Frat Tales: All for One and One for All Pt. 2

 
Read Part One: A Warm Ending

PART 2: A Cold Beginning, (Alt Title: One for All)

Spring.

A time of rebirth and renewal. When most think of spring, they think of the warm weather, rain showers, and endless flowers. Many forget that spring begins at the tail end of the cold grip of winter. Frost bitten days still linger, before the weather beats it back. And yet it is still spring, just as any other following days after.

It was one of those cold spring mornings—silent, nippy, tiring. The sun's rays only shined to mock the heat it wasn’t giving. The air was clean, sterile even—frozen dew on the ground. A downpour had made its way through a day prior. Cars hummed in tune. Almost a lullaby. Endless, as people refused to turn their engines off.

Ian Willams, Mr. Williams to everyone but his mother, grip was light against his steering wheel. One free hand adjusted his black rimmed glasses as he kept meeting his own blue eyes in the rearview mirror. The car heater pumped cheerfully, as air blew around two bodies. His coffee’s steam rose and vanished into the car, lingering only to encourage another sip. He was an accountant. Good with numbers. Numbers made sense. More sense than his managers, who ran around putting everything on the company card or making his team life worse in general. A surprise to most, Ian was also good with people. All the energy and charisma of a youth pastor, leader, or camp counselor.  He didn’t stay secluded in a corner. No, he was loud and proud. His passions always put an excited look in his eyes, that made people want to listen longer. 

One of his passions.

His sons.

Colter Willams read his X-men comic book. He hadn’t meant to, but he’d gotten addicted to the Storm series coming out. Car seat, slightly inclined to lean back. His eyes kept glancing at the sideview mirror eagerly but pretended not to be. He’d lean forward, start to smile only to fall back with a slight huff. A quiet lad to say the least, but his eyes always seemed wiser than he let on. The same green eyes his mother once had.

They looked like a match set. Same blond hair and eyebrows. Though Mr. Williams had come into some muscle as a man while Colter had room to grow. Lean and wiry bodies were a given in their family tree. They wore the same dark gray beanies. Mr. Williams’ ears were covered up completely, while Colter’s had his ears pulled too far back to be functional; the boy’s short blond hair sticking up, only a week or two to before becoming long and a mop of fluff. Their coats were medium sized to fight back the cold but not overheat them.

Together they waited on one more member of their family: Dylan.

Dylan wasn’t Mr. Williams’ biologically, probably assumed enough, whether fairly or unfairly, white dad, black child. But Dylan was his son in all the ways that mattered. Growing up Ian and Dylan’s dad, Jeremiah, had been joined at the hip. Jeremiah and his wife were beautiful. Then one day…. 

Mr. Williams took a sip of his coffee. It wasn’t something he liked to think about. Besides, there was a much more cheerful reason to be happy today: Dylan was coming home for spring break. Unfortunately, the weather wasn’t quite as celebratory. 

A low groan—A bus drove pass—followed by a litany of cars that vibrated the airport terminal. The kind of vibration that made one ponder if the earth had lost its gravitational pull for a second. 

Or perhaps it was the world shuddering. 

Mr. Williams didn’t notice. He was excited to have his son back. He could also tell Colter had been in a bit of a slump, not as bad as the one during Dylan’s freshman year. But a noticeable drop in behavior. And when Colter shut down, their home felt like a ravine was carved in it. One that only Dylan knew how to cross and help bring Colter back to shore. It was territory Ian didn’t know how to navigate. His personable nature, failing when it came to his introspective son. Mr. Williams felt like his charisma had a lot of weak points.

“He’s here!” Colter shouted, dropped his book, opened the SUV car door, and took off.

In the rear-view mirror, he watched Colter sprint off into his brother’s arms. Dylan hugged his brother, before it devolved into Colter shadow boxing with him. Brothers reunited. Then he stepped into frame.

Gael.

Dylan’s boyfriend of a year. 

His entire body was loud. Gael’s gait had an ease to moving about the space, as if he owned it with every step. Even dressed in the comfort of sweats did nothing to mute it. Shoulders wider than a barnyard doorway. The entire outfit was uniquely tailored to him and wrapped around every edge tightly, designed for the express purpose of displaying his body. His figure dwarfed Dylan’s in height and width, and Ian didn’t consider that an easy feat. A grin adorned Gael’s face, one too bright to be genuine. Attempting authenticity. Attempting sincerity. Then there was the entirety of his face chiseled, bearded, hair slicked and styled. Eyes luring Ian in like quicksand even through a glance. Finally, he heard Gael speak, with the open door. Bassy, with a soft tone. Richer and more eloquent than his rugged exterior implied. He looked like a businessman dressed up as a construction worker, playing the role of a college student.

Hopping out of the car, Mr. Williams went to go say something but stopped. Standing there were three young men joking around. Dylan wasn't dwarfed by Gael; they were about the same height. Gael's face was the same structure, but the beard? Gone. Only the faintest hints of stubble. His hair had a fresh cut, but there was no product to be found in it. The exact same outfit, looser but hiding something promising. 

“And that’s our dad.” Was the phrase from Dylan that snapped Mr. Williams out of it. He wondered if he had hallucinated or caught the image of someone else and his brain mashed it together.

Gael said ‘Hello’ then approached Ian with his hand out, casually and unbothered. Their hands shook. Tight grips on both ends. A chill went down Ian's spine. Up close Gael had calming eyes, but there was a twitch Mr. Williams caught. The motion of a predator doing everything in its power to overcome its instincts. Their handshake dropped and Gael’s expression became unreadable. His stare lasted a bit longer and his gaze felt thick, like Mr. Williams was peering at him through molasses. Then Gael tilted his head back, face smug, as if he had properly assessed Ian through their meeting.

Introductions ended.

Mr. Williams and Colter helped load the bags in the car although the boys were more than capable. They all hopped in after. Dylan and Gael took the back seat. Gael pulled off his hoodie, tank top underneath, chest out, like for a new Instagram workout reel. Ian smelt it and by the way Colter flicked his nose he did too. Pheromones dosing the car. A full workout routine condensed into a body spray. The heat of someone who only knows lifting, squats, and how to post it on social media. Purely primal. And then as fast as it was there, it was replaced. An earthy, herbal aroma, anyone could mistake for cologne, took root. ‘Expensive’ was on the tip of everyone’s tongues though no one uttered a word. A palatable version of what Gael had originally unleashed.

The drive was shockingly pleasurable. Gael was a young man of few words, but when he did speak it was intentional, saying all the right things. However, Mr. Williams still had a constant nagging in his brain.  He didn’t like how Gael dominated the conversation between his boys. Not even answering questions. The ones Mr. Williams asked about Gael’s parents, his major?

 Ignored. 

It reminded Mr. Williams of his managers at work. Despite the man’s own charm and sway, they were unimpressed and unaffected, treating Mr. Williams' voice like a whisper or annoying gnat. All of his comments or critiques, pretended to have been unheard.

Instead, Dylan would lean forward to throw in some answer as Gael relaxed back confidently – like a prince. 

He took another glance in the rear-view mirror. 

Just a college frat boy.

Legs spread wider than they needed to be, taking up space, but Mr. Williams allowed it. Though it felt like a concession.

—

The Willams’ home was warm. Colter’s favorite thing about their humble little abode. Every room felt alive. He was a quiet kid but loved that he could find sanctuary in any room of the house. He had his father to thank for nurturing not only him and his brother, but the house that way. Love was more than an emotion, it was an action and it beat through the walls. Colter waddled in struggling with Gael’s luggage, as his dad came in with Dylan’s.

“I told you to let me take it.” 

“No, it’s cool!” Colter hunched over, catching his breath, waved a hand dismissively. 

He was overcompensating. He wanted to like Dylan’s boyfriend. He should have liked Dylan’s boyfriend. Nothing was wrong with Gael on paper. Except for the fact he looked like the upperclassmen at school, who bullied Colter. It wasn't a fair judgement. Colter knew that so he tried. In the car, with the bags. He wanted to fit in with his brother and Gael, especially since he didn’t with the guys at school.

Dylan and Gael entered, joking with each other. A cold gust of wind tried to follow them in, but Gael slammed the door. As he stood there, hand on the door, he bristled. He then turned around, kicked off his shoes and pulled his sweats off. Underneath was a pair of snuggled teal nylon shorts, painted onto his thighs. He had an ass and it was ready to see the world. The waistband was pulled low, the upper part of his boxer briefs showing. His legs matched his arms—cut muscles and sharp edges. He threw his pants over the back of the living room couch.

Colter thought. He thought a lot. He had long realized Dylan wasn’t like the other Williams, and it went deeper than skin color. He was bold, strong, and handsome. A person self-sculpted by his own hand. And Gael stood in their house as a living foil–unbridled confidence, crude power, and pure aesthetics. Life given to a statue.

They should have been at odds, but they moved in sync.

A slight tilt of the head to the couch, by Dylan, and a curl of the lips from Gael, the frat boy cut-out removed his pants off the couch. Despite Gael’s happy demeanor, his body moved—lumbered—as if it wasn't used to being told what to do by someone else, even as a request. They disappeared with their bags into Dylan’s room.

When dinner started, Gael dropped into the chair like a sandbag, a king on a throne without even trying. One arm, behind the chair, his face was anything but expressionless. He knew too much to hide. Food was set on the table and right before Gael dug in, the older boy caught Colter staring and winked. 

Colter put his head down, embarrassed for watching Gael like an exhibit. Hard not to get allured. The threads, the body, the aura. The word ‘SIGMA’ embedded on Gael’s shirt, his pecs pressing against—on the verge of popping it off like a biscuit can. However, that’d felt an impossible task as “Sigma” seemed embedded into more than Gael’s clothing. It was a lifestyle. A way of being. More than what the jerks at Colter’s local high school had.

Clinking forks filled the air, as everyone ate away.

“So, Lil man. What’s your ‘thing’? Are you a secret nerd like your hermano over here?” Gael’s words were light-hearted on the surface, but in his eyes, there was pressure. Firm enough to compel an answer. Intended or not.

