Chapter Sixteen
So fuck everything, basically. Fuck even being here at Phi Sig, because the last thing Mark wanted right now was Deacon looking at him with that expression of stricken concern, or maybe it was what he wanted most; he didn’t fucking know. But he’d come here because he’d promised Deacon he would after the test, and he didn’t know where else to go anyway.
“What the hell happened, Mark?” Deacon asked.
Mark glared at him. Was Deacon planning to make that his whole fucking life? What happened? What’s wrong? Do you need anything? You’re beautiful; you’re incredible; you’re amazing; you’re gonna be fine.
What about you, Deacon? Who tells you you’re incredible? Who asks you what’s wrong, or tells you things will turn out all right? Because I’m pretty sure I do a shitty job with that kind of stuff.
“Went to Alpha Delt after the exam,” Mark muttered. “Got in a fight with Bengal.”
“Mark.”
“What?” Mark snapped. “It was good. I told him he was a piece of trash, and that what he did to Brandon would rot on his conscience forever, and that I hoped he’d get run down by the campus shuttle. And he punched me in the face.”
“Why’d you go over there?” Deacon was off the couch and standing in front of Mark now. He reached out to touch the swelling, but Mark jerked away. “Just to tell him off?”
“I went because he fucking told me to. Then I got there, and he wasn’t saying anything, so just to make conversation, I mentioned something about the ceremony tonight. And he said, ‘Oh, you’re not going.’”
“What?”
“He said, ‘You haven’t attended enough of the required pledge activities to be inducted.’” Mark looked at Deacon again. “He doesn’t invite me to the pledge activities anymore. He doesn’t even tell me they’re going on. He planned this.”
“Have you talked to the other guys? Chris? Blake?”
“You think I care?” Mark exploded. “So I’m not gonna be an Alpha Delt after all. Can’t say it’s a fucking tragedy.”
“You’ve got to report him,” Deacon said firmly.
“Why would I report him?”
“He hit you.”
“Yeah, he’s also paddled me and dressed me in a frilly uniform and poured salsa down my throat. I don’t care what he does to me; I just want to be rid of him.”
“What about other people? What about Brandon? This is going too far. You’re gonna report him because it’s the right thing to do.”
Fuck Deacon for bringing up Brandon. If Mark could have done anything about that, he would have. “Christ, Deacon. Not all of us operate like that, okay?”
“Operate like what?”
“We can’t all get straight bloody As and foster fucking growth in the community and still have time to take care of our sick mums on the weekend, okay? I’m not you.”
“I’m not asking you to be!”
Of course. Because who would? Nobody in their right fucking mind would ever mistake Mark as someone capable of developing those qualities. He was selfish and immature, and stupid. He felt more stupid now than he had in any exam he’d taken at Prescott. Mark thought back to every time he’d found out Bengal hadn’t invited him to some pledge activity, and how he’d laughed about it. How he’d actually thought it was a reward and not guessed that Bengal was setting him up so he could throw him out. Stupid.
God. It wasn’t that long ago that Mark had been planning on something like this. Planning on getting hated and thrown out so he could show his sad face to Jim and lie that he’d tried his hardest. Except now that it had happened, it didn’t feel like a victory. It felt like another punch in the face. And Mark had the horrible feeling that Deacon could tell exactly how close to tears he was.
“I’m going back to my dorm,” Mark said.
“Mark.”
Mark didn’t look at him. “Call me tomorrow or something, if you want.”
“No.” Deacon put a hand on his shoulder before he could flinch away. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but don’t run off, okay? Stay here for a while.”
Mark didn’t want to do that. Because sooner or later he’d spill his guts to Deacon about how dumb he felt, about how embarrassed, and he didn’t want to be that guy. The one always needing reassurance. The one fishing for it. You’re beautiful; you’re incredible; you’re amazing; you’re gonna be fine…
He wanted to go and get some beer and drink it underneath Prescott’s statue, and fuck what the campus police thought. Who, if they were real police, wouldn’t drive around in golf carts. Mark was quite looking forward to pointing that out to them.
Except somehow Deacon’s hand on his shoulder became Deacon’s arms around him, and suddenly Mark didn’t want to leave so much. Deacon smelled good, and Mark had never been in the habit of caring how guys smelled, but it was never too late to start, right? He took a deep breath and let some of the tension in his muscles go. Swallowed as Deacon nuzzled the side of his neck.
It hurt to be made a fool of. But Deacon never seemed to think he was stupid. Mark tentatively placed one palm on Deacon’s back and splayed his fingers. “Fuck them,” he murmured, but it didn’t come out sounding very forceful. He started to shake, and he squeezed his eyes shut. No fucking way was he going to cry. Because this was even worse than the night Deacon had tried to fist him. At least then he’d had the pain as an excuse.
