Check You Out Ch. 04

FALL

Sam would laugh about this if it happened to him.

This was not a very helpful thought.

If Sam got a professor-induced erection in the middle of a lecture, he probably would tell Ethan about it. Uncontrolled exothermic reactions are a fact of life, Eth.

Prof. Gagne turned back toward the screen, gesturing at a table of Wine and Cloth.

Ethan delicately crossed his legs under the desk.

"So, in short, this showed that absolute cost differences aren't what drives international trade. Opportunity costs are. If those differ, there's room for specialization and exchange. And we'll see pretty quickly how fundamental that idea becomes when people are making active economic choices. Underlying point: opportunity costs can differ even if one producer is consistently more productive."

Yes, okay, nothing sexy about autarky.

He maximized OneNote to fill the whole screen. He'd spent three hours in the library last night, not thinking about Sam, tapping out notes on Smith and Ricardo. Popping a boner when the professor's cool gaze swept over him was making his self-discipline feel considerably less impressive.

Sam didn't own a wool vest, Ethan thought.

Concentrating on Gagne's slides (Work Smarter Not Harder: 1817 Edition) just about got him through the lecture.

"Okay, everyone, thank you. Next week we'll move on to the specific-factors model on Wednesday and mutual gains on Friday. Don't forget problem sets are due Sunday -- have a good weekend."

Ethan jumped up, the hard seat snapping shut with a dull thump behind him. He held his laptop flat against his groin halfway down the tiered stairs anyway, until it dawned on him that it was possibly not very subtle.

Since Tuesday, his brain had supplied a dozen imaginary conversations with Sam.

Wednesday morning's draft had been great. Sam sprawled on the lower bunk, broad pale chest bare, saying that was the best sex ever, can we do it again please. Ethan had let that thought loop, half-dozing, cock thickening under his palm, until he heard Sam launch himself off the top bunk, snatch his gear and dart off. Too late for Ethan to do anything with it -- his alarm had gone off.

Wednesday evening, after he'd thoroughly revisited the thought of Sam in his bed, things had started to curdle.

Walking to lecture this morning, another one built:

Well, not the goalie. But that French exchange student, too.

Guillaume?

Don't be jealous. It's just fun.

Someone was calling his name.

Ethan looked around. He had drifted all the way from the Hall Building and down the stairs into the student center. Molly and Tyrese were sitting close together at a table in the middle of the Hub.

Ethan's stomach dipped, but he moved over to where Tyrese was pushing out a chair for him.

SPRING

ETHAN: Is there a list of standing appointments for group study rooms I don't know about?

PARKER: No

PARKER: Booking system only

ETHAN: Incoming

Little Miss I always have this room on Sunday was already at the other end of the floor, waiting for the elevator down to see someone more senior. Ethan could see the outraged square of her shoulders from here. She'd been so rude that Ethan did not feel the slightest twinge of guilt at sending her to Parker.

Maybe a good condescending explanation of the online booking portal would cheer Parker up.

Spring Break loomed.

Ethan turned away. One of the Spanish students who had actually booked the room peered back through the window. Ethan gave him a reassuring shrug and headed toward the printer room.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

PARKER: There's Uber Eats here for third floor

Ethan swallowed a sigh.

ETHAN: Any name?

PARKER: Top secret apparently

On the third floor, Ethan circled the abandoned carrels -- no, there was one student at the window desks by the 970s.

Ethan cleared his throat softly. "Excuse me, did you happen to order delivery?"

The student looked up blearily, his eyes dropping straight to Ethan's hands. "Is it here?"

"No food in the library, sorry. You can eat in the quad." He gestured at the laminated sign attached to the window three feet away, NO FOOD at the top of a list of library rules. The guy didn't move. "The delivery guy's at the front desk," he added.

Back up the stairs to the sixth floor. The specific clunk of someone yanking open the printer's drawers was starting to induce a Pavlovian reaction in Ethan. He pushed into the printer room, gesturing helplessly at another sign. This one had been taped to the wall behind the hulk of the printer: Printer out of order.

"Oh. But I sent it to this one!" the student wailed softly.

"It won't have released. You can get it from the next floor down. Same queue."

Ethan flicked off the lights when that student had stomped off and stood alone in the dark room for ten seconds, letting his forehead rest against the cool doorframe. His Economic History paper was open, neglected, on his laptop downstairs in the office. If his peers could use their brains for themselves for twenty minutes, he might actually get some work done tonight.

His internal monologue was starting to sound a bit like Parker.

He shut the door to the printer room behind him. Maybe if he put another out-of-order sign on the door?

The back of the sixth floor was mostly quiet shelving away from the main carrels. In the very last row someone had constructed a wobbly, knee-high fort out of hardback commentaries on Shakespeare's tragedies. Ethan took a photo for Sam, captioned it English students doing rites again, and dismantled the tottering edifice.

He straightened after sliding the last book onto the bottom shelf when there was a sudden pressure at his back and Sam's voice in his ear.

"Love it when you bend over for the bottom shelf, baby."

Ethan relaxed back into Sam's chest. Sam's big hands slipped under his untucked polo, roaming up Ethan's torso to cup his chest, then down over the whorls of hair on his lower stomach.

"Everyone's gone crazy," Ethan huffed.

After a moment, he needed more. He turned himself in the circle of Sam's arms, found Sam's mouth and kissed him softly. Sam's hands came to rest under the edge of Ethan's waistband, fingers digging into the upper swell of Ethan's cheeks.

Sam was hard against his hip.

Ethan tucked his chin into Sam's neck. Breathed in. The sour stress in his belly faded.

After a long moment, Sam shifted back a little and kissed Ethan again.

Ethan registered for the first time the fabric beneath his fingers. Sam was wearing a blue button-down, soft cotton tucked into tight, dark jeans.

"I didn't know you owned any shirts," he mumbled.

"Laundry day."

It wasn't. Ethan had seen the clean pile dumped on Sam's bunk on Thursday evening before practice.

Ethan's phone buzzed. He didn't check it, not yet, but Sam was already pulling away from him.

"I should check in with Parker," Ethan said regretfully.

"Tell him I like his haircut."

