Chapter 16
Finals and Fundraisers
CALEB
The common room of DPO looks like a bomb has detonated, filled with textbooks, energy drinks, and desperation. Finals week has hit the fraternity with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball.
I'm tucked into the corner of the room, constitutional law books spread around me in a defensive perimeter. I've been reading the same highlighted paragraph for twenty minutes, my mind stubbornly refusing to focus on anything except replaying that kiss from the snowball fight three days ago.
Three days of awkward glances. Three days of accidentally brushing hands when reaching for coffee and jumping apart like we've been electrocuted. Three days of me wondering what the hell I'm supposed to do now.
"Dude, my printer's possessed again," Marcos groans from across the room, smacking his laptop. "The paper's due in two hours!"
James looks up from his study nest, sighs, and pushes his glasses up. "Did you try turning it off and on again?"
"Yes, I tried turning it off and on again," Marcos mimics, his stress level clearly approaching critical mass.
"Fine. Give me five minutes." James stands, stretches, and heads toward Marcos's technological crisis.
I absolutely do not watch the way his t-shirt rides up slightly as he stretches. Nor do I notice how his jeans fit as he walks away. That would be ridiculous.
"The webmaster to the rescue," Tyler murmurs, nudging my shoulder as he passes by, arms laden with what appears to be half the contents of a coffee shop.
I blink, startled from my definitely-not-staring. Tyler is grinning at me, followed by his boyfriend, Ethan, carrying a cardboard box that smells suspiciously like donuts.
"We come bearing caffeinated salvation," Ethan announces to the room at large.
The effect is immediate. Like zombies scenting fresh brains, every stressed-out fraternity brother abandons their studies to swarm the guys carrying the coffee.
"Holy shit, they've emerged from their love nest!" Gavin booms, wrapping both Tyler and Ethan in a bear hug that lifts them off the ground. "We thought you two might have fused together permanently!"
Tyler laughs, his face slightly flushed. "Finals wait for no man, not even those in new relationships."
"Though we gave it our best shot," Ethan adds with a smirk.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, uncertain whether to join the group. My history with Tyler and Ethan isn't exactly uncomplicated. Being the guy who helped create doctored photos that temporarily broke them up, even unknowingly, isn't something you move past with a casual "my bad."
Drew appears at the top of the stairs. "Is that coffee I smell? Please tell me there's enough for—" He spots Tyler and Ethan. "Well, look who remembered they have friends! To what do we owe this honour?"
"Survival instinct," Ethan says, setting down the box of donuts. "Tyler has a biomechanics final tomorrow that he was completely ignoring in favour of—" He pauses, glancing around at the varying states of academic distress. "Other activities."
"Don't act like you were objecting," Tyler murmurs, earning himself an elbow to the ribs.
As the group descends on the caffeine and sugar like it's the last meal before execution, I lock eyes with James across the room. He surprises me with a small, almost imperceptible smile before turning back to Marcos's laptop.
That smile shouldn't make my stomach flip. But here we are.
The commotion has shifted to the kitchen, where Tyler is explaining his study strategy to a few of the younger brothers. Ethan steps away from the group and starts sorting through the remaining coffee cups. It's now or never.
Taking a deep breath, I stand and approach him.
"Hey," I say, the one word sounds more awkward than I'd like.
Ethan looks up, surprise flashing across his face before he schools it into a neutral expression. "Hey, Caleb."
"I, uh—" My throat is dry suddenly. "Can I talk to you for a minute? And Tyler too, if that's okay?"
Something in my face must show I'm serious because Ethan nods. "Ty," he calls over the noise. "Got a second?"
Tyler excuses himself from his conversation and joins us, his arm automatically sliding around Ethan's waist. "What's up?"
I'm acutely aware that the room has gotten quieter, brothers pretending to study while eavesdropping. Great.
I force myself to meet their eyes. "I want to apologize. For what happened with those photos. I didn't know what Cher and Ryan were actually doing, but that's no excuse. I should have asked why they wanted those edits in the first place. It was wrong, and I'm sorry."
The silence that follows is endless. Tyler and Ethan exchange a look, one of those couples' looks where an entire conversation happens without words.
