Chapter Text
“You gotta be fucking kidding me!”
Fit’s voice bounces off the walls with such fervor it surprises even him. The spaciousness of the garage lends itself to the echo, ricocheting between the metal and copper equipment around the room. Hearing his booming, irritated tone projected back at him fills Fit with guilt as he hopes it didn’t travel outside of the space. A quick glance into the yard assures him the kids didn’t hear, thank god. They didn’t need to know about any of this.
“Hear me out, hear me out! Would I go around telling people your business unless I thought they could help? Like really fucking help?” Phil’s hands are in the air, hovering in a defensive position in front of his chest.
FIt’s pissed. Phil has no right going around town and tellin’ people all about Fit’s little issue without getting the okay first. Fit can feel part of him come alive, a skip in his heart rate that’s just begun. He knows he’s letting the anger take over; knows he needs to think and stifle this down before it becomes overwhelming. Fit just needs a minute—one minute to breathe and process and work through the guilt, just like his therapist says. Deep breaths, focus on a happy moment and collect your thoughts.
For what it’s worth, Phil never pushes Fit. Sure, he keeps an eye on him, as any best friend would, but he never pressures him to snap out of it. Phil knows when to give Fit space, especially after dropping something so distressing upon him. When Fit has reestablished himself, he sees Phil has lowered his hands, and they hang at his sides while he waits for Fit to respond.
“Alright. Fine. You told Forever. And I still don’t get to ask what’s going on between you two?” Fit demands, tipping his head to size Phil up. “Seems a bit unfair, don’t you think?”
“Fucking Christ, nothing is going on! We’re just really good friends, alright?” Phil fires back. Fit doesn’t call him out for his blush; it’s not Phil’s fault he’s weak for a smooth-talker. Or was weak? Fit doesn’t know what the hell is happening anymore with them, but there are worse people than Forever that Phil could have told his secret to.
“Yeah, sure. But whatever, man, you brought it up!”
Phil sighs dramatically, resting a hand against his forehead in exhaustion.
“Christ, I swear…” Phil shakes his head free and stares Fit down with The Look. The dad look. Shit.
“Forever just happened to mention that the Favela House is ending its lease right at the start of the month. Cellbit already lives at Roier’s, Bagi just got a place, Mike and his wife are already out, and Forever and Felps signed a lease for a 2-bedroom weeks ago. Which just leaves Pac.”
“Who the hell is Pac?” Fit questions, brows raising as he desperately tries to remember if he’s heard of this ‘Pac’ before.
“I’m trying to tell you! Forever’s housemate, Pac! One of Richarlyson’s dads - the one that isn’t married or Felps.”
Fit wonders who the hell Felps is but knows better than to derail Phil’s storytelling again.
“Right, right. Okay, I’m following.”
“Thank you! Right, so everyone is moving out and staying around here but getting their separate places. Except with all the hysteria around Cellbit’s wedding, Bagi moving out, etc, somehow they fucking forgot to tell Pac.”
“What the hell?”
“Yeah. Apparently, it was in a group text, but you know how group texts are.”
“Wilbur’s microwave rant springs to mind,” Fit says with a shudder.
“Exactly. Lots of chatting, but no one clarified with one another. Pac’s away for work, came home a few weeks ago, and everyone had already sorted themselves but him. So he needs a place to stay.” Phil raises his eyebrows and shoots Fit a look.
“And I’m guessing this is where I come in?” Fit says with a defeated sigh.
“Yup. Forever was talking to me about it, and I thought, why not let Pac stay with you?”
“I’ve never met this guy Phil. I have a kid. How do I know he’s not a serial killer or some shit?”
“Dude, why would I invite a literal serial killer into your house? You’re smarter than that.”
“Sorry, apologies. Spree killer better suit you, your highness?” Fit bites back.
“Much better, thanks,” Phil says, rolling his eyes with a grin. “He’s not a murderer. And I wouldn’t just tell someone they could move in; I figured you’d want to meet him and shit first. I’m just saying I think this could solve both of your problems.”
“What problem is that, Phil?” Fit doesn’t mean to add a cold tone to his statement, but he’s beginning to lose his patience.
“You’re doing great for yourself. You’re the best fuckin dad, mate. But you said you needed a little more cash to get the loft done, right? Things are good, but they could be better. You have a three bedroom! Rent the spare to Pac, and it helps you both.”
Fit finds a rhythm to his breaths as he processes Phil’s words. He can’t be upset with Phil for discussing things Fit himself told him. Truth is, Fit has been spending a lot more time with his budget recently, and by a lot more, he means for the first time. At least for the first time since he’s had Ramon in his life. Things aren’t tight, per se, but with both Ramon and Fit’s Fitness going through a growth spurt, the need for a larger nest egg seemed ever elusive. If he wants to get Ramon into school with the others, he has to finish that damn loft. He can’t let his kid down. Not now. Not when he has no one else.
