The afternoon sun soaked into Asher’s tense shoulders as he lay back on the cool grass of the quad, blades tickling his bare arms. Beside him, Jake sprawled like a contented cat, his ginger hair a fiery halo against the green. Dinner’s greasy pizza sat heavy in Asher’s gut, but the warmth of the sun was welcome after yesterday’s chill. Jake’s grey sweatpants were baggy and forgiving, pooling around his knees, while Asher’s short black athletic shorts exposed the dense muscles of his thick thighs.
Asher pulled his dark blue hoodie tighter, the oversized fabric swallowing his broad shoulders. The hoodie smelled faintly of laundry detergent and old sweat, comforting in its familiarity. Jake’s faded Iron Maiden tank top revealed lean, corded arms and a sweep of pale freckled shoulders. His grey sweatpants rode low on his hips, outlining the hint of his bulge beneath the worn fabric. His high-tops were unlaced, scuffed leather catching the sun.
Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, then tilted his head to glance at Asher. "Dude," he murmured, voice rough with forced casualness. "We haven't said a word about yesterday." His green eyes darted away almost instantly, fingers plucking at the grass. "Not one fucking word." He laughed once, humorless. The silence stretched between them, thick and charged, until Jake finally nudged Asher’s thigh with his sneaker. "So? You gonna pretend it didn’t happen?"
Asher’s fingers dug into the damp earth beneath him. His hoodie sleeves swallowed his clenched fists whole. "What’s there to say?" His voice came out flat, hollow. The memory of Liam’s grip, Jake’s smirk, Miller’s command—it all coiled in his gut like a barbed wire knot. His gaze flicked to Jake’s profile, the ginger’s jaw tight now, freckles stark against flushed skin. "You seemed pretty into it," Asher added quietly, the accusation buried under layers of exhaustion.
Jake’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He rolled onto his side abruptly, sweatpants rustling, and propped himself up on an elbow. His eyes burned into Asher’s—bright, defiant, and something else. "Yeah," he admitted, voice raw. "I was. And so were you, Kovac. Don’t bullshit me." His fingers twitched like he wanted to reach out, but he clenched them into the grass instead. "You came twice in a row, bro." The words hung between them, brutal and undeniable.
Asher’s breath hitched. He stared at the sky, willing his pulse to slow. Jake wasn’t wrong—that was the worst part. The shame twisted deeper, tangled with the undeniable thrill still humming under his skin. His throat worked silently before he managed a single, hoarse whisper: "Fuck you, Riley." Jake barked a laugh at that, sudden and sharp, knocking his shoulder into Asher’s. The contact burned through fabric, lingering too long before he pulled away. Neither of them moved to put more space between their bodies.
"Dude," Asher finally murmured, shifting onto his side to face Jake fully, his hoodie sleeve catching on the grass. The words tasted like rust in his mouth. "You’re my best friend. You know I’m not gay." He said it like a plea, like it might erase the way his dick had pulsed against Jake’s tongue, the way he’d moaned into Miller’s grip.
Jake exhaled through his nose, fingers twisting a blade of grass into knots. "I know," he said quietly, gaze fixed somewhere past Asher’s shoulder. A muscle in his jaw twitched. "You’re still my bro." Jake’s throat worked before he added, rougher now, "But, uh—maybe I like both? Girls and... that." His green eyes flicked up, sharp with defiance and something softer. "Still figuring it out." The admission hung between them, fragile as the dandelion fluff drifting past.
The confession settled over them like afternoon heat—heavy, inevitable. Asher swallowed hard, suddenly hyperaware of Jake’s knee brushing his thigh, the way his own pulse thudded in his throat. Jake’s grin was lopsided when he added, "Kinda glad I’m figuring it out with you, though. Even if you’re a shitty friend sometimes." He kicked at Asher’s shin lightly, the contact lingering.
A breeze ruffled Jake’s ginger hair, sunlight catching the copper strands. Asher watched a ladybug crawl across Jake’s sweatpants, buying time before he trusted his voice. "You’re such an idiot," he muttered at last, but the words lacked bite. His fingers dug into the soil again, knuckles brushing Jake’s where their hands rested inches apart. Neither pulled away.
Jake exhaled sharply, rolling onto his back to stare at the sky. "So?" His voice was too casual. "What’s eating at you? Spit it out." The silence stretched until Jake elbowed him. "Seriously, Kovac. You look constipated."
Asher swallowed against the tightness in his throat. The confession came out rough, fragmented. "It’s just—fuck, I don’t know what the hell I’m feeling." His pulse hammered against his ribs. "Never thought..." He gestured vaguely at his crotch, heat creeping up his neck. "A dick inside me? That shouldn’t feel good. But—" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Dude I feel almost empty inside now. I just— I'm so confused. Maybe it’s just a biological reaction."
Jake turned his head slowly, green eyes glinting with something unreadable. His grin was sharp-edged when it came. "Yeah?" He propped himself up on one elbow, looming over Asher suddenly, freckles stark in the sunlight. "Guess we’ll have to test that theory." His knee pressed against Asher’s thigh, warm through the fabric. "For science, of course."
Asher shoved him, knuckles digging into pale freckled skin. "Fuck you, Riley," he growled, voice cracking. His throat worked—once, twice—before he choked out, "I’m not— I'm not gay dude," The denial hitched somewhere in his chest, tangled around the memory of Jake’s hands gripping his hips, Liam’s cock stretching him open, Miller’s praise rasping against his ear. His fingers clenched in the damp grass. "This isn’t fucking funny."
