Altair did not skip home.
He was far too dignified for such things. His strides were measured, elegant, purposeful—the exact opposite of a skip. If anyone dared suggest otherwise, he would verbally dismember them without hesitation.
But, if one were to look closely, there was a distinct lightness in his steps. A softness in the corners of his mouth. The sort of telltale signs of a good mood, though Altair would sooner eat glass than admit what—or rather, who—had caused it.
Cassian.
Unbearable, insufferable Cassian.
(And Altair would never acknowledge that unbearable and insufferable were sometimes synonyms for thrilling and alive.)
He was halfway down the familiar street, the sunset painting the city of Astralis in shades of pink and gold, when he felt it.
That prickle. That itch on the back of his neck. The unmistakable sense of being followed.
Altair froze mid-step, then tilted his head ever so slightly, eyes narrowing like a fox who'd scented a hunter. And sure enough—there he was.
Cassian.
Striding casually down the same street, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Altair spun on his heel, lips already curling into a smile before he could stop it. Oh, treacherous mouth. His smile was sly, sharp, glittering with satisfaction. He wiped it off instantly, replacing it with his usual mask of disdain.
"Well, well, well," Altair purred, folding his arms. "Either you've developed a fondness for stalking, or the city has shrunk drastically in your absence."
Cassian stopped a few paces away, unfazed as ever. His steady gaze met Altair's, calm, infuriating. "I live here now."
Altair blinked. Then laughed. Not a kind laugh, but a bright, foxlike one, sharp and mischievous. "Oh, of course you do. Let me guess—across the street? Around the corner? Or are you moving into my closet directly, to maximize your nuisance?"
Cassian's lips twitched. "Close. Next door."
Altair's smile faltered. Just for half a second. "Next door?"
Cassian nodded once. "The old house. My family moved back."
Altair's hands dropped dramatically to his sides. "The old house? The one beside mine? The one I was finally, blissfully free from? That house?"
"Exactly that one."
Altair gasped like a scandalized maiden in a melodrama. "Unacceptable. Entirely unacceptable. There are laws against this sort of harassment, Cassian. Restraining orders. I'll have you know I've memorized at least three lawyers' phone numbers for this exact scenario."
Cassian chuckled quietly, the sound low, maddeningly warm. "You haven't changed at all."
"Neither have you," Altair shot back instantly, wagging a finger. "Still arrogant. Still shameless. Still following me like a lost dog."
Cassian arched a brow. "Funny. I thought foxes were supposed to enjoy the chase."
Altair's breath caught, but he covered it with an exaggerated scoff. "How dare you compare me to a fox. I'm far too elegant. More of a swan. Or a comet, perhaps. A celestial body untouchable by mere mortals like you."
"Mm." Cassian's lips quirked, his eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. "And yet, here you are. Talking to me."
Altair opened his mouth, then shut it again, narrowing his eyes. The worst part was—Cassian was right. And Altair hated nothing more than Cassian being right.
So he defaulted to his weapon of choice: drama.
"You know what, Cassian?" he declared, voice rising theatrically. "I refuse to stand here and let you tarnish my evening with your… your tallness. Your broad shoulders. Your—" he flailed a hand vaguely "—general existence."
Cassian tilted his head. "You noticed the shoulders, then?"
Altair's ears burned. He spun away instantly. "Goodbye, Cassian."
He stormed the last few steps to his front door, threw it open with all the flourish of a stage curtain, and slammed it behind him.
---
Inside, the house smelled faintly of tea and freshly baked bread. His three brothers were scattered in the living room: Orion with his nose buried in a book, Lyric sprawled upside-down on the couch humming, and Aster half-dozing with a mug in hand.
Altair stomped into the room like a thundercloud. "You will not believe what just happened."
All three brothers looked up with identical expressions of weary amusement.
"What happened, starling?" Aster asked lazily.
Altair flung an arm toward the window. "He's back."
Orion raised a brow. "He?"
"Cassian," Altair hissed, pacing dramatically. "The bane of my existence. The thorn in my perfectly manicured side. The—"
"The boy you never shut up about?" Lyric interrupted, smirking.
Altair gasped, affronted. "Excuse me? I most certainly do shut up about him. In fact, I hardly ever mention him at all."
"Mm-hm," Orion murmured, turning a page.
"He moved back into the house next door!" Altair cried, throwing his hands in the air. "Our house of peace and harmony has been compromised. He followed me home like some deranged Alpha with nothing better to do."
Aster sipped his tea. "Or he just walked home. To his own house. Which happens to be beside ours."
Altair whirled on him. "Do not minimize my suffering!"
Lyric snorted. "You're glowing, actually. Haven't seen you this animated in months."
Altair's cheeks flushed. "I am not glowing. I am fuming. Positively ablaze with irritation."
"Right," Orion said dryly. "You look thrilled."
That was the final straw.
Altair let out a strangled noise of frustration, spun on his heel, and bolted toward the stairs. "I hate all of you!" he shouted, before disappearing into his room and slamming the door hard enough to rattle the frames.
In the silence that followed, the brothers exchanged looks.
Lyric grinned. "He's smitten."
Orion smirked without looking up from his book. "He always was."
Aster chuckled, sipping his tea. "This is going to be entertaining."
---
In his room, Altair flopped onto his bed, burying his face in a pillow. His heart was still racing, his mind spinning. Cassian, back next door. Cassian, taller, broader, sharper, there.
And Altair, of course, hated every second of it.
(Hated it, despised it, absolutely loathed it—
but the smile tugging at his lips refused to agree.)