“Sounds…possible.”
“Hell yeah it is. Let me appeal to your kind heart, Fit,” Phil says with a wicked grin. Phil hears Fit scoff in return but continues.
“Pac was across the country for work, came home, and found out his family is moving out, and no one told him. He’s…upset. Pac needs a little space and a place to stay as soon as possible. You know the rent around here. He’s never going to get a place in under two weeks for cheap. You charge him less than market price, he’s got a place to stay for a lower cost, and you get a few thousand closer to finishing your dream place. And maybe a new babysitter for Ramon, who knows.”
Fit fucking hates it when Phil is right. Absolutely fucking hates it. Shit.
“You’re pissed it’s a good idea, aren’t you?”
Phil can always read him. Fit will throttle him for it one day.
“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see. You know this guy then? Pac? You’ve met him?” Fit implores.
“Met him a few times, yeah. Been great every time so far, though, to be fair, we haven’t had many chats. Few inches shorter than us, dark hair, good looking guy. Seems a bit shy but quick-witted as fuck. Forever says he’s like the best friend in a rom-com, you know what I mean?”
“I get you, yeah.” Fit trails off to look out to the yard. From their vantage point in the garage, Fit can see three happy, giggly kids sprinting through the sprinkler, already covered in mud. He softens to smile, shaking his head as Ramon watches Chayanne fall a few times before jumping himself.
“He good with kiddos? Do you - uh…” Fit trails off into a stammer, questioning whether he should even ask.
“Do I what, mate?” Phil asks. Fit hates how well Phil knows him. He’s giving Fit a moment to collect himself, and Fit both loves and hates Phil for noticing.
Fit takes a breath, steadying himself.
“Do you think Ramon would like him?” He asks, willing his voice not to crack when he says his son’s name, glancing outside again. Ramon is still there. His baby boy is out there playing with his friends. Fit does not need to worry, not here. Not now.
“It’s just he’s had enough drama as it is, and he doesn’t even remember it all. I don’t want to mess around with his routine unless they like each other.” Fit admits quietly.
“Honestly, mate? I think you’ll have more of an issue getting them to stop hanging out than getting along. Ramon would love him.”
Fit nods, looking back out to the yard.
“He’s good with kids; he’s one of Richarlyson’s dads, remember? Ramon and Richas would get along really well, so Pac had to have had an influence. He’s a set designer. I think that’s his official title or whatever. Builds crazy shit all the time - Forever is always complaining about stepping on graph paper and pencils. By Christmas, he’ll probably have a whole crash test derby course built for Ramon.”
“Hmm.”
“Listen mate, I know this is hard for you.”
“Can it, Phil.”
“I know how hard this is, and I want you to know I’m here for you. I know how much you hate admitting I’m right.” Phil says with a self-satisfied grin.
“Oh fuck off,” Fit says, shoving Phil’s shoulder playfully.
“You take your time. Text me once you’ve thought about it. I’ll throw a barbeque or some shit and invite everyone. You can get a feel for Pac then and gauge how Ramon feels. I’ll bully Forever into making sure he comes, alright?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I think I can work with that. Start there, at least. Thanks, Phil. For, y’know. All this shit.” Fit refuses to meet Phil’s eyes, instead waving his hand around to express how encompassing his appreciation is. His eyes instead fixate on Ramon, who seems to be having a great time playing with Chayanne and Tallulah. If this Pac guy is legit and agrees, Fit could be a lot closer to providing Ramon with the life he deserves. What is the point of anything unless Ramon is happy?
“You’re a good friend, Phil.” That’s as sentimental as Fit can bring himself to be right now, but he knows Phil understands. That’s the annoying thing about Phil - he always understands.
“Anytime, mate. Anytime. Now, let's get these kids cleaned up. If Chayanne leaves muddy shoeprints in the house again, I might actually lose my fucking mind.”
“I dunno, I do love to watch you suffer,” Fit says with a wolfish grin.
“Fit MC, dial it back! Not with the children around!” Phil jokes, throwing an arm around Fit’s shoulders and dragging him out of the garage and into the sunlight of the backyard.
“Why do I put up with you again?” Fit asks, waving to the kids to come back toward the house.
“Don’t have a choice. Trauma bonded.”
Fit lets out a raucous laugh, the kind that has him bent over with his hands on his knees. It’s been too long since he’s laughed like this, and it feels invigorating.
Things may be looking up for the Fit family after all.