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Skyler lets go of his wrist so they can eat. There isn’t much enthusiasm in Trevor’s words, but he no longer looks like he might pass out, so Skyler’s satisfied for now.

And he just prays the newsdoesn’t get worse.

Skyler didn’t want toleave Trevor alone, but when Mike asked if they wanted to watch a game with him, Trevor insisted Skyler go without him, claiming he had a headache. Skyler recognized the excuse for what it was—Trevor needing some space—so he reluctantly agreed.

But he wishes he didn’t. Because when he returns, he finds Trevor lying on the couch, curled up in the fetal position with his face smushed into a throw pillow, Stella resting her snout on his leg.

Immediately, he goes into panic mode, rushing to Trevor’s side. He dislodges Stella to make room for himself and curls his hand around Trevor’s hip. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Trevor doesn’t lift his face from the pillow, so when he says, “They gave an official warning for Santa Monica,” it takes Skyler a moment to decipher his words.

And then he thinks if he wasn’t already sitting, he might have collapsed. Because no. This can’t be happening. Not to Trevor.No.

“No,” he says stupidly.

Trevor turns his head now, doesn’t lift it from the pillow, but rests his cheek on it so he can look at Skyler with watery eyes. “Yeah.”

“Where exactly is the fire now?” he asks, trying to get himself together so he can help keep Trevor together.

“It hasn’t hit Malibu yet, but it’s going to. They can’t stop it. And then…”

“Okay, let’s just… Um.” What the hell is Skyler supposed to do? He can’t stop a fucking wildfire. “Can you sit up? Please? We’ll see if we can find some live coverage on TV. So you’re not waiting for updates.”

He’s not sure if watching it live is better or worse, actually, but he can’t stand to see Trevor lying here like this, looking so small and broken, and it’s the only thing he can think to do.

Trevor contemplates a minute, long enough that Skyler thinks he’s going to ignore him, but then he slowly pushes himself up. His face is blotchy and his hair’s a mess, and Skyler doesn’t hesitate before putting an arm around him and pulling Trevor’s head into his chest.

“It’s okay,” he whispers into Trevor’s hair. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

It doesn’t take long to find a station that’s covering the fire, and then they sit there beside each other and watch. Trevor’s right. According to the reporter, the fire is almost guaranteed to hit Malibu. And soon.

Skyler stares at the map and imagines where his house is in relation to the fire’s projected path. His worry grows, but it’s mixed with guilt as he sees coverage of all the people rushing to get out while there’s still time. Not everyone can hop on a private jet. And he can afford to replace his house and whatever’s in it, minus the sentimental stuff. Most people can’t do that.

He keeps stealing glances at Trevor’s face, which is stoic as he watches. But there’s a slight tremor in his hand where it’s resting on the cushion between his and Skyler’s thighs. Skyler takes it, placing their hands over his own leg, and Trevor says nothing, but he doesn’t pull away. He hasn’t said anything in a while.

Even though Trevor likely faked the headache earlier, he probably does have one now, so Skyler asks him, “Want me to get you some Tylenol?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Trevor doesn’t look at him, keeps his eyes trained firmly on the TV screen, when he says, “I don’t want you to leave.”

So he doesn’t. He stays right where he is. Right where he belongs.

His hand eventually starts to feel clammy, but he doesn’t let go of Trevor’s. And when Trevor’s head lands softly on his shoulder, Skyler doesn’t move a muscle, afraid to disturb him. If all he can do is physically be here for Trevor, then this is what he’ll do.

It’s an hour later when the reporter announces the fire appears to be changing course slightly. He thought Trevor might have fallen asleep on him, but at this news, Trevor gasps and sits back up. He looks at Skyler hopefully, but Skyler doesn’t know what to say, because these things are hard to predict correctly.

Instead of words, he untangles his fingers from Trevor’s, flexing them to get the blood flowing again, and then brings his hand up to Trevor’s face. He rubs his thumb along his temple and down to brush over the hair above his ear, wanting the gesture to convey he’s hopeful too. And that he’s here, no matter what happens.

When they watch in real time as the fire reaches the tip of Malibu and then abruptly veers to the left, toward the water, Skyler holds his breath and Trevor mutters, “Oh god, please.”

And then, in what might have taken fifteen minutes or an eternity, it’s over. The fire puts itself out in the ocean. There’s damage, but it didn’t make it down far enough to hit Skyler’s house, didn’t go anywhere near Santa Monica, and this is so much better than it could have been.

The relief hits like a wave crashing over him, and he turns to Trevor to say something, laugh, cheer, anything. But Trevor’s crying. As soon as Trevor’s eyes meet his, Trevor practically throws himself at him. He hugs him so tightly Skyler finds it hard to breathe again, but he doesn’t care.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Skyler gets out. “I’ve got you, babe. Everything’s okay.”