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Practice had dragged on longer than usual, leaving Bobby bone-tired and miserable as he stepped off the dock. The stars shimmered faintly above the inky water, but their cold, indifferent light only reminded him of how much he’d underestimated the bite of Washington winters. His tee shirt clung to him, damp with sweat and lake spray, and his gym shorts offered about as much protection as paper against the icy breeze. Yet, despite the numbness creeping into his arms, Bobby set his jaw and refused to shiver. He wasn’t about to let anyone catch him looking weak.
“Rough out there tonight,” Al muttered as he slung his gear over his shoulder. “Wind’s something else, huh?”
“Wind’s nothing,” Bobby shot back, a sharp edge in his voice. “If we can’t row through it, we don’t deserve to win.”
Al raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. The other guys, sensing Bobby’s mood, murmured their goodnights and headed toward the boathouse.
Bobby stayed behind, fiddling with the oars and pretending he wasn’t dreading the walk back to the dorms.
“Hey, you coming or what?” Roger called from the shadows near the parking lot.
“Yeah, in a minute,” Bobby replied without looking up.
He waited until the last of their footsteps faded, then reluctantly grabbed his bag and started the trek back. His dorm wasn’t far, but every step felt longer with the icy wind cutting through his clothes. His breath puffed out in visible clouds, and he couldn’t stop the slight tremor in his hands. Bobby adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder, trying to focus on the rhythmic crunch of his sneakers against the frosty gravel path. His body still felt the phantom sway of the boat beneath him, but it was quickly replaced by the sharp bite of the cold. He hated how the air felt so raw against his skin like it was peeling him down to his bones.
“Stupid,” he muttered under his breath, kicking at a loose pebble on the path. He wasn’t even sure if he was berating himself for forgetting his jacket or for staying out late enough for the temperature to drop this low. Either way, the sharp ache in his pride stung almost as much as the wind cutting across his legs. The sound of faint laughter from the direction of the dorms caught his attention. Probably the rest of the guys, already warmed up and joking around like they hadn’t just spent hours out in the freezing cold. Bobby clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. It wasn’t that he begrudged them their good spirits—it was that he felt so far removed from them at times like this. He hunched his shoulders against the wind and picked up his pace. The lights of the dorms glowed faintly in the distance, but they felt like they were mocking him, staying stubbornly out of reach. His mind wandered back to practice. The strokes that had gone wrong. The calls he could’ve made sharper. The way Al’s words still lingered, needling at him despite his dismissal. “Wind’s nothing,” he’d said. Maybe it wasn’t to everyone else. Maybe it was just him feeling the cold down to his core, carrying it like some invisible weight that no one else seemed to notice.
He was so lost in his own thoughts that he almost didn’t hear the soft footsteps behind him.
"Bobby."
The voice was gentle, like the sound of a boat cutting through still water. Bobby froze and turned, his breath curling in front of him in frosty clouds. Don stood a few steps away, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his wool sweater, his expression calm but warm.
“What are you doing out here?” Bobby asked, his tone more defensive than he intended. “Shouldn’t you be inside, warming up with the others?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Don replied, his voice soft but steady. He stepped closer, the sweater he always wore looking impossibly warm. “You look cold.”
Bobby scoffed, crossing his arms despite the chill. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I am,” Bobby insisted, but the tremble in his voice betrayed him.
Bobby stared at the sweater, then at Don, his pride waging a losing battle against the steady persistence in those words. With a frustrated huff, he snatched the sweater out of Don’s hands.
“Fine,” Bobby muttered, yanking it over his head. “But don’t act like you’re some kind of hero for this, okay?”
Don smiled faintly, his eyes soft. “I won’t.”
The sweater was oversized, the sleeves flopping past Bobby’s hands and the hem hanging low over his shorts. It smelled like Don—clean and faintly woodsy, like the outdoors after rain—and Bobby hated how comforting it was.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Bobby grumbled, adjusting the sleeves so they didn’t swallow his hands. “You should’ve worn more layers if you were planning to play the knight in shining armor tonight.”
