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Removing the old valve took effort. It had been in place for years, maybe decades, and it didn’t want to budge. Deadeye applied pressure while I held the tank steady, both of us straining against stubborn metal.
“Almost there,” he said through gritted teeth.
The valve broke free with a screech. Water dribbled out, dark and rusty. Deadeye caught the old part before it could hit the floor and handed me the new one.
“Your turn,” he said. “Screw it in. Hand-tight first, then wrench.”
My fingers fumbled with the threading. The new valve felt heavy and cold, nothing like the lightweight phone calls I’d been coasting on. His hand covered mine, adjusting my grip.
“Like this,” he said. “Slow. Don’t force it.”
“I’m very good at forcing things.”
“I’ve noticed.”
With his guidance, I threaded the valve into place. Hand-tight, then wrench. The metal resisted then surrendered. When I stepped back, the new valve sat flush against the tank, gleaming and functional.
“Is that it?” I asked.
“Almost. Now we test it.”
He turned the water supply back on. The tank hummed back to life, water rushing through pipes somewhere in the walls. For a long moment, neither of us breathed.
No leak. No drip. No puddle spreading across the concrete.
A sound burst out of me. Not a laugh. Something more like a victory yell. I jumped. Actually jumped, both feet leaving the ground, arms thrown up like I’d scored a goal.
“Yes!” The word echoed through the basement. “I fixed it. I mean you mostly fixed it, but I helped. I participated. I was present for the fixing.”
Deadeye grinned. His whole face changed with it, the grin spreading wide and genuine. “You did good.”
“I did better than good. I did plumbing.” I jumped again because I couldn’t help it, the concrete vibrating under my boots. Three days of faking competence, three days of panicked phone calls, and I’d actually accomplished something real. My skin buzzed with the triumph of it, and without thinking, without planning, I threw myself forward.
My arms wrapped around him. The hug was spontaneous, enthusiastic, my face pressing against his shoulder while adrenaline sang through my veins. His body went still for half a second. Then his arms came up, settling around my back, pulling me closer.
The warmth of him soaked through my shirt. His hand pressed flat between my shoulder blades. I could feel his heartbeat, steady and solid, against my cheek.
Pulling back just enough to look up at him, I saw his expression shift. The grin softened into something quieter. His eyes dropped to my mouth and stayed there.
“Niles,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
“I was hoping you would.”
His mouth met mine. The kiss started soft, nothing like the frantic energy of my victory jump. His lips moved against mine with gentle certainty, one hand still pressed against my back, the other rising to cup my jaw. I leaned into him, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, tasting the faint salt of sweat and something sweeter underneath.
When we broke apart, we were both breathing harder. The water tank hummed behind us. The basement bulb flickered once. His thumb traced the edge of my jaw, light and careful.
“That was unexpected,” I said.
“Was it?”
“No. I’ve been thinking about it for three days.”
His laugh was quiet, close enough that I felt the warmth of it against my skin. “Me too.”
