Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

TeeTee pushes through the crowd, heart pounding in chest, searching for one familiar face. There's a sense of remorse curling in his stomach, and the rational part of his brain keeps telling him to turn around, go home, and pretend he never saw the story.

He doesn't.

He keeps moving, even though the noise presses too close and the heat makes his skin prickle. The house is loud in the way it always is on nights like this. The main floor is a blur of bodies; the kitchen bleeds into the living room, and the living room bleeds into the sitting area no one ever actually sits in. The speakers are shoved against the walls like usual, bass rattling through the hardwood. Downstairs will probably be cooler and darker, with a few games set up in the center and smaller groups claiming corners and the back bedrooms. He'll probably end up down there. Upstairs is another world entirely. The bass is lower, and the air is much less saturated with scent. It's technically off limits, unless you "live here or are fucking someone who lives here," according to Latte.

The scents are worse: sweet, smoky, and layered until his head hurts. Not everyone bothers with scent blockers, especially at parties like this. If he were any closer to his presentation, he would've had to leave. As it is, he swallows against the pressure and pushes through. He's not leaving without at least seeing him.

Somehow, he ends up in the kitchen instead, scanning over all the drinks crowded together on the island. The air is thick with something sweet and sharp. Alcohol. He shouldn't drink tonight: Yim would take one look at him and just know. Plus, TeeTee had driven here, and he had enough sense to know he probably shouldn't drink. Unless one of his seniors lets him crash-

"Nong Tee!" Speak of the devil. TeeTee startles, turning around and coming face-to-face with one of his seniors in his art program. "I didn't expect you to come! "

"Hi, P'Thomas." TeeTee shrugs, gaze dropping to the floor, "I uh- I needed a change of pace." He doesn't add from what.

Thomas laughs softly and slings an arm around his shoulders. He's been in the program long enough for everyone to listen when he talks– sharp in his critique, but never mean about it. More than once, he's checked TeeTee's drafts 20 minutes before they're due. Up close, TeeTee catches the dark sweetness of black currant under his cologne. His scent cuts through the sugary haze around them, steadying in a way TeeTee doesn’t expect. "Well, you've found it. Come with me."

TeeTee lets himself be steered downstairs to the basement, where the music is softer but the air feels heavier. A ping-pong table stands in the center, its net missing, and covered in red plastic cups arranged in careful triangles.

"We're playing beer pong," Thomas says, pressing a ball into TeeTee's palm. "Just throw this. If it lands in one of the cups, they drink."

"Oh."

"Don't worry," another senior, Keng, says, already pulling a cup towards himself. "We'll drink for you."

TeeTee hesitates, fidgeting with the ball in his palm. He's not supposed to be here. He had other, better plans. If Yim found out, he'd give him that one look of his that made TeeTee feel stripped down to just bare parts, the one that reminds him exactly how small he can feel. But Thomas had invited him, and TeeTee's not a kid anymore.

"Just once," he says to himself. The ball feels too light in his hand, but he tosses it anyway, aiming for the closest cup to him. It arcs high, hits the table, and drops neatly into the cup at the very tip of the triangle. For a half second, there's silence. Then someone whistles. "Damn. Beginner's luck." Heat rises to TeeTee's cheeks, and he smiles before he can stop himself.

Then a voice cuts through the room. "Ai Au, if you're going to cheat, at least make it less obvious."

TeeTee stills. He knows that voice better than anything else. Slowly, beneath the lingering haze of black currant still clinging to his shirt, another scent reaches him: soft and familiar lavender. 

There, sitting in the corner of the basement playing Uno, is Por Suppakarn, captain of the dance team, Honor Society golden boy, and the kind of person people just remember. The thin chain at his throat catches the dim basement light when he shifts, glinting faintly against the collar of his shirt.

For just a second, Por's posture goes rigid, and his fingers dig into the cards a bit too firmly. Then, he leans back against the couch, easy and relaxed. It was just for a moment, and hardly anyone else would notice.

But he is TeeTee's best friend.

Former best friend, he supposes, because ever since Por had moved to the city, things had changed. Messages came slower, and calls went unanswered. TeeTee told himself it was just the distance, just the stress of classes and extracurriculars, but it was hard not to notice how easily Por settled into a new life without him. Even now, surrounded by other scents, TeeTee can still pick his out without even trying.

Except that TeeTee is here now in the same university, on track to have the same honors. He's not a kid hanging onto Por's coattails anymore. And yet, Por still doesn't look at him. 

Across the room, Auau, Por's best friend, is made to stand up and empty his pockets, cards spilling out of them as the group breaks into exaggerated outrage.

"You assholes, you had me taking double shots the last four rounds knowing Auau was hiding cards and losing!" One of Por's friends yells, messing up the stack in the center. "Fuck all of you, especially you, Auau!"

Before, in high school, TeeTee would've been sitting right next to Por, playing UNO with the group. He probably would've been hiding cards too, and Por would've taken his side anyway, because Por always takes his side, and they would've laughed it off. Por would've taken him home after, car smelling of soft lavender and sweet honey. Then they would've spent the next day debriefing about the party and cursing Auau all over again.

Now, though, Por throws his head back and laughs a little too loudly at his friends' outburst, and TeeTee feels that same tightness curling in his stomach.

"Maybe he's outgrowing you," his friend, Ryujin, had said once, months ago. "I heard that sometimes happens with different-year friends when one goes to college."

"But why? It's not like I've changed all that much," he'd pouted

Ryujin had paused just a little too long before responding. "I think it's more about him."

It's been months, and TeeTee still doesn't know what Ryujin meant. He'd texted Por last week asking if he'd be free today to go see the new Zootopia movie. It had always been their thing: matching Nick and Judy line icons, fox and bunny headbands, and looping movie scenes in the background of their FaceTimes.

"sorry tee i'm swamped with classwork and exams. maybe next weekend?"

TeeTee had stared at the message until his vision blurred and the screen dimmed, before reacting with just a thumbs up and clicking it off altogether. It was fine, not a big deal at all, and he even made plans to watch it with his friends later that week, after weeks of them begging. It would probably be out of theaters by next weekend, anyway,

An hour ago tonight, TeeTee had been lying on his bed, scrolling through Instagram and putting off getting ready to go see the movie. A notification that @porsuppakarn posted on his story after a while popped up on his feed. He almost ignored it.

It's a selfie of Por smiling distractedly at a camera, face way too close to another omega. They hold a fan of UNO cards between them, and it's captioned with a simple "loser takes 2 shots lolz". In the background, TeeTee caught the edge of a familiar couch, which happened to be the same one he was standing in front of now.

TeeTee's stomach had dropped, and he'd sat up, heart pounding in his chest, his thumb hovering over the screen. He tapped on the username tagged in the story (@ohmkrit) before he could stop himself. The profile loads slowly.

The entire page is black and white. Not a random filter slapped over random photos, either. Even the messy-looking dumps follow the same muted palette, all soft shadows and pale light. It looks deliberate in a way that TeeTee has never had the patience for. The omega in the photos is taller than most people around him: long limbs folding easily into frames, and head ducked slightly like he doesn't quite fit in the camera's view. He's pretty in the kind of effortless way that photographs well.

