Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kevin hated mornings.

He hated being awake before ten, hated how bright the sun always seemed, hated that his body still hadn’t adjusted to functioning before double digits. But cardio was important. Heart health mattered. So here he was— barely alive, but dressed in his running gear.

He shut the apartment door behind him with a soft click, stretching his arms over his head. The hallway was quiet except for the faint hum of plumbing and the buzz of an overhead light that had been flickering since last week.

He’d barely taken a step toward the elevator when a dull thud echoed from a door a few steps down the hall—followed by the unmistakable sound of something heavy hitting the floor, and then a sharp curse, muffled by the walls.

Kevin slowed.

Huh.

Someone was moving in. Which meant—

New neighbors.

He frowned, as another voice—louder—cut in. Whatever they were saying, it sounded exasperated. Something about socks. Or pans?

Kevin didn’t know and didn’t particularly care. But still. He lingered a second longer before finally dragging himself toward the elevator, rolling his shoulders in preparation for the run ahead. But when the doors slid open, the sight that greeted him made him stop.

A guy was wrestling a massive box, trying (and mostly failing) to maneuver it out of the elevator without dropping it. Kevin couldn’t see his face, but his movements were steady, if a little frustrated. Not panicked, just... mildly annoyed, judging by the huffed breath he let out.

Kevin sighed and stepped forward, automatically grabbing the other side of the box. “You need help?”

There was a pause, then a slight shift in posture. The guy let him take some of the weight without a word, and together, they wrestled the box out of the elevator. It was heavier than it looked—awkward, too—and Kevin silently cursed himself for offering. They carried it down the hallway in silence a few steps down from his apartment and set the box down with a dull thunk.

Kevin straightened up, letting out a quiet breath. “That should—” he started, but the words caught halfway out when he looked up— and up.

The guy was taller than him. Not by much, but enough that it was noticeable. He had sharp cheekbones and a long line of neck visible above a stretched T-shirt. His black hair was a sleep-mussed mess, curling slightly at the ends like it always meant to do that. And his eyes—Kevin barely processed the rest before his gaze caught there. An eerie, stormy gray, framed by dark lashes that only made them more intense.

They didn’t blink.

He didn’t blink.

The moment broke when the guy cleared his throat. “Thanks,” he said, with a distinct French accent.

Kevin’s brain promptly shut down.

He felt the warmth creeping up his neck before his brain even had time to make it make sense.

Oh, no.

"Uh—yeah. No problem," he said, a little too fast. "Good luck with the, uh… moving thing."

And then, instead of heading out for his run or even introducing himself like a normal person, he turned and bolted back into his own apartment, slamming the door behind him.

"What the fuck." 

Kevin barely registered the words. He was still stuck replaying the last minute in his head, what the hell just happened, when movement from the corner of his eye finally snapped him out of it.

His attention snagged on a beanbag—or rather, the human-shaped lump sprawled across it. Aaron, buried in the oversized chair, stretched with a groan, limbs unfolding like he was waking from hibernation. His glasses were askew, deep red imprints marking the side of his face where the beanbag had mercilessly molded against his skin. He blinked blearily at Kevin, clearly struggling to process reality. 

"I was going for a run, but…." 

"Why the fuck were you going for a run at..." Aaron’s voice was rough with sleep as he turned toward the kitchen, squinting at the clock on the fridge. He stared for a few seconds, blinked a couple more times, then slowly turned back to Kevin with an incredulous look, "Nine fucking AM!”

Kevin ignored the question and blurted out, "We have new neighbors."

Aaron scrubbed a hand over his face. "Okay? And?"

"He is French."

Aaron groaned and dropped his head back. "Oh my god."

Kevin scowled. "I'm serious."

Aaron cracked one eye open. "You woke me up from my two and half hours sleep after me and Andrew spent the whole night killing zombies because you saw a hot French dude?"

Kevin hesitated. "...Yes?"

Aaron’s sigh was so deep it sounded like it came from his soul. "You are insufferable."

Before Kevin could say something another deeper voice cut in.

"The fuck are you yelling about?"

Kevin turned to see Andrew emerging from his bedroom, looking extremely unimpressed. His hair was messy, and he was wearing a loose t-shirt, the fabric slightly wrinkled like he’d just pulled it on.

"Great, you went into the bedroom to sleep," Aaron muttered, rolling his stiff shoulders. "And didn't bother to wake me up for the same luxury, did you?"

Andrew ignored his twin and narrowed his eyes at Kevin instead, "Why are you being loud?"

Kevin crossed his arms, feeling defensive. "We have new neighbors."

Andrew stared at him, unimpressed. "And?"

Kevin hesitated again, then muttered, "And….”

"The guy’s hot," Aaron finished for him, deadpan.

Kevin scowled. "I helped him with a box!"

There was a beat of silence before Aaron let out a muffled laugh, his face half-pressed into the beanbag. "The Kevin Day? Helping?"

"It was heavy!"

"Sure it was.”

Andrew, if possible, looked even more unimpressed than before. "You interrupted my sleep," he said flatly, "because you're having a gay crisis?”

"It’s not a gay crisis!" Kevin protested immediately.

Aaron, now half-asleep, mumbled, "Bisexual crisis then?"

Kevin shot them both an exasperated glare. "It's not any kind of crisis!"

Aaron barely lifted his head. "Mm-hmm. Just like it wasn't a crisis when Thea dumped you and you got weird about her dating another guy."

Andrew hummed, nodding in mock agreement. "Tragic. Maybe this one will love you back."

Before Kevin could defend himself, another voice cut in from down the hall.

"Take me dooown to the paradise city, where the grass is green and the boys are pretty—"

"Nicky, shut up!" The twins snapped in unison, both sounding equally irritated.

There was a beat of silence, then: "You guys suck!” Nicky’s voice echoed back over the shower, before he thankfully stopped singing.

Aaron and Andrew turned to glare at each other, scowled, and immediately looked away again.

Kevin grimaced. "Can you guys not do that? It’s terrifying when you do something that similar.”

Aaron waved a lazy hand in Kevin’s direction as he pushed himself up from the beanbag, stretching with a quiet sigh. Andrew, on the other hand, made an unimpressed noise before turning away with zero interest in continuing this conversation. "Go run," he ordered over his shoulder, as if Kevin was a dog and disappeared back into his room. 

Aaron, now fully upright, rolled his shoulders again and followed a moment later.

Fine. He’d go run. 

Kevin yanked his headphones on and turned toward the door without a word. He hesitated for half a second before leaning in to check the peephole first, scanning the hallway for any signs of movement. 

Clear.

Carefully, he eased the door open and slipped outside, shutting it behind him with as little noise as possible.

Voices filtered in from the open doorway of the neighboring apartment—low, muffled, just indistinct enough that he couldn’t make out the words. He wasn’t sure how many people were moving in, and frankly, he didn’t want to find out. The last thing he needed was to run into him again.

So Kevin picked up his pace, eyes straight ahead, moving quickly down the hall.

He was fine. Perfectly fine. There was nothing to worry about.

Instead of taking the elevator this time, Kevin headed straight for the stairs—like he should’ve done earlier. He took them two at a time, shaking off the lingering tension in his shoulders, and pushed through the front doors of the building.

The morning air hit him instantly, crisp and biting against his skin. He exhaled sharply, his gaze catching on the moving truck still parked outside their building. It was half-unloaded, a few pieces of furniture scattered in the parking lot. 

Ignoring the sudden weird feeling in his stomach, he took off down the sidewalk at a steady pace, letting the rhythmic thud of his feet on the pavement ground him. Running was supposed to be a calming exercise, but today, it barely made a dent.

Nor did the music blasting in his ears help.

His mind kept circling back to him.

Kevin hadn’t even caught his name, but that didn’t stop the memory from replaying on a loop—the sharp cut of his jaw, black hair tousled from exertion, grey eyes flicking up like he’d caught Kevin staring. Which he absolutely had not been, thank you very much.

It wasn’t like him to get caught up on a stranger, a boy. Sure, he noticed people, but that was normal. It didn’t mean anything.

Except, this time, he knew, it kind of did.

Kevin picked up his pace, forcing his focus on his breathing. It’s not a big deal. You helped carry a box. That’s it.

And yet, the interaction had left him rattled in a way he couldn’t explain.

Maybe it was the way the guy had looked at him—unimpressed, but not uninterested. And that was dangerous.

Kevin wasn’t here to get distracted. He had priorities, a future to carve out. The last thing he needed was some sharp-eyed, French-speaking complication messing with his head.

So why was he still thinking about it— fuck.

It’s not a crisis, he told himself, picking up speed. He had more important things to focus on. Exercise. Classes. The fact that his best friends were assholes.

Kevin groaned out loud and forced himself into a sprint. Maybe if he ran hard enough, he’d stop feeling like a fucking idiot.

 ********

By the time Kevin finished his run, his shirt was damp with sweat, and his legs ached in a way they hadn’t in a long time—if ever. He dragged himself up the stairs, refusing to take the elevator, already looking forward to a hot shower and collapsing onto the couch for a well-earned break. As he reached his floor, he immediately glanced toward the neighbors' door—closed. He exhaled in relief and headed towards his own apartment, ready to slip inside unnoticed—

Only to be intercepted the second he stepped through the door.

“There you are! Kevin Day! You just made my day!”

He barely had time to process that, before a plate was shoved into his hands. 

Chocolate Cookies.

“What did you do?” Kevin asked immediately.

Nicky grinned. “Relax, I didn’t do anything. Andrew baked those last night.”

That wasn’t reassuring. Kevin shot a wary glance toward the kitchen, where Andrew was lazily eating one of his own cookies, looking still sleepy and wholly uninterested in whatever was happening. 

“Okay…?” Kevin prompted.

“And we,” Nicky continued with an infuriating amount of enthusiasm for someone who had spent the entire last night playing video games, “are going to use them as a peace offering for the new neighbors.”

His stomach dropped. “Why?”

“Because it’s called socializing, Kevin,” Nicky said like he was explaining something to a child. Then, with a smug grin, he added, “And because someone made a huge deal about one of them this morning.”

Kevin’s face burned. “That’s not—”

“Besides,” Nicky cut him off, eyes practically gleaming, “I think you’ll be very interested in saying hi.”

Kevin turned to Andrew, silently pleading for backup, but Andrew just took another bite of his cookie, his expression screaming not my problem.

Kevin groaned and let his head fall back against the door. “I hate all of you.”

“Great! Now let’s go make friends.” Nicky beamed, already steering him out.

“Let me at least take a show—”

“Aaron’s in,” Nicky interrupted. “You’re not getting the bathroom anytime soon. Besides, what if your mystery man leaves? We cannot have that.”

"Where is he going to go? Classes don't start for another two days." Kevin shot a betrayed look at Andrew, who just shrugged, entirely unbothered and smirked. Then, before he could say anything about that, Nicky shoved him into the hallway.

Their neighbors’ door was still shut. For a brief, fleeting moment, Kevin dared to hope no one was home. Maybe they had already left, maybe he could escape this humiliation—

Nicky knocked.

Kevin groaned internally. Too late.

The seconds stretched, and Kevin squared his shoulders, bracing himself. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting—probably the same guy from earlier.

But when the door finally opened, it was someone short. 

A kid?

The kid was lean, maybe around the twins' height, with messy auburn hair and striking blue eyes. His expression was carefully neutral, but Kevin caught the slight furrow of his brow, the way he hovered in the doorway like he was debating whether to greet them or shut the door in their faces.

Kevin, still processing his existence, opened his mouth—

Nicky practically squeaked.

“Hi! Oh my god, hey!”

Kevin winced.

The kid blinked, clearly caught off guard.

