It had been a long shift.
The kind where every drink order was complicated and every customer was grabby or rude or just drunk enough to be annoying. Caleb had half a headache and a full tab of tips stuffed into a pocket damp from someone else's spilled vodka soda.
So when he turned to restock limes and caught a glimpse of Dev—tall, stupidly beautiful, and out of place in a club that smelled like sugar and sweat—his face did something it rarely did at work.
It softened.
His smile wasn't practiced this time. It wasn't part of the uniform.
It was real.
Dev hadn't seen him yet, trailing a step behind Hayden, who was already halfway to the bar. But Caleb had already moved. He stepped into place like a magnet finding true north, body angled toward the crowd, heart beating a little faster for no rational reason.
Dev's gaze swept the room, casual, aloof—
Then landed on Caleb.
He paused mid-stride.
And Caleb—tired, sweat-damp, wearing an apron stained with citrus and regret—grinned.
"Hey," he said, louder than the music, but softer than the moment deserved.
Dev blinked like someone had just called his name from a dream.
"You look…" Dev started, then laughed once, helpless. "Like you belong here. And like I've made a terrible mistake coming dressed like this."
Caleb leaned on the bar, chin tilted. "You always dress like you're about to close a deal on a penthouse."
Dev smiled, stepping closer. "And you always look like you just walked off the cover of a secret nightlife magazine."
That earned a small laugh from Caleb—low, warm, and real.
"I'm glad you came," he admitted. "It's been a night."
Dev, who hadn't stopped watching him, said simply, "Me too."
Then—because it felt easy, and right, and charged with something they hadn't named yet—Caleb reached over the bar, brushed his fingers lightly over Dev's wrist as he passed him a drink.
"I get a break in fifteen," he said. "If you're still around."
"I'm not going anywhere."
And this time, when Caleb smiled, it was slower. A little bashful, even.
Like maybe—for the first time in a long time—he actually wanted to be seen.
The door clicked shut behind them with a soft thud, cutting off the roar of the club like someone had pulled the ocean out from under them. The bass was still there—deep and distant, like a heartbeat—but the rest of the world faded.
It was just the two of them now.
A concrete-walled storage room. Dim light, low ceiling. Shelves lined with crates of mixers and broken bar stools. And a lone stool in the middle like it was waiting for someone to do something stupid.
Dev leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes fixed on Caleb with that infuriatingly unreadable calm.
Caleb let out a slow breath, wiping his hands on a towel tucked in his back pocket. "Not exactly glamorous."
Dev shrugged. "I've been in worse rooms with better people."
Caleb snorted. "Smooth."
"I try."
There was a beat of silence. Then Caleb glanced toward the door.
"You sure you wanna be back here? Hayden's probably two tequila shots away from grinding on strangers."
Dev smirked. "He'll survive. He knows where to find me. And I think"—he stepped closer—"I'd rather spend my fifteen minutes somewhere I don't have to shout to be heard."
Caleb looked up at him then, and something in his posture dropped. Not his guard—just the tension that came with being watched all night. With being on.
"Thanks for coming," he said again, quieter now. "I wasn't expecting to see you, but… I'm glad it's you."
"I almost didn't," Dev admitted. "But then I figured… if I didn't, I might miss something."
Caleb's brow quirked. "You always talk like you're pitching a movie script?"
"Only when I mean it."
Caleb laughed under his breath, then leaned against the crate behind him, arms folding loosely. He tilted his head.
"So, what's your angle?"
Dev stepped into the space between them—close enough to feel the heat, not close enough to touch. "What makes you think I have one?"
Caleb's voice was low, steady. "Because guys like you don't just hang around unless they want something."
Dev smiled—not smug, not sharp. Just soft.
"I do want something," he said. "But I'm in no rush."
Their eyes met. No teasing this time. No masks.
Just tension—warm, alive, thrumming between them like a second heartbeat.
Caleb exhaled. "You always this intense?"
"Only when it matters."
Then the door creaked slightly from the hall—just a gust, or maybe a curious sound tech. Either way, it broke the stillness.
Caleb blinked, like the moment had taken him further than expected. He straightened, pushed his hair back.
"I should get back."
Dev nodded once, slow. "Text me when you're off?"
Caleb hesitated—then pulled a pen from the shelf behind him and grabbed Dev's wrist. He scrawled a number onto his skin in clean, bold strokes.
"Or," Caleb said, eyes glinting, "you could call me and say something ridiculous. That'd feel more on brand."
Dev smiled down at the numbers, then at him.
"Deal."
Caleb opened the door, music rushing back in.
Then paused, glancing over his shoulder.
"I wasn't kidding, you know," he said. "I really was happy to see you."
And before Dev could reply, he was gone—swallowed back into the heat and color of the club, leaving Dev alone with a fading grin and a number written on his skin like a promise.
....
The club lights had dimmed to a low hum, the air outside cooler, scented faintly with fried food, exhaust, and summer coming on too fast. Staff filtered out in small clusters, laughing, yawning, lighting cigarettes. Caleb tugged off his apron and stepped outside into the night, blinking into the dark.
Dev was already waiting by his sleek black car, one arm looped around a very tipsy Hayden, who was swaying gently but confidently, still talking.
"—and then he did this thing with his hair? You know that little fluff he does when he's embarrassed?" Hayden said, dreamily, "Like a startled cloud, I swear. Dev. Dev. Are you listening to me?"
"I'm barely listening," Dev replied, guiding him toward the passenger side. "Get in before you profess your undying love to a parking meter."
Hayden grinned like he'd just won a contest. "He's so cute though."
"I know, you've told me. Four times."
"Each time felt important."
Caleb approached, tugging on a hoodie, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. "I think your friend's having a spiritual experience."
"Sam is his religion," Dev said.
Hayden threw his arms up dramatically. "Let him be worshipped!"
Dev opened the passenger door, gently coaxed Hayden in, and buckled him up like a fond older brother with a very glamorous toddler. Caleb watched, amused.
"I was going to Uber," Caleb said casually. "But I might have forgotten I deleted the app. And left my car keys. And I'm kind of starving."
Dev closed the door and turned to him, one brow raised. "And you're saying this now because…?"
"Because I figured you wouldn't leave me behind," Caleb said, a little softer. "And maybe I didn't want to say goodnight yet."
Dev didn't reply immediately.
He just unlocked the back door.
"Then don't."
Caleb slid in, the leather cool against his skin. He glanced at the front where Hayden was already slumped with his head against the window, murmuring something about Sam's "voice sounding like a blanket made of stars."
The engine purred to life. Dev pulled out slowly, streetlights trailing shadows across the windshield. Caleb leaned his head back, watching the city roll by, night softened into a lull.
"You're good with him," Caleb said quietly, meaning Hayden.
Dev glanced at him in the rearview. "I've had practice. I grew up with chaos. This is just chaos in designer jeans."
A pause.
"You're good at showing up," Dev added. "That's harder to find."
Caleb smiled faintly, eyes closing for a moment. "Wasn't hard tonight."
Dev didn't say anything after that. He just drove—quiet, content, the kind of silence that didn't need filling.
In the front seat, Hayden murmured, "I think I'm gonna marry him."
Caleb opened one eye. "You should probably ask him first."
"I will," Hayden said solemnly. "Right after I nap."
And somewhere behind his closed eyelids, as the car rolled through sleeping streets, he smiled.