Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was move-in day for the dorms, university students had gathered at the entrance in a blur of voices, car doors, and half-balanced boxes as families unloaded the beginnings of new lives onto the pavement. In the middle of it all, Junior stood with far too much in his arms, balancing boxes against his hip and carrying bags on one shoulder with the easy confidence of someone who had already decided he could manage everything in one trip.

"Okay, this is fine," he announced to absolutely nobody as one of the bags slid down his arm. "I've got it." The bag immediately slipped further, a box balanced against his hip tilted dangerously, and the strap of another duffel dug harder into his shoulder as though the universe had taken his statement as a personal challenge.

From beside him, Mark looked over once. He was carrying just as much after Junior had somehow convinced him this would be a good idea, but with every step the top box threatened to slide if he leaned even slightly the wrong way. Still, he followed Junior into the elevator, where the two of them stood surrounded by piles of belongings that represented the beginning of the next four years of their lives.

For the first time since they had met in high school, after years of being in the same friend group and sharing countless lunches, group projects, movie nights and study sessions, they were alone. The thought should have felt strange, maybe even a little awkward, but instead it felt surprisingly natural, as if this was not a new arrangement at all but something that had been quietly waiting to happen.

When the elevator doors opened, they carefully made their way down the hallway to dorm room number 9697. Junior set the boxes down beside the door and pulled out the key, but the second he opened it, every profound thought he had been having vanished completely.

"This is ours?"

Mark glanced up. "For the next 4 years.”

"Dibs on the left side!" Junior rushed forward before Mark could stop him. The dorm wasn't huge, and it certainly wasn't particularly impressive, but it was theirs. Two beds stood against opposite walls, with two desks between them, a small kitchenette, a wide window overlooking part of the campus, several unpacked furniture pieces, and enough empty wall space to make Junior's eyes light up the second he saw it.

"We can hang your art here."

“Why would you hang up my art? Wouldn’t you rather put up film posters?”

“Film posters are too boring, your art is pretty, it’ll make the space feel cosier.”

Mark laughed quietly, the sound brief and small, but Junior found himself looking over the same way he always did whenever Mark smiled. Before he could think too much about Mark's giggles, his phone started ringing. The group video call, right on schedule. Junior accepted the call, and the screen filled with familiar faces.

Book appeared first, far too close to the camera. "SHOW ME THE ROOM."

Force's voice came from somewhere offscreen. "Is it bigger than ours?”

Jimmy appeared next, looking exhausted despite it being barely noon. "Have you settled in yet?"

"We've been here three minutes," Junior said.

"Three minutes that you could have already been showing the room for.”

Sea appeared from another window, already laughing.

Mark started unpacking. The contrast between them became obvious at once: Junior spun around, showing everyone every corner of the room, while Mark was already putting things away, only occasionally joining the conversation whenever Junior carried the phone over so the rest of the gang could drag him into it.

"Rotate the desk."

Book pointed at the screen.

Junior froze. "What?"

"The desk." Book nodded confidently. "Rotate it."

"You can't even see the room."

"I can feel the feng shui."

"You cannot feel feng shui through a video call."

"I absolutely can."

Force appeared. "If you put the beds together, it would make the room feel more spacious”

Silence followed immediately. Mark dropped a pillow, Junior inhaled water, Sea doubled over laughing, and Jimmy pinched the bridge of his nose as though he had expected this exact conversation and was still disappointed to be proven right.

"No," Junior said immediately.

Force grinned. "Think about it."

"We're not thinking about it."

"You haven't even considered.."

"No." “No”

Force pointed triumphantly. "You both answered at the same time."

“Because your idea is ridiculous.”

The next hour passed in organised chaos. At one point, Junior watched for several seconds as Mark carefully arranged his art supplies on his desk before tossing a packet of markers across the room. Without even looking up, Mark caught them, set them aside, and continued unpacking as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world.

Junior smiled. A few minutes later, he tossed a random hoodie, which Mark caught turning around to look at him. "Are you testing me?"

"A little."

"Why?"

Junior shrugged. "You keep succeeding."

"You've been throwing snacks at me every morning for years. It would be weirder if I couldn’t catch them.”

That was true. Neither of them remembered exactly when it had started but at some point in high school, Junior had simply begun buying extra snacks and tossing one over to Mark, and Mark had started catching them. It was like how Mark automatically moved closer when places got crowded, or how Junior somehow knew exactly when Mark needed quiet, they always ended up sitting beside each other without ever meaning to choose it.

After the video call finally ended, the room fell quiet. Junior stood in the centre of the room for a moment, blinking as if he had only just noticed the shift.

"Huh..."

Mark looked up. "What?"

"It's finally quiet."

"That's usually what happens when six people stop talking over each other."

"You're getting more sarcastic every day."

Mark returned to unpacking, which was not a denial, and Junior grinned just before his stomach growled loudly enough to interrupt the moment entirely.

Mark looked up again. "You hungry?"

His stomach growled a second time. Mark stared. Junior sighed. "Maybe a little."

Cooking turned out to be ambitious. The kitchenette barely qualified as a kitchen; their supplies were limited, and both of them were exhausted, so instant ramen became the obvious solution.

A few minutes later, "Ow."

Mark turned. Junior stood frozen beside the stove, holding his hand.

"What happened?"

"I may have slightly burned myself."

"Junior."

"It's not serious."

Mark was already moving. He grabbed Junior's wrist and guided him toward the sink. "Quick run it under cold water."

"I'm fine."

"You still need to run it under cold water even if you feel fine."

Junior obeyed immediately. The moment lasted barely a few seconds, yet something about it felt oddly familiar, natural, like they had done this before as if they have been taking care of each other, for so long that neither of them really thought about it anymore.

Mark checked the burn, seemed satisfied, and only then let go. Junior stared for half a second longer than necessary before managing, "Thanks."

Mark shrugged. "Try not to burn yourself again."

Dinner happened on the floor because the desks and chairs were still covered in half-empty boxes and belongings waiting to be put away. The room glowed softly beneath the warm overhead lights, and outside the window, evening had begun settling over campus.

Junior sat cross-legged with a convenience store drink balanced between his knees, and for the first time all day, he wasn't talking or constantly moving; instead, he sat there, quiet in a way that felt unusual enough for Mark to notice.

"You always get quieter at night."

Junior blinked. "What?"

"Even when we had group sleepovers, you would become calmer when night fell.”

Junior thought about it. "Do I?"

"Yeah."

"Huh."

"You never noticed?"

"Not really. Maybe I just run out of energy."

"You?"

"Everyone needs to rest at some point."

The silence that followed settled comfortably between them. Outside, campus lights flickered on one by one, and the room felt different now, less like a dorm and more like something lived in, quietly becoming theirs.

Junior leaned back on his hands and exhaled slowly before saying, "We're really going to be living together."

That earned another smile. "Apparently."

Junior stared at him as the evening light softened the edges of Mark's face and made everything feel quieter somehow, closer. For a moment, he found himself remembering high school, always surrounded by other people, yet somehow this felt new, like seeing a familiar painting in different lighting: the same person, a different perspective.

Mark broke the silence first. "It's weird being alone together."

Junior's eyes widened slightly because he had been thinking exactly that. "Bad weird?"

Mark looked around the room, at the evidence of a life they were beginning to build side by side. Then he looked back at Junior, and his expression softened. "Not bad." The answer came easily, "It's nice."

Several weeks passed before either of them truly settled into the rhythm of university life. Classes became routine, and living together came naturally to them. The real challenge came from everything else: the workload, the deadlines, and the constant adjustment to an entirely new environment that seemed to change around them every day.

Their schedules shifted constantly. Some mornings, they left together, walking across campus with drinks in hand before splitting toward their respective departments. Other days, they barely saw each other until evening, Junior buried beneath film essays while Mark disappeared into studio spaces for hours at a time. Still, no matter how chaotic the day became, they always seemed to find their way back to each other.

Dinner happened together more often than not, late-night convenience store runs became routine, and movie nights slowly established themselves as a weekly tradition despite neither of them ever officially agreeing to it. Things were comfortable, which was why Junior noticed almost immediately when something was off.

The change was subtle enough that nobody else would have noticed it. If Force or Book had visited, they wouldn't have seen it, Jimmy might have eventually picked up on something, and Sea perhaps would have recognised the quietness for what it was, but none of them were here every day like Junior was.

It started with the humming. Mark had always hummed when he worked, never loud enough to become distracting, nor consistently enough that anyone would call it a habit, but after years of friendship, Junior had grown accustomed to it. Whether it was pieces of songs stuck in his head, or sometimes it was entirely made-up melodies that never seemed to repeat themselves. The sound would drift through the dorm room as he scrolled through social media from his bed, becoming part of the background in the same way rain against windows or distant traffic became part of a city's identity. Then one evening Junior realised he hadn't heard it in days. The absence caught his attention more than the sound itself ever had, and after that, other things began standing out.

Sketchbooks that usually lay open across desks were suddenly closed whenever Junior looked over. Drawings that Mark would normally turn around and show without a second thought never appeared. Whenever Junior wandered over to see what he was working on, Mark would quietly switch tabs or close the notebook altogether, not in a way that suggested he was hiding something, but almost as if he didn't think the work was worth showing anymore.

The thing that worried Junior most, however, was the deleting. Every few hours the sharp click of keys would echo from Mark's desk, followed by a frustrated exhale. Junior would glance over to see another sketch disappear from the screen, as though nothing he created was ever good enough to survive longer than a few minutes.

It was nearly 6 pm when Junior finally decided enough was enough. The dorm room was dim except for the warm desk lamps illuminating their respective sides, and outside campus had mostly fallen quiet. Junior pushed open the door, carrying an iced coffee and a peach tea balanced in one hand, a bag of snacks tucked beneath his arm.

