The game night had lasted until midnight, so Ryan slept over. Tom had blown up an air mattress and put on bedding, and Ryan slept there.

It was around three in the morning when both boys woke up, freezing and shivering.

"Hey," Jake asks, teeth chattering, "are you cold too, or is it just me?"

"I-I'm freezing t-too," Ryan replies.

"Come here," Jake says, patting the bed beside him. Ryan looked confused, but he squirmed out of the sparse bedding and sat on Jake's bed. "No, stupid. In the bed."

Ryan's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"

"Why not?" Ryan lifts up the corners of the sheets and Jake scoots over, giving Ryan space to get warm. Jake rolls onto his side, his legs bending to get comfortable. A sudden warmth hits his back, and warm arms wrap around his bare torso. He doesn't need to turn his head to know that Ryan's curled up around him. Ryan's hand, rough and warm, clasps Jake's, gripping it firmly.

Huh. Maybe he should've thrown a shirt on before inviting Ryan into his bed. Maybe he should learn to slow down a bit . . . But regardless, Ryan's skin against his made him extremely happy, and extremely comfortable.

Warm and more content than he has ever been, Jake drifts off into sleep, reality slipping away and fading into a place where he knew Ryan loved him as much as he did.

The slamming-open of a door, followed by a loud gasp, woke Jake the following morning. He jumped, trapped by Ryan's arm, and fear flooded him. He knew that this couldn't look . . . good.

"Uh, LJ? I can leave if you want me to, uh . . ." Big Jake's voice calmed Jake a bit, but he knew he had to move. He wriggled out of Ryan's grip, doing his best not to wake him, and got up.

"No, no, there's no reason to leave," Jake insisted, nervously combing his hair back. Big Jake looks him up and down, seeing him shirtless, wearing nothing but a long pair of fuzzy pajama pants. "It was just cold and . . ."

Big Jake's face relaxes, but then his lips curl into a smirk. His eyes flick between Ryan's sleeping figure and Jake's flushed face. "Oh, I see how it is. You're there but you aren't . . . there. Keep me in the know, LJ." He winks and walks away, gently closing the door behind him.

Jake wanted to protest, but Big Jake was out of there before he could get a word out. With a sigh, he made his way over to Ryan and gently shook him awake. "Hey Ryan, good morning! Did you sleep well?"

Ryan yawned and stretched, his bleary blue eyes blinking open. "Good morning. Yeah, thanks." His voice was hoarse from sleep as he spoke. He pushed himself against the headboard, sitting up. His blond hair stuck up straight and is messier than Jake has ever seen it.

"Do you want to go out and have some breakfast?" Jake asks.

"Yeah, that sounds great," Ryan replies with a sluggish smile. He gets out of bed and pulls on a hoodie—he has been wearing just some basketball shorts. Jake yanks on a white t-shirt, and the two of them make their way out to the kitchen.

When they walk out, Emma is opening a box of Dunkin' Doughnuts. They must be fresh because the box is practically steaming, and the aroma is filling the room. Big Jake and Haz are sitting on the couch talking, and Lily and Zendaya sit on the love seat nearby.

"Oh, hey sleepy heads!" Emma calls out. "I just got some doughnuts. Come on, eat up!"

"Thanks, mom," Jake replies with a smile.

"Yeah, thanks Mrs. Holland," Ryan agrees. They head over to the box and pull out a few doughnuts, plowing into them.

"Did you boys sleep well?" Emma asks. She brushes a strand of her dirty blonde hair behind her ear, the rest pulled back in a messy bun.

"Yeah," they both reply.

"I'm glad."

"So," Jake asks as he sits down at the high top, "where's Hannah?"

"She left to hang out with a friend. Why?" Emma questions.

"Oh no reason." Jake turns to Ryan and smiles broadly. Be glad she's not here, he mouths. Ryan laughs and shakes his head, his messy hair moving with it.

"What about Dad?"

