possible.

He waved back politely, then turned toward his partner, already expecting some kind of wisecrack.

Only to find Sam’s expression had darkened even more.

He bit into his ice cream cone like it had personally wronged him.

“Darling?”

Sam bit into it again and grunted.

“Your story?”

This time, Sam shifted his whole body away from the table, turning from Ant completely, and Ant tried not to let the twist in his chest show on his face.

“D-Don’tttt y-oou-u w-wwwan-nt-tt to g-g-”

The word caught, then broke apart entirely as Sam growled in frustration.

Ant sighed quietly.

Sam hadn’t always stuttered.

Something had happened while he was gone. Ant still didn’t know what, and while the years of speech therapy had helped, there was only so much it could do. Sometimes the words just wouldn’t come, and the frustration built until it had nowhere to go.

These days, it only happened when something was bothering him.

“I don’t want to go anywhere,” Ant said gently.

Sam finished off the last of his cone, chewing through the bottom before finally turning back toward him. His partner still couldn’t meet his eyes -but it was something.

“I want to stay here and hear your story. So please.”

Sam sighed and placed his hand back on the table.

Ant took it eagerly, even if it was still a little sticky from the melted ice cream.

“I-I… It’s stup-pidd.”

Ant had long since finished his own cone, so he took Sam’s hand in both of his, thumbs moving automatically -tracing every scar, every mark, mapping out the shape of hands he had loved, and lost, and somehow been given back.

And his lover sighed, like his own emotions were the heaviest burden in the world. What Sam didn’t understand was that even if they were, Ant wouldn’t mind being Atlas.

He would carry the world, the universe, the galaxy -every star in sight- if it meant holding onto this hand for the rest of his days.

“Y-Youuu lo-ook stu-upid,” Sam muttered, still avoiding his gaze. “Smi-l-ling at a d-d-damn h-hobo.”

Ant replied without missing a beat.

“And you look stupid. Still calling yourself a homeless person when you’ve lived in a home for five years now. Also, you’re avoiding the topic.”

That got him.

Sam laughed, soft and low, shoulders loosening slightly as he brought his other hand up, settling it into both of Ant’s.

He took a breath, speaking a little slower this time.

“S-Someone at w-o-ork… ma-ade some s-s-stupid commennnt. S-Something abo-out me onl-l-ly haviiiing my j-ob becau-use I’m-m w-withhhh the b-o-oss. P-Pissed me o-off. Tha-at’s it.”

Ant tried to stay calm.

He really did.

“An-nt. Calm-m downn.”

But how could he?

Someone whose paycheck he signed every two weeks had the audacity -not only to speak about his love life- but to speak about it like that?

Yes, he’d been the one who rehired Sam. Yes, it had been part of rebuilding their relationship.

But he hadn’t given him a meaningless position.

He could have. Easily. Something soft, something simple, something just to keep him busy.

But Sam was good.

Meticulous. Fast. Sharp with numbers.

Accounting wasn’t fluff -it kept the entire studio running.

And Sam took it in stride, like he belonged there.

Because he did.

Sure, at the start it had taken time. Relearning everything -office etiquette, typing, writing. He hadn’t looked at a spreadsheet in ten years, and Ant still remembered the week of muttered complaints as Sam relearned that skill at their dining room table.

But now?

All these years later? 

Now he was better than ever.

He was exactly where he should be -had earned the job a thousand times over, the entire department’s go-to whenever something came up at the last minute. The one people sought out when numbers didn’t add up, when deadlines were slipping, when something needed to be fixed now and fixed right. They all went to Sam. 

He was exactly where he deserved to be. 

“A-Ant, y-ouuu al-lready di-i-id a number on m-m-my ne-e-eck,” Sam muttered dryly. “G-Gonna bre-eak m-my fi-i-ingers too?”

Ant blinked, then looked down.

…Right.

He was holding on a little too tightly.

And he was doing exactly what he said he wouldn’t.

Getting upset.

He closed his eyes and took a slow breath before speaking a single word.

“Who?”

Really! He just wanted to know.

For completely reasonable reasons.

But Sam shut it down immediately.

“You’r-r-re dumbbbber tha-an I thou-u-ught if you thi-i-ink I’m tellingggg you.”

Of course he wouldn’t.

And Ant shouldn’t push.

He sighed, looking down at their hands -Sam’s pale against his own darker skin.

At two simple golden bands, on different fingers but side by side -symbols that they were a unit, forever.

But it wasn’t always that simple, was it?

“I-I just… I-I’m wor-r-riedddd.”

Sam squeezed his hands gently.

“I d-don’t wantttt to-o-o be se-e-en as…”

He rolled his eyes, shrugging like it didn’t matter even though to Ant it definitely did. 

“Mr. T-Tenna’s cha-r-r-rityyyy case husba-a-and.”

Ant tried not to seem panicked, but he couldn’t stop the way his voice cracked when he spoke.

“Sammy… you know that’s not true, right?”

