College Jocks Brooks and Zane 06

Chapter 7

Zane Whitaker: Age 18; dirty blonde hair; blue eyes; 5'9"; pitcher on the baseball team

Brody Kessler: Age 19; wavy, short black hair; dark brown eyes; 6'3" 250 lbs; heavyweight wrestler

Brooks Hayes: Age 20; brown hair; blue eyes; 6'2"; starting quarterback; junior

I walked into that kitchen assuming I'd be doing most of the actual work, on account of Brooks Hayes being (in my professional opinion as his friend of about 96 hours) a large, muscular, annoyingly-handsome neanderthal. Well, to my surprise I was wrong... Brooks Hayes is a large, muscular, annoyingly-handsome neanderthal who also happens to be a frickin' culinary genius.

"Aight, we're gonna brown the butter first," he said, already pulling a saucepan down from a cabinet like he'd done this a thousand times, because apparently he had. "Don't rush it. You want it to smell nutty, not burnt."

"Sorry, what?"

"It's just browning butter. This is basic stuff." He clocked my face and laughed. "What, you didn't think I could cook?"

"Dude, ESPN literally called you the fittest athlete in NCAA football. I genuinely thought your diet was chicken breast and protein powder eaten directly off a spoon."

"That's Tuesday through Thursday." Brooks handed me a stick of butter. "Cube it. Small pieces, so they melt even."

I cubed the butter. The whole time, I was still in disbelief at Brooks' kitchen skills. The star quarterback at State was literally doing everything with the calm, over-practiced ease of one of those ladies on the Food Network.

"You're really good at this," I said at one point.

"Yeah, well." He didn't look up from the bowl. "Had a lot of practice."

"Your mom teach you?"

"Nah." An extended beat passed. "Jamie. My best friend, growing up. We used to bake together all the time."

I gotta be honest and admit that up until hearing that sentence, I'd kinda pictured Brooks Hayes's entire childhood as just one long athletic highlight reel... sports practices, trophies, and coaches screaming into his ear. The idea of him standing in an apron leveling off a cup of flour had not been part of the mental footage.

"Funny thing is, Jamie was, like, the most stoic dude you've ever met," he went on, folding something into something else that looked kinda gooey. "The guy played football and baseball. His dad was this hard-ass ex-military guy, super old-school, and Jamie basically wasn't allowed to have any 'soft' hobbies. Soooooo, obviously the one thing Jamie loved more than anything was baking." Brooks almost smiled at that, sort of inwardly. "We used to do it a couple times a month. Always did it in my parents' kitchen... 'cause Jamie's old man would've had an aneurysm if he found out. Then we'd load the goodies up and drive it over to this retirement home we volunteered at and just, like, hand it out. Old people going nuts over brownies delivered by a couple o' high school boys who reeked of cheap body spray."

"That's actually really sweet."

"Yeah." He was quiet for a second, absentmindedly mixing something that didn't really seem like it needed any more stirring. "... It was."

I kept working like a diligent minion. Measuring, stirring, whatever Chef Brooks ordered me to do. I really focused in on the tasks, quickly realizing this cooking stuff really required some serious concentration.

And at some point, I looked up because Brooks had gone quiet for a while. When I glanced over, I noticed he was just kinda looking at me. Not at what I was doing with the bowl. At me. Staring at my face. And his eyes were wet, like glassy in a way that made my stomach drop a little, and he had this small, kind of destroyed smile on his face that I did not have a single clue what to do with.

"Dude," I said cautiously. "You.... okay?"

Brooks blinked, and whatever emotional shit had been churning behind his teary smile got folded back up fast. "Yeah. Sorry. It's nothing." He wiped at his eye with the back of his wrist, quick, like it was an afterthought. "I don't know, I get homesick sometimes. Randomly. It hits weird."

I easily sympathized. The past couple months of starting college I found myself feeling lonely all the time.

"I get that," I said. "Like, genuinely. I still miss my friends from high school so much it's stupid. I've got Brody, got a bunch of new friends in my dorm that I like a ton, I'm not -- it's not like I'm alone or anything. But it's different. New friends don't know you yet. Sometimes I'm sitting in a room full of cool, fun people and I still feel kind of lonely, and I don't really have a good explanation for it."

Brooks looked at me for a second too long, in a way I couldn't quite read.

"For real," he said, quiet. "I know what you mean."

