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The quiet in the house was new.
Not the kind of quiet that follows an argument or lingers with tension. No—this was real quiet. Comfortable. Earned.
Sebastian stood at the kitchen counter in his socks, eating a slice of cold pizza straight from the box, watching Gabriel frown at a drawer.
“You reorganized this again,” Gabriel muttered.
“I optimized it,” Sebastian corrected, mouth full.
“No one optimizes a junk drawer. That’s the point of the drawer.”
“Okay, well, your chaos gives me hives.”
Gabriel turned, arms folded. “You grew up surrounded by crime families and you're scared of mess?”
“Exactly. I already live in moral disorder. I deserve drawer control.”
Gabriel blinked once. Then smiled. It was small, the kind of smile that still surprised Sebastian. Like Gabriel forgot he was allowed to be happy here, in this house, with him.
“Get dressed,” Sebastian said suddenly.
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “I am dressed.”
Sebastian eyed the grey t-shirt and house pants. “Get outside dressed. We’re going somewhere.”
“I didn’t agree to this.”
“I’ll bribe you.”
“With what?”
“My leftover lemon cookies.”
Gabriel was already halfway up the stairs.
---
The arcade was loud. Disgustingly neon. And absolutely perfect.
It was tucked between a laundromat and a vape shop, a last-minute discovery when Sebastian Googled “things to do on a date that don’t require trust funds.”
Gabriel hesitated just outside the entrance, looking like a well-read ghost lit in flashing reds and greens.
“You okay?” Sebastian asked.
Gabriel glanced at him. “This isn’t usually my scene.”
“Yeah, I know. I brought you here on purpose.”
“And why, exactly?”
“Because I want to see what happens when Mr. Perfect Precision has to play skee-ball.”
Gabriel exhaled slowly. “You’re going to regret this.”
---
Game 1: Skee-Ball
Sebastian missed three times in a row.
Gabriel, naturally, hit two bullseyes in his first four throws.
“I hate you,” Sebastian muttered, as his fifth ball rolled gently into the gutter like it was taking a nap.
“You insisted,” Gabriel said, retrieving his ticket strip with visible pride.
“You have robot arms.”
“You have no aim.”
“You have no mercy.”
Gabriel leaned in, low, right next to Sebastian’s ear. “No. But I’m excellent at revenge. Choose your next game wisely.”
---
Game 2: Air Hockey
Sebastian got the first goal in 30 seconds.
Gabriel narrowed his eyes.
The second goal came faster.
“Beginner’s luck,” Gabriel gritted.
Third. Fourth.
By goal five, Gabriel’s hair was mussed and a strand fell from his tie and Sebastian was grinning like he owned the building.
“You’re very aggressive,” Gabriel muttered.
“I come from a family where we throw knives at walls for fun. What did you expect?”
Gabriel sighed. “A slow, civilized defeat.”
Sebastian winked. “Sorry. Not tonight.”
---
Game 3: Shooting Zombies
It was the only time they worked together.
Back to back, in a booth that smelled like popcorn and teenage sweat, they blasted away at glowing monsters. Sebastian shouted instructions. Gabriel calmly headshotted five zombies in a row.
When they made it to the final level, they were panting, shoulder to shoulder.
“Are we winning?” Sebastian asked.
Gabriel smirked. “We’re surviving.”
Sebastian tilted his head. “That’s kind of our thing.”
Gabriel didn’t answer—but his hand slid down and found Sebastian’s.
---
Break.
They sat at a tiny corner table with a slushy that changed colors and a pretzel the size of a steering wheel.
Sebastian bit into his. “So, how’s your first arcade experience going?”
Gabriel licked sugar off his thumb. “No one’s tried to shoot us. Or blackmail us. It’s going rather well.”
“High standards.”
“Post-trauma standards.”
Sebastian studied him. “Do you ever think we’re just... pretending?”
Gabriel blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean—we’re just here. Like normal people. Playing dumb games. No suits. No threats. It’s just us.”
Gabriel was quiet for a moment.
Then: “I think pretending was everything before this.”
Sebastian blinked.
Gabriel looked at him, steady. “Before this house. Before you. This? This is real.”
And just like that, the noise of the arcade blurred. The lights faded into soft neon. All that remained was the boy across from him, and the realization that this was what peace looked like.
---
Final Game: Claw Machine
“This is it,” Sebastian declared. “Your final test.”
Gabriel stepped forward. “You act like this is a life-or-death scenario.”
“Worse,” Sebastian said gravely. “It’s a reputation thing.”
Gabriel squinted at the stuffed animals inside. “What am I aiming for?”
Sebastian pointed to a ridiculous lime green octopus with glitter eyes. “That one.”
Gabriel sighed, slid a token in, and began his assault on physics.
Three tries later, the octopus dropped with a plop into the chute.
Sebastian picked it up like it was made of diamonds. “He’s hideous. I love him.”
“You’re welcome.”
“We shall name him... Agent Lime.”
Gabriel blinked. “Why?”
“He looks like he’s seen things.”
Gabriel just shook his head.
