7

DEV

I tighten my grip on the food before anything else can slide out of my arms. Victor looks at the bottle wedged against my stomach, then at the packet of bread hanging half out of my elbow, and crouches when a wrapped granola bar finally gives up and hits the floor.

“You planning to live upstairs now?”

“I was hungry.”

“That much I gathered.”

He picks up the granola bar and reaches for the bottle that rolled near his foot. My eyes drop to the green lounge pants riding low on his hips before I can stop them. He is still shirtless, and from this angle there is way too much bare skin in front of me for two in the morning. The waistband sits low enough that I drag my attention back to his face before my brain starts doing something stupid with the rest of the view.

Victor rises and hands me the bottle. Our fingers brush. His gaze stays on my face for a second longer than I expect.

“I never noticed how brown your eyes are.”

I stare at him. “What?”

“Your eyes.” He gives me the bottle and looks at me again, calm as ever. “They’re very brown.”

He has known me for two years and seen my face almost every day. He has never once commented on my eyes. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is what the curse looks like when it starts with Victor. Then again, I look like shit after hiding in my room for days, and he may simply be looking at me properly for once.

“Thanks,” I say because apparently that is the best my brain can do.

Victor glances at everything in my arms. “Have you been avoiding everyone?”

“No.”

Victor’s eyebrows lift, and I shift the food higher. “Okay, maybe a little. I haven’t been feeling great.”

He does not ask what kind of sick or why I have spent the last couple of days moving through the house like I am hiding from the police. That surprises me enough to make me look at him again.

“You’re nineteen, Dev. If you want to be alone, be alone.” His voice stays quiet. “I’m not going to drag you out of your room.”

“Oh.”

“But you also don’t need to sneak around the house in the middle of the night to get food.”

Heat climbs into my face. “I wasn’t sneaking.”

Victor looks at the pile in my arms, and I give up. “Fine. I was sneaking a little.”

“If you need something, ask. If you want company, come downstairs before everyone is asleep.”

He says it like it is the simplest thing in the world. My excuse is accepted, and the kiss from last night stays unmentioned. I keep waiting for him to bring it up, but he takes the bread from the top of my pile instead.

“Your mother won’t be back tonight.”

I blink. “She won’t?”

“She told you this morning.”

“I was asleep.”

“I figured.”

That explains why the house has been so quiet. It also means Mom is not going to come downstairs and rescue me from whatever this conversation is becoming. Victor turns the bread over in his hand, then looks toward the living room.

“You were going to eat all this in your room?”

“Eventually.”

“Come eat.”

He starts walking before I answer. That is Victor. Half the things he says sound like decisions that have already been made, and I follow him.

We end up on opposite ends of the couch with the food between us and some action movie already halfway through on television. I have no idea what is happening in it. Victor seems to know enough to tell me who one of the guys is when I ask, then admits five minutes later that he has also missed most of the plot.

“So why are we watching it?”

“You were the one who sat down.”

“You picked the channel.”

“You can change it.”

I leave it alone because arguing about a movie is the closest thing to normal I have done in days. Victor asks when classes start again after the holiday. I tell him. He asks whether Gideon’s has me working through most of the break, and guilt punches through the small amount of comfort I had managed to find. I tell him I have a few shifts. Technically true. He does not ask why I have apparently decided not to attend them.

Conversation with Victor has always required Mom somewhere nearby, filling gaps or changing the subject when things get awkward. Tonight there is nobody doing that for us, and somehow the gaps are easier than I expected. The easier the conversation gets, the more I keep wondering whether I should be worried.

Victor stretches one arm along the back of the couch while watching the screen. The movement pulls the loose fabric of his pants tighter across his lap, and I catch the shape of the bulge underneath before I look back at the television. I focus on an explosion happening on-screen and make it through another few minutes before my eyes betray me again when he shifts to reach for his drink. The same low waistband gives me another very clear reminder of what is under it, and I force myself to watch the movie.

Eventually Victor checks the time and gets to his feet. “I’m going upstairs.”

“Okay.”

He gathers one of the empty wrappers and carries it toward the kitchen, then pauses behind the couch. “We should do this more often.”

I turn to look at him, but his expression gives me nothing. “Yeah. Sure.”

Victor nods once and heads upstairs. I stay on the couch while the movie keeps playing, giving him enough time to reach his room before I finally check my phone. Maya has called once and sent a message asking if I am still alive. Gideon’s has called twice, and the newest text from my manager is shorter than the others.

Dev, this can’t keep happening. Call me tomorrow.

I lock the screen. Tomorrow already has enough problems waiting for me.

By the time the movie ends, the house is quiet again. I shut off the television, gather what is left of the food, and head upstairs. I keep replaying Victor’s comment about my eyes, the hour on the couch, and his casual we should do this more often. None of it gives me an answer about the curse.

A sound stops me halfway down the hall. It comes from Victor’s room, and I wait, listening. For a second I think he might be talking to someone. Then it comes again, lower this time, and I recognize the sound as a moan. His bedroom door is partly open.

I know I should keep walking. My feet carry me close enough to see through the gap anyway.

Victor is completely naked on the bed.

One hand is wrapped around his cock, stroking himself.

I feel my mouth go completely dry.

What the—