Chapter Text
Jack listens to Joke laugh – that low, warm sound that settles in his chest and stays there longer than it should. It echoes between his ribs like it belongs there. He tells himself it’s normal. They’re best friends. Bros. Alphas. There is nothing weird about how close they sit, thighs brushing, how their shoulders lean into each other like magnets with no intention of parting.
There is nothing weird about Jack always ends up watching Joke’s hands when he talks, the way his fingers move, precise and animated, punctuating every joke and wild story with impossible grace. There is nothing weird about how Jack wants those hands to choke him.
In a bro way.
He shifts on the couch, clearing his throat. “You going to play that reverse, or just stare at your cards like you forgot how to read?”
Joke grins at him, all teeth and mischief, and slaps down a draw four. “You bought this on yourself,” he says.
Jack groans, pulling four cards off the pile with exaggerated drama. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
There is a pause.
Joke raises and eyebrow. “What?”
Jack’s heart skips. “I said you’re a brute. Total menace.”
“Mmhmm” Joke says, eyes narrowing with mock suspicion. “Sure, that’s what you said.”
Jack doesn’t look at him. Instead, he focuses on way too hard on rearranging his hands of cards, ears burning.
And Joke noticed. He always noticed. The hint of red on Jack’s ears, the way Jack would pretend like nothing was said, like nothing happened. It made him question whether friendship was all that was between them.
It was another usual evening: Jack and Joke, together in their tiny dorm room, surrounded by half-empty chip bags and the soft glow of their desk lamp. The bed was unmade. The air smelled faintly of blackcurrant and honey. Uno cards were scattered across the floor like confetti, tension simmering between them in gaps of laughter and casual touches that lingered just a second too long.
This game never ended well. It always started like this – laughter, teasing, a bit of flirting (though neither would call it that out loud) and always ended in chaos. Cards got thrown. Names were called. Silent treatments were deployed like nuclear weapons. But it never lasted long.
By morning, one of them would be up first, cooking breakfast, eggs, toast and whatever was left in the mini fridge, while the other made tea. No words were needed. It was a ritual, a quiet reconciliation written in the language of shared habits. A routine that was theirs alone.
Jack had leaned back against the couch, stealing a glance at Joke, who was still grinning like he’s won more than just a round of Uno.
Jack kept telling himself they were just friends. Best friends. Bros. But every time Joke laughed like that, every time their hands brushed reaching for the same card, something inside trembled.
Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to be just bros anymore. But Jack wasn’t ready to admit it, to say it out loud, to act on it.
Jack, Joke, Hoy and Tattoo sat under the sharp sun, at their usual table. Jack leaned over the table, squinting into the communal takeout box between them. “Okay, there’s only one dumpling left.”
“I saw it first.” Joke said, already reaching with his chopsticks.
Jack slapped his hand away. “You ate three already.”
“I’m bulking,” Joke said, flashing that trademark smirk, lazy and dangerous. “You want me to stay strong, don’t you?”
Hoy didn’t even look up from his rice. “God,” he muttered, “just kiss already.”
Jack froze. Choked mid-sip of his soda, coughing hard. Joke snorted, covering a grin. Tattoo, who sat rigidly upright, made a low, displeased noise, somewhere between a scoff and a sigh.
“Beta humour,” Tattoo said dryly. “Always trying to provoke.”
“Relax,” Hoy said, barely glancing at him. “It was a joke.”
“Poor one,” Tattoo said, tone clipped. “And inaccurate.”
Joke reached across the table and flicked a grain of rice at Hoy. “You wish we were that interesting.”
“Please,” Hoy said, brushing it off. “I’m just bored. You two bicker like and old couple every meal. It’s a wonder you haven’t bonded over it.”
Jack managed a shaky laugh. “We’re just friends.”
Joke echoed him too quickly. “Yeah. Bros.”
“Alphas don’t bond with each other. Not properly.” Tattoo said firmly, voice like stone.
The table fell quiet for a beat.
Then they went back to eating, tension folded neatly under casual conversation. The dumpling long forgotten.
Later that evening, Jack dropped his bag with a thud, tired, brain still replaying Hoy’s comment from lunch. He opened his bag absentmindedly. Inside was a small container. He opened it and there he found a half dumpling.
No note. Just the food. Just that.
Jack stared at it, heart doing something annoying and traitorous in his chest. Something it shouldn’t be doing.
He closed it. Ignored it. Acted like it didn’t exists for the rest of the day.