He curled his fingers, digging them into Deacon’s back. “I never wanted it anyway,” he continued, trying to will his voice steady. “So if they think this is some kind of big deal, they’re…” He stopped. Stood in that instant of total stillness before misery overtook him entirely, and he knew he was going to lose. His eyes prickled, and he clenched his quivering jaw. Not over those fuckers. He was never going to cry over those fuckers. This was about something else. This was about how Deacon stood there without moving or saying anything and held him. Didn’t make jokes the way Baz and Richo had the day Mark had found out he was going to Pennsylvania and had been so pissed off he’d kicked a dent in his bedroom wall. Normally he appreciated jokes, liked to avoid the touchy-feely stuff. But that day he’d wanted some acknowledgment that he mattered, that his friends needed him to stay.
He held on to Deacon and thought about all the times he’d shut his mum out or refused to interact with Jim on anything more than a superficial level. If he’d been willing to have real conversations with Jim, maybe Jim could have explained all this fraternity stuff better, and Mark could have told him it didn’t sound like his thing, but that he still appreciated Jim sending him to Prescott and hoped they’d find other things to bond over.
He thought about Alpha Delt and how he’d stayed for more than the chance to stick it to Bengal. Some part of him was drawn to the possibility of brothers. Knew he had to start making a life for himself here, and that life needed to be more than Deacon and Brandon and the statue of Wolford Prescott. He needed friends. He needed classes that interested him. He needed to feel like he was doing something, working toward something.
He concentrated on drawing a few quick, shaky breaths. “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.
And don’t say everything’ll be fine. You don’t know what a mess I’ve made.
Deacon moved one hand slowly up and down his back. “Mm-hm,” Deacon said.
“I don’t think I want to be in a fraternity.”
“Then Mark? Don’t be in one.”
Was it really that simple?
There were footsteps on the stairs, and Mark saw James coming down. He didn’t pull away from Deacon. Fuck James if he had a problem with it. But James just glanced at them, then said quietly, “I’m going out to get toilet paper,” and left.
“I did kind of want to go to that dance,” Mark muttered when the house was silent again. “But only because you’d be there.”
Deacon brushed his lips against Mark’s hair. “Will you go as my date?”
Mark snorted. “Like the guys don’t already have enough reason to hate me. Then I show up at their dance. With you.”
“As fuck-yous go, it’s a pretty good one.”
Mark pulled back and looked at Deacon. “You don’t want a date who looks like this.”
“I don’t?”
Mark shook his head.
Deacon placed his fingers on Mark’s cheek, under the worst of the swelling. “Please, will you go to semiformal with me? Otherwise I’ll just shuffle awkwardly on the dance floor with other guys’ dates. And I’d rather shuffle awkwardly with you.”
It’d be dumb to say yes. He ought to sever all ties with the Alpha Delts immediately. He was tired of fighting, tired of fuck-yous. And he did look like shit, probably even more so now that his face had had time to swell. He still felt a flash of pride, though, looking at Deacon through one eye swollen almost shut. It had been good to tell Bengal off.
“I’ll go,” Mark said. “But not as a fuck-you.”
Deacon nodded, though he looked a little unsure. “Okay.”
“Because when I picture you shuffling on a dance floor with some sorority girl, you look like such a nerd it breaks my heart.”
Deacon grinned. “I know, right?”
Mark pulled the sides of Deacon’s hoodie together and held them there a few seconds, like he was adjusting the lapels of a tux. He looked at Deacon’s throat, since he wasn’t brave enough to say shit like this gazing into Deacon’s eyes or whatever. “And because I like you so much, sometimes I’m not sure what to do with all that…you know? That feeling?”
“I know that feeling. Now. I didn’t for a long time.”
“Yeah, well.” Mark had to stop to swallow. “You’ll tell me if it goes away, won’t you? I don’t like feeling stupid, so if there’s some hint I’m not getting, tell me.”
“The only hint you’re not getting right now is that you ought to be kissing me.”
Mark had a feeling that if he acted on that hint as many times per day as he imagined he was getting it, Deacon would have taken out a restraining order by now.
Mark leaned forward and took the hint.
“What time are you picking me up, Romeo?” he asked during a pause in a series of short, soft kisses.
“Be outside your dorm at five thirty tomorrow,” Deacon replied, tugging Mark by the shirt so Mark’s lips bumped Deacon’s again. “And Juliet?”
“Yeah?”
“Wear that underwear I like. Because after prom, we’re gonna lose our virginity in the back of my car.”
Mark kissed him again. “Bad news, Romeo. That ship sailed a long time ago.”
“Mmm.”
“Made her maiden voyage, then a whole bunch more after that. I’m surprised she’s still afloat.”
