Last time, the rain finally stopped.
Two dogs, two men, one apartment still smelling faintly of coffee
and wet fur. What began as a simple wash
turned into a kind of quiet belonging laughter echoing
through steam and the warmth of strangers slowly learning how to
stay. Now the evening lingers, towels
piled by the door, a kettle hums somewhere in the background, and
the sound of water becomes the language neither of them has to
translate. This is Autumn Dales chapter 4,
the pause before the leap. In this episode, a cut hand
meets quiet care, two dogs turn the bathroom into a storm, and a
home to empty. 4/2 begins to sound like 1.
The rain had stopped, but the air still carried that warmth
that sticks to the skin, the kind that makes silence sound
close. Evan was rinsing a cup when
Daniel's voice came from down the hall, steady through the
sound of water. He said, Hey, you still there?
Evan called back. That he was.
The water didn't stop. It changed rhythm, slower,
heavier, the sound of fabric being wrung out instead of a
shower. Steam drifted down the hall,
blurring the edge of the light. Danielle called again, said he
might as well wash cucumber while everything was already
wet. Evan glanced toward the balcony.
Both dogs were still there, Cucumber small and muddy, Sunny
sitting behind him, tail sweeping the floor.
Evan sighed, grabbed a towel, and crouched.
All right, come here, he troublemaker.
Cucumber tilted his head, then bounced forward.
Evan scooped him up carefully, mud smearing across his arm, and
made his way toward the bathroom.
The door was cracked open, steam curling out in soft ribbons.
He stepped in and stopped. Daniel stood over the tub,
rinsing his mutt streaked pants beneath the tap.
He was bare from the waist up, just white briefs clinging damp
against his hips, the muscles in his back shifting under the warm
light. It wasn't intentional, just a
man fixing a mess without overthinking it, but the sight
caught Evan in place before he could think to move.
Daniel turned at the sound of footsteps.
He held out an arm and said you can hand him over.
Evan swallowed. His voice came out thinner than
he meant. Uh, yeah, I've got him.
Cue gum wriggled as he passed him over.
Water splashed, the dog's fur darkening instantly as Daniel
steadied him in the tub. Evan stepped back, wiping his
forearm on his shirt, which only spread the mud further.
Trying to sound casual, he said I've got mud all over my shirt
anyway. I can wash your pants with it.
I've got sweatpants you can borrow.
Daniel gave a small laugh under his breath.
He said you still have to wash the towels after this, so don't
worry about it. But thanks for the offer.
A little too quickly, he crouched again, pretending to
fuss with the leash while his pulse caught in the quiet air.
Daniel glanced over and said. That hand's still giving you
trouble. Evan looked down at the scrape
on his palm, now reopened from handling the leash.
He started to shrug it off, but Daniel was already turning off
the tap. The noise faded.
Steam filled the small room, carrying the scent of detergent
and something metallic from the open first aid kit on the
counter. Daniel gestured to the closed
toilet lid seat. Evan obeyed.
Daniel took the gauze, knelt, and cleaned the wound with quiet
focus. The touch was gentle but firm.
Practical care, not hesitation. Evan tried not to look at his
face, at his chest, still damp with steam, at the water still
running off his arm, but the effort only made his breathing
shallower. Every small movement felt too
visible, too close. When Daniel pressed down the
last strip of tape, he said softly.
There, don't get this wet for now, I'll handle the washing.
You can clean up the hallway before they track in more.
Evan managed to smile, though his voice cracked when he said
OK. Daniel turned the water back on,
guiding cucumber deeper into the foam.
Evan stepped out of the steam and crouched in the hull with a
towel, blotting muddy paw prints from the floor.
Through the open balcony door, Sunny waited patiently, tail
brushing the air in slow rhythm. From inside came the sound of
water, soft laughter, and Daniel's low voice.
Evan listened for a while, smiling faintly without
realizing it. Something about the tone filled
the apartment, like the smell of rain after it's gone.
Outside, the mist had thinned to quiet air.
Inside, water still fell in steady rhythm, and somewhere
between steam and silence, Kerr began to sound like something
else. By the time Cucumber's bath was
done, the air had turned warm and hazy.
Evan had moved to the kitchen, a towel over one shoulder, sleeves
rolled, hands busy again. He laid out a thick mat near the
hallway, another towel beside it, and two bowls of fresh water
on the floor. Work helped him breathe.
