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“And before you bring up how spending holidays together is something boyfriends would do, let me reiterate that Henri and I are not together. I’m not looking for a boyfriend now or ever.” Luke snorts. “And you think I was? I didn’t go looking for a boyfriend or a relationship, but Maxy found me anyway. Might as well stop fighting it, buddy.” “We’re just friends and that is all we’ll ever be.” “And yet, here you are to support him at a sporting event we both know you don’t like or enjoy.” “Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s rude to be nosy?” “I missed a few lessons in manners. Just like you,”
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Luke There’s a feral alley cat waiting for you in the hallway. Distracted, I stand half undressed and stare down at my phone in confusion. I am very fond of Luke, but sometimes his jokes go over my head. This is one of those times. Looking up, I wait for Max’s reddish-brown head to pop out of the collar of his shirt. “Max, are you able to translate this for me?”
“Thank you. I am happy you are here, thank you for coming.” “It’s no big deal.” He shrugs this off, just like he tries to shrug off everything he does that might be considered a kindness. I decide that tonight I am too tired to let him get away with it. “It is a big deal to me. I do not have family here, nor many friends that are not already on the team. Nobody comes to watch me play, Atlas. So, thank you. I wish I could explain better, but you are not so skilled at speaking German.” He smiles at me—quick and barely there, but I catch it all the same.
“I saw that goal you scored,” he tells me. “Oh, and how’s your knee?” “My knee?” I look down at my knees, which, to my knowledge, Atlas has never seen before. I always have my pants on when he is around. “Fine, thank you. How are your knees?” He huffs an impatient breath and fights against the smile I know wants to come out. I don’t even mind if he’s smiling at my expense. I just like to see it on his face.
“You are very handsome,” I tell him, unable to control my tongue. His eyes widen a little bit. I love how dark his eyelashes are, and how he always looks like he’s wearing eyeliner. If he ever does wear eyeliner, I will probably die. “So are you when you aren’t wearing a polo shirt,” he replies, lips twitching like he wants to smile. I beam. I knew he’d notice.
That done, we stand there, awkwardly staring at one another. Three days without contact suddenly seems like an insurmountable distance. “Fuck it,” Atlas murmurs, and puts a hand against my cheek before leaning up and kissing me.
When he steps closer to me and his stomach brushes mine, I feel the first spiky tendrils of heat in my pelvis. Surprised, I groan, and feel Atlas’ fingers curl more firmly around the back of my neck. Of all the times we’ve made out in my dorm room, not once have I gotten an erection. Evidently, today is the day that changes. “Atlas.” I lean my head back just far enough to see his face. “I apologize, but I am getting hard.” He laughs. The sort of full-belly laugh I’m accustomed to hearing from Luke, and have never heard from Atlas. Leaning his forehead against my shoulder, he drops his hand
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Automatically, I put an arm out to steady him and he moves in even closer. “Do you want me to put German subtitles on?” he asks. I stare at him, shocked by the offer.
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him without a shirt on, but given I’m half-naked, it feels different. “Jesus,” I mumble, looking at the light dusting of chest hair over his pecs. I hadn’t noticed that before—how did I not notice that before? I want to rub my face on it. “No, only Henri,” he quips, and then grins as though waiting to see if I get the joke. My mouth is too dry to give more than a half-hearted chuckle, but it seems to please him because he starts pulling down his sweatpants. When he finishes undressing and is standing in front of me in his boxers, I don’t know whether to send
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“You don’t have to be embarrassed, though. You look like you were fucking airbrushed. I’ve seen Men’s Health cover models with less definition than you.” “Thank you, Atlas. That is a nice thing to say, although a little strange.” I laugh,
“Atlas,” he repeats. I honestly don’t know how I could ever have thought the way he said my name was annoying. He says it so often, and each time is like a little treat for my ears. Ah-tlas—it’s fucking sensual.
“You are so pretty,” he mutters, accent thicker than it was five minutes ago. “Like a sculpture.” “So pale, I look like marble,” I say dryly. “Do not joke, Atlas. I am being romantic,” he scolds.
Bending over, I rest my own fingers on the smooth skin just above the waistband of his boxers. “Can I take these off?” I never know just how carefully I need to tread with him. He’s painfully honest, so I don’t think he’d just lie there and let me do something to him that he didn’t like, but he’s also completely inexperienced. He doesn’t even like watching porn. The odds of him not knowing the steps of this process are pretty high. “Yes. Thank you.” I snort,
“Manscaper,” I note, planting a knee on the bed and rubbing my thumb over his hip bone. He huffs a laugh. “It is the polite thing to do,” he tells me. “Had this in mind, did you? Blowjobs and bread for the holidays?” “You are too much,” he jokes, smiling widely.
“Oh, no. I was only wanting to tell you that I might not…” I gesture vaguely at my waist. He looks down and back up at me. “Get hard?” he clarifies, and I nod. “I am sorry.” His face scrunches up like he’s got something distasteful in his mouth, and scoots up far enough to drop a kiss on my lips. “Fuck that,” he says. “Don’t be sorry. I’m hard enough for both of us.” “That is not the way anatomy works, Atlas,” I tell him seriously, hoping to tease out a laugh as well as another kiss. I get both, so I smile against his mouth and relax further into the bed.
