Little Distractions

Freshman Year

1 Mission

People aren’t really my thing. That might be an understatement. I don’t much like the phone either, but since Tea is one of the few people I can stand, I agreed to these weekly calls. She calls them proof of life. As if I’m being held hostage on my college campus.

So, Richard, are you making any friends? Or are you being your usual self?

Forget it. I don’t actually want to talk to you, I say. Hanging up now.

Tea laughs. Is your roommate still irritating the crap out of you?

Who, Matt the stoner? No. He’s not here much anymore. Haven’t seen him in more than a week when he stopped by to get his soccer cleats. He has his own stoner girlfriend now with off-campus housing. I pretty much have a super single.

Sounds super.

I sit down and put my feet up on my desk. There is no way to be comfortable in this room. The bed is too narrow. The desk is too low. The chair doesn’t even lean back. I hate the shade of the curtains. They’re in between royal blue and steel gray. I think they only became this color after years of constant exposure to sunlight. They look tired. I never thought I cared about these things. Apparently, I do.

I guess this Matt person is not going to be your new bestie at college. she says.

Bestie? Really? I pick up a pen from the desk and twirl it between my fingers.

Yeah. You know, close pal, buddy, partner in crime, compadre?

I know what the word means. And no. He’s not a bad guy, but Matt will not be my ‘bestie.’ I don’t need one anyway. I came to college to get a degree, not make friends. The course load for biochem is killer—twice as many lab classes as the other majors. I can’t afford distractions. 

I know Tea is frowning. I can hear it in her voice. If by ‘distractions’ you mean human contact, you are wrong. You are so very, very wrong. Okay, maybe bestie isn’t the right word. But Richard, you can’t stay in your room every day and only come out for meals and classes.

Have you been spying on me? 

Tea laughs. I’ve known you for a while now. And I’m telling you that you need to take off your lab coat once in a while and socialize with other humans. You, my friend, need to find your people.

Yes. Well, as you say, you’ve known me for a while. And I don’t like people. This is the chief benefit of having a super single.

Fine. I’ll cut you some slack. Tea sighs. "We can start slow first semester. Forget ‘people.’ But at least find a person. I’m not saying you need to become some sort of social butterfly and attend epic campus parties. But I’m afraid you will need to talk to more than one individual in order to find an appropriate candidate."

I stop fiddling with the pen and set it on my desk. Candidate for what? 

For your bestie. Weren’t you listening?

I thought we decided against the use of that term. And against the waste of time trying to find this mythical person. The light is shining in my eyes through a gap in the tired curtains. I turn in my chair to face the other direction.

So. Not bestie. I get it. What term would you prefer? Best buddy? BFF?

No. I’d prefer if you left it alone. I’m fine. Look, it’s not like I’m hidden away from the world in some cave. It’s a big campus. I spend enough time outside my room. And I talk to plenty of people. 

Really? Tea pauses. Prove it. What’s your lab partner’s name?

Uh... I actually can’t remember her name. Chem?

Sure, chem. Or biology. Either one. Who’s your lab partner?

No. That’s her name—my lab partner for chemistry. I call her Chem. She calls me Bio. Gives me crap about majoring in biochem since she’s straight up applied.

Tea pauses to let this information sink in before saying, So... you’re telling me that you don’t even know the name of this person you spend hours and hours with every week?

Possibly. Unless her name is actually Chem. It could be. You never know.

Tea scoffs. Okay, we’ll start even smaller. Your assignment is to find out her actual name. I’ll give you the whole week to muster up the courage to ask her.

It’s not courage. It’s that I don’t care what her name is. I don't like her. And she smells like dryer lint.

You don’t need to like her. This is practice for speaking to someone more likely to suit our purposes. Think of it as training to be an actual functioning human. Ask her name. Tell her yours. Make small talk.

Can we appreciate the irony of you trying to teach me to make small talk.

Hush. I’m a pro now.

I laugh harder than I expect at that, partially falling off the chair before clearing my throat so I can speak again. Yeah. I’m sure that’s true.

I am completely unprepared for Tea to shout into my ear when she gets a sudden flash of inspiration. Oh! I’ve got it! Forget finding out Chem’s name. That is no longer your mission for the week. You, my friend, are going to attend a freshman orientation activity, Tea says triumphantly.

Pretty sure I’ve already been orientated. I’ve been at school for a month.