FALL

Ethan dropped into the chair and stuffed his backpack between his feet. Molly said hola. Tyrese just raised a lazy hand, eyes already wandering back to the open copy of the Daily. Molly shoved a plastic bag in front of Ethan, slightly flattened croissants tumbling out of it.

"French club leftovers. Please help yourself."

Ethan settled in. Crumbs sprayed across the table when he tore into a croissant -- already a little dry.

"What do you have today, Ethan?" Molly asked.

"U. S. History this morning. Just had Trade, and section after this. Micro."

"How did the library interview go?" Tyrese asked. His pen was tapping rhythmic dots down the margin of the Friday cryptic. Under the table his fingers were laced through Molly's, which Ethan knew better than to say anything about.

"Fine, I think," he said, checking his email on his phone. Last week seemed like ancient history. "I liked the head librarian. But I haven't heard anything." The last email was this morning's petit déjeuner reminder.

"They told me we'd hear back this week," Molly said. "I wasn't expecting them to ask so much about customer service, but I thought mine went well. Wouldn't it be fun if we both got it?" Ethan saw Tyrese smile without raising his head. He nodded around a mouthful. "Did you hear about Leah?"

Ethan swallowed. "Oat milk Leah?" Other people's nonsense was exactly what he needed right now.

"Yeah. She wanted club sports for the Daily, but then Allison made the basketball team, so apparently that's impossible now. She's switched to student government. Jordan's furious."

Ethan vividly remembered midnight in the lounge last year: Allison sobbing about performative lesbianism while Tyrese dragged him away, mouthing don't get involved.

Until recently, it had probably been the most bewildering night of Ethan's life.

Molly slid a page of newsprint across the laminate. Ethan nudged the bag out of the way and scanned three sentences of student government minutes, which was plenty.

Tyrese grunted in triumph and filled in four squares.

"What's that?" Molly asked.

"Salary!"

"What was the clue?"

Tyrese tipped the paper toward her. "Income cooked up from railway, alas. Six letters."

Molly shrugged at Ethan. Tyrese hadn't done crosswords last fall, as far as Ethan could remember; he was fairly sure Ty'd picked up the habit purely because of how much it annoyed Molly.

They were still holding hands under the table. Neither of them seemed remotely distracted by this fact. A dozen conversations blurred together around the table, punctuated by the coffee grinder and the occasional scrape of chairs. He let the noise wash over him for a second.

"Can I take one for Sam?" he asked, nodding at the croissants.

"Uhuh," Tyrese said. "There's napkins at the bottom."

"So who got sports?"

"That's the thing. Jordan."

Ethan stifled a groan. "Lucky Sam." Jordan had hovered like an obsessed blowfly every time Sam dropped by Ethan and Ty's room last year. He'd be delighted to have an official reason to bug him.

Molly thought it was sweet that Jordan looked up to Ethan's best friend. Ethan just thanked his stars that the room lottery had given him Ty.

"You should come to the gig tonight. Red Dawn is playing."

Ethan hummed maybe. He didn't like crowded basements and bad beer like Molly did. But Red Dawn was tight, better than the name suggested, and a night out was tempting.

"I'm sending you the pin. You still owe me for skipping out at the start of the year."

Tyrese's pen tip had migrated to the cleft of his chin. "Capital city is God's gift, reportedly big and bad, seven letters."

Molly thought for a second. "Every capital city I can think of is six letters."

"Washington," Ethan offered, earning a squint from Ty.

Molly rolled her eyes at both of them, and then brightened. "Oh, what about -- Nathaniel and Theodore both mean God's gift. And so does Bogdan."

"Who's called Bogdan?" Ethan asked.

"Dan Nowak!" Jordan's roommate. "It's Polish."

"Seven letters," Ty muttered.

Molly was stuck. "What about Ethan? Is that Irish?"

"Ethan's not Irish." Sam's voice came from directly behind him. Ethan flinched, nearly taking Tyrese's coffee out with an elbow.

Sam dropped his duffel bag on the floor with a thud and spun an empty seat from an adjacent table to sit next to Ethan. Ethan slid a croissant-filled napkin over to him. Sam flicked it open, giving Ethan a quick, toothy smile when he saw what was inside.

"Hello, Samuel," Tyrese said. "You're running late today. Capital city is God's gift, reportedly big and bad."

"Baghdad."

Tyrese took it down with a small frown. Molly was on her phone. "Ethan's Hebrew. Firm, enduring, strong."

"Sounds right," Sam said, half a croissant poised in front of his mouth. "Stamina."

"Did you hear about Leah?" Molly asked.

Sam didn't let the croissant slow him down. "Who's Leah?"

"Oat milk Leah?"

Sam shrugged, still chewing.

Molly deflated slightly. "Never mind. She was on my floor last year."

"But now Jordan's covering soccer," Ethan interjected.

Sam nodded, chewing. "Yeah, I've seen him. The write-up last week was completely wrong, though. He doesn't know anything about -- " He cut himself off, looking at Tyrese. "Do you guys even read the sports page?"

Tyrese glanced up, unabashed. "To be fair, we come to your games, we don't need to."

"Completely wrong?"

Sam frowned at him. "Yeah?"

"No, nothing."

Sam stretched his legs under the table. His knee bumped Ethan's.

Ethan moved his own leg approximately one inch away.

Sam's knee drew back without apparent intention.

Sam reached for another croissant, craning to see the crossword, shoulder nudging Ethan's. "How many have you got?" He swivelled the paper on the table. "Oh, eleven across is orifice."

Ethan laughed without thinking about it.

Sam turned to him with an expression of immaculate innocence. "What?"

Ethan felt the heat climb his neck. "Nothing," he muttered, checking his watch. Sam's knee pressed again lightly against his under the table. Not rubbing. Not moving. Just there. "I need to get to section."

"See you tonight," Molly said firmly. "Sam, are you coming?"

Sam shook his head, rising with Ethan. "No partying before a match. I have lab. See you later, cocksuckers."

Ethan choked on air. His knee slipped off the chair and he toppled toward the corner of the table.

SPRING

Parker was hunched over a spreadsheet printed across six sheets. One hand was scrubbing against the edge of his beard. The highlighter in the other hand was circling aimlessly above the page.

Maybe he'd had a haircut. Ethan couldn't tell.

The entrance hall was quiet for the first time that evening. No sign of the huffy girl or the delivery guy.

