Relief floods me, and I look around at all the people currently hiding with me. There’s so many of us. “Is anyone hurt?” I call out, loud enough to be heard through the whole space. “Professor Lancaster says the police have the shooter in custody, but don’t move until we see an actual police officer.”
“I think I caught a bullet,” Luis says, and I scramble so I can see him. There’s a little pool of blood spreading out from under him.
Me:We need an ambulance.
“Police!” The shout comes from the entry.
“We need an ambulance!” I call without moving.
As soon as they hear that, the officers rush into action. They get the paramedics to Luis, the rest of us are evacuated, and the interviews to gather witness statements begin. Eventually, they get to me. They look at the text message that preempted the shooting and get my permission to get the records from my service provider, and after what feels like hours, they start winding down their questions.
I don’t even know the person who shot Luis. It’s just some middle-aged guy who works in the intake department of the university, and he doesn’t say that he was shooting at me specifically. It could just be a coincidence that he decided to shoot up the student center just after I got the random text message.
Magnus shows up at the end of my interview with the police officer and tangles our fingers together as I finish up. The officer clocks the move, but there’s no sign that he’s a homophobic prick, and he shakes my hand before telling me that I can go.
I turn to Magnus and hug him, breathing him in for a minute before saying, “Luis caught a bullet.”
Magnus stiffens and his arms around me tighten. “I’m such an asshole,” he huffs. “All I can think of is how grateful I am that it wasn't you.”
I hug him tighter. Maybe in a few years, I’ll be able to find the humor in that, but right now, I’m also the asshole who’s grateful it wasn’t me.
Chapter 33
Magnus
I am nota criminologist nor am I an expert in criminal psychology, but I doubt sincerely that the man arrested for the shooting is the person who’s stalking us. He didn’t react at all to my holding Trent’s hand, and the text message Trent received indicated that our stalker is interested in keeping us apart. I wonder which one of us their antagonism has focused on. Are they upset that Trent touched me because they want to be the one touching or the one being touched?
We’ve been advised to change our phone numbers again and not to respond. I’m not sure how to react to any of this, except that I’m grateful Trent is ok. It’s been a quiet few days around campus. The school took an impromptu day off for everyone’s mental health, considering that we had a school shooting. They beefed up security—again—and now we’re back to classes.
We haven’t posted anything to our account since the shooting, but today is Saturday. It's our date day, and I’m not giving up my Saturday dates with Trent because one asshole out there decided they should get to make the decisions for our lives. I’m ready for the day by eight, but I haven’t seen nor heard anything from Trent’s room, so I tap once on his door before opening it.
The bed is made, and my friend isn’t in here. I’ve been up for at least half an hour, so I guess he got up early. Unless he didn’t come back last night. I don’t know; I saw him for dinner, but we parted ways because I had a networking event that I needed to attend in order to secure funding for more campus improvements.
I back out of his room, closing the door, and go to my room where my phone is on the charger because I forgot to plug it in last night.
Me:Where are you?
Trent:Donut run.
Does that mean he’s getting donuts or that he’s getting donuts to bring back? We always have breakfast together on Saturdays, at least since we started making porn together.
Me:Should I join you? Are you bringing donuts back?
Trent:I’m almost back. Hang tight.
That doesn’t clarify whether we’re having donuts for breakfast or if I’m on my own for breakfast, but I can wait.
After about ten minutes, Trent opens the door and greets me with his Magnus-smile, lifting a small box of donuts and a carrier with coffee cups. There’s a streak of black on his hand, and his knuckles have some fresh scratches on them. “I meant to be back before you got up, but the universe was against me today, so I changed a flat tire, hit every light red, and didn’t get either of our favorite donuts because they ran out before I got there at seven thirty on a Saturday morning.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t give up after the flat tire. How do you even know how to change one?” I pay for roadside assistance with my insurance just so I don’t ever have to learn how to do that.
Trent laughs. “That’s a skill that my father insisted I have before I got my license. But it does mean that instead of going to the farmer’s market this morning, we need to take the tire into ashop to get it repaired. They might be able to get it done quickly, but we might miss the farmer’s market today.”
Maybe because I’ve realized that we’re in a budding romance, learning that Trent knows how to change a tire triggers the part of me that is turned on by competence and Trent’s muscles. The mental image of his biceps bulging while he takes the tire off the car makes my dick thicken and twitch. I really want to touch him right now, see those muscles as they contract. I might be a little?—
“I’m horny.” I blurt that like my libido is something Trent wants to know about, but if we’re in a romantic relationship, maybe he does?
Trent smiles that smile he gets when he thinks I’m being cute as he sets our coffee and donuts on our small coffee table. He turns, tilting his head as he studies me, eyes roaming from head to toe. “Do you want to get off together, or do you want me to give you time before we leave?”
