mars

You hid your face in your hands, words muffled as you groaned them out. “I’m fucking mortified.”

“Wait- where was ‘Romeo’ during all of this?” Jack interjected with an amused grin. 

Both Macklin and Connor looked at each other, then Connor looked at Jack with his brows furrowed. “I’m ‘Romeo’,” He said, pointing at himself. “I thought.”

Dawson shook his head. “He means, ‘Romeo #3’.”

“No- if anything, he’s ‘Romeo #3’,” Jack said, pointing at Macklin, who wore an offended expression. “You’re ‘Romeo #2’.” Then he pointed at Connor.

Luke whipped his head over to Jack, eyes squinted. “Uh, in no world is Connor second to Will in this. Don’t lie to yourself-”

“Oh, okay. Guess I’m just third,” Macklin interrupted.

“Yes,” Luke said, pointing to Macklin. “Quinn isn’t here to defend your honor.”

You groaned. “This is stupid.”

“Wait-” Macklin said, holding his hand up to signal a pause. “Where is Will?” You all looked around the room as if Will might be hiding in plain sight.

Luke shrugged. “Not here.” 

“Clearly,” You said. “Has anyone checked Jack’s room?”

Jack snapped his fingers. “Good idea.” He said, heading out of your room and down the hall. He barged into his room and groaned when he saw Ethan, Mark, and Rutger asleep in his bed. They were lined up like three little mice, covers up to their shoulders, looking like they had a much cozier night than everyone else in the house. “Luke!” He called.

Luke’s footsteps were loud and heavy as he jogged to Jack’s room. He stopped in the doorway. “Yeah?” He asked, breathless. 

“Come get your fuckin’ friends out of my bed.”

Luke peeked his head around the wall, a smile spreading when he caught sight of Jack’s bed. He glanced at Jack beside him, who deadpanned with angry brows. Luke’s smile never faltered as he walked over to the bed. “You guys cuddling without me?” He yelled, grabbed a pillow, and hit them one by one. 

Mark groaned, Rutger tried to hide under the blanket, and Ethan let out a groggy, “What the fuck, Luke?” Luke laughed as they slowly opened their eyes. 

Jack shook his head. “Not fuckin’ funny.” He mumbled, looking away.

“What’s happening?” A raspy voice called out from the couch on the other side of the room. Jack and Luke both turned their heads. Will slowly sat up on one elbow, rubbing his eyelids. His wavy blonde hair was a mess, and his shirt was gone.

Jack finally cracked a smile and made his way over. “Morning,” Will nodded his head, and Luke huffed out a laugh. “How the fuck ‘you get in here?”

Will looked around the room, confusion growing on his face. “Wh-...Where’s Mack?”

Luke shrugged his shoulders. “Our sisters’ bed.”

“The fuck?!” Will jumped up from the couch, ready to run across the hall. Both brothers tried to bite back their laughs, and Jack placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s fine, she’s not in it.” Jack laughed through his sentence. “C’mon,” He said, pulling Will by the shoulder towards the door. Luke sped up to lead the way, and the three of them headed towards your room. Will was still half asleep when Luke pushed the door open slowly. 

Luke wore a grin, looking at Macklin and Connor in the bed. “Look who we found.” Jack pushed Will into the room as if he were lost treasure. Will stumbled a step forward as Jack let go of him, his eyes still adjusting as he scanned the room. His gaze moved lazily at first; Cole on the floor, Dixie sitting up, and you standing there with your arms crossed. Then it snapped to the bed, and he just stared for a long while. 

“What the hell am I looking at?”

Trevor let out a quiet laugh. “Here we go again.”

Macklin groaned, dragging a pillow over his face. “Too early for this.”

Connor, however, sat up straighter, suddenly very awake. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Will stepped further into the room, running a hand through his already wrecked hair. “It looks like you two are in her bed.” He pointed vaguely, grinning. “Together.”

“But…” Connor started, then stopped, clearly realizing he had absolutely nothing helpful to follow that up with. “There’s context.”

“Yeah,” Jack chimed in, leaning against the wall with a grin. “There was a race.”

Will’s eyes narrowed. “A race?”

“Yeah,” Macklin peeked out from under the pillow. “We raced each other.”

“For her bed,” Luke added.

“And her,” Trevor said under his breath.

Will’s head snapped toward him. “I’m sorry, what?” You pinched the bridge of your nose. Will huffed out a laugh, looking back at the bed. “Guys, this is a bad look.”

Connor exhaled hard, dragging both hands down his face. “It felt like a smart idea at the time.”

Will laughed harder. “Why?”

Macklin sat up slowly, wincing as he stretched. “You would have done the same thing.”

“No,” Will chuckled through his words. “No, I would not have.”

“A race that no one even won,” Dixie muttered. Will’s laugh simmered, and the whole room went silent. Her words hung in the room for a reason that no one could place. Connor looked at Macklin, Macklin looked at Connor, and Will looked at you. 

“I guess I kind of won,” Will’s voice carried through the quiet room. 

You furrowed your brows, stepping back a foot. “The fuck does that mean?”

