Location: Sean’s apartment — just inside the front door

Time: Early evening, golden light filtering in through the blinds

Hunter kicks his sneakers off at the threshold, half-scanning the place with an eyebrow raised like it might bite him. He's still wearing his purple soccer shirt and gold shorts, his bag slung low across one shoulder.

Sean, already halfway down the hall, calls back over his shoulder:

"Yo, Brody—get decent. We got company."

A thump, a mutter, and then Brody slides into the hallway, grinning like he already knows he’s in trouble. He’s barefoot, wearing gym shorts and one of Sean’s Plateaus hoodies three sizes too big.

"You must be the golden child."

Brody sticks out a hand.

Hunter eyes it warily, then shakes.

"You must be the stray dog."

There’s a pause—then Brody barks out a laugh. Sean exhales like he’s been holding it.

"Cool. You two talk, I’ll—uh—light a candle or something."

Hunter smirks, eyes flicking toward Sean's room.

"Yeah. Please do."

The weekend sun filtered through the blinds of Sean’s apartment, casting lazy stripes across the living room where Brody sprawled on the couch, his rugby jersey slightly wrinkled from lounging. The jockstrap beneath his shorts—still a private symbol of the bond he and Sean had forged—felt like a quiet heartbeat, a reminder of the kiss they’d shared days ago, the confessions of love that had redefined their friendship. At 18, Brody was still adjusting to this new reality with Sean—41, steady, the big brother figure who’d pulled him into the Plateaus football team after their recent game. Their connection, once anchored by tackles and pancakes, was now deeper, a love that thrilled and grounded him. His coffee shop shifts were still a haze of Sean—his smile, his strength, the way he’d held Brody like he mattered—but today, a new variable was entering their world: Sean’s nephew, Hunter.

Sean was in the kitchen, tossing snacks into a bowl for their guest, his Plateaus hoodie loose over his broad frame, sweatpants slung low as he moved with that easy confidence Brody adored. He glanced over at Brody, catching the slight frown on his face, and grinned. “He’s 19, just a little older than you,” Sean said, his voice warm with enthusiasm. “I think you’ll get along well, he’s sort of a techie, too.”

Brody shifted, pulling his knees up, his expression skeptical. “I told you I don’t need any more friends,” he said, his tone half-teasing but edged with something real—resistance, maybe even a flicker of possessiveness. He wasn’t lying. At school, on the Plateaus team, Brody was liked—funny, good-looking, quick with a laugh. His dark hair, bright eyes, and athletic build drew people in, but none of them were Sean, none of them carried the weight of what they’d built. The idea of sharing this space, their space, felt like an intrusion, even if he couldn’t quite say why.

Sean set the bowl down and leaned against the counter, his smile softening but firm. “It’ll be good for you,” he said, his voice carrying that big brother tone that always made Brody listen, even when he didn’t want to. “And besides, he’s family, you guys are cousins and you should get to know each other.”

Brody’s brow furrowed at “cousins,” a word that didn’t quite fit—they weren’t blood, he knew that, but Sean’s warmth, the way he folded Brody into his life, made it feel true in a deeper sense. Sean wasn’t talking DNA; he was talking belonging, pulling Brody closer to the family he’d chosen for him. Still, Brody felt a pang, a quiet worry that Hunter’s presence might shift things, dilute the intensity of what he and Sean had just found. He thought back to the kiss, Sean’s lips warm against his, the way their eyes had locked with a promise to figure it out together. His coffee shop shift yesterday had been filled with those moments—Sean’s laugh, the jockstrap’s weight, the love that had changed everything. Now, with Hunter on the way, Brody wondered if he’d have to share that, if he’d lose the closeness he’d come to need like air.

The doorbell buzzed, snapping Brody out of his thoughts. Sean opened the door, and there was Hunter—5’6”, 170 pounds of compact muscle, short curly blond hair bouncing as he stepped inside, grey eyes sharp and curious. He looked younger than 19, his boyish face belying the toned definition under his fitted tee and jeans, a gym rat’s build that spoke of discipline. No loser in the looks department, Brody noted, a grudging respect mixing with his unease. Hunter’s grin was easy, a little shy, as he dropped a duffel bag and hugged Sean, who ruffled his hair like he was still a kid.