The apartment smelled like coffee and Jessica's perfume—something floral that had woven itself into the couch cushions over three weeks until Riley couldn't separate it from the idea of home. Morning light cut through the blinds in long gold bars, catching dust motes that hung lazy and slow. The RV hummed somewhere below, engine already warm, and Riley stood in the middle of the living room with his phone in one hand and his oversized duffel bag at his feet.

Hiking boots. A worn hoodie he'd had since high school. Three pairs of socks because Inde had told him that was the correct number, and he'd believed her.

"Okay," he said, mostly to himself. "Okay. Rental confirmation. Keys. We've got—"

Jessica's arms looped around his waist from behind. Her chin hooked over his shoulder, her sleek bob brushing his jaw, and she pressed her cheek against his back like she was trying to memorize the shape of him through his shirt. "You've got us," she said. "That's the important thing."

"I've got the confirmation too." He held up his phone, but she didn't look at it. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his henley, and he felt the small tug of her grip through the cotton.

"You're nervous."

"I'm not—"

"You're doing the thing." She pulled back just enough to look at him, her dark eyes sharp with fondness. "The thing where you check everything twice and your shoulders go up by your ears."

His shoulders were, in fact, creeping toward his ears. He made himself drop them, roll his neck, breathe out. "Six people in an RV for a week. That's a lot of logistics."

"Logistics." Jessica said the word like it was a foreign dish she was trying to identify. "You sound like a spreadsheet."

Inde appeared from the bedroom, and the room shifted. It always did when she walked in—something in the air changed, settled, like the apartment recognized her. She'd pulled her long black hair into a practical ponytail, and she wore the gray crewneck Riley had loaned her at some point in the last three weeks, the one that was too big for her shoulders and fell past her hips. Her reusable water bottle was in her hand, condensation dripping onto the coffee table as she set it down.

She looked at him. That was all. Just looked, her dark eyes missing nothing, and something in Riley's chest unclenched.

"You packed the first aid kit?" she asked.

"Yes."

"The trail map?"

"On my phone."

"Snacks?"

He blinked. "Snacks?"

Inde tilted her head, that small gesture he'd come to know, the one that meant she was filing information away. "Jasmine's going to get hungry. She gets mean when she's hungry."

"I've known Jasmine for two years and I've never seen her mean."

"You've never been in an RV with her for six hours."

The words hung there, and then Inde's mouth did something rare—a small, private curve that was almost a smile. It was the kind of smile she gave him in the dark, when the lamp was off and the new bed was warm and she thought he couldn't see her. He kept it in his chest like a coal.

"I'll grab snacks," he said.

"Good." She crossed the room, and her hand found his arm as she passed—just a brush, just her callused fingers sliding down his forearm before she reached for the duffel bag. "This is heavy."

"It's got boots in it."

"You're bringing boots to a cabin."

"For hiking." He paused. "There's hiking near the cabin. I checked."

Inde looked at him for a long moment, and he felt the weight of her attention like a physical thing. "You checked."

"I checked."

Jessica laughed from somewhere behind him, bright and theatrical. "He's been checking for a week, Inde. I found him at two in the morning looking at trail difficulty ratings."

"Trail difficulty is important," Riley said.

"It's a cabin trip." Jessica came around to face him, her hands finding his shoulders, smoothing the henley where she'd wrinkled it. "We're going to sit by a fire and roast things and probably get on each other's nerves by day three. Trail difficulty is not the point."

"The point is—" He stopped. The point was that this was the first time all six of them would be together since everything changed. The point was that Jasmine, Natalie, and Ella didn't know. The point was that he was bringing his two girlfriends to a cabin with his three best friends, and he had no idea how to be that person. He had no idea how to be the Riley who had two people who loved him, who woke up every morning and counted to ten and found them still there.

He had no idea how to not mess it up.

"The point," he said carefully, "is that we're going on a trip. Together. All of us."

Jessica's hands stilled on his shoulders. "Riley."

"I'm fine."

"You're doing the thing again. The thing where you go somewhere far away and I can't reach you."

He wasn't sure he'd ever told her about the counting. He wasn't sure how she knew. But something in her voice, the way it dropped the theatrical brightness and went plain and true, made him look at her. Really look. Her dark eyes were steady, and her hand had moved from his shoulder to his chest, pressing flat over his heart like she could feel it beating through the fabric.

Inde's knee brushed his as she sat down on the arm of the couch, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her thigh through his jeans. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to. She just sat there, her water bottle dripping onto the floor, her hand resting on his shoulder, her presence a quiet anchor.

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since Inde closed her car trunk and walked back up the stairs without looking back. Three weeks of learning the shape of each other in the dark, of figuring out who made coffee in the morning and who left the bathroom light on and who stole the blankets. Three weeks of Jessica's perfume on the pillows and Inde's callused hands finding his in the middle of the night, and every morning he counted to ten and opened his eyes and they were still there.

He still didn't believe it. Some part of him, the part that had spent twenty-two years making himself smaller, still expected the floor to open up.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said. It came out quieter than he meant. "I just—I want this to go well. For everyone."

Inde's thumb traced the seam of his shirt at his shoulder. "It's going to be messy."

"Thanks."

"It's going to be messy," she repeated, "and it's going to be fine. We're going to figure it out like we've figured out everything else."

"We've been figuring it out for three weeks."

"And we're still here." She said it simply, like it was math, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "We're still here, and the trunk's closed, and I'm not going anywhere."

Riley's throat did something complicated. He cleared it, looked down at his phone, watched the screen blur.

"Okay," he said. "Okay."

Jessica's hand was still on his chest. She pressed a little harder, and he felt the warmth of her palm through the cotton, and he breathed.

And then the doorbell rang.

They all looked at the door. Riley's phone buzzed in his hand—a text from the RV rental place confirming the keys were in the ignition, the tank was full, the engine was warm.

"That's not the RV," Jessica said.

Riley checked his phone. "It's—" He frowned. "It's Jasmine. She's early."

"She's never early."

"She says she's downstairs with her bags and she's already eaten a bag of chips and she's ready to go." He looked up. "She's ready to go. It's seven in the morning."

Inde stood, smoothing her ponytail. "I told you. She's excited."

"She's never excited this early."

"She's excited about the cabin."

Jessica was already moving toward the door, her bright pink suitcase—held together by a hair tie where the zipper had given up—bumping against her legs. "I'll get it. You two finish—" She gestured vaguely at the duffel bag, the water bottle, the general disaster of the living room. "This."

The door swung open before she reached it. Jasmine stood on the threshold, a duffel slung over one shoulder and a massive tote bag in her hand, her high puff bouncing as she bounced on her heels. She was wearing a bright yellow puffer jacket that made Riley's eyes ache, and she was grinning like she'd already had three cups of coffee.

"Good morning!" she announced, pushing past Jessica into the apartment. "I brought snacks. I brought games. I brought a portable speaker because I refuse to spend a week in the woods without music." She dropped her bags by the couch and spun around, taking in the scene. "Why does it smell like a flower shop in here? Jessica, did you pack your entire perfume collection?"

"I packed two bottles."

"You packed two bottles for a week."

"One is for daytime and one is for evening."

Jasmine looked at her like she'd grown a second head, then turned to Riley. "You look nervous."

"I'm not—"

"You're doing the thing with your shoulders." She crossed the room and poked him in the chest. "You always do the thing with your shoulders when you're nervous. It's like you're trying to become a turtle."

Riley's shoulders had, in fact, crept back up toward his ears. He made himself drop them. "I'm not nervous."

"You're nervous." Jasmine's grin softened, just a fraction. "It's a cabin trip, Ri. It's going to be fun. We're all going to be together, and I'm going to beat everyone at cards, and Natalie's going to make cookies, and Ella's going to—" She paused. "Actually, what does Ella do on vacation?"

"She spikes things," Inde said from the couch.

"She spiked a volleyball at my face last week," Jessica added. "I think she was aiming for the ball."

"She was aiming for the ball."

"Her aim is very good."

Jasmine laughed, bright and loud, and the sound filled the apartment like it always did. She dropped onto the couch next to Inde, close enough that their shoulders brushed. "Okay, but seriously. This is going to be great. Six of us in an RV, a cabin in the woods, no classes, no practice, no—" She waved a hand. "Everything. Just us."

Riley watched her, and he felt the familiar squeeze in his chest. The one that came when he thought about telling them. About Jasmine, who had vetted Inde, who had claimed a first date, who had been his friend for two years and deserved to know. About Natalie, who was scared of becoming a supporting character. About Ella, who was still tentative, still unsure of her place.

Not today. They'd agreed. Not today.

"We should probably go," he said. "The RV's waiting."

Jasmine was already on her feet, grabbing her bags. "I called shotgun."

"Shotgun doesn't exist in an RV."

"Shotgun always exists. It's a state of mind."

Riley picked up his duffel bag, and the weight of it settled against his shoulder, familiar and grounding. Inde picked up her water bottle, the condensation leaving a small wet ring on the coffee table. Jessica grabbed her pink suitcase and the tote bag she'd packed with snacks and a paperback and the good blanket, the one she'd stolen from the couch.

They moved toward the door, and Riley felt it—the shift in the air, the way the apartment seemed to hold its breath. He paused at the threshold, one hand on the doorframe, and looked back.

The living room was a disaster. Boxes still stacked against the wall, the monstera by the window, the old mattress leaning against the wall for movie nights. Coffee mugs on the table, a throw blanket crumpled on the floor, a hair tie on the arm of the couch. Three weeks of living, three weeks of becoming, three weeks of home.

"Riley."

He turned. Jessica was standing on the landing, her pink suitcase in one hand, her other hand extended toward him. Inde was beside her, her dark eyes steady, her hand already reaching back.

He took it. Her fingers closed around his, callused and warm.

The RV was humming below, its engine a low, patient pulse. The other three girls were already inside, or almost—Jasmine had bounded down the stairs ahead of them, her voice echoing off the concrete as she called something about the snacks she'd brought.

