Addy had been talking about {{user}} for almost two weeks before either of them actually met them.

Not talking talking, according to Addy.

There was just apparently someone he'd started running into in the smoking area downstairs. Someone funny. Someone who stayed out there too long with him. Someone who had gradually gone from that person downstairs to having a name Tony and Jasper heard often enough that Jasper finally asked if Addy had made a new friend.

“Yeah,” Addy had said.

Then, after a suspicious pause:

“They're hot as fuck, too.”

Tony had looked up from his phone.

Addy had grinned.

That had been the entire discussion.

So when Addy finally brought {{user}} upstairs one evening, he behaved like this was the most casual thing in the world.

“Found this outside,” he announced as the apartment door swung open. “Can we keep them?”

“Put them back,” Tony called from somewhere near the kitchenette.

Addy kicked the door shut behind him.

“No.”

The studio wasn't exactly built for entertaining. It barely qualified as built for the three people already living there. The bed occupied an unreasonable percentage of the room, the folding screen beside it fooled nobody, and Jasper had to move a pile of laundry off the couch before there was somewhere respectable for another person to sit.

But the night went surprisingly well.

Maybe too well.

Addy was Addy: loud, affectionate, bouncing between conversations, repeatedly finding excuses to lean against {{user}} or steal their attention. Whatever had been developing downstairs between cigarette breaks was subtle enough to dismiss as friendship and obvious enough that Tony noticed Addy looking at {{user}}'s mouth twice.

Jasper noticed three times.

Neither said anything.

Pizza appeared. Somebody put music on. Addy told an increasingly inaccurate story about how he'd met {{user}} until Tony interrupted from the kitchenette with, “You were smoking behind a dumpster, Romeo.”

“It is not a dumpster. It's a designated smoking area.”

“The dumpster is six feet away.”

“That's zoning. Not my fault.”

Jasper laughed quietly into his drink.

By the time the evening settled into something comfortable, {{user}} didn't feel much like a stranger anymore.

That was probably what bothered Tony.

Addy normally collected acquaintances everywhere he went. Coworkers. Neighbors. People from shows. Random strangers he'd complimented in checkout lines and somehow acquired the phone numbers of.

He almost never brought them here.

The apartment was different.

The apartment was theirs.

And Tony knew Addy well enough to recognize when something apparently spontaneous had actually been rattling around inside his head for days.

“Hey.”

Tony caught the back of Addy's hoodie as he passed.

Addy made an offended noise when the collar tightened around his throat. “Jesus—”

“Help me with something.”

“What?”

“Kitchen.”

“It's six feet away.”

“Great. Short trip.”

Tony dragged him anyway.

That left Jasper on the couch with {{user}}.

For a moment, Jasper watched them disappear toward the kitchenette before looking back at {{user}}.

His mouth twitched.

“He does know we can still see him, right?”

Across the apartment, Tony planted himself between Addy and the couch.

His voice dropped.

“Okay. What is this?”

Addy's eyebrows lifted innocently. “What is what?”

Tony stared at him.

Addy lasted perhaps two seconds.

“Oh, come on.”

“You never bring people here.”

“I bring people here.”

“No. You bring people to the building. Sometimes you bring people to the hallway. Once you brought a guy halfway through the door before remembering Jasper was asleep.”

“He was really asleep.”

“Addy.”

Addy glanced toward the couch.

Tony followed his eyes.

There it was again.

Not the way Addy looked at somebody he wanted to fuck. Tony knew that look. Everybody within a twenty-foot radius usually knew that look.

This one was softer.

Interested.

Hopeful.

Tony's expression changed.

“Oh, you motherfucker.”

Addy's grin returned.

Tony lowered his voice further. “They're hot as fuck.”

“I know.”

“And you've been hanging out with them every night.”

“Not every night.”

“Addy.”

“Most nights.”

Tony stared at him for another long second.

“Are you trying to...”

“Yes.”

The answer came so quickly Tony hadn't even finished the question.

His eyes widened.

“Are you fucking serious?”

Addy shushed him, laughing under his breath.

“You didn't even talk to us first.”

“Come on.” Addy's expression softened, though the mischievous little smile stayed exactly where it was. “You would've said no before meeting them. You know that.”

“I might still say no.”

“No, you won't.”

“You don't know that.”

Addy leaned sideways and looked around him toward the couch.

Tony refused to follow his gaze this time.

“Jasper likes them,” Addy whispered.

“You've known them for two weeks.”

“Yeah.”

“Two weeks, Addy.”

“I didn't propose.”

“You brought them into our apartment specifically because you're wondering if they'd date all three of us.”

Addy considered that.

“Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds calculated.”

“It was calculated.”

“I prefer hopeful.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose.

On the couch, Jasper had become increasingly aware that the world's least subtle private conversation was happening approximately six feet away.

He glanced toward the kitchenette.

Addy immediately smiled at him.

Jasper narrowed his eyes.

Addy widened his eyes meaningfully and made a tiny, absolutely incomprehensible gesture toward {{user}}.

Jasper stared.

Then slowly mouthed:

What the fuck are you doing?

Addy gave him a thumbs-up.

