(Originally written July 17th 2014)

'I just imagined myself as R2-D2 and you as C3P0 walking around the Vegas desert looking for alcohol.'

Grif snorted, looking down at his phone.

'man even drinking ur a huge nerd. is this what you dream about? r we at least loaded in this fantasy of urs?'

Grif smiled as he sent the text, amused at his friend.

'nah, you got caught cheating then Officer Hot Pants showed up and that was just uncomfortable and then we got thrown out and you wanted to get drunk so we went in the desert because that makes sense. Also, robots because, ya know, robots.'

Grif was laughing, shaking his head as he took a swig from the bottle between his fingers. Kai was in her room, sleeping, and Grif had just gotten off work and just really, really needed to forget about shitty customers and calling an ambulance for some dipshit that didn't know how to work a goddamn grill and calling the police for some high fucker that thought trying to rob a burder-joint with a flashlight was going to be in some way productive, it wasn't, and all it got Grif was a blooming bruise on his forehead when the piece of shit swung the flashlight at his head when he wasn't looking and staying an hour later to clean up some kid's idea of fun. Let's just say that if Grif never sees mustard again in his life, he'll die a happy man.

It's times like these he's really glad he has Simmons.

'officer hot pants? dude what r u imagining over there?'

Grif snickers, imagining Simmons' scandalized face.

'shut up. friend of mine named donut. I know dude, yes his name is really donut. decent dude, weird, but he's a good friend.'

'u know I'm gonna refuse to call him donut right'

'I know.'

'still doesn't tell me a thing about stripper cop'

'dude you do NOT want to know. I don't even want to know. it's a good thing I'm already drinking.'

'told u that u needed a break from finals. Isn't that like 2 weeks from now? ur gonna break that egghead of urs if you keep that up'

Grif walks around the little apartment he shares with his sister, picks up a piece of paper here, a soda can there, and tosses it near the trash can near the nonexistent wall that should separate the kitchen and the living room but really is just where the grungy carpet meets the mismatched tile. He misses the trash can, not like he was really aiming. Eh, he'll pick it up in the morning, not like it was going anywhere.

Grif's phone buzzes in his hand.

'hey just 'cause you're too lazy to go to college doesn't mean the rest of us are'

Grif walks over to the calendar, picks up one of the sparkly yellow pens that Kai left on the counter and notices that it's only two more weeks until he gets paid ('Thank fuck'), then strikes through the date with a wobbly hand. Shit, he was probably getting on his way to too drunk to be walking around a dimly lit room at night. Tripping and dying on the growing pile of beer bottles wasn't exactly his ideal way to go.

He starts to head towards the couch, the only bedroom in the place occupied by his younger sister. It was fine though, Grif didn't have a lot of stuff and, besides, so long as he had a place to lay down he didn't really mind where he was sleeping.

Once seated, Grif pulls out his pillow and blanket from under the couch, already stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers because if he doesn't have to be wearing pants then he sure as shit is not wearing them.

Grif frowned when he read the text again. He knew Simmons didn't know the whole story, was only teasing in that way they did, but it still stung a bit.

He took a drink.

'ur just jealous i live such a stress free life man i mean, hawaii right? livin the dream'

Grif lets out a bitter little laugh. Yeah, he was living the dream alright.

'yeah yeah, make fun of the guy in a landlocked state why don't you'

'I just did lol'

'fuck off'

'you dont mean that. hey when do you think you'll be coming back? I can watch you almost drown again'

That wasn't a pleasant moment for Grif. It was nearing the end of summer, the beaches swarming with people that forgot their sunscreen or forgot their deodorant, or, if Grif was really lucky, both. Grif had been searching for jobs, even going so far as trying to get the lifeguard position even though he didn't know how he was keeping himself and Kai safe, let alone how he was supposed to keep, like, a fucking million people safe, but he applied anyway.

He didn't get the job.