“I’m Nicky,” Nicky continued, undeterred. “This is Kevin. We live just right there.” He said pointing towards their door which was still open. “and we wanted to welcome you to the building!”

Kevin, still staring past him, felt his stomach dip. Where was the other guy? His eyes flicked to the space behind the redhead, scanning for any sign of—

Nothing.

Kevin frowned. Was he not here? Maybe he had left for somewhere already.

Beside him, Nicky was already launching into an introduction, gesturing animatedly between Kevin and the plate of cookies.

“And we come bearing gifts! Well, technically Andrew made them, so they’re delicious.”

Kevin almost felt bad for the kid as he glanced between them, clearly confused. His blue eyes flickered to the plate in Kevin’s hands, lingering there for a moment before, with deliberate slowness, he reached out and took it.

"Thanks," he said simply. His voice was quiet but not hesitant—more like it wasn't a word he used often.

Kevin was about to respond when, from somewhere inside the apartment, another voice called out—smooth, unmistakably French.

“Who is it?”

Kevin stiffened.

There he was.

The moment Kevin heard his voice, his stomach did something weird. Again.

The ki—guy at the door, still holding the plate of cookies, turned his head slightly and signed something over his shoulder. Kevin’s brain stuttered at that. Oh. Okay. That was unexpected.

The other guy stepped into view, his grey eyes flicking toward the doorway, landing first on Nicky, then Kevin.

His gaze lingered, just for a second, like he was trying to place where he’d seen Kevin before. And then—oh. There it was. That moment of realization.

“You,” He said. Not a question.

Kevin crossed his arms. “ Me.”

Nicky’s head snapped toward Kevin so fast it was a miracle he didn’t give himself whiplash. “This is the elevator guy?”  he whispered.

Kevin slammed an elbow into his ribs without hesitation.

Nicky let out a dramatic oof and clutched his side. “Ow! Rude.”

The guy arched his brow. “We met earlier.”

“Not met,” Kevin corrected immediately. “I just helped with a box.”

He made a quiet hum of acknowledgment. His expression was calm, but there was something in his posture, something measured.

Kevin didn’t like it.

Which was a lie, because apparently, his brain had decided to fixate on the guy ever since this morning, and that was a problem. But before he could dig himself deeper into whatever this was, Nicky clapped his hands together, looking way too delighted about the new information.

“This is fantastic,” he said. 

Kevin groaned. The guy just blinked, then flicked his gaze toward the redhead still holding the plate of cookies, notably silent but wearing an undeniably amused expression.

“Apologies,” he said, looking back at them, “but Neil doesn’t know manners. I'm Jean. Don't feel bad if he didn’t introduced himself.”

Nicky, to his credit, barely hesitated before waving a dismissive hand. “That’s fine! I talk enough for, like, five people and you just introduced both of you anyway.” He said, while at the same time, Neil shot Jean an unimpressed look. 

“I do have manners.”

Jean raised his eyebrows.“Oh? Then what do you call opening the door, staring at them in silence?”

“Efficient.”

Kevin snorted before he could stop himself, earning a sharp glare from Neil. Nicky, on the other hand, looked absolutely thrilled. “I like him,” he declared. “You and I are going to get along great, Neil.”

Neil looked him up and down, then shrugged. “Okay.”

Jean sighed, exasperated. “You see what I mean?”

Kevin wasn’t sure why, but it made his jaw tighten, which was stupid.

“Well,” Jean said, taking the plate of cookies in his hands, “thanks for these.”

Kevin opened his mouth, unsure what he was even planning to say, but Nicky, of course, got there first.

“You’re so welcome! If you need anything— anything at all—don't hesitate to ask us.”

Jean made another one of those unimpressed little hums before stepping back and nudging Neil inside with a hand on his back.

Kevin, despite himself, caught the way Neil leaned into the touch without hesitation.

Well…

Jean turned back toward them, his hand on the door. “See you around, I guess.”

Then, with one last look at Kevin—he promptly shut the door in their faces.

Kevin exhaled.

“Oh my god!” Nicky turned to him, positively vibrating with excitement.

“Shut up, Nicky.” Kevin scrubbed a hand down his face, the sound of the door clicking shut still echoing in his head. He had no idea what he was supposed to make of that interaction, but before he could even begin to process— 

“Oh my god!” Nicky repeated, this time with a hand over his heart. “Kevin, do you realize how unfair the universe is? First, Jean and Neil—both of them looking like they were sculpted by the gods and personally airbrushed by fate. And second, what the hell— did we just stumble into a high-fashion editorial? How is it even legal for two people that hot to share the same apartment?”

“Nicky.”

“Kevin, I don’t think you understand the significance of what just happened. Jean even gave you one last lingering glance before shutting the door. That was cinematic gold.”

Kevin groaned. “It was not cinematic.”

“You’re right,” Nicky conceded. “It was art.”

Kevin turned on his heel. “I’m going inside.”

“I’m just saying,” Nicky continued, undeterred. “If you ever want to—”

Kevin didn’t wait to hear the rest. He brushed past him, stepped into their apartment, and all but collapsed onto the couch with a sigh, closing his eyes.

He should have stuck to his evening runs. But then again, he would never have met the boy. Which was stupid—they lived just a few steps away from their apartment. There were plenty of chances of them meeting.

There were plenty of chances of them meeting.

There were plenty of chances of them meeting.

There were plenty of chances of them meeting.

Kevin yelped and nearly fell down the couch when something hit his head.

"You stink." Aaron says, drying his freshly showered damp head.

"I can hardly shower when you were hogging the bathroom for so long."

"It's still half the time you take." Andrew's helpful input comes from the kitchen as the man himself follows out a minute later. Kevin cranes his neck to get a better look and to his horror the plate of cookies was still in his hands.

"Are you sure you are supposed to have that much sugar in the morning?"

Andrew narrowed his eyes, "Me and my sugar levels are none of your business Day. "

"Who's going to take you to hospital when you have a diabetic meltdown."

"There's no such a thing as diabetic meltdown."

Both of them turned towards Aaron. But Aaron just threw his towel at Kevin, "Stop making my couch smelly."

Kevin made an indignant noise, "You barely own any shit. It's not your couch, it's Nicky's cou—" He promptly broke off. Nicky had not uttered a single word since they came back. 

Nicholas Hemmick didn't talk to them only in one situation: when he was talking to someone else. Kevin's suspicion came true as he rose from the couch and saw Nicky curled up in one of the beanbags, fingers tapping his mobile screen at a speed that should be impossible.

"Nicky what are you doing?" Kevin asked even though he knew the answer.

There was only one person to match Nicky's speed. 

“Nicky, don't you dare. If you called her, I swear to—”

Before he could finish, a sharp kick landed at the back of his knee, sending him stumbling forward.

“Shower. Now,” Aaron said, utterly unimpressed.

Kevin spun around, scowling. “What the fuck?”

Aaron didn’t even dignify that with a response. He simply crossed his arms and nodded toward the bathroom.

“Kevin,” Nicky sing-songed, still focused on his phone. “You should hurry. Allison says she’ll be here in thirty.”

Kevin groaned. “Oh, for—”

Aaron kicked him again, harder this time.

Kevin barely managed to catch himself on the doorframe before he was shoved the rest of the way inside. The sound of Nicky’s frantic typing followed him as he begrudgingly turned on the shower, resigning himself to whatever disaster awaited once he stepped out.

He took his time, letting the hot water ease the tension in his shoulders, but even that wasn’t enough to prepare him for what he was about to walk into.

By the time he emerged, a fresh towel tied around his waist, he barely had a second to register the chaos outside before the front door slammed close. 

Andrew must be in a terribly good mood to allow this. Or more likely it was the sugar rush. After all the upperclassmen had come bearing gifts. More sweets had been piled on Andrew's plate, and he methodically tore through them, sitting on the other bean bag.

Kevin scoffed, "Will you stop actively contributing to his death."

Allison shrugged, "Not when it actively contributes to stopping our death." Then her face twisted into a sly smile. "Besides I heard it was good manners to give your neighbors a gift. Won't you agree?"

Kevin shot an exasperated look at Nicky, "How much have you told them?"

"Enough to know that you are having a gay crisis." Matt answered from where he sat cross legged at Dan's feet. The girls had taken the couch and Aaron had dragged the stool from the kitchen to sit.

Kevin wasn't properly dressed for this ambush. 

He wasn't dressed at all. 

"Again it's not a gay crisis."

Andrew hummed. "Yeah, know your terms Boyd. It's a bisexual crisis."

"It's not a crisis at all!" 

Kevin would prefer to get punched instead of this. At least there would be proof of his suffering, unlike the mental scarring he was likely going to get.

"Where's Seth?"

"Don't change the topic." Allison said. "You know what comes next."

Unfortunately, Kevin did. He had no idea how Nicky had managed to rope others into it, but some months after his break up, his friends had taken upon themselves to play the matchmaker. Monetary incentives had followed because of course it had. They didn't need a reason to bet.

He glared at Nicky. "This is ridiculous. You all are ridiculous. I don't need your help. There's nothing to help."

"Oh. Then, had I imagined the lingering looks between you and Jean?"

"There had been no lingering looks." Kevin wrapped the towel tighter around his waist. He felt like a man being hunted. Slowly. Loudly. By people who claimed to love him. “And I've told you this stupid cupid matchmaking nonsense was over.”

Nicky smirked. “That was before you developed a thing for tall, quiet French.”

“I'm going to pour hot coffee in your bed.”

“Only if it’s a French roast,” Andrew deadpanned.

Kevin turned toward the ceiling in a silent prayer for strength.

“Kevin,” Allison said, calmly, too fucking calmly, "You’ve been single for over a year, you keep rejecting every decent person we throw at you.” 

“Because,” he said, taking a deep breath. “You have no right to interfere with my love life,” Kevin said flatly.

“What love life?” Allison asked.

Matt coughed to cover a laugh. Dan didn’t bother nor did the cousins.

“I hate all of you,” he muttered, stepping over Aaron’s outstretched leg as he made a direct line for his bedroom.

“You don’t mean that,” Dan sang, far too chipper.

“I do,” Kevin called back.

“Put on some clothes,” Allison added. “Or don’t. I won’t complain.”

Aaron pulled a face. “I'm telling Seth.” He said pointing at Allison who just stuck out her tongue at him.

Kevin shook his head and slammed the bedroom door shut behind him and leaned against it for a moment, breathing out through his nose. He knew what this was. He’d known it was coming the moment Nicky’s fingers started flying over that screen. This had been inevitable.

He pushed off the door with a quiet sigh and crossed the room. Every second spent getting dressed was one less spent being emotionally ambushed. Black t-shirt. Sweatpants. There was no way in hell he was putting on jeans just to get interrogated in his own apartment.

When he stepped back out, the room fell into a strange hush. It lasted half a second.

“There he is!” Nicky crowed. “Our star of the day.”

Kevin ignored him and dropped onto the floor directly across from Andrew—who was still methodically tearing through his pile of sweets like a man on a mission.

Jesus Christ.

“So,” Matt said, fingers steepled under his chin. “We’ve done some thinking.”

“That’s dangerous,” Kevin muttered.

“We’ve decided,” Allison cut in, “that tonight, I’m inviting them to my party.”

Kevin’s head snapped toward her. “No.”

“Yes.”

“But why?!” 

“Friendship,” Allison said innocently.

“Bullshit,” Kevin replied immediately.

“We’ve new neighbors Kevin! We’re just being neighborly!” Nicky chirped.

Kevin groaned and dropped his head back. “You just want an excuse to get me drunk and shove me into a closet with Jean.”

“We would never!” Dan gasped, mock-offended. “That was a terrible plan. We learned from our mistake that the closets are too small.”

“Also, Jean might bite,” Matt added thoughtfully. “He’s French, right?”

“French yes, but not a vampire, Matt.”

