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The next date takes place at Edward's house. He tries out some recipe he finds online for a pasta dish, but he can't cut the onions small enough and the garlic makes the whole kitchen stink. So he opens all the windows downstairs before he goes to take his shower, only to find when he gets out that it's started raining. Then he has to close all the windows and wipe water from the window ledges, and after all that's done he's sweating and could do with another shower.

They should've just gone out to eat.

When Garrett finally arrives, Edward's beyond frazzled. He undoes the latch on the door and rushes back into the kitchen, shouting over his shoulder for Garrett to come in. By the time he makes it back to his sauce, it's emitting smoke and the bottom is stuck to the pan.

"Dammit," he says as he tries to scrape burned herbs from the sides of the pot. It's rust-brown and sticky like syrup, nothing like the picture on the recipe. He dips his finger in to taste, somehow forgetting the sauce has been cooking for three hours and is scorching hot.

He rushes over to the sink to rinse the boiling substance off, cursing all the while. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Garrett in the doorway of the kitchen. Edward should be greeting him and getting him a drink, but instead he's ruined everything. The water running from the faucet feels like sharp shards of ice against his raw skin.

"Did you get burned?" Garrett asks.

Yeah, Edward thinks, too many times, and I pray you won't burn me too. "Yes."

"Keep it under the cold water, okay? I know it hurts."

It really, really does. When Garrett's strong hand wraps around the back of his neck, it's all too much to take. He whimpers, defeated by pasta sauce and too-high expectations.

"Hey, shhh," Garrett says. "It's just…"

"Pasta."

"There, it's just pasta. Nothing important."

But it is, because it was meant to be his and Garrett's perfect second date. Edward's walking on eggshells in steel-toed boots, terrified even the slightest falter will cause everything to crumble.

"I just wanted things to be perfect," he tries to say, but it's garbled by emotion he can't hold back. He's embarrassed and his hand won't stop stinging, and he knew this would get screwed up somehow. Deep down, he knows he's being overdramatic. He knows this doesn't matter, not really. Yet with Garrett, it feels like everything matters, because he's so desperate for it all to work.

"It can still be perfect," Garrett replies softly. "Just be you, without any of this panicking over things that don't matter. Just give me you. Then it'll be perfect."

Edward snorts. "Who's supposed to be taking care of who?"

Garrett molds his body to Edward's, pressing his strength into the man in front of him like it can pass through his skin and into his veins. "We can take care of each other, okay? I know this isn't just the pasta. I know there's something you're terrified of, just like I am. I know… you've been hurt. And maybe you don't have scars the same as mine, but you have them, even if they're inside. What I need from you is honesty and affection and a soft place to land. Nothing more than that, no matter what names we like to use. I crave being taken care of, but not at the expense of you shouldering every burden on your own."

He tilts his hips slightly into Edward's, hearing the other man's breath stutter. "Besides, when we finally make it into that situation, I'm sure you'll be taking care of me just fine."

Edward huffs. "When did you get so smart?"

"Probably being around you the other night. You put a heap of shit next to a perfume factory, eventually that shit's going to smell like roses."

"That's… disgusting. And did you just call me a heap of shit?"

"You'd be the perfume factory in this scenario."

"I retract that remark about you being smart, just so you know."

"Says the man crying over pasta."

"It wasn't the pasta."

Garrett squeezes him tight. "I know."

They stand like that for a while. Edward's too exhausted to pretend Garrett's arms aren't an anchor, a comforting weight. He breathes deep and long, shakes off the stupid frustrations of the afternoon. All that matters is the man currently wrapped around Edward's body like a shield.

Garrett feels the tension leech from Edward's muscles, and presses a kiss to his jaw. Intimacy is new to him, but with Edward it feels natural.

It feels right.

"You have any take-out menus?" he whispers in Edward's ear.

The laugh he gets in response makes his heart take flight.

They eat Chinese food, just like the first date, and Edward admits he's a pro with chopsticks. "I just wanted to see you laugh," he tells Garrett, and then he smirks. "And to keep touching me to correct how I was holding them."

It's the perfect example of everything he feels with Edward – an easy brightness, good in a way he's never had before.

So much of his life has been heavy. With Edward, everything's light.

When Edward moves forward midway through his dinner to press a sloppy, quick, endlessly perfect kiss to his lips, Garrett can't remember ever feeling happier. That feeling grows as he helps Edward do the dishes and then they settle in to watch an old movie. He knows it's only their second date but his feelings for Edward are like the rush of a tide, fierce and undeniable.

Later that evening, when Edward folds their fingers together and pulls Garrett to his bedroom, it's not even a question. They get ready for bed in silence, Edward turning his back when Garrett changes into borrowed pajama bottoms. Edward quietly states that he laid out some non-scented body lotion and gauze for Garrett's leg, because he searched the internet for what he'd need to use and then bought the items so Garrett could stay at his house. Edward even helps him make his way back from the bathroom after the prosthetic is off and his nighttime ritual is complete.

Edward isn't just putting up with his disability. He's accepting it.

The respectful tenderness that Edward maintains throughout it all makes that tide of feeling turn into a whole ocean.

Garrett thinks that for once, he can swim rather than drown.

Their bodies meet and melt into one another in the middle of the bed, their lips coming together for long, lazy kisses. Eventually they drift into a dreamworld, but before Garrett can slip fully into sleep, he feels lips pressing against his forehead.

"You're the best dream I've ever had," Edward whispers into the darkness.

For the long hours it takes for the dusk to shift into a golden dawn, Garrett watches Edward sleep. Through it all, he wonders how the beautiful man next to him managed to take his broken heart and shape it into a home.