"I hope you know I would have told them to get fucked if I had known. Really, I am sorry for my part in what happened." The silence stretches, and my mouth won't stop moving.
"I mean, not that it matters now, the damage is done, but I genuinely had no idea what they were planning. Which sounds pathetic, doesn't it? 'I didn't know'. Classic defense of the complicit, but I swear I would have shut it down immediately if—"
They're punishing me with silence. Can't blame them. I deserve it, honestly. Deserve worse.
"Right. Sorry. I'll just—sorry."
Finally, Tyler speaks. "We appreciate that. It sucked when it happened, but honestly, you were a pawn in their bullshit."
"If you had known what they were planning to do with those images..." Ethan trails off.
"I wouldn't have done the work at all."
That earns me a smile from Tyler. "We believe you. Water under the bridge, really."
"Besides," Ethan adds, "if not for all that drama, I might never have gotten to make my grand gesture to win this one back." He squeezes Tyler's arm, which is in its usual place around his waist, earning a clearly affectionate smirk.
"Still. I'm sorry."
Tyler nods. "Apology accepted. Now, can we move on to more important topics, like how our resident webmaster keeps sneaking glances at you when he thinks no one's looking?"
My face heats instantly. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't." Tyler grins. "It's kind of nice, seeing another grump venture out of the computer room. James hasn't voluntarily participated in this many group activities since... ever."
"We're friends." The words come out automatically, but their matching expressions say they're not buying it. Shouldn't have said anything.
"Uh-huh," Ethan's voice has an annoying singsong. "That's exactly what Tyler said about me right before he kissed me senseless at the Halloween party."
I'm saved from having to respond when Drew announces that it's time for a focused study session, group by major. As everyone shuffles around to form study clusters, I catch James looking at me again. This time, I'm the one who offers a small smile.
He smiles back.
Marvelous. Nothing could possibly go wrong here.
Walking into my room, I find Jaren on his hands and knees, a toolbox open beside him, carefully measuring something along the baseboard.
"What are you doing?" My backpack hits the bed with a thud.
Jaren glances up with the perpetual good-natured expression that is always on his face. "Hey, Caleb. Just fixing the heating vent. It's been rattling all week. Figured I'd sort it before winter really kicks in."
The rattling hadn't even registered until now. "You know maintenance would do that if you put in a request."
He shrugs, turning back to his work. "Yeah, but they've got enough to deal with after the slip-n-slide incident flooded the downstairs bathroom.
This is an easy fix." His hands move with surprising confidence as he adjusts something inside the vent.
"My dad's a contractor. Spent most of my summers helping him out. "
"Useful skills for a social work major." Why is this conversation still happening?
Jaren smiles, a warm yet somehow somber expression flashing across his face. "That's the plan. After graduation, I want to work with at-risk youth. Maybe at a residential facility or transitional housing program."
He sits back on his heels, admiring his handiwork before replacing the vent cover. "Being able to fix things comes in handy. Most places like that always have tight maintenance budgets."
Jaren's not talking vague platitudes about "helping people." He has an actual plan: residential facilities for at-risk youth, places that require maintenance work, and therapeutic support.
Combining his contractor skills with his social work degree. It's specific. Practical. The kind of goal that comes from genuine conviction rather than resume building.
A year ago, I would have written this off as naive optimism. Hell, a month ago I probably would have. But he's not being naive. He's thought this through. There's a difference between idealism and stupidity, and apparently I'm only now learning to tell them apart.
Damn it. I'm going soft. This is James's fault. And Gavin's.
And now Jaren's standing here fixing heating vents and talking about kids who need someone. Next thing you know, I'll be volunteering at soup kitchens. Is this what fake dating does to a person, making caring contagious?
Absolutely unacceptable.
"What about you?" he asks, packing his tools away with methodical precision. "Big law firm after graduation?"
"That's the expectation," is my standard answer.
Jaren nods, but doesn't push. Another surprisingly tolerable thing about him, he doesn't pry. "Well," he says after a moment, "sometimes the most important work happens in unexpected places. My advisor says social workers need good lawyers almost as much as they need funding."
He says it casually, but something about the observation feels pointed, like he sees more than I give him credit for. Social workers need good lawyers; he's not wrong.