Breath 11
They burst through the swinging doors of the kitchen like fugitives,
the scent of garlic, soy, and panic clinging to their clothes.
Behind them, the restaurant roiled in chaos—people screaming,
agents shouting orders, chairs tumbling, plates cracking.
But at the kitchen-
the sound from the dining area dissolve into frantic whispers.
Tom searched around, where did Ploy go?
Nick pulled him through the maze of metal counters and prep bins, towards
THE WALK IN FREEZER
The door slammed shut behind them with a thud of finality,
locking out the noise—and locking in everything else.
The sudden cold wrapped around them like a second skin.
Their breath was visibly labored in the dim light,
every exhale: a ghost waiting to be seen.
A lone bulb flickered overhead,
Nick exhaled sharply, his shoulders rising with tension.
His lips parted, but whatever he meant to say was swallowed by the space between them.
NOTHING MATTERS ANYMORE.
Other than.
Them.
Silence.
The cold hit Tom like a slap.
His breath fogged in front of him, mingling with Nick’s.
The bulb overhead flickered, casting shadows across the racks of meat and sauce tubs.
The low hum of the freezer motor was the only sound—like the world itself was holding its breath.
So was Nick.
His back hit the wall, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile.
He looked at Tom with wide, unsure eyes. Eyes that had once made Tom feel seen.
Eyes that had also vanished on the worst day of his life.
“Tom—” Nick started, voice low, raw.
But Tom didn’t wait.
He surged forward, grabbed Nick by the collar,
and kissed him like he might never get the chance again.
Tom kissed Nick greedily.
As if telling the world that he OWNS Nick now.
They stumbled back, crashing into a rack of frozen meats and sealed containers.
A tub of Green curry tumbled to the floor, its plastic cracking open with a wet splatter
that painted the ground in a green bloom.
Neither of them noticed. Or cared.
Their lips met hard. It wasn’t soft, wasn’t sweet.
There’s not even a hint of shyness.
It was survival—urgent, clumsy, all teeth and breath.
Like they’d been drowning separately, and only now, in this impossible cold,
did they realize they could breathe in each other.
Nick stiffened—but just for a second.
Then he melted into it.
His hands found Tom’s waist, pulled him flush against him.
Their bodies crashed together, they continue to knock another stack of frozen
dumpling trays and sealed sauce containers.
Tom's hand moved slowly over Nick’s chest,
the heat of his palm tracing the ridges of stitched fabric
until it stopped—right at the cold, metallic edge of Nick’s shoulder badge.
His fingers hovered there, not pushing it away, not pulling it closer.
Just acknowledging it.
A boundary. A betrayal. A symbol.
Nick looked at him.
For a breathless second, neither of them moved.
Breath on hold.
Tom remembered where he put the coffee cup that the coffee guy next door gave him.
It was there sitting on the metal shelve.
STARING AT HIM.
Then Nick kissed him again—and this time it wasn’t frantic.
It was everything.
Slow. Certain. Like he’d made a choice and couldn’t turn back.
The cold faded. The silence became sacred.
Tom’s fingers went to the buttons of Nick’s shirt,
undoing each one with deliberate slowness,
revealing warm skin that steamed in the freezer air.
Nick’s breath hitched as he tugged Tom’s shirt over his head, fingers clumsy in urgency.
Nick licked every section of the rippled abs before him.
Tom closed his eyes.
It was VERY intense.
Then came the belts—leather whispering free.
Buckles clinked to the floor like distant chimes.
Fabric rustled and slid down.
Their pants pooled around their ankles, then fell away completely.
In their underwear now, they pressed together, skin to skin, bone to bone.
Tom’s head nestled in the curve of Nick’s neck, breath fogging between them.
This was their world now.
Four steel walls and the hum of the freezer motor.
Shelves stacked with forgotten vegetables, vacuum-sealed meats,
and tubs of sauces now trembling as the metal racks quivered.
Nick kissed Tom again—slowly this time.
Like they had all the time in the world, even if they had none.
His lips lingered, tracing the shape of Tom’s mouth like a memory.
His hand cupped the back of Tom’s neck as if to anchor him.
Tom’s fingers found the waistband of Nick’s briefs and slipped beneath.
His touch was reverent, not rushed.
Nick responded with a low sound in his throat—a sound Tom had never heard from him before,
something caught between pain and relief.
SOMETHING PRIMAL.
Nick lifted Tom with a strength that surprised him, he set Tom down gently
on the steel prep counter.
The surface was freezing, but Tom didn’t flinch.
The cold grounded him, made the heat between them burn hotter.
Nick’s briefs joined the rest of their clothes in a crumpled heap.
The last barrier gone.
Then it was just them.
Bodies colliding, heat rising, breath catching.
The counter beneath them shook.
Sauce tubs rattled and toppled—sweet chili and black bean exploding onto the floor,
splashing red and brown across frost-white tiles.
