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  “Ready to go? Like…to the game?” Jackson is speaking slowly and deliberately, as though he’s trying to explain calculus to a particularly inept wombat.

  Marcus rolls his eyes, pushing past Jackson as he heads towards the front door. “That’s where I’m going, sure, but you don’t have to go.”

  Jackson shrugs. “I know. I’m just…supporting you. Since you’re my roommate. You haven’t left any dishes in the sink or put my binder in the dryer since you moved in. You deserve a reward.”

  Jackson is not looking at Marcus as he shoves his wallet into his back pocket and fiddles with his house keys. Marcus smirks as he opens the front door and holds it open for Jackson to stalk through stiffly. He’s pretty sure that the only reason Jackson is going to the game is because he wants to see Ajay, but Marcus is not going to complain about having company on the bus, not on a day like today when the thought of sitting next to a stranger for the entire fifteen minute ride is enough to make him nauseous.

  Somehow, they make it to campus without incident. Marcus tries hard not to think about how he’s most likely going to drop one of his drumsticks on the field and have to air-drum his way through the halftime show like a jackass as they make their way towards the band prep room.

  “Marcus!”

  Marcus and Jackson both stop and turn around, seeing Blair walking towards them quickly, waving. She’s already in her drum major’s tux, and she’s got a stack of music sheets under her arm. Once she reaches them, she gives Marcus a quick, one-armed hug before turning to Jackson, sticking out her hand and smiling brightly.

  “Hi there! I’m Blair. You must be Jack, Ajay has told me all about you. It’s great to finally meet you. I can’t believe we keep missing each other!”

  “Yeah…” Jackson returns Blair’s handshake gingerly. “I guess we just have opposing schedules. Weird.”

  “Totally weird,” Blair agrees. “I thought for sure we’d be able to meet when we moved Marcus in. It sucks that you had that last minute group project meeting come up.”

  Marcus coughs to cover up a laugh as Jackson’s face flushes. Jackson pulls his hand away from Blair’s and crosses his arms over his shirt. Blair gasps, pointing to Jackson’s chest excitedly.

  “You like SGA? Or…oh shit, are they selling Rodney’s shirts at Hot Topic now, or something?”

  Jackson looks stricken as he squeezes his arms even tighter against his chest. “I wouldn’t know. I would rather pull my toenails out one by one with my teeth than set foot in a Hot Topic.”

  Blair laughs, resting one hand on Jackson’s arm. “So you’re a fan of the show, then? Stargate Atlantis? How is that possible? That show’s so old and cheesy. My dad had the whole series on DVD so I watched it in high school, but I’ve never met another fan my age.”

  Jackson looks over at Blair’s hand, pressing his lips together for a moment before responding. “I ran out of things to watch last summer so I binged it on Hulu. It’s dated, for sure, but the characters are amazing. Plus Jason Momoa was my official bi awakening.”

  “Mine too,” Blair says with a smirk.

  A small smile creeps onto Jackson’s face. Marcus has to blink a few times to make sure he’s not hallucinating.

  “We’ve got to hang out and obsess together,” Blair says. “Maybe I can convince you that John and Rodney were totally banging.”

  “Please,” Jackson scoffs, “I’m already on board that ship. McShep is the only SGA ship worth reading.” His eyes widen slightly. “Um, I mean…I don’t read…I just…”

  “Ahhh! You read fanfic?” Blair seems to be close to bursting with excitement. “Okay, we need to talk more. Immediately. I’m insisting that you sit with me during the game.”

  Marcus is surprised to see Jackson nodding as that smile on his face grows slightly larger. “Okay. Sounds good.”

  “Awesome.” Blair turns to Marcus. “You better go say hi to the boys in the locker room. Ajay is convinced that Seb can’t catch for shit unless you stop by and wish him good luck before the game. You know how superstitious those guys are. The starting cornerback’s had a Hello Kitty sticker on his cup every game since he caught that interception three weeks ago.”

  Marcus pretends he doesn’t notice Blair’s knowing smirk. “Sure, I’ll head in. Drop my bag off in the band room?”

  “You got it.” Blair grabs Marcus’ backpack and slings it over her own shoulder, dragging Jackson with her as she heads towards the band room.