Ethan didn't want to disturb the tableau, but Parker noticed him immediately. He looked up, gave Ethan a quick, sharp once-over.

Ethan kept his chin up. He'd straightened his polo carefully on his way down from the sixth floor.

"My assay is wrong somewhere," Parker said, stabbing the highlighter at the printout. He sounded exhausted. "My advisor wants me to go through the whole analysis and rerun it tomorrow afternoon." On his laptop screen, Ethan could see a tangle of colored lines on a chart. He'd stick with price curves.

The fluorescent panel above the desk blinked out for half a second with a pop. Deep shadows dropped across Parker's face before it hummed back to light.

"I've written four hundred words on the Corn Laws," Ethan offered. "Due tomorrow."

He had all the notes. He just needed to focus.

A student pushed through the gate behind him, stopped dead, patted every pocket he had, then turned around and left again. They both watched him go.

Parker rubbed at his eyes. "Take a break." He shuffled his printouts into a stack.

"I've had several. None of them were useful." Parker stared at him a beat too long. Ethan blinked.

A girl appeared at the entrance gate holding an open stapler. "Hi," she said. "Do you know where I can get staples for this?"

Parker barely looked at her. "C-Store across the quad. You'll need to hurry."

"Do you have any here?"

"No."

"Could I just -- "

"No." Parker snapped the cap onto the highlighter and dropped it without looking away from Ethan. "Sit. For an hour." He flicked a hand at his desk chair. "I'll float, take a break from this. You finish your paper."

Ethan nodded slowly and fetched his laptop from the office. Parker took his travel mug and left the printouts.

He paused for a second behind Ethan.

"You've written therefore twice in your second sentence."

"Go away now."

FALL

Ethan walked out of Microecon section with Ling and the redhead who asked all the good questions.

The sunlight was starting to turn golden. The Social Sciences Building cast long blocks of shadow halfway across the lawn. Someone had a Bluetooth speaker going already among the clusters of students loitering on the lawn.

Birdsong fought with tinny music and the rising chatter of excited students.

Ethan felt triumphant. He'd managed to get the instructor to restate her answer about why the cross-price terms had to match in a way that actually made sense. He'd remembered to take a photo of the whiteboard before she wiped it off. He'd managed to only think about Sam once, at the start, when she had dropped Sam's favorite word from Statistical Methods last year, homoscedastic.

Sam would have had terrible things to say about Slutsky symmetry, though.

The redhead zipped her jacket as they came down the steps. "Are you going to Molly's thing tonight?"

Ethan glanced over. "Oh, you know Molly?"

"Took French last year for my language requirement. Très sympa. Did she not ask you? She said she was definitely going to."

Ethan huffed. "No, she did. Just not sure I'm in the mood."

"I'm definitely going," Ling said. "Love Red Dawn."

"We have study group tomorrow morning," Ethan pointed out.

Ling shrugged. "So I won't stay out. Study group's eleven. I can be tired and understand opportunity costs at the same time."

Ethan groaned.

Ling frowned. "Live a little, Ethan," she said, flapping a hand at the other milling students. The redhead nodded vigorously. "Don't become one of those no partying before study guys."

Ethan's brain went oh and lost the thread. Something about behind the Fine Arts Center.

"I'll think about it," he said.

"I'm texting Molly and telling her you're coming," Ling said firmly.

The redhead grinned at him. "It'll be fun!"

Ling and Redhead turned off in the direction of Hamilton Circle.

Ethan sat down heavily on a bench at the edge of the lawn. He pulled out his phone, just to fidget with it.

No partying before a match, Sam had said. It was a rule. Sam had spent his own savings on summer training camp. He wasn't about to waste it playing hungover.

Ethan had fallen into the habit of staying in with Sam the night before a match, less out of solidarity than because of his disdain for student parties. Chatting casually. Lying about sex. Tuesday had been the night before a rescheduled match, too. It had felt the same.

Some differences.

What about dudes, Eth?

Ethan might need to revise what was included in Sam's definition of partying.

Or maybe Sam had been avoiding him because Ethan had destroyed his pre-match focus by sucking him off inexpertly but very enthusiastically. He really should have checked the scores. He'd fallen asleep before Sam got home on Wednesday night.

And then.

He pulled up his chat with Sam.

SAMMY: On the bus

SAMMY: Grabbing dinner before we head back

ETHAN: [thumbs up]

ETHAN: How was it?

SAMMY: Tell you when I'm back

And then, twenty minutes later, Sam's traditional bus-ride meme. A cat in glasses. Follow instructions or you could be in alkynes of trouble.

And then, nothing.

Since Wednesday.

Ethan reread the last message.

Ethan checked his notifications. Gift card draw, if he did the student experience survey. Something incomprehensible from Canvas. Molly's pin. A message from Dad with a WaPo link about tariffs.

A bunch of posts from the Daily's Insta. He scrolled through their account until he found Hard-won victory for men's soccer team. Jordan's stilted voice started: "After Wednesday's tough game -- " Ugh, no. Ethan swiped away.

Ethan checked Sam's Insta. Nothing new.

Well, they'd won, and Sam had found him this afternoon where he usually landed after lectures. Maybe they'd catch up tonight.

Ethan's chest was tight with the sudden possibility of a real conversation with Sam.

Ahmed almost got sent off in the second half.

You're my best friend, Eth. I don't want to change that.

Do you like it when I tell you what to do, cocksucker?

If he showed up tonight, Tyrese was definitely going to mock him for nearly eating concrete in the middle of the Hub.

His jeans weren't thick enough to stay on this bench much longer.

The redhead was cute.

He cringed slightly. Maybe he could get her name off Molly.

Molly had lots of friends. Cute friends.

Guy friends.

Friends that would be a lot easier, in so many ways, than a quiet night at the dorm with his best friend.

A random hot guy would at least change one variable.

Ethan checked the time. He had fifteen minutes to drop his stuff at Mitchell before Sam got back from lab.

He stood up.

SPRING

Ethan's phone went off in his pocket, and again and again. At first, the vibrations buzzed pleasantly through his half-hard dick, and he just smiled into Sam's lips.

Then it clicked: Parker was calling him.

"Ethan," Sam groaned against his neck.

Ethan retreated to the far corner of the accessible stall, fumbling to pull out his phone and hit answer.

