Chapter Text
Pik made his way downstairs, where the noise felt thick enough to walk into. It pressed out from the living room in a wall of layered voices, pop music, and laughter that spiked and dropped from the kitchen to the couch. The air carried the damp trace of chlorine from the pool outside and something sugary that had already gone flat.
He stopped at the bottom step. From here, he could see them spread across the carpet in a loose circle, leaning into one another, already settled into their places. Someone was half-lying across Odd’s lap. Someone else was mid-story, hands animated, the group watching with an easy familiarity that assumed they’d all been here long enough to understand the rhythm of the room.
It looked like a closed space, riddled with Jai’s memories and things Pik didn’t understand.
His first instinct was to turn away—maybe cut into the kitchen, grab a drink, and stay out of it. It wouldn’t be hard to slip back and wait for Jai, or just ask him later where he’d be sleeping tonight. He could leave the scene without ever being noticed.
“Pik!”
The call landed before he could even lift his foot. It was Odd, pinpointing his location immediately, as if he’d been waiting to spot him the second he came down.
“Come here,” Odd said, already grinning. “We’re playing Truth or Dare.”
“I can just watch,” Pik said, lifting a hand slightly. He stepped back half an inch, his heel grazing the edge of the previous wooden step.
“You don’t even have to do anything crazy,” someone else insisted. “Just sit and join us, seriously.”
“That sounds fake.”
“It is,” Odd said easily, crossing the distance between them. His hand loosely closed around Pik’s wrist, with enough certainty to tug him forward, deciding for him.
The carpet felt uncomfortably warm underfoot. Pik folded into the space they cleared for him, drawing his knees in and rounding his shoulders slightly, as if that might make him less visible in a circle that didn’t really need him.
The game resumed as if he had always been part of it. Someone finished a truth—something loud and embarrassing enough to earn a chorus of groans and laughter. The sound washed over him and then reset, the game snapping instantly back into place.
“Truth or dare?”
“Truth!”
The questions bounced around—light, teasing, shallow. Worst kiss. First crush. Dumb secrets. Everyone played along just enough to keep it interesting without letting it get real.
Pik tracked it quietly. He nodded, offered small reactions, and stayed in the background. He assumed he'd remain a spectator. He was good at blending in. When it finally landed on him, “Pik,” a girl said, her voice softer than the others. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” he said immediately. A dare in this room felt dangerous. She tilted her head, tapping her knee. “Okay… What made you come tonight? I don’t usually see you at parties.” It was a casual question, but it felt sharp. Pik shrugged. “I got invited.”
“Yeah, but—” she laughed, looking around like she was telling a harmless story, “we didn’t actually send it first.” A shift went through the room. “What?” Pik asked.
“Jai told us to,” she said, still smiling. “He brought you up, so we added you.”
Added. Not invited. A tag-along.
Added, like a free snack a clerk throws in right before the expiration date. The word sat flat and heavy in his chest. Around them, the circle went slightly stiff. Someone stared at their fingers; someone else reached for a drink. Odd tries to intervene, “Sorry, I think she’s had too much to drink. That must’ve come out weird. We’re glad you’re here.” Pik nods once, as if that explains her tone. “Yeah, I get it.” It comes out evenly, but he knows it doesn’t sound casual enough because the music fills the lack of conversation. Before it can stretch into something worse, the sound of movement cuts in with footsteps on the floor. Jai drops down beside him, like he’s stepping into a moment he already understands. “Are you guys playing something?” he asks, looking around.
His hair is still damp, curling slightly at the ends. His shirt clings faintly at the collar, darker where it hasn’t fully dried. He smells faintly like the same soap when he settles in, familiar. He doesn’t look at Pik first. He looks at the group, eyes scanning the room. Pik thinks this is where his attention belongs.
“Truth or dare,” Jai’s girlfriend says quickly—too quickly, almost like a cover-up for a question she didn’t even ask. “Pik’s turn. Does anyone want to choose dare? We’ll pick what they have to do. Loser drinks.” Pik blinks. “I don’t—I mean, I don’t want to make someone do something they don’t—”
Odd leans over from the opposite side as he pinches his cheek. “He’s so cute,” he says, laughing. “Look at him. He’s worried about the truth or dare.” Laughter ripples around the circle. Jai laughs too. And Pik notices it immediately, and it feels wrong. They’re too loud and too quick, like everything they do arrives half a second earlier. Pik tries to make up for it by being bigger than necessary. “Then do something like,” leaning back, his voice casual but just slightly edged. He thinks of something from an American movie he saw with Jai at his birthday party. Truthfully, he’s not sure he paid attention since he was more focused on Jai licking the frosting. “Like—seven minutes in heaven.”
