Kaelix finally lands a job after a streak of rejections, and it’s suspiciously well-paid for something that mostly involves lifting furniture, organizing samples, and not getting distracted by his frustratingly attractive boss.
He can handle it. He can show up every day and totally not make it weird. He can also fall headfirst into a hole of his own making. One that involves getting a little bit too attached, catching feelings he knows he really shouldn’t, and falling harder than he ever meant to.
Kaelix doesn’t actually scream when he gets the job offer on Thursday. He just makes a sound that could be generously described as wildly enthusiastic wheezing as he accidentally knocks over a candle in his tiny studio apartment, jumping up from his seat on the couch.
It’s fine. Everything’s fine. It isn’t lit so it doesn’t even set anything on fire this time.
After months of rejection emails with suspiciously identical wording (“We have decided to go with another candidate whose skills more closely align with our needs—”), Kaelix finally lands a position as an assistant to someone named Freodore, an accomplished designer with his own studio in the middle of the city, according to his minimal but stunningly curated online presence Kaelix deep-dives through at 3 a.m. (mostly a website, a barely updated social media account, and several news articles about the high net worth clients he’s worked with).
It’s not exactly the most ideal job considering what Kaelix had planned to do with his life when he set out for the city after his short break back home when he graduated, but if he wants to stay here and pay for rent while sending out demo tapes out month to month and see if he could make that singing career happen, then this is just but one necessary step in that direction, so he’s grateful for the opportunity either way.
Freodore had said Kaelix could report whenever he was ready, to which Kaelix replied at lightning speed over email that he could be there the next day if he needed. It’s pushed further to the following week after Freodore had sensibly said that they both might need to get things in order before Kaelix is set to start.
And so he’s there bright and early on a Monday morning, trying very hard not to pass out or step on any of the curated vintage rugs.
Freodore’s studio is an absurdly beautiful space—one big, tastefully lit room with soft walnut wood floors, cream-colored walls and oversized mood boards with phrases like organic restraint and industrial romance written in (what he assumes is) Freodore’s swoopy handwriting.
There are two desks, one for Freodore nearer to the windows and one for Kaelix in a cozy corner. There’s a couch that looks and feels like it costs more than Kaelix’s monthly rent near the entrance for the studio where clients are sometimes entertained. There’s also a sizeable storage closet and a bathroom that smells like it’s never been dirty.
Freodore is wearing something that looks tailored to fit him, straight pants and a loose top that comes up to just above his elbows. His loafers are the heeled chunky kind, but he’s still almost a full head shorter than Kaelix (who dutifully does not point this out like ever). Freodore’s hair also has the kind of volume Kaelix has only ever seen on shampoo commercials and those fluffy cats he sometimes scrolls past on his for you page, like a very well-taken-care-of ragdoll or something.
“Kaelix,” Freodore says, glancing up from the documents spread across his desk, breaking through his straying train of thought. His voice is smooth and steady, almost like if cashmere had a sound. “You’re early.”
“I like to be uh…” Kaelix gestures vaguely with both hands. “Preemptively present.”
Freodore nods slowly, if he’s a bit puzzled, he isn’t really showing it. “Okay.”
And that’s pretty much their entire first conversation.
Most of Kaelix’s job involves moving things, organizing sample swatches by an extremely specific and slightly terrifying color-coding system, and making sure he never opens the storage closet too fast. He’s determined to be the best assistant this studio has ever seen (even though he’s about 60% sure there hasn’t been a previous assistant, based on how dusty the second office chair was before he disinfected it into a new plane of existence).
Aside from Freodore giving him his tasks for the day in the morning, their conversations throughout the first week are sparse and inconsequential at most.
“You’re not allergic to eucalyptus, are you?” Freodore asks one day without looking up from a swatch book which may very well cost more than Kaelix’s entire wardrobe.
Kaelix blinks. “Uh, not yet…?”
Freodore hums, like that’s an acceptable answer somehow, and gestures vaguely toward one of the doors in the studio. “Well, alright. It’s just some filing and sorting out a few things in the storage today. Please don’t mix the matte black screws with the brushed bronze ones. I will know.”
Kaelix swallows his nervousness, nods furiously, and immediately files “brushed bronze” into the part of his brain labeled Somewhat Terrifying and Sexy Things My Boss Has Said So Far.
On week two, Kaelix tries to change it up. He’s not sure what possesses him to do so, but perhaps being in Freodore’s orbit has that effect. Like he wants to be good and do good and someday his pipe dream of Freodore getting on his tip toes to pat him on the head will come true. Everyday, Kaelix has to try very hard not to get ahead of himself.
Kaelix brings coffee Monday morning of his second week in. He sets it down at the edge of Freodore’s desk with the reverence of a man offering tribute to a particularly well-dressed god.
“Morning!” he says, placing a to-go cup beside Freodore’s tablet like a hopeful offering.
Freodore blinks, seemingly taken aback, eyes flicking down to the cup. He doesn’t touch it.
“You don’t need to do that,” he says, although it’s not unkindly. “You’re not here to fetch things for me.”
Kaelix tries not to wilt visibly in his presence. “Right. Of course. I just figured…since I was getting tea anyway…”
Freodore sighs, his well-manicured fingers reach for the cup anyway and he takes a tentative sip of it.
“Thank you,” he mutters eventually, after appraising the drink with a somewhat impassive expression. Not bad but not good either. “But you’re here because you can carry forty-pound light fixtures without whining. That’s more than most people.”
Kaelix beams, recovering almost immediately. He does have strong forearms. They’re one of his only assets, besides his singing of course, but Freodore doesn’t really have know about that second one. He heads on over to his seat to officially start his day.
He’s sipping through his tea from a thermos he’s owned since university. It has a dent in the bottom and a peeling sticker of a goose that says chaotic good underneath. He drinks it slowly while reorganizing stone tile samples into mysterious, fengshui-approved patterns, as usual, trying not to let his gaze drift to the desk across the room.
Freodore has stood up this time, bent over the drafting table, looking like an art installation of focus.
He has the kind of presence that fills the space without saying anything. The more Kaelix looks, the more he notices things like the gentle downturn at the corner of Freodore’s mouth, the way he presses his tongue against his cheek when something doesn’t work, how his shoulders shift when he's mid-idea, like the air suddenly has weight.
Kaelix tells himself it’s just admiration or maybe some sort of professional respect. Artistic appreciation, if you will.
He also spends twenty minutes one afternoon trying to gage whether the spare phone charger on the counter means someone else stays over or comes to the studio when Kaelix isn’t around. (It turns out to be his own. He forgot it last week.)
Kaelix, however, does not ask, because that is an obvious disaster waiting to happen.
But later, on the train home, squished between two backpacks and a man openly snoring across the way, he unlocks his phone and texts Seible.
Kaelix tucks the phone away. He adjusts the strap on his tea thermos and looks out the window.
He wonders sometimes how he got so lucky.
It’s not that this was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life, but the studio was definitely a great space. Conducive for many things by virtue of being so airy and artful. Everything in soft edges and not even all neutral tones. He loved seeing where Freodore had added bright little colored pieces to break the monotony. Kaelix doesn’t understand how someone makes a room feel like a personality, but Freodore’s somehow more than capable of just that.
It’s all so nice that Kaelix still halfway suspects this job is actually a prank and someone’s about to pull the rug from under his feet one day. The pay is suspiciously good, and all he does is lift things, unpack deliveries, occasionally glue swatches to boards while trying not to sweat too obviously and there’s also very, very light clerical work that’s easy enough to keep up with because of how good Freodore is at fielding client expectations.
And okay, maybe he spends a little too much time watching Freodore move around the studio with the fluid grace of someone who has never tripped in public. It’s not his fault. Freodore is hot, probably the hottest person Kaelix has ever seen in real life and he’s saying that after he’d met Seible in college.
It's fine. It’s all fine. He can absolutely be normal about this and not jeopardize the one steady source of income he’s had in over three months.
Probably.
On week two, Kaelix tries to change it up. He’s not sure what possesses him to do so, but perhaps being in Freodore’s orbit has that effect. Like he wants to be good and do good and someday his pipe dream of Freodore getting on his tip toes to pat him on the head will come true. Everyday, Kaelix has to try very hard not to get ahead of himself.
Three weeks in, and Kaelix has learned a few things.
First: Freodore is terrifyingly competent. The kind of competent that makes you rethink every casual opinion you’ve ever had about lighting choices or the psychology of matte paint. He speaks like every word has been passed through a silent editorial board in his head and approved for release.
Second: Freodore, for all his precision and catlike energy, might also be...really nice actually?
To be fair, he’s never been unkind. But there was a warmth to him underneath all his seemingly tailored clothing and his sharp assessing glances. It’s subtle, but it’s definitely there.
Also, horrifyingly—Freodore has only gotten cuter.
And Kaelix is suffering deeply for it.