"Hi Ethan," Parker said. "Sorry to bother you. There's an issue with the adjustable desks on the eighth floor."

"Did they break again? All of them?"

"No, that's not the problem. There's a student here who says that someone's blocking the aisle and she can't get her chair through."

At least Parker wasn't doing phone-voice at Ethan.

"Right, I'm on my way."

"Ethan?" Ethan hummed in answer. "Art students."

Ethan hung up before he said something unforgivable to Parker. Sam was settled against the grab bar, long legs stretched into the middle of the room, both hands in his pockets and looking thoroughly interrupted. Ethan grumbled, "Art students," as he stomped out the door.

Ethan took the stairs two at a time. After the resin incident last month, the deputy librarian had promised a productive conversation with the Dean of the School of Fine Arts about poorly communicated alterations to after-hours studio access.

Didn't work out, clearly.

Possibly he should have been paying more attention to what people were lugging past him while he focused on his paper.

The scene that greeted him on the eighth floor didn't seem so bad. The aisle was cluttered with old plastic bags full of supplies, mostly cardboard. Nothing enormous, just lots of it. Three students were constructing something from sheets of corrugated cardboard on the tables opposite the accessible section. Two held the pieces at an angle while the third reached between them with a bottle of glue. As long as they hadn't already glued things to the desk, this wouldn't be a big deal.

Then Nose-Ring held up a sheet of styrofoam in one hand and a strange metal wand in the other, and began cutting. Ethan could see wisps of smoke curling up toward the ceiling from the other side of the room.

"Excuse me!" Someone shhed instinctively behind him. He swallowed a growl. "Folks, you can't use that in the library."

The girl with a sleek brown bob replied. "We won't be long, I promise. This is due tomorrow morning and we just need to finish the last pieces and assemble."

Ethan pulled the cord on the smoking wand out of the socket.

"I'm sorry, but this isn't an art studio. Students need to use these desks and you can't use that indoors."

"There's no electricity outside?"

The third guy wore a paint-stained green pleather bomber jacket. He gestured toward the empty desks. "We're not bothering anyone."

"If you set off the fire alarm, you'll put a hundred people out in the quad."

All three of them looked up at the alarm blinking directly over their heads. Green Bomber actually yelped. From behind Ethan came shh!!

"I think I can probably find you an extension cord."

Possibly there was some kind of protocol about letting people run electric cables out of the library building, but Ethan was past caring just then.

He stood over them as they gathered their stuff. There was an entire bag of feathers and twigs. Ethan was revising his guess that they were doing some kind of architectural model.

ETHAN: Incoming

ETHAN: Adjustable desk all clear

A young woman in a wheelchair and fluffy pink sweater rolled out of the elevator before they could all pile in. Realization seemed to dawn on Nose-Ring, but Ethan frowned harder and Nose-Ring kept his mouth wisely shut. As the elevator descended to the ground floor, Ethan thumbed a quick text to Sam: no loitering in accessible toilets tonight.

Parker held open the electronic gate for them all, pure judgment on his face.

Ethan sighed again and let himself into the office to search for the storage bin with the orange extension cord.

It was barely eight o'clock.

FALL

Tongue bone-dry. Hurt.

Cracked eyes. Light bright. Sharp.

Lay very still.

Dark spun too. Lips stuck to pillow.

He rolled over. Stomach pitched violently.

Lay very still.

Pressed a hand to his bare stomach. Bare?

Too much beer. Much too much. And bad juice.

Gut made a horrible liquid movement. He lunged for the trash can.

Where was Sam?

After a minute of heaving, he tottered to the bathroom.

He stripped off his jeans and briefs. Curled himself on the tile, pressed his forehead to the porcelain and let the cold beat back the fire in his face.

His skin was sour beer and dried sweat.

When he had emptied his stomach, he flushed the contents of the toilet and the trash can. Rinsed the trash can in the shower and flushed again.

Somewhere in the heap of jeans, his phone buzzed. Ethan's brain buzzed.

He turned on the shower. As the hot steam filled the room, he checked himself, blearily, for signs that he'd had sex last night.

His dick seemed normal. Tentatively, he rubbed one hand lower, not sure what he was looking for.

His jaw ached, but that was fresh and tight.

No.

He didn't think so.

He put himself under the stream. Rinsed his mouth with water from the shower and spat it on the floor. The heat made his head throb worse, so he shut it off quickly.

He brushed his teeth hard, still dripping on the mat.

He yanked the blind all the way down in the bedroom, scraped the towel over himself until he felt cotton-raw but clean.

Tylenol was lined up next to his full water bottle on the desk. He downed both and crawled back into the lower bunk. Sam must have left already.

Sheets on naked skin were almost as good as tile.

Lying on his stomach, his dick pressed into the mattress. For a second he remembered Sam's hands on his inner thighs, here, just a few days ago. His cock twitched with interest. Sam jogging across grass, wet hair flying around his face. He waited out the flare of heat tiredly, like another wave of nausea. Rolled onto his back.

He tried to sleep. The painkillers were kicking in but he felt itchy again. He wanted to get up. The thought of coffee and food made his stomach turn again warningly.

Bits of the evening were coming back to him. Dancing with Molly, both laughing, trying to come up with stupider moves. A table with Ty and Section Redhead, yelling about tariffs. (Had he gotten Redhead's name? No, nothing.) A lit kitchen -- they'd walked somewhere?

And then drinking.

Dancing in a heaving crowd of people, somewhere he didn't know, some song blasting in his ears, someone's hands on his waist. Whose? Grabbed another drink.

Howling "Yeah! Party in the USA!"

God. Very drunk.

Falling up the stairs. Carefully trying to open the door with his student ID. Sam, pillow creases on cheek, hair flattened, yanking it open. "Jesus, Ethan."

If they'd said anything more before Ethan fell asleep on top of the covers, he'd lost it.

A bitter taste settled at the back of his scratchy throat.

Up.

He had to get up.

His phone was still in the pile of jeans in the bathroom. Bending over to fetch it was a challenge. He sat at the desk chair. The screen came to life: 12:04 pm.

The top bunk was made. Sam was definitely at the field for warm up by now.

Messages pinged in. He swallowed drily, then flicked back through the notifications.

LING: You going to make it to study group?