Before he could regret his words, it clicked into place instantly. There was no hesitation from the group. The suggestion shot through the air like a missile, snapping the loud frequency onto a new target.
“Oh my god, yes.”
“That’s perfect—”
Odd clapped once, breaking apart the chants, smiling widely. “Whoa, look at Pik go! How about…since you two came last, you two can go.”
You two. Pik’s chest tightened, just a fraction. He kept his eyes locked straight ahead, refusing to look at Jai. He opened his mouth, not even sure what kind of defense he was going to offer, but it didn’t matter. The collective mind of the room had already decided.
“Go, go—”
“Seven minutes—don’t be boring—”
“There’s a pantry right there, they can just use that!” Someone nudged his shoulder, a physical push toward the hallway door. In the middle of the rising chant, Pik caught a sharp movement from the corner of his eye. Jai’s girlfriend leaned in, whispering directly into Jai's ear, her hand resting flat against his arm. She said something too hushed to be heard over the others. Jai froze for a split second. His face hardened into something unreadable, then his expression shifted—contained and smiling again. He rubbed the back of his neck, that same unconscious motion he always uses when he's tense, then he reached for Pik. This time, his grip is firmer. “Come on, it’s just a stupid dare,” Jai says.
Pik doesn’t even find time to argue, but he’s unsure if he let himself be pulled out of sheer pressure or if a part of him was curious. He’s not really sure of anything anymore.
The closet was smaller than it should have been.
“Starting the timer now!”
“Are you gonna be jealous, Peach?”
Peach. Jai’s girlfriend. Pik didn’t fully understand how relationships worked, but wasn’t this weird for her? Jai stepped in close behind him. The door shut fast, cutting the outside voices down to a muffled hum. Pik blocked out the shouting; he didn't have the mental strength to decode. The air in the pantry was thick and suffocating. He pressed his back against the door, drawing his arms to his chest to save space. Across from him, Jai shuffled sideways, trying to clear a distance that didn't exist. They still ended up practically chest-to-chest.
“Hey,” Jai said.
“Hey.”
The word vibrated between them. Unstable. A silence stretched out. Jai exhaled slowly in the dark, as if he were choosing what to say next. “I did ask them to invite you.” Pik’s gaze lifted, searching the heavy shadows for the outline of Jai's face. “Yeah. I heard.”
“It wasn’t like that. Don’t pay attention to Peach’s friend, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about—” Jai cut himself off, then corrected his tone. “I wanted you here.” It wasn't any kinder than what was said outside, but it was undeniably more genuine. If Pik didn’t know any better, he might have thought Jai sounded a little anxious. Jai, of all people, anxious? The idea didn’t even fit him.
“I asked if they could send you a direct invite. Figured if someone else did it, you might say yes.” Jai said with a faint, dry smirk, though his eyes remained intensely fixed on Pik, waiting for a reaction. “I don’t know. You usually say ‘no’ when I ask you,” Jai added, subconsciously searching for a response.
Pik’s fingers pressed a little tighter against his own arm. “Oh,” he said, his voice falling quieter by the minute. “Okay.” But Jai’s explanation didn’t fully settle. It was true that he usually declined party invitations, but if Jai had really wanted him here that badly... Why hadn’t he just asked him directly?
The silence lingered, thick and unmoving. Jai shifted his weight, letting out a sharp breath through pursed lips, as if abandoning that line of thought entirely before it could trap him.
“I saw your back earlier,” he said suddenly.
Pik blinked once, mouth agape. “What?”
“In the bathroom,” Jai said, the words tumbling out a little too quickly now. “When you turned around. I just—I noticed. By accident, I swear.”
“What—”
“I’m just saying,” Jai cut in, completely tripping over his own words now, his head tilted back toward the ceiling. “You look good. Like… your…” He gestured vaguely in the dark as if Pik could see his hands, then he gave up entirely when he realized. “Your butt. It’s nice.” The words landed bluntly, far too direct for how agonizingly small the space had suddenly become.
There was a total, deafening beat.
Pik stares at him, like he’s misheard. “What?” The word comes out sharper than he means it to. “I told you not to look.” Heat crawls up his neck almost immediately, fast and uncontrollable, dusting across his face. He’s suddenly hyper-aware of everything—how close they’re standing, how little space there is between them, the fact that Jai had been looking at all. He shifts his weight so he’s leaning against the door, like that might somehow undo the embarrassment. “You weren’t supposed to—”
“I wasn’t staring,” Jai cuts in, quick, almost defensive—but there’s something else under it, something less certain. “It was an accident.”