Not in a bad way. Not in a catastrophic, Greek-tragedy kind of way. Not yet, at least. But it’s more in the “I would throw myself down a flight of stairs if it meant he'd hold my elbow and say ‘careful’ in that soft, weirdly authoritative voice” kind of way. So almost, but not quite.
Today is Monday and once again, something has possessed Kaelix to attempt the coffee thing properly anew. It’s just a nice gesture he wants to be able to do for someone who’s given him so much, expecting very little in return. He knows he gets reimbursed for his own tea and the drinks he will sometimes pick up for Freodore anyway, there was always some kind of additional comp to the total he gets every month because they never did add up properly to what’s listed on his contract, always a couple of dollars more and never less.
“Okay,” Kaelix starts, placing the cup down after gathering all his bravado in one breath, “I know you said not to do coffee often and I swear I’ve been trying, but listen. There’s this new place that opened up…it has a nice tea selection too so I went this morning and while I was ordering I remembered you said something about a pour over on the phone one time and, uhm, they had a good one. Today. So I got one. This uh, it has citrus top notes a-and a medium body and something called a—uh—‘brown sugar finish’ which might be fake but it sounded sexy, so I’m telling you.”
Freodore looks up from the swatch book he’s been scribbling in. He blinks, slowly. Then subtly, barely there, smiles at Kaelix.
“Brown sugar finish,” he repeats, voice dry. “You rehearsed that?”
“No,” Kaelix lies immediately.
A pause.
“Citrus top notes usually mean something light in the roast,” Freodore says, picking up the cup, “—often something processed naturally. It’ll be a bit brighter. You’ll notice that more on the second sip.”
Kaelix stares at him, brain melting into warm goo. “You’re so cool. I mean. About coffee.”
“A hobby,” Freodore elaborates with a small shrug, then takes a sip. “It’s good.”
Which is maybe the highest praise he’s given Kaelix so far.
After that, Freodore starts accepting the morning coffee. No big thing. No fanfare. Just a small nod as Kaelix puts it down. Like it’s allowed now. Like he’s allowed.
Kaelix gently pushing boundaries happens again a few days later, although he doesn’t quite mean to do so when it does. He didn’t really intend to try any more than the coffee thing, at the risk of being greedy and shy of inappropriate.
He’s sitting on the floor, looking at a bunch of large deliveries for a couple of Freodore’s projects wrapping up this week and distracted, lets it slip.
“Hey, Freo—” he says mid-sentence, then freezes. He’s a beat away from pretending he had paused mid-sneeze or misspoke somehow, his brain quick flipping through any and all possible excuses he could make.
Freodore looks up, one brow arching.
Kaelix blinks, brain buffering. “I—uh. Sorry, was that—?”
Freodore studies him for a moment, expression unreadable, and then glances at the boxes in front of him. Then says, “The smaller ones are going into storage for now, and the panels are being picked up this afternoon. There’s a truck coming, but you don’t have to load it in yourself, just lead the guys to where they are and watch them carefully.” And then he’s back to work, just like that.
Kaelix, perhaps, is going a little crazy at this point, and so he tries again the next day, this time a little more deliberate, palms sweaty as he lets the nickname tumble out of his mouth. “Freo, do you want me to move the marble samples back into the cabinet or are you still…?”
“Move them. I’m done with that palette.” Freodore responds, no hesitation in his voice. He doesn’t even look up from the email he’s reading.
It’s a small, private victory for Kaelix. He has to try very hard not to cheer out loud.
The days pass quietly, comfortably. Freodore goes out for meetings most of the time, but sometimes he’ll take his calls on the studio’s couch, curling into it like a thoughtful little cat in designer boots.
When he leaves for meetings, Kaelix stays behind, tidies, files, reorganizes the magnetic whiteboard like it’s a game. And when he’s done?
“Head out when you're finished,” Freodore always tells him, grabbing his bag. “Lock the front, alright?”
But in all honesty, sometimes, Kaelix doesn’t leave right away.
Instead, he works on his demos.
He, of course, doesn’t bring a full mic setup in here, but he’s got a decent enough interface and his vocals don’t need much layering. The studio has good acoustics, and their unit neighbors either don’t care or don’t exist unlike at his tiny apartment. His warm-ups do echo a little in the spacious room, but he generally tries to keep it light.
Except once, Freodore comes back early.
Kaelix freezes mid-verse, wide-eyed, practically swallowing his tongue.
But Freodore just stands in the doorway, expression neutral. “You staying late?”
“I—I was just finishing,” Kaelix says, half-standing, ready to explain himself. “I didn’t mean—I thought you’d be out—”
Freodore sets his keys on the desk. “It’s fine. You can use the space if you want. Just lock up.”
Kaelix blinks. “Wait, really?”
“You’re here enough. Might as well make the most out of it.”
Kaelix swears he almost swoons. Not dramatically, but quietly, internally, like a little Victorian maiden clutching sheet music.
Then another day, totally unprompted, Freodore glances over and says his name. Kaelix’s head snaps up from the invoice he was just asked to send out like he’s been trained to respond to the sound his entire life.
“If you have equipment you’d like to bring for your desk, go ahead. As long as it doesn’t take over the entire workspace. Just make sure the day’s tasks are handled first.”
Kaelix stares at him. “Seriously?”
Freodore doesn’t even look up. “You’re here often enough that it makes sense.” Then, after a brief pause, still with his eyes trained on what he’s reading, adds, “And you’ve got a nice voice. Might as well not let it go to waste.”
Kaelix tries to play it cool, pretending he hasn’t just taken the smallest hint of approval and spun it into a full-blown emotional opera in his chest.
He waits until Freodore steps out again and texts Seible from behind his desk.
Kaelix looks around the room, at the soft, curated chaos of fabric and color and texture, at the chair Freodore always ends up in when he’s thinking too hard, at the empty cup on his desk.
Kaelix wonders if he’s projecting. If maybe he’s confusing professional politeness for his boss’ slow-blooming fondness. But sometimes, Freodore leaves him notes. Little ones, scribbled in his unexpectedly messy cursive:
“Thanks for moving the shelving again. The light hits better this way.”
“Tell me if you ever want to learn how to draft. You’ve got the eye for it.”
“Interesting notes on the coffee today. It was good though.”
But Kaelix has work to do, so he tries not to dwell on it too hard or too often. The swatchbook isn’t going to organize itself and those demos aren’t going to sing themselves into existence either.
It’s a Thursday when Kaelix makes the decision.
Well, decision is generous. It’s more like the slow, spiraling kind of resolve that builds across weeks of good coffee exchanges, maybe one too many near-smiles, and the slightly unhinged encouragement of a best friend with a track record of questionable judgment.
He texts Seible at midnight, while lying face down on his bed.
So the next Tuesday—weeks into the job, confidence shaky but vibes cautiously good—Kaelix asks.
They’ve just finished sorting a color-matching disaster between two supplier catalogs. Freodore is seated, eyes skimming over his notes, coffee still warm beside him. Kaelix stands a little too still, trying not to visibly twitch.
“Hey, uh,” he starts, very smooth and not nervous at all. “Would you maybe wanna grab lunch? With me. Today, I mean. Like. Together.”
Freodore pauses. Looks up. His brow arches.
Kaelix immediately wants to die.
But then Freodore’s mouth quirks. It’s not a full smile, but it leans that way.
“Sure,” he says simply. Just like that.
Kaelix nearly drops the sample binder in his hands. He texts Seible behind the swatch rack while Freodore is on the phone with a client.
But then. Of course. Of course—things somehow go completely wrong.
It’s something minor. At least Kaelix thinks it is or is led to believe as much. It’s got to do with a couple of mislabeled files sent to the wrong client. Thinking back, he’s not sure if he uploaded the wrong folder or if the software glitched, but the end result had been the same: confusion, a client unhappy enough to call four times, and Freodore’s face shifting in a way Kaelix hasn’t seen before.
There’s more emotion than usual, not shouting but urgency, frustration. He watches as Freodore calmly but intensely negotiates on the phone, voice clipped and unusually direct.
Kaelix feels like he’s watching someone perform surgery with a blunt tool.
“I can go with you,” Kaelix offers, voice small, hopeful, guilt-flavored. “Maybe I can help smooth things out? You know since I…”
Freodore pauses mid-shoulder shrug into his coat. Turns.
“I doubt that will undo anything where it matters,” he says sharply. “And if you’re there, you might just get in the way and backfire our chances to fix this, so no need to bother.”
The air goes cold.
Kaelix flinches. “Oh. Okay.”
There’s a beat of silence, just long enough to make the air feel heavy.
Freodore exhales, jaw tensing. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice softer now, but distant. “I shouldn’t have said it like that.”
Kaelix nods, unsure what to do with his hands. “It’s okay.”
