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When Luke woke up the next morning, the word ‘happiness’ couldn’t even cover half of what he was feeling. He was flying. Jumping. Leaping for joy at the mere thought of a certain pale faced flawless boy who had finally, finally, made a move on him.
He jumped out of bed and decides that for once in his life, he would actually make an effort to look half decent. So he rummaged through his closet and found the nicest pair of jeans he owned, and matched it to a short sleeved shirt that was so dark navy that it was almost purple. He ruffled his hair and checked his skin. His acne had recently died down (which he was so thankful about) and his facial hair actually connected and looked good now. He decided that yeah, he looked fine like this.
With a skip in his step, he left his room so that he could go and find his new boyfriend, say good morning to him, and maybe smother him in a few thousand secret kisses.
But as soon as he closed his bedroom door, he froze.
He had only taken two steps into the hallway, still buzzing with that warm, fizzy, my-boyfriend-is-in-my-house giddiness, when he heard it a soft, broken muttering and sniffling through Gabe’s door. At first he thought he was imagining it. Gabe didn’t cry. Gabe never cried. But then he heard it again. A choked sound. Another sniff. A soft sob.
Luke’s breath caught. He crept closer on instinct, heart pounding, and gently pressed his ear to the door.
“…I’m sorry,” Gabe whispered, voice thick and wrecked. “I’m sorry, I just—I don’t know how else to shut it off. I don’t know what else to do. I’m trying, okay? I’m fucking trying.”
Luke’s stomach knotted.
There was a pause. Then Young’s voice, soft and steady, floated through the crack of the door. “I know. Just breathe. It’s alright. Just breathe, Gabe. You don’t need to apologise to me.”
Gabe sniffed sharply. “I do. I… I messed up again. I know I did. I know you hate when I drink this much. I know you do.”
“I don’t hate it,” Young murmured. “I’m just worried about you, that’s all.”
Another broken sound.
Luke felt his whole body tense.
“You don’t get it,” Gabe whispered frantically. “I need it. It’s the only thing that keeps me from thinking too much. From—from feeling like I’m fucking drowning. The pressures too much, ya know? Lacrosse. Maddy. My fucking shitty grades. I can’t do it, Young. I can’t.”
“Yes you can,” Young said quietly. “I know you. I know how strong you really are. And yeah, sometimes it’s okay to let loose and have a drink and party. But you’re scaring me. You scared me last night too. I don’t want to lose you.”
Gabe let out a low, miserable laugh. “You won’t lose me. Let’s not get dramatic. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not, even when I’m a screw-up.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Young replied. “I mean… I’m here. You don’t have to drink yourself sick just to cope. I’m here. You can talk to me. You always can.”
Silence. Then the faint, wet sound of Gabe crying again. Really crying. The kind of cry Luke hadn’t heard from him since they were little boys—when Gabe skinned his knees, or had nightmares, or lost their old family dog. It made Luke’s heart split open. He shouldn’t listen. He knew he shouldn’t. But he couldn’t make himself stop.
“…I’m sorry,” Gabe repeated in a broken whisper. “I know you didn’t sign up for this. I know I’m too much sometimes.”
Young’s voice shook. “You’re not too much. You’re my best friend. You’re my family. But I need you to stop drinking like this. You scared me last night. And I think if you continue down this path, you’ll end up scaring Luke too, even if he’s too polite to say it.”
Luke’s breath caught. His heart started racing faster, cold dread creeping into his chest. God, Young was right. This wasn’t just casual college partying. This wasn’t just blowing off steam. The way Gabe talked, it’s almost like he needed alcohol. He apologised for drinking too much. He said it kept him sane. He cried about it. This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t small. This was a problem and Luke had been too blind and too far away from his brother to notice.
Luke pressed his back to the wall, sliding down until he was crouched on the carpet, trying to breathe through the sudden rush of panic and guilt and confusion.
How long had this been happening?
Why hadn’t Gabe told him?
hy hadn’t he noticed?
A soft thud sounded from inside—maybe Gabe collapsing onto the bed, maybe Young sitting beside him. And then Young’s voice came again, low and soothing: “Try and go back to sleep. We don’t need to leave till the afternoon. Nate and I can take turns driving. You don’t need to worry about it.”
Luke’s eyes stung. The giddy joy he’d woken up with evaporated, leaving behind a deep ache in his chest. He wanted to burst into the room and hug his brother. He wanted to demand answers. He wanted to rewind time and pay closer attention. But instead he just stayed there, silent in the hallway with his heart pounding so hard he could hear it, realising for the first time that his big invincible brother was drowning and Luke had no idea how to save him.
Luke heard the unmistakable sounds of somebody moving towards the door from inside the room and he scrambled to his feet so fast he nearly tripped over his own ankles. His heart lurched when the door cracked open and Youngjae stepped out, quietly pulling it shut behind him. He turned and nearly jumped when he saw Luke stood there timidly.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Luke instantly knew that Young knew he had heard every word. Young didn’t look angry. He didn’t even look surprised. He just looked…sad. Heavy, quiet sadness. The kind that made Luke’s throat feel tight.