Riley stepped out of the apartment. The door swung shut behind him, and the lock clicked, and he felt it settle in his chest—the small, ordinary sound of leaving.

Jessica took his other hand. Her fingers were cool, her grip sure, and she leaned into his shoulder as they started down the stairs.

"You've got the confirmation?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"The keys?"

"Yeah."

"The snacks?"

He looked at her. "I told you I'd grab snacks."

"Did you grab snacks?"

He had, in fact, not grabbed snacks. He'd been distracted by the way Inde had looked at him, by the way Jessica's hand had felt on his chest, by the sheer impossible weight of the morning. The snacks were sitting on the kitchen counter, a bag of trail mix and a box of granola bars, waiting.

Jessica laughed. "Riley."

"I'll grab them."

"You're not grabbing them. You're already halfway down the stairs." She squeezed his hand. "It's fine. Jasmine brought snacks. I brought snacks. We're going to be fine."

Inde's thumb traced a slow circle on his knuckles. "We're going to be fine," she repeated, and the words settled into him like a promise.

They reached the bottom of the stairs. The parking lot was bright with morning, the RV gleaming in the sun—a massive, boxy thing that seemed to take up half the lot. The side door was open, and Jasmine was already inside, her voice drifting out as she argued with someone about the seating arrangement.

Riley stopped. The duffel bag hung heavy on his shoulder. Jessica's hand was warm in his. Inde's hand was warm in his other. The RV was waiting, and beyond it, the cabin, and beyond that, a whole week of all of them together.

He looked at the open door of the RV, and he felt the weight of it—the step he was about to take, the threshold he was about to cross. Not just the trip. The rest of it. The telling. The becoming.

Jessica's hand tightened on his. Inde's hand tightened on his. And they stood there, the three of them, at the bottom of the stairs, the apartment behind them and the RV ahead, and the morning light caught them all in gold.

Jasmine's head popped out of the RV door. "Are you three coming or what? I found a bag of pretzels and I'm not sharing."

Riley laughed. It came out easier than he expected. He looked at Jessica, then at Inde, and he felt the fear loosen, just a little, like a knot giving under patient hands.

"Okay," he said. "Okay."

He stepped forward, and they moved with him, the three of them together, toward the open door of the RV, toward the warm hum of the engine, toward the week waiting for them in the woods.

The RV's interior was warm and smelled like new upholstery and the faint chemical tang of air freshener. Riley ducked through the open door, duffel bag swinging, and his eyes were still adjusting to the dimmer light inside when two bodies launched at him from the bench seat.

"BOO!"

His heart slammed against his ribs. He stumbled backward, caught his heel on the step, and would have gone down if Inde hadn't been right behind him, her hand flat against his back, steadying him. His duffel bag hit the floor with a heavy thud.

Natalie was doubled over, her braids swinging as she laughed, one hand pressed to her stomach. Ella stood beside her, a rare grin splitting her face, her ice-blue eyes bright with mischief.

"When the hell did you two get here?" Riley's voice came out higher than he wanted, breathless and scraped. His heart was still hammering, a wild bird beating against his ribs. "I thought—you weren't supposed to be here for another hour."

"Holy shit Thompson!" Natalie wheezed, straightening up. Her freckles were scattered like constellations across her nose, and her eyes were wet with laughter. "Your face! I wish I'd filmed it."

"You should have seen yourself," Ella added, her voice soft but warm. She ducked her head, but the grin stayed. "You went white."

"I didn't go white."

"You went white," Jasmine confirmed from the driver's seat, swiveled around with her legs crossed, a bag of pretzels in her lap. She was still laughing, her high puff bouncing. "Like a sheet. Like a ghost. Like you'd seen a ghost and the ghost was Natalie."

"I'm not that scary," Natalie protested, but she was still laughing, wiping at her eyes.

Riley pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heart thud against his palm. "You two were supposed to be—" He stopped, looked around the RV. "Where did you even come from? You weren't in the parking lot."

"We were in the back." Natalie pointed toward the rear of the RV, where a curtain hung across what Riley assumed was a sleeping area. "There's a little bunk back there. We hid."

"You hid."

"Jasmine texted us when you guys were coming down the stairs." Ella's grin had faded to something softer, but her eyes were still bright. "She said you were doing the nervous thing. We figured we'd help."

"You scared ten years off my life."

"You've got plenty left," Jasmine said, crunching a pretzel. "You're young. You'll recover."

Riley looked at Inde, who had stepped around him and was now standing in the aisle of the RV, her water bottle in her hand. She was watching him with that quiet look, the one that missed nothing, and there was a small curve at the corner of her mouth. Not quite a smile. Something softer.

"You knew," he said.

"I didn't know."

"You knew."

Inde tilted her head. "I suspected."

"You didn't warn me."

"It was funnier this way."

Jessica appeared in the doorway behind them, her pink suitcase bumping up the steps. "What did I miss? I heard screaming."

"Riley got jump-scared," Natalie said, still grinning. "It was beautiful."

Jessica's eyes found Riley's, and she laughed—that bright, theatrical laugh that filled the RV. "Oh, baby. Your face is all pink."

"I'm not pink."

"You're pink." She reached out and touched his cheek, her fingers cool against his skin. "You're adorable when you're embarrassed."

Riley's face got hotter. He ducked his head, but he was smiling, a small, reluctant thing. "I hate all of you."

"No you don't," Jasmine said, and she was right.

The RV settled around them. Natalie and Ella had claimed the bench seat by the window, their bags tucked under their legs. Jasmine was still in the driver's seat, pretzel bag open, one foot bouncing against the floor. Jessica had found a spot on the long couch, her pink suitcase wedged between her knees, and Inde had taken the seat across from her, her water bottle set on the table between them.

Riley stood in the aisle, his duffel bag at his feet, and he felt the weight of the moment settle over him. Six of them. Six people in an RV, heading to a cabin in the woods. Three of them knew the truth. Three of them didn't.

Not today, he reminded himself. They'd agreed. Not today.

He found an empty seat near the back, next to the window, and dropped his bag onto the floor. The seat was worn corduroy, soft under his hands, and the window was cool against his shoulder as he leaned into it. The parking lot was bright with morning, the apartment building casting a long shadow across the asphalt.

His apartment. Their apartment. The one with the monstera by the window and the boxes still stacked against the wall and the old mattress leaning against the living room wall for movie nights.

He looked away from the window.

Jasmine was already turning the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled to life, a low, patient pulse that vibrated through the floorboards. She looked over her shoulder, her grin wide. "Everybody buckled?"

"We're not even moving yet," Natalie said.

"Safety first."

"You've been driving for two years."

"And I've never crashed. Safety first."

There was a scramble of seatbelts clicking into place. Riley found his own and buckled it, the strap crossing his chest, familiar and grounding. Jessica was across from him, her seatbelt already on, her hands folded in her lap. She caught his eye and smiled—small, private, just for him—and something in his chest loosened.

Inde was sitting next to him, her ponytail brushing her shoulder as she looked out the window. Her hand was resting on her knee, callused fingers curled loose, and Riley wanted to reach for it. Wanted to feel her palm against his, the warmth of her skin, the quiet anchor of her presence.

He didn't. Not here. Not yet.

The RV pulled out of the parking lot, and the apartment building shrank in the side mirror. Riley watched it go—the three windows that were theirs, the one with the monstera visible through the glass, the one with the crack in the ceiling plaster he'd never fixed.

"Okay," Jasmine announced, pulling onto the main road. "Road trip rules. I'm driving the first leg, no arguments. Natalie's in charge of snacks. Ella's in charge of the aux cord—"

"I don't have any music downloaded," Ella said quietly.

"Then you're in charge of the aux cord and you're going to learn." Jasmine glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "Jessica, you're in charge of napkins and wet wipes, because I know you brought a whole bag of them. Inde—"

Inde looked up. "I'm in charge of what?"

"You're in charge of making sure Riley doesn't spiral."

Riley's head snapped up. "I don't spiral."

"You spiral."

"I don't—"

"You checked the trail difficulty ratings at two in the morning." Jasmine's voice was matter-of-fact. "You've got a whole itinerary on your phone. You packed three pairs of socks because Inde told you to."

Riley opened his mouth. Closed it.

"That's spiraling," Jasmine said. "Gently. Lovingly. But spiraling."

Inde's hand found his. Her fingers slid between his, callused and warm, and she squeezed once, quick and private. "I've got him," she said.

Jasmine's eyes flicked to them in the rearview mirror, but she didn't say anything. She just smiled, bright and easy, and turned back to the road.

The RV hummed along the highway. The city gave way to suburbs, then to farmland, then to the long green stretch of trees that meant they were getting closer to the mountains. The sun climbed higher, and the light through the windows turned gold, then white, then gold again.

Riley watched the world go by. Fields, fences, the occasional gas station. Jessica had fallen asleep against the window, her sleek bob splayed across her cheek, her mouth slightly open. Natalie and Ella were playing some card game at the table, their voices low and easy. Jasmine was singing along to the radio, off-key but joyful, her hand tapping the steering wheel.

And Inde was still holding his hand.

Her thumb traced slow circles on his knuckles, idle and absent, like she didn't even know she was doing it. Her eyes were closed, her head tilted back against the seat, her ponytail brushing her shoulder. The gray crewneck she'd borrowed from him had slipped off one shoulder, revealing the strap of her tank top and the smooth curve of her collarbone.

He watched her breathe. The rise and fall of her chest. The way her lashes rested against her cheeks. The small, private curve of her mouth, soft with sleep.

Three weeks. It had been three weeks, and he still couldn't believe it. Still woke up every morning and counted to ten and opened his eyes and found her there, found Jessica there, found them both still breathing, still present, still his.

He didn't know what he'd done to deserve it. He didn't know if he ever would.