“You can go after you finish the files. Or stay, if you want. Use the studio.” He grabs his keys. “I’ll be back late.”
And just like that, Freodore’s gone.
Kaelix stands alone in the quiet, soft-lit room. He finishes the work, re-checks the files for another client four times, and ends up sitting on the couch with his tea for an hour, not recording, not singing. Just… thinking.
The next morning, Kaelix still gets him a drink and Freodore still accepts the coffee with a small thank you as usual. He doesn’t comment further, doesn’t look angry for that matter. But something seems to have retreated behind his eyes. They’re back to being polite. 100% professional. No teasing, no lunch plans.
Kaelix doesn’t push.
Friday night rolls in with the city half-lit and pulsing, and Kaelix meets Seible and their other friends at a bar with decidedly terrible acoustics but very, very good margaritas. It was meant to be a celebration. Something about being one month on the job, still standing, not fired. But Kaelix ends up nursing a drink and laughing too hard at jokes that don’t quite land, trying not to check his phone for emails that aren’t coming.
Seible swings an arm around his shoulders, eyes bright. “You’re okay, babe. Trust me. He still enjoys your little offerings in the morning. He’s not mad, he could just be, uhm…maybe he’s a little emotionally constipated?”
Kaelix snorts. “And I’m the human fiber supplement?”
“Exaaactly,” Seible says, squeezing his shoulder with an affirmative nod. “Just give it time.”
He sips his drink, dubious but decides not to keep up the conversation; he trains his gaze on the small crowd of people at the bar.
Kaelix leans into the noise, the chatter. He wants to bask in it all and let it distract him, at least for tonight.
It’s a little late when they wrap up that evening and Kaelix isn’t wasted, exactly. Just pleasantly adrift. The kind of tipsy where everything’s a little too shiny and his thoughts keep looping like a song he can’t skip. He’s warm from the cocktails and buzzing somewhere between euphoria and quiet dread—which is to say, it’s his usual emotional territory. He’s in that bittersweet, head-fuzzy zone where his limbs feel like noodles and his regrets are a bit slow to catch up on him. At the very least, he’s also still got most of his motor functions, and he’s only tripped on his own foot once in the last ten minutes. That’s basically sober for Friday.
The breeze is colder than expected for this month, brushing against his skin as he stumbles out of the bar after Seible, who’s holding a paper bag full of fries and moral support.
Someone says something funny in the background.
But Kaelix’s laughter sticks in his throat when he sees them—Freodore standing under the gentle halo of a streetlamp in front of a restaurant that looks expensive but lowkey about it, just across the street, chatting with a tall man Kaelix doesn’t recognize. His hazy mind tries to go through a catalog of all the client emails with photos or people who have dropped by at the studio for whatever reason and he comes up to a blank.
Tall. Black hair. Soft features, sleepy eyes, the kind of smile that makes you think he's never been in a hurry a day in his life. They look so easy with each other, comfortable. And the worst part?
Kaelix slows to a stop without meaning to and he watches, unable to resist.
The man lifts a hand, patting Freodore gently on the head. Not mocking, not condescending. Just, incredibly fond. And Freodore, doesn’t swat him away or give one of those dry looks he usually levels at Kaelix when he’s being too much for 9:45am on a Wednesday.
He pouts. Freodore pouts and lets it happen.
Kaelix nearly blacks out from the emotional impact of witnessing that in real time.
Then a car pulls up to the curb. Kaelix’s heart stutters, panic rising, because that’s it, right? They’ll get in together, maybe go back to one of their places, laugh about something private in the backseat and let their fingers brush. It’s too cinematic to be anything else.
He should turn around. He should not be watching this.
But instead, he squints through the light buzz of panic just in time to see that at least they don’t get in and that the car is idling by the restaurant for someone else entirely. But the guy does lean closer, arms wrapping around Freodore for a hug. It’s warm and familiar. A bit too long. His hands rest at Freodore’s waist, fingers splayed just enough to be noticeable.
Kaelix tries not to flinch, although he’s starting to feel like he might actually become a ghost in real time.
They part, finally. The man ruffles Freodore’s hair—again with the touching—and walks off with a lazy sort of wave.
Freodore stays behind.
And then, like some cursed fate-orbit lining up in real-time, Freodore looks up, eyes catching Kaelix’s across the street. Not even on purpose, just the wrong moment, wrong direction, wrong everything.
They both freeze.
Kaelix doesn’t know what face he’s making. Probably something like a deer about to walk into traffic.
A weight lands on his back with a sudden thump. Seible, swinging in from nowhere, throws an arm around Kaelix’s shoulders and leans into him with a huff.
“You good?” he asks, quieter than usual, not pushing.
Kaelix swallows. “I’m fine. Totally.”
Seible doesn’t let go, just gives his arm a small squeeze, steering them a few steps forward. “Looks like you’ve had a long night,” he says gently, more an observation than a question.
“You should call it a night,” He reaches for Kaelix, giving him a pat on the shoulder in part actual affection for his friend and to console him a little, all things considered. “Sleep off your failing office romance.”
“Hah.” Kaelix snorts, his chest is tight, but he nods in any case. “You just…you go ahead with the guys. I’ve already gotten a car to pick me up,” He lies, but it works well enough to get them out of the way not long after.
He pulls back from the half-hug and Seible disappears into the group again with a wave, already going back to the fries he smuggled out of the restaurant and their friends gearing for a second round at another slightly questionable place.
Kaelix blinks after him, heart in a tangle, then whips back around. Freodore is still there. Still across the street, on the sidewalk, now looking down at his phone.
And Kaelix, who knows better, who absolutely should know better by now, does not walk away too.
Instead, he checks for cars, stumbles across the street, and walks right up to him as one disaster waiting to happen. And just like that, here they are—alone again. On opposite sides of a moment that Kaelix knows he should have probably walked away from when he had the chance.
“Hey,” he says, voice a little too soft, words slightly fumbled. “Freo.”
Freodore looks up, surprised for a second, maybe just from the proximity, maybe from Kaelix’s flushed cheeks and not-fully-straight posture, but at least he doesn't step back.
Freodore's quiet “Kaelix” in acknowledgement feels strange to hear, not cold but somewhat cautious. Like he’s not quite sure what version of himself he’s meant to be out here instead of behind a desk or like he’s trying to recalibrate for an unexpected off-the-clock sighting of his assistant in the wild. His posture straightens slightly, perhaps suddenly aware of the way he’s standing. His free hand slips into his coat pocket, while the other still holds his phone like a glass he’s unsure where to set down.
It’s...kind of cute. The hesitation. Kaelix’s smile is lopsided and he watches him openly.
Kaelix is suddenly very aware of how much looser Freodore is standing, how his shirt is definitely wrinkled, and how gorgeous Freodore looks under city lights. There’s a faint flush high on his cheeks, just barely visible beneath the cool of his complexion, like he’s had a drink or two. His collar is slightly open, hair pushed back by the wind or the accursed but also affectionate hand of Tall Mysterious Handsome Guy.
(Kaelix has not forgotten about him. Not for a second.)
The silence is a little too long, so he tries to break it. They both speak at the same time.
“I meant to ask about—”
“Who was that?”
They both blink. Kaelix's heart stumbles so hard it nearly knocks the wind out of him.
Freodore’s head tilts slightly. His tone isn’t sharp, nothing indicative of any particular strong emotion—but it’s definitely pointed. Curious. Kaelix feels the words replay in his head like scratched vinyl.
Who was that?
That has to be about Seible, right? The hug. Arm clutch. He means Seible. That’s who he saw.
Kaelix clears his throat, scrambling for coherent speech. “Oh. That was just—he’s a friend. He’s, um, a friend from uni. Not that kind of friend,” he adds quickly, because of course his mouth doesn’t want to help. “We lived together in third year. He’s the reason I even heard about this job—friend of a friend kind of thing. He’s basically the patron saint of my rent being paid on time and my fridge having anything in it most nights.”
Freodore nods slowly. His expression is neutral, but there’s something attentive about the way he listens. Like he’s filing that away in some part of his brain to revisit at a later time.
Kaelix, against his better judgment, keeps this conversation going. “Your turn,” he says.
Freodore’s eyes narrow slightly. “My turn?”
Kaelix gestures behind him, toward the direction Tall Guy vanished into. “The guy earlier. Black hair. Who was that?”
And then the words keep coming, because of course they do.
“Wait—sorry, you know what? You don’t have to answer that, sorry. I just. The guy you were with. I was…I was kind of hoping he wasn’t like, I don’t know—an ex. Or worse.”
Freodore’s eyebrow ticks. “Worse?”
“Boyfriend.” The word slips out too fast, like it tripped on its way out of his mouth. “I MEAN—not that it’s any of my business. It’s not. At all. I just—uh. I mean in terms of—ugh, okay. Okay, shit. I should probably stop talking.”