Young stepped closer, lowering his voice to almost a whisper. “He’s going back to sleep,” he murmured. “He finally calmed down.”
Luke nodded, because his voice was trapped somewhere in his chest.
Young watched him for a moment and something in his expression softened even further. “You heard everything,” he said gently. Not accusing. Just acknowledging.
Luke swallowed hard and nodded again.
Young’s eyes flickered with guilt before settling into something steadier. Protective. “Come on,” he whispered, glancing toward the hallway. “You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.”
Luke blinked, confused. “Why?”
“You look like you’re about to fall apart,” Young said simply.
Before Luke could respond, Young reached out and walked him quietly down the hallway toward Luke’s own room. Luke followed without protest, still feeling hollow and shaky from what he’d heard. Inside his room, Young closed the door softly behind them. Luke didn’t realise he was trembling until Young reached for him. There was no hesitation. No tension. Just a firm, warm pull as Young wrapped his arms around the shorter boy, chest pressed to chest, chin brushing Luke’s hair. Luke let out a shaky breath, sinking into him like he’d been waiting for this exact embrace all morning.
“You’re okay,” Young murmured against his temple. “Everything’s okay.”
Luke clutched at the back of Young’s shirt, squeezing his eyes shut as the emotions finally crashed over him—fear, guilt, worry, heartbreak, all tangled together. “I didn’t know,” he whispered. “I didn’t know it was this bad. He didn’t tell me.”
Young’s hand slid up and down his spine in slow, grounding strokes. “You’re his little brother,” he said quietly. “He didn’t want you to worry.”
“But I should’ve seen it,” Luke choked.
Young pulled back just enough to cup Luke’s jaw, forcing him to look up. “No,” he said firmly, voice low but certain. “Don’t do that. This isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known. Hell, it took me months to realise and I basically spent everyday with him.”
Luke’s breath wavered. Young pressed a soft kiss to his forehead—careful, comforting, intimate in a way that made Luke’s heart tremble.
“Come on,” Young murmured, guiding him toward the bed.
Luke crawled onto it instinctively, and Young followed, lying on his side and pulling Luke straight into his chest. Luke went willingly, curling into him as Young’s arm wrapped around his waist, anchoring him. Young held him, warm and steady, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along Luke’s back. For the first time since he’d woken up, Luke’s breathing finally began to even out.
“You and Gabe will be fine,” Young whispered into his hair. “You have each other. You have me.”
Luke wasn’t sure who moved first. Maybe it was him, leaning up ever so slightly. Maybe it was Young, brushing his thumb over Luke’s hip as if he couldn’t help himself. But suddenly their lips were touching again, slowly at first, soft and warm, the kind of kiss that seeped into his bones instead of lighting him on fire. Young shifted closer, his hand sliding to cradle the back of Luke’s neck as Luke curled his fingers into Young’s shirt.
The kiss deepened in gentle waves. Lazy. Tender. Lingering.
A quiet hum slipped from Luke when Young’s tongue brushed against his, and Young smiled into the kiss, tightening his arm around Luke’s waist like he wanted to pull him entirely into his chest. Luke kissed him back eagerly, each slow pull of their mouths making his stomach flip. It wasn’t like last night. No frantic breaths. No desperate grinding. Just warmth, and softness, and that dizzying feeling of finally being exactly where he wanted to be.
When they eventually pulled apart, their foreheads stayed pressed together. Luke tried to slow his breathing; Young tried to calm the giddy smile tugging at his lips. They lay there for a few more minutes, wrapped up in the quiet, in each other, until Luke finally whispered: “We should go downstairs.”
Young groaned softly. “Five more minutes.”
Luke huffed out a laugh against his cheek. “If we stay here any longer my mom will come looking.”
Young sighed. “Fine. But I want it known that I’m being dragged away from my boyfriend.”
Luke’s heart fluttered so hard he had to shove Young playfully in the chest just to hide how flustered he was. “Shut up,” he muttered, but he was smiling so wide it made his cheeks hurt.
They straightened themselves out (Luke fixing his hair, Young wiping the faint smudges of sleep from under his eyes) and then they made their way downstairs.
The kitchen smelled like toast and coffee. Luke’s mom was bustling around the stove, while his dad was reading something on his tablet. They both looked up the second Luke and Young entered.
“Morning, boys,” she said brightly. “You two hungry?”
“Starving,” Young replied politely, sliding into his usual chair.
Luke sat next to him, trying desperately to look unbothered. Normal. Totally not freshly making out with the boy he’d been obsessed with for half his life. But his mother’s eyes flicked between them, quick and assessing glances that Luke absolutely did not appreciate. He stiffened. Smiled too quickly. Picked up his glass of orange juice like it was a lifeline.
