“Why? Do I look traumatized?” Cree asked, mildly amused by Jordan’s rambling assessment.
Jordan turned in his seat. Cree’s eyes went wide as Jordan cupped his face, studying him closely. Warm palms. Glitter-dusted fingertips. The faint scent of vanilla and hair products.Cree felt pinned, but not by force—by this gorgeous boy’s undivided attention. Real, startling attention.
Cree wanted to pull away from the scrutiny, but not Jordan’s touch.
After what felt like seconds, Jordan’s shoulders sagged. “Yeah, actually. But you’re definitely the type to grin and bear it. The strong, silent type.”
The words landed like a clean strike, precise and devastating. Nobody nailed Cree that quickly. Nobody saw him that clearly.He wasn’t sure what to say or do.
Jordan dropped his hands, his face falling as he said, “I’m sorry. Ignore me. I—I just shoot my mouth off and act like I know what I’m talking about, but I’m mostly just full of shit. I?—”
“No,” Cree said quietly. “You’re right. I’m just…surprised.” He gave a small shrug. “Most people tend to avoid any deep topics to avoid any…discomfort.”
“Most people tend to avoid me because I love the deep topics that make people uncomfortable,” Jordan admitted.
“I can't imagine anyone avoiding you,” Cree said honestly.
Jordan’s breath caught, his expression softening, like Cree had handed him something delicate and he actually knew how to hold it. The dim amber light flickered, washing Jordan’s face in gold—and Cree had the ridiculous thought that Jordan looked like something out of a dream. Bright. Unfiltered. Impossible to look away from.
“I had a fucked up childhood, too. Just so you know. Like, I’m a big ol’ mess. I just shove all my angst into my music, you know? You need an outlet. Or a therapist. I’d say music is cheaper than therapy, but it’s not really true. Lessons, instruments…they cost a fortune. Luckily, for me, my parents were loaded and willing to throw money at whatever activities kept them from having to acknowledge I was anything but fine.” He gave Cree another lopsided smile. “But it’s a good way to channel my feelings.”
“Do you have a lot of those?” Cree asked softly, hoping his tone came across as teasing.
“Oh, I haveallof them,” Jordan said, giving him a wry smile. It wobbled at the edges, like humor was his first line of defense against the world. “I’ve been told I’mverydramatic.”
Cree turned his whole body toward Jordan’s, mirroring his posture. Something about matching him felt instinctive—like meeting him halfway without knowing why it mattered. “I can see that.”
“Does it bother you?” Jordan asked, his voice small.
Cree frowned. “Does what bother me?”
“That I’m dramatic?” Jordan asked.
Cree shook his head, unable to stop himself from admitting the truth. “I’m not sure you could do anything to ‘bother’ me.”
Jordan’s breath hitched—a tiny, soft sound, almost too quick to catch. It hit Cree like a fist to the sternum.
“Oh,” Jordan said, a little breathless. “Your flirting game is lethal.”
Cree met his gaze, voice low as he said, “I’m not flirting, I’m just being honest.”
Jordan’s eyelids fluttered like he was processing. He stared at him for a long moment before blurting, “I bet you have an amazing smile.”
Cree wasn’t sure what compelled him to smile at him—his real smile. The one so rare it made the muscles of his face hurt to use them.
Jordan covered Cree’s face with both hands, fingers warm against his cheeks. “No, yeah. Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Smile like that,” Jordan said, seemingly shy. His voice dipped, his lashes lowering, like Cree had just weaponized something tender.
Cree laughed softly, tugging Jordan’s hands down but not letting them go. “Why not?”
Jordan sighed wistfully. “Yeah, I’ll definitely fall in love.”
The words punched straight through Cree’s ribs. They were said like a joke, but Jordan’s eyes flickered—like maybe it wasn’t. Like maybe he scaredhimselfwith how easily he said it.
Cree opened his mouth, but then his phone beeped loudly, startling them both.