"Your favourite convenience store cookies have been rescued from extinction."

No response. Junior frowned.

Mark sat at his desk exactly where he'd been when Junior left almost three hours earlier, shoulders hunched, hair slightly dishevelled, one hand pressed against his forehead. Papers covered nearly every available surface, several crumpled sheets littered the floor, and an untouched dinner sat abandoned beside him. Junior's expression softened immediately.

Mark looked up. "Hm?"

"You've been in the same position for like three hours."

"Have I? I didn’t realise so much time has passed."

Junior quietly set the drinks down, moved one of the spare chairs beside Mark's desk, and sat. Close enough to be present, far enough to not crowd him.

The silence stretched between them, and Junior waited patiently. Mark stared at the unfinished drawing on the paper in front of him.

He sighed. "I'm fine."

Junior immediately replied. "You're not."

Another silence followed. Mark rubbed his eyes. "I'm just tired."

"Mark..."

Mark gave him a look. Junior returned it with the same look he'd perfected after years of friendship, the one that said: You can lie to everyone else but not with me.

Mark's shoulders dropped slightly, a small surrender. "I just feel behind everyone else."

Junior frowned. "Behind?"

Mark stared at the unfinished sketch, at mistakes only he seemed capable of seeing. "Everyone in my class is better than me."

The words landed heavily, much heavier than Junior expected, because Mark wasn't arrogant, but he was usually confident in his work. Hearing genuine insecurity in his voice felt unsettling.

Junior held his gaze. For a moment he didn't answer. The joking part of him, the part that usually surfaced first, fell completely silent. Junior was rarely serious, which meant that when he was, people listened.

"Mark." The sound of his name seemed strangely loud in the quiet room. Mark raised his eyes. Junior held his gaze. There wasn't even a trace of hesitation. "You're already good enough." The words settled heavily between them, not because they were particularly complicated but because Junior said them with absolute certainty, as though he couldn't imagine a version of reality where they weren't true. Mark stared. Junior continued before he could look away. "You work harder than anyone I know."

A humourless laugh escaped Mark. "That doesn't mean I'm talented."

"It does when the work is good."

"It's not."

"It is." The answer came out firm, with the kind of certainty that couldn't be argued with, because it wasn't rooted in optimism; it came from genuine belief.

Silence settled between them. Mark looked away first, not because he disagreed, but because he didn't know what to do with the sincerity. Junior stretched his legs beneath the desk, then gently nudged Mark's foot with his own once. A small motion, almost absentminded, but grounding and familiar. Mark's shoulders relaxed before he even realised it.

Several moments passed. Then Mark cleared his throat. "...Can you help me with pose references?"

Junior blinked. The sudden change of subject caught him off guard, but once he understood, he smiled immediately. "Of course."

Relief flickered briefly across Mark's expression.

The photoshoot began fifteen minutes later, which sounded far more professional than it actually was. In reality, Junior stood in the middle of their dorm room while Mark sat nearby with his camera, and at first, it all felt normal. Junior was used to being in front of cameras. As a film student, he'd spent plenty of time either filming or being filmed, but this felt strangely different: it wasn't for a project; instead, it was Mark studying him, observing him, and that feeling changed everything.

"Turn slightly."

Junior adjusted. "Like this?"

"A little more."

Mark frowned, thinking, then stood and crossed the room. Junior froze automatically because Mark was suddenly standing close enough that Junior could smell faint traces of acrylic paint on his clothes.

Mark lightly adjusted one shoulder. His voice remained focused and professional. "This way." His hand lingered only briefly before disappearing, yet Junior still felt where it had been.

Mark stepped back, studied him, then approached again. "This wrist."

Junior looked down. "What about it?"

"What about it?"

"It's stiff."

"I’m an editor, not an actor."

Mark ignored him and carefully repositioned his hand. "There." Something about the concentration on his face made Junior unexpectedly nervous. Mark wasn’t doing anything unusual; he was treating this entirely professionally, which somehow made Junior more aware of everything: his touches, small adjustments, every moment Mark spent looking at him.

"Tilt your chin up."

Junior obeyed. "Like this?"

Mark sighed softly, then stepped forward again. His fingers lightly touched Junior's jaw, turning his face a few degrees. "There." Junior forgot how breathing worked entirely, completely, for several seconds.

Mark stepped away without noticing, still focused on composition, lighting, and angles. Meanwhile, Junior sat there, wondering why his heart had decided it wanted to be involved in an art assignment as well.

The actual sketching happened later. Junior sat on his bed reviewing footage for one of his film projects while Mark occupied his desk nearby. The tension from earlier had eased considerably, and Mark had even smiled a few times, which felt like a good sign.

Junior focused on editing for nearly twenty minutes before a strange sensation made him glance up. Mark was staring at him, studying, pencil moving steadily across paper.

Junior blinked. "Are you drawing me?"

Mark didn't even look embarrassed. "Yeah."

Several moments passed, and Junior returned to his laptop, then looked up again. Mark was still staring, the attention becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

Eventually, Junior laughed. "Am I that interesting to draw?"

Mark answered immediately, without thinking, "Good-looking people are easier to draw." Junior seemed to short-circuit as Mark continued, "Especially since your features are more defined." Junior stared, and when Mark met his gaze, realisation set in visibly. "Ah." Mark looked horrified. "I just mean, you're easy to draw." Junior blinked once. "I already know what you look like." Mark somehow sounded more flustered with every word. "So I can draw your face from memory. Looking now helps with smaller details."

The silence somehow became worse. Junior's brain finally restarted, but was still somewhat distant. "Can you draw everyone else from memory?"

Mark blinked. "What?"

Junior sat upright, a grin slowly appearing, falling back to his teasing tone. "If I commissioned you to draw Jimmy and Sea on a date, could you do it?"

Mark immediately groaned. "There it is."

"What do you mean, there it is?"

"The reason you're asking."

Junior pointed dramatically. "Hey, it might just inspire them to admit their feelings finally.”

"You are a menace."

"I like to look at myself as a visionary.”

Mark shook his head. "I'd need reference photos."

Junior laughed loudly, the tension finally cracking apart. "So you can't draw them from memory?"

"Not accurately."

Junior immediately pointed again. "Ah, I see."

"See what?"

"You can draw me from memory, but require references for others."

Mark froze. The realisation hit both of them simultaneously. Several seconds passed. Junior smiled, unexpectedly pleased.

Mark looked away. "I see you every day, it makes sense for me to know what you look like."

Junior's smile widened. "Fair point."

Junior leaned back against the wall. "Maybe I'll save the Jimmy-Sea commission for one of their birthdays."

"They'd kill you."

"Probably." Junior grinned. “Would be worth it.”

That evening, after finishing his editing, Junior drifted off to sleep first. One arm hung off the side of the bed, his phone abandoned beside him, breathing slow and steady. Mark remained awake, unable to sleep. His laptop screen illuminated the darkness, and the photos from earlier remained open. Reference shots. He clicked through them absentmindedly.

Junior laughing, head tilted back, eyes bright, another of him looking directly toward the camera and finally Junior listening to him, completely still.

Mark paused, then clicked back. His gaze lingered because they weren’t particularly useful references, but he couldn’t get himself to delete the photos. He opened a new folder on his computer, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then typed Ju. The name appeared simple, just two letters, but the name felt strangely personal. As if shortening it somehow revealed more than using Junior's full name ever would.

Across the room, Junior shifted slightly in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible. Mark glanced over automatically, the same way he always did, wondering how much has already changed between them.

The movie night had not been planned. It happened on a Thursday afternoon when both of them should probably have been working. Junior was sprawled upside down across his bed, scrolling through his phone while pretending to review notes for an upcoming theory essay. Across from him, Mark sat reading the module-required books. The silence between them wasn't unusual anymore. Several weeks into university life, they had developed an almost alarming ability to exist in the same space without needing to fill every second with conversation. Junior broke the silence first.

"Want to go see a movie tomorrow?"

Mark looked up. "A movie?"

"Mm." Junior turned his phone around. "The cinema near campus is showing that new thriller everyone's talking about."

Mark studied the poster for a moment, then shrugged. "Sure."

Plans were made easily, with no awareness whatsoever that they had just arranged something every single person in their lives would immediately identify as a date.

The following evening found them standing outside the cinema beneath glowing signs and bright city lights. The weather had cooled significantly compared to earlier in the week, and people hurried past carrying sweet bags and drinks.

"How many photos are you planning on taking?” he asked as Junior angled his phone toward a large promotional poster.

Junior lowered his phone. "If the movie turns out good, I can count this as research for one of my essays."

Then Junior suddenly pointed the camera toward him, snapping a photo of Mark before he could react.

"Junior."

“Yes?”

"Delete it."

"Why?”

Mark folded his arms. “I thought you were taking photos for referencing.”

Junior looked genuinely offended. "I can take photos for fun too, you know."

"And I count as fun?"

"Extremely."

Junior was halfway through choosing snacks based entirely on colourful packaging when Mark quietly reached over and swapped one packet for another.

Junior blinked. "Why did you put those back?"

"You don't like those."

"I don’t?"

"They're too sweet."

Junior looked down, then back up, then down again. "How do you know that?"

Mark frowned slightly as though the answer were obvious. "You complained every time Book brought them to class."

Junior looked surprised. It was such a random high school habit, the sort of detail most people would have forgotten almost immediately, but Mark had apparently remembered without effort. "You remember that?"

 Mark shrugged, as though remembering small things about Junior was entirely normal. Junior smiled for nearly the entire walk to their screening room.

The cinema itself was dim, illuminated only by small aisle lights and the glow of advertisements playing across the enormous screen. By the time they settled into their seats, the room had already begun filling with people. Junior sat with one arm draped over the armrest, balancing snacks on his lap while waiting for the film to begin, and beside him, Mark settled comfortably into his seat.

