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Chapter 2

The young man was currently leaning on his doorframe, and wearing navy-plaid pajama pants and an extremely orange long-sleeved shirt that should absolutely not have made any fashion sense whatsoever, and had unfairly precious blue-and-white striped sock-clad toes peeking out from the pants. Dan tried not to whimper at both the clashing colors and the wide-eyed cuteness. Everything he liked, and shouldn’t like: disheveled distracting exuberance that made his tidy soul simultaneously cringe and yearn to find out how those slim wrists might feel under his hands.

The young man tipped his head to one side, and crossed arms, and lounged, evidently content to continue propping up Dan’s door until it gave in and opened. He might’ve been a pocket-sized and cuddly James Dean, a lazy kittenish rock and roll star, a stray bit of celebrity come over to pop hypothetical pink bubble-gum and literally experimentally nudge the door with one sock-foot.