Brody’s face burned, his pulse still hammering from what he’d just done. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, feeling exposed, as if Sean could somehow sense the thoughts still swirling in his head.

“Yeah, I was just, uh, just waking up,” he called back, his voice cracking slightly. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Good, I’m making you some chocolate chip pancakes,” Sean replied, his tone warm and casual.

Brody’s chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t just desire—it was something softer, more complicated.

Chocolate chip pancakes were his favorite, a detail Sean had picked up yesterday when Brody had scarfed down a stack at the diner, grinning like a kid.

The fact that Sean remembered, that he was standing in the kitchen right now making them just for him, hit Brody harder than he expected.

Growing up in a house where affection was scarce—where his parents’ fights left little room for warmth—Brody wasn’t used to this kind of care.

Sean’s small gestures, the way he made space for Brody in his life, felt like a lifeline.

It was new, overwhelming, and it made Brody want things he wasn’t sure he was allowed to want.

He swung his legs out of bed, still wearing the jockstrap beneath his shorts, its presence a quiet thrill he couldn’t shake.

As he headed toward the kitchen, he tried to push down the tangle of emotions—lust, guilt, longing, gratitude—and focus on the smell of pancakes drifting through the apartment.

Sean was at the stove, flipping a golden-brown stack, his back to Brody.

The sight of him, so familiar yet suddenly charged with new meaning, made Brody pause in the doorway.

He wasn’t out, not yet, and he didn’t know what any of this meant for him or for them.

But for now, he’d sit down, eat the pancakes, and let himself feel the warmth of Sean’s friendship—even if his heart was starting to hope for more.