MOLLY: drink water

MOLLY: alive?

TYRESE: Did you get home okay?

SAMMY: Hydrate, disaster

SAMMY: Don't stay out too late

Sent at 10:15 pm. Late for him on a match night.

And sitting at the bottom was an email from the library sent at 6:08 pm: Dear Ethan, We were very pleased...

Yay, job.

He sent replies. Sorry to Ling. Technically alive to Molly. Yes to Tyrese. Tell Molly her juice is evil.

His finger hovered over Sam. He could text good luck or sorry. His head swam. Or he could make an effort. He just needed a bit more sleep, a real shower, eat something, go cheer Sam and see people and deal with Jordan.

He closed his eyes, overwhelmed, and set an alarm.

The buzzing woke him at 12:45. Ethan closed his eyes for one more second, then forced himself into a sitting position.

Better. Still awful, but better.

His phone went off.

TYRESE: Tell her yourself.

TYRESE: Are you making the game?

MOLLY: You are not allowed to pour ever again

By 12:52 he had jeans on, a sweatshirt over his head, and one shoe. He was reaching under the desk for the other shoe when his stomach flipped again.

This time he made it to the bathroom, barely. He had nothing left to heave into the bowl except the water he'd just drunk. When the dry heaves passed, he sat on the bathroom floor, eyes watering. He'd vomited so hard it hurt.

Sam never expected anything, but he would notice when Ethan wasn't at the sideline.

Ethan stripped all his clothes off and lay down again.

After a minute he snatched his phone and tapped out Sorry, Sammy. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes again. He didn't send it. Shoved the phone back under his pillow.

He woke to the click of the door.

Sam came in quietly, his soccer bag slung over one shoulder and a white plastic bag in his other hand. The closing door sliced away the strip of hall light, and then it was dark again.

Ethan pushed himself upright.

"Time 'zit?"

"Almost five," Sam said. "I got you beef and broccoli, dumplings, and egg drop soup. Hope you can eat."

Soy and sesame oil. His stomach let out a cavernous growl. For a second he was afraid he was going to throw up in front of Sam. He hadn't eaten much yesterday, either. Stupid.

He realized he was naked under the covers. He hesitated briefly. Sam would let him eat in bed, probably, but he felt the urge to get up.

Sam disappeared into the bathroom. Ethan found clean underwear and pulled them on, moving gingerly. He shuffled over to the desk, pulling containers out, chopsticks and plastic soup spoons. He peeled open the soup, took one cautious sip, and exhaled. Pepper and sweet corn filled his mouth. He felt almost shaky with it.

"Hey," he said. His voice was scratchy. "This is from the place across town."

"Ahmed has a car."

Sam was moving behind him, cracking open the window, putting away his cleats, shoving his gear into the laundry hamper. Ethan's discarded jeans followed. His water bottle appeared on the desk, refilled.

Sam opened the beef, leaning on the edge of the desk, and wolfed down a few pieces, chopsticks clacking quietly against his teeth. Ethan handed him the soup container and took the styrofoam box.

"How was the match?"

"Fine. We won."

"You score?"

"Two assists."

Ethan nearly swallowed a piece of broccoli whole. He needed to slow down. This was so good, and the hollow hunger was easing. "Sorry I missed it."

"I figured you felt like shit."

"I do. I missed study group too."

Sam licked a spot of soup from the corner of his mouth. He was laughing at him now. "Well, I'd be offended if you'd made study group."

"Molly makes horrible juice."

"Molly didn't make it either. Jordan was there. Think Tyrese tried to teach him positions." Sam looked down at him. "Can I have a dumpling?"

"It's your food."

"No, Eth, they're your favorite."

Ethan hadn't touched them, though he could smell strong ginger and scallion. His nausea seemed to have gone, but he couldn't bear the thought of maybe throwing them up. Ethan shoved the whole box at Sam. "You deserve a reward for a good match."

"Wednesday was better."

SPRING

"They let art students play with fire now?" Parker asked. "Your collar's -- " he flicked his left hand at Ethan's neck.

Ethan was not procrastinating -- he was providing suitable safety supervision as the art students tried to hold piece after piece of styrofoam steady against the gusts whipping across the quad. Parker had joined him at the library entrance. His flannel sleeves were rolled twice over thick forearms.

Ethan patted down the collar point of his polo. "I've heard about what goes on in the chem labs," he observed.

"We have adult supervision. And fume hoods."

"I've heard about what goes on with the fume hoods."

Parker's frown returned from a brief holiday. "If someone's misbehaving, Sam should report -- "

Ethan didn't let him finish the thought. "The GTAs tell him war stories." He added, "People just tell Sam anything. He's a goody two-shoes, really."

Parker scoffed, eyes creasing. "Mr Goody Two-shoes is up in the study hall in date-night clothes, flirting with the volleyball team."

Under the awning, Brown-Bob was trying to unwind a skein of feathered string that had wrapped itself up her arm.

Ethan thought the volleyball team would probably be more into Sam's usual wardrobe of flatteringly tight jerseys.

"Flirting or being flirted with?"

Parker looked confused, as though the distinction had never occurred to him. "Flirted with, I guess."

The wind snatched a sheet of styrofoam out of Nose-Ring's hands and he had to chase it across the quad. He brought it back in two shattered pieces. He pulled another sheet out and drove the hot wand into it, nearly burning his own hand.

Ethan looked away before Parker could catch him smiling at the flailing. "It happens. It happens to Sam all the time."

"It doesn't bother you?"

"Anybody with eyes wants Sam."

"Yeah." He turned to Ethan. "People want all sorts of things. What does Sam want?"

Ethan shrugged. "Sam wants to get a doctorate from Harvard and win the World Cup."

Parker smiled into his hand. "Relatable," he huffed.

"You've never even been to a soccer match, have you?" Parker shook his head once. "You should come sometime. They're pretty fun. Faster than football, anyway."

Parker hummed. "Maybe. I usually spend Saturday evening in the lab."

Brown-Bob trotted back to the door, shivering in her light cardigan. "Thanks for the power cord," she said. "Are you sure we're not allowed to finish the glue-up in the library? We'll be quiet, we just need somewhere calm."

Ethan and Parker folded their arms in unison. "There's some big tables in the Hub," Parker observed. "And there should be lots of copies of the Daily to put under your, um, piece."

