Page 82 of Arctic Titans of Northwood U: Volume 3

Andrei’s eyebrow lifted in that way that meant he was skeptical, suspicious, and trying to figure out my mood shift. “We don’t have to, Griff.”

The implication stung. As if spending time together had become an obligation instead of the default state of our existence. That he thought I was offering out of pity or guilt rather than genuine want.

I snorted, falling back on the casual tone that had always been my armor. “I know we don’t have to. I want to.”

Something shifted in the air between us. I watched emotions flicker across Andrei’s face too quickly to catalog them all. Wariness. Hope. Anger. The anger hit me hardest because I knew exactly how much I deserved it. I’d been pushing him away for a week, sending him photos of girls at parties like proof of normalcy, avoiding eye contact in our own room like we were strangers sharing an elevator instead of best friends who’d known each other for over a decade.

The silence stretched long enough that I thought he might refuse. Might tell me to go to hell and walk away, leaving me standing alone under the streetlight with nothing but my guilt for company.

“Our room, then,” he said finally. “We’ll grab the drinks from the fridge.”

My throat tightened. The intimacy of the suggestion, the familiar comfort of our shared space that I’d been avoiding like it might expose all my secrets, it all wrapped around me like a divine hand that had a reason to be cross with me. “Sure. Sounds good.”

We walked back toward campus, shoulder to shoulder, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body despite the cold air. The distance between us felt simultaneously too small and impossibly vast.

I tried to organize my thoughts into something coherent, something that would explain why I’d been acting like an asshole without actually explaining any of the real reasons. But every sentence I constructed in my head crumbled before I could give it voice.

How could I tell him I’d been avoiding him because looking at him made my chest tight? How could I tell him that every time he undressed, heat filled the pit of my stomach? How could I tell him that his best friend, who had been straight his entire life, was haunted by the shape of his ass? That I couldn’t be near him without remembering the feel of his underwear against my face, the forbidden sweetness of his scent filling my lungs? That I’d jerked off thinking about him and that the guilt was eating me alive?

I couldn’t. So I’d keep my mouth shut and try to piece together our friendship from the wreckage I’d created.

The team house loomed ahead of us, windows glowing with warm light from the common areas where our teammates were probably gathered. We could hear distant laughter, the thud of bass from someone’s speakers, the normal soundtrack of a Saturday evening.

Andrei picked up two cans of beer from the fridge in the kitchen.

We climbed the stairs to our floor in silence, each step feeling heavier than the last. When we reached our door, Andrei paused with his hand on the knob.

“You sure about this?” he asked, not looking at me.

“Yeah,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure about anything anymore. “I’m sure.”

He pushed the door open, and we stepped into the amber glow of our room, into the familiar chaos of our shared life. The string lights cast everything in warm tones that should have felt comforting but instead made my skin feel too tight.

He handed me one can of beer without meeting my eyes. I took it, our fingers brushing in the exchange, and felt electricity shoot up my arm from that brief contact.

This was insane. This was Andrei. My best friend. The person who knew me better than anyone else in the world. Nothing should have changed between us just because some strangers on the internet decided to write stories about us or because I’d had a moment of curious weakness in the shower.

But everything had changed, and we both knew it.

“Look,” I started, then stopped. The apology I’d been rehearsing died on my tongue.

Andrei set his beer down on his desk without taking a sip, his entire body going rigid. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t apologize if you don’t mean it.”

The accusation slapped me, but I deserved it. “What makes you think I don’t mean it?”

He laughed, but the sound was bitter and wrong coming from him. “Because you don’t even know what you’re apologizing for, Griff. You just know you hurt my feelings, and you want to fix it so things can go back to normal.”

He was right. He was absolutely right, and it made me feel like garbage.

“You have to know you’re my favorite person, Andrei,” I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “You know that, right?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Andrei stood frozen, barely breathing, his gaze fixed on the floor.

My heart hammered against my ribs, too loud in the quiet room. I’d said too much. Not enough. I couldn’t tell which.