Before Matt could reply Allison clapped her hands. “Anyways, it’s an amazing plan. Music, drinks, a few games. Natural chemistry, Kevin. You and Jean, relaxed, just vibing.”

Kevin stared at her. “You’re using the word ‘vibe’ now?”

“Don’t deflect,” Nicky said. “I saw the look.”

“There was no look,” Kevin said through gritted teeth. “I do not like him, besides I barely said anything to him.”

“Exactly!” Allison grinned. “That’s why the groundwork has to start now. The party is step one.”

“Again,” Kevin said slowly, “I do not like him.”

“Then stop blushing,” Dan said.

Kevin didn’t dignify that with a response, mostly because his face was hot and he hated all of them. There was not even a real reason for Allison to invite them for their yearly tradition. Just the sheer, unrelenting will of four people determined to make his life hell.

Matchmaking. Again.

Because God forbid Kevin Day be single and not pining pathetically over his ex-girlfriend anymore. Because clearly, his sudden—and deeply unfortunate—attraction to their marble-faced neighbor meant the whole gang had to get involved.

It should’ve been annoying.

It was annoying.

But it was also… overwhelming.

A year ago, he was still untangling himself from Thea’s goodbye, trying to remember how to breathe without her. He’d been a mess, a wreck, a walking cliché of heartbreak. And Nicky—goddamn Nicky—had started it all with a stupid comment about how Kevin needed ‘new scenery.’

Then came the matchmaking. Playing the role of his personal cupid. Disastrous dates. Awkward conversations. Kevin had refused to entertain even the most basic setups. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t interested.

He was still convincing himself he wasn’t interested. That the look Jean gave him didn’t mean anything, that his own chest hadn’t pulled tight at the mere sound of Jean’s voice.

And now they were all here. Again. Betting, nudging, laughing. Acting like it was a game.

He wished it felt like a game.

Because right now? Kevin wasn’t sure what the hell it felt like.

“All I’m saying,” Nicky said gently, “is you’ve been holding yourself back for a long time.”

Kevin didn’t respond. 

“Look,” Allison said, sitting up straighter. “We’re not trying to push anything.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Kevin muttered.

“We’re just saying... there’s something there,” she continued. “Something worth exploring.”

“And if not,” Dan added, “you still get free vodka. And besides, we've been doing it for the past three years. And especially this year with the new semester starting, the mood’s been kind of… intense.”

“I’ve been relaxed,” Andrew said.

“No one asked you,” Aaron said, apparently done being a silent spectator as he leaned forward to reach for Andrew’s plate. Andrew slapped his hand away without even blinking. But his twin didn’t pause, just calmly used his other hand to swipe the last piece of fudge, popped it into his mouth, and grinned with full smug confidence. “Just go,” he said around the chocolate. “Get it over with. It'll save half of us the trouble of dealing with it.”

Kevin scowled. “You are half the problem.”

“Still,” Aaron shrugged, licking chocolate off his thumb. “It’s not a terrible idea.”

“He’s right.”

Kevin stared, “You’re siding with Aaron?”

Andrew shrugged.

Dan chuckled. “If even Andrew agrees, you might want to consider it.”

Kevin rubbed his temples. “This is emotional manipulation. You’re all emotionally manipulating me.”

Matt nodded solemnly. “We like to call it friendship.”

“That's—”

Before he could complain, the front door opened. A soft breeze slipped in with it, along with the faint scent of vanilla and cinnamon. Renee stepped inside first, soon followed by Seth. “We brought reinforcements,” he announced, balancing two cardboard cup holders in his hands with alarming ease.

“Coffee,” Renee said gently. “Thought it might help.” 

“Help what?” Kevin asked, suspicious.

“With the tension,” she said serenely.

“You mean Kevin’s impending bisexual awakening,” Nicky said helpfully.

“Shut up!”

“Huh. A new chapter.”

Kevin threw his hands up. “Fantastic. So glad my love life has become a group assignment!”

Renee handed him a cup labeled with a shaky Kevin Day, NO SUGAR!! “You’re not. But you are loved. Even if the love is deeply annoying sometimes.”

Kevin held her gaze for a second before finally taking the coffee. “…Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Renee, bless her, smiled like she already knew everything. Kevin really wished she didn’t.

Seth dropped onto the floor in front of Allison with a heavy sigh, legs stretched out obnoxiously in front of him. The moment he settled, Allison's hand slid into his hair without looking, absently twirling a strand between her fingers. “So. Kevin’s in love with whom?”

“Jean,” said half the room, in unison.

Renee blinked.

Kevin pressed his cup to his temple, resisting the urge to scream.

This was going to be a long, long day.

Chapter Text

Neil didn’t look up when someone knocked on the door.

He was busy trying to make sense of the drawer in front of him. The cutlery tray didn’t fit the way it should, which was…. well, surprising. He’d double-checked the size at least three times while unpacking. The forks and spoons were in their correct slots and still, the tray tilted like it resented being helpful.

Across the kitchen, Jean, who'd been organizing the pantry and mumbling in French about the lack of shelf space, didn’t move either. Which, Neil decided, was fair. They’d been here for less than twenty-four hours. No one should be knocking. Not yet. Not again.

But the knock came again anyway.

Neil glanced toward the door, then at Jean. “You get it.”

“You’re closer.”

Neil held up a butter knife. “I’m holding a weapon.”

Jean made a vague noise in his throat and kept organizing cans like the knock didn’t exist.

Another knock. Louder this time. More insistent.

Neil sighed, “Jean.”

“What?”

“Get the door. I did last time.”

“So?”

Knock knock knock.

Neil huffed, grabbed the nearest spoon, and launched it across the room without warning. It hit the back of Jean’s head with a dull clink before clattering to the floor.

Jean straightened slowly, turning just enough to give Neil a flat look. “Très mature.”

Neil ignored him. He dropped the butter knife on the counter and stomped toward the door, not even checking the peephole before yanking it open.

A tall blonde woman stood on the other side, all bold lipstick, flawless hair, and the kind of confidence that made Neil instinctively want to shut the door on her face.

“Huh,” she said, giving him a slow once-over. “Nicky didn’t say anything about you.”

Neil blinked. “What.”

She didn’t seem to hear—or didn’t care—as she peered past him into the apartment. “Didn’t even mention it. Unbelievable. I’m going to kill him.”

Okay.

Neil shifted his weight, considered closing the door again , but decided against it and leaned against the doorframe, “Do you… need something? Or are you just going to keep casing the place?”

The girl blinked at him. “Wait—you live here too?” she asked, as if it wasn't already obvious enough.

“Unless this is a very elaborate burglary.” he said, annoyed.

She narrowed her eyes, clearly amused. “And you are?”

“You knocked,” Neil deadpanned. “Who are you?”

She huffed, tossing her hair over one shoulder “Kevin didn’t say anything about you either,” she muttered, still ignoring the question.

“I don’t know a Nicky. Or a Kevin.”

She waved that off like it was irrelevant. “You will. Everyone does eventually. Don’t worry—they’re mostly harmless. Depends on the day.” She shrugged.

Neil stared at her. “...Are you sure you’ve got the right door?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” She gave him a pointed look. “You’re in apartment 3C. I’m looking for the boy currently living in apartment 3C, lastly spotted by a brunette and a green eyed guy.”

The two guys who brought the cookies.

Jean.

Right.

“You’re…?” Neil prompted again, less politely this time.

“Allison Reynolds,” she said, like it should mean something as she held out her hand, all perfect nails and glossy confidence.

Neil didn’t move. Just looked at her hand, then back at her face.

She didn’t seem offended, “Charming,” she said, lowering her hand. “Meeting another kind of Minyard today, I guess.” she mused.

“What?”

“Never mind,” she said brightly. “You’ll get it eventually. Anyway, I’m here to invite you to a party.” Then, offhandedly muttered to herself, “Those idiots should’ve warned me.”

Neil frowned. “Do you know me?”

“Nope.”

“Then why are you inviting me to a party?”

“Because I’m nice. And bored. And this is how people make friends, sweetie.”

That last word made Neil instinctively take half a step back. Not because it offended him—he just didn’t know what the hell to do with the tone she’d said it in. 

“Wait a minute,” he said, and shut the door in her face.

“Jean!” he called, heading back into the kitchen. “You’ve got company.”

“Who?”

“Some girl, said her name’s Allison.”

“I don't know an Allison.”

“Me neither. But she asked for you.”

Jean let out a quiet, suffering sigh, set down the pack of ramen he’d been inspecting, and left the kitchen without another word.

Neil bent to pick up the spoon still lying on the floor. He stacked it back into the drawer with the others shoved the drawer closed, only for it to jam halfway again.

Huh.

A few minutes later, Jean wandered back into the kitchen like nothing had happened. “She invited us to a party,” he said, reaching for the ramen again.

Neil glanced up from where he was still trying to bully the drawer shut. “Yeah, I got that part. But why?” 

“I didn’t ask.”

Neil paused. “Are you going?”

Jean shrugged. “She said us.”

“Us.” Neil repeated.

“Yes.”

“Are we going?”

“No.”

********

An hour later, the kitchen finally looked… mostly like a kitchen.

Neil wiped his hands on his shorts and lobbed another wad of crumpled paper toward the trash pile forming by the door, while Jean, now crouched in front of the drawer, inspected the now-cooperative drawer.

“Seriously? You fixed it?” Neil asked, nudging him lightly with his foot.

Jean didn’t even look at him. “It just needed someone who knew what they were doing.”

“You hit it. Twice.”

“It listened.”

Neil snorted and grabbed the last roll of bubble wrap off the floor. “We should probably dump all this crap before we start on the bedrooms.”

As if on cue, another knock echoed through the front door.

Neil froze mid-step. “No.”

Jean looked over.

“That’s for you,” Neil said, already backing toward the bedroom.

“You’ve got arms,” Jean pointed out.

“I already opened the door. Twice.”

“And you survived.”

The knock came again. Louder.

Neil dropped the bubble wrap with dramatic flair. “It's definitely the lipstick hurricane again! Go open it.”

Jean opened his mouth—but his phone started ringing somewhere in the living room.

Both of them turned toward the sound, frowning.

“Who’s calling at this hour?” Jean asked.

“How would I know?” Neil said, already following him into the room. “It’s your phone.”

Jean dug it out from between the cushions and put it to his ear. “Finally.”

There was a short pause. Then he looked over his shoulder, mouth twitching. “It’s Renee.”

Neil perked up immediately. Jean pointed toward the door, already moving into the hallway and mouthed, “Get it.”

Neil didn’t even argue. He crossed the living room in a few quick steps and swung the door open—grinning before it was even fully ajar.

“Hey.”

Renee stood in the doorway in jeans and a soft yellow sweater, her expression so warm it practically melted every ounce of irritation Neil had been nursing all morning.

“Hi,” she said, a teasing gleam in her eyes. “You look exactly the same.”

“You sound disappointed,” Neil replied, but he stepped in without hesitation and let her pull him into a hug.

“I’m not,” she murmured. “Can I come in, or are we doing this reunion in the hallway?”

Neil sighed, stepping aside. “Come in.”

She walked in like she belonged there—because honestly, she kind of did. The door clicked shut behind her, and Jean didn’t even wait. He crossed the room in two strides and pulled her in without a word.

“You haven’t changed either,” Renee said into his shoulder.

“Good,” Jean replied, deadpan.

Neil leaned against the wall, watching them with a small smile. It felt…good. The three of them, here again. 

“So,” Renee said, stepping back and raising an eyebrow. “You really picked Palmetto. Voluntarily.”

Jean rolled his eyes. “Blame yourself.”

“He’s not wrong,” Neil added, nodding toward the mess of unpacked boxes. “This whole thing? Entirely your fault.”

