Sawyer
The torch flared bright enough to turn the world white for a split second before settling into a steady, electric glow.
Welding had a rhythm if you let yourself fall into it. Pressure in the hand, focus on the seam, breath steady behind the visor. Everything else faded out once the torch lit. The world narrowed to the glow of molten metal and the slow, careful movement of my hands.
When the seam finally cooled, I lifted my visor and wiped the back of my wrist across my forehead before stepping away from the bench.
The shop was still mostly dark, the big overhead lights not even on yet, just the thin wash of early morning slipping through the high windows along the back wall.
I had gotten there before the rest of the crew again, which suited me just fine. The quiet before the day really started was the best part of the shop.
Ten minutes later the outer door banged open and Benji stumbled in like a raccoon someone had coaxed into daylight, a travel mug in one hand while his hoodie hung half-zipped and his eyes squinted against the brightness.
His hair was still damp, curling at the nape of his neck like it had not decided what kind of day it was having yet.
“Morning, sweet cheeks,” I called across the shop without looking up from the metal.
Benji groaned as he set his mug down with exaggerated care. “It’s Monday morning,” he muttered while rubbing his face with both hands. “That’s way too chipper of a tone before noon.”
I laughed and tightened the clamp on the gate, the metal clicking clean and sharp beneath my hands. “How was the rest of your birthday weekend?” I asked while steadying the torch.
“I was hungover most of Saturday,” Benji said, rubbing his jaw like he was rebooting his brain. “Then yesterday I hung out with Tiff for a while.”
I grinned, Benji had it bad for his sister’s friend Tiff. I had known it for a while, but he still had not admitted it out loud. They were ‘just friends.’
“Oh yeah?” I asked. “How’d that go?”
“It was okay,” he said with a shrug as he walked over to the coffee pot and poured more coffee into the mug he brought from home. “I don’t know. She talked a lot about this Lilith date that had gone wrong.”
I paused for a second with the torch still in my hand before answering casually. “Maybe you just need to ask her on an actual date?” I glanced toward him.
“I would, but I don’t even know if she’s interested.” He said, hesitation before adding, “You know.”
“Didn’t you say you think she’s pan?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “New subject. What else did you do this weekend?”
“Saturday breakfast with Vic and the rest of the crew. We missed you. Then yesterday we went on a ride, and after that I worked in my workshop at home.” I hesitated for a moment. “And I, um, texted your sister a little.”
Benji blinked at me through the fog of early morning. “Addie? Yeah?” he said slowly as he leaned back against the table.
“Yeah, we connected at your birthday, and then she found me on Insta,” I said with a shrug, like I was commenting on the weather.
Benji blinked again. “Addie?” He said again.
“Mm-hmm,” I replied, returning my attention to the metal.
Benji tilted his head and studied me. “You’re interested?” He asked.
I shrugged one shoulder and kept my eyes on the gate. “I mean, I might be. Would you be okay with that?”
Benji let out a soft laugh that still sounded surprised. “I mean, she’s a big girl,” he admitted. “I’ve never really thought she’d let anyone else think she was anything but straight…”
“She doesn’t seem very straight in my DMs,” I said as I flipped my goggles back down.
That got him.
“Seriously?” Benji asked, straightening.
“Seriously,” I said while adjusting the flame. “She liked one of my photos from like thirty-something weeks ago,” I added dryly. “Then pretended it was an accident. That’s basically queer Morse code.”
Benji let out a slow whistle and dragged his hand through his hair. “Jesus Christ.”
“I’m not doing anything shady,” I added, finally looking at him. “She started it. I’m just… interested.”
Benji nodded slowly as he considered that. “She actually probably could use someone like you.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
He thought for a moment. “Addison has always been—put together… perfect.” She thought she had to be, for me—when I came out.” He paused again and then shook his head. “But I mean you’re complete opposites. She makes vision boards for fun. You weld fire to steel.”
I wanted to ask more about that first part, but instead I just smirked. “Opposites have tension,” I said while returning to the weld. “Tension’s interesting.”
Benji made a face like he had bitten into a lemon. “You’re going to drag my sister into your chaos spiral,” he said.
I grinned without looking up. “She’ll survive,” I teased.
“She’ll document it in a leather-bound planner and schedule recovery time,” he replied.
“She’ll look hot doing it,” I said.
Benji groaned and lifted his mug like it was a shield. “I’m too tired for this queer disaster energy before eight a.m.,” he muttered.