Jake’s grin faltered. He rolled onto his back beside Asher, shoulders pressing into the earth. The silence stretched until Jake exhaled sharply. "Yeah," he muttered, staring at the sky. "I know." His fingers flexed, brushing Asher’s wrist—once, brief—before retreating. "But you’re not exactly straight either, Ash." The truth of it hung between them, raw as the bite marks still fading on Asher’s inner thighs.
"You know what, fuck off with that," Jake muttered, flicking a blade of grass at Asher’s chest. "You think I give a shit what labels some idiot would slap on us?" He leaned in suddenly, close enough Asher could smell the pizza on his breath, see the faint scar above his eyebrow from elementary school. "You liked it. I liked it. End of story." His voice dropped to a whisper, rough at the edges.
Asher’s pulse hammered in his throat. He could feel the heat radiating off Jake’s body, could count every freckle dusting his nose. Somewhere behind them, a group of students laughed, their voices floating across the quad. Jake didn’t pull back, just held Asher’s gaze, green eyes daring him to blink first. The silence stretched, thick with everything unsaid, until Jake finally exhaled sharply through his nose and flopped onto his back again.
The tension didn’t leave with him. It coiled between them now, pulsing like a live wire. Asher swallowed hard, staring at the clouds drifting overhead. Jake’s sneaker tapped against his calf—once, twice—a silent question. When Asher didn’t move away, Jake’s foot settled there, warm and weighty. Neither of them spoke. The sun dipped lower, painting their skin gold.
Jake cleared his throat, fingers picking at his sweats. “Look,” he started, voice rough like gravel. “We’re both freaking out. That’s cool. But we don’t gotta… label anything.” His knee bumped Asher’s thigh. “We’ll figure it out. Together.” His mouth quirked sideways, that same lopsided grin from sixth grade when he’d convinced Asher to jump off the garage roof in order to dunk a basketball. “That’s what bros do, right?”
Asher exhaled sharply, the tightness in his chest easing fractionally. He turned his head, catching Jake’s profile—the stubborn jut of his freckled chin, the way his lashes fanned gold in the sunlight. Something loosened inside him, just a little. “Yeah,” he murmured. His pinky brushed Jake’s where their hands lay in the grass. “Bros.”
Jake’s grin faltered for half a heartbeat before he rolled onto his side again, propped up on one elbow. His shadow fell across Asher’s face, blocking the sun. Up close, his breath smelled like spearmint gum and dining hall pizza. “So,” he murmured, green eyes darkening. “We're cool then? You're cool?"
Asher sighed and said, “Yeah,” like it was being dragged out of him with pliers. His fingers twitched in the grass—itching to push Jake away, or to pull him closer—he couldn’t tell. The word tasted like a lie and a promise all at once. Jake’s knee pressed harder against his thigh, warm and insistent through the fabric.
Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, shoulders relaxing. “Good,” he muttered. His fingers found a loose thread on Asher’s hoodie sleeve, twisting it absently.
A sudden wolf-whistle sliced through the afternoon air and a shadow fell across them. “Damn, Kovac,” came a voice dripping with amusement. Henry Chen loomed over them, textbook tucked under one arm, his glasses glinting in the sun. His smirk widened as he took in their proximity—Jake half-hovering over Asher, thighs pressed together, fingers tangled in fabric. “Didn’t know you two were that kind of wrestling team.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Gay as hell, bro.”
Jake didn’t pull away. His grin was all teeth as he flipped Henry off with his free hand. “Jealous, Chen?” he drawled, thumb brushing Asher’s wrist where Henry couldn’t see. “We’re just really committed to teamwork.” The sarcasm dripped, but his knee stayed locked against Asher’s thigh.
Asher’s face burned. He jerked his sleeve from Jake’s grip, sitting up too fast. “Fuck off,” he growled at Henry, voice rougher than intended. "We're not gay dude." Jake’s laugh followed Henry’s retreating footsteps, bright and unrepentant.
Asher stood abruptly, grass clinging to his sweats as he stalked toward the dorm. Behind him, Jake called, “Ash, wait.” His fingers closed around Asher’s wrist, warm and calloused. “Dude, c’mon. You crack gay jokes all the time.” The teasing lilt in his voice faltered when Asher didn’t turn around. “Seriously. It’s just Chen doing the same, it’s not a big deal.”
Asher yanked his arm free. “I’m going to my room,” he muttered, voice thick. He didn’t look back—couldn’t. Not with the way his pulse hammered and his heart pounded. Fifteen steps away, he stopped. Turned. Jake stood alone in the afternoon light, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched. He looked very alone all of a sudden.
“Well?” Asher snapped, jerking his chin toward Carter Hall. “You coming or not?” Jake’s grin broke, sudden and bright. Jake moved quickly, his jog eating up the distance between them. “Hell yeah, Ash,” he panted, slinging an arm around Asher’s shoulders. “Wanna finally get around to lofting your bed?” Asher looked up at Jake and rolled his eyes but didn’t shrug him off. Jake smelled like grass and cheap body spray, his arm a heavy weight across his body.
Together they walked toward the dorm, mismatched silhouettes against the afternoon light— the wind caught Jake’s ginger hair, tossing it wildly as he laughed at something Asher said.
Their shadows merged and separated with each step—tall and lean melting into dense and compact, then splitting apart again—a push and pull as familiar as breathing. The lights of Carter Hall flickered on ahead, windows glowing yellow in the dusk.
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