Chapter Text
Kip used to think being born in New York meant something. Like it gave him better odds. Like growing up in one of the most progressive cities in the country might soften the edges of what he was. It didn’t. An omega was still an omega. And a male omega? That just meant people looked at you twice, once with curiosity, and once with something worse.
Still, he’d fought it. Clawed his way through expectations, through the quiet assumptions people made about his future. He went to college. Got a history degree. Proved—at least to himself—that he could be more than something soft and convenient.
Now he had the diploma. And the debt. And a minimum-wage job blending fruit for people who wouldn’t even look him in the eye. Progress.
“Maybe you should try it,” Elena said, too casually, like she wasn’t suggesting something that made his stomach twist. “You’re pretty enough.”
Kip let out a dry laugh. “Right. Because selling myself to rich old men sounds like a solid career move.”
“You’re being dramatic,” she shot back. “It’s not always like that. Some of them don’t even want sex. They just want someone to spoil. Someone to take care of.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“It makes it easier,” she insisted. “And you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You choose.”
Kip looked away. “I really don’t think this is for me.”
Elena shrugged, but her voice softened just enough to be dangerous. “You don’t have to decide now. I’m just saying… It's an option. You could actually afford your master’s. Get out of that stupid shop.”
That hit harder than it should have.
“…They’re all, like, seventy,” he muttered.
“You’d be surprised.”
Kip didn’t answer. Because the worst part wasn’t that it sounded ridiculous. It was that it didn’t sound impossible.
He told himself he wasn’t going to do it. That didn’t stop him from clicking the link. It was late—too late for good decisions. The kind of hour where everything felt quieter, heavier.
The site looked cheap. Glossy in the wrong ways. Promises of discretion and security plastered everywhere like that alone could make it safe. Kip almost closed the tab.
Almost. Instead, he signed up.
The process was easy—too easy. Like they didn’t want to give him time to think about what he was doing. The photos were the worst part. The guidelines were vague in a way that felt intentional: don’t show too much, don’t show too little, don’t be identifiable—but be appealing. Be enough.
Kip stared at his camera roll, a dull embarrassment creeping up his throat. He thought about asking Elena for help. Immediately dismissed it. He wasn’t that desperate. Not yet.
So he chose at random—mirror pictures, outfit shots, angles that hid more than they showed. In one, his phone covered most of his face, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. He wondered, briefly, if anyone would be.
Then he hit save before he could change his mind. It didn’t mean anything. He wasn’t actually going to go through with it. He’d ignore the messages, delete the account in a day or two, pretend this never happened.
Just… looking.
That’s all.
.....
On the other side of the Brooklyn bridge , Scott Hunter knew better than to indulge impulses.
Control had been drilled into him long before hockey ever made him famous. Discipline, restraint—knowing exactly where the line was, and never crossing it. His parents had made sure of that.
His parents, who had lived and breathed hockey. Who had coached him, pushed him, built him into something worth looking at. His parents, who were gone, who had been gone even before he made something of himself. Hockey was the only thing they’d left him. So he should’ve kept scrolling.
He didn’t.
“Discreet platform for wealthy alphas seeking omegas to support.”
Scott let out a quiet breath, his thumb hovering over the screen. “Yeah. That’s a bad idea.” He clicked anyway, It wasn’t the concept that unsettled him. If anything, it was familiar in a way he didn’t like admitting.
He knew guys in the league—good players, respected ones—who had met their mates through arrangements like that. Quietly. Discreetly. The kind of thing that never made headlines, but still happened. Sometimes it even worked.
No, the problem wasn’t that. The problem was him. Scott Hunter. Captain. Golden boy. The kind of name people trusted without question. And privately, a homosexual.
It had never been a phase. Never something he questioned. It was just there, constant and immovable. But hockey didn’t forgive things like that, not without consequences.
And Scott wasn’t just protecting a career—he was protecting the only thing that still connected him to his parents. Their legacy. Everything they had built into him.
Losing that… wasn’t an option.
So he didn’t push. Didn’t test the edges. Didn’t give anyone a reason to look too closely.