He shuts his mouth, chewing on his lip. He braces himself for the ensuing awkward silence. For a sharp change in subject. Maybe for Freodore to turn into a sleek cloud of lavender mist and vanish without a trace. Or also to be fired on the spot.
But none of that happens. Instead, Freodore laughs.
It’s not a breath of amusement. Not a huff. Not the polite exhale he gives clients or the vague hum Kaelix gets when he makes a bad joke about grout samples. It’s a real, if a bit startled, quiet laugh, an arm over his stomach like he’d tried in vain to hold it in but couldn't. As though Kaelix just said something genuinely funny or even accidentally adorable (he may be projecting again a little bit).
Freodore’s eyes crease slightly at the corners, his shoulders loosen like he’s just stopped holding something in.
“That,” Freodore says, amusement still lingering in his voice as he answers the question earnestly, for better or worse, “Was, unfortunately… an ex.”
Kaelix stomach lurches like it’s hit a pothole while driving full speed.
“Oh,” he says, doing his best to sound like a normal, well-adjusted person who doesn’t immediately spiral into a hundred mental montages of all the hot people his boss has probably dated. He clears his throat. “I see. Cool.”
“We’re just friends now.”
Freodore glances sideways at him, reading the reaction with practiced subtlety. “We work together sometimes. He owns a bar nearby and he also produces music on the side. We were…actually talking about someone else he knew in the industry that might be of help to you. I reached out to him for their contact and he asked to go to dinner.”
Kaelix turns to him, brow furrowed. Not in anger, but in a deeply sincere way that he sometimes gets when he’s trying to mask overall concern with casualness—he also fails miserably at this, but that’s neither here nor there.
“Listen,” he says, a little more serious than usual, “You don’t have to do that. I mean. If your ex is offering help out of the goodness of his heart, fine. But you don’t owe him anything. Especially not dinner. Or favors. Or like, getting back together in exchange for getting me a foot in the door. If that’s what he’s angling for then you can tell him to get lost. I can’t handle the idea of you bartering your emotional wellbeing for my career like some kind of cursed artistic dowry.”
Freodore just smiles, pocketing his phone, seemingly invested in this conversation now. “It’s nothing like that,” he says, “Really. We’ve always been…somewhat friendly, even after. It’s just been awhile since we caught up.”
Kaelix putters, shifting his weight, crosses his arms, makes a vague noise like he wants to believe it but also wants to throw a small, respectful tantrum. His mouth opens like he’s going to say something else, but then he closes it. Then opens it again.
“I just think,” he mutters finally, eyes fixed somewhere in the middle distance,“it’s a little unfair for an ex to be that put-together and helpful after dating someone like you. Like—pick a struggle, c’mon.”
“You’re very dramatic when you’re out of office,” Freodore observes, mirth actually clear in his pretty eyes this time.
Kaelix can barely feel his face. “In office too. I’m just good at hiding it. And uh, I’ve also had… a moderate amount of alcohol and have a high amount of feelings regularly, to be honest.”
“Mm, that does seem to be the case.”
There’s a pause. Something lighter in the air now.
Kaelix looks at him carefully, watching the last remnants of that laugh linger on Freodore’s lips. He doesn’t know what this is. What tonight means. If it means anything at all for that matter, but Freodore hasn’t walked away. He hasn’t completely turned him down. And Kaelix, somehow, still has a job.
So he breathes in, lets himself stay in this moment.
Kaelix swallows. “Might cost you an assistant though, if it works out.”
Freodore shrugs, effortlessly dry. “I could always get a new one.”
Kaelix frowns. “Okay, let’s all relax now and not think too far ahead.”
It’s quiet again for a moment, just the ambient hum of traffic and a breeze tugging at the edge of Freodore’s shirt. Then lightly, Freodore asks, “Would you like to walk off dinner?”
It almost feels as though it had been the two of them to exit the restaurant together and the next part was just a consequence of grabbing a meal with each other and talking late into the evening. And dare Kaelix say, like a date.
Kaelix, against every fried synapse in his tipsy little brain, nods. “Sure,” he says. “But if we run into another ex, I’m throwing myself into the nearest bush.”
Freodore hums. “That’s fair.”
They head down the street, not touching but not exactly apart, either. Kaelix keeps sneaking looks at him, still a little off-kilter from this whole night, seeing Freodore outside of the curated calm of the studio, flushed from a drink, letting Kaelix beside the more unpolished parts of him.
Half a block later, Kaelix slows to a stop in front of a little corner ice cream place still open despite the hour, strings of warm yellow lights blinking lazily across the window. He points at it like it just appeared from heaven.
“Ice cream,” he announces.
Freodore tilts his head. “You want ice cream?”
“Yeah, why not?”
And then a minute later they’re both sitting on a park bench, barely lit by a nearby lamp, legs stretched out toward the gravel path. Kaelix is halfway through his pistachio, Freodore is calmly finishing off a mint chocolate scoop, and Kaelix is trying very hard not to stare at his mouth while he does.
It’s almost a losing battle, the way Freodore methodically licks at the last of it, clean and careful, like everything he does.
Kaelix turns his eyes downward to the ground and counts rocks just to stay sane. His heart is climbing up into his throat, possibly carrying a little flag that says “do not fuck this up.”
Freodore’s eyes drop to his mouth for a second. Then, after the last bite of his own cone of ice cream, Freodore leans forward.
“Hey, you’ve something,” He says, almost too softly, gesturing vaguely at Kaelix’s mouth.
Kaelix blinks, like he’s stupid and oblivious even though he really, really is not. “Oh—where?”
Before he can reach up to wipe it, Freodore, actual little devil that he is, does it for him.
Freodore’s thumb smooths over the corner of his lip and Kaelix’s brain blanks out entirely. He barely processes what happens next. Because Freodore looks at the pistachio smear on his thumb and then licks it off clean.
Then grimaces. “Ugh. Still don’t like pistachio,” He mutters, nose scrunching in adorable distaste.
Kaelix is not thinking about the ice cream (or Freodore’s frankly wrong opinions about it).
He is, however, thinking about Freodore’s thumb. And his mouth. And how his pulse just jumped a foot to the left.
He shifts slightly. Looks at Freodore. Notices his gaze that is lowered now, fixed. Not on Kaelix’s eyes, at least not anymore.
“…Are you staring at my mouth?” Kaelix blurts before he can stop himself.
Freodore doesn’t miss a beat. “You’ve been staring at me.”
Caught. Fully caught. Kaelix laughs under his breath. “Okay. Yeah. Maybe.”
The space between them feels different now, closer. Like it could collapse if either of them breathed too hard.
And Kaelix—buzzing, bold, and maybe just short of reckless enough to go for it, asks, “I know he probably asked you…so why didn’t you go home with him?”
Freodore’s eyes flick up to meet his. There’s something unguarded there, just for a second. And then, unexpectedly, his voice drops, almost and dangerously close to a whine.
“I told you, we’re just friends—”
“Right. Friends,” Kaelix echoes, not quite in disbelief or the converse.
“Yes,” Freodore affirms. “Just…he and I are just friends.”
“You know, that’s still not a reason.”
Freodore frowns, but lets Kaelix’s fingers find the side of his face, tuck an errant lock of hair behind his ear, light as a thought.
Freodore leans a little into the touch before he catches himself, breath hitching. He blinks, once, slow.
“Well… he did ask me,” he says finally, voice low, like he’s pulling the words out from under something heavy. “But I saw you.”
Kaelix goes very still.
“You saw me,” he repeats, and then his mouth quirks, but there’s something tight in his tone. “So if you hadn’t… you would’ve gone?”
There’s a beat. Maybe two until Freodore says something.
“Maybe…” he says, and Kaelix’s heart stutters, something raw pressing up against his ribcage.
But then Freodore shakes his head, once, lightly.
“I don’t think so.”
Kaelix exhales like he’s forgotten how to breathe until now.
Freodore breathes out slowly just the same, eyes drifting for a moment like he’s chasing the right words.
“We tried when we could,” he tells him, honest. “And I’ll admit it is sometimes tempting to go back to something familiar.”
He pauses, then looks at Kaelix, whose breath is caught once again at this admission.
“But I just,” Freodore, for once, is a little bit at a loss for what to say and Kaelix can’t even enjoy watching him struggle because of what he’s talking about right now. “It just felt so wrong to say yes when I’d think about you.”
There stretches thin between the two of them, briefly falling into a thoughtful lull.
Kaelix’s voice is softer than before, almost surprised when he asks, “So you think about me?”
Freodore looks away, a blush rising high on his cheeks. “More than I probably should.”
Kaelix swallows, like the answer knocks something loose in him.
There’s heat in the air that’s more than just the summer evening, now thick, thrumming settling between the two of them. Every breath feels borrowed, every second sharper than it should be.
“More than you should,” he echoes, a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Sounds like a you problem.”
