The rain falls hard, forming puddles that reflect the dim light of the streetlamps. Dave stands motionless in front of the door, feeling the water slide over his skin, his clothes clinging like a second, unwelcome layer. He shouldn't be here. He should've kept walking. Or ducked into any seedy bar. Anything but this.
But his hand moves on its own.
He knocks. Once. Twice.
It doesn't take long for Heinz to open the door.
Dave doesn't know what he expected. Maybe surprise. Confusion. Maybe a What the hell are you doing here? But no.
Heinz looks at him like he's been expecting him all along. Like it's the most obvious thing in the world—that after wandering through the rain, trying to outrun his own thoughts, Dave would end up back here.
"You're worse than a stray cat," Heinz mutters with a crooked smile.
Dave growls and brushes past him, soaking the floor with every step. Heinz closes the door calmly and, without another word, disappears down the hall. When he returns, he tosses Dave a dry towel.
"Dry off before you mess up the whole place."
Dave catches it mid-air and scrubs at his hair roughly, as if it might clear his mind. It doesn't. Heinz is still there, watching him with an expression Dave can't quite read.
"I'll get you dry clothes," Heinz says, already turning away. "I can't stand to watch you shiver. It's pathetic."
"I'm not shivering," Dave mutters, though it's a blatant lie. The cold has sunk into his bones.
Heinz returns with clean clothes and sets them on the couch.
"Put them on."
Dave doesn't move. He stares at the clothes. Then at Heinz.
"What, you planning to watch me change?"
Heinz leans his elbow on the back of the couch and grins with infuriating ease.
"Only if you want me to."
Dave rolls his eyes and turns his back. He can't look at him right now. His mind is already enough of a disaster without Heinz pouring gasoline on the fire.
He unbuttons his shirt, feeling the cold fabric cling to his fingers. He shrugs it off quickly, the wet sound of it hitting the floor loud in the quiet room. Then he strips off his pants.
The air against his skin is sharp, biting. But that's not what gets to him. It's being here, in Heinz's house, wearing Heinz's clothes, invading his space—after *that* night. After everything he felt.
He slips on the shirt. The cotton is soft and smells like Heinz.
Dave closes his eyes for a second.
Don't think about it.
But he can't help it. Because it's all still there—under his skin, in his memory.
The photos. The notes.
The damning proof that Heinz doesn't trust him either.
And fuck, it shouldn't matter.
He doesn't trust Heinz. He shouldn't care.
But he does.
More than he's willing to admit.
The room is dim, light casting long shadows across the walls. Rain drums steadily against the windows. The city hums distantly in the background. And in the silence, the only other sound is Heinz's calm, rhythmic breathing.
Dave doesn't know how he got to this point. Or maybe he does. Maybe every decision, every step that led him back to this house, was guiding him to this inevitable moment.
Heinz is close. Too close.
"You've got a dangerous look in your eyes," Heinz murmurs, a half-smile tugging at his lips.
Dave doesn't answer. He just watches him, taking in the details with painful clarity. The green eyes gleaming in the shadows. Pale skin against his darker tone. The way Heinz tilts his head slightly, as if he's waiting for something.
As if he knows exactly what's about to happen.
Dave swallows and takes one step forward.
Just one.
And Heinz doesn't flinch. Doesn't back away. Doesn't break eye contact. The only reaction is the faintest curl of his lips—a gesture so small and deliberate that it feels like an invitation.
Dave doesn't think it through when he raises his hand and touches his face.
Skin to skin.
Heinz exhales slowly, leaning ever so slightly into the touch.
Dave traces the line of his jaw with his thumb, feeling the warmth beneath his fingers. It's a slow, exploring motion, like he's trying to memorize him. And maybe he is. Because despite everything—the doubts, the secrets—he wants him.
Heinz turns his head just enough to catch Dave's fingertip between his lips in a fleeting touch. A gesture almost casual. Almost innocent.
Almost.
A shiver climbs Dave's spine.
"You're such a bastard," he whispers with a rough laugh.
Heinz smiles against his skin.
"And you're slow."
He says it with that effortless arrogance, that shameless confidence. And it's enough to make Dave lose the last bit of restraint he has.
Their mouths crash together in a kiss full of pent-up frustration and barely-contained desire. Heinz doesn't flinch, doesn't hesitate. He meets him with the same hunger, the same pressure simmering just beneath the surface.
Dave's hands roam—his neck, his back, following every curve of tension. Heinz is lean, but his body is charged with a strength Dave is only just beginning to understand.
Heinz's fingers tangle in his hair, yanking just hard enough to draw a low gasp from him.
"You're loud," he mutters with a mocking grin against his mouth.
Dave narrows his eyes.
"And you talk too much."
But he doesn't give him a chance to reply. He pushes him against the wall, pinning him between his body and the cold surface.
Heinz's breath hitches a moment before his legs curl around Dave's, trapping him.
The kiss deepens, grows hungrier.
Hands slip beneath clothes, fingers map old scars, nails scratch along bare skin. Every touch, every breath, is a revelation.
And Dave realizes, with a sudden, sharp thud in his chest, that this isn't just physical.
It's something else.
Something he's not ready to name.
Something that scares him.
But he doesn't stop. Because right now, on this night, he doesn't want to think.
He just wants to feel.