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The window is cracked open. It’s muggy tonight, and the inside of their cabin smells like Willie’s filthy socks. They’re his “lucky” socks, so Sebastian’s making an exception, but they’re rank. He tolerates so much in the name of friendship.

Outside, Willie and Hunter lead a charge toward the lake; their howls are louder than the chirping symphony of crickets and creepy owl hoots.

“No skinny-dipping!” yells Hunter.

“Boo, Hunter, you’re such an asswipe about nudity,” Jack complains.

“Actually,” Hunter says, breathless, “I just don’t want to see your pale, flat ass anymore. I get enough of it in the showers.”

Willie’s laugh is echoed by the others before their voices drift out of earshot.

Their last traditional bonfire night will be Friday, the day before they head home. It’ll be monumental, but it also means Sebastian still has time for camaraderie. It’s why he’s not pressuring himself to drag his ass out of bed and join the cavalry.

He takes deep breaths. Tosses the ball up. Catch and repeat.

Sebastian refuses to call this this sulking, despite humming Bon Iver and Crowded House, the music of the sulk people. It’s introspection. A bit of reflection is good, in doses. Besides, Sebastian figures the longer he does this, the faster he’ll fall asleep. Practices are grueling this close to the end, and he could use the extra rest.

“Son of a—!”

Sebastian’s head snaps toward the window, where Emir is crawling in—and then crashing to the floor.

Emir’s a pile of upside-down, skinny limbs, grumbling “Stupid window, stupid camp” as he rolls to his stomach. He stands and dusts off his shorts. At least Emir’s scowl isn’t directed at Sebastian.This time, he reminds himself.

Emir stops straightening out his jersey with a sheepish smile. “Well, hey.”

Sebastian’s brow rises. “What’s up?” He’s transfixed by Emir’s fluffy hair. The lamp sweeps honeyed light over Emir’s brown skin and softens the tense line of his shoulders. Sebastian turns the soccer ball like a globe between his hands. “Everything okay?”

“You mean besides your window trying to kill me?” Emir waves an arm behind himself. “Yeah, I just…”

When Emir’s voice drifts off, Sebastian squints at the jersey that’s too big for Emir’s slight frame, and then reality smacks him. Emir’s wearingSebastian’sjersey, the one he keeps hung up in his locker. Nothing has ever been so poorly-fitting and arousing at the same time.

“I borrowed it,” Emir says, one finger hooked in the collar, pulling.

Sebastian resists sayingYou stole itbecause his chest is tight, half with pride, the rest with confusing fondness. “Cool.” His mouth turns up happily. “People might talk if they see you in it.”

“I’m used to people talking about me.”

Sebastian snorts. Emir isn’t rejecting the idea of people assuming something’s going on between them. That threatens to make Sebastian get on one knee for more than one reason.

Emir rocks on his heels and pulls on the jersey’s hem. He’s fidgeting like a child who needs to use the bathroom. Helooksthe way Sebastianfeels.“So. Are you busy?”

“Pretty un-busy,” Sebastian says. He drops the ball to make a grand sweep of the room with his arms.

Emir’s eyes are blown black with a hint of gray remaining. He gives Sebastian a loaded look, one of those “we need to talk” expressions.

Sebastian’s chest tightens. Maybe this is it. Maybe Emir isn’t comfortable with how Grey seems to be catching on. Or how Sebastian got a little too bold the other night after ice cream, blatantly ditching his friends to walk Emir back to his cabin.

Is Emir calling it quits on their non-relationship, or whatever this is?

“What is it?”

Emir stares at his hands. His eyes gradually lift. The pinched corners of his mouth relax. He says, “I was thinking about something.” Artificial light dances over his softly dilated eyes.

“Yeah, sure.” Sebastian waits, holding his breath.

Emir stuffs a hand in his pocket. He yanks out something; his white-knuckled fist is closed. He tosses an object on the bed near Sebastian’s hip.

An ache spreads through Sebastian’s belly, but it’s not panic, not when he identifies the object as a condom. He’s on autopilot, trading glances between the crinkled foil and Emir’s eyes. He believed Emir wanted to cut things off, but Emir’s jumpy about approaching the topic of sex with Sebastian. Go figure.