#marluca

The Irina Foundation is having a silent auction to raise money for their camps, and Cliff is stoked to have been invited. He’s enjoyed the canapes and the booze, scrawled his name on bid sheets for a weekend at Hollander’s cottage and an Instagram photoshoot with Barrett’s boyfriend. But it’s the end of the night—everybody’s champagne glasses down to dregs, their bowties and lips loosened—and one item still has zero bids, because Roz is staring daggers at anyone who approaches the table. That item?

WIN A DATE WITH LUCA HAAS.

Fuck, it’s like getting picked last for kickball. Or worse, not getting picked at all. 

Cliff wasn’t born a 6’3” sex god. His growth spurt hit late, at thirteen. Years of bullying had left his heart tender in places, and seeing that blank page under Haas’s name aches something awful, like digging your thumb into a yellowed bruise. 

Haas has been hiding out in a corner all night, not making eye contact with anyone, like he’d rather be anywhere else. He’s offered up his heart and body (which, objectively speaking, seems… pretty fucking solid) for a good cause, and nobody wants him enough to challenge his weirdly overprotective captain. The poor kid is gonna be crushed.

So Cliff waits—until his head is swimming with champagne, Roz has mysteriously disappeared, and Hollander’s mother is collecting the bid sheets as the ballroom empties out. Before she can snatch up Luca’s sheet, Cliff darts forward and puts pen to paper.

Cliff Marlow. $50k.

Something loosens in his chest.

Mrs. Hollander smiles kindly at him as she picks up the sheet. “Enjoy your date!” 

Right. Now he’s got to go on a date. Cliff is suddenly dizzy, blinking up at the too-bright ballroom lights and adjusting his too-tight bowtie for a long minute until there’s a tap on his shoulder. He turns around.