“He won’t.”
I finally pause, cloth in hand, and turn to face Drew. He’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, wearing an expression I can only describe as incredibly amused. Behind him, Gerard appears, munching on his third protein bar of the hour.
“Is Ol-wie still cweaning?” Gerard asks through a mouthful of oats and chocolate before swallowing. “He’s been at it since noon. I tried to help earlier, but he yelled at me for putting the dishes in the wrong cabinet.”
“They go in the left cabinet, Gerard. Theleft.”
“Both cabinets hold dishes! What’s the difference?”
Drew snorts. “Listen to yourself, Cap. You sound like Elliot.”
That comparison stings more than it should. I toss the cloth into the sink and brace my hands against the counter, taking a deep breath. “I just want everything to be nice. Is that so wrong?”
“It’s not.” Drew pushes off the doorframe and saunters toward the refrigerator, pulling it open to survey the contents. “It’s just suspicious. You’ve never cared about the state of this kitchen before. Remember when Nathan left that protein shake festering under the sink for three weeks?”
“I’m still trying to forget.”
“So why the Martha Stewart with a cleaning compulsion act?”
Gerard stuffs the last bit of protein bar into his mouth, his jaw working as he crumples the foil wrapper between his massive fingers. With a flick of his wrist, he launches it toward the trash can. It catches the metal rim and tumbles to the pristine tile I polished while on my hands and knees.
“Sorry,” Gerard says, not sounding sorry at all. He picks it up and deposits it properly. “Oliver. Bestie’s best friend. Captain, my captain. Can I ask you something?”
“Go ahead, G.”
“Why are you nervous about tonight?”
I scoff. “I’m not nervous.”
Drew scoffs too. “You reorganized the spice rack alphabetically. We don’t even use spices. Kyle bought oregano once for a recipe and then never touched it again.”
I grab the cloth again just to have something to do with my hands. The fabric is damp and cool against my palms, grounding me.
“Oliver.” Drew’s voice softens, losing some of its teasing edge. He closes the refrigerator and leans against it, studying me astutely. “What exactly do you think is happening tonight?”
“We’re watching the lunar eclipse. I told you. Ryan’s been excited about it for weeks, and I said I wanted to learn more about the things he cares about, so…”
“So you’re spending the night alone with him under the stars.” Drew’s eyebrow arches. “Sounds romantic.”
“It’s educational.”
“Educational.” He draws out the word as though it’s been coated in honey. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
Gerard gasps suddenly, his whole face lighting up. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Oliver. Do you like Ryan? Like,like-himlike him?”
“Gerard, we’re not in middle school.”
“That’s not a no!”
It’snota no. That’s the problem. I’ve spent weeks denying what’s lodged between my ribs like a puck that never quite made it to the goal.
I’m into Ryan. My pulse races when he smiles. I dream about wrapping him in blankets and listening to him talk about the Milky Way. I jerk off to thoughts of him and me making love. I pore over eclipse infographics, so I can ask the right questions and watch his face go supernova as he explains the answers.
And it all terrifies me because it’s not casual or simple. It’s not something I can compartmentalize into a neat little box labeled “hookup” or “friend.” This is some other animal—something that’s never lived in me before, wild and demanding and a little bit monstrous. It’s so far outside my playbook I don’t even have words for it.
I want Ryan in ways I’ve never wanted anyone else. In my daily routines, my future plans, my embarrassing family photos. I want to trace the constellation of freckles across his nose while other people are watching. I want his astronomy books cluttering my shelves and his voice filling silences I didn’t even know were there. I want the big, dumb, embarrassing stuff people write poems about and deny until the day they die.
I know I’m not supposed to want any of those things. Ryan is still healing. The last thing he needs is some hockey Neanderthal pressing in on him with a crush the size of the Andromeda galaxy.