“Better wake up,” I said while steadying the metal. “Chaos doesn’t wait.”
Benji snorted into his coffee and wandered off toward the workbench at the other end of the shop, muttering something about needing more caffeine before dealing with my life choices.
The radio hummed quietly overhead while the rest of the crew filtered in one by one. The shop filling slowly with the familiar rhythm of grinders, torches, and half-awake conversation.
The gate came together cleanly over the next few hours, sweeping lines and curled vines shaping into delicate detail around the latch.
It was a personal commission for a Beacon Hill couple with too much money and a dog named Mozart.
I liked jobs like this. Precision. Repetition.
Work that kept my hands busy and let my brain wander.
I kept my headphones in with the music low beneath the hiss and sparks of the torch while the morning slipped past.
Around noon I stripped off my gloves and wiped my forehead with the hem of my shirt when my phone buzzed across the bench.
Addison: My day is already stupid. Four showings. Two listings. One client cried in the kitchen and asked if I moonlight as a therapist.
I smiled before I even realized I was doing it and wiped my hands on a rag before typing back.
Me: Do you? Because I’d book a session just to complain about traffic.
The typing bubble popped up almost immediately.
Addison: I’m thinking of charging for emotional labor. $300/hour. One whiskey or brunch minimum.
Me: Deal. I’ll bring whiskey. I don’t brunch.
Addison: You don’t brunch??
Me: No one needs eggs at noon in uncomfortable clothes or shoes that tight.
Addison: That’s the most lesbian sentence I’ve ever read.
Me: Stick around. I’ve got more.
The shop had filled around me while we were texting. Grinders hummed somewhere across the room, someone cursed when a bolt rolled under a workbench, and the radio crackled between songs that were never quite in tune with the station.
I didn’t tell her about the gate or the sealant fumes or the brass lettering spelling Mozart along the lower rail.
I didn’t need to. She texted like she wanted to be known, like the words just fell out of her head and into my phone without much filtering, and I liked that more than I wanted to admit.
* * *
Around five I packed up my tools, peeled off my gloves, and tugged my hair loose from the tie that had been holding it up all day.
The air outside felt cooler when I stepped into it.
I swung onto the bike and rode home slower than usual, the visor cracked open just enough for the wind to move against my face.
Traffic was light and the road felt wide, the kind of ride that loosened something tight in my chest without me having to think too hard about why.
When I got home, I stopped into Queer Expectations to say hi to Soren, who was there closing up for the night.
Soren looked up from the stack of books she was labeling and smiled when she saw me walk through the door. “Hey, Sawyer. How was the day?” she asked as she set the sticker sheet down on the counter.
“It was good,” I said, leaning one shoulder against a tall bookcase. “Finished a gate. I still have to do the install later this week, but it came out nice. How was the day here?”
“Good. Steady,” Soren replied while brushing her hands together lightly. “Hollis went home a bit ago to start dinner. She just texted me and said she’s making apple pie, so we’ll bring you a slice tomorrow.”
“Mm, that sounds wonderful,” I said as I closed my eyes for a second like I could already smell it.
I hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “Can I ask you something?” I asked, shifting my weight where I stood.
“Anything,” Soren said gently as she looked at me with a curious smile. “What’s up?”
“So, I met a girl…” I said, rubbing the back of my neck.
Soren’s eyebrows lifted and her entire expression brightened. “Oh?” she said with obvious interest. “Go on.”
“Her name’s Addison,” I explained as I glanced down at the floor for a second. “She’s my buddy from work’s sister. She kind of gave off straight vibes at first, but I think she might be interested now, and I’m not really sure what to do with that.”
Soren shrugged easily as she leaned back against the counter. “Maybe you should just ask her out,” she suggested.
“I did,” I said slowly, “She had plans, but we planned for a raincheck.”
“Good,” Soren said with a smile. “You could invite her to wine and book night,” she added as she gestured toward the shelves around us.
“Maybe,” I said with a smile while considering the idea.
Soren tilted her head slightly as she studied me. “You really like her?” she asked.
“I mean, I don’t know her that well yet,” I admitted, folding my arms loosely. “But I think I could. Yeah.”
Soren’s smile softened. “Well, in the five years I’ve known you, this is the first time I’ve heard you talk about someone like this,” she said thoughtfully. “My advice is see where it goes and don’t ignore it.”
