blue (book one) - h.s. ✔️ watty's 2019

chapter 3

A week ends up passing before any talk of Harry or that wretched night comes up again. The day after the party my housemate, Alex, would not let me sleep without knowing every detail of the night. Funny thing is that I can't remember anything before the little closet stunt that failed terribly. This, however, hasn't stopped him from pestering me about the night since I left without him. I'm sure my memory will come back soon.

Alexander James Alanis, Penn's very own class clown, has been a close friend of mine since the beginning. We grew up together. Standing tall at 6' 3", he manages to maintain enough body weight to fill himself out and still look fit. Today, he has styled his hair into its usual dirty blond messiness and is wearing only a pair of sweats and socks.

"Are you going to see him again?"

"Alex, how am I supposed to contact a guy I know nothing about? Plus, he's probably not even from here. I've never seen him around."

"Good. Keep it like that. I don't like this guy's vibe," he states, knowing nothing about Harry.

"He spends nearly twenty-four hours with you and never once makes an attempt to hit," he starts. "I mean, I guess, thanks man for taking care of my pookie," he kids, poking my nose.

"But the guy was obviously blind."

No, Alex is not gay. He's actually far from it. But that's what's so special about our relationship. He's indifferent to my sexual orientation and often than not makes comments like these. He's also aware of my many insecurities and tries to make me feel better about myself habitually. It's honestly just a part of his personality to be so blunt and vocal. You get used to it after a while.

I subconsciously feel my backside. It has always been unnaturally busty for a guy. And my hips unnaturally wider than normal. It's not something to be proud of, even for a gay guy.

"Well, I hope I never have to see the guy again. He was probably just some college drunk from the next city," I begin.

"I mean, I'm not even entirely sure his apartment is in Philadelphia," I say thinking back on the long car ride.

Nodding his head, my curly haired amigo makes his way to the shower to freshen up, while I to the kitchen to start breakfast.

We've sort of developed a system after the first couple of months of living together. If I kept up with household chores such as, cleaning, cooking, et cetera, he would be in charge of supplying household necessities such as, groceries, WIFI, and we'd take turns supplying gasoline. The system fit both of our personalities perfectly. I was more of a homebody and the perfectionist in the bunch, so household duties came easy to me. His male dominated upbringing brought him ease in things like, changing tires and stuff.

Stuff.

Shuffling to the kitchen, I get ready to make my favorite - fruit parfait. Our kitchen is modern and spacious. An array of breakfast and coffee art decorate every wall, adding a homey feeling to the room. In the center of the spotless kitchen rests a marble slab island that touches an inch or two above my waist. To my right lies a silver Viking stove with its matching microwave hung right above it. To my left stands the matching Viking refrigerator and other miscellaneous kitchen appliances, such as the toaster, blender, and waffle maker.

Waltzing around the kitchen, I gather four tall glasses, nonfat vanilla yogurt, frozen strawberries, blueberries, and granola and begin to make the parfait.