Ethan turned back to Parker. "Maybe you'll take a night off when you finish this report? Come to a game?" Parker gave him a doubtful look. "Sam said he liked your haircut. By the way."

Parker looked back at the circulation desk. "You should finish your paper. I'll text you if anyone decides to start painting portraits in the study hall."

Ethan sighed yeah and made for the office. He paused as Parker took his seat again. "Men's or women's volleyball?" he asked lightly, and startled an actual laugh out of Parker.

FALL

Ethan woke early on Sunday morning.

Gray light filtered through the blinds. A patter of rain against the window pane.

Yesterday's exhaustion was gone.

Sam had made sure he had brushed his teeth and downed another bottle of water before sending him back to bed at eight.

They'd talked for hours. They'd caught up on Sam's last-minute match-winner on Wednesday. Sam cheered at Ethan's library news and promised to keep him company on late night shifts. Sam had done a full-body impression of his socks-and-sandals chemistry professor, scribbling equations madly on a mimed whiteboard. Ethan had cackled until he was hoarse again.

They hadn't talked about Tuesday, or anything in Ethan's imagined conversations.

Once Sam was satisfied that Ethan wasn't about to faint or puke, he had drawn closer, leaning over him as he checked Snapchat for incriminating evidence, showing him a shaky clip of the match from the coach.

Ethan had leaned into every touch.

No point pretending he hadn't made up his mind about Sammy when, as soon as he was alone on Wednesday evening, he'd shoved a hand into his briefs. No point pretending he hadn't dreamed of one specific conversation.

Ethan sat up on the edge of the lower bunk in his briefs, letting the cool morning air clear the last lingering cobwebs.

Sam was awake in the upper bunk, his face right by Ethan's, eyes not fully open. "Morning," he croaked, clearing his throat. The sheets had slipped down his chest, his shoulders bare."You good?"

"Yeah. Need a shower."

"Hey, Eth?" Sam's hand trailed over the rail, caught his shoulder as he was turning away. "We good?"

Ethan met those clear blue eyes and nodded. Paused. "Are we?"

Sam tugged him forward, leaning over the low rail of the bunk, and kissed him. Soft, unhurried, warm.

"You want company?"

"No. But don't go anywhere."

Ethan ran the shower hot enough to fill the small bathroom with steam. Scrubbed the ghost of sweat and beer from behind his ears.

His hands slowed as he swept suds down his stomach and thighs. He remembered Sam's hands on him on Tuesday, chest against his back, water hammering down on both of them. Sam's strong hand wrapped teasingly around his cock, then pumping him steadily until he came.

He rinsed, gasping deep lungfuls of steamy air.

He turned around, let the water fall across his back and lower. Spread himself and made sure he was clean all the way.

By the time he shut off the taps, his cock was standing out straight from his pubes.

He walked back into the bedroom dripping, the towel loosely knotted around his waist.

Sam stirred. He had rolled onto his back on the top bunk, making space by the rail. His black hair was mashed flat on one side, his chest fully bare now, thin line of dark hair trailing down his stomach into the drape of the sheet, where his own morning erection was obvious underneath.

Ethan approached the ladder.

"Eth? Towel."

Ethan paused, then untied the knot and let the cloth drop to the floor.

Sam looked down. Slowly. By the time his eyes came back to Ethan's face, one corner of his mouth had lifted. Ethan clambered up the wooden rungs, ducking his head under the low ceiling as he slid onto the narrow mattress. Sam twisted so that Ethan landed on top of him, hands on either side of Sam's shoulders.

He couldn't wait. Ethan pushed himself up Sam's body, pressing his mouth to Sam's, opening his lips to take the full weight of the kiss. He settled his trembling body over Sam. The contrast hit him instantly -- Sam's cool skin against his shower heat, Sam's broad chest solid between Ethan's outstretched arms.

Sam's hands slid down Ethan's spine, fingers digging into his hips to draw him down.

"What do you want, Eth? You want to suck me again?"

He'd never imagined what Sam's hands would feel like moving over his body. They ran down his back, pulled at his ass, until they connected. Sam shifted underneath him, his cock hard through the sheet against Ethan's thigh.

Sam's face held against the angle of Ethan's jaw. His thumbs paused on Ethan's hipbones at Ethan's soft intake of breath. Ethan stole in for another quick kiss.

"In fact," Sam said, voice quiet and rough, "maybe you're not just a cocksucker."

Ethan gasped.

"Tell me."

"I want you to fuck me." Sam shoved the sheet aside between them. Ethan flushed at the feeling of their bare lengths colliding. He glanced down. He had seen it, taken it in his mouth, but it was different feeling it against himself. "I've never done... anything."

Sam's hands stilled, thumbs stroking the skin at the top of his thighs. "You never touched yourself down here in the shower? Just a finger?"

"No."

"Cami never gave you a little somethin' special when she sucked you off?"

"No."

Sam ran a single finger straight up the cleft. Not pushing in, just tracing the rim, testing. Cami had never actually gotten so near to Ethan's dick, let alone his ass.

"What about a tongue?"

Ethan colored. "Fuck, Sam, nothing's ever been down there."

Sam massaged his cheeks for a second, fingertips curling into his crevice. Ethan had not imagined Sam doing it so casually. His nerves lit up.

Sam rolled them over and pushed his hand between their bodies. His other hand fumbled at the little wooden shelf at the head of the bed. The faintest click was very loud in Ethan's ears.

A finger touched Ethan's rim, unexpectedly cold and slippery with something. He stared up at Sam whose upper body was curled over his in the tight space. He shuddered uncontrollably when Sam's eyes lifted from the narrow gap between their bodies to meet his gaze. Sam waited. Ethan nodded. Sam's finger circled once, firmer this time, and pressed in. Ethan jolted. Sam stopped there, hand steady on Ethan's hip, eyes on his face.

It was enough that Ethan's dick softened a little, flagging for the first time since Sam had made him put his craving into words.

"Breathe."

Ethan shifted, braced one foot against the wall. Let Sam in between his legs a little more. Arched up a little further.

Sam took up a gentle rhythm until the burn had mostly passed. Then he twisted, pressing against Ethan's walls, finding angles that made his hips jerk. Eventually, the pressure turned from intrusion into something Ethan's body chased. He pushed back to take more of the finger.