He just… browsed. That was safe enough.
Scott created a profile stripped of anything real. No name. No details. Nothing that could trace back to him. The first profiles were exactly what he expected—polished, curated, transactional. People who knew exactly what they were offering, who had turned themselves into something consumable.
It should’ve been easy to close the app. Then he saw it, a new profile.
It stood out immediately—not because it was better, but because it wasn’t trying so hard. The photos were uneven, almost hesitant. Mirror shots, no face, not really—but in one, there it was.
A dimple, small. Easy to miss.
Scott didn’t.
Something in his chest tightened, low and instinctive. This one didn’t belong here. That much was obvious. No polish. No practiced seduction. Just… someone who looked like he wasn’t sure he should’ve signed up in the first place. Which should’ve been a reason to scroll past.
It wasn’t. If anything, it made it worse. Or better.
Scott’s jaw tightened.
The description was short, almost uncertain—like it had been written quickly, before the person behind it could think too hard about what they were doing. Something in Scott shifted, something he usually kept buried under layers of control.
Protective.
He stared at the screen longer than he should have. Because he knew what this was. Not curiosity. This was the part of him he kept locked down—the part that wanted, that reached, that claimed. The part that had no place in the life he’d built.
His thumb hovered, he could walk away. Close the app. Forget this ever happened. That would be the smart thing, instead, he sent the request. The moment it went through, tension snapped tight in his chest.
Reckless.
But the justifications came quickly, automatic and well-practiced. His profile was vague, barely real. The omega would probably ignore it, or assume it was fake. And if he didn’t, Scott could still walk away.
He didn’t have to answer. Didn’t have to reveal anything. Didn’t have to let this become something real. Just a moment of weakness.
Nothing more.
.....
When Kip woke the next morning, his alarm shattered the fragile quiet of dawn. For a moment, everything felt normal. Muscle memory took over and he reached for his phone, blinking against the dim light, thumb already unlocking the screen before his brain had fully caught up.
The notifications hit him all at once. Too many.
His stomach dropped.
It took a second but then the memory of last night came rushing back, heavy and suffocating. The site. The profile. What he’d done.
Kip swallowed hard and opened them. Messages flooded the screen. Some were short. Some were long. Most of them made his skin crawl.
Blatant. Crude. Entitled.
A few weren’t even trying to hide what they wanted from him, he felt his chest tightened.
His thumb moved faster than his thoughts, wiping them away like they could disappear from his memory just as easily. Some were less direct. Cleaner, almost polite on the surface—but there was something underneath them that felt just as transactional. Just as wrong.
He couldn’t do this, he didn’t even open the rest. He locked his phone and threw it onto the bed like it had burned him.
Work started like any other day. Kip stood behind the counter, going through the motions—cut, blend, smile, repeat. The routine was mindless enough to keep him from thinking, which was exactly what he needed. He frowned, glancing toward the empty shop. Weekdays were never like this—not this close to rush hour.
Something felt off.
The bell above the door rang. Kip looked up, already forcing a smile, and froze.
His manager stepped inside, the door closing softly behind her. The look on her face made something deep in Kip’s stomach twist. Not anger, pity. And somehow, that was worse.
“I’m so sorry, Christopher,” she began. The use of his full name hit harder than it should have. “But management has decided to close this location. They’re relocating… and restructuring the staff.” Kip stared at her, the words not quite landing. “They’ve decided not to keep you on.” Something in his chest cracked. “We’re… not sure you have the kind of spirit they’re looking for.”
The rest blurred.
Her voice kept going, but it turned distant, muffled—like he was underwater. His eyes stung.
Don’t cry, not here.
He nodded at the right moments, or at least he thought he did. His hands felt numb. His throat tight. He didn’t remember leaving, the subway ride home passed in a haze. Kip sat there, staring at nothing, his reflection faint in the window—distorted, unfamiliar.
Failure.
The word settled heavy in his chest, sinking deeper with every passing stop. He’d done everything right and it still wasn’t enough. His grip tightened around his phone. But, for once, something went his way: the apartment was empty, with no sign of his parents. The silence hit him the second the door shut behind him and it broke him.