TeeTee scrolls, and halfway down the grid, Por appears. It's subtle at first, just Por leaning against a wall behind him in one photo, head tipped back in laughter. In another, he's sitting on a couch that TeeTee recognizes immediately, one arm draped lazily across the backrest while someone else holds up a hand of cards in the foreground. In a third, he's barely in frame at all, just a shoulder and the familiar curve of his smile.

TeeTee's thumb pauses. Por's tagged in more than one post. Latte's username shows up in the likes, as well as a couple of other names TeeTee half-recognizes from Por's stories. It looks unconscious, almost like they've known each other a long time. It feels like Por has always been there, just slightly off to the side of the camera.

TeeTee scrolls to the top of the profile and taps on the story again. The couch in the background features the same low cushions and armrests as the one in Por's. TeeTee stares at it for a moment longer than he means to, as if the couch would tell him something if he looked hard enough.

"Swamped with classwork and exams."

He has no right to be upset. Por never promised anything. Maybe he was able to finish his work early, or maybe he'd been dragged out by someone else. Por's allowed to have other friends. It's not like TeeTee was the only person he'd do things with. He didn't even care that much about the movie anyway.

Fine, if Por has time to go to parties, then he has time to see TeeTee. Hands shaking, he closes out of Instagram and opens Line instead, scrolling down to an old message thread.

P'Thomas (Design Senior)
Tuesday, October 13, 2024

Hey, P'Keng, P'Tte and I are hosting a mid-year
party at ours

You should come! It'll be really fun.

that sounds super fun phi but my
friends and i already have plans that day :((

Awww okay we'll miss you!

Against his better judgment, TeeTee clicks on the text bar and starts typing up a message.

Friday, October 16, 2024

phi, is the invitation still standing?

would it be okay if i came?

sorry ik it's last minute

Of course it is! Don't apologize

Tee had hesitated, his thumb hovering over the text bar again. After a few seconds, he sighed and closed out the thread, texting Patji a quick "cover for me" before he could think better of it.

Now, though, another ball is shoved into his hands, and TeeTee blinks, the basement slamming back into focus. TeeTee can still pick out the faint threads of lavender and black currant in the air, despite the new scents muddying it.

"Your turn, nong," Latte, another senior, gestures to the board, fingertips stained with ink.

The cups closest to him are gone, and only the edges of the triangles remain. TeeTee exhales hard and throws the ball too hard. It misses the board entirely, bouncing off the edge and rolling across the floor underneath the couch. Some people laugh. "Guess I drink," he shrugs, already grabbing one of the cups off the side table.

Before he can grab it, Keng catches his wrist. "That's not necessary.” It’s almost automatic, like he’d done it without thinking too much of it. Latte shifts a little closer to TeeTee’s other side almost unconsciously, too, pine and ink subtly filling the air. One of his hands comes up to steady on the side table. “We’ve got it,” Keng adds.

TeeTee bristles, fighting the urge to push through them. He doesn't need their protection. They hover like this sometimes: step in when they think he needs help, walk him to his car even though he's taken the route several times, and take things out of his hands before he can try to lift them. They like to pretend it's about his age. It's not.

A smoky scent cuts into the air, and TeeTee wrinkles his nose before he registers it.

"Or," an unfamiliar voice cuts in, dry and unimpressed, "you could just let him drink." TeeTee looks up to see that someone else has stepped forward, leaning against the ping-pong table with his arms over his chest. 

Thomas shifts in front of TeeTee without thinking, a dark tang of black currant radiating from him, "The hell do you want, Arm?"

"Relax," the guy says. "He missed a shot. So what?" His eyes flick briefly to TeeTee. "If he wants to drink, let him be."

TeeTee finally looks at him properly. He's clearly older and taller than Thomas by just enough to be noticeable. He has a sharp jaw, lazy posture, and the kind of face that probably photographs well without trying. An alpha, of course. His smoky scent curls more insistently through the room, heavier now that TeeTee is paying attention to it. It's not unpleasant, exactly, just strong, pressing against the air differently than the softer scents TeeTee is used to and cutting through the sweetness of whatever drinks people had spilled on the table. The alpha is still looking at him expectantly, and the weight of that attention settles over him almost as heavily as the scent.

"Up to you," Arm shrugs, looking right at TeeTee.

Keng's grip is still firm on his wrist, and TeeTee looks down at it, jaw tightening before pulling free. The game stalls for a second. Someone reaches for the ball and misses. Keng shifts forward slightly, whiskey thick in the air, but doesn't make another move to grab him again.

"Relax," TeeTee mutters, not sure who it's directed at, and grabs a cup, downing it in one go.

There's a beat of silence, and then laughter. Someone claps him on the shoulder.

"Okay, nong," Latte says, hand still braced on the table, "Easy."

"That's enough," Keng says, though his edge is gone.

"Tee-" Thomas starts, stepping closer.

"I'm fine," TeeTee interrupts, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Across the room, Por laughs at something Auau says, not even looking over. That burns. The music upstairs shifts, bass heavier and louder, a few people breaking away to head upstairs. Arm glances that way, then back at TeeTee.

"Come on," he says, casually, "it's better upstairs."

Latte’s hand tightens on the edge of the table, Keng exhales slowly through his nose, and Thomas doesn’t move this time. Lavender still lingers faintly under the heavy alpha scents. Por still isn't looking.

"Yeah," TeeTee shrugs, dropping the cup onto the table a bit harder than necessary, "sure."

Upstairs is warmer. The hallway glows with uneven string lights, and a projector casts shifting colors across the ceiling in lazy waves. There are sketches taped to the walls, and someone is arguing about typography near the kitchen island. The bass isn't overwhelming, but it hums through the floorboards, steady and insistent.

Arm doesn’t grab him. He just walks, and TeeTee follows. They end up near the speakers, where the air is thicker, incense half-burned somewhere nearby. TeeTee starts swaying before he realizes he is.

“That was fast,” Arm says, just loud enough to be heard by only TeeTee.

“I told you,” he laughs, words just a little too loose, “I’m fine.”

Someone hands him another cup, and he takes it, no one stopping him this time. The alcohol hits harder now, and the world feels just the slightest bit fuzzier. He downs the drink slowly, almost defiantly, and it burns worse. He coughs and laughs at himself, waving off someone’s hand when it reaches for him.

“I’m good,” he insists, even though everything feels much sharper.

Arm watches him, eyes pointed but unreadable. The music shifts to something slower now, heavier. People tighten their circles, and Arm steps in, just close enough that TeeTee can feel the heat from him through his shirt.

Arm’s hand lands lightly at his waist when someone bumps into him, and TeeTee doesn't pull away, leaning back slightly instead, and laughing at something Arm says that he won’t remember later. Throughout the songs, Arm’s hand slowly slides lower, still decent, and technically nothing, but steadying him again when TeeTee sways too far. There’s a whistle from somewhere behind them, and TeeTee grins at that.

The third drink finds him without him remembering that he asked for it. He laughs far too loudly at something that isn't funny and twirls around suddenly, unsteady and nearly falling over. Arm catches him again, this time with both hands. TeeTee's hands land on Arm's shoulders to try and balance, but he doesn't remove them when he does.

“You’re not that steady,” Arm murmurs directly into his ear.