For the first hour, everything was perfectly normal. They shared snacks, made occasional comments during previews, and settled into the easy pattern that had become standard behaviour between them: Junior quietly judged every character's decisions, and Mark ignored him. Then, sometime during the second half of the film, Junior noticed something changing.

Mark looked tired, which wasn’t surprising. They had both been busy all week, juggling several late nights, too many assignments, and not enough sleep. Junior watched him blink slower, his posture gradually relaxing and his head tilted slightly, the movement subtle.

A few minutes later, a gentle weight settled against his shoulder, and Junior immediately stopped moving completely. Mark hadn't fallen fully asleep, just enough to reach that strange halfway point where exhaustion temporarily wins. His head rested lightly against Junior's shoulder, and his breathing deepened.

Junior couldn't have told anyone what happened in the next thirty minutes. Every plot point became irrelevant because his attention had shifted completely towards Mark. He adjusted slightly so Mark wouldn't slide uncomfortably, smoothed down a section of hair that had fallen across his forehead, and pulled one sleeve back into place when it shifted awkwardly. Every few minutes, he glanced down, checking, making sure he was comfortable, making sure he wasn't waking him accidentally.

Meanwhile, somewhere else entirely, chaos was unfolding, specifically inside the group chat.

Book: THEY WENT TO THE CINEMA ALONE.

Jimmy: Friends can do that.

Force: They're sharing snacks.

Sea: How do you know that?

Force: Junior posted it.

Book: HE POSTED A PHOTO OF THEIR HANDS HOLDING MATCHING DRINKS

Jimmy: That doesn't mean anything.

Force: Jimmy.

Jimmy: What?

Force: Look at the evidence.

Sea: To be fair... it does look kind of date-like.

Book: THANK YOU.

Book: The question is whether they realise they're dating yet.

Jimmy: They're not dating.

Book: Jimmy.

Jimmy: What?

Jimmy: Junior would have announced it to the group chat if he were dating.

Sea: I'm voting accidental dating.

Book: I second accidental dating.

Force: They’re dumb enough to do that.

Jimmy: I will have to agree with you on that.

By the time the credits rolled, Mark had woken up enough to sit upright again, though his expression remained slightly sleepy. Neither mentioned the shoulder incident or acknowledged it at all. Junior suspected bringing it up would only embarrass Mark, and Mark had no intention of ever addressing it, so both remained silent, which somehow felt even more suspicious.

As they exited the cinema, crowds flowed around them toward the street outside. Junior was halfway through discussing the soundtrack playing too often when something caught his eye, and he immediately stopped walking. "Look!"

Mark looked over. "What?"

Junior pointed. A photobooth stood near the entrance, old-fashioned, brightly coloured, and covered in sample photographs. Junior's eyes lit up instantly. Five minutes later they were squeezed into a tiny photobooth. The curtain closed and a countdown appeared.

The first photo was normal: both were looking at the camera, smiling casually.

The second happened because Junior made an absolutely ridiculous face at the last second.

The third happened because Mark started laughing, the genuine kind Junior always tried to get from him.

The fourth photo happened naturally, without thinking. Both leaned slightly toward the centre of the frame, trying to fit, trying to see the countdown, shoulders brushing and faces unexpectedly close.

When the final countdown appeared, the laughter from the previous photo faded, and the tiny booth suddenly felt quieter. Junior glanced over, and Mark happened to glance over at the same time. For a second, neither looked away. The flash went off, and the moment disappeared.

The photo strip was printed a minute later. Junior grabbed it, then paused. Mark looked over his shoulder and paused as well, because the progression was impossible to miss: normal, chaotic, laughing, close, and then the last one soft and comfortable. The kind of photograph that looked less like two friends and more like something else entirely.

The car ride home was quieter than usual. Junior leaned back in his seat, watching reflections pass across the glass. Beside him, Mark drove.

At a red light, Junior looked at Mark. "Did you enjoy the ending of  the movie?"

Mark immediately turned toward him, then lightly hit his shoulder. "Are you teasing me?"

Junior laughed, bright and unrestrained. "Only a little bit."

Mark rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth lifted slightly.

On the weekend, Mark painted while Junior edited footage, working silently next to each other, neither needing to speak up. The silence felt lived in now, comfortable. Junior occasionally spun in his chair when he got bored, and Mark occasionally pushed snacks toward him without looking up. At one point, Junior absentmindedly rested his foot against the leg of Mark's chair. The contact remained there, as natural as breathing, like everything else between them had become.

By evening, Junior quietly lowered the music playing through their speakers and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with two cups of tea balanced carefully in his hands. Mark visibly relaxed after taking the first sip; his shoulders dropped and the tension from hours of work slowly melted away.

A few minutes later, Junior dramatically threw himself onto his bed, his laptop landing beside him hard enough to make the mattress bounce. "You've been working all day."

Mark glanced over. "So have you."

"And I’m now taking a break.” Junior patted the empty space beside him. "Want to watch a film together?"

Mark looked down at the brush in his hand, at the unfinished painting, then back toward Junior. "I could use the break."

“I found the film from the other day, so we can actually finish it this time.” Junior grinned as Mark snorted.

By the time the movie started, both had changed into comfortable clothes. The lights were off, the only light in the room came from Junior's laptop screen, and without discussion, Mark had ended up sitting close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. The movie itself wasn't particularly memorable. Conversation drifted in and out naturally: occasional commentary, random observations, half-finished thoughts.

Junior gradually became quieter. The energetic brightness that had carried him through the day slowly dimmed into something softer, the version of himself Mark only really saw during evenings. When Mark stole part of the blanket, Junior allowed it without complaint. The movie continued, but Junior's hands had begun fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, twisting, pulling, releasing, repeating, a habit Mark had noticed from their school days, but it happened more often these days. Without really thinking, he reached over, carefully taking hold of Junior's hands, who stilled at the movement.

The room suddenly felt much louder. Junior watched him but didn't pull away. Mark carefully removed one ring, then another, placing them neatly on the bedside table. The familiar silver bands clicked softly against the wood. Only then did he realise what he was doing, how close they were, and the intimacy of the gesture. For a second, he considered apologising, stopping, stepping back. Instead, he left the rings there. Junior, who seemed equally aware of the strange weight settling over the moment, didn't say a word. Not wanting to break whatever this was.

Mark leaned back slightly, enough that his shoulder brushed more firmly against Junior's. Junior shifted automatically, making space for him to be comfortable without even looking away from the screen, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains. Mark woke first, confused for a moment, and then awareness arrived. He wasn't in his own bed; he was in Junior's. His heart skipped. Sometime during the night, they had shifted closer together, Junior's arm rested loosely across his waist, comfortable and unconscious, as though it belonged there. Mark froze completely. His entire brain abruptly stopped functioning. Unfortunately, that was exactly when Junior woke up. Sleepy eyes blinked open, then widened as they stared at each other in silence.

"...Morning."

"Morning."

Neither moved, which somehow made everything worse. Junior became acutely aware of his arm, and Mark became aware of literally everything else. Several long seconds passed. Then Junior pulled his arm back much too quickly, almost launching it across the bed.

"Did you sleep okay?"

"Mhm." Mark immediately hid part of his face behind one hand while Junior aggressively focused on fixing his hair.

The room remained painfully quiet, and yet, despite the embarrassment, neither actually disliked it.

At some point over the next month, their routines stopped existing as separate entities. They still attended different classes, worked on different projects, and spent large portions of their day apart, but somewhere between shared dinners, movie nights, late-night convenience store runs, and studying together in comfortable silence, they had begun unconsciously factoring each other into every plan they made.

Mark automatically checked Junior's schedule before suggesting dinner. Junior would stop by the campus café because he knew Mark had classes nearby. If one of them stayed late somewhere, the other usually knew without asking.

Which was exactly why Mark didn't react when one of his classmates burst into the studio one Wednesday afternoon looking as though she had discovered breaking news. The fine arts studio was quiet; most students were scattered around the room, working on various projects while soft music played from someone's speaker in the corner. Mark sat at one of the large communal tables, cleaning brushes. His current assignment was refusing to cooperate. He was tired, slightly paint-covered, and only half-paying attention to what was happening around him.

"Mark!"

He looked up. "Hm?"

His classmate pointed dramatically toward the windows. "Your boyfriend's outside."

The entire room reacted immediately. Several people looked up with expressions that suggested this information made perfect sense.

Someone laughed. "Again?"

Another student glanced over from their canvas. "That's actually kind of cute."

"Wait." Someone else looked up. "The film student guy?"

Mark paused. Barely long enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for him to say: He's not my boyfriend, yet he didn’t bother to correct their assumptions.

Instead, he found himself setting down his brush, packing his stuff away. "Thanks for telling me."

The conversation behind him immediately exploded. "You guys are disgustingly domestic."

"Does he literally pick you up every day?"

"I'd flex that too, honestly."

Mark shook his head, a small smile threatening to appear. His classmates had become convinced that he and Junior were dating since the first time they saw him waiting for Mark after a class. At first, he had corrected them, then he'd stopped because explaining felt like more effort than simply letting people believe whatever they wanted. Besides, the explanations never seemed to work anyway. Every attempt somehow made things worse.

Outside, leaning casually against the wall outside the art building stood Junior, one hand tucked into his pocket and two drinks balanced in the other.

He was in the middle of animatedly telling a story to several students from one of his film classes. "...and then he somehow deleted the entire project."

The group immediately groaned. "How do you delete a whole project?"

"That's what I said."

"Please tell me you had a backup."

"I had six, I'm not risking hours of work."

One student looked horrified. "He didn't have any?"

"He thought autosave was a backup in itself."

