The week passed in a blur of stolen nights.

Every time the sun went down, Dorian found his way to Fynric’s door. And every time, Fynric let him in, no matter how many times he told himself he shouldn’t.

It wasn’t just lust anymore. It was an ache. A need. Like hunger, like thirst.

Tonight was no different.

The moment the door clicked shut, Dorian pressed Fynric against it, kissing him hard enough to bruise. Their mouths clashed, teeth scraping, hands clawing at shirts, tugging them free.

“God, Fyn,” Dorian growled, dragging him toward the couch. “You drive me insane.”

Fynric gasped as he was pushed down, his body arching under the weight of Dorian’s heat. “Then stop coming.”

“Never.” Dorian’s mouth found his neck, sucking until Fynric’s breath stuttered. “You’re mine.”

The words seared him. Dangerous. Addictive. And when Dorian’s hand slid lower, Fynric forgot how to breathe.

They lost themselves in each other until the room spun, until nothing existed but skin and heat and the sound of their voices breaking against the silence.

---

The Morning After

Fynric stirred awake to find himself tangled in Dorian’s arms, the sheets twisted around them.

The sunlight cut across Dorian’s face, catching on the scar above his brow, softening his usually sharp edges. He looked almost gentle, almost fragile.

Fynric reached out without thinking, tracing the line of his jaw.

Dorian’s eyes opened slowly, and he smiled. “Careful. You’ll make me believe you like me.”

Fynric’s chest tightened. “…Idiot.”

Dorian kissed him lazy and slow. “Yours.”

---

The Door That Should Have Stayed Locked

They were still half-dressed, bodies flushed, when the knock came.

“Fyn? You in there?”

It was Aric’s voice.

Fynric froze. Dorian swore under his breath.

Another knock, harder this time. “Come on, man, it’s important—”

Before Fynric could react, the door handle turned. He hadn’t locked it.

Aric stepped inside—then stopped dead in his tracks.

The sight was undeniable: Fynric flushed and shirtless, Dorian sprawled on the couch beside him, his smirk far too satisfied to be misinterpreted.

The silence stretched, heavy as iron.

“…Oh,” Aric said finally, blinking. His eyes darted between them. “So… this is what’s been going on.”

Fynric sat up fast, scrambling for words. “Aric, it’s not—”

Dorian just leaned back, arm draped over the couch, green eyes gleaming with challenge. “It’s exactly what it looks like.”

Aric’s expression shifted from shock to something unreadable. “…Does anyone else know?”

“No,” Fynric said quickly. His heart pounded. “And it stays that way.”

Aric studied him for a long moment. Then he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re lucky I’m not Joren. He’d blast this to the whole damn city.”

Fynric swallowed. “So… you’ll keep quiet?”

Aric gave a small, crooked smile. “You’re my friend. I won’t say a word. Just… be careful. Secrets like this? They don’t stay buried forever.”

With that, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

---

After

Fynric collapsed back onto the couch, covering his face with his hands. “Fuck.”

Dorian chuckled low, pulling him into his arms again. “Relax. He’s not going to tell anyone.”

“That’s not the point.” Fynric’s voice was raw. “It’s only a matter of time before someone else finds out. And then—”

“Then we deal with it.” Dorian’s lips brushed his temple, voice steady. “I’m not letting anyone scare me away from you.”

Fynric trembled, caught between terror and something that felt dangerously close to hope.

Because for the first time, the line they had crossed wasn’t just theirs anymore.

Someone else knew.

And there was no going back.