“Thanks,” I said quietly.
“Anytime,” Soren replied before reaching toward a nearby stack of books. She picked one up and held it out to me. “Here, take this. I think you might like it.”
I took the book and glanced at the cover, smirking slightly at the very angsty-looking title. “Thanks,” I said.
“Of course,” Soren said as she returned to tidying the counter. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You better,” I teased as I started toward the stairs. “I’m counting on that piece of pie.”
“Night, Sawyer,” Soren said with a small wave.
“Night, Soren,” I replied as I headed up the back stairs to my apartment.
* * *
My apartment was warm when I got in, so I cracked the kitchen window before dropping my boots by the door and heading for the sink. I washed my hands twice to get the metal smell off them, scrubbing until the scent of steel gave way to soap and lemon.
I opened the fridge to see what I could make for dinner.
Cooking always calmed me. My grandma, who I called Umma, taught me that cooking was an act of love in Korean culture.
She had been more of a mother to me than my own mom ever was.
My mom hated that I called grandma Umma, and her ‘Mother’ but she had always been distant.
After my sister died, she disappeared into alcohol and stopped being a mother altogether.
Dinner ended up being kimchi fried rice with a fried egg on top, quick and comforting and exactly what I wanted after a long day.
I ate curled up on the couch with my plate balanced on one knee and my phone resting beside me.
While I ate, I opened Instagram out of habit.
No new post from Addison. I stared at the screen for a second longer than I meant to, like it might change if I gave it enough attention, and then I picked up my phone and texted her.
Me: What’s the verdict. Still surviving your cursed Monday?
My phone buzzed almost immediately, and something warm settled in my chest when I saw her name light up my screen.
Addison: Barely. I just took off my heels, and I swear one of my bones sighed.
I smiled at that, picturing her somewhere in a polished apartment, finally kicking off shoes that probably cost more than my good work boots.
Me: You wore heels all day?
Addison: Of course. I have a reputation. Elegant. Composed. Slightly unapproachable.
I huffed out a quiet laugh and shifted deeper into the couch.
Me: I think I have already approached you.
Addison: You snuck up on me. That’s different.
My fingers hovered for a second before I typed again, softer this time.
Me: Want to tell me about the rest of your day?
There was a pause, long enough that I wondered if I had pushed too far, but then the typing bubble appeared again.
Addison: Flaky clients. A lockbox that jammed. A barista who misspelled my name twice. Also, still recovering from yesterday’s dinner with a man who thinks crypto is the future and calls financial planning a fun time.
I let out a quiet groan and rubbed my forehead.
Me: How many dates with this visionary?
Addison: six—no seven…ish? My friends adore him.
I frowned slightly at the screen.
Me: And you?
Addison: I used to think he was fine, but now not so much…
Me: Fine? Sunshine I’m not sure that’s how you’d want to describe someone you’re dating.
I hated that she felt like she had to settle for some rich douche bag.
Addison: Yeah, I’m starting to see that now.
Me: Let me guess, he’s a finance bro. Great teeth. FaceTimes his mom weekly?
Addison: Nailed it. He also said, “networking is a lifestyle.”
Me: That sounds exhausting.
Addison: It is. He asked one question about me… after dessert.
Something tightened in my chest at that, a quiet irritation I didn’t entirely bother to hide.
Me: You deserve someone who asks as soon as you sit down, not before the check comes.
There was another pause. I could almost picture her staring at her phone the way I was staring at mine.
Addison: You’re dangerously good at this.
Me: At what?
Addison: Making me feel seen.
I leaned my head back against the couch and stared up at the ceiling for a second before answering, warmth spreading slowly through my chest.
Me: Then maybe we should hang out in real life, Sunshine. No pressure. Just air. And someone who actually listens.
It took a minute before her reply came through.
Addison: That sounds… really good.
I smiled at that.
Me: I’ll plan something. You just show up. Maybe wear shoes that don’t destroy your ankles.
Addison: Deal. And maybe you’ll smile at me like you do in those Instagram photos…
I frowned at the screen, amused.
Me: You noticed my smile?
Addison: Noticed it. Screenshot it. Might’ve stared.
I laughed quietly to myself.
Me: You’re trouble, Addison Hart.
Addison: You have no idea.
My heart picked up at that, the quiet of my apartment settling around me. Somewhere along the way the easy flirting had shifted into something warmer and more real.
* * *