Jude Queens hated going to these things. High school parties had been bad enough, but college parties? They were a whole new type of terrible. The air was thick with mingling scents of sweat, cheap cologne, and spilled alcohol. There was no way to make it to the bathroom, and if you did, it was worse than disgusting—sticky floors, overflowing trash cans, and unmentionable substances on all surfaces. Missing these gatherings was his MO, but they'd just won a game tonight, and Yon and Klaus just would not let him stay home. It was not like he was any fun at them, anyway. He didn't drink, didn't smoke, and did not have any intentions on getting involved with anyone. And yet here he was, holding a red cup of what was probably stale beer. He sniffed it; yeah, beer.

"Can you at least try to look like you aren't in hell right now, Jud? For me?" Yon asked, leaning close to be heard over the pounding bass.

Jude Queens shot him a look that could have withered a houseplant. He shifted his weight, trying to find a patch of floor that wasn't coated in a mysterious, tacky film. "You said I could go home after one drink. That was the deal."

"You haven't even touched it! It’s been an hour, and I haven’t seen you take a single sip. Please, just one," Yon coaxed, gesturing to the red plastic cup Jude was holding like it contained radioactive waste.

Jude sighed, the sound lost in the roar of the party. He hated these things. High school parties had been a chore, but college gatherings were a special brand of misery. The air was a thick soup of sweat, cheap cologne, and the sour tang of spilled beer. He didn't drink, he didn't smoke, and he certainly didn't want to be gyrating against a stranger under a flickering neon light. But they’d won the tournament tonight—his first big win as a freshman on a sports scholarship—and Yon and Klaus had basically dragged him here by his ankles.

He brought the cup to his lips and took a cautious sip. The stale, bitter liquid hit his tongue, and he immediately made a face like he’d swallowed a lemon.

"God, that’s disgusting," Jude gagged.

Yon burst into laughter, nearly spilling his own drink. "Did he actually try it?" Klaus asked, appearing from the crowd with a flushed face and a lopsided grin.

"I did. One sip. Now I’m leaving," Jude announced, turning toward the door.

"Wait, wait! We’re celebrating!" Yon grabbed his arm, his expression turning pleading. "We won, Jud! You won! Don’t you think we’re entitled to one night where you don't act like a grumpy old man?"

Jude rolled his eyes, but he stayed put. He surveyed the room again—the disorienting strobe lights, the people screaming lyrics to a song he didn't know, the heat radiating from too many bodies in too small a space. "I’m happy we won, Yon. I just don't see how getting a headache in a basement is a reward."

"Come on, a big swallow this time," Klaus urged, reaching out to tilt the bottom of Jude’s cup upward.

Jude was forced to gulp down a mouthful to avoid wearing it. He coughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I liked you better when you were scared of me, Klaus."

"I was never scared of you. I just didn't realize you were such a softie under all that glaring," Klaus shot back. He was clearly a few beers deep, his usual sophomore swagger amplified by the alcohol.

"We have to be at the gym tomorrow morning," Jude reminded him sternly.

"Gym is for tomorrow-Klaus. Tonight-Klaus wants to party," Klaus replied, waving a hand dismissively.

Yon and Klaus were a year older, sophomores who had played volleyball with Jude back in high school. They’d taken it upon themselves to be Jude’s self-appointed guardians since he’d arrived on campus three months ago. Jude knew he wasn't the easiest person to befriend—he was quiet, intense, and had a permanent scowl that most people mistook for malice. But the volleyball court was his life, and these guys were his team.

In a rare moment of surrender, Jude took another long drink without being prompted. Yon and Klaus froze, their eyes widening in shock before breaking into identical grins of pure glee.

"I’m so proud of you," Yon cheered, clapping Jude on the shoulder.

Klaus clutched his hand to his heart, mocking a tearful parent. "Our little Juddy is growing up."

"Don't make me regret this," Jude muttered, though he felt a small, reluctant tug of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

The moment was interrupted when a girl, clearly swaying on her feet, stumbled into Jude’s side. She bounced off him, turned around to apologize, and gave him a bright, flirtatious smile. When Jude simply stared back with his usual unreadable expression, her smile faltered into a confused, slightly spooked look before she scurried away toward the bathroom.

"He's not mean! It's just his face!" Klaus yelled after her.