Inde's eyes opened. She looked at him, dark and steady, and a small smile curved her mouth. "You're staring."

"I know."

"You're doing the thing."

"What thing?"

"The thing where you look at me like I'm going to disappear."

Riley's throat tightened. He looked down at their hands, at her callused fingers wrapped around his, at the way her thumb was still moving, slow and soothing.

"I'm not going to disappear," she said, soft enough that only he could hear. "I'm right here."

"I know."

"Do you?"

He looked at her. Really looked. At the dark eyes that missed nothing, at the quiet strength in her jaw, at the way she held herself like she was still learning to take up space.

"I'm trying," he said.

Inde nodded, like that was enough. Like it was always going to be enough. She squeezed his hand and closed her eyes again, and Riley watched the road ahead, the long curve of it, the trees rushing past.

A few hours later, they pulled off the highway onto a gravel road that wound through the trees. The RV bounced over ruts and roots, and Jessica woke with a start, her hand flying to her chest.

"Are we there?"

"Almost," Jasmine said. "GPS says ten minutes."

"Ten minutes of this?" Natalie's voice was strained. "I think my spine is going to realign."

"It's a cabin in the woods. The road's part of the experience."

"The experience of needing a chiropractor."

The trees thinned, and the cabin came into view—a low, sprawling structure of dark wood and big windows, nestled at the edge of a lake that glittered in the afternoon sun. A porch ran along the front, lined with mismatched chairs, and a stone fire pit sat in the yard, ringed with logs.

"Oh," Jessica breathed. "It's beautiful."

Jasmine killed the engine. The silence rushed in, huge and green, broken only by the distant call of birds and the soft lap of water against the shore.

"Welcome to the cabin," Jasmine announced, unbuckling her seatbelt. "Population: six. Amenities: one bathroom, one fire pit, and a whole lot of trees."

Riley stepped out of the RV, and the air hit him—cool and clean, smelling of pine and lake water and something green and growing. He breathed it in, let it settle in his chest, and felt some tightness he hadn't known he was carrying begin to ease.

The others spilled out around him. Natalie and Ella, stretching their legs. Jessica, already walking toward the cabin, her pink suitcase bumping over the gravel. Jasmine, unlocking the front door with a key from her pocket.

Inde came to stand beside him. Her shoulder brushed his, and she looked out at the lake, the sunlight catching the water in flashes of gold.

"It's nice," she said.

"Yeah."

"You picked it."

He looked at her. "I picked it."

Inde's mouth curved, that small, private thing. "You did good."

Something warm bloomed in Riley's chest. He looked at the cabin, at the lake, at the people spilling out of the RV—his people, his friends, his—and he let himself feel it. The fear was still there, a low hum under his skin, but it was quieter now. Softer. Like it was learning to share the space with something else.

The cabin door swung open. Jasmine stood on the threshold, her hands on her hips. "Are you two coming or what? I found the bedroom assignments, and there's a problem."

Riley's stomach dropped. "What kind of problem?"

"There's only three bedrooms." Jasmine's grin was wide and unrepentant. "And six of us. Someone's going to have to share."

"Only three bedrooms?" Natalie's voice pitched up, her braids swinging as she turned in a slow circle, taking in the cabin's layout through the open door. "That can't be right. I counted the listing photos. There were four."

"Three." Jasmine held up three fingers, wiggling them. "I counted twice. There's the master, the one with the twin beds, and the one with the bunk beds. That's it."

"So someone's sharing." Natalie's eyes swept the group, bright and calculating. "Okay. I'm calling dibs."

Riley's stomach tightened. He felt Jessica's hand flex against his, her fingers pressing harder into his palm, and beside him, Inde's thumb went still mid-circle against his knuckles, frozen like a held breath.

"Dibs on what?" Jasmine asked.

"Roommate." Natalie's grin spread wide across her freckled face, and she crossed the gravel in three quick strides, throwing her arm around Riley's shoulders. She had to reach up to do it—she barely cleared his collarbone—but she hooked him close anyway, her braids brushing his chest. "I'm rooming with Riley."

The words landed like a dropped plate. Jessica's hand went rigid in his, her fingers locking tight around his own, and Inde's stillness deepened—her whole body went quiet in that way Riley was learning to read, the way she went when she was holding something back.

"Why Riley?" Jessica's voice was light, but there was a thread in it, something pulled thin. "Why not me?"

"You snore."

"I do not snore."

"You do." Natalie's grin didn't waver. "I heard you at the sleepover last semester. You snore like a tiny chainsaw."

"I—" Jessica's mouth opened and closed. "That was one time. I had a cold."

"And Inde—" Natalie's eyes flicked to Inde, still frozen beside Riley, her hand still wrapped around his. "You're a blanket thief. I can tell. You've got that look."

Inde's head tilted, just a fraction, that small gesture Riley knew well. "What look?"

"The look of someone who wraps herself up like a burrito and leaves everyone else freezing." Natalie patted Riley's chest, twice, familiar and easy. "Riley's the only one who doesn't snore, doesn't steal blankets, and doesn't kick. I checked. He's the safest bet."

"You checked?" Riley's voice came out rough. "When did you check?"

"Movie night, two weeks ago. You fell asleep on the couch, and I was watching for it." Natalie's grin softened, just a little. "You sleep like a rock, Thompson. It's impressive."

Riley's throat was doing something complicated. He could feel Jessica's grip on his left hand, tight enough to ache, and Inde's hand on his right, still and warm, her thumb no longer moving. The three of them stood linked on the gravel, and Natalie's arm was still around his shoulders, casual and unaware, and the weight of it pressed down on him like a stone.

"I, uh—" He cleared his throat. "I don't think—"

"What, you don't want to room with me?" Natalie's voice was teasing, but there was a flicker in her eyes, something quick and vulnerable. "I'm a great roommate. I bring snacks. I tell good stories. I don't hog the bathroom."

"It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

Riley looked at Jessica. Her dark eyes were steady on his, unreadable, and her hand was still locked around his, her knuckles white. He looked at Inde, and she was watching him too, her face quiet, her jaw set, and he could feel the question in her silence—the same question he was asking himself.

What do we say?

Not today. They'd agreed. Not today.

"I think," he said slowly, "there might be other people who want to room with people too. Maybe we should—talk about it. As a group."

"I called dibs." Natalie's arm tightened around his shoulders. "Dibs is dibs. It's sacred."

"Dibs is not sacred," Jasmine said from the doorway. "Dibs is something you yell in a cafeteria. This is a cabin. We're adults. We should—" She paused, her grin sharpening. "Actually, no. Dibs is sacred. Natalie called it. She gets Riley."

"Jasmine." Riley's voice came out more strained than he meant.

"What? You're the only one who doesn't snore. I'm not rooming with someone who's going to keep me up all night." Jasmine crossed her arms. "I need my beauty sleep."

"You don't need beauty sleep," Natalie said. "You're naturally gorgeous."

"Flattery will not get you my bed."

"I don't want your bed. I want Riley's."

The words hung in the air, innocent and devastating. Riley felt Jessica's hand tighten again, and he could feel the heat of her palm through his, damp and warm. Inde's hand was still in his, still and quiet, and he could feel her pulse through her fingers, steady and slow.

"I think," Inde said, her voice soft and deliberate, "we should see the rooms first. Before anyone claims anyone."

Natalie's eyes flicked to her. "You're not going to try to steal him, are you?"

"I'm not trying to steal anyone."

"Good. Because I called dibs."

"You said that."

"And it's sacred."

Inde's mouth did something small and private, not quite a smile. "So you said."

Riley felt the tension in the air like a physical thing, a wire pulled taut between the three of them and the three who didn't know. He looked at the cabin, at the open door, at the warm light spilling out onto the porch, and he felt the weight of the step he was about to take. Not just into the cabin. Into the week. Into the lie.

"Let's just—" He pulled his hands free, gently, one at a time, and felt the loss of both immediately, a cold absence where their warmth had been. "Let's go inside. See the rooms. Figure it out."

Natalie's arm was still around his shoulders. She squeezed once, quick and friendly, before letting go and bouncing toward the door. "Fine. But I'm still calling dibs."

She disappeared inside, her voice trailing behind her, and Riley stood in the gravel with Jessica on one side and Inde on the other, the three of them frozen in the space she'd left.

Jessica's hand found his again, her fingers sliding between his, and her voice was low, pitched for his ears only. "That was close."

"Too close."

Inde's hand brushed his other wrist, a light touch, there and gone. "We need to figure out the sleeping situation. Before someone else does."

"I know."

"I mean it, Riley. This is—" Inde's jaw tightened. "This is going to be complicated."

"I know."

He looked at the cabin door, at the warm light spilling out, at the sound of Natalie's voice drifting through the trees. He could hear Jasmine laughing, Ella saying something soft, the scrape of bags being dragged across the porch.

"We'll figure it out," he said, and he tried to make it sound like he believed it. "We always do."

Jessica squeezed his hand. Inde's shoulder brushed his. And the three of them walked toward the cabin together, the way they did everything now—together, into the warm light, into the unknown.

The cabin's front door opened into a great room with vaulted ceilings and a wall of windows that looked out over the lake, the afternoon light turning the water to hammered gold. A stone fireplace dominated one wall, and a long farmhouse table sat in the center of the room, ringed by mismatched chairs. The air smelled of pine and wood smoke and something faintly floral—a candle on the mantel, maybe, or the dried flowers in a mason jar on the windowsill.

Natalie was already at the far end of the room, her head poking through a doorway. "Okay, so the master's got a queen bed. The twin room's got two twins. And the bunk room's got—" She paused. "There's a bunk bed and a cot. This is going to be cozy."

Jasmine appeared beside her, hands on her hips. "So we've got six people and four beds. Someone's sharing with someone."

"I called dibs on Riley."

"You said that. Multiple times."

"Because it's important."

Riley stood in the middle of the great room, his duffel bag at his feet, and he felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him. Jessica was beside him, her pink suitcase still in hand, and Inde had drifted to the window, her back to the room, looking out at the lake.