Kip didn’t even make it past his room before it all came crashing down. He collapsed onto his bed, burying his face into the pillow as the first sob tore out of him—raw, ugly, uncontrollable. It didn’t stop. Everything poured out at once—the stress, the exhaustion, the quiet fear he’d been ignoring for months. The debt. The future that felt like it was slipping further out of reach no matter how hard he tried.
“I can’t do this,” he choked into the fabric. “I can’t—” His voice broke completely.
He didn’t know how long he stayed like that. Long enough for the crying to quiet into something weaker. Something emptier. Long enough for the silence to come back. And with it— Reality. He needed another job fast, he couldn’t let his parents see this. Couldn’t let them carry his mess, his debt, his failures. He wouldn’t.
Which meant… Kip’s gaze shifted slowly toward his phone. Still lying on the bed. Waiting.
His stomach twisted. He didn’t want to. God, he really didn’t want to. But desperation had a way of changing things. Of lowering lines he used to think were unmovable. His hand trembled slightly as he reached for it, unlocked it and opened the app.
The messages were still there waiting.
This time he didn’t look away.
.....
Kip didn’t think of himself as superficial. He had preferences, everyone did. His were simple enough, easy to define. Women weren’t even part of the equation. But beyond that… he liked to think he cared about more than just appearances. This wasn’t that.
Most of the profiles blurred together the longer he scrolled. Polished, empty, interchangeable. Carefully crafted bios that said nothing, paired with pictures that felt more like advertisements than people. There was nothing to hold onto, no personality, no warmth, just transactions waiting to happen.
So yeah—he looked at the pictures. It was the only real thing there.
His thumb slowed, one profile stood out immediately. Too much, too perfect.
Male alpha. Mid-to-late thirties, according to the bio. The photos were… ridiculous, honestly. Not in a bad way—just in a way that didn’t feel real. Broad shoulders, defined muscle, the kind of body that looked less like a person and more like something built for display.
Like an athlete, like someone who didn’t need a site like this. Fake, it had to be. And yet, he lingered.
There was something annoyingly convincing about it. The photos weren’t overly staged, not in the same way as the others. Just enough imperfection to make him hesitate. Just enough to make him wonder. His eyes dragged lower before he could stop himself, catching on a detail he hadn’t meant to notice—the faint line of blond hair disappearing beneath fabric.
Heat flickered low in his stomach, sudden and unwelcome. Kip exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face. “Seriously?” This was stupid, all of this was stupid.
He should close the app. Delete the account. Pretend last night never happened. Instead, he tapped the profile and his chest felt tight. It was probably fake. A catfish. Some scammer using stolen pictures to bait desperate people like him.
He knew that.
He knew that.
Still, something in him twisted. Not hope, exactly. Something more reckless than that. Something closer to what if. What if it wasn’t fake? What if, just this once, something didn’t go as badly as it always did?
Kip huffed a quiet, humorless laugh. “Yeah. Right.” His thumb hovered over the screen. He could ignore it. Move on. Stick to something safer—something real, even if it made his skin crawl.
Instead, he clicked. The message box opened, blank and expectant. Kip stared at it for a long second, his mind suddenly empty. What the hell was he even supposed to say? In the end, he didn’t overthink it. Couldn’t. His fingers moved before he could stop them.
Hello.
He hit send almost immediately, like if he hesitated even a second longer, he’d lose the nerve entirely. The message disappeared into the void. Kip stared at the screen, his pulse a little too loud in his ears.
Regret settled in almost instantly, heavy and familiar. Because now, all he could do was wait.
.....
Scott had just stepped out of the shower when his phone buzzed against the counter. Steam still clung to his skin, water dripping slowly down his back as he reached for it, more out of habit than interest. He almost ignored it, he should’ve. But something made him stop.
The notification sat there, simple and unassuming, a new message. Scott’s grip tightened slightly around the phone, for a second, he just stared at it. He hadn’t expected a response. Hadn’t wanted one—not really. Sending that request had already been a lapse in judgment, something he’d half-written off as a mistake the moment it was done.