Will tilted his head, mirroring your expression. “You blacked out?” You nodded slowly, face full of fear. Will didn’t break eye contact with you, not for a second. The room felt smaller somehow, like all the air had been pulled toward whatever he was about to say.

Connor frowned immediately. “What does that mean?” His voice had an edge, much sharper than before.

Macklin sat up straighter, the laziness gone from his posture. “Yeah,” he added, quieter. “What do you mean you ‘won’?”

You didn’t move, or even dare to blink. “Will.”

Will’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile, not quite anything friendly either. “You really don’t remember?”

“No,” you said flatly. Then he exhaled through his nose, glancing briefly at the others like he was deciding how much to say, and how much to enjoy saying it.

Trevor leaned forward slightly. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

“Shut up,” Connor snapped without looking at him.

1:08 AM (the night before)

At some point after Connor had been strangely protective of you, as if Macklin hadn’t been your best friend, you wandered back outside. You didn’t want any part in whatever grudge they currently held for each other. The porch was crowded, sticky, and cup-covered. Someone had spilled something near the steps, and your bare foot slid just enough for you to gasp, catch yourself on the railing, and whisper, 'Athlete', under your breath. You slipped past the pool, through the gate, and headed down to the dock. The sound of your footsteps echoed against the wood as you stumbled your way to the edge. The lake was black and glassy under the night sky, shifting lazily with each small breeze. You planted yourself down with a groan, resting your back against one of the railing posts. Even when you were absolutely hammered, you were still smart enough to know that if you sat facing the lake, you were going to fall into the lake. You smiled, tilted your head back against the post, and for no reason you could explain, started humming the “Star-Spangled Banner.” You made it through most of the first line before you forgot how it went.

“Jesus Christ.”

You turned your head at the sound of sneakers against the dock. Will stood a few feet away, one hand gripping the railing like he’d used it to guide himself down. His hoodie was crooked, his hair was damp from the pool and curling weirdly near his temples, and his eyes had that glossy, half-drunk shine that made his smile look even more dangerous than usual.

“Hello,” You smiled lazily and waved your hand at him. 

Will narrowed his eyes at you. “Whatcha’ doing?” He stepped closer, slower than he needed to. He stopped in front of you and leaned one arm against the opposite post.

You shrugged, looking out at the lake, then back at Will. “Enjoying the night sky. It’s a lot darker than I remember.” 

He stared at you for half a second before laughing through his nose. “Yeah, I can fix that for you.” He bent forward, one hand braced against the post, and pushed your sunglasses up into your hair. His fingers brushed your temple, warm and clumsy, and your eyes widened at the sudden return of vision.

“Whoa,” You said, a smile on your face as you looked around. "Nature."

"Big night for you."

"It's a beautiful night out here."

"You were looking at the inside of your sunglasses."

"And still finding beauty." You tapped your chest. "That's called having depth."

Will dropped down across from you with a graceless little thud, stretching one leg out and bending the other. He rubbed both hands over his face, then let them fall to his knees.

“You know,” he said after a beat, “when I pictured tonight, I didn’t really think it would end with you hiding on a dock humming the national anthem.”

You turned your head slowly. “I wasn’t hiding.”

“No?”

“I was escaping.”

“From what?” 

You sighed dramatically, looking back at the house. The music was still loud enough to hear from the dock, all bass and muffled yelling, the kind of noise that made the windows glow like the house itself was drunk. “Boys,” you said finally.

Will’s brows lifted. “All boys?”

“Most boys.”

He nodded, pretending to consider that. “Do I count?”

You looked at him for a moment, squinting like you were trying to decide if he was real or just another consequence of tequila. “Yes.”

“I brought no drama to this dock.”

“You brought yourself.”

Will laughed, tilting his head back against the post behind him. “Fair.”

“And you followed me.”

He pointed at you. “Also fair.”

You leaned your head back against the post and looked at him through heavy eyes. “Why did you follow me?”

Will glanced toward the house, then back at you. “Because you vanished after Connor started looking like he wanted to challenge Mack to a fist fight in the yard.”

You laughed once, short and breathy. “Connor would lose.”

“Probably. He’d overthink it.”

“Macklin would apologize while winning.”

“Mack would say, ‘Sorry, man,’ mid-punch.”

You giggled, resting your cheek against your knees. “He would.”

Will smiled at you, but it shifted slightly when he saw your face soften. He caught it before you did, the little change that happened when Macklin’s name passed through your mouth. “Mack is good,” he said.

You nodded. “Mack is the best.”

“Yeah,” Will said, and his mouth twitched like it annoyed him that he meant it. “That’s the problem.”

You lifted your head. “What?”

He waved a hand. "Nothing."

"No, say it."

“I’m not getting tricked into being vulnerable while I'm shit-faced.”

“You followed me to the dock while shit-faced. You’re already in the... 'vulnurablilitly' splash zone.”

"The what?"

"You heard me."

Will laughed, looking down at the boards between you. His fingers traced along a dark knot in the wood. “Mack’s the best. Connor’s different. I’m assuming Quinn is the king. Jack is the funny one. Luke is the rat prince.”