"Okay," Jasmine said, clapping her hands. "Let's do this properly. Room assignments. Everyone state your preference."

"I want the master," Jessica said immediately. "I need a real bed. My back is still recovering from that RV."

"The master's got the biggest bed," Natalie pointed out. "That's a sharing bed."

"I'm aware."

"So you're volunteering to share?"

Jessica's mouth opened. Closed. "I—"

"I'll take the cot in the bunk room," Ella said quietly, her voice almost lost in the big room. "I don't mind. I sleep better on hard surfaces anyway."

"You sleep better on hard surfaces?" Jasmine stared at her. "That's not a thing."

"It's a thing for me."

"You're a weirdo, Johansson."

"I know." Ella's smile was small but real, and she ducked her head, her blonde ponytail brushing her shoulder. "I'm okay with it."

"So we've got Ella on the cot, Jessica in the master, and—" Jasmine's eyes swept the room. "Natalie and Riley in the twin room, and me in the bunk room with Ella."

"Wait." Riley's voice came out sharper than he meant. "I don't—"

"What? You don't want to room with me?" Natalie's grin was wide, but there was something careful in her eyes. "I told you, I'm a great roommate."

"It's not—" He stopped. Swallowed. "I just—I thought maybe—"

"Maybe what?"

Riley's eyes found Inde across the room. She was still at the window, her back to the group, but she'd turned her head slightly—enough to catch his gaze. Her dark eyes were steady, unreadable, and she gave him the smallest shake of her head. Not yet. The message was clear as glass.

He looked back at Natalie, whose grin had faded into something more uncertain, her freckled face open and waiting. He could feel Jessica beside him, her hand no longer touching his but close enough that he could feel the warmth of her arm through the air between them.

"I just meant," he said slowly, "I don't want to take the twin room if someone else would rather have it. That's all."

Natalie's grin returned, but it was softer now, relieved. "Nope. I called dibs. You're stuck with me, Thompson."

Jasmine clapped her hands again. "Great. It's settled. Ella and me in the bunk room, Natalie and Riley in the twins, Jessica in the master." She paused, her eyes narrowing. "Wait. That leaves Inde."

Every head turned to the window where Inde stood, her silhouette sharp against the gold light. She didn't turn around, but her shoulders tensed, the gray crewneck pulling across her back.

"I can take the couch," Inde said. Her voice was even, unhurried. "It's fine."

"The couch?" Jessica's voice pitched up. "That's not—Inde, that's a pull-out at best. You'd be miserable."

"I've slept on worse."

"That's not the point."

"It's a fine couch." Inde finally turned, her face composed, her hands loose at her sides. "It faces the fireplace. I'll be warm."

Riley's chest tightened. He watched her, the way she held herself so still, so willing to take the smallest space, and he felt something crack open in him—the same thing that cracked whenever she made herself smaller to fit a room that should have made room for her.

"No," he said.

The word landed like a stone in still water. Everyone looked at him.

"No?" Jasmine repeated.

"She's not taking the couch." Riley's voice came out steadier than he felt. "That's not—we can figure something else out."

"Like what?" Natalie asked. "There are four beds and six people. Math doesn't lie."

"The master's got a queen." Riley's heart was hammering. He could feel Jessica's eyes on him, sharp and knowing, and Inde's, wide and warning. "That's a two-person bed. Jessica could—she could share with Inde."

The suggestion landed like a dropped log in the fireplace, sending sparks no one had asked for. Natalie's head swiveled between Jessica and Inde, her brow furrowing in genuine confusion. "You want Jessica and Inde to share the master? Since when are you two—" She stopped, her eyes narrowing. "Wait. You two have been weirdly close lately. Ever since Inde moved in."

"We're friends," Inde said, her voice calm, but Riley caught the way her fingers curled into her palm. "Roommates. It makes sense."

"Friends who share a bed." Natalie's tone was flat, disbelieving. "That's a big step for a friendship."

Jessica laughed, bright and theatrical, the sound filling the great room. "We're both tall. We need the legroom. The queen's the only bed that fits either of us without our feet hanging off." She gestured at her own long frame, then at Inde's. "It's practical."

"Practical," Natalie repeated, drawing the word out like she was tasting it. "Since when are you practical, Jess? You once wore heels to a picnic."

"I was making a statement."

"You were making a scene."

"Same thing."

Jasmine, who had been watching the exchange with her arms crossed, let out a low whistle. "Okay, I'm sensing something here. There's a vibe in this room, and it's not the wood smoke."

"There's no vibe," Riley said quickly, too quickly. He felt heat crawl up the back of his neck. "It's just—logistics. We're solving logistics."

"Logistics." Jasmine's grin sharpened. "Right. Because you're all very logical about everything. That's why you've been holding Jessica's hand all morning and standing close enough to Inde that you're basically sharing a skin."

Riley's mouth opened. Nothing came out.

Ella, who had been quiet in the corner, shifted her weight. Her ice-blue eyes moved between the three of them, thoughtful and soft. "They're not wrong," she said quietly. "You three have been—" She paused, searching for the word. "Close. All week. I noticed it at the RV."

"We're roommates," Inde said. "We've been living together for three weeks. You get close when you live together."

"You get close," Natalie agreed, "but you don't usually hold hands in parking lots."

Riley's stomach dropped. He looked down at his hands, as if they might confess something on their own. The memory of the parking lot surfaced—Jessica's fingers sliding between his, Inde's thumb tracing circles on his knuckles. In the bright morning light, with the RV humming and the others already inside.

They'd been seen. Of course they'd been seen. He'd been so focused on the step ahead that he'd forgotten the eyes behind.

"That was—" Jessica started.

"Comfort," Inde finished, her voice steady. "Riley was nervous. We were reassuring him."

"By holding both his hands?" Jasmine's eyebrows rose. "That's a specific kind of reassurance."

"We're a close group," Inde said, and there was something final in her tone, a door closing softly. "We're all close."

Natalie's eyes swept the room, landing on each of them in turn. Her expression was unreadable, but Riley caught the flicker of something behind her freckled face—a question she wasn't ready to ask, a thread she wasn't ready to pull.

"Okay," she said finally. "Fine. Jessica and Inde share the master. That's—" She paused, her head tilting. "Actually, wait. That leaves me and Riley in the twins, and Jasmine and Ella in the bunk room. That works."

"It works," Jasmine agreed, but her eyes were still sharp, still watching. "For now."

The word hung between them, unspoken and heavy. Riley felt it like a weight on his chest, the knowledge that this was only the first test, the first small crack in the story they were trying to tell. Three weeks of careful, quiet building, and one careless moment in a parking lot had already left a seam.

"Let's unpack," he said, bending to grab his duffel bag. "Before the sun goes down. We can figure out the rest later."

"The rest?" Natalie's voice was light, but there was an edge to it. "What rest?"

"Dinner," he said quickly. "We need to figure out dinner."

He moved toward the hallway, toward the twin room, and he felt them watching him—all of them, the ones who knew and the ones who didn't. The weight of their gazes pressed against his back like a hand.

The twin room was small and narrow, with two beds pushed against opposite walls and a single window that looked out over the lake. The afternoon light slanted through, gold and warm, catching dust motes that drifted lazy and slow. Riley set his duffel bag on the bed closest to the window and stood there, his hands at his sides, trying to breathe.

The door clicked behind him. He turned, expecting Natalie, but it was Inde who slipped in, her silhouette framed by the light from the hallway. She closed the door behind her, and the room shrank, the air growing thick with the weight of the moment.

"You okay?" she asked.

"I don't know." His voice came out rough. "I think—I think they might know. Jasmine. Natalie. They're not stupid."

"They're not," Inde agreed. She crossed the room, her steps quiet on the worn floorboards, and stopped in front of him. Her hand found his chest, her callused palm pressing flat over his heart. "But they don't know yet. And we have a week to figure out how to tell them."

"A week." He laughed, a short, hollow sound. "That's not a lot of time."

"It's enough." Her thumb traced a slow circle over his sternum. "We've figured out harder things than this."

He looked down at her, at the dark eyes that missed nothing, at the quiet strength in her jaw. "Have we?"

"We figured out how to share a bed with three people." Her mouth curved, that small, private thing. "We figured out how to close a trunk. We figured out how to say I love you." She paused, her voice dropping. "We can figure this out too."

Riley's throat tightened. He reached up, his hand covering hers, pressing her palm harder against his chest. "What if I mess it up?"

"You won't."

"You don't know that."

"I do." Her eyes held his, steady and sure. "Because I'm going to be right here, and so is Jessica. We're not going anywhere."

The words settled into him, warm and grounding, and he felt the fear loosen, just a fraction. He opened his mouth to say something—he didn't know what—when a knock rattled the door.

"Hey." Natalie's voice came through the wood, bright and casual. "I'm grabbing the last bag from the RV. You two decent?"

Inde's hand dropped from his chest, and she stepped back, the space between them filling with cold air. "We're fine," she called. "Just checking the beds."

"Checking the beds." Natalie's voice was flat. "Right."

The door swung open, and Natalie stood in the doorway, her braids swinging, her eyes moving between them with a sharpness that made Riley's stomach clench. She didn't say anything. She just looked, her freckled face unreadable, and then she turned and walked back down the hall, her footsteps loud on the floorboards.

Riley looked at Inde. Inde looked at him. And neither of them said the thing they were both thinking: the week had just gotten longer.

The twin room held its breath around them. Inde's hand was still on his chest, her palm warm through the cotton of his henley, and Riley could feel his own heart beating against her fingers like a trapped thing. Somewhere beyond the door, Natalie's footsteps faded down the hall, and the cabin settled into a different kind of quiet—the kind that waited.

"She knows," he said.

Inde's hand didn't move. "She suspects. There's a difference."

