(Third Person — Lucian)
Knox followed Lucian’s stare. His eyebrows went up. "Oh."
Max blinked twice. Then smiled — wide, ridiculous, nothing like the careful smile he usually rationed out.
"You came."
"I changed my mind," Lucian said.
"Clearly."
Lucian’s eyes cut to the glass in Max’s hand. "How much has he had?"
"One," Knox said.
Max held up three fingers, and said. "Two."
"Three?"
Max stared at three fingers like they’d betrayed him, then folded one down. "Two."
"He’s been here twenty minutes," Lucian said.
"He’s having fun."
"He’s drinking too fast."
Max leaned into Knox, stage-whispering. "He’s doing the angry captain thing."
"I noticed."
Lucian stepped closer. "Max. Come here."
Max looked at Knox. Looked back. "No."
Knox burst out laughing.
"Excuse me?" Lucian said.
"You said you’re not my captain outside practice." Max took another sip.
"I said that once."
"Still counts."
Someone at a nearby table shouted, "Game! Questions — miss it, you drink."
Max was already pulling out a chair before Lucian could object.
"You playing?" Max asked.
"No."
"Then why are you sitting?"
"Because somebody has to stop you from making stupid decisions."
"You’re funny."
"I’m not."
"Who’s the worst dancer here?" Marcus called out, flipping the first card.
Every hand at the table pointed somewhere different. Max pointed at himself.
"Correct," Marcus said.
Max reached for his glass. Lucian caught his wrist. "No."
"Rules are rules."
"You don’t have to drink every time."
Max slid his hand free anyway and drank.
"Who’s most likely to get kicked out of a club?"
Max pointed straight at Lucian. The table lost it.
"Me?"
"You look like you’d argue with the door."
Marcus nearly choked. "He’s not wrong."
Max drank again, grinning.
"You’re unbelievable," Lucian said.
"Thank you."
"That wasn’t a compliment."
"I accepted it anyway."
Another card flipped. "Who here would survive a zombie apocalypse the longest?"
Every hand at the table pointed at Lucian.
"See," Knox said. "Even zombies are scared of you."
"I’m not drinking for that."
"Rules are rules," Max said, delighted to throw his own words back at him.
Lucian drank. The table cheered like he’d done something heroic.
The music shifted, and Max was out of the chair before anyone could stop him.
"Where are you going?" Knox called after him.
"Dancing."
"You can dance?"
"No."
He vanished into the crowd.
Lucian stayed seated, fingers tapping the table once. Twice.
"You’ve been staring at him for five minutes," Marcus said.
"I haven’t."
"You have."
Marcus leaned toward Knox. "He’s definitely staring."
"I can hear you," Lucian said.
"Good."
Across the room, Max spun badly, nearly took out a passing tray, apologized three times, and laughed at himself.
"He’s going to regret tomorrow," Knox said.
"How much has he had. For real?" Lucian asked, standing.
Knox counted on his fingers. "Four. Maybe five."
"Five?"
"Small glasses."
"That doesn’t make it better."
Max came weaving back toward them, triumphant. "I’m winning."
"You haven’t won anything," Knox said.
"I won dancing."
"You almost walked into a speaker."
"The speaker moved."
"The speaker is bolted to the wall."
Max considered this with real gravity. "Then it cheated."
His foot caught the leg of a chair. His whole body tipped sideways.
Knox got there first, arm catching him under the shoulders. "Got you."
"I was fine."
"Sure."
Lucian was already moving. He took Max’s other arm, firm, done negotiating. "Enough."
"He’s okay," Knox said.
"I can see that."
"Then relax."
"Why did you let him drink this much?"
Knox’s easy smile finally dropped. "He’s an adult."
"He’s drunk."
"Still an adult."
"You keep handing a drunk person more drinks, that’s not friendship, that’s carelessness."
"You weren’t here."
"I’m here now."
"And that suddenly makes him yours to manage?"
Lucian’s jaw flexed. "He’s my brother."
Max’s head lifted, slow, delighted. "Brother."
Both of them looked at him.
"My brother," Max said again, softer, like he liked the sound of it too much to stop.
"Come on," Lucian said.
"I’ll take him," Knox said. "He came with me."
"And he’s leaving with me."
"You’re his captain, Lucian. Not his babysitter."
"I’m responsible for my team."
"This isn’t the rink."
"This is my brother."
Knox folded his arms. "This is life outside the rink."
"Move."
"No."
Max looked between them, delighted and useless. "You guys are fighting."
"Stay out of it," they said, together, and Max’s eyebrows shot up.
"That was scary."
Lucian reached for him. "Come here."
Max leaned toward him and lost his balance halfway there. Lucian caught his full weight against his chest, Max’s forehead landing on his shoulder.