"Very good, cocksucker," Sam murmured. "Ask me for another."

"More."

The second finger hurt enough to empty Ethan's lungs. Then Sam found the same angle again. Ethan's head rolled back against the pillow. His foot slipped against the wall. A few strokes later he caught himself pushing back for it.

Ethan was shaking.

Sam withdrew his fingers and reached for the bottle again. Sam sat back as far as the low ceiling allowed and looked at him. Ethan became abruptly conscious of everything at once: legs spread, stomach drawn tight, freckles standing out against skin still pink from the shower.

"Christ. Ethan." He held the thick head of his cock against Ethan's opening. "Ready?"

"Yes."

Sam pushed in.

Too much. For one sharp second, absolutely too much. Ethan's hand locked around Sam's forearm. He kept his eyes shut until he could make his fingers loosen around Sam's forearm.

"Use words."

"Yes. Move. Please."

Sam did not go easy on him once Ethan said yes. He drew almost all the way back and pushed in again, slow enough that Ethan felt every inch of it.

When Ethan tightened, Sam clicked his tongue. "Easy. Push out. Yeah, like that."

Sam's torso was flushed, skin beginning to shine with the heat between them. Thrusts began to catch the sensitive spot inside Ethan. His toes curled against the wall.

"You're doing so fucking good, Eth."

Ethan's cock had come alive again, kicking up against Sam's tight stomach as he met Sam's driving hips. Sam's face was almost fierce with concentration. He caught Ethan behind the thighs and pulled them tight against his waist

Sam reached down. Spread a hand on Ethan's belly, pressing him down. Ethan's cock bounced against the back of Sam's hand.

"Feel it? Taking it all." His voice had gone rougher.

"Sammy," Ethan gasped. "Please." He wasn't going to last long, not with Sam staring at him, pressure of Sam's hand making him feel how fucked he was.

Ethan came hard enough that his eyes rolled, come flying up over his chest. Sam cursed and lost his rhythm.

Ethan clenched as hard as he could.

Stay here.

Sam let out a low, breathless curse at the sudden tightness.

It only took two more hard pumps of Sam's hips. He buried himself deep and held there, grinding in, while he finished. Ethan felt each pulse hammering against his rim.

Sam's forehead came to rest against Ethan's damp temple, his ragged breath curling in Ethan's ear. "You good?"

Ethan managed a nod. His voice came out hoarse. "Yeah."

Sam's hand anchored loosely around Ethan's cock through the last aftershocks, thumb stroking over the sensitive head, until Ethan jerked away.

Sam eased out carefully and collapsed beside him. Ethan lay there sticky, oversensitive and absurdly pleased with himself.

"Did you like it?"

Ethan huffed a laugh. "No!"

"You're allowed to like it." Sam tilted Ethan's chin up for a kiss, just the soft press of Sam's lips against his, until Ethan set his hands at the crest of Sam's hips and opened his mouth. They moved naturally, Sam's tongue just teasing against Ethan's. Sam ground down into Ethan, neither of them fully soft. Ethan felt a final trickle of come slide from his slit into the pool on his belly.

"You said you wanted to try sucking a dick, straight boy," Sam whispered into his ear, voice light but edged with satisfaction. "Now you've got a load in your ass. Proud of yourself?"

Ethan snorted, face warming. "Shut up."

Sam grinned and braced himself, face an inch from Ethan's. "Make me."

SPRING

The girl who found him in the main study hall was tiny. The varsity hoodie hung nearly to her knees, and she was tugging fretfully on a blonde ponytail.

"Excuse me, do you work here?"

Ethan flipped over his lanyard so that Student Assistant on the back was visible. "What can I do for you?"

"There's something leaking in the bathroom on five. I put a trash can under it but it's -- there's a lot of water. Somebody might slip."

"Okay," Ethan said. "North bathroom or south bathroom?"

Her face was blank. "Um, sorry?"

Ethan tried pointing to opposite ends of the building. "Quad end or city end?"

Her eyes darted between his hands. "City end? By the print room."

"Thanks. I'll have a look."

Ethan passed Sam's carrel on the way to the stairs. Laptop open, screen black. No Sam.

Ethan hesitated at the women's room door, then gave it a light push. "Library staff," he called. "Is anyone in here?" No response. He gave it a couple more seconds, and then went in.

There was an inch of rusty water already in the bottom of the wastebasket and a skin of water creeping across the tiles toward the stalls. A handful of sodden paper towels clumped near the thin edge of the puddle where someone had made a hopeless attempt to mop up.

The constant drip from the pipe under the sink echoed off the walls.

He set up the yellow CLEANING IN PROGRESS stand in front of the door.

Ethan hunkered down. There was a small shutoff valve on the supply line -- above where the leak was welling up, but it was worth a try.

He stepped carefully into the puddle, water splashing up onto his cuffs, and pushed aside the waste basket to get a grip on the small handle.

It was stuck. Ethan braced a hand against the sink and put his shoulder into it.

Well, he hadn't made it worse.

Drip drip drip.

He pulled out his phone.

ETHAN: We need facilities

ETHAN: Leaking pipe in the women's, five north

PARKER: How bad

Ethan looked down at the trash can. He didn't really know how to describe it. No one was going to drown. How much deeper had the water got?

He flicked on the flash and took a five-second video of the pipe and puddle.

PARKER: I'll call

Ethan wiped his hands on his chinos.

His key fob got him into the custodial closet next to the men's, which Sam would find very interesting if Ethan told him. He mopped up as much as he could and dumped the water in the farthest stall. Might as well leave mop and bucket for now.

He shouldered out of the bathroom and nearly plowed right into Sam.

Sam stopped dead. Looked at Ethan and the wet patches on his pants. Looked at the women's bathroom door.

"I leave you alone for twenty minutes."

"Don't start."

"Uhuh." Sam stepped in, voice dropping. "Anyone still in there I should know about?"

"I met a mermaid."

"Is she hot?"

"Samuel."

"I'm just saying, if you're open to expanding the roster, let's talk about Parker."

Ethan flushed, his chest tightening as he glanced around the empty desks. "Do you want to talk about Parker?" he asked quietly.

