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In the Odyssey, once Odysseus had finally slayed the suitors and cleared his home of lingering chaotic threats, he and Penelope locked themselves away in their bedchamber for three full nights to make up for twenty long years of agonizing separation.
When you scale that down to two people who have been engaged in four years of mutually assured unacknowledged adoration, it produces a remarkably similar result.
It started with an explosive, tear-streaked confrontation in Tom’s loft over four years of unspoken feelings, a missed fever confession, and excruciating miscommunication. It ended with Tom’s hands framing Ryland’s face, and the agonizing weight of silence collapsing into a breathtaking kiss.
The door had locked behind them on Tuesday evening. Phones were promptly tossed onto the nightstand, muted, and forgotten. For seventy-two continuous hours, the outside world ceased to exist. There was no passage of time—only sunlight shifting across the bedsheets, muted whispers in the dark, lazy late-night kitchen raids, and the quiet realization that they no longer had to hide how utterly ruined they were for each other.
By Friday afternoon, the bubble finally popped.
Ryland woke up with his face buried in the crook of Tom’s neck, one of Tom’s heavy arms wrapped possessively around his waist. He blinked lazily at the ceiling, feeling warmer, lighter, and more profoundly relaxed than he had in his entire life.
Then his gaze drifted to the digital clock on the bedside table.
Friday. 5:42 PM.
Ryland froze. He sat up so fast his wire-rimmed glasses rattled on the nightstand. "Tom. Tom, wake up."
Tom groaned softly, his eyes still closed, his arm reaching out blindly to drag Ryland back down into the pillows. "Mm... five more minutes, Ry. Come back here."
"Do you know what day it is?"
"Who cares?" Tom muttered into the pillow, his voice thick with sleep. "It's the day we stay in bed."
"Tom, it's Friday," Ryland said, his voice rising an octave as he fumbled for his phone on the table. He held down the power button. The screen flickered to life, and within three seconds, a violent barrage of vibrations rocked the device.
47 Missed Calls.
112 Unread Texts.
14 Group Chat Notifications.
"Oh, god," Ryland squeaked, staring at the screen in pure horror. "Tom. Colt's house. The weekly Friday hangout. It started twelve minutes ago."
Tom cracked one eye open, squinting up at him. "Wait. Today is Friday?"
"Yes! We missed Wednesday! We missed Thursday! We were supposed to bring the drinks!" Ryland scrambled out of bed, his blanket tangling around his ankles as he stumbled toward the chair where his folded clothes sat. "Colt has texted me nineteen times! The last one just says 'I am calling the Coast Guard.'"
Tom sat up slowly, running a hand through his wildly messy hair, a sheepish, warm grin spreading across his face. "Well. In our defense, time kind of got away from us."
"Tom, this isn't funny!" Ryland threw on his own clean shirt and pulled his jeans up, frantic. "They think we're dead! Or kidnapped! Or—"
"Or just spending time together?" Tom offered gently, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He stood up, towering over Ryland as he walked up behind him, wrapping his arms around Ryland's waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. "Relax, Ry. So we're a little late."
"A little late? We've been off the grid for three days!" Ryland tried to sound stern, but as Tom leaned down to press a soft kiss against the sensitive curve of his neck, his shoulders dropped, and he let out a defeated sigh. "Stop that. We need to head out."
"Alright, alright," Tom murmured, stepping back to pull on his shirt and jacket. "Come here, babe. Let me fix your collar. If we walk in looking like an absolute disaster, they will never let us hear the end of it."
Ryland stood still, his cheeks warm, as Tom stepped close to straighten his shirt collar and adjust his wire-rimmed glasses. For a brief second, Tom's thumbs rested gently against Ryland's cheekbones.
"Ready to go?" Tom asked softly, giving him an encouraging smile.
Ryland smiled up at him, a sudden, nervous flutter in his chest. "Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess."
By Friday evening, the group had begun to formulate search-and-rescue protocols. No text messages back, no activity on group chats, and not even a single snarky comment from Ryland on the group's shared thread.
When the friends finally reassembled in Colt’s cramped living room—surrounded by the familiar, hazardous mix of cheap beer bottles, empty pizza boxes, and cluttered coffee tables—the front door opened, and Tom and Ryland walked in together.
"Look who decided to show up," Colt announced from the floor, sitting next to Jody and crossing his arms while squinting at the two of them. "We were about twenty minutes away from sending Eva to initiate a formal missing persons report."
"Sorry about that," Tom said, giving a quick, apologetic wave.
"Yeah, sorry," Ryland added, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. "We... just got caught up. We were busy."
"Busy?" Jody snorted from her chair, raising an eyebrow with a slow, predatory grin. "Three whole days, Ryland? Seventy-two hours of total radio silence, and you walk in here looking like a pair of well-fed cats? Exactly what kind of 'getting caught up' requires locking yourselves away for half a week without breathing a word to anyone?"
Ryland’s face instantly flushed a brilliant, telltale crimson. "We were... working. Academic stuff. And administrative logistics."
