Chapter 2
Red Bull the frat house is finally quiet, and I can work without interruptions. No one knocking on my door with broken laptops or forgotten passwords.
A pop-up notification interrupts my concentration. Someone's trying to access the frat's Wi-Fi network using an unfamiliar device. Again.
"For shit's sake." The network dashboard loads, third attempt tonight from the same goddamn device. Why can't people just use normal porn sites like civilized humans?
It has to be the new pledge, Caleb Huntington the Third. Even his name sounds pretentious. Of course, he couldn't wait until morning to ask for the network password like a normal human being.
Checking the timestamp of the attempts. 1:47 AM. 2:15 AM. 2:58 AM. Persistent little rich boy, isn't he?
With a sigh, I push back from my desk and grab my hoodie. DPO's newest charity case is about to learn that the house network has rules, and I'm the one who enforces them.
The hallway is dark and quiet as I make my way downstairs.
Most of the brothers are sound asleep, resting up for whatever chaos tomorrow will bring.
I've been with the frat for three years now, and the rhythms of the house are as familiar as breathing, loud during the day, subdued in the evening, and blessedly silent in these early morning hours.
A faint glow from the kitchen catches my attention. Someone's awake after all.
Caleb is hunched over his laptop at the kitchen island, surrounded by empty Red Bull cans. His dark hair falls forward, hiding his face as he scowls at the screen. He doesn't notice me lingering in the doorway, too focused on whatever he's doing.
"Network password is case sensitive.” My voice is flat.
He startles, head snapping up. For a moment, our eyes meet, and there's something vulnerable in his expression before it hardens into irritation.
"I know how passwords work," he retorts, his voice low but sharp. "I've been typing it exactly as Gavin wrote it down."
Crossing the kitchen, I hold out my hand. "Let me see."
He hesitates, then slides a crumpled Post-it across the counter. One glance confirms my suspicion: Gavin's handwriting is atrocious.
"That's not an 'i', it's an 'l'," explaining, I turn the paper for him to see. "And this isn't a zero, it's the Greek letter theta. Gavin likes to be cute with the passwords."
"Of course he does," Caleb mutters. He takes the paper back, fingers brushing mine briefly. "Thanks."
I should leave. Task completed, problem solved. Something keeps me rooted in place, watching as he types in the correct password. Maybe it's curiosity about what he's doing at this hour, or perhaps it's the dark circles under his eyes that hint at a sleeplessness I recognize all too well.
"What are you working on so urgently at 3 AM?"
He glances up, seeming surprised by my continued presence. "Design project. Due tomorrow."
"Procrastination or perfectionism?"
A faint smile tugs at his lips. "Both. Started it weeks ago, but nothing felt right." He points at his screen, where a sleek website mock-up is displayed. "Could be better."
Moving in for a closer look, my work curiosity briefly wins out over my usual desire to keep to myself. The design is excellent, simple, easy to use, and eye-catching without being too busy.
"It's good. Better than what most of the CS department produces." Might as well be honest about it.
He looks genuinely startled by the compliment. "Thanks. I—"
The harsh ring of his phone cuts him off. He checks the screen and his expression sours instantly.
"I need to take this," he says, tension radiating from his shoulders. "Sorry."
Nodding, I step back, aware that I've already stayed longer than necessary. As I turn to leave, I hear him answer.
"Yes, Father. I know what time it is." His voice is formal and strained. "No, I haven't forgotten about Saturday. I'll be there."
Something about that tone, the careful control, the barely suppressed frustration, feels uncomfortably familiar. How many times did I use that exact voice with foster parents who suddenly remembered I existed when they needed something?
But Caleb's family drama isn't my problem. I've spent years building walls around myself, and I'm not about to tear them down for some rich kid with daddy issues.
Retreating to my room, I close the door firmly behind me. Within minutes, I'm back in the familiar comfort of my code and Coronation Street, the brief connection with Caleb already fading.