"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.

It looked like it could rain. The sky was a dense, unbroken expanse of gray, the kind that made it hard to tell where the clouds left off and the horizon began. A low rumble of thunder growled in the distance, like a warning. That was just great for Jude Queens. He pulled his hood over his head, its fabric muffling the world, and took off running. The air was crisp early in the morning, with the smell of wet soil and eucalyptus.

It was pleasant. The repetitive thud of his feet on the pavement, the rhythm of his breathing, the soft beat of rain beginning to fall—everything was automatic. Every step was a distraction, every breath a means of preventing his mind from wandering. He didn't need to think about a thing. If his mind did start to drift, to slip back into visions of him, he could simply push himself a little further. Jude felt the burn in his muscles and the pain in his lungs, and then it would all be clear again.

The path was almost deserted now, the usual crowd of joggers and dog walkers missing. Just him and the rain, a soft mist that had changed to thicker droplets which fell from the leaves and gathered in shallow pools. His boots squelched through them, sending small crescents of water into the air.

Jude ran for almost an hour, the rain increasing harder and harder until it was pounding his face. He was soaked through to his skin, clothes clinging to him, but he didn't care. The rain was a screen, shutting the world from view, trapping him in his own personal bubble of perspiration. But finally, the storm sent him back. His muscles were chilled, fingers numb, and he knew that he couldn't be out in the open long enough to catch cold.

When Jude came to his apartment, water flowed off his jacket and puddled on the floor as he fumbled with the keys. He pushed the door to his room open and saw Klaus lying on the bed.

Klaus sat up, eyebrows raised. "You went out in the rain? Angst much?" he said, not unkindly but with that habitual teasing tone.

What are you doing here?" Jude asked, starting to remove his soggy clothes.

"I'm here for the show," Klaus responded as Jude yanked off his shirt. Jude scowled, not ready for humor. "Come on, Jud. I'm worried about you.".

“I’m fine,” Jude lied, his voice flat. He toweled off and changed into dry clothes. He faced Klaus, hands on his hips, feeling the familiar tension of frustration and fatigue.

“You look far from fine,” Klaus said, concern deepening the lines on his forehead.

Jude couldn’t meet his eyes. Instead, he moved to his desk chair and sat down, staring out the window at the rain now hammering against the glass.

"I am," he told Klaus, annoyed. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? "I told the same to Yon, Phoenix, and the rest of the team when they dropped by unexpectedly. I am not a child. I don't need you babysitting me."

Klaus wasn't upset. He was worried. Jude clucked his tongue in annoyance.

"Jud, it's been months. He left months ago," Klaus said.

"Believe me, I know."

Alright, you're going to class. But are you talking to anyone? Because you sure as hell aren't talking to anyone on the team. You just sulk. In here all day. I get it. You're upset, but you need to start getting over it," Klaus clarified.

"I'm not upset," Jude said back. Upset was this small little word for the large thing he was feeling.

"Yeah, you are, and it's okay, but you have to move on," Klaus insisted.

"Why?" Jude asked.

Klaus blinked.

"Why do I need to move on? It's not easy. He was everything, and now he's dead. I think I'm justified in not being over it yet."

"Let's go out," Klaus suggested.

"I don't want to go out," Jude told him.

"Come on, it'll be fun. You could find someone," Klaus said.

"I don't want to see anyone; I just want you to leave me miserable in peace," Jude snarled. Klaus eyed him severely until Jude sighed and gazed out the window once more.

"You're not the first man ever to get dumped, Jud," Klaus told him.

Jude pressed his lips together. He knew that. It didn't make it easier.

"I know you won't depend on anyone, but I'm not leaving it to you alone. I can see how miserable you are. Just let me help," Klaus begged.

"I think you've helped enough," Jude said.

Klaus let out a sour laugh. "Oh, so now it's my fault?" he scoffed, shaking his head.

Jude glared at his lap. No, it wasn't. For real, Klaus was the last one Jude needed to be mad at.

"It's not," Jude started.

Klaus stood up from the bed. "You know, Jud, some times you really fucking make it hard to be your friend. Did you know that?" he growled in anger.

Jude looked up at Klaus, feeling ashamed at Klaus's angry face.

"I'm starving, so I'm off to get a bite to eat. Do you want pizza?" Klaus spoke likewise, still furious.