  Marcus keeps his head down as he walks through the gym to the side locker room entrance. His stomach clenches as he gets closer and closer to the raucous sounds of the team gearing up for the game. He’s still not comfortable with how…intense all the players are. They’re all friendly to him, that’s not the issue. It’s just, all the dirty jokes and shouting and good natured insults and arm punching…

  It’s just a lot, all at once. It’s overwhelming.

  “Marcus! BRAH!” Ajay is standing on a bench, shirtless as he waves his water bottle in the air. “You made it! Good thing too, we need a win today.”

  Marcus grins at him. “Yeah, sure. I’ll take credit for your winning streak. It’s all me.”

  “Damn right.” Sebastian has appeared beside Marcus, clapping a hand on his shoulder. He’s shirtless as well, which Marcus is all too aware of. “You made it. Nice. Save me from these losers, Marcus. Anderson just poured Gatorade over his head and the game hasn’t even started yet.”

  Ajay points his water bottle at Marcus. “You’re coming to the after party, right? To celebrate our victory?”

  “You’re pretty confident, huh?” Marcus says with a chuckle. “Why do you need my good luck wishes then, if you’ve already got assured victory?”

  Ajay laughs, squirting a stream of water from his bottle, which splatters onto the toes of Marcus’ shoes. “You gotta be positive, man. What’s the point of playing if you aren’t planning on winning? Besides,” he says with a wink, “you are here, which means Seb will make all his catches. Therefore, victory is assured. That’s just science.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Sebastian grumbles. “Go put on your uniform, asshole, and give Marcus some space.”

  “Sure thing, Seb. I’ll give you guys your…space.” Ajay has a shit-eating grin on his face as he jumps off the bench and heads to the other side of the locker room, slamming his shoulder against Sebastian’s as he passes them by and quickly slapping Sebastian’ ass.

  “Fuck you, Kumar!” Sebastian calls after him. Sebastian is grinning, but he’s biting his lower lip and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He looks back at Marcus, staring at him intently in a way that makes Marcus blush a little.

  “Thanks for coming. Sorry that Ajay is a tool.”

  Marcus shrugs. “It’s not like I didn’t know that already.”

  “True,” Sebastian agrees. His eyes trace their way down Marcus’ frame. “You don’t have your geek gear on yet? Shame. Those shapeless black pants are fine as hell.”

  Marcus rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” He doesn’t want to think about what Sebastian means by that comment. It’s probably just a joke. “So…you guys gonna be able to keep that winning streak going? Or is this a tough game?”

  “Ha!” Sebastian says with a snort. “We could all get shot with tranquilizer darts and we’d still kill it tonight. This’ll be an easy win. No competition.” He grins at Marcus, elbowing him in the shoulder. “Plus I’m in peak condition now, since you’ve been training me.”

  Marcus elbows Sebastian right back, trying not to blush even worse than he already is. He and Sebastian have been running together a few mornings a week ever since Marcus moved in with Jackson. At first, Marcus was freaking out about making a fool of himself in front of Sebastian, but after the first run where Sebastian pretended to trip him three times and ended up eating shit on the pavement himself, Marcus was able to chill considerably.

  Marcus looks over at Sebastian with a sly grin. “Well, if you’re in such peak condition now, maybe
you don’t need my good luck after all.”

  “Let’s not get carried away,” says Sebastian as he puts an arm around Marcus’ shoulders. Marcus tries not to enjoy the heavy, warm weight of Sebastian’s arm too much. “I always need your luck.” He gives Marcus’ shoulders a squeeze before stepping back. “I’ve gotta go get ready so…” Sebastian smiles, tilting his head and raising one eyebrow expectantly.

  Marcus lets out an exaggerated sigh as he shakes his head with a smile. “Good luck, asshole.”

  “Yes!” Sebastian pumps a fist in the air. “It’s on now. Thanks, man.” He holds out his hand for a fist bump, which Marcus immediately returns. “I’ll see you after the game, at the party. You better be there.”

  Sebastian grins as he heads towards his locker. He pauses, turning back to Marcus and rubbing the back of his neck. “Um, hey…good luck to you too, okay? Not that you need it. You’re a sick drummer. I watch every halftime show, and you always kill it.”

