Author's Notes
Word Count: 1k+
Trigger Warnings: Smoking
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It was the dead of autumn, and the weather had been cooling down faster than anticipated.

The cabin was a small one, that's for sure. One bedroom, one bath, a small kitchen that bled into the dining room, and the living room distinguished only by the sudden transition between hard wood floors and rough carpet. The stove was, thankfully, a gas stove so they ran no risk at running up any electric bills for the summer-house couple who happened to own this pathetic heap of wood.

Sleeping arrangements were the interesting part. Toby slept on the couch, and Tim and Brian slept on the bed together like the platonic queer men they were. Toby had once inquired about their relationship status.

"What?" Tim had practically choked on his inhale of warm smoke. This time, it wasn't the smokes fault.

"I asked," Toby had reiterated and cleared his throat. "Are you and Brian fucking?"

Tim grumbled. "There's such a better way to phrase that question." Brian, however, was laughing his ass off. The stupidest grin was plastered on his face, and he jokingly wiped a tear from his eye.

"No, Tobsters, we aren't fucking. Cuddling, of course. The occasional very platonic heterosexual make out session? Absolut-" Brian was rudely interrupted by Tim's fist. Toby flinched back, preparing to watch a brutal fight break out between the two men, but Brian just kept.. laughing.

"We do NOT!" Tim practically shrieked, his face beet red. Toby could tell that Tim was genuine with that answer, and his curiosity was satisfied. He did wonder if Tim would've had a different reaction to the teasing if Toby wasn't present. "Oh, okay." Toby hummed, content, and retreated to the house.

Toby had found new material to use against Tim that day. He concluded that Tim was insecure about his sexuality, whatever that may be, and liked to make a few jabs at him. It was all lighthearted, as he didn't actually have anything against Tim's attraction to.. woman? Men? Toby had no idea, nor did he have any interest to know. He just thought it was funny.

Back to the cabin. It was warm enough, and Toby appreciated that. Chattering teeth irritated him, and he could barely preform his job when his body moved in slow motion. Plus, he couldn't sleep if his body was cold, so it was just bad all around. Growing up in Colorado would sound like it would help him grow used to it, but heaters exist, so the weather hardly effected him.

The front yard area was coated with a blanket of orange, yellow, and red that crunched under foot. Toby loved the sound and feeling of walking over them, hence why he was currently outside doing just that. He was a 23 year old man, sure, but that does not mean he can't frolic in the leaves.

A soft breeze blew Toby's hair into his eyes. Promptly, he lowered his orange-tinted welding goggles over his eyes. These goggles were perhaps his favorite possession. He didn't give a shit about how 'silly' they make him look, because he felt powerful when he wore them. They were his trophy, after all, and who doesn't like flaunting their winnings? They also kept bugs out of his eyes, which is a major plus.

Toby scooped up a pile of leaves into his gloves hands, and threw them up in the air. He watched them fall like dying snowflakes all around him, sticking in his hair and settling on the creases of his hoodie. He rarely had moments like this to himself. Moments to truly be himself, with himself, and for himself. They never lasted very long.

Toby's attention was caught by the sound of the old wooden door creaking open. Tim had stepped outside, a cigarette already between his lips as he called out something to Brian through the corner of his mouth. Toby stood, motionless, watching the man bring a lighter up to the stick of pure cancer he was about to indulge himself on. Tim's smoking habits were nothing new to Toby. He's known the man for 4 years, albeit "known" is a strong word (more like known OF him), and he's sat and watched him smoke countless of times.

Each time, Toby feels hypnotized. Smoking is terrible, unhealthy, and sickening, so why the hell does Toby think it's so attractive? He focuses on the way the smoke drips from the man's cracked lips, like a waterfall that defies gravity. Billows of smoke engulfed Tim's face but the man never moved away. He accepts the warmth against his skin, embraces it even, and Toby is mesmerized by how calm Tim's face appears when he smokes. It was as if the wisps that he breathed in took hold of every ounce of stress within him and simply, dissolved it all.

If he wasn't so fixed with fear of things like cigarettes, weed, and alcohol, maybe he could relax the way Tim did. The smoke caressed Tim's cheek bones in a way that defined his facial structure. Toby admired the maturity in his face, with the scuffed stubble lining his jaw, and the tired dips beneath his eyes. Toby also possessed tired lines, but his own weren't necessarily from the same cause. He'd longed to know the story of every dip and crease in that man's face.

Wait a moment, what was he saying? And when did he get-

Toby was sitting on the railing of the porch, just a few feet away from where Tim had decided to lean against the wooden frame. He could smell the smoke, thick in his nose, and he watched Tim with the intensity of prey eyeing the sweetest flower in the meadow. His gaze was soon met with Tim's own. Their eyes locked together.

Tim's eyes were such a dark brown, it reminded Toby of chocolate, perhaps. Or maybe even the entire season autumn- which did happen to be his favorite season when he wasn't cold like this. Toby's eyes were a copper-brown, bordering on hazel, but not nearly as dark as Tim's. They were nearly black, Toby concluded, and he had always loved the dark. Toby soon found that he was a bit too far into his assessment of Tim's eyes, signaled by the sudden shout from the beholder himself that sent Toby flying backwards off of the railing.

Tim's eyebrow lifted, cocked at an angle that only worked on him, and conveyed his confusion perfectly. "Toby, what the hell?" He peaked over the railing, staring down at the man with a face that has never held so much color before. "Are you okay?" Tim didn't feel as much concern for Toby as he did feel an obligation to make sure the guy didn't break his tailbone or something stupid like that. The Operator would have his head.

Toby slowly pushed himself up onto his feet, brushing away the dirt and leaves from his clothes. "Yeah," he snarled. "I'm fine." There was a venom in his voice not even Toby was expecting. That fall frightened him, and there wasn't a way in Hell that Toby was going to willingly show that to Tim. Whether or not Tim meant to give him a heart attack was not of his concern.

Toby trudged back up the steps and through the front door, it slamming in his wake. With Toby now absent from the scene Tim was alone. His cigarette was held between his index and middle finger, the ashes occasionally falling against the railing of the porch. His eyebrows furrowed, watched as the door slammed, then redirected his attention back out to the trees.

If there was one thing Tim would never understand, it was Toby.