"Is there?" He ran a hand through his hair, the short strands catching on his fingers. "Because it felt like the same thing from where I was standing."

Inde's mouth pressed into a thin line. She dropped her hand from his chest, and the cold rushed back into the space where her palm had been. "We knew this was coming. We agreed—"

"I know what we agreed." The words came out sharper than he meant, and he saw her flinch, just a fraction, her shoulders drawing in. He softened his voice. "I know. I just—I didn't think it would be this fast. I thought we'd have more time."

"We have a week."

"A week of Natalie watching us. Jasmine making jokes about the vibe. Ella noticing things." He sat down on the edge of the bed closest to the window, the old springs creaking under his weight. "That's not a lot of time."

Inde was quiet for a moment. Then she crossed the room and sat beside him, her thigh brushing his, the familiar warmth of her presence settling against him like a second coat. She didn't say anything right away. She just sat there, looking out the window at the lake, the gold light catching the edges of her profile.

"Remember what you told me," she said finally, "the night I moved in? When I was standing in the living room with the trunk still open and I couldn't make myself move?"

Riley's throat tightened. "You said you didn't know how to start."

"And you said—" She turned to look at him, her dark eyes steady. "You said we'd figure it out together. That you'd be there. That you weren't going anywhere."

"I remember."

"This is the same thing." Her hand found his, her callused fingers sliding between his. "We're standing at another open door. And I'm scared too. But we're not going to figure it out by hiding in the twin room."

Riley looked down at their hands, at the way her thumb was already moving in that slow, absent circle on his knuckles. "So what do we do?"

"We do what we said we'd do. We tell them."

"Not today."

"Not today," she agreed. "But soon. Before the week's over. Before someone else figures it out for us."

He nodded, the motion small and tight. The air in the room felt thick, heavy with the weight of the words they weren't saying. He could hear the others moving around in the great room—Jasmine's laugh, bright and loud; Ella's soft voice; the scrape of furniture being rearranged.

"We should get back out there," he said. "Before they send a search party."

Inde squeezed his hand once, quick and sure. "We're okay."

"I know."

"We're okay," she repeated, and there was something in her voice that made him look at her—something steady and quiet and certain. "No matter what happens this week. We're okay."

He wanted to believe her. He wanted to hold onto those words like a lifeline, to let them carry him through the next seven days of shared rooms and careful glances and the growing weight of the secret pressing against his ribs. He opened his mouth to say something—he didn't know what—when a knock rattled the door again.

"Hey." Jessica's voice, low and warm. "Can I come in?"

Inde's hand slipped from his, and she stood, smoothing her ponytail. "Yeah. It's open."

The door swung open, and Jessica slipped inside, her sleek bob brushing her jaw as she looked between them. Her dark eyes were sharp, reading the room, reading them, and Riley felt the familiar squeeze in his chest—the one that came when she looked at him like she could see straight through to the bones of him.

"Natalie's in the kitchen," she said, closing the door behind her. "She's making a snack board. Jasmine's helping. Ella's—" She paused. "Ella's watching them like she's not sure what to do with herself."

"She's always like that," Inde said.

"I know. But she's trying." Jessica crossed the room and stopped in front of Riley, her hand finding his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Natalie knows something."

Jessica's hand stilled. "What do you mean?"

"She came to the door while Inde and I were talking. She looked at us like—" He shook his head. "Like she was putting pieces together."

Jessica's jaw tightened. She glanced at Inde, then back at him. "We need to be more careful."

"I know."

"I mean it, Riley. If she figures it out before we're ready—"

"I know." His voice came out rougher than he meant. "I know, Jess. I'm trying."

She held his gaze for a long moment, and then her hand moved from his shoulder to his cheek, her palm cool against his skin. "I'm not angry. I'm just—" She exhaled. "I'm scared. I've never had something worth hiding before."

The words landed in the small room like stones in still water. Riley reached up and covered her hand with his, pressing her palm harder against his cheek. "We're going to figure it out."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Inde's hand brushed his back, light and grounding. "We should get out there. Before they come looking for us again."

Jessica nodded, dropping her hand from his cheek. She looked at him, then at Inde, and something passed between them—a silent understanding, a shared weight. Then she turned and opened the door, and they followed her out into the great room.

The afternoon light had shifted, turning gold to amber, and the cabin smelled of something warm and savory—Jasmine had found the pantry and was making something in the kitchen, her voice drifting through the open doorway as she sang along to a song only she could hear. Natalie was at the farmhouse table, arranging a board of cheese and crackers and sliced fruit with the precision of someone who took snacks seriously. Ella sat on the couch, a book open in her lap, but her eyes were on the window, watching the lake.

Riley stood in the doorway of the hall, Jessica on one side, Inde on the other, and he felt the weight of the moment settle over him. Six of them. One cabin. One week. And a secret that was already starting to crack at the edges.

"There you are." Jasmine's head appeared in the kitchen doorway, a wooden spoon in her hand. "I was starting to think you three had gotten lost."

"We were unpacking," Jessica said smoothly.

"Unpacking." Jasmine's eyes narrowed, but her grin stayed. "Right. Because it takes three people to unpack one duffel bag."

"We were talking."

"Talking." Jasmine drew the word out, tasting it. "About what?"

Riley's heart stuttered. He felt Jessica's hand brush his, a quick, grounding touch, and Inde's shoulder press against his arm. "About the hiking trails," he said. "I was showing them the map."

"The map." Jasmine's grin sharpened. "Right. The trail difficulty ratings."

"They're important."

"Sure they are, Ri." She disappeared back into the kitchen, her laugh trailing behind her. "Sure they are."

Riley let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Jessica's hand found his, squeezing once, and Inde's shoulder stayed pressed against his arm, warm and steady.

"That was close," Jessica murmured.

"Too close."

Natalie looked up from her snack board, her eyes moving between the three of them with that sharp, calculating look that made Riley's stomach clench. "You three are weirdly attached today."

"We're roommates," Inde said, her voice even. "We live together."

"You've lived together for three weeks. You weren't like this at game night."

"We were." Riley's voice came out steadier than he felt. "You just weren't looking."

Natalie's head tilted, her braids brushing her shoulder. "Huh."

"What?"

"Nothing." She turned back to her snack board, but the word hung in the air like smoke. "Just—huh."

The afternoon stretched on. Jasmine emerged from the kitchen with a pot of something that smelled like garlic and tomatoes, and they gathered around the farmhouse table, passing plates and reaching for crackers and talking over each other in the easy, familiar rhythm of old friends. Riley sat at the end of the table, Jessica on his left, Inde on his right, and he felt the warmth of them on either side of him like a shield.

But he also felt the weight of the secret, pressing against his chest with every laugh, every shared glance, every moment he had to catch himself before he reached for Inde's hand under the table or let his knee brush Jessica's too often.

By the time the light outside had turned long and gold, the conversation had drifted to the sleeping arrangements. Jasmine was leaning back in her chair, her bowl of pasta balanced on her stomach, her eyes half-closed. "I still think we should have drawn straws for the master."

"You're in the bunk room with Ella," Natalie said. "It's fine."

"It's not fine. I've seen that cot. It's older than I am."

"You'll survive."

"Will I?"

Ella's voice came soft from the couch, where she'd curled up with her book. "I'll trade you."

Jasmine's eyes opened. "What?"

"The cot. I'll take it. You can have the bottom bunk."

"Ella, you're a saint."

"I know." Ella's smile was small but real. "I've been told."

Riley watched them, the easy rhythm of their friendship, the way they moved around each other like they'd been doing it for years. And he felt the ache in his chest, the one that came when he thought about what he was hiding from them. Jasmine, who had vetted Inde, who had claimed a first date, who had been his friend for two years. Natalie, who was scared of becoming a supporting character. Ella, who was still learning how to be seen.

They deserved to know. They deserved the truth.

And he was too scared to give it to them.

The fire had burned low by the time the conversation finally wound down. Natalie had retreated to the twin room, her voice drifting out as she called something about claiming the bed by the window. Jasmine and Ella had disappeared into the bunk room, their voices low and easy. The great room settled into a quiet hush, the only sound the crackle of the fire and the soft lap of water against the shore.

Riley sat on the couch, his hands clasped between his knees, staring at the flames. Jessica was beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, and Inde sat on the floor at his feet, her back against his legs, her ponytail brushing her shoulder.

They didn't say anything. They didn't have to. The quiet was enough.

And then the door to the twin room opened, and Natalie stepped out, her braids loose around her shoulders, a glass of water in her hand. She stopped when she saw them, her eyes moving across the scene—Jessica's head on Riley's shoulder, Inde's back against his legs, the three of them arranged like pieces of a puzzle that fit together too perfectly to be accidental.

"You three," she said slowly, "are the most codependent people I've ever met."

Riley's heart lurched. "We're not—"

"You're sitting in the dark together. Staring at a fire. Not talking." She crossed the room, her bare feet silent on the floorboards, and set her glass on the table. "That's not normal friend behavior, Thompson."

"It's comfortable."

"It's weird."

"We're weird."

Natalie's eyes swept the three of them again, and something flickered in her freckled face—a question she wasn't ready to ask, a thread she wasn't ready to pull. "Okay," she said finally. "I'm going back to bed. Try not to be too weird without me."

"No promises," Jessica murmured, her voice sleepy.

Natalie's eyes narrowed, but she didn't say anything. She just turned and walked back to the twin room, the door clicking shut behind her.

The fire crackled. The lake lapped at the shore. And Riley sat in the dark, Jessica's head on his shoulder, Inde's warmth at his feet, and he felt the weight of the week pressing down on him like a hand.

"We need to tell them," he said quietly.

Inde's voice came soft from the floor. "I know."

"Before someone else figures it out."

"I know."

Jessica's hand found his, her fingers sliding between his. "Tomorrow," she said. "We'll tell them tomorrow."