Freodore huffs a laugh, barely. “Yes, I’m aware.”
But he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans in just slightly, just enough and Kaelix doesn’t move and doesn’t blink, like he’s afraid the moment might vanish if he does.
“You gonna fix it?” Kaelix asks, voice low, caught somewhere between challenge and his own want.
Freodore hesitates for a moment, but it’s not doubt. It’s like he’s slowly succumbing to gravity or a magnetic pull. Like he knows, once this starts, there’s no undoing it.
And then, finally, finally, he closes the space.
It’s not a dramatic kiss. Not desperate. Just slow and certain, like breathing after holding it too long. Like a yes, whispered against a mouth.
Kaelix’s hand slides into his hair and the space between them, once tense and trembling, disappears completely.
Freodore kisses like he works: focused, patient, with intention behind every move. Kaelix, in contrast, is all nervous spark and dizzy eagerness, leaning in like he might fall through if he doesn’t hold on.
They pull apart only to breathe, foreheads nearly touching, their laughter blending somewhere in the warm summer dark.
Kaelix leans back slightly, grinning with his heart basically spilling out of his chest.
“Wow,” he breathes. “Not even gonna hold my hand first? What kind of gentleman are you?”
Freodore rolls his eyes in a way that somehow makes Kaelix’s stomach swoop all over again. Without saying a word, he reaches over, threads their fingers together, and squeezes.
Then he kisses Kaelix again. And again.
It’s the kind of kiss that makes Kaelix wonder if maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mess everything up after all.
Kaelix hesitates only for a breath, thumb grazing over Freodore’s knuckles as their fingers stay locked together.
“You wanna come back to mine?” he asks, warm and still a little breathless. “Not that I’m trying to rush anything, I just…” His gaze flicks to Freodore’s mouth, then back to his eyes. “Would really like to keep kissing you. And possibly lose track of time doing so.”
Freodore stops just short of answering. There’s a flicker behind his eyes, calculating, or maybe just cautious. His hand tightens slightly in Kaelix’s.
Kaelix studies him, and something about the silence makes him venture a guess. “It’s cool if you’re not in to hookups,” he says softly. “Really. It’s fine. Like, actually fine. I didn’t come here expecting anything. I just wanted to be around you. If that’s all it is, I’m good with that. I mean—I like you, not just…you know.”
Freodore’s mouth quirks faintly. “It’s not really my thing,” he says. Then, after a beat, “Usually.”
Kaelix blinks. “Oh. I mean, yeah of course. That’s totally fine. We could…we—”
Freodore inches up to press a kiss to his lips, like a soft quiet, you and smiles at Kaelix, the kind that sneaks up on him when he least expects it.
“But I think I can make an exception tonight,” Freodore says against his lips.
And that’s all Kaelix really needs.
The train ride is a blur, the walk to his building even more so. All he really remembers were their quiet conversations about work and a little bit about their personal life where they could slot it in, holding hands as they alighted at his stop and traversed the short walk to where he lived.
By the time they make it through the door of Kaelix’s apartment it’s in a tangle of limbs, half-laughing, half-trying to keep their mouths on each other. Kaelix fumbles for the light switch, misses it twice, then gives up entirely, letting the soft glow from the streetlights outside do the work.
Freodore pauses just inside, blinking around at what he can see of the space in dim lighting as Kaelix kicks the door closed behind them. “Hmm.”
Kaelix freezes. “Is that a good hmm or a ‘I actually need to fire this guy immediately’ hmm?”
Freodore hums again, this time clearly pleased. “It’s nice. Cozy. You have good taste.”
Freodore wanders in a few steps, his gaze catching on a row of mismatched prints on the wall, the color-coordinated bookshelf, and Kaelix’s instruments neatly displayed. It’s a small place, sure, but it’s clearly loved—full of personality, tidy but with a sort of distracted energy, like Kaelix started decorating in five different directions and couldn’t quite pick one. Freodore looks unfairly at home in it.
Kaelix watches him for a second, then walks up behind and slides his hands around Freodore’s waist, pulling him back against his chest. “Hey,” he says, voice low. “Tour later.”
Freodore glances over his shoulder, amused. “Later?”
“When we’re done,” Kaelix clarifies, already kissing behind his ear.
Freodore turns, slow and deliberate in his arms. His smile curves, challenging. “And when will we be done?”
Kaelix’s voice drops into a fake-grave tone, eyes wide with mock-seriousness. “Not for a while, I fear.”
Freodore laughs, quiet and genuine, and Kaelix kisses that smile right off him, guiding him gently toward the bedroom.
They stumble in together, mouths pressing close again, no real rush but still desperate in their own way. Kaelix’s fingers slip under the edge of Freodore’s shirt, and Freodore’s hands are already in his hair, dragging him in like he needs the closeness, like something in him is just as hungry for it.
Freodore lets Kaelix sit, then climb back onto the bed, and follows him without hesitation, straddling his lap as they kiss again and again. Kaelix’s fingers trail up his spine, pulling him closer, and damn—he actually fits so perfectly there, knees at Kaelix’s sides, slight weight pressed against him like he’s always meant to be held just like this.
Kaelix makes a point to savor this and to take his time. He’s not sure when this night became something more than a lack of impulse control, but it definitely feels like so much more than that, like possibility.
Freodore kisses down his neck, leaving warm, open-mouthed ones and heat in their wake, like he’s trying to learn him through taste. His lips trace a path like he’s memorizing Kaelix in pieces.
Kaelix gasps softly, breath catching.
“You’re really…” He swallows, trying not to shiver. “Into this, huh?”
Freodore’s voice is rough against his skin. “Wonder what gave that away.”
Kaelix lets Freodore trail down his body for a beat longer, eyes fluttering, breath caught but then not long after, he tugs at him gently, urging him back up.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low and coaxing as he curls a hand behind Freodore’s neck, “C’mere. Let me kiss you.”
Freodore doesn’t argue. He just lets himself be guided back, shifting up, eyes dark and steady. Kaelix leans in, mouths meeting again, slower now. He wraps one arm tight around Freodore’s waist, palm splayed along the curve of his back, his other hand sliding up to cup the side of his face.
He kisses him like he’s been meaning to for weeks and like he wants to make up for all the mornings he wanted to and couldn’t.
Still, beneath the growing heat, Kaelix keeps a gentle hand on the pace. Lets Freodore lead if he wants to. He’s the boss, after all, and Kaelix is all too happy to follow his rhythm.
But when Freodore rolls his hips forward, something deliberate, in a slow and indulgent grind, Kaelix groans openly against his mouth, the sound wet and full of want. The shock of it ripples through him, makes his fingers twitch where they rest on Freodore’s waist, before sliding lower, gripping his ass and pulling him in, flush and tight.
Freodore moans, a sound too real to hold back, spilling it against Kaelix’s lips too as they press harder together.
The kiss falters with how much they’re feeling, mouths parting only slightly as their breathing starts to shudder.
Freodore doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t really need to. He just buries his face against Kaelix’s neck, lips brushing skin, and ruts down, steady and hungry, dragging friction between them that makes Kaelix’s spine arch right off the bed.
Kaelix holds him tighter, one arm looped firm around his waist, the other hand still guiding their movements. His mouth tips open in a shaky exhale, his chin tilted just enough to feel the heat of Freodore’s breath ghosting over his collarbone.
They move like that—grinding, breathing, pressing together like it’s the only language they both know and Kaelix thinks, somewhere distantly in between all of that, I wish this night wouldn’t end.
Freodore is practically melting into Kaelix, legs tight around his hips, hands sliding up into his hair like he’s trying to keep him close through sheer will alone.
Kaelix’s head is spinning, not just from the way their bodies move but from the heat of it all, the pressure, the way Freodore is letting out these breathy, quiet sounds into his neck, sending shivers up his spine.
Kaelix starts talking—he doesn’t even realize it at first, just mumbling into Freodore’s temple, voice gone soft and sloppy with want.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he says, like a confession against his skin.
“Yeah?” Freodore murmurs, and the way he says it isn’t dismissive or teasing, but like he really wants to hear it, and it nearly undoes Kaelix right then and there.
“Yeah,” Kaelix breathes, eyes half-closed. “Wanted to kiss you from like, the first week. I’d stare at work—I know…I know I shouldn’t have, and I’m almost sorry, but you’d just be standing there with your stupid perfect shirt on or like your hands in your pockets, being all cool and—fuck—I just really couldn’t help it.”
That gets a laugh out of Freodore, warm and amused and just a little bit smug. He doesn’t say anything, but the way he noses along Kaelix’s jaw feels like agreement. Maybe even a quiet me too. Kaelix doesn’t know, but he’s happy to pretend.
“And I’ve definitely,” Kaelix groans a little, grinding up again, “Thought about bending you over the couch in the studio.”