You stared at him. “Did you just call Luke the rat prince?”

“He has the energy.”

“He does.”

“So what am I?”

You were quiet for a second.

Will looked up. “That was too long.”

“I’m thinking.”

“That’s never good.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “You’re trouble.”

He smiled slowly. “That all?”

“No.”

His smile sharpened. “Go on.”

“You’re trouble, but you act like you’re not. Which is worse.”

Will leaned back against the post, eyes still on you. “That feels personal.”

“It is.”

“Good.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You like being called trouble?”

“I like being called things by you.” Your lips parted, and for once, your brain did not have a comeback ready. Will saw that too. He had a terrible habit of noticing the exact moment your armor got lazy. "You do that," He said.

"Do what?"

"Get quiet when something hits you."

"I'm not quiet."

"You are right now."

"I'm drunk."

"So am I."

You pointed at him. “Exactly. So stop being emotionally observant. It’s freaking me out.”

Will’s laugh was softer that time, less bright, more under his breath. “Sorry. I’ll go back to being hot and dumb.”

“That’s your lane.”

“Thank God. I was worried.”

Another silence settled between you. The lake moved gently below the dock, water tapping against the posts in slow, uneven rhythms. From far away, someone at the house screamed Luke’s name, followed by a crash and immediate laughter. Neither of you moved.

You picked at a splinter in the wood beside your thigh. “Connor is mad at Macklin.”

Will’s gaze flicked back toward the house. “Yeah. No shit.”

You blinked at him. “Rude.”

“Not rude. Honest.”

“It’s stupid,” you continued. “Because Macklin is my friend. He’s always been my friend. He’s Mack.” You said his name like it explained everything. “He’s funny, and kind to everyone, and yeah, he’s a fucking idiot, but he always has my back.”

Will watched you for a second too long. “You say his name like it’s a whole argument.”

“It is.”

“Must be nice.”

You looked up. “What does that mean?”

He shrugged, but the motion was too casual to be honest. “Nothing.”

“Will.”

He dragged a hand through his hair and exhaled. “It means Mack got here first. Connor got here... weird. I got here with bad timing.”

“You also got here with weird confessions in the pool.”

He laughed. “Yeah. That too.”

You felt your face warm, which was ridiculous because you were already warm from drinking. “You told me you wanted to kiss me.”

“Yeah,” he said, looking at the lake. “I remember.”

“You said it was drunken honesty.”

“It was.”

“You said it wasn’t just the alcohol talking.”

He turned back to you. His eyes were glassy, but focused. “Also true.”

You smiled a little. “You remember a lot for someone who’s drunk.”

“I’m not blacked out. I’m just making terrible choices with decent recall.”

“That’s poetic.”

“I’m gifted.”

You pulled your knees tighter to your chest and rested your chin on them. “Why didn’t you kiss me earlier?”

“In the pool?”

“Mhm.”

Will looked at you, then at your mouth, then away so fast it almost made you laugh.

“Because,” he said carefully, “I was trying really hard to be normal.”

“You’re bad at it.”

“Yeah,” he said, looking back at you. “I’m noticing.”

“You seem like the type of guy who kisses a lot of girls.”

His brows lifted. “That sounds like a trap.”

“It’s an observation.”

“It sounded judgey.”

“It was a little judgey.”

“Cool. Love that for me.”

“So why didn’t you?”

Will let out a slow breath and tipped his head back against the post. “Because I actually like you.” You stared at him, the words taking a second to find their shape through the alcohol. Will blinked, then pointed at himself with a loose little grimace. “That came out way too sincere. I'm gonna need you to forget that.”

"No."

"No?"

"I'm keeping it."

"You would."

You smiled, but it felt smaller than your usual smile. Softer. “You actually like me?”

He looked at you like the answer was obvious and annoying. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he repeated, laughing once. “What kind of question is that?”

“A normal one.”

“No, that’s a trap too.”

“Everything is a trap to you.”

“With you? Yeah.”

You rolled your eyes. “Coward.”

Will leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Fine. You’re funny. You’re hot. You’re competitive in a way that’s kinda concerning. You make everyone around you act insane, which I respect. And you do this thing where you pretend you’re floating above everything, but you’re actually paying attention to all of it.” Your smile faded slightly, and he noticed. His voice dropped. “You care more than you want people to know.” You swallowed and looked away. Will rubbed his hands together, suddenly less smug. “And there it is.”

“What?”

“The quiet thing.”

“I’m not quiet.”

“You are when someone gets close.”

Your throat tightened, and you hated that he was right. You hated even more that he didn’t say it meanly. He said it like he’d been carrying the observation around all night, waiting for somewhere private enough to set it down.

“You’re very annoying,” you said.

“I’ve heard.”

“You think you know everything.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Just enough to get myself in trouble.”

You looked at him again, and the house started to seem farther away. Out here, it was just Will sitting across from you with crooked hair and bright eyes, looking way too pleased with himself and way too honest for your liking.

“You’re pretty,” you said.

Will froze, then looked down and laughed under his breath. “That one got me.”

