By the time Brandon reached the cul-de-sac with the tacky white house, all his internal pep-talking that everything would be fine had petered out into equal parts fear the lights would be on or they wouldn't. Either way, he had no idea what he'd do.

The porch was dark, but light glowed behind the front door, as if the man who lived here had been waiting for him. Brandon slowed a couple steps, swallowing, then steeled himself and entered the cul-de-sac, following the curve of the street.

The house's outdoor floodlights switched on, pinning him in a bright circle. The brunet was standing behind the glass of his front door again.

Brandon tripped on an uneven piece in the asphalt and nearly went sprawling. He stumbled to a halt right in front of the house's driveway, breathing hard and with absolutely no clue what to do. Tonight the watcher was wearing a midnight blue shirt that fit better than the red one had. He had both of his palms on the window like a prisoner, all but pressing his nose to the glass.

On impulse, Brandon lifted his hand in a little wave. "Hi," he said, because he couldn't help himself. He smiled, making it big and friendly. I'm nice. Please don't call the cops.

As if he'd heard him, the man smiled back.

Oh.

Brandon had noticed how beautiful the man was the night before, despite his pallor and unhealthy thinness. But his smile ...

Brandon stood like a deer frozen in headlights as he gazed at him. He's just as scared as you are, he thought crazily, but this wasn't fear. It definitely, absolutely, wasn't fear.

It also wasn't the easy attraction he'd felt for Chad and all the other creeps who'd slithered in and out of his life. He wasn't even sure it was attraction. It felt like something inevitable, like this moment was unspooling the only way it could. Like they were supposed to meet. Like they were supposed to be together. Because Brandon couldn't imagine ever wanting anyone else.

Oh.

He didn't realize he'd moved, but he was suddenly on the walkway in front of the stairs leading up to the porch with the tacky pillars. His attention was fixed on the man behind the door.

His eyes were so pale blue they were nearly translucent, and they crinkled warmly at the corners when he smiled. As beautiful as the rest of him.

The lock on the door clicked as it turned, and then it pushed open. The pale beauty stepped out onto his porch, still holding the door handle.

"Hi," he said. He smiled again, like he was delighted to be saying it. Like the moment felt just as inevitable to him too.

"Yannick?" The voice -- mature, male, not delighted at all -- came from inside the house. "What are you doing?"

Yannick's pale blue eyes went wide in alarm. "Go," he whispered, then slammed the door and shut off the light.