This… made it real. His jaw flexed but he unlocked the screen anyway. One message.
Hello.
That was it. Scott exhaled slowly, something tight settling low in his chest, he could ignore it. That would be the smart choice. The safe one. Let the message sit unanswered until it buries itself under time and disinterest. Pretend he’d never seen it, that’s what he was supposed to do.
His thumb hovered over the screen, for a moment, he almost convinced himself. Then, uninvited, a thought slipped in. That same omega. The one with the half-hidden face, the barely-there dimple. Sitting somewhere, staring at his phone. Waiting, and getting nothing.
Scott’s expression hardened slightly, he didn’t like that. Didn’t like the idea of leaving it there—unfinished, unresolved. Didn’t like the quiet pull it had on him, the way it lingered under his skin. It was ridiculous, he didn’t know him. Didn’t owe him anything. Still… His thumb moved before he could stop it.
Hey.
He paused, staring at the word like it had appeared on its own. Too simple, too easy. He should leave it at that. Instead, he added—
you’re new.
It wasn’t a question. He hit send before he could rethink it. The message went through instantly. Scott stared at the screen for a second longer than necessary, something uneasy settling in his chest. Because now, he wasn’t just looking anymore. He’d stepped into it.
.....
Kip wanted to cry when he saw that response. The alpha was literally making fun of him. His chest tightened, heat creeping up his neck, embarrassment settling heavy in his stomach. He knew he looked inexperienced, but having it pointed out like that—so easily, so casually—made it worse. Still, he answered, because if it wasn’t this one… it would be one of the others.
What gave me away?
His heart was beating out of his chest, fast and uneven, his scent turning sour in the air around him—anxious, sharp. The reply came quickly.
Your profile is not as professional.
Kip’s jaw tightened, he knew that. He hadn’t seen the other profiles but he could imagine them: perfect pictures, perfect angles, people who clearly knew what they were doing... Omegas who did this professionally. Even some alphas and betas probably.
He wasn’t like them. He never would be. His fingers hovered, then moved anyway.
Why did you choose me then?
Backup option?
He sent both messages, already bracing himself, already knowing the answer would probably confirm what he was thinking. That he was just… easier, less intimidating, more disposable. But quickly, his phone buzzed.
You seem cuter, more genuine.
I’m also new, if I’m honest.
Kip blinked. A strange sense of relief spread through him, loosening something tight in his chest. He wasn’t the only one, but it didn’t make sense. His eyes drifted back to the pictures on the profile—the body, the build, the confidence that practically bled through the screen. An alpha like that? Attractive, clearly well-off, he could have anyone he wanted. Any omega, so why this? Kip frowned slightly, curiosity pushing past his hesitation.
What are you doing here anyway? You seem pretty fine judging by your photos.
Why not pick up an omega at a bar instead of through an app?
He couldn’t deny it anymore—he wanted to know. Partly because he was curious. Partly because he needed to know if this was real. The reply took longer this time, long enough to make his stomach twist again.
My line of work doesn’t allow me to act on my preferences.
Kip stared at the screen, His brows pulled together. Preferences? His grip tightened around his phone. What was that supposed to mean? What preferences?
….
Scott didn’t know why he had said that, He shouldn’t have. What if the omega figured it out? What if he connected the dots, realized exactly who he was? The thought sat heavy in his chest, uncomfortable and persistent. But then his phone buzzed.
What preferences are you talking about?
The message just sat there on his screen, almost mocking him. Scott exhaled slowly, running a hand through his damp hair, He could ignore it, backtrack, lie. Instead, he typed.
My field is very toxic, and I can’t openly date a man.
He stared at the message for a second before sending it. Too honest, Or maybe not honest enough. Either way, he sent it. Scott leaned back slightly, tension settling into his shoulders. He didn’t know why he was still entertaining this—why he was answering at all. Texting some random omega shouldn’t matter. Texting some cute omega definitely shouldn’t matter. But it did, and that was the problem.