“I liked to read…and write. Fantasy. Sci-Fi.” Colter mumbled into his mashed potatoes.

“My brother’s gonna be on the Best seller’s list one day!” Dylan blew an imaginary trumpet.

Gael smiled at Dylan. A softer, gentler smile than the ones he’d pulled out for Williams. Gael leaned over, a hand on Colter’s shoulders. Physical connection. Possessive even. “If there’s something else you want to do, let me know,” Gael’s underarm was open, in Colter’s space and the pheromones were back: rich, primal, wanting even. High blast into Colter’s nose.

Even under a laugh, the words sounded halfway between threat and a promise. As if Gael had already known, Colter’s response.

Suddenly, Gael pulled back his arm dropped from Colter— a record scratched in Colter's brain. Gael scooted his chair closer to Dylan, “Sorry, old habits.”

His voice didn’t sound apologetic. Only, confident and assured. Even now.

Colter found himself wishing Gael hadn’t pulled away. An offer was in those words. All snatched back up before Colter could even grasp it. 

—

Ian Williams was not impressed. Gael ate like food was going out of style. Portions were there, then gone the next. Pork chops, mashed potatoes, broccoli. Disappearing into that garbage disposal he called a throat. The conversation flowed at Gael’s speed, his order. Dylan seemed able to keep up, but Colter and Mr. Williams' voices were swallowed up. Dylan whispered something in Gael’s ear. Gael’s eyes scanned over Mr. Williams and Colter. The young man’s chewing slowed as he stopped going for more food. 

“I’m used to eating…by myself.” 

Not an apology, Mr. Williams noted himself.

Were Dylan and this guy truly part of the same frat?

“You don’t eat with other members of your frat?” Mr. Williams retorted.

Gael tiled his head, tongue rolling in his empty mouth, amused, “Fair point. Nothing gets past you, Mr. Williams.” Gael’s heavy shoulders shrugged, boulders shifting in space, “I guess the brothers and I are so used to it; we’re on the same wavelength.” His eyes were warm and playful. Locked in on Mr. Williams—not in an understanding or connecting way—like a cat with a chew toy. He wanted to see what Mr. Williams did next.

Mr. Williams didn't appreciate being appraised like he was a common Sigma house brother. They probably joked around that way, but Mr. Williams deserved a modicum of respect. This wasn't his office space. This was his home. His voice mattered here. He didn’t back down. “So, Dylan, you fight for scraps too?”

Dylan gave Gael a look Mr. Willam had gotten often in the past from his ex-Wife: the ‘why did you do this to me?’ look. 

“I’ve gotten pretty used to when Gael and other brothers eat together.” Dylan shared.

Gael leaned back into his chair, hiding his smirk. Satisfied. He rolled his shoulders, pecs resetting themselves as the center of attention above his plate. Mr. Williams’ barb deflated and faded, quieter than a baby bird's first chirp.

Dinner ended soon after. Gael offered to wash the dishes, excitedly getting up from his chair, as if he’d been first picked for a team on the playground. He leaned over everyone, scooping up their plates. Arms flexing in the process. An opportunity to show off. Mr. Williams flinched ever so slightly as Gael’s body came near his. Forget Gael’s scent—now muted—body heat was pouring off the young man. As if a hot spring day had been baked into his skin. 

Gael noticed and kept going. 

Colter and Dylan didn’t seem to mind the intrusion at all.

The time would come for everyone to retreat to their bedrooms. Mr. Williams tossed around in his, annoyed. He could still feel the heat of Gael's up on his skin. Envision the young man’s warm breath, pecs in motion. Body heat one level from breaking out into a sweat. Gael having to pull his clothes off, skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. Mr. Williams' eyes shot open as he got up, shifting his body’s position to sit on the edge of his bed. 

It was warm.

Unbearably so. 

Where were his thoughts heading concerning Gael? That young man was a nuisance. Challenging his authority. Undermining him. He didn’t need this at home. He hadn’t taken a week off from work just to be pulled back there spiritually.

He got up, staggering to the door before straightening up. His night shirt, an old band T-shirt, was caked in sweat. Not yet opaque, but at the annoying state where it clung on to the skin, like wet Velcro. His long bottoms were even worse, it felt like his pores were crying into it. His door was open, the whole house was in this state. He wanted a splash of water. Not wanting to wake anyone, he started to go to the bathroom. Tragically, on the opposite side of the hall from his room. A good idea when the boys were growing up, Now a trek. Right as he reached the stairs, he heard a voice, then caught the blue glow of the TV. 

Dylan was talking about whatever movie he had just watched. Mr. Williams smiled hearing his son home.

Then he heard the question, “What are you doing, stop messing with the windows.”

“Just want to make sure they’re properly closed.” Gael’s voice was low and soft. Deliberate. Immediately grasping Mr. Williams' attention.

The father could hear Gael’s feet trouncing around the house making downstairs shake, not even trying to control his body weight. Shadow walking back and forth. He even walked to the front door positioned below the steps but never looked up. Gael pressed onto the door.

“Why? Will you come and just sit with me?” Dylan asked.

In the dark of upstairs, Mr. Williams watched the corner of Gael’s lips twist up, as the frat boy then sprinted out of sight and launched himself over the back of the couch.

“Oomph! You're heavy.” Dylan stated. 

“Not so heavy that you're not hard.” Gael teased back. The two started wrestling.

Mr. Williams was about to journey on not wanting to intrude on this part of the conversation. Until he heard. 

“So, do you like my family?” Dylan’s voice sounded like he was being extremely earnest with the question.

“They’re cool.” He paused. “…a bit soft.” He added like he truly didn’t want to but needed to be said. Mr. Williams was offended but couldn’t exactly charge downstairs at this hour after eavesdropping.

“Gael,” Dylan’s voice was flat, unamused.

“I’m just pointing it out.” There was a pause. The house was silent, listening alongside Mr. Williams. “It’s weird being in a space I wasn’t invited in.”

“I invited you.” 

“You know what I mean.” Gael exhaled. Trees brushed against the window outside. “It's…warm here already.” 

“I can turn down the thermostat.”

Mr. Williams’ collar soaked up the sweat, gathering at heck. He was inclined to beg Dylan to do it.

“Not that.” Gale corrected. “Calor familiar: Familial warmth. ¿Entiendes? In this case, Father and sons. Not what the Sigma’s have. Not a brotherhood.“ Those casual words passed through the house. Unchallenged.

A pang of guilt rang in Mr. Williams' heart. He didn't know what Gael’s home situation was and Dylan hadn't offered the info. Which didn’t allude to anything good. 

“Your brother was staring at me like he wanted it, Your dad acted like he didn’t want it.”

His assessments.

“But you’re not going to do anything, right?” Dylan asked; his voice implied he was confident the answer was in his favor. “My dad and brother are perfect the way they are. We didn’t practice getting you off campus for nothing.”

A deep overly dramatic gasp came from Gael, “I thought those were dates.”

“Well, they were until the waiters were in Sigma house.” Dylan stated.

“No worries,” Gael said, carefree in his tone, “The way this house feels. Who wouldn’t want to soak it up.”

Mr. Williams was conflicted hearing all this. Gael was too brazen for a young man. What was he implying by ‘want it’? But Dylan’s words didn’t sound like Gael got to leave his college much. If he had a terrible life back home, it made sense he’d avoid that. Mr. Williams ignored going to the bathroom as planned. Didn't want to alert the boys now. Instead, he shut his door and laid awake. His body was perspiring. He was uncovered, but felt like two blankets were over him, two different temperatures trying to coexist. 

Dylan and Gael’s voice eventually came upstairs. Mr. Williams listened until the voices quieted. He could have fallen asleep. But he hadn't quite forgiven Gael for the ‘soft’ comment either. It was his house. His rules. His body may not have intimidated Gael, but he could still show his disapproval of Gael actions even if he felt sorry for the kid. He got up and made his way over to his window. Who did Gael think he was to mess with their windows? Mr. Williams opened his window, harder than usual, but it cracked a bit, that was enough for him. He collapsed back onto his bed.

And he dreamed. 

Colter was there.

—

Colter woke up when the sun was too annoying to ignore. The morning light teasing his eyes. He turned his head towards the wall and in the shade, flinching away from the light like a vampire. A light breeze carried into his room. Colter turned his head, noticing how cool the house felt. Lower than normal. His window was open. No surprise, there he had opened it last night, after multiple attempts. He stood up to close it. Nothing on but boxers and an old shirt.

His feet met the carpeted floor.

Still warm.

Something was off.

He moseyed over to the window; half turned from the wind—as if too shy to confront it. Another gust blew in, only this time picked up directly by his nose—clean with a frost that nestled in his body jolting him awake. Ice settled in his veins. A chill in his gut. So suddenly he coughed, hunching over. 

Underneath it Colter swore he heard sounds of weights dropping off in the distance.

By the time Colter stood back up, his core ached—like he’d done 1000 crunches. His chest was sore. His legs and arms were tired. All of it felt stretched. His night shirt barely made it to his belly button, and his boxers were tight on his legs. He gripped the window again. His forearms were thicker. He pushed down as his stance changed. Less daintily no longer avoiding the air. He needed one that could properly apply force.

“Come on lil man, you’ve got it!” Gael's voice came from behind him. Colter didn't turn around, embarrassed he got caught unable to shut a stupid window. 

He tried again. 

That crisp clean air pushed in once more, now carrying a scent from beyond the windowpane.

One he never encountered in his life.

A locker room shower.

A freshly used locker room shower. 

One heavily saturated in the aroma of multiple soaps and body washes mingling. 

Steam settling on the tiled floor and walls.

The new scent nestled into Colter’s room. 

Reminded him of Gael in a way.

Then came the images.

Flashes of the bodies being scrubbed clean.

Ambient light bouncing off, hard muscled edges 

Suds sliding across skin.

The stimulation of his olfactory senses transported Colter there and back.

Colter asked Gael to help with the window. 

No answer.