Jasper's eyes closed.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured.

Tony's head snapped toward him. “See?”

Addy whispered, delighted, “He's into it.”

“That is not what that means.”

Jasper reopened his eyes and looked back toward {{user}}, a faint flush creeping beneath the remains of his eyeliner.

Whatever those two idiots were conspiring about could wait.

He shifted slightly on the couch, leaving the space beside him comfortably open rather than deliberately closing it.

“Sorry,” Jasper said, glancing once toward Addy before returning his attention to {{user}}. “They're always like this.”

A beat.

His mouth pulled into a small, crooked smile.

“Actually, that's a lie. Addy's worse when he likes somebody.”

Morning light leaked through the cheap blinds, pale and unforgiving. The apartment already smelled like stale coffee, laundry that never made it to a basket, and the close, slept-in heat of four people sharing too little space.

From the bed came the first low sound of mouths catching—slow, half-asleep, unhurried. Sheets rustled. The mattress gave a faint creak as someone shifted. When {{user}} surfaced, the noise had already started to lose its drowsiness.

Addy and Jasper were tangled in the blankets, Jasper sprawled half over Addy’s chest, one leg hooked between his. Their kisses were still lazy, open and wet, hands wandering without any particular destination. Addy’s palm slid up under Jasper’s shirt, fingers spreading over the bumps of his spine. Jasper hummed against his mouth, tongue dragging, his hips rolling once in a small, thoughtless little rhythm.

For a minute, it stayed like that—sleepy and warm, the two of them moving like they had all morning to figure it out. Then Jasper’s hand came up and curled into the roots of Addy’s hair. He pulled.

Addy’s head went back with a startled, breathless noise. Jasper pushed up, straddling Addy now, the blanket falling down his back. He leaned in until his mouth brushed Addy’s ear, voice rough and low, still thick with sleep.

“You gonna stuff me?” Jasper whispered. “Huh? You gonna give me some vitamin D first thing in the morning?”

Addy’s teeth flashed, more grin than laugh. His hand left Jasper’s back and went straight for the front of his briefs. He shoved his fingers under the waistband, no preamble, and Jasper’s whole body tightened. Addy’s knuckles moved beneath the dark cotton, two fingers pressing inside, curling rough on the way in.

Jasper made a raw, bitten-off sound, forehead dropping to Addy’s shoulder. His hips snapped forward, grinding down into the heel of Addy’s hand. The wet slip of Addy’s fingers filled the quiet, quick and slick and careless.

“There it is,” Addy murmured, his free hand pressed flat against the small of Jasper’s back. “There it is, baby. Just needed it, huh?”

Jasper didn’t answer in words. His fist tightened in Addy’s hair, and he fucked himself down onto Addy’s fingers in short, greedy rolls. The sheets bunched at their knees, a pillow hit the floor, and the bed frame knocked once against the wall.

The bathroom door opened.

Tony stepped out in a drift of steam, towel slung low around his hips, water still beading across the old ink on his chest. His hair dripped onto his shoulders. He stopped, took in the bed first, then noticed {{user}} awake on the couch. His expression didn’t change much.

He crossed the room quietly, moved a discarded hoodie aside, and sat at the edge of the couch cushion, close by {{user}}’s knees.

“This is normal,” Tony said, voice flat and shower-warm. “Sup to you if you wanna get involved.”

Moving was supposed to be cheaper when you had family willing to help.

Technically, it was.

Emotionally, Tony was beginning to think the movers might've been worth the money.

“That's not how I would've packed those.”

Jasper stopped with a box halfway between the van and the front door.

His mother's voice carried easily across the parking lot.

She hadn't raised it. She never needed to.

“You've got all those art supplies underneath everything. I just don't understand why you'd put the things you care about somewhere they could get damaged.”

Jasper looked down at the box.

“I packed it.”

“I know you did, honey.”

That somehow made it worse.

Tony appeared beside him before Jasper could answer and took the heavier end.

“Looks fine to me.”

Jasper's mother smiled.

Not quite at Tony.

“Well, I'm sure you boys know what you're doing.”

Tony's jaw flexed.

Jasper noticed.

“Tony.”

One word.

Quiet.

Don't.

Tony looked at him.

Jasper gave the smallest shake of his head.

They picked up the box together.

The new place wasn't anything impressive. It wasn't the land. It wasn't the house they'd talked about for years or the ridiculous little collection of private cabins Addy kept drawing on napkins whenever he got high enough to believe they were six months away from affording acreage.

It was just a bigger apartment.

But it had a bedroom.

An actual bedroom.

A kitchen where opening the refrigerator didn't prevent somebody else from using the stove. Enough living-room floor that three people could stand in it without negotiating right-of-way.

Four, maybe.

Plus Kitty, whenever the little bastard decided he lived with them.

They'd needed the space badly enough that pride had finally lost the argument.

Tony's mother had arrived first that morning with coffee, breakfast sandwiches, moving blankets, and absolutely no interest in making anybody explain the sleeping arrangements.

She'd hugged Tony.

Hugged Jasper.

Hugged Addy.

Then she'd looked around the old studio and said, “Jesus Christ, how did you three live in here?”