The group burst into laughter. Junior was grinning broadly as he continued speaking, hands moving constantly while he talked, energy spilling into every gesture. Then, when he noticed Mark, the change happened so naturally that Junior himself didn't seem to realise he was doing it. His expression softened. The performative brightness he used around groups eased into something warmer, more genuine. His voice dropped into that softer tone he always seemed to use when speaking directly to Mark.

"He's alive."

Mark rolled his eyes. "You saw me this morning."

"A lot can happen in three hours."

Junior stepped forward, offering the green tea as a contrast to the dark coffee in the other cup. The exchange happened so naturally that neither of them thought about it, which was precisely why the students watching from the studio window nearly lost their minds.

"THAT'S his boyfriend?"

The entire group crowded closer to the glass. "Oh, my god."

Another student stared. "The visual of the two of them."

"Right?"

"Do you think they'd let me draw them if I asked?"

The two left, walking side by side, heading back to the dorms. The pedestrian crossing ahead became crowded as students flooded out of nearby buildings. Without thinking, Mark moved slightly ahead as Junior reached out. His fingers lightly caught the back of Mark's hoodie, a small tug, just enough to keep them together while crossing. A few minutes later, Junior was still holding the fabric. The movement is done unconsciously as if the gesture had become a habit. Mark didn't mention it mostly because he hadn't even noticed

Mark invited Junior out for a weekend trip into the city, offering to drive, mostly because the art supply store they needed was significantly easier to reach by car than by public transport. Mark drove comfortably, one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel, occasionally responding whenever Junior paused long enough to breathe.

"The professor said my attempt at colour grading made him think he was watching a kids' cartoon."

"Are you going to give the context to that statement, or do I just not understand film terminology?"

"Apparently, I made all the hues too vibrant; it looks as if you put a filter over the scene that changed every colour to be so bright you can’t even focus on what's going on."

Mark glanced over briefly. "And how did you manage to do that?"

"I was editing the work at 2 am, tired in a dark room, I saved it and didn’t even think twice before submitting it."

"Sounds like you."

Junior pointed. "You don't sound surprised."

"I'm not."

Junior laughed loudly enough that Mark couldn't stop the small smile appearing on his face.

The stationery store itself occupied three floors. Junior immediately regretted entering. "This place is enormous." Mark looked delighted.

For the next forty minutes, Junior followed him around carrying increasingly questionable amounts of shopping: sketchbooks, pens, markers, paints. At one point, Mark picked up a third sketchbook.

Junior finally stopped. "You've picked up three different sketchbooks already."

"They each have different paper textures."

"That sentence meant nothing to me."

Mark placed another item into Junior's increasingly full arms. "You study film."

"Yes."

"You own 4 cameras."

"They do different things." Mark raised an eyebrow. Junior froze. "...I hate when you use my own arguments against me."

"Yet it remains effective every time."

The checkout queue was surprisingly long. The cashier began scanning items as Junior set everything down carefully. Mark watched as the items were scanned before his attention was caught by something else: Junior's necklace. The clasp had twisted, the chain sitting unevenly against his collar.

Without thinking, Mark reached over. "Hold still."

Junior blinked. "What?"

Mark gently turned the chain, adjusting the clasp. His fingers brushed briefly against the back of Junior's neck. An absentminded gesture he normally wouldn't think twice about, except Junior immediately froze.

Mark looked up. "...Junior?"

He just blinked several times like his brain had momentarily disconnected from reality. The realisation hit Mark a second later, and for once, he looked amused.

Junior busied himself packing away the shopping as the cashier scanned the last items, and Mark realised, with some amusement, that Junior could be surprisingly easy to fluster with the smallest gestures.

By late afternoon, the apartment had acquired the particular atmosphere it always seemed to develop when everyone happened to be free at once: noisy, half-organised, and on the edge of becoming either a genuinely productive group call or a complete disaster. On the screen, Force and Book were in the middle of trying to assemble some bedside drawers with little progress. Sea had his camera angled slightly too low, so he looked almost puppy-like, while Jimmy sat with the expression of a man who had already accepted that this conversation would once again dissolve into chaos within the first 5 minutes.

Junior had propped his phone against a stack of books and was seated at his desk, one knee bouncing absentmindedly as he listened to everyone arguing. Mark, a little further back, was half-turned toward his desk, sketchbook open in front of him, one hand moving slowly over the page.

Force was speaking first this time, all momentum and certainty, the drawer pieces scattered around him in a way that suggested they had already lost patience. “We should build the drawers first since they’re the hardest part.”

Book looked up from the instructions with the offended air of someone who had just been insulted by the very concept of logic. “Or,” he said sarcastically, “we could follow the instructions like normal people.”

Force made a dismissive sound. “We don’t need the instructions, we’re engineering students, we’ll figure it out.”

Book stared at him. “Yes, we take engineering, not carpeting, read the instructions!”

Sea folded over with silent laughter, shoulders shaking as he tried and failed to remain serious, while Jimmy looked as though he was physically trying to maintain distance from the entire conversation through sheer willpower alone. Junior, who had been waiting for exactly the right opening, immediately sat forward with the bright and dangerous energy of a man who had been handed a perfectly good opportunity to cause trouble.

“Sea, update us.”

Sea looked up, already grinning.

“About what?”

“Your forbidden romance.”

“There is no romance.”

“Jimmy?”

Jimmy didn’t even look up from where he was trying to pretend the call did not involve him. “I’m not participating in this.”

Junior pointed at him like that settled everything. “That’s suspicious.”

Jimmy gave him a tired stare. “Everything I do is suspicious to you.”

“Correct.”

Mark, still half-focused on his sketch, spoke without lifting his head. “You say that every call.”

Junior turned toward him immediately, delighted by the opportunity to drag him in too. “Because every call they’re suspicious.”

Sea’s laughter broke loose again, louder this time, and Book made a dramatic noise of betrayal.

“Mark’s encouraging him now. We’ve lost him.”

Mark finally glanced up, one corner of his mouth twitching as though he was trying not to smile too obviously. “I’m just stating the obvious,”

“That’s worse.”

Junior laughed, the sound spilling out of him bright and easy, and for a few minutes the call became exactly what it always became when all of them were together: noise, teasing, overlapping voices, complaints nobody took seriously, and enough affection buried under all the nonsense that it never had to be named directly.

Then Junior got up to get water. The room was still full of noise behind him as he headed toward the kitchenette, the sound of the call carrying faintly even as he filled a glass and stood for a second with his back to the counter. He could still hear Force and Book arguing about the drawer pieces, Jimmy sounding more exhausted by the minute, Sea laughing at something neither of them had fully explained, and Mark speaking only occasionally, his voice low and dry and entirely too calm for the chaos around him.

Mark had shifted, elbows on his knees, sketchbook angled toward his lap. He had the concentrated expression he always got when he was drawing properly, the one that made the rest of the world seem to disappear. His shoulders were slightly rounded in the way Junior had noticed more often lately, a small habit he never seemed aware of until it was pointed out. Junior paused, glass still in hand, and watched for a second longer than he meant to.

Mark looked tired. Without thinking, Junior spoke in the soft, fond tone that only ever seemed to appear when Mark was involved. “You’re hunching again.”

The room went entirely silent. Junior froze in place with the glass still in his hand. Mark looked up slowly and Junior realised, with a kind of horror that arrived hot and instant in his chest, that he had used that voice. The one that always slipped out when he was speaking to Mark in the middle of quiet evenings, when the room was warm and dim and the world had been reduced to just the two of them. It had never once been intended for an audience, because it didn’t belong to the version of Junior who made jokes and talked too loudly and filled every silence without apology. It belonged to the version of him that looked at Mark and softened without meaning to.

For one breathless second, nobody moved then Forces’ face transformed with visible, delighted horror. “...What was THAT tone?”

Junior stared at the screen, horrified. “I always sound like that.”

Book pointed at him at once. “No, you do not.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you absolutely do not.”

Force was still laughing too hard to form words properly. “That was not your normal voice.”

“It was.”

“It was not.”

“It was!”

Sea was silently laughing so hard his whole body had gone weak with it, while Jimmy, to his credit, managed only a single helpless, “Can we not have a normal conversation just once,” before covering part of his face and giving up entirely.

Junior could feel Mark looking at him, although he absolutely refused to turn and check, because now that everyone had heard it, the situation had become so much worse than it had any right to be. Worse still, he had the distinct, humiliating sense that the room had somehow changed temperature around the exact second he’d spoken, all because he had used a tone he didn’t even consciously notice himself using until it had been dragged into the light.

Mark had turned slightly away, pretending to go back to his sketchbook as though nothing had happened, but he was smiling.

Book made a strangled sound of triumph. “HE’S SMILING.”

“I’m not,” Mark said, far too late to be convincing.

“You are.”

“I’m focusing.”

“You’re absolutely smiling.”

Mark made an expression of mild insult, but the smile lingered at the edges of it anyway, private and almost impossible to hide now that it had been seen. Junior’s face went even hotter.

The call became unusable after that.

Junior spent the next several minutes insisting he had always sounded like that, which only made everyone laugh harder, because none of them believed him for even a second. Mark, infuriatingly, remained calm for all of it, though there was still a faint smile at his mouth that seemed to appear every time Junior looked over at him in panic.

Eventually, Force and Book descended back into their construction disaster. Sea started asking Jimmy how his medicine classes are going. Mark quietly returned to his sketching. Junior sank back down onto the floor and sat there with one hand over his face, pretending he could evaporate through sheer embarrassment.

The call lasted another twenty minutes, though Junior retained almost no memory beyond the general sensation of being doomed. By the time everyone finally signed off, the room had gone quieter again, the evening light darkening at the edges as the sky outside shifted toward dusk.

Junior made it approximately five seconds after the call ended before he threw himself face-first onto the nearest pillow.