“Am too,” TeeTee shoots back, his lips right next to Arm's cheek. Then, to try and prove something, he drags Arm closer. Faintly, lavender breaks through the heat, and TeeTee stills. He doesn't turn around. He refuses to, in fact.

The song bleeds into something even slower, almost a grind, and Arm's hands slide even lower, steadying him when he sways too far. It's still decent, though TeeTee's pulse jumps at the contact.

Someone whistles again, louder now. A couple of people laugh. TeeTee doesn’t care, leaning in first this time, breath warm against Arm’s jaw. His fingers curl tighter in the front of Arm’s shirt, dragging him closer just to see if he will. Arm takes the challenge and doesn’t step back. Instead, his grip tightens on TeeTee's waist, pulling him just the tiniest bit closer. Lavender sharpens, no longer faint or swallowed by incense and sweat. The air shifts, and a few people near the stairs go quiet. A thread of lavender cuts through the thick smell of alcohol and smoke.

Tee smiles, dizzy and reckless, tilting his face up like he’s daring something. It's just to see what'll happen, just to test the waters, just-

A hand clamps down on his wrist, hard, and he's being yanked backward, out of Arm's grip. TeeTee stumbles, nearly losing his balance, and crashes forward into something solid. Lavender hits him all at once, sharp and close.

“P’Por!” TeeTee beams instantly, relief blooming bright and stupid in his chest. He throws his arms around the other omega without thinking. For a split second, Por doesn’t move. Then his scent turns sharp and burnt at the edges, and his arms come up, firm around Tee’s shoulders.

“Enough,” Por says, low and tight.

Tee laughs against his collar. “You came upstairs.”

Por doesn’t respond; instead, his grip shifts from Tee’s shoulders to his wrist again, fingers closing more carefully this time.

“Walk,” he says, not loud, but TeeTee still listens.

Por doesn’t drag him, but he doesn’t let go either. He guides him up the stairs and through the hallway, past the projector glow and the half-watching crowd, down toward one of the closed doors. A few people look, but no one says anything. They step into a bedroom, and the noise dulls as the door shuts behind them. The room is quieter and cleaner. Someone’s sketchbooks are stacked neatly by the desk. The hallway light spills through the half-open door, catching on the frame of the photo on the side table. In it, Latte is with another omega, arms wrapped around each other, and smiling at the camera.

“WOAHHH,” TeeTee gasps, stumbling forward. “P’Tte has a boyfriend?” He grabs at the frame, but Por catches his wrist before he can tip it over and sets it back carefully.

“You’re going to break something,” Por says.

“You’re no fun, P’Por,” TeeTee pouts, swaying slightly.

Por doesn’t smile.

“Tee,” he says, serious now. “What were you thinking?”

Tee squints at him. “What do you mean?” He tries to sound innocent and offended. It doesn't work. Por gives him the same unimpressed look he always does when he knows TeeTee is lying. It's the same look he gave TeeTee when he stole the last cookie from his mom's bakery and blamed it on Por's brother, Fifa, instead.

"You know what I mean, Tee." Por pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales slowly. TeeTee feels raw and exposed. "You're nineteen, do I really need to spell it out for you?"

“So?” TeeTee snaps back immediately. “Half the people downstairs are too.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?” TeeTee demands, stepping forward instead of back.

Por’s jaw tightens. “You were drunk,” he says instead. “You could barely stand.”

“I was fine.”

“You weren’t.”

TeeTee laughs, humorlessly. “What, so it’s okay for you to go to parties but not me?”

Por’s expression shifts, just slightly. “I’m not underage.”

“Oh, please,” TeeTee scoffs. “You think that’s what this is about?”

Por opens his mouth, then closes it. It's a small hesitation, but TeeTee jumps on it anyway.

“What? Go on,” he snaps.

Por’s eyes darken, but his voice stays controlled. “You were hanging off an alpha while you could barely walk.”

Tee’s chest tightens. “What, so it’s okay for you to dance with whoever you want,” he fires back, “but the second I do something it’s a problem?”

Por doesn’t answer right away, and silence stretches between them. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter. “That’s not the same thing.”

“Why?” TeeTee demands.

"Because you never think things through, Tee!" Por exhales sharply through his nose. 

"And you do?"

"I'm always the one taking care of you!" Por snaps, frustration bleeding through.

The words hang in the air, and TeeTee's expression hardens, "You think I can't handle myself?!" he bites back.

"Right now?" Por gestures vaguely between them, "definitely not."

"Wow," TeeTee scoffs. Something sharp twists in his chest, "You know, you’d done a pretty good job of not caring before. What changed?"

Por stills. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, defensive.

Tee’s throat tightens, but he pushes through it anyway. “You can't just show up whenever you want and treat me like I'm something to manage."

Por’s jaw flexes. “I'm not trying to manage you.”

"Then what are you doing?" TeeTee presses. "Because you weren't doing anything when I asked you to see a movie."

Por's eyes flicker, guilty, and TeeTee feels a sick satisfaction curling in his gut. "So what does it matter who I dance with?"

Por inhales sharply, "That's not-"

“You were the one who pulled away,” TeeTee continues, voice wobbling despite himself, “You were the one who decided you had better things to do.”

“I didn't-”

“You don’t get to disappear for months and then suddenly decide I’m not allowed to do anything.”

“I never said you weren’t allowed-”

“You’re acting like it.”

That same thick silence stretches between them, and the smell of burnt lavender flickers sharp in the air.

Por swallows. When he speaks again, his voice is overly controlled. “You could’ve gotten hurt.”

Tee scoffs. “By dancing?”

“By not knowing when to stop.” Ouch.

TeeTee’s expression hardens. “I know when to stop.”

Por’s eyes soften for half a second. “No,” he says quietly. “You don’t.”

Tee freezes. The words aren't loud, but they echo anyway.

“So that’s what you think?” he asks, and Por doesn’t answer fast enough. “You think I can’t handle myself?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s exactly what you said.”

Por exhales, frustrated. “You're drunk, Tee.”

“You keep saying that like it means something.”

“It does mean something.”

“To you,” TeeTee snaps. He sways slightly, and hates that Por's hand twitches like he's about to steady him.

“You still see me like I’m a kid,” TeeTee continues, voice rising despite himself. “Like I need you to, what? Supervise me?”

“Well, you're acting like one!” The words land harder than Por intends, and both of them go still.

After a beat, TeeTee laughs again, sharp and hollow. “You don’t think I’ve grown up at all.” Por clenches his jaw, but doesn't say anything else. The resulting silence feels worse than if he’d argued.

“I came here,” TeeTee says, softer now. “I moved here for you.”

Por’s expression cracks for just a second, and he looks like he's going to say something.

“And you still act like I don’t know what I’m doing," TeeTee continues, softness gone. "Like I'm still just that kid you have to take care of."

“Well, you're acting like-” Por starts, then stops. His jaw tightens, and he looks away. TeeTee laughs, sharp and humorless.

"Like what?" TeeTee steps forward. "Like a kid?"

Por doesn't answer, and the silence confirms it. TeeTee steps back. “Whatever,” he mutters. “I don’t need you to look out for me,” and he turns toward the door.