“I know.”

“You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“You literally told me you wanted to kiss me.”

“Yeah, and look what happened. I ended up on a dock being called pretty by a girl wearing sunglasses in her hair.”

You reached up and touched the sunglasses. “They’re fashion.”

“They’re crooked.”

“You’re crooked.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means you’re drunk.”

“So are you.”

“Exactly.” You leaned forward slightly. “So stop acting like you’re the responsible one.”

Will’s mouth opened, then closed. He pointed at you. “That is a great point and horrible news for both of us.” You giggled.

He stared at your smile, and something shifted in his face. Not the careful, soft look from earlier. This one was less polished. More honest. More affected. He looked like he was trying to remember why this was a bad idea and realizing the list had gotten slippery.

“You can kiss me,” you said.

Will stared at you, frozen. The lake tapped against the dock, and somewhere behind you, the party roared.

“That,” he said slowly, “is such a dangerous sentence.”

“You said you wanted to.”

“I say a lot of things.”

“You’re avoiding.”

“I’m stalling,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

You crawled forward before he could say anything else. It was not graceful. One palm pressed to the dock, then the other, knees dragging across the wood as you closed the short distance between you with all the determination of someone solving a very urgent problem. Will’s eyes widened as you settled in front of him, close enough that your knees almost touched his.

“Hi,” you said.

He looked at you, caught somewhere between amused and deeply stressed. “Hi.”

“You were very far away.”

“I was across from you.”

“Too far.” You reached up and poked his cheek. “You’re nervous.”

“I wonder why.”

“You don’t have to be.”

Will’s voice dropped. “I kind of do.” His eyes searched yours, and for one strange moment, neither of you sounded drunk anymore.

“You’re not a bad guy for wanting to kiss me,” you said.

His expression softened in a way that almost hurt to look at. “I know,” he said. “But I’d feel like one if I did it wrong.”

Your hand slipped from his cheek to his jaw, resting there. “You’re sweet,” you murmured, and his eyes flicked down to your mouth.

He let out a laugh that barely made it out of his chest. “Please don't say that right now.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m hanging by a thread.”

You smiled, thumb brushing his jaw. “Good.”

“Not good.”

“You want to kiss me.”

“Very badly.”

“So do it.”

“You’re drunk.”

“So are you.”

“I know,” he said, rubbing one hand over his face. “That’s why I said it like I had a point.” You laughed, and he looked at your mouth again. Then he lifted his hand and lightly caught your wrist. “Look at me,” he said. You did. His gaze moved over your face, slower this time, like he was making sure you were actually there with him and not just drifting inside the tequila fog. “Still know where you are?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes. “On a dock with a very dramatic man.”

His mouth twitched. “Good enough.”

You leaned in first, but Will closed the distance. Your lips pressed to his, warm and a little clumsy, your palm still against his jaw. His lips moved against yours once, then again, testing the rhythm like he was still trying to be responsible about something he had already lost control of. Your fingers slid from his jaw into the hair at the nape of his neck, and the second you tugged lightly, his careful restraint cracked. He made a quiet sound against your mouth, and then he kissed you deeper. Your knees pressed into the dock between his legs as his hands tightened at your waist, pulling you closer until the space between you disappeared. The wood was cold beneath your bare legs, but Will was warm everywhere he touched you. Warm hands, warm mouth, warm breath fanning across your cheek every time one of you pulled away just enough to breathe.

“You’re still nervous,” you mumbled against his lips.

He laughed, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You’re still talking.”

“You like when I talk.”

“I like when you do a lot of things.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him. “That was hot.”

He stared at your smile for half a second too long. “You are so bad for my decision-making.”

“You already had bad decision-making.”

“True.” You kissed him again before he could say anything else.

You shifted forward, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other still tangled in his hair. His back hit the railing post with a dull thud, and he let out a breathless laugh into your mouth.

“Jesus,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, hands sliding up your waist. “Nothing. Keep doing that.”

You grinned against him. “Bossy.”

“You crawled into my lap.”

“I did not.” 

“You’re literally doing it now.”

You looked down and found yourself nearly in his lap. “Oh.”

Will’s smile was smug for about half a second before you kissed it off. His hands went still at your hips again, firmer now, keeping you steady as the dock shifted beneath both of you. The kiss turned messier, forming into something that neither of you could think on. Your sunglasses slipped from the top of your head and clattered onto the dock beside you. He kissed you like he knew tomorrow was coming and had drunkenly decided that was tomorrow’s problem. Like he should stop, but every time he pulled back, you chased him just enough to make him forget why. His mouth brushed yours, then your cheek, then back again, a quiet laugh slipping between you when your noses bumped.

“You’re bad at this,” you teased breathlessly.

His brows shot up. “I’m bad at this?”

“You heard me.”

He stared at you, offended. “That’s wild.”

“Prove me wrong.” The playful edge in his expression stayed, but something slower moved underneath it. He lifted one hand from your waist and brushed your hair back from your face, his knuckles grazing your cheek. For once, you didn’t make a joke, and neither did he.