Freodore pulls back just enough to look him in the eye. There’s a flush in his cheeks, but he’s smiling, a sharp glint of playfulness clear in his expression.
“Ah,” he says, tilting his head. “You’ll have to work up to that, big boy.”
Kaelix’s breath hitches. His heart stutters.
He might die. He might genuinely combust.
“I—yeah. Okay. I can. I will,” he says, like a promise.
Freodore kisses him again, hard and sure, and they both laugh into it like they’re losing their minds. Which maybe they are at this point.
Kaelix’s hips buck again, unthinking, desperate. He’s so hard, every nerve lit up, and the way Freodore presses down in return, meeting every movement with this steady rhythm, has him right at the edge between restraint and recklessness.
Maybe they’re going too fast. Maybe he should ask. Maybe they should slow down, pause for a bit, and breathe. But Freodore is still here, on top of him. Still grinding against him, still mouthing at his throat with this needy, aching want. And Kaelix is just a guy, a very down-bad, extremely overwhelmed guy, who’s dreamed about all of this for way too long.
Kaelix gasps into Freodore’s neck, and Freodore moves over him with a quiet intensity that drives every thought clean out of Kaelix’s head. It’s all touch now. Sweat-slick skin and hands fumbling for more, mouths finding each other again and again like they’re addicted.
It’s not long after that clothes peel away in pieces between all their kissing and rutting against one another, tugged and tossed without ceremony to the floor of Kaelix’s apartment. Kaelix works Freodore’s shirt off, who moves his arms obligingly, sleek and flushed in the low light, and when Kaelix sees him naked now, sitting on his lap, he nearly forgets how to breathe.
“You’re—” Kaelix exhales. “God. You’re unfair.”
Freodore just rolls his eyes, cheeks blushing a pretty pink, and he starts on Kaelix’s shirt in turn. They’re done fairly quick and soon back in that frenzied state of getting acquainted with more of each other’s skin, hard and aching and so close.
Kaelix settles back against the pillows, Freodore straddling his lap, and this time their cocks slide against each other in a hot, slick drag that makes them both moan—loud and helpless in between desperate kisses. Kaelix wraps one hand around both of them, stroking them together, his other hand tracing down the curve of Freodore’s spine, holding him steady.
Freodore leans forward, mouthing at Kaelix’s neck, and Kaelix can feel him trembling just a little with his own desire. It’s enough to make his thoughts start short-circuiting on the spot.
“Wait—wait,” he breathes, reaching blindly into the drawer of his nightstand. He knocks over a pair of earbuds and a stress ball before his hand finds the little bottle of lube tucked under there like an afterthought. “Got it.”
Freodore shifts back just enough to let him work, watching with parted lips and glassy eyes as Kaelix slicks up his fingers, coating them slow, deliberate.
Kaelix looks up at him, breath catching. “Okay?”
Freodore nods, already rolling his hips forward like he needs it.
“Mm,” he hums his affirmative, letting Kaelix do as he pleases.
Kaelix swallows and presses a lubed finger to his entrance, easing in slow, cautious, watching every shift in Freodore’s expression. Freodore’s mouth parts around a stuttered breath, tilting his hips toward the pressure, one hand gripping Kaelix’s shoulder tightly, urging him on.
Kaelix keeps stroking them both, a steady rhythm, even as he works the finger in deeper. Freodore breathes hard against his jaw, hips grinding down in time, taking his finger in slowly.
When Kaelix adds another one, his hand still slick, Freodore shudders beautifully, burying his face in Kaelix’s neck with a broken moan.
“You’re so—tight,” Kaelix murmurs, mind spiraling with the sensation already imagining what it’ll feel like inside of him, “And fuck, you’re taking it so well.”
Freodore makes a sound against his throat, something raw and desperate, rocking down harder.
Kaelix presses closer, lips trailing up Freodore’s neck, jaw, and to the corner of his mouth, murmuring between kisses as he works in another finger, “You’re so good like this, Freo, so perfect on my lap.”
Freodore shivers, breath catching, and Kaelix keeps going, voice low and awed. “You’re driving me insane. You have no idea what you’re doing to me, do you?”
That earns a low, breathy laugh, but it falters when Kaelix gives a particularly deep thrust of his fingers, curling them just right. Freodore gasps, his hips twitching. He takes over the stroking, sliding Kaelix’s hand away with a quiet hum and replacing it with his own as Kaelix concentrates on working him open properly.
Kaelix watches, mesmerized, as Freodore fists both their cocks together, rhythm steady and confident, mouth parted, his flushed chest rising with each panting breath.
He’s so gone, so needy and gorgeous, that Kaelix nearly forgets how to move.
Freodore starts to tremble, thighs tightening around Kaelix’s hips. His movements grow erratic, he bites his lip and then suddenly he stops as his head tips back, letting out a loud, drawn-out moan, hips bucking once, sharp and desperate.
Then he says, rough and almost pleading, “Kaelix, I’m ready. Just—please. I want you.”
Which naturally eviscerates the last of Kaelix’s functioning braincells.
“Okay,” he breathes, voice cracking, hands already moving to flip them over, guiding Freodore gently to his back, arranging the pillows around him to offer him what comfort he can.
Freodore lets him, legs falling open as Kaelix climbs over him, lips brushing down his chest and stomach as he goes. Kaelix reaches for the lube again, but this time he doesn’t waste any more time. He pops the cap open and pours a generous amount directly onto Freodore, slick and cool against his flushed skin, earning a soft hiss from him as he spreads it down between his thighs.
Kaelix shifts back to balance himself on his knees, strokes himself, quick and tight, just enough to keep control, which is already frayed at the edges at this point. Freodore watches from where he’s propped up on the pillows beneath him, eyes hooded and hazy, pupils blown wide. His gaze tracks every movement Kaelix makes, slow and hungry, like he can’t look away even if he wanted to.
Kaelix catches it. He feels it. And something warm curls in his chest.
He likes being watched like this and he likes the way Freodore looks at him like nothing else in the world exists at this moment. Like, this is all he’s ever wanted and it’s right in front of him.
Holding that gaze, Kaelix lines himself up, pressing the head of his cock right against Freodore’s entrance, dragging it in slow and deliberate.
Freodore arches, arms trembling, and then he whimpers.
Actually whimpers, wrecked and high-pitched, tilting his hips up impatiently.
“More, please,” he says, needy, voice ragged. “I want it.”
Kaelix groans, almost unraveling right then and there.
“God, you’re unreal,” he whispers, breath catching as he starts to push in slow. “You like this, huh? Like begging for it?”
Freodore shakes, eyes glassy, lips parted. He wraps his legs around Kaelix’s waist and pulls him closer. “No—I was…I was just trying to be polite.”
“Why, cause you said please?” Kaelix huffs a laugh, brushing a kiss against Freodore’s throat, his own head is a little bit fuzzy from the heat and feeling Freodore’s warmth envelope him. “Nothing polite about what I’m planning to do with you though.”
Freodore shudders but doesn’t argue.
Kaelix braces himself, hands firm on Freodore’s hips, breath tight in his lungs as he finally bottoms out.
“You’re doing so good,” Kaelix murmurs, encouraging. He does his best to keep his movements steady, rolling his hips slow and deep, whispering whatever comes to mind—praise, want, awe and wonder at the beautiful man beneath him letting him take him apart and put him back together. “You feel incredible, Freo. Feels like you were made just for me.”
Freodore shivers beneath him, the only sounds escaping his lips now are quick, quiet breaths and soft, desperate gasps every time Kaelix hits just right. He doesn’t say anything. Not in words at least, but his body answers for him with the way his back arches slightly, or how his fingers clutch at Kaelix’s shoulder before sliding up into his hair.
Kaelix moans low, eyes slipping shut when Freodore finds the base of his neck and gives a sharp tug on the hair sitting on the base of it without meaning to as Kaelix thrusts back in, sending a bolt of pleasure up his spine like a live wire.
His eyes flutter open just in time to see Freodore looking up at him wide-eyed, flushed, mouth slightly parted. There’s something curious in his gaze now, like he’s just made a discovery, like Kaelix moaning from a hair pull is new data he intends file away and remember for later.
“Fuck,” Kaelix breathes. “You—god, when you do that—”
Another slow grind forward, deeper this time, and Freodore pulls again, just enough to make Kaelix’s knees threaten betrayal.
Kaelix shudders, panting, his voice falling to a whisper as he rocks into him again. “You’re gonna ruin me.”
He moves in earnest, hips rolling deep and steady, chasing a heat coiled tight between them. Freodore is absolutely wrecked beneath him, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, fingers flexing against Kaelix’s back like he’s trying to anchor himself. Every thrust draws another wet gasp from him, soft and breathy, and Kaelix drinks in each one like he’s been thirsty for it his entire life.
He leans down, their foreheads brushing, his hand sliding up to cradle Freodore’s face. His voice comes out rough, the words tumbling out between uneven breaths.
