After lunch, Julian finished tidying up. He sat on the designer sofa, watching the way the afternoon light wove patterns across the minimalist floor. He could stay here forever.

Drowsiness settled over him. Julian dragged the gargantuan orca plushie from the bedroom, sinking into its soft, springy embrace as he drifted off.

In the haze of sleep, Julian felt a phantom touch. A hand brushing through his hair. A palm cupping his cheek. Fingers tracing the sensitive skin behind his ear.

"Don't..." Julian was ticklish, shifting his head to the side, but the movement only allowed the hand to slide lower. The touch grew bolder, more possessive.

Julian's mind began to spin. He had never been handled like this—a confusing mix of intrusion and a strange, deep-seated itch. A soft whimper escaped his throat. Tears pricked the corners of his closed eyes.

Then he felt it—a firm grip on his ankle. A rough, calloused palm sliding up his calf, moving higher until it reached his [——].

Julian sobbed in the dream, and that's when he saw them. Four hands. One pair belonged to

Samuel

.

The other, to

Orca

.

The roar in Julian's ears was deafening. He was paralyzed, his body melting like warm cream under their touch. His vision blurred, his consciousness fracturing until a distant, ethereal sound pulled him back.

It was the sound of his own crying.

Julian jolted awake. The living room was bathed in golden light. A single beam illuminated the soft, flat line of his stomach where his T-shirt had ridden up.

He lay in the arms of the orca plushie, his heart hammering against his ribs. His sweats were damp. A total mess.

Julian buried his face in his hands, his skin turning a violent, scorched red. What is wrong with me? How could I dream that?

He scrubbed himself raw in the shower and laundered his clothes with a frantic, guilty energy. He shoved the plushie back into the bedroom and slammed the door, only to find a message from Samuel waiting on his phone.

Samuel:

Stopping by after work. Is that convenient?

Julian couldn't say no. But the memory of the dream felt like a brand. Desperate to compensate for his own "shameful" thoughts, he typed back a reply.

Julian:

Would you like to stay for dinner? I can host.

Samuel seemed surprised, but he agreed. Seven o'clock.

Julian messaged back to ask for his preferences and began to prep. He didn't usually cook in his old rental—he never had the time or the tools. But Julian was a natural. By the time he was ten, he was standing on a stool to stir-fry for his family while the adults worked the fields.

Samuel had requested red braised pork. Julian scanned the groceries Luke had brought and added beef stew, garlic shrimp, and a fresh salad to the menu.

The beef took the longest. Julian sliced the brisket, caramelized the sugar, and set the enamel pot to a low simmer. The shrimp would wait until the last minute.

At 6:30 PM, the trill of the lock echoed. Julian dropped his spatula and hurried to the entryway.

"You're here?"

"I'm back."

The words hit the air at the same time. Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat, both of them froze.

Samuel was in a charcoal cashmere overcoat, bringing a draft of the city's winter chill with him. He stood in the foyer with a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine, looking less like a boss and more like a husband returning home with a nightly offering.

Julian wore a thin hoodie and a pale yellow apron. He was barefoot on the heated floor, his hair soft and fluffy from his recent shower. He looked impossibly touchable.

A sharp sizzle from the kitchen broke the silence. Julian blinked, the spell snapping, and bolted back to the stove.

Time resumed its flow. Samuel set the wine and flowers on the table, shedding his heavy coat and blazer. He moved into the kitchen in just his shirt and vest, his silhouette sharp and powerful. "Need help?"

The lack of the jacket only emphasized Samuel's build. Julian's mind flashed to the humid, dizzying dream from that afternoon. He looked down at the cutting board, his ears turning pink. "Take the... ribs... out."

Samuel looked around, confused. "Where are the ribs?"

Julian realized his mistake, his face burning hotter. "No ribs. The beef stew. Sorry."

Samuel did as he was told, tossing the salad while Julian finished the shrimp. By 7:00 PM, they sat down to a full spread. The wine Samuel brought was light and sweet; Julian found himself actually enjoying it.

It wasn't their first meal together—they'd eaten during business trips—but the intimacy of the apartment shifted the atmosphere. Julian also noticed something new: Samuel ate a lot. He was a pure carnivore.

"You're too thin," Samuel noted, dropping more meat onto Julian's plate. "Eat more."

Julian let out a silent huff. I'm thin because I pull eighty-hour weeks for you. But he just nodded. "I'll try."

He had cooked enough for leftovers, but by the end of the meal, only a smear of sauce remained. Julian was stunned. Two pounds of beef, a pound of pork, and two pounds of shrimp—Samuel had cleared it all in one sitting.

And yet, despite the intake, Samuel's stomach remained perfectly flat. Julian's gaze wandered lower, noting the impressive line of the man's...

Wait. Where am I looking?!

"See something you like?" Samuel caught him before Julian could look away.

"Your... appetite," Julian stammered, heart racing. "It's big."

Samuel loaded the dishwasher with a practiced ease. "High metabolism. Plus, I train."

Julian eyed the man's muscle through the fabric of his vest and felt a surge of envy. He needed to get back into a routine.

After dinner, Samuel called him to the front door. "Think of a new password."

Julian blinked. "A new one?"

"For the lock," Samuel said. "I've wiped the old codes and deleted the other face-IDs. From now on, you're the only one who can open this door."

Julian felt a sudden warmth in his chest. A sense of being prioritized.

Samuel pulled on his coat to leave. He paused in the entryway, looking back. "Were you out today? Luke said he didn't see you when he dropped off the bags."

"I..." Julian's throat went dry. "I was hiding."

"Why?" Samuel asked, his voice low. "It's not like we're in a shameful relationship, Julian."

Julian's brain short-circuited. Shameful? No. But that dream certainly was.

"Relax," Samuel said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I'm joking." He raised his right hand, reaching toward Julian.

Julian felt his pulse hammer. He instinctively leaned forward, anticipating a touch—a hand on his hair, perhaps.

But Samuel's hand bypassed his head, snagging the car keys from the top of the shoe cabinet. "I'm off. See you tomorrow."

"Oh," Julian breathed, his shoulders dropping slightly. "See you."

Samuel didn't leave immediately. He stayed in the doorway, watching Julian for a long beat. In the narrow space of the foyer, something heavy and unspoken began to ferment.

Then Samuel took a step back. "I'm leaving."

The door clicked shut. Julian stood in the silence, his lips parted. He felt a sharp, sudden pang of loss.

He really thought Samuel was going to touch him.