--
The night was cooler now. They walked slowly.
Sebastian held the octopus under his arm. Gabriel had his hands in his jacket pockets.
They didn’t talk.
They didn’t need to.
When they reached their driveway, Sebastian stopped.
“You ever think,” he said softly, “how wild it is that we got here?”
Gabriel looked at him. Really looked.
“You broke into my closet to save your life.”
“And now I’m ruining your sock drawer.”
Gabriel stepped closer. “And I’m letting you.”
They kissed like it wasn’t the first time, but still felt like one. Sebastian’s hands traveled up into Gabriel’s tied up hair and tugged at the tie, sitting his hair free. While Gabriel was so lost in Sebastian’s sweat mouth.
When they pulled back, Sebastian rested his forehead against Gabriel’s.
“You know what?”
“Hm?”
“You still lost at air hockey.”
They don’t make it past the front door.
Sebastian’s keys hit the floor with a clatter the moment Gabriel presses him into the wall.
“You really liked that air hockey win, huh?” Sebastian murmurs, breath warm against Gabriel’s lips.
Gabriel’s voice is low. “I liked you. Laughing. Alive. Mine.”
Sebastian's hands slide into Gabriel’s hoodie, curling around his waist. “I’m always yours.”
Gabriel kisses him again. Deeper. Slower. Less arcade, more I’ve wanted this all night and I’m not pretending anymore.
He walks them backward toward the hallway, bumping into walls, laughter caught between kisses.
“I have one question,” Sebastian whispers between nips to Gabriel’s jaw. “Do you still have that smug little winner face on?”
Gabriel growls. “You want to see a smug face? Get on the bed.”
Sebastian grabs his hand and pulls him into the bedroom like a storm.
---
The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the nightlight Gabriel insists is for “late-night hydration trips,” even though it’s clearly shaped like a sleepy moon.
Clothes hit the floor in a lazy trail—hoodie, jacket, Gabriel’s bracelet, Sebastian’s watch.
Now it’s just them. Soft skin. Messy hair. Arcade-warm adrenaline still thrumming in their bones.
Gabriel traces his thumb over the waistband of Sebastian’s jeans. “Okay?”
Sebastian nods. “Yeah. You?”
Gabriel doesn’t answer—he just kisses him again, slower this time. Reverent. Like he’s tasting something he didn’t know he was starving for.
Hands explore. Nerves light. Bodies meet.
Gabriel mouths at Sebastian’s throat. Sebastian gasps into his shoulder. Their rhythm finds them—half urgency, half worship.
And through it all—breathless laughter, whispered I love this, and murmured I’m right here.
Later, when they’re tangled in the sheets, skin sticky and smiles lazy, Sebastian rests his chin on Gabriel’s chest.
“Do I still get lemon cookies?” Gabriel murmurs, eyes half-lidded.
Sebastian smirks. “If you survive round two.”
Gabriel huffs a laugh. “You’re insatiable.”
Sebastian kisses the center of his chest. “No. I’m in love.”
Gabriel doesn’t speak—he just pulls him in tighter.
The morning sun spills across the bedroom floor in lazy golden streaks.
Sebastian wakes first — warm, sated, and stupidly tangled in a pair of very toned limbs. Gabriel is face-down in the pillow, one arm slung across Sebastian’s waist, one leg trapping him like a sleepy human paperweight.
He smells like soap and something citrusy and, faintly, regret in the shape of arcade pretzels.
Sebastian tries to shift.
Gabriel groans. “Don’t move.”
“It’s hot.”
“You weren’t saying that last night.”
Sebastian rolls his eyes and elbows him gently. “Let me up. I want coffee.”
“You want me.”
“I also want coffee.”
Gabriel finally peels one eye open. “Traitor.”
Sebastian grins and kisses his forehead. “Come downstairs when you're done being beautiful and useless.
–
The coffee machine hisses like it has something to say. The sun pours into the kitchen like a blessing. And Sebastian, shirtless in plaid pajama pants, is pouring himself a mug when—
“Did you know,” Gabriel says from the doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes, “that you talk in your sleep?”
Sebastian freezes. “I do not.”
Gabriel smirks. “You do. Last night you called me your ‘grumpy angel man.’”
Sebastian nearly drops the mug. “You’re lying.”
“Mm. It was either that or ‘cursed prince of hotness,’ I can’t remember.”
Sebastian stares at him. “If you ever tell anyone, I will bury your body in the sock drawer you hate.”
Gabriel just walks over, wraps his arms around Sebastian from behind, and presses a kiss just below his ear.
“Your secrets are safe with me,” he whispers. “Even the embarrassing ones.”
Sebastian leans back into him. “Good. Because I’m gonna say way worse tonight.”
Gabriel chuckles. “I’m counting on it.”
---
They drink coffee on the back patio. A breeze rustles the lemon tree. Their shared neon green octopus from the night before sits between them like a guardian of inside jokes.
There’s no paparazzi. No bodyguards. No escape plans.
Just one house. Two mugs. Two idiots very much in love.
And a new tradition of ruining each other in arcade games.