Jude winced, feeling a flush of heat in his cheeks. "Could you maybe not do that?"

"Would you maybe not look like you're plotting a mass casualty event?" Klaus countered, taking a massive gulp of his beer. "Give us a smile. A real one."

Jude gave him a terrifyingly fake, toothy grin.

"Oh, so cute! I could just pinch you!" Klaus reached out for Jude’s cheek.

Jude slapped his hand away with a sharp thud. "Touch me and you lose the finger."

Yon suddenly straightened up, his eyes locking on someone across the room. He shouted a name that Jude didn't catch and started weaving through the crowd to talk to a guy who was passing by.

"Drink up. I'm getting you another one," Klaus said, pointing at Jude’s half-empty cup.

"One drink, Klaus. That was the deal."

"Oh, stop being such a baby. It's just light beer," Klaus muttered, turning to scan the room for the keg.

Jude took another sip, his eyes drifting over to where Yon was standing. He wanted to see if Yon was ready to call it a night, but as his gaze landed on the man Yon was talking to, he actually choked. He sputtered, the bitter beer burning his throat as he doubled over.

"Whoa, you okay?" Klaus asked, thumping him hard on the back.

Jude waved him off, coughing until his eyes watered. He swallowed hard, his heart suddenly hammering against his ribs for a reason that had nothing to do with volleyball or stale alcohol.

"I'm... I'm fine," Jude managed, but he wasn't fine at all.

Yon was still talking to the guy, and Jude couldn't stop looking. He had never experienced anything like it—this sudden, jarring hit of attraction that felt like being spiked in the chest. The stranger was a little shorter than Jude, standing with a casual, easy confidence. He had dark brown hair that was a complete mess, falling over his forehead in a way that looked effortlessly disheveled.

As Jude watched, the guy licked his lips and broke into a wide, brilliant smile at something Yon said. It was a perfect smile. He had thick, dark eyebrows that slanted downward in a way that made him look perpetually earnest, and the light stubble along his jaw gave him a sharp, masculine edge. From this distance, Jude couldn't tell what color his eyes were, but he could see a tiny beauty mark perched high on his cheekbone.

"Earth to Jude? You still in there?" Klaus asked with a laugh.

Jude snapped his head back to Klaus, his mind racing. He realized with a jolt of panic that he’d been staring for way too long.

"What were you looking at?" Klaus asked, his eyes narrowing with sudden, sharp amusement. "Wait... who were you looking at?"

Jude felt the blood drain from his face. He hadn't told anyone at school about this. It wasn't that he was ashamed, but the volleyball team was a hyper-masculine environment, and he’d only been there three months. He wasn't ready to announce he was gay over a game of beer pong.

"No one," Jude said quickly, his voice a pitch too high.

Klaus’s gaze followed the line of where Jude had been looking. He saw Yon, and then he saw the dark-haired stranger. His eyebrows shot toward his hairline. Jude started shaking his head frantically, his heart in his throat.

"Holy fuck, Jud," Klaus whispered, a massive, delighted grin spreading across his face. "I had no idea."

"It's not—it isn't what you think," Jude argued, his hands starting to sweat.

"It's not? You were literally drooling," Klaus said, leaning in and dropping his voice so the people nearby couldn't hear. "You like the messy-hair guy, don't you?"

Jude clamped his mouth shut, the silence being the loudest admission he could have made. He felt exposed, the noise of the party suddenly feeling like it was closing in on him.

"Relax, man," Klaus said, bumping his shoulder. "Your secret is safe with me. But damn... you’ve got good taste. That’s Caleb. He’s a junior. Art major, I think."

Caleb. The name echoed in Jude’s head.

"I'm going home," Jude said, setting his cup down on a nearby table.

"Are you kidding? Yon is literally talking to him! This is your chance!" Klaus urged.

"No. Absolutely not," Jude said, already turning to push through the crowd. He wasn't ready for this. He wasn't the kind of guy who just walked up to beautiful strangers at parties. He was the guy who stayed in the shadows, the guy who focused on his footwork and his serves.

But as he moved toward the exit, he couldn't help but steal one last glance over his shoulder. Caleb was laughing now, his head tilted back, the neon light catching the sharp line of his throat.

