Chapter 2: The Aftermath

Leo woke to the harsh assault of morning sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains and the disorienting realization that he wasn't in his own bed. The events of the previous night crashed over him in vivid waves—the failed bar hunt, the stranded predicament, and then... James.

His body ached in places that reminded him exactly what had happened between them, each tender spot a physical echo of crossed boundaries and shattered assumptions. Leo turned his head carefully, half-expecting to find James beside him, but the other side of the bed was empty, sheets still warm but abandoned.

The sounds of movement in the kitchen filtered through the thin walls of the apartment, accompanied by the aggressive sizzle of something hitting a hot pan. Leo sat up slowly, running his hands through his disheveled hair, trying to make sense of the knot of emotions churning in his chest. Terror warred with something that felt dangerously close to hope.

He pulled on his wrinkled clothes from the night before, each article feeling like armor against the conversation he knew was coming. The face that stared back at him from James's bathroom mirror looked different somehow—still average, still unremarkable, but there was something in his eyes that hadn't been there yesterday. A knowledge, a weight.

James was standing at the stove when Leo emerged, his back rigid with tension. He'd thrown on a pair of gray sweatpants and nothing else, and Leo had to force himself not to stare at the play of muscles across his shoulders as he aggressively scrambled eggs.

"Morning," Leo said, his voice coming out rougher than intended.

James's shoulders tensed further, but he didn't turn around. "Coffee's on the counter. Eggs'll be ready in a minute."

The careful politeness in his tone made Leo's stomach clench. This was it—the retreat, the careful reconstruction of boundaries that would let them both pretend last night had been nothing more than a drunken mistake.

Leo poured himself coffee from the battered machine, noting how James had remembered he took it black. Such a small thing, but it felt significant in the careful distance James was maintaining between them.

"We should probably talk about—"

"Here." James interrupted, sliding a plate of eggs across the narrow counter without meeting Leo's eyes. "You should eat something before you head out."

The dismissal was clear, and it stung more than Leo had expected. He watched James finally turn around, noting the careful way he avoided direct eye contact, the way his usual confident posture seemed forced.

"That's it?" Leo asked, setting down his coffee cup harder than necessary. "We're just going to pretend nothing happened?"

James's jaw tightened. "What do you want me to say, Leo? We were drunk. People do stupid things when they're drunk."

The word 'stupid' hit Leo like a physical blow. "Is that what it was to you? Stupid?"

For the first time since Leo had entered the kitchen, James looked directly at him. The conflict in his blue eyes was unmistakable—want and fear and something that looked almost like panic warring beneath the surface.

"It can't happen again," James said, but his voice lacked conviction.

"Because you didn't want it to happen at all, or because you're scared of what it means?"

The question hung between them like a challenge. James opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again, turning back toward the stove with a muttered curse.

Leo abandoned his untouched breakfast and moved closer, close enough to smell James's shower gel and see the tension corded in his neck and shoulders.

"James, look at me."

"Don't." The word was barely a whisper. "Just... don't make this harder than it has to be."

But Leo was done being the accommodating wingman, done accepting whatever scraps James was willing to offer. The boldness that had surprised them both last night was still there, burning steady in his chest.

He reached out and touched James's shoulder, feeling the immediate way James went rigid under his palm.

"Turn around."

"Leo—"

"Turn around."

Slowly, reluctantly, James complied. Up close, Leo could see the shadows under his eyes, the slight tremor in his hands. This wasn't indifference—this was fear.

"Tell me you didn't feel anything," Leo said quietly. "Tell me it was just drunk and stupid, and I'll walk out that door and we'll never mention it again."

James's breath caught. For a moment, Leo thought he might actually do it—might lie and let them both retreat to the safety of their established roles. But then James's carefully constructed composure cracked.

"I can't," he admitted, the words barely audible.

The admission broke something open in Leo's chest. Without thinking, he stepped closer, close enough that they were sharing breath again.

"Then why are you trying so hard to push me away?"

James's laugh was bitter. "Because I don't know what the hell I'm doing, Leo. Because last night was..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"Last night was what?"

