Dinner wasn’t nearly as awkward as Sky had braced himself for.
Chris’s parents asked questions—mostly harmless ones. About school. Classes. His interests. Chris, being Chris, took over before Sky even had a chance to answer fully, diving into tales about how Sky was "everywhere" in town, doing God knows what, and sohow everyone’s favorite.
He said it like a complaint, but his eyes betrayed him—bright and proud and full of sothing warm. For the first ti, Sky found himself smiling quietly, glad Chris had noticed. Glad Chris liked it.
He should have volunteered more frequently and invited Chris to the pub more frequently.
Chris even complained that he usually struts into the cafeteria with a gaphone and says gibberish that makes people swoon.
Sky found himself biting his lips so he wouldn’t let the smile out.
There was no pressure this ti. No cornering. No polite interrogation. Chris’s parents seed more interested in hearing about their son—his life at school, his habits, what he was like outside their gilded world. But when Sky confessed there really wasn’t much—Chris barely went out and didn’t talk about himself much at all. Chris was... boring. They laughed like it was the funniest thing, while Chris sulked in mock offense.
Sky felt... oddly at ease.
Until the one question he’d been hoping wouldn’t co:
"What about your parents, dear? Do they know you’re here?"
Sky blinked. The clink of cutlery paused. He managed a short nod. "Yes."
He saw the way Chris’s parents exchanged a glance. Quick, unreadable. But to their credit, they didn’t push.
Chris looked at him—openly concerned. His face always gave him away. Sky avoided his eyes, pretending to focus on the last bite of his food.
The mont passed, the conversation moved on, and soon dinner was over.
Not without a parting shot, though—Chris’s mother, ever composed, warned, "No ssing around in this house."
Right. Sure.
But boys would be boys.
To be fair, Chris hadn’t planned on sneaking out for anything ridiculous. This wasn’t about rebellion. No, he had a perfectly valid reason. A reasonable, logical, absolutely non-suspicious reason.
So naturally, he tiptoed down the hall like a petty thief, dodging light sensors like they were lasers in a spy movie, and knocked—softly—on Sky’s door.
It flew open instantly. Like Sky had been standing there. Waiting.
Chris flinched. "Jesus."
"Took you long enough," Sky said, already turning away, heading back toward the bed like this was routine. Like this wasn’t so late-night, possibly rule-breaking rendezvous in a billionaire’s house.
"You like calling on Jesus lately," Sky comnted and narrowed his gaze. "That isn’t a currently living guy’s na, right?"
Chris stared for a beat, heart still hamring, then followed him in, shutting the door behind him as quietly as possible. The room was dimly lit. It felt warm. And slled nice.
Chris leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and asked casually, "Were you waiting for ?"
Sky nodded without hesitation, crossing his legs on the bed. He was in a set of soft, navy pajamas that sohow looked tailored to him—loose in the right places, hugging where it should. His hair was down, it looked like he just finished blow drying it, and a faint flush colored his cheeks. He looked... better. Softer. Comfortably undone. He even slled nice—like mint and clean soap and sothing vaguely expensive.
Sothing an Owen owned.
Chris caught himself ogling.
He blinked out of it, coughed, and fumbled the phone he’d been holding. "Uh. Right. I, um, brought you this."
He held out the phone. "One of my old ones. Still works fine. I’m not sure where my phone is, so I might get calls here. But I thought you might need to reach your family. And maybe check other stuff."
He went closer to hand it to him. Sothing told him not to. That this was going to be a temptation he wouldn’t be able to stand.
Sky took it gently, flipping it in his palm. "Do you have their numbers?"
Chris blinked. "Wait—you don’t have anyone’s number morized?"
There was a pause. Then Sky gave a slow smile and said, "I’m kidding."
Chris let out a breathy laugh, ready to call him a clown, to say he was so silly. But sohow, the words tangled and what ca out was—
"You’re so beautiful."
It slipped, quiet and bare.
The air paused with them. Both boys froze, staring.
Sky slowly uncrossed his legs and tucked his hair behind his ears which were looking kinda red now, eyes darting away from Chris’s. "Uh... I was actually going to call Henry," he said, his voice low. "Hope you don’t mind if I talk to him... privately?"
Chris nodded once, too quickly. "Sure," he said, trying to keep his tone neutral. But his jaw tightened as he turned around.
Sky’s voice ca again, quick and unsure. "Where are you going?"
Chris glanced over his shoulder. Sky stood up, the phone in one hand, the other tugging slightly at the hem of his shirt. "Just... stay for a while?" he asked. "I’ll just be in the restroom."
Chris hesitated, his back half-turned, before letting out a short sigh. "Yeah. Okay."
But inside, it prickled. He didn’t like it—Sky asking him to wait but still shutting him out. The privacy. The secrecy. It stung a little more than it should. Still, what choice did he have?
He sat down on the edge of the bed, arms folded across his chest, glaring softly at the empty air.
And that was how it happened. Sowhere between thoughts and frustration, eyelids growing heavier and heavier, he drifted off to sleep—alone, on soone else’s bed, waiting.
Sowhere along the line, Chris blinked groggily, the world returning to him in a slow, warm haze. The soft scent of sothing familiar—peaches, maybe—filled his nose. Sothing gentle brushed against his forehead.
He opened his eyes.
Sky.
He was leaning over him, impossibly close, his fingertips delicately brushing strands of hair from Chris’s face. His expression was soft, unreadable, eyes shadowed with sothing that looked too much like affection.
For a second, Chris forgot how to breathe. He blinked again, slower this ti, taking him in. The closeness. The warmth. The way Sky’s thumb hesitated just beside his temple, like he didn’t want to stop touching him.
Chris thought maybe he was dreaming. He must have been. This felt like sothing out of those blurry monts before waking, sothing familiar and distant all at once—like this had happened before, in their dorm, or maybe in quiet monts when Sky had watched him without his knowing.
But then their eyes t. Locked. And Sky didn’t look away.
He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
"You make breathe easier," Sky whispered, like it hurt to say—like he was saying too much and too little at once.
Then he leaned in. Close enough that Chris could feel his breath. And then, with impossible gentleness, Sky kissed him.
Directly. On the lips.
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