Hours later, Renee was at his studio, distracting himself with work.

But his friends weren't making it easy.

"So, are you gonna tell us why you ghosted us yesterday?" Isabella asked as she worked on her canvas, side-eyeing him with that knowing look that meant trouble. "We had plans, remember? Movie night? Pizza? Ring any bells?"

Renee barely glanced up from his own painting, adding another careful stroke of blue to the ocean scene he'd been working on for weeks. "My phone battery died."

A lie, and they all knew it.

"Bullshit," Dustin called out from across the room, not even looking up from where he was mixing colors on his palette. "Your phone battery never dies. You're practically attached to that thing."

"Maybe he was busy," Seth chimed in with a teasing grin, his paintbrush dripping with yellow as he gestured dramatically. "You know, busy busy."

Isabella gasped theatrically, dropping her brush and pressing a hand to her chest. "Oh my God, Renee had a date! Our antisocial baby had an actual date!"

"I'm not antisocial," Renee muttered, but he could feel his ears getting warm.

"Says the guy who spent three months refusing to go anywhere that wasn't here, home, or the grocery store," Dustin pointed out, finally turning around with a shit-eating grin. "Come on, spill. Who's the lucky guy?"

"Or girl," Seth added helpfully. "We don't discriminate here."

"Definitely a guy," Isabella said with confidence, studying Renee's face like it was one of her portraits. "Look at that blush. That's definitely a 'cute guy made me forget how to function' blush."

Renee shot her a warning look. "Can we not psychoanalyze my love life, please?"

"So you admit you have a love life!" Dustin practically shouted, pointing at him accusingly. "I knew it! You've been acting different all morning. Less... I don't know, less like someone stepped on your favorite paintbrush."

"Gee, thanks," Renee deadpanned.

Seth bounced on his toes, practically vibrating with excitement. "Okay, but seriously, was he good? On a scale of one to 'holy shit I can't walk straight.'"

"Seth!" Isabella laughed, throwing a paint-stained rag at him.

"What? I'm asking the important questions here!"

Renee hesitated, his brush stilling against the canvas. His friends' expectant faces stared back at him, and despite himself, he felt his lips curve into a slow, almost wicked smile. "The best."

The studio erupted.

"Oh my God!" Isabella shrieked.

"I fucking knew it!" Dustin pumped his fist in the air, accidentally flinging paint across his workspace.

Maya just stood there with her mouth hanging open before she started laughing. "Look at him! Look at that smug little smile! Our boy got laid!"

"Will you guys keep it down?" Renee hissed, glancing toward the other artists working in the shared space. "The whole building doesn't need to know."

"Too late," Dustin grinned. "I'm pretty sure Mrs. Henderson from the pottery studio heard Seth's announcement."

Isabella plopped down on the stool next to Renee's easel, completely ignoring her own work. "Okay, details. Now. Was he cute? Tall? Does he have a job? Please tell me he has a job."

"And good hygiene," Seth added seriously. "That's non-negotiable."

"Oh, and is he an artist too?" Dustin wiggled his eyebrows. "Because you know what they say about artists in bed—"

"I'm not telling you anything," Renee interrupted, but he was fighting back a grin.

"Come on," Isabella pouted. "We're your best friends. We deserve something. Like, at minimum, tell us if we'd approve."

Renee considered this. Would they approve of Tristan? Probably. Everyone approved of Tristan—he was charming, successful, ridiculously good-looking. But they'd also worry about the complicated history, the girlfriend and stepbrother situation, the fact that Renee had spent months getting over him only to fall right back into bed with him.

"You'd approve," he said finally.

"That's it?" Seth threw his hands up in exasperation. "That's all we get? After months of watching you mope around here like some tragic Victorian poet?"

"I don't mope."

"You absolutely mope," all three of them said in unison.

Renee rolled his eyes, but he was smiling now, that warm feeling in his chest that he always got when his friends ganged up on him like this. It was annoying and endearing and exactly what he needed after the morning's confusion.

"Wait," Isabella said suddenly, her eyes narrowing as she studied his face more carefully. "This guy... he's making you glow."

"I'm not glowing," Renee protested automatically.

"You're totally glowing," Dustin agreed, abandoning his painting entirely to join the interrogation. "Like, legitimately radiant. It's kind of disgusting how happy you look."

"Shut up."

"No, but seriously," Seth said, his voice going softer, more genuine. "I haven't seen you smile like this in... God, months. Whoever this guy is, he's good for you."

The comment hit deeper than Renee expected. He ducked his head, focusing intently on his painting to avoid their knowing looks.

Did Tristan really make him glow?

Nonsense.

Absolute nonsense.