  Oh. Sebastian would be watching him. That’s not something Marcus had actually thought about. He’d figured that Sebastian spent halftimes in the locker room with the team, listening to Ajay’s never ending hype talks. Apparently not. Apparently, when Marcus inevitably ends up falling on his ass or fucking up the routine, it won’t just be in front of a bunch of faceless judgmental strangers. It will be in front of Sebastian.

  Great. Just perfect. Marcus feels a lump growing in his throat as his whole body heats up a few uncomfortable degrees.

  “Oh. Ah…thanks. Thanks, man.” Marcus gives a small wave before hurrying out of the locker room, walking quickly down the hall and sliding into the band room. He feels a little lightheaded as he scans the room until he spots Blair by the door, talking to a couple of the woodwind players.

  Blair smiles and waves him over, but Marcus shakes his head, wrapping his arms around his middle. “Sorry Blair, I just…I need a minute, okay?”

  “Of course,” Blair says with a comforting smile, “go ahead and use the office. Take your time.”

  Marcus smiles back at her gratefully, heading towards the band director’s office where he can take a few minutes to collect himself, do his breathing exercises, and hopefully stave off his oncoming panic attack.

  “Shit, B, what’s wrong with him? He looks like hell.”

  Marcus’ shoulders hunch up a bit as he hears one of the woodwind players stage-whispering behind him.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Marcus hears Blair snap. “Don’t be an asshole. He’s fine, he just needs a minute. Mind your business.”

  “Ohhhhh, that’s right,” says the other woodwind in a condescending tone. “He’s like…you know…he gets a little crazy sometimes, right? Poor thing.”

  Marcus, I know you think that your relationship with him was more…intimate than it actually was, but you have to understand that you must have misread things. I don’t mean to be blunt, but you’re not the most…well, you must admit that you have some mental health problems. That’s just a fact. There’s no shame in admitting that. There’s no shame in admitting that you might not be seeing things clearly.

  Marcus doesn’t bother waiting to hear whether or not Blair defends him. He heads into the office and shuts the door quietly, not bothering to turn on the lights as he leans against the wall, running a hand over his face.

  Crazy. He chuckles humorlessly. It’s the truth, isn’t it? He’s not normal. His brain doesn’t work right. Oh, sure, he’s not as delusional as they all assumed, he knows that. He’s never conjured up false memories of things that didn’t happen.

  The feelings, though…Marcus had obviously been imagining them. If he had cared about Marcus even a fraction of the amount that Marcus had thought he did…none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t have let it happen.

  Marcus is all too aware of how untrustworthy his own intuition is. People might seem to care, but what does that mean, really? Not much.

  He struggles through his breathing exercises, managing to keep himself from completely losing it. Still, as he stands there in the dark, he realizes that he’s not going to be able to make it through the rest of the evening. He’s not going to be able to put on his uniform, make small talk with the rest of the drumline, and smile his way through the evening like everything’s fine.

  Taking one final, deep breath, he pushes off from the wall and cracks the door open. Blair is nowhere to be seen, and everyone else is busy fussing with their uniforms and instruments. Marcus silently slips out of the office and walks calmly across the room, out the door, down the hall, out of the athletic building, not stopping until he’s boarding a bus headed downtown.

  He chooses a seat by the window, sliding down low and leaning his forehead against the cool glass. He vaguely recalls that he’s left his backpack in the band room, but he can’t be bothered to care. He’s got his wallet with his fake ID and his debit card, everything that’s required for access to one of the seedier queer clubs and copious amounts of vodka. That’s all he needs for tonight.

  Chapter 6

  Marcus isn’t sure at what point last night he rubbed sandpaper into his eyeballs, but he’s pretty positive he must have, because his eyelids sliding against them as they creak open is an unbearable torture, second only to the pounding pressure in his temples.

  He winces as he blinks, looking up at a chipped ceiling with a wrinkled poster of The Weeknd taped over a particularly large crack. Letting his head loll to one side, he realizes that he’s lying on black satin sheets that smell like patchouli and hairspray. The wall in front of him is dominated by a large cork board flooded with concert tickets, cutouts from yoga magazines, and strings of beads. There’s a laundry basket on the floor overflowing with multicolored leggings and black lingerie.

