“What was that?”
“Garfield Park,” Sami mumbled, quietly, like he was hoping the words would get lost in the space between them once more.They did not.
“What?!”
Driving.He was driving.Baz checked the road just long enough to make sure he was in his lane before he subjected Sami to the full intensity of his glare.
Chicago got a bad rap for being dangerous; the news made it sound like crime lingered at every corner and it was a miracle to make it out alive.Massive exaggerations, of course.But Sami had managed to pick one of the few genuinely dangerous neighborhoods.
“The east of it!”Sami insisted, like that made a difference.
“You let me let you go home alone at night toGarfield Park?”That was never happening again.From now on, Sami would stay the night, or Baz would give him a ride home personally.
“I live really close to the L.”
“Yeah, that makes itsomuch better.”Famously, no gangbangers ever hung around train stops.Not like those were the prime hubs for drug deals and gang escalations!
“You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.You don’t keep anything you care about in your car, though, right?Doesn’t even have to be valuable.Maybe we should let the air out your tires, just to be sure.”
“Oh my god.”
Sami’s chuckle was way too light given the danger he put himself in, walking around here at night.Such a blatant disregard for his mortality.
His apartment was just east of the truly dicey area, but this still felt dodgy.Baz would have to see about calling in a favor from Aya’s real estate client—Baz had done most of the work for him anyway—to give Sami and Naija the option to upgrade.Not becoming a casualty in a gang war was the least Sami deserved after all he had done this weekend.
Once again, Baz couldn’t find it in him to leave the car.Not if it meant saying goodbye.He’d rather stay and caress Sami’s hand, feeling the leathery scar tissue disappear under his sleeve.
“Thank you for today.And last night, and everything.”Baz hadn’t kept track of how often he had said it, but he knew it wasn’t enough.No one had ever done anything like this for him.He hadn’t thought anyone ever would.
“My pleasure.I love seeing grown men cry.”Sami’s grin softened.His fingers locked with Baz’s.“And it seemed like you needed a friend.”
A friend.Sure.Or maybe something more.Something that meant Sami would always look at him like there was no place he’d rather be despite the chaos he had been dragged into.
“I appreciate you.”
Sami’s throat bopped.“Do you, maybe, wanna come upstairs?About time you see what an apartment within someone’s means looks like.”
“Yeah.”Baz’s voice was barely more than a breath.“I think I could do with that inspiration.”
“Okay.”
Dirty gray tiles covered the floor of the hallway.The nicotine-yellow wallpaper revealed ashy concrete where it had been torn off.The stairs were too narrow to fit both of them, robbing Baz of any chance to keep holding Sami’s hand.
Four floors, no elevator.What a humbling reminder he needed to do more cardio at the gym.No wonder Sami had gorgeous legs.
Sami opened the door to a small living room that barely fitted a three-seater.
“Naija?You home?”he shouted, dropping his keys in the bowl next to the entrance.No reply.
Baz closed the door behind them, and wow.Nearly every inch of the walls was covered, by art—like the painting of a cartoon frog wearing oversized glasses—movie posters, and several pictures of Naija, Sami, the gang, and a bunch of people Baz didn’t recognize.Miles of fairy lights roped around each wall piece, intertwined with vines of ivy.With the dark wooden furniture and indirect light, the room resembled a particularly artsy speakeasy.
If this was happy, no wonder Sami thought his place was sad.
“Busy,” Baz remarked.
“I know.Naija does a lot of paint-by-numbers when she’s stressed.We’re kind of running out of space to put everything up.”
Running out of space seemed to be a general theme.Everything was stuffed to the max, and yet, there was a strange comfort in the clutter.This place felt so… lived in.A home.