When he kissed you again, it was different. His hand cradled the side of your face as yours curled tighter into his hoodie, pulling him closer until his chest pressed against yours, and the lake air felt useless compared to the heat building between you. You forgot about Connor and Macklin and the whole tangled mess waiting back inside. There was only Will and the dock and the soft, breathless pauses between kisses where neither of you seemed willing to move away first. Eventually, he pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead nearly touching yours.

“You are going to ruin my life,” he said quietly.

You smiled, eyes half-lidded. “Dramatic.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I can be both.” You laughed, and he kissed you again before the sound fully left your mouth, like he couldn’t help himself. His hands squeezed your waist, and yours slid down to his shoulders, holding onto him when the dock creaked under a shift in your balance.

Will pulled back immediately. “Careful.”

You groaned. “I’m fine."

“You are on a dock.”

“I know.”

“You are drunk.”

“So are you.”

“And that makes me even more aware that one of us is about to end up in the lake.”

“That would be hilarious.”

“Maybe, yeah.”

You laughed harder, dropping your forehead to his shoulder. Will’s arms wrapped around you then, just holding you there while both of you caught your breath. His cheek rested lightly against your hair. You could feel his heart pounding through his shirt, fast and uneven, which made you smile against his neck. For a moment, you stayed like that. Your face tucked against his neck, his arms around you, the lake tapping beneath the dock like it was trying not to interrupt.

Then, from somewhere far behind you, Quinn yelled, “Has anyone seen her?!” Will went rigid, and you slowly lifted your head. Both of you looked at the house, then back at each other.

“Shit,” You whispered, eyes wide.

“Shit,” He echoed with a laugh. 

You scrambled backward, nearly putting your hand on your sunglasses before Will snatched them off the dock and held them up.

“Your night vision.”

You grabbed them and shoved them onto your face, even though it made the world dark again. “Thank you.”

“Please take those off before you walk.”

“No.” You stood up too quickly, swayed, and Will shot up after you, catching your elbow with one hand and the railing with the other.

“Okay,” he said, laughing under his breath. “We’re walking slow.”

“I’m fucking fine!” you yelled toward the house.

 Quinn’s voice came back instantly. “That did not answer the question!” Will pressed his lips together like he was trying not to laugh too loudly. You turned toward the house and started lazily making your way back up the dock, Will close beside you, his hand hovering near your elbow without quite holding it. Halfway back, you glanced at him. He was already looking at you.

"What?" You asked.

"Nothing."

"You're making a face."

He smiled, slow and crooked. “Yeah.”

“What does it mean?”

He looked toward the glowing windows of the house, then back at you. “Means tomorrow’s gonna be weird.”

You smiled despite yourself. “Good weird or bad weird?” you asked.

Will leaned closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Ask me tomorrow.”

You opened your mouth to answer, but Quinn yelled again from the porch. “I swear to God, if you fell asleep outside, I’m telling Mom!”

You groaned and lifted both hands in the air. “I’m alive, Quintin!”

Will laughed beside you, and neither of you said anything else as you walked back toward the house.

You thought you were downstairs dancing with Macklin, swaying and falling to the loud music, but then you felt something hit your head abruptly. Luke, lying in his bed, opened his eyes when he heard a muffled “Fuck!” from his closet. You tried to open your eyes, but everything was black. In just two seconds, you’d convinced yourself that you somehow went blind. When you reached your hands out, grasping a doorknob, you were relieved to find that your sight hadn’t gone out forever. You squinted your eyes, looking away from the bright window in Luke’s room. 

“The hell?” You murmured as you glanced at the closet behind you and the pile of tennis shoes that had gone with you when you fell forward. 

Luke sat up slightly, his eyes still sleepy. “Dude, I thought you were a monster in the closet.” His voice was rough and low. “Like, all night.”

You turned your head, face sour when you realized where you were. “Why the fuck am I in your closet?” You shifted your leg away from the door, making contact with someone else’s. Dawson, asleep on the floor next to the closet, yelped and shot up at the sudden touch. You flinched, peeking your head over the door. “You good?”

Dawson blinked, wide-eyed. “Yes.” He was clearly shocked. “I think?”

You let out a long breath and rolled your eyes as you pushed yourself from the ground, shutting the closet door behind you. You stood, staring at the ground with your hands on your hips as you tried to recall the night before.

Luke squinted, glancing at you. “‘Will give head for Olive Garden breadsticks’?” You looked at him like he was the dumbest person on the planet, then looked down at the oversized t-shirt you wore.

“Is this yours?” You asked, holding the bottom hem. 

“Uh, I don’t think so.” He grinned just a little. You groaned, looking at the ceiling.

“Stop being so loud,” Someone whined from beside Luke, words muffled due to his head being buried under the pillow.

You raised a brow, stepping closer to get a view of who was in the bed. “Jack?”

Jack raised his head slowly, mirroring your confused look as he removed the pillow from his head. “What are you doing in my bedroom?” He tilted his head. “Did you sleep in here?”

“Dumbass, you’re in my bedroom,” Luke said, making Jack jump beside him. 

