Keegan closed the window with a heavy click, shutting out the roar of the storm, before turning to stare at the dripping mess on his floor.
“Are you out of your mind?” Keegan demanded, crossing his arms.
“You drove a full hour in this weather?
Why the hell are you here, Ash?”
Ashton didn’t answer right away.
He just let out a dramatic, shivering groan, shaking his head like a wet dog.
Freezing water splattered across Keegan’s neatly stacked textbooks.
“Firstly,” Ashton grumbled, casually walking over to the other side of the room, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the carpet.
“You thought you’d just leave me at that party by myself?
Did you want me to die of boredom?
To literal death, Keegs?”
He didn’t wait for an invite.
Ashton marched straight to Keegan’s closet, sliding the door open as if he owned the place.
He grabbed a clean, dry towel from the top shelf, immediately throwing it over his wet, dark hair, before tossing his soaked clothes onto the floor.
He began rummaging through Keegan’s drawers, pulling out a pair of soft gray pajama pants and a black t-shirt.
Keegan watched him, a familiar, painful ache tightening in his chest.
He forced himself to walk back to his desk, sinking into his chair and pulling his laptop closer.
He opened up his digital art portfolio, staring blankly at the screen to avoid looking at Ashton’s bare, athletic shoulders.
“I didn’t leave you alone,” Keegan said, his voice flat and bored.
“Wasn’t Chloe there?”
Ashton pulled the oversized black shirt over his head, the fabric smelling cleanly of Keegan’s ownCologne.
A smug, cheeky smirk spread across his face.
“Well, she didn’t even stay that long at the party, man,” Ashton said, tying the drawstrings of the sweats.
“Besides us having the best sex ever, obviously.
But she left a few minutes later.
Said she had some doctor’s appointment in the morning for something-something…”
He trailed off, tossing the damp towel onto the corner of Keegan’s made bed.
He was mostly dry now, his hair still slightly damp and messy, falling over his hazel eyes in a way that made him look more younger, softer.
Keegan kept his eyes glued to his laptop screen, his fingers typing aimlessly as he pretended to search for art project concepts.
His heart was hammering a bruising, angry rhythm against his ribs.
Hearing about Chloe—hearing Ashton talk so casually about his perfect, straight life—was a physical sting.
But Keegan kept his face an emotionless, bored mask.
He had years of practice hiding his wreckage from the boy who caused it.
Suddenly, a cool shadow fell over him.
Ashton leaned down over Keegan’s shoulder, invading his space entirely.
The damp, cool ends of Ashton’s hair brushed against the side of Keegan’s neck, touching the fabric of his gray hoodie and sending a sharp shiver straight down Keegan’s spine.
Ashton’s scent—rain, his usual expensive cologne, and taht natural amber scent that always clung to his skin—filled the small space between them.
“Hey,” Ashton murmured, peering at the laptop screen where Keegan was aimlessly scrolling through layout designs.
“Were you even listening to me?
I just told you I had the best sex with my girlfriend, and I couldn’t even stay at the damn party because My Best Friend—you, Mr.
Sterling—chose some stupid books over me.”
“Ash, I heard everything you were saying,” Keegan muttered, his fingers never freezing on the keyboard.
He didn’t dare turn his head.
If he did, his nose would brush against Ashton’s damp cheek, and he couldn’t afford that kind of slip-up tonight.
“I told you, I have an important exam tomorrow.
If you’re sleeping over, as long as you’re dry, just get comfy on the bed, okay?
I actually need to study.”
Ashton let out a dramatic, exaggerated sigh, his breath warm against the side of Keegan’s neck before he finally pulled back.
“You’re such a bummer when you’re a nerd, you know that?” Ashton grumbled, rolling his shoulders.
He walked over to the bed and flopped down onto the mattress with zero grace, face-first into Keegan’s pillows.
He dragged Keegan’s spare duvet over his lower half, completely making himself at home.
Despite his allergies, he didn’t push Puck away when the orange cat trotted over to curl up against his hip.
Ashton just reached out a hand, blindly scratching the cat behind the ears while pulling his phone out of his pocket.
The quiet of the room returned, save for the soft, rapid tapping of Ashton’s thumbs against his screen and the rhythmic lashing of the rain against the windowpane.
Keegan finally let out the breath he’d been holding.
He stared at his laptop screen, the glowing layout designs blurring before his eyes.
Across the small room, the blue light from Ashton’s phone illuminated his sharp profile—smug, relaxed, and entirely oblivious to the absolute havoc his mere presence was wreaking on the boy sitting at the desk.
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
It was just after two in the morning when Keegan finally stopped typing.
