u/Spirited_Engineer313

The Uber driver let him off at the corner of Brattle Street and Appian Way, and Jonas stood for a moment on the curb with his duffel bag cutting into his shoulder, his backpack pulling at both straps and his suitcase by his side, staring.

Contrary to what he had been told, the house wasn’t a house. It was a fucking estate. Well… maybe not that much but it was literally a mansion spreading farther than he could see.

Three stories of red brick and cream trim rose behind a wrought-iron fence that had actual electric lanterns mounted on the gateposts. A cobblestone driveway curved toward a detached garage that could have fit his family’s entire apartment back in Worcester. Twice. Ivy crawled up the eastern facade in disciplined rows, trimmed so precisely it looked painted on. 

What the hell was he doing here again?

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” Jonas muttered.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. A text from Sean: Here yet? Door’s open. Come through the main entrance.

Jonas nervously ran his hand through his blond curls and pushed through the gate. The hinges didn’t creak. Of course they didn’t. The front door was oak, massive, with a brass knocker shaped like a lion’s head. He didn't even have time to think too much about just how absurd that was before the door opened in front of him.

Sean Algar leaned against the doorframe like he was posing for a magazine spread. So fucking tall. Brown hair swept back from his forehead in that effortless way that probably took twenty minutes to achieve. He wore a Harvard crewneck with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing forearms that belonged on a rowing team poster. His smile was wide, showing rows of blinding white teeth. 

Fucking hell.

“Jonas! Glad you made it.”

“Yeah. Hi.”

Sean pulled him into a one-armed hug before Jonas could extend a hand. The duffel bag made it awkward. Sean smelled like cedar and something citrusy, surely some kind of expensive cologne, the kind that came in bottles heavy enough to use as weapons. The kind Jonas would never ever think about buying. 

“Your sister said you’d be nervous,” Sean said, stepping back and looking him over. “She wasn’t wrong, was she?”

“I’m not nervous.” He replied immediately, trying not to let his voice sound annoyed. As much as he loved his sister, she really was too talkative at times.

“Your hands are shaking.”

Jonas looked down to note that they indeed were. He hadn’t noticed. “It’s cold,” he explained lamely.

“It’s August.” Sean’s grin widened. “Come on. Let me show you the place. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

The foyer alone was larger than Jonas’s dorm room had been during undergrad orientation. Freaking marble floors, the kind of thing you only saw in stupid movies about obscenely rich people. A chandelier that probably cost more than his entire scholarship. A staircase curved up to the second floor with a mahogany banister polished to a mirror shine. Sean kicked off his sneakers by the door, and Jonas hurried to do the same, noticing too late that one of his socks had a hole near the left big toe. So much for the first impression.

“So this is the entryway,” Sean said, gesturing broadly. “Living room’s through here.”

Jonas followed him through an arched doorway into a space that made his jaw go slack. Vaulted ceilings. Floor-to-ceiling windows that faced a backyard with an actual pool, heated, Sean mentioned offhandedly, and a patio with furniture that looked like it had been arranged by a professional designer. It surely had honestly… he would not be surprised about it. The couches in the living room were leather, like… all of them.

“There’s eight of us total,” Sean said, dropping onto one of the couches and motioning for Jonas to sit. “Well, nine now, with you. You’ve got the smallest room, like I told your sister, but honestly it’s still bigger than most of the singles on campus.”

“How much bigger?”

“You’ll see.”

Jonas sat on the edge of a leather armchair, his backpack still on his lap like a shield. “And the other guys?”

“Out right now. Nikolai’s probably at the business school library, he practically lives there. Aiden has swim practice until seven, maybe eight. Rafael’s…” Sean paused, tilting his head. “Actually, I have no idea where Rafael is. He’s like a cat. Shows up when he wants attention, disappears when he doesn’t.”

“And the others?”

“Kane’s at some symposium on international trade law. Dion’s probably at the gym. Lucien’s definitely hungover somewhere. Probably in the bedroom of one of his fuck buddies.” Sean ticked them off on his fingers like he was reciting a grocery list. “I've told the guys you're joining us, so you'll meet everyone tomorrow, we're going to have a sort of welcome meeting.”

Just the kind of things he hated… being the center of a room. Just great.