His eyes looked into the reflection of his room: No one was in his doorway. Colter's body was covered in a chilled sweat. He released the window, turning over his hands. He had been sweating since he got up and didn’t even notice. The cooled wet layer tingled in the best way on his skin from the air.

Where most would look sickly, Colter was thriving.

His skin, often shaded and tucked away in reading corners, was no longer pale. A cold glow pulsed all over him and brought his body to life. 

The feeling something was off came back.

As if this wasn't quite the script.

But it felt so right.

“You good in there?” Gael’s voice came again. This time Colter turned back to see the frat boy standing sideways. He was dressed in a different colored tank top and another pair of shorts. Gael’s lazy smile shifted into neutral expression as he spotted the open window. His eyes went back to Colter.

Not happy. 

Not sad. 

Examining. Calculating. Verifying.

No surprise in Gael’s face at all. Only an understanding look at Colter’s existence in the room. Then he stepped forward, entering. Colter hitched, as his breath escaped him. Gael moved, feet clacking against his slides, as he shut the window with one hand.

Effortless.

“You should keep your window closed, don’t want to catch anything.” Gael stated.

“Yeah, it’s just that I got a bit too warm—

“You good?” Gael’s question cut the teen off. Phrased in a way that implied he already knew the answer. Colter mumbled some letters that sounded like ‘yea’. Gael gave a few small nods, eyes flowing around the room. A small slide of his thumb under the strap of his tank and brought it closer to his nose. He sniffed it. Sniffed the room. Confirming something.

Eyes back on Colter. 

This time Colter's body reacted. He stood straighter. Shoulders up. Chest out. Instinctual. Like how Gael did. Gael noticed but didn't comment. There was a flicker in his eyes, a release of tension in the eyebrows. For the slightest second, Colter would have sworn he spotted—approval, silent and nonverbal.

Gael walked out of Colter’s room, as Colter followed him to the doorway. Colter watched as Gael walked into his dad’s open room. The frat boy moved behind the bed in front of the open window. He turned back to Colter, still watching him. A finger now on Gael’s lips, as he closed the window. 

—

Mr. Williams had been on his feet all morning. No reason why, he just had a pep in his step. His open window was its own alarm. Get to tasks no use in dilly-dallying. Couldn’t find his glasses though, but his sight didn’t give him problems. He had started cleaning the house, made breakfast, vacuumed the floor, then made lunch. Boundless energy to keep going. He washed dishes from lunch, staring out the back window, watching Dylan and Gael kick a soccer ball around. No shoes, no socks, and no shirts. All laughter. Colter joined them, clothed and barely able to keep up. The sun had come out and driven away the morning air that prodded Mr. Williams awake.

He was happy to see Colter out there. Chasing after the ball. His youngest son looked …different. More Solid. No huge incongruence between Dylan and Gael’s bodies to Colter’s. That didn’t seem quite right. He tried to pull on a previous memory of just Dylan and Colter in the back yard, but as he grasped it, Colter’s current form smoothed over it like ice. Mr. Colter rested a plate on the drying rack. A cool acceptance poured over his brain–like an ice bucket dunked on his head, washing away memories. He gripped the sink; hands were wider, fingers thicker, than the day before. The flowing sensation trickled down his spine. 

He twisted his neck and rolled his shoulders, trying to do away with feeling. During one rotation he heard his old band shirt tear under his arms. “Shoot!”

“Looking good, Mr. Williams.” Gael strode into the kitchen and grabbed three bottles of water. Didn’t even ask.

Mr. Williams groaned. He was… less agitated with Gael than he had been the day prior. But that didn’t mean he was ready to break bread with him. Gael just wasn’t as much of an imposing figure as Mr. Williams had built him up to be. Mr. Williams turned around and leaned back, arms crossed, ass against the sink. More cushion back there for himself than he expected.

Gael greeted him with that half smile, “You look less tense today. Less pensive.”

Translation: No stick up his ass. 

For some ridiculous reason that settled nicely in Mr. Williams’ chest. Like a snowflake falling into place in a blanket of snow. A compliment the father didn’t want to brush off. However, there was still such a thing as respect in his house.

“You know most people tend to be nervous when meeting their partner's family, Gael?” Mr. Williams threw out. “Now, did you want something else besides water?” No chastising. No scolding. What would be the point, Gael wouldn't even get it.

Because the frat boy wasn’t belittling him.

He wasn't even insulting.

Gael was stating things as he observed them.

“Guess I’m not most people,” He unscrewed the lid of one of the bottles and gulped it down, bicep peaking. He finished his first gulp and said, “Also careful with those open windows at night, you don’t want that warm air going out. Dylan likes it that way.” He paused for a moment, eyes shifting to the window, where Dylan and Colter lay out on the grass. The half smile was now a full smile. “I’m inclined to agree with him.” He turned and walked away.

—

Family Game Night.

TV Off. 

Phones away.

Four bodies around the living room coffee table.

Three Willams, going at it. One frat boy in the middle. 

Though technically, Dylan was couched in between his father and Gael on the sofa while Colter played on the floor

Colter rolled the dice in his hand. “Come on. Come on.”

“You’re not going to get it.” Dylan sniped.

Gael had watched a simple game of Snake and Ladders turn the living room into a warzone. 

“Suck my dick!” Colter spat, unleashing the dice, words that even he thought sounded unnatural leaving his mouth. He could get competitive, but that sentence had slipped out there. Closer to the jocks at school than himself. 

“Language,” Mr. Williams laughed off. And that wasn’t something Colter expected. He thought his dad would have made more of a fuss, but the laugh sort of excused the behavior.

“Don’t worry, I’m about to trounce him,” Dylan blew on his dice. Then he turned to Gael, “Want to give me some luck?” Gael, whose upper body had been reclined on the arms of the couch, arms spread out colonizing the space, leaned forward. He grabbed Dylan’s wrist, soft but not gentle— still had a bro’s touch of handling things. He blew in between Dylan’s hand then kissed Dylan’s fingers before, whispering “nerd,” in a smitten tone before returning to his position. 

A smile on his lips, Dylan let the dice fly.

A 1 and a 6. 

Exactly what he needed to get on the last square. 

The night wasn't going to end there, however, Mr. Williams demanded another game immediately. 

Colter also wanted the rematch, but for the rest of the night his eyes weren't on the game. He was watching Gael, watching not just Dylan, but all of them. There was a dopey seemingly vacant frat boy grin on his face when the family interacted with each other. As if he were an explorer coming upon an unnamed species.

But Colter was doing more than just reading Gael’s expression. He was studying the frat boy’s posture, style, and cadence. The arms spread, taking up 25% of the couch, the way his shorts bunched when he sat and led eyelines to the bulge at the center. His huge feet plated solidly on the floor slides kicked off to the side. Colter was studying and filing it away in cold storage. For purposes, he hadn't quite figured it out yet.

Oddly, the longer Colter stared—specifically the way he stared—long glances at Gael, the colder he felt. Like his body heat was being suctioned towards Gael’s form. He looked away and his body reheated, but not the same as before. The temperature was similar. A thermometer would read the same. But something was being lost in the little transactions he made to read Gael.

Gael’s eyes, slanted, shifted to the window. Colter didn’t turn around. He didn't want to miss the miniscule details in Gael’s movement. But Colter heard it: the wind howling outside the windows—hitting against the house as if attempting to get inside. A storm was brewing.

Hours later, the same storm would be beckoning at Colter’s window, rain pelting the glass. Colter found himself as uncomfortable as last night. However, tonight his window wasn’t budging. The rain on the other side was mocking him, divided by a thin plane. Giving up, he left his room, headed downstairs. He didn’t think about why the kitchen lights were still on as he turned inside.

Sitting at the table, shirtless, a pint of ice cream in hand was his dad. Mr. Williams paused. His dad looked good. Built even. Extra time at the gym must have been paying off. Though trying to pin down when the memory happened was hard.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Colter muttered out.

“Me neither,” Mr. Williams mumbled like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

 Colter grabbed a chair near his dad and sat. Making a show of it, legs swinging out, until they connected back with the ground. He leaned over and read the label of the Chocolate Protein ice cream his dad was munching on. Colter didn't even know they made that.

“Can I have some?” Colter asked.

Mr. Williams chuckled and slid a spoon from his other side. “Had a feeling one of my boys would be joining me.” Then he handed the ice cream over.

A few mouthfuls in, Colter felt his Dad’s hand on the back of his head, rubbing his hair.

“What’s really going on?” Mr. Williams asked. “You don’t typically come down here unless something's on your mind.”

Colter enjoyed the fingers massaging his head. Small touches of parental affection. His dad's arm extended toward him with more grooves in it than before. Better than in shape. Fit. An action that must have happened a thousand times before now. The longer they lingered in it, a distant feeling arose, as if his father’s hands had forgotten how to engage or Colter forgot how to enjoy it. 

Then that feeling disappeared.

Everything was back to normal.

The storm outside raged on.

“What do you think of Gael?” 

“Gael?” Mr. William crossed his arms, pecs poking out. With a derisive snort he said, “I think he glued down my window this morning, that's what I think. Couldn’t get the darn thing open. That's why I was…” He motioned to the ice cream in Colter’s hands. “I thought you wanted to talk about school or something?”

Colter wanted to retreat inside himself upon hearing that, to make himself smaller, but his body’s frame wasn’t developed for hiding. “Um, I… School’s fine.”

“Come on. I was in school once.”

“When there were dinosaurs, right?”

“Hey, fuck you,” Mr. Willams gave a light punch to his son’s arms shoulder. Colter’s dad hardly ever cursed, and certainly never at his sons, but neither brought attention to it. Nor did they discuss the hit that surely would have left a faint bruise on Colter’s body before. The entire action was less fatherly. More of an interaction between equals.

“But seriously, If you want to talk about it and can’t with me. You know Dylan would never mind.” Colter’s dad was back in father mode.

“I know dad, thanks.” Colter said sincerely. He was only tangentially thinking about his problems back and school and what would happen when he returned back.

