"Oh. Hi Knox."
"Yes, Knox is here. Robin, pants. Please."
"Can't." Robin doesn't look even slightly apologetic. "Everything's in the laundry. Toby, you said I could borrow your towel—thank you, you're an angel." He blows Toby a kiss, then looks directly at me. "The hot water in my bathroom is broken. Again. Landlord says next week, maybe. Thankfully we got an apartment with two bathrooms."
I set the groceries on the counter with more force than necessary. The bottles inside clink together.
"Knox helped with groceries," Toby says, already unpacking bags, apparently oblivious to the tension crackling through the room. "Wasn't that nice?"
"So nice," Robin agrees. His eyes haven't left my face. "Very gentlemanly. Very... protective."
I don't respond. Can't, really, because he's standing there basically naked in and my lion wants to throw him out the window. The third-story window. Onto the concrete below.
"I'm making stir fry," Toby announces, pulling vegetables out of bags and arranging them on the counter. "Knox, do you want to stay? There's always too much."
Robin stretches, arms above his head, and the towel slips another inch. "I should get dressed. Unless you prefer me like this?"
The last part is directed at me, accompanied by a smirk that makes it very clear he knows exactly what he's doing.
"Robin." Toby throws a dish towel at him. "Stop terrorizing my—Knox. Stop terrorizing Knox."
My Knox.He almost said it. My lion latches onto those two words and won't let go.
"I'm not terrorizing. I'm being hospitable." But Robin finally—finally—wanders off down the hall, calling back over his shoulder: "Your purple hoodie is mine now, Tobes!"
"It's been mine for three years," Toby mutters, not quite under his breath. He's pulling out a cutting board now, finding a knife in a drawer. "He steals all my comfortable clothes. Says I have better taste in loungewear."
The apartment is small but comfortable. Lived-in, in a way that speaks to years of accumulated stuff—books everywhere, mismatched furniture, art prints taped to the walls. It smells like Toby and Robin and something floral, probably air freshener. Like home.
Like something I want.
"You don't have to stay," Toby says, not looking at me. He's arranging vegetables on the cutting board, movements precise. "I know this is weird. You showing up and me just... forcing dinner on you."
"You're not forcing anything."
"Okay, but—" He turns, and there's something vulnerable in his expression. Something careful. "Why are you here?"
Good question. I don't have a good answer that isn'tI want to murder your roommate for touching youormy lion has decided you're mine and I can't seem to make it stop.
"Wanted to make sure you got home safe," I say instead.
"It's six in the evening."
"This city's dangerous."
"I live in the suburbs." But he's smiling now, small and pleased, and something in my chest loosens. "Stay for dinner?"
"Yeah."
Robin reappears in nice black jeans and Toby's purple hoodie, still towel-drying his hair. He looks comfortable and domestic and infuriatingly at home in Toby's clothes.
"So Knox," he says, hopping up to sit on the counter, deliberately in Toby's way. "Tell me about your pride. Are they all as..." He gestures vaguely at me. "Intense?"
"Robin," Toby warns.
"What? I'm curious! It's not every day your best friend gets rescued by a motorcycle club of lion shifters." He grins. "Very sexy."
"Everything is not—"