From the bathroom came the steady rhythm of rinsing, a
quiet monologue of water, Daniel's voice low between it,
coaxing Cucumber to stay still. Evan smiled at the sound, shook
his head, and set down a small tray for the dog's dinner.
Then, through the hum of pipes, Daniel's voice came again,
louder this time, casual and sure.
Hey, bring Sunny as well. Evan turned toward the balcony.
Sunny's ears perked. The retriever gave one slow wag,
then another, as if understanding the invitation.
All right, your turn. Evan said softly.
He grabbed another towel and crouched near the door.
Come on. Gentle steps this time.
Sunny followed, careful and curious pause, clicking softly
over the tiles. Evan guided him down the
hallway, murmuring small reassurances like he was leading
someone into a new world. When they reached the bathroom,
Daniel was kneeling by the tub, hair damp and pushed back,
cucumber wrapped snugly in a towel on the floor beside him,
already looking smug and clean. Daniel grinned when he saw them.
Perfect timing. Let's get the big one in before
he changes his mind. Sonny hesitated at the edge,
sniffing the air. Daniel splashed the water once,
inviting. Evan steadied the retriever's
collar while Daniel lifted one paw, then the next.
Gentle practice until Sunny was standing in the foam.
The splash hit first, a wide, happy shake that sent water
flying across the small room. Evan flinched, then laughed out
loud. Daniel laughed too, muttering.
Yeah, I know you hate baths. Evan crouched again, gathering
up the towel and starting to wipe down the floor before it
flooded the hall. He could feel the smile still
tugging at his face, even after the laughter had faded.
Daniel moved methodically, running his hands through the
thick fur, rinsing, smoothing, patient.
The sound of water filled the pauses.
Steady. Evan knelt near the mat he'd
said earlier, towels spread open.
Cucumber curled in his lap like a small wet cloud.
Evan smiled faintly, rubbing the towel through Cucumber's fur in
small circles. The dog squirmed, half
protesting, half leaning into the warmth.
Evan's palm brushed over the soft curve of his back, the fur
fluffing as it began to dry. He paused to check the bandage
on his hand. Still dry, still holding.
The apartment felt alive in that quiet way home sometimes do,
filled not with voices, but the shared rhythm of small tasks.
One man washing, the other drying each, moving in time
without needing to speak. After a while, the water
stopped. The silence that followed was an
empty. It hummed with the sound of
towels rubbing. Pause.
Shifting, breath slowing, Evan sat cross legged on the mat,
cucumber now half asleep beside him, fur puffed soft again.
The warmth from the dog's body seeped through the fabric of his
sweatpants, anchoring him in the moment.
From the bathroom came the faint thump of Daniel moving, A soft
curse, then a laugh, the kind that escaped before thought.
Evan found himself smiling again, quietly, the way you do
when something just feels right. Then Danya's voice called out
from the bathroom. Hey, can you bring me a couple
towels? Clean ones, and The Dirty ones
too. Evan looked toward the small
stack he'd already set aside, folded neatly beside the
sweatpants and a plain T-shirt he'd laid out earlier.
He smiled, picking them up. Already got them.
He said. Daniel laughed, voice echoing
softly through the steam. Great.
By the way, it's a mess here. I'll rinse it out while I
shower. Clean up as you go, that's the
rule. Evan stepped closer to the door,
still warm with humidity. You really don't have to.
Daniel replied, half amused. It's just old habit of mine.
Evan nudged the door open with his shoulder, handing over the
bundle. Daniel crouched by the tub, hair
damp, and pushed back one towel already half soaked around
Sunny's paws. Evan passed him the new ones,
then added lightly. Sweatpants should fit the shirt.
Not sure. Daniel's mouth curved in that
quiet grin of his. Appreciate it.
He rubbed Sunny down with brisk strokes, then straightened and
passed the half dried retriever forward.
You finish drying him, I'll clean up in here.
Evan nodded and LED Sonny out to the hallway mat.
Behind him, the sound of running water began again, this time the
soft, steady rhythm of a shower. He crouched work in the towel
through Sonny's thick fur, trying to keep up with the dog's
heavy contents size. Each shake sent another fine
mist across the air, and Evan laughed, pressing the towel
closer. The scent of soap and warmth
lingered. By the time he glanced toward
the clock, dusk had deepened. The apartment felt small and
quietly alive. The water finally stopped.