  This is probably not his room, Marcus deduces.

  His suspicions are confirmed when he turns his head painfully to the other side of the bed, ending up with a mouthful of bleached hair. Shit.

  Slowly, Marcus slides out of the bed, breathing a silent sigh of relief when his bedmate lets out a light snore without waking. Marcus is still fully dressed, down to his tennies, and though his memories are foggy, he can vaguely recall that they’d only gotten through a few messy make out moments before passing out, thankfully.

  Marcus nearly trips over his own feet as the laundry basket emits a loud buzzing noise. He rushes over to the basket and fishes his phone out from the folds of a hoodie, grimacing as he scrolls through the slightly blurry texts.

  Blair: lmao where tf are u? u bailing on us?

  Blair: um

  Blair: for real tho where u at

  Blair:????

  Blair: are u ok?

  Blair: look its 15 min til halftime like…are u gonna show or what? do i need to send Jack out to look for u?

  Blair: im sending Jack. lmk if u need smtg ok? <3

  Jackson: Blair sent me to look for you so I am buying a pretzel. The line is very long. By the time I pay, please be here so that I can bring you back with me and stop her from freaking out.

  Jackson: I just paid. You aren’t here. I’m taking my time getting extra mustard. Hurry up.

  Jackson: I got yelled at by some plebeian for taking too much mustard. I may or may not have dropped some on his shoes. Now I’m hiding behind the concession stand eating a mustard-less pretzel. This is not appropriate roommate behavior. Please find me immediately to apologize.

  Jackson: I was forced to head back to the stands without you. Blair is very worried. I suppose I am too by this point.

  Ajay: boi its haltfime u look lit af

  Ajay: wait no i don’t see u

  Ajay: whERE U AT

  Ajay: FUCK MY CAPSLOCK IS STUCK OR SMTG WTFFFFF

  Ajay: OK B LOOKS PISSED DID U 2 FIGHT OR SMTG LMAO SORRY BRAH BUT I GOTTA TAKE HER SIDE U KNOW SHE ALWAYS RIGHT

  Ajay: OK B SAYS U BAILED? U OK? WHERE U AT?!

  Blair: honestly where the fuck are you? did smtg happen?

  Blair: ok im super worried abt u, if u need ti
me thats fine just let me know that ur safe ok?

  Blair: marcus???

  Jackson: We won. In case you care. Even though Sebastian didn’t play the last quarter because he’s an idiot. I’ll explain when you get back. The party went to hell and now our apartment is overrun with Kumar crew. I’m legitimately irritated.

  Jackson: And worried. I guess.

  Jackson: I am assuming your phone died or something. I’m locking the deadbolt so call if you want to get into the apartment. If you plan on coming home, that is.

  Blair: well its 3am and im going to bed but idgaf what time it is call me pls when u get these im worried sick and

  Blair: u know what we can talk tmrw xxx be safe

  Ajay: B says I can’t call the cops and she got a point bc fuck tha police but for real if ur in trouble call or whatervedeas

  Ajay: whatevs

  Ajay: FUCK THIS PHONE MAN

  Ajay: but for real if u need me call me and ill pick u up or fuck up whoever needs it man

  Ajay: whomever

  Ajay: fuuuck idk which is correct just be safe ok

  Sebastian: No new messages.

  Marcus feels his stomach churning. He’s not sure which makes him feel more like shit; the concerned messages from Blair, Jackson, and Ajay, or the lack of messages from Sebastian. He tries not to think about it as he stuffs his phone into his back pocket and creeps out of the dorm room, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Once he’s managed to find a bus stop and board what he hopes is the correct bus to get him home, he leans his forehead against the window, enjoying the cool feeling of the glass against his skin. He wonders what he’ll find when he gets back to the apartment. Sure, some of his friends seemed concerned about him, but that doesn’t mean anything. It was probably just the drama of being caught up in the moment. Once they figure out there was nothing wrong, nothing outside of Marcus’ own fucked-up mind, they’ll change their tune.

  Hey Marcus, um…something came up and I can’t make it to lunch today. Don’t stalk me! Ha! I’m um…I’m kidding. But also please don’t stalk me, like, for real.