Chapter 2: The Unspoken
“Yeah,” Ethan said, the word sounding less sure than he felt. “It’s just a bed.”
Leo’s smile didn’t fade. He gave a single, slow nod. “Okay. Thanks, man. I’ll try to remember which side is mine.”
The weird charge in the air didn’t dissipate, but it settled, transforming from a lightning strike into a low, steady current. Ethan busied himself with closing down his computer, the monitor winking off and plunging half the room into deeper shadow. He gestured vaguely with his chin.
“Wardrobe is half-empty on the left side. I cleared it out this afternoon. Drawers underneath are free too. TV remote’s on the nightstand. HDMI cable for a laptop is already plugged in behind it. Desk is… well, it’s a mess, but the right half is yours if you need it.”
Leo listened, nodding along as he unpacked a toiletry bag. “En-suite?”
“Through that door.” Ethan pointed to a door beside the closet. “Fresh towels are on the rack. Shower gel, shampoo, whatever’s in there is communal. Help yourself.”
“Might actually do that,” Leo said, stretching his arms over his head. The movement pulled his t-shirt taut across his chest. “Long drive. Feel kinda grimy.” He grabbed a pair of low-slung gray sweats and a fresh white t-shirt from his bag, then snagged the toiletry kit. As he passed Ethan’s desk, his phone buzzed on the wooden surface. He glanced at it, and a short, knowing chuckle escaped him.
Ethan looked up. “What?”
“Nothing. Just my buddy, Mark. He knows I’m moving in here today. Says he knows you from Psych 101 last semester.” Leo picked up the phone, his thumbs flying over the screen for a second before he set it down again. He looked directly at Ethan, his expression softening from playful to something more genuine. “He said, and I quote, ‘Ethan’s quiet till he knows you. If he’s talking, he’s trying.’ So. Thanks.”
Ethan felt exposed, as if a private assessment had been read aloud. He shrugged, looking away at his trophies. “Mark talks too much.”
“Maybe,” Leo said, his voice warm. “But it’s good info.” He disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door not with a firm click, but leaving it just slightly ajar. A moment later, the hiss and rattle of the shower starting up filled the silence.
Ethan let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He methodically tidied his desk, aligning textbooks, tossing an empty energy drink can into the trash. The sounds from the bathroom were unmistakable: the shower curtain rings scraping, the shift of water pressure as someone moved under the spray. Domestic. Intimate. He tried to ignore the tight, strange feeling in his stomach.
He changed into his own sleep clothes—soft black sweats and no shirt, a habit from living alone. He was pulling back the duvet on his side of the bed when the bathroom door opened again.
Steam rolled out first, carrying the clean, sharp scent of Ethan’s own pine and cedarwood shower gel. Then Leo emerged, a white towel slung low around his hips, another in his hands rubbing at his damp hair. His skin was flushed pink from the heat, water droplets still clinging to the defined lines of his shoulders and the sculpted planes of his chest and abdomen. He was lean but powerfully built, the muscles of a defenseman evident in his broad shoulders, tapered waist, and strong thighs.
Ethan looked. Of course he looked. He played sports; he’d seen plenty of guys in various states of undress. This was no different. Just a body.
But it was different. The similarity was startling. They had virtually the same build—the same long, athletic lines, the same kind of muscular definition earned through different but equally demanding disciplines. Ethan saw his own body reflected in Leo’s, but translated through a different lens. Where Ethan’s muscles were defined by explosive dives and lateral jumps, Leo’s spoke of powerful strides and bruising checks. It was like seeing a familiar blueprint executed by a different architect.
Leo dropped the towel from his head, revealing his tousled dark hair, even darker when wet. He seemed completely at ease, padding barefoot across the room to his duffel. “Hot water pressure is insane. I approve.”
“Good,” Ethan said, his voice coming out a bit rough. He cleared his throat and got into bed, sitting propped against the headboard, trying to focus on his own phone.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Leo dress. The towel dropped. Ethan quickly averted his gaze to his screen, the bright light momentarily blinding him. He heard the soft rustle of fabric, the pull of elastic. When he chanced another look, Leo was pulling the white t-shirt over his head, the gray sweats sitting perfectly on his hips. He ran a hand through his hair again, making it stand up in chaotic spikes.
“Which side’s mine?” Leo asked, turning toward the bed.
“Uh. That one.” Ethan pointed to the left side, the side farther from the door and the desk.
Leo nodded and slid under the covers. The bed, which had always felt cavernously large, suddenly felt precisely measured. Ethan was acutely aware of the dip of the mattress under Leo’s weight, the new warmth radiating from the other side, the faint, clean smell of his own shower gel on another person’s skin.
For a few minutes, they just lay there in the dim lamplight, each on his own phone. The silence wasn’t hostile, but it was filled with a thousand unspoken adjustments.
“You play Sentinel Kings?” Leo asked suddenly, not looking up from his screen.
Ethan blinked. “Yeah. How’d you know?”
“Saw the icon on your desktop when you closed down. I’m on there. Level 60 paladin.”
A flicker of genuine interest cut through Ethan’s guardedness. “No way. I’m a 62 shadow-knight. We should run the Frostbyte Caverns sometime. The pug groups are trash.”
“Tell me about it,” Leo said, a laugh in his voice. He finally set his phone down on his own nightstand and turned on his side to face Ethan, head propped on his hand. “So you’re a strategy guy. Makes sense for a keeper. Reading the play.”
“Something like that,” Ethan said, putting his own phone away. The conversational doorway felt safer than the silence. “Hockey’s pretty strategic too. For a goon sport.”
“Hey,” Leo said, feigning offense, his eyes gleaming. “It’s a noble goon sport. All geometry and anger management.” He paused, his expression shifting. “This is okay, right? Me being here?”
The question was direct, stripping away the light banter. Ethan met his gaze. In the soft light, Leo’s hazel eyes looked more gold than green, and for the first time, Ethan saw a trace of something unsure beneath the confidence. He was trying, too.
“It’s okay,” Ethan said, and found he meant it. “It’s just new.”
Leo nodded, accepting that. He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “New is good sometimes.” A comfortable quiet descended, easier this time. After a moment, Leo spoke again, his voice drowsy. “Night, Ethan.”
“Night, Leo.”
Ethan reached over and turned off the lamp. Darkness swallowed the room, broken only by the faint red glow of the computer’s power button. He lay on his back, listening to the unfamiliar sound of another person’s breathing evening out into sleep beside him. The space between them in the big bed felt both vast and infinitesimally small. His mind replayed the image of Leo stepping out of the steam, the mirror of his own form, the easy way he occupied the space.
As sleep began to pull at him, he heard Leo’s phone buzz once on the nightstand. A second of faint light illuminated the ceiling, then went dark. On the other side of the bed, Leo, who Ethan thought was asleep, shifted slightly. He reached out, silenced the phone, and in the dark, Ethan just barely made out the shape of him bringing the screen close to his face.
A quick, silent tap of a thumb. A message sent.
Then Leo settled back into the pillows, and the room was still.