Por moves, and a hand clamps down on TeeTee's wrist for the third time that night. Por's grip is gentle, but still firm, pulling TeeTee back from the door. “Tee.” It’s barely a warning, more akin to a plea. TeeTee tries to pull free, but the room tilts suddenly. The alcohol catches up all at once, heavy and nauseating.

“Let go,” he says, but it comes out weak. Por steadies him instantly, hand sliding to his waist almost instinctively.“

See?” Por mutters, almost to himself. “You can’t even stand.”

That’s when Tee’s anger drains into something worse, slipping out of him suddenly, like someone pulled the floor out from under it. The room tilts again, slower this time, the lights too bright against his eyes. He opens his mouth to say something else, he doesn't even know what, but the thought dissolves halfway there. His head throbs, dull and heavy, and nausea curls unpleasantly in his stomach. Por’s scent is everywhere now, sharp lavender and something burnt at the edges. It makes the world feel smaller somehow.

“I don’t feel good,” TeeTee finally admits, swaying slightly on his feet.

Por’s grip tightens almost imperceptibly.

“Yeah,” he says, softer now. “I know. Come on.”

TeeTee thinks about arguing anyway. The instinct is still there, sharp and stubborn, but when he shifts his weight, the hallway tilts and his stomach lurches unpleasantly. He grips Por’s sleeve instead without meaning to. Por doesn’t let go of his wrist this time, slipping his arm around TeeTee's waist instead. The movement is steady and practiced, like he’s done this before. Maybe he has. The hallway outside is dimmer now, the bass muffled behind the closed door. TeeTee barely registers the curious looks as they pass; he can only feel Por's steady presence next to him.

The stairs feel longer on the way down. TeeTee focuses on the steps one at a time, the edge of each stair blurring slightly under the dim hallway light.

“Careful,” Por murmurs when he misses one. His hand tightens briefly at Tee’s waist, steadying him before he can stumble again.

“I’m not that drunk,” TeeTee protests weakly.

Por doesn’t argue, tightening his grip instead. Outside, the night air is cooler. It bites at Tee’s flushed skin, and he shivers. Por’s jacket is around his shoulders before he can complain about that, too.

They don’t speak on the walk to Por’s apartment. It isn’t far. TeeTee knows the route even in the dark and dizzy like this. He’s walked it a hundred times. Por unlocks the door one-handed. The apartment smells the same as always: lavender and clean laundry and something faintly sweet from whatever candle Fifa burned last time he visited. TeeTee exhales without meaning to.

Por kicks the door shut behind them and steers him toward the couch. “Sit," he says, and TeeTee does, no argument left in him. He disappears into the kitchen and comes back with a glass of water, pressing it into Tee’s hands. “Slowly," he warns, but TeeTee drinks too fast anyway, nearly spilling it in his haste. Por takes the glass back before he can.

“Shoes." TeeTee frowns at him, confused for a second before looking down at his own feet like they’re foreign objects.

“Oh.”

He tries to bend down and nearly tips sideways, so Por crouches in front of him with a sigh, untying them himself as TeeTee watches through heavy lids. “You’re so bossy,” he mumbles, but Por doesn’t look up.

Once the shoes are off, Por stands and helps TeeTee to his feet again.“Bed.”

“I can walk home,” TeeTee grumbles, more for the argument than anything else.

“You’re not going to.” Por’s tone leaves no room for arguments.

TeeTee wants to push back, but his head is pounding now, a dull ache that sits behind his eyes and refuses to move. The effort of standing feels like too much, so he lets Por guide him down the hallway to his room. Por sits him on the edge of the bed and disappears again, coming back with a damp cloth. He presses it gently to Tee’s forehead. TeeTee sighs at the cooling sensation. For a moment, neither of them speaks.

Then, Por kneels in front of him again to pull off his socks, and TeeTee just stares at the top of his head. His hair is messier than usual, a few strands of it falling loose from where he'd run his hand through it earlier. Once he's done, Por helps him lie back against the pillows and pulls the blanket over him, and the mattress dips slightly when Por sits beside him.

TeeTee’s eyes are already closing: his head feels so heavy, and his limbs heavier. The bed smells faintly different from the rest of the room, almost warmer, and definitely softer. It's like lavender woven into something deeper. Por’s nest sits tucked into the corner like it always does, blankets layered carefully, pillows arranged just so. TeeTee doesn’t need to look at it to know it’s there. He’s slept in it more times than he can count, sometimes when he was upset, sometimes when Por’s heat hit early, and sometimes just because. He'd never needed to ask.

Por shifts, and TeeTee feels the mattress dip again. A blanket is adjusted around his shoulders, more securely this time.

“Why do you care now?” The question slips out before TeeTee can stop it, heavy and a little embarrassing. He isn't even angry anymore, just tired. He faintly registers fingers brushing his hair back from his forehead.

“What am I going to do with you, Tee?” Por murmurs, softly running a hand over his head. It’s not an answer, but Por’s hand is soft and warm on his head, so TeeTee doesn’t push. He smiles faintly, already half asleep. "I don't know, Phi."

The last thing TeeTee registers before sleep drags him under is lavender, steady and close and warm.

TeeTee groans, placing his head on his desk. Next to him, his notebook page has the beginning of notes on the lecture, but devolves into drawings of plants in the margins. Normally, he loves his Color Theory class, but he simply doesn't have it in him today. He still has 10 minutes before he can leave and get lunch, but even that feels like an eternity.

Next to him, Patji hums sympathetically and pats his back.

TeeTee turns his head to look at him, but frowns when he catches a whiff of lavender on his sleeve. He presses his nose to the fabric before he can think better of it, breathing in the warm, familiar scent, then turns away immediately, irritated.

He'd woken up Saturday morning with a pounding headache and a bitter taste in the back of his throat. For a moment, he thought he was back at his own place, until he noticed the curtains were the wrong color and he was surrounded by lavender again. He'd rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. The other side of the bed was empty.

Of course it was.

There was a glass of water on the side table, and two painkillers were next to it. His phone was plugged into the charger too, and his rings were removed and carefully placed in the trinket dish. There was breakfast waiting for him in the kitchen: sunny side up eggs just the way he liked them and covered carefully with a bowl to keep them warm. Next to it was iced coffee with just a splash of cream, the way TeeTee always drank it.

No note, though.

TeeTee had stood there a moment longer than necessary, just taking it in, before grabbing a hoodie draped over the couch and pulling it over his head. Por always kept his place cold. TeeTee didn't touch the eggs, but took the coffee with him on the way out.

"Class dismissed," the professor yells, and TeeTee shakes out of his haze. Next to him, Patji's already put his things away and looks at him expectantly. TeeTee scrambles to put his things away, shoving everything messily into his bag. He'll deal with it later.

Patji nudges him lightly. "Lunch?" he asks, and TeeTee nods, standing up and lifting his bag over his shoulder.

"Nong Tee?" TeeTee freezes and slowly turns to the front of the classroom.

Professor Arun is standing at the front of the room, papers tucked under his arm and expression unreadable.

"Can I see you for a second?"

Patji gives him his "what did you do" look and slips out into the hallway before TeeTee can drag him to the front with him for moral support. TeeTee sighs and approaches the front slowly.

"Yes, sir?"

Professor Arun tilts his head slightly, "You're usually more engaged than that."