“That’s still looking.”
“I have eyes,” Jai says, a little helpless now.
Pik grumbles; he knows it shouldn’t be a big deal, but it doesn’t stop his emotions. Somewhere between annoyed and flustered, he looks away even though there’s nowhere else to look in the dark. “You’re so—” he starts, then stops, not finishing it.
Jai gets closer, trying to mediate. “I said it to make it less awkward.”
“It didn’t work.”
“Yeah,” Jai admits. Another pause settles, but it’s different now. Jai laughs. Again—that same off-center laugh. Too bright, like he’s forcing the moment. “I really was just trying to make this less weird. It’s not every day you end up playing seven minutes in heaven with your friend.”
“And that made it worse.”
“Yeah,” Jai admits immediately. “Okay. Got it.” But something changes anyway; the tension doesn’t disappear. “Then you say something,” Jai added, his awkward chuckles dropping a fraction. “Your turn.”
Pik hesitated. There were far too many things sitting heavily in his chest, and none of them felt safe to say out loud in a space this small. So he reached for something else; a different conversation. “I named the cat Jaijai.” Jai paused, and Pik could see the slight outline of his head tilting to the right. “When did you get a cat—wait, what?”
“The stray near my place,” Pik said, finally letting his shoulder rest lightly against the wooden door. “I’ve been feeding it.”
“And you named it after me?”
“Jaijai. Like pay,” Pik explained, his eyes tracing the faint outline of Jai's features in the dark. “Do you remember? That time you made me cover for you and your friend.”
Even in the dark, Pik could see the exact moment Jai went still.
“You said you’d pay me back,” Pik added softly. “You never did.”
There was a solid beat. Then Jai exhaled—a real breath this time, completely unforced—and laughed. It was softer, warmer than before. “Are you serious?”
“I remember things,” Pik said. And you don’t seem to remember them. That was the part he left unsaid. That it wasn’t just the money, and it was about everything else.
“You named a whole cat because of that?” Jai asked, amusement lacing his words.
“You owe me.”
Jai reached into the empty air between them, his fingers brushing blindly along the wall until they found the plastic switch. The light clicked on with a sharp, sudden snap. The brightness was harsher than expected, flooding the tiny pantry. Pik blinked against the glare, his pupils contracting, and in the confusion of the sudden light, he forgot to look away. Jai was already looking at him. The gaze felt casual but felt different, as if Jai had simply been waiting for the light to catch Pik properly. “I’ll pay you back,” Jai said, his voice steady as he picked the thread back up, nudging Pik’s shoulder lightly with his own.
“You said that last time.”
“I mean it this time.”
Pik narrowed his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching as he fought back a reluctant smile. “You don’t actually have to pay me back.”
“I know, I’ll make it up to you,” Jai said easily, his eyes never leaving Pik's face. “I’ll take you to a restaurant. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
A knock hits the door. “Four minutes left!” The sound dulls just as quickly as it came. Neither of them moves as the lack of sound folds back in, with a less empty feeling now.
“…Don’t let them do that,” he says, looking at the ceiling.
Pik frowns slightly. “Do what?”
Jai gestures vaguely, like he doesn’t want to say it outright. “That. Earlier.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
Instead of answering, his gaze drops briefly, almost automatically, to Pik’s face, lingering on his cheek before shifting back up. It takes a second. “Oh.” Pik lifts a hand unconsciously, brushing his own cheek where Odd had pinched it. “That?”
Jai’s jaw tightens just slightly. “Yeah.” There’s something off about how quickly he says it, too, like he’s covering for something else. “They were just joking,” Pik says, a little unsure now. “I know,” Jai replies quickly. Too quickly. “Still. You don’t like people touching you.”
There’s a moment of silence when Pik studies him, confusion settling in. “Yeah? I guess. But he’s your friend so I didn’t really think too much about it.” Jai hesitates, and it’s brief, but it’s there. His hand comes up to rub the back of his neck again, that same tell slipping through before he can stop it. “It just—” he starts, then coughs. “They don’t need to touch you like that.” The wording is off. It comes off as something sharper, less easy to explain.
Pik’s brows knit together slightly in amusement. “You literally dragged me in here with your hand. A little pinch is nothing.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
Jai doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at him, direct and steady, weighing how much to say before choosing safety. “…Just is,” he says finally. Pik lets out a breath he held. He isn't convinced, but he doesn't push. He isn’t quite sure what answer he wanted out of Jai. “Alright.” His hand drops from his cheek. The silence settles back down, heavily loaded.