Jude turned away and ran into the cool night air, his heart still racing. He didn't know then that his carefully constructed world of sports and solitude was about to be turned completely upside down. He didn't know that the "messy-hair guy" was about to become the center of his universe.

"Don't fucking say anything," Jude hissed, the words barely escaping through his teeth as he watched Yon and the stranger weave through the crowded basement.

Klaus let out a muffled yelp of excitement, his face flushed with more than just the warmth of the room. "I won't! I swear. Oh, shit, they’re coming over. You can do this, Jud. Don’t lose it, I’ve got your back."

Jude felt a surge of panic that made his knees weak. He snatched his red cup from a nearby ledge and took a desperate mouthful of the stale beer, grimacing as it burned his throat. He needed to look busy, look normal, but his pulse was thundering in his ears like a drum.

"Hey, guys," Yon said, pulling the dark-haired stranger into their small circle. "These are some of the guys on the team. Klaus is in my year, and Jude is the freshman I was telling you about."

The stranger’s eyes were green—a startling, vibrant shade that seemed to cut right through the hazy party atmosphere. He took Klaus's hand first, offering a casual nod. Then, he turned to Jude.

"This is Malachi," Yon explained. "He used to be on my team in high school."

"That’s quite a name," Malachi said, his voice smooth and rich, carrying an easy warmth that sent a jolt straight to Jude’s chest. He extended a hand, his lips curling into a perfect, effortless smile. "Jude," he repeated, letting the name roll off his tongue as if he were testing the weight of it.

"My mom liked the book," Jude blurted out.

He blinked, immediately wanting the floor to swallow him whole. Why on earth had he said that? There was zero context, no lead-in, just a random fact about his mother’s literary tastes as his opening line.

Malachi didn't laugh, though. He just nodded slowly, snapping his fingers. "Jude Finch," he said, pointing at him with a glimmer of recognition. "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius."

The shock of pleasant surprise was so intense that Jude actually forgot to be embarrassed for a second. He nodded quickly, and Malachi’s smile widened, showing just a hint of teeth. Jude knew he was supposed to smile back—it was the human thing to do—but he was fairly certain his face was currently frozen in a mask of mild terror.

"What position did you play?" Klaus asked, jumping in to save the silence.

Malachi’s hands drifted into his pockets, his shoulders relaxed. "Middle blocker."

"And you came here? Why aren't you playing for the university?" Klaus pushed.

Malachi shrugged, a casual movement that drew Jude's eyes to the breadth of his shoulders. "Lost interest, I guess."

Jude’s brow furrowed. How did someone just lose interest in volleyball? Especially someone who looked like they were built for the net. He glanced at Klaus, who was giving him a significant look that basically said say something, you idiot.

"Shame," Klaus said, shaking his head. "Look, I’m getting another round. You want one, Yon?"

"I'll help," Yon offered, already moving.

"Oh, no," Jude whispered, but it was too late.

Klaus grabbed the bottom of Jude’s cup and tipped it toward his mouth, forcing him to take another swallow before he could protest. Then, Klaus turned to Malachi with a wink. "You know, that’s just his face. He’s not actually unfriendly. We’ll be right back."

Jude’s eyes went wide with mortification as his friends vanished into the crowd. He stood there, clutching his cup, suddenly alone with the man he’d been drooling over two minutes ago.

"You had a good game today, I hear," Malachi said.

Up close, he smelled subtly intoxicating—a mix of fresh soap and something woodsy, like cedar or sandalwood. It was clean, masculine, and completely overwhelming. Jude found himself fighting the urge to lean in just an inch closer.

"We won," Jude said. He immediately felt like a moron. Of course they won; Malachi had just said it was a good game.

Malachi chuckled, the sound low and pleasant. "Yeah, I heard. So, you're a freshman and already the regular setter? That's impressive."

"I've been playing my whole life," Jude said, trying to deflect. He felt the heat in his cheeks again and coughed to cover it. "The regular setter graduated last year. The backup wasn't as fast, so I got the spot."

"Yeah, David's better at blocking anyway," Malachi noted.

Jude paused, his mind spinning. "That’s right. He’s tall. Wait... how do you know that? You've been following the team?"