"Nope. If you had been successfully orientated you would be out with actual people instead of forcing me to speak on the phone."

Who’s forcing who? I can always hang up.

Tea ignores me. Okay. I found it. I love when they put such detailed schedules out in the universe for all to see. There is a freshman mingle in your dorm this afternoon. Go. Think of it as an early birthday present.

This is the crappiest birthday present I’ve ever received. And my sister once gave me a pair of used socks.

"I meant an early present for me. Seriously Richard, I worry about you."

Why? I’m not getting in any trouble with administration, I haven’t stormed out of any classes, my grades are better than expected, and the cafeteria serves brownies with fudge icing on Fridays. Life couldn’t be better.

Person, Tea says firmly. Mingle. Go.

This will make you happy? I ask.

Ecstatic.

Okay.

Really? That easy? She sounds shocked.

Don’t get all excited. It wasn’t because of your amazing powers of persuasion. I’m going as a favor to you. So you know that you don’t need to worry. When Tea gets worried, she sometimes worries herself right into the hospital. Only once, and it was for reasons, but I don’t want to bring her any more stress than she brings on herself.

Okay bye! Tea sounds overly excited.

Wait, just like that? Done talking? What about filling me in on how things are going with you? Aren’t these regular phone calls supposed to be two-way conversations? I know I suck at small talk, but I am familiar with the concept of dialogue.

Yeah. Whatever. We can catch up later. I don’t want you to miss out. What if your person is waiting?

I don’t tell her this, but I’m pretty sure that she’s my person. 

There are posters up in the hall advertising this afternoon’s event. I’ve managed to avoid participating in any scheduled activities in the dorm since opening week. I wonder if all the dorms have so much programming or if it’s just the ones that cater to first-year students.

Grey waves at me from across the lobby. It looks like they will be running the mixer or whatever. Good. I actually like Grey.

Richard! I’m so glad you could make it, they say with a smile.

I nod. Yeah. I promised a friend. Their hair looks different, but I’m not sure how. 

You like it? The hair?

Oh. I remember. Their hair used to be dark brown. Now there are silver highlights. It’s like your name. It suits you.

Thanks! Grey smiles. 

Grey is one of the first people I met here and one of the few people I know by name. They’re the resident assistant for my hall, and have a room directly across from me.

I don’t know anyone else at the mixer or mingle or whatever, and I’m not sure I want to. I am even less interested in meeting new people after a tall guy across the room calls out, Grey told us to stand over here, didn’t she?

Idiot. 

How hard is it to remember someone’s pronouns? We have all lived here for a month. Grey being nonbinary is not new. I mean, sure I don’t know anyone else here by name—but there are only four RAs in the building, and even I know them all on sight.

Grey has us do a bunch of stupid ice breakers. If some teacher was requiring this in a class I would probably walk out, but Grey’s a nice enough person, so I go along with their plans. I follow directions. I behave. Mostly. 

Of course I only manage to behave by avoiding the people who have already managed to get on my nerves. The tall dude who can’t remember pronouns steers clear of me on his own. I think he caught me glaring after he misgendered Grey.

After doing some aimless wandering and answering pointless questions, we do this activity where we put one of our shoes in a pile and then have to locate the person whose shoe we have. We’re supposed to get to know them somehow. This doesn’t seem like the basis for any kind of friendship. 

My shoe is picked up by some kid from India named Ravi. We talk for a while. He asks me some questions. All I remember about him is that he is a music composition major, and we both wear size ten. 

The person whose shoe I picked up is a girl from right here in Indiana who uses a wheelchair. She’s white, has very long hair and a crooked nose. She tells me she had to threaten a lawsuit against the college so they would correct the slope on the ramp to our building. She’s a design major and did some genius modifications to her chair. She seems badass. I don’t remember her name; it was something unusual. 

None of the kids I talk to are majoring in science. They are mostly fine arts and humanities. The chem and bio labs are clear on the other side of campus, so it makes sense there aren’t a lot of science majors here. It never occurred to me how much the dorms would be segregated by major. The walk across campus is not a hardship.

I didn’t choose this place for its location. Hanover was the old student center. It has a small movie theater and bowling alley in the basement. That’s why I picked this dorm, as far away from the science labs as it is.

I don’t care about bowling, but I do care about movies. Genre doesn’t matter much to me. Lately I’ve been partial to older films for whatever reason. Mostly they show second-run movies, but they have a regular schedule for the classics.