"Oh, administrative logistics," Jody drawled, leaning back and resting his chin on her hand, her smile widening. "Is that what we're calling it now? Because unless those logistics involved testing the structural integrity of a mattress or learning how to breathe without air, I think we all know what you two were doing locked in that apartment for seventy-two hours straight."
"Jody," Ryland squeaked, adjusting his glasses furiously. "That is—that's completely uncalled for."
"Is it?" Jody chuckled, taking a slow sip of her drink. "You look absolutely spent, Tom looks happier than he's ever been, and neither of you contacted any of us for three days. Do the math, Grace."
Throughout the rest of the evening, the tension in the room built like a slow-burning fuse as the two completely failed to hide their new dynamic.
It began on the couch. Ryland didn't just sit next to Tom; Tom sat down and gently pulled Ryland straight into his side, sliding his arm around the other’s waist and resting his chin comfortably on his shoulder. Ryland, who usually spent eighty percent of his energy delivering scathing rebuttals about personal space, simply leaned right back into Tom with a dazed, completely unbothered smile.
A few minutes later, when Ryland reached across the coffee table to grab a slice of pizza, Tom casually reached out, grabbed it for Ryland, and handed it to him.
Ryland didn't flinch. He just took a bite of his pizza and murmured, "Thanks, honey," without even looking up.
The small gestures kept piling up. When Tom reached for his drink, his hand stayed casually draped over Ryland’s knee, his thumb tracing slow, rhythmic circles against the denim. Later, when Ryland shivered slightly from the chilly draft near the window, Tom didn't even pause his conversation with Carl—he simply unzipped his own heavy hoodie, draped it around Ryland's shoulders, and pulled him closer until their shoulders were firmly pressed together.
When Tom got up to grab another drink from the kitchen counter, Ryland's eyes followed him effortlessly across the room. When he walked back, he didn't just sit down; he leaned over the back of the sofa and pressed a sweet, deliberate kiss directly onto Ryland’s flushed cheek.
An absolute, heavy silence fell over the room. Every eye in the living room was fixed entirely on the couch.
Carl looked at Adrian. Adrian looked at Rocky. Rocky made some sort of gesture before pointing aggressively at the pair. Colt stared at his twin brother with his mouth hanging so wide open it threatened to dislocate.
Finally, Eva Stratt broke the agonizing suspense, clearing her throat with a sharp, authoritative sound.
"Alright," Eva commanded, folding her hands over her lap. "Enough. The spatial dynamic in this room has undergone a catastrophic, irreversible shift. What, precisely, is going on with the two of you?"
Tom blinked, looking up from the couch with a wide, innocent, and completely clueless expression. "What do you mean, Eva? We're just hanging out."
"Just hanging out?!" Colt shrieked, jumping straight up off the futon and pointing a frantic finger at them. "Tom, you just kissed his cheek! He called you 'honey'! He's wearing your jacket! You two haven't bickered a single time all night!"
"And let's not forget the three-day ghosting act Jody pointed out," Carl added, gesturing wildly.
Tom looked down at Ryland, then back around the room at everyone's shocked, wide-eyed faces. He scratched the back of his neck, genuinely baffled. "Wait... why are you guys acting like this is news?"
Ryland froze. He looked at Tom, his eyes widening. "Tom... did you text the group chat on Wednesday?"
"I thought you texted the group chat!" Tom blurted out, his eyes going wide as the sudden realization hit him. He looked around the room, turning bright pink. "Wait. Did... did neither of us tell anyone?"
Ryland buried his face in his hands, a high, breathless burst of laughter bubbling up from his chest. "Oh, god. We forgot to tell them."
"Tell us what?!" Colt yelled, practically vibrating on the rug.
Tom rubbed his burning cheeks, but a soft, hopelessly affection-filled smile broke across his face. He wrapped his arms securely around Ryland’s shoulders, pulling him close and holding him tight.
"We're together," Tom explained softly, looking up at his friends with a quiet, honest warmth. "Officially. We're dating."
The living room exploded into absolute, chaotic celebration.
"FINALLY!" Colt roared, throwing his hands to the ceiling and kicking a couch cushion across the room. "FOUR YEARS! FOUR LONG, AGONIZING YEARS OF BEARING WITNESS TO THE LONGEST SITCOM PREAMBLE IN HUMAN HISTORY!"
"PAY UP!" Jody yelled, jumping out of her chair and shoving her open palm directly into Colt’s face. "I told you! I said senior year before graduation! Hand over the fifty bucks, Colt!"
"I had December in the betting pool!" Carl groaned, throwing his head back against his chair, though he was grinning from ear to ear. "I was off by so much!"
"Subject Tom's orbital capture was mathematically locked in two years ago," Rocky declared solemnly, though a bright smile lit up his face as he clapped his hands in a fast, rhythmic pattern. "The trajectory has finally reached stabilization."
"I am canceling the policy revoking your parking privileges," Eva announced dryly, raising her glass of wine in a quiet, genuinely warm toast. "Congratulations on finally achieving basic emotional clarity."
