Awakening was a fever dream. It was a foggy, early morning, the most endearing of sorts. The sliding glass door allowed an influx of golden light; dust particles shimmered in the air, and Russ watched with bleary, half-open eyes, studying their swirling patterns.
He would've stared like an idiot all day if it weren't for his phone. Angry notifications flashed in a bright blue reminder. When he saw who it was, he groaned, and he reluctantly held the phone up to his ear; to his luck, they'd only left a voicemail.
"'Sup, smart guy?" The head mechanic barked through the speaker. "Let me ask you something: do you know what a goddamn catalytic converter is? Because it sure ain't in the fucking engine, dumbass! Call me, now! You're in for a load of shit on Monday-"
Russ guiltily, horrifically hung up as quick as he could.
That was a bit of a dampener. He didn't want to think about his encroaching ass-whooping at work, nor the fact that the boss would soon discover what he'd been doing in the BMW. (Not much. In fact, practically nothing at all, except bullshitting around and pretending to know where the converter was.) And so, Russ cuddled back into the blankets. It was bright dawn, but he could probably catch more sleep, if he closed the blinds on the sliding glass door.
Then he realized. He didn't have a sliding glass door; Adri's room was the one linked to the patio.
Heart lurching, Russ shot up and stared around him.
The king bed was warm and musky. Posters lined the wall, a stolen stop sign flashing at him; a desk with graffiti, a line of signed basketballs arranged on a shelf. This was Adri's room, he realized. He was in Adri's bed, sleeping in Adri's room, because...
Russ stared at the glass door until he found -- with a mixture of both embarrassment and utter, jubilant joy -- he was grinning.
Oh, holy hell. He was in Adri's room, sleeping in Adri's bed... sleeping with Adri. Last night.
Russ grinned at the wall like an utter moron as the miraculous, fantastical evening flared through his mind, playing on a loop as he grinned and grinned to no end.
This was either going to be the greatest day of his life, or the absolute worst: depending on if Adri answered his phone.
-
"I'm at a party," His best friend would shout through the receiver sometime in the evening. "Come down here, dude. It's off 19th street -- a fucking rager."
"A party?" Russ's face dropped. "Wait, hold on."
He'd been hoping -- after struggling to find Adri's whereabouts for hours -- that when he came home, they'd have a... relaxing night. That evidently wasn't the case. Adri was a jock, the popular kid. There wasn't a weekend that passed where he wasn't wasted in a college frat.
"It's insane here," Adri was egging through the phone. "Dude, you have to come down. Bring more beer! I'll suck your dick if you bring beer."
Was he serious -- would he do that? Or was he playing around again? Russ was both equally mortified and genuinely, slightly intrigued when he answered: "Alright, fine. You owe me then."
"Okay, bottom." Adri sounded pleased. "Hurry up."
He abruptly ended the call, and Russ was left staring at the screen.
He called me bottom, Russ thought fondly. And then, the devil of doubt: wait, was he joking? Or was he referencing last night? Why is he acting like nothing happened?
And what even was happening between them? Russ had to ponder this. Last night, they'd crossed a threshold. A threshold supposedly beyond all return -- once you're fucked, you can't be un-fucked -- but a cruel sense was telling him, Adri might've just been playing around.
Idiot, he told himself. He had his cock in your ass. He wasn't joking.
But then: we've been playing Gay Chicken since we knew each other. What if Adri thought that's what last night was? Just dudes being dudes, messing around?
No way, his final conscience said firmly. No way. Adri likes you.
There was only one way to find out, really. Russ couldn't help but let his hopes be astronomical as he gathered his things for the party.
-
It was barely nine p.m. when he arrived. Even then, someone was vomiting on the lawn. A typical Saturday, he thought dryly; stepping around the scene, he approached the front doors.
"Hold up," a large, mean-looking athlete in a tank top ordered. "Five for guys."
Russ was expecting this, and so he stuffed a bill in his hand. "Is Adri here?"
The large young man peered at him for a moment. "He should be in the study," he said.
"Okay." There wasn't anything particularly off about his voice, or his demeanor, but the athlete continued to eye him down strangely. Russ was intimidated by this; there was something written in his expression. Their eyes met for a moment too long, long enough for him to see the athlete's stare drop lower on his body.
Pushing into the house, he felt the athlete's eyes continuing to trail him, a hot, burning gaze on his spine. He was looking at him like... he knew.
Like something about the previous night had changed him; like suddenly, irrevocably, male eyes were drawn to him for reasons that hadn't existed before. Something stilled in Russ's chest as he considered this.
Skin prickling, he sought through the crowd for his best friend.
It didn't take long. Adri's voice carried far and wide. Happy, cheerful, hearty, he was a full moon in a room of dim stars. Russ could hear him through the walls, and as he hurried along, his hands began to sweat. Oh, God. This was just his best friend, but he was unfathomably nervous -- it was like he was on his way to meet a date. He'd never felt his heartbeat kick so erratically.
Russ paused at the study's door to collect himself, steadying his breath. We're friends, he told himself. This is my best friend. Don't be a stranger.
Hands quivering, he turned the knob and opened it.
He was in a group of guys and girls. Adri was the tallest one among them, standing out brightly; his shirt was off, his body on display, but even the impressive cut of tan muscle paled next to the glow of his smile. Adri's fiery eyes locked on the moment he stepped in.
"He brought beer!" Adri whooped. "C'mere, baby, I saved your seat."