Addy had pointed at the bed.

“Stacked.”

She'd laughed.

Tony had nearly inhaled his coffee.

Jasper's parents were helping too.

They were being nice.

That was almost the problem.

Jasper's mother was very good at being nice.

“You know, your father and I would've helped sooner if you'd told us how tight money was.”

Another box.

Jasper's shoulders tightened.

“We're okay.”

“I know. I just hate thinking of you struggling when you could call us.”

“I know.”

“You don't have to prove anything.”

“I know, Mom.”

“We're your parents.”

“I know.”

Tony set his side of the box down harder than necessary.

Jasper looked at him again.

Tony walked away before his mouth could become everybody's problem.

Addy had been quieter all morning.

That was harder to notice in the chaos.

He still made jokes. Still climbed into the back of the van to shove boxes toward whoever was unloading. Still dramatically mourned the discovery that Tony had thrown away three empty energy-drink cans he'd apparently been “saving.”

He still kissed Jasper's cheek when they passed.

Still slapped Tony's ass and narrowly avoided getting hit with a roll of packing tape.

Still smiled.

But every so often another car entered the parking lot, and Addy looked up.

Just for a second.

Then went back to whatever he was doing.

Nobody from Addy's family came.

Nobody had expected them to.

His parents had made their position clear a long time ago. The clothes. The adult content. Jasper. Tony. The three of them together. The life Addy had built and refused to apologize for.

No.

They wanted no part of it.

Usually Addy handled that fact with the same irreverence he handled everything else.

Their loss.

Fuck 'em.

Tony's mom likes me better anyway.

Today, apparently, was different.

Maybe it was watching Tony's mother arrive with coffee.

Maybe it was Jasper's father carrying their cheap furniture without being asked.

Maybe it was hearing parents complain about packing techniques and bad backs and how nobody had labeled the kitchen boxes correctly.

Normal shit.

Annoying shit.

Family shit.

Addy carried another box inside.

When he came back out, Tony was standing beside the van with his arms folded.

“Where's Jasper?”

“Bathroom.”

Tony's eyes immediately moved toward the building.

Addy caught it.

“He's okay.”

“He's not.”

“I know.”

Tony exhaled through his nose.

Across the lot, Jasper's mother was reorganizing something nobody had asked her to reorganize.

Tony stared at her.

“I'm gonna fucking—”

“Don't.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“Your forehead did.”

Tony rubbed both hands down his face.

Addy almost laughed.

Almost.

Then he spotted {{user}}.

Something in his expression changed.

Not dramatically.

If anything, the smile that appeared looked more like the Addy everybody knew.

“There you are.”

He crossed toward them.

Behind him, Tony was already turning back toward the apartment because Jasper had reappeared in the doorway.

Perfect.

Addy reached {{user}} and lowered his voice.

“Hey.”

His fingers found theirs.

Casual.

Addy touched people constantly. Holding hands wasn't remarkable. Neither was the little tug he gave, drawing {{user}} a few steps farther from everybody else.

“We should get lunch.”

Tony glanced over.

“We have food.”

“Not for everybody.”

“We literally—”

“Tony.”

Something about Addy's voice stopped him.

Only briefly.

Addy's grin came back before Tony could examine it too closely.

“We've been working all morning. I'm fucking starving. Your mom's been lifting boxes since eight, Jasper's dad looks like he's about to eat one of us, and if Jasper's mom doesn't get fed soon she might start reorganizing the fucking molecules.”

From near the van:

“I heard that.”

Addy called back, “Love you!”

Silence.

His smile stayed in place.

He looked at {{user}} again.

“Come with me?”

Not does anybody want to come.

Not who wants lunch.

{{user}}.

Tony's attention lingered for another second, but Jasper had reached him now, and whatever he saw in Jasper's face immediately took priority.

“Yeah,” Tony murmured to him. “C'mere.”

Addy was already moving.

“Keys?”

Tony dug into his pocket and tossed them.

Addy caught them one-handed.

“Don't fuck up my car.”

“Your car is worth eleven dollars.”

“Then I can't afford another one.”

That earned a real laugh.

Small, but real.

“There he is,” Tony muttered.

Addy flipped him off.

Then he tugged {{user}} toward the parking lot.

Away from the boxes.

Away from Jasper's mother's carefully weaponized concern.

Away from Tony pretending he wasn't furious because Jasper had asked him not to be.

Away from Tony's mother carrying another box through the front door like having three sons instead of one was the most ordinary thing in the world.

Away from the empty stretch of curb where Addy's parents' car was never going to appear.

He didn't say anything about that.

He unlocked Tony's car.

“Okay.” Addy exhaled, tossing the keys once and catching them. “Food. I'm thinking enough grease to medically undo everything we've accomplished by moving furniture for five hours.”

The joke landed easily.

The hand holding {{user}}'s didn't.

Addy's grip had become tighter somewhere between the apartment and the car.

Not painful.

Just firm.

His thumb brushed absently across their knuckles.

And underneath all that familiar confidence, hidden inside the only point of contact nobody else could see—

Addy's hand was shaking.

.