Sam didn’t answer.

He just stared down at their hands -at their rings- like the answer might be written there if he looked hard enough.

“Right?”

Another sigh.

And Ant noticed it then -really noticed it. Sam had been sighing all day. Not the dramatic kind, not the exaggerated ones he used to make a point or joke around, but something quieter. Heavier.

Like he was tired.

Tired of something.

Tired of-?

No.

Surely not.

Sam had stayed. For years now. And he’d seemed happy -maybe not loudly, not in the way Ant was, but in his own way.

Ant had done everything he could.

He’d given him space when he needed it. Structure when he asked for it. They’d built boundaries, routines, ways to communicate -piece by piece, careful and deliberate. They took vacations when Sam got restless, let the world open up again when the routine started to feel too small.

They had built something good.

Something solid.

And when Sam finally looked up again, there was a small smile there -a slight upward quirk of his scarred lips.

“N-NNNNo, baby. It-t-t-t’s not-t-t you.”

The relief hit him immediately.

Warm and sudden, loosening something tight in his chest.

Of course. Of course it wasn’t him. He’d known that, hadn’t he? He had. But hearing it -hearing Sam say it- made it real in a way nothing else could.

He’d grown used to storms when they were younger. Chaos, uncertainty, everything shifting beneath his feet.

Now, calmer waters would always feel fragile. Like they could disappear if he looked away for too long.

So he smiled -wide, unrestrained, all teeth- as he met Sam’s gaze.

Sam rolled his eyes immediately.

“Go-odddd. Such a b-baby.”

But his own smile widened too, the soft smirk pulling further until it showed those crooked, yellowed teeth he always claimed to hate while still never visiting a dentist. 

“I k-know,” Sam muttered. “I’m n-n-not yo-our cha-a-arityyy c-case. Or wha-a-atever.”

He took a slow, deliberate breath.

Ant recognized it instantly -one of the techniques Sam had picked up in speech therapy. Ground yourself. Slow down. Let the words come.

“I just ha-ate…” Sam started, voice steadier now. “The way I ma-a-ake you look.”

Ant’s smile faltered.

Sam’s fingers shifted in his grasp, tightening just slightly.

“Everyone knows we’r-re ma-a-arried now,” he continued. “I lo-o-ove that. I do. But it ma-akes them look at you like…”

He trailed off.

Ant could feel the words coming before Sam said them -and he already didn’t want to hear them.

“Li-ike an idiot,” Sam finished quietly. “A-A-An idiot who-o-o’s got-t-t a re-hab-bilitated criminal li-i-iving in his house… and han-dling hi-i-is money.”

Each word landed heavier than the last.

“I-I ju-ust wish-”

He stopped again.

Another sigh.

That same exhausted one.

And Ant felt something in his chest crack, sharp and quiet, because he hated this- hated that Sam believed any of it, hated that this was something he carried around like it was truth.

“I ju-ust wish…” Sam tried again, softer now. “No-ow that we-e-e’re out…”

His gaze dropped again, back to their hands.

“I co-ould be someon-eeee you could-d be pro-o-oud of.”

A beat.

“Li-i-ike I us-s-sed to be.”

Ant exhaled quietly. 

“Sam, do you really think I’m not proud of you?” 

Silence, again. 

“Y-You sh-houldn’t bbbbe.” 

Ant quietly squeezed the hands in his own and looked down.

Earlier, he’d been so caught up in the idea of them -of their fingers laced together, of what it meant- that he hadn’t actually stopped to look.

Sam’s hands were pale, the skin thinner than it used to be, marked with faint scars and callouses that told stories Ant hadn’t been there to witness. They looked older than they should have. Faint sunspots had already begun to appear, scattered lightly across the back of his hands.

Time, written plainly.

Ant swallowed.

Then, gently, he let go.

He leaned forward instead, lifting one hand to cup the side of Sam’s face. His thumb rested just beneath his cheekbone, warm against his skin.

Sam leaned into the touch almost immediately.

Eyes closing.

Instinctive.

Ant smiled softly at that.

He thought of them, years ago -of the men they’d been then. Careful. Private. Always aware of who might be watching. They wouldn’t have even brushed shoulders in public back then, much less sat across from each other sharing ice cream, hands intertwined, rings catching the light for anyone to see.

A part of him understood what Sam meant.

Back then, Samuel had been-

Bright.

Loud in his success. Confident in a way that bordered on untouchable. He’d owned his own car dealership at twenty-four, already building something bigger, already looking ahead to the next step. Joining TV Time hadn’t been a fallback -it had been a move. A calculated one.

He’d been ambitious. Driven. Handsome in that sharp, polished way that drew attention without asking for it.

And now?

To Ant, he was still all of those things.

Just… quieter.

Softer at the edges.

More real than the version Ant had first met all those years ago.

His thumb shifted, brushing lightly beneath Sam’s eye, tracing the faint, permanent shadows settled there.