Grif had been scowling at the newspaper he had picked up, slashing pen marks through all the help wanted ads that turned out to be duds or just looked really fucking sketchy. He was walking along the pier, elbowing his way past crowds of meandering tourists and noisy children. It had been so loud, he could barely hear himself think. He was making his way to the burger-joint a few shops down to see if they were hiring. He made his way to the outside of the crowd, finally able to see more than a few feet ahead of him, just in time to see a red blur fall over the railing.

Grif stood there in shock, wondering if the heat was doing something to his eyes. No one around was reacting – 'why isn't anyone reacting!' – giving credibility to his 'just seeing things' theory, but the nagging feeling wouldn't stop, the image of Kai leaving the house in a red tank-top flashing at the front of his mind.

All of this only took a few seconds to think about, a little longer to actually jog-shove his way to the end of the pier, a group of boys speeding past him as he made it to the edge.

Grif grips the railing, leaning over to look at the waves crash against the pillars, and sees an arm rising above the surf – a few shades too pale and lacking way too much muscle to ever be Kai – before dipping back down and out to try and float, but failing to lift the body's head above the water. If he didn't know what he was looking at, the person would appear to be fine – not screaming, not flailing and splashing around like in the movies – just under the water a bit, but Grif had literally been born in the water (his mom opting for a tub birth to save money – Grif is surprised he survived this long to be honest) so he knew drowning when he saw it.

And this person was definitely drowning.

Grif kicks off his shoes, tosses his shirt, and drops his shorts next to them before jumping over the railing in nothing but his boxers, making sure to avoid braining himself on the person and turning his rescue mission into an accidental murder/suicide.

He dives below the waves, rises up again to try and orientate himself to his surrounds, then dives back down and launches himself to where he had seen a flash of red.

He can't open his eyes, the salt in the water would make them useless, so he almost lets go of his breath when his hands suddenly connect to fabric.

Grif pulls the body close to him, wrapping his arms around their torso, struggling with the person's height, before kicking the relatively short distance to the surface.

They breach, Grif sucking in a much needed breath, but the person in his arms doesn't.

Grif doesn't let himself think about it, instead swimming as fast as he can under the pier until he reaches the beach, his arms aching and his legs feeling like they were about to fall off.

Grif doesn't have time to see who he rescued, instead laying the person on their back, tilting his (his?) head to the side, watching the water drain from his nose and mouth impatiently, wanting to get to the next step because the person still wasn't breathing. He moves the guy's (yes, okay, guy's) head back to the center, pinching his nose and opening his mouth, before placing his mouth under the still one. He breathes heavily four times, doesn't think about the how slack the man's lips are against his own, then checks to see if he's breathing, repeats the process twice before the man jerks underneath him, hacking up water.

Grif pushes the man's skinny frame on his side, holds him there as he coughs violently into the sand, Grif's own nose and mouth getting sympathy pains from listening.

The man eventually calms, Grif allowing him to lie back down. His eyes were clear, green and vibrant. Grif notes that his cheeks are freckled, the tiny speckles scattered across his nose. His forehead was a little red, likely a spot he either didn't get enough sunscreen on or maybe accidentally wiped away, otherwise he was very pale. Grif was unsure if that was the man's natural state of being or if it was just an effect of nearly drowning.

Grif jumped a little when the man's head turned to look at him, like he felt Grif's eyes giving a thorough inspection of his face (Grif will be embarrassed about that later). He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again but no words come out. Grif feels a little bad about thinking that he looks a little like a gaping fish.

"Why did-" The words he tries to speak sound croaky and sharp, like they were scraping his throat on the way out. He doesn't finish his sentence, instead coughing and grimacing, either at the pain or the way he sounded, his brow furrowing and his mouth twisting down into a scowl. He opens his mouth again, the words sounding a little less forced.

Grif wasn't expecting an accusation.

