The bar pulsed with low music and amber light, the kind that softened edges and made secrets feel safer. Ethan leaned against the counter, fingers curled around a sweating glass, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert. Ashton was beside him, animated, laughing at something Ethan had said—something light, maybe even flirtatious, though Ethan hadn't meant it that way. Or maybe he had. It was hard to tell with Ashton. He had that kind of face.
Across the room, Joss watched.
Not just watched—studied. His gaze was steady, unreadable, but sharp enough to slice through the haze of alcohol and conversation. He wasn't looking at Ethan like a lover. He was looking at Ashton like a threat.
Ethan felt it. That subtle shift in air pressure when Joss's jaw tightened. That flicker of possessiveness, barely masked. So when Ethan casually mentioned his upcoming beach project—"I'm taking two days off this weekend, my club's doing a clean-up"—he felt the ripple before it hit.
Ashton's eyes lit up. "That sounds amazing. I'd love to come."
Joss didn't speak. He didn't need to. The silence was louder than the music.
Ethan glanced at him, careful. "I'll check with the Society," he said quickly. "Not sure if there's space left." He smiled, too fast, and changed the subject. Something about the playlist. Something forgettable.
The rest of the night blurred into low laughter and clinking glasses, but the tension never left. It hung between them like smoke.
🚗 After the Bar
Joss drove Ethan home in silence, the kind that wasn't cold but wasn't warm either. The kind that asked questions without words.
When they reached the hostel, Joss didn't unlock the doors right away. He turned to Ethan, eyes darker than usual.
"Can I stay the night?"
It wasn't casual. It wasn't needy. It was something else—something edged with vulnerability and control, like he needed to be close but wouldn't beg for it.
Ethan hesitated. Not because he didn't want it. But because he did.
He nodded.
They climbed the stairs in silence.
The hostel was quiet, the hallway dim, the only light coming from the moon spilling through the open windows. Ethan's roommate was already asleep, curled under a thin blanket, unmoving. It was past midnight—Ethan's usual return from the bar.
He unlocked the door softly, stepped inside, and flicked the switch—but didn't turn on the light. The moon was enough. Pale silver washed across the room, casting soft shadows on the walls, on the floor, on Joss's face.
Ethan turned to him, voice low. "Do you want to shower?"
Joss tilted his head, eyes glinting. "Only if you're joining me."
Ethan's breath caught.
Even in the dark, Joss could see the blush rise in his cheeks, the way his lips parted slightly, the way his fingers fidgeted at the hem of his shirt.
Ethan turned quickly. "I'm going to shower. You can wait."
He disappeared into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him.
Inside, he leaned against the sink, heart pounding.
He tried to breathe.
Tried to focus.
But the water was warm, and his thoughts were louder than the spray. He kept picturing Joss—standing in the moonlight, teasing, watching. He imagined what it would feel like to be held again. Kissed again. Touched like he mattered.
He finished quickly, toweling off, slipping into a loose tank top and soft cotton shorts. His hair was still damp, clinging to his forehead, droplets trailing down his neck.
When he stepped out, the room was quiet.
Joss turned.
And stared.
Ethan stood in the moonlight, skin glowing faintly, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. His tank top hung loose on his frame, the fabric clinging slightly where water hadn't dried. His legs were bare, his posture shy but open.
Joss walked past him.
But paused.
Right beside him.
He turned, looked Ethan in the eyes.
And didn't speak.
The silence was thick. Charged. Ethan's heart skipped so fast he thought he might faint. He could feel the heat radiating off Joss's skin, the closeness, the weight of that gaze—like Joss was reading every inch of him, and liking what he saw.
Joss's eyes lingered.
His gaze dipped—just briefly—to the damp strands of hair clinging to Ethan's neck, the way his tank top hung loose, revealing the soft curve of his collarbone. Then back up, locking eyes.
"Cute," Joss murmured, voice low, almost amused.
Ethan's breath caught.
Joss leaned in—not quite touching, but close enough that Ethan could feel the whisper of air between them.
"Try not to think about me too much while I'm in there."
He smiled—slow, crooked, knowing.
Then turned and walked into the bathroom, leaving Ethan stunned, flushed, and trembling in the moonlight.
Ethan exhaled.
Barely.
He grabbed the towel, dried his hair in quick, frantic motions, then dove into bed, pulling the blanket over himself—head and all. He curled into the sheets, trying to calm his breathing, trying to stop his mind from racing.
But he couldn't.
He was supposed to be tired.
Morning class. Afternoon with Joss. A full shift at the bar.
But sleep wouldn't come.
Because Joss was here.
And he was real.
The door creaked open.
Soft footsteps.
Then the mattress dipped.
Ethan froze.
Joss slid in behind him, slow and careful, like he didn't want to startle him. His arm wrapped around Ethan's waist, pulling him gently closer. Ethan's breath hitched.
Then Joss reached up.
Pulled the blanket down from Ethan's head.
"I want to see you," he whispered.
Ethan turned slightly, just enough to meet his eyes.
Joss smiled.
And kissed his forehead.
Soft.
Lingering.
Ethan's eyes fluttered shut.
Joss didn't push further.
He just held him.
Their bodies curled together—legs intertwining, arms wrapped tight, breath syncing in the quiet. Ethan could feel Joss's chest against his back, the steady rise and fall, the warmth of his skin.
Joss's hand moved slowly—up Ethan's arm, across his shoulder, then settled at his waist. His thumb traced lazy circles, grounding, soothing.
Ethan shifted, turning just enough to face him fully.
Their noses nearly touched.
Joss leaned in, kissed his temple.
Then his cheek.
Then just rested his forehead against Ethan's.
"I want to take this slow," he murmured. "I want you to feel safe. To open. To trust me."
Ethan nodded, eyes glassy.
He didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
They lay there, wrapped in moonlight and silence, hearts beating in tandem. Ethan's fingers found Joss's, laced them together. Joss squeezed gently.
And the night held them.
Not with heat.
But with tenderness.
With the ache of something beginning.