Mark, sitting nearby with his sketchbook in his lap, glanced over without much surprise.

“I’m never speaking again,” Junior announced into the pillow.

“You’ll survive.”

“No, Book’s going to weaponise this.”

Mark’s foot nudged lightly against his side. It was a small movement, almost lazy, but it was enough to make Junior turn his head slightly, and when he did, he caught the expression on Mark’s face. Still smiling softly, as though the whole thing had genuinely amused him in a way Junior found deeply unfair and that destroyed what little dignity Junior had left. He buried his face back into the pillow with another pained sound.

“You’re enjoying this.”

Mark looked down at his sketchbook, the smile still there. “Maybe a little.”

The week after the disastrous group call passed in a blur of deadlines, editing sessions, studio hours, and the kind of exhaustion that seemed to settle permanently into university students once mid-semester arrived. For Junior, that exhaustion hit particularly hard. A film project involving several upper-year students had somehow evolved into an all-day production nightmare that stretched from early morning until long after sunset. He spent most of the day helping wherever he was needed, carrying equipment, fixing lighting issues, tracking schedules, and somehow ending up responsible for three different problems he hadn't created. By the time he finally made it back to the dorm, every muscle in his body ached with tiredness.

The hallway outside was quiet, and the campus beyond the window had already disappeared into darkness. When Junior pushed open the door, the familiar warmth of the room greeted him immediately. Mark was sitting at his desk, notebook open, the desk lamp casting a soft light across the room.

Junior dropped his bag onto the floor with a dramatic groan. "I think everything that could go wrong happened. How do you not plan for wind potentially messing up audio in an outdoor shoot?"

Mark glanced up, and his eyes immediately narrowed. "What happened to your face?"

Junior blinked. "My face?"

 "The makeup."

Junior reached up automatically. The production had required him to appear briefly in front of the camera for several test shots early in the morning before the actors arrived, which led one of the makeup students to insist on fixing his appearance first.

Apparently, the makeup had survived the entire day. "I forgot I had it on."  Mark sighed and then stood. Junior watched him cross the room. "What?"

"Sit down."

The response came so automatically that Junior obeyed before his brain fully processed the instruction, dropping into the chair nearest the desk. Only after sitting did he realise he'd been ordered around by Mark and had immediately complied.

Mark disappeared briefly into the bathroom. When he returned, he was carrying makeup remover and cotton pads. Junior blinked. "Since when do we own those?"

"You left them in the cabinet after that costume event."

"Ah, I forgot about those."

Mark positioned himself directly in front of him, standing between Junior's knees, close enough that Junior had to tilt his head back slightly to look at him. His hands reacted first. One began spinning a ring around his finger while the other caught at the edge of his sleeve and then the arm of the chair, anything, really, just something to do.

Mark noticed Junior fidgeting. Without looking away from what he was doing, he reached down and lightly tapped Junior's wrist. The movement stilled immediately, not because Junior meant to stop, but because he instinctively followed the correction. Somehow, that only made him more aware of the situation.

Mark wet one of the cotton pads and reached up. The first touch was gentle as he removed the traces of makeup from Junior's cheek. The room had become strangely quiet, with only the occasional sound of life outside drifting through the window. The moment felt oddly domestic, the kind of quiet care that had become increasingly common between them over the past few months. Junior found himself watching Mark's face instead: the concentration there, the slight furrowing of his brows when he focused, soft shadows cast across his face by the desk lamp.

"You keep staring."

Junior blinked. "Sorry"

“You don't have to apologise."

Junior smiled, which somehow made things worse; the moment became softer.

Mark shook his head slightly, then raised another cotton pad. "Close your eyes."

The request was casual, yet Junior felt something strange settle in his chest anyway. Maybe because it was Mark asking. Whatever the reason a faint smile still resting on his face as he closed his eyes.

The room fell quiet again. Junior sat still, allowing Mark to work and, for once, allowing himself to stop moving. The exhaustion from the day lingered heavily in his bones, the constant energy he carried everywhere slowly faded, leaving something softer behind.

For the first time in a while, Mark found himself simply looking, not because there was makeup left to remove, but because he wanted to. Junior's lashes rested against his cheeks. His normally expressive face looked different when it wasn't moving, almost puppy-like. Mark immediately regretted the comparison, and yet it remained because it fit. The cotton pad stopped moving; his hand remained suspended. Junior still hadn't opened his eyes, still trusting him completely.

Mark became aware of how quiet the room had become, how close they were, that if he leaned down a little more, it would be easy to... The thought was never fully formed because Junior's eyes opened slowly, confused at first, then curious, immediately finding Mark's. The distance between them suddenly felt much smaller than it had a few seconds earlier.

Neither spoke nor looked away. Junior's breathing changed first. A subtle pause, a small inhale, the kind of tiny reaction that probably would have gone unnoticed by anyone else. However, Mark felt the shift in the space between them, that something about this moment felt different.

Mark reacted first, before either of them could think too much; his free hand gently covered Junior's eyes, blocking his view completely. "Keep them closed."

The words came out softer than intended. Juniors breath caught, "Okay…" The answer was quiet and trusting, given without hesitation, as though if Mark asked, he would do it.

Mark swallowed, then focused entirely on removing the last traces of makeup with determined attention, as though that might make it easier to ignore the pulse of his heartbeat. Several minutes later, he stepped back.

"There."

Junior opened his eyes, blinking, looking entirely unaware of the crisis Mark had just experienced. "Thanks."

Mark nodded. "No problem."

Neither mentioned what had happened, and yet something lingered in the room afterwards anyway, unspoken and unresolved.

Later that night, they prepared for bed as usual. Mark lay staring at the ceiling, thinking about the moment Junior had opened his eyes, about how close they had been standing, and most importantly, trying very hard not to think about why it had unsettled him so much. Meanwhile, Junior lay in his own bed just as awake, his phone abandoned somewhere beside him while his thoughts replayed the evening over and over again: the feeling of Mark's hand against his face, the moment when he'd covered Junior's eyes. Junior rolled onto his side, then onto his back, but sleep refused to come. Every time he closed his eyes, he found himself back in the strange feeling that had settled between them for those suspended seconds. He couldn't explain why it felt important, only that it had suddenly become difficult to think about anything else.

Across the room, Mark shifted slightly beneath his blankets, and Junior heard the movement. The familiar sound was oddly comforting. Both carried the same unresolved thought with them into their dreams: something between them was changing. Neither knew what it was yet, but for the first time, both of them were beginning to notice it.

The morning after the makeup incident felt strangely normal, which was perhaps the most confusing part. They moved around the dorm room exactly as they always did. Mark woke first, made tea, and opened the window slightly to let in fresh air. Junior woke twenty minutes later, looking as though he'd spent the night arguing with his own thoughts and losing, then shuffled toward the kitchenette with his hair flat and immediately stole half of Mark's toast.

"Good morning." Junior yawned

"Morning."

Junior turned to make himself a cup of coffee, slowly waking up.

The morning rush happened quickly after that. Junior disappeared into the bathroom while Mark packed his bag, and somewhere in the middle of it all, Junior threw a hoodie while searching for a workbook. Mark grabbed the hoodie from the back of a chair because the morning had turned colder than expected.

Three hours later, Mark sat in the fine arts studio attempting to focus on a project critique. His professor was discussing composition while several classmates worked quietly nearby. Everything was normal until one of his classmates suddenly appeared beside him.

"Cute hoodie."

Mark looked up. "Hm?"

"The hoodie." She pointed. "It's cute."

Mark glanced down without thinking, and he answered, "Oh." His eyes returned to the sketch in front of him. "It's Junior's."

Mark paused, because he had said that as though wearing Junior's clothes was an entirely ordinary occurrence. His classmate stared, then slowly looked toward another student across the room. A silent conversation occurred before chaos erupted.

"Oh, my god."

"What?"

"He said it's Junior's."

"The film student?"

"THE film student."

Someone immediately dropped their pencil.

A third student turned around. "The one who picks him up after class?"

Mark closed his eyes, already knowing where this was going.

"That's adorable."

"It's not adorable."

"It absolutely is."

"I need what they have."

"Right?"

One student dramatically clutched her chest. "I want a partner." Several others immediately agreed.

Mark rubbed his forehead.

Meanwhile, several buildings away, Junior was supposed to be paying attention, a lecturer stood at the front of the room discussing documentary structure while slides changed slowly on the projector screen. Around him, students typed notes, highlighted readings, and generally attempted to look productive. Junior's attention span had other plans. He was currently doodling small camera icons in the corner of his notebook when movement outside the lecture hall windows caught his eye.

The film building overlooked one of the main pathways cutting through campus, making people-watching easy whenever classes became boring. Normally, Junior ignored it. Today, however, something familiar immediately drew his attention. His gaze followed automatically.

A figure walked across the pathway outside, headphones on, bag slung over one shoulder, a pink hoodie. Junior blinked, then sat up slightly, because that was his hoodie. Mark continued walking, completely unaware he was being observed. Junior watched him disappear behind another building.

"What's got you so happy?"

Junior looked up. One of his classmates was staring at him. Several of them had apparently followed his line of sight toward the window.

Junior straightened. "Nothing."

"What were you looking at?"

"Nothing."

"Liar."

Junior shook his head immediately. "It wasn't important."

Unfortunately, that explanation would have worked much better if he hadn't still been smiling. His classmates exchanged looks, the kind that suggested they had noticed far more than he wanted them to.

"Sure."

"It really was nothing."

"Then why are you grinning?"

Junior immediately looked away. "I always look like this."

Now that Junior had noticed it, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Mark had taken his hoodie; it should probably have felt strange, but it felt normal. The sort of thing that happened when somebody had become woven so thoroughly into your daily routine that the boundaries between your things and their things occasionally became blurry around the edges.