"Okay, new plan," Isabella announced, clapping her hands together. "We're going out tonight. All of us. And you're bringing mystery guy."

"Absolutely not."

"Come on," Dustin wheedled. "We promise to be nice. Mostly."

"We'll only embarrass you a little bit," Maya added helpfully.

"I said no."

"Fine," Isabella sighed dramatically. "But we're not giving up. We will meet this guy eventually. We have ways of making you talk."

"Threats won't work on me."

"Who said anything about threats?" Dustin grinned wickedly. "I was thinking more along the lines of showing up at your apartment with wine and refusing to leave until you spill everything."

"You wouldn't."

"Try us," all three said in unison again.

Renee groaned, but he was laughing too. God, he'd missed this. The easy banter, the way they could make him feel lighter without even trying. Even when they were being nosy busybodies, they made everything better.

"I hate you all," he said fondly.

"No, you don't," Seth said confidently. "You love us. We're the best friends you've ever had."

"You're the only friends I've ever had."

"Even better!" Isabella beamed. "That means we win by default."

---

Later, as he packed for the trip to visit their parents, his phone rang.

"Hey, you ready? I'm coming to pick you up," Tristan said.

Renee smiled—until he heard a voice in the background.

"Nicky, I'm coming," Tristan called out.

Renee's stomach dropped.

"Nicky? Nicole?" His tone turned sharp. "What is she doing at your house?"

"Oh... yeah, I forgot to tell you. She's coming with us."

Renee froze, his grip tightening around his phone as Tristan's words sank in. A slow wave of irritation rolled through his veins, burning hotter with each passing second.

"What do you mean she's coming with us?" His voice was sharp, edged with something dangerously close to anger. "Don't tell me you called her and told her to come."

Tristan sighed on the other end. "Calm down, Renee. I was talking to her yesterday, and I mentioned I wouldn't be around this weekend. She asked where I was going, and—"

Renee cut him off before he could finish. "So you told her, and she asked to tag along, didn't she?"

He knew he was overreacting. For fuck's sake, Nicole was Tristan's girlfriend. If Tristan wanted to bring her along, he had every right to. But that didn't mean Renee had to like it.

It was supposed to be them—just the two of them.

Now, instead of a comfortable trip, he'd be forced to sit in the same car while Tristan and Nicole exchanged sickeningly sweet looks, whispered to each other, maybe even held hands. The very thought made his stomach churn.

"She wanted to come, and I just couldn't say no," Tristan explained, as if that made it better. "She misses them, and she wanted to spend time with them again. Renee, it's not a big deal. She's my girlfriend, and—"

"Right."

Renee gritted his teeth, slamming his free hand down onto the cold marble of the kitchen island. The sharp sting barely registered, drowned out by the pounding of his pulse in his ears.

"Renee..."

"You know what?" His voice was clipped, barely restrained. "Don't bother picking me up. I'll drive myself."

"Renee—"

"Thank God I have my own car." His laugh was hollow, bitter. "So don't waste your time. See you there. Have fun with your girlfriend."

The last word came out with disgust, as if it were something foul on his tongue. He didn't wait for Tristan's response. He ended the call with a sharp press of his finger, then tossed his phone onto the counter as if touching it any longer would burn him.

His jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists.

The trip was already ruined before it even began.

Storming up the stairs, he grabbed his car keys from his nightstand, barely registering anything else in the room. His pulse was erratic, his breaths uneven. He snatched up his bag, threw the strap over his shoulder, and headed straight for the door, slamming it shut behind him with more force than necessary.

The drive should have helped him cool down. It didn't.

If anything, the isolation in his car only made the emotions worse, let them fester like an untreated wound. His fingers curled tight around the steering wheel, his knuckles white with tension.

Angry. That's what he was.

Or maybe something worse.

Maybe he wasn't just angry.

Maybe—no, definitely—he was jealous.

And it made no fucking sense.

Tristan wasn't his. He was someone else's. Off-limits. And yet the thought of Nicole sitting beside him, laughing with him, touching him, made Renee's stomach twist painfully.

He didn't want to picture it. Didn't want to imagine Tristan's soft gaze turning toward her, the same gaze Renee had selfishly let himself think was just for him.

His fingers twitched against the wheel. He pressed harder on the gas, speeding down the near-empty road.

He shouldn't care this much.

But he did.

For once, just once, he had wanted a weekend with Tristan—just them, no one else. But she had to come in and snatch him away like the devil she was.

And maybe that wasn't fair. Maybe Nicole wasn't to blame.

But right now, he didn't care.

His throat felt tight, an ache settling deep in his chest.

He had been reminded—yet again—of just how fucking alone he was.

And it hurt.

God, it hurt.