A smile crept up on Jude's lips and then a laugh fermented.

Klaus closed his eyes and exhaled. "At last."

"Sorry. Pizza sounds great," Jude told Klaus.

Klaus grinned. "I'll be right back. Everything's going to be okay, big guy. You'll see. I know it doesn't feel that way at the moment, but you will."

Jude shrugged one shoulder in response, the smile dropping from his lips. He didn't think so.

The door shut on Klaus, and Jude was left to the rhythm of rain on the windowpane. Jude rubbed his eyes, the tiredness telling. Six months had gone by since he'd gone, but it was a lifetime. Each day merged into another, a gray haze of classes, training, and sleepless nights. Jude thought he'd be over it by now, but the aching in his chest told a different tale.

Jude stood up and headed to the window, watching as raindrops flowed down the pane. The campus was almost deserted in the rain. Students under umbrellas hurried to class, heads ducked into the wind. Jude caught a glimpse of the running path from here, now empty and wet.

He turned away from the window, a lump in his throat. Klaus was right, however. Jude couldn't go on like this, stuck in the past and shutting everybody out. But moving on from it seemed out of the question. Malachi Flynn really had been it all.

Sighing, Jude sat back down on the bed, running a hand through his wet hair. He set it down, staring at the ceiling, and let the rhythm of the rain calm him into numbness. It was better than the pain, even if only for a little while. Malachi had walked out on him without saying a word and never answered his calls. That's how he had ended it. It took Jude weeks to acknowledge that it was over, that Malachi wasn't coming back or calling or anything. Malachi had simply walked out.

The day with Klaus pushed Jude in the direction he needed to go and accept that he needed to move on. It took Jude twice as many months to even glance at anyone else, and nearly two years to feel as though he was over Malachi.

Following winter vacation the third year was going for Jude. The weight of years was slowly shifting off his shoulders, and Jude breathed easier, smiled more readily. He didn't think of Malachi at all anymore. If his name was summoned, he could go away without listening in. Jude had thrown himself into school and running and found solace in the stable rhythms they provided.

There was a bitter taste in the air as Jude walked Yon and Klaus to the clubhouse. It was their last semester on the team. Yon had thought of not returning, but Klaus had persuaded him to, as he always did.

"There's a party at the start of term on Saturday," Yon stated.

Jude groaned. "Fucking parties," Jude complained, and they both chuckled.

"God, why must you be so boring?" Klaus asked.

"They don't get stressed out. It's the same individuals, drunk and sweating in a hot, dark room. Why would you do that?" Jude replied.

"Because it's our last first party," Yon explained.

"I don't want to go. I'm not going. I hate these parties. You know I hate these parties," Jude told them.

"Yeah, we've heard," Yon replied, frowning down at his phone.

We could go out," Klaus said.

"I'm still underage," Jude reminded him.

"God, you're dull," Klaus announced, but a smirk danced at the corner of his mouth. "So I guess you just have to go to the party," Klaus continued.

"Or I could just not go," Jude announced. They shook their heads together. They arrived at the clubroom and opened the door.

I could simply be at home and watch a movie alone. That's the best idea," Jude had said. Jude looked over at Klaus, but Klaus's smile faltered. "What?" Jude asked and glared at the team. They were all sitting on the benches, talking.

"Fuck," Klaus muttered.

They all looked back at them, and the world became quiet.

Jude's stomach dropped, his nails grinding into the meat of his palms as he curled his fists. This wasn't happening. He had to be dreaming. Malachi hadn't broken up with him, disappeared off the face of the planet, and come back two years later without so much as a warning, no forewarning, nothing.

The sight of Malachi hit Jude like a punch to the gut. Malachi’s eyes were fixed on Jude’s, their familiar green now clouded with an emotion Jude couldn’t read. Malachi looked the same, yet different—his hair a bit shorter, his face a little less lean—but it was him. The smile on Malachi’s lips slowly faded as he assessed Jude’s reaction. The air felt thick and heavy, pressing down on Jude, making it difficult to breathe.

No.

Jude said no.

This was not going down today.

Jude tightened his grip on his bag and turned to just walk right on out, his feet echoing away down the rubber floor. Jude didn't look back. He couldn't. He just kept on going, moving as far away from Malachi as he could.