Like,always.
Rotating sets of marks on his throat and chest in various stages of fading, which means they’re being regularly replenished. Which means he’s frequently hooking up with someone. Orsomeones.Fine, cool, none of my business. He’s clearly attractive enough that this isn’t shocking.
Except he spends all his free time in the house, and he never brings anyone home.
The house has a system for that. Grant’s girlfriend is over constantly, and I’ve heard Walker use the signal twice. Kit hasused it zero times. No one comes over, no one calls, and he never shows the psychological signs of being in a relationship.
The marks keep appearing, though.
He’s handsome. Obviously people want him. Obviously he’s getting it somewhere. But where?
Then there’s the way he takes up space. Last week he was on the couch in just those old man boxers he likes to wear at home, legs sprawled, totally relaxed. Walker was on the other end with a front-row seat to whatever Kit had going on under the hem.
I came around the corner and got my own eyeful before Kit noticed me and adjusted. He wasn’t embarrassed; it was more of a “this view isn’t for you”barrier.
To be honest, I don’t think Kit’s gay. I usually detect that—it’s an involuntary skill I’ve had since I was fourteen. He’s not bi in any obvious way either, or if he is he’s not going to tell me.
The other guys are definitively straight. Walker has Chloe, who shows up every Thursday afternoon. Grant has Alice. Finn won’t shut up about some girl in his seminar, and I’ve passed his door enough times to know his porn preferences lean strictly heterosexual. As for Miles, I don’t care enough to even wonder.
So the house is straight. Kit reads as straight. And yet something is vibrating under the surface.
I tried to poke at it yesterday—casual talk about dating and preferences. Kit answered every question fully and managed to say absolutely nothing. That’s a specific and intentional skill. The fact that he has it is more interesting than the answers he omitted.
So I genuinely don’t know what I’m looking at.
Actually, that’s a lie. I know exactly what I’m looking at.
The clues have been stacking up like evidence—individually ignorable, collectively damning.
Naturally, I organized them.
EXHIBIT A: The tablet.
I noticed it in the first week—a tablet mounted by the fridge. I figured it was for a digital grocery list or some communal chore chart. Then I actually read the display. There was a status display on it along with the rest of the things:ONLINE. OFFLINE. MAINTENANCE. STANDBY.
I stood there for a full minute, just staring at it. That isn’t for dishes or trash day. The categories are all wrong for that.
Someone in this house has a status board for…somethingthat isn’t chores.
EXHIBIT B: The lube.
There’s a bottle in the shared bathroom. It isn’t on display, but it isn’t tucked away either. On its own, it’s a non-starter. Five guys—statistically, someone’s beating off.
EXHIBIT C: The looks.
The guys look at Kit.
Not constantly, and not in a way that triggers a creep alarm. It’s more subtle. When Kit is across the room, one of them will glance over and there’s a specific weight to it.
Grant does it. Walker does it more. Finn is the most casual about it, which means he’s either the least subtle or the most comfortable with whatever the “deal” is.
EXHIBIT D: 2 AM.
I got back from the library late. The house was a tomb, except for one light bleeding from Finn and Miles’ room. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but the walls here are basically decorative. Finn’s solo activities aren’t new information, but the sounds were different this time.
There was a steady sound coming through the door that definitely didn’t belong to a video game. It was a very specific sound, and it didn’t help that it was layered under Finn’s whines and pants. Sure, he could’ve been using a cocksleeve, but I’m too familiar with the sound of balls slapping against an ass. It was a ridiculously quick rhythm, too.
I went to my room. Kit’s bed was empty.
