There’s a heaviness on my chest. A weight obstructing my lungs, forcing me to take larger, longer inhales. My ears buzz. My whole body trembles as if I were drilling into a wall. It’s impossible to move, I realize, because each movement creates a… sound?

  My eyes are still stuck from the strangely reposing night, and the breeze that envelops my face is pleasant but also not so pleasant, because it smells of fish. Warm fish.

  I pat down to where the sinkhole is, and I’m met with soft, long fur. The sound is a mewl, a very cute one, and I smile through the sleepiness. Maybe I’m still sleeping. Maybe I’m in paradise.

  The creature keeps purring loudly and rubs its face against my growing beard. It scratches in all the right places.

  Eventually, I’m fully awake, and the cutest cat appears in front of me. White fur, long, fluffy ears, and a fluffier tail. It’s almost stretched until my waist, and its little paws come to play with my nose. “Hi, kitty,” I grumble through cold, raspy vocal chords and I’m received with another cute mewl.

  It hits a little later, when my gaze scatters around the room, that I’m not home. I’m at Andrew’s. And this is probably his cat. How come I haven’t noticed hair all around the house?

  Although Kitty refuses to let me move more than an inch, I do try to search for a clock. Or my phone. It’s right on the small table beside the couch, and fortunately, my arm reaches it without too much difficulty. 5 a.m. I sigh. “Just a tad too early,” I whisper.

  When my hands grab the cat to lift it out of my chest, I curse, hoping his screams aren’t waking up Andrew.

  It starts kneading the side of the couch when I reach for the bathroom. As I walk past Andrew’s bedroom, his door is open. And my eyes can’t help but quickly peek. He’s on his back, one leg lifted, both of his arms under his pillow, his face turned my way. I remark just how svelte he is. Not a single pound of grease in his body. He’s muscular, in an obvious way. The muscles of his torso are perfectly defined. He could be used as an example for medical students. From where I’m standing, I can follow the line of his deltoids. Triceps. Even his external obliques and the beginning of the famous line stretching to—

  Meow!

  Kitty has followed. And is now actively brushing its fur against my legs, slaloming between them, making the best agility contestants that ever existed envious. Andrew moves and grunts. While he rubs his face against his pillow, I leave for the toilet in a rush. “Hi, baby.” I hear him say before closing the door.

  When I’m out, little lights spark in the kitchen, and I figure Andrew is up.

  I lean onto the kitchen’s threshold and cross my arms. “Sorry I woke you,” I say while he’s showing his back. He’s giving food to the precious babe that patiently waits next to where the bowl usually lies.

  “He did. Hungry little thing. I didn’t even hear you.” He corrects me, and I’m too sleepy to explain the whole story. The beast and I share a knowing look.

  “I should have known you’re a cat person,” I admit.

  I was convinced I would want to leave first thing in the morning, and yet, here I am, watching Andrew feed his pet. There are all sorts of feelings moving my bowels, but that might just be my hunger manifesting.

  “I love kitties. They are smart. And cute.” He leans to drop the bowl right beside where his majesty awaits. But he doesn’t dive in without a few scratches below his chin. My smile stretches on its own. “I’ve been thinking.”

  My eyes immediately fall over him, and I don’t move when he comes closer. “Hmm?”

  “Why haven’t you filed a complaint?”

  It takes me a few seconds to understand what he’s referring to. And the conversation of last night comes back in sections. “About the dean?”

  “Yes. You could have gone to HR. Or even the President.”

  “Really? With what evidence? I’ve only been speculating. I have no certainty about the dean actively refusing my position at the lab.”

  “Still, it seems improbable he would be the only one going up against hiring you. There has to be something else.”

  “Maybe. But it might not concern me directly. And if I go to HR, then I’m the one who filed a complaint against the dean.” I lift my palm before he can speak. “Even anonymously. He would know. I’m the one person he’s having a beef with right now.”

  “You don’t know that. There might be a case forming against him.”

  “Did you have any trouble with him?”

  “Well, me personally, no, but—”

  “Have you heard people close to you complain?’

  “Not really…”

  I stay silent, proving my point. He’s chewing on his lower lip, pensive. He takes another step closer to me, but I understand it’s only to open the fridge when his hand grabs the handle of the door. “Eggs and bacon, okay?”

  “I thought you were more of a chia pudding and kiwi kind of guy.”

  “Why?” My gaze browses his athletic body and comes back up to his eyes, knowingly. “I train enough to be able to eat what I want. In adequate proportion.”

  “Eggs and bacon, it is.”

  He gestures for me to sit at the table and starts sorting out the ingredients. The backrest protests a bit when I lean into it. “I still don’t get why Bella hasn’t been more open with you.” He mutters softly, but enough for me to hear. His morning voice is soft, breathy.

