Page 50 of Signal No. Us

“He thinks this is his show,” Allan replied. “We’re just guest stars.”

They toed off their shoes by the door. For a second, both of them hesitated in the hallway, like they were sixteen again and might get caught out of their rooms past curfew.

“Allan?”

“What?”

“If we go in there,” Robby said softly, nodding toward the bedroom where Oryo had already disappeared, “I don’t want you feeling like you owe me this. This isn’t happening because of my apology. If you don’t want to, that’s completely okay.”

The care in his voice made Allan’s chest ache in the best possible way.

“I’m not a rewards card,” Allan said. “You can’t redeem a kiss for sex.”

“That’s why I’m asking,” Robby said.

Allan looked at him properly then, hair still a little messy from the long day, eyes tired but open, shoulders not quite so hunched as they’d been when feelings got too close, back when they were still practicing at all of this.

“I want to,” Allan said. “And I’m scared too. But that’s kind of my trademark at this point.”

“Same,” Robby said. “Both counts.”

They stepped into Allan’s room. The posters from his teenage years still clung stubbornly to the walls: Xtina, the Backstreet Boys, faded corners curling. The bed was made, lumpy but familiar. Oryo had already claimed a spot at the foot like a judgmental throw pillow.

“Romantic,” Allan said. “Very curated nineties aesthetic.”

“This is so you,” Robby said. “Nineties nostalgia with unresolved potential.”

“Rude but accurate.”

They stood there for a heartbeat, the air thick with nerves and the faint smell of fabric softener. Allan’s instinct was to crack a joke, or run, or both: the same old exits, still tempting even now. Instead, he took one step closer and cupped Robby’s jaw with gentle fingers.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. It still felt important to ask out loud.

“Please,” Robby said.

The kiss picked up where the ridge, where every tentative, unhurried moment since the library, had left off. Familiar and new at once. Less “are we allowed?” and more, “what happens if we lean in further?”

Allan tasted mint and something warm and uniquely Robby. Robby’s hands found his waist, then slid up to his back, fingers splaying like they were trying to memorize the shape of him.

When Allan’s body pressed closer, muscle memory made him tense on instinct.

Robby broke the kiss just enough to look at him. “Hey. You okay?”

Allan almost defaulted to a joke. Instead, he made himself breathe and nodded once.

“I’m not the same as I was in high school,” he admitted, words tumbling faster than he meant. “In case you hadn’t noticed. There’s more of me now. Everywhere.”

Robby’s gaze didn’t waver. “Good,” he said simply.

“Good?”

“You’re here,” Robby said. “You’re alive. You’re softer in the places I want to keep, not fix. If anyone’s making you feel like you need to apologize just for living comfortably in your own skin, I want to have a word with them. Personally.”

A laugh-sob caught in Allan’s throat. “You and Mama should start a union.”

“Already members,” Robby said, and kissed the corner of his mouth, easy, grounding.

He eased Allan backward until the backs of his knees found the mattress. They sat down together, the bed creaking but holding, Oryo huffing once in mild offense before wisely relocating to the floor.