Sage was already looking at him. Not with the casual glance from before. Not neutral. Not daring either. Something else. Different. Bryce tried for a joke, but nothing came out. He could hear his own heartbeat. He curled his fingers into his jeans and told them not to shake.
Lizzie clapped her hands. “Closet, boys!”
Dan whooped. “Two minutes! The rules demand it.”
“I hate all of you,” Bryce said, and they all laughed like he’d meant it to be funny.
Sage stood up slowly. “You heard the crowd,” he said, voice steady. “Scientific method.”
Bryce barked a short laugh that felt like it scraped his throat on the way out. “Pretty sure this is not peer-reviewed.”
“Peer-pressured,” Dan corrected.
“Consent,” Tara said again, firm.
Sage flicked her a look, then faced Bryce. “You good?”
There it was. The thing that cut clean through the noise. The thing that worked on him every time. Bryce swallowed and nodded. “Yeah.”
Sage’s mouth softened. Not a smile exactly. Relief maybe. Or just readiness.
Bryce got to his feet. The room looked different now that he had stood. Faces tilted up, eyes bright, a circle of people he liked, who he hoped would forget this in the morning or turn it into some joke. His palms felt stupidly warm and clammy, and he wiped them on his jeans.
They crossed the short distance together. Bryce reached the closet first and put his hand on the knob. It stuck like always. He jiggled. The door sighed open on that old, familiar hitch. Winter coats greeted him along with things they’d shoved in there to keep them out of the way.
Behind him, Lizzie called, “No planning your weekend in there. Puffy lips or it didn’t happen.”
“Add that to your rule list,” Dan told her.
“Add ‘shut up,’” Tara shot back.
Laughter rolled in. Bryce heard it like it was down a hallway. He glanced sideways at Sage, close enough now to see the tiny nick near his jaw where he’d shaved too fast, the way his gray eyes went darker at the edges when the light dimmed.
You can say no, his brain offered it up like a lifeline. You can back out. You can laugh it off and sit down, and nothing changes. He didn’t move away.
Sage stepped inside first, turned so his back touched coats, giving Bryce the easy space by the door. “No letting rip,” he said, deadpan.
“Ha,” Bryce managed and stepped in after him. He pulled the door partway closed, the room outside falling to a stripe.
“Just rub your lips,” someone stage whispered. “We won’t know.”
Sage huffed a laugh. “Like they’ll believe that.”
Bryce swallowed. “I’m too good to resist.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Sage said, but his voice had gone a shade lower.
He lifted a hand, not quite touching. “Ready?”
Bryce’s mouth answered before his better sense did. “Yeah.”
He closed the door.
Darkness slipped over them, soft and breath warm. Coats brushed his shoulders. He could hear the faint thump of music through the wall, the murmur of their friends, the quiet of Sage breathing two inches away. The game had rules. The room had none. His chest felt tight.
“Let’s get this over with,” Sage murmured.
Bryce found himself smiling in the dark, nerves jumping. “Yeah.” He leaned in. And the world narrowed to the shape of Sage’s mouth coming to meet his.