  “I don’t know. Not for lack of trying. Calls. Emails. Physical visits. It’s always a bad time.”

  “She’s stressed lately. In an unusual way.” The sound of the eggs cracking against the pan draws the attention of his Lordship. He actively licks his lips. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “This isn’t your problem,” I remind him without sounding too aggressive. Trying, at least.

  “I said I’d help.”

  “And I said I didn’t need it.”

  He opens the fridge again to grab milk. As he does, he turns to me, an irresistible grin on his face. “And you still think that?”

  He has a point. I might not. Andrew doesn’t wait for a response, anyway. “What’s his name?” I ask instead.

  “Toulouse.”

  “Toulouse?”

  “For Toulouse-Lautrec, yes.”

  I remember that name. It’s the French painter in the Moulin Rouge movie he suggested I watch, based on the real Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. “Did you watch it?”

  Should I be truthful and tell him just how painful it was to close my eyes to sleep after so much weeping? Should I tell him just how right he was?

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  He laughs. Wholeheartedly. And the shivers follow up my spine to the back of my neck. My hand rubs the spot, uneasy. “You did. Did you like it?”

  “It was… okay.”

  “You loved it.”

  “Maybe.”

  He laughs some more. And I can’t help but join. Toulouse tries to gather our attention for a little piece of the bacon crackling in the oil. He strangely avoids jumping onto the counter. What a good boy. “It’s only fair that you recommend an intellectual jerk-off movie for me now.”

  “Christopher Nolan’s movies are not intellec—”

  “It doesn’t have to be his. Just give me one. I’ll watch it.”

  He serves the scrambled eggs and bacon into two plates and puts them on each side of the table. Andrew acts like we’ve been living together for years, digging into his plate with appetite despite the early hour. My fingers play with my hair as I think of a movie to propose.

  “Are you comfortable with horror and suspense?”

  He ponders the idea. There’s a lot to consider. Mulholland Drive. Psycho. Fight Club. The Machinist. “I’ll manage. I think.”

  “You could go with David Fincher’s movies. Lots of them are very good.”

  “Choose one, Alexej.” His eyes are glued to mine, and he keeps them fixated while he takes a bite of his food.

  “Let’s go with Zodiac, then.”

  “Zodiac? Astrology related?” he queries, one of his eyebrows lifting. I can see the judgment in his gaze.

  I smile, showing my teeth. “Like the serial killer.”

  He winces, and it makes me laugh even more. A few more minutes later, we’re done with breakfast. He offers a glass of water, and I accept.

  I get up to rinse our plates in the sink.

  “I’ll handle the dishes,” he interrupts. “You can clean yourself up before work.”

  “I’m already done.”

  “I insist. Stop it.” He grabs one of the plates and almost crushes my hand in the process. I hold onto it like a dog protecting its meat from other hounds. We both pull away the dish in opposite directions, and the movement weirdly brings us closer.

  The warmth of his bare body radiates so much I can feel it in my core. Or is it just my own skin igniting itself? “Come on. It’s two plates.” I remark.

  “I know it is. Leave it.”

  “I’ve been doing nothing since you brought me here. Let me do this at least.”

  He releases a bit of the tension. “I’m the host, and you are the guest.”

  “I’m the idiot who got shit-faced and who you graciously decided to take care of.”

  “Yeah. I’m kind like that.”

  We both laugh and smile, and apparently, we’re also both very stubborn. Because neither of us drops out. Before he can continue, I grab his waist, not caring about the soap that sticks to his skin, and bring him between me and the sink. My hands lock with his, and we both start rubbing the plate.

  “There. That’s what you’ve won.” My voice wants to sound reproachful, but instead it grew heavy. He’s pressed against me and has barely moved. My chin could easily rest either on his head or his shoulders, and his beautiful scent grasps my free will by the collar, menacing. It would feel comfortable leaning onto the touch. In the embrace. I think he does just that, even. His back is rubbing against the t-shirt he lent. His waist sways to find a better adjustment, and that’s when I snap out of it.

  Andrew Miller. In my arms.

  His ears are reaching a burgundy color. His fingers are static. He might be in shock. I take a step back.

  “I’ll go shower.” I blurt before walking— running to the bathroom. I’m under the stream in seconds, betting on the cold water to bring me back to my senses.

  About thirty minutes later, I’m out. Of the shower, that is, but not out of the trance. I’m afraid. Of what he’ll say.

  Flashes from the party come back to mind. I might not go to work today. Call in sick. Forget that night existed, and find a way to make people forget my own existence.

  At some point, I leave the room. Find my clothes from last night, and the smells almost drain a gag from deep inside. I’m going to use the time I have left before my next class to come back to my apartment. I can’t possibly show myself in this.