“Don’t look so terrified. They’re all assholes, but they’re good assholes.” Sean leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Let me give you the rundown so you’re not walking in blind.” The way he said it, like he was doing Jonas a favor, like this was privileged information, made Jonas’s stomach tighten. But he nodded anyway, what else could he do really? “Nikolai Orlov. Russian father, French mother. A student in economy and finance, he really loves that shit. Dude’s got more money than half of the school and a face like a marble statue. Very serious, and very intense. He doesn’t smile much, but when he does it’s because he’s won an argument. Don’t be intimidated by him, he’s really chill all in all.” Sean held up a second finger. “Rafael Ortega. Spanish roots. This one is pure chaos, really. He’s incapable of staying serious for more than two minutes and a dick he’ll show you within five minutes of meeting him.”

Jonas blinked. What the actual fuck? “He what?” 

“He’s an exhibitionist. The  dumbass doesn’t ‘believe’ in clothes, at least that’s what he says. You’ll get used to it, eventually.” Sean’s tone was casual, like he was describing someone’s coffee order, and not the fact that one the men who lived here literally liked to show off his fucking prick. “Then there is Kane Devereux. He is a British-French guy, so very posh. International law and political science. Built like a fucking tank. Serious family money, old money, like… his family literally owns castles. Just a little warning about him, don’t bring up his father. Just don’t.”

“Why?” he asked, trying to process as much as possible of the overwhelming amount of information that was being thrown at him far too quickly.

“Because I said so.” Sean’s smile didn’t waver, but something behind his eyes went flat. “Aiden Brooks. Our very own olympic-level swimmer. Pure American this one. Has a body like a Greek god and about as smart as one, but he’s a good guy, he’ll make you laugh. Dion Walker… I think he is the quietest of us all. You'll recognize him easily by his short beard.  He follows a philosophy major, which means he’s either brilliant or completely full of shit. It’s up to you to decide which one. Then, Matthew Sinclair, who is a freaking giant, he’s got an insane physique, seriously, considering all the junk food he eats, paired with the face of an angel. The guy is a genius… like, literally.”

“And the last one?” Jonas asked, because if he was not wrong, there was only one guy missing. 

“Lucien Beaumont. Red hair. French too… too many fucking french roots around her. The loudest of us all. He’s a mountain of muscle and he knows exactly how handsome he is. If he hits on you, don’t take it personally. He hits on everyone.”

These words landed in Jonas’s chest and stayed there. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but something must have flickered across his face because Sean tilted his head.

“Relax. Nobody here cares who you fuck.” Sean stood up. “Come on. Let me show you the kitchen.”

The kitchen was a chef’s dream. So many countertops. A six-burner gas range. A refrigerator that had a screen on it… a screen, on a refrigerator… like what…. displaying some information. Copper pots hung from a rack above the island. The pantry was larger than Jonas’s childhood bedroom. Oh he would really love this room… he knew that much.

“This is insane,” Jonas said quietly.

“Nikolai’s parents bought the place his freshman year. They rent the rooms to us at cost.” Sean opened the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of water, tossing one to Jonas. “The rent’s high because the neighborhood’s high, but compared to what you’d pay for a smaller apartment in the middle of the university? It’s a steal.”

Jonas caught the bottle against his chest. It was not a steal, for it was still very expensive, but he had to admit it was so much better than some rooms he had visited. “Why’d you have an open room?”

“Previous guy graduated. Moved to New York for some finance job.” Sean unscrewed his water and took a long drink. “Your sister called me literally the week he moved out. Said you were desperate.”

The word ‘desperate’ stung a bit. Jonas looked away, at the copper pots, at the marble, anywhere but at Sean’s face. “I wasn’t desperate.”

“She said you’d been rejected from thirty-seven places.”

“It was nineteen.” he replied a bit sourly. 

“And the dorms?”

“Waitlisted.” Because of course he had been. Finding a room in one of the best universities in the world while being a normal guy with normal resources was a nightmare. 

“That’s what I said. Desperate.” But Sean’s voice wasn’t cruel. It was matter-of-fact, like he was stating the weather. “I’m not judging. The housing situation around here is fucked. I’m just saying how it is.”

Jonas twisted the cap off his water bottle. “Why’d you say yes?”

“To your sister?”

“To me.”