"Incredible. Terrifying. Everything I didn't know I wanted." The words tumbled out like a confession. "And I have no fucking idea what to do with that."

The vulnerability in James's voice was like a key turning in a lock Leo hadn't even known existed. He'd spent so long seeing James as untouchable, perfect, effortlessly confident in every situation. But here he was, as lost and scared as Leo felt.

"We figure it out together," Leo said simply.

James searched his face, looking for something—certainty, maybe, or promises Leo wasn't sure he could make. The morning light was harsh and unforgiving, stripping away the romantic haze of the previous night and leaving them with the raw reality of what they'd started.

"The office," James said suddenly. "Christ, Leo, we work together. If anyone finds out—"

"Then we're careful."

"Careful?" James's voice pitched higher. "Do you have any idea what this could do to my reputation? To my career?"

The words hit Leo like a slap, reminding him exactly where he stood in James's hierarchy of concerns. "Right. Your reputation. Can't have the golden boy associated with someone like me."

"That's not what I meant—"

"Isn't it?" Leo stepped back, the brief moment of intimacy dissolving into familiar hurt. "I'm good enough to fuck when you're drunk and desperate, but God forbid anyone think you'd actually choose to be with me."

"Leo, stop." James reached for him, but Leo evaded his grasp.

"No, you're right. This was stupid. Forget it happened."

Leo turned toward the door, his chest burning with humiliation and disappointment. He'd been an idiot to think one night could change the fundamental dynamic between them, to believe that James might actually see him as more than just reliable, forgettable Leo.

"Wait."

The word stopped Leo with his hand on the doorknob. He didn't turn around, couldn't bear to see the relief in James's face at his capitulation.

"I'm scared," James said quietly. "I've never... with a guy, I mean. And especially not with you."

"Especially not with me?"

"Because you matter." The admission was so soft Leo almost missed it. "The women, they're easy. Disposable. But you..." James's voice cracked slightly. "You've been my friend for three years. You know me. Really know me. And if I screw this up—"

Leo finally turned around. James was standing in the middle of his small kitchen, looking younger and more vulnerable than Leo had ever seen him.

"You won't screw it up any worse than I already have," Leo said, offering a tentative smile.

James's answering smile was shaky but genuine. "I don't know the rules for this. Any of this."

"Neither do I." Leo took a careful step back toward him. "But maybe that's okay. Maybe we make our own rules."

The silence stretched between them, heavy with possibility and fear. Outside, the city was waking up—car horns honking, people shouting, the relentless rhythm of Monday morning beginning to assert itself. Soon they'd have to leave this apartment and return to their carefully compartmentalized lives.

But for now, in the harsh light of day with all their fears laid bare between them, something fragile and precious was taking root.

James reached out tentatively, his fingers brushing against Leo's. "I don't want to lose you. As a friend, I mean."

"You won't," Leo said, intertwining their fingers. "But I can't go back to pretending I don't want more than friendship."

James nodded slowly, his thumb tracing across Leo's knuckles. "So what happens now?"

"Now we go to work and act normal. And tonight..." Leo paused, gathering his courage. "Tonight you text me if you want to talk about this some more."

"And if I don't text?"

Leo's heart clenched, but he kept his voice steady. "Then I'll know where we stand."

James squeezed his hand once before letting go. "I should shower. Get ready for work."

Leo nodded, understanding the dismissal for what it was—not rejection, but self-preservation. They both needed space to process what had happened, to figure out what they were willing to risk for something that had no guarantee of working out.

As Leo gathered his things and prepared to leave, James caught his arm.

"Leo?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For last night. For this morning. For... understanding."

Leo studied James's face, memorizing the way the morning light caught in his blue eyes, the uncertain curve of his mouth. Whatever happened next, this moment felt important—a choice point that would determine the trajectory of whatever they were becoming.

"Thank you for not running away," Leo replied.

James's smile was small but real. "I'm trying not to."

The city swallowed Leo as he stepped out onto the street, but the warmth of James's fingers lingered on his skin like a promise. Tonight couldn't come fast enough.