Don shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets like the cold didn’t bother him. “Didn’t know you’d forget yours,” he said, glancing at Bobby with a tiny, almost shy smile.
Bobby glared at him, though his expression softened before he could stop it. “Let’s just go,” he muttered, tugging the sweater tighter around himself as he started walking. “And if you get sick, that’s on you.”
Don followed, his quiet smile lingering as they walked side by side. “I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, sure you will,” Bobby grumbled, though the warmth in his chest had nothing to do with the sweater anymore.
The dorms were closer now, their golden lights spilling across the frozen ground, but the walk felt heavier than it should’ve. Bobby tugged at the sweater’s collar, suddenly hyper-aware of how it clung to him. He hated how warm it was, hated how Don had been right, and hated even more the way the smell of it—the smell of Don—settled over him like a second skin.
Don stayed quiet beside him, his hands stuffed into his pockets. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, but it buzzed in Bobby’s ears, pressing against his defenses. He stole a glance at Don, who was staring straight ahead, his face calm and unreadable.
“Don’t think this means I’m gonna owe you or something,” Bobby muttered, more for himself than for Don.
Don blinked, caught off guard. “I…didn’t say that.”
“Good,” Bobby said quickly, his voice rough. “Because I don’t.”
Don tilted his head slightly, his lips parting as if to respond, but then he seemed to think better of it. Instead, he looked back at the path, his jaw tightening just a little.
Bobby frowned, the tension coiling tighter in his chest. He didn’t like how quiet Don was being. Didn’t like the way it made him feel—like he was the one who’d done something wrong.
“You’re gonna catch a cold,” Bobby said abruptly, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “You’re not even wearing a jacket.”
Don glanced at him, his expression soft but unreadable. “I told you, I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, well, it’s stupid,” Bobby snapped, his irritation rising. “You shouldn’t—”
“Why do you care?” Don asked, his voice quiet but steady.
The question hit Bobby like a slap. He stopped walking, his hands clenching the sweater sleeves instinctively. “What?”
“You’re acting like…” Don hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground before flicking back up to meet Bobby’s. “Like it’s my fault you’re wearing it. Like you’d rather freeze than let me help you.”
Bobby opened his mouth, then closed it again, the words catching in his throat. He didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know how to explain the heat creeping up the back of his neck.
“It’s just a sweater, Bobby,” Don said, his voice softening. “I’m not…asking for anything. I just didn’t want you to be cold.”
Bobby’s chest tightened, the tension thrumming like a taut wire. “Yeah, well, maybe I don’t like people thinking I need help,” he muttered, his gaze dropping.
Don stepped closer, the crunch of his shoes on the gravel startlingly loud in the quiet. “I don’t think that,” he said softly. “I just think…I like knowing you’re okay.”
The words hung in the air between them, heavy and electric. Bobby looked up, his heart thudding in his chest as he met Don’s gaze. There was nothing pushy or demanding in it—just quiet sincerity, the kind that made Bobby feel exposed in a way the cold never could.
For a moment, Bobby didn’t know what to say. He swallowed hard, his fingers curling into the too-long sleeves of Don’s sweater. “You’re a pain, you know that?” he muttered finally, his voice quieter now.
Don smiled, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in that shy, almost hesitant way that always caught Bobby off guard. “I know,” he said softly.
They stood there for a moment longer, the wind biting at their skin, but neither of them moved. Bobby’s chest ached with something he couldn’t quite name, and for the first time all night, the cold felt almost bearable.
“C’mon,” Don said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s get inside.”
Bobby nodded, his throat tight as he fell into step beside him.
The walk to the dorm felt even longer now, the quiet stretching between them like a slow burn. Bobby could feel the weight of the sweater, still wrapped around his body, almost like a reminder of everything unsaid. His hands fidgeted with the sleeves, tugging them down as they neared the building.
They shared a dorm. Not just a building—their room. And for some reason, Bobby had never felt more aware of it than now. The cramped space, the single bed on each side, the way Don’s things always seemed to be scattered in the most organized chaos Bobby could never quite understand.
