The Tea Rose Apartments, the town’s only apartment complex, stood taller than the rest of Main Street. Made of red weathered brick, it was one of the older buildings, leaning just slightly. A low fence ran along the side, acting as a lame dog park, and A/C units protruded from blind-obscured windows, whirring loudly to combat the heat. Vincent had only been inside the apartments once when he and Whitney had thought about moving out after graduating high school. They weren’t especially nice. The carpet was from the sixties and smelled of mildew, and from the amount of A/C window units, it was obvious there was no central air conditioning. Modern comforts were a thing of the past at the Tea Rose Apartments, and Vincent didn’t think that would ever change.

He walked in the side door, greeted by the smell of dust, and wandered down the hallway, mouthing the apartment numbers silently to himself: three… five… seven. Thirteen was in the middle of the hall and looked identical to the rest of the apartments. White door, golden knob, an old door knocker rusted to high heaven. He knocked the old-fashioned way, ignoring the knocker.

Inside the apartment, he heard shuffling. It wasn’t long before Ky opened the door. He wasn’t wearing his leather jacket anymore, a fact which oddly saddened Vincent. Ky took up most of the doorway, his broad shoulders making the doorframe appear petite, and Vincent wondered if Ky had to walk sideways to get out of his apartment. “Hi,” said Vincent.

“Hey,” said Ky. He stepped aside to let Vincent in, and Vincent wandered inside, surprised that there weren’t boxes littered about. Ky’s apartment was clean with a couch pressed up against the wall and a bookshelf supporting his TV. The kitchen even had a bowl of fruit next to the microwave, and a record player sat on a desk catty-corner from the couch. A coat closet stood to the right of the couch, slightly ajar. His bedroom door was closed, another fact which saddened Vincent for no reason.

“Wow, it’s really nice in here. Not that I thought it wouldn’t be,” Vincent added quickly, not wanting to sound like a total dick. But his own room was not this clean. He had clothes in piles next to his bed (the clean and the dirty pile, often confused) and cups from God knows when sitting on his nighttable.

“Thanks. I didn’t have a lot of stuff to move,” Ky said. He closed the door and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It’s not the nicest apartment, but it’s something.”

Vincent nodded, his palms beginning to sweat. Here he was, alone with his mate for the first time in seven years. What was he supposed to do with himself? He felt too big for this small space all of a sudden as if the walls were pushing in, trying to crush him. He should just tell Ky, tell him right now before he could convince himself not to. He could just say it right now, I’m your mate. You’re who I saw in my vision. But he didn’t.

He thought he would feel something different after the mating ceremony, a celestial tug towards Ky, but instead, all he felt were nerves tightening his stomach and clenching his heart. The wolf inside him was still slumbering as if it didn’t realize his mate was right in front of him, staring at him with those intense dark eyes.

Vincent remembered those eyes from his childhood, but they had been full of light then. There was a heaviness to Ky’s gaze now as if he knew what the world could do to you if given half the chance.

“I like it,” said Vincent, trying to keep his nerves from his voice.

Silence rained down between them like bricks. God, why couldn’t Vincent think of anything to say?

“Do you want anything to drink?” Ky asked, walking over to his fridge. To get to it though, he had to pass Vincent, and when he did, their arms brushed just slightly. Tingles rushed up Vincent’s arm, wheeling across his entire body. His heart picked up, and the wolf inside him blinked one eye open.

“Oh, uh, sure. What do you have?” Vincent asked, rubbing his arm unconsciously.

“Water, juice, milk,” Ky said, opening his fridge and peering inside of it. “Nothing special.”

“Water’s fine.”

“Cool.” Ky shut the fridge and pulled a glass out of the cupboard next to it, filling it with water from the sink. Then, he opened the freezer and plopped in two ice cubes. “Here,” he said, handing it to Vincent.

Their fingers brushed together as Vincent took the water, and he nearly dropped it when the sparks reappeared, erasing his ability to do anything, let alone grasp things. “Thanks,” Vincent said, his cheeks rosy. He sipped the water, trying to get used to how much Ky was staring at him. Ky hadn’t been one for eye contact when he was a kid, always muttering to the floor when asked a question. He had been a quiet kid and an even quieter teenager, growing sullen when he reached twelve years old. The only person he would really talk to was Vincent, and they had talked about everything: their favorite movies (Star Wars and Fast & Furious), their favorite TV shows (anything on Nickelodeon), their favorite hobbies (Legos and computer games that overloaded their family computers with viruses), and their homework (English and math being the hardest subjects.)

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Now, Vincent wasn’t sure what to say at all, how to even broach a topic of conversation with this stranger who wore his friend’s face. He could see glimpses of the old Ky in his straight dark brown hair and his small ears, but otherwise Ky was a different person. He was a giant, well over six feet with thick muscles that corded from his arms to his thighs. His eyes were fierce, taking in everything, and now they were on Vincent.

“Uh-huh,” said Ky. He didn’t take his eyes from Vincent.

“So, uh, what do you usually do when you’re home?” Vincent asked. He looked away from Ky, unable to hold that intense gaze. It was kind of creepy but weirdly hot at the same time.

For a moment, Ky was silent. Then, “Watch TV, scroll on Twitter until I’m braindead, masturbate. That kind of shit.”