I only stay until the official activities are finished. I can check this off of Tea’s growing list of things I must do in order to be a fully functioning human.

Mission accomplished.

2 Collision

I’m not particularly a morning person, but I don’t mind getting up early. I know some people plan their whole class schedule around not getting out of bed before noon. But I get up whether or not I have a morning class. Force of habit. 

I wake up at my usual time and head out for breakfast. I like to get there before the rush and leave in plenty of time to get clear across campus before my first class.

My feet collide with something solid right outside my door. Holy fucking hell! I catch myself at the last moment, managing not to land on my face. But I lose hold of the stack of textbooks I’m carrying.

There’s a person seated directly outside my door, which wouldn’t be a problem if I exited my room while staring at the floor. But I don’t. So before I notice he’s there I almost step on him, and I do drop my books on his head—which is hardly my fault given that he’s the one who chose such a poor spot to sit.

He winces and rubs his head. They are chemistry textbooks. Not light.

I feel bad for yelling at him, but honestly he scared the crap out of me. 

Why is he sitting in the hall wearing his bathrobe? It’s obvious he recently got back from the shower. Besides the blue terry cloth bathrobe and the matching flip flops, which are dead giveaways, his hair is wet and he’s got a shower caddy full of supplies on the floor next to him. 

But why is he sitting in my doorway?

I think I recognize him from around the dorm. He’s the short kid from the end of the hall. His hair is very black, his eyes are very dark, and his skin is a pale tan color. He’s Asian, I think. Or Hispanic. Something less white than I am, anyway. 

I take his hand to help him up. But he winces and I drop it quickly. Crap. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Sorry.

He shakes his head. That wasn’t you. I mean, the books were totally you, he says, putting a hand to the back of his head. But not the wrist. I injured it at rehearsal. One of the perils of being a dancer.

Oh. I never thought of that. Wrists, I mean. How’s your head? And why are you here? This is a bad place to sit.

He smiles at me as he pushes himself off the wall and stands up. The head is okay. I’ll live, anyway. And I didn’t mean to be part of your morning obstacle course. Sorry. I left my key in the room and got locked out. He gestures vaguely down the hall.

What about your roommate?

Not home.

Grey? I point at the door across from mine.

He nods at the sign on the door: Out for a run. 

I should have noticed that. Oh. Well, you’ll have a long wait. They’re hardcore. I think they’re training for a marathon.

I stand there wondering what else to say. Is there a right way to handle things when you trip over an unknown, mostly naked person outside your room and nearly give them a concussion with your organic chemistry textbooks? 

Do you want some clothes? I ask.

The kid laughs. I’m sorry, what? He looks me over slowly from head to toe and raises one eyebrow. I am easily a head taller.

I know. My clothes will be too big for you. But you can borrow some for a while anyway. Until Grey gets back. That way you can eat. If you want.

You are too sweet. Thanks.

I let him into my room and he sits in the chair at my roommate’s desk while I look for something he can wear. Stoner Matt wouldn’t like this. He could be kind of a dick about his stuff. But he’s not here so he can’t object. Besides, it’s university furniture, not his.

I find some clothes that are least likely to fall off of this kid. He’s even smaller than I thought. I hand him some drawstring sweats and a Pink Floyd T-shirt that my sister got for me. 

He looks ridiculous wearing my oversized clothes with his flip-flops. Nothing fits, of course. He has to roll up the pants so he doesn’t trip over them when he walks.

Well, you look like a homeless person. Let’s go. 

He looks amused, which means I probably said something offensive, but he doesn't seem overly offended. That’s good. People who are easily offended are not good company. Or rather, I am not good company for them.

I suppose I should ask your name, I say as the door swings shut behind us. I’m Richard.

He gives me a crooked smile. He has very white teeth. I know. We met at orientation.

Oh. Sometimes I’m not very good with faces. Or names.

He’s still smiling. I’m Jesse.

Okay. I nod.

When we get to the cafeteria, Jesse follows me to a table and takes a seat beside me. This surprises me. I thought he would probably have friends to sit with. Maybe they aren’t up yet. 

I’d never seen Jesse at the dining hall before. At least I hadn’t noticed him. I tend to eat pretty early when the dining hall is still quiet. Also, I usually eat alone, and it takes about five minutes, and then I leave. I don’t pay much attention to who else is in the cafeteria.

