8

DEV

Victor is completely naked on the bed, one hand moving between his legs. I know exactly what I am seeing, and the first useful thought my brain gives me is that I need to go. My weight shifts backward, ready to carry me down the hall, but Victor’s head tips against the pillow and a low sound slips out of him. I stop.

I have never seen him like this. Downstairs, Victor is always put together, even when he is half-dressed. His shoulders stay squared. His face barely gives anything away. Now one arm is thrown above his head and his body is stretched across the sheets with none of that careful control left. His chest rises harder with every breath, the muscles across his stomach pulling tight before loosening again. One knee is bent, opening the line of his hips, while his other leg lies extended across the bed. His thighs look heavier without the green pants covering them, thick with muscle where they press into the sheets.

I should be walking away.

Instead, my eyes follow the movement of his hand.

Victor’s hips shift against the mattress. It is small at first, barely more than an adjustment, but then his thigh tightens and he pushes upward into the motion. Another sound leaves him, rough enough that I feel it somewhere embarrassingly low in my stomach. His fingers flex against the sheet above his head, and the muscles in his arm stand out before relaxing again.

The door is open only a few inches. Victor has no idea I am outside it. That should make leaving easier. It doesn’t.

I manage one step backward before he bends his knee higher, making the inside of his thigh tighten. My attention goes straight through the gap again. Sweat has started gathering along his chest, catching faintly in the light from beside the bed. His stomach contracts when his breathing breaks, and I catch myself staring at the way his whole body reacts to what he is doing instead of looking at his hand.

That somehow feels worse.

This time I know I am choosing to stay.

My jeans have become painfully tight. I shift my weight and press a palm against myself through the denim for a second, just enough to ease the pressure, then yank my hand away. Standing outside Victor’s bedroom while he thinks he is alone is already fucked up. Getting hard from watching him makes it worse, and my body apparently does not give a shit.

Victor moves again. His legs spread slightly wider, one foot dragging against the sheets, and the muscles high in his thighs tense before his hips lift. His breathing is louder now. I can see the change happening through his whole body, in the way his stomach keeps tightening and how his free hand grips the bedding instead of resting loosely beside him.

His face gets me almost as badly as everything else.

Victor usually looks at people like he has already decided what he expects from them. There is none of that now. His eyes are shut. His mouth is parted. His head rolls slightly against the pillow when another low sound catches in his throat, and for once there is nothing controlled about him.

I should leave before I see any more.

I start to move.

Victor’s body tightens suddenly, his hand moving faster between his legs, and I stop again. His chest lifts with a sharper breath. One thigh draws inward, then spreads back out as he shifts against the mattress. Whatever restraint he had when I first looked through the door is disappearing quickly.

I forget the hallway. I forget the food tucked awkwardly against my side. For several seconds I am just watching the muscles in his stomach tense, the way his hips keep moving, and the strain showing across his face as he gets closer.

Then another sound catches in his throat.

“Dev…”

My brain refuses it for one useless second.

Victor’s eyes are still closed. He thinks he is alone. There is nobody in that room for him to impress, nobody he knows is listening, and he just said my name while touching himself.

I stumble backward. My shoulder hits the wall with a dull thud, and inside the bedroom Victor goes completely still. His head turns toward the partly open door.

Fuck.

I run before I can find out whether he saw me. One of the bottles nearly slips from my arms halfway down the hall, and I catch it against my side without slowing. I get into my room, lock the door, and stay there with my back pressed against it while my heart pounds hard enough to hurt.

Victor said my name. The sound keeps replaying in my head, and the erection I carried out of that hallway makes the whole thing worse. I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the floor, trying to find one of the explanations I had been using since our movie downstairs.

The comment about my eyes could have meant nothing. Spending time together could have been Victor finally making an effort with me. Even “we should do this more often” could have meant exactly what it sounded like. What I heard upstairs leaves me with far less room to lie to myself.

I also have no idea whether he saw me. Nothing happens outside my door afterward, and that uncertainty is enough to keep me inside.

By Day Five, my sleep schedule is wrecked and the room looks like I have been living through a very private disaster. I stay awake until the house settles, sleep through chunks of the day, and avoid Nico whenever I hear him nearby. Avoiding Victor is worse now because every thought of facing him brings back the sound of my name from his bedroom.

Julian keeps texting. Maya keeps calling. Gideon’s has stopped being patient. My manager’s newest message fills most of the screen: Dev, you have missed multiple shifts. We are short-staffed and I cannot keep scheduling around someone who will not answer the phone. Call me today. I read it twice and still do nothing.

Maya calls twenty minutes later, and I answer because ignoring her again feels more dangerous than lying.

“You’re still sick?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“For five days?”

“People get sick for five days.”

“You won’t let me come over.”

“Because I’m sick.”

“Dev.” Her voice changes enough that I already know she is done humoring me. “Did something happen at the party?”

“No.”

“What happened with Julian?”

My eyes open wider before I can stop myself. “Why are you asking about Julian?”

Maya is quiet for a beat, then says, “Interesting.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That thing where you decide one weird answer means you solved a murder.”

“I asked about Julian, and suddenly you sound awake.”

I tell her she is imagining things, promise I will call later, and end the conversation before she can dig deeper. For almost an hour, I think it worked. Then someone starts pounding on my bedroom door, and I sit up as Maya calls my name from the hallway.

“Open the door.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Coming to see my dying friend.”

“Go home.”

“No.”

I know Mom and Victor are both at work, but Nico could still hear her if she keeps this up. That possibility gets me moving faster than any threat Maya could have made.

“Maya, seriously.”

“I can keep knocking.”

“You are insane.”

“Open the door and tell me that to my face.”

I unlock it. Maya takes one look at me, then looks past my shoulder at the bottles beside the bed, the food wrappers, and curtains I have barely opened all week.

“You are not sick.”

“I look sick.”

“You look kidnapped.”

“Can you lower your voice?”

She pushes past me. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. You disappear after the party, ignore me for five days, stop going to work, and now you look like you’ve been hiding from someone.”

“I’ve been sleeping.”

“You’ve been lying.”

I shut the door before her voice carries farther. Maya folds her arms and asks what happened at the party. I give her another useless nothing, and she asks about Julian again.

“Why do you keep asking about him?”

Her expression changes because she catches the reaction immediately. “Because you keep doing that every time I say his name. Dev, did he hurt you?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

I open my mouth and nothing comes out. Julian’s red eyes flash through my head, followed by Nico’s and Victor’s. Then I hear Victor saying my name again. Gideon’s is running out of patience, Maya has stopped believing me, and five days of hiding have solved absolutely nothing.

Maya waits for another lie. Instead, I walk back to the bedroom door and turn the lock before facing her again.

“What I’m about to tell you is going to sound completely fucking insane.”