“I’ve wanted this,” Kaelix says, pressing a kiss to the corner of Freodore’s mouth. “For so long. Every time you looked at me like I was just part of the room—I still wanted this. Wanted you. Even when I didn’t think I had a chance in hell.”
Freodore’s eyes flutter open, hazy and half-lidded, like he’s seeing Kaelix fully now, maybe for the first time.
Kaelix keeps going, helpless to stop. “You don’t have to say anything if it’s not the same, I just—I need you to know. I didn’t think I’d get to have you like this, and now I do, and it’s—” He groans softly, burying his face in Freodore’s shoulder. “Fuck, it’s better than I could ever imagine, Freo.”
Freodore slides a hand up into Kaelix’s hair again, holding him close. His chest rises sharply under Kaelix’s, still catching his breath.
“I did want this,” he murmurs, voice low and simple, like he’s offering the truth Kaelix was searching for all along. “Wanted you.”
Kaelix stills, just for a moment, breath catching hard in his throat, eyes burning as he looks down at him and the honesty in Freodore’s gaze, the way he’s holding him now with something tender beneath the tension.
Freodore leans up just enough to kiss him again, something that’s slow, sweet, almost dizzying in its warmth and Kaelix lets out a sound like he’s breaking apart in the best way.
Kaelix shifts his angle just slightly, chasing the rhythm he’s been building between them, and suddenly Freodore gasps, sharp and broken, his whole body tensing beneath him.
“There,” Freodore breathes, voice high and shaky, his hands gripping Kaelix’s shoulders like he’s afraid to fall through the mattress. “Kaelix, right there—”
Kaelix doesn’t bother holding back the whine in the back of his throat as his thrusts stutter with how hard that hits. “Right here?” he gasps, hips snapping just the same way again.
“Yes,” Freodore chokes out. “Don’t—don’t stop.”
Kaelix doesn’t. He can’t. He’s nothing but a body built to obey in that moment, chasing the way Freodore’s voice trembles, the way his body arches into every thrust like he’s being pulled closer with each one.
They move together, grinding, kissing, clutching tight until it builds too much, too hot and too good to stop.
Kaelix’s hands lock around Freodore’s back, holding him down tight, pulling them together, breaths tangled, pleasure blinding and perfect.
He reaches between them with a shaking hand, stroking Freodore where he’s hard and aching, still thrusting into him in a desperate, perfect rhythm—deep and where Freodore says he wants it, over and over, until Freodore’s moans completely dissolve into wordless sound, pitched as he comes undone between them, cum splattering all over his stomach with a soft cry accompanying it.
Kaelix is so close he can barely breathe, feeling Freodore squeeze around him deliciously as he comes. He gasps against Freodore’s neck, kisses dragging messily across his skin, and he pulls back just enough to pant, “I—I have to pull out, I’m not—fuck, I’m not wearing anything—”
But Freodore just tightens his legs around Kaelix’s hips, locking him in place.
Kaelix freezes.
Freodore meets his eyes, flushed and wrecked as he shakes his head once, firm.
“I want it,” he whispers. “Inside.”
Kaelix lets out a strangled sound, half groan, half prayer, and nods frantically, already rocking into him again.
“Okay,” he gasps. “Okay. Anything you want.”
Kaelix buries his face against Freodore’s throat, barely holding on. Every thrust now is ragged, desperate, less rhythm and more instinct, driven by the tight press of Freodore’s body and the dizzying promise in his words.
Kaelix gasps, hips stuttering. “God, I’m—Freo, I’m gonna—”
Freodore holds onto him, legs locked tight around his waist, fingers twisted in his hair, carding through it gently. His breathing’s still just as wrecked, but there’s a steady warmth in his actions amidst Kaelix unraveling above him.
“Let go,” Freodore whispers, voice thick and trembling but sure. “You’re doing so good for me…such a good boy.”
Kaelix shudders, his rhythm faltering. He gasps like he’s been hit square in the chest. “Oh my god—don’t say that—what the hell—do you want me to explode?”
Freodore laughs, breath catching on the edge of a groan, and cards his fingers through Kaelix’s hair, tugging gently. “Kind of, yeah,” he says, fond and breathless.
Kaelix whines, his thrusts turning frantic. “I’m losing it. I’m seriously—I can’t—this is unfair, you know what you’re doing—”
Freodore hums gently, threading his fingers through Kaelix’s hair, nails grazing his scalp in a way that only makes things worse. Kaelix’s movements get sloppy, hips jerking in short, desperate thrusts as he tries to concentrate on the heat, his faltering rhythm and chasing down the edge like Freodore told him to do.
And then it hits him—hard.
Kaelix gasps, his whole body locking tight as he comes, buried deep. A wrecked noise spills from his lips, like a groan ripped from somewhere too close to the chest, and Freodore’s response is instant. A soft, guttural moan as he feels the heat of it inside him, legs tightening reflexively around Kaelix’s hips.
Freodore’s head tips back against the pillows, mouth parted, eyes fluttering as he breathes through it. “Hah—Kaelix,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “Yeah, just like that.”
Kaelix clings to him, trembling, mind blank and body buzzing, pressing his forehead to Freodore’s shoulder like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered.
Freodore doesn’t say anything at first. He just holds him close, thumb stroking gently along the back of Kaelix’s neck, a quiet, steady presence in the aftermath.
“You’re okay,” he whispers again. “You did so good.”
Kaelix lets out a soft, broken whimper, too overwhelmed to respond with anything with actual words. They stay like that for a long moment without speaking.
Kaelix’s hands rest at his waist, giving gentle, absent-minded squeezes like he’s making sure he’s still there. The room is quiet, filled only with the sound of their breaths and the faint, lingering hum of something that still lives between them. Kaelix grounds himself there, in the warmth of Freodore’s body, in the softness that comes with the afterglow.
Eventually, when it doesn’t feel like their legs are made of jello anymore, they move to the shower.
It’s tiny. Kaelix knocks his elbow twice, and Freodore nearly topples him trying to fit under the spray. But it doesn’t matter. They kiss again in there—slow, wet, and indulgent. Kaelix presses Freodore up against the cool tile, both of them still humming from round one and already finding the rhythm again, chasing that rush.
By the time they stumble out, damp and flushed and laughing under their breath, Kaelix drags Freodore into a too-big shirt and nearly forgets how to stand when he sees it.
It hangs off Freodore's frame, swallowing his shoulders and baring one collarbone just right. His damp hair curls a little near his ears, his legs bare beneath the hem, and Kaelix is ruined. Emotionally. Biologically. Spiritually.
“You’re not allowed to wear anything else ever again,” Kaelix mutters, still staring.
Freodore raises a brow, clearly unimpressed. “I’ll make a note,” he deadpans.
They collapse into bed, bodies warm and clean, the air outside just cool enough to want to stay tangled up under the sheets. They kiss again, less hurried now, more like they’re trying to stretch the moment out, to memorize the feel of their lips pressed together without urgency.
Eventually, Kaelix pulls back, head resting on his pillow, eyes squinting a little in the soft dark.
He’s more sober now. The buzz has worn off, but the ache in his chest hasn’t.
“…Are you gonna be here in the morning?” he asks, careful with the question.
Freodore doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifts upward—wriggling with effort, because he’s smaller and has to climb to get where he wants—and presses a kiss to Kaelix’s forehead. Then one to each eyelid, light as breath. Then the apple of his cheek. Then finally, Kaelix’s mouth.
And then, lips still brushing against his, he murmurs, “Mm. Of course.”
Kaelix exhales like he’s been holding it in for weeks.
He smiles.
And for the first time in a long while, he lets himself fall asleep next to the comforting warmth of a body and something to look forward to.
Kaelix wakes slowly, smiling before he even opens his eyes.
The morning light is soft, pouring in through his half-drawn curtains, and the sheets still smell faintly of Freodore’s cologne—something woody and expensive. He rolls onto his side with a quiet hum, expecting to feel more of that warmth, the weight of a body still curled close.
But the space next to him is cold. Too cold.
He opens his eyes fully now, heart tightening when he sees nothing but rumpled sheets and a dent in the pillow where Freodore’s head used to be.
For a moment Kaelix just stares, briefly wondering if last night was just a really, really good (if a bit too vivid) dream, and then the emptiness sinks in slow at first, until it carves out a hollow cavern in his chest as his brain attempts to rationalize things. Nothing helps, and his mind replays last night over and over again, resting at the part where Freodore had kissed him good night.
He said he’d be here.
Kaelix sits up slowly, the ache of last night still warm in his body, just now laced with something sharp. He reaches for his phone with a heavy sigh, his blanket falling to his lap as he hunches over to scroll the contacts on his phone, carding a hand through his hair before he types out a message to the first person he knows will pick up his emotional whiplash with professional flair.