For the second time that night, Vincent nearly dropped his cup. “Oh,” he said, his voice barely more than a squeak. He could imagine Ky leaning back in his bed, palming a giant cock, watching porn on his phone. What kind of porn did he like? What did he think about when he masturbated? Why was Vincent thinking about this? “Yeah, uh, I guess that’s… cool. I do that too. Masturbate, I mean.”

A smirk curled Ky’s lips. “Do you? Masturbate, I mean?” he teased. Was Vincent imagining it, or had his voice just gotten deeper?

Oh, God.

“Yeah,” said Vincent, gripping his water with unimaginable anxiety. His heart slammed into his chest, and his palms had broken a clammy sweat, something that used to only happen before he had to speak in front of a classroom of his peers. “I mean, doesn’t everybody?”

“Most people, yeah,” said Ky. He shrugged and continued, “For some reason, I thought you were pretty innocent. Looks like I was wrong.”

Innocent? What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

“I masturbate,” said Vincent defensively. “What kind of guy would I be if I didn’t?”

Ky chuckled and shook his head. It was the first time Vincent had heard him laugh, and he found himself treasuring the sound, a low deep rumble. “Girls do it too, you know,” he said.

“Of course they do, but I’m just saying, I’m pretty sure guys do it statistically more often.”

“That is not what you said.”

“Well, it’s what I meant.”

Ky chuckled again, that smirk replaced by an actual smile. Vincent’s heart leaped. He had made Ky smile. Actually smile.

“Fine, you’re probably right,” Ky conceded. “Guys are a lot more horny than girls.”

“Thank you, of course I’m right,” said Vincent. He sipped his water again, unsure of what else to do. This wasn’t the kid he remembered, and honestly, what had he expected? He had grown up just as Ky had, but some part of him felt like he had some catching up to do. He hadn’t effectively become homeless at fourteen, living only with a brother who punched holes in the wall when his mother told him to clean his room. (That was a crystal clear memory for Vincent.)

“Do you want to watch TV?” Ky asked. “Or a movie? Uh, this is a little weird but… Hold on.” He slipped into his bedroom, opening the door just enough for Vincent to see that it was completely dark. But he could hear Ky rummaging around, perfectly at home in the shadows, and when he came back out, he was holding all of the Star Wars DVDs they had worn to death during their childhood.

“You kept them all?” Vincent asked, oddly touched. He set his water down on the coffee table, moving towards Ky, unsure of what he was about to do. He ended up plucking Empire Strikes Back from Ky’s large hands, staring at it with wide eyes.

“Yeah,” said Ky bashfully. He set the stack of DVDs down on the coffee table next to Vincent’s drink. “The only problem is, I lost my portable DVD player a few years ago, and my TV is pretty new.”

“Oh,” said Vincent. He didn’t care that they couldn’t watch them. All he cared about was that Ky had kept them, had brought them with him when he’d gone away. Vincent could smell their old movie nights: buttered popcorn and the ancient blanket they’d always used. He wished he could go back to simpler times before everything had fallen apart.

“Sorry,” said Ky, his hands back in his pockets.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Vincent sputtered, looking up at Ky who, for once, wasn’t looking at Vincent. “We can… I don’t know, I’m sure they’re on that Disney streaming service or something. My parents have it. You should come over, and we can… we can have a movie night.”

“And a sleepover?” Ky teased, glancing at Vincent again, that smirk back on his face.

Vincent’s heart hitched. He would love to have a sleepover with Ky again and not just because of nostalgia. “Yeah,” he said breathlessly, “if you’d like to.”

Ky looked taken aback as if he hadn’t expected that reaction. His smirk dropped, and he cleared his throat. “A movie night sounds good,” he said. “I don’t think we used to do many at your house.”

Was Ky… rejecting him? He had just hinted at wanting to have a sleepover with Vincent and then decided he didn’t want it the moment Vincent accepted? Whitney had to be wrong. Ky couldn’t be gay. A gay guy would have jumped at the chance to “sleep” over with his crush or even just someone he was attracted to, right? God, maybe he was gay, but he just wasn’t attracted to Vincent. That thought hurt. A pang echoed in Vincent’s chest, his heart wrangling itself in. Whatever Ky’s reason was, he didn’t like Vincent. Not in that way.

But we’re mates, Vincent wanted to say. You have to like me.

“Okay,” Vincent said instead. He placed the DVD he was holding down on the stack. “Well, um, thanks for showing me your apartment. I don’t want to be a bother, so if you want me to, I’ll get out of your hair.”

Please say no.

“Uh, I… guess,” Ky said. He glanced at the water then at Vincent. “Wait, before you go, um… can I get your phone number? For movie night.”

“Right, for movie night,” Vincent said. He tried not to tremble as he fished out his phone from his pocket, unlocked it, and handed it to Ky to put his number in. Ky did the same, handing his own phone to Vincent, and Vincent hurriedly typed in his number as if the phone would vanish if he didn’t put it in fast enough.

When they were done, they traded phones.

“Thanks,” said Ky. He went to the door and gripped the handle but didn’t open it. Instead, he leveled another intense gaze at Vincent, and Vincent tried not to swallow hard. “You can come over anytime, just so you know. And you don’t have to text me first.”

Vincent’s breath caught between his teeth. His heart beat lopsidedly, and he nearly kissed Ky right then and there. Maybe he didn’t completely hate Vincent. “Thanks, and you can too,” he said. “To my house, I mean. I won’t be masturbating.”

With a wry smile, Ky opened the door. “Me either.”