He sat up and looked around frantically before his eyes landed on you again. “Why am I not in my bed?”

You rolled your eyes and threw your hands in the air. “I don’t know! I’m trying to figure out the same thing.”

He groaned, holding his head like it was pulsing. “Who the fuck is snoring so loud?”

“Hey guys,” Dawson chimed in from the floor, holding one finger in the air. “I don’t mean to alarm you, but there is definitely someone under the bed.” You, Luke, and Jack looked at each other in confusion– but quickly flinched when Dawson shouted, “Hey!”

A loud bang from under the bed followed his yell, and then a long groan. None of you could tell who it was until you heard a very Swedish, “Ouch.”

“Nico?” Jack asked, concerned as he jumped from the bed and crouched to the ground. 

Nico dragged himself fully into the light, hair sticking up in every direction like he’d been electrocuted. There was a faint red mark across his cheek from the floor, and he blinked slowly at all of you. “Why was I under the bed?” He asked, voice thick. No one said a thing, and all four of you just stood there in a strange, fragile silence.

Luke rubbed his face with both hands. “Okay, no one move. I’m reconstructing.” He pointed vaguely at the air, like he was drawing invisible diagrams. “There was a party, obviously.”

“Obviously,” you echoed dryly.

“I remember music,” Jack added, squinting like the memory physically hurt. “And someone was crying in the kitchen? Or laughing? It was one of those.”

“That narrows it down,” Dawson muttered.

Nico slowly stood up, stretching his back with a wince. “I have no idea where my phone is.” 

Dawson suddenly snapped his fingers. “Wait- I remember something.” He pointed at you. “You were dancing on something.”

You froze. “No.”

“Yes,” he insisted, gaining confidence. “Not the floor…higher. Like, table height.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “The kitchen island.”

Luke let out a quiet, horrified laugh. “Oh my God, you were.”

You pressed your fingers to your temples. “Luke, you don’t want to start talking. You were dancing on tables before the night really even began.” You took a long exhale before looking back up at everyone. “I need to go charge my phone,”

“I said no one move!” Luke called as you walked into the bathroom that led to your room. 

“I don’t care,” You swung the door open, unfortunately not looking down at the ground. You stepped on something– on someone. 

“Good morning!” A voice exclaimed from the ground. You let out a blood-curdling scream and fell back into Luke’s room. 

Jack laughed, walking towards the bathroom. “Morning, Trev.”

You looked down at the bathroom floor, hand on your heart, breathing heavily. “What the fuck, Trevor?!” Your voice was a mix of annoyed and terrified. 

He smiled at you, but quickly furrowed his brows when he saw your outfit. “Hey- Why are you wearing my favorite shirt?”

“Of course, it’s fucking Trevor’s.” You mumbled under your breath. 

Jack stepped closer to you. “Who else would own that?” 

“Only god knows, Trev.” Luke called from the bed. 

Trevor pushed himself up onto his elbows in the bathroom doorway, wincing slightly as he stretched. “Seriously,” he said, tugging at the oversized shirt you were wearing, “this is my good shirt.”

You slapped his hand away. “You were sleeping on the bathroom floor.”

“Yeah, I had to piss, and then I fell,” He paused, and your expression soured. “Your bathroom floor is very cold, and that is very nice. Okay?”

You scoffed. “Where were you sleeping first?”

Trevor looked up, as if searching his brain for the memory. “Your bedroom,” He pointed a finger at you. “On the twin bed with Dixie.”

“Why not the big bed?” Jack asked.

“Uhh, it was taken.” 

You rolled your eyes and groaned in frustration before pushing past Trevor. You burst through the door to your room, stomping your feet, but quickly quieting as you took in the scene. Macklin and Connor in your bed, Dixie in the twin bed, and Cole on the carpet. You didn’t say anything, just stood there in confusion. Luke shuffled in behind you, and you elbowed him in the arm when he mumbled, “Aww, Connor looks even cuter when he’s sleeping.”

Luke leaned against the doorframe, rubbing his jaw as he scanned the room like it might confess something if he stared hard enough. “Okay,” he muttered, voice slow, deliberate. “Let’s assess.” You didn’t move. Your eyes stayed locked on your bed. Macklin, half on top of Connor, one arm thrown lazily across his chest like it had always belonged there. Connor’s face was turned into the pillow, hair a complete mess, breathing steady, undisturbed by Macklin’s attempt to take up space. Dixie, in the twin bed, was starfished across the mattress, one leg hanging off the side. Cole was curled on the carpet with a blanket that definitely didn’t belong to him, clutching it. 

“This is…bad,” you said flatly.

Luke huffed a quiet laugh. “This is impressive.”

Your head snapped toward him. “Impressive?”

“I mean structurally,” he added quickly, gesturing vaguely. “The distribution of bodies. Efficient use of space.” You stared at him. He raised his hands. “I’m just saying, no one’s dead.” 

From behind you, Trevor’s voice cut in, “Speak for yourself,” followed by a dramatic groan as he dragged himself into the room, one hand pressed to his head. “I feel like I died and came back wrong.”

