The alcohol had loosened the room. People looked more relaxed. Small groups danced while others stood in clusters, talking and laughing, voices pitched higher than before.

Wyatt stood on the far side of the ballroom with his back to most of the room. A young woman in a navy dress stood beside him, dark hair falling past her shoulders. They were laughing, she was telling some story with animated hand gestures.

Wyatt turned after a moment to scan the room and his eyes found Julien immediately.

Julien was dancing with Margaux, his hands resting on her waist with light, formal touch. Margaux was laughing but Julien wasn't. They maintained a small distance, bodies barely touching.

And Julien's eyes cut to him across the room—just for a moment, but deliberate. Wyatt felt it like a touch before Julien looked away.

Wyatt's ribs felt too tight. He turned his head back to the woman beside him. "Sorry, what did you say?"

She repeated herself and Wyatt laughed, but his mind stayed elsewhere, still feeling those eyes on him.

Hours dissolved. The principals left, then the sponsors, until only the team remained—messy tables, half-full glasses, music louder than before.

Wyatt grabbed another whiskey from the bar and walked out to the terrace where cold air hit him with steady pressure. Wind moved across his skin. The Monaco sea stretched out below, dark except for boat lights dotting the water. He moved to the corner where there was less light, less wind, and set his glass on the ledge before pulling a cigarette from his pocket. He flicked the lighter and the flame rose. The cigarette caught.

He inhaled deep and held it before exhaling slowly, then leaned against the wall and looked at the water.

He'd been here over a month. New habits had formed without him noticing—standing in corners, smoking alone, watching the sea.

Footsteps behind him. He turned his head.

Julien walked toward him with slow, deliberate steps. The tuxedo still fit perfectly though the bow tie had been loosened. He reached Wyatt and stopped, maybe two feet between them.

"Hey," Julien said.

"Hey."

Julien pulled a cigarette from his pocket and flicked his lighter. The flame illuminated his face for a moment—hollowed his cheeks, cast shadows—then the cigarette lit. He took the first drag and exhaled, smoke disappearing into the wind.

He stepped closer and stood next to Wyatt, the space between them narrow enough that their arms almost touched. Close enough that Wyatt could smell his cologne mixed with cigarette smoke and whiskey.

"You smoke?" Genuine surprise colored Wyatt's tone.

 Julien glanced at him. "Sometimes."

Wyatt watched him bring the cigarette to his lips, inhale, hold, release.

Wyatt turned toward the water and the scattered lights, but then he felt it—Julien's gaze on him. Tangible. He turned back.

Their stares collided. Dark green. Dark brown. The gaze held, stretched too long, and then both of them looked down. Fell to lips.

Wyatt stared at Julien's mouth—lower lip fuller—while Julien's tongue darted out, quick and reflexive.

Julien looked too, at Wyatt's lips, at the way they parted slightly with each breath.

They looked at each other again—couldn't seem to stop.

---

Wyatt's hand lifted halfway and hung in the air. Julien's fingers curled into a fist, knuckles white, then loosened, then curled again.

The distance between them closed. Neither moved first. Or both did. Their chests met, tuxedo fabric against tuxedo fabric.

Wyatt's heart hammered fast and erratic while Julien's breath hit his face—cigarette, whiskey, mint.

Wyatt's head tilted down slightly as Julien's chin lifted. Their eyes stayed locked, close enough to kiss. Close enough that Wyatt could feel the heat coming off Julien's skin.

Don't. Don't. Do it.

Julien lunged hard and uncontrolled. Their lips collided at the wrong angle with too much force. Wyatt jerked back from the impact but didn't pull away, opening his lips instead.

Julien pushed forward again, harder, his mouth crushing against Wyatt's with desperation—too fast, too hard—someone who'd thought about this but never done it.

Wyatt's hand found Julien's waist on instinct, gripped, pulled. Julien's body hit his and went rigid before melting into it.

Wyatt tilted his head and slowed it down, his lips parting Julien's as he took control.

Julien resisted at first, still moving too fast, still pressing too hard, couldn't breathe but couldn't stop. Then Wyatt's other hand slid to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in hair. "Slow down."

Julien hesitated, then softened.

The kiss slowed. Their tongues touched and Julien flinched in surprise. Wyatt moved slowly, testing, and Julien followed after a moment—clumsy but willing, desperate.

Wyatt deepened it and sucked on Julien's lower lip before biting lightly.

Julien made a sound—short, raw, rising from his throat—couldn't hold it back.

His hand moved to Wyatt's chest and grabbed the tuxedo fabric, made a fist, crumpled it. Wyatt's heart pounded under his palm, completely out of control.

Julien pulled him closer. Their bodies pressed together fully, legs intertwining as Wyatt's hand slid from waist to hip and gripped hard.

Julien's hip pressed against Wyatt with unmistakable hardness between them. Wyatt felt it and Julien registered it too—shock visible before he forced himself to stay, not pull back.

Their breaths mingled hot and damp. Wyatt turned his head, shifted the angle, kissed deeper.

Julien kissed back better now, more confident, learning, following Wyatt's lead.

Then Julien pulled back—sudden, violent. Their lips separated with a wet sound.

He stood there breathing hard, chest rising and falling in rapid shallow movements, eyes wide and stunned and terrified.

He stared at Wyatt with dark eyes full of fear and panic and things he was desperately trying to hide.

Wyatt stood there breathing just as hard, one hand still halfway to Julien's neck, the other hovering near his waist.

"Julien—"

Julien turned and walked away fast, almost running, straight to the door. It closed with a soft click.

---

Wyatt stood frozen with his hands still in the air where they'd been reaching. His heart hammered so hard he could hear it in his ears.

He lifted his hand and touched his mouth, fingertips pressing against lips that stung slightly.

He lowered his hand and turned toward the water, gripping the railing until his knuckles went white.

He breathed in through his nose—deep, lungs aching—then exhaled slowly through his mouth. Did it again. Again. His heart rate slowed slightly.

He closed his eyes but Julien appeared immediately—eyes wide, lips red, breath hot, body pressed against his. He opened his eyes fast.

Wyatt pushed off the railing, turned, and went inside.

He took the elevator up and watched himself in the mirrored wall, his eyes still looking too bright.

He reached his room without turning on the light. His tuxedo smelled like cigarettes and Julien's cologne. He stripped, got into bed

He felt it all again—Julien's hand on his chest, Julien's lips on his, Julien's body against his.

Tomorrow morning, he knew they would have to act like nothing had happened.

Performance, as always, would come first.