Renee woke up feeling drained—mentally, physically, completely. Even after a full eight hours of sleep, exhaustion clung to him like a second skin. He lay motionless on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind empty yet unbearably heavy. The morning light seeped through the half-closed blinds, streaking his walls in golden hues, but even the warmth of the sun couldn’t chase away the dull ache in his bones.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours, before he finally forced himself up. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and swung his legs off the bed, his feet meeting the cool floor with an almost reluctant thud.

The bathroom mirror greeted him with the sight of his own tired eyes—dark circles beneath them, evidence of a restless mind. He sighed, turning on the faucet, and let the cold water splash against his face, the chill jolting him back into reality. His morning ritual was mechanical—brushing his teeth, washing his face, running damp fingers through his hair in a half-hearted attempt to fix it. By the time he stepped out, dressed in a loose shirt and sweatpants, he was more awake but just as emotionally worn.

Descending the stairs, the smell of sizzling bacon and fresh eggs filled his nostrils, wrapping around him like a nostalgic embrace. It was comforting, the scent of home, of familiarity. He followed it into the kitchen, where his mother stood by the stove, flipping a slice of bacon with casual ease.

"Mom," he greeted, his voice deeper than he intended.

Jesse flinched, spinning around with wide eyes, a hand flying to her chest. "Baby Jesus, you scared me!" She exhaled sharply.

Renee smirked. "Sorry, Ma."

She waved him off, turning back to the stove. "Are you gonna wait for the rest of them, or are you eating now?"

He glanced around, only now realizing how quiet the house was. "They're still sleeping?" It was unusual—he was always the last one up, yet the house was eerily still.

"No, they’re not like you. They went to the supermarket," she said, wiping her hands with a napkin after shutting off the stove.

"All four of them?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Tristan’s out back watering the plants. The rest are shopping."

Renee nodded, leaning against the island. "Then I’ll eat now."

Jesse rolled her eyes, muttering, "Of course, you're the odd one out." She shot him a playful glare.

"Come on, Mom. You know I hate crowds."

She turned to face him fully, arching a brow. "So your family is a crowd?"

"No, I mean—"

"Shut up. Here’s your plate." She placed his food in front of him, and despite her teasing, there was warmth in the gesture.

He gave her a small smile. "Thanks."

She flipped her hair at him dismissively, but he caught the tiny upturn of her lips. Some things never changed. His mother had always been a force—sassy, sharp-tongued, but fiercely loving in her own way.

As he picked up his plate to leave, her voice stopped him. "Renee?"

He turned, mid-step. "Yeah?"

She studied him, concern softening her features. "Are you and Tristan okay?"

His grip on the plate tightened slightly, but he forced a casual nod. "Yeah, we're good."

"You sure?"

He smiled, trying to reassure her. "Yeah, Ma. We had a little fight, but it’s nothing serious."

She hummed, not entirely convinced. "Hope it wasn’t too bad?"

"Nah, just a bro fight. Nothing crazy."

Her eyes narrowed knowingly. "Yeah, and I bet you started it."

Renee gasped in mock offense. "Mom…"

She gave him a look. "It’s the truth."

"So I’m the troublemaker now?" He placed a hand over his chest, pretending to be hurt.

"Mm."

"Wow. Okay. I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that." He turned toward the back door. "I’m going outside."

As he stepped onto the patio, a soft chuckle followed him. He smiled to himself, shaking his head.

Then he saw Tristan.

Standing amidst the flowerbeds, shirtless, holding a watering can, his golden-brown skin glistening with sweat under the morning sun. His basketball shorts hung low on his hips, teasingly, dangerously low. His braids were tied in a loose bun, a few strands escaping, framing his face in a way that made him look effortlessly breathtaking.

Renee's breath hitched.

His grip on the plate loosened, and for a brief moment, he forgot how to function.

Tristan was stunning. He had always been. But like this—under the sun, with his toned chest rising and falling, muscles flexing as he moved—it was almost unbearable.