A vacuum pack of pork belly slipped off a shelf and burst open on impact.
Frozen peas scattered like marbles.
But nothing stopped them.
Nothing could.
Nick moved inside him with growing intensity—starting slow,
aching, almost reverent.
But then faster. Harder.
Tom’s fingers curled against his back.
Their breath fogged and mingled like smoke from a shared fire.
The freezer air was cold, but between them, it might as well have been a furnace.
It was messy.
Desperate.
Beautiful.
A quiet apocalypse unfolding behind sealed doors.
Then—
A NOISE.
Nick froze.
Footsteps. Just outside. Loud. Heavy.
Someone bumping into a cart. A container lid clattered to the floor.
Agents.
Nick’s head snapped up.
He pulled out, breath ragged, eyes wide with instinct.
Tom scrambled off the counter, grabbing his briefs,
pulling them on one leg at a time like a boy caught doing something forbidden.
Nick did the same, shirts twisted, belt half-looped.
They dressed in seconds, hearts hammering.
Tom looked at Nick.
Nick looked like he was about to say something—something real—but instead he leaned in,
kissed Tom once, quick and rough. His voice was low, urgent.
“Stay here. Let me check.”
Then, in a flash, he was gone—shirt still half-untucked, his badge glinting in
the low light like a threat and a promise.
Tom stood there, chest rising and falling, surrounded by the wreckage of sauces and broken tubs.
His body still hummed from the touch. His lips still tingled.
Outside, the danger waited.
But in here, for one impossible moment, he had been touched like he mattered.
Inside this cold freezer, Tom found a safe space.
A place where no one will hurt him.
Nick slowly opened the door. He stepped outside.
He was gone for a minute or two.
Tom waited.
Should he continue to hide here?
But he will be found.
Before the thought of asking whether Nick will ever return,
Nick came back.
“Nobody’s out there. Everyone’s gone. Possibly they’re bringing everyone at the station.”
Tom steps closer, “Are you saying, it’s just us now?”
Nick nodded.
Knowing that they’re now alone only made the heat between them more unbearable.
Things happened quickly again.
Tom found himself unbuttoning Nick’s shirt again, his hand headed for his pants.
Nick in one pull removed everything from Tom.
Nick’s mouth trailed down to his jaw, nipped at his throat.
His breath was warm, ragged, and it ghosted over Tom’s skin like a secret.
“I like you Tom” Nick murmured, words pressed into the hollow beneath Tom’s ear.
Tom smirked, breath catching. “I like you as well”
But something in Nick’s touch faltered.
His fingers clenched at Tom’s hips, then stilled.
He didn’t pull away—but his breathing changed.
Slower. Heavier.
Like he was trying to reason with something his body had already betrayed.
Tom felt the shift.
Nick’s forehead pressed against his.
A beat. Then—
“This isn’t just survival for you, is it?”
His voice was low.
Not accusing. Just... wondering.
Afraid of the answer.
Tom’s throat tightened.
“No,” he said, barely more than a whisper. “It never was.”
The words hung in the air between them like a match lit in the dark.
Nick cupped Tom’s face, his thumb brushing over the stubble on his cheek like
he wanted to memorize the shape of it. His eyes searched Tom’s—fierce, uncertain,
unbearably human.
Their lips hovered, inches apart. Close enough to fall.
Tom wanted to say something. Everything.
That he had thought about this moment every day since the raid last week.
That it had wrecked him to dream of Nick’s face and wake up alone.
That he had hated himself for not calling him.
Not connecting.
He can’t understand himself why he acted that way.
Nick touched him-
As Tom touched Nick as well.
The air around them was cold.
but both of them are holding something-warm
They kissed as their hands move bringing each other
to the point where they can’t go back.
It was not slow.
It was rough.
It was fast.
It was intense.
Their lips are pressed on each other as they simultaneously reached
the MOMENT.
Then they heard
A sharp clang, a pan hitting tile.
They’re NOT ALONE.
Nick jerked back like he’d been shocked.
His eyes went flat, professional.
The man who had kissed Tom with fire was gone, replaced by the agent again.
“We have to go,” he said.
Tom closed his eyes for half a second, grounding himself.
He felt the cold seep back into his bones. The pressure of Nick’s hands lingered like bruises.
He nodded.
Nick turned, straightening his shirt, swiping a hand through his hair.
But Tom watched him—every movement, every hesitation.
There was something softer about him now. Unraveled.
“You do love me, do you?” Tom said softly, like he didn’t expect an answer.
Like the truth was already known.
Nick froze, his hand on the door.
His fingers curled into a fist.
He didn’t look back.
Then the door opened, the kitchen was mercilessly quiet.
They stepped through it together.
But Tom knew—something had changed in the cold.
And Nick would never be able to bury it again.
“Yes, I do love you, Tom.”
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