CHAPTER 5. SILVER AND COLD #2
“Hi,” Samia says, walking up and greeting Moon with her usual warmth—the kind that makes people want to be around her. “I'm Samia. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m Sawyer,” Moon says.
“Are you hungry?” Samia asks, and from the soft, easy way she says it, I can tell she’s been in on the whole invite Moon to my party thing with Nick from the start. “I can bring you a plate.”
I wonder what those two have been scheming behind my back—and what their actual agenda is. Not that it’s hard to guess, considering how carefully polite Nick’s been every time Moon’s come up over the past two months.
He hasn’t said anything to me directly, but I think my brother knows my feelings toward Moon have shifted. That I don’t hate him anymore. That whatever this is—it’s been gnawing at me, and I’ve got no idea how to untangle it on my own.
“Thanks—maybe later.” Moon takes a sip of his wine, then turns to watch Jo?o beating Louis at wine pong.
I step up beside him.
“He’s good,” Moon says, nodding toward Jo?o, clearly impressed.
“Yeah, he’s beaten almost everyone in this room,” I say with a short laugh. “You want to get drunk trying to beat him too?”
Moon smirks. “I was the beer pong champion at my academy.”
“Oh yeah? You’re up next then, Mr. Champion,” I say, grinning wide.
He grins back—and something flutters in my chest. His smile is magnetic. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen it aimed at me.
When Louis inevitably loses, we refill the cups with wine, and Moon takes his place.
To everyone’s surprise, he sinks every single shot on his first try—beating Jo?o fair and clean in under three minutes.
Jo?o manages to hit four of Moon’s cups, but he’s already pretty drunk, and it’s clearly catching up with him. When he finally loses, the whole room cheers—because someone finally beat the guy.
Jo?o walks over to shake Moon’s hand, then Derek steps in to help him over to the couch, since he’s barely staying upright at this point.
Moon turns to me with a triumphant little smirk tugging at his lips.
“Come play with me, Mark,” he says—and my heart does a stupid flip.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” I ask, smiling.
He smiles back, eyes gleaming in the warmth of the lamplight.
“Maybe,” he says, “Let’s play best of three.”
My pulse spikes, because now I’m pretty sure he has some kind of plan.
“Sure,” I say, even though I know mixing gin and tonic with wine might be a terrible idea.
As expected, Moon wins the first round against me just as easily as he did against Jo?o—making me drink all ten cups while he only downs five. Then we play again, and this time he sinks nine out of ten before actually losing to me.
And yeah, I’m pretty sure he missed that last cup five times on purpose—just to push us into round three. Which, of course, he wins again—hitting every single cup on his first try.
I’m not drunk yet, but I can feel the warmth spreading through my body. Moon, on the other hand, got tipsy way faster—even though he drank half as much. He’s not as big as I am, so it kind of makes sense. His cheeks are flushed, lips red, eyes bright—and he’s grinning at me, shameless.
And honestly, it’s kind of ridiculous how fast I’m getting turned on just looking at him.
When we leave the wine pong table, Nina and Maya step in to take over.
As we head toward the buffet table where we left our glasses, Moon stumbles on the carpet and I catch him by the elbow. He grabs my arm to steady himself—and doesn’t let go right away. My skin burns where he’s touching me.
“Are you okay?” I ask, glancing down at him.
“Sorry,” he mutters, ears flushing. “I didn’t eat much today. I think the wine hit me faster than it should’ve.”
“Didn’t you just come from your mom’s?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“I did,” he says, looking away. “But I…was too nervous to eat.”
I know he means nervous about coming to the party, so I just nod.
“You should eat then,” I say, gesturing to the stack of plates at the end of the table.
Moon nods, then grabs one and starts filling it with whatever’s closest. I watch him for a moment, kind of mesmerized—thinking how stunned the me from eight months ago would be if he saw this.
Eric’s probably thinking the same thing, because when I glance over at the bar, I catch him watching me. He and Nick are mixing drinks for Andy and Tasha. I pick up my own drink and walk over just as they hand them their glasses.
Once they’re gone, I look at Eric.
“What?” I ask, trying not to sound defensive.
“How’s blondie doing over there?” Eric says, raising an eyebrow.
“He’s fine. Quit burning holes in him with your laser eyes,” I mutter.
“I don’t trust him,” Eric says, folding his arms across his chest.
“I can tell,” I snort.