Riley opened his mouth to argue—tomorrow felt like a blade edge, too close and too far all at once—but the word died on his tongue. Because Jessica was looking at him with that steady, unblinking gaze she used in auditions, the one that said she'd already made up her mind and was simply waiting for him to catch up. And Inde, warm against his legs, had turned her head just enough that he could see the line of her jaw, set and certain.

"Tomorrow," he repeated, testing the weight of it.

"We'll have the whole day," Inde said. "We can do it in the morning, before everyone's awake enough to make it weird. Or after breakfast, when we're all together."

"What if it goes badly?"

Jessica's fingers tightened around his. "Then we deal with it. Together."

The fire popped, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. Riley watched them rise and vanish into the dark, and he felt something settle in his chest—not quite peace, but a kind of resignation. The secret had been pressing against his ribs for three weeks, and the pressure had built until he could feel it in his teeth. Tomorrow, it would finally have somewhere to go.

"Okay," he said. "Tomorrow."

Inde stood, her knees cracking softly as she unfolded herself from the floor. She reached down and took his hand, pulling him up, and Jessica rose beside him, the three of them swaying together in the firelight like saplings in a shared wind.

"We should sleep," Inde said. "Big day tomorrow."

Riley snorted, a short, humorless sound. "That's one way to put it."

"It's the truth."

They moved through the dark cabin together, their footsteps soft on the floorboards. The hallway was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a nightlight someone had plugged in near the bathroom. Riley paused at the door to the twin room, his hand on the frame, and looked back at the two women standing behind him.

Jessica's room was across the hall, the master with its queen bed and its view of the lake. Inde would be in there with her—the arrangement they'd made, the one that was supposed to look practical and innocent and was anything but.

"Goodnight," he said, and the word felt too small for everything he meant by it.

Jessica stepped forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek, quick and soft, her lips cool against his skin. "Goodnight, Riley."

Inde's hand found his, squeezing once. "We're okay."

"I know."

He watched them disappear into the master bedroom, the door clicking shut behind them, and he stood in the hallway for a long moment, his heart doing something complicated in his chest. Then he turned and pushed open the door to the twin room.

Natalie was already in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, her braids fanned out on the pillow. Her eyes were open, watching him, and there was something in her freckled face that made his stomach clench.

"You're up late," she said.

"Couldn't sleep."

"Uh-huh." She shifted, propping herself up on one elbow. "You were out there a long time. With them."

Riley's throat tightened. He crossed to his bed, the one by the window, and sat down heavily on the edge. "We were talking."

"About what?"

"Stuff."

"Stuff." Natalie's voice was flat. "You're a terrible liar, Thompson."

He looked at her, at the sharpness in her eyes, the way her mouth was pressed into a thin line. "I'm not lying."

"You're not telling the truth, either." She sat up fully, the covers pooling around her waist. "I've known you for two years, Riley. I know when you're hiding something. And you've been hiding something big for weeks now."

The words landed in the dark room, heavy and unavoidable. Riley's hands found the edge of the mattress, gripping it, and he stared at the floorboards between his feet.

"It's not—" He stopped. Started again. "It's complicated."

"Complicated is fine. Complicated I can handle." Natalie's voice softened, just a fraction. "What I can't handle is you treating me like I'm too fragile to know what's going on in your life."

Riley's chest ached. He looked up at her, at the constellation of freckles across her nose, at the way her brow furrowed with genuine concern, and he felt the truth pressing against his teeth, wanting out.

Tomorrow, he reminded himself. They'd agreed. Tomorrow.

"I'm not treating you like you're fragile," he said carefully. "I'm just—I'm figuring some things out. And I want to tell you. I do. Just—" He exhaled. "Not tonight. Please."

Natalie held his gaze for a long moment. Then she nodded, slow and reluctant, and lay back down, pulling the covers up to her chin. "Fine. But tomorrow, Thompson. I'm holding you to that."

"Tomorrow," he agreed, and the word felt like a promise and a threat all at once.

He lay down on his bed, the old springs creaking under his weight, and stared at the ceiling. The room was dark, the only light the faint silver of the moon through the window. He could hear Natalie's breathing across the room, slow and even, and he wondered if she was really asleep or just pretending, the way he'd learned to do when the weight of the secret got too heavy to carry.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand. He reached for it, squinting at the brightness.

Jessica: You awake?

Riley: Yeah.

Jessica: Can't sleep.

Riley: Me neither.

Jessica: Inde's out. She fell asleep like a light. It's kind of impressive.

Riley smiled in the dark, a small, private thing. She does that. She says it's from years of falling asleep wherever she could.

Jessica: I'm scared, Riley.

The words sat on the screen, stark and honest. He stared at them, feeling the weight of them in his chest.

Riley: Me too.

Jessica: What if they hate us?

Riley: They won't.

Jessica: You don't know that.

Riley: I know them. They're our friends. They'll be confused, maybe. But they won't hate us.

Jessica: Jasmine said there was a vibe. What if she's been talking to Natalie? What if they already know and they're just waiting for us to say something?

Riley stared at the screen, the glow of it painting his face in pale blue. He thought about Natalie's eyes in the dark, sharp and knowing. About Jasmine's grin, too bright, too sharp. About Ella, quiet and watchful, seeing more than she let on.

Riley: Then we'll deal with it. Together. That's what we said.

Jessica: I know. I just—I've never had something this good before. I'm scared of losing it.

Riley's throat tightened. He typed, deleted, typed again.

Riley: You're not going to lose it. I promise.

Jessica: How do you know?

Riley: Because I'm not going anywhere. And neither is Inde. And neither are you. We're in this together. All of it.

There was a long pause. Then:

Jessica: Okay.

Jessica: Goodnight, Riley.

Riley: Goodnight, Jess.

He set the phone down and stared at the ceiling again. Across the room, Natalie's breathing had evened out, soft and steady. The lake lapped at the shore beyond the window, a quiet, patient sound.

Tomorrow. He'd tell them tomorrow. And whatever happened after that, he'd face it with Inde and Jessica beside him.

He closed his eyes, and the dark settled around him like a blanket, heavy and warm.

Morning came too fast. Gray light seeped through the window, and Riley woke to the sound of someone moving in the kitchen—the clatter of pots, the low murmur of voices. He lay still for a moment, his eyes closed, counting to ten the way he always did, bracing for the moment when he opened them and found everything gone.

One. Two. Three.

The smell of coffee drifted through the cabin, rich and grounding.

Four. Five. Six.

Somewhere beyond the door, Jasmine laughed, bright and loud.

Seven. Eight. Nine.

He opened his eyes. The ceiling was still there. The walls were still there. Across the room, Natalie's bed was empty, the covers thrown back, the sheets still warm.

Ten.

He sat up, rubbing his face, and reached for his phone. No new messages. He dressed in the same clothes from yesterday, the henley wrinkled but wearable, and padded out into the great room.

The cabin was alive with morning. Jasmine was at the stove, a spatula in one hand and her phone in the other, flipping pancakes with the practiced ease of someone who'd done it a thousand times. Natalie was at the farmhouse table, a mug of coffee cradled in her hands, her braids loose around her shoulders. Ella sat on the couch, a book open in her lap, but her eyes were on the window, watching the lake turn silver in the early light.

And Inde and Jessica were at the counter, side by side, their shoulders brushing as they reached for the same mug. They didn't say anything. They didn't have to. The ease of it, the quiet intimacy of the gesture, made Riley's chest ache.

He stood in the doorway of the hall, watching them, and he felt the weight of the moment settle over him. This was it. This was the morning.

Jasmine looked up, her grin bright. "There he is. I was starting to think you'd died in your sleep."

"Just tired."

"Tired, sure." She flipped a pancake onto a stack. "Come eat. You're going to need your strength for whatever you three have been planning all night."

Riley's stomach dropped. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you've been whispering in corners since we got here." Jasmine's grin didn't waver, but her eyes were sharp, watching. "You, Inde, and Jessica. It's like you're all in on a secret the rest of us aren't invited to."

The room went quiet. Natalie's mug stopped halfway to her lips. Ella looked up from her book.

Riley felt the heat of their gazes, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He looked at Inde. She was frozen at the counter, her hand still on the mug, her dark eyes wide. He looked at Jessica. Her face was pale, her jaw tight.

And he knew, with a sudden, crystalline clarity, that the moment was here. Not tomorrow. Not later. Now.

He crossed the room, his steps loud on the floorboards, and stopped at the head of the farmhouse table. His hands found the back of a chair, gripping it, grounding himself.

"Jasmine's right," he said, and his voice came out steadier than he felt. "There is something we've been keeping from you. All of you."

Natalie set down her mug. "What is it?"

Riley looked at Inde. Looked at Jessica. They were both watching him, their faces open and waiting, and he felt the truth rising in his chest, finally ready to be spoken.

"It's about us," he said. "About the three of us. And it's not something we planned, and it's not something we're ashamed of, but it is something we've been scared to tell you because—" He stopped. Swallowed. "Because you're our friends. And we didn't want to lose you."

The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Jasmine's spatula hung motionless in her hand. Natalie's freckled face was unreadable. Ella had closed her book, her ice-blue eyes fixed on him.

"We're together," he said. "All three of us. Inde, Jessica, and me. We're in a relationship. We live together, we sleep together, we—" He exhaled, the words spilling out of him like water from a cracked vessel. "We love each other. All of us. And we've been trying to figure out how to tell you for weeks."

He stopped, his heart hammering, and waited for the world to fall apart.

And then Natalie laughed.

It wasn't a mean laugh, or a mocking one. It was bright and surprised, like she'd just heard a joke she hadn't seen coming. She set down her mug and pressed a hand to her chest, her eyes wet with mirth.

"Oh my god," she said. "I knew it. I knew there was something. You three have been glowing like a radioactive isotope for a month."

Riley blinked. "What?"

"I called it last night," Natalie said, grinning. "I told Ella—didn't I tell you, Ella? I said those three are either in a cult or in love, and I was hoping for the second one."

