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Platonic
adjective
(of love or friendship) intimate and
affectionate but not sexual.
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As it turns out, Kal is really good at Mariokart.

Like scary good, to the point where I'm pretty sure he's cheating somehow.

"Dude, how?!" I cry. "You were behind me the first two laps, I totally had it and then I blink and you're in first and I'm in 5th! How?!"

He's laying on his stomach next to me, and I watch as he shrugs nonchalantly. "Red shell."

"What?? There's no way you did that with just a red shell! I call BS."

"Hmm, too bad. Sucks to suck." He pops a tater tot in his mouth since his waffles are long gone.

I had walked into my room after retrieving the Switch, only to find Kal sitting cross-legged with his star-covered comforter pooled over his lap and half my bed. A tissue box was propped next to him while the to-go box of waffles was in hand as he actively devoured them. By the time I got the system hooked up, there was nothing left other than a few syrupy crumbs.

When I inquired how his comforter and tissues appeared here, he merely replied that he came prepared.

Well alrighty then.

I'd be fooling myself if I didn't admit that seeing a part of him here—having his comforter thrown on my bed and just making himself at home—gives me this odd sense of pleasure. There's this little possessive part of me that recognizes this area as my own; it's a safe place for me, so sharing it with anyone is a bit weird. However, when I saw him sitting there infiltrating my space and making it his, a foreign satisfaction had buzzed through me instead... It was a pleasant warmth, rather than the searing heat I'm used to.

"So that brings our score to... All me?" Kal smirks over his shoulder.

"I won once!"

"Ohh right, sorry," he rolls his eyes. "How dare I forget you won once! Only because I let you, I hope you know."

"Oh what a load of bull—"

"ACHOO!"

He sniffles, grabbing a tissue. "Sorry... That was funny timing though, I promise I didn't plan that," he chuckles.

"Mmhm... Awfully convenient," I joke. "Do you want to keep playing, or you getting tired?"

"I think you're the one getting tired of me beating you! Kidding, nah, I'm not super tired, but I am getting kinda chilly again. I was thinking about taking a shower since I haven't yet today."

"Alright, go wash off your grossness," I grin.

He nods. "Precisely!" Then, he sets his remote down, slides out of the covers, and makes his way out of my room.

I change games over to SuperSmash to pass the time, and sure enough, 20 minutes later Kal comes back in.

By "comes back in," I mean he waltzes right through the door, over to my bed, and launches himself to sprawl across my legs on his stomach.

"Oof! Welcome back. How was it, did it warm you up? You seem... refreshed."

He lays his head on his arms and closes his eyes. "Yeah... It was nice. I tend to take long showers cause the hot water always feels good."

The game match ends and I glance down at him. His cheeks are still a rosy pink and there's a little droplet of water on his forehead from the hair plastered there. Reaching out, I tug at a wet lock.

"Your hair is still sopping wet, you probably shouldn't go to sleep like that you know. You'll make your cold worse. Not to mention you're getting my bed all damp."

"Yes, Dad."

I flick his ear and he chuckles.

He rolls over, groaning, and then sits up.

"Can I borrow something to wear?" he asks. "I should probably change out of these clothes, too. I'm too tired to go across the hall and dig through my own clothes"

"You were literally just out in the hall, you couldn't have just swiped some from your room?"

He grins innocently, just waiting for me to crack.

I crack. "Yeah, whatever." I climb out of bed and open my bottom drawer to take out the old sweatshirt he's borrowed a few times now, and grab a pair of shorts from another drawer.

I toss them over to him. "I don't have any clean sweatpants, can you survive with those shorts?"

He narrows his eyes as if they're alien. "Hmmm... you got any socks?"

I snort, but grab a pair of thick wool socks from the bottom of the pile and toss those over too.

He shoots me a grateful grin while getting out of bed, then reaches down to tug his shirt up over his head. Shirtless guys don't faze me much—I go without one often enough as do plenty of others—but this is the least amount of clothing I've seen on him, and as many times as I've felt his stomach to cool down my hands, I never realized how defined he actually is. He's a few inches shorter than me and not quite as wide—but he's not exactly skinny either. Soccer and surfing have done wonders building up some lean muscle.

When he reaches down to his waistband it finally dawns on me that's he is not waiting to undress so I should probably stop staring.

I quickly turn to the door. "I'll grab the hair dryer while you're changing. Which brush is yours?"

"The silver one!" he calls as I enter the hallway. I rifle through the bathroom cabinet to grab the blowdryer and his brush, then head back. I give a small knock, even though it's my own door, before going in. It was good timing since he's pulling down the hoodie as I shut the door behind me.

Fuck, he has nice legs. And standing there in my clothes...

I take a measured breath and turn away to look for an outlet.

The cord is just long enough to reach the side of my bed so I sit down on the edge. "Pop a squat," I say, beckoning him over.