Then a thought hit him hard. Age. His jaw tightened, The profile said twenty-two. Scott was thirty-five, more than ten years older. He had kept his own bio vague on purpose—no exact age, no details that could be traced back to him. But the omega had to have seen something. Enough to know he wasn’t young.
And still, he'd answered.
Scott let out a quiet breath. Maybe it didn’t matter, maybe he was the youngest alpha who had reached out to him on that site. …Rosanov would’ve called him old anyway.
The thought was brief, almost automatic, and Scott pushed it aside just as quickly, as if It didn’t matter. None of this was supposed to matter.
.....
Well… that made sense. Kip frowned slightly at the screen, thinking it through. There was still a lot of homophobia out there—more than people liked to admit. It wasn’t just alpha–omega dynamics people expected; it was male–female ones too.
Anything outside of that got… complicated. Kip thought it was all bullshit, honestly, but he also knew it was real. Real enough that it could cost someone their job, His athlete theory was starting making more sense. The body, the vague profile, the secrecy… it all lined up a little too well. Kip’s grip on his phone loosened slightly, That explained things. At least a little.
They kept talking, somehow, it got easier. The alpha was funny—dry, a little sarcastic, the kind of humor that caught Kip off guard more than once. Not loud or obvious, but there, Subtle. And even though he was guarded, careful with what he said, always holding something back, Kip could feel it. The restraint. The control. It didn’t feel fake per se. Just… protected.
And weirdly enough, Kip found himself relaxing, actually enjoying it. For the first time since he downloaded the app, he wasn’t thinking about money, or expectations, or what he was supposed to be doing. He was just… talking, and that felt dangerous in a completely different way.
.....
Scott had always had a strong protective instinct. It came with being an alpha, expected, almost. But he had never really acted on it. Not like this. Not in a way that felt… personal. Controlled. That was how he lived his life.
But this omega, this omega brought it out too easily, too fast. Scott stared at the screen,messages still open. He had asked what he was doing on the app, and the answer had been simple.
Job, college, debt… It shouldn’t have mattered, it didn’t. Not for Scott.
Money hadn’t been a problem for a long time, Scott had more than enough, more than he knew what to do with, more than he could realistically spend. It sat there, accumulating, meaningless in a way that almost made it irritating. There was no one to spend it on anyway. No one to take care of.
That was why the idea caught his attention, he wanted someone to take care of, he craved feeling useful. Something low in his chest settled into place, heavy and certain. This wasn’t about the money, it was about the act.
Providing.
Scott checked the time, Less than ten minutes before he had to be on his way on to the ice. No time to overthink it, not that he was going to, he had always been way too intense.
The app made it easy. Too easy, A few taps, An amount that didn’t even register as a loss. And then send. The transfer went through instantly. Scott didn’t hesitate this time. Didn’t second-guess it. If anything, there was something almost grounding about it. Like a switch had been flipped into something more familiar. Something instinctive. He added a message, brief and simple.
Thank you for talking to me
Like that was all it was. Like it hadn’t just shifted something between them. Scott locked his phone and grabbed his bag, already heading for the door, he didn’t wait for a response. He didn’t need one. Because if the omega decided to accept it, he was going to do it again.
.....
Kip didn’t notice it at first. They were still talking, something stupid, something light, and for a moment, it almost felt normal. Like he wasn’t on that app, like none of this had anything to do with money or expectations or whatever this was supposed to be. Then his phone buzzed a different notification. Kip frowned slightly, tapping it without thinking, and froze.
There was a number on his screen, a big number. A number way too big to be inside his bank account. For a second, his brain didn’t process it. It just sat there, meaningless, like his mind refused to attach reality to it. Then it hit. His stomach dropped.
“What the—” Kip sat up too fast, heart slamming against his ribs. No.
No, no, no. His eyes darted back to the chat.
thanks for talking to me
That was it. No explanation. No warning. No discussion. Kip’s breathing picked up, sharp and uneven as his fingers tightened around his phone. “He didn’t—he actually—what the hell is this?!” Panic flooded in fast, hot, and overwhelming. They hadn’t talked about this, Kip hadn’t agreed to anything. Was this expected now? Did this mean something? Did he owe him something back? His chest felt too tight.