“So, did you two sleep well?” she asked casually.
Young picked up a fork. “Pretty well, yeah.”
“Anything interesting happen last night?” she asked, staring pointedly at her blue-haired son.
Luke nearly choked on his juice. His mom’s eyes narrowed, amused. As if she could smell the romantic chaos simmering just beneath the surface.
Luke sat up straighter, clearing his throat. “Nothing too crazy. Eli and Nate came over. We all hung out. All five of us. Together. Just… hung out.”
His mum hummed, returning to the eggs, but Luke could feel her watching and connecting dots and cataloguing every small shift in behaviour. He tried to act normal. He really did. But when Young brushed his hand against Luke’s under the table, Luke knew he was absolutely doomed. Completely and utterly doomed.
He forced himself to focus on his breakfast, even though every nerve in his body was buzzing. He kept hoping the warmth in his cheeks would fade, but every time Young shifted beside him, or their knees bumped under the table, or Young leaned forward to smile politely at something Luke’s mom or dad said, that warmth flared back up again.
He was sure he was being obvious. He was sure his mom could tell. He was sure his dad had noticed the way Young’s shoulder brushed his when they sat.
He kept his eyes on his plate. Young kept stealing glances at him. And Luke’s mom kept clearing her throat like she’d just remembered something scandalously funny.
“So, Young,” she said lightly as she plated some eggs, “do you boys have any plans today before you head back to Boston?”
Young glanced at Luke quickly. “Nothing huge. Just hanging out for a bit. Gabe said he’s not really feeling too great so he’s gone back to bed.”
“Oh, okay,” she replied. “Well, I’m sure you can hang out with just Luke today. You boys always seem to have fun together.”
Luke bit his lip, stabbing a sausage a little too aggressively.
His dad looked up from the tablet at that. “Are you feeling alright, kid? You look flushed.”
“I’m fine!” Luke said, voice cracking like a tween. “Totally fine. Normal level of temperature. Completely average blood pressure. What is everyone’s problem today? Like, it’s May. Its sunny. Of course I might be a little flushed!”
His dad just blinked across at him, confused.
Young coughed to disguise a laugh. Under the table, his fingers brushed Luke’s again—on purpose this time. Luke shot him a warning glare. Young gave him a tiny, smug smirk. His mom raised an eyebrow so high it nearly touched her hairline. She watched the silent exchange with the expression of a woman who had cracked a code.
“You two are awfully… cosy this morning.”
Luke almost fell out of his chair. “We…what? No. We’re just—We—Gabe’s the…We—” He cleared his throat violently. “Mom. We’re just being normal friends.”
“Oh?” she asked, voice dripping with knowing amusement. “Friends.”
Young took a calm sip of his orange juice. “Very good friends.”
Luke kicked his ankle under the table. Young didn’t even flinch, just smiled.
His mother hummed again—the kind of hum that meant she absolutely knew everything and was simply choosing not to terrorise him about it right now.
“Luke,” she continued in a far-too-light tone, “I’m assuming you’re excited to spend some time in Boston once you start college.”
“Yes,” Luke said quickly. “I mean, yeah, I guess. I’ll be close. To Gabe.”
“And Young,” she added, eyes sparkling.
Luke choked again.
Young thumped his back like a helpful but deeply unhelpful boyfriend. “Careful,” he murmured, amusement warm in his voice. “Don’t want you dying before your first lecture.”
Luke glared at him with murder in his eyes. Young just shrugged, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.
The rest of breakfast went on in a blur—lots of small talk, lots of quiet nudges beneath the table, lots of Luke trying not to combust. His parents eventually excused themselves leaving Luke and Young alone at the table. The second the kitchen door swung shut behind his mom, Luke buried his face in his hands.
“Oh my god.”
Young’s laugh was low, warm, and entirely too fond. “Your mom knows.”
“She definitely knows.”
“She didn’t seem upset.”
“She seemed nosy.“
“She seemed happy,” Young corrected gently.
Luke peeked at him through his fingers. Young was smiling softly, nothing teasing now. Just pure affection. Luke’s breath caught. Young reached out and tugged Luke’s hands away from his face, lacing their fingers together on top of the table.
“Maybe she approves of me,” Young whispered.
“Maybe she does,” Luke nodded.
“I really like your mom.”
“Me too,” Luke said.
“Hopefully Gabe will have the same reaction when we eventually tell him,” Young said in an unsure voice, eyes flickering downwards and then back to Luke.
Luke could only stare at him with his heart pounding, cheeks warm, and stomach fluttering uncontrollably. God. With the way Youngjae spoke, Luke knew that this was real. This was well and truly happening. Youngjae was holding his hand in his childhood kitchen like he’d always belonged there and Luke had to actually squeeze his fingers to make sure this was all real, not just his wild imagination. Young squeezed back. Yep. It was real.
Fuck me.
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