Jai turns his full attention to him. “We’re being weird,” he mutters to the room. Pik crosses his arms, leaning back to maintain his guard. “You made it weird.”
Jai stares at him, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm against his arm. “I’m trying to fix it.”
“It’s not working.”
He furrows his brows like he’s running out of options, recalibrating in real time. “I should just give you a sniff kiss.”
Pik freezes. “A what?”
Jai waves a hand dismissively. “A sniff kiss. Like—” he gestures to his nose, “from just here. It’s nothing.”
“That’s not exactly nothing.”
“It is,” Jai insists. “It’s normal.”
“For who?”
“For us. Before.” Jai hesitates, then pushes through. “Like when we were kids. We did it all the time. We’re practically family.”
The word family hits the small room like a physical barrier. Pik’s chest tightens as he looks just fast Jai at the spare cereal boxes.
“I haven’t done it since we were kids,” Jai adds, his voice dropping an octave. “But it’s not weird.”
Pik lets out a sharp, disbelieving breath. “That doesn’t make it better.”
“It kind of does.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Jai steps into his space. It’s not a fast movement, but the gap between them narrows quicker than Pik expects. He feels the shift down to his bones.
“It’ll fix this, I swear,” Jai says, much quieter now. “We’ve been off all night.”
“That’s because—” Pik stops. Because of you. Because of her. Because of everything. Jai watches him, sensing the unspoken words but choosing to ignore the landmines. “It’ll help,” he finishes. “We’ll stop being weird. Be normal again, like how we used to be.”
“Define normal,” Pik mutters. Jai’s mouth twitches. “Proper friends.” The phrase landed with a soft, agonizing burn, sharp as fire ants crawling up the back of Pik's throat. Pik looked at Jai, really looked at him. At the damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead, the high flush painting his skin from taking a shower with water far too hot for Pik’s liking, and, finally, the near-desperation bleeding through his tone.
“You’re serious,” Pik says.
“Yeah.”
“That’s your solution.”
“Yeah.”
Pik exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair before letting it fall back to his side. “You’re insane.”
“Probably.”
“And you actually think this is going to fix things.”
Jai shrugged—a small, almost self-conscious movement. “It used to.” That almost did it. Pik pressed his lips together, trying to ignore the way his pulse had picked up; the way the space felt like it was shrinking around them. “You’re not even asking properly,” Pik said, desperate for any shred of leverage to hold onto. Jai paused. Then, more deliberate this time, a chuckle frayed the edges of his voice. “Can I?” he asked, his tone dropping to an oddly quiet level. “Can I give you a sniff kiss?”
Pik should have said no. He knew he should; instead, he threw out a defensive question, trying to buy himself a few more seconds. “This is going to fix whatever problem you think we’re having?”
“Yeah. And then we’ll be back to being best friends.”
“Yeah?”
Pik let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Fine, turn off the light. It’s a bit awkward,” he said, the words escaping a little too quickly. “And don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not the one making it weird. You are, right now.”
“You are.”
“Okay,” Jai conceded with a soft chuckle. Then, Jai reached out and turned off the light. The sudden plunge back into total darkness felt heavier this time, dropping over them like a thick blanket. In the blind silence, the space between them vanished completely. Pik’s shoulders tensed instinctively as he felt the air shift, the unmistakable tenderness of Jai stepping closer until there was no room left to pretend.
He stepped closer. This time, there was absolutely no space left. Pik’s shoulders tensed instinctively, but he didn’t pull away. Jai hesitated for a fraction of a second—just enough for the pause to feel deliberate—before leaning in.
It was light. Brief. The soft brush of Jai's nose against Pik’s cheek was so close that Pik felt the warmth of his breath more than the actual contact. It was familiar in a way that hit too fast to process, and then it was over. Except Jai didn’t pull away completely. Instead, he lingered a fraction of a second too long, and then his arms came up, wrapping around Pik in a loose, almost careless hug. Hands sliding down to his waist. Like it was nothing. Like it didn’t mean a single thing.
Pik stiffened at first, entirely caught off guard by the second movement, but after a beat—just one—he melted, letting himself settle into the lines of Jai's chest. It was closer than they’ve been all night. Outside, there was a sudden burst of conversations before the door swung wide open.
Light flooded in, blindingly bright, cutting straight through the small space.
“Time’s up—”
For a split second, the universe completely froze, with Jai’s arms still locked around Pik. Pik hadn’t even started to step away, just turning around to face the doorway, entirely unsure of how his face looked.
The moment sat there, fully visible in the glare, with Peach meeting Pik’s eyes.