“You’re welcome,” Renee replied, totally unbothered.

It was her fault. Palmetto hadn’t even been on their radar until she started sending them videos of the library, late-night campus walks, coffee recs and stupid little details. Her enthusiasm hadn’t been loud, but it had been steady and when their acceptance letters finally came in, she’d sounded a lot smug.

Now here they were, sleep-deprived in a barely unpacked apartment, with furniture splinters and an unsolicited party invite.

Renee glanced at the clock. “I haven’t eaten since this morning.”

“Tragic.”

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go.”

“It’s noon.” Jean said.

“Breakfast doesn’t follow rules,” Renee said, already moving toward the door. “Get your shoes—I’m paying.”

“Well,” Neil said, “If you’re paying…”

The diner she picked was a ten-minute walk from their building, tucked between a cramped bookstore and a flower shop that looked aggressively cheerful for how overcast the sky was. The place had mismatched chairs, scuffed tile floors, and food served on chipped ceramic plates that looked like they all had previous lives. 

Neil liked it more than he wanted to admit.

Renee slid into a booth by the window like she’d claimed it a hundred times. Jean made a low sound as he opened the menu, something between confusion and mild betrayal. 

“There are seven different kinds of toast,” he said, squinting.

“Live a little,” Renee replied. “Almost all of their toasts are amazing except the sourdough. You won't like it.”

Jean hummed.

Neil arched a brow. “Toast trauma?”

“Once,” Renee said, “at a brunch with Andrew. I made him try sourdough with the fig spread. He still hasn’t let me live it down.”

Neil snorted.

“And has yet to forgive me for it,” she added, but her tone was light—clearly not serious.

Jean turned the page slowly. “I’m not trusting you on this toast thing then.”

“It was just once. Trust me, the other ones are good.”

Neil leaned back, only half-listening as Renee launched into a passionate critique of rye versus multigrain.

When the waitress came by, Neil stuck with a savory pancake that had the least amount of green in it. Renee, naturally, went full breakfast-mode. Jean eventually settled on toast and coffee, but paused just long enough to quietly ask something as the waitress was about to turn away.

Neil didn’t catch it, too busy complaining to Renee about how lemon zest had no business sneaking into otherwise innocent food, but he did clock the small nod the waitress gave before walking away.

“—at's not illegal, people do have their own choice and taste Neil.”

“That doesn't mean it should be put into everything” Neil muttered. “If one more innocent pastry gets ambushed by citrus, I’m filing a lawsuit.”

Jean snorted quietly.

Renee just shook her head and took a sip of water. “Speaking of small disasters,” she said, lowering the glass. “How’s Elodie?”

Jean sighed, “Still a menace. Still likes Neil more than me." 

Neil grinned, shameless. “She’s smarter than you give her credit for.”

“Not when she’s turning into a miniature version of you.”

“That sounds like a win to me.”

Renee hid a smile behind her hand. 

“Don’t you smile,” Jean said, pointing at her. “Seriously—she faked being sick to skip school. First day of high school.” He let out a sigh. “If this is how she’s starting the year, I don’t want to know how it ends.”

Neil blinked, wide-eyed and acted surprised. “Really?”

Jean gave him a flat look. “Shut up. She called you yesterday. I know you were in on it.”

“That’s slander,” Neil said, entirely unapologetic. “She just missed me.”

“Liars.”

Renee chuckled, and with a knowing look at Neil, asked, “Did she said anything about Lucy?”

Neil’s face twisted. “Don’t start with that devil of a rabbit.”

“You were the one who named it Lucifer,” Jean reminded him, smirking.

“Still scared?” Renee asked sweetly.

“I am not scared,” Neil said, because it was important to establish the truth. “I’m cautious.”

Renee tilted her head. “Because of that one bite?”

“It was deep,” Neil insisted.

“You deserved it,” Jean said without looking up from his plate. “You were teasing him.”

“I was feeding him,” Neil shot back. “You said he like apples. I believed you.”

“He likes apples,” Jean said, shrugging. “He didn’t like you laughing while feeding him. He took offence in it.”

Renee covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.

Neil pointed his fork at her. “You were there. You saw the blood.”

“I also saw you hop around the backyard,” she said, grinning.

“It was a lot of blood,” Neil muttered.

“It was a nip,” Jean said smugly.

“Yeah, well,” Neil grumbled, “I hope that rabbit mellows out with age.”

Renee shook her head, still smiling. “Nope. You can't say that to Elodie's baby, she will be sad.”

“She won’t be if I bribe her with a kitten,” Neil said. “Way better than a creature with bloodlust.”

“He’s just a rabbit,” Jean and Renee said in unison.

“So’s the one in Monty Python ,” Neil said. “And that one kills people.”

Renee snorted into her drink.

“You say that,” Jean said, “but Lucifer hasn’t bitten you again.”

Neil stabbed at his pancake. “Only because I don’t go near him anymore. I’m not risking another tetanus shot just to prove a point.”

“But you can risk food poisoning?” Jean asked.

“It was not on purpose,” Neil said instantly—right as Renee blinked and added, “Wait, what? Suspension?”

“Oh,” Neil said, glancing at Jean. “Right.... That.”

“I think we forgot to mention it. It was the same day as that party,” Jean added. “That's why.”

Renee blinked. “That party?”

“The one with the smoke alarm,” Neil added. 

“And the cops.” Jean offered.

Renee shook her head, looking halfway horrified and impressed. “So what, you pulled a food poisoning stunt to get away?”

“No, It was lunch period,” Neil said, like that made it better.

“He wanted out of the bio test,” Jean translated. “Thought it’d be subtle.”

“To be fair,” Neil muttered, putting his fork down, “it was a brilliant plan.”

Jean didn’t miss a beat. “Until Chad actually puked and snitched on him.”

“I cannot believe you never told me this.” Renee sat back, sounding almost disappointed.

“I almost got suspended,” Neil reminded her. “It wasn’t exactly something I wanted to relive. Plus, if I had gotten suspended, I’d have been stuck with my dad for a whole week inside the house. He wouldn’t have let me out at all.” Neil didn’t mean to go quiet after that, but the memory slipped in anyway. He remembered his father’s too firm handshake when he met the principal, all the fake charm and cool smiles. The car ride afterwards, the bruising grip on Neil’s arm the second the front door—

“Speaking of parties,” Jean said—louder than necessary.

Neil blinked at him, caught in the whiplash of that tone shift.

“Oh, right,” Renee said quickly, catching on. “Allison’s throwing one tonight.”

Neil frowned. “Lipstick Hurricane?”

Renee’s laugh was immediate. “I guess that’s one way to put it.”

“You know her?”

“Yeah, I’ve mentioned her plenty of time on calls.”

“You haven't.”

Renee looked amused. “Curling iron roommate?”

Jean and Neil exchanged a slow, mutual look.

“Oh."

“Curling iron...” Neil echoed, then snapped his fingers as the memory clicked. “She was your roommate in the freshman year!”

Renee nodded. “Still is.”

Jean tilted his head. “The one who nearly set your curtains on fire?”

“She says it wasn’t her fault,” Renee replied diplomatically.

“And you believe her?”

“I never said that.”

“How come you’re surrounded by more idiots than we are?”

“She’s not so bad once you get to know her,” she added, but the smile tugging at her mouth suggested that ‘once ’ had done a lot of heavy lifting.

Jean narrowed his eyes. “So what’s this party for?”

“It’s just… Allison being Allison,” Renee shrugged. “Start-of-semester kind of thing. She throws one every term or sometimes even twice and definitely if she’s bored.”

“You’re really selling it.”

“She throws a good party,” Renee said simply. “And didn’t I tell you both that you’d meet people here?”

“We were manipulated.”

“I encouraged you,” she corrected. “Lovingly. With snacks.”

“You mean bribes,” Neil said, but Renee ignored him and rolled right over it.

“You both needed to make new friends,” she continued, unfazed. “Which is why you have to come.” 

Neil looked at Jean. Jean looked back at Neil. This was one of those moments where neither of them wanted to decide, because saying yes meant commitment—but saying no meant disappointing Renee.

Especially when she was smiling like that, the kind of smile that looked gentle until it steamrolled you into saying yes.

Neil groaned and slouched in his seat. “Do we have to socialize?”

Renee tilted her head. “Not if you don’t want to, but it’d be nice.”

Jean glanced down at his mostly finished plate. “We just officially moved in today.”

“All the more reason to meet people now,” Renee said. “Before you two settle into your hermit habits.”

“We don’t have hermit habits,” Neil argued.

“You don’t have to stay the whole time,” Renee offered. “Just drop by and say hi to all of my friends.”

Jean’s mouth twitched, like he was about to say something snarky, but didn’t follow through. Neil caught the hesitation and squinted at him.

“Wait. You want to go?”

Jean didn’t answer. Which was, in itself, an answer.

Renee raised her glass with a small, triumphant smile. “To old friends and new mistakes.”

Neil groaned, slouching until his spine was one sigh away from collapsing. “Fine. But if someone hands me alcohol and tries to get me to dance, I’m out the door.”

“No one’s going to make you dance,” Renee promised.

“You say that now,” Neil muttered, “but knowing myself and how much the universe hates me, I’m sure something even worse will happen.”

“It won’t,” she said easily.

“You’re very confident for someone who’s inviting me to a party full of strangers.”

“You don’t usually get in trouble when you’re with both of us.”

Jean hummed. “Debatable.”

**********

The sky was still overcast when they walked back to their building. Renee and Jean slipped easily into their old rhythm from high school—talking in low voices, sharing looks that said more than full sentences. Neil trailed a half step behind, listening more than talking. The building came into view sooner than he wanted. The elevator creaked, slow and slightly judgmental as it hauled them up. When it dinged open on their floor, Renee immediately stuck a foot between the doors before they could shut again.

“Don’t be late tonight,” she said, looking at both of them—but mostly at Neil.

“Do we have to bring anything?” Jean asked.

“No need.” Her eyes narrowed at Neil. “Just bring him.”

Neil rolled his eyes. “Yes, dear Renee,” he said, putting on his most angelic voice. “I’ll be there with bells on.”

Renee just shook her head. “See you later.”

“Yeah,” they said together, and this time she let the elevator doors close.

Neil slumped against Jean the second they were alone. “Do we really have to go?”

“Yes.”

“Why.”

“Because we love Renee,” Jean said, already moving toward their door. “Come on. We still have boxes to unpack.”

“I’m tired.”

“So am I. But I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

“We should’ve done the bedrooms first instead of the kitchen.”

“I told you that.”

Neil groaned and trailed after him. “You should’ve taken Renee up on her offer to help.”

“We don't need help. We're almost done. There are only two beds.”

“Exactly,” Neil said. “One for each of us. So you could just do yours.”

“You will be grateful when your spine is not bent like a bretzel tomorrow.”

Neil flipped him off and dragged one of the boxes into his room. He made it halfway through, wrestling with wooden planks and metal bits that barely passed for instructions, until one screw decided to stage a rebellion and refused to go in straight. After an hour of increasingly hostile glaring, Neil decided this was a cosmic sign.

“This part’s cursed. I'm done.” He announced, standing up.

“I haven’t even finished mine yet,” Jean called from the other room.

“You’re the one who wanted to do this today,” Neil said. “So now deal with it.”

There was a pause, then the sound of footsteps before Jean leaned in Neil’s doorway, arms crossed. “You didn’t even finish one side.”

“That’s what you’re here for,” Neil said without shame.

Jean shook his head but didn’t argue, which Neil took as silent permission and promptly redirected his efforts to the wardrobe. It was much easier with less angles and even fewer tiny screws trying to pick a fight with him. 

Two hours later, Jean finally stepped back from Neil’s now-functional bed, gave him a glance that said you owe me , and vanished to start on his own.

