Kiss Me Like You Never Left

"That’s really sad," Jude said, his eyebrows shooting up. He felt a strange, heavy tug in his chest for a man he’d spoken to for all of five minutes.

"Yeah, it’s a shame. He was a powerhouse on the court, too. You would have liked playing with him," Yon added, his voice tinged with genuine regret.

Klaus let out a sharp, poorly muffled snort. Jude immediately whipped his head around to glare at him, the warning clear in his eyes.

"What?" Yon asked, looking between the two of them.

Jude quickly shoved his red cup to his lips, taking a long, unnecessary sip of the lukewarm beer to avoid answering.

"Oh, nothing," Klaus said, his eyes dancing with mischief. "So, just for the sake of the conversation... what's Malachi’s deal? You know, orientation-wise?"

Jude choked. He sputtered into his cup, the bitter liquid burning his throat for the third time that night.

"What? Why do you care? You looking to date him now?" Yon asked, laughing at the absurdity.

"Just curious," Klaus replied with a dismissive wave. "He’s got that vibe, you know?"

Yon looked thoughtful for a second. "I don't know, man. Straight, I guess? He hasn't really been in the mix lately. He took a leave of absence last semester after everything went down."

"He’s had girlfriends?" Klaus pushed.

Yon gestured vaguely. "Yeah, a couple back in high school. Why the interrogation?"

Jude felt like a balloon that had just been pricked. The air left his lungs in one silent hiss. He looked at Klaus, who gave him a sympathetic, slightly disappointed shrug.

"That's too bad," Klaus said, leaning back. "Guess we’ll have to postpone the grand college experimentation for another day."

Yon laughed loudly, missing the subtext entirely. Klaus winked at Jude, who just shook his head and drained the rest of his cup. It was fine. Better to know now than to keep daydreaming about green eyes and woodsy cologne.

An hour later, they finally let Jude escape. He pushed through the stifling heat of the house, the air outside feeling like a blessing. As he descended the porch stairs, he spotted Malachi sitting with a different crowd on the lawn. Jude slowed his pace, unable to help himself.

Malachi was laughing—a deep, uninhibited sound. A girl next to him was looking up at him with clear interest, but he wasn't looking back. Someone passed him a joint; Jude watched as Malachi’s fingers wrapped around it, bringing it to his lips. He exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, tilting his head back against the porch railing. He looked gorgeous, effortless, and entirely out of Jude’s league. Jude ducked his head and kept walking, determined not to look back.

Weeks passed. Jude found himself constantly scanning the campus—between classes, during his morning runs, in the cafeteria. He told himself he was just curious, but the way his heart jumped every time he saw a head of messy dark hair suggested otherwise.

He was about to give up on seeing him again when he walked into the athletic clubhouse on a Tuesday afternoon. There he was. Malachi was leaning against a locker, deep in conversation with Yon and the team captain. He wasn't in gear; he was wearing jeans and a short-sleeved shirt that showed off the lean muscle of his arms. Sunlight from the high windows caught the green in his eyes.

Klaus spotted Jude first, waving him over with a grin that was far too wide. Jude rolled his eyes but approached the group anyway.

"Jude, go change. We’re shaking things up today," Phoenix, the captain, said.

Jude nodded, his eyes darting to Malachi. To his surprise, Malachi lifted a hand in a small, casual greeting.

"Hi," Jude said. It came out sounding like a question.

He retreated to the locker room, his hands fumbling with his laces as he changed. By the time he got back to the court, Klaus was already running his mouth.

"Jude’s a prodigy, seriously," Klaus was telling Malachi. "It’s actually annoying to watch how easy he makes it look."

"Yeah?" Malachi asked, his gaze drifting to Jude.

"It’s intense," Yon added. "He’s our setter, but he can do it all. His serve is a weapon."

"You’re setting me up to fail," Jude muttered as he joined them, feeling the familiar heat of embarrassment creeping up his neck.

"Not possible," Klaus chirped.

"What's the plan, Phoenix?" Jude asked, desperate to get the focus off himself.

"Practice game. Six on six," Phoenix answered. "Malachi’s gonna sub in on the B-team."

Jude straightened his jersey. Malachi pulled on a pair of gym shorts, and Jude had to forcefully look away to keep his brain from short-circuiting at the sight of his legs. When they lined up on opposite sides of the net, Jude could feel the weight of Malachi’s attention.

"You okay, Jud?" Klaus whispered.

"I'm fine. Let's just play."

The second the whistle blew, the social anxiety vanished. The gym was Jude’s sanctuary. He knew every inch of this floor, every rhythm of the game. They started to play, and while Jude kept an eye on Malachi, it was the focused curiosity of a competitor.

