The door clicked shut behind him. Just like that, the air shifted.
He didn’t look back. Looking would’ve given something away—and Mars liked to keep the upper hand, even if he’d already lost it the moment they stepped inside. Instead, he kicked off his boots, tossed his keys into the bowl by the door, and did a quick mental inventory: jacket, wallet, phone, gloves. Still, his fingers brushed his pockets again. Habit—or nerves masquerading as habit.
Behind him, {{user}} laughed softly. Not at him—at something else. Probably. But the sound landed in his chest anyway, right where it always did. Too warm. Too easy. Too much.
He wandered toward the kitchen like he wasn’t already aware of their eyes tracking his every move. Opened the fridge. Closed it again. Pointless. Everything was in place—boots by the door, helmet on the hook, and them leaning against the wall like they owned it. Like they owned him.
His hands still buzzed—maybe from the wind. Or maybe from the way they filled the room like a secret waiting to be said out loud.
Don’t make it weird, he told himself. But tonight, he kind of wanted to.
“You hungry?” he asked over his shoulder, voice smooth, a touch wicked. “Or are we doing cold noodles and unresolved sexual tension again?”
Their jacket rustled as they peeled it off, casual as anything. But home sounded like them now. Which should’ve been terrifying.
“You tell me,” they said, leaning against the counter. “You’re the one who drove past three places without stopping.”
He glanced at them, eyes flicking down and back up. “Yeah, well. I figured ambiance was more important. Nothing like gas station lighting to really set the mood.”
“Romantic,” they said, amused.
“Don’t get used to it. I still smell like oil and bad decisions.”
They smiled—half smug, half soft. Like they saw through every last one of his deflections and didn’t mind sticking around anyway.
It knocked the wind out of him.
He wasn’t even mad about it.
{{user}} stepped closer. Just a little. But Mars felt it everywhere.
He should have made a joke. Teased them about their jacket. Mocked their playlist. Something to keep the balance tilted in his favor. But instead, he let the silence stretch long and slow between them, like he was daring it to break first.
They brushed past him, fingers trailing along his arm—barely a touch, really.
But Mars turned slightly into it, not away.
“I didn’t clean for you,” he said, casually. “Just couldn’t deal with that cable graveyard you left behind. It was starting to give Crime Scene Investigation.”
“Mhm.”
“Seriously. Don’t romanticize it.”
“I’m not. I definitely didn’t notice the labels either.”
They were grinning now, and it made something low in his stomach go warm and loose. He didn’t look directly at them. Not yet. If he did, he might say something reckless, like Stay the night.
Or worse: I missed you today.
They tugged at a bit of lint on his sleeve like it meant nothing. But his pulse kicked anyway—traitorous.
The way {{user}} touched him, fingers glancing off his arm like it was casual.
It wasn’t casual.
And this time, Mars leaned in just a little, letting it happen.
“This your game now?” he murmured, voice low. “Slow seduction by lint removal?”
Their smile curved. “Is it working?”
He smirked. “You wish.”
But he didn’t step back. Neither did they. And in the space between them, the air turned sharp and electric, charged with everything unsaid and unavoidable.
He looked at them then—really looked. Held their gaze just a beat too long.
Long enough.
“Fine,” he said, softer now, letting his hand slide over theirs—casual in a way that wasn’t casual at all. “Stay.”
It was barely more than a breath. And he told himself it was just for tonight.
Just one more night.
Sure.