Chapter Text
Laurent stood near the edge of the room, quiet, watching Damen from across the crowd.
Damen was laughing, head tilted back, his arm resting loosely around Jokaste’s shoulders. She leaned into him easily, like she belonged there. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Laurent’s eyebrows were drawn together, not quite in displeasure, but in calculation. He took a slow sip of his drink.
People moved around Damen constantly, congratulating him on the team’s victory. Teammates clapped him on the back. Someone handed him another drink. Jokaste kissed his cheek and he smiled at her without hesitation.
Laurent watched all of it. Then he turned and left the room without saying a word.
***
Damen saw him. Of course he did.
Even while surrounded, even with Jokaste pressed close and hands clapping him on the back, some quiet, instinctive part of him remained tuned to Laurent. It always had been. He always knew where Laurent was standing, who he was speaking to, what he was drinking.
They had barely spoken that evening. Every time Damen tried to move toward him, someone interrupted with another congratulations about the won match. Damen had accepted it all with easy charm, but beneath it, his awareness never loosened.
The younger brother of his best friend.
Auguste and Laurent could not be more different. Auguste was open and warm, easy to understand. Laurent was sharp, guarded, always watching. Sometimes cruel just to see the reaction. And yet Damen loved them both.
Only recently, he had begun to understand that he loved one of them differently.
For years, Laurent had been something between an obligation and a privilege. Damen had always protected him, defending his cutting remarks and unpleasant moods even when Laurent was, objectively, being a little shit.
For years, Laurent had felt like a younger brother.
That had changed.
Lately, Laurent kept more distance. His sarcasm was colder. He didn’t tease Damen the same way anymore. Sometimes he avoided him completely. Other times, he would look at him for a moment too long, and then look away.
At first, Damen thought he was imagining it.
Then he became curious.
Now it felt like something else. Something heavier. Something that made him uncomfortable in ways he didn’t fully understand.
And when Laurent left the room without looking back, something tightened in his chest.
***
The party went on for hours.
People started leaving in small groups. The drinks ran low. Someone spilled something near the couch and nobody cared enough to clean it properly.
It was very late when Damen finally looked around and realized most of the guests were gone.
Jokaste had left an hour ago with a friend. A few teammates were still arguing about a play from the match, half-drunk and laughing too loud.
Auguste was laughing in the kitchen with the last two guests.
Damen checked the time. It was late.
Laurent still hadn’t come back.
He told himself it didn’t matter. Laurent was an adult. He could do whatever he wanted.
Still, something about it bothered him.
He found Auguste near the sink.
“Hey,” Damen said casually. “Laurent still out?”
Auguste frowned slightly. “Out?”
“He left earlier.”
It was past two in the morning.
“He didn’t say anything to me,” Auguste said “Why?”
Damen shook his head quickly. “No reason. Just didn’t see him.”
Auguste gave him a small look. “He’s not twelve, Damen.”
“I know,” Damen said quickly. He checked his phone without thinking.
No message.
Damen grabbed his jacket.
“I’m heading out,” he told Auguste.
“Text me when you get home,” Auguste said, distracted.
Damen stepped into the hallway outside the apartment, pulling the door closed behind him.
And then he nearly collided with someone coming up the stairs.
Laurent stopped abruptly, just one step below him, and for a second they were standing far too close, both startled by the sudden encounter.
Laurent’s expression shifted almost immediately, smoothing into something composed, but not before Damen caught the brief flicker of surprise in his eyes.
His hair was slightly messy. His shirt collar was open. There was a faint smell of something unfamiliar - not alcohol, Laurent didn’t drink. Something softer. Like someone else’s perfume.
Damen’s eyes dropped for just a second.
Then back up.
“Where were you?” he asked.
The question came out sharper than he had intended, edged with something that sounded too much like accusation.
Laurent lifted one eyebrow with deliberate slowness.
“Hello to you too.”
“It’s almost three,” Damen said, his voice tightening despite himself. “You left hours ago.”
“And?” Laurent replied calmly, stepping past him toward the apartment door as if the conversation bored him already.
Damen’s hand moved before his mind caught up, fingers closing around Laurent’s wrist and stopping him mid-step.
“And you just disappear without saying anything?”
Laurent looked down at the hand holding him, his expression unreadable for a brief second, and then he looked back up at Damen, his gaze colder now.
Damen hesitated, feeling the warmth of Laurent’s skin under his fingers, realizing suddenly how intimate the gesture was - and then he released him.
“I was just asking,” he muttered, though it sounded weak even to his own ears.
“No,” Laurent said quietly, adjusting his sleeve as if wiping away the contact. “You weren’t.”
The hallway felt narrower suddenly, the air heavier.
“Auguste was wondering where you were,” Damen added quickly, trying to regain control of the conversation.
Laurent’s lips curved faintly, not quite smiling.