He tilts his head at me, like a confused wet kitten, but when he notices the blowdryer in my hand he contentedly sits on the ground between my legs.

I hand him the remote so he can play before turning the blowdryer on. The loud whoosh is so noisy I can't even hear the tv over it but I aim it towards his hair as I brush it out. I admit I have absolutely no clue what I'm doing... it's not like I need to do much for my short hair other than the occasional pomade. Regardless, I'm having fun fluffing his hair, and he has to reach up and move it out of his face a few times when it blows all over.

Satisfied it's dried enough, I switch it off and brush out any last knots. When I'm finished I can't help but laugh... he looks like a poodle!

He reaches a hand up to feel. "It's all fluffy, isn't it? See this is why I don't blow dry it... the curls just get all frizzy!" He laughs. "Whatever, thanks anyway... I actually do like having my hair played with, so I guess it's worth it. Feel free to blow me anytime."

"My pleasure, I'm glad you enjoyed my services," I smirk, happy to play along.

I watch him play for a bit, adding the appropriate commentary while I continue messing with his hair. When I pull it up into a high ponytail, the ends stick almost straight up, then I wrap some pieces around each other into a sort of braid. He hands his hairband up to me at some point and I attempt to put it into a bun. Attempt. It's all kinds of wonky, but it stays in place. My masterpiece, voila!

Kal lets out a lionesque yawn that ends in a big shiver. "Ugh, I'm chilly again... that didn't last long." He pauses the game and stands up straight, stretching his arms above him.

"Heading to bed?" I ask.

"Pfft, no." His pseudo-bun flops as he turns around to face me, missed strands floating and flowing haphazardly. "Not to my bed at least." He reaches down and pulls his blanket aside before climbing in and adjusting some pillows.

My bed is tucked in the corner of our room and the tv sits next to it, rather than straight in front, so when he plops down he's leaning against the long sidewall.

He pats the spot next to him, this time beckoning me over. "Come, come."

He does realize this is still my bed, right? I sigh and slide in next to him until we're shoulder to shoulder. He pulls his knees up, curls into my side, and yanks the blanket back up. I rest my arm over the top of his legs underneath the blanket.

"Movie?" I question.

"Of course."

Looking sideways at him, my lips tug into a small smile and I mumble under my breath, "Presumptuous little motherf—"

"What?" He asks, not quite hearing me.

"S p o i l e d," I enunciate in his direction.

He nods, not even denying it. "I'm sick remember, I'm milking it while I can." He gives a few exaggerated sniffs.

"Sure, ok." I scoff as I click through Netflix. "I just thought of something... you're sick, and didn't want to hang out downstairs because you're worried about getting the others sick, right?"

"Yeah?"

"But you didn't hesitate to hang out with me in my bedroom? So what, you don't care about getting me sick? I just don't count?"

His pink lips gape open, eyes wide; Caught red-handed; Guilty as charged. "Well... no! I-I figured you already stayed with me last night, and you offered so I j-just..."

I break my stoicism and crack a smile. "I'm just messing with you, it's fine! I don't get sick easily, I can't even remember the last time I was sick. Maybe in the same way you being cold makes you more susceptible, my being hot makes it less so? I dunno... but you'd have to really try to get me sick—swap spit, kiss me, or something like that."

I squeeze his leg, attempting to comfort him. His cool skin continues to tempt me though, so I move my thumb along his calf.

He turns to look at me, narrows his eyes, and pinches his lips together. "Hm." Then he tilts his head to one side, lifts an eyebrow, and pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.

He seems to be considering something which makes me suddenly regret saying that last part.

"What?" I finally ask, unsure if I even want the answer.

He opens his mouth. Closes it. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat. Opens his mouth again. "Can I be totally honest with you for a minute?"

The humor in his icy eyes is gone as he waits for my answer.

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〈 Special POV: Kal 〉

I've been thinking about something for a while now, and it only seems fair to tell him straight up.

I saw the way he was checking me out earlier, his eyes obviously raking over my torso and legs—so of course I had to tease him. And I know that when he said I'd have to kiss him to get him sick, it wasn't meant as a suggestion, but it was hard not to at least entertain the thought.

So I need to say this. Sooner than later.

"Uh... yeah, sure. Of course," Aiden responds.

I readjust, pulling away slightly so I can look at him more directly. He grips my calf firmly, his damn thumb distracting me all over again. But his amber eyes are locked onto me, searching my face.

"I... I don't want to have sex with you."

He doesn't react at all at first, but once he does it's all at once. He recoils from me, his hand popping off my leg as if it bit him, and his thick eyebrows shooting up to the sky.

"Wow. Ok, you went straight for brutal honesty. I mean, yeah, ok, totally respect that... but wow..."

Is he offended? Why is he offended?

"Oh! Shit no, I don't mean it in the sense that I wouldn't, or don't want to... trust me, I've considered it." A pause, before I realize what I just admitted. "Wait, shit, forget I said that! No, wait, don't forget all of it, I just... I..."