As they reached the door to their room, Bobby hesitated. He couldn’t remember why, but for a split second, he didn’t want to go in. He didn’t want to face the quiet that had been hanging between them since he’d taken the sweater.
“You’re just gonna stand out here all night?” Don’s voice was soft but carried an edge of amusement, as if he could sense Bobby’s discomfort.
“Just—shut up,” Bobby muttered, pushing the door open and stepping inside, doing his best to ignore the heat creeping up his neck.
The room was the same as always. The faint smell of old books and the cold of the walls met them as Bobby closed the door behind them. The light from the hallway was dim, casting shadows across the small space.
Bobby immediately set his bag down by his bed, still avoiding looking at Don. His mind raced with a thousand things he wanted to say, but none of them seemed to come out right.
“Thanks for the sweater,” he said abruptly, his voice gruff, as if the words physically pained him to say.
Don’s soft smile never reached his eyes. “You’re welcome.” He moved toward his own bed, setting down his jacket.
The silence stretched between them, a tightrope neither of them was willing to cross. Bobby felt the awkwardness settle in, the familiarity of the space turning uncomfortable. He couldn’t figure out why it was so hard, why something so simple as Don helping him with a stupid sweater was making his chest feel tight.
Bobby fidgeted with his sweatshirt, still feeling the warmth of the fabric against his skin. “I’m not gonna catch a cold,” he muttered, mostly to himself.
“I didn’t think you would,” Don said quietly, his back turned as he grabbed a book from his bedside table.
Bobby stared at his own bed for a moment, unable to sit down, unable to settle. He paced the small space, feeling the weight of the sweater tugging at him. “I should’ve been more prepared,” he muttered, mostly under his breath. “Should’ve worn more layers, thought ahead. Not your fault.”
Don turned, his expression unreadable in the low light. “It’s not about fault, Bobby.”
Bobby paused, then turned to face him, finally meeting his gaze. “What’s it about then?” The words came out sharper than he meant.
Don’s gaze softened, but he didn’t look away. “It’s about…me caring. That’s all.”
Bobby froze. The words hit him harder than he expected, and his mouth went dry. “Caring?” he repeated, almost incredulous.
Don nodded, his eyes still locked on Bobby’s. “Yeah. You don’t have to make it a big deal, but I do care. About you. I don’t want you to be cold, or hurt, or…anything. Not if I can help it.”
Bobby’s heart skipped a beat. He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. His thoughts scrambled, the words catching in his throat. “I don’t need anyone’s charity, Don,” he said, trying to force his voice to stay steady.
“I’m not giving you charity,” Don replied, his voice just a little firmer than before. “I’m just…looking out for you.”
Bobby swallowed, his chest tightening at the sincerity in Don’s voice. There was no teasing, no sarcasm—just a simple, quiet truth.
The tension hung in the air like a charged current, both of them standing there, not knowing what to say next. The distance between them felt small, but the gap in what they were willing to admit seemed like an ocean.
“Why are you so nice to me?” Bobby asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it.
Don blinked, surprised by the suddenness of it. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Bobby shook his head, frustrated. “Because I’m an asshole to you half the time, and you’re always…this. Always so damn nice.”
Don took a step closer, closing the distance between them. “You’re not an asshole, Bobby,” he said softly. “I know you try. I see it.”
The words wrapped around Bobby’s chest, tightening even more. He opened his mouth, ready to argue, but the words died in his throat.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” Bobby muttered, his voice almost rougher than he intended.
Don’s expression softened, and for the first time, Bobby noticed how close they were now. The quiet had settled into something else—something that was both comforting and dangerously unspoken.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Don said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not right now.”
The silence stretched between them, thick and heady, like a thread pulling tighter with each passing second. Bobby could feel the warmth radiating off Don, the space between them too small, the air too thick. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to move closer or pull away, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking to Don’s lips, his chest tightening in a way he couldn’t ignore.
Don didn’t speak, but his gaze was heavy, settling on Bobby with a quiet intensity that made Bobby’s pulse spike. Every time their eyes met, something surged inside Bobby, some unspoken need that he didn’t know how to deal with. He knew Don could feel it, too—the tension, the charge hanging in the air between them.