Fuck.

Renee swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. His mind betrayed him, conjuring thoughts he had buried, desires he refused to acknowledge. His body tensed, heat crawling up his spine.

He would give anything—anything—to be under him, to feel the weight of Tristan pressing him into the sheets, to be completely ruined by him.

No.

No, no, no. That was not supposed to be a thought.

"…nee. Renee!"

Tristan's voice snapped him out of his downward spiral.

Renee blinked, realizing Tristan was now standing in front of him—too close.

He swallowed again. "H-hey."

Tristan's lips curved into that insufferable smirk—the one that made Renee want to either kiss him or strangle him. "I've been calling your name for like, a whole minute. You looked like you were having some very interesting thoughts." He leaned closer, voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "Care to share with the class, baby bug?"

Baby bug.

The nickname sent an electric jolt through him, unwanted yet thrilling. It was infuriating how Tristan could affect him with just two stupid words.

"Nothing that concerns you," Renee shot back, lifting his chin defiantly. "Just wondering if you've ever heard of shirts. Revolutionary concept, really."

Tristan's grin widened. "Aw, am I distracting you? How adorable."

"Adorable?" Renee's eyes flashed dangerously. "I'll show you adorable when I shove this plate up your—"

"So violent," Tristan tsked, reaching for Renee's plate with practiced ease. "You brought my breakfast to me? So sweet of you, baby bug."

Renee yanked the plate back with lightning reflexes. "This is mine, you overgrown garden gnome. Get your own from Mom." He sat on the bench with an air of regal dismissal, taking a deliberately large bite just to spite him.

Tristan flopped beside him with zero regard for personal space, immediately reaching for his plate again. "Come on, you know sharing is caring."

"And I hate that ridiculous nickname," Renee said, slapping Tristan's hand away harder than necessary.

"You love it."

"I'd rather be called a soggy piece of toast."

"You definitely love it."

Tristan leaned in until Renee could feel his breath on his ear. "Your face gets all red and you do this cute little nose scrunch thing. It's like watching an angry kitten."

Renee's jaw dropped. "Did you just—did you just compare me to a *kitten?"

"A very fierce, very adorable kitten."

"Get away from me before I commit a felony," Renee muttered, trying to sound murderous while his traitorous body reacted to Tristan's proximity. "You reek of sweat. And did you even wash your hands before trying to contaminate my food?"

Tristan held up his hands with mock innocence. "My hands are pristine, your honor."

"Wash them again. I don't know where they've been."

"So demanding," Tristan laughed, standing up to rinse his hands under the outdoor tap. "You know, bossing me around is kind of your love language, isn't it?"

"My love language is violence," Renee replied sweetly.

"That explains so much about you."

Before Renee could deliver what surely would have been a devastating comeback, a familiar voice cut through their banter.

"Renee?"

A figure appeared on the other side of the low fence. Sunlight caught the purple streaks in otherwise dark hair, and warm brown eyes crinkled with genuine surprise and delight.

Dustin Martinez—all six-foot-one of pure chaotic energy.

Renee felt his stomach drop, but not in an entirely bad way. Dustin was like a tornado of good intentions and terrible timing.

"Holy shit, it actually is you!" Dustin vaulted over the fence with surprising grace for someone who claimed to have "the athletic ability of a drunk penguin." He bounded over with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever who'd just spotted a tennis ball.

"What are you doing here, Dusty?" Renee asked, though his tone was more resigned than annoyed.

"Visiting my abuela—she lives like three blocks over. I was on my morning jog when I saw this absolutely gorgeous backyard and thought, 'Damn, I wish I lived somewhere this nice.' Then I spotted you and nearly tripped over my own feet." Dustin's grin was infectious, the kind that made it impossible to stay irritated with him for long. "Small world, right, boss?"

Dustin's eyes shifted to Tristan, and his expression shifted to one of pure appreciation. "And who is this absolutely stunning specimen of humanity?"