By the time he wraps tentative lips around me, I’m wondering why I ever worried about being aroused. In fact, I am now worried that I will be having the opposite problem. “Atlas,” I mumble, startled by how scratchy my voice sounds. “Atlas, I am going to come very quickly.” He laughs, and because he does it with his mouth on my dick, I feel it in my pelvis.
“Okay?” he asks. “I am very sorry. I did not mean to ejaculate so quickly.” “Oh my god, don’t say ejaculate,” he scolds me, mimicking my accent. I grin.
Blowjob Atlas is apparently a happy Atlas. “Shall I?” I ask, gesturing vaguely in the direction of his waist while maintaining polite eye contact. “Oh, no.” He snorts. “I was too worked up to wait. Jacked myself the whole time. I already came—all over your leg, in fact.” I sit up, surprised. There is most certainly cum on my leg, and I didn’t even notice.
I text Atlas to see if he would want to grab something to eat. I type out the message and delete it several times. No matter how I write the words, I can’t make it sound less date-like. Henri Hello, Atlas. I am thinking I will go get dinner off campus. If you are hungry, you could join me. Atlas no dates Sighing, I rub a hand over my face. I should have known he’d be too clever for that. I should have waited and asked him in person. He’s easier to convince when I can smile at him and ply him with my accent. He pretends not to like it, but I know that he does. Henri Just one will not hurt, yes?
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Carter Are you going alone? Ask Zeke to go with you. I’m in fucking Indiana. Henri I am going with Atlas, my friend from communications class. He likes seafood. Carter Wait a second, Zeke told me that guy was a dick. Fuck that guy. Henri Oh no, he is not so bad. And yes, I think I will. Carter I can’t believe you just made that joke.
“Bärchen?” “It is…little bear? Kleiner Bär. Because you are cute, and a little bit mean, yes?” He shakes his head, but doesn’t tell me not to call him that.
“You won’t let him down. You’re the hardest worker in any room, don’t even pretend otherwise. They’re going to try and offer you a job at the end of the summer, just wait and see.” Uncomfortable with the sudden surge of support, I shift a little in my chair. I am not one who seeks attention, and Atlas isn’t usually one to give me any. He notices my discomfort and smirks. “And now you know how I feel when you call me beautiful,” he says. “That is the truth.”
“I am not interested in other people, in this way,” I tell him. “I am not attracted.” “But you’re interested in me that way,” he muses. I nod. “Wow, you’ve got terrible judgement.”
I pick up my fork and look down at my plate, trying to figure out a way I can eat one-handed. If I cannot manage it, I will just go hungry. I do not want to let go of Atlas’ hand. I worry if I do, I’ll never get it back again.
Losing my mind wasn’t so much a gradual thing for me. Rather, it was a full-tilt sprint off the edge of a cliff. Agreeing to go on a date was my first strike, and from there the evening has only gotten worse and worse. Holding hands, sharing food, and smiling more than I can ever remember smiling in my life. Hell, we were damn near playing footsie underneath the table. I’ve loosened my grip so much, my control has been obliterated.
“If your clothes are in a pile like this, they will get wrinkles,” he tells me, finally finished with undressing and walking over to join me naked on the bed. I glance over at my clothes, sitting on his desk chair. “And what a tragedy that will be,” I respond dryly, eliciting a soft chuckle.
Love is conditional. Nobody, not even Henri, can love someone selflessly forever. Eventually, he’ll leave, too. Everyone does. People change and it’s not always for the better.
“Happy birthday, Atlas,” Henri murmurs into the dark, and I squeeze my eyes shut against the sudden pain in my chest. Nothing good can come of feeling this good.
“Are you free for this Saturday?” I ask him. He shrugs. “I can be.” The way Atlas makes plans is a little bit anxiety-inducing. He doesn’t so much make plans, as stroll casually into them.
I hold the door for him and he scowls as he walks past me and out of the building. “We’re not dating,” he reminds me, although the words lack any conviction at all. “We’re just fucking.” “With feelings,” I add cheerfully. “No feelings.” “A few feelings.” I nudge him with my elbow, grinning. He rolls his eyes but still smiles back. “Fine. I’ll go mini golfing, but I’m not happy about it,”
“Look at this.” I show him the picture, grinning down at it. “How are you even real,” he mutters. “It looks like I’m standing next to a celebrity.”
Learning about Atlas in any capacity is ridiculously hard. He doesn’t like to talk at all, let alone about himself. He once told me he didn’t have any older brothers, and I’d foolishly taken that to mean no siblings at all. “Two. Ethan is five years younger than me, and Ryan is ten years younger.” “Wow! And how old are you, then?” I ask, making Atlas laugh.
If Atlas never wanted to kiss me again, I would be sad, but if he never wanted to talk to me again, I would be devastated.