"See?" Knox said. "He’s with me."
"No," Lucian said, over the top of Max’s head, and carefully set him back on his feet. "He’s going home."
Max smiled up at him, eyes glassy. "Brother."
"Yes."
"Lucian is my brother."
"I heard you."
"He’s mean."
Knox laughed. "That part I believe."
Max poked Lucian’s chest. "But he’s my brother."
Lucian caught the hand before it could poke him again. "Let’s go."
"Traitor," Lucian said, over his shoulder, steering Max toward the exit.
"You’re welcome," Knox called back.
Outside, the cold hit Max’s face and he stopped dead. "Cold."
"I know."
"My feet don’t want to."
"Your feet don’t get a vote."
He got Max into the passenger seat, buckled him in over a token protest, and pulled out onto the empty road. For a few minutes, Max stayed quiet, head against the window.
Then, "Hot."
Lucian turned the AC down a notch. "Better?"
"No."
"It’s freezing in here."
"Hot." Max tugged at the collar of his own shirt.
"Leave it."
"It’s hot, Lucian."
He kept tugging, fingers clumsy on the buttons, and by the time Lucian glanced over at a red light, Max had two undone and was working on a third.
"Max. Stop."
"It’s bothering me."
"We’re in the car."
"I don’t care."
Lucian reached over once, tried to still his hands, and Max just shrugged him off and kept going, shirt slipping half off one shoulder before Lucian gave up arguing with a drunk man about buttons at forty miles an hour and pulled onto the shoulder instead, throwing the car into park.
By the time he turned, Max had the shirt off entirely, bunched in his lap, skin pale and warm-looking in the dashboard light.
Lucian sat very still.
A car passed on the opposite side of the road, headlights sweeping briefly across the interior, across Max’s bare shoulder, and Lucian found himself angling his own body slightly, blocking the view without deciding to.
Something low and unfamiliar moved through his chest, and he shoved it down hard enough that his voice came out rougher than he meant it to. "You really think you can just do this. In front of any Alpha who happens to be looking."
"You’re not any Alpha."
"That’s not the point."
"You’re my brother." Max said it like it settled the matter entirely, tipping his head back against the seat. "Brothers don’t count."
"Everyone counts, Max."
"You’re overthinking."
"I’m not the one half-naked in a parked car."
Max looked down at himself like he was only now noticing. "Oh." He didn’t reach for the shirt.
He reached for the discarded shirt himself. Max swatted his hand away.
"No."
"Put it back on."
"No."
"Max—"
"No."
Lucian exhaled hard through his nose, reached into the back seat instead, and pulled his own jacket off the pile of gear there. He draped it around Max’s bare shoulders, careful, working one arm through a sleeve at a time while Max sat there blinking at him like the whole process was faintly fascinating.
"There." Lucian zipped it the rest of the way up, careful of his knuckles brushing skin. "Happy?"
"Warm."
"That wasn’t what I asked."
"Warm and happy," Max amended, already burrowing deeper into it.
Max pulled the collar up toward his face and breathed in.
"Smells like you."
Lucian’s hands stilled on the zipper.
"Nice," Max said, and tucked both hands into the sleeves, already sinking back against the seat.
Lucian pulled back onto the road without trusting himself to answer that.
They drove in silence for a while, streetlights sliding gold across the windshield, Max’s breathing slowing into something even and half-asleep beside him. His head kept tipping toward the window, then jerking back up, then tipping again, losing the fight a little more each time.
"You’re going to have a headache tomorrow," Lucian said, mostly to fill the quiet.
"Worth it."
"You say that now."
"I mean it now. Ask me again tomorrow."
"I will. Loudly. Right when you wake up."
Max’s eyes cracked open, unfocused, fixed somewhere near Lucian’s jaw. "Why did you come tonight?"
"I told you. I changed my mind."
"Liar."
He didn’t answer that.
"You came because I was there."
"Go to sleep, Max."
"I remember what you said," Max murmured, voice already going soft and slurred at the edges. "Stay away from Alphas you don’t know."
Lucian’s hands tightened on the wheel.
"I remember why you said it, too." Max’s eyes were nearly shut now, a small, private smile pulling at his mouth. "You were scared."
"I wasn’t."
"You were. Scared someone would touch me and you wouldn’t get there fast enough."
"That’s not—"
"It is, though."
"You were." His fingers curled loosely into the sleeve of Lucian’s jacket, holding on without seeming to notice he was doing it. "Lucian."
"What."
Max’s voice dropped to almost nothing, already halfway into sleep, and what came out of his mouth next made every muscle in Lucian’s body go rigid, hands frozen on the wheel, eyes fixed straight ahead on a road he could no longer really see.
"Do you love me?"