Deacon laughed. “Zack Weirman. I was eighteen. We were in his bedroom. It smelled weird, and he wanted to play video games after.”
“Hmm. Mad Dog. Pub toilet. I was sixteen. It hurt. He used a condom from, like, the early eighties.” Mark arched his back as Deacon stroked down it. What if I can’t figure out how to be reasonably stupid, Deke?
“So we won’t lose our virginity. Will you still wear the underwear?”
“If you promise to fuck me.”
“Duh.”
“Done.”
“Five thirty. Don’t be late.”
“Deke?”
Deacon was kissing him again. “Hmm?”
“I don’t have an initiation ceremony to go to tonight.”
“Oh.”
“And I don’t have any more finals.”
“And?”
“And James is gone.”
“So?”
“I think there’s a hint you’re not getting.”
“You want something?”
“Shove things up my arse.”
Deacon cupped his arse. “Could you be more specific?”
“Your fingers. Plugs. Um, your couch.” Mark laughed against Deacon’s lips.
“The banister pole?”
“My copy of As I Lay Dying.”
“A bear.”
“The portrait of that guy who founded Phi Sig. Nerd Weston.”
“It’s Ned.”
“My bad.”
Deacon thrust his tongue into Mark’s mouth on the next kiss. Mark slowly put his arms up and draped them around Deacon’s neck. His cheek hurt when he kissed. But he didn’t mind. Liked the sudden throb of it.
“Well, let’s get upstairs,” Deacon said when they paused for breath. “That arse isn’t going to fill itself.”
Deacon started to turn, but Mark caught his wrist. Wasn’t this the way all their serious moments ended? With sex? With both of them relieved they’d found a common language that still let them avoid what they were really trying to say. “Wait,” Mark said. He looked Deacon in the eye. “When I said I liked you, I maybe meant more than that. I think. Maybe you don’t feel the same way, and maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about. And maybe I’m about to ruin everything.”
“I don’t think you are.”
“I’ve never been in love before.”
“Me either.”
“So how do we know if we’re…?”
“You could say it and see how it feels.”
“I love you?”
“Yeah.”
“No, that was me saying it.”
“And that was me saying yeah, it sounded good. How did it feel?”
“Like I was asking a question. Hold on.” Mark held a finger up. Took a breath. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“And that’s it?”
“What else is there supposed to be?”
Mark shrugged. “I thought maybe music would swell, or the plane you were supposed to be on would take off in the distance. Or that I’d feel like an idiot.”
“Do you?”
Mark shook his head. “Nope.”
“Well, good, Mark. It’s about time you realized how often you call it completely right.”
“I wrote on my lit exam that Flannery O’Connor founded a chain of popular Irish pubs.”
Deacon rolled his eyes. “I said often. Not always.”
“I might fail lit.”
“You can retake it.”
“I’m not in Alpha Delt anymore.”
“Their loss.”
But I am in love. And that seems way more important.
“Can we do the arse filling now?” Mark asked.
“Absolutely.”
They headed upstairs.
* * * *
Mark looked good. Put a suit on a guy, and it could work miracles, and Mark hadn’t been anything near ugly to begin with. But that suit. Even his black eye and swollen cheek couldn’t take away what that suit was doing for him. Deacon’s suit was from the rental place on High Street, off the rack. He had the feeling that Mark’s was the sort where some guy felt you up with a tape measure and made the whole thing from scratch.
They’d hired a limo. That had been Matt’s idea. Or, most likely, Kate’s. They’d split costs with James and Tony too, so with dates included, eight of them piled out at the country club for the Alpha Delta and Phi Sigma Winter Wonderland Formal.
Mark was nervous. He curled his fingers through Deacon’s when they got out of the limo and walked in together.
“We’ll have fun tonight,” Deacon assured Mark as they passed through the curtain of shimmering tinsel snowflakes at the entrance.
Which was probably a lie.
The moment they arrived, they were accosted by Blake.
“Hey, little bro,” he said enthusiastically to Mark and slapped him on the shoulder. “We missed you at the initiation last night. Bengal said you quit, but I was like, bullshit, he—” Blake did a double take. An actual cartoonish double take. “What happened to your face, dude? You guys like the rough stuff, hey?” And leered at Deacon. Possibly approvingly. It was hard to tell.
“Got in a fight,” Mark said.
“Did you win?” Blake asked, his gaze dropping to Mark’s lapel. “Bro, where’s your pledge pin? Bengal will have a fit if you forgot it. You’ve got to give them back tonight.”
Mark mumbled something.
A flurry of people arriving pushed them toward an alcove.
“What?” Blake asked. “What’d you say?” He tugged on the sleeve of a guy in a suit standing near them. “Jackson, hey, your idiot cousin forgot his pin.”