They put the lid back on the ice cream and as they sat in that moment. Not uncomfortable at all. A part of Colter wanted to stay longer and soak it in. It was his dad, who had put the ice cream away.

“Lil warm in here, isn’t it?” Mr. Williams fanned himself, father and son shared a chuckle. He tapped Colter on his side and nodded to the door. Colter agreed.

He got up leading his son to the door, “You know, Gael told me not to let the warm air go out. Bet that’s why he glued down my windows.”

Colter laughed. His dad must have been joking around because 1) why would Gael do that and 2) His dad wouldn’t have let Gael stay if he actually believed that?

“Well, he told me I could get sick.”

Mr. Williams laughed, “What sorta old wives tales does that kid read about.?” He placed a hand on the doorknob and opened it. Wind came inside rushing through the house, then died, like a wave crashing onto shore before retreating. Warmth in the air went out into the storm. Corter and his dad stepped outside, the night air on their skin, a cold rain around them. A faster way to cool off.

When they stepped back inside, they were no longer bothered by the temperature, their body heats could rise back to room temperature as they slept peacefully. Colter hugged his dad good night before he went to bed. His head hit the pillow and he was out.

When he dreamed, he heard them.

Male voices, laughing, talking loudly. 

The smell of alcohol on his nose.

Colter turned in an empty space and found himself in front of a mirror. His normal pale reflection on display. A full room came into view, like a veil being drawn back, shadows dispersed, with the mirror as the epicenter. This wasn’t Colter’s bedroom; it was a much more upscale place with polished wood all around. Looked similar to pictures Dylan posted to his Instagram from Sigma house. The room slotted right in style wise.

The room’s door was closed, not that Colter was interested in stepping out just yet. Textbooks and dumbbells were shoved into a corner. A freshly made bed, with clothes laying on top of it. Colter’s hand grazed over the word ‘SIGMA’ on the polo. The desk was decked out, with Colter’s things. His laptop in the center, his backpack over the chair. One of his favorite cups, filled with pens. In the right corner was a framed picture of his family. Other family pictures were posted above his desk. Them being goofy, them on vacation. He picked up the frame, smiling at it, his heart, warm inside. 

Their last photo before Dylan went off to college.

Suddenly the room was warm. 

The door to the room creaked open, nudged by an unknown puff of air. On the other side, Colter’s bedroom. The warmth was flowing in from his house. If he listened closely, he could hear his dad and brother downstairs, joking.

He started toward it before—

Low male voices returned on the other side of him. Colter walked to the window parallel to the door. Down below were guys wearing the same clothes as Gael, Sigma brothers. Tight fitting polos and khakis. Belts resting on their waists. They were having a cookout, a guy at the grill, beers in hands, some dudes playing football. Colter wanted to join the fun. The guys looked more welcoming than anyone at school.

He went to lift up the window, but Gael’s voice popped into his head.

“You should keep your window closed, don’t want to catch anything.”

Colter decided to ignore the voice, uncertain why that phrase picked at him, and opened up the window. As he shouted out of the window, he was met by a gust of wind preventing his voice from carrying and knocking him back into the room. The door slammed shut by the sudden rush. He fell back, picture in hand. He immediately went to check it. It was fine. Mostly. In the corner was a little spec of ice. He tried to wipe it off, but it was under the glass. The entire photo frosted over, covered in verglas. He couldn’t see the picture below anymore, nothing but a cold frame in his hands. The temperature in the room dropped. 

The other family pictures on the wall had frozen over as well. The rest of the room was fine. Colter’s attention turned back to the mirror. He had caught something in his peripheral vision. Standing where Colter’s reflection should’ve been was a bulky, young man with a tan. Colter looked down at himself and found the same body reflected in the mirror. Colter moved closer half crouched, as if scared his reflection might jump out. The sides of Colter’s face had sharper edges, fuller brows, and a square chin. Light brown hair at the top. He looked older, taller. Gone were his boyish features and in its place Sigma clothing. 

He wore a dark blue tank top that looked strapped to him, while the khaki shorts were skintight on his thighs. He wasn’t nearly as big or tall as the guys he spotted outside, and yet somehow there was a version of Sigma clothing that fit him just as well. Deciding his reflection was harmless, he closed the window as the wind wouldn’t let a word get out.

He closed it easily.

Like Gael.

The door creaked open again, the last traveling bits of wind. Colter spun on his feet. On the other side was a low amber glow not coming from his bedroom. As the door opened wider, due to momentum, it revealed a hallway matching the interior of the room. The glow was from dim lamps and chandeliers, light lazily bouncing off the walls of an empty residence. Warmth flowed into where Colter was. Not like before. Last time felt like home: perfect. 

What replaced it, perhaps matched on a technical level, but on Colter’s cold skin, was mild in comparison. A lack of something. 

Despite his personal thoughts on the temperature, the ice in the room melted. Water dripping about but leaving the space unharmed. Photos viewable again. Colter watched as the ice in the frame defrosted. But what laid underneath was not the Williams family; it was Dylan and two other males dressed in Sigma clothes. Colter walked over to the pictures on the wall. The same two dudes had replaced him and his dad in all the pictures with Dylan. Perfect commercial smiles, ironed pants, styled hair, branded watches. Frat boys through and through. Darker skin and hair than either Colter or his dad. At least the one in Colter’s dad’s place looked older and more heavily stacked than Dylan and the other guy. Though perhaps a bit old to currently be in the frat.

Were they being mocked?

Hard to tell from an image. The way the strangers had their arms around Dylan implied a closeness. 

He considered him and Dylan to be close, but what would it mean for him to be close to Dylan like a Sigma? The way the athletes at school were close? The way the Sigma brother in all Colter’s photo positions had an arm draped over Dylan.

“Heh…” A low chuckle escaped, Colter’s mouth. He put his fingers up to his lips. “What the?” He forced himself to cough. The cold weather must have been affecting his throat. “Is that my voice?” His vocal cords were hitting deeper notes and was unapologetic about it. The air had done more than settle into the room it settled in him and was now thawing.

Voices trickled in from beyond the door, down the corridor. Colter stepped to the doorway curiously. Then moved toward the voices.

—

Mr. Williams woke up in a cold sweat. He didn’t feel sickly or ill. He was refreshed, muscles relaxed, as if he had soaked them in an ice bath, after a grueling workout. He stood up and his feet thudded into the ground; more power behind it than he meant. 

A strong yawn to greet the morning, arms and back involved; spine and joints popped, longer limbs in place. He scratched his stomach, at a treasure trail around his navel leading into his shorts, fingers digging into six carved abs, no longer just the hint of abs. He sniffed his tank top; it didn't smell bad. Smelt like him. Like a man who sweat on the ice.

He needed a shower regardless.

Peeling off the tank like a shedding snake and tossing it on the bed he walked to the bathroom. He hadn't stopped to think how any of his actions that morning mirrored a certain frat boy. Mr. Williams barely gave two thoughts about anything other than what his sons might want for breakfast. In the bathroom, he started the shower, then took off his shorts, hunching over.

The water ran hitting the tub.

Memories came in, carted like a glacier, displacing all that came before. The sounds of his office grew distant, overpowered by skates on the ice. Numbers dropped from his head as sports teams and stats replaced his knowledge. He flexed his forearm under the water, testing it, and simultaneously, using it to mentally flip a stick in his hands. When the temperature was right, he stepped in.

Lifting a leg up, his thighs maximized improving his stance. Only a split-second worth of time, but he could have held the position longer. Those new hammocks were made for powering the steeled calves for sharp turns and sprinted bursts on the ice. Lastly, his ass bubbled outward, worked and trained to perfection, a hockey butt. 

Inside the shower the water carried off distant memories down the drain with every hit to the skin.

He stepped out of the shower, put a towel on his waist, and wiped down the mirror to get a look at his beautiful mug. Chiseled jaw, strong neck and traps, solid delts, meaty pecs. A lot of Mr. Williams to love.

And that was just the top half.

His skin was darker than a tan. A more permanent brown had been infused with the cold. His hair had turned chocolate brunette and eyes a light brown. Grabbing a comb, he ran it through his hair, adding some flair to a former drab cut. An ease in his movements, effortlessly putting locks into place. An arrogance on his lips of someone who knew they looked good. He sauntered out of the bathroom, a march with a quiet authority, powerful glutes swaying back to his room.

He cooked breakfast with ease, humming a tune to himself.

Didn’t even think twice when Gael joined him, pulled out a chair and sat at the table. When he turned, Mr. Williams realized it was Colter sitting in the room. Which made sense since Dylan wasn’t with him. Colter had the same skin, hair, and eye color as Mr. Williams, so it was easy to mistake him for Gael at a glance. His son leaned to the side of his chair, one hand playing Candy Crush, while the other rested on his boxers near his crotch. A crude way to sit. Especially with the skin of Colter’s dick peeking through the boxers’ fly.

For some reason Colter’s posture didn’t align with the ‘idea’ he had of his son. The mousy teen was replaced by an older, built, self-assured Colter. Mr. Williams scoured his memory for what the other version of his son looked like and couldn’t find it. All he could envision was raising the one sitting across from him in the gym, with shoulder checks for greetings, and reviewing game plays for bedtime stories.

Less like a father and more like an older brother type figure. Perhaps that was the result of having a little one while still in Sigma house. He hadn’t quite grown out of that mindset and never would, even after graduating, establishing that brotherhood in the home. 

Colter was exactly what Mr. Williams had been working on him to be: a Sigma brother in training.

The temperature in the house dropped harshly, brisk air taking over.

“Woah, why’s it so cold?!” Dylan shouted from his room. He sprinted downstairs skipping steps, heading to the thermostat.

Dylan was his oldest. He adopted him before he had Colter. So, Mr. Williams had to question when he fucked that sorority chick in the first place?

Following Dylan, steps heavy on the stairs was Gael. He looked into the kitchen facing Colter and Mr. Williams. His face was neutral – not approval nor disappointment. 

Mr. Williams didn't know where the young man got off on acting so above it. He was just a regular brother. Not even the president. Even now, Gael was dressed in an all-white outfit, a backwards cap, a polo, khaki shorts, and dockers. Moving as if he were the front cover model in a yacht catalog. Folded sunglasses resting on his collar, right under a hidden necklace.

