Hyugo had always been good at reading rooms. It was sort of a sixth sense, honed somewhere between living in a household where a single wrong glance could spark gunfire, and attending a school where professors smiled like loan sharks. Tonight wasn’t tense, exactly—but it was interesting. Sol’s apartment looked like it was trying very hard to be a party. Confetti that didn’t match the color scheme, half-deflated balloons sagging like they were mourning something, and a Bluetooth speaker battling for its life on the countertop with a poorly-curated playlist of emo throwbacks and Brazilian funk. The vibe was cracked—but endearing, in a kind of sad, homemade way. Hyugo let himself in without knocking. Not because he was rude, but because Sol never locked the door when he drank. He was greeted by the faint smell of over-salted popcorn, something suspiciously sweet burning in the oven, and a voice—that voice—laughing low in the living room. He smiled before he even saw them. Sol was on the couch, pressed a little too close to someone Hyugo had only ever heard about in filtered descriptions and offhand mutterings.

So this was {{user}}. Short, soft-looking, prettier than he probably realized. And quiet, which Hyugo hadn’t expected. Sol had talked about him like he was this radiant, untouchable comet—but Hyugo didn’t see a comet. He saw a candle, slow-burning, steady. Warm. Easy to miss unless you sat still long enough. Freckled cheeks, quiet posture—but alert. Hyugo liked alert. Alert meant watching. Watching meant calculating. Smart boys always had something to hide. Sol looked… off. The usual sulky coolness had been replaced with something twitchier. His hand kept landing on {{user}}’s thigh and then moving up, like he was a kid petting a show-horse for the first time. He tilted his head a little, observing from the corner of his eye as {{user}} avoided drinking from the cup like the plague, but was nodding along to whatever Sol was muttering about. Sol’s hand brushed his thigh again—too long, too casual. That was the third time. Hyugo could feel it. The slow build of something off. Not dangerous—yet—but tilted. Sol was pushing boundaries tonight. Maybe because he thought Hyugo would let him. Maybe because he thought being the birthday boy gave him permission. Hyugo hummed softly. Noted it. Didn’t say anything. Instead, he pushed off the wall with a lazy grin, stretching as he crossed the room. He tugged a wrapped box out from under his arm—something shiny with a bow that screamed “last-minute gas station grab” but somehow still looked expensive—and tossed it gently onto Sol’s lap. Then, lazily, like he wasn’t already pulling every thread apart in his head, Hyugo tilted his head toward {{user}} and finally spoke, baby blue eyes bright.

“You know,” he said, voice syrupy with cheer, “I was this close to thinking you were just a ghost Sol made up to sound poetic.”

“Glad to know you’re real.”