“You’re no fun,” Levi says with a grin.
“I’m delightful in low doses.”
“Mm-hm,” he replies, quickly downing his shot before practically nudging mine to my lips.
The fluorescent shot hits my tongue with a wave of bitterness. “This tastes like liquid hell.”
“Good! It’s called Ghosted.”
I grimace. “How on the nose.”
“Come on, Broody,” he says. “Time to integrate.”
And Itry.
A startling departure from my usual avoidance. But tonight feels different.
Elijah spots us as Levi guides me to the dining room table, now a station for crafting passive-aggressive valentines. “Hayden! Glad you could make it.” He gestures grandly toward a meticulously arranged charcuterie spread. “Make yourself comfortable. There’s plenty of cheese and cynicism to go around.”
Dominic steps forward, looping an arm around his husband’s waist. “Please don’t scare him off. We like him.”
Elijah feigns offense. “I would never.”
Dominic smiles, handing me yet another pink, fizzy drink. “Cheers. Levi doubted you’d show, but I had faith.”
Levi flushes beside me, glaring at his best friend. “Thank you for that completely necessary revelation.”
We all laugh and I sip; it’s sweeter than I’d normally prefer, but the gin bite is welcome. I glance at Levi. “So, tell me more about this ‘anti-Valentine’s’ tradition of yours. It seems rather…elaborate.” My gaze shifts to a discarded valentine:Roses are red, violets are blue, you broke my heart, but karma’s coming for you. Charming.
Levi laughs softly. “Oh, this? It started back in middle school. Dominic had a massive crush on a classmate named Trevor Banksand decided Valentine’s Day was the perfect moment to make his big move. Flowers, card, the whole embarrassing works.”
Dominic groans like he’s reliving his childhood trauma all over again. “Trevor pretended he’d never seen me a day in his life, then tossed my carnations in the trash.”
Levi pats his arm. “From that moment on, Valentine’s Day was dead to us. Thus, the anti–Valentine’s Day party was born…celebrating friendship and laughing at all our romantic fuckups.”
Dominic nods in agreement. “Exactly. It’s a sacred vow between Levi and me. We’ve been carrying this…”
“…grudge,” Elijah offers, nudging Dominic lovingly.
“…thistorch,” he continues without skipping a beat, “since we were thirteen.”
I turn curiously toward Elijah, who’s nothing but smiles as he sips his own themed concoction. “And how do you feel about celebrating a holiday dedicated to heartbreak?”
“Honestly? At first, I thought it was atadridiculous. But now, I love it. It’s their thing.” Elijah leans over, pressing a kiss against Dominic’s cheek, who immediately beams. They love loudly. It shouldn’t ache, but it does. Elijah continues with a playful sigh, “And let’s face it…only these two could turn middle school rejection into all this.”
Dominic raises his glass triumphantly to Levi while his other hand gently clasps Elijah. “See, bestie? I told you true love would never kill our tradition.”
They clink their glasses together as Elijah rolls his eyes.
I smile, absorbing their easy intimacy. It’s clear why Levi treasures it: more ritual than joke. It’s about tradition, friendship, and unconditional love. And as I glance at Levi, bent over in laughter with his found family, I find myself wanting to understand that joy firsthand. It’s infuriating how much light he carries.
We settle at the table, crafting valentines full of sarcastic rhymes.Levi shifts beside me, his thigh brushing lightly against mine under the table. It’s brief, subtle enough to seem accidental, but I feel it like a soft jolt of electricity through my veins. Eventually, Dominic and Levi get roped into a nearby conversation about the glory days of Stonevale High and Elijah busies himself with replenishing the small bites. The playlist delivers: bitter pop ballads, nineties emo, and “Mr. Brightside” twice, triggering an enthusiastic sing-along from Dominic. Against all odds though, I don’t feel compelled to leave. I find myself relaxing into the evening, mingling, sipping on more horrible cocktails, and half-heartedly playing along as someone asks if I’ve ever experienced a “messy situationship.” I have, but it was in 1789 and involved a painter and his muse and that’s a poor topic for small talk.
Mostly, I just watch Levi drawing everyone in. I shouldn’t notice the curve of his neck when he laughs, or the way his rolled-up sleeves feel like an invitation…
“Still alive over here?” he murmurs, appearing with a fresh drink and flushed cheeks.
I arch a brow. “Iamthe funeral director, Levi. If I weren’t, you’d know.”