Ella nodded, a small smile curving her mouth. "She did. She said you looked at each other like you were sharing a secret language."

Riley's throat was doing something complicated. He'd braced for anger, for shock, for the careful silence of friends trying to decide if they still knew him. He had not braced for Natalie's laugh, bright and surprised, or the way Ella's smile had curved like she'd been waiting for this exact confession.

"Wait." Jasmine set the spatula down on the edge of the pan, her eyes narrow but not cold. "Wait, wait, wait. You're telling me you three have been—" She gestured between them, her hand making a vague circle. "Together. Like, together together. And you've been hiding it for three weeks?"

"We weren't hiding it," Jessica said, her voice careful. "We were figuring it out."

"Figuring it out." Jasmine repeated the words like she was testing their weight. "You moved Inde in. You've been sharing a bed. You've been holding hands in parking lots. And you thought we wouldn't notice?"

"We thought you'd notice," Inde said quietly. "We just didn't know what you'd think."

Natalie was still grinning, her freckled face split wide with delight. "I think it's amazing. I think it's the best thing I've heard all year. I think—" She stopped, her head tilting. "Wait. Does this mean you're all—" She made a vague gesture, her fingers wiggling. "You know. Together together?"

"Natalie," Riley said, his voice strained.

"I'm just asking!"

"You're not just asking. You're asking with your eyebrows."

"My eyebrows are asking because I want to know!"

Ella's soft voice cut through the noise. "I think it's nice."

Everyone turned to look at her. She was still on the couch, her book closed in her lap, her ice-blue eyes steady on the three of them. "I mean it. You three look—" She paused, searching for the word. "Right. Like you fit, I wish I could too..."

Riley's chest ached. "Ella—"

"I noticed it at the RV," she continued, her voice quiet but sure. "The way you all move around each other. Like you're already thinking about where the other person is going to be." She ducked her head, a small smile curving her mouth. "It's nice. It's really nice."

The silence that followed was different from the one before. It wasn't heavy with expectation or sharp with suspicion. It was soft, almost tender, like the room had let out a breath it had been holding for weeks.

And then Jasmine spoke.

"Okay, but here's the thing." She crossed her arms, her chin lifting. "Why can't we move in too?"

Riley blinked. "What?"

"Move in. With you three. Why can't we?"

"Jasmine," Natalie said slowly, "I don't think that's—"

"I'm serious." Jasmine's eyes were bright, her grin sharpening. "You three have been living together, sharing a bed, being all domestic and cute. And the rest of us are just supposed to stand on the sidelines and watch? That's unfair. I want in."

"In?" Riley's voice came out higher than he meant. "In what?"

"In the relationship. In the apartment. In whatever this is." Jasmine gestured between the three of them, her hand sweeping wide. "We've revealed our love, we can share. That's what you said, right? You said 'we love each other, all of us.' So why can't there be more of us?"

Riley's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. No sound came out.

Jessica stepped forward, her hand finding his arm, grounding him. "Jasmine, that's not—that's not how this works."

"Why not?"

"Because—" Jessica paused, searching for the words. "Because we're not a club. We're not a group project. We're three people who fell in love with each other. You can't just—opt in."

"Why not?" Jasmine repeated, her voice rising. "You did. You three just decided you were together one day, and now you're living together and sharing a bed and making pancakes in the morning. Why can't we do that too?"

"Because it's not a decision!" Riley's voice came out sharper than he meant, and he saw Jasmine flinch, just a fraction. He softened his voice. "It's not something you choose. It's something that happens. It's—" He stopped, his hands finding the back of a chair, gripping it. "It's Inde. It's Jessica. It's the way Inde looks at me in the morning and the way Jessica steals the blankets and the way they both fit in my life like they were always supposed to be there. You can't just decide to feel that way about someone."

Jasmine's grin had faded, replaced by something more complicated. "So what are we supposed to do? Just watch you three be happy while the rest of us—" She gestured at herself, at Natalie, at Ella. "While we're just here?"

"You're not 'just here,'" Inde said quietly. "You're our friends. You're the people we wanted to tell because we didn't want to lose you."

"But you're not losing us," Natalie said, her voice gentle. "You're not. We're still here. We're still your friends. We just—" She paused, her freckled face softening. "We want to be part of your lives. Not in the weird way Jasmine's asking. In the normal way. In the way that means we get to see you happy."

Jasmine's jaw tightened. "I wasn't asking in a weird way."

"You were asking to move in with them."

"So?"

"So that's weird."

"It's not weird. It's—" Jasmine stopped, her hands dropping to her sides. "It's lonely, okay? Watching you three. Seeing how happy you are. And knowing I don't have that."

The words landed in the room like stones in still water. Riley felt the weight of them, the ache underneath the bright, loud exterior. Jasmine, who filled every room with light, who made everyone feel included, who was the first to dance and the last to leave. Jasmine, who had vetted Inde, who had claimed a first date, who had been his friend for two years.

Jasmine, who was lonely.

He crossed the room before he knew what he was doing. His hand found her shoulder, squeezing gently, and she looked up at him, her eyes bright with something she was trying hard not to show.

"You're not alone," he said quietly. "You've never been alone. You've got us. All of us. That's not going to change just because we're—" He gestured vaguely at Inde and Jessica. "This."

Jasmine's mouth pressed into a thin line. "It feels like it's changing."

"It's not."

"You're going to be all domestic and couple-y and the rest of us are going to be—"

"We're not going to be anything different than we've always been." Riley's voice was steady, sure. "We're still going to have game nights. We're still going to have movie nights. We're still going to be your friends. That's not going to change."

Jasmine held his gaze for a long moment. Then her shoulders dropped, and she let out a breath, long and slow. "Fine," she said, her voice smaller than he'd ever heard it. "Fine. But I'm still calling dibs on the couch if you guys ever need a fifth."

Riley laughed, the sound surprising him. "Noted."

Natalie was grinning again, her earlier sharpness gone. "Okay, so now that we've established that Jasmine wants to move in and Riley's going to have to learn to say no to her—"

"I didn't say no."

"You didn't say yes, either."

"I said noted."

"Noted is not a commitment."

Jasmine's grin was back, bright and sharp. "I'm taking it as a maybe."

Riley shook his head, but he was smiling. "You're impossible."

"I know." Jasmine's voice softened, just a fraction. "But I'm your impossible. All of us are."

The words settled into the room like a warm blanket. Riley looked around at the faces gathered there—Natalie, bright and sharp and relieved; Ella, quiet and kind and seeing more than she let on; Jasmine, loud and lonely and still trying to find her place in a world that kept shifting under her feet. And behind him, Jessica and Inde, the two people who had changed everything, who had made him believe he was worth staying for.

He felt the fear loosen, just a little more. The secret was out. The words had been spoken. And the world hadn't ended.

"So," Natalie said, leaning forward, her elbows on the table. "Now that we're all here and the truth is out—" She paused, her grin widening. "Who's making breakfast? Because I'm starving, and Jasmine's pancakes smell amazing."

Jasmine's head snapped up. "You're not eating my pancakes."

"You made like twenty."

"They're for everyone."

"Then I'm having some."

"You're having one."

"Two."

"One and a half."

"Deal."

Riley watched them bicker, the familiar rhythm of their friendship washing over him like a tide. Jessica's hand found his, her fingers sliding between his, and Inde's shoulder pressed against his arm, warm and steady.

"Okay?" Inde asked, her voice low.

"Yeah." He squeezed Jessica's hand, felt Inde's warmth against his side. "I think we're okay."

They moved toward the table together, the six of them, settling into the rhythm of the morning. Jasmine flipped pancakes with practiced ease, Natalie poured coffee, Ella found the syrup and set it in the center of the table like a peace offering. Riley sat at the head of the table, Jessica on his left, Inde on his right, and he felt the weight of the moment settle over him—not heavy, not pressing, but warm. Like a blanket. Like home.

The conversation flowed around him, bright and easy. Jasmine was arguing with Natalie about the correct way to eat a pancake (syrup on every bite, apparently, not just the edges). Ella was quietly explaining the rules of a card game no one else had heard of. Jessica was laughing at something Natalie had said, her head thrown back, her sleek bob brushing her shoulders.

And Inde's hand found his under the table, her callused fingers sliding between his, squeezing once.

He looked at her. She was watching the others, a small smile curving her mouth, her dark eyes soft with something that looked like peace.

"Okay?" he asked, echoing her earlier question.

She turned to him, her smile widening just a fraction. "Yeah." She squeezed his hand again. "I think we're okay."

The fire crackled in the hearth. The lake glittered beyond the window. And Riley sat at the head of the table, surrounded by the people he loved, the secret finally out, the truth finally spoken, and he let himself believe it.

They were okay.

The morning stretched on, golden and unhurried. Dishes were cleared, coffee was refilled, and the conversation drifted from pancakes to the hiking trails Riley had mapped out to the card game Ella kept trying to explain. At some point Natalie produced a deck of cards from her bag, and the farmhouse table became a battlefield of competitive Uno, with Jasmine accusing everyone of cheating and Ella quietly winning three rounds in a row.

Riley found himself laughing more than he had in weeks. The secret was out, the weight was gone, and the friends he'd been so terrified of losing were still here, still laughing, still fighting over the last pancake like nothing had changed.

Because nothing had changed. Not really. He was still Riley. Inde was still Inde. Jessica was still Jessica. They were just—more now. More together, more honest, more themselves.

And the people around the table, the ones who had known him for years, the ones who had watched him make himself smaller and had loved him anyway—they were still here.

It was more than he'd ever let himself hope for.

The afternoon light shifted, turning gold to amber, and the cabin settled into a lazy, contented quiet. Jasmine had claimed the couch, her legs thrown over the armrest, her phone in her hand. Natalie was curled up in a chair by the window, a book open in her lap. Ella had disappeared to the bunk room, her soft footsteps fading down the hall.