“Max is coming over tonight, yes? Zeke mentioned?” “Oh, yeah, he is. Luke is off doing what-the-fuck-ever.” Carter waves a hand and I bite back a grin. He loves to pick at Luke, and pretend not to like him. Carter is not such a good liar that he thinks he is. “We shall have to invite him another day. Otherwise we will miss out on the pleasure of his company,” I say mildly. Carter eyes me, like he knows I’m giving him a hard time. “Mm-hm,” he hums noncommittally,
“I want you to stay with us, instead of moving back into the dorms.” I sigh, but Carter continues with a scowl before I can interrupt. “It’s your last year, Vas, you shouldn’t have to stay in the fucking dorms. Our house is more comfortable, and it’s close enough to campus for you to still walk to class if you want. You can cook your own food instead of eating the café shit.”
“I will pay you the housing fee that is usually paid to the school,” I tell him, holding up a hand to waylay the angry outburst I know will follow that statement. “It is fair, Carter, you cannot pretend it is not. You have given me room and board for a whole summer for free. That is enough. If I am to stay, I will pay.” “You can pay the same thing Zeke did when he first moved in,” Carter offers, and I jump on it immediately. “Okay,” I agree, though my confidence wavers when he smirks at me. I thought I’d just won that argument, but now I’m unsure. Carter looks far too happy for someone who
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After pulling on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, I have a sudden inspiration. Taking a quick photograph of myself in the bathroom mirror, I text it to Atlas. Atlas oh my god am i witnessing the death of the khaki right now Henri I wore the khaki pants to work. Atlas for shame no polo shirt though i am so proud Henri I was provided two uniform shirts to wear during my internship, and I get to keep them. Two new polo shirts for my collection. Atlas dear god they had no idea the monster they were feeding
“Really? You agreed?” “Yes, but I will be paying—” “—half of the utilities,” Carter fills in happily. I frown at him. “Well, yes, but I had agreed to pay the same rent that you asked from Zeke,” I remind him. “Right. Which was half of the utilities and nothing more,” Carter replies smugly. I gape at him. Zeke sends me a mildly commiserating look. “I told you he won’t take your money,” he mumbles.
“To be honest, though, I am unsure how my own parents might react to a broken window. I was a very well-behaved child.” “You? I simply cannot believe that.” “I know,” I agree seriously. “I am full of surprises.” Atlas laughs again,
Atlas is so much like Carter, it is sometimes worrisome. I imagine they’d get along well, if they ever met. They could sit in a quiet room and glare at one another.
“I named a horse after you. New filly—mean as all hell. Bit me on the shoulder,” he rattles off. As usual, he’s completely unperturbed by my rudeness. “So, her name is Atlas. Better than Daisy, which is what it was when we bought her. I have never met a horse less like a daisy.” “You named your horse Atlas because it bit you,” I summarize, feeling oddly pleased with this. He grins. “Fair.
Henri could give Victorian etiquette lessons to gentlemen in the nineteenth century, he’s so proper.
Henri I am taking German this semester. Atlas sounds tough think you’ll pass? Henri By the skin on my teeth. Atlas LMFAO by the skin OF your teeth Henri Ah, yes. When I read that back, I see now that teeth do not have skin.
“Perhaps you might show me how to do it, before I try for myself?” I suggest. I’ve already forgotten half of the instructions, and it really is very hot in here. My back is sweating.
Watching carefully, I nod even though his eyes are on his hands and he doesn’t see it. Having him demonstrate was a bad idea. Now, I’m sitting here listening to his voice, and watching his hands, and every inch of my body is aching. “You see?” he asks, and I nod, even though I do not see.
“I know it is hard to believe when people tell you things, so I will not do that. I will show you, yes? I won’t tell you that I won’t leave you. I will simply stay, and perhaps that will speak for itself. I am sorry for the people who have not treated you well, because they no longer get to know you and that is a terrible thing.” “Fuck,” he says on an exhale, swiping his hand across his cheek and smearing clay. I hurry to continue, because I’m not quite finished yet. “I am not this person who gets bored and goes looking for someone new. I am never wondering if there are better people out there
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I touch the pad of a finger to the side of his chin, wishing I could tell him that I love him. “One day, I will tell you something,” I promise. “You will not believe me if I say it today, so I will wait for now. But, one day.” He looks quizzical at that, but doesn’t press me.
“What’re you making, there?” he murmurs against my mouth. We look down at the misshapen pile of clay on my pottery wheel. “Abstract art,” I say confidently, making Atlas snort. “It will speak to everyone differently.” “Mm,” he hums, a teasing tilt to his mouth as he looks at me. “And what does it say to you?” “It says let us leave the pottery to Atlas, who is a professional.” I get a laugh, a full smile, and a kiss from that joke,
We are very similar, him and I. He understands when I tell him that you are the only one for me.” “I have no idea what to do when you say things like that,” I admit, shifting in discomfort. It’s not even the words that bother me, it’s the way he says them with utter conviction. “I will tell you. Here is what you do: you put your hand like this”—he demonstrates by placing his palm against my cheek, fingers curled gently around my ear—“and you kiss me, obviously.” “Obviously,” I repeat softly, as he leans forward to do just that. “And then you say: Henri.” He stops, and it takes me a long moment
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Rising back to standing, he steps close enough for me to put a hand on his hip and squeeze. “Together?” I ask. “Together,” he repeats. “Always.”