"I just don't want to be on it. Plus, David's a friend of mine," Malachi explained. He stepped back a fraction, eyeing Jude’s frame. "You're pretty tall too. What are you? Six-three?"

"Six-two," Jude corrected.

Malachi just stood there for a beat, looking at Jude with an unreadable expression. Jude prayed his face wasn't doing that "scary" thing Klaus was always complaining about.

"You don't look so scary to me," Malachi said softly.

Jude blinked, puzzled. "What?"

Malachi just smiled, the green of his eyes bright even in the dim light. Before Jude could respond, Yon and Klaus reappeared, sliding a fresh cup into Jude’s hand and taking the empty one.

"You should come to practice sometime," Yon said, leaning into the conversation. "You don't have to join the roster, but wouldn't you want to play a bit anyway? For fun?"

Jude looked at Malachi, his heart doing a strange, hopeful flip. He didn't realize his expression had shifted, his lips drawing into a rare, genuine smile at the thought of seeing Malachi on the court.

"Sure, I can play," Malachi said. He turned back to Jude, his gaze locking on. "Would you toss for me?"

Jude’s heart didn't just flip; it contracted. The idea of setting for Malachi, of watching him fly toward a ball he had placed perfectly... it was too much. He couldn't get the words past the lump in his throat, so he just nodded fervently.

Malachi’s smile broadened into something truly stunning. "Thanks for the beer," he said, lifting his cup toward Yon. "I have to head out. It was nice meeting you. Seeing you," he added, his eyes lingering on Jude for a fraction of a second longer.

"Sure thing, see you around," Klaus said, shooting Jude a look that was practically a physical shove.

"Same, man. I'm calling you out for that game," Yon replied, giving Malachi a quick side-hug.

Jude bit his lip, the silence stretching. Klaus cleared his throat loudly.

"Nice to meet you too," Jude stammered, the words finally tumbling out.

Malachi gave one last nod, a final flash of those green eyes, and then he was walking away. Jude watched the back of his head, the way his hair was messy even from behind, as he pushed through the throng of people toward the exit.

"God, even the nape of his neck is attractive," Jude whispered, not realizing he’d said it out loud until Klaus let out a snort.

"He was a great player," Yon said, looking toward the door where Malachi had disappeared.

Jude shook himself out of his daze. "Why did he quit? If he was that good, why stop?"

"His dad got sick right before we graduated high school," Yon explained, his voice losing its festive edge. "He started here last year and he was already really messed up. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn't listen to anyone. His dad passed away last winter."

The news hit Jude like a physical blow. He looked back at the door, but Malachi was long gone. The easy smile, the forest scent, the casual way he’d talked about "losing interest"—it was all a mask.

"That's awful," Jude said quietly.

"Yeah," Yon sighed. "He’s been a bit of a ghost lately. That’s why I was so surprised to see him here tonight. Maybe he’s finally coming back around."

"He asked Jude to toss for him," Klaus pointed out, his eyes gleaming again. "That’s a big deal, right?"

Jude didn't answer. He just looked down at his cup, the bitter beer suddenly forgotten. He thought about Malachi’s eyes, the way they had looked at him, and the grief that must be hidden behind them. He’d come to this party wanting nothing more than to leave, but now, all he could think about was the next time he’d see the guy with the messy hair.

"We should go," Jude said. "Practice is at eight."

"Look at him! One conversation with a pretty boy and he's more dedicated than ever," Klaus teased.

Jude didn't even snap back. He just started walking toward the door, his mind already on the gym, the ball, and the chance to see if he could actually make Malachi smile again.

"That’s really sad," Jude said, his eyebrows shooting up. He felt a strange, heavy tug in his chest for a man he’d spoken to for all of five minutes.

"Yeah, it’s a shame. He was a powerhouse on the court, too. You would have liked playing with him," Yon added, his voice tinged with genuine regret.

Klaus let out a sharp, poorly muffled snort. Jude immediately whipped his head around to glare at him, the warning clear in his eyes.

"What?" Yon asked, looking between the two of them.

Jude quickly shoved his red cup to his lips, taking a long, unnecessary sip of the lukewarm beer to avoid answering.

"Oh, nothing," Klaus said, his eyes dancing with mischief. "So, just for the sake of the conversation... what's Malachi’s deal? You know, orientation-wise?"

