Eddie had whispered into his hair once, half-asleep, fuck you for being so good. He’d laughed and let it tie him into a giddy knot for days. That same week he’d watched Eddie punch a frat kid at a kegger, heard him snarling who are you calling a faggot, saw him leave with a girl whose name he didn’t know. Andrew had found his own companion for the night, pomegranate lip gloss his sole memory of the experience.
