9

Jadon

The day passed in a blur. After what had felt like a surge of wakefulness and clarity that morning—an illusion, he knew, that was common following a sleepless night, and which had been compounded by the argument with Nico—he found himself in a kind of fugue state, moving from workshop to workshop, head nodding as he tried to keep himself upright and at least appear to be paying attention. The rooms, warmed by the radiators and crowded bodies, made it hard to stay awake, though, and more than once Jadon’s own sleepy breathing roused him from the edge.

Vic told him he looked like shit.

Allison asked twice if he needed to go home.

At the end of the day, he mumbled excuses and managed to escape while Vic was bragging about his conquest from the night before and Allison was pretending to vomit. He made his way to Eldridge and sat on the bench where he had waited the day before. The shadows were long, and the stone was ice, freezing his ass to the bench. Over the turrets and spires of the college, beyond the oaks and maples of Forest Park, the sky was the red of spaghetti Westerns. His head dipped again, and instead of uncomfortable, the cold felt like a hand catching him. If I fall asleep out here, he thought in that jumbled way of half-waking, Nico will leave me to die of exposure.

The sound of doors opening and animated voices roused him, though, and he wiped drool from his chin and straightened up on the bench. Nico and his friends emerged from Eldridge Hall. Nico looked good; maybe not how Jadon remembered him, not how Jadon had thought about him when they’d been texting. But there were reasons for that. They’d met during the summer, when Nico had been wearing a T-shirt and shorts that left a lot of smooth, coppery skin exposed. And when they’d been texting, it had always been at night, and the occasional selfie had always been sleep shorts (so tiny, Jadon had to admit, they barely qualified as underwear) and old tanks washed to the point of translucency. The image he had carried in his mind of Nico for months didn’t quite line up with the starched professional in front of him—a microdot button-down, a navy quarter-zip. He was wearing the glasses again, the ones Jadon didn’t remember. The images overlapped: the Nico who had worn a tank top that said, MY OTHER DADDY HAS A MOTORCYCLE; and this Nico, the one who looked like he’d been shopping in the straight bro aisle at J. Crew. (Maybe, Jadon considered, that was all the aisles?)

The grad students came down the steps from Eldridge, several of them talking animatedly—a Harry Potter type with a Bart Simpson haircut, the girl Nico had called Maya, and Clark, the boy Jadon had thought—still thought—might have something going with Nico. Nico didn’t even look at Jadon. He moved along with the others, his head locked forward, even though several of the students glanced at Jadon and turned questioning looks at Nico. When they’d gone a few yards, Jadon got to his feet and went after them.

He was close enough to hear when Maya said, “Nico, your friend is here.”

Nico stopped abruptly. He turned to look at Jadon. For a moment, he said nothing, obviously struggling between the desire to make a scene (something Nico had confessed, in those midnight texts, to doing because it gave him a feeling of control when he felt powerless) and his desire to maintain a professional demeanor. Finally, body stiff, he stalked toward Jadon.

“What?”

“Nothing. You go do your thing; I’m not going to bother you. You won’t even know I’m here.”

It looked like it took Nico an effort to rein himself in, and by the time he opened his mouth to speak, Clark was walking toward them as he said, “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Nico snapped. “I’m fine, Clark.”

That’s right, Clark, Jadon thought. We’re fine.

“What’s going on?” Clark said when he reached them.

“Nothing,” Nico said.

With an appraising look at Jadon, Clark said, “Can I help you?”

“No, thanks. I’m checking in with Nico.”

“And you are?”

“A friend.”

Nico shifted his weight to angle his body slightly away from Clark. “I’m handling this.”

“I don’t think you are,” Clark said. To Jadon, he added, “I think you’re bothering Nico. I think this is starting to constitute harassment.”

“I appreciate that you’re trying to protect your friend,” Jadon said, “but you don’t know what’s going on here.”

“I know exactly what’s going on.” Clark took Nico’s arm. “Come on, Nico.”

But Nico wrenched free. “I told you I’m fine, so stop it.”

From the crowd of grad students, Maya called, “Nico?”

“I’ll see you guys later,” Nico shouted back. He said in a softer voice to Clark, “You’d better go.”

“I don’t like this,” Clark said. “This is weird, and you’re being weird. If you’re scared of him, I’ll call the police right now.”

That seemed to undo some of the tension in Nico’s body. He gave a small laugh and shook his head. “I’m fine, Clark. I promise. Go catch up with the rest of them; I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Text me when you get back to the dorm,” Clark said. “I want to know you’re safe.”

Nico rolled his eyes, but finally he nodded. Clark slunk off after the rest of the grad students, darting poisonous looks back at Jadon.

“Ex?” Jadon asked.

“He wishes,” Nico muttered. Jadon cracked a smile, but Nico’s expression stayed flat. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“I heard you say it the first time. I understand how you feel about the situation, and I’m sorry you’re frustrated.”

For a moment, Nico stared at him. “Was that a fuck-you apology?”

“No.” Jadon thought about it. “Well, a polite one.”

Nico walked off, and Jadon gave him a few yards before following.