Bobby swallowed hard, his throat dry. He didn’t know why he was so aware of every little thing. The way Don’s breath hitched slightly, the subtle tension in his shoulders. The way he stood so still, so calm, while Bobby felt like he was about to explode.
"You don’t talk much, do you," Bobby muttered, trying to deflect, but his voice came out hoarse, strained. His hands itched to do something—anything—but he stayed rooted in place, fighting against the pull.
Don didn’t answer at first. His eyes never left Bobby’s, the weight of his stare making Bobby’s heart race, his skin flush with heat. "I’m not much of a talker," Don said, his voice low, almost like a confession.
Bobby’s chest tightened. There was something in Don’s tone—something raw—that made Bobby’s breath catch. He was so close now, so close that he could feel the heat of Don’s body like a steady, electric hum.
"Yeah?" Bobby rasped, a mocking smile pulling at the corner of his lips as he stepped just a fraction closer. “Don’t need to talk, huh?”
Don’s gaze dropped for a moment, but his lips barely curved upward, just enough to show a glimpse of a smile that was both sweet and dangerous. He moved, just a little, until he was standing barely a hair’s breadth away. His hand brushed against Bobby’s arm, and the contact shot a spark straight through Bobby’s body. His breath hitched.
"Sometimes..." Don murmured, his voice rougher now, "some things are better left unsaid."
Before Bobby could respond, Don closed the distance between them. His lips pressed to Bobby’s, slow at first, as though testing, teasing, but the moment their mouths met, it was like a switch had flipped.
Bobby’s head spun, his hands instinctively reaching for Don, pulling him closer, deeper into the kiss. Don’s lips were soft, warm, and Bobby’s body responded before his mind could catch up. There was no denying it now. The tension, the undeniable pull between them, had finally snapped, and all Bobby could think of was how desperately he wanted more.
Don’s hand slid down Bobby’s back, sending a shiver through his spine, and Bobby couldn’t help but groan against his lips, the sound low and needy. He pulled away just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against Don’s.
"What are we doing?" Bobby whispered, his voice ragged.
Don’s hands tightened around him, holding him still as he brushed his lips against Bobby’s neck. "Whatever we want," he murmured against his skin.
Bobby’s stomach fluttered with a mixture of desire and uncertainty. "Yeah?" His voice was barely more than a whisper now, but it held that challenge, that bravado he used when he didn’t want to show how badly he wanted something.
Don’s lips ghosted over his jaw, their breaths mingling, the space between them becoming unbearable. "Yeah," Don answered, voice thick with desire.
Bobby’s heart pounded, and he didn’t know who moved first, but all he knew was that it didn’t matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was the heat of Don’s body pressed against his, the raw, undeniable pull between them.
And in that moment, nothing else existed.
The air between them was thick with heat, their breath mingling in shallow, unsteady gasps. Bobby’s hands roamed over Don’s back, feeling the firm muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt, the warmth of his skin seeping through. Don’s lips were insistent, pulling Bobby deeper into the kiss, and Bobby responded in kind, his own hunger rising with every touch.
Don’s hands slid down Bobby’s sides, firm but gentle, as though he was trying to memorize the feel of him. Bobby’s chest tightened as the heat between them built, his mind swimming with a haze of desire, his body aching with the need for more. He gripped Don’s shoulders, pulling him closer, desperate for the closeness, the contact.
A low groan slipped from Bobby’s throat as Don’s lips traced his jaw, before moving down to his neck, kissing and sucking softly. The sensation sent sparks through Bobby’s entire body, and he couldn’t help but tilt his head back, offering Don more of himself. His fingers dug into Don’s shirt, trying to hold him close as if he was afraid Don might pull away.
Don’s breath was hot against his skin, and Bobby could feel the quiet tension in the way Don moved—controlled, but with a desperate edge that mirrored his own. Every touch, every kiss was a slow burn, each one leaving Bobby’s skin burning with need.
"God," Bobby whispered, his voice shaking. He wanted to say more, to ask for more, but all that came out was the desperate sound of his breath hitching, his body aching for more.