Jude choked. He sputtered into his cup, the bitter liquid burning his throat for the third time that night.

"What? Why do you care? You looking to date him now?" Yon asked, laughing at the absurdity.

"Just curious," Klaus replied with a dismissive wave. "He’s got that vibe, you know?"

Yon looked thoughtful for a second. "I don't know, man. Straight, I guess? He hasn't really been in the mix lately. He took a leave of absence last semester after everything went down."

"He’s had girlfriends?" Klaus pushed.

Yon gestured vaguely. "Yeah, a couple back in high school. Why the interrogation?"

Jude felt like a balloon that had just been pricked. The air left his lungs in one silent hiss. He looked at Klaus, who gave him a sympathetic, slightly disappointed shrug.

"That's too bad," Klaus said, leaning back. "Guess we’ll have to postpone the grand college experimentation for another day."

Yon laughed loudly, missing the subtext entirely. Klaus winked at Jude, who just shook his head and drained the rest of his cup. It was fine. Better to know now than to keep daydreaming about green eyes and woodsy cologne.

An hour later, they finally let Jude escape. He pushed through the stifling heat of the house, the air outside feeling like a blessing. As he descended the porch stairs, he spotted Malachi sitting with a different crowd on the lawn. Jude slowed his pace, unable to help himself.

Malachi was laughing—a deep, uninhibited sound. A girl next to him was looking up at him with clear interest, but he wasn't looking back. Someone passed him a joint; Jude watched as Malachi’s fingers wrapped around it, bringing it to his lips. He exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, tilting his head back against the porch railing. He looked gorgeous, effortless, and entirely out of Jude’s league. Jude ducked his head and kept walking, determined not to look back.

Weeks passed. Jude found himself constantly scanning the campus—between classes, during his morning runs, in the cafeteria. He told himself he was just curious, but the way his heart jumped every time he saw a head of messy dark hair suggested otherwise.

He was about to give up on seeing him again when he walked into the athletic clubhouse on a Tuesday afternoon. There he was. Malachi was leaning against a locker, deep in conversation with Yon and the team captain. He wasn't in gear; he was wearing jeans and a short-sleeved shirt that showed off the lean muscle of his arms. Sunlight from the high windows caught the green in his eyes.

Klaus spotted Jude first, waving him over with a grin that was far too wide. Jude rolled his eyes but approached the group anyway.

"Jude, go change. We’re shaking things up today," Phoenix, the captain, said.

Jude nodded, his eyes darting to Malachi. To his surprise, Malachi lifted a hand in a small, casual greeting.

"Hi," Jude said. It came out sounding like a question.

He retreated to the locker room, his hands fumbling with his laces as he changed. By the time he got back to the court, Klaus was already running his mouth.

"Jude’s a prodigy, seriously," Klaus was telling Malachi. "It’s actually annoying to watch how easy he makes it look."

"Yeah?" Malachi asked, his gaze drifting to Jude.

"It’s intense," Yon added. "He’s our setter, but he can do it all. His serve is a weapon."

"You’re setting me up to fail," Jude muttered as he joined them, feeling the familiar heat of embarrassment creeping up his neck.

"Not possible," Klaus chirped.

"What's the plan, Phoenix?" Jude asked, desperate to get the focus off himself.

"Practice game. Six on six," Phoenix answered. "Malachi’s gonna sub in on the B-team."

Jude straightened his jersey. Malachi pulled on a pair of gym shorts, and Jude had to forcefully look away to keep his brain from short-circuiting at the sight of his legs. When they lined up on opposite sides of the net, Jude could feel the weight of Malachi’s attention.

"You okay, Jud?" Klaus whispered.

"I'm fine. Let's just play."

The second the whistle blew, the social anxiety vanished. The gym was Jude’s sanctuary. He knew every inch of this floor, every rhythm of the game. They started to play, and while Jude kept an eye on Malachi, it was the focused curiosity of a competitor.

Malachi was good—scary good for someone who had "lost interest." His reflexes were sharp, his movements carry a natural, liquid grace. He moved across the court with an instinct that couldn't be taught. Jude watched as he jumped for a spike, his muscles rippling under his skin, his breath coming in controlled, rhythmic gasps.

