Breath 5

As Tom walked back into the restaurant,

the noise and heat of the kitchen closed in around him.

He took another deep breath, steadying himself,

but his feet suddenly hesitated.

His body tensed.

A cold dread washed over him.

Last week.

The flash of red and blue lights outside.

The air thick with the smell of spice, sizzling oil, and something else—panic.

It had been a busy night.

The restaurant was packed, the tables full, the chatter loud.

A large group of Mexicans had gathered to celebrate a birthday,

laughter and music filling the air.

Tom had been balancing a stack of used plates, his mind focused on

not dropping them, when—

The door slammed open.

Everything stopped.

Immigration agents flooded the restaurant,

their presence swallowing the celebration in an instant.

A voice bellowed, demanding IDs. Chaos erupted.

Chairs scraped back, customers leaped from their seats,

and screams cut through the once-lively atmosphere.

People ran—bolting for the back, slipping past tables,

pushing through the entrance. Some were caught immediately.

Others weren’t as lucky.

Tom stood frozen, the plates in his hands suddenly too heavy.

His fingers trembled.

His breath caught in his throat.

The weight of reality crashed over him like a tidal wave.

Then, he dropped them.

The sound of shattering ceramic was lost beneath the chaos,

but it jolted him into action.

He ducked.

Heart hammering, he crawled under the nearest table,

his pulse thundering in his ears.

He moved fast, keeping low, slipping through gaps between chairs and legs,

his fingers scraping against the tile floor.

His body tensed at every stomp, every shout,

every voice barking orders. He had to get to the kitchen. If he could just—

A shadow loomed ahead. Heavy boots.

A figure stepping closer.

Tom barely breathed as he slid through the doorway to the kitchen,

the dim lights flickering above him.

His hands pressed against the cold metal of a prep table as he tried to steady himself.

And then—

A presence behind him.

Warm breath against his neck.

A deep voice, steady, unreadable.

“Going somewhere?”

Tom turned slowly.

His breath hitched.

His face was inches away from someone—someone tall, broad-shouldered,

with piercing eyes that held him in place like a force stronger than fear itself.

Tom’s pulse pounded against his ribs.

His body stiffened. He swallowed hard, his skin prickling as a bead of sweat trickled down his spine.

He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable grip on his wrist,

the rough pull, the command to show his papers.

But nothing happened.

Instead, the man—Nick, though Tom didn’t know his name yet—just stood there, watching him.

For a moment, the chaos outside didn’t exist.

There was only the dim kitchen,

the shallow rise and fall of Tom’s breath, and the weight of Nick’s gaze locking him in place.

Then, somewhere in the distance,

a chair crashed to the ground, and the world came rushing back.

Nick moved first. And Tom shifted his foot to ran.

But then—his foot slipped.

The green curry sauce spilled across the floor betrayed him.

His balance vanished in an instant, and he felt himself falling.

Nick reacted fast, trying to catch him, but his own footing failed.

The world tilted, and before Tom could brace himself,

Nick crashed onto him.

Hard.

Their lips pressed together.

Time froze.

Nick’s eyes widened, the realization hitting him at the same time it hit Tom.

Neither moved, neither breathed.

The dim kitchen light cast shadows over their entwined bodies,

highlighting the tension crackling between them.

Then—footsteps.

“Nick?” Another agent’s voice rang out.

“You good? You see any illegals back there?”

Tom’s pulse pounded against his ribs,

fear flashing across his face.

The question hung in the air like a threat.

Nick hesitated—just for a second.

Then, instead of pulling away, he leaned in.

His lips brushed against Tom’s again, deliberate this time, slow.

A shiver ran through Tom.

It wasn’t just fear anymore.

Something deeper—something aching—unraveled inside him.

A tear slipped from the corner of his eye.

The agent called out again, impatience creeping into his tone. “Nick?”

Nick’s hand pressed lightly against Tom’s chest.

A silent reassurance. A silent warning.

