Their Wonder Years: Fall 98

Chapter 181: Reactions

The key clicked in the lock.

Bharath stepped into the house, gym bag slung over one shoulder, his T-shirt sticking slightly to his back from the lingering humidity. His hair was still damp from the gym shower, curls dripping occasionally onto his collar. His entire body radiated warmth - not just from the workout, but from the kind of deep, whole-hearted joy that came from hearing his brothers wax poetic about love over biscuits and coffee.

What a morning.

The guys were ridiculous - loud, awkward, a little too smug - but it was real. Something had shifted among them. And somewhere between Ravi’s starry-eyed recollection of “her first moan,” Jorge reading Neruda aloud between pancakes, and Tyrel’s dramatic reenactment of being “wrecked by the Holy Spirit of LaTasha,” Bharath had laughed so hard he nearly cried.

He felt light. Grounded. Full.

Maybe love really is catching.

“I’ve got stories,” he called out as he nudged the door closed with his heel. “You wouldn’t believe what the boys got up to last night. Ravi actually-”

He turned the corner into the living room and stopped cold.

His entire chest tightened.

Marisol, Sarah, and Mia were on the couch - their bodies wrapped in robes, legs folded beneath them, shoulders pressed together. Their cheeks were flushed, their eyes puffy. Crumpled notes lay clutched in their hands. Coffee mugs sat cooling on the table, forgotten.

All three of them looked up at him at once with tears. Quiet, shimmering tears.

His smile faltered.

“Oh no,” he said instantly, stepping forward. “Did I do something wrong? Was the toast burnt? Was it the notes? I-I just wanted to say thank you. I didn’t mean to upset you-”

“Shut up,” Marisol said, her voice cracking.

And then they moved.

Marisol surged off the couch first, crashing into his chest with the force of a heartbeat too full to contain. Her arms locked around his neck, her lips finding the curve of his throat.

Sarah wasn’t far behind, curling around his waist like ivy, her cheek pressed against his chest, her shoulders shaking with silent emotion.

And then came Mia.

She didn’t walk.

She launched.

Her arms wrapped around his face, her lips raining kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose. She clung to him like a vine reaching for sunlight.

Bharath could barely breathe, caught in a tornado of limbs and wet cheeks and whispered gratitude.

“I love you,” Marisol said, her voice wet and fierce. “You stupid, perfect man.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Sarah whispered. “You saw everything. You still wrote me that.”

“I love you too. More than I did yesterday if that was possible. You called me brilliant,” Mia said, voice trembling. “You said you believe in me.”

He tried to speak. He tried to gather his thoughts. But all he could do was hold them - these wonderful women who had given him their bodies, their secrets, their scars - and now their tears.

“Okay,” he finally managed, his breath hitching. “Either you’re very happy or this is how I die.”

“Both!” Marisol barked out a laugh, tugging at his shirt. “This is what you get for making us feel like apsaras before noon.”

Sarah kissed along his collarbone, reverent. “You made us breakfast. You worshipped us. Again.”

Mia’s fingers slid beneath his shirt, flattening against his chest like she was feeling the beat of something sacred. “You wrote me a note like I mattered. You don’t even know what that did to me.”

His throat tightened.

“But you do matter,” he whispered. “You all matter. I still don’t know if I’m ready,” he whispered, “but you make me want to be.”

They kissed him again - sloppily, wildly, like their hearts were spilling out through their mouths. His lips tasted like cinnamon and saltwater.

“I thought I’d surprise you with a gesture,” he said, laughing softly. “I didn’t expect to be tackled.”

Marisol grinned, eyes still glistening. “Welcome to harem life.”

They didn’t let him go. Not even for a second. His back hit the hallway wall as Marisol bit his earlobe and Sarah dragged her fingers along the waistband of his gym shorts.

“We remember our rules,” Sarah murmured.

“No bathing alone,” Marisol added.

“Ever again,” Mia finished.

Bharath looked between them, dazed. “But Mia…”

“Oh you’re not stopping me,” Marisol said, grabbing his wrist.

They pulled him toward the hallway, bare feet against hardwood, giggles trailing behind like breadcrumbs.

“Wait, wait-what about coffee?” he said, laughing breathlessly.

“You had your turn,” Sarah said.

“It’s our turn now,” Marisol whispered.

“To thank you.”

And they dragged him - body aching, heart thudding, soul overflowing - toward the bathroom.