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Brady makes a sound that’s half-laugh, half-sob.

Dante squeezes his shoulder. “We’ve all been performing, man. All of us. Cruz performs the funny frathole, you know,half frat boy and half asshole. Coach performed straight all his life. Dakota performed fine when she was bleeding. I’ve been performing fine my whole life. Tonight you stopped performing. That’s not bad. That’s the whole point.”

Brady’s breathing starts to even out. Slowly. Cruz keeps stroking his hair. I keep my arms locked around him. Eli’s hand stays on his neck.

After a long minute, Brady turns his face out of Cruz’s chest. His eyes are red but the wildness has drained from them. What’s left is exhausted and stunned and something I haven’t seen on his face before.

Peace, maybe. The first sliver of it.

He looks at the marks on Cruz’s shoulder. Reaches out, slow, and touches one with the pad of his finger.

“I really did this.”

“You really did,” Cruz says, smug.

“And you really liked it.” His eyes flick to Cruz’s for confirmation though, searching for a lie that won’t come.

“I really liked it.”

Brady exhales. Long. Like he’s been holding his breath for twenty-five years.

“Okay,” he says, mostly to himself. “Okay.”

“Okay,” I echo against his back.

His hand finds mine where it’s wrapped around his stomach. Threads our fingers together. Squeezes.

“I want… ” He stops. Starts again, steadier. “I want to mark all of you. Eventually. If?—”

“Yes,” Cruz says immediately.

“Christ, yes,” Dante says.

Eli’s hand on Brady’s neck goes still. I feel him take a breath. Then he says, carefully, more quietly than before, “Yes.”

I tilt my head back to look at him. He’s watching Brady’s profile. There’s something new in his face. An understanding that wasn’t there an hour ago.

I file it away with the rest.

Tomorrow, I think. Tomorrow we talk about what Eli saw in Brady tonight. Tomorrow we figure out what it means that Daddy’s eyes went dark when Brady’s mouth got dirty.

Not tonight.

Tonight, Brady needs to be held.

Cruz is already shifting back against the pillows, dragging Brady with him. Dante grabs the duvet from where it’s twisted at the foot of the bed and hauls it up over everyone. Eli reaches across me to switch off the lamp.

The room goes dim. Just the strip of light under the bathroom door remains.

We rearrange without discussion. Brady ends up against Cruz’s chest, exactly where Cruz wants him, Cruz’s arms locked around him like he’s daring anyone to try and take him. I fit myself against Brady’s back, my arm draped across his ribs to Cruz’s hip, anchoring them both. Eli curls behind me, his chest to my spine, his arm heavy across my waist. Dante settles on the outside, one hand on Cruz’s shoulder, finishing the circuit.

Five bodies. One bed. The breathing in the room slowly syncing up.

“Hey,” Cruz murmurs after a while. His voice is half-asleep already. “Williams.”

“Yeah.”

“For the record. That filthy fucking mouth of yours? Need that again. Soon.”