That all came out way wrong.

He's completely lost, which might not be a bad thing considering I didn't intend to let all of that slip out.

I take a steadying breath. "Ok, real talk: I'm not trying to assume anything or even attempt to read the situation, I just want to be super upfront with you and avoid the whole awkward, cliché, 'where's this going' thing. So I just figured I'd lay my intentions on the table."

He's nodding along but still looks a bit lost. "Ok... I'm listening."

"I tend to be a little flirty or teasing... and there's definitely some sort of connection between us... but I'd like to keep it platonic.

"In the past, I've used sex as something like a coping mechanism, 'To fill the void internally in addition to wanting the physical heat', or so my therapist says." I adopted a high-pitched voice to mimic her and Aiden's lips pull up before I shrug. "I like to have fun, we're adults. I try not to get attached, but also I try not to be the typical asshole-player; I do have some values.

"One of those values is that I don't want to fuck up whatever this is. I've mentioned it before, but I'll reiterate that I like what we have: I like hanging out with you, helping each other, teasing each other. So I don't want to risk messing that up and complicating things.

"I guess I just wanted to tell you that I'd like to continue how we are, but I also felt like I should be upfront and say that I don't want to be physically involved with you... does that make sense?"

Gods, my heart is beating like a racehorse. I'm literally just throwing all that out there, and I really hope I didn't just make things really weird between us.

He nods again, however this time his face is open and responsive. He leans back into where we started, so I take that as a good sign. "Yeah. Yeah, ok I can understand that."

"Really? Your not just saying that when you actually think I'm being a selfish idiot?"

His eyes crinkle in a smile and he suddenly pulls a hair on my leg, making me jerk. "You're not a selfish idiot; you're allowed to set boundaries. I'm actually relieved you brought it up so there's no confusion." Then he quickly adds, "Not that I was confused."

Uh huh, right. "Ok, so we're agreed? Platonic? No serious physical involvement?"

"Yep... actually, a question: you said to continue how we are? That... this," he pats my leg and indicates our position with his chin, "is still ok?"

I get what he's trying to ask: the touching, the cuddles, the banter, is that entirely platonic? The answer is no... but I still enjoy it. It's not crossing the line.

I rest my head on his shoulder. "It's fine."

I feel him nod against the top of my head. "Good. Agreed," he comments quietly, then he picks the remote up and clicks through to find something.

Well, that went way better than I had expected it to.

I'm normally pretty open about stuff—I've learned that being honest and saying what's on your mind is way healthier than bottling it up and letting it fester. I learned it the hard way, after years of being shut-down and withdrawn, cold and emotionless. After losing the one person I trusted and shared everything with.

So I don't bother trying to get close to anyone anymore. What's the point? Now I just say and do what I want in the moment—why waste my time trying to save face when that person can disappear at any moment? Better to be unworried and untied than to risk shattering myself again.

What's that saying? Don't put all your eggs in one basket, right?

When I came to this university I came to get out of my house, in search of some trivial entertainment. I didn't plan on making good friends. Ronan and I met freshman year as dormmates, ended up bonding over surfing, and became each other's wingman. Maybe it's due to his open mind, but he appreciates my honesty, so I don't hold back about stuff with him, I just say what I think and it's never bothered him. Over the course of two years, I'm now happy to call him my friend. Probably my best friend, since I didn't really have any others, but he'd be too sappy about it if I ever admitted that particular truth.

Moving into this house was Ronan's idea, but I'm warming up to this new group. They're wholesome and easy to be with. All of them—but especially with Aiden. I don't even have to try with him, I'm not faking anything, I'm just myself. I get the feeling that he understands me, doesn't just look at me, but sees me and gets it. But because of that, for once I'm beginning to... care.

I was hesitant to draw that line with him, to even bring it up because I dreaded his reaction. I knew that I had to be honest with him, for both our sakes, and I'm glad I finally found the nerve to do it. His easy acceptance helps me justify being open with him.

Now, with that potentially heavy conversation finished and breezed through, the weight of that dread is gone. I feel... reassured and heard and light.

It doesn't seem like our new agreement bothers him at all, maybe the opposite in fact. He said he was relieved, and he seemed it too. Now it almost feels like it never even happened, with my head on his shoulder and his hand on my knee.

We finally decide on Back to the Future. I squish further into him and pull the blanket all the way up so I'm tucked into a warm fluffy cloud that happens to smell of embers and nutmeg.

I'm beginning to really like his scent. Over and over I find myself drawn in, my cold nose yearning to bury itself in the crook of his neck, the warm center of his chest, or just the soft fabric on his shoulder where my head lies.

I breathe in deeply, and despite my stuffed nose I still catch a cozy whiff. That, combined with the soft light from the tv and the steady rise and fall of his chest is enough to calm and lull me.

Soft and content, I close my eyes.