Then he cleared his throat, grabbed the pan back like a man on a mission, and said, "Okay, we're folding in the chocolate chips now, and if you dump them all in at once like an animal I will actually throw you out of this kitchen."

Hearing Head Chef's instructions loud and clear, but not knowing what the hell the word "fold" meant in this context, I promptly proceeded to dump the chocolate chips in with the finesse of a hyperactive puppy trying to shake treats out of one of those snack dispenser toys.

"Zane."

"What? You said fold. I'm folding."

"You're not folding, you're... shaking that bag of chocolate like it's a protein shake." But he was laughing when he said it. I let him take the bowl back from me and fix whatever damage I'd done.

Somewhere around the second batch, Brooks took his shirt off and then put an apron back on over his bare torso. He looked incredibly sexy with the apron highlighting his carved shoulders, athletic arms, and defined lats. I could even see a bit of his brown armpit hair poking out when he worked, and that strangely turned me on.

You've probably deduced by now that I was a clumsy dufus the whole time, so of course I somehow managed to smear some batter on face by the time we were preparing the second batch. Don't really know how it got there... maybe when I was brushing my hair back?

"You've got a little--" Brooks gestured vaguely at his own face. Then, when I swiped at the wrong cheek entirely, he sighed like I was a lost cause and just reached over and wiped it off himself, thumb dragging slow across my jaw. It took him about a second and a half. It felt like considerably longer than that. And, I felt my cock stiffen for the 12th fucking time that afternoon.

"Uh, thanks bro," I said, awkwardly.

"Don't mention it." Brooks was already turning back to the bowl like nothing had occurred, completely unbothered, while I stood there trying to recalibrating my entire nervous system.

By the time the last tray went in the oven, I was a mess... flour in my hair, a couple of chocolate chips that melted under my waistband, and 20 minutes of nothing to do but wait.

"We did good, bro," Brooks said, surveying the disaster zone that used to be his kitchen like a general reviewing a battlefield. He then tasted one of the brownies from the first batch. "Holy shit, this might genuinely be the best batch I've ever made. Well, we made it."

"High praise from the guy who baked professionally in high school."

"I didn't bake professionally."

"Dude you literally had a regular delivery route. Y'all basically ran a small business."

Brooks laughed at that, easy and warm. He looked over at me leaning against the counter, flour still in my hair, and something in his face went soft in a way I clocked but couldn't fully name. "Yeah," he said. "I guess it kind of was... Hayes and Hawkins LLP...." I figured Hawkins must be Jamie's last name.

Then, Brooks put his arm around me, and squeezed my shoulder, easy and casual, the way bros do with each other sometimes. I could feel the actual weight of his arm across my shoulders, the warmth coming off his tan, bare skin that the apron left completely exposed.

As you could probably guess by now, mini Zane grew turgid once AGAIN before I even fully processed what was happening. I'd often dreamed of breaking records... but I always envisioned them to be baseball stats.... I never once wanted to hold the Guinness World Record for number of times a grown man could get an involuntary stiffie in a single day.

And I then made the catastrophic mistake of turning my head slightly, which put Brooks Hayes's stunningly handsome face about eight inches from mine. I observed.... for the first time, the sparkle in his kind, blue eyes. I observed... a gentleness to his puppy-dog eyes that balanced out the masculine planes of the rest of his face. I observed a shiver that coursed through my own body like electricity, as I looked closely at Brooks. And as I shivered, I observed a dust of white flour puff off my messy hair and straight into Mr. Dreamy Eyes's face.

Brooks shoved me away as he rubbed his eyes, trying to get the flour out. "Oh fuck... holy shit dude... how the hell did you even get so much flour in your hair. Ah, man, that shit stings!"

I profusely apologized, even while laughing my ass off at my new best bud's expense.

*****

The next couple months of college settled into a nice rhythm. I was starting to get into the groove of things.

Mornings were usually occupied by baseball: offseason lifts and throwing programs with the team.

Afternoons would sometimes be spent with Brooks, whenever his ridiculous schedule of practice and film sessions stuff let up long enough for us to actually sit down together and pretend to study. I was a surprisingly good tutor if I do say so myself. My prodigious tutee managed to miraculously pull his accounting grade from an alleged 69 up to a respectable 88 in the span of a few weeks. As an expression of gratitude, Brooks surprised me by cooking up a delectable meal of short ribs and roast carrots. He was a man of many talents.