Don paused for a moment, his lips hovering just above Bobby’s ear. “You’re so damn stubborn,” Don muttered, his voice thick with desire, “but I can’t get enough of it.”
Bobby let out a shaky laugh, the sound breathless and needy. “Yeah, well… I don’t know how to stop.”
Don’s hands slid under Bobby’s shirt, his fingertips grazing across the warm skin of Bobby’s lower back, making Bobby’s whole body tighten. The contact was electric, each touch sending a jolt of heat straight through Bobby’s veins.
He could feel his pulse thudding in his throat, each beat louder than the last. His thoughts scattered, all his focus narrowing on the feel of Don’s hands on him, the warmth of his breath, the taste of his lips.
The kiss deepened, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. There was no room for anything but the two of them, locked together in this quiet, burning intimacy. Bobby could feel the tremor in his hands as he gripped Don tighter, pulling him even closer, as if trying to fuse them together.
Don groaned softly against Bobby’s mouth, his hands sliding down Bobby’s chest, pushing his shirt up slightly, as though he couldn’t get enough of the feel of Bobby’s skin. The air was thick with the scent of them—sweat, lingering cologne, the sharp, heady taste of desire.
Bobby’s head spun, every nerve in his body on fire, and still, it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. Wanted to know how much further this could go, how much deeper they could fall into each other before the tension snapped.
When Don pulled away just enough to look at him, his breath coming in shallow gasps, Bobby’s heart thudded in his chest. Don’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with desire, his lips swollen from the kiss, and Bobby couldn’t help but reach for him again, unable to resist the pull.
“Don…” Bobby murmured, his voice a ragged whisper, his fingers trembling as they brushed across Don’s cheek.
Don’s hand found its way to Bobby’s, his fingers intertwining with Bobby’s as he kissed him again, slow and deep, as if savoring the moment. He pulled Bobby closer, his body pressing into his, and Bobby’s chest hitched at the feel of Don so close, so impossibly close.
In that moment, nothing else mattered. The world outside the room, the doubts, the fears, the hesitation—they all disappeared. All that remained was the heat between them, the steady rhythm of their breaths, and the pulse of desire that ran through Bobby like a live wire.
And Bobby knew, with sudden clarity, that whatever happened next, whatever path this would take, he couldn’t stop it now. He didn’t want to.
The only thing that mattered was Don, and the way their bodies seemed to fit together like this, so perfectly in sync, so impossibly right.
The kiss lingered, slow and tender, until Don finally pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against Bobby’s. Both of them were breathing hard, their chests rising and falling in sync, the heat between them still simmering, the space between them charged with electricity.
Bobby let out a breathless laugh, his hands still gripping Don’s shirt, as if afraid to let go. “You’re super warm, Donny,” he murmured, his voice teasing despite the lingering tension.
Don raised an eyebrow, his lips still swollen from their kiss. “Yeah? What’s your point, Bobby?”
Bobby smirked, a playful glint in his eyes. “Maybe I should start calling you Donny the Heater, because damn, you’re like a furnace.”
Don’s expression softened, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re ridiculous,” he murmured, but there was something soft in his tone, something affectionate that Bobby didn’t miss.
“I know,” Bobby replied with a grin, his voice quieter now, but still filled with that familiar bravado. He rested his head against Don’s shoulder, just letting the moment settle around them, the world outside seeming miles away.
They stayed like that for a long moment, just breathing, the warmth of each other’s bodies the only thing that mattered. No words were needed—just the quiet comfort of knowing they’d crossed a line, and maybe it wasn’t as scary as they’d both imagined.
Bobby lifted his head after a while, looking up at Don with a soft smile. “Thanks for the sweater, Donny,” he said, the words light but sincere. “I guess I won’t freeze tonight after all.”
Don snorted softly, his arm wrapping around Bobby’s waist. “Anytime, Bobby. Just don’t make a habit of freezing in the first place.”
Bobby chuckled, the sound full of warmth and something else—something that lingered in the quiet space between them. “No promises,” he muttered, his head resting comfortably on Don’s shoulder once more.