Sean leaned against the island, crossing his arms. The fabric of his crewneck pulled tight across his broad shoulders. “Because she asked. And because she’s still one of my friends, even if we didn’t work out. Come on. Let’s see your room.”

The staircase curved upward, and Jonas’s hand on the banister left faint smudges on the polished wood. He tried to wipe them away with his sleeve. This place was really ridiculous. Sean led him down a hallway on the second floor, past closed doors, past a bathroom that had an enormous tub visible through the half-open door, and past what looked like a laundry room with two washers and two dryers.

“That’s Nikolai’s room,” Sean said, pointing to a door with a small brass plate that read ORLVOV. “Aiden’s at the end. Kane’s next to him. Rafael’s room is across from mine on the third floor, he wanted the upper floor space, more privacy for his ‘activities.’” The air quotes were audible.

“Activities?”

“You’ll find out.” Jonas was not sure he wanted to. Sean stopped in front of a door near the back staircase. “This is yours.”

Jonas opened the door.

The room was supposed to be small, the smallest in the house, Sean had warned him, but it was beautiful. A window faced the backyard, letting in afternoon light that caught the dust motes floating in the air. Hardwood floors, and a built-in bookshelf in a corner of the room. It had a desk by the window. There was a closet with a sliding door, a small dresser, and a nightstand with a lamp that had a stained-glass shade. The walls were painted a pale blue-gray that reminded Jonas of winter mornings.

He had visited some rooms with a kitchen and bathroom smaller than this one. 

“This is the smallest room?” Jonas asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Technically. But we don’t really do ‘small’ here.”

Jonas dropped his bags on the bed, and put his suitcase next to the bed. The mattress gave slightly under the weight. He ran his fingers over the comforter, its texture softer than anything he’d ever owned.

“So?” Sean leaned against the doorframe. “What do you think?”

“I think I’m dreaming.”

“You’re not. But we’ll take the compliment.” Sean checked his phone. “I’ve got to head out in twenty minutes, study group for biochem. You good to settle in on your own?”

“Yeah. Yes. I’m good.”

“Kitchen’s fully stocked. There’s a takeout menu drawer next to the refrigerator. Bathroom’s down the hall, you share with Aiden and Dion, but they’re clean. Mostly.” Sean pushed off the doorframe. “Oh, and Jonas?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t let the house intimidate you.” The practiced smile softened into something almost genuine. “Everyone here got in because they deserved to. Including you.”

He was gone before Jonas could respond.

Jonas stood alone in the room, his room, and listened to the silence, before he started to unpack slowly. He put his clothes in the dresser, his textbooks on the shelf, arranged by subject. His laptop on the desk, next to the stained-glass lamp. 

He thought about what Sean had said. Everyone here got in because they deserved to. It was a nice sentiment. It was also, Jonas suspected, bullshit. The kind of thing people said when they’d never had to fight for a spot at the table. That was definitely the case for all the other guys in that house, rich kids, well-connected, and all that stuff.

Sean had called the rent ‘a steal’. Jonas had checked the numbers three times before accepting. The monthly payment would eat nearly half his scholarship stipend. The rest would go to food, books, and whatever emergencies the year threw at him. He’d be eating a lot of rice. A lot of pasta. He’d be fine.

He’d been fine before.

At seven o’clock, his stomach growled loudly enough to echo. Jonas made his way back downstairs, navigating the hallways of a house he didn’t know carefully, not wanting to stumble into someone else’s space, and found the big kitchen empty. The takeout menu drawer was exactly where Sean had said it would be. Jonas thumbed through them: Thai, Indian, sushi, a pizza place that charged fifteen dollars for a large.

He settled on a Vietnamese place and ordered pho. He ate at the kitchen island, perched on a barstool that had probably cost more than his entire wardrobe. The pho was good, better than good, actually, the broth rich with star anise and cinnamon. He slurped noodles and scrolled through his course registration on his phone.

Nutritional Biochemistry. Advanced Macronutrient Metabolism. Public Health Policy and Food Systems. Research Methods in Nutritional Epidemiology.

Four classes. Two semesters. And then, if he survived, a few more years of the same, with some added classes and subjects.

He’d spent his entire undergrad working toward this. Late nights in the library. Lab internships that paid nothing, but which were still opportunities and professional experiences that added value to his portfolio and resume. The Harvard acceptance letter had arrived on a Tuesday. His mom had cried when she saw it, and his dad had taken a picture of the envelope and sent it to everyone in his contact list.