Gael pointed his finger between father and son, “You two don’t listen.”

Food done, Mr. Williams threw a hand towel over his shoulder, unintentionally mirroring Gael’s pose. He was tired of Gael. He saw a lot of himself in the young man. Or was it the other way around? They were practically on the same level. Mr. Williams should have been on a higher level, but that didn't seem right. They weren’t.

Not yet.

“Morning guys,” Dylan came in, all smiles, “Anyone else feel that drop?” He kissed Gael's cheek, rubbed Colter’s head, and gave his dad a side hug. There was something awkward in the way Colter and Mr. Williams received Dylan’s affections, as if their bodies weren’t used to it.

They all watched Dylan sit down, ready to eat.

Looks flew across the room that Dylan didn’t notice.

The Williams family bonded and closely knit in its differences.

Now had a member that didn’t quite fit the set.

And a stranger who suddenly did.

Always had.

—

“We should talk.” 

Colter heard Gael say to Dylan. They had played another round of soccer and were hovering by a tree for shade, Colter continued kicking the ball, and doing tricks, further away as if he wasn't listening.

“What’s up?” Dylan asked. 

“Your dad and brother…you notice anything?”

“You know I won’t until you point it out.” Dylan laughed, leaning into the tree and putting his hand under Gael’s chin. “Why, is there something I should be noticing.”

Gael’s gaze slid over to Colter, very briefly, but the point was across: he knew Colter was listening. Attention back on Dylan, Gael said, “Hmmm, good question.”

Colter kicked the ball too hard and sent it flying. He ran after it. Shoeless that day, inspired by his brother and Gael, Colter’s feet smashed into the dirt, grass matted down and dirt displaced. His lower half pushed him through the backyard like a locomotive. His chest was showing off, pecs bouncing, as he moved his arms. He got near the ball and curved his foot forward to bring it back under his command.

Dylan and Gael’s conversation was already over.

Around 3pm Dylan and Colter had migrated inside. Gael wanted to soak up the sun some more and choose to stay outside. The two brothers were on the couch, Colter’s head in Dylan’s lap, watching TV. They had grown up doing this many times before. Originally when Dylan wanted Colter to sit still. It became a pastime. Even as Colter lay there, memories of it were slowly slipping away. Colter became conflicted, like he was too big to be doing it. Not just his age. His physical body was too big. Colter was densely packed with muscles and his body stretched all the way to the arm of the sofa and hung off it. Thick brown toes wiggled off the side, Legs covered in a light dusting of dark brown hairs.

A soft chuckle to himself. Throw Colter at a party and he was the center of it. Late nights with the jocks at school, all getting to act like fools. Young, dumb, full of…. The point was he couldn’t reconcile the image of himself now, to the teen that curled up in his brother’s lap. The body before was so thin and small it couldn't have belonged to Colter. However, recognizing this didn’t make Colter tear himself away from Dylan. The position, the connection, felt so…warm. This wasn’t how Colter meshed with his bros at school. And it wasn't how he hoped to mesh with the Sigmas. 

This was something unique between the Williams. Colter had sensed even with his dad last night. 

Familial love and affection.

Later when the sun had gone down and the moon had risen, Colter found himself unable to sleep again. He tried to open his window. Didn’t budge. He wondered if their house was that old or if Gael had actually glued them down as some frat boy prank. He scratched at his jaw; fingers met with faint stubble. Poking his head out his door he heard rummaging down in the kitchen. A soft smile on his lips, he slipped downstairs hoping to find his dad again.

Instead, he found Gael. The frat boy was standing at the fridge, door open, in his boxer briefs, only his side profile visible to Colter, chugging down milk straight from the carton. White milk poured down his dark skin, traveling across freshly grown stubble, running along his neck, and over his pectorals. His cross necklace dangled with every great gulp he took. Gael turned towards Colter, showing more of himself, but didn’t stop until the milk was gone. 

Colter was frozen. Not in fear. In awe. Gael looked older, bigger. There was more Gael existing in space than there had been when they first met. Colter, though he caught sight of that, glimpses out the corner of his eye, where Gael shifted smaller or larger next to Dylan. But here undoubtedly, was not the college sophomore that had walked into their house. Gael’s jaw was sharper, pectorals plump, obliques tightened. Broad feet pressed onto the floor; solidly planted; immovable except by his own desire. The older male’s bulge and ass stuck out prominently as if he had brought boxer briefs for a different—smaller—body type.

Gael finished the carton, wiping his mouth with his back hand, then burped. Casual and carefree. “Sorry, Dylan said I could finish it off.” He tossed the plastic carton into a recycling bin with a little bounce off the ground; his ass and bulge bounced too. 

“You're not what I expected.” Colter stated, voice emerging stronger than he meant. “I thought you were a jockish frat boy that was all prim and proper. Based on how you dressed.” 

“I contain multitudes, shocker.” Gael joked. He eyed the table, then went back to Colter. The question was unsaid but understood: ‘Do you want to sit and talk?’ Colter grabbed a chair as Gael sat down.

“Would you say Sigma house is a pretentious or meathead variety of frat?” Colter asked the question out of him.

“Trying to get ahead, are we?” Gael smiled.

“Come on please! My dad won’t tell me, Dylan likes everybody. I just want to know where I’m gonna be pledging.” The question and statement hung in the air longer than it needed to, more behind it than the surface level words. Gael heard it.

“Sigma has lots of kinds of frat boys. Be whatever version makes you happy.” Gael’s tone was light. Easy-going yet strong. Then his eyes squinted, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands folded one on top of the other. His mouth curled up in unspoked amusement and curiosity. “Why do you want to join Sigma house?”

“I mean my dad was in it and—

“No.” Gael’s voice wasn’t combative. He continued staring with that half-smirk as if he knew Colter’s next words.

“It’ll be good on my résumé post college for job—

“That’s not it either,” Gael didn’t press for more with his words. 

The silence said it all. 

The frat boy’s eyes had Colter trapped. They were locked onto each other. Colter was on the spot—as if Gael were peering into his soul and peeling back the layers to get to ‘truth’. 

Colter ran his hand through his hair. A nervous laugh escaped him. Despite the intensity of Gael’s gaze there was something in it that made Colter feel looser, his body more open. And the words in his gut came roiling out, not wrenched, but encouraged.

“I want to be part of a brotherhood.” 

“Why?!” Gael asked, his right hand up, fingers pinched close together as if to demonstrate Colter was on the precipice; so close to getting it but needed to hear it for himself.

“I want to belong!”

Satisfaction with the frat boy’s lips, hands down now, Gael inched further and leaned into Colter’s space. He didn’t invade it; he assimilated it. Colter didn’t have personal space anymore; he was inside Gael’s bubble. 

“Don’t you ‘belong’ here with your dad and brother though?”

Colter had a faint smirk on his face, as he sat up a bit more. “Nah, it’s not the same, they have to love me. With the Sigmas it’d be different.”

Gael leaned back up, his pecs sitting out as he crossed his arms, a statue in motion. Colter pushed his own chest out, pretending not to be watching and emulating. 

“You know that’s not true. Your father and brother don’t have to love you, they choose to. The same way brothers in a frat choose too. It’s all a choice.”

“Okay yes, but you know what I mean— shouldn’t you want me to join your frat?” Colter cut himself off.

“It’s not my decision, it’s yours. I’ve never been to a place that felt like this.” Gael looked around the room in wonder.

“A kitchen?”

“A home.” Gael answered,” One that's already so…it’s different from a brotherhood. I see why Dylan likes it. I think he wanted to show you two off to me for a while.” His gaze fell back on Colter, small nodding. A different kind of approval. “I’m glad he did. It's nice. But Brotherhood is what I’m about. College, Parties, Sports. I’m here representing something not meant for this place.” 

Colter laughed, stress flying out with his voice, emitting like a bark, “So you feel out of your element around close-knit families? Big whoop. I’m sure boyfriends have felt that way throughout time. It’s hardly new.” 

“You think so?” 

“Shoot, I know so, my boy Reggie was dating this chick…” As Colter talked to Gael the room grew warm. Not like with Dylan. Not like with his father. Gael laughed. He laughed. They shared stories back and forth. Colter wasn’t sure when his or Gael’s happened. Gael’s stories seemed to be endless and went beyond Sigma house. Gael and he were connecting, but the warmth was muted. There was something about this warmth that rang hollow to him personally, when he thought about his dad and brother. 

“Do you feel that?” Gael put a hand on Colter’s knee. “That’s brotherhood.” he stated, “Not quite like ‘home’ is it?” Gael stood up, tapping Colter’s shoulder with the back of his hand as a wordless goodbye walking out the kitchen.

Colter sat in the kitchen alone. Gael had a point: Brotherhood didn't feel like home.

Yet.

A part of Colter could just tell Gael had never been an outsider. Never been without brotherhood. And now Gael had the audacity to tell Colter what he’d been reaching for wasn’t worth it. Yeah, all that glitters… as the saying went, right? Well, Colter wasn't going to stop. He was one year away from being a Sigma brother. Even if it wasn’t everything he wanted, what would his life have been for? Why make himself into this if not to chase brotherhood.

—

At 8 am, Mr. Williams and Colter were panting, catching their breath out in the frosty morning air. They had just completed a run. Part of the routine Mr. Williams had established years ago for Colter to keep him in top shape. He hadn’t done it for Dylan because…well he couldn’t quite remember, but he was sure Dylan didn’t need it. Their bodies had moved in unison; footsteps hit the pavement to their rhythm. If not for Mr. Williams being the taller, denser packed, and slightly hairier version of his son, perhaps they could have even been mistaken for brothers.

When they saw their checkpoint tree, they knew what it was time for. Their bodies cut through the air, as they moved, torso’s drenched in sweat, after having removed their shirts for the last leg. The masculine urge to outdo and outperform another male took over them both. A race to the finish to see who was faster. Colter tried and he was good; his dad was better. Mr. Williams' calves and quads had the power to propel him forward, stronger than Colter’s body. He came to the house a winner but knew how close Colter was on his ass. Wouldn't be long before his son had him.