TeeTee blinks, "Sorry?"

"You barely looked up the whole class. The plants were nice, though."

Heat crawls up TeeTee's neck. "I didn't sleep much," he says quickly. "It won't happen again."

Professor Arun studies him for a second longer than necessary. "Make sure it doesn't happen again," he says finally. "You're too talented to drift."

TeeTee forces a smile, "I understand, sir."

Professor Arun nods, and TeeTee leaves before he can say anything else. Outside, Patji is waiting for him.

"What did you do?" he asks immediately. TeeTee ignores him, setting off down the hallway and out of the arts building. Patji, more than used to dragging answers out of TeeTee, falls into step next to him. "Well?" he presses.

"Why do you assume I did something?"

"Professor Arun only does that soft voice thing when he's concerned."

"He said I was zoning out."

Patji hums like he doesn't believe him, "well you were."

TeeTee just shrugs in response, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his hoodie. It still smells faintly of lavender, and he focuses on the concrete in front of him. He and Patji make their way out of the arts building and down the road to the main quad. It's louder here: more students milling about and music blasting from a speaker someone's set up by the fountain.

"Come on," Patji says, "I think Ryujin has a table for us upstairs."

They find Ryujin, North, and Wave already seated upstairs. Ryujin looks up first.

"Oh, so he lives."

TeeTee slides into the seat across from him. "Shut up," he says, but it lacks any bite.

“You disappeared,” Wave says immediately. “Like actually vanished.”

“I did not.”

“You literally did,” Patji says. “One second you were complaining about having to drive to the theater, the next you're texting me to 'cover for you' before going offline. Fuck you for the great notice by the way. I had to deal with your brother-in-law interrogating me about why you suddenly decided to spend the night.”

TeeTee shrugs, unbothered. “You handled it pretty well.”

"Handled it? I had to lie to Khun Tutor. Do you know how stressful that is?" TeeTee snorts. He knows exactly how stressful it is, actually. Tutor never raises his voice when he’s questioning someone, which somehow makes it worse. He just watches you quietly, asking the same thing three different ways until the story starts to wobble. TeeTee has been on the receiving end of that look more than once, usually after coming home late. It’s impossible to lie to him when he’s looking at you like that.

“Well,” TeeTee grins, “you survived.” Patji lobs a fry at him in retaliation.

North pipes up,  "P'Yim also texted me asking if you were actually sick."

TeeTee's hand pauses around his drink before lifting it, "Well, you both owed me one anyway."

"That's not the point," Ryujin says. "You literally begged us to go to this movie."

"And then you bailed." Wave adds.

Tee reaches for a fry like he’s not being actively accused. “Something came up.”

"What?" North presses.

Tee shrugs again, "just… something."

“Yeah,” Patji says dryly, “we saw that something.” TeeTee stills for half a second. “Saw what?”

Ryujin rolls his eyes. “Don’t.”

Wave turns his phone around. “You were literally in three different stories.”

“Four,” North corrects.

Tee rolls his eyes, but heat creeps up his neck anyway. “Okay? It was a party.”

“A party,” Patji repeats flatly. “That you decided to attend twenty minutes before movie night.”

“We thought you were sick,” Wave adds.

“My bad,” TeeTee mutters.

North leans forward, eyes narrowing slightly. “Why did you even go?”

Tee’s grip tightens around his cup. Just slightly.

“I got invited,” he says, like it’s nothing.

Ryujin raises a brow. “Convenient.”

“You could’ve just told us,” Wave says. “Instead of ghosting.”

“You were fine,” TeeTee repeats.

“That’s not the point.”

Tee’s jaw tightens, but his voice stays even. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

There’s a beat.

Patji tilts his head. “You and Khun Arm looked pretty cozy for something that wasn’t a big deal.”

Tee finally looks up. “It wasn't that serious.” He keeps his voice light, but the words feel a little too deliberate even to his own ears. The truth is he doesn’t actually know what to call last night. The memory sits somewhere in the back of his mind like a loose thread he’s not ready to pull yet: Arm’s hand at his waist, the music upstairs, Por standing across the room.

When no one shows any signs of moving on, TeeTee sighs internally and points lazily between Ryujin and Patji. "Oh, so we're pretending these two didn't fake the flu to go on a date?"

"Hey! You said you forgave us!"

"I did," TeeTee steals another fry. "Doesn't mean I forgot."

Ryujin throws a napkin at him, North and Wave laugh, and Patji groans about being exposed. The conversation does shift to something easier then– classes, a design critique disaster, and whether Wave would have better odds passing if he were to just set his project on fire (very slim). The noise of the quad hums beneath them. TeeTee laughs when he's supposed to, but barely hears any of it, and his fingers stay curled in the sleeves of his hoodie the whole time.

The week settles into something steady after that.

TeeTee goes to class, submits his assignments, and pretends to pay attention when people talk to him. He has lunch upstairs in the cafeteria with his friends as usual. Patji drops the topic of Friday by Tuesday. North jokes about Arm once, but drops it when none of them react. He finds himself staring at his phone more than he means to, even when there's nothing new to see.

Lavender fades from the hoodie by Wednesday, but TeeTee continues to wear it. Por doesn't text; TeeTee doesn't either. Por’s words that night keep circling in his head, no matter how hard he tries to ignore them. You never think things through, Por had said. What did he know?

By Friday morning, it almost feels like nothing happened at all. TeeTee's in the studio while Thomas flips through his draft.

“You need more white space here,” Thomas mutters, tapping the corner of a layout. “It’s good, though. Better than last week.”

TeeTee shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “You said that last week.”

“Yeah,” Thomas says, scrolling to another page, “and you fixed it.” The room goes quiet, save for the quiet tapping of Thomas’s stylus on the screen. TeeTee watches the movement out of the corner of his eye, somewhat anxious about the critique.

“We’re doing something tonight,” Thomas says eventually.

Tee doesn’t look up right away, cursor blinking lazily in the corner of his laptop, “Yeah?”

“Just people over.”

Tee nods once, overly casual. “Okay.”

Thomas doesn’t respond immediately. TeeTee can feel his eyes on him without even looking up.

"You don’t have to come,” he says eventually.

That gets TeeTee’s attention. “Why?”

Thomas exhales through his nose. “Because last time you didn’t know when to stop.” It's matter of fact, but still stings.

“I was fine.”

“More like three drinks past it,” Thomas scoffs.

TeeTee’s jaw tightens, but Thomas continues, “You were drinking way too much. And that shit with Arm, really? You barely even remember half of it."

TeeTee’s jaw tightens. The memory of that night flickers unpleasantly at the edges of his mind: the music, the heat, Arm’s hand on his waist, Por’s voice sharp in his ear. He pushes the thought away before it can settle and looks away, "I remember enough."

“I don’t want to spend the whole night watching you,” he says finally. There’s no heat in his words, but the bluntness still stings. “I invited you. That makes you my problem.” All of the defensiveness drains from TeeTee, and he winces. “And more than that,” Thomas continues, quieter, “you’re my friend, nong.”

TeeTee swallows. "I'm sorry," he says, genuinely meaning it.

Thomas nods once, “If you come, you can't do that again. Pace yourself this time, yeah?”

"I get it."

Thomas studies him again, longer this time. "Fine, you can come."