Jack appeared over his shoulder, squinting into the light. “Why is Cole on the floor?”

Cole, without opening his eyes, mumbled, “I live here now.”

“That checks out,” Dawson said from somewhere behind them, leaning against the wall.

You exhaled slowly, stepping further into the room, careful not to trip over anything. “Okay. I need answers.”

“Good luck with that,” Nico said, appearing in the doorway, still looking like he’d just crawled out of a grave. “I don’t even remember going into a bedroom.”

You pointed at Macklin and Connor. “Explain that.”

Luke tilted his head. “I vaguely remember them arguing about something.”

“Arguing?” you repeated. “About what?”

“Probably you.” Trevor teased under his breath, and you were quick to glare at him. 

Luke squinted like he was pulling the memory through mud. “Something stupid. Like, really stupid…and then-” he snapped his fingers once, “they were gone.”

Trevor frowned. “Gone where?”

Luke gestured to the bed. “Apparently…there.”

“Oh, I remember,” Jack nodded his head. “They were fighting over who would get to sleep in the bed with you.” You scoffed. “Then they raced to get here first.”

You dragged a hand down your face. “Unbelievable.”

Behind you, Dixie suddenly snorted awake, jerking upright in the twin bed. “Don’t touch the blender!” she shouted, eyes wide. Everyone stared, frozen. Dixie blinked, looking around slowly. “Why are you all staring at me?”

“No reason,” you said immediately.

She squinted at you, then at the room, then down at herself. “Where is Trevor?”

“He slept on the bathroom floor,” Jack said.

“Why?” She shot back.

Cole lifted his head an inch. “Because he thought the cold tile floor was better at cuddling than you.” Dixie threw a pillow at him without hesitation. It hit him square in the face, and he dropped back to the floor.

She quickly turned her attention back to the group of people standing in the room. “I’m confused. Why are you guys in here?”

“We’re trying to figure out what the hell happened last night.” Jack chimed in, arms crossed. 

“Wait,” Dixie raised a brow. “You guys all blacked out?”

You nodded your head. “It seems like Jack, Luke, and Dawson can remember some things– but Nico and I fully blacked out.”

“Oh my god,” She let out a breathy laugh. “That’s- Wow,” everyone rolled their eyes, except for you. “How much did you drink?”

“Not that much.” Luke held up a finger and stepped forward. 

Dixie looked at him in a way that said, ‘bull-fuckin-shit’ before turning her gaze back to you. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Uhh,” You paused, tapping your pointer finger against your bottom lip. “Dancing with Macklin-”

“Okay, what the fuck? I heard my name. Who’s talking shit?” Macklin mumbled from the bed, eyes still closed. 

You crossed your arms. “Do you remember dancing with me?”

He smirked, still half-asleep. “Yes, we danced beautifully together.”

You rolled your eyes. “What happened after?”

“We made love!”

“We did not.” Macklin frowned, burying his head into the pillow.

Cole sat up, reaching for the water bottle on the floor. “Filthy liar.” He teased, shaking his head before taking a long chug. 

Macklin’s smirk lingered just long enough to be irritating before he groaned and rolled onto his back, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, fine,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “We didn’t make love.” He cracked one eye open, glancing at you. “But something definitely happened.”

Connor shifted under him, clearly waking now, blinking up at the ceiling like it had personally offended him. “Why is he on me?” he asked flatly, not even turning his head.

“Because you lost,” Jack said immediately.

“Lost what?”

“The race,” Luke added, leaning casually against the doorframe like this was all perfectly normal.

Connor’s brows pulled together as he slowly turned his head toward Macklin. “You raced me?”

Macklin lifted himself onto his elbows, wincing slightly. “You started it.”

“I don’t even remember it.”

“Yeah, well, you were very passionate about it,” Trevor chimed in, now sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking far too comfortable for someone who had slept on tile. “You said, and I quote, ‘winner gets the bed and the girl.’” The room went quiet for a half second. 

Your expression flattened. “I’m sorry- the what?” Dawson let out a short laugh under his breath.

Connor immediately pushed Macklin off him, sitting up straight. “Okay, that sounds bad out of context.”

“I’m sure it sounds bad in context,” you shot back.

Macklin raised a finger. “In our defense, we were heavily intoxicated.”

Dixie swung her legs off the bed, rubbing her temples. “I remember the race,” she said slowly. “You two sprinted out of the kitchen like maniacs.”

“And knocked over a chair,” Cole added from the floor, still clutching his water bottle. “Pretty sure someone hit the wall.”

“That was you,” Luke pointed at Macklin.

Macklin didn’t even deny it. “Sounds about right.”

You crossed your arms tighter, looking between them. “So let me get this straight– you both raced to my room, over me, and then what? Just…passed out?”

Connor blinked. “I think so?”

Macklin rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at you again. “To be fair, your bed is like sleeping on a cloud.”

Trevor snorted. “Yeah, real romantic. Good job, guys.”

“How the hell did this…competition even start?” You asked.

Macklin’s eyes widened. “Oh, that, I can tell you.” He pointed at Connor next to him, but kept his eyes locked with yours. “He started being weird after you danced on the kitchen island.”