Evenings often involved me getting slapped around (figuratively and also very literally) by Coach Johnson, whenever we both had time to sneak away. When Coach was busy, which was increasingly the case as the football season heated up, I occasionally found other company with other guys...

And I would be remiss to not mention the most predictable part of my routine: my roommate Brody getting laid. I got sexiled roughly two to four times a week. As one can imagine, being locked out of your own room at 9:30 p. m. on a Tuesday gets old fast, and that I developed a habit of just walking myself over to Brooks's place to seek refuge.

Brooks always seemed glad to see me (though I would have liked to see a bit more sympathy about my plight). Sometimes just make room on the couch, toss me a controller or turned on whatever dumb show he was watching, and let me just exist in his space until I got a text that the coast was clear. Other times we'd just pull out our books and study silently next to each other. Eventually, it didn't matter whether my roommate planning on 'getting it on' or not.... Brooks would just shoot me a text at around 9pm almost every night and ask if I wanted to hang.

In other words, Brooks and I quickly became close friends. Heck, we even dressed up as each other for Halloween. "I'm doing you a huge solid," Brooks remarked as he gave me some of his old, dirty pads and uniform. "You know how much people online offer me to buy my used shit?" In exchange, I gifted Brooks a State baseball t-shirt that was two sizes too large for me, and which I got for free while being recruited. Neither of us cared that much about Halloween and we'd both procrastinated on thinking about costumes until the day of. A little "sport swap" was an easy last-minute solution. Only problem I didn't account for was how aroused I would get from wearing Brooks Hayes's used gear... and what a total manslut I would turn into at the gay mens party I snuck away to.... but that's a story for another day....

To be honest, I had no idea why Brooks Hayes wanted to hang out with me all the time. He was the big man on campus. Everyone wanted to be his buddy, and yet he would choose to spend all his free time me of all people? I told myself that some dudes just hit it off and become best buds. We were both athletes with a decent amount of common interests, so it wasn't thatttt weird for a star quarterback to want to hang around a freshman baseball player, or vice versa, right? Totally natural for two college-aged jocks to bond, I'd tell myself.

Eventually I ran out of ways to not notice my feelings for Brooks.

It really snuck up on me. Not all at once, rather, a slow accumulation of little data points. First, I noticed I actually started looking forward to getting sexiled, which is a genuinely deranged sentence to write down (promise you this is not going to turn into some cuck fantasy erotic). Next, I noticed the way my heart jumped at every little Brooks sent me a text during the day... be it a dumb meme or some stat he thought I'd care about. And then I noticed that how, whenever he was in a bad mood (usually after losing a game), mine tanked right along with his.

One night in November, lying on his couch while he narrated his fantasy football lineup to me like it was breaking news, I caught myself just smiling inside and watching him talk, and then had the mildly unwelcome realization that I'd give anything to spend the rest of my life listening to the sweet sound of his voice.

I was in love with Brooks Hayes. There was no way around it. Prior to that, I always kept open to the possibility that maybe I'd settle down with a woman. I dated two girls before and genuinely felt romantic feelings for both of them. But after I met Brooks, I learned the difference between catching feelings and falling in love.

Well shit, I'd somehow fallen for my straight best friend. Something I knew happened to most gay dudes, but never really considered happening with me. Heck, I spent my whole life mostly hanging with straight bros and never once caught feelings for any of them.

Regardless, being raised by a single father taught me to be a realist, and I fully understand that there's zero chance a straight man could ever love me back. So I just accepted that fact of life, and decided to just treasure our platonic bromance for everything it was. I firmly decided to do everything in my power to just preserve my friendship with Brooks Hayes at all costs. Never do anything that could risk ruining it all. Repeated to myself daily: remember buddy, Brooks Hayes will always remain your straight best friend, as long as you don't fuck it up.

Anyways, that's enough mushy-gushy stuff for now. Did I mention the time I let Brody Kessler fuck me in the ass?

*****

It was the Thursday before Thanksgiving break. I finished my last class the day before and stayed up most of Wednesday night. Coach Johnson had given me a booty call around midnight. He used me multiple times throughout the night and ended up shooting three loads up my throat (which by that point had become quite skilled) before dawn. Not gonna lie, it was an incredible experience, but it also meant that I was exhausted the next day, having not slept more than two consecutive hours at a time. To make things worse, the following day, I had to spend the entire afternoon on a hike with about a dozen other guys on the baseball team, and then we all headed to Olive Garden for dinner.