Jesse eats slowly and keeps asking me questions in between bites.

I haven’t seen you around much since orientation. What are you studying?

Biochemistry.

He nods. That explains it. There’s probably no overlap in our schedules. I’m majoring in theater with a concentration on contemporary dance. I thought of doing ballet, but I’m really not built for it. I need a few more feet.

That was a terrible joke. Also, you’re not that short.

Thank you, darlin’. He bats his eyelashes. But you haven’t seen me standing beside a prima ballerina. We look like we are entirely different species. 

He can’t be much shorter than my friend Tea. But I think she’s short for a girl. And that would make Jesse really short for a guy. 

So Richie... He puts his elbows on the table and rests his head on his hands. When you click your heels together three times, where do you end up? 

Richard, I correct him. But I don’t know how to answer his question. I’m not sure what he’s talking about. Maybe it’s a theater joke. 

Jesse shakes his head with a small smile. Home, sweetie! You know...there’s no place like it? Where are you from?

Oh, like the Wizard of Oz. Minnesota. West of Minneapolis. And no, I do not ride a moose to school. For some reason a lot of people ask this. Indiana isn’t even that much further south.

Jesse grins. I was born in Harvard. The town, not the college. Located in the heart of Idaho, the gem state.

I thought it was the potato state.

You’re thinking it’s the potato state, right? I’m also a mind-reader.

Huh. I’m more interested in how he ended up stranded in the hallway than where he went to high school. Who’s your roommate anyway? And how can you forget your keys?

Easily. Besides reading minds, my other superpower is losing things. I hate that the doors shut automatically. Stupid fire codes. And my roommate is Nick. I’m sure you’ve seen him around.

I think I met Nick. If I’m right, he’s in my calculus class, and I don’t like him. He’s wrong a lot of the time and doesn’t like being told that he’s wrong. Is Nick about my height? Brown curly hair? 

Yeah. That’s him.

I don’t like him.

Jesse looks up from his bowl of cereal with his eyes wide. I wonder if I’ve offended him.

My friend Tea says I can be a real ass. If I say something stupid, don’t take it personally.

Noted. And...Tea? Jesse tilts his head to the side.

A friend from home. She has a stupid long name, but no one calls her that except her mom and there’s no reason for you to know it since I doubt you’ll ever meet her anyway.

Okay. He nods slowly. Friend? Girlfriend?

I asked. She said no. Probably for the best, since she’s a lesbian.

Jesse laughs at that, but not a mean laugh. So, she’s a member of the rainbow brigade too.

Yes, if you mean she’s gay. But she doesn’t like rainbows.

Jesse laughs again and shakes his head. 

Oh, and I’m not. Gay.

I never said you were. Now he does look upset, or at least uncomfortable. I’m not sure why. 

I look right at him even though Tea says sometimes this puts people off. I want to make sure he knows what I mean, though, so I need to see his eyes. "You said too. That she’s a member of the rainbow brigade too. And I’m not."

Jesse shakes his head. Yeah. I wasn’t saying that. I meant me. Clearly. He gestures to the clothes he’s wearing—my clothes. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, and people of all genders: you are in the presence of the one, the only gay Filipino boy from the great state of Idaho. I assumed you could tell by my amazing fashion sense, he says with an exaggerated feminine voice and a flip of the wrist. Plus, you know, theater major, he says as if that is supposed to mean something. 

You don’t need to be gay to dance. 

Jesse smiles. True. But it helps.

I don’t know why, but I stay at breakfast until he’s done eating. I finished my food long before. But he keeps talking to me. And I keep listening.

There’s something about him that makes me want to stay. Maybe it’s that he reminds me of Tea. He doesn’t make me miss Tea, or anything. But I think of how I wouldn’t want her to be alone. 

Or maybe it’s the clothes. They make him look even smaller than he is, like he’s way too young to be in college. I’d feel bad leaving him by himself.

Could be it’s like he’s a stray cat. They show up on your doorstep and you feel bad for them. Give them some food. See if you can help them find their way back to where they belong. You need to make sure that they’re okay. 

The cafeteria starts to fill up and pretty soon all the friends I had expected him to sit with show up. They are loudly exuberant and overly touchy. When he introduces me, this girl with a round face and curly pink hair greets me with a hug, which I don’t much like, but it’s better than the face full of kisses that she gives Jesse before sitting down. 