"Why the fuck did you push me, asshole?" It wasn't a screech, almost but not quite, but it sounded like it wanted to be. Grif stared at the man below him, bewildered and insulted.

"The fuck? I just saved your life, you dick!"

"Yeah, after you fucking pushed me!"

The man sat up on his elbows, lacking the energy to raise himself any higher, anything else he had left in him transferring itself into an angry flush.

Grif glared, speaking slowly with just as much anger, wondering if this guy hit his head on the way down. "I didn't. Push you. I was near the shops when I saw something fall."

The guy stares at Grif, brow furrowing before he raises one to give Grif a skeptical look. "Really?"

"Yes, really! Why would I shove you off a pier only to risk my ass trying to save you?"

A sigh, "Fair point. So you weren't with that group of guys?"

It's Grif's turn to be confused, a strange look probably passing over his face as he struggled to remember the moments leading up to his dive...oh, those guys.

"You mean those fucking kids?"

"They weren't kids! They-they had to be at least fourteen!"

"You got over powered, by children?"

"Shut up, asshole. There were a lot of them, okay?"

"Why'd they push you anyway, refuse to give up your lunch money?"

The guy laughs something a little bitter, "I wish, they wanted to mess with my arm and I told them to go fuck themselves."

Grif gives him a weird look, "Your arm?"

The other gives a sort of half-shrug, looking like he was resigning himself to some horrible fate, before lifting his left hand, something Grif hadn't really been paying attention to because of the whole dude-almost-dying thing.

It was a prosthetic.

Grif blinks, blinks again, before slotting the pieces together.

"Those assholes!"

It was said with such venom, such bile, that the other man dropped his hand, looked like he was debating whether or not he wanted to attempt to get up and run, before speaking with a wide-eyed expression. "What?"

"Those stupid fucks." Grif was seething, his mind playing back to the laughter he had heard as he jogged passed them, the flash of teeth that had looked like smiles but seemed so much more sinister now. "Seriously, fuck those guys. That was what they almost murdered you about?"

The guy looked stunned, stuttering out, "Well I wouldn't say murder-"

"I would."

The man stares at Grif for a long moment, his face an unreadable mask, before he sits up, crossing his legs and turning towards where Grif was kneeling. He sticks out his right hand, a small smile on his face. "Simmons."

Grif nods, extending his own hand to grasp Simmons' other, "Grif."

They make their way back to the pier, Grif finding his shoes missing, before slipping on his shirt and shorts, which only appeared to have been saved because they blew behind a bench.

Grif pulls out his phone, calling a cab to take Simmons to a doctor despite the other man's protests. Grif doesn't call the police at Simmons insistence, saying that it wouldn't do much good because he couldn't identify them and they were probably long gone by now. Grif agrees with a grumble.

They talk on the ride over, Simmons explaining that he had come to Hawaii alone as a sort of rebellious thing before going off to college. Grif got the feeling Simmons didn't do "rebellious" things often if he thought taking a vacation fell into that category.

The ride was pretty long, the afternoon traffic clogging up the roads. Grif found out that Simmons loved gaming, had an obsession with Battle Star Galactica ('Nerd.' 'Shut up, you just referenced Lost two minutes ago.'), and actually had a really nice smile when he wasn't accusing people of attempted murder.

They get to the clinic and Simmons fishes his soggy wallet out of his pocket, pulls out his, thankfully, laminated insurance card, and takes the clipboard to sign while they wait in the lobby. Grif stifles a yawn while Simmons writes, Simmons then telling him that he doesn't have to stay, but Grif declines, saying he doesn't have anything better to be doing when he knows that to be a lie. He could be at home, drying off. He could be going back to the burger-joint to fill out an application. He could be making sure Kai wasn't doing anything stupid. He could be making supper or taking a nap, but instead he was sitting beside what amounted to a perfect stranger, soggy and sticking to his boxers, and bored enough to almost fall asleep in his chair.