Later that week, Junior burst back into the dorm room, and the whole building seemed to feel different around him. For days, he had been living on caffeine, spending all his time second-guessing every cut, transition, and tiny sound cue. By the end of it, his eyes had gone blurry. Even now, he still looked half-convinced something was going to go wrong before he could enjoy the fact that nothing had, but then he saw Mark.

Mark was sitting on the edge of his bed, one ankle resting over the opposite knee, scrolling on his phone. He looked up immediately at the sound of the door, his expression shifting from mild concentration to quiet attention in the same easy way it always did when Junior entered a room. Yet on this particular evening, with Junior still shaking off the last of his nerves and adrenaline, it landed with more force than usual.

Junior stopped in the doorway for one second, chest rising and falling, his whole body still buzzing with the strange disbelief of the day.

“Mark.”

Mark’s head tilted slightly. “Hm?”

Junior took one step forward. The grin on his face was so broad and unguarded that it almost looked out of place on him after the week he’d had.

“I didn’t fail.”

Mark blinked once, then his face shifted at once into something warm and openly relieved. “You were worried?”

That, somehow, was enough to undo the last of Junior’s restraint. He made a dramatic sound of distress that was only half-joking and launched himself across the room, dropping heavily onto Mark on the bed where he was sitting. Mark let out a soft laugh at the impact, his whole body giving just slightly beneath Junior’s momentum as he tipped back against the mattress with a breathy, surprised sound. Junior didn’t even bother apologising, too high on the sudden rush of being told he had done well to think about anything except that he wanted to tell Mark the good news.

Mark, without seeming to think about it, wrapped both arms around Junior’s waist, holding him properly as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Junior’s own arms came around his shoulders just as quickly, tightening without hesitation. It should have been a hug that lasted only a few seconds, the sort of brief celebration people exchanged when good news was too overwhelming to sit with alone. Instead, Junior stayed where he was, folded against Mark, their bodies close enough that he could feel the steady warmth of him beneath his hands. Mark’s grip remained firm around his back, secure and grounding.

Junior became too aware, all at once, of how warm Mark’s hands felt through the fabric of his shirt, the fact that he could shift a fraction of an inch and probably end up even closer. The energy that had brought him through the doorway began to soften at the edges, not fading exactly, but settling into a quieter kind of happiness that sat in his chest. Mark looked at him then, steadily, as though the answer to something obvious had already been written across Junior’s face.

“See?”

Junior’s breath hitched, mostly from the absurdity of being hugged this firmly while also being looked at so calmly. He let out a breathless laugh, still half-clinging to him. “See what?”

Mark’s mouth curved a little more. “You’re good at everything.”

For a moment, Junior didn’t know what to do with that. The words were simple enough, the kind of thing someone might say without thinking if they were trying to reassure a friend after a stressful day, but Mark said it with such quiet certainty that it landed differently. It was the tone of someone stating something he genuinely believed to be true, no matter how much Junior himself had doubted it earlier.

Something in Junior’s face shifted, the usual playful edge smoothing out into surprise, then into a softer sort of vulnerability he did not know how to hide quickly enough. His mouth opened slightly as if he might make a joke, laugh it off, but no teasing line arrived. For once, there was only the sincerity of the moment, the strange stillness of being praised by someone whose opinion actually mattered to him, and the fact that Mark’s hands were still warm against his back as if he had no intention of moving first. Their eyes stayed locked for another second, and Junior felt his smile return, smaller now, more private.

Juniors withdrew slowly, hands lingering for a second at Mark’s shoulders before sliding away, as he kept looking at him, trying to process how he’d made it through the day with something this good waiting at home.

“We should go out for dinner,” he said, his voice lighter again but still carrying the softness left behind by the hug. “To celebrate.”

Mark’s reply came easily. “I know a place nearby.”

Junior’s brows lifted. “A new place?”

“Mm.” Mark looked mildly pleased with himself. “I found it a few days ago.”

That sounded suspiciously like something Mark had planned quietly and kept to himself until the exact moment it became useful. Junior pushed himself off the bed and stood, stretching once with a long exhale before offering a hand down toward Mark. It was such a natural gesture at this point that he didn’t even think about it until the motion was already halfway done. Mark looked at the hand, then up at Junior, and took it without hesitation. Their fingers closed together, lingering just a second longer than necessary before Mark used the grip to pull himself up. For one brief moment, they were face-to-face again, close enough to feel the shift in the air between them. Mark let go first, though his fingers brushed Junior’s palm as they separated.

“I just need to get ready,” he said.

Junior nodded, still warm from the hug and the praise and the simple, ordinary fact of Mark being there. “Okay.”

Mark moved toward his side of the room, already beginning to gather things with the quiet efficiency that always made it look as though he had his life slightly more together than everyone else. Junior watched him for a moment longer than he intended to, then turned and dropped back onto his own bed instead, letting himself fall back into the mattress with a long, content sigh.

He lay there with one arm draped over his face and a smile still lingering stubbornly on his mouth, listening to the soft sounds of Mark getting ready on the other side of the room. He kept replaying the hug in his mind. Mark had held him as if he belonged there, and Junior had hugged him back like the answer was already obvious.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, everyone happened to be free at the same time. The call began normally enough. Force and Book appeared together on a sofa in their apartment, squeezed into the same frame despite having more than enough room to sit separately. Jimmy occupied his usual position at a desk, looking as though life had personally offended him sometime earlier that day, and Sea was wrapped in a blanket even though the weather was nowhere near cold enough to justify it.

Junior had disappeared twenty minutes earlier to shower, saying he had to be up early the next day.

"So." Book's voice immediately carried a familiar energy, the sort that suggested he had already decided to cause problems and was simply searching for the most efficient method.

"How've classes been?"

Mark relaxed slightly. "It's going alright now, took a while to really settle in though."

"And your classmates?"

"They like to tease me most of the time."

"Do they know about us?" Force asked.

Mark looked over. "Our friend group?"

"Yeah."

"Mostly from social media."

The moment the words left his mouth, Book leaned forward. "Then they must be familiar with Junior?"

Mark didn't notice the trap. "A few of them follow him already.”

"So they’ve seen Junior's Instagram?"

"Yeah."

Book's smile widened. "Where the only photos of you and Junior these days?"

Sea immediately covered part of his face, Force began wheezing, and Mark realised he had unknowingly walked into the trap.

Jimmy was the next one to strike. "What do they think about Junior?"

Again, the question seemed harmless, and again Mark answered automatically. "He's popular."

"Popular?"

"They often see him around."

Jimmy tilted his head. "How?"

Mark didn't think before he answered, which was quickly becoming the problem. "He picks me up after class a lot."

The group reacted with silent stares. Sea lowered his blanket, Book stopped moving, Force blinked, and Jimmy slowly leaned back in his chair. Mark felt his soul leave his body.

Book slammed both hands onto the desk. "HE WHAT?"

Mark regretted every life choice that had brought him to this exact moment. "They just see him outside the building sometimes."

Jimmy folded his arms. "What do they actually say?"

Mark stared at the ceiling and briefly considered disconnecting his internet.  "They ask questions."

"What questions?"

"About Junior."

"What about Junior?"

The silence stretched and Mark wanted to disappear. Unfortunately, Book was smiling now, which meant he had found something to latch onto.

"Well your classmates must be interested in him then."

Mark nodded automatically. "I guess."

"Have any of them asked for his number?"

The answer arrived before his brain could intervene. "No."

"That was a very quick denial.”

Mark closed his eyes. He could feel himself actively making things worse. "No one's interested in Junior like that."

Book tilted his head. "How can you be so sure?"

Mark opened his mouth, didn't think, and immediately walked directly into another trap. "They think he already has a boyfriend."

The call exploded. Force nearly fell off the sofa, Sea vanished behind both hands, Jimmy closed his eyes, and Book appeared to have transcended language entirely.

"WHY?" Force finally shouted.

Mark stared harder at the ceiling, trying to avoid making eye contact. "They just…"

"MARK."

"They assumed."

"And why would they assume Junior has a boyfriend?"

Mercifully, the bathroom door opened. Every head turned simultaneously as Junior dropped to sit beside Mark, hair still damp and a towel draped loosely around his shoulders, fresh from the shower and completely unaware of the disaster he had just entered.

“Who thinks I have a boyfriend?”

Force pointed immediately.

"Mark's classmates."

Junior blinked, then looked at Mark. He observed long enough to see the way Mark refused to meet his eyes, something softened across Junior's expression, a quiet understanding.

"Ah." He nodded once, then shrugged casually. "That's my fault."

The call froze again. This time, including Mark.

"What?"

Junior waved a hand. "I told him to say that."

Book narrowed his eyes immediately. "You what?"

"They kept approaching me while I was waiting for Mark." A complete lie, "So I asked him to tell people I was already taken." Another lie, delivered effortlessly and without hesitation. The group was too busy processing it to question anything.

Mark looked sideways. Junior didn't look back, just kept smiling, protecting him. He shifted slightly, and his knee bumped Junior's, a tiny gesture so small it was barely noticeable. Thank you.

Junior's shoulder brushed lightly against his in return. You're welcome.

Junior decided to shift the conversation off them looking at the screen, voice teasing

"Sea, have you and Jimmy met up recently?"

Sea sat upright. "I think you're forgetting we go to different universities."

"That wasn't my question."

Jimmy pinched the bridge of his nose. "Junior."

"It must be difficult."

"What?"

"The long-distance relationship."

"There is no relationship."

Junior nodded thoughtfully.

"Hey, Book, aren’t you busy tomorrow as well? Now is probably a good time to leave the call.”

Book gasped. "I'm being removed from my own friend group?"

"So Jimmy and Sea can have quality time."

Sea made a strangled sound. Jimmy looked ready to throw his laptop into the ocean.