Sam's grin sharpened. "Wet and grumpy really suits you, Eth. Don't you think Parker's great? Tall, handsome, smart. Fills out his pants pretty nicely for a chemistry nerd."

"You fill out your pants nicely for a chemistry nerd."

"I'm glad you've noticed, Eth. Appreciate it."

"When did you get a look at Parker's ass?"

"He was reshelving in study hall just before. Nice change of pace, although there's nothing wrong with the classics." Sam brushed a hand over Ethan's hip as he caught up on the stairs. Ethan swatted it away.

Ethan had never thought Sam's wants were that complicated. Finish his lab reports. Food, a shower later. Tease Ethan until he couldn't speak.

"I was doing my Econ paper," he muttered.

"Get it done?"

"Mostly."

"So you're free tonight."

Ethan ushered Sam through the door on the ground floor. "Maybe," he breathed against Sam's ear.

Parker was standing up behind the desk, handset jammed between ear and shoulder. "No, we're supposed to close in an hour so it would be really great if you could send someone around as soon as -- I don't know, my colleague's upstairs looking -- hang on." He put his other hand over the receiver and looked at Ethan. "They say to turn off the valve."

Ethan shook his head. "Already tried that. I don't know where the main shutoff is."

Parker turned away this time. "We tried that, it's still leaking. Okay, thank you. Yes, thanks. No, eleven. Great."

Parker put the receiver back into the cradle with a heavy plastic clack. One of his data sheets flapped across the desk and he snatched at it.

Ethan muttered a curse about Facilities. Parker had uncapped the highlighter again, its tip hovering over a line uncertainly.

Sam spoke up: "Parker, do you own the assay or does the assay own you?"

"The assay owns me," Parker said glumly.

"Attaboy."

A tall man in a jacket tentatively approached the desk.

"Excuse me, I need to get into the print room on the sixth floor, please?"

"That printer's out of order," Parker snapped without looking up.

"I need the guillotine?"

Parker and the student both turned to Ethan. Behind the student's back, Sam mouthed guillotine?

"It's not locked," Ethan said carefully.

"The door's shut?"

"Did you try the handle?"

A long pause. Very softly: "No."

"Good luck," Parker said firmly.

"I wasn't aware executions were a library amenity," Sam whispered as the student hurried back to the elevators.

"Did you need something, Sam?" Parker asked.

"Not at all. Just helping Ethan with some plans. I'll be upstairs if either of you need me." Sam gave Parker a charming smile and strolled off.

Parker watched him go. Ethan watched Parker.

"It's a nice shirt," Parker conceded.

"I'll go grab the incident log."

Parker winced.

They decided that they could not actually fill out the incident log until facilities showed up to do something about it. Ethan flicked back through the folder to confirm that artistic misadventure did not count as an incident.

Returns had stacked up behind Parker; Ethan had not been keeping up with shelving. With closing time looming, Ethan grabbed a heavy metal returns cart and started a full sweep of the library.

The upper floors were blessedly quiet. Ethan worked his way down, collecting and reshelving as much as he could. He was not making much of a dent in the returns; by the time he reached the main study hall on the second floor, the cart was full again.

He took the elevator down to the basement to bring up another one.

Outside the basement lobby, heavy oak card-catalog cabinets stood between the workshop alcoves and a row of dusty storage lockers. Something moved beyond the strip of light. Ethan stepped toward it.

Sam kissed him -- hard, sudden, his tongue sliding over Ethan's lips before he could even draw breath -- then spun him around so he was facing the tiny wooden drawers. One of his hands planted flat between Ethan's shoulder blades, pinning him forward. The other hand went straight down the back of Ethan's chinos, slipping under the elastic of his briefs. Strong fingers slid directly into the warm cleft of his ass.

Sam let out a low, pleased sound against the shell of Ethan's ear.

Ethan grabbed two drawer handles to steady himself, squared his feet and arched his back. Sam's cock pressed hard against the back of his thigh.

"Feels like you're free tonight to me."

Ethan had learned that Sunday evenings after shift went faster and smoother if he cleaned himself out thoroughly, opened himself up a little, before going to the library.

The motion-sensor lights gave a clunk and went out, dropping the alcove into pitch black.

Ethan heard the elevator chiming above them, faint voices crossing overhead.

Sam's hands kept moving in the dark. He closed one hand over Ethan through his chinos and held him there. Then his finger pushed fully inside.

Ethan tightened both hands around the brass drawer pulls. The whole case groaned slightly.

"Shh," Sam breathed.

Ethan bit the inside of his cheek.

Ethan's cock ached, trapped and starting to leak.

"One day," Sam whispered, his voice thick, "I'm not waiting till we get home."

Ethan shook, his whole body humming with the effort to stay quiet. He looked over his shoulder. The lights clunked back on.

Ethan blinked into the glare. Sam was looking directly at him, hair mussed, face red, one hand still trapped down the back of Ethan's pants.

His finger never stopped, pumping steadily in and out. Sam curled, found the angle that made Ethan's knees dip, hips twitching involuntarily.

Ethan gasped, his knuckles white. "Parker -- desk."

Sam let out a breathless laugh against Ethan's cheek. "You can invite him."

Ethan went still.

Sam did too.

For one second neither of them moved.

Then Sam kissed the back of Ethan's neck, withdrew his hand and put Ethan's clothes back in order.

He turned Ethan around, pressing one last soft, lingering kiss to his lips.

Then he slipped silently toward the stairs.

Ethan stayed where Sam had left him, both hands still wrapped around the brass drawer pulls.

Upstairs, the elevator chimed again.

FALL

ETHAN: Molly, you need to spend time in 641.874

MOLLY: what

MOLLY: HEY

MOLLY: it was FINE until SOMEBODY added an extra bottle of vodka

TYRESE: That didn't stop either of you drinking it.

ETHAN: You can't prove anything

MOLLY: grace saw you

MOLLY: wait

MOLLY: eth did you get the job???

ETHAN: Oui

MOLLY: omg

MOLLY: job buddies

TYRESE: You need to send me your schedule so I never have to deal with either of you in an official capacity.

Ethan went to put his phone down. The problem set was due in three hours and Sam hadn't let him out of bed until noon. Another message came in before he turned the screen off.

SAM: Need to rerun an experiment

SAM: When are you done?

Ethan sighed.