"He left to drop her off a few minutes ago and then he'll stop at the store for me on the drive home. Here." Emma stops talking to concentrate as she lowers overflowing glasses of orange juice onto the table in front of them.

"Thanks, Mrs. Holland," Ryan says with an award-winning smile.

"Of course, sweetheart!"

They eat and drink for a while longer, chatting causally with Emma and the rest of the crew. When they're done, Jake runs and grabs the football from his bedroom.

"Wanna go throw it around out back?" he asks Ryan. Ryan smirks, and grabs the ball from Jake's hands, running back with a laugh.

Jake begins chasing him, but Ryan jukes away, dodging his grasp. With wide smiles and echoing laughs, they run to the Hollands' backyard, stealing the football again and again, throwing it back and forth, until the sun was high in the sky.

"Coach is gonna be happy that we practiced," Jake jokes.

"Well, if we keep practicing and I don't get a chance to have a drink or something, then he'll be happy at my funeral," Ryan replies with a laugh.

"Then let's get inside and grab a drink." Jake takes the ball from Ryan and throws it up in the air, forming a nice spiral before falling back down into Jake's waiting hands. He tucks it beneath his arms and leads Ryan up to the back porch and back inside.

Jake walks to the fridge and just as he begins searching for something to drink, Tom walks through the door.

"Hi, lad," Tom says with a smile. "Who's your mate here?"

"Dad," Jake groans, "you're doing it again."

"Oh right, sorry." Tom coughs and starts again. He shifts from his British accent to a heavy southern. "Hey, y'all! Who's that buddy of yours?"

Ryan has to stop himself from laughing his head off.

"Oh my gosh, Dad," Jake complains with a loud sigh.

"You know, you have a bit of his accent," Ryan teases.

Jake turns to face him, and his eyebrows raise. "You want to repeat that?"

"You have a bit of his accent."

"Oh, that's it," Jake says, and he reaches over and traps Ryan in a headlock, ticking him.

Ryan's muscles flex as he wiggles out of Jake's grip, laughing. "Okay, okay. But you can't argue it."

"He's right, Jake," Tom agrees, a wolfish grin spread ear-to-ear, "you can't. Now help me unpack these groceries."

Jake takes a bag from Tom and moves the items to where they belong until all that's left is a case of coke cans.

"I have a funny story about coke," Tom begins. "That's how I met your mum. See-"

"Dad," Jake interrupts, "I've heard this story like twenty times."

"Let him keep going," Ryan begs, "please?"

"Thanks, lad," Tom replies, patting him on the back. "As I was saying, I was at the grocery store while I was down here filming Homecoming. Your mum saw me standing there, and came over to speak to me. She told me how I looked familiar and she just had to know who I was because it was killing her. I took off my disguise—a very clever one at that—and when she recognized me, she dropped the coke she was buying and it spilled all over. It was the glass bottles, so they shattered and made the mess even worse. She was so embarrassed that I went and helped mop up the mess, and gave her money to buy some more coke. She looked rather dashing, so I decided to be a flirt and give her my number too. She texted me that night so I invited her to set, and from there it's all history."

"Why don't you just go write a book, Dad?" Jake jokes.

"If I did that, I'm sure people would begin talking to strangers in the grocery store and flirting—I'm not sure other celebrities would be very happy about that."

"Well I think it's adorable," Ryan tells him with a smile. Jake grins. Ryan's one of his first friends to actually be able to interact with his parents and family friends instead of acting completely star-stuck, and it's kind of nice.

"Can we have some coke then, Dad?"

"That's what it's here for, isnt it?"

"Okay, thanks." Jake grins and pries two cans from the plastic, cracking them open and passing one to Ryan. They both thirstily drink, the only thing stopping them from chugging the fizz.

"Mr. Holland, do you want to throw the ball out back with his?" Ryan asks. His eyes find Jake's, asking permission, and he nods.

"That sounds like a lot of fun," he replies. They all head back out to the backyard, and stand in a triangle, throwing the ball back and forth, caring about nothing except keeping the ball off the grass.