Jonas woke at seven the next morning, a bit disoriented by where he was, like it always did when someone discovered a new place. Then the stained-glass lamp came into focus, and the memory of the previous day flooded back.
He showered in the bathroom down the hall, the one with the tub. Like seriously, what kind of bathroom had both a tub and a shower, for a student house at least? And there were three bathrooms here? This was crazy. He dressed in some jeans and a button-down that he hoped looked casual. He then went into the kitchen, determined to make himself a cup of coffee to kick-start his day. But of course, it was not easy either. The machine was complicated, all levers and pressure gauges, not the kind of coffee machine he was accustomed with, and he fumbled with it until a voice behind him said, “You have to prime the pump first.”
Jonas spun around, glad he managed to hold back a scream that would have been very embarrassing.
The man in the doorway was big… like not just tall, honestly big. Shoulders that filled the frame, biceps that stretched the sleeves of his tank top, a chest that looked carved from granite, from what he could see at least. His hair was light brown with golden streaks, slightly curly, falling across his forehead in disheveled waves. His skin was tanned, still glistening faintly, like he’d just come from a workout.
One of his new roommates... whose name he didn't know. And he hadn't even had a chance to sip a bit of his coffee before finding himself in this kind of situation. Not a great start to his day.
“Sorry,” Jonas managed. “I’ve never used one of these before.”
“No shit.” The man crossed the kitchen in three strides and reached past Jonas to grab one of the levers, before pressing a button on the side of the machine. Something clicked. “Now try.”
Jonas pressed the brew button, and the machine hummed to life. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” He took him in with a single sweeping glance. “You’re the new one.”
“Jonas.”
“I know. Sean told us. I’m Kane.” The other man, Kane then, leaned against the counter, folding his arms. The movement made his biceps bunch, veins standing out against the skin. “Nutrition, right?”
“Yeah. First year.”
“Interesting choice. A bit of a difficult program apparently.”
“I know.” But he loved that field, and knew it was the perfect fit for him.
Kane’s mouth twitched in a small smile “Confident. I like that.” He pushed off the counter and opened the refrigerator, pulling out a carton of eggs. “House meeting’s at six in the living room. Don’t be late. Lucien gets cranky when people are late, and a cranky Lucien is unbearable.”
“I’ll be there.” Of course he would be; he didn't want to make a bad first impression on the others.
“Good.” Kane cracked eggs into a bowl with one hand, not looking at him. “And Jonas?”
“Yeah?”
“Relax. You look like you’re about to bolt.”
Jonas forced his shoulders down from where they’d slowly but surely crept toward his ears. “I’m relaxed.”
“Sure you are.” Kane’s voice was dry but not unkind. “Grab your coffee. It’s going to overflow.”
Jonas snatched his mug from under the spout just as the dark liquid reached the rim. He took a sip. It was perfect, just the right amount of rich and smooth, with exactly the right temperature. This was good coffee.
He turned to thank Kane again, but the big man was already at the stove, eggs sizzling in a pan, his back to Jonas like the conversation was already forgotten.
Well… okay then. Jonas took his coffee and retreated to his room.
He spent the day unpacking the last of his things. Arranging all of his textbooks and reviewing his course syllabi. At noon, he made a sandwich from cold cuts he found in the fridge, he’d have to contribute to the grocery fund, he made a mental note, and ate it at the kitchen island while scrolling through some stupid TikTok videos on his phone.
And finally, at five-forty-five, Jonas changed into a fresh shirt. Checked his hair in the mirror above his dresser, and took a deep breath, trying his best to tell himself that there was absolutely no reason for this ‘meeting’ to go wrong.
So he walked downstairs. A bit too slowly maybe, but he got there, in time.
The living room was already crowded when he arrived. Sean was sprawled on one of the leather couches, a beer in hand, gesturing expansively as he told some story. The guy from yesterday, with the sun-glasses, sat in an armchair, watching Sean with an expression of mild amusement. The other one, with the tattoo, was perched on the arm of the couch, shirtless, his winged tattoos on full display, and next to him was a red-haired man Jonas hadn’t seen yet, built like a linebacker, laughing at something his friend had said.
Lucien. It had to be. The only redhead around here.
Kane stood near the fireplace, his arms crossed, listening to a lean, bearded man who could only be Dion, his dark skin contrasting nicely with his golden necklace. And beside Dion, still was another tall and sculpted man, his dark hair slightly longer on top, the contours of his body visible even through his t-shirt. The last one was seated on his own in a single chair, next to the larger couch, his long legs stretched in front of him.
Jonas also realized that until they introduced themselves to him, he would be unable to identify the few men whose names and appearances he did not already know.
Eight men. Nine, counting Jonas.
Eight sets of eyes turned toward him as he stepped into the room.
“There he is,” Sean said, raising his beer. “Gentlemen, meet Jonas. Our new nutrition nerd.”
“Nerd is harsh,” The shirtless one said, tilting his head. “He’s cute.”
“Rafael,” Nikolai said, without looking up from his phone. Well, he got his name.
“What? He is.”
Lucien leaned forward, elbows on his knees, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Very cute. Look at those baby blue eyes.”
This was awkward. Jonas felt heat creeping up his neck. “Hi. Um. Hello.”
“He’s shy,” one said, a bit mocking.
“He’s terrified,” Kane corrected.
“Can you blame him?” Dion’s voice was low, calm. “You’re all being vultures.”
“I’m not being a vulture. I’m being welcoming.” Lucien patted the couch cushion next to him. “Come. Sit. Tell us everything about you, we are going to live together for more than a year at least.”
Jonas didn’t move, his feet stuck on the floor.
Sean laughed at his reaction, or lack thereof. “Leave him alone, Lucien. Let the man breathe.” He gestured toward an empty armchair near the window. “Sit wherever you want. There are no assigned seats.”