Neil stared at it, then dropped the mattress on top and threw the sheets over with the bare minimum effort. It wasn’t neat, but it was technically made.

Then he flopped face-first onto the bed and groaned into the pillow.

Unproductive sleep definitely counted as moving recovery.

********

Voices, somewhere outside. Neil dragged a pillow over his head and hoped they’d go away. They didn’t. But just as he was contemplating yelling, they finally faded but not enough to count as mercy—because right after came a loud crash from the apartment above, followed by what sounded like someone running laps in combat boots.

Great.

Neil cracked one eye open, then the other, and sighed. He rolled onto his back, blinked at the ceiling, then pushed himself up with a groan and padded into the living room.

The apartment was too bright.

He squinted his way into the living room, where Jean sat on the couch, phone pressed to his ear, speaking low and fast in French. Not Elodie, then—his voice was too clipped and face too serious.

Neil let him be and wandered into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. and then spotted the cookies they’d gotten earlier. Mid-sip, he spotted the cookies they'd gotten earlier and grabbed one without thinking and took a bite.

It was too sweet—cloying in a way that made him want to complain on principle. But it was also warm, soft at the center, and irritatingly good enough that he finished it before he even realized.

When he turned around, Jean was lowering his phone and slipping it into his pocket.

Neil leaned against the fridge, licking sugar from his thumb. He was about to ask who had called when Jean spoke first.

“What are you eating?”

“Chocolate cookie.”

Jean let out a quiet sigh and leaned back against the couch, saying nothing. The silence stretched a moment before Neil asked, “Your Mom?”

Jean nodded, “Said she’ll be sending my car and a few things tomorrow.”

Neil frowned. “Didn’t we pack everything you needed?”

“No. I forgot the ethernet cable and some books.”

Neil huffed. “I’m surprised she even checked your room.”

“She didn’t,” Jean said. “William did.”

“Figures.”

Jean didn’t react instead just shrugged like it didn’t mean anything. Like it was normal and it kind of was—for them . Where the distance came wrapped in luxury, and silence was lined with money.

Neil knew the shape of that kind of neglect. Not the polished, gilded version Jean had grown up with, but the brutal, hands-on kind. His father never spared him a glance unless it was to throw a punch or a threat, and the only softness Neil had ever known came from his mother—until she couldn’t protect him anymore. Sometimes, he thought that kind of absence might’ve been easier than the kind Jean lived with. Parents who smiled in public, donated to charities, dressed their silence in silk and called it love—but never actually cared whether their kids lived or died.

And while Neil had walked away from that life. Finally, fully. Jean hadn’t, not really. The only reason he still called that place home was Elodie. If she weren’t there, Neil had no doubt Jean would’ve cut the cord long ago, burned the bridge, and never looked back.

“Neil.” 

Neil blinked, head lifting from where it had been resting against the fridge. “What?”

Jean gave him a look, somewhere between fond and exasperated. “Did you get lost again?”

Neil exhaled, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Maybe.”

Jean sighed, “Come on. It’s almost time, we should get ready.”

Neil glanced toward the clock on the wall. It was well past eight which meant he had slept for almost three hours. “Do you know the apartment number?”

“No. Ask Renee.”

Jean nodded, already pulling out his phone as he headed toward his room to get changed. Neil picked another cookie and followed suit.

Twenty minutes later, they were standing outside a door on the fourth floor, the muffled sound of music already bleeding through the wood.

Neil gave the door a flat look. “Too late to go back?”

Jean didn’t even blink. “Yes.” He raised his hand and knocked before Neil could argue.

When no one answered, he knocked again. Still nothing so he glanced at Neil. Neil gave it three more seconds, then rolled his eyes and kicked the bottom of the door, not hard, but definitely loud. 

If they were expected, someone should open the damn thing.

Soon enough, the door swung open. Allison stood there in the middle of it, drink in one hand, blinking like she genuinely hadn’t expected them to show, but it wasn't long before her expression quickly lit up into something bright, amused, and already a little victorious. 

“Oh, hey. You’re here!” She had to shout to be heard over the hum of overlapping conversation and laughter. “Come in. Come in.”

Neil stepped inside first, hands in his pockets. Jean follows him quietly as Allison ushers them through the short hallway with a ‘they’re in the living room’ thrown over her shoulder, but Neil barely registered it. He was already debating how long they had to stay before it’d be acceptable to leave. Twenty minutes? Thirty, max. Long enough to look polite. 

Long enough not to offend Renee.

Chapter Text

The living room was already packed—at least two dozen people crowded around the furniture and clustered near the snack table like they’d never seen snacks before. A haze of low lighting and cheap perfume clung to the air, underscored by the kind of playlist that Neil thought was designed to feel cool but mostly just felt loud.

He was about to pull on Jean’s elbow like a small child at the supermarket in order to signal precisely how little he had signed up for this when Jean abruptly stopped beside him.

Neil glanced at him, then followed his line of sight. Kyler—or was it Kenneth?—was perched on the edge of the couch, angled toward someone who turned out to be Nicky, laughing along with a girl he didn’t know. When he glanced back up at Jean, he had that look again—the same one he’d had that morning when their neighbours had brought the cookies, like someone had hit pause on the inside of his skull.

Neil leaned in and nudged Jean lightly with his elbow. “Jean.”

No response.

Before Neil could try again, Renee stepped in, quiet as ever, and gently touched Jean’s arm in greeting. Jean blinked and finally looked at her. She offered a soft smile before turning to Neil.

“You really came,” she said.

Neil gave her a lazy salute. “Wouldn’t dare defy your orders.”

Renee just sighed, looking amused for some reason and slid her arm through his, likely to stop him from bolting back. She didn’t say anything else—she didn’t need to, because the gesture was enough. She knew him too well.

“Come on,” she said, already steering them forward.

Neil scanned the room, searching for something remotely interesting—anything to hold his attention for the next hour. Hopefully just an hour. Allison had already drifted toward the couch, leaning over the backrest to whisper something to the group gathered there. Neil’s gaze caught on a short blond—maybe even shorter than him—dressed in all black, lounging on the loveseat that was perpendicular to the couch. Beside him was another blond, just as short, just as dressed in black with the same bored expression. The only difference was the thin-framed glasses perched on his nose.

Neil tilted his head, curiosity piqued.

The movement must’ve been obvious, because the first blond paused mid-sip when he noticed Neil, eyes widening before narrowing slightly and locking onto him in a steady, unblinking stare.

Neil, more out of sheer defiance than anything else, stared right back.

Their staring contest only ended when a voice suddenly exclaimed, “What the fuck, Nicholas Hemmick! You didn’t think this was worth mentioning?”

Neil’s head snapped in the direction of the voice, looking up at a ridiculously tall guy with spiky hair. 

“I didn’t want to ruin the surprise!” Nicky said. 

“Since when do we like surprises?” asked a short-haired woman beside him—Dan, probably. Neil vaguely remembered her as Renee’s other roommate.

Allison laughed. “At least I tried to tell you both.”

“You tried?” Dan repeated, incredulous. “You vaguely hinted at something as if possessed by a cryptic ghost and then wandered off giggling.”

“I believe I said something along the lines of, ‘Nicky didn’t tell us about a redhead,’” Allison replied, completely unbothered.

“Exactly!”

Neil shot Renee a sideway glance, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. Then, reflexively, he glanced back at the blond still lounging on the loveseat.

Still staring.

Neil wondered if the guy had blinked at all. Maybe he was immune to the biological laws that ruled over them all. His expression certainly suggested as much. 

Neil arched a brow.

The guy responded by raising both of his, then dropped his gaze to where Renee’s arm was still looped through Neil’s. Jean nudged Neil lightly, and Neil blinked back into the conversation happening around them.

Apparently, the blond wasn’t the only one who’d noticed their looped arms. It had become second nature at parties for Neil to loop his arm through Renee’s—something easy, familiar and more importantly her way of keeping him from running—so he didn’t understand why they were staring at them as if they’d just witnessed something scandalous. 

Allison pointed a finger at Renee, her voice full of accusation, "You didn't tell us."

"You didn't ask."

Nicky gasped, “Okay, but—we would’ve asked if you’d even hinted you had a high school boyfriend like that stashed away—”

“Not my boyfriend,” Renee said gently.

Not wanting to let that spiral any further, Neil finally spoke up. “We went to the same high school. She apparently took a liking to us.”

“Against her better judgment,” Jean added.

The group around them reacted with varying degrees of dumbfounded shock and mock outrage. Neil didn’t bother hiding his amusement. This—this was why he liked Renee. The look on her friends’ faces almost made showing up worth it.

Almost.

He had no doubt Renee did this on purpose.

“I’m Neil,” he said, gesturing vaguely to himself. “This is Jean.”

"I have seen kindergartners with better social skills than you." Jeans whispered to him in French.

“Well, yeah,” Neil replied back in the same language, unbothered. “I was homeschooled until middle school, remember? So technically, I never went to kindergarten.”

“That doesn’t excuse anything.”

Neil didn’t answer. Mostly because Jean wasn’t wrong. Also because he was too busy watching the group still arguing.

Dan pauses mid-sentence, blinking as if something finally clicked as her gaze returned to Neil and Jean. “Sorry—we’re still processing. I’m Dan,” she said, then motioned to the tall guy beside her. “That’s Matt, my boyfriend.”

She pointed next at the two identical blonds. “Over there are the Minyard twins, Aaron and Andrew. Our group’s emotional—” 

“We’re right here,” Aaron cut in, deadpan.

"Yeah, and you’re doing great," Dan replied dryly. “Seth’s in the kitchen, and you already know Allison, Nicky and–” she pointed at Kenn— “Kevin. Kevin!” 

Oh. Kevin. …Right.

He was half-slouched in an armchair now, a bottle of vodka tilted lazily in one hand. It was already halfway gone, which was kind of impressive, considering Neil hadn’t even seen him holding it when they walked in.

“Kevin,” Allison snapped, snatching the bottle. “Stop fucking drinking!”

Kevin grumbled, trying to reach for the bottle Allison had confiscated, but she only rolled her eyes and passed it off to Matt, who caught it with a practiced ease like this often happened, then hauled Kevin up by the arm.

“Come on, you vodka-soaked disaster,” she muttered, half to Kevin and half to herself. 

Kevin didn’t resist, but he didn’t exactly walk either. He just sort of… shuffled along, head lolling slightly as Allison herded him toward what Neil assumed was the kitchen. She kept talking to him, voice low enough that Neil couldn’t make out the words.

Once they disappeared around the corner, the group collectively let out a sigh which made Neil glance at Renee for answers but she was looking at Jean. Neil frowned, but before he could ask Dan spoke up, “Why do I feel like I’ve already aged five years tonight?”

“I told you all.” Matt said under his breath, not looking up from the bottle in his hands.

Nicky, ever the optimist or maybe just perpetually committed to never letting the silence settle longer, clapped his hands lightly and gave a nervous little smile, “So… um okay! Anyway’s” he said, “what drinks would you like to have?” He turned toward them with a grin that Neil could only describe as suspicious. “I make a killer mojito. Or there’s that thing I tried last week with pineapple juice and blue Curaçao—”

“Looks like radioactive pool water,” Matt cut in, “but really tastes like a summer holiday.”

“Yes! Exactly!” Nicky looked thrilled. “Oooh or I could make you a—”

“No, thank you,” Jean interrupted.

Nicky looked personally offended. “You don’t even know what the last one was! I make a dangerously good vodka sunrise.”

Dan nodded. “He’s actually not lying about that one. It’s stupidly good.”

“Still no.”

Nicky turned to Neil next, eyes wide with hope. “What about you?”

“I’m good,” he said.

