I was just about to chase a little dopamine for once… Who the hell is that?
With a faint prickle of annoyance, I frowned—right as the man pressed to my back whispered.
“Shouldn’t we check the door?”
“Can’t we just ignore it?”
“No. I think I know them.”
Know them?
I turned, puzzled, and Caesar pointed to the small window by the kitchen.
Through the slit in the curtains, you could see outside.
“They’re pacing in front of the door like they’re anxious.”
The second he said it, I went to the window, looked out, and recognized who was standing there.
“Mac!”
I ran straight to the entry and opened the door.
“What’s up?”
“Han!”
Mac looked like he’d seen a ghost, white as a sheet. He didn’t even bother to hide his nerves, stammering as he asked,
“H-Han, a-are you o-okay?”
“What are you even talking about? Day drinking? Bad dream?”
“M-my manager called—about your car…”
…Ah. On his way in, my manager must’ve seen I left the car where it was yesterday.
“I kept trying to call to hear what happened, but you wouldn’t pick up, so he got worried and called me.”
Makes sense. If something happened, someone would need to call the cops…
“And Noah’s sulking because you said you couldn’t make practice this morning… You don’t skip practice unless it’s serious. So I figured something was off and came over.”
“Ah…”
From Macaulay McQueen’s perspective, it was one big setup for the worst assumption.
I scratched my cheek and answered, a little sheepish.
“The car got jacked while I was gone. I’m fine.”
“You’re really okay?”
“Yeah. Not a scratch.”
Even so, Mac checked me over, turning me this way and that like he didn’t buy it.
“How am I supposed to believe you?”
“Come on, trust me.”
“How can I? You once finished the entire first half before admitting three toes were broken.”
“That was because I didn’t want to put pressure on you… If I couldn’t score and collapsed in the first quarter, you’d have to carry the next three.”
“Thanks to you, a three-week injury turned into five.”
“There weren’t any games in the break after anyway!”
“This is why I don’t trust you.”
He let out a long sigh, then patted my shoulder twice.
“You do look okay. Nothing seems cracked, you’re moving fine.”
Then he tugged me in for a quick hug—normal friend stuff—but I stiffened on reflex.
Caesar’s probably watching.
I slid my eyes toward the kitchen; sure enough, a faint silhouette showed behind the curtain we hang between kitchen and living room.
He got jealous over a phone call with Noah… What is he going to do now?
With a here-goes-nothing feeling, I accepted Mac’s hug, then eased him back as naturally as I could.
“So the misunderstanding’s… cleared up?”
“Yeah. One of them.”
One? There’s more?
I blinked, and Mac asked evenly,
“And your reason for skipping practice today would be?”
That, now, is the awkward one to explain.
I stalled, snuck another glance at the kitchen curtain. Quick on the uptake, Mac followed my gaze.
“Someone’s here?”
…Oh, God.
When he started to step forward, I grabbed his arm on instinct.
“D-don’t.”
“Why not? If you’ve got a guest, I should say hello. How long have we called each other brothers? Let’s have some manners.”
“It’s not that.”
“And wow, you actually let someone into your place? It took me three years to get invited.”
Heat rushed up my face.
When I went tomato-red in an instant, Mac looked startled.
“Why so shy? Don’t tell me…”
“…”
Lowering his voice, he asked,
“The person you brought… are you dating them?”
This is why sharp people are terrifying.
I couldn’t get the word out, so I gave the tiniest nod.
Mac whooped, then broke into a beaming grin.
“Thanks… for being happy like it’s your own news.”
“How could I not! You finally started this thing called dating!”
Ghhh—! Hearing the word out loud made my ears crawl like a bug had flown in.
Meanwhile, Mac asked, all pleased,
“Are they the one who said skip practice and hang out with them?”
Face going an even deeper red, I whispered,
“Yesterday—because of what happened… he came to get me, and, well, since something unpleasant happened, he didn’t want to leave me home alone…”
The more I explained, the bigger his smile got—like a grandpa seeing his first grandkid.
“I’m really glad it’s someone kind…”
Then he tried to peel my hand off his sleeve.
“I’ll say hi and go.”
“Aaagh!”
“Don’t be shy. As your brother, I can’t pass up this golden chance.”
You little—do you even know who’s behind that curtain…!
Clinging to him for dear life, I blurted,
“H-he’s not wearing clothes!”
“…”
“You just—showed up at a spectacularly bad time!”
At last Mac froze.
He sighed long and said,
“I’ve ruined your nice time.”
Apparently the urge to meet the mystery guest died there; he turned back toward the door.
“So the delay was because he was scrambling to get dressed. Makes sense.”
“…”
“I really missed the hint.”
He hugged me again, quick and light, with a grin.
“Have fun. Introduce me later!”
And he even closed my front door for me, looking all satisfied.
A real… considerate touch.
That was sarcasm.
“He’s sweet, but—fuck…”
I felt like my soul had flown out in the span of a minute.
While I stood there muttering curses, there was a rustle from the kitchen, and Caesar peeked his face through the curtain.
“Macaulay McQueen, then.”
“You know him…? Right, you said you’d been in touch.”
“Yes. He’s a good person—memorable.”
He stepped into the living room.
“Anyway.”
“…”
“I didn’t know I was undressed.”
“Ha…”
“Or that we were having a nice time.”
The coolness in my cheeks flared hot again.
Whether he knew or not, Caesar came right up to me.
“And I didn’t know you were…”
“Stop.”
“…seriously thinking of me as a romantic partner.”
“Stop. Stop, stop, please.”
I shoved at his chest, desperate, and he laughed like he was enjoying himself.
“Why? I’m honestly touched.”
“Ugh.”
“And I was a little excited.”
He slid an arm around my waist and asked,
“Should I undress now?”
I almost answered, “Please button up,” on reflex—but shut my mouth.
Didn’t I just try to do exactly that?
He’s been so ridiculously cute… I suddenly got the urge to drag him to the bedroom.
Why don’t I just strip him?
The second the thought tempted me, a brutally practical question flashed through my head.
Who’s on top?
I’m not confident about pinning him. One look at our size difference says it all.
But I’m not confident about being under him, either. To be precise—I’m not confident I won’t reflex-punch Caesar…
When I’m startled, my fists fly first…
If I feel pain… that’d be bad.
Especially now, when I’m not completely gone for him yet, I don’t have that “I’ll endure anything” resolve—and that’s how accidents happen.
I don’t want to hurt him.
The boil of want that had surged up like water off the kettle hit the wall of reality.
I don’t think I’m mentally ready…
Which left one conclusion. I glanced up at Caesar’s expectant face, took his shoulders, and gently pulled him down.
“Let’s settle for this, for now.”
Without complaint, he bent to me where I drew him.
His mouth was just a little dry, and soft.