Book finally understood what Junior was doing. "Oh absolutely."

Force nodded. "Yeah, we'll go."

"NO," Jimmy and Sea said together.

Junior grinned with the unmistakable satisfaction of a man who had achieved exactly what he wanted. "Great. I'll leave first."

"Junior!"

The call disconnected.

Mark and Junior remained sitting side by side, taking a moment to enjoy the quiet that followed every time they finished a group call.

After a few moments, Mark reached over and lifted the towel from Junior's shoulders.

"On the floor."

Junior stared. "Why?"

Mark simply looked at him, and the look alone was enough. Junior sighed dramatically and then obeyed.

A minute later he sat cross-legged on the floor between Mark's knees while Mark settled onto the edge of the bed behind him and began drying his hair. Junior kept his hands still as the towel moved gently through damp strands, careful and unhurried.

"You shouldn't go to sleep with your hair wet."

Junior leaned back slightly, resting against the mattress behind him. "You worried I'll get sick?"

"Yes."

Junior smiled, a small one, the kind few people ever saw. "If I get sick, you'll take care of me, right?"

Mark's hands paused briefly, then continued. "I'd rather prevent you from getting sick in the first place."

Junior let out a soft breath of amusement. He leaned back a little further and let Mark continue drying his hair. Neither brought up the call, the lie, the secret thank you only they knew about, or the reason Junior had stepped in so quickly. They didn't need to. Junior already knew exactly why Mark had bumped his knee, and Mark already knew exactly why Junior had lied for him.

Junior stood just beyond the entrance to the Fine Arts building, with an iced matcha tea in one hand, condensation already dampening his fingers, and for several seconds, he did nothing but look through the glass doors toward the studio beyond. He had been on his way across campus when he remembered that Mark had mentioned that he had been working on a new painting since morning and had barely stopped long enough to eat. Which was exactly why Junior was here now, because the thought of Mark being alone in the studio for hours, bent over a canvas with that concentrated look he got when he was too deep in his own head, had immediately changed the direction of his day.

The drink in his hand had seemed like a good excuse to appear less obvious, though he had already spent the last minute standing outside the building debating whether he should actually go in or leave the tea with one of Mark’s classmates and disappear before he became a distraction. The last thing Junior wanted was to be the reason Mark lost momentum on something important. He was still considering whether to turn around when the door opened, and one of the students from the studio stepped outside, blinking at him with immediate recognition.

“Waiting for Mark?”

Junior’s shoulders loosened a fraction. Apparently, even trying to seem casual around the Fine Arts building was hopeless now. He lifted the drink slightly.

“Kind of, I was going just to leave this with someone,” Junior admitted, holding up the tea. “But I didn’t want to bother him if he’s in the middle of something.”

The student immediately snorted, glancing back toward the studio with a look that was equal parts fond and deeply amused.

“Bother him? He’s been staring at the same painting for half the day.”

Junior’s expression changed. “He has?”

“Mm. Barely moved.” The student nodded toward the door, then added with obvious certainty, “He might actually listen to you.”

Junior looked back at them in surprise. “To me?”

The answer came with a shrug, as though this were the most obvious thing in the world. “He listens to you more than anyone.”

That was enough to make Junior go still for a beat. He didn’t say anything right away, because there was something about hearing it phrased so plainly that made his chest feel a little too warm. He had known, in a vague and unspoken way, that Mark valued his opinions. He had seen it in small moments, in the way Mark sometimes looked toward him before deciding whether to keep going, or in the quiet way he accepted praise when it came from Junior rather than anyone else, but hearing it from someone else, from one of Mark’s classmates who had clearly noticed it too, made it feel oddly real.

Before Junior could find a response, the student stepped aside and gestured toward the door. “You should come in.”

Junior hesitated. Then, because he had already stood outside long enough to look ridiculous, he sighed and followed.

Heads turned as Junior stepped inside. A few students recognised him immediately, and there were smiles, raised eyebrows, and a couple of obvious attempts not to look too interested. One girl near the centre of the room openly grinned at him before looking down at her canvas as if she had not just been caught watching. Junior pretended not to notice any of it, though the weight of the attention was impossible to miss.

Junior ignored the looks and moved deeper into the room, the tea still cool in his hand. The classmate who had let him in pointed subtly toward the back, where a large table sat, partly covered with a paint-splattered cloth and discarded paper. Junior followed the gesture and found Mark almost immediately.

A stool had been abandoned a few feet away, as he opted to sit on the floor with one leg folded in and one knee bent, a canvas propped against the table in front of him. Brushes lay scattered nearby along with a rag and several tubes of paint that looked as though they had been opened and closed more than once in frustration. Mark was staring at the painting in complete silence, so still that for a second Junior thought he might be asleep with his eyes open.

Something about the scene made him slow without meaning to. The work in front of Mark was a solar eclipse, or rather, a study of one: the edges of the moon and sun overlapping in a way that made the whole thing feel less like a scientific event and more like a slow, dramatic embrace. The canvas shimmered with contrast, light around darkness and brightness wrapped around shadow, capturing a moment where two impossible things seemed to hold each other without fighting for control.

Junior stopped a few steps away. The painting felt almost tender in the balance it held between restraint and radiance. He could see Mark in it instantly: the deliberate lines, the careful tension, the way nothing was ever placed without intention.

He took one more step forward and said softly, “Mark.”

Mark looked up the change in his expression was almost instant. Surprise registered first, then softened as soon as he realised who was standing in front of him, the guarded focus that had been sitting on his face gave way to something looser and warmer.

Junior held up the tea. “Fuel for your artistic genius.”

Mark pushed himself up slightly and shifted aside to make room beside him without a word. The motion was so natural that Junior sat down automatically, settling onto the floor beside him. A few students glanced over with the expression of people watching something they had seen many times before. One of them actually smiled into her sleeve as if the sight of Junior sitting down beside Mark had confirmed something she’d already known.

Mark took the tea from him with a murmur of thanks, then glanced back at the painting. Junior followed his gaze, the room around them fading into the background as his attention settled on the canvas more fully now.

“An eclipse?” Junior said.

Mark nodded.

Junior studied it for another second. “It feels... calm.”

Mark looked at him, a little surprised. “Calm?”

“Mm.” Junior folded one arm over his knee, his voice dropping into the softer register he only seemed to use when the world around him got quiet enough to let him mean things properly. “Like it’s not fighting the dark part. It’s just... there with it.”

Mark said nothing for a moment. Junior kept looking at the painting, “Your work always makes me feel something. I never know what exactly, but it stays with me.” That landed differently.

Mark’s body went still beside him, caught off guard in a way he hadn’t expected. Praise always made him uncomfortable, at least in the obvious sense. He rarely knew what to do with it, and if it became too direct, he would often deflect with a shrug or a comment about the flaws he could still see, but Junior’s voice was different now, low and honest in a way that left no room for a joke.

This was not the loud, teasing Junior from the group calls. This was the one Mark heard late at night when the room was dark, and their voices had already gone quiet, the one reserved for private things.

Mark looked down at the canvas again. “I still think it needs work.”

Junior turned his head toward him. “You always think that.”

“It does.”

Junior studied him for a moment, then looked back at the eclipse. The light on the canvas seemed to shift as the daylight outside dimmed, making the gold around the moon's edge glow even brighter against the surrounding darkness.

“I don’t know what you think perfection looks like, but to me the painting is already beautiful.” Junior kept his gaze on the painting, as if putting his thoughts into words required him not to look directly at Mark. “I can see you in it, how much you thought about it. The lingering brushstroke shows the effort you put into every part of it. I can see your perspective, the way you look at things. That’s the part that matters.”

By the time he finished speaking, the room had gone quieter around them without either of them noticing. Junior became aware only then that some of the students near the back had paused mid-conversation, and another was pretending very obviously not to listen.

Junior finally looked over. Mark’s expression had changed, overwhelmed in a quiet, contained manner that made him look like he didn’t quite know what to do with praise that reached that far into him. There was no embarrassment in the usual sense, just a small, visible kind of emotion sitting right beneath the surface that made him seem suddenly more vulnerable than Junior had expected.

Mark looked at him for a long second. Then, in a voice so quiet it almost got lost in the studio air, he said, “Thank you.”

Neither of them said anything else for a while. Junior kept one hand resting loosely against his knee while Mark continued to hold the tea, letting it cool in his fingers. Around them, the studio carried on as before, students painting, chatting softly, moving between tables, the ordinary rhythm of work continuing just beyond the edge of their small moment.

At some point, Mark leaned back slightly and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, the tension from earlier visibly easing out of his shoulders. Then, in the same simple tone he used every time, he asked, “Have you eaten?”

“I’ve scheduled a meal if that counts.”

Mark frowned a little. “What does that mean?”

“It means I was going to drop this off and then go eat.”

Mark’s expression shifted into something that left no room for argument. “Can I join?”

Junior laughed softly. “Depends, got any good suggestions of where to eat?”

Mark set the tea aside and turned toward him more fully. “I found a restaurant that specialises in Northern Thai food if you don’t mind a 20-minute drive.”

Junior laughed under his breath, then stood with Mark as he gathered his brushes and set the painting aside for later. The fact that Mark was stopping now, after spending so long lost in the work, felt more significant than it probably should have. Junior saw the change in the room, and several students looked up with visible interest as Mark actually stood, stretched once, and reached for his bag.

One of them said, from across the studio, “He’s leaving?”

“He is actually going to leave the studio.”

Someone else, watching Junior and Mark gather themselves near the table, added in a low voice, “That’s the first break he’s taken all day.”

Mark clearly heard none of it, or pretended not to. Junior did hear it, though, and the expression he wore as he turned slightly toward the hallway was so obviously pleased that one of the students near the door covered her mouth to hide a smile.