Got back to my dorm room at around 8:00 pm with a belly full of pasta. I was EXHAUSTED. Tried to refresh myself with my go-to ritual of taking a cold shower, then gargling copious amounts of minty mouthwash. It didn't work. I was supposed to meet back up with the guys at 9:30 to pregame for a party that one of the seniors on the baseball team was hosting, and figured a quick nap would be the only effective cure for my food coma. I stripped down to my underwear and hopped into my bed that felt like heaven.

I ended up sleeping for the next three hours.

I woke up to the sound of the door banging open like a gunshot, followed immediately by a voice I did not recognize. Female, a little nasal, laughing loudly in a pitch so high it made me think she might have a bright future as an opera soprano. I lay there in the dark for a second, brain still swimming in sleep, trying to piece together where I was and what was going on.

Then I heard my roommate Brody's deep broey-voice, and the door slamming shut. With a sinking stomach, I then understood exactly what kind of evening I'd just been drafted into.

I was laying on my side, facing the wall, which felt like a small mercy at first. I didn't know what to do, so I kinda just froze. Figured, if I just layed there pretending to still be asleep, they'd eventually notice the extremely obvious human-shaped lump six feet away and then put a natural, dignified stop to things. Seemed like a smart play at the time. Minimal awkwardness.

Five long minutes later, I realized the error of my ways. Brody and Nasally Maria Callas were extremely into each other. Even with my eyes shut and facing the wall, my ears were working fine enough to tell me the story. There was kissing. Aggressive kissing. Soon after, Brody was rubbing her clit and smacking her ass. At one point, she begged him to spank her "like a fat hog." God, this was torture. I wished this chick's high pitch wails could somehow temporarily bruise my eardrums enough to grant me 30 minutes or so of blissful hearing loss.

Then I heard Brody's voice, breathless but still seductive, "So you wanna, like... go down on me?"

There was a pause, which I realized was my absolute last chance to say something, anything, cough loudly, fake a sneeze, roll over dramatically and yell surprise. I did none of these things. I lay there in cowardly silence and let fate take the wheel.

I heard shuffling. Heard a creak that suggested maybe somebody was getting down onto their knees on a hardwood floor. Then, a heartbeat of dead silence.... followed by an actual, honest-to-God scream.

"OH MY GOD. Brody. BRODY. There's a PERSON."

"What? Oh shitt! Wait, nah, it's fine, that's just my roommate, he's asleep--"

At this point, laying there in silence was obviously no longer a survivable strategy. So I sat straight up and threw the blanket off like I was making a grand entrance nobody had asked for. Standing there in the nude except for my underwear, I put my hands up in the air and apologized profusely, "Sorry, sorry guys -- I'm up, I'm leaving, pretend I'm not here."

The Maria Callas let out a noise that sounded like a wounded seagull and yanked her shirt back over her head so fast it might've ripped the fabric a bit. I grabbed a pair of shorts off my floor, didn't bother with anything else, and got myself out into the hallway like a man fleeing a burning building.

Even out there, door shut behind me, I could still hear her. As has been previously-established, the dorm walls at Harlan Hall are purely decorative.

"I can't believe this," she was saying, voice climbing back up into the soprano register. "You didn't tell me your roommate was IN THERE. WITH US."

"Babe, come on, I didn't know. He was supposed to be at some party with the baseball team. Chillout, he's gone now, it's literally just us--"

"I don't care, the moment's dead, Brody. Zero chance I'm gonna be able to get in the mood again... maybe ever."

"Jess, come on... don't do this.... how about you let me go down on you... you said it yourself, there's a special spark here.... don't let a stupid thing like that get between us."

"There is no us, Brody. I literally met you two hours ago."

I heard rustling, a bag getting grabbed, footsteps stomping toward the door. The door opened, and slammed closed, and then the hallway went quiet except for me, standing there in my underwear and actively regretting all my recent life choices.

A minute later Brody's door cracked open and he leaned out, shirtless, looking like a (very sexy) man at his own funeral.

"She's gone," he said, unnecessarily, since I had personally witnessed her dramatic departure from two feet away.