He rolled his shoulders back, rubbing the back of his neck and listening to the satisfying, dull pop of his joints.
His art portfolio was officially complete,
and ready for the critical eyes of his Professor in the morning.
He shut his laptop with a quiet click, then closed the massive classical architecture textbook, sliding it to the corner of the desk.The room was completely quiet now, save for the steady, rhythmic patter of the rain outside.
Keegan glanced down at the floor.
Puck had finally abandoned the bed, choosing to curl up into a tight, orange cinnamon roll inside his own small padded basket near the closet.
Then, Keegan’s eyes drifted to the bed.
Ashton was fast asleep, sprawled out in one of his typical, chaotic sleeping positions—one leg kicked out of the duvet, his head buried sideways into Keegan’s pillow.
Keegan’s oversized black t-shirt had ridden up high over Ashton’s ribs, exposing the sharp, defined lines of his lower abs.
Keegan stood frozen by the desk, his gaze dropping to the smooth skin of Ashton’s stomach.
His chest tightened, a familiar, dangerous heat rising in his throat.
He stared for a beat too long, his mind drifting to places it had no business going, before he violently snapped himself out of it.
Sighing quietly, Keegan walked over to the side of the bed.
He reached down to grab Ashton’s phone, which was lying on the mattress right next to his limp hand.
The screen was still on, vibrating with a rapid succession of incoming notifications, the blue light casting sharp shadows over Ashton’s sleeping face.
Keegan’s plan was simply to silence it and set it face-down on the nightstand.
But as his fingers brushed the cold glass, his eyes caught the screen.The phone wasn’t locked.
It was open to an active Instagram chat.
The profile picture at the top was Chloe—her flawless, white-toothed smile staring back at him.
Beside it, the contact name was saved simply with a red hearts and a ring emoji.
Keegan’s thumb hovered over the screen.
He knew he should lock it.
He knew he should respect Ashton’s privacy no matter how close they are.
But the silent, agonizing insecurity that had been clawing at his ribs all night won.
His heart hammered against his chest as he looked down at the messages.The chat was filled with photos Chloe had sent over the last hour.
Keegan’s face slowly began to harden as he looked at them.
They were pictures of her in what looked like her bedroom, posing in front of a mirror in delicate, expensive-looking black lingerie.
In another, she was wearing nothing but a pair of completely see-through shorts, her bare skin visible beneath the lace.
A cold, heavy knot formed in Keegan’s stomach.
He wanted to look away, but his thumb moved on its own, scrolling upward.
He desperately wanted to believe Ashton was just an innocent bystander to this—that Chloe had sent them unsolicited.
Then, he saw Ashton’s own sent messages.
Ashton: Send me something sexy before I sleep, babe.
Missed you after you left the party xx..
Chloe:[Sent a photo]
Chloe: I Missed you too!
Where are you sleeping tonight?
Back at home?
Ashton: Nah, just crashing at my brother’s place tonight.
Too wet to drive back .
‘My brother’s place’
Keegan stared at the words until they blurred.
“Brother.”
It shouldn’t have hurt.
They had been called brothers by their parents, their coach, and their friends for their entire lives.
But seeing Ashton write it out so casually to his gorgeous, half-naked girlfriend—using Keegan as a convenient, safe cover story while he begged her for sexy photos—was a silent, devastating blow.
It stripped away every lingering, foolish hope Keegan kept locked in the corners of his heart.
To Ashton, Keegan was a brother.
A safe harbor.
A utility.
Keegan slowly reached up and clicked the power button, plunging the screen into pitch-black darkness.
He set the phone gently on the nightstand, the cold metal clinking quietly against the wood.
He felt entirely hollow.
Moving slowly, Keegan climbed onto the other side of the double bed, pulling the spare duvet up to his chest.
He turned his back to Ashton, staring blankly at the dark wall, listening to the rain beat against the glass.
He felt the vast, empty distance between them, even though they were sharing the exact same mattress.
A few minutes passed.
In his sleep, Ashton let out a soft, low groan.
Sensing the shift in the bed and the sudden warmth of another body, Ashton subconsciously rolled over.
He shifted closer, his face turning toward Keegan’s back, and naturally flung his heavy, warm arm over Keegan’s waist, pulling himself flush against Keegan’s side.
Ashton’s face pressed right into the crook of Keegan’s shoulder blades, his even, warm breath puffing through the fabric of Keegan’s hoodie.
Keegan lay frozen, his eyes wide, his breath catching in his throat.
The heavy weight of Ashton’s arm felt so right, so warm, and so utterly torturous.