One of the newcomers—a chubby black kid—briefly sits on Jesse’s lap and throws his arms around his neck. He’s followed by a slight, pale, blond dude with horn-rimmed glasses who gives a two-fingered salute as a greeting. 

Jesse introduces me, but their names slide right past. I think the big guy is Danny. Jesse seems happy to see them; I’m glad they showed up. I’m still not sure why I worried about him before they arrived or why I didn’t feel comfortable leaving him alone. 

In any case, Jesse seems like he’s okay now, surrounded by a bunch of friends, so I get up and leave.

What’s with your new friend? I hear the girl say as I put my tray on the conveyor belt to the kitchen. 

Jesse says, Richie? He’s great. 

I realize then that I forgot to say goodbye. At least Jesse wasn’t offended.

3 Classics

On Saturday night they’re showing Singin’ in the Rain in the dorm. While I don’t mind watching the classics on a small screen, it can’t beat the authentic cinematic experience. 

I show up early so I can get a good spot, not that these things tend to be crowded. I like to sit slightly off center about a third of the way back. After I find the perfect seat, someone walks through the whole empty row to sit right next to me. There are plenty of other places to sit. I don’t know why people do that. I’m about to tell whoever it is to find a different spot, but when I see who it is, I keep quiet.

Fancy meeting you here, he says with a smile. I hadn’t seen Jesse around much after that first morning. A glimpse in the cafeteria. Or a brief sighting of him leaving the dorm. 

I didn’t picture you as a fan of musical comedies, Richie, he says. 

Richard. I like classic films. Also, Kelly and O’Connor are comic geniuses.

Jesse nods. "That may be true, but I’m here solely for Cyd Charisse. That woman has legs. Hell, that woman is legs."

As the movie plays, he leans over to tell me things I didn’t know. It feels strange because I’m usually the film expert—but musical theater is not my main focus, and it’s part of Jesse’s major.

I find out that Gene Kelly did his own choreography to make sure no one could tell he was shorter than Cyd Charisse—who incidentally had polio as a child.

Jesse doesn’t whisper, which I appreciate. Whispers carry in a quiet theater. He knows how to speak softly, his head near my shoulder, so only I can hear. 

I do know some things about the movie; at one point we turn to each other to share the same information: They mixed milk with the water so the rain would show up better on film, I say.

Which made Kelly’s wool suit shrink. And he was running a fever for the whole shoot, Jesse adds.

After the movie we head to the bar down the street that serves deep fried pickles, which are unexpectedly decent when dipped in ranch. I don’t know why I agreed to go with him. I had planned to head back to my room, but I enjoy his company more than expected. And it’s not like I have anything better to do.

Jesse orders for both of us. Whoever is carding people is not even trying. Jesse looks like he’s fourteen. Well, maybe not—he’s not that scrawny. But he doesn’t look anywhere near twenty-one. He orders a fruity drink for himself and a Coke for me. 

You’re not drinking? he asks.

The beer tastes like piss here. And I don’t drink much anyway. We take a seat at one of the narrow booths and wait for our appetizers to arrive.

Maybe you haven’t found your drink yet. Wanna try this, Richie? He hands me his glass.

Richard. I take a sip. It’s so sweet it makes my tongue curl.

Jesse grins at my expression. So—neither beer nor mai tais are for you? Hmm... Don’t worry. I’ll find your drink. My brother was a bartender. I helped him study for the test so I know just about every drink there is. He rattles off a list of ones he thinks I might like. 

I’m not much concerned with finding my drink. But I enjoy watching Jesse when he’s talking about his long-term plan to educate my palate. He talks with his hands when he gets excited. And he keeps smiling—showing all his teeth—which on some people looks fake, but on him seems quite natural.

Okay, movie guy... Jesse fixes me with a serious look, tapping his fingers. Best classic movie?

How classic? Color or black and white?

Gimme one of each, he says.

"Alfred Hitchcock’s Rope is the finest movie ever made. And for black and white? Roman Holiday."

Jesse nods thoughtfully. "I’ve actually never seen Roman Holiday."

I frown and shake my head. Are you even allowed to be gay if you haven’t seen it? I’m pretty sure they kick you out of the club.

Jesse waves a finger at me. "Ah, well... That’s a common misconception. It is suggested, but not required, that you are familiar with Audrey’s entire filmography. I’ve seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s."

"Not her finest. I mean, she’s phenomenal in it, of course. And the imagery of New York is iconic. But it’s not a favorite. What’s your classic film?"

