Settling his grip just above the muted curve of Bitty's hips, Jack squeezes. "Better." Bitty coughs out a laugh. "Glad you're satisfied." "Almost satisfied," Jack says. "I still have my shirt and socks on." "Good," Bitty says, and he leans to press them together, forehead to forehead, chest to chest with only cotton worn thin between them. "I like you like this. It's cute."

“So, uh, I think our room’s haunted,” Ransom says, settling down next to Holster on the floor of the attic, and Holster blinks back into awareness again. (Or; ghosts, drinks, and bros doing bro things. Like making out.)