"Yeah. I gathered."

He dragged a hand down his face and let out a long breath. "Dude.... ughhh. Do you understand how horny that girl had me? Like, shit man, balls are gonna fucking bust."

"I really am sorry."

"I'm not mad at you, Zane.... it's just a shitty situation... but why the fuck did you tell me you were leaving for the baseball pregame at nine?"

I explained how I apparently forgot to set an alarm before my nap.

Brody leaned his head back against the doorframe and ran his fingers through his wavy dark hair, exposing the deep, sexy groove of his hairy armpits as he did so. "I've got blue balls so bad right now I might actually die. Like medically. This might be a hospital situation."

"I don't think that's how blue balls work."

"You don't know my balls, Zane."

"No," I agreed. "I really don't."

He let out a short, defeated laugh and rubbed both hands over his face. Then he idled back inside the confines of our room. I followed him in.

I couldn't deny that Brody Kessler looked pretty darn attractive standing there in our room shirtless. That tall, thick wrestler body looked like a greek statue. Dark hair all mussed up. Dark eyes a little wild with lust still.

And front of his shorts was obscene. There was no point in even trying to hide his bulge. I wondered how big he was.

I don't know what exactly came over me. It was a mixture of several things, courage, horniness, and stupidity for sure among them. I decided I really wanted have sex with my roommate.

It was a crazy idea... but over the past couple of months I'd been noticing signs that Brody might be kinda into me. The biggest tell, came from the tent in his pants that reliably showed up after each time he helped me shave my ass (which happened about two to three times a week).

I noticed it the first time about a month ago... and ever since then, had made sure to glance at Brody's crotch before and after each time he shaved me smooth. Ten out of ten times, he had a stiffie. I knew Brody was a total "ass-man"... he talked about sex constantly and not a week would go by without him sighing about how he desperately needed a chick with a fat ass to sit on his face right then and there. Well, I've got a pretty big ass myself, and I already knew Brody liked it.

"Uh, so.... you that really that horny?" I asked.

"Well what does it look like, Zane," Brody replied as he irritably scratched at his crotch. "What kind of dumb ass question even is that?"

"Hear me out... I might be able to help you get your dick wet pretty soon... If you're actually that down bad."

He squinted at me. "Yeah? How'd you do that."

My mouth was dry. "I could... I could take care of it."

Brody's head snapped up in total shot. "W-what? The fuck you talking about? I'm straight, man.... you know that!"

"I know you are. Doesn't matter...." I said. "It's a mouth for fucks sake. You can close your eyes. What man doesn't enjoy a warm throat?"

"Holy shit, dude...."

"Okay....." I said. I started to turn toward the door. "You're standing there about to die, according to you...... But-"

Brody's voice dropped. "You're really serious? Bro would you really suck me off?"

"Yeah. I mean, don't get me wrong, this is just a one time thing. Like, afterwards we'll just pretend nothing happened and live our lives like normal again."

"You won't tell anybody."

"No. Not soul. Dude, I don't want people thinking I'm gay or something."

He swallowed. His hand rubbing his massive bulge through the fabric, not even subtle. "I don't know, man..."

I shrugged. "Aight then. I respect that. Later bro, I'm heading to the party."

Brody's hand caught my shoulder.

"No. I-I guess... I'd be okay with it." He said it at the floor. "Shut the door."

I shut the door. When I turned around, Brody stood there an inch away from of me with a dark, almost sinister expression on his masculine face.

"You wanna get on your knees for Daddy?" he asked, with a cruel glint in his eyes.

I dropped down.

The guy's junk was in front of my face. The shorts were thin. The outline of him was thick and heavy at the head. The dude was huge. I kissed it through the cloth. Licked the spot. The fabric went darker and salty. Already, I could tell that Brody had the biggest cock I've ever encountered.

"Ugh... fuck," Brody muttered.

I hooked my fingers in the waistband, dragged it down. Wiry black hair. A lot of it, but trimmed. Then the base of his cock, thick, slightly veiny. I pulled the shorts the rest of the way and his entire cock slapped my cheek, hard, and left a string of precum across my face. I would later learn it measured to almost 10 inches long.

I wrapped a hand around it. Couldn't close my fingers. It was heavy and hot and slightly sweaty.

"Don't look at it like that," he said. "It's a dick. Dude don't tell me you've never seen a dick before."