He needed—he needed—
Elena.
Kip didn’t think, just hit call. She picked up on the third ring.
“Please tell me you didn’t block everyone already,” she said casually.
“Elena—” his voice came out higher than he meant it to, breathless, “—he sent me money.”
Silence.
“…Okay, and why do you sound like someone just died?”
“I didn’t ask for it!” Kip rushed out, pacing now, free hand dragging through his hair. “We were just talking and then he just—sent it, like—like it’s nothing, and I don’t know what that means, do I have to—do I owe him something? Because I’m not doing anything I didn’t—”
“Kip.”
Her tone cut through him, sharp but not unkind.
“Breathe.”
He stopped pacing, barely.
“That’s literally the point,” she continued. “They send money.”
“Yeah, but not like that—without saying anything—”
“That’s actually better,” Elena cut in. “It means he’s not trying to negotiate you down or pressure you. He just… gave it to you.”
Kip pressed his lips together, heart still racing.
“That’s not normal,” he muttered.
“It is on that kind of app.”
He shook his head, even though she couldn’t see him. “It feels wrong.”
“It feels new,” she corrected. “Big difference.”
Kip exhaled shakily, dropping back onto the bed.
“I don’t even know what he expects now.”
“Did he say anything?”
Kip glanced at the screen again.
“…Just ‘thanks for talking to me.’”
There was a pause.
Then—
“Oh, he’s into you.”
“What—no, he’s not—”
“Kip,” Elena interrupted, amused now, “a guy sends you money unprompted and doesn’t immediately ask for something in return? Yeah. He’s into you.”
Kip’s face heated.
“That’s—no, that’s not—he doesn’t even know me.”
“And yet.”
Kip groaned softly, dragging a hand over his face for a second.
“This is insane.”
“Welcome to sugar dating.”
He let out a muffled noise.
“What am I even supposed to do?”
“First of all?” Elena said. “Stop panicking.”
“Not helpful.”
“Second, you accept it.”
Kip pulled the pillow away, frowning. “Just like that?”
“Yes, just like that. It’s not a contract, Kip, it’s a gift.”
“It doesn’t feel like a gift.”
“That’s because you’re overthinking it.”
He sat there in silence for a second, staring at the number again. It was… a lot. More than he made in months at the smoothie shop. More than he’d have after losing that job. His chest tightened again, but differently this time. Quieter.
“…I don’t want to mess this up,” he admitted.
Elena softened slightly. “Then don’t. Just… be yourself. That’s clearly working.”
Kip huffed a weak laugh. “Yeah, because I’m doing great so far.”
“You are,” she insisted. “You got yourself a rich alpha who sends you money for existing. That’s literally the goal.”
Kip rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite to it.
“…He is kind of hot,” he muttered.
Elena laughed. “There we go.”
Kip glanced back at the chat, thumb hovering again. His heart was still beating too fast. He still felt out of his depth. Still unsure, still a little overwhelmed, but underneath all of that… Something warmer settled in his chest. Gratitude. And maybe, just a little bit of hope.
“…Okay,” he murmured. “I’ll accept it.”
.....
The match went great. Scott felt it in his bones before he even left the ice—the rhythm of it, the control, the way everything had finally snapped back into place. His losing streak was gone. Cleanly. Like it had never been there. The final whistle had felt almost too good. The bench erupted, teammates slamming sticks against the boards, voices loud with adrenaline and relief. Even the coach had nodded at him with something close to approval, a rare thing that stuck with Scott longer than he’d admit.
He should’ve felt satisfied. He did feel satisfied. Mostly. But there was something else underneath it, something lighter, sharper. His phone was still in his hand as he sat down in the locker room, still half in the glow of the win. He hadn’t even changed yet. Just sat there, sweat cooling on his skin, staring at the screen like it had become part of the game too.
