He'd been thinking about that tattoo since the wedding.
He got up, pulled on sweats and a T-shirt, and went to make coffee. The machine was cheap and loud and took forever, which Hudson had always considered a design flaw, but now considered a potential crime given that Shaw was asleep nine feet away. He hovered over it, willing it to be quieter.
Bringing his mug out to the balcony, he sat in one ofthe two chairs, feet up on the railing. The Sound stretched out between the buildings—flat and silver this early. The sun sat low and the cool air brushed his skin.
Shaw had kissed him in the kitchen last night, and asked him if it was okay. After they had sex, Shaw’d stared at the ceiling like he wasfinallyletting himself breathe.
Hudson couldn’t process how much he'd wanted to keep him there, away from everything, safe.
He was on his second cup when he heard movement inside.
Shaw appeared in the balcony doorway, hair slightly disordered in averyattractive way, wearing yesterday's shirt and his boxers. He looked at Hudson's mug. Then at the coffee machine visible through the window behind him.
"Is there more?"
"Yeah. It's bad, though."
Shaw got some anyway, then came back out and took in the view. Hudson watched him take a sip without comment.
"Sleep okay?" he asked.
"Fine." Shaw glanced at him. "You?"
"Yeah."
Shaw leaned on the railing, both hands wrapped around the mug. Morning light caught the side of his face and Hudson had to force his gaze away.
“So, what are we doing today?”
"Clam chowder," Hudson said.
Shaw seemed confused. “You want clam chowder?"
"Best in WA. I've told you this."
"You have, repeatedly. If I say yes, will you stop talking about it?”
“Absolutely. Maybe.”
Shaw eyed him over the rim of his mug. “If I hate it, I’m telling you.”
“Shaw. Just say yes.”
”… Fine.”
They hitAlki Beach in West Seattle around noon.
The clam chowder truck was in its usual spot, parked at the far end of the lot with a line already snaking back toward the promenade. Hudson joined it without hesitation. Shaw fell in beside him, hands in the pockets of his jeans, sunglasses on, looking like he was conducting a threat assessment of the surrounding tourists.
“Relax,” Hudson said. “You don’t need to surveil the crowd."
"Am not. I’m taking in the scenery. That's not the same thing."
Hudson grinned. They shuffled forward in the line.
The beach was busy—families, joggers, a group of guys playing volleyball near the waterline. The air smelled like sunscreen and salt and whatever was coming off the grill. He filled his lungs and exhaled.
They ordered and found a spot on a low wall by the sand, trays balanced on their knees, the Sound spread out ahead of them.