Which was true. Good in the sense of not at all interested in getting anywhere near that tray of regret.

He didn’t drink nor ever wanted to. Not just because of his father, though that was a solid reason on its own. He’d seen enough broken glass and bruised nights to know that liquor rarely brought anything useful. But the nail in the coffin had been that one time, when he and Jean had gotten their hands on something cheap and disgusting and decided to see what the fuss was about. It had ended with Jean trying to serenade a broken lamp with the French national anthem and Neil face-down on the floor wondering if death was supposed to be this sticky.

Never again.

Nicky looked one breath away from pulling out a PowerPoint when Jean finally caved. “Soda is fine.”

“Wow,” Nicky deadpanned. “That’s like going to a bakery and ordering plain toast.”

“He’s not wrong. You really don’t want to try one of Nicky’s concoctions?” Matt asked, just as Dan cut in with, “What is this, Sobriety Sunday?”

“It is Friday,” Jean said.

“Even worse!”

“But—”

“Alright, soda it is,” Dan finally said, resting a hand on Nicky’s shoulder as she sent Matt a look. Whatever it meant, the taller man clearly understood, because he quickly headed towards the kitchen, vodka bottle still in hand.

As he went, Neil glanced back. Nicky was facing Dan, which was how Neil caught sight of the faint bruise near his temple. It wasn’t huge, but it looked fresh. As if on cue, Dan spoke up. “He just fell.”

Neil’s brain helpfully supplied the earlier loud thud. Huh.

Even though Neil hadn’t actually asked, Nicky immediately jumped in. “It was not my fault. Taylor thought it would be funny to stack the beer bottles like a tower, you know? Like Jenga but with alcohol.”

“You were the one who added the whiskey bottle on top.” Renee said.

Nicky raised a finger. “It was for balance!”

“It wasn’t,” Dan muttered.

“Anyway,” Nicky said pointedly, “I went to grab a soda but forgot the tower was right behind me, and bam—domino effect. I tried to dodge the mess but instead slipped on the rug.” He shrugged. “Rug is safe though, if it hadn’t been, Allison would've actually killed me after tod—”

Dan smacked the back of his head before he could finish, right as Matt returned. He tossed a can to Jean and handed another to Neil with a quick smile. Neil waited while Jean skimmed the label, then silently exchanged his can for the one Jean offered in return.

The conversation picked up again around them—Jean and Renee falling into easy discussion. Neil let them talk, half-listening, half-aware of the persistent gaze digging into the side of his face. But before he could look, a guy with tousled ash blonde hair walked in, carrying a tray stacked with what looked like a small, shimmering mountain of golden-wrapped chocolates. Or at least, Neil assumed they were chocolates.

“Oh Seth, you were still fussing over them?”

Neil glanced toward the voice, surprised to find that one of the twins had actually spoken up.

Seth didn’t spare Aaron a glance. He walked straight over and stopped in front of Neil and Jean, holding out the tray, “I assume the assholes already introduced me.”

“Hey!” Nicky protested, “You can't insult us like that!”

Seth smirked but didn’t bother with a reply. Instead, he angled the tray closer. “Don’t tell me you don’t like them.”

Neil tried to catch Jean’s eye, but he seemed to be taking this totally in his stride, gently plucking one from the stack. “Thank you.” It was his most deadpan, matter-of-fact voice, which, trust Neil, was pretty fucking deadpan and brief to begin with. 

“Wait—how did you even build that? Were there enough Rocher to make the whole pyramid?” Matt asked. 

“I knew the twins would try to fuck this up. I had a hidden stash.”

“You had a stash of Rocher?” Dan asked, half-impressed, half-judging.

“Emergency measures,” Seth said, completely serious.

Aaron snorted. “They literally sell them pre-stacked in pyramids now, genius.”

Seth turned to him slowly. “You lost your right to have an opinion the moment you two devoured an entire box and blamed me.”

“You left them unattended in the presence of my cousins, that’s on you.” 

Cousins?

“I left them in a closed cabinet, Nicholas.”

“Unattended,” Nicky repeated solemnly, nodding.

Neil blinked. Jean was already halfway through his chocolate like none of this was happening. Neil leaned back slightly and wondered if there was a theoretical limit to how many people could talk at once. So far, the answer was firmly no.

Dan finally cut in, throwing a half-hearted glare at the trio. “We decided not to scare them off, remember?” 

“We’re not scaring them off,” Nicky said around a mouthful of chocolate. “This is a charm. They’re obviously charmed.”

“I don't think so,” Matt said helpfully, gesturing with his drink towards them, Neil fought the urge to scowl.

“I’d help him,” Renee added, and even though she was smiling gently, Neil was sure she wasn't joking. 

“Hey! We’re the best introduction they could’ve asked for. This whole party is a gift.”

“It’s tradition,” Matt chimed in, like that explained everything. “We do this every year.”

“Great pitch,” Neil muttered under his breath.

Jean, who had somehow procured a second chocolate without Neil even noticing, added flatly, “A hazing ritual disguised as hospitality. Very civilized.”

That earned a round of laughter, loud and overlapping, and Neil let it wash over him as he cracked open his soda. The fizz hissed up against his fingers, cool and sticky as he leaned back into the couch, content to let the social ping-pong bounce around without him.

But the weight of that stare had been pressing into him for minutes now.

Neil didn’t need to look to know where it was coming from. He’d been trying to avoid it, focusing on everything else, but it was impossible to ignore anymore.

So finally, inevitably, he looked.

Sure enough, Andrew was watching him like Neil had personally offended him by existing. So Neil stared right back.

The corners of Andrew’s mouth twitched.

“Oh, by the way,” Nicky said, drawing his attention back to him. “How were the cookies this morning?”

Neil glanced toward Jean, who was mid-conversation with the others, which meant that the question was definitely for him.

“They were too sweet,” Neil said, honestly.

Nicky blinked. “Too sweet?”

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t even meant as a complaint, but Nicky stared at him like he’d committed sacrilege.

“Andrew made those,” he said, slowly.

Ah. That explained the scandalized look.

“They were fine,” Neil said. “I liked them. Just… would’ve been great if they weren’t trying to give me a sugar-induced coma.”

Before Nicky could respond, a new deep voice cut in. “You couldn’t handle something that sweet?” 

Neil turned back toward Andrew, who still had that same curve tugging at the corner of his mouth, but his tone was unreadable, equal parts lazy and curious.

“I don’t like too sweet things,” Neil repeated.

“Too sweet,” Andrew echoed, as if rolling the words over his tongue. “You’re the first to complain.”

“It wasn’t a complaint.”

“Sure it wasn't.”

Neil raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I’m just the first one honest enough to say it then.”

Andrew tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowed with amusement. “Or the first one dumb enough to say it out loud.”

“Maybe,” Neil allowed with a shrug. “Or you just can’t handle the truth.”

Andrew’s mouth twitched again. “Maybe,” he said, voice low, just shy of a mock. “Though some people like it when it melts in their mouth, let the sensation linger.”

Nicky made a strangled noise that might’ve been a laugh or a gasp, but he disguised it with a poorly timed cough. Aaron, on the other hand, turned slowly toward his twin with a look Neil couldn’t quite decode.

Neil huffed. “I’m not ‘some people’ who try to rot their teeth.”

Andrew hummed, like he was considering it. “I could cut the sugar next time,” he said, almost thoughtful. “Go for something with more bite?”

There was an edge in the way he said it—unbothered and just confident enough to make Neil unsure if he was being messed with or tested.

“…Isn’t it just flour, butter, and sugar?” Neil asked, frowning as he tried to piece it together.

Andrew raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “Depends on the ratio.” A beat. “If you prefer it soft, easier to sink into?” Another pause. “Or hard? I'll make sure it is as you like.” He shrugged.

To Neil’s left, Nicky made a noise that sounded way too close to a high-pitched squeak. Neil didn’t look at him—his eyes were still on Andrew, trying to figure out if this was just his version of weird baking talk. “…Sounds complicated.”

Andrew leaned in just slightly, resting an elbow on his knee. “It’s not. You just have to know how to handle the dough right and be patient.” His gaze held Neil’s unwavering, “Some things are worth the wait.” 

“Are you trying to bribe me with baked goods?”

“I might be.” Andrew’s smile was slow, crooked. “So tell me, Neil—” Neil tried to suppress the shiver that went through him at the way his name sounded in Andrew's smoky voice, but he clearly failed, judging by Andrew’s smile which only grew. “Would you like it darker? A little bitter, and just sweet enough that the taste stays with you long after it’s gone?”

Neil didn’t know what to say to that—or to the way his insides suddenly felt oddly warm.

What the fuck is happening.

When the silence stretched a little longer and Nicky, along with the twins, stared blatantly at him, he cleared his throat. “That’s a lot of effort from you,” he said, “for a complete stranger.”

Andrew’s smile didn’t fade, but his voice dropped half a note. “Not a stranger anymore, are you Neil?” He asked, but before Neil could reply he continued, “I’m willing to do it, because I can clearly see you haven’t had a proper one. You’ll just have to ask nicely.”

Neil laughed, surprised by how easily it bubbled up after how hard it had been to find words just a moment ago and still smiling, he asked, “You’re really proud of your cookies, huh?”

Andrew blinked once. Then, for the first time since they met, he looked away. “Yeah.”

It was quiet, but there. Just loud enough for Neil to hear.

He was just about to ask when he’d be getting his special cookies—not entirely sure why, and definitely not thinking too hard about how easily Andrew’s voice had lodged itself in his head—when Allison reappeared, bowl in hand and a glint in her eyes.

“Alright, I left you unsupervised for ten minutes,” she said, marching in. “What did I miss?”

Kevin followed behind her, still looking questionably drunk despite the half-empty water bottle clutched in his hand. He dropped onto the armrest beside Nicky with a grunt and blinked blearily at the room.

Aaron grinned into his drink. 

“Andrew finally—” 

A cushion came flying, smacking Nicky square in the face before landing in Kevin’s lap, courtesy of Aaron.

“What?” Allison blinked at him.

Neither Nicky nor Aaron answered. The cushion lay forgotten in Kevin’s lap. Neil glanced at Andrew again, but he was still looking at the ceiling like it had just become the most interesting thing in the room.

Neil, for his part, decided to follow Andrew’s example and offer silence as a solution. Whatever this was, it smelled suspiciously like a trap.

Allison narrowed her eyes—not at Aaron, not at Nicky, not even at Andrew—but directly at Neil, which felt unfair.

“So,” she said, voice deceptively casual. “You won't answer either?”

Neil raised an eyebrow and took a long sip of his drink instead and immediately grimaced.

Allison hummed. “Alright then.” She turned the full force of her attention onto the bowl she’d brought in with her. “Since you’re all being secretive little shits, let’s move on.”

“Um,” Nicky started, glancing between Kevin and Allison with a look that was half warning, half plea. She caught it, clearly, because she only grinned, sharp and unapologetic as she shook her head. Whatever silent conversation that had been, Nicky sagged back against the cushions.

“All right, everyone! We are doing body shots!” Allison shouts, directly into Dan and Nicky's ear making both of them wince.

Every conversation in the room died instantly.

Neil blinked. The phrase meant nothing to him, but the collective reaction made one thing very clear—it couldn’t be anything good.

Somewhere near the speakers, a guy—Neil didn’t know his name—raised his eyebrows. “Body shots?” he echoed. “Aren’t we a little old for the whole ‘names-in-a-bowl’ party games?”

Allison gave him a look like he’d just called her grandma. “It’s my party. If I want to force-feed you prawn cocktails and make you play the Bowl of Fate, then you will fucking do it!”

Before Allison could say anything else, Dan leaned in and tugged lightly at her sleeve. Allison bent down to meet her at eye level. Dan whispered something which made Allison roll her eyes and wave it off with a flick of her hand. “Nope,” she said loudly.