Instead of hurrying after his friends, though, Nico headed north. He passed Waverley, where a few students waited for shuttles as the October dark closed around them. They passed more buildings—dorms, Jadon guessed, based on the orange-and-purple lights strung in the windows, and the cardboard sign that said JESUS LOVES YOU, and, on the fire escape, a jack-o”-lantern with an electric candle illuminating the words FUCK TRUMP. The dark closed like a slipknot. Somewhere nearby, an oboist was practicing scales.

Unlike most of campus, Sterling Library was a grim, hulking building shorn of its neogothic trappings. It looked like a glass-and-concrete cube that could have been plucked from take your pick of post-Soviet states. Nico still had a lead on him, so he was already inside by the time Jadon caught one of the glass doors. His reflection flickered, and he decided Vic had been right—he did look like shit—and then he was stepping into warm air and a mixture of odors: wool that had been warmed by body heat, and aging book bindings, and something that made him think of mothballs.

Nico had a card that let him past the security gates, while Jadon had to stop and explain why he was on campus (the symposium) and what he wanted in the library (a totally made-up journal article he needed for the next day). The guard, a short, stocky twentysomething in need of a powerful exfoliant, finally buzzed open a gate, and as Jadon went in pursuit of Nico, he wondered if Nico would go so far as escaping out a fire door. Probably, he thought.

Like the exterior, on the inside, the library was severe, everything lines and angles and brown: brown linoleum in the lobby, brown carpet in the halls, brown bookcases, brown plastic furniture, all of it showcased by banks of fluorescent lights and, of course, more concrete. He wandered each floor and then climbed to the next until, on the fourth floor, he spotted Nico. He was so deep in a study carrell it looked like he might be trying to crawl inside it. The floor was unoccupied, as far as Jadon could tell, except for an Indian girl who was staring at a laptop and chewing her nails, and a white guy in a shapeless smock and hemp pants—he was (because why wouldn’t he be?) barefoot. Jadon took a seat at a table with a good view of Nico, and then he took out his phone.

He’d been reading for about five minutes when Nico stood and came to the table. He had a hint of a flush under that coppery skin, and his shoulders were locked and loaded. He stared down at Jadon until Jadon put his phone on the table and looked up.

“As you can see, I’m fine. I made it all the way across campus without being attacked. So, now you can go home, and you can take a shower, and you can sleep in a bed, and tomorrow, you can go to your symposium and look like a human being.”

“I appreciate the concern.”

Nico took a deep breath, but it didn’t sound like it helped much. The glasses started to slide, and he resettled them. “I’m going straight back to my dorm after this.”

“Good.”

His volume rose a notch, and the words took on a staggering, insulting choppiness. “I want you to go away. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

Nico made a—admittedly soft—screaming noise.

“Have you eaten today?” Jadon asked. “I could pick up something from the vending machines. I bet they’ve got some healthy options, maybe some nuts—”

“What I eat isn’t any of your fucking business!” The shout echoed through the large, open space. It bounced back from the raw concrete. “And I don’t need you following me around while I’m trying to look like a professional!”

It was exhaustion. And frustration. And the jangle of nerves like far-off alarm bells, the ones that never went quiet. Jadon stood up so fast that he thumped onto the carpet behind him, and he shouted back, “I don’t care! And you know what? It’s hard to take you seriously when you’re wearing those stupid fucking glasses!”

Behind the frames, Nico’s eyes got huge.

“Hey!” the Indian girl shouted. “This is a library!”

Jadon couldn’t explain the wave of giggles that rolled over him. He barely fought them back. Nico made a strange noise, and in a moment of disbelief, Jadon realized Nico was fighting the giggles too. Somehow, they both made it to the stairwell, and when the doors swung shut behind them, they dissolved into laughter. Jadon sank down onto the steps, and Nico leaned against him, laughing so hard that he was practically draped over Jadon. And even through the laughter, Jadon was painfully aware of the warmth of lean muscle, the almost-forgotten casual pleasure of skin on skin as Nico’s hand brushed his nape.

Eventually, they quieted. Nico took the glasses off and held them in one hand, a wry smile creasing one cheek.

“You look cute in them,” Jadon said. “If it’s any consolation.”

“They’re so stupid. This was so stupid.” He was still leaning against Jadon, sitting so close that heat stitched a line up Jadon’s side. “God, I feel like I’m going crazy. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“I’m sorry for—uh, offering you a snack, I guess?”

Nico tapped his head with the glasses.

“Ow,” Jadon said, but he laughed. “What?”

“You know what drives me out of my fucking head? Guys who think they know everything about me because I did some modeling. Did, Jadon. Past tense. I don’t need you picking a restaurant because you know I can get a salad there that’ll be under five hundred calories. I don’t need you worrying about when I ate. I don’t need you controlling how much I eat, or worrying about portions, or any of that bullshit. I’m an adult, and I spent way too much of my life letting what other people thought about my body control me, and I do not fucking need that again.”

His volume rose again at the end, and Jadon waited until the echoes in the stairwell died before saying, “Is that why you were grumpy last night?”

“Grumpy? I was being a world-class bitch. And if you say I wasn’t, I’m going to be offended.”