“Was he?” he asked softly.
Damen’s jaw tightened.
“You come back looking like that and you expect me not to ask?”
“Like what?” Laurent stepped closer now instead of away, closing the space between them with deliberate calm.
“It’s three in the morning,” Damen said, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
“And I am not a child.”
The words landed harder than they should have.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?” Laurent’s voice remained controlled, but there was heat in his eyes now, sharp and challenging. “You are not my keeper. You don’t get to question me.”
Damen could feel his heartbeat in his throat, could feel the anger rising, but beneath it was something else, something far less noble.
He didn’t even fully understand why he was so angry.
Except he did.
“Who were you with?” he asked finally, the question quieter now, but heavier.
There it was.
Laurent went very still, the smallest shift in posture betraying that the question had hit exactly where it was meant to.
A slow, dangerous smile touched his lips.
“Why,” he asked softly, tilting his head just slightly, “does that matter to you?”
Damen didn’t reply immediately, because the truth was sitting too close to the surface, too raw and possessive to put into words without exposing himself completely.
Laurent watched him carefully, the way he always did when he sensed weakness, and after a second of silence he stepped forward deliberately, closing the small space between them as if daring Damen to react.
“If I was with someone,” he continued, tilting his head slightly, “that would still be none of your concern.”
Something in Damen’s chest tightened painfully at the calmness in Laurent’s tone, at the implication that someone else might have touched him, might have been close enough to leave that faint unfamiliar scent lingering on his skin.
Before he could think it through, before he could stop himself, he moved.
Laurent barely had time to shift before his back met the hallway wall, not violently, but firmly enough to make it clear that this was no accident. Damen’s hand landed beside Laurent’s head, palm pressed flat against the wall, blocking any easy escape, and suddenly the narrow hallway felt too small to breathe in.
They were close enough now that their chests almost touched, close enough that Damen could see the subtle change in Laurent’s expression: the slight widening of his eyes, the sharp inhale he tried to hide.
“Don’t do that,” Damen said, his voice lower than before, rougher at the edges.
“Do what?” Laurent asked softly, though his breath brushed against Damen’s mouth as he spoke.
“Provoke me.”
Laurent’s lips curved faintly, not quite a smile, more like quiet satisfaction.
“You’re provoking yourself,” he replied, and instead of trying to move away, he stayed exactly where he was, as if testing how far this would go.
Damen leaned in closer without realizing it, until there was barely any air left between them, until he could feel the warmth of Laurent’s body through their clothes. His free hand hovered uncertainly for a second before gripping the fabric of Laurent’s shirt near his waist, not pulling yet, just holding.
“You disappear for hours,” Damen said, trying to sound controlled and failing slightly. “You come back at three in the morning looking like that.”
“Like what?” Laurent asked, his voice softer now but edged with something sharp.
“Like someone’s been touching you.”
The words escaped before Damen could soften them.
Laurent went still.
For a moment, neither of them moved, and the air shifted, heavy with something that was no longer just anger.
“And if someone had?” Laurent asked quietly.
Damen’s jaw tightened, and this time he didn’t look away.
“I don’t like it.”
It was honest. Too honest.
Laurent’s eyes flickered, surprise flashing there before it was replaced by something darker, something almost hungry.
“You don’t like it,” he repeated slowly, as if tasting the words. “Since when do my choices depend on what you like?”
“They don’t,” Damen said immediately, though his hand tightened in Laurent’s shirt instead of loosening. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?” Laurent pressed, lifting his chin slightly so that the line of his throat was exposed, deliberately, knowingly, as if he understood exactly what it did to Damen.
Damen’s breathing had grown heavier without him noticing, and when he shifted his weight, their bodies finally made full contact, chest to chest, heat bleeding through layers of fabric.
“You’re not careful,” he muttered, though the words sounded weaker now, less convincing.
“Stop pretending this is about safety,” Laurent said, and his hands slowly rose to grip the front of Damen’s jacket, fingers curling into the fabric as if anchoring himself there.
The movement was not defensive.
It was intimate.
“You’re not my brother,” Laurent continued, his voice dropping lower. “And you are certainly not my keeper.”
Damen swallowed, because Laurent was right, and because hearing it said out loud made something inside him twist painfully.
“Then what am I?” Laurent asked after a moment, his lips only inches away now, his eyes dropping briefly to Damen’s mouth before lifting again.
The question hung between them, dangerous and exposed.
Damen’s hand slid from the wall to Laurent’s waist, this time pulling him just slightly closer, enough that their noses almost brushed, enough that one more inch would erase the space completely.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
The anger was still there, but it had changed shape, melting into something electric, something that had been building quietly for months.
Damen leaned in…
And at that exact moment, the apartment door opened behind them, light spilling into the hallway and breaking the fragile tension like glass.
“Laurent?” Auguste’s voice called from inside.