Well, I hadn't seen Brody's like this. Not hard. Not an inch from my mouth "Dude. You're huge," I said.

"Shut up, bitch. Just suck me." He grabbed his cock and rubbed the head across my mouth a couple times. Precum got on my nose and my cheek. "Don't make it weird, dude. Just.... just gimme a blowjob for fucks sake."

I took the head in. I made a noise around him. He was thicker than I expected and he didn't wait for me to get used to it. He held my hair and fed me another inch, then another, until my eyes watered and I had to grab his thighs to stay upright.

He hissed. His hand landed in my hair and shoved me deeper. I got as much as I could and gagged on the rest.

"Yeah. Choke on me. That's it. You wanted to help me so bad? Fucking take it." He held my head there and rolled his hips. His bush mashed my nose. His balls hit my chin. "You like that? You like sucking dick, faggot?"

I made a sound around him that was supposed to be yes.

"Yeah you do. Little slut roommate. Jess leaves and you get right on your knees like a good little bitch boy. FUCK--"

My big, hairy, hunk of a roommate fucked my mouth. Not careful. Short, quick punches. Then long, brutal thrusts into my throat that made me gag. I drooled down my chest. My eyes watered. My own cock throbbed so hard in my briefs.

When I tried to pull back for air, Brody kept me there an extra second and let me gag on it. "Don't tap out, faggot." he said. "Breathe through your nose."

Then, he yanked out all at once. A line of spit connected my lip to him.

"Shit.... you're actually incredible.... like I've high-key never met a girl who could do this...." He was breathing hard. Looking at me like he'd just remembered I was a guy. "I'm gonna jizz soon."

He then shoved his throbbing cock back in my now-sore throat. Both gripped my head this time. He used my mouth like it was that fleshlight someone gave him. Sweaty pubes scratched against face. His musky balls slapping my chin.

"AHHHHH..... shittttt.... I'm cumming... ugh fuck--don't you stop... don't you FUCKING stop--"

The first pulse hit the back of my throat. Hot. Thick. Brody kept thrusting and filled my mouth until I had to swallow or choke. Then he pulled out and painted my face with the rest. Cheek. Mouth. One eye. He slapped the head on my tongue and wiped the last of it there.

"Hot damn...." I licked and swallowed the last drops that were smeared on my lips. He watched me do it, wide-eyed.

"You like that?"

"Yeah."

Brody was still half-hard. He looked so sexy, with his hairy chest matted in sweat, and his half-hard cock still bigger than an average man's fully turgid one. He dragged a hand down his face to wipe the sweat. Then he flicked it at me mischievously and chuckled as I flinched.

My own cock was hard and leaking. I was so turned on.

"So you're, like... be real with me.... no cap.... are you gay?"

"Bi." In a single word, I realized I just came out to someone for the first time (other than someone I met on Grindr).

"You... you uh ever take it up the ass?"

I looked at him. My face was a mess. I nodded silently.

"Dude doesn't that hurt like a bitch? I've never had a girl be able to take me up her ass..."

"I mean, yeah, of course it does.... at first. Then it feels good.... amazing actually... if the top goes slow enough and eases you in...." I glanced down. "I'll be honest, I've never taken anything as thick as you though..."

He grabbed his still-hard cock and shook it, a stupid grin fighting through the nerves. "You really think you'd enjoy letting me ream you up the shitter with this thing?"

I yanked my shorts all the way off. My fully hard, 7-inch dick stood at attention, precum drooling from the cockhead to the floor. My cock literally twitched in anticipation. I was so fucking horny.

Brody smirked as he observed my obvious arousal. He hauled me up by the arm and I stumbled. He turned me around, put a hand between my shoulder blades, and folded me over his mattress. He smacked my ass hard. Then the other one.

"Damn, that a good ass.... oh fuck yeah... that's a GOOD FUCKING ASS!" He squeezed my bubble butt, jiggled them a bit, and smacked them a few more times.

I couldn't believe I was letting my roommate bend me over and spank me like this. But I deep down, I didn't care. I wanted his cock inside my ass. NEEDED it. So badly.

*****

Thank you to everyone who's been sticking with this story. As you can see, I decided to switch to first person narration for this chapter. I was struggling with writing speed in 3rd person, and also with showing Zane's personality. The first-person prose style in this chapter felt a bit more natural and easy for me.