A moment later, the door opened, steam spilling into the hall.
Daniel stepped out in the sweatpants, towel slung around
his neck, hair still dripping. Daniel held the T-shirt in one
hand, looked at it, and said with a faint smile.
Yeah, it was too small. Evan looked up from the mat.
Sunny sprawled beside him, took the towel from Evan and said,
I'll finish him. You should wash up, but don't
get that hand wet. Evan grinned.
Yeah, I'll manage. He ducked into the bathroom,
showering as best he could without soaking the bandage,
leaning awkwardly, muttering under his breath every time he
lost balance. Through the door he could still
hear Daniel humming softly, the gentle sound of towel unfur.
When Evan came out, the apartment had cooled.
Both dogs lay tangled together on the mat, half asleep, paws
overlapping. Daniel sat beside them, back
against the couch, head tilted down, still towel draped, still
shirtless. Evan stopped for a second, then
smiled. Hey, he said quietly.
Thanks for everything, then, after a pause.
You hungry? Maybe pizza?
Daniel grinned. Easy, unguarded.
Sounds good. The night settled around them,
two dogs streaming on the floor, two men quiet in the warmth at
work and laughter had left behind.
By the time the pizza arrived, the house had gone still.
Both dogs were asleep, tangled together on the mat 1 poor
draped lazily over the other, soft breaths rising and falling
In Sync. Evan set the pizza on the low
table. The smell of warm crust and
melted cheese filled the small space, mixing with the faint
scent of soap still lingering in the air.
Daniel leaned back against the couch, hair half dry, sweatpants
hanging loose on his hips, his towel tossed aside somewhere by
the dogs. They ate without rush, quiet
bites, the crinkle of cardboard a shared ease that didn't need
words. Outside, the rain had returned,
tapping lightly against the window.
Evan looked over after a moment. You really didn't have to clean
the whole bathroom. Daniel smiled faintly, eyes
still on his slice. Clean up as you go.
It's just old habit of mine. Are me?
Evan asked. He shook his head, chewing
amused. My mother.
The army just confirmed she was right.
Evan laughed quietly. It faded into a soft hum between
them, comfortable, settled. Soon.
He shifted in his sleep, tail flicking once against Cucumber's
paw, then went still again. Evan reached for a napkin and
handed it over. Daniel took it with a nod, and
for a moment Evan's eyes caught on his hand.
Dereen silver. Simple, worn, smooth with time,
it caught the lamp light just enough to glint once.
Evan didn't mean to stare. It was instinct, a flicker of
curiosity he didn't have time to hide.
Danielle noticed. He turned his hand slightly,
looking down at it. Then, without hesitation, he
said quietly. It's not what it looks like.
Evan blinked, caught mid breath. Sorry, I didn't.
Daniel shook his head. You didn't ask, but you were
wondering. Evan hesitated.
Yeah. Daniel turned the ring once with
his thumb, the motion small, almost upset, and took it out.
I'm divorced. The words came simple.
I should get rid of the habit. The room stayed quiet.
Evan nodded once, eyes fixed on the half empty box in front of
him. His voice didn't come right
away. When it did, it was soft,
Careful. Thanks for being open with me.
Daniel gave a faint smile, maybe mistaking it for understanding.
It's been years. She's remarried.
Different city. Evan nodded again, slow,
mechanical. He picked at the crust of a
slice, not tasting it. Outside, the rain thickened, a
steady hush against the window. He tried to keep his face
neutral, but something inside him sank.
It wasn't disappointment in Daniel, not exactly, just the
quiet shame of realizing the story he'd been building in his
head didn't fit the real 1. Daniel took another bite,
unaware. What about you?
He asked Anyone. Evan's laugh came small and
uneven. No, just Cucumber.
Daniel smiled. He's loyal, at least.
Yeah. Evan said.
Silence again. The dogs shifted in their sleep,
Cucumber's paw twitching once, then still.
Daniel leaned back, head tilting against the couch cushion.
He exhaled through his nose, tired but calm.
Thanks for dinner, he said. It's been a while since I've
talked about it. Evan smiled faintly, not looking
up. Inside, nothing moved.
Just two dogs, 2 plates, and a truth neither of them knew what
to do with. After they finished eating, Evan
gathered the plates without thinking.
