Lucien had been wiping the same table for eleven straight minutes, and by now the surface was so clean it was starting to look personally threatened.

Jamie's words kept circling in his head with unbearable clarity.

Maybe Leon just wasn't into his type.

Lucien scrubbed harder, then stopped with the rag still pressed flat beneath his palm.

That couldn't be right. Leon liked touching him. Leon picked him up as if it were the most natural thing in the world, held his hand like it belonged there, watched him sometimes with an intensity that made Lucien forget how to stand properly. But Leon had never actually said anything. Not once. No confession, no clear flirtation, no direct statement Lucien could point to without sounding ridiculous.

He dropped the rag onto the table with a frustrated little slap.

Was Leon seriously flirting by accident?

Across the city, Leon sat alone in his apartment, staring at his phone with a patience that had started turning sharp around the edges.

Lucien had agreed to come study at his place. Leon should have been satisfied with that. Instead, the memory of Lucien's strange mood had lodged under his skin and refused to leave.

By evening, restraint lost.

Leon called him.

"I bought groceries earlier," he said, keeping his voice low and easy. "If you're free tomorrow, I can pick you up. I could bake something too, if you like sweets."

Lucien was quiet for a beat before answering.

"I'm busy these next couple days. Maybe another time."

The call ended before Leon could decide whether to push.

He sat still for several seconds, phone dark in his hand.

Something was wrong.

Leon replayed everything from Halloween with increasing irritation. Maybe he had gone too far on the subway, or maybe Lucien hadn't liked the hand-holding, or maybe the private room at dinner had felt too much like a date when Lucien hadn't wanted one. Every answer led back to the same unpleasant truth: Leon had been less careful than he'd meant to be.

Every time he saw Lucien, control became something physical, something he had to hold in both hands and keep from snapping. Touching him once made Leon want more. Holding his hand made him think about pressing his mouth to Lucien's palm just to feel him shiver. Seeing that soft red mouth made him want to ruin it with kisses until Lucien stopped trying to look composed.

Leon lit a cigarette, finished it, then lit another.

Eventually, he opened Twitter.

The photo had been sitting in his drafts for days, originally taken because he knew Lucien would like it. White shirt, sleeves pushed up, two buttons undone, enough exposed skin to be suggestive without making the intent impossible to deny.

Leon sent it from the Saoirse account with a sour feeling in his chest.

If Lucien noticed random men online that easily, fine. Leon could compete with ghosts too.

Thirty minutes passed.

Nothing.

Leon finally typed again.

Saoirse: Hello, busy tonight?

At the pizza shop, Lucien glanced down at the notification and stared at the photo with little enthusiasm.

See, this was normal. Western guys who wanted hookups made themselves obvious. They sent photos like that. They flirted, invited, hinted, pushed. They did not quietly cook Chinese food and hold someone's hand and then act as if they had simply been helping a friend cross the street.

Lucien froze.

What if that was exactly what Leon thought he was doing?

What if Lucien had misunderstood all of it?

His grip tightened around the phone.

The more he thought about it, the less he could tell when things with Leon had stopped feeling casual. Somewhere between the boxing match, the borrowed jacket, the ranch trip, the apartment, Halloween, and all those late-night calls, Leon had quietly become part of his everyday life, and Lucien had let it happen because a selfish part of him had wanted it to mean something.

But did male friends usually carry each other around like that? Did they lock fingers when holding hands? Did they look at each other like Leon sometimes looked at him?

Maybe Western friendships were just terrifying.

Lucien sat there for another moment, then opened the stranger's chat.

Fine. He could ask someone who wasn't Leon.

Lucien: Hey, random question.

Saoirse: Go ahead.

Lucien hesitated, then typed before he could lose courage.

Lucien: Do you have close guy friends?

Leon narrowed his eyes at the message.

Interesting.

Saoirse: A few.

Lucien: Do you hold hands with them? Or hug them a lot?

Leon went still.

So Lucien had noticed.

His jaw tightened as he read the question again. That had to be it. Lucien had finally realized Leon's behavior wasn't casual, and now he was trying to make sense of it because he didn't like what he'd found.

The thought landed cold beneath Leon's ribs.

He wanted Lucien comfortable. He wanted him unafraid. He wanted that bright, unguarded smile, the one that made him look painfully alive.

But wanting Lucien happy didn't mean Leon was capable of letting him go.

Not really.

