Whenever they touched it was more than warm; a hot, fiery need ripped through him, from his fingertips to his heart and all the way down to his toes. In the name of self-preservation, Peter ended the touch there. He turned to set his bag down so that Jason couldn't see the flush of his cheeks, the widening of his eyes when he thought about how close he was to touching that perfect boy's skin.

"I'm no saint," Peter reminded him, not facing him because God, he loved that Jason thought that. In fact, it was fear of shattering that delicate illusion that kept Peter from telling Jason how he felt -- how he'd felt since the moment they met. It's complicated for a lot of reasons. Namely: Nadia. He was pretty sure she'd never told Jason that their relationship was a ruse. There was also the Fathers and Sisters' watchful eyes, the fear of student speculation. The discomfort in knowing it would never be.

Even though sometimes -- God, sometimes, Peter swore Jason felt it, too.

Wishful thinking, he told himself for the millionth time. Finally, he stood up, having produced his laptop from his bag. He crawled onto his bed and tugged the thing open. There was plenty of room for Jason to sit beside him.

"So?" His smile was back, bright and dumb and fuck, he loved this boy so much. "What are we going to watch?"