Then she turned back to everyone “Alright. Here’s how it's gonna work! Whoever’s name comes out of the bowl has to do it. No whining, no backing out—”

The backlash was instant.

Protests exploded from all corners—some groaned dramatically, others laughed like they didn’t think she was serious, and a few were already trying to argue their way out. Neil caught about five different people talking at once, and none of them seemed to agree on anything.

He leaned back into the couch and tried to decide if this technically counted as peer pressure. He still wasn’t entirely sure what a body shot was. He could guess, maybe, but guessing only got you so far when half were laughing this hard and simultaneously looking annoyed while others looked far too enthusiastic about it, was another.

He considered asking Jean. Or maybe Nicky. Or both.

But before he could settle on anything—

Jean’s phone rang.

Neil looked up. “Who is it?” he asked quietly.

Jean held the screen up. “Father,” he said in French, just loud enough for Neil to hear. Then, more quietly, to Renee, “Can you show me somewhere quiet?”

Renee nodded, already rising to her feet.

“Keep going,” Jean told the others as he passed. To Neil, he added, “I will be back soon.”

Neil nodded. He didn’t say anything, just watched them go, but soon realized with faint dread that Jean might've just escaped something terrible.

Lucky bastard.

But even as Neil thought it, he knew it wasn’t luck—not entirely. Jean’s parents didn’t like Neil. That wasn’t a guess; it was a quiet fact between them, rarely talked about. If it ever came to Jean needing to explain where he was—or who he was with—they wouldn’t believe Neil, wouldn’t believe Jean either, but they’d definitely believe Renee. They always did. She could lie with the calm weight of truth behind her, and no one ever questioned it.

“All right, we’re starting!” Allison announced with vengeance brewing behind her eyes.

“Wait!” Aaron cut in suddenly, holding up a hand. “I want to pick.”

Allison raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Aaron shrugged. “Might as well.”

She stared him down for a second longer than necessary, but in the end, she handed over the bowl.

The moment it was in his hands, Aaron reached in, pulled out two slips, and glanced down. Neil narrowed his eyes as Aaron’s mouth twitched.

“Andrew and—” Then Aaron looked up—right at him.

“Neil.”

Well. Shit.

Chapter Text

“Neil and Andrew.”

Neil didn’t react as the room broke into cheers and whistles. 

Though the responses varied across the board. Matt and Dan frowned, their expressions creasing as if something wasn’t adding up. Allison didn’t say anything either but her attention was fixed on Aaron, her entire expression practically screaming suspicion. Across from them, Seth leaned in toward Matt and muttered something Neil couldn't hear. Matt shook his head, barely moving, before both of them glanced to the right.

Neil followed their gaze, only to find Kevin, who was just… hugging a cushion, sipping water, and blinking slowly, looking completely unbothered.

When Neil turned to his side, Nicky was already watching him. He didn’t look surprised in the slightest. He was grinning like someone who’d just seen a magic trick he’d figured out ten steps before the reveal.

Neil didn’t know what he was supposed to feel. But his eyes finally landed—almost automatically—on the other name that had been drawn.

Andrew.

He wasn’t staring at the ceiling anymore.

He was staring at Aaron.

And if looks could kill, Aaron would’ve been ash by now—burned out and smoldering under the weight of Andrew’s glare.

Neil wasn’t sure what had just happened. But something definitely had and Jean had escaped it. 

Neil was going to strangle him.

Renée, too. She could’ve looked back, offered a lifeline—done anything except close the door behind her and leave Neil sitting in the middle of a party that had suddenly turned feral.

He took a sip of his drink, just to do something with his hands.

It tasted awful.

He set the can down and watched the twins for a moment, then—because the universe clearly hated him—the words slipped out before he could stop them. “What is a body shot?”

Andrew, as if only just remembering Neil still existed, turned slowly. His eyes flicked toward him with an unreadable expression—all traces of his earlier expressions scrubbed clean from his face. 

“You don’t know?” Dan and Matt asked in unison.

At the same time, Allison asked. “Are you messing with us?”

Neil raised an eyebrow. “Yes. That’s exactly what I do for fun. Set up elaborate bits where I pretend to be ignorant.”

Seth gave a short snort—half-surprised, half-confused—but when Neil just stared back at him, he blinked and said, “Wait… he really doesn’t know.”

Nicky’s face lit up with a knowing grin, and without warning, he patted Neil’s head like he was some kind of puppy. “You sweet, sheltered precious baby—”

Neil’s eye twitched. I’m not a fucking baby, he thought, but before he could say it out loud, Allison cut in and batted Nicky’s hand away. “Let me translate for our dear, innocent friend here.”

She gave Neil a look equal parts amused and wicked. “It’s when someone licks salt off you, takes a shot from your body, and then bites a lime you’re holding in your mouth.”

As the words sank in, Neil felt heat rush up the back of his neck, a flush blooming hot and fast under his skin. He didn’t need a mirror to know he was red. He could feel it—traitorous and obvious, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “I…” His throat was suddenly dry.

No.

No.

This was bad.

This was not how the night was supposed to go. 

He barely knew these people and he definitely hadn’t signed up to be tonight’s center of attention.

Hell, he hadn’t even wanted to be here in the first place.

He was definitely going to strangle Jean.

This was exactly the kind of disaster he should’ve expected from a girl who thought “you need to make new friends” was a good enough reason to leave Neil alone in a room full of people who shouted for fun and played games that involved licking things off each other.

Renée. Sweet, betraying Renée, could’ve steered them out early, or given him a heads-up, or just stayed . But no—she’d followed Jean, probably thinking he’ll be fine on his own.

Not that he’s not fine.

He is.

But…

Neil swallowed hard.

This wasn’t his scene. It never had been.

He didn’t know how to be the person people looked at, or joked with, or—

“We don’t have to do this.”

The words were quiet, but they cut clean through the noise like glass cracking under pressure.

Neil looked up.

Andrew hadn’t moved much. His expression hadn’t changed. But his shoulders had gone stiff, locked in a way that didn’t match the lazy angle he’d been lounging in earlier. His jaw was tight too — not just tense, but pissed. And not in the obvious way either—no eye-rolling, no scoffs, no sarcasm. Just a quiet, simmering pressure that prickled beneath the surface and said: say no, and we’re done.

Neil could say no.

That was the thing. That was the trap . Because technically, he could.

His mouth even twitched, the start of a sentence forming somewhere in the back of his throat.

But before he could get a word out—

“Hey! No chickening out!” someone shouted.

“What’s the point of names if you’re just gonna bail?”

“Seriously, just do it already!”

“We don’t have all night!”

Allison and the others turned toward them, and suddenly the whole room was buzzing— comments thrown from every direction, a blur of voices overlapping, crashing into each other, rising like static in Neil’s ears. He couldn’t keep up with who was saying what, couldn’t even tell if they were joking anymore. It was all too much.

So he stopped trying to listen. Let it all crash over him.

The only thing he could hear now was his own heartbeat, pounding behind his ribs and the thoughts—jumbled, tugging at opposite ends of him—just kept looping.

This is stupid. You don’t have to prove anything.

But it’s just a game. It’s not that deep. 

But why you? Why now?

Because you’re here and it happened. And you’re not going to sit here like a coward.

It’s not cowardice. It’s logic. 

It’s you. You never back down from a challenge.

He closed his eyes for half a second, took a deep breath through his nose, and opened them again.

Jean and Renee owed him a whole week of silence for this. “Let’s do it,” he said, sighing.

The voices around Neil didn’t stop, but it felt like someone had turned the volume down—just enough to make everything sound a little underwater.

Andrew’s gaze pinned him like a wire pulled tight. Still blank, but alert now in a way it hadn’t been before.

“You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” Andrew said—voice quieter than the rest, but still sharp enough.

That should’ve been the end of it. A way out, plain and simple. But then Aaron gave a dramatic huff, loud enough to earn a few side-eyes. Andrew didn’t even look at him—just reached over and pinched his thigh hard enough that the sound Aaron made was half-cough, half-yelp.

Neil swallowed back a laugh. Or maybe a breath. He wasn’t sure anymore.

He looked at Andrew. Then at his hands. Then back at Andrew.

“It’s fine,” he said finally, shrugging like that could smooth out the way his voice came out thinner than he meant. “I’m okay with it.” He hesitated, then added, “Unless… you don’t want to.”

The silence that followed wasn’t loud or dramatic—just full . Andrew’s eyes didn’t leave his. But Neil caught the small tick of his jaw, the way he drew in a breath, slow and deliberate.

" Fine ," Andrew said at last, the word seemed to have been dragged out of his mouth.

The room dipped into chaos the moment he said it. 

Drunken cheers cracked like thunder, ricocheting off the walls. The noise hit him full-force—so loud it buzzed in his teeth. Nicky whooped like he’d just hit the jackpot. Aaron looked far too smug. Allison raised her brows, looking impressed but not surprised. Kevin blinked, confused as ever. The other three still had their eyes on Neil, caught somewhere between amusement and concern.

Neil dropped his gaze fast.

Heat prickled up the back of his neck, nerves coiling tight beneath his skin. Every breath felt too full. Too loud. The blood in his ears roared louder than the crowd.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Nicky rise with a theatrical flourish and bow. “All yours,” he said, and pulled Kevin aside with him.

Neil almost rolled his eyes—but another movement caught his attention. Allison was handing Andrew the lime wedge, a slow grin tugging at her mouth as she passed it over. Andrew didn’t say a word. He didn’t acknowledge her, or any of his friends. Just took the wedge, turned on his heel, and started walking toward Neil.

Neil’s breath caught.

Not because Andrew looked any different—but because he didn’t. Same unreadable face. Same stillness. But there was something quieter beneath it now—like a predator that had already picked its mark. The kind of danger that didn’t need to announce itself.

And then, before Neil quite realized it, Andrew was there—right in front of him.

He stepped in, slotting himself between Neil’s knees. Neil shifted instinctively, thighs parting to make room. Andrew planted one foot on the floor, the other on the couch, his knee pressing gently up between Neil’s thighs. He braced a hand on the back of the couch, just past Neil’s head, his body leaning forward—

Close.

Too close.

Neil’s lungs stuttered, caught between inhale and silence.

“Okay?” Andrew asked, voice low—meant only for him. His breath ghosted across Neil’s cheek, warm and laced with cigarette smoke and something like cedar and vetiver worn into his skin. The kind of scent that made Neil want to lean in, just to breathe it in.

Instead, he stared at Andrew’s face. The slight part in his lips. The freckles scattered like someone had dusted them on by hand. His lashes—too long, too soft—for someone carved in angles.

But it was his eyes that held Neil still.

Hazel, yes —but not just hazel. There were flecks of gold that caught the light, hints of green that shifted with every breath. Warm, and far more alive than they had any right to be.

" Neil ."

Neil snapped back into his body, into the moment. His throat worked around a breath before he managed to whisper, “Yes.”

Andrew gave a small nod. "Where do you want the salt?"

Neil swallowed. “Maybe... my neck?”

Andrew’s eyes dipped to the spot, then flicked back up. He raised his hand and touched two fingers lightly to the curve where Neil’s neck met his shoulder. “Here?”

Neil nodded—barely. A small, twitchy movement that trembled with more than nerves. He had to bite back the shiver crawling up his spine.

Andrew’s mouth twitched. “Open your mouth.”

Neil obeyed. He parted his lips and Andrew tucked the lime wedge between his teeth.

The moment it touched, he felt a faint tingle blooming across his lips, not sharp, but wrong in a way that lit up every nerve. A subtle prickle that made his jaw hum. He resisted the urge to shift it, reminding himself this was fine. That it had to be.

