Greene
Ethan Shades hated parties.
He hated the sticky floors, the smell of cheap beer soaking into the furniture, the way everyone’s laughter seemed too loud, like they were performing joy instead of actually having it. He only came because his best friend, Mason, swore he’d regret missing “the party of the year.”
And also because Tyler Greene would be there.
Not that Ethan wanted to see him—far from it. Tyler had been his personal tormentor since freshman year. Soccer golden boy, stupidly good grades despite never trying, charming enough that teachers let him get away with everything. To make it worse, Tyler acted like Ethan was an annoying speck on his otherwise perfect shoe. Always a sarcastic remark, always a smirk whenever Ethan tripped over his words.
So yeah. If Ethan was going to suffer through this disaster of a night, at least he’d know where the enemy was.
He shoved through a crowded hallway and ended up in the kitchen, where someone had set up a pyramid of red solo cups. Music thumped through the walls, rattling in Ethan’s chest. He reached for a soda instead of the warm beer everyone else seemed to be clutching. The last thing he needed was to make a fool of himself—especially if Tyler was watching.
“Hayes,” a voice drawled behind him.
Ethan’s shoulders stiffened. Speak of the devil.
He turned to see Tyler leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, that trademark grin plastered across his face. His hair was messy in the effortlessly cool way Ethan could never pull off, and his t-shirt clung in a way that made it unfairly obvious how often he actually went to practice.
“What do you want?” Ethan snapped, popping the tab of his soda louder than necessary.
Tyler’s grin widened. “Relax, I’m not here to ruin your night. You do a great job of that all by yourself.”
Ethan rolled his eyes and pushed past him, determined not to give Tyler the satisfaction of an argument. But of course, Tyler fell into step beside him like a shadow he couldn’t shake.
The living room was a mess of bodies—some dancing, some shouting over the music, some draped across couches like they owned the place. A chant started up near the center of the room, and Ethan realized with a jolt of dread that people were forming a circle.
“Spin the Bottle!” someone announced.
“Oh, this’ll be fun,” Tyler muttered, eyes glinting.
Ethan groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
But before he could retreat, Mason spotted him and waved him into the circle. “Ethan! You’re playing. No excuses.”
And because refusing in front of twenty people would’ve been social suicide, Ethan sat down—right across from Tyler, of course.
The bottle spun. One by one, people leaned in for awkward pecks, exaggerated kisses, or drunken laughter. Ethan kept his eyes on the floor, praying it would never point his way.
Fate had other plans.
On the fourth spin, the bottle slowed, wobbled, and stopped—its mouth landing squarely between Ethan and Tyler.
The room erupted in laughter and cheers. “Seven Minutes in Heaven!” someone shouted. “Closet, now!”
Ethan’s heart plummeted to his stomach. “Wait—no. That’s not—”
Hands pushed him forward before he could argue. Tyler didn’t resist. If anything, he looked entertained.
The door to the coat closet shut behind them, muffling the roar of the party. Darkness pressed in, warm and close. Ethan could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, way too loud.
“Relax,” Tyler said softly, so close his breath ghosted against Ethan’s skin. “It’s just a game.”
“Yeah, well,” Ethan muttered, fumbling to lean against the wall, “don’t get any ideas.”
A beat of silence. Then Tyler laughed under his breath—low, infuriating, and maybe a little nervous. “You think I want to kiss you?”
Ethan’s chest tightened. “Obviously not. And I don’t want to kiss you either.”
“Good. Glad we cleared that up.”
But the quiet that followed felt heavier than it should. The muffled thump of music seeped through the walls, and the closet smelled faintly of laundry detergent and old jackets. Tyler shifted, his arm brushing Ethan’s by accident, and Ethan went rigid.
“God, you’re tense,” Tyler said. “It’s making me tense.”
“Maybe don’t sit so close!” Ethan hissed.
“There’s nowhere else to sit, genius. It’s a closet.”
Ethan opened his mouth to retort but stopped when he realized just how close Tyler’s face was in the dim light leaking under the door. His eyes, usually sharp with mockery, looked softer in the shadows. Curious. Almost cautious.
Ethan’s throat went dry. “Don’t.”
Tyler tilted his head. “Don’t what?”
“You know what.”
“...Maybe I don’t.”
And before Ethan could think of something scathing to fire back, Tyler leaned in—hesitant, like he might change his mind at the last second. Their lips brushed, feather-light. Ethan jerked back against the wall, heart hammering, breath caught somewhere in his chest.
“What the hell was that?” Ethan demanded, though his voice came out hoarse.
Tyler smirked faintly, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression—uncertainty. “Testing a theory.”
“What theory?”
“That maybe you don’t hate me as much as you say you do.”
Ethan’s pulse jumped. He should’ve shoved him away, should’ve laughed in his face, should’ve done anything except grab the front of Tyler’s shirt and kiss him back.
But that’s exactly what he did.