TeeTee nods and turns back to his screen, but something restless curls in his chest.

The condo is quiet when he gets home. He toes off his shoes by the door, sliding on the fuzzy bear slippers that Tutor bought him a little after he moved in. Soft light spills over from the living room, blue from the television washing over the walls. Tutor and Yim are curling up on the couch together, a blanket draped over their lap. They're watching something slow and dialogue-heavy.

TeeTee pauses in front of them.

"Aow, you're home," Yim says, "want to join us?"

"Not for long. I'm going out with friends," it's a half-truth.

Tutor's eyes lift, sharp and assessing in a way that makes TeeTee feel fourteen again. TeeTee moves before he can overthink it, crossing the room and sinking down on Yim’s other side. He tucks himself under the other omega's arm automatically, fitting into the space like he’s done a hundred times before. Yim doesn’t hesitate, adjusting the blanket to cover Tee’s legs too.

“You said not for long,” Tutor points out mildly.

“I won’t be,” TeeTee says.

Yim runs a hand absently through his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead. “You look tired.”

“I’m fine.”

Tutor hums softly at that. Not agreeing, but not disagreeing either. 

They sit like that for a few minutes. The movie continues, voices low and dramatic, lazy light flickering across the wall. TeeTee keeps his eyes on the screen, but isn’t really watching. He’s hyperaware of the warmth next to him: the steady rise and fall of Yim’s breathing, the way Tutor’s arm shifts slightly when TeeTee adjusts his position. Their scents mix together in the air, chamomile and cedarwood, warm and familiar, threaded through more of Tee’s memories than he could count. It would be so easy to just stay here with them, watching movies.

“You driving?” Tutor asks after a moment.

“Yeah.” TeeTee doesn't look up.

“Then don’t drink.” His tone isn't accusatory but leaves no room for argument.

TeeTee stiffens for half a second. “I know.”

Tutor’s gaze flicks over him once more, lingering just long enough to say he doesn’t entirely believe that.

Yim squeezes Tee’s shoulder gently. “Text us if you need anything. At any point, okay?”

“I won’t,” TeeTee repeats, softer this time. He slips out from under the blanket, the cool air immediately biting at his arms. Yim’s hand lingers at his wrist for just a second before letting go.

“Be careful,” Yim says.

TeeTee nods, then heads down the hall to change. Halfway there, he pauses. The television murmurs downstairs. Yim laughs at something on screen, low and warm. Tutor says something dry in response. It would be so easy to go back and sit down again, letting the movie run long and fall asleep next to them like he used to. He stands there for a second longer than necessary. Then he keeps walking. He’s not a kid anymore. He can handle himself. The bedroom door slams a little harder than he meant to.

Inside, he stands in front of his closet for a moment. It’s too quiet here. The murmur of the television down the hall feels farther away than it should.

His fingers slide past familiar fabrics: oversized hoodies, soft tees, the cardigan Yim bought him last winter. He pauses on it longer than necessary, then moves past. Not that.

He pulls out a thin cream knit instead. It's ribbed and soft, fitted without being tight. The neckline dips just enough to show a little collarbone. He holds it up against himself in the mirror.

It looks older. He changes slowly, smoothing the fabric down his torso once it’s on, adjusting it like it sits wrong even though it doesn’t. He pulls on a pair of dark blue next and steps into them, tugging them up, then adjusting them again. Then, he stares at his reflection. He doesn’t look different, just slightly sharper at the edges. As he angles himself toward the mirror, he thinks Por would-

He locks that away before the thought can finish forming. It doesn’t matter what Por would think. He reaches for his rings, sliding them on one by one. Halfway through, he hesitates, fiddling with them, then finishes anyway. After, he grabs his keys and wallet from his desk and heads towards the door.

"Bye-bye, Hia!" he calls as he passes the living room, "love you!"

"Love you, Tee," Yim replies.

"You too, nong, be safe." Tutor adds.

TeeTee doesn't look back, and the door clicks shut behind him.

The music isn’t as loud as last time.

Still heavy enough to rattle the floorboards, but the crowd is thinner. Conversations overlap instead of covering each other. People are having a (very heated) argument about fonts in the kitchen. The air smells layered but not suffocating.

TeeTee steps inside and shuts the door behind him, eyes sweeping the room automatically. He's not looking for anyone in particular, just-

“Nong Tee!”

Latte appears at his elbow before he can pretend he wasn’t scanning with ink-smudged fingers, sleeves pushed up, pine and something warm threading through the air. “You made it,” he says, grinning. “Come downstairs. It’s less stupid down there.”

TeeTee lets himself be steered toward the basement stairs. The bass dulls as they descend, and the air shifts cooler, heavier. A folding table’s been set up near the couch, UNO cards scattered across it, and a few people are cross-legged on the floor. Someone’s laughing too hard at something.

Across the room, on the couch, is Por. He’s leaning back, head tipped slightly as he laughs at something Auau says. There’s a half-empty drink in his hand. His sleeves are rolled up, chain catching the low light. Lavender cuts faintly through the basement air. He looks different: looser, less guarded.

Tee’s stomach flips, but Por doesn’t look up.

“Oh, you know P'Kim, right?” Latte is saying, pulling him forward before TeeTee can stare too long. “My boyfriend. P'Kim, this is Tee," and TeeTee comes face to face with an omega who could actually be the prettiest person in the room, recognizing him instantly from the framed photo he almost knocked over last party. He'd had Latte’s arm around him and wore that same delicate smile. Up close, Kim is even softer around the edges than the picture suggested: warm eyes, soft features, something quietly graceful about the way he takes up space. His vanilla scent curls around him sweetly, but not cloyingly.

Kim smiles easily, shifting to make space at the table. “You’re the design prodigy, right?” he asks, voice so soft, TeeTee has to lean in to catch it.

He forces a smile, trying not to stare. “That’s a bit exaggerated.”

“Sit,” Latte says, pressing a stack of UNO cards into his hands. TeeTee lowers himself to the floor in front of the low table, settling between Kim and Keng. Thomas sits on Keng’s other side, while Latte drops down beside Kim a second later. He plops into place unceremoniously, throwing an arm around Kim’s shoulders, and the omega immediately leans into him.

Across the room, Por’s group erupts into groans and cackles. Someone swears loudly while someone else chokes on their drink, and TeeTee glances over automatically. Arm is here. He's leaning against the wall behind the seniors’ circle, drink loose in his hand, and watching more than laughing. His gaze sweeps the room lazily until it catches on Tee. Then, he smiles, a slow, knowing curve of his mouth.

Tee looks away first.

“Your turn,” Kim nudges.

Tee blinks, dragging his focus back to the table. He drops a red +4 onto the pile without thinking.

“Stack,” Keng says immediately, placing down a +4. Thomas shoots Latte a guilty look before also placing down a +4.

“Oh, fuck off,” Latte mutters, aggressively reaching for the stack and slamming down each card he has to pull. Kim plays next, tossing a red reverse, and Thomas groans dramatically in betrayal.

Latte laughs exaggeratedly, stacking 4 different colored 5’s. No one even argues about whether that’s allowed, probably because he just had to draw 12 cards.

Kim rolls his eyes fondly, “You’re all children.”