Andrew studied him. “Still fine?”

Neil hummed. It was the only sound he could manage.

Then—like he was testing a theory—Andrew leaned in and dragged the tip of his tongue over the spot he’d touched earlier.

Neil shuddered.

A thrill arced up his spine, fast and startling—like a struck match. His whole chest tightened, his back pressing deeper into the couch.

Andrew smirked. “Salt,” he said, hand outstretched, eyes never leaving Neil’s.

Judging by the yell that was way too proud of itself, it was Nicky who tossed him the shaker.

Andrew caught it one-handed and tipped a careful line of salt across Neil’s skin. Cool grains landed where his tongue had been—clinging to the damp.

“Alright?” he whispered again.

Neil tried to smile around the lime and nodded.

Andrew’s hand slid behind his neck, steady and sure, cradling him. A second later, his mouth found Neil’s skin—warm, deliberate—his tongue drawing a slow, savoring line through the salt, each grain a tiny spark.

Neil's eyes fluttered shut, a soft gasp caught in his throat. He was acutely aware of every nerve ending—the slick, dragging pull of Andrew's mouth, the fiery trail of salt dissolving under a searching tongue, the unyielding anchor of fingers at his nape. His skin hummed with a dizzying current, a thrilling edge. When Andrew pulled back and tipped the tequila shot like he’d done it a hundred times, Neil didn’t blink. He couldn’t. He watched the line of Andrew’s throat shift with the swallow, caught on it as if it mattered.

The lime still sat between Neil's teeth, a sharp, cold anchor in the burgeoning heat. His neck buzzed where Andrew had licked him, a phantom current still tracing the path. His pulse stuttered, then surged, a frantic drumbeat as his whole body seemed to snap taut.

Andrew lifted his hand—slow, steady—fingers brushing the lime, just enough to make Neil inhale through his nose, sharp and unsteady. The sound that escaped him wasn't one he recognized—half breath, half fractured whimper—as Andrew leaned in.

Close enough that Neil could feel the shape of his mouth before it touched him. Close enough that the space between them didn’t matter anymore.

Their lips almost touched.

Almost.

Andrew tilted his head, eyes locked on Neil’s, and bit dow—

“NEIL!”

The voice cracked through the air, loud and sudden, shattering the moment.

Neil flinched.

Their foreheads bumped, a jolt of contact, and Andrew immediately pulled back—hand catching Neil’s shoulder to steady him. Neil barely registered the sting before chaos unfurled around him.

“Neil!” Jean called again, already cutting across the room, Renee on his heels. The air snapped into uneasy silence as Jean reached them, fingers deft and fast as he plucked the lime wedge from Neil’s mouth and flung it aside like it had scalded him.

“Are you insane?” he snapped in French, not giving Neil even a second to answer. He wondered if Jean even knew he'd switched. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Neil opened his mouth, tried to explain—but Jean steamrolled right over him.

“You know you’re not supposed to go near citrus like that? You don’t even have your meds on you right now! Have you lost your mind? A fucking lemon? What were you even thin—”

“Jean,” Renee cut in gently—calm, but insistent. Her French was slower, not as fluid as theirs, but she still used it—because she knew that when Jean was like this, French reached him faster than English ever could. “I don’t think he bit it.”

Neil caught the whisper of Nicky leaning toward Allison, muttering, “What’s going on?” then, more incredulous, “Since when does Renee speak French?” as Renee tried to calm Jean.

But Jean wasn’t hearing any of it.

He dropped into a crouch in front of Neil, scanning his face like he expected to find disaster already there. His jaw was clenched so tight it trembled as he reached up to cup Neil’s face.

“I swear to God, Abram. The moment I leave you anywhere alone, it’s like everything just evaporates . Didn’t you notice the tingling? Are—”

“I’m fine,” Neil said, voice rough around the edges, throat still raw from the burn, the strange buzz still curling under his skin.

Jean’s eyes locked on his—furious and shining. He looked like he wanted to shake him.

“ Don’t . Don’t say you’re fine. You’re completely red, you know that? That’s not nothing .”

“I didn’t bite it,” Neil muttered, ignoring the ‘You’re completely red’ “Didn’t even taste it—”

“That’s not the point!” Jean yelled. “You let it touch your mouth! Your lips! You absolute fucking suicidal wretch!”

The rest of the group hovered nearby, frozen in the wreckage of the moment, all of them standing with wide eyes and uneasy silence. Kevin, meanwhile, had gone completely rigid, just like Andrew. A deep frown carved into his face as he hugged the cushion tightly to his chest.

“Let’s take care of him first, give him his meds,” Renee said, still using broken French, laying a steady hand on Jean’s back. “Then you can yell.”

Jean blinked, breath stuttering. His jaw twitched like he was still brimming with words, but after a long second, he nodded. Then—without another word—he reached down, fingers curling around Neil’s wrist.

Neil didn’t resist as Jean pulled him up from the couch with more gentleness than anyone might have expected after that outburst. 

“Come on,” Jean said, already steering him toward the hallway. “You’re going to take your meds, drink water, lay down and not argue with either of us .”

Renee followed silently, pausing only once to glance back at the others. “Everything’s alright,” she said softly. “I’ll be back later.”

Neil looked back over his shoulder.

Andrew was still standing exactly where he’d been. A step back now, hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles had gone white. His eyes hadn’t moved—still locked on Neil, as if trying to piece something together.

Or trying not to.

For just a second, Neil thought Andrew might say something. But then Jean tugged at his wrist again, and the spell broke. 

Jean didn’t say a word as he pulled Neil towards the elevator. His grip was firm—not rough, never rough —but charged with a quiet urgency that had Neil stumbling to just keep up. 

Once inside the apartment, Jean guided him to the couch with a clipped, “Sit.”

Neil sat.

Jean vanished into Neil’s bedroom, headed straight for the suitcase Neil still hadn’t unpacked. Renee took the armchair across from him, folding her hands neatly in her lap. Her eyes never left him—tracking every twitch of his mouth, every shallow breath, every possible sign of swelling.

“Do you feel anything in your mouth?” she asked gently. “I know you didn’t bite in, but… the lime was still in your mouth. Neil?”

He didn’t answer.

Not because he was ignoring her—but because the roar in his head was louder than her voice.

He’d forgotten.

Actually forgotten.

The sting on his tongue, the low, buzzing wrongness still curling under his skin—the way the inside of his mouth felt coated in something caustic. All of it should’ve been familiar by now. But in the crowd, the noise, the closeness, the… him —

His jaw clenched.

It wasn’t worth any of this. Not when Jean’s voice was still ringing in his ears—sharp and scared , not angry. Not really. He only ever got like that when he was terrified.

He’d been around seven when they’d found out about his intolerance to high amounts of citrus. After that, his mother had made sure it stayed far away from his meals. A quiet, careful precaution—one she kept secret from Nathan for as long as she could. And somehow, she’d succeeded.

He also remembered that last year of middle school—how fast it had happened. Just one sip of grapefruit juice. Jean had noticed his hands shaking before Neil had even processed it himself. 

They’d ended up in the ER.

His father had been out of town, by some miracle. His mother and Jean had stayed the entire night. Jean hadn’t left his side—not even to use the bathroom—until Mary had to practically drag him away.

After that, it became second nature. Jean trained himself to check every label, every menu, every damn thing Neil so much as glanced at. Even at the diner earlier today, Neil knew Jean had double-checked the ingredients of his pancakes, asking everything to the waitress. 

And tonight...

Neil barely registered Jean’s return until a small bottle of antihistamines was pressed into his hand. He took the pills without a word, washing them down with the glass of water Renee handed him.

“That shouldn’t have happ—”

“You left me alone,” Neil cut in.

Jean froze. “I thought—”

“I didn’t want to go,” Neil said, sharper than he meant to. “You both knew that. I told you.”

When Jean didn’t respond, Renee spoke instead. “We just thought… you’d be okay with the others.”

Neil shook his head, fingers tightening around the glass. “I was fine, until…” He gestured at his face, frustration edging the movement.

“I didn’t know your name would be in there,” Renee said softly.

“Does it matter?” Neil asked, meeting her eyes. “It still happened.”

“Because you forgot,” Jean cut in—quieter, but no less heavy.

Neil’s lips thinned. “I didn’t forget on purpose.”

Jean exhaled hard, dragging a hand through his hair as he turned away. “What were you even thinking—keeping a lime like that in your mouth?”

“I wasn’t,” Neil said flatly. “I just— wasn’t .”

“You know better.”  Jean said.

“Yeah, well, maybe I forgot what it felt like to be on edge all the time,” Neil snapped. “And let my guard down.”

“That’s not a luxury you get to have with your condition.”

Neil’s expression cracked, “I know.”

Jean let out a sharp breath. “If you knew, then why the hell did you agreed to do that?”

“I didn’t mean to for—”

“But you did. You let your focus slip. You could’ve—” Jean cut himself off, jaw clenched. “You almost ended up in the hospital again, Neil.”

“I’m aware,” Neil said, voice low. “You think I wanted that?”

“No,” Jean said, “But you didn’t stop it either.”

“So what, this is my fault?”

No one answered.

The silence that followed was tight, Neil looked down at the glass in his hands—ashamed, frustrated, tired.

That’s when Renee finally spoke again. “It’s not about blame.”

Neil shook his head. “Feels like it is.”

“No, Neil.” She leaned forward, voice firm. “We were scared.”

Guilt curled sharp and familiar under his skin. “I know you were scared. But I didn’t forget on purpose ,” he whispered the last part.

Renee looked down, nodding slightly.

Jean finally turned back. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Neil sighed. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry I scared you.”

Jean exhaled and tilted his head, the faintest smirk on his lips. “Look who’s saying sorry.”

Neil huffed, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Shut up.”

“I mean it,” Jean said, nudging his foot lightly against Neil’s. “It’s unsettling. Next thing I know, you’ll be saying thank you.”

“Don’t push it,” Neil warned, but the heat had drained from his voice.

Renee leaned back in her chair with a quiet, relieved sigh. "Well, that’s one crisis defused.”

“Barely,” Jean said, but there was no heat behind it.

“I can always start another one,” Neil offered dryly.

“Please don’t,” Renee and Jean said in unison.

Neil smirked and leaned back, the weight on his chest easing bit by bit. He glanced toward the kitchen, then back at them. “…Did anyone think about food?”

“I’ll order,” Jean said, straightening with a roll of his neck. “Chinese?”

Neil nodded. “Yeah. Just… nothing citrus.”

“Ha ha,” Jean deadpanned.

Neil gave a half-shrug. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

Jean huffed and ruffled Neil’s hair before pressing a kiss to his forehead. Then took the empty glass from Neil’s hands on his way to the kitchen.

“I should head back,” Renee said, starting to rise. “The others might be worried.”

“Stay,” Neil said, before she could fully stand.

“But—”

“Renee.”

She paused, watching him for a beat, then slowly sat back down with a small nod. “Alright,” she murmured, pulling out her phone likely to message others.

While she typed, Neil’s thoughts drifted—back to Andrew, and how, just before everything had crashed, Andrew had almost kissed him.

Neil closed his eyes.

From the kitchen, Jean’s voice broke the quiet. “Renee, how do you spell this dish again?”

Renee let out a soft groan as she stood. “You’ve lived here how long?”

“Long enough to know better than to trust autocorrect,” Jean called back.

“Go fast,” Neil said, eyes still closed. “Otherwise we’re accidentally receiving someone’s dog.”

He cracked an eye open as Renee disappeared into the kitchen, chuckling.

A moment later, he heard her say, “You’ve ordered this a hundred times.” Then, after a pause: “Jean, those are all just appetizers.”

“Oh,” Jean muttered. 

Neil huffed a quiet laugh, eyes fluttering shut again.