“What-” You groaned, annoyed. 

Jack clapped his hands together. “Yes! I told you, you danced on the kitchen island!”

“Pack it up, Jack.” You said, shoving him lightly. 

Connor placed his hands on his head, looking over at Macklin. “How was I being weird? I wasn’t weird!” 

Macklin laughed. “Oh, buddy. Yes, you were.”

12:44 AM (the night before)

The minute you slammed the cup down on the counter, not even tasting the leftover alcohol on your tongue, Macklin pranced his way up to you. He did a spin move, reaching out to you with his hand. 

“Milady?” He asked, sunglasses falling to the tip of his nose.

You lazily smirked, placing your hand in his. “Are those my sunglasses?” 

He smiled and gripped your hand before pulling you onto the makeshift dance floor in the living room. “Maybe they are. What about ‘em?”

You giggled. “Jus’ don’t break ‘em.” He grinned, stretching you out and rolling you back in to the beat. You swayed along with him in a fit of giggles. He twirled you, dipped you, pulled you close, pushed you away, then pulled you close again. The two of you thought you were showing off to the rest of the party, but to everyone else, it just looked like two people jumping up and down with their hands clasped.

“Let’s see those figure skating moves, girl!” Macklin said, tilting his head up with the beat. 

You laughed again, falling into him. “Not enough space,” Macklin raised a brow, slowing his moves. You just stared at him with a smile still plastered across your face. “What?” You let out a laughing yelp as he lifted you off the ground. “Mack!”

“Make space!” He yelled to Ethan and Mark, who quickly cleared the kitchen island of all the drinks and food. “There!” he shouted, palms up. “Olympics, go!”

“You’re gonna kill me,” you laughed, breathless as Macklin set you down on the now-cleared island.

“Then you’ll die a legend,” he said instantly, already backing up. A loose circle formed around the kitchen, bodies pressing in, phones halfway raised, someone already chanting your name, as if this were a sanctioned event and not a disaster waiting to happen.

“Don’t fall!” Cole yelled. The music pulsed through the speakers, bass rattling the cabinets, and for a second, you just stood there, swaying slightly, arms out for balance. The world felt soft around the edges, like everything had been dipped in glitter and bad decisions.

Then Macklin clapped once. “C’mon, skater girl!” You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too hard to mean it. You took a breath, then pushed off. It wasn’t real skating, obviously. No ice, no blades, just socks on polished wood and pure confidence carrying you. But you spun anyway, one foot pivoting as your arms swept out, a sloppy but somehow graceful turn that had the room erupting. 

“Okay, wait- wait- she’s actually doing it!” Ethan yelled. You laughed mid-spin, wobbling, catching yourself with a little hop that somehow turned into a dip, your hand grazing the counter for balance. 

“YEAHHH!” Mark whooped.

Macklin was losing his mind, both hands on his head. “What did I tell you? What did I tell you?!” You pointed at him, breathless. “Shut up, I’m concentrating!” You tried another turn, slower this time, dragging your foot like it was carving into imaginary ice, arms lifting overhead– but then someone bumped the table. Just enough to make you balance tip. 

“Oh shit-” you laughed, knees buckling as you wobbled hard to the side.

Macklin lunged forward. “I got you!” he did not have you. Macklin caught you halfway, your weight slamming into him as both of you stumbled back into the crowd, taking Ethan with you like dominoes. Drinks sloshed, someone screamed, and someone else yelled, “MY PHONE!”

You ended up laughing against Macklin’s shoulder, clinging to him as he tried to stay upright, both of you swaying like you were on a boat. “I had it,” he insisted, out of breath.

“You absolutely did not,” you shot back, grinning. He pulled the sunglasses from his face and placed them over your eyes with a smile. 

From somewhere behind you, a voice cut through the noise. “Move.” Macklin’s grip loosened just slightly as you turned your head. Connor stood a few feet away, pushing through the crowd with that focused, slightly annoyed look, as if this had personally inconvenienced him. His eyes landed on you almost immediately, flicking over.

“You good?” he asked, voice lower now that he was closer.

You blinked at him, still half-laughing. “Yeah?” But he didn’t look convinced.

Macklin tightened his arm around your waist just a little. “She’s fine, bro.”

Connor’s jaw ticked. “Didn’t ask you.”

“Ooooh,” Trevor sang from somewhere in the back. “Here we go.”

You pulled back slightly, looking between them. “Okay, no- none of that. I’m literally standing right here.”

Macklin smirked. “And I’m literally holding you up.”

Connor stepped closer, eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Looks like she was doing fine before you tackled her.”

“I saved her,” Macklin shot back.

“You caused it.”

“Respectfully, I disagree.”

You let out a laugh, shoving lightly at Macklin’s chest. “Relax, ‘mom’. We’re having fun! It’s not like anyone got seriously injured.”

Connor’s eyes flicked back to you, softening just a touch. “You could’ve gotten hurt.”

You tilted your head. “But I didn’t.” You paused for a moment, watching Connor roll his eyes.