From the front of the restaurant, the other agent’s voice echoed,

“All clear! Let’s bring the illegals into custody and get the hell out of here.”

Silence.

Nick didn’t move right away.

The weight of his decision pressed down on him as his gaze lingered on Tom.

Finally, he exhaled. “Everything’s clear,” he murmured.

Tom let out a shaky breath, searching Nick’s face for

something—anything—that made sense of what just happened.

“Why?” Tom whispered.

Nick’s eyes flickered downward—to the shattered Mee Krob

scattered across the floor. His stomach growled.

A flicker of amusement passed over Tom’s face despite everything.

Nick cleared his throat. “Do you still have some of those?”

A pause. “What are they called?”

Tom hesitated. “Mee Krob.”

Wordlessly, he moved to the stove, his hands steadying as he reached for the wok,

as if muscle memory took over.

The crisp noodles hit the pan, the tangy tamarind and chili sauce follows,

the sweet scent filling the silence between them.

The agents were gone. It was just the two of them now.

“Did they leave?” Tom asked quietly.

Nick scanned the space, then nodded. “I think so.”

Tom plated the Mee Krob and slid it across the counter.

Nick hesitated, then picked up a piece—golden, glistening with sauce.

He took a bite.

“These are good,” he admitted. “Sweet. A little tangy, slightly spicy,

the delicate flavors are well balanced”

He glanced at Tom. “Are they supposed to be dessert?”

Tom almost smiled. “More like an appetizer.”

A long silence stretched between them before Tom met Nick’s gaze, searching.

“So… what happens to me now?”

Nick set down his fork. He didn’t know.

The weight of his duty, the law, and

something deeper—something unspoken—settled heavily in his chest.

“I don’t know.” His voice was quieter this time. “What do you think?”

Tom didn’t answer right away.

Instead, his fingers moved, slow and deliberate, to the buttons of his shirt.

One by one, they came undone,

exposing the smooth lines of his collarbone, the taut muscle beneath.

Nick stiffened, his throat working as Tom reached for the zipper of his pants—

Nick’s hand shot out, fingers wrapping around Tom’s wrist.

Stopping him.

“No,” Nick rasped. “Not like this. Not right now.”

A beat.

Then Tom leaned in, his breath warm against Nick’s skin.

“I love America,” he whispered.

Nick’s pulse spiked.

“I’m not asking for everything.”

Tom’s voice dropped, intimate.

“All I want is the little crumbs you don’t need.”

His fingers brushed against Nick’s lip, wiping away a stray Mee Krob crumb.

The moment stretched between them, charged, undeniable.

Nick swallowed hard, voice rough.

“You committed a crime just by being here.”

Tom’s gaze didn’t waver. “Is it a crime to love you?”

The air between them tightened.

Tom’s voice, barely above a whisper, raw with emotion.

“When did it become illegal to love America?”

Nick looked away, taking in the broken restaurant—the shattered plates,

the wreckage left behind.

“We have laws,” he said finally, his voice heavy.

“That’s what makes America a great country. A strong country.

Without laws, everything looks like this.”

He gestured toward the destruction. “Chaos.”

Tom took a step closer, his voice steady.

“A great country. A strong country.” A pause. “That’s what I want too… for you.”

Nick finally looked at him.

Something shifted between them, something neither of them could name.

“Nick,” he said after a moment. “I’m Nick.”

A small, sad smile tugged at Tom’s lips. “Tom.”

“You see, Nick,” Tom said softly,

“I might be in the shadows, but I’m always cheering for you.”

Nick’s breath caught.

“I’m your greatest fan,” Tom continued, his voice gentle,

almost reverent. “Your biggest supporter.”

Nick’s chest rose and fell, his breath uneven.

“I’m rooting for you,” Tom whispered.

“Not because I want to take something from you…

but because I like looking at you. Admiring you.”

His voice dropped even lower, almost like a secret meant only for Nick.

“From a distance. Because that’s the closest I can get to you.”

Silence.

Nick exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

And for the first time—he was the one who took a step closer.