Mark paused beside him before they left. Then, as though it were the simplest thing in the world, he grabbed Junior's arm as they walked out of the room. His fingers curled around Junior’s forearm, warm and steady. Junior let himself be pulled gently toward the hall.

As they headed toward the door, one of the students watched them go with openly delighted exasperation and muttered, “I really need to ask if I can draw them someday.”

Her friend beside her barely looked up from her canvas. “You should.”

It was late afternoon when Junior had successfully convinced Mark to leave the studio early again on the grounds that even a creative genius needed to eat, rest, and occasionally remember that the rest of the world still existed. Mark had not argued much, letting Junior tug him away from his work with only a mild protest, knowing he would give in eventually anyway.

Junior was sprawled across his bed with a laptop balanced on his thighs, editing footage as Mark sat nearby on the floor with his back against the bed, absorbed in his phone for the moment, his posture relaxed in the way it only ever seemed to be when he was with Junior. At some point, Junior reached into the bag of sweet-and-sour candy he had left beside him, dug around without watching, and held the packet out toward Mark. Mark accepted one of the sweet pieces automatically, the gesture natural between them.

The group call started exactly as these calls always did: with volume. Junior, who had been waiting for exactly the right opening to begin causing trouble.

“Sea.”

Sea looked up at once, already wary. “Mn?”

Junior grinned, tilting his head with exaggerated innocence. “How’s Jimmy these days? You guys talk often despite being at different universities, right?”

Jimmy’s face fell so fast it was almost beautiful. “Oh my god,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Book immediately began laughing as Force joined in repeating Junior's words. Sea had a tiny, betrayed smile that suggested he was already regretting accepting the call. Junior sat up a little, delighted with the reaction he was getting, and was about to push further when Mark, who had been watching with the calm detachment of someone content to observe chaos rather than participate in it, suddenly leaned a fraction closer to the screen.

“I think Sea might be blushing.”

The call went completely, magnificently silent. Junior’s face lit up, looking delighted as Mark, who often sat back and watched with a faint expression of amusement but rarely added fuel himself, finally teased others.

Sea’s eyes widened. “MARK.”

Book made a noise of sudden appreciation. “Oh.”

Force blinked several times, then pointed at the camera like he had just solved a mystery. “Calling it as he sees it. I like this version of Mark.”

Jimmy, whose suffering had only increased, stared at the screen with a look of genuine betrayal. “You too now?”

Mark only smiled, unapologetic, as though he had decided, very quietly, that he was done being the only one in the room who didn’t make trouble for fun. Junior’s mouth opened, then closed again. He looked over at Mark, then at the others, trying to understand exactly when this had become a thing and why it had happened in front of witnesses. The answer, unfortunately, was that it had happened because Mark was becoming more comfortable around him in ways that other people could see, even when Junior himself was still only half aware of them. The thought was interrupted when Mark, entirely calm, reached over and stole another sweet candy from the packet Junior had left beside him.

Junior narrowed his eyes. “Why are you eating my snacks?”

Mark barely glanced at him. “Yours are closer.”

“You have your own.”

Mark shrugged and took another piece.

Junior’s expression deepened into offence. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Maybe.” Mark looked at him then, and Junior could see his smug smile, which was exactly why he chose that moment to steal another candy piece, all while holding Junior’s gaze with an expression that said, with shocking clarity, that he considered the matter settled.

“Actually,” he said, turning his laptop slightly so the others could see, “I’ve been editing this project all week, and I think…”

He launched into his explanation immediately, words coming faster now because he had gotten genuinely excited. He began gesturing as he spoke, pointing at the timeline on the screen, at the cuts he had chosen, at the footage he’d spent hours arranging and rearranging until it finally felt right. It was the kind of enthusiastic rush Junior sometimes fell into when something mattered to him, when the details became too much to keep inside, and he needed someone else to see it with him. He was mid-sentence, describing the pacing of one sequence, when Mark, who had been listening with what looked like mild interest and far too much patience, said in the most casual tone imaginable, “You changed that transition at least thirty different times.”

Junior stared at Mark as if he had just committed a crime. “Mark.”

Mark looked back, perfectly calm, because he was now fully aware of the effect he was having, “What?”

Junior blinked at him. “Why were you counting?”

Mark shrugged. “There wasn’t much else to do.”

The smugness in his voice was almost unbearable. Junior made a sound of disbelief so dramatic it bordered on theatrical, throwing one hand into the air.

“That’s normal during an editing process.”

Book instantly seized the opening. “Thirty times?”

Force was already wheezing with laughter. “That sounds like a lot.”

“It is not a lot,” Junior argued, pointing toward the screen. “You don’t understand the vision. Sometimes you need to test the rhythm, and sometimes you need to see whether the cut lands properly, because one transition feels slightly off…”

“Only slightly off?” Book interrupted, delighted.

Junior glared at him. “If one thing feels off, the rest of the work just looks wrong.”

“That sounds very serious.”

“It is serious.”

Mark’s eyes were on him now, faintly amused. He looked as though he was enjoying himself in the quiet, restrained way he only ever did when he was with Junior long enough to let the teasing come out on purpose rather than by accident. Just as Junior was preparing to mount a defence of his artistic integrity, Mark laughed.

It wasn’t a quiet little breath of amusement he usually gave when something was funny but not worth drawing attention to. This was fuller. Louder than usual. A real laugh that came out of him so openly it almost seemed to surprise even him for a second. His shoulders moved with it. He looked brighter somehow, less composed and more alive than he usually allowed himself to appear in front of other people. The sound filled the room the same way Junior's laughter brightened them.

Seeing Mark laugh like that, freely and without holding it back, made something settle within Junior as if he was amazed he could get that reaction out of Mark. The smile stayed on his face even as he looked at the others, because there was something about Mark’s laughter that made the room more alive. He wanted to keep hearing it, to be the reason it happened more often if he could.

Sea squinted at the screen. “You’re laughing a lot today.”

Mark glanced toward him with mild confusion. “What does that mean?”

Jimmy, who had recovered enough to be annoyed again, answered first. “It means you’re laughing loudly.”

Force nodded emphatically. “A lot.”

Book pointed directly at the camera, practically vibrating with suspicion. “Around Junior.”

That last line landed with such precision that the room went still for a half-second before Junior jumped to defend himself, but before he could, he knocked over his coffee.

It happened in the span of a breath. One moment, he was gesturing while talking too quickly, trying to explain, when his elbow clipped the cup on the desk, and the coffee tipped sharply toward the laptop. Junior made a startled noise and reached out too late, already imagining the disaster of liquid and electronics and an editing timeline ruined beyond salvation.

Mark moved first, so fast it almost didn’t register. He reached over, steadied the cup before it could fall fully, and pulled it away from the laptop with the practised ease of someone who had long since become used to preventing Junior’s chaos. All the panic had left Junior’s body before it had fully arrived because Mark had already dealt with it.

“Careful,” Mark said.

Junior relaxed instantly, the tension draining out of him so quickly it was almost embarrassing. “Thank you.”

The words came out softer than everything else had been. The others on the screen had frozen in various stages of reaction.

Junior frowned. “What?”

Book’s eyes went wide with vindication. “You did it again.”

Junior blinked. “Did what again?”

“That.”

Force pointed, nearly shouting with excitement. “The voice.”

Junior stared at them all. “What voice?”

Book looked horrified and delighted in equal measure. “The one you use with him.”

Junior immediately sat up straighter. “You're mishearing things.”

“My ears are in perfect condition, just so you know,” Book said.

Jimmy, who had clearly decided that there was no longer any point in remaining dignified, leaned back in his chair and looked at him with open disbelief. “You do have a voice.”

Junior glanced helplessly at Mark, expecting, perhaps foolishly, for him to help.

Mark only smiled and then, in the calmest tone possible, as though he were commenting on the weather rather than setting fire to Junior’s last remaining composure, he said, “I think it sounds nice.”

Book disappeared off-camera with a shriek so loud it distorted the call while Junior just sat there in stunned silence, staring at Mark.

Mark was grinning, small but unmistakable, and much too pleased with itself for Junior’s peace of mind.

“You did that on purpose,” Junior said weakly.

Mark tilted his head. “Did what?”

Junior gestured vaguely at the whole universe. “Everything.”

Mark’s grin deepened just enough to make it obvious he knew exactly what he had done. Junior buried his face in his hands.

The call went on for a little longer, though its usefulness had already collapsed entirely. Junior could not stop trying to explain himself, which only made everything worse. Every time he insisted there was nothing unusual about the way he sounded around Mark, somebody else on the call said something that proved they all knew better. Mark, for his part, became increasingly entertained by the whole thing, and that only made the situation more unbearable, because he looked far too satisfied with the effect he was having.

After the call ended, Junior, having exhausted all reasonable defences, finally flung himself face-first onto his pillow with a long, suffering groan the moment the screen went dark. Mark remained sitting cross-legged beside him on the bed, still smiling, calmly eating the last of Junior’s candy as if he had not just participated in the destruction of his entire dignity.

Junior lifted his head just enough to glare at him from the pillow. “That’s my candy.”

Mark looked down at the packet and then back at him. “I’m only eating the sweet ones. I know you prefer the sour ones, plus I don’t like them.”

Junior narrowed his eyes, still buried half in the pillow. “How kind of you,” he said, the sarcasm coming through beautifully muffled.

Mark, entirely unbothered, reached for another piece and replied in the same tone, “You’re welcome.”

That made Junior finally look up fully. Junior stared at him for a second too long, then muttered, half to himself, “You’re becoming impossible.”

Mark raised a brow. “I learned from you.”

That was, unfortunately, fair enough that Junior had no rebuttal.

The rest of their friends, after ending the call, were arriving at the same conclusion all at once: whatever Junior and Mark thought they were doing, it had not been “just friendship” for a very long time.