When it gets to his turn, TeeTee tosses down a blue reverse. “Your turn, P’Keng,” he says, sharper than necessary.

Keng squints at him confusedly, alcohol getting to him. “You play aggressively.”

“Do not,” TeeTee mutters.

“You do,” Kim says mildly, watching him with quiet amusement. “You hold onto your wilds too long.”

TeeTee huffs. “That’s strategy.”

“More like overthinking,” Latte corrects.

Kim bumps the alpha’s shoulder lightly. “Relax. It’s just UNO. No need to psychoanalyse.”

TeeTee rolls his eyes, but something in his chest loosens anyway. He drops another card, and this time, when he laughs at Keng’s dramatic betrayal, it’s real.

Across the room, Por goes still, subtly, and no one else notices. However, the air shifts, just slightly, sweet lavender sharpening. His head tilts like he’s trying to place something, and his laughter fades mid-exhale, lowering the drink in his hand slowly. He looks up, finding TeeTee immediately.

Tee doesn’t notice at first. He’s arguing with Thomas now about whether stacking a +4 on a +2 is technically allowed under house rules. Kim is smiling at him in that soft, knowing way again as TeeTee gestures animatedly with his cards. 

Then, he feels that steady, familiar gaze and looks up. Their eyes meet across the basement. For a second, nothing else exists. Por doesn’t look angry, but he doesn’t look amused either. He just looks… confused, like something in front of him didn't match what he expected. TeeTee’s stomach drops, and he looks away first, suddenly very interested in the pile of cards on the table.

“Were you even listening?” Latte cuts Thomas off, mid-rant.

“Yeah,” TeeTee lies, placing down a +4 card again, and laughing a bit too hard at Keng’s exaggerated betrayal.

Across the room, Por leans back into his circle, but he doesn’t laugh this time. He doesn’t stop looking either.

“UNO,” Kim says smoothly, laying down a green 5.

“Ugh, I knew you’d win,” Latte mutters. “Don’t be fooled by his sweet look,” he leans slightly over Kim to talk to TeeTee, “P’Kim’s destroyed everyone here at UNO at least 20 times.”

Thomas sighs, “It’s inevitable. We should just accept it now.”

TeeTee scrambles, flipping through his cards. “No, wait, reverse!”

Kim laughs softly, placing down his last card, a green 3, to match the green TeeTee’s green reverse.

“That did nothing,” Thomas says flatly.

“It was supposed to emotionally,” TeeTee shoots back, pouting. Kim laughs again, softer this time, and TeeTee feels himself lean into it without thinking.

Across the room, Por’s grip tightens slightly around his drink. He still doesn’t look away.TeeTee doesn’t notice, but Arm’s gaze shifts across the room toward Por. It’s subtle: the way Por hasn’t laughed in a while, the way his gaze keeps returning to the UNO table, and the way the air has shifted into something sharper, sweeter.

He pushes off the wall, curious, and drifts closer under the guise of grabbing another drink from the folding table near UNO. He's close enough now that the scent difference is undeniable. His smoke and spice threads into pine, vanilla, and lavender. 

TeeTee feels it before he sees him and glances up. Arm’s already there.

“Didn’t know you played,” Arm says casually, reaching over the table to grab a cup, his arm brushing lightly against Tee’s shoulder. TeeTee stiffens for half a second, then forces himself not to.

“It’s UNO,” he replies. “Not exactly a niche skill.”

Arm huffs a quiet laugh. Kim’s eyes flick between them once. Latte notices too, but says nothing.

Across the basement, however, Por sits up just a bit straighter, and his jaw tightens.

Arm lingers a second longer than necessary. He's close enough that TeeTee can feel the heat of him through his thin knit.

“Winning?” Arm asks.

“Obviously,” TeeTee lies. He has a thick fan of cards in his hand, and the only reason he isn’t dead last and having to take a shot is Keng, who’d somehow accumulated 20 cards.

He doesn’t need to look at Por; he can smell the lavender turn sharp again.

Arm’s hand lands lightly on the edge of the table as he leans in slightly to glance at TeeTee's cards. “Careful,” he murmurs, low enough that only TeeTee hears. “You’re holding your wilds too long.”

TeeTee's pulse jumps stupidly. A round later, Keng dumps his cards (all 24 of them) into the center, tired of taking shots, probably, and demands a rematch. They all laugh, dropping their own cards onto the table while Kim gathers the deck and shuffles it. 

“Seven each again?” Thomas asks.

“Please,” Keng groans.

Kim glances up, “Arm, do you want in?” TeeTee notices the lack of nong, which Kim usually refers to everyone with.

Arm doesn’t move from where he’s leaning against the folding table. His gaze flicks to TeeTee for a second, amused.

“Nah,” he says easily. “I think I’ll just watch.”

Latte snorts. “That’s creepy.”

Arm shrugs. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on the prodigy.”

TeeTee rolls his eyes, but his ears burn anyway.

Across the room, Por sets his drink down a little too hard, and the sound carries; everyone notices, but he doesn’t apologize, standing up instead.

Auau glances up. “Bathroom?” he asks.

Por doesn’t answer, stepping away from the couch and crossing the basement in long, measured steps. The air shifts as he approaches, lavender softening into something more controlled. He stops beside the UNO table, close enough that TeeTee can feel him before he sees him.

“Room for one more?” Por asks lightly, almost pleasantly.

Latte blinks. “Oh- yeah, sure.” Kim shifts closer to him immediately to make space, and deals Por a stack too. Por sits in the space Kim left behind, not even glancing at Arm. His knee brushes briefly against Tee’s as he settles, and despite himself, TeeTee's breath catches

Arm straightens slowly, taking a step back to give space, but not entirely retreating either.

“I thought you said you weren't interested,” Kim frowns at Por.

“I changed my mind,” Por doesn't look at him. His eyes flick to TeeTee for half a second, then down to the cards in Tee’s hand, and finally back to Kim.

“You start,” Por says calmly, and TeeTee freezes. He hadn’t realized that Kim was done dealing cards already. For half a second, his brain blanks completely. The proximity is distracting: lavender close and steady at his side, controlled in a way that makes his pulse trip.

He looks down at his cards. He could play it safe, but he doesn’t.

“Green,” TeeTee says instead, laying down another +4 without hesitation.

Thomas groans immediately. “Are you kidding me?”

“It’s allowed,” TeeTee says quickly.

“But evil,” Latte corrects.

Tee shrugs, leaning back slightly, brushing deliberately against Arm’s thigh where he still stands nearby.

“If you’re going to hold wilds,” TeeTee adds lightly, not looking at Por, “you might as well use them.”

Arm huffs a quiet laugh behind them. “Bold.”

Tee glances up at him instead of Por.

“Strategy,” he says.

Next to them, Kim’s eyes flick between them once. Por doesn’t say anything, but the lavender beside him tightens again until no longer sharp, just contained. TeeTee refuses to look.

The game progresses, and TeeTee drops a wild his next turn, smirking when Keng swears under his breath.

“Relax,” TeeTee says lightly. “It’s just UNO.” He doesn’t realize he’s echoing Kim from earlier, but Por does. And that’s when his hand moves to lay flat on the table near Tee’s cards, close enough to crowd the space.