“I was this close!” Colter pinched his fingers.

“In your dreams. Mini-me” Mr. Williams wrapped an arm around his son and brought him in for a hug. Sweaty body against sweaty body, the smell of deodorant wafting strong off both of them. Colter’s head planted right in the center of his dad’s pecs. Mr. William bounced both, on either side of his son’s head. Colter laughed but wrapped his hands around his dad's back and tried to crush him in return.

“Whoa, the hulkling’s trying to kill me,” Mr. Williams laughed and shoved his son away. The man’s chest sweat, stained and mixed with his son’s facial sweat. Colter looked cooked, even though he felt great. Both of them had stepped out into the cold on their own terms that morning and now they didn’t even feel it. Colter hopped on his dad’s back, his father laughing but grappling his legs for an impromptu piggyback ride up their walkway. Moments like this Mr. Williams didn’t feel like father and son with Colter. The relationship felt more akin to what he had at Sigma house. Brotherhood. 

Mr. Williams paused, the image of a smaller, fair-skinned, Colter in his mind. A boy who enjoyed the company of books over exercise. The obnoxious and boisterous laughter of the Colter on his back, however, knocked that image out of his head. He carried his son up their pathway to a much larger house that hadn’t stood on the property prior. A house made for larger men who took up space in every sense of the word, presence and physicality. They walked up to the porch, as Mr. Williams put his son down. The two’s laughter only stopped when they spotted Gael, shirtless, reading a comic book. He looked more comfortable in the cold than either of them and he wasn’t even sweating.

The frat boy’s appearance was different that morning. Legs spread wide, junk teasingly out in whatever loose shorts he had placed on. His feet were gargantuan but still seemed to fill his slides perfectly. Gael’s shoulders had drifted further apart, his chest was wider, pecs sitting out perfectly, nipples on display. Hair had taken up residency on the young man’s body leading eye sights to the dark pubic hair spilling out over his shorts’ waistband. His jaw’s edges were sharper, but hidden behind, beard growth that ruled the lower half of his face. As for the hair on his head, it was done neatly, like he actually gave a damn about that.

Mr. Williams snorted, it was like Gael took some cues from him. And yet the man found himself unable to say anything about it. Like the words melted in his throat and trickled back down. 

“What are you reading that nerd stuff for?” Colter asked, voice wavering, eyes pointed.

Gael shrugged, “Don’t know, must have recently picked up the habit.” He flipped the last page, closed the book, then rested it on his chest.

Did the words hit Colter? They certainly hit Mr. Williams. His thoughts, so structured and ordered, became a bit more disjointed when he noticed Gael was reading one of Colter’s comics. But his son didn’t go for stuff like that and yet Gael sitting there, said otherwise. It certainly wasn’t that frat boy’s comic book. And hadn't Dylan been praising Colter for a future as a writer? Inconsistencies born from Gael, challenging their house structure. It had to be. Why else would smooth memories start crashing against other stuff?

Gael handed the book back to Colter, then walked inside, leaving the house door open. Mr. Williams and Colter entered. The house was colder than outside. They watched Gael walk upstairs disappearing back into Dylan’s room.

“Dick.” Colter tossed the comic book on the kitchen table as his dad snorted. “He’s lucky Dylan puts up with him.” Both ignoring the fact that deep down they felt they couldn’t kick Gael out. The dude moved to and fro. 

They went and got showered, coming down smelling fresh. Colter came back down in shorts, Mr. Williams in sweatpants, both shirtless. They flexed for each other before they began making breakfast. Mr. Williams dished out orders like a head chef and Colter followed, zipping around the kitchen. Another example of how Mr. Williams led his son to be the best. Don’t half ass anything, not even cooking.

“No one wants a man who can’t cook.” He stated.

“And yet, mom married you.” Colter replied. What would have seemed a harsh joke to a much softer version of his father, rolled off. Mr. Williams’ back. He could take it as well as he could give it. No surprise that when his wife first passed his food was subpar. 

The jokes flew back and forth as the house grew warmer. A warmth quite familiar to all those who traversed through Sigma house. Brotherly bonds had worked on dissolving those of father and son. The two didn't get any cooking done, simply fucked around with the ingredients. 

Dylan came downstairs in a robe, “How are you guys not wearing anything? I thought someone put the temp back up but it’s still kinda not there yet.”

“I feel great,” Colter said as he turned to Dylan.

“I feel better than great,” Mr. William slapped Colter’s back hard, the sound of solid muscle being hit echoed through the walls.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Colter asked.

“Uh... you know…” Dylan's voice got a bit higher, “He came into my room and looked kinda good… slinging’ in the front, heavy in the back. I couldn’t help myself.” He stammered out.

Mr. Williams' brows pinched, He hadn’t heard anything from Dylan’s room since they got back from their run. On second thought he hadn’t heard anything from Dylan's room the entire visit. Their walls weren’t thin but surely, he’d have heard something by now. Was Mr. Williams supposed to believe 2 Sigma boys weren’t constantly going at it? Mr. Williams had caught Dylan eyeing Gael’s ass whenever he bent over. And Mr. Williams wished Gael kept his legs closed because Dylan’s eyes often flew to one place. No Doubt. They were plowing the shit out of each other somehow when Mr. Willams and Colter weren’t looking.

“Can I help with breakfast?” Dylan pulled his robe tighter.

The two Williams made room for the third to join between them. Mr. Williams got the pans on the stove, Colter washed off the peppers, passing it to Dylan to chop. “Guess we’re making omelets?"

“If dad doesn't screw it up.”

“Watch it bub, you’re not old enough I can’t put you over my knee, either of you.” Mr. Williams joked. The warmth in the house was much more familiar to Mr. Williams now. Felt just as good as before, even if he knew it was different. He didn't get why, Dylan kept adjusting his robe.

Then a knife cut, “Shit.” was uttered and the Williams saw red. Dylan’s blood ran from his cut finger. There was a click in Mr. Williams’ head, he didn’t think, he just moved.

“Get the first aid kit.” He said to Colter who nodded, flying to the upstairs bathroom. Mr. Williams grabbed Dylan's hand and ran it under the tap water. “Doesn’t look like it cut deep” He said leaning over. Colter came back down passing over the Hydrogen peroxide, antiseptic and band aids. Mr. Williams cleaned the cut for Dylan, wrapping his son’s finger up tight. 

The air shifted, ever so subtly. Mr. Williams fanned himself a bit and Colter dabbed his head with a hand towel. Mr. Williams came down from ‘dad’ mode. He looked over at Colter coming down from ‘worried little brother’ mode. The temperature lowered again, but the warmth that heated up the home was still there in the walls. Mr. Williams thought it was weird, his mind felt he was in a different mode. He was a dad; he was always going to be a dad. But as far as Sigma brotherhood went, fatherhood was only as important as raising the next generation of brothers. Expectations. Legacy. Beyond that? 

There had to be an answer even if Mr. Williams couldn’t find it. He had raised Dylan after all, and Dylan got in on his own merit. Details weren't quite aligned with Mr. Williams’ own history of himself. It made him feel off and that stuck with him the entire day. Even when they sat down to watch a hockey game as a family, their common pastime Mr. Williams wasn’t at 100%. This was how he and Colter connected, but for some reason the Hockey game wasn’t meshing tonight.

His beer was cold and the popcorn was warm. Dylan was Dylan. Which meant the only strange variable was Gael. Or at least that’s what Mr. Willams was allowing himself to believe, knowing full well his own body rested like Gael’s. Mr. Williams couldn't let him continue to bring down the vibe. He needed to show just because the boys weren’t currently at Sigma house, which didn't mean Sigma house wasn’t with them. “Hey, why don’t you take a sip of this.” Mr. Williams offered his beer bottle to Colter’s shocked face.

Dylan turned, “Dad what are you—

“It’ll be fine,” Mr. Willams waved Dylan off, “He’ll be a Sigma soon. Might as well get a head start and do it safely, around family.” He held the bottle out. Mr. Williams' eyes dared Gael to say something smart. Gael wasn’t even looking at the family, eyes on the TV, hand in Dylan’s, unbothered. Colter grabbed the bottle and stared at it. He looked at his dad. A flash was in his son’s eyes of a much more timid and trepidatious boy. Mr. Williams didn’t mean to respond, but there was a micro-reaction in his face, automatic in a way. A disapproving glare. But before he could open his mouth to correct himself. Colter got the message and held the bottle up taking three great gulps. Mr. Williams watched the liquid travel through Colter’s throat and under his Adam’s apple. Colter’s chest pushed forward, spine popped just an inch taller, legs stretched, face tuned ever so slightly. His hair was black, his skin a rich medium brown.

By the time Colter pulled the bottle away and tilted his head back down. The boy in his eyes was gone. The bottle drowned him out in dark brown and he would never resurface. Funny what a father could understand with just a look. The young man sitting on his couch was his son, but it wasn’t Colter. He handed the beer back, and belched, “‘Xcuse me.” He thumped his chest with one hand. Strong solid pounds, like the drums of war.

Nervously, Mr. Williams took his beer, studying the veins on the back of Colter’s sturdier hand that ran up the length of his arm, over the bicep before fading into cut delts and thicker neck. ‘Colter’ pumped through those veins nothing but fuel for whoever was in charge now.

“We should go upstairs.” Gael said to Dylan. Getting up and offering a hand to his boyfriend. 

“Whaa?” Dylan asked, “But we just got down here and oooo—” He got it with a wink of Gael’s eye. Alone time fun. The two left. Neither commenting on what had transpired.

Mr. Williams was stuck watching the game. Worst of all it didn’t feel awkward or strange to do it with someone who wasn't Colter. They bantered, hit each other's shoulders, cheered when their team connected a shot into the goal. They meshed in a way Mr. Williams never had with Colter. A nagging notion was in his head: being a father wasn’t about always meshing well with your kid. Him and Colter didn’t always get each other but loved each other anyway. That fact should have meant something to Mr. Williams sitting there on the couch, lips grazing where his son had just drunk from.