Jonas crossed the room and sat, trying (and failing) to ignore the fact that every single one of their gaze was on him, assessing and cataloging everything he did. He gripped the armrests and tried his best to not embarrass himself. Right now was really not the moment.
“I’m Nikolai, nice to meet you and welcome here, I hope you’ll like it” the man with the sunglasses said, setting his phone aside. He did not let him answer something before continuing “So, Jonas. Tell us about yourself.”
Eight faces turned toward him.
Jonas moved his legs to sit cross-legged and explained, like he already did for Sean, what he was studying and a bit of his situation. After a few minutes of it, the tall one, Matthew, gave him a bottle of beer, telling him “You looked like you needed it, little man”. And Jonas had felt the words in his stomach. Little man. He wasn’t that short. Five-eight. Completely respectable. But in this room, surrounded by these men, he might as well have been pocket-sized.
The other man had no idea he wouldn't touch that drink. He hated alcohol; he always had. The only rare exceptions had been a glass of wine during family meals. But beer, cocktails, and the like? He would never in a million years let those substances pass his lips.
Luckily for him, after the brief introductions, the conversation had finally started to shift a bit among all those men, rather than focusing solely on him every second.
“So you’re studying nutrition,” Dion Walker said from the opposite end of the sofa. And of course, one of them had to ruin that well-deserved moment of peace... the moment when he could just sit there without saying a word. “You are a fan of what people eat?”
Jonas nodded. “It’s a bit more complex than that, but yeah, kinda. Metabolism, biochemistry, food science. How nutrients interact with human physiology.” He stopped himself, aware that he was doing the thing where he over-explained because he was nervous. “Sorry. I get…”
“Don’t apologize.” Dion’s dark eyes held steady on him. “You sounded like you knew what you were talking about. That’s not something to be sorry for.”
Across the room, Kane let out a low laugh. He’d positioned himself on the floor, back against the wall, his massive frame somehow making the vast living room feel smaller. His tank top, white, so thin, and straining, did nothing to hide the form of his chest, the fabric clinging to the ridges of his abdomen in a very slutty way. Abs that are visible through a T-shirt should be illegal. “Dion’s right. Half the people in this house couldn’t tell you what a carbohydrate does. Present company included.”
“Speak for yourself,” Nikolai said without looking up from his phone, his black t-shirt still tight enough to map every contour of his torso. Since the beginning of this little meeting, he was scrolling through something with the detached focus of someone who was listening to every word in the room while pretending not to.
Kane snorted. “Fine. Most of the people in this house.”
“I know what a carbohydrate does,” Lucien said, grinning. “It makes you fat if you eat too many. There. Science.”
Jonas laughed a bit before he could stop himself. It came out slightly too high, slightly too quick, and he felt his cheeks warm. But Lucien winked at him, actually winked, and Jonas remembered what Sean had told him. This man was apparently a massive flirt.
“Ignore them,” said Aiden Brooks from his spot near the window. This one was wearing joggers that hung low on his hips, the waistband of his boxer briefs visible above the gray cotton. His sweatshirt was unzipped, revealing the tattooed expanse of his chest in glimpses when he moved. “They’ll spend the next hour bickering like children.”
Sean materialized beside the sofa with a bowl of something that smelled like chili and lime, setting it on the coffee table. His fitted henley did nothing to obscure the geometry of his pecs. All of them were so fucking unbearably hot… This was so unfair. “Snacks,” he announced. “Someone’s mom sent a care package. Not mine, that’s for sure. My mom doesn’t cook.”
“Your mom doesn’t know what a kitchen is,” Rafael said.
Rafael Ortega had been quiet for the past twenty minutes, stretched out on the chaise portion of the sectional with his phone propped against his chest. Shirtless, because of course he was. The black ink of his tattoos seemed to move when he breathed, the large bird's wings below his collarbones spreading and contracting with each inhale. Jonas had been trying not to stare. Had been failing, probably, but trying. That was something.
Yeah! He deserved a medal.
“My mother knows what a kitchen is,” Sean said. “She just pays other people to be in it.”
Kane laughed, a sound that came from somewhere deep in his chest. “God, you’re such a trust-fund cliché.”
The banter flowed around Jonas like water around a stone. He contributed when he could, laughed when it seemed appropriate, but mostly he just watched. Watched the way Nikolai’s forearm flexed when he finally put his phone down, the thick vein running from wrist to elbow shifting under the skin. Watched the way Aiden’s shoulders moved when he reached for a chip. Watched the way Dion’s throat worked when he swallowed his beer, the bob of his Adam’s apple above the thin gold chain.
This is where he lived now.
This was his life.
The thought was so absurd he almost laughed again.
He would not survive this place… like really. This was heaven and hell all rolled into one for a gay man like him.
By nine o’clock, the conversation had splintered into smaller clusters. Kane and Nikolai were arguing about something political, international law versus economics, from what Jonas could gather, their voices rising and falling in a rhythm that suggested this was a familiar dance. Aiden had migrated to the floor near the fireplace, his back against the stone hearth, scrolling through his phone with an expression of mild boredom. Sean, Matthew and Lucien were discussing some party that had happened over the summer, names Jonas didn’t recognize peppering their sentences. Dion had gone quiet, his attention drifting to a book he’d pulled from somewhere.
And Rafael.
Rafael stood up from the couch and stretched, his arms raised high, torso elongating, every muscle group in his abdomen contracting into sharp relief. The tattoos on his arms seemed to flex with him, the black ink alive on his skin. Jonas’s froze. He needed to be very careful to not stupidly drool.
“I’m getting more comfortable,” Rafael announced to no one in particular, not bothering to wait for an answer.
And then he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants and pushed them down.