Malachi was good—scary good for someone who had "lost interest." His reflexes were sharp, his movements carry a natural, liquid grace. He moved across the court with an instinct that couldn't be taught. Jude watched as he jumped for a spike, his muscles rippling under his skin, his breath coming in controlled, rhythmic gasps.

Every time Jude served, Malachi zeroed in on him. He didn't look grim; he was smiling. A genuine, carefree smile that made Jude’s heart hammer against his ribs. Malachi would lean on his knees, swaying slightly as he waited for the ball, his green eyes laser-focused.

The gym was filled with the familiar symphony of the sport—the squeak of rubber on polished wood, the rhythmic thwack of the ball, the grunts of exertion. Jude felt Malachi’s eyes on him every time he set the ball. It was a strange, electric feeling—half-critique, half-appreciation.

When the game ended, Phoenix clapped Malachi on the shoulder. "Man, you've still got it. You should really think about coming back."

Malachi just laughed, shaking his head as he wiped sweat from his forehead. His eyes found Jude’s across the huddle. "If we ever do this again, I want to be on his team," he said, nodding toward Jude.

Jude felt a small, private thrill. He turned toward the bench to grab his water bottle, and he didn't need to look back to know Malachi was following him.

"Hey," Jude said as Malachi stopped beside him.

"They weren't kidding about you," Malachi panted, his chest heaving. "You're a machine."

"You're not bad yourself," Jude replied, trying to sound casual.

Malachi grinned, leaning against the wall. "Thanks. But I’m definitely out of shape. I can barely catch my breath." He was gasping slightly, his face flushed a deep, healthy pink. "I don't think I could keep up with you for a full match."

"You’re just out of practice," Jude said. "You’d catch up in a week if you were training."

Malachi’s grin turned teasing. "I like that you're arrogant. I didn't catch that the first time we met." He took a long swig of water, and Jude found himself transfixed by the movement of his throat.

"I'm not arrogant," Jude protested.

"Sure you are. You know you’re excellent. You were so shy at that party, but here?" Malachi gestured to the court. "You own the place."

Jude didn't know what to say to that. He just stared at his shoes.

"Relax, I don't bite," Malachi snickered. "You're looking at me like you expect me to pounce."

If Jude was capable of blushing any harder, his face would have caught fire. "I just... you're a little..."

"What? Annoying?"

"No. Intimidating," Jude admitted.

Malachi burst out laughing. "I'm scary? To you? Are you kidding me?" He scrunched up his nose as he laughed, a sight so endearing Jude felt his resolve crumbling.

"Yeah, a little," Jude muttered.

"Jud, you're a foot taller than me," Malachi reminded him.

"I am not. You're like... five-eight-ish."

"Still. I couldn't frighten a kitten," Malachi said, sitting down on the bench. He pushed his sweat-soaked hair back, leaving it standing up in messy, dark spikes. He looked flushed, glittering with perspiration under the gym lights, and when he pulled at the collar of his shirt, Jude nearly forgot how to breathe.

He realized Malachi was looking right back at him. The teasing smile softened into something a bit more intentional.

"So, what are you doing this Friday?" Malachi asked.

Jude’s heart performed a frantic tap-dance. "Why?"

"I invited Yon to a party at my place. You should come with him," Malachi said with a charming tilt of his head.

It was the first time someone like Malachi had ever invited Jude anywhere. Every instinct told him to say yes, to cancel the world and show up.

"Thanks," Jude said, his voice dropping. "But I can't. I'm going home to see my mom this weekend."

Malachi shrugged, though he didn't look offended. "Next time, then." He pushed off the bench, standing close enough for Jude to catch that cedar scent again. "And next time, we’re on the same side of the net. I’m looking forward to those tosses, Jude."

He gave Jude one last, lingering smile before walking over to join Yon.

Jude watched him go, a sense of profound longing washing over him. He knew he couldn't cancel on his mom—she was counting on him—but for the first time in his life, he found himself wishing he could be two people at once. One to go home, and one to stay and find out exactly what happened at a party hosted by Malachi.

"So?" Klaus asked, sliding up beside him. "Did he ask for your number?"

"He invited me to a party," Jude said quietly.

"And?"

"I can't go. I'm going home."

Klaus groaned, throwing his hands up. "Jude! The universe is literally handing you a win and you’re punting it!"

"It's my mom, Klaus."

"I know, I know," Klaus sighed. "But still. That guy is definitely not 'straight, he guesses.' You see how he looks at you?"

Jude didn't answer. He just watched Malachi laugh at something Yon said, feeling a strange, new hope taking root in his chest. Maybe "next time" would be enough.