And Riley sat on the porch, his back against the cabin wall, watching the lake turn silver in the fading light. Jessica was beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, and Inde sat on the step below, her back against his legs, her ponytail brushing his knee.

The three of them were quiet, the way they'd learned to be in the last three weeks. Not the silence of running out of things to say, but the silence of being full.

"They took it well," Jessica murmured.

"They did." Riley's hand found Inde's hair, his fingers brushing the dark strands. "I didn't expect—" He stopped. "I didn't expect Jasmine to ask to move in."

Inde laughed, a low, warm sound. "She's lonely."

"I know."

"She'll find her people." Inde's voice was soft, certain. "She just doesn't know it yet."

Riley looked down at her, at the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw, the quiet strength in her shoulders. "How do you know?"

"Because I found mine." She turned her head, her dark eyes meeting his. "And I wasn't looking for them either."

The words settled into him, warm and grounding. He felt Jessica's hand find his, her fingers sliding between his, and Inde's hand on his ankle, callused and sure.

The lake lapped at the shore. The sky turned pink, then orange, then deep blue. And the three of them sat together, watching the light fade, the secret finally out, the truth finally spoken, the future stretching out before them like a road they'd only just begun to walk.

"Tomorrow," Jessica said quietly, "we should go hiking. The trail you mapped out."

Riley smiled. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. All of us." She paused. "It feels like the kind of thing we should do together."

Inde nodded, her chin brushing his knee. "The whole group. One trail. No secrets."

The words hung in the air, simple and true. Riley looked out at the lake, at the last light fading on the water, and he felt something settle in his chest. Not the fear, not the weight, not the constant bracing for loss. Just—peace.

"Okay," he said. "Tomorrow."

The screen door creaked open behind them. Natalie's voice drifted out, bright and casual. "Hey, you three. Jasmine's making s'mores by the fire pit. You coming or what?"

Riley looked at Jessica. Looked at Inde. And he felt the smile spread across his face, easy and unguarded.

"Yeah," he said, standing, pulling Inde up with him, Jessica's hand still in his. "We're coming."

They walked back into the cabin together, the three of them, into the warm light and the sound of laughter and the smell of wood smoke and chocolate. And Riley didn't look back at the lake, didn't brace for the floor to open up, didn't count to ten.

He just stepped forward, into the light, into the noise, into the life he'd built with the people he loved.

And it felt like the beginning, all over again.

Natalie's hand closed around his wrist as he reached for the fire pit. The others were already settling onto the logs—Jasmine stoking the flames, Ella passing out skewers, Jessica tucking a blanket around her shoulders—but Natalie's grip was firm, deliberate, pulling him back toward the shadow of the porch steps.

"One minute," she said, and her voice had shed its earlier brightness. "Just you and me."

Riley's stomach tightened. He glanced at the fire, at Inde's dark eyes catching the light as she glanced over, and gave her a small nod. Inde's chin lifted once—a question, an answer, a warning—before she turned back to the flames.

Natalie led him past the porch, past the stacked firewood, to the far edge of the yard where the grass gave way to reeds and the lake lapped at the shore. The moon was up, silver and thin, and it painted her freckled face in pale light as she turned to face him.

"You're not going to make me guess, are you?" she asked.

Riley's heart was a steady drum. "Guess what?"

"Riley." She crossed her arms, her braids loose around her shoulders. "I just watched you tell us that you're dating two women at once, and Jasmine asked to move in, and you handled it like it was a weather report. Now you're standing here like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop." She tilted her head. "So drop it."

He opened his mouth. Closed it. The lake was quiet, a soft hush of water against the shore, and he could hear the others' voices from the fire pit, low and warm.

"It's not a shoe," he said finally. "It's more like—a foundation."

Natalie's brow furrowed. "I'm going to need more than riddles."

Riley took a breath. The words had been sitting in his chest for weeks, pressing against his ribs, and now that the first door had opened, the rest wanted out. "We've been talking," he said slowly. "The three of us. About the apartment. About what comes next. And it's—" He stopped, searching for the shape of it. "It's too small. Not the apartment itself. The life. The plan. We're all trying to fit into this thing we built, and it's working, but it's also—"

"Cramped?"

"Not cramped. Just—not what we want." He met her eyes. "We want more."

Natalie was quiet for a long moment. The fire crackled behind them, and someone—Jasmine, probably—let out a bright laugh that cut through the dark. When she spoke, her voice was careful. "More like what?"

Riley's hands found his pockets. "More room. More space for all of us. Not just the three of us—" He paused. "All of us."

Natalie's head tilted. "All of us as in—"

"You. Jasmine. Ella." He swallowed. "We've been talking about getting a house."

The words hung in the air, heavy and strange. Natalie stared at him, her freckled face unreadable in the moonlight, and then she let out a breath—not a laugh, not a sigh, something in between.

"A house."

"A house," he repeated. "With a big kitchen. A yard. Room for everyone. Room for—" He gestured vaguely at the cabin, at the fire, at the six of them scattered around it. "This. But permanent."

Natalie was quiet again. He watched her, his heart hammering, waiting for her to laugh or call him crazy or walk back to the fire without a word. Instead, she uncrossed her arms and pressed her hands together, her fingers steepled against her lips.

"You know," she said slowly, "I've been thinking about that too."

Riley blinked. "What?"

"Not the house specifically. But—" She lowered her hands. "Ever since you three got together, I've been watching you. And I thought, that's what it looks like. That's what it looks like when people decide they're not going to be alone anymore." She paused. "And I wanted that. Not the romance part, well kind of, but. The—the other part. The part where you all live together and make breakfast and fight over the bathroom."

Riley's throat tightened. "Natalie—"

"I know it sounds crazy." Her voice was quick, almost defensive. "I know we've only been in this cabin for a day. But I've been thinking about it for weeks. About what it would be like if we all just—" She spread her hands. "Gave up our apartments. Got a house. Made something together."

He stared at her. The moon was bright, and he could see the glint of her eyes, the set of her jaw—not joking, not testing. Serious.

"You're serious," he said.

"I'm serious." She let out a small, breathless laugh. "And I know it sounds insane. But I've been living alone in a shoebox for two years, and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of coming home to an empty apartment and eating cereal over the sink because it's not worth making a real meal for one person." She looked at him, her eyes bright. "And I know Jasmine's been lonely too. She asked to move in with you three, didn't she? That wasn't just a joke."

Riley shook his head slowly. "It wasn't."

"And Jessica—" Natalie paused. "She's been living with you for weeks. She's not going to want to go back to her own place after this. And Inde just closed her trunk and moved in with you. She's not going anywhere either." She took a breath. "So why not all of us?"

Riley's mind was spinning. The fire crackled behind them, and he could hear the others' voices, low and warm, drifting through the dark. He thought about the apartment—the boxes still stacked against the wall, the old mattress leaning against the living room wall, the way the three of them had to squeeze past each other in the kitchen.

He thought about what it would be like to have room. To have a yard. To have a house where the six of them could spread out and still come together at the end of the day.

"We were going to talk about it," he said slowly. "Tomorrow. On the hike."

Natalie's eyebrows rose. "You were?"

"We wanted to see what everyone thought. Whether it was something the group would even want." He paused. "I didn't expect you to bring it up first."

Natalie grinned, quick and bright. "I'm full of surprises." She reached out and punched his arm, light and familiar. "Okay. Tomorrow. On the hike. We'll talk about it. All of us."

"Yeah."

She turned to head back toward the fire, then stopped, looking over her shoulder. "And Riley?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm serious about this, even the romance part. I know it sounds crazy, but—" She shrugged. "I've never been part of something that felt like it mattered. This feels like it could." She paused. "Don't screw it up."

He laughed, a short, surprised sound. "I wasn't planning on it."

"Good. Because I'll be watching." She grinned and headed back toward the fire, her voice lifting as she called something to Jasmine about the marshmallows.

Riley stood at the edge of the yard for a long moment, the lake silver in the moonlight, the fire crackling behind him. And then Inde was there, her hand finding his, her dark eyes searching his face.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." He squeezed her hand. "I think—I think something good just happened."

Inde's head tilted. "What kind of good?"

"The kind we were going to talk about tomorrow." He looked at her, at the moonlight catching the edges of her profile. "Natalie's on board."

Inde's breath caught. "On board with—"

"The house. All of us. She said she's been thinking about it for weeks." He shook his head, still processing. "She said she wants to give up her apartment. That she's tired of being alone."

Inde was quiet for a moment. Then her hand tightened around his. "I told you," she said softly. "People want to be part of something. They just need to be invited, even if it becomes romantic, like, look at me and Jess."

They walked back to the fire together, hands linked, and Riley felt the weight of the night settle over him—not heavy, not pressing, but warm. The secret was out. The future was taking shape. And for the first time in weeks, he let himself believe it might actually happen.

The fire had burned low by the time they finally turned in. Jasmine and Ella had already disappeared into the bunk room, their voices drifting through the walls in a low, easy murmur. Natalie was in the twin room, the door cracked open, a sliver of light spilling into the hall.

Riley paused at the threshold, his hand on the doorframe, and looked back at Inde and Jessica. They were standing in the doorway of the master bedroom, silhouetted against the warm light, and they were both looking at him.

"Tomorrow," Jessica said. "The hike."

"Tomorrow," he agreed.

Inde's hand found his, squeezing once. "We're okay."

"I know."

He watched them disappear into the master bedroom, the door clicking shut, and he stood in the hall for a long moment, his heart full. Then he pushed open the door to the twin room and slipped inside.

Natalie was propped up on one elbow, her eyes bright in the dark. "Well?"

"We're talking about it tomorrow," he said, sitting on the edge of his bed. "The hike. All of us."

Natalie grinned. "Good." She lay back down, pulling the covers up to her chin. "And Riley?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're happy." Her voice was soft, sincere. "You deserve it. I want to be happy with you.”

Riley's throat tightened. He lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling, and he let the words settle into him like a promise.