The Peach-Pounding Peters of Peterson Hall, #1

Chapter 9: Even the Hardest Shell Can Crack

Two Fridays later—almost the fourth week of the semester—I knocked on the door to Lincoln's dorm room in the evening. He'd been released from the psych ward two days ago after a seven-day stay, but according to Jerrick, he hadn't been ready to see anyone since he'd needed time to adjust.

The other Peters besides Buff had expressed the occasional concern, mostly to ask how Lincoln had been doing. Buff, on the hand, had remained silent about it, clearly not wanting to bother with the subject. If only I didn't have to share a bed with him. He sucked my dick every night and made me nut faster than anyone else had, knowing just how to seduce me with his expert mouth. I always told him I wasn't in the mood until the mood struck me enough to want more.

Every fucking night.

The door opened, and Jerrick appeared with a warm smile. We'd seen each other every day for a few minutes, mostly to discuss Lincoln. We'd exchanged numbers and had texted more, but we'd been so busy with school that we hadn't had the chance to get to know each other as well as I would've wanted. "Joker's here now," Jerrick said.

"Thanks." I walked inside, and I attempted an encouraging smile at Lincoln who sat on his bed. He wore a long-sleeve shirt and some jeans, all in black as if in mourning.

"I'll give you guys some privacy," Jerrick said, leaving the room and closing the door.

I sat on my former bed, still feeling weird that Jerrick slept here now. In some ways, I missed living in this room. If only Lincoln and I could've worked things out.

"Hi," Lincoln muttered. He couldn't meet my gaze. Instead, his head was down, and a hint of a frown tugged at my heartstrings. Just looking at him in that state, knowing what he'd done to himself, affected me.

"Hi." I was quiet for a while, the room awkwardly silent. Then, I sighed. "How are you feeling?" Was that a stupid question? I didn't know. I just needed to make conversation.

He shrugged in response, still looking at the floor.

I couldn't take this anymore. I wanted to be there for him, to make him feel better, to let him know that he mattered. I remembered feeling so freaked out when he'd moved too fast with his declaration of love, the blackmail, and the recording. I wanted to move on and focus on what I hoped could be a beautiful friendship.

I got up, stepped closer, and kneeled in front of him. I took his hands and tried to smile for him. "I want to be your friend. You're the first guy I met besides the RA, and definitely the first I got close to. I've never even lived with anyone who wasn't family until you."

Lincoln held in a breath and blew hard. He let go of my hands. "You can't show me this kind of affection right now, Pete, okay?"

I nodded, feeling more stupid than ever. "Sorry." I realized he still had feelings for me, and holding his hands probably triggered some of that when he was trying to move on. I needed to keep my distance, but I still wanted his friendship.

After a moment of silence, he started breaking down, trying hard to fight it until he failed.

I couldn't not give him a hug at the very least. He needed one. He needed to know he wasn't alone. I got up and sat next to him. I wrapped my arms around him and let him cry all he wanted. "You'll never have to be alone again. That's a promise."

Lincoln continued sobbing in muffles as his face was buried in my shoulder, hitting me with emotions that I kept in control. I might've not known what it was like to have a mental illness, but I knew enough to know that he needed support. He had no one. That much was clear.

I let go and wiped the tears off his face. "I meant every word in my voicemail."

He sniffled and nodded. "I know. Thanks."