"I don’t actually know a lot of old movies. Oh, how about White Christmas?"

I grimace.

What? It’s a classic, he says.

"It's a ripoff of Holiday Inn, but in color and without Fred Astaire. Although it does have a few fine points, I guess, like the lack of overtly racist blackface performances. But the plot is non-existent and all the songs are simply rehashing old material."

Okay, okay! New topic, Jesse says, waving a white cocktail napkin in surrender. Tell me about your family.

One older sister. She’s the rebel.

Ooh... how does she rebel? Jesse rests his head on his hands.

By not graduating from college in a timely fashion—she keeps switching majors. And by dating girls. Although I’m not sure they know about that. I keep meaning to ask her if she’s out to them.

I’ve got two older brothers: Caesar and Berto. Bastions of industry. Manly men. Nice guys, though. Then there are the twins—Max and Angel—who are little terrors. And Maya, the baby of the family. She’s the only one who doesn’t tower over me. But that will likely change in the next year.

I don’t remember what else we talk about. I know I say some things that come off as rude or insensitive, because Jesse laughs at me quite frequently and shakes his head.

A lot of people take things I say the wrong way. It’s a pain in the ass to navigate constant misunderstandings with people I don’t know, so it’s nice that Jesse can figure out what I am actually trying to say. And he thinks it’s cute when I’m too direct and say things that might be rude. 

You look terrible, I tell him after his second mai tai. His cheeks are flushed and he looks ready to pass out.

Wow. You really know how to make a gal feel special.

ALDH2, I say.

What? Jesse turns his bleary eyes toward me.

That’s why you're flushed. And also why you probably feel like crap. The enzyme to break down alcohol doesn’t work. Common in people of Asian descent.

Jesse stares at me with his eyes wide open, unblinking. Like I’m speaking a foreign language. I guess I am. Biochemistry major, I say.

Huh. Biochem for the win. Also—even alcohol is racist? That totally sucks.

I put down some money for the tip. We should go back to the dorm.

Jesse stumbles when he stands up and I grab his elbow to steady him. 

Looks like your boyfriend has had enough, the bartender says as we walk past. Then he mutters as an aside: You’re welcome, and gives me a wink. 

I stop and slap my hand on the bar. Did you do something to his drinks? Maybe make them a little too strong? 

Jesse puts his hand on my arm. Whoa there, tiger. Leave the poor man alone. You already explained the chemistry to me, science boy. And honestly I should know better than to drink above my weight class.

I walk close to him so if he stumbles I can help keep him on his feet, but he doesn’t seem that unsteady. When we get back to the dorm there is a note on Jesse’s door that says: Stay Out. Busy. There are muffled moans coming from behind the door.

Jesse shrugs. Guess I’ll be couch surfing again. He fumbles for his phone.

Does he do this a lot? Kick you out? Without warning? This sort of behavior is not making me think any better of Nick. 

Often enough. I’ve got friends in other dorms. There’s a reason you haven’t seen much of me.

I’ve seen plenty of you. Your bathrobe leaves little to the imagination.

Richie! A gentleman does not divulge such indelicate information. He gasps in pretend shock, clutching his hands to his chest.

I take out my keys to unlock the door to my room. My cover is blown. Not a gentleman. You should stay here. 

You mean in the hallway? Because that isn’t a very appealing choice. I mean, it’s a fine place to linger for a while, but it doesn’t really have what I’m looking for in terms of amenities for overnight accommodations.

Not the hallway. My room. I have an extra bed. You can go get the stuff you need from your room in the morning. Unless you want me to pound on the door for you now. I’m pretty sure Nick is afraid of me.

Jesse laughs. Yes to the room, no to the intimidation. Although it’s a kind offer. I can tell that it comes from a place of love.

Matt’s bed doesn’t have bedding on it, but I have a spare set of sheets. I toss them at Jesse. Here. I also get him a water bottle and a couple of ibuprofen. 

Friends don’t let friends go to bed drunk and dehydrated, Jesse says before knocking back a few pills. Then he blows me a kiss and strips down to his boxers.

When he changed out of his robe before I hadn’t actually seen anything, since my back was turned. But my back isn’t turned now. Before he gets under the covers I get a clear view of his dancer’s physique.

And... damn.

4 Recital

Isee a lot more of Jesse after that. Sometimes