Kaelix mulls this, but sets his phone down to reply later and say he’d rather be alone for today.
Kaelix shuts his eyes with another deep sigh, now dramatically starfished on his bed, limbs splayed like he’s making a chalk outline of his own heartbreak, when there’s a knock at the door.
His whole body freezes.
He stares at the ceiling for a solid three seconds, refusing to let his hopes do anything ridiculous. It’s probably a neighbor. A very committed door-to-door vitamin seller. A cult recruiter with a clip board and strong ankles.
He shouldn’t set himself up for disappointment and imagine it could be anything else. Still, he scrambles to get up and out of bed, yanking the other half of the pajama set he loaned Freodore (who had taken the shirt for the night) over his legs, padding barefoot to the door, heart hammering as he cracks it open.
“Hey,” Freodore says gently, stepping in through the threshold. “Brought breakfast.”
He holds up the one bag of their food and the carton tray of their warm tea and coffee. Kaelix just stares.
Freodore’s wearing one of the sweaters that he remembers hung over his small couch and the same shirt from last night peeking out from underneath. His pants are the same ones he had been wearing yesterday and somehow he still looks completely put-together, if a little sleep-mussed but still so, so unfair in the daylight.
Freodore side steps him as Kaelix shuts the door behind them in a daze. In the privacy of Kaelix’s apartment now, Freodore tiptoes and leans in, then kisses him, soft and familiar. Almost like they’ve done this a hundred times before and not at all like it’s only been 24-hours since there was a seismic shift in their relationship.
“I thought you’d still be asleep,” he murmurs after, like that would explain everything.
Kaelix blinks once. Twice. Glances over Freodore’s shoulder without meaning to and his eyes land on the chair by his desk where Freodore’s shirt and coat are folded neatly on the chair. Ah.
“…You came back,” Kaelix says, a bit dumbfounded.
Freodore raises an eyebrow as he walks past the entryway into Kaelix’s tiny kitchen, setting his loot down. “I never left. I was just hungry.”
Kaelix leans against a wall like his knees haven’t fully remembered how to work yet, head pillowed against it as he processes what’s happened in the last 10 minutes and attempts to catch up with reality. “I’m going to be so honest right now, I thought you’d started having some regrets.”
Freodore blinks, turning to face him. “Regrets?”
Instead of responding, Kaelix just shakes his head before crossing the short distance to make it to where Freodore’s standing, setting out the little pastries he got on the clean plate already out. Without warning, he dips and lifts Freodore clean off the ground.
“Kaelix,” Freodore says startled. His hands automatically clamp down onto Kaelix’s shoulders, legs locking around his waist instinctively. “No—put me down—what are you doing?”
“You’re not that heavy,” Kaelix says, grinning like he hadn’t almost spent the morning spiraling over a would-be broken heart in his bed. “I’ve had to haul in marble slabs heavier than you.”
“This is undignified,” Freodore mutters, but there’s no real bite to it. His arms are already draped around Kaelix’s neck, the threat level rapidly dwindling.
Kaelix deposits him gently on the edge of the kitchen island which is really just a plank of wood at least strong enough to hold a person, stuck to the wall, barely wide enough for four plates and a dream. Freodore makes a soft sound of protest as he’s sat down, but he doesn’t move to get up or pull away.
“Breakfast…” Freodore starts, glancing meaningfully at the untouched pastries and coffee beside him.
Kaelix leans in, presses an open-mouthed kiss just under his jaw. “What do you mean?” he mumbles against his skin, “This is breakfast.”
Freodore actually blushes.
It’s faint, but Kaelix catches it, feels the way Freodore exhales against his cheek—half a sigh, half something close to a laugh. And then Freodore lets his legs slide open slightly where Kaelix stands between them, his hands coming to rest on Kaelix’s bare shoulders like he’s glad for the excuse to touch skin.
Freodore's fingers curl at the nape of Kaelix’s neck, slow and tentative, as if he's still testing the edges of this new reality. His breath catches when Kaelix shifts, leaning in again, not with the teasing bravado from earlier, but with a softness that catches Freodore entirely off guard.
Their mouths meet in a kiss that starts hesitant, almost reverent. Like neither of them wants to break the spell. It deepens gradually, Kaelix’s hand cupping the side of Freodore’s face, thumb brushing just under his eye, and Freodore melts into it by pressing closer, threading his fingers into Kaelix’s hair.
There’s a stretch of time where they only breathe each other in, the morning light filtering through the window and catching the edge of Kaelix’s shoulder, golden and warm. Then Kaelix stills, barely pulling back, foreheads resting together as they breathe in tandem.
His voice is quiet. “What are we now?” There’s at least no tremor in his voice when he asks, but he’s careful all the same. Honest.
Freodore doesn’t answer right away. His fingers tap once on Kaelix’s chest, then stop. His brows pinch a little, like he’s weighing something invisible in the air between them.
Kaelix just waits, because whatever Freodore has to say matters more than the flirting and the heat or even the muffins. Even with Freodore still perched on his too-small kitchen counter, wrapped up in Kaelix’s clothes, Kaelix still feels like he has to brace himself for whatever the answer’s going to be.
He bites his lip, exhaling softly through his mouth as his eyes flicker away for a second. The silence is too open and almost too vulnerable and his nerves scramble to fill it.
“I know you’re like…wildly out of my league,” he says, trying to laugh it off, but it comes out thin. “But I just—I really like you, and I don’t want to mess this up.”
“You aren’t,” Freodore interrupts gently, thumb grazing over Kaelix’s jaw. “Don’t say that. I was just thinking.”
Kaelix blinks at him, and Freodore’s expression softens, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
“Since you worked hard to get us here,” Freodore says slowly, “Then I suppose it’s my turn.”
Kaelix doesn’t realize he’d been holding his breath for so long.
“I wouldn’t mind us dating,” Freodore continues, glancing down for a second like he’s embarrassed to admit it out loud, “Though I know it’s a bit weird since you work for me…”
“Look, I don’t mind if you don’t mind,” Kaelix says, grinning before Freodore can spiral too far. “And it’s not...not like I’m going to be in this job forever.”
That earns him a quiet laugh, and Freodore’s eyes crinkle at the corners.
“I thought we weren’t thinking too far ahead?”
“We are now,” Kaelix replies, without hesitation. “I’m not letting a late-blooming music career stop me from finding love.”
Freodore lets out a soft breath that might be a laugh or a sigh. Either way, it’s full of something fond and tender and all for Kaelix. “I’m proud of you already,” he says, his thumb brushing Kaelix’s cheek again. “And I’ll do what I can to help.”
Kaelix grins, shameless. “What, does that make me like a nepo baby…boyfriend?”
Freodore huffs out a laugh, tilting his head.
And then Kaelix’s eyes widen slightly, realization dawning.
“Oh my god,” he says, voice pitching up. “I’m your boyfriend.”
Freodore kisses him again, laughter still on his lips, arms tightening around him like he doesn’t plan to let go anytime soon. “Mm,” he murmurs against Kaelix’s mouth. “That’s right.”
Freodore reaches behind him without looking and grabs one of the muffins from the plate, slightly smushed now from the earlier commotion. He peels the wrapper back with meticulous care, sitting up straight on the counter.
“Here,” he says, pinching off a soft, still slightly warm bite. “You never did eat.”
Kaelix raises an eyebrow but opens his mouth anyway, letting Freodore feed it to him like a smug prince being doted on.
“Mm,” he says after swallowing, licking crumbs off his lip. “You gonna feed me the whole thing like this?”
“If it silences you for five seconds longer,” Freodore mutters, but there’s a flush at his ears that gives him away.
He does keep feeding him though, bite after bite, thumb grazing Kaelix’s bottom lip every time like he hasn’t quite realized he’s doing it. Kaelix’s hands drift from where they’d been loosely looped around Freodore’s waist, fingers tracing idle circles against his back, then up to his sides, until the last two bites of the muffin end up back on the plate abandoned, forgotten as Kaelix tugs him in closer, mouths finding each other again and hungrier now.
Freodore tastes like coffee and Kaelix makes a low noise in his throat as Freodore’s legs tighten around Kaelix’s waist, grounding them both there. He makes a soft noise as Kaelix’s hands find his hips under his shirt, firm but careful. He breathes Kaelix’s name like a promise, and Kaelix answers with his mouth, with touch, with everything he can’t bring himself to say out loud just yet.
By the time the chaos burns down to ash, the kitchen smells like muffins and sex and spilled coffee—now clean, at least.
The afternoon drapes soft and golden over the bed, and Kaelix lies on his back, one hand threading through Freodore’s hair while he’s curled half on top of him, pajama shirt wrinkled, sweater missing entirely, lips parted in sleep against Kaelix’s chest.
Kaelix, wide awake and too full of something warm and jittery to do anything else, picks up his phone with his free hand and opens his texts.