I aim for a joke. “Never been called that before.”
He glances at me, a tiny smile on his face. “You’re just a lot quieter than I remember. Or, settled is probably a better description.” He looks out the balcony doors. “It’s… different, having someone here. I thought it would be harder to get used to it, I’ve been living alone for over a year now. But you’re… easy to be around.”
“Okay,” I say, trying to tamp down the excitement I feel knowing Gabe doesn’t mind me in his space. “Good.”
We watch the rest in a comfortable sprawl, sharing Oreos and old memories. When the credits roll, I stretch until my joints pop.
“Still a ten out of ten,” I say. “No notes. Perfect cinema.”
Gabe stands, gathering the empty cookie packet. “Thank you,” he says, not meeting my eyes.
“For what?”
“For… watching it with me. For talking about my parents.”
Something squeezes behind my ribs. “Anytime. We can work our way through the whole Shaw rainy-weekend catalog.”
He hesitates, then nods. “I’d like that.” I don’t know how the little smile he gives can make me feel so dizzy, but it does.
He brings the trash to the kitchen before peeking back at me. “I’m going to head to bed now.”
“Goodnight, Gabe.”
“Goodnight, Noah.”
I watch him go. It’s not the same as those old Saturdays. It’ll never be. But it feels like the start of new memories.
I wake earlier than I want, staring at the ceiling for a few minutes before I give up on sleep altogether. I’m not heading to the gym today, we can’t do any more until the space passes inspection. The apartment is quiet except for the occasional creak of a floorboard somewhere down the hall. Gabe must be up already.
I roll out of bed and walk to the bathroom, stripping off my underwear before I hit the shower.
It kicks on with a groan, pipes rattling, steam filling the space.
I forgot to bring shampoo, so I’ve been using Gabe’s. He hasn’t said anything, but I should probably pick up my own. Still, I pop the cap again, becausefuck—that scent is addictive.
Amberwood.
It’s warm and earthy, with this soft, clean undertone that somehow fits him perfectly. I close my eyes as I work it into myhair, letting the smell linger in the steam, soaking into my skin. For a second, I stand there, breathing it in, like it might tell me something about him if I stay still long enough.
And then I feel it—the slow, heavy pulse of my cock.
My mind goes there before I can stop it. Gabe in the kitchen yesterday, cardigan sleeves shoved up, jaw shadowed with stubble, tongue peeking out to lick the icing from the center of his Oreo. The mental image knocks the air out of me.
“Fuck,” I mutter, bracing a hand against the tile. My other hand drops, wrapping around my cock. One stroke. Then another. My hips twitch forward helplessly.
Gabe that morning after being out running, sweat-soaked, flushed, and breathing heavy. How his arm flexed when he rubbed the back of his neck.
There’s no chance of stopping the sound that escapes me.
Gabe tucked into the corner of the sofa, looking soft and warm. Smiling at me while watching a movie.
The steam smells like him, my fist lathered with his shower gel, and for a second, I’m stupid enough to imagine it’s his hand. I could finish quickly like this—
“Nope.” I squeeze my eyes shut, grit my teeth, and force myself to let go.
I set the water to cold to rinse. I need to cool off. Pretend like I wasn’t about to get myself off to the thought of my best friend’s brother.
Pretend like I haven’t thought about doing it countless times before. I press my forehead into the wall tile and let out a tortured groan.