Leon exhaled slowly, forcing his hand to loosen around the phone. Lucien came from a culture where feelings weren't thrown around carelessly; he'd said as much himself. Maybe Leon had moved too fast. Maybe the smarter thing was to retreat, give Lucien room, let him come closer on his own.

Even if everything in him wanted the opposite.

Saoirse: Sure. Pretty normal where I'm from.

At the pizza shop, Lucien stared at the reply as if it had personally betrayed him.

So Leon really did think they were just friends.

For a few seconds, embarrassment burned so hot he could barely breathe. He had been standing there reading romantic meaning into every touch while Leon was probably treating him like some small, portable brother.

Unbelievable.

Foreigners needed legal guidelines.

Lucien sat up abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. Fine. If Leon wanted friendship, then Lucien could be an extremely confusing friend. A pretty friend. A friend in a short outfit. A friend who studied economics very seriously and did not care whether Leon noticed his legs.

He opened Leon's chat.

Lucien: Actually I'm free tomorrow now. Can I come study at your apartment?

Leon's phone lit up.

He stared at the message for a long time before replying.

Leon: Of course. I'll pick you up.

Then he tossed the phone onto the couch and leaned back, one hand dragging slowly over his face.

So that was it.

Lucien had confirmed there was no "special" meaning, and now he felt safe enough to come over.

Dangerous little lamb.

One day that trust was going to get him in trouble.

The next morning, Lucien woke earlier than necessary.

First came his hair.

Normally, if left unattended, it fluffed outward in every direction and made him look like an electrocuted puppy. Today required strategy. He found a tutorial online, fought with the hair dryer for nearly forty minutes, and finally managed to make the dark strands fall neatly around his face.

Then came clothing.

He tore through his closet before finding a white shirt and black shorts that looked vaguely uniform-like. The shorts were shorter than anything he usually wore, and he stood in front of the mirror for a long time before putting them on anyway.

Sometimes, war required sacrifice.

By the time he finished, he was already late.

He grabbed his backpack and hurried downstairs.

Leon had been waiting by the car for almost twenty minutes, though waiting had never bothered him when Lucien was involved. He had spent the entire time reminding himself to behave. Lucien already suspected something. That meant less touching, less staring, less obvious hunger whenever Lucien came too close.

Then Lucien stepped out of the dorm building, and every plan Leon had carefully built collapsed at once.

The white shirt was tucked neatly into black shorts, making his waist look narrow enough for Leon's hands to span. His legs were bare beneath the hem, pale and straight in the morning light, and the sight hit Leon with the force of a punch he had no intention of blocking.

Lucien crossed the sidewalk toward him completely unaware of the damage he was causing.

His hair looked softer than usual, smoothed carefully around his face, and his eyes were bright in the way they got when he was pretending not to be nervous.

"Did you wait long?" Lucien asked.

Leon didn't answer immediately.

For one terrible second, all he could think about was tugging those shorts down.

Lucien blinked, then stepped closer.

"What's wrong?"

Leon caught the scent of soap when the wind shifted.

Clean, faintly sweet, and warm from Lucien's skin.

"Are you wearing cologne?" he asked.

Lucien looked startled.

"No."

He lowered his head and sniffed his own sleeve like he genuinely needed to check.

"Maybe body wash?"

Leon looked away before his face betrayed him.

"Maybe."

Lucien studied him uncertainly.

"Are you allergic or something? I really didn't put anything on."

Allergic.

That would have been easier.

Leon opened the passenger door instead.

"Give me your bag."

Inside the car, the scent became worse. The enclosed space trapped it around them until Leon could taste it at the back of his throat. He lowered the window, letting cold air rush in.

Lucien watched him from the corner of his eye and slowly became offended.

Was the smell really that strong?

If Leon disliked it so much, why invite him over?

The drive to the apartment was quiet in a way that made Lucien increasingly annoyed and Leon increasingly aware of the bare length of Lucien's thighs every time he shifted in the passenger seat.

By the time they arrived, Leon's self-control felt frayed thin.

He took Lucien's backpack, led him upstairs, and unlocked the apartment without comment.

Lucien changed shoes at the entrance, pointedly ignoring the sheep slippers in the cabinet even though he noticed them immediately. Leon noticed him noticing and decided not to say anything, because if Lucien put them on today, Leon might actually lose his mind.

"You want milk?" Leon asked.

Lucien glared at him.

"I'm here to study, not be fed."

Leon's mouth curved despite himself.

"Tea, then."