"Wait, wait, back up," Adrian chimed in from the corner, leaning forward with a bottle of beer held high. "Are we glossing over the fact that they spent seventy-two hours in isolation because they literally forgot other humans existed?"
"It’s embarrassing, is what it is," Colt groaned, slumping back onto the cushions. "I have shared genetic code with Ryland for twenty-two years. The man operates on a hyper-precise schedule down to the minute. But Tom Ryder holds his hand and suddenly he loses all concept of linear time?"
"It is a documented physiological response," Rocky added deadpan, adjusting his posture. "Elevated dopamine levels suppress temporal perception. Basically, Grace’s brain has turned to soup."
"It has not!" Ryland protested weakly, though his blush only deepened as he brought a hand up to hide his face slightly. "We just... had a lot of catching up to do."
"Oh, 'catching up,'" Jody teased, mimicking Ryland’s soft tone with a wicked grin. "Is that what we're calling it? I give it two weeks before they start wearing matching sweaters and finishing each other's sentences."
"They're already doing that!" Colt threw his hands up in defeat, pointing dramatically at his twin brother. "Did you see the pizza hand-off? Ryland didn't even ask for it! It was like watching a hive-mind at work! It was horrifying!"
"I think it’s cute," Carl offered, tossing a pretzel at Colt's head. "At least now we don't have to listen to you panic about your twin's terrible romantic communication skills every week."
"Hey! My communication skills are fine," Ryland defended himself, adjusting his glasses while leaning back against the couch.
"Ryland, you literally ghosted us for three days," Colt snapped back fondly. "You're lucky I didn't break down the door."
“Thank god you didn’t break down the door because you would not have liked what you’d see—“ Tom interjected.
Colt groaned loudly, instantly slamming his throw pillow directly into Tom’s face to cut him off.
"Okay! NOPE! Absolutely not! We are stopping this conversation right here!" Colt yelled, throwing his hands up in utter revulsion as the rest of the room erupted into a mixture of horrified gasps, wild cheering, and hysterical laughter. "I do NOT need mental imagery of my twin brother’s 'administrative logistics'! My eyes are already burning and you haven't even finished the sentence!"
"Gross, Tom! Spatial privacy boundaries exist for a reason!" Rocky declared, though he was grinning so hard his face looked like it hurt, pointing a finger aggressively at the couple.
Jody cackled, leaning so far back in her chair she nearly tipped over, pointing wildly at Tom’s sheepish expression. "Oh, please finish that thought, Ryder! Give us the details! I want to hear Colt’s soul leave his body in real-time!"
"Do not finish that thought!" Colt shrieked, clutching his chest dramatically as if he’d been mortally wounded. "I share fifty percent of my DNA with him! I have suffered enough secondary trauma from your four-year slow burn! I draw the line at spatial visual hazards!"
Ryland, meanwhile, had completely disintegrated. His face flushed a shade of red so deep it rivaled a stop sign, and he immediately yanked Tom’s jacket hood up over his own head, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses beneath the fabric and glaring weakly at the ceiling as if begging for the floor to swallow him whole.
“Tom, oh my god, I love you but please stop talking.”
"Come on, let the man speak!" Carl piped up, tossing another pretzel toward the couch. "He was just trying to give us a friendly warning about proper search-and-rescue etiquette! It's practical advice!"
"It is not practical advice, Carl, it is a psychological weapon!" Colt shot back, kicking his legs up onto the coffee table and covering his ears. "I came here to drink cheap beer and complain about my twin's terrible life choices, not to be mentally scarred by Tom's utter lack of a filter!"
"To be fair," Adrian chimed in with a slow smirk, leaning against the wall, "we did ask what took them three days. You can't ask for full transparency and then panic when you actually get it."
"I asked why they didn't text!" Colt yelled, uncovering one ear to glare at Adrian. "A simple 'we forgot our phones exist because we were busy making out' would have sufficed! We didn't need the tactical entry hazard warning!"
"Making out?" Jody chimed in, tossing her head back with a sharp, incredulous laugh. "I didn’t realize we were being so modest now, Colt. You think seventy-two hours of radio silence was just making out?"
"I am choosing to believe it was!" Colt insisted loudly, slapping a hand over his eyes. "I am choosing wholesome hand-holding and light kissing for my own psychological survival!"
Tom just chuckled warmly, completely unbothered, his chest rumbling as he wrapped his arms tighter around Ryland's shoulders, looking at his boyfriend with an unabashed, hopelessly fond grin.
"I'm just saying," Tom added innocently, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he glanced around the room, "it’s a good thing you didn't waste a perfectly good door."
"Eva, make him stop!" Colt whimpered, slumping over the arm of the futon in utter defeat.
Eva calmly took another sip of her drink, not missing a single beat. "I am opting out of enforcing verbal censorship tonight, Colt. You brought this upon yourself the moment you threatened federal intervention over a late arrival."
"Traitor," Colt grumbled into the sofa cushion, though a reluctant, massive smile slowly broke across his face as he looked over at his twin, who was still safely tucked into Tom's side under his hood, looking happier and lighter than he had in four years.