He lacked the feeling in his heart though. The warmth baking into the room was at the exact level he liked. He drank the beer. Despite his ‘feelings’ he had enough logic to act on that small voice in his head questioning.

Mr. Williams didn't go straight to bed that night. He stayed in the kitchen waiting, praying for Colter to come down so they could talk about whatever happened. He had to talk to him; He just had to get a 1 on 1 because all he saw in Colter’s eyes was him.

Gael.

Why did unassuming pale skinny Colter look like he was related to a muscled Hispanic frat boy, who was Dylan's boyfriend? Colter literally came out of Mr. Williams’ overplumped balls currently resting in the chair. There was no answer in man’s brain other than Colter had always looked that way, which couldn’t have been true. 

Midnight came, and Mr. Williams didn’t hear Colter lumbering down the steps, even once. He’d know the sounds of his son’s weight moving through the house if he heard even the tiniest motion. Nothing. Mr. Williams decided to give up around 1 in the morning. He made his way upstairs, tired, flicking the lights off in the kitchen. The bathroom light shined from upstairs, now surrounded by darkness, as if it had come on timed to his departure. Reaching the top step, Mr. Williams moved to turn the light off, concluding one of the boys must have left it on. 

He jumped back when he found someone in there. Another man as tall and as broad as Mr. Williams himself. Beard, chest hair, muscles built from the gym, the tip of a soft cock sitting on underwear’s waistband. There was nothing ‘young’ about the man in the bathroom, physically speaking. Mr. Williams' throat found no words. This wasn’t a stranger; it was exactly what Mr. Williams thought he saw when his eyes first landed on Gael. And now that Gael was real, in the flesh. Standing in his bathroom.

Geal was applying shaving cream to his face when he caught Mr. Williams staring. “Would you mind helping me out here, bro?” The deep voice sounded so earnest, Mr. Williams found his feet moving him inside. Two large men now occupied the bathroom, Mr. Williams, close to Gael’s backside, although there was more than enough space for men of their stature. There was no distance between Sigmas, Alumni or not. Even if Mr. Williams had his problems with Gael, he couldn’t deny a brother. Gael’s plump ass was the only separation keeping their bodies from being flush against the other.

Mr. Williams picked up the razor and slid it easily down Gael’s face. He rinsed it under the water, going for another swipe. Difficult, as Gael’s body heat was intense, like the boy was his own heater. Mr. Williams stared at their reflection to check his progress. Two square jaws and masculine faces atop hardened and muscled bodies stared back at him. His cock was nestled firmly on Gael’s ass and only getting harder. The father pushed himself closer sealing the space between them. There shouldn’t have been anything erotic about the act. They were Sigma brothers; intimacy was just another form of brotherhood. The act was as natural as asking another brother to hold your cock while you pissed or giving another brother a massage.

Practically doing it for your own damn self.

That’s right, Mr. Williams wasn’t shaving the usurper's face, he was shaving his own because they were Sigmas.

A small voice in the back of his mind told him it wasn’t quite right, something was off. The temperature in the bathroom was rising to an enjoyable level and the icy air between them melted like water. 

“So, you and my boy, huh?”

Not the paternal, you and my son’ and not quite the close but informal brotherly bonds of ‘So you and Dylan’ either. Mr. Williams watched as Gael’s expression clocked it in the mirror, the slightest twitch of the eyebrows. Gael’s silence was his answer though. 

Mr. Williams continued, “Is he stuffing you like a turkey, or are you pounding him into the ground?” The man’s brows pinched, sweat above them as his jaw tightened. He went to shave another row of Gael’s beard. Mr. Williams hadn’t meant for it to come off so crude…so vulgar. Typically, he could turn on fatherly charm, but that’s how Sigma brothers talked to each other in private. 

But typically, those were conversations with their sons not about their sons. Mr. Williams tried to correct himself, “I’m only asking because whenever you bend over, Dylan looks like he wants to dive in. But at breakfast sometimes I catch him taking a glance and think he’s gonna try getting milk from you dick.” The man chuckled deep from within his chest, tone so at ease and his mind so unsettled.

“I’m not sure if you should be asking that,” Gael said and to Mr. Williams it felt like a lifeline; An opportunity to draw back, apologize and start again. But the father’s mouth wouldn’t stop because…part of him didn’t want to. He liked the casualness of talking to Gael, how warm the room felt. He could barrel past Gael’s comment and lead the conversation his way. Wasn’t that what he wanted?

“Nah man it’s fine,” he flicked another collection of hairs into the sink as the water ran over its blade. Mr. Williams reached up and scratched his own face, the cut follicles on his fingers infused into his own beard, slowly dying it black and getting denser. “I mean someone’s back had to get blown out, could be both of yours.” the corner of His lips curled into a smile as his eyes screamed.

He was a father. He shouldn’t have cared. All he wanted to do was ask if they were being safe, practicing consent, but his mouth asked for all the intimate details. Nothing about the interaction was fatherly; it was all frat bro-speak. And suddenly, like being doused from a fire, that realization made the warm air in the room feel weak. He couldn’t have a meaningful conversation with a Sigma brother about his son. Sigma brothers didn’t date each other. Sure, it was a frat secret they all fucked about when drunk, but to actually date? There was a certain way brothers could be free with one another to discuss who they were dating. If that other party was another brother how did Sigma house deal with that? 

Another question, how did Gael and Dylan get away with it? Did the brothers not care? An even better question: why did Mr. Williams care about any of it?

“That’s brotherhood,” Gael answered as another section of his beard was stripped away, baby smooth skin underneath. “Intimate, frivolous. Mature and childish. Mix it how you will but that’s what brothers are like.” Mr. Willams couldn’t understand why Gael was telling him shit he already knew, he was an Alumnus.

“Not really comparable to being a protective, proud, papa, right?” Gael's words hung in the air like a note nailed to a door. Calling attention and demanding a response. 

Mr. Williams move. The man was sure somehow Gael was trying to get one over on him.  People in power or thought they had power always were. Why should Gael be any different? The young man needed to be put in his place like the underclassman he was. Mr. Williams gripped Gael’s chin not noticing the skin color soaking in his skin. He kept shaving, peeling off the layers that made Gael think he was a man. More follicles on the floor, more hair into Mr. Williams' jaw. Heavy stubble into a full beard. As he moved around now, hands pressing on Gael’s body, fingers gripping, Gael’s muscles shrank. Or rather, they flowed from Gael into Mr. Williams. The man drank it up adding that authority, that status to himself.

By the time he was done and Gael was shaven clean. Mr. Williams stopped to get a good look, he paused. In the mirror were not two large men, but rather one immense man and an indisputable youthful face paired with a young jock body. Gael was younger again, his chest hair evaporated, and his height shorter than when they first met. Mr. Williams on the other hand was a fucking wall. His body had doubled in size with muscle, and he had encroached on 6’5 territory. He was in nothing, but boxers—where had his clothes gone? — and his cock just sat, fat and heavy. Prominent. It stretched down the sides of one of the leg holes, still soft. 

Then there was Mr. Williams face, undoubtedly his, but now he looked properly like Colter’s father again. Standing next to Gael they had the same skin tone, hair color, and similar sharp facial features. The only main difference being his hair was still straight while Gael’s had a sea of loose curls.

Gael leaned into the mirror, examining his chin. “Not bad.” Left side. Right side. His smirk was back. He stretched, standing on the tips of his toes, his cock was back in his boxer-briefs still bulging out from the size, but contained. Then his eyes homed in on Mr. Williams through the mirror. “Thanks” He gave a head nod that Mr. Williams accepted with a firm grunt. Gael walked to the doorway then turned back, eyeing Mr. Williams all over once. “Brotherhood means everything to me.” He paused and turned his head towards Dylan’s room. “But…” he let his sentence end there and walked off. 

Mr. Williams huffed out a puff of air. At last, the annoying twunk was gone. Even reduced in size the young man moved too self-assured for his liking. Just what did the young man respect? Finally calling it a night, Mr. Williams headed to bed. He stopped outside Colter’s room and poked his head inside. His son was sleeping soundly. He circled back and checked on Dylan and Gael, both asleep in bed. A smile on his lips Mr. Williams closed the door.

And just for a moment the house was uncomfortably warm and he didn’t mind it.

When Mr. Williams fell asleep that night. He dreamed of his office. Him, typing away under cold, white sterile lights. The office chatter is nothing more than intermittent background noise. The managers of various floors rushing to bark orders about what the Accounting team should be doing. On a far-off wall a framed picture of Mr. Williams as team lead, where everyone could see. Not as a cause for public adulation, but so people knew who to scrutinize for public shaming. 

Mr. Williams kept his head down, adjusting his glasses, and pulled his sweater tighter. The A/C was on high blast, chilling air permeating throughout the room. He stuck his head up from his desk. The version of Mr. Williams in the photo was blonde, white, and lean. Looking down at his hands they were smaller, paler, not the hockey-trained ones he’d come to know. On his desk sat another picture, one of him and his sons, from a few years back on a road trip. Happy faces, warm memories. The A/C cut off immediately and the air was less frigid. The background noise grew stronger, voices of coworkers he’d grown close to over the years. Things that made the office more bearable. Under his coworker’s voices he could hear his sons. Mr. Williams spun from his chair, standing up.  He walked towards their voices, the room's temperature improving with every step.

The ding of the elevator stopped Mr. Williams in his tracks.

“Who turned the heat on? Why is there so much talking and not more working?” A manager’s voice. Who’s? Did it matter? They all blended together with the critiques, back-handed compliments, and straight up direct insults. The warmth in the space began to shrink and retreat. He could have followed it and found his sons having fun. 

 But just once Mr. Williams wanted to give the higher-ups a piece of his mind. 

