Logan notices instantly. His eyes flick down, then back to Tommy’s face. There’s no accusation in his expression. Just awareness.
Permission.
Tommy swallows, then gives the smallest nod. A yes that nobody else can see.
Chase’s foot slides upward, slow enough to stop at any point. It traces the inside of Tommy’s calf like a question.
Tommy’s fingers tighten around his water glass.
He is suddenly hyper-aware of his face, of keeping it neutral, of not giving away the secret to the couple laughing two tables over, to the server, to the entire world.
It’s ridiculous.
It’s thrilling.
It’s… intimate in a way he didn’t expect.
Logan’s hand stays at his back, steady as a heartbeat. The touch feels like a tether.
Chase’s foot moves higher, just brushing the line of Tommy’s knee now, a slow slide that makes Tommy’s stomach drop pleasantly.
Tommy’s cheeks burn. He hates how easy it is to read him. He loves it too.
He shifts slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position in the booth, trying to balance excitement with the physical reality of sitting upright in public while his body is doing private math.
The movement changes something.
Not dramatically, just a subtle internal shift, like a reminder turning into a stronger presence.
Tommy freezes.
He blinks once, then forces his face to stay calm.
That felt… different.
Chase’s foot stills immediately, as if he sensed the change.
Logan’s hand presses a fraction more firmly into Tommy’s back.
Tommy tries a tiny adjustment again, carefully, barely moving his hips.
The pressure changes again, sharper, fuller, suddenly not justtherebutwrong.
A cold thread of panic curls through the warmth.
Tommy’s breath catches.
He swallows hard and reaches for his water like it will fix him.
It doesn’t.
The room stays the same, candlelight, soft music, laughter.
But Tommy’s body feels like it’s leaning toward a ledge.
Logan turns his head slightly. His voice stays low, normal enough that it could be about the menu.
“You good?” he asks.