The world narrowed to the heat of Tyler’s mouth against his, the press of shoulders in the cramped space, the dizzy rush of it being forbidden and reckless and so wrong. Tyler kissed back harder, fingers curling briefly in Ethan’s sleeve before pulling away just enough to breathe.
In the silence that followed, both of them stared at each other—wide-eyed, breathing uneven.
The pounding on the door came like a gunshot. “Time’s up!” someone shouted, laughter exploding outside.
Ethan scrambled back, hands flying to straighten his shirt, his face burning. Tyler just smirked—though his lips were a little swollen now, proof of what they’d just done.
Neither of them spoke as the door creaked open and light flooded in.
But Ethan knew, as the cheers rang out and Mason shoved him back into the chaos of the party, that nothing between him and Tyler would ever be the same again.
Ethan woke to sunlight stabbing through his blinds and a throbbing headache that wasn’t even from drinking—just from existing at that party for too long.
He groaned and rolled over, nearly falling off the bed. On the carpet, Mason lay starfished on his back, still wearing yesterday’s jeans and clutching a throw pillow like it had saved his life. A low snore escaped him.
Great. Not only did Ethan have to deal with his problems, he’d also have to wake Mason up before his mom walked in and freaked out about another body in his room.
Ethan flopped back onto the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut. He’d been hoping maybe—just maybe—last night had been some kind of weird fever dream. But the second he tried to shove the memory away, it came rushing back, clear as day.
The closet. The dim light. Tyler’s face inches from his. That first hesitant brush of lips. Then Ethan—idiot that he was—grabbing Tyler’s shirt and pulling him closer, kissing him like he actually wanted it.
And he had.
That was the worst part.
“Nope,” Ethan muttered aloud, burying his face in his hands. “Nope, nope, nope.”
Tyler had probably been drunk. That had to be it. Everyone else at the party was wasted, why not him?
Except… Ethan remembered watching him earlier, leaning against the doorframe with that infuriating smirk. No cup in his hand. No stumbling. And Tyler had driven himself there. Ethan knew, because he’d seen him throw his keys on the counter when he walked in.
Tyler Greene was a lot of things—cocky, arrogant, a world-class pain in the ass—but he wasn’t stupid enough to drink and drive.
So if Tyler kissed him, it hadn’t been alcohol talking.
Ethan’s chest squeezed tight. “Why, though?” he whispered into the quiet room. Why would Tyler, of all people, do that?
He thought back, trying to trace where it had all gone wrong.
The truth was, he hadn’t always hated Tyler.
In fact, the first time they met—in kindergarten—Tyler had been the one who offered Ethan the blue crayon when his broke. Ethan remembered it vividly: a circle table, stubby fingers gripping waxy crayons, the teacher’s soft voice telling them to draw their families. Tyler had leaned over, gap-toothed grin bright and easy.
“Here,” he’d said, pushing the crayon across the table. “You can use mine.”
Ethan had mumbled a shy “thanks” and thought maybe he’d just made a friend.
But things changed fast after that. Tyler was loud, popular, always surrounded by kids who wanted to follow him around. Ethan was quieter, happier with a book or a puzzle. By middle school, Tyler was already the golden boy, and Ethan was the kid teachers said had “potential” but no one wanted on their kickball team.
It was easier to hate Tyler than admit he sometimes wished they could’ve stayed friends.
And now?
Now Ethan was lying in his bed, remembering the way Tyler’s lips had felt against his and wondering how the hell he was supposed to face him again.
A groan from the floor broke his spiral. Mason rolled over, hair sticking up in every direction. “Ugh. My spine is broken. Why didn’t you wake me up for the bed?”
“Because you smell like cheap vodka and regret,” Ethan muttered.
Mason cracked one eye open, smirking. “So… how was seven minutes in heaven with your arch-nemesis?”
Ethan’s pillow hit him square in the face.
The smell of coffee dragged Ethan into the kitchen, Mason shuffling behind him like a zombie. Mrs. Hayes was already at the stove, humming as she stirred something in a pot.
“Morning, boys,” she said, far too cheerful. “You both look like death.”
“Gee, thanks,” Mason croaked, dropping into a chair.
Ethan sank beside him, rubbing his eyes. “Don’t encourage him. He’ll milk the sympathy.”
His mom set two steaming mugs in front of them, the liquid inside suspiciously green. “Family recipe. Ginger, honey, spinach, a little turmeric. Works better than aspirin.”
Mason sniffed it and gagged. “This smells like lawn clippings.”
“Drink,” she ordered, hand on her hip.
Ethan obeyed first, wincing as the warm, earthy taste coated his tongue. “Ugh. Still better than last night.”
Mason groaned but gulped it down, shuddering. “If I die, tell my mom it was your fault.”
Mrs. Hayes smirked. “You’ll thank me in ten minutes.” She slid a plate of scrambled eggs onto the table. “Eat. You’ll feel human again.”
As Mason attacked the food like he hadn’t eaten in days, Ethan pushed his eggs around, mind far away—back in a dark closet, with Tyler Greene’s lips pressed against his.