He hadn’t checked it during the match. Not once. And still, he had a feeling. A good one. Scott exhaled through his nose, almost amused at himself. This was ridiculous, He wasn’t superstitious, well that was clearly a lie, he was very superstitious. Just not about normal things, his thumb hovered over the app. That omega, the one with the half-hidden face. The dimple. The hesitant messages. The weirdly honest way of talking like he didn’t belong there.
Scott’s mouth twitched slightly. A fucking lucky charm—now that was new. But it made sense, in a way that annoyed him a little. Ever since he’d started talking to him, something had shifted inside. Maybe it was because, for once, he was actually listening to his instincts. He knew plenty of players relied on that, but his head felt clearer on the ice, his timing sharper. He’d won tonight, and he hadn’t lost focus once.
Scott leaned back, the corner of his mouth lifting as he finally opened the app.
Maybe it was stupid. Maybe it wasn’t. Either way, he was starting to look forward to those typing dots more than he should. And that alone made him tap faster.
Scott had barely set his phone down again when it buzzed. He looked at it too quickly, too eagerly. Then caught himself and exhaled through his nose, like that meant anything. The screen lit up.
Hey, I received it, thank you, but you didn’t have to, I could send it back to you
A second message followed almost immediately.
I still don’t really know what I’m doing here btw
Scott leaned back slightly, staring at it, Yeah, That tracked. Scott’s mouth twitched. His thumbs moved.
you’re doing fine
A pause. Then, because he couldn’t quite help himself:
I sent the money because I wanted to.
He hesitated, staring at the message. Then added:
don’t overthink it
He set the phone down, but didn’t look away from it. Not immediately. Because it felt a little like waiting for the next period on the ice. Like something might happen if he stayed ready for it. And a few seconds later, it did.
.....
The messages on the screen made something settle inside of Kip.
you’re doing fine
I sent the money because I wanted to.
don’t overthink it
His chest tightened a little. That was… not what he expected. Not mocking. Not impatient. Not pushing. Just, steady. Kip let out a slow breath and typed before he could talk himself out of it.
Thank you
He hesitated, then added:
for real. I kind of panicked earlier
The message sat there for a second. Kip frowned at it immediately, too honest again, of course. He shifted on the bed, waiting for the reply, thumb tapping lightly against the sides of his phone. It didn’t take long.
.....
Scott read it and let out a quiet breath through his nose, almost amused. Yeah, that also made sense. His fingers moved easily this time.
you don’t need to panic
you’re doing everything right
Scott leaned back slightly, rolling his shoulders, still half in that post-game high. The win sat warm under his skin, and weirdly enough, this conversation did too. He hesitated for a second, then decided: If this was going to keep going, it shouldn’t be through that app. Too clunky. Too impersonal, so he added:
what’s your name?
A beat. Then, almost immediately after sending it, he realized he should’ve introduced himself first.
I’m Scott
He stared at the screen for half a second. Then added quickly, slightly awkward for the first time.
if you want somewhere normal to talk instead of this app, we could exchange numbers
He paused again, thumb hovering.
only if you’re comfortable with it
Scott set the phone down, but this time he didn’t pretend he wasn’t waiting. Because now it wasn’t just curiosity, it was starting to feel like momentum.
.....
Kip stared at the screen for a second longer than he meant to.
what’s your name?
I’m Scott
if you want somewhere normal to talk instead of this app, we could exchange numbers
His thumb hovered. Name, right. He exhaled slowly and typed.
Christopher.
but everyone just calls me Kip. It’s kind of a stupid nickname, I guess.
He hesitated, then sent it before he could second-guess himself. The name sat on the screen for a moment, strangely exposed.
so… Kip
.....
Scott read it and let out a quiet breath through his nose, almost like he’d been expecting something more complicated and got something simpler instead. Christopher, Kip. His mouth twitched slightly.
it’s not stupid
it’s kind of cute, actually
He stared at the message after sending it, like he hadn’t fully intended to say that part. Then he added quickly.
I’ll use Kip
A second later, another message followed, lighter again, almost back to his usual controlled tone:
it suits you
Scott set the phone down for a moment, but this time the feeling sitting in his chest wasn’t just post-game energy anymore. It was something warmer, and a little more distracting than he was used to.