Every time Jude served, Malachi zeroed in on him. He didn't look grim; he was smiling. A genuine, carefree smile that made Jude’s heart hammer against his ribs. Malachi would lean on his knees, swaying slightly as he waited for the ball, his green eyes laser-focused.

The gym was filled with the familiar symphony of the sport—the squeak of rubber on polished wood, the rhythmic thwack of the ball, the grunts of exertion. Jude felt Malachi’s eyes on him every time he set the ball. It was a strange, electric feeling—half-critique, half-appreciation.

When the game ended, Phoenix clapped Malachi on the shoulder. "Man, you've still got it. You should really think about coming back."

Malachi just laughed, shaking his head as he wiped sweat from his forehead. His eyes found Jude’s across the huddle. "If we ever do this again, I want to be on his team," he said, nodding toward Jude.

Jude felt a small, private thrill. He turned toward the bench to grab his water bottle, and he didn't need to look back to know Malachi was following him.

"Hey," Jude said as Malachi stopped beside him.

"They weren't kidding about you," Malachi panted, his chest heaving. "You're a machine."

"You're not bad yourself," Jude replied, trying to sound casual.

Malachi grinned, leaning against the wall. "Thanks. But I’m definitely out of shape. I can barely catch my breath." He was gasping slightly, his face flushed a deep, healthy pink. "I don't think I could keep up with you for a full match."

"You’re just out of practice," Jude said. "You’d catch up in a week if you were training."

Malachi’s grin turned teasing. "I like that you're arrogant. I didn't catch that the first time we met." He took a long swig of water, and Jude found himself transfixed by the movement of his throat.

"I'm not arrogant," Jude protested.

"Sure you are. You know you’re excellent. You were so shy at that party, but here?" Malachi gestured to the court. "You own the place."

Jude didn't know what to say to that. He just stared at his shoes.

"Relax, I don't bite," Malachi snickered. "You're looking at me like you expect me to pounce."

If Jude was capable of blushing any harder, his face would have caught fire. "I just... you're a little..."

"What? Annoying?"

"No. Intimidating," Jude admitted.

Malachi burst out laughing. "I'm scary? To you? Are you kidding me?" He scrunched up his nose as he laughed, a sight so endearing Jude felt his resolve crumbling.

"Yeah, a little," Jude muttered.

"Jud, you're a foot taller than me," Malachi reminded him.

"I am not. You're like... five-eight-ish."

"Still. I couldn't frighten a kitten," Malachi said, sitting down on the bench. He pushed his sweat-soaked hair back, leaving it standing up in messy, dark spikes. He looked flushed, glittering with perspiration under the gym lights, and when he pulled at the collar of his shirt, Jude nearly forgot how to breathe.

He realized Malachi was looking right back at him. The teasing smile softened into something a bit more intentional.

"So, what are you doing this Friday?" Malachi asked.

Jude’s heart performed a frantic tap-dance. "Why?"

"I invited Yon to a party at my place. You should come with him," Malachi said with a charming tilt of his head.

It was the first time someone like Malachi had ever invited Jude anywhere. Every instinct told him to say yes, to cancel the world and show up.

"Thanks," Jude said, his voice dropping. "But I can't. I'm going home to see my mom this weekend."

Malachi shrugged, though he didn't look offended. "Next time, then." He pushed off the bench, standing close enough for Jude to catch that cedar scent again. "And next time, we’re on the same side of the net. I’m looking forward to those tosses, Jude."

He gave Jude one last, lingering smile before walking over to join Yon.

Jude watched him go, a sense of profound longing washing over him. He knew he couldn't cancel on his mom—she was counting on him—but for the first time in his life, he found himself wishing he could be two people at once. One to go home, and one to stay and find out exactly what happened at a party hosted by Malachi.

"So?" Klaus asked, sliding up beside him. "Did he ask for your number?"

"He invited me to a party," Jude said quietly.

"And?"

"I can't go. I'm going home."

Klaus groaned, throwing his hands up. "Jude! The universe is literally handing you a win and you’re punting it!"

"It's my mom, Klaus."

"I know, I know," Klaus sighed. "But still. That guy is definitely not 'straight, he guesses.' You see how he looks at you?"

Jude didn't answer. He just watched Malachi laugh at something Yon said, feeling a strange, new hope taking root in his chest. Maybe "next time" would be enough.