“You are still the same man you were all those years ago,” he said quietly. “In fact, you’re a better man than you were back then.”

He felt it before he heard it -the soft vibration of Sam’s laugh beneath his hand.

Ant smiled and moved his hand slightly, fingers slipping down to cradle his jaw, tilting his chin up so their eyes met. He could feel the faint scratch of stubble against his thumb.

“You’re more considerate,” Ant continued, voice warm. “Kinder. You laugh easier. You’re not hopped up on painkillers anymore, and you hit six years of sobriety in-”

He paused, brows knitting together as he tried to remember.

Sam filled in the gap for him.

“No-ovemberrr. S-So I’m sti-ill jus-t at f-five and aaaa ha-alf.”

Ant’s face scrunched immediately.

“That’s still an amazing accomplishment, you know that, right?”

Sam rolled his eyes.

But Ant didn’t let him get away with it.

He slid his hand up, pinching Sam’s cheek lightly.

“Right?”

He held it just long enough to make a point.

Sam huffed out a laugh, shoulders loosening as he nodded.

“Y-Yeah ba-aby. I kn-now.”

Satisfied, Ant released him and reached for his hand again, threading their fingers together, squeezing gently.

“So who gives a damn what anyone else thinks?” he said, a little more firmly now. “I’m proud of you. You’re proud of me. We’re proud of each other. We’re happy. We live together. We get ice cream.”

He smiled, something a little playful creeping back in.

“Meanwhile, I couldn’t even convince my old business partner to share a drink with me in public because he thought people would assume we were sharing a secondhand kiss.”

Sam snorted.

And just like that, the tension cracked.

The memory came back easily -It was nearly the turn of the century. Ant completely wasted, insistent, shoved a half-drunk glass toward him with far too much enthusiasm. Sam refused over and over, stubborn as ever, until he finally gave in-

And explained why he wouldn’t.

Later. Back at his apartment. Safe, private, away from anyone who might see. Ant had laughed himself hoarse back then. 

Now they both laughed -soft, familiar, the kind of laughter that belonged entirely to them and their own little world. 

Ant drank in the sight of him.

Sam.

His Sam. His love.

The ring on his finger caught the light. The quiet brightness in his eyes. And that mark, a small stubborn bloom against his skin.

Unsightly.

Beautiful.

His.

Ant reached up again, slipping his hand past the thick fabric of the hoodie to cradle the back of Sam’s neck. His palm settled there naturally while his thumb brushed gently across the hickey.

Sam’s brow furrowed at once, a flush already beginning to rise beneath the touch.

“You know,” Ant murmured, softer now, “if it really bothers you… we could use makeup. Concealer would fix it right up. No one would be able to tell.”

Sam turned his head away, angling toward the lights -but not before Ant caught the faintest flicker of a smile.

“N-Nahh-h,” Sam said. “I’m s-s-sure it’ll be g-one by M-Monday any-yway.”

Then he looked back.

And smiled.

Wide. Crooked. Real.

The kind of smile he used to hide.

The kind Ant had always loved.

“Bes-sides,” Sam added, voice steadier now, “do-oesn’t really-y m-matter.”

He reached up and placed his hand over Ant’s at the back of his neck, holding it there, grounding it in place.

Ant paused.

The mark was still visible. Still obvious. Something anyone could look at and understand.

And for once, Sam wasn’t trying to hide it. Not pulling his collar higher, not shrinking away, not pretending it wasn’t there. Just letting it exist. Letting them exist.

Ant’s thumb brushed over it once more, slower this time, following the shape of it.

A quiet, visible thing.

A little careless. A little embarrassing.

And unmistakably theirs.

Ant exhaled softly, something warm settling deep in his chest as his hand stayed where it was.

And Sam didn’t pull away.

“Well!”

Ant’s tone turned bright again, easy and deliberate, as he shifted forward in his seat. He flipped his hand over in Sam’s, fingers lacing together as he rose, gently tugging him along.

“Do you want to try that new gelato place down the street?”

Sam laughed -loud, unguarded, the sound cutting clean through whatever tension had been lingering. He rolled his eyes as he reached for his cane, pulling himself up with practiced ease.

“Y-your s-swweeeet too-t-th is go-oing to p-put you innnn the gr-rave,” he shot back.

Ant laughed in return, warm and unbothered, squeezing his hand once as they started toward the door.

“Then you’ll just have to come with me,” he replied easily.

They stepped out together, hand in hand -Sam’s cane tapping steadily against the ground, Ant matching his pace without thinking, the night sky meeting them just beyond the glass.

The city moved around them, loud and alive, but it didn’t feel overwhelming.

Not like it used to.

Ant glanced over at him once more -the hoodie, the glasses, the stubborn little mark still visible against his neck- and smiled.

Sam caught it, of course.

He always did.

“Sto-op lo-oooking, p-pervert,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to it.

Ant didn’t stop.

He just tightened his grip slightly, guiding them forward as they disappeared into the street together.

Embracing the way they no longer had to hide.