“Red,” Por says softly, as TeeTee places down a wild card.

TeeTee's breath catches again. He didn’t announce the color change, but Por just knew. He changes the color without arguing.

“Copycat,” Thomas mutters.

Tee forces a smirk. “It’s red now.”

Por’s hand doesn’t move from the table. Arm shifts behind them, just enough that his knee grazes TeeTee's back.

“Careful,” Arm says lightly. “You’re getting predictable.”

TeeTee laughs too quickly. “I thought you liked bold.”

“I do,” Arm replies easily.

Por’s fingers tap once against the table, and Kim clears his throat softly. The air feels heavier now; it's layered with pine and smoke and lavender and vanilla with something faintly metallic underneath.

TeeTee drops another card without checking it first. He’s not even sure what he’s playing anymore. Across the table, Latte and Thomas are still arguing, but it feels distant. Por leans slightly closer, but not enough to touch.

“You’re holding three,” he murmurs.

TeeTee goes still. He hadn’t counted, but he is.

Por leans back again like he didn’t say anything at all. A few turns later, he puts down a yellow 2. “UNO.”

Thomas groans. “No, absolutely not.”

“What? I’m playing by the rules,” Por says mildly.

TeeTee doesn’t look at him.

Por places his last card down a second later, a red 2. “I win.”

There’s a small beat of annoyed protest from the table. Latte swears under his breath, and Kim rolls his eyes fondly. Por just gathers his cards slowly, stacking them with careful precision before setting them down.

“I’m going to get some air,” he says, a bit too light.

Kim looks up at him, studying him for a half-second. “Upstairs?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

Por doesn’t react. “Yeah.”

Latte snorts. “Good luck with that.”

A couple of the seniors laugh. Por just shrugs, already stepping away from the table. He doesn’t look at TeeTee once, lavender scent fading as he climbs the stairs. The basement feels heavier without him.

A half beat passes, then Arm exhales softly behind Tee.

“Well,” he says. “That was interesting.”

Tee stares down at his cards.

“It’s just UNO,” he mutters. The edges of the cards feel slightly sharper against his fingertips than they should.

Thomas pushes the deck in Kim’s direction without ceremony. “Rematch,” he says.

“Obviously,” Latte replies, and TeeTee nods automatically.

Across the basement, Por’s group is still loud: someone's reading a card too dramatically as another person wheezes through laughter. Kim doesn’t laugh, though, and his eyes flick briefly toward the stairs before coming back to the table.

From the couch, a voice says, “I’m grabbing another drink.” An omega from the other circle– the one who’d been sitting next to Por, the same one from the Instagram story last week– stands and stretches lazily, brushing nonexistent lint from his sleeve before heading towards the stairs.

Auau waves him off. “Bring me one.”

“Maybe,” the omega calls back.

"Nong Ohm," Kim calls, mildly. The omega, Ohm, pauses at the foot of the stairs and looks over. There's something wordless there, a quiet exchange. It lingers far longer than necessary. TeeTee doesn’t mean to watch, but he does anyway. He tells himself it’s nothing; people move around at parties. Ohm finally gives a small nod before continuing upstairs. Kim returns to his cards.

Meanwhile, TeeTee drops a card without looking at it.

“Wrong color,” Thomas says.

TeeTee blinks, “Oh," and switches it out.

The music upstairs shifts to something slower now. Heavier bass. A different rhythm.

They play a few more rounds of UNO, Keng losing each time spectacularly, but it doesn’t hit the same. Latte stands up first, holding a hand out to Kim, who takes it. As Latte pulls Kim up, he tugs on Kim's hand, sending the omega stumbling into Latte's open arms. "Tte!" Kim scolds, ears read, and smacks his arm. Latte just grins in response.

Other people begin standing up and putting away their games, too. "Basement's dead." Someone says.

"Should we head upstairs?" Latte nods in the direction of the stairs. Everyone agrees.

TeeTee tucks the UNO cards back into the box, and suddenly, a hand is in his line of sight. He looks up to find Arm waiting expectantly.

“Just to help you up,” Arm says lightly, like it doesn't have to mean anything. TeeTee still hesitates. It’s barely noticeable, just a flicker of stillness, but he feels it in his chest. The echo of lavender isn’t here anymore. It's somewhere above them, upstairs. He could wave it off, but he doesn’t, taking Arm's hand instead. The alpha's palm is warm and steady. He pulls him up easily, fingers lingering half a second longer than necessary before letting go.

The stairs are narrow. Arm walks close behind him, close enough that TeeTee can feel the heat of him. The music grows louder with each step. By the time they reach the top, the lights are dimmer, colored shapes moving across the ceiling. The bass is heavier now, slower, and people move along to the beat. Near the wall, Latte has Kim pulled in close, Kim’s hands tucked into the front of Latte’s shirt, while Latte murmurs something into his ear that makes him swat his shoulder. They make it look so easy. Arm’s hand settles at Tee’s waist as naturally as if it belongs there, rings cool through the fabric of TeeTee’s shirt, and he thinks maybe it could be.

That’s when he sees them.

Por stands near the far end of the room, close enough to the wall that no one can drift behind him, and Ohm is in front of him. They aren't pressed together, but there’s no space between them when the beat drops. Por’s hands rest at Ohm’s waist, not gripping, but not tentative either, and Ohm’s fingers are hooked in Por’s collar, brushing the thin chain at his throat when Por leans closer to hear him. They move in time with the music together, slow and measured. Por's face is entirely calm, like TeeTee being here changes nothing.

TeeTee's throat tightens. Lavender threads through the air again, but warmer now, tangling with something faintly sweet that isn’t his.

Arm’s thumb shifts slightly at Tee’s waist.

“You okay?” he asks near his ear.

Tee doesn’t look away.

“You never think things through.” The words flash through his head before he can stop them. Por had said it like it was obvious, like TeeTee was still the same reckless kid who needed someone else to clean up after him. As if TeeTee couldn’t handle himself. 

His jaw flexes. “Yeah,” he says, and steps closer to Arm instead. Arm’s hand tightens slightly at his waist. He studies TeeTee for a second.

“You trying to make someone jealous?” he finally asks, voice low, almost amused.

TeeTee laughs softly. “Why would I do that?”

Arm’s gaze flicks past him briefly, then back. “Because it looks like it’s working.”

TeeTee doesn’t turn; he doesn’t need to.

Across the room, Por leans closer to Ohm to hear something over the music. Ohm says something that makes Por’s mouth curve faintly. Not enough to be a smile, but just enough to look easy. TeeTee waits, just for a second, for Por to look up.

He doesn’t.

Arm shifts closer, his voice brushing Tee’s ear. “Go out with me,” he says simply. “Not this. Not parties. Just… out.”

TeeTee’s breath stutters.

He looks at Por one last time, and this time, Por finally lifts his gaze. Their eyes meet across the room, and for a heartbeat, everything else dulls: the bass, the lights, and the bodies moving around them. If Por is surprised, he doesn't show it. TeeTee's pulse thunders in his ears. Por had said he was acting like a kid.

TeeTee turns back to look at Arm. “Okay,” he says. It comes out softer than he intended.

Across the room, Por goes very still, just enough for Ohm to notice and glance down at him.

The song changes, and TeeTee doesn’t look over again.