And now he was here, eating pho in a mansion, surrounded by people he hadn’t met yet.

The front door opened at eight-thirty.

Jonas heard it from the kitchen, the heavy thud of the oak door, footsteps on marble, voices. Two of them, low and conversational, but still loud enough he could hear them a bit.

“—told him the deal wouldn’t close before October, but he didn't listen.”

“Your father never listens.”

“My father thinks listening is for poor people.”

The voices moved into the living room. Jonas stayed frozen on his barstool, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. He couldn’t see them from the kitchen, but he could hear them clearly.

“Is the new kid here?”

“Sean said he was coming today.”

“The sister’s brother?”

“That’s the one.”

A pause. Then, lower: “What’s his deal?”

“Nutrition. Scholarship kid. From Worcester I think.”

Jonas’s grip tightened on his chopsticks. Scholarship kid. He hadn't even met them yet, and he'd already been labeled. He’d heard them before, so many times, in so many different tones. Sometimes pitying. Sometimes dismissive. Sometimes, from certain people, a particular kind of condescension masquerading as admiration.

“Is he hot?”

What the hell?

“I don’t know. Sean didn’t say.”

“Sean never says. Sean thinks everyone is beneath him.”

“That’s because Sean is an asshole on his best day.” One of the voices replied with humor.

Amidst the quiet laughter, he heard the sound of someone dropping onto a leather couch. Jonas set his chopsticks down carefully, quietly, and slid off the barstool. He padded to the kitchen doorway and peered through.

Two men were in the living room. One was massive, broad shoulders, thick arms, black hair that curled slightly at the ends. He wore a tight black T-shirt that hugged every contour of his upper body, and even from across the room, Jonas could see veins running down his forearms. His biceps were obscene… like bulging veiny and all. He had sunglasses pushed up on his head and a metal watch glinting on his wrist.

The other man was leaner but still imposing. Dark hair, styled messily. A jawline that could cut glass. Tattoos, some impressive wings, peeking out from the collar of his shirt. Jonas didn’t know who he was but his face looked like it belonged on a billboard.

Listening to them talk a bit, he was apparently the one who asked if he was hot.

Jonas stepped back from the doorway. His heart was beating too fast. He wasn’t ready, wasn’t prepared in any way, to meet them yet. Not tonight. Not alone, without Sean as a buffer. He’d meet them tomorrow, at the house meeting, with everyone else present and the attention diffused.

Yeah, that was a good plan.

He retreated to the kitchen, washed his bowl in the sink, dried it with a towel that hung from the oven handle. He did all that before realising that there was a dishwasher here. The voices in the living room continued, but he couldn’t make out the words anymore. He slipped out through the back hallway and climbed to his room without making a sound.

Behind his closed door, Jonas sat on the edge of his bed and exhaled.

Scholarship kid.

It didn’t matter. It wasn’t an insult. It was just true.

He pulled out his phone and texted his sister: I’m here. The house is insane. Sean says hi.

Her response came within seconds: Told you he’d come through. How are the other guys?

Haven’t met them yet. Tomorrow.

Be brave, little brother. You deserve to be there just as much as they do.

Jonas stared at the message for a long time. His sister had always known exactly what he needed to hear, even when he didn’t want to hear it. She’d dated Sean for eight months, two years ago, and when they broke up she’d told Jonas it was because Sean was ‘too in love with himself to make room for anyone else’. But she’d never burned the bridge. She’d kept the connection alive, and when Jonas needed it, she’d used it.

He owed her. He owed her more than he could ever repay.

The house settled around him. Footsteps in the hallway passed his door and continued toward the far end of the corridor. A door opened and closed, surely one of the other guys going into their rooms.

Jonas changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt, climbed into the ridiculous bed with its ridiculous comforter, and stared at the ceiling. He was here. He’d made it. Tomorrow, he’d meet the rest of them. Tomorrow, he’d sit in the living room with eight strangers and try to convince them he belonged among them for at least a year. 

He really wasn't eager to do it.

But it was for tomorrow.

Tonight, in the quiet dark of his too-small, too-beautiful room, Jonas let himself feel it: the terror, the exhilaration, the bone-deep certainty that his life had just shifted irrevocably.

He didn’t sleep for hours.