As if summoned by some hungry ancient being with a primal instinct hardwired into the human brain stem—the ability to detect free food across any distance in any environment—Sarah materialized at Pete’s elbow.

Iris and Bryan flanked her like a well-coordinated extraction team.

"Yeah," Sarah said, her tone managing to be both aggrieved and delighted at the same time. "How could you keep the goodies to yourselves? Do you have any idea what it smells like from over there? I’ve been suffering."

Bryan simply extended an open palm and waited.

Iris said nothing, but the look on her face had some kind of expectation.

Neville’s lips twitched—a complicated expression that was half guilt, half amusement, and half resignation.

"Of course you all get some," he said, already reaching into the bag. "I brought plenty."

Neville distributed the oatmeal cookies like done many times before.

Sarah bit into hers and made a moaning sound.

Bryan raised both eyebrows, examined the cookie as if reverse-engineering its composition, and then took a second bite without comment.

Given how horrible his taste buds were, he’d better not comment badly about it.

Iris hummed in quiet approval.

Neville checked the remaining cookies in his inventory, looked toward the pool table, and hesitated.

It was Grayson’s turn, but Grayson was at the table, standing with the cue in hand. His lean frame bent slightly as he assessed the layout—it was a free ball.

There were only four object balls left, the angles clean but a little tricky. The light caught the sharp features. His silver eyes were focused, calculating.

Should I give him his share now?

The hesitation didn’t last for long as Neville picked up the bag and walked toward the pool table.

Grayson spotted him before he had closed half the distance. With borderline supernatural ability, he sensed his boyfriend’s approach from across the room.

His eyes tracked Neville’s movement as he gradually approached him. The tight knot of irrational jealousy that had been winding itself tighter for the last few minutes began to ease up.

Grayson reached out, caught Neville’s wrist as he drew near, and tugged him gently to his side. The underlying possessiveness that he tried not to show as much began to appear.

With his free hand, Grayson picked up the cue ball and held it out. "Do you know how to play?"

Neville looked at the white ball, then at the cue, then at the remaining four object balls on the green felt. The layout was favorable—three solids clustered near the side pocket, the eight ball sitting pretty near the corner.

"Kind of," he said.

Grayson’s eyebrow arched. "Kind of" could mean anything from "I’ve held a pool cue once" to "I have a secret talent I’ve never mentioned because you never asked."

With Neville, it was really impossible to predict which end of the spectrum applied. Most of the time, he was also surprised by it.

"Want to play?" Grayson asked.

Neville weighed the ball in his hand. It was cool and smooth against his palm, satisfyingly heavy. He looked at the table one more time, running the calculations in his head. Planning the angles, force, and the probable path of the cue ball after impact.

The black hell hole had covered physics once. If the principles were executed correctly... then it should be fine.

"Sure," he said.

Grayson smiled, softening the hard edges of his features just enough to make Neville’s pulse quicken.

Neville quickly turned away to calm himself down. But how could Grayson miss the chance to appeal to his little boyfriend?

"Feed me first," Grayson said quietly, meant only for the two of them to hear.

It just showed just how absolutely shameless Grayson was to have the audacity to think that he could get away with it in front of his friends.

Neville shot him a look to shoot him down. Without waiting for Grayson’s reaction, he walked to the table, set the cue ball down at his preferred angle—lined up precisely with the solid he intended to sink—and straightened up.

Grayson just watched on the side, waiting patiently with a small smile.

Neville, who peered a little, saw it and pouted. He quickly cleaned his hands on the small napkin tucked inside the bag, reached in to open his inventory to pull out a pouch of cookies. Then he opened the wrap and picked a piece.

Trying to act calmly, Neville looked at Grayson in the eyes with wavering eyes.

Grayson’s smile widened by the second, and Neville couldn’t take it anymore.

He held the piece of cookie up to Grayson’s mouth, looking slightly away from Grayson’s eyes, and said, "Here."

Grayson looked at it.

It was a small piece.

But just looking at it and Neville, who was holding it, made him incredibly full.

Seeing Neville’s arms slightly struggling, Grayson ate it whole without ceremony. His lips brushed the pads of Neville’s fingers for exactly one second longer than necessary.

He chewed, swallowed, and licked his lower lip.

Neville’s face was burning red as it was so stimulating to watch.

His heart couldn’t take it.

Then, before Neville could pull his hand back down, Grayson pulled him closer. He leaned down and pressed a quick, light kiss to his mouth.

[Favorability +1%]

It was barely a kiss. The barest brush of contact, lasting less than a heartbeat, executed so quickly, Neville barely registered what happened. He didn’t even have time to close his eyes. 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

But as soon as he snapped out of it, Neville’s face was in a deep shade of red.

It went from his cheeks outward, then engulfing his ears, his neck, and the visible strip of skin above his collar.

His ocean-blue eyes went wide behind his glasses. For a second, he simply stared at Grayson, wanting to say something but unable to say anything.

Then, on pure reflex, his arm moved and gave a quick, sharp smack against Grayson’s upper arm.

"Gray—!"

Grayson didn’t even flinch when the hit landed hard, leaving a small red mark underneath his clothes. If anything, the corner of his mouth curled more upward.

Then, a chorus of disapproval was heard from around them.

"Boo," Sarah said, cupping her hands around her mouth for maximum volume. "Get a room."

"Boo," Iris agreed, though the faint smile she was suppressing somewhat undercut the delivery.

Bryan slow-clapped exactly three times; his poker face was impeccable.