The grin broke out before Jadon could stop it. He was fairly sure, even though he couldn’t see, that Nico was grinning too. “Okay, here we go, for the record: first, I was going to take you to Salt + Smoke, which is my favorite barbeque place in the city. I didn’t switch to Blueberry Hill because I thought you needed a salad. I switched to Blueberry Hill because you seemed so interested in the Walk of Fame, and Chuck Berry used to play there every month in the Duck Room. Which, you know, was kind of hard to explain when we were sitting at the bar.”

“And when I was icing you out so hard your balls froze off.”

“My balls are fine, thanks. And second, I’m not trying to control what you eat. I’m trying to control what I eat. I keep myself on a pretty strict diet, and it’s hard to eat out. And also, even if you don’t want people controlling what you eat, I think I deserve a little credit for trying to be considerate. I mean, I was being polite, Nico. The same way I’d worry about taking a friend who ate vegan to a place where they could get something they’d enjoy.”

It seemed like a long time before Nico said, “You have friends who are vegan?”

“I dated Shaw, remember?”

“Yeah, how in the hell did that happen?”

Jadon laughed. “We met on a case. And believe it or not, not everybody finds me to be an unmitigated asshole. At least, not on first sight.”

A door on a landing below them opened and closed. Footsteps pummeled the stairs.

Nico straightened, pulling away from Jadon, and the side of Jadon’s body felt cool now. “I’m sorry. Again. Officially, totally, completely sorry. I didn’t—yeah, I’m the unmitigated asshole, and I shouldn’t have, um, projected my bullshit onto you.”

“Well, we’ve got a problem.”

Nico glanced sidelong.

“It’s super hard to get me to accept an apology,” Jadon said. “Like, almost impossible.”

“I’ll buy you pizza.”

“Imo’s.”

“What is Imo’s?”

“You, my friend, are in for a treat.”

It turned out that libraries had strict policies about large, greasy, cheese- and sauce-covered pizzas being carried through their stacks, so when the delivery came, they had to take it to Waverley. They ate on a battered sofa outside the closed coffee shop.

“It’s not pizza,” Nico said. “It’s a cracker.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be groveling?”

Nico flicked sausage at him. It struck Jadon’s cheek, and he rocked backward, like the impact had bowled him over, as he cleaned up the spatter with a napkin.

“It’s not terrible,” Nico said after three more squares. “It’s weird.”

“Uh huh.”

“What?”

“It’s hard to hear you with all that pizza crammed in your mouth.”

Nico’s grin was surprisingly boyish. “You noticed I can fit a lot in my mouth.”

Jadon choked on a slice of pepperoni.

They were quiet on the walk back to Harlow Hall, and as they climbed the steps to Nico’s floor, Jadon felt a moment of unreality. It was hard to remember, but maybe this was what it was like to have a normal life: pizza with a cute guy, watching the way his hair moved in the wind, discovering the little mole behind his right ear, realizing that he had an impossibly sexy neck. Like, who knew vertebrae could be hot? Then a quiet walk back to his place. Suddenly Jadon felt hot, sweat like pins and needles under his arms, sweeping across his chest. And his mind started to play out the rest of the scene: the lingering moment at the door, the silence that was a question you were both asking the other, the way sometimes you knew (or, if you were Jadon Reck and you were nineteen, you didn’t know, and you tried to kiss Brit Booth, and he pulled back and you chipped your tooth on the doorjamb).

Nico pushed through the door at the top of the stairs and turned down the hall.

They stopped at his door. Nico took out his key. He looked at it. He looked up. He looked over Jadon’s shoulder, like there was some safe spot he could focus on. He stood hipshot, those dancer lines perfect even in a quarter-zip and chinos, and he still hadn’t said anything. His lips were parted. Jadon thought he could hear those soft, small breaths. He thought he knew what they would feel like if he were close enough. The heat, the hint of the taste of him brushing his lips, before breath joined to breath. A promise.

“I won’t leave the dorm,” Nico said, and although the tone was light, his body was still asking the unasked question. “Swear to God.”

Jadon managed a loose, marionette nod. He was too hot in these sweats. He wasn’t sure he could feel anything below the knee.

“So, you’re going to go home,” Nico prompted. “Shower. Bed. A full night’s sleep.”

The dreams, Jadon thought. The plastic bag over his head like a second skin across his mouth and nose. He nodded.

Neither of them said anything. The clockwork of Jadon’s body told him a million years had gone by, a million years standing here, Nico’s eyes still coal-fires, but softer now, a place to be warm. Nico’s lips still parted. The question still hanging between them.

“Well,” Nico said, “goodnight.”

Jadon gave another of those wobbly nods and backed toward the stairs. His heart was running so fast he thought he might be sick, and distantly, he thought it had been a test, the whole thing had been some sort of test, and he had no idea if he’d passed or failed, if it had been Nico testing him, or if Jadon had been testing himself.

Nico paused, hand on his door as he pushed it open, and looked down the hall to where Jadon was trying to reach the stairwell. “See you in the morning?”

Jadon didn’t trust his voice, but the words that came out were surprisingly smooth. “Of course.”

Nico crooked a rueful smile at him. And then he was gone.