  Toulouse is following Andrew, happily strutting along. “I’m going to go,” I hail before he leaves the room. “Need to change.”

  Nothing betrays his emotions. He’s watching like nothing happened. “Oh. Of course.”

  I do sense the shift in his tone. Whether it’s because he’s disgusted by me or because he doesn’t know how to react, I can’t tell. He looks like he’s retreated to a place within himself where no one can touch him. I know that place all too well.

  It seems I’ve succeeded in embarrassing him.

  ?

  Jesse’s eyes have widened to a concerning size. “You did what?”

  “I know. It was stupid. I don’t know what happened.”

  Jesse only had a short lunch break before he would resume his workday. We decided to meet after a few days of not seeing each other. He had indulged in talking about himself first for once. But he seemed to quickly want to talk about something else that obviously involved a blond-haired man and me. We talked about work. We talked about the party, and we talked about the after-party. Jesse’s idea of an after-party obviously differs from what I’ve actually experienced. “I’ll be honest, I’m impressed.”

  My brows reach each other. “Impressed?”

  “Well, yes. A few weeks ago, you wanted to stab the man. And now, you got a hard-on against—”

  “Could you shut up?” I cover his mouth with my hand, but truly, nobody really cares in the square by the entrance of the University.

  “Isn’t that what happened?”

  “Yes, but… maybe you could avoid saying it out loud?”

  “Are you in denial?”

  “Denial’s my middle name,” I whisper and pinch the bridge of my nose with my fingers. Jesse’s laugh pops the bubble of negative thoughts that started flooding my mind.

  “Andrew’s into guys.”

  “And that should help me because…?”

  “Let me rephrase that; Andrew is into you.”

  “Yeah, right. After all the shit that I’ve done…”

  “He still brought you home after you got sick from the drinking.” He grabs my shoulder, forcing me to look at him. “He could have done many other things. Take the drinks away from you. Told you to take a breath of fresh air. Force you into your car to go home.”

  I know the truth. Losing his father messed him up more than he wants to admit. But I wouldn’t feel comfortable revealing this part of him to Jesse. He’s my best friend. Not Andrew’s. “It’s not what you think.”

  He checks the time on his phone. Only thirty minutes left before both of us have to go back to our activities. “Have you demanded a meeting with the dean?”

  “For what?” I answer, picking at the skin around my nails. That’s the hideous habit I took when Jesse forced me into stopping the biting.

  He starts typing on his phone. “You could be upfront with him. I don’t see why you wouldn’t have the right to ask for an explanation.”

  “I don’t want to step on Isabella’s plans. She says I need to trust her, and that’s what I’m going to do. Besides,” I add, not revealing the next part easily. “Andrew said he’ll help.”

  “Oh, really?” He gives me his sexy grin, and my fingers shuffle his perfectly combed hair.

  “He might have an idea. At least he looked like it. I think it’s time I’m open to new possibilities,” I struggle to find the words. “Doing nothing and grumbling by myself haven’t worked.”

  “And all it took for you to realize it was a blonde twink obsessed with romance movies.”

  “What the fuck is a twink?”

  “Bless your innocent mind, Alexej.”

  He turns his phone to my face, and I have to squint to see anything, even my hand blocking the sun, not enough for me to decrypt what he’s showing. After a quick move of his finger, he accentuates the luminosity, and the words finally form a meaning.

  Developmental shifts toward structural explanations and interventions for social status disparities.

  Verbal framing and statistical patterns influence children’s attributions to situational, but not personal, causes for behavior.

  Children use generic labels, but not category discreteness or stability, to form a novel essential category.

  “What is this?” I say.

  “All of the articles Andrew worked on since he entered the Cognitive and Development lab.”

  I scroll down. There’s a lot more. He’s not all alone in it, because he’s with a whole team, of course, but still, these are highly recommended and approved data. Positive work.

  He was working on these articles while also finalizing his PhD.

  “He’s… very smart,” Jesse mutters under his own breath, and he’s read my mind. He’s not just smart, he’s a force of nature. How could resentment linger? Jesse lifts his arm and purposefully teases my shoulder while leaning onto me. “I’ll be curious to see how all of this evolves.”

  “Curiosity is your middle name.”

  “Oh, absolutely.” He giggles and glances at his phone again. “I should get going. Give me a kiss, sweetie.”

  His cheek is what he’s stretching out to me, but I know him well enough to figure out the ruse. This idiot knows how to make me laugh. Or rather, cover me in shame and embarrassment. “Go.”

  “Come on. You also like men now.” With one of my hands, I lock his jaw tight and lick him from the base of his cheek to his temple. “Son of a—”

  I manage to wriggle my way out of his obvious assault and reach for the entrance before he could protest. Hopefully, no one has witnessed our childishness. I wave at him. He shows me the finger.