But then, when the lights were off and Joke was already snoring on the bunk below, Jack quietly got up and ate it in the dark.
Jack caught a cold. Joke took one look at his pale, miserable face and gruffly orders him back into bed. Jack wanted to argue – really, he did - but he didn’t have the energy. He just sighed and tucked himself back under the covers.
Once Joke was satisfied, he disappeared into their shared kitchen, banging around until the faint clatter of a mug and kettle could be heard. Lemon with honey. Of course. When the tea was done, Joke bought it over.
“I’m not dying, you dramatic-”
“Shut up and drink the tea I made.”
Jack hesitated but took the mug anyway. He drank it. He knew better than to fight with him, Joke was relentless when he cared about someone.
Jack found it cute.
In a bro way.
“Go to class.” Jack croaked.
“And what, let you die alone?” Joke deadpanned. “Absolutely not.”
Later that day, swung by to drop off the notes and found Joke perched on the edge of Jack’s bed, feeding him soup like a disgruntled nurse.
Joke even dabbed Jack’s mouth once.
Hoy blinked, nearly dropping the folder.
“Wow,” he said. “This is peak ‘old married couple’ energy.”
Jack tried to glare. It was his defence – the only armour he had. He was alpha, and Joke too. Having married couple energy? That was asking to be mocked, hated, torn apart. Two alpha men acting like that? It broke every spoken and unspoken rule. The truth? He didn’t really care. Not on the inside. The idea of being a couple with Joke didn’t bother him. In fact, maybe he even liked it but that is thought he had buried away a long time ago. Now the thought of him and Joke as a couple felt like a betrayal. Like he crossing an invisible line he wasn’t supposed to.
Joke just shrugged. “He’d die if a left him alone.
They’re paired together for a joint assignment. Instead of using the library like normal students, they turn their dorm into a war room. There are textbooks stacked like barricades, a whiteboard dragged in from god knows where, and at least five different documents open on two laptops. The floor is a minefield of scribbled notes and empty takeout containers. Tea is constantly brewing. Nobody remembers who last did the dishes, it’s possible they’ve both forgotten what daylight feels like.
Hoy shows up to borrow notes, takes one look at the disaster zone, and just stops in the doorway.
“You two live like a divorced couple co – parenting a science project.”
Jack doesn’t even glance up from his laptop. “It’s not a project. It’s a tactical operation.”
“I have full custody of the conclusion section.” Joke adds.
“Only because I got stuck with the abstract,” Jack mutters.
“You volunteered.”
“I was being polite.”
“You were sleep – deprived.”
“You took advantage.”
Hoy steps over a stack of ramen cups, carefully avoids highlighter sticking out of a mug like a knife waiting to paint him in neon green, and blink. “Is that…a battle plan on the wall?”
It’s an outline,” Jack says.
“With arrows.”
“Flow of argument,” Joke explains, like it’s obvious.
Hoy squints. “Why is ‘betrayal’ underlined twice?”
Joke slams his notebook shut. “No reason.”
Hoy didn’t push any further. He was better off not knowing. He sighs. “Have either of you slept?”
Jack blinks slowly. “Depends on what your definition of sleep is.”
“Joke called me ‘babe’ earlier,” Jack adds. “By accident.”
“I was addressing the kettle,” Joke mutters.
Hoy looks between them, then examines the war zone that is their dorm. “I’m leaving before I catch shared – custody brain rot.”
Hoy returns to his shared dorm with Tattoo, a stack of notes in his hand. “I got the notes we needed.” He says, shutting the door behind him. Tattoo nods at him, not looking up from his laptop. In comparison to Jack and Joke, their dorm was neat. Everything was organised, in the right places. The floor? Absolutely spotless and shiny, it could double as a mirror.
The silence between them stretches – comfortable, but thin. So, Hoy fills it. Thoughtlessly.
“You know, Jack and Joke are just a married couple at this point.”
Tattoo freezes. His fingers still over the keyboard. Then, slowly, he turns to glare at Hoy, sending daggers at him. Truth to be told, Hoy would rather get stabbed with the neon green highlighter than with the daggers his friend was sending his way.
The shift in the air was immediate. It takes Hoy all of one second to realise his mistake. “I mean – “he stammers, holding his hands up. “I just meant it as a joke. Like they’re so co – dependent- “
Tattoo cuts him off with a scoff. “You and your beta humour.” He snaps his attention back to the screen, jaw tight. “Your jokes would make one thing they are actually dating,” he mutters under his breath, not loud enough for Hoy to hear.