“Hey, play nice, man,” Nick says, nudging Eric with his shoulder. “He’s changed—give him a chance.”
Eric snorts, shooting him a look. “And how exactly do you know he’s changed? Don’t tell me you actually bought those interviews. That stuff was pure PR.”
“I believe the interviews,” Nick says with a shrug. “Mark does too. And I trust his judgment—so if he’s willing to give Sawyer a chance, that’s good enough for me.”
I blink at him, caught off guard—and weirdly moved. “That’s very sweet of you, big brother,” I say, smiling. Then I tilt my head and add, dryly, “But seriously—how did you even get his number? Care to explain?”
Nick goes red fast. “I, uh…I asked him for his number on Halloween.”
Eric frowns. “When was that? We were with you the whole time.”
“When you were distracted,” Nick says quickly. “What? I just wanted to make sure he got home okay. You can’t leave someone who just got roofied on their own.”
I pause and look at him. “That’s…actually decent of you,” I say, narrowing my eyes a little. “So what, you two are pen pals now or something?”
Nick rolls his eyes and points a finger at me. “You need to talk to him, Marco.” Then he turns to Eric. “And you need to back off and go hook up with someone, because clearly you’ve had way too much free time lately.”
Eric and I just stare at him, equally stunned.
“What?” Nick says. “You know I’m right, kids.”
Suddenly, he flicks a glance behind me and falls quiet—and that’s when I turn to see Moon walking up with a plate in his hands.
“Hey,” he says, eyes on me. “Can I steal you for a sec?”
“Sure,” I say, trying to sound casual.
He gives Nick and Eric a quick, apologetic smile, then follows me into the kitchen. The moment the door swings shut behind us, muffling the noise from the party, I turn to face him. Moon stops just short of the counter, staring down at his plate like he’s trying to figure out how to begin.
Then he looks up.
“Is Eric…are you guys together or something?” he asks, and even through the wine flush on his cheeks, I see his face go redder.
I snort—caught so off guard I almost drop my drink. “No. No, we’re not. He’s just my best friend.”
“Cool,” he says, nodding. Then after a pause, “I think he hates me.”
“He doesn’t,” I say automatically—though even I can hear the hesitation in my voice. “He’s just…overprotective.”
Moon nods again. “I get it. I’d hate me too, all things considered.”
I don’t say anything to that—just take a sip of my gin and tonic and ask, “How’re you handling things?”
“You mean the media meltdown? Or the raging homophobes?”
“Both.”
He shrugs. “I’ll survive. I probably deserve it anyway.”
I frown. “No, you don’t.”
He lets out a short breath, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. Then sets his plate on the counter and wraps his arms around himself like he’s cold. “You’re too nice to me,” he mutters, and his eyes start to fill. He glances away fast, as if he’s pissed at himself for showing it.
“I’m not trying to be nice,” I say, setting my glass down and stepping in closer.
He swallows, jaw tight, still not looking at me.
So I reach out, hook a finger under his chin, and tilt his face toward mine. He finally meets my eyes—just as a tear slips from the corner of his and trails down his temple, disappearing into his hair.
I glance at his mouth, making it clear what I’m thinking. My heart’s pounding so hard it feels like it might punch straight through my chest. For a second, Moon looks completely breathless.
I don’t kiss him. He doesn’t kiss me either.
We just stand there, close enough to feel the heat between us.
“What do you want?” I ask.
Eight months ago, I might’ve shouted that same question at him across the soccer field, full of anger and hate. Now I’m asking it quietly. Honestly. Because for once, I actually know what I want. And it’s not noble.
I want him in my bed. I want him flushed and naked and moaning my name. I’m not thinking past that. Not yet.
Moon swallows. His voice comes out thin.
“I want you to forgive me.”
“I have,” I say. “That night on Halloween.”
His lips part—he wasn’t expecting that. Another tear slips down his face, catches the light.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
I nod, heart pounding, and brush his cheek with my thumb. He leans in, just an inch—drawn to me like a flower to the sun. My chest tightens. My heart hammers, ready to punch through my ribs.
I smile at him. Moon smiles back—barely. His eyes are wet, his chest rising and falling so fast he looks out of breath, even though he’s standing still. He just watches me, like he doesn’t trust himself to move. Like this time, he’s waiting for me to take the first step.
I reach for his waist, pull him into me, and he steps closer, exhaling—as though he’s been waiting for this too long. That’s when I lower my head and kiss him.