And strangely he was okay with that...well, not the bored part.

Grif amuses himself by whispering 'dick' under his breath after catching a glimpse at Simmons' signature.

('It's short for Richard!')

('Sure it is, Dick.')

The nurses check Simmons over, the doctor doing the same, before giving him a clean bill of health, telling him to be careful and to try and keep his prosthetic as dry as possible from now on.

Grif shoves a hand full of lollipops into his pocket before they leave, offering one to Simmons at the doctor's lecturing tone.

They're goodbye inevitably happens in the front lobby of Simmons' hotel, Grif feeling awkward and out of place in such a nice environment, especially without shoes on. Simmons informs Grif that he has to go and pack after they spend ten minutes saying bye then getting into a teasing insult match without actually moving.

Simmons eventually sighs, going over to the front desk where the person behind the counter was giving Grif a dirty look, before grabbing a pen and paper, jotting down his number before tearing the page in half, handing the pen and half-sheet of paper to Grif for him to do the same.

Grif smirks, asking if Simmons always gave his number out so easily, before dodging Simmons' lazy swing towards his head.

Grif hands Simmons his number, twirling the pen in his hand and not wanting to admit to himself that he didn't want to leave, but knowing he had to get back to Kai soon.

Simmons notices Grif's stalling, the way he shuffles he feet, before snorting, telling him to stop being so melodramatic.

Grif gives him a mock salute, every finger but the middle one down, laughingly saying 'yes, sir' before making his way to the door when Simmons tells him to fuck off, a smile tugging at his own lips.

That was three years ago, the boys talking and texting each other ever since. Simmons hadn't been able to come back to Hawaii, student loans and mounds of schoolwork keeping him bogged down. They Skyped each other, traded gamer tags and told the other to suck it during Halo matches, but it wasn't the same as seeing Simmons un-pixelized face smirking at him without a screen between them or hearing his voice laughing without the tinny sound of a speaker.

Grif looks over the last text he sent Simmons –

'you dont mean that. hey when do you think you'll be coming back? I can watch you almost drown again'

– before his phone buzzes again.

'dick'

'no ur dick I'm grif'

'fine, asshole'

'oh that's original'

'buttnugget'

Grif smothers a laugh into his pillow.

'ew man it might be time to put the bottle down'

'pissrug'

'r u just combing words now'

'bowl of soggy cereal'

'that last one was offensive'

The next text he gets looks like alphabet soup.

'simmons go to sleep u fucking lightweight'

'fatass'

'u are too smashed to be able to spell that well u must have the worlds best autocorrect'

He doesn't get another text after that, Grif assuming Simmons must have fallen asleep on his phone.

Grif tries not to imagine Simmons' face slack in sleep, tries not to think about how his lashes would be splayed across his cheeks, interrupting the freckles there. He tries not to imagine Simmons back in Hawaii, in his apartment, his mouth on his in a willing kiss, not limp and cold, tries not to feel his breath hot against his lips, tries not to think about how hot and alive he would feel under him, body moving all long limbs and hidden strength. He tries not to think about it, tries not to think about it a lot, but ultimately fails when he has to take ten extra minutes in the shower with Kai threatening to break the door down if he doesn't get his ass out of there.

So, yeah, Grif missed Simmons, he'll admit to that, and if Grif were lucky the earliest Simmons might be able to visit would be in a year when he graduated, but since Grif wasn't very lucky he wasn't counting on that.

Grif scrolls back up to the top of their conversation, laughing quietly to himself. Okay, so maybe he was kind of lucky. He might have to deal with asshole customers, may have to try and juggle too many hours with too little pay, may have to look himself in the mirror and say he can raise his sister and keep it together just one more day, but if he had someone that was willing to be this ridiculous with him, was willing to get drunk and let all of his walls down with him, then maybe Grif's luck couldn't be that bad.

Grif sends off one more text before going to sleep.

'I told u drunk txting was fun'