Breathe, Tommy (BxB) (Frat)

Eight ・Closer... Closer

When we get to Kappa Epsilon, Christian leads me past several frat guys sprawled out on the couches in the parlor. They're too engulfed in their gaming to notice me, but I still feel anxious about being in the open space of the kitchen even though it's only us two... and a woman with auburn hair who stops wiping the surfaces clean to acknowledge us.

Christian mumbles a few sentences to her that I drown out because how did you actually have the guts and stupidity to come back here? She then comes up to me with an untamed and out-of-context bubbliness, holding her hand out for a shake. When I don't take it, Christian nudges me, influencing me to. I want to die.

"It's so nice to meet you, Tommy. I'm the housing director," she says. "Will you be joining Kappa Epsilon? Oh, how fantastic."

I look at her blankly while Christian is having a good old laugh at my left.

"I'm joking, they'd have at you here," she goes on, "but welcome, anyway. I'm going to go vacuum the shit these boys get all over these floors. Christian, keep an eye on the stove for me, would you?" 

When she's gone, I ask him, my voice smaller than what I'd like to admit, "What does she mean they'd have at me here?" You know exactly what she meant. 

"Tommy?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you seen yourself?"

"What's that's supposed to mean?" 

Face hovering over the boiling pot of whatever he stirs at the stove, sneaking a taste off a clean spoon, he casually responds, "You look like you've come off the live cam section of a porn website."

I choke on my saliva. Someone heard that. Someone must have heard that. I go to say something back but my words aren't wording. He notices me shocked and offended.

"Fuck, sorry, not like that, I did not mean to imply you're a sex worker," he faceplants his hand before his embarrassment turns into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. When he pauses to see my deadpan reaction, apparently that's more fuel.

I wait with my arms crossed for him to finish being a dickhead. He finally puts back on a relatively serious face, wiping the steam off his hands with a cloth that he tosses on the kitchen island before coming closer to me.

"What are you doing?" I protest. I'm nearly sandwiched between him and the surface behind me but find myself unable to move.

He leans into my ear. "Whispering that I mean you look like a twink." Still can't move. Please move. "And I mean that as a compliment. You look fuckable, mistaken for fuckwithable." 

I don't get to reply. Drew enters and I shove Christian back so hard he misteps and his back digs into the kitchen island. I have no regrets, every part of me including my anxiety and all my fuck-offs go into that push.

I didn't get to take in Drew's features properly the first time. I was too busy fleeing, bat-shit worried he'd find out about me. I take in his unrealistic knife-edge jawline and the red edges of his eyes behind the gold frame of his clear glasses that make it clear he's high as a kite. It's obvious he rules this place with the way he carries himself. Clear he uses his six-foot-plus height to intimidate people. Clear he's an ass, period. Though he looks like he walked out of a Vogue cover, in all shameful honesty.

At first, I'm certain he hasn't noticed me. He opens the refrigerator and grabs a snack — celery, of course — but then he turns around and joins us where we are, staring at me the whole time. Even though he's a good few feet away, it feels like the extensive outline of my personal space has been sucked into nothingness.