Summers woke in their temporary residence wrapped in bodies, in a bed far too small for four grown men, and realised with far too much fucking clarity that this was his life now.

They had spent the time waiting for the paperwork on their new house to go through shopping for furniture.

Aggressively.

Hart chose the colours. They all agreed on the same couch. Ben picked the largest television that would physically fit in the living room.

They bought everything the house might need: beds, linen, clocks, rugs, kitchenware, security systems. Kyle selected the most intimidating chopping board Summers had ever seen, one large enough that he could probably butcher an entire carcass on it.

They even bought individual mugs.

Tens of thousands of dollars Summers had once assumed he would never have any reason to spend, gone.

And he did not fucking care.

Especially when he saw Hart bury his face in the softest, most expensive towels Summers had ever touched.

Worth it.

On every trip, at least one of the boys was touching him, orbiting him or watching his every movement for cues.

Hart was practically glued to his side anywhere open or crowded, as though Summers’s body alone was what kept him regulated.

Summers began carrying spare chocolate-covered peanuts at all times in case Hart ran out.

Which he did.

Multiple times.

After Hart started dissociating in the middle of a crowded shopping centre, they collectively decided to shop only during quieter hours. Even then, none of them could tolerate being separated for long.

That was when the group chat became the boys’ new favourite thing.

Every time Kyle and Ben left to handle logistics, the messages never fucking stopped.

Summers hated it.

He still read every single one.

Then, suddenly, they were moving in.

It had barely been three days since the hotel. Summers was not even certain any of them had properly slept.

They were all so catastrophically dysregulated that the only thing stopping them from spiralling into panic-fuelled affirmation blowjobs was Summers keeping them on task every waking moment.

Unfortunately, they were all far too fucking competent.

That became obvious when they collected the grocery order Kyle had arranged.

Within minutes of arriving home, Kyle was in the kitchen, grinning wickedly as he unpacked everything and put it away with ruthless efficiency.

Then he began cooking.

The smell hit Summers, and his heart started breaking before anything had even happened.

He wanted to run.

Their first meal at their own kitchen table, together, was a fucking religious experience.

Summers was never leaving.

He knew it then.

And he also knew that if, or when, the boys left him, he would not survive it.

He could not trust this.

After dinner, they watched television together until Summers could no longer bear it.

It was too much.

Too comfortable.

Too perfect.

He retreated to his own bedroom, because they each had separate rooms now, and fell asleep alone for the first time in what felt like forever.

He woke in a panic.

Only to find all three boys curled around him in their sleep.

Summers lay perfectly still and drank in every precious, terrifying moment of it.

🥜🥜🥜

They spent much of the following week completing Enlightenment training for their new jobs, a far more comprehensive course on the supernatural world.

And holy fuck, were they enlightened.

There was so much hidden behind the veil of secrecy that Summers had never known existed. A significant part of him wished he still did not.

But now he had knowledge.

Contacts.

Procedures.

Protocols.

Most importantly, people with more authority than him to whom he could delegate the truly supernatural bullshit.

It was liberating.

They tentatively began their new jobs, though the actual requirements were almost negligible compared with what they had done at the hotel. The boys quickly transformed their surveillance shifts into gossip sessions again, only now they had a group chat and an endless supply of memes.

The greatest difference was that Ben could actively seek people out and socialise.

And people loved him.

They found him charming, approachable and easy to talk to.

Compared with Summers, who was tall, built like a brick shithouse, tattooed from neck to toe and permanently wore an expression that told the world to fuck off, Ben was practically a puppy.

Even so, his interactions rarely extended beyond pleasantries and gossip. Kyle, as always, carried himself like a deranged serial killer at least half the time, which, admittedly, he kind of was, if being paid to kill people counted.

He barely gave anyone outside their little group the time of day, devoting himself instead to maintaining everything from the cleanliness of the house to their diets.

Summers had never known how much he could enjoy avocados.

He was fairly certain Kyle had already mapped his entire palate.

Hart, meanwhile, distrusted almost everyone unless Summers personally approved of them, which was a near-negligible number of people.

Tallus was fine.

Tallus, a Dawnbreaker, enthusiastically ran their book club every evening until Summers insisted it was too fucking much and restricted the sessions to once a week, preferably before any of them became eager to explore techniques beyond blowjobs before they were ready.

Summers had already blown all three of them with far too much enthusiasm.

He had not yet allowed any of them to reciprocate.

Probably another useless boundary he had created for himself.

Still, slowing the pace gave the boys enough time to begin regulating properly.

Barely.

But they were getting better.

Then Tallus invited them to the local coven’s equinox celebration.

Summers agreed only after learning that the Dawnbreakers would be attending and would be completely sober.

He knew the boys would refuse to go without him.

He could also tell they desperately wanted to.

What Summers had not expected upon arriving was a group of incredibly ripped, supernaturally strong, bronze-skinned Dawnbreakers wearing little more than bikinis, speedos, bunny ears and tails while handing out drinks to members of the local coven.

The coven, having apparently discovered sexual embodiment centuries ago, was already getting spectacularly shit-faced around several enormous bonfires.

Summers groaned internally.

So did his dick.

Because this was apparently the fucking life he had now.

A Dawnbreaker passed by carrying a tray of freshly poured cider, and Kyle immediately snatched up a glass.

He took a sip.

His eyes lit up.

He nudged Hart. “Try this.”

Hart eyed the glass warily. “I don’t like cider.”

Kyle gave him a look that clearly said, Trust me.

Hart sighed, took the glass and sipped.

His eyes widened.

“You are not getting this back.”

Ben perked up. “That good? All right, I’m getting one.”

A moment later, another Dawnbreaker appeared, rabbit ears bobbing as she balanced a tray of cider and offered it around. Kyle and Ben eagerly took a glass each.

Then all three turned expectantly towards Summers.

Summers sighed inwardly.

Here it was.

“I don’t drink,” he said dryly.

They blinked.

“Why not?” Kyle asked.

Summers exhaled slowly.

“I’m a recovering alcoholic.”

Dead silence.

The Dawnbreaker stiffened, then immediately brightened.

“I’ll be right back with something non-alcoholic!”

She hurried away as though undertaking a critical mission, her fluffy rabbit tail bouncing behind her.

All four stared after her.

Ben turned back to Summers.

“Since when were you an alcoholic?”

Summers released the longest, weariest sigh yet.

“Since my stepfather of twenty years cheated on my mother with my girlfriend, the same girlfriend who had agreed to marry me, and my mother blamed me for their eventual divorce.”

They all froze.

For several long seconds, nobody spoke.

Then Hart began rubbing slow circles over Summers’s back.

Ben downed his cider, stepped closer and joined him.

“Dude,” he muttered. “Fuck your exes. They have no idea what they’re missing.”

The Dawnbreaker returned carrying a brightly coloured drink and offered it to Summers.

He frowned at it but accepted it anyway.

He took one cautious sip.

Then another.

His scowl deepened.

His eyes glistened.

The Dawnbreaker looked stricken.

“Is it not good?”

Summers shook his head once.

“No. It’s perfect. Thank you.”

She beamed and skipped away, her rabbit ears bobbing.

Hart watched her go.

“I think I love it here.”

“Same,” Kyle said. He looked around at the bonfires, the drunken coven and the three men beside him. “I think I’m going to die here. With my boys.”

The others nodded solemnly in agreement.