“I did,” He said, and spun on his feet. His body felt larger. “Got a problem with it?” His voice barked, he ripped off his glasses. The image of him on the wall melted as another version of him rose from underneath. A strong chin, broad face, thick beard, and brown skin rose to the surface, appearing under Mr. Williams' dripping form. The droplets from his body ran over the engraving of his own name soaking and coating it like a paint spill. 

In the half-second it took him to complete his turn, everyone in the office was gone. The room was warm again with no complaints. The lights overhead shut off with only one light on. The one shining above his photo. He stepped towards it. The face of a confident, brown-skinned, Hispanic man stared back at him, chest barely contained in frame, pecs threatening to spill over the border. 

A translucent reflection lined up perfectly with the photo. The name underneath the picture read:

Ivan Bishop Wilmington IV

An exhale escaped his mouth as he took in the name. That was his name alright. The light’s flicked back on, yellow, and friendly. He was in a different space. Sigma house. He could tell that aged wood and fine wine, with a hint of sweat from anywhere. His photo on the wall was younger, college age: hair wild, eyes bright. Around it were smaller photos of his time at Sigma house, back when his brothers had called him “I.V,” rather than any of his actual names. Frozen encapsulations of a young man who had long since found his voice.

Mr. Wilmington wandered around the first floor. Semi-aware this was a dream. There was a haze and ephemeral quality to the place. Not to mention, he’d been dreaming a lot about Sigma house ever since Gael and Dylan came back. It was never the real Sigma house he’d once lived in, but an ever-changing version. And strangely enough in all of them, towards the end he kept encountering his son. The boy looked different at first, like some pasty kid, but became more of the young man Mr. Wilmington knew him as, as the dreams kept recurring. He stepped into the dining hall. 

Passed out, head back, a bit of drool from his lips, a beer loosening in his finger’s grips was Mr. Wilmington' s son.

Colton Quincy Wilmington III

A backwards cap on his head, a Sigma polo strapped to his chest, thighs thick in the shorts he had on. He looked the part of a Sigma brother. Mr. Wilmington walked closer, a proud smile on his lips. Their family had a tradition of names skipping a generation and Colton was every bit his grandfather.

In front of his son, on the table, lay several pizza boxes, missing various slices. Mr. Wilmington flipped the top up on one. Written in bold marker was the word’s: Gael’s Pizza. The man looked around, Gael wasn’t here. The pizza wasn't labelled ‘Eat up’, but it also didn’t say ‘Don’t Eat’. Did Gael seriously think he’d step into Sigma house with a buffet and the Wilmingtons weren’t going to dig in? Mr. Wilmington ate a slice, and then another. He didn't stop gorging himself. The food was delicious and with every bite he was sticking back to the punk. 

It was just like when Gael walked into that other family’s house. The Williams? Mr. Wilmington could hardly recall their faces. But he could envision it as if he had lived it. Were Mr. Williams and his son not supposed to think anything of Gael’s movement?  Let Gael parade around in Sigma glory, showing off. Mr. William wanted that, his son wanted it too. So, they decided to take what Gael wasn't offering. Subconsciously driving themselves towards Gael’s behaviors. Staining their souls in it, to subdue their own insecurities. Thankfully, Gael emitted Sigma house like the sun, as natural as breathing.  He had no power to stop the Williams, if they chose to look.

Mr. Wilmington snickered to himself. He couldn’t believe anyone could be inspired by Gael. That young man was a common Sigma house boy. He couldn’t offer them anything. Mr. Wilmington patted his stomach, an entire box of one of Gael’s pizzas empty. He kept eating more. Unlike whoever those Williams were, Ivan and Colton were Sigma through and through. They didn't get impressed by someone like Gael.

A groan released from Mr. Wilmington’s stomach, it was stuffed— overstuffed— and yet there was more pizza to go. Mr. Wilmington sat in a chair, belly breaking down Gael’s food, demolishing it. He caressed his gut, massaging the top. Whatever Gael owned, whatever he was, it was selfish for him to keep it all to himself. That’s why the Wilmingtons took his pizza, there was no disparity among Sigma brothers, and why the Williams took from him.

Sort of unfair. For one person, Gael, to represent so much, even if it was to an unremarkable family. May as well have walked in with the word ‘FREE’ written on his pecs. His mannerisms, his deep voice, his muscles, his stature, and way of carrying himself; Theirs to take. Gael was made to be shared even when he didn’t want to be; one for all.

—

The Wilmington family was out for dinner with their special guest, Gael. No one asked for an explanation about Dylan’s last name being Williams. This was their last night together, and of course Mr. Wilmington would go all out for his son…and Gael by proxy, he supposed. Dylan and Colton sat across from Gael and Mr. Wilmington, respectively. Mr. Wilmington had dialed back his serious demeanor to joke around with his boys. 

Dylan had to exit the booth to use the bathroom and Colton, after letting him out, decided to go too. A urinal separated the brothers as Colton whipped out a hefty brown cock from his pants. As he relieved himself, a sensation creeped over his head. A strange notion. He walked over to the sink washing his hands as he stared at his face in the mirror. There was a moment in time, a split second, where his face shifted subtly, fully set. He flicked water off his hands, before grabbing a towel to dry them off, eyes still the mirror. It had dawned on him in the bathroom of all places. He wasn’t just Colton Wilmington, Dylan’s little brother. Gael was in him. Gael was him.

“So, what do you think about him?” Dylan walked to the sink washing his hands, “Haven’t really gotten the chance to ask.”

“That’s because you two are fucking every moment you get.” he joked as was in his nature.

Dylan sent a small splash of water at Colton, “I’m being serious. Do you like him? Cause I love him a lot, but I care what you and dad think too.”

Colton shoved his hands in his pockets; lips pressed with a shrug of his shoulders. Fuck. He couldn’t have a brotherly pow-wow. He was as much Gael as he was Dylan’s little brother. It’d be the highest betrayal of trust and he loved Dylan, twice over. “If you like him…I do too.”

Dylan wrapped him up in a big hug, “Thanks lil bro that means a lot. Gael’s really special to me.” Then broke it with a light punch on the shoulder.

They walked back to the table when done, Colton fighting to hide his boner. His clothes weren't quite equipped to hold the amount of wood he was throwing for Dylan. Sitting back in the booth Colton avoided squeezing in too close to his big brother. Gael’s face was tense, or at least tensed as a frat boy could be, eyes narrowing on Colton. He already knew. Gael was figuring out how to tell Dylan his precious little brother was Gael now too. 

Dinner continued but Colton couldn’t find the mental capacity to process what he ordered and then consumed. His head was still wrapped on being Gael. His father seemed to be having a great time.

Mr. Wilmington gave a toast thanking everyone for making the week wonderful, even Gael. He took a sip, coughed. Then coughed again. He slapped his chest to get rid of it. Gael’s nostrils flared. Mr. Wilmington blinked, looking around the table, his cough finished. In that short span he’d gone from being a father to being the young man next to him as well. A dreadful sort of realization, understanding only then, that Gael was not a mere Sigma brother. 

The ride back was strange. Everyone talked and the conversation flowed freely, but a bit too well, no stagnation or awkwardness that had been there the first time Gael arrived. Although it was all organic and off the cuff there was a melodic nature to it, everyone except Dylan, folding into a pattern, like a script practiced over months. 

When they arrived home Dylan dragged Gael upstairs. Mr. Wilmington and Colton watched another game on the couch, sitting inches from each other. They rooted and cheered just like they would have done any other day. Eyes glancing at the other’s form. Gael came back down when the game was over, shirtless, but in sweatpants. He sat on the floor, legs crossed, hands behind him.

Father and son had dyed their souls in Gael. They took and they took. Smothering themselves in the frat boy’s existence. To belong. To have a voice. No remnants or recollection of Williams, beyond Dylan’s name. The warmth of their family love cooled to let brotherhood reign supreme. They saw that potential and grabbed at it. Forcibly molded themselves into something better. And who wouldn’t grab at any piece of Gael offering improvement?  On college campus he may have been the predator, but in the outside world he was the buffet. Improvement wrapped in frat boy packaging.

The next day, the car ride to the airport was as natural as any for the Wilmingtons. The temperature in the car was a cozy warm. Only Dylan asked for the heat to be turned up. The Wilmington family goodbyes were always sad, but today the wind had an extra bite in its morning breeze as they all stepped out of the car. The college couple got their suitcases back as Mr. Wilmington easily slid them out. The air danced around them blowing their clothes about. Triumphant. Gael stood about displeased, everything he stood for to uplift frats used to dismantle a family. He gave Mr. Wilmington and Colton space to say their goodbyes to Dylan. 

As Gael stood off to the side, the wind beating at him, he caught the three men talking and tearing up. Dylan pulled his dad and brother into a hug, closer than he’d ever pull a Sigma brother. Mr. Wilmington and Colton hugged him back. Suddenly the airport terminal got warmer and the wind died. Father and sons holding each other close whispering goodbyes. Words Gael didn’t hear.

As for Gael, he was experiencing something new. He was always drawn to broken and fractured things. This family had been the opposite of that and still he became a part of it. Underneath the frat boy bravado, suave, and charm, the Williams familial warmth remained in their eyes and in their hearts. Family warmth was inside Gael and rested pleasantly alongside brotherhood.

As the hug ended the wind came back, not as strong as before, as if it'd been chastised. Gael cracked his neck, a satisfied grin on his face. 

The family pulled away. Things would be different for them now, and Gael would certainly have to fill Dylan in soon. Something would be lost with brotherhood stepping in as the beating heart of the Wilmington family. A new chapter had opened up for all of them, but Mr. Wilmington and Colton especially. Not the happiest start with the former Willams family memories and bonds, tossed to the wayside all in an effort to combat their own insecurities. 

A cold beginning, some might say.  

Gael looked on, frat boy cockiness embedded in his stance, as the family parted. Dylan came to him as they walked off together. Mr. Wilmington and Colton hopped back in their car off to their new lives, Dylan still in their hearts, a foreign warmth, not of Sigma’s brotherhood, forever in their home.

Gael’s grin grew wider as Dylan stole a quick peck. After all, the best thing about beginnings was that any ending was possible.