The small movements gave his hands something to do, something
safer than looking at Daniel. He carried them to the sink,
turned on the tap, and began rinsing one with his good hand.
Daniel was suddenly beside him. His presence filled the narrow
space. Warmth, quiet breath, the faint
scent of soap and rain. Without a word, Daniel reached
out and cut his wrist. Evan froze for a beat.
Their eyes met just long enough for air to change shape between
them. Then Evan looked away quickly,
voice uneven. I've got it.
Daniel's reply came soft. Bashir, he shouldn't.
I'll do it. He took the plate from Evan's
hand, rinsed it once, then the next, movements quick, clean,
practiced. The sound of water filled the
small kitchen again, steady and calm.
Evan stepped back, his pulse still racing from something that
had nothing to do with the dishes.
When the sink quieted, Daniel dried his hands on the towel and
turned. Let me check your wound again.
Evan shook his head, trying to keep his tone light.
You've done enough for one night.
Daniel smiled slightly. Won't take a second.
He guided Evan back to the living room.
The dogs barely stirred. 1 sigh, 1 lazy tail flick.
Daniel sat beside him on the floor, the lamp low, shadows
running soft across his shoulders.
He reached for Evan's hand again, peeling back the edge of
the bandage with careful fingers.
The touch was gentle, the rhythm Evan already knew by heart.
Daniel looked up once, checking for pain, and their eyes caught
again. This time, Evan didn't look
away. Something in Daniel's gaze had
changed, Quieter, but sure. Daniel's hand stayed around his,
a beat past to one breath, then another, and before Evan could
think, Daniel leaned in. The kiss was slow, hesitant at
first, as if testing whether silence could hold the weight of
it. Evan didn't move, only felt the
warmth of its spread, soft as the sound of rain against glass.
The dogs slept on, the lamp flickered once, and the world
outside kept its hush, like it already knew this was how the
night would end. When they finally parted, Evan
drew back just enough to breathe.
His voice was unsteady, caught between disbelief and something
that felt too close to hope. But I thought you weren't.
Daniel's eyes didn't waver. His voice came low, certain I
was late to understand myself. Tried to hold on longer than I
should have. Took me years to admit it to
myself. Most of all, I kept thinking I
could grow into the life I've built.
He hesitated, as if to explain more, but before he could, Evan
moved quietly without thinking and pulled him closer.
His voice was soft against Daniel's shoulder.
You don't need to explain. Daniel froze for half a second,
then let out a slow breath, the kind that feels like setting
something down you didn't know you were carrying.
His arms came up around Evan, the motion instinctive
grounding. Neither of them spoke again.
The world outside faded into the hush of rain, and in that small
room, under that thin light, silence became the answer they
both needed. Outside, the rain kept falling.
Not hard, not loud, just enough to sound like breathing.
The lights had dimmed to a soft gold, the room still warm with
the echo of what had just passed.
Evan and Daniel sat close, the silence stretching but not
uncomfortable. Cucumber had rolled onto his
back, one pole resting on Sunnyside.
The two dogs were lost in sleep, tangled together in the kind of
peace that only comes after noise.
Daniel looked toward them, then back at Evan.
Neither spoke. There wasn't anything left that
needed words. The sink gleamed faintly in the
half light, the towels neatly folded, the floor finally dry.
Every small thing around them, the hum of the refrigerator, the
drip from the eaves, the soft weight of rain seemed to agree
on one thing. The day was finished.
Evan let out a slow breath. Daniel reached over, fingers
brushing against his for a moment, a quiet reassurance that
whatever this was, it didn't have to be named yet.
The rain had softened to a hush by the time the lights dimmed. 2
dogs asleep on one mat, two cups cooling on the table, and the
quiet weight of evening folding around everything left unsaid.
What began as care had turned into presence.
A wound cleaned, a laugh shared, and somewhere in between, the
distance they'd kept started to forget itself.
Outside, the city held its breath beneath the drizzle.
Inside, warmth lingered in the scent of soap, the echo of
laughter, the rhythm of two lives learning to fit into the
same quiet. Sometimes love doesn't announce
itself, it just learns the shape of your evening and waits,
patient, certain, for the next morning to find it there next
time. Two men and two dogs learn what
it means to stay a walk that starts as routine and becomes
the moment they finally find each other.
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