The group had barely sat down at the ramen shop when Joren slammed his chopsticks on the table, eyes glinting like a wolf that smelled blood.

“Alright. Enough games.” He pointed between Fynric and Dorian with theatrical flourish. “You two are definitely sleeping together.”

Fynric nearly dropped his spoon. “We are not—”

Dorian smirked, leaning back in his chair like a man enjoying the show. “Why so defensive, Fyn?”

Aric choked on his beer, laughing. “God, you’re making it obvious.”

Even Luthien looked up from his bowl, hazel eyes calm but cutting. “Truth lingers in silence. And yours is deafening.”

Fynric groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Can we just eat?”

But Joren wasn’t done. He leaned across the table, grin wicked. “So, when’s the wedding? Do I get to give the speech about how Fynric’s been secretly in love with Dorian since—”

“Joren.” Fynric’s voice was sharp enough to silence the table. His amber eyes burned with warning.

For a moment, the group exchanged glances. Then, sensing they’d pushed too far, the tension broke with laughter and jokes, the conversation shifting elsewhere.

But Fynric’s heart hammered, his whole body tight.

Dorian’s hand brushed against his under the table, warm and steady. Fynric didn’t pull away.

---

Later that night, when the group had gone their separate ways, Fynric walked briskly down the street, head spinning.

“Fyn.”

Dorian’s voice called behind him.

He turned, annoyed. “What?”

Dorian caught up easily, falling into step beside him. “You’re mad.”

“Of course I’m mad.” Fynric’s voice cracked. “They’re—everyone’s—joking about us like we’re—” He broke off, frustrated. “Like this is simple. Like it’s a game.”

Dorian stopped him, hand catching his wrist. His grip was firm, but his eyes—God, his eyes—were steady, serious.

“It’s not a game to me.”

The words silenced Fynric’s storm.

Dorian stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I don’t care what they say. I don’t care if the whole damn city knows. I want you. That’s it.”

Fynric’s throat tightened. “…You can’t just say things like that.”

“I can. And I will.”

For a long moment, the city hummed around them—cars passing, neon lights buzzing—but it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of them.

Finally, Fynric whispered, “Come over.”

Dorian blinked, then grinned slow and dangerous. “Thought you’d never ask.”

---

At Fynric’s Apartment

The air was thick the second the door shut behind them.

Fynric turned to say something, but Dorian didn’t give him the chance. He pressed him against the wall, kissing him deep and hard, stealing the breath from his lungs.

Fynric gasped into the kiss, his hands fisting in Dorian’s shirt. Every touch, every brush of tongue and teeth, made his knees weak.

When they finally broke apart, both breathless, Dorian murmured against his lips: “This feels a hell of a lot like a date.”

Fynric managed a shaky laugh. “You don’t kiss like this on your dates?”

Dorian’s grin was sharp. “Not with anyone else.”

The words sent heat coursing through Fynric, settling low and dangerous.

They didn’t make it far from the wall that night. Clothes fell in a trail to the floor, the space between them erased over and over until Fynric forgot what it felt like to breathe without Dorian pressed against him.

It wasn’t just lust—though there was plenty of that. It was the way Dorian’s hands steadied him, the way his voice softened when he whispered his name, the way every kiss felt like a promise he wasn’t ready to name but couldn’t ignore.

For the first time, it wasn’t just crossing a line. It was stepping into something new, something terrifying, something theirs.

---

The Morning After

The sunlight was gentle when Fynric stirred awake.

Dorian was already up, shirtless, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee in hand. His green eyes softened when they met his.

“Morning,” Dorian said. “You looked too peaceful to wake.”

Fynric rubbed at his eyes, sitting up. “…This doesn’t feel real.”

Dorian crossed the room, placing the coffee on the nightstand. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

“It’s real, Fyn. As real as it gets.”

Fynric’s chest tightened. For once, he didn’t argue.