Jackson turned, eyes rolling. Then he frowned. “What happened to your face?”
They didn’t know. Deacon hadn’t expected that. And neither had Mark, from the look on his face.
“I got in a fight,” he said, his voice wooden.
Deacon reached out and took his hand and squeezed it.
“It doesn’t look too bad,” Jackson said. “But you need to go back to campus and get your pin. Seriously. We need those back. And we need to talk about doing a private initiation for you before you leave for break.”
Mark jutted out his chin. “I’m not in your stupid fucking frat anymore, okay? I’m only here as Deke’s date.”
Jackson stared at him. “So you really did quit?” he said coolly. “Because I didn’t believe Bengal for a second.”
Mark didn’t say anything.
Blake’s face fell. “Are you serious, Mark? Why didn’t you tell me you wanted out?”
“I didn’t want out,” Mark said. Deacon heard the waver in his voice. “Bengal kicked me out, okay? Because I didn’t go to enough pledge activities that he didn’t tell me about. So fuck him, and fuck the rest of you.”
“Mark,” Jackson said. “What do you mean he didn’t tell you?”
“He’s supposed to tell you,” Blake confirmed.
“Well, he didn’t,” Mark said. “And then he punched me in the face and told me to go fuck myself. So thanks for everything, Alpha Delts. It’s been a fucking pleasure. Next time you extend a bid to a pledge, you might want to warn him it’ll be about as much fun as masturbating vigorously with sandpaper.” He glared at Deacon. “You want to dance now?”
“Sure,” Deacon said. It would take a braver man than him to refuse the angry bunny.
Mark hauled him onto the dance floor.
It had been a mistake to leave the Alpha Delts in charge of hiring the DJ. The guy played a lot of shit Deacon had never heard. Although Deacon wasn’t exactly up with what the kids were listening to. And now he felt like he was forty-one instead of twenty-one. Shades of his father: “That’s not music. That’s just noise.”
But it was noise with a beat, and Mark’s arms were around his neck, and it was a lot less pitiful than swaying awkwardly with some sorority girl. Deacon wanted to tell Mark how incredibly brave it had been for him to come here tonight, but a part of him knew that Mark didn’t want to hear it. To tell him he was brave was to remind him he was scared, and Mark wouldn’t want that. Not here. Deacon would save it for later, for when they were alone and Mark only had to expose himself to one person, not a hall full of them.
I’m starting to get you now, Mark Cooper.
“What are you smiling about?” Mark asked him, still frowning.
Deacon’s smile grew. “I’m dancing with the boy I love. What’s not to smile about?”
Angry bunny beat a swift retreat.
“Shut up,” Mark said, his face turning red and his own smile appearing. “You’re just glad I didn’t cause a scene.”
“That wasn’t a scene?” Deacon teased him.
Mark leaned in closer, his breath warm against Deacon’s cheek. “Oh, Deke, that was fucking nothing.”
“I bet it wasn’t.”
“I can go off,” Mark promised. “Like a frog in a sock.”
Deacon stopped. “That’s a thing?”
Mark tilted his head. “It’s a saying. I don’t know if it’s a thing. I’ve never literally put a frog in a sock. I don’t think frogs would stand for that sort of treatment.”
“If you did, I’d have to call the ASPCA,” Deacon said.
Mark punched him lightly in the shoulder. “RSPCA.”
“Close enough,” Deacon said.
Mark smiled again. “Yeah. Close enough.”
Deacon drew him into the dance again. Okay, so the DJ was playing hip-hop and Deacon and Mark were…well, swaying, but that was what you got with Mark. He marched to the beat of his own drum, and you fell into step with him. And that was okay. Deacon had always wanted to be one of those people—the ones who didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought—but he wasn’t. And neither was Mark, exactly. They were a good fit. Mark could be fun and reckless, and Deacon could make sure he didn’t go too far. In every relationship, someone had to remember to pay taxes and put fuel in the car, right? And someone had to remember that they were twenty-one and eighteen, and life was supposed to be fun.
Mark leaned in again. “I think, without you, this year would have sucked.”
“I know this year would have sucked,” Deacon said. “It would have been like every other year at Prescott for me. Except I wouldn’t have realized it sucked, because I didn’t know it until you were there.” He shook his head. “I don’t think I’m making sense.”
“I think you are,” Mark said and tugged his head down for a kiss.
And there it was. That moment Deacon had been secretly dreaming of since high school. Kissing a boy in the middle of a dance, in a room full of mostly straight people who never needed to worry about making a scene. Deacon didn’t care if anyone was watching. Deacon wasn’t doing this because he was out and proud and didn’t care who knew it. He was doing this because it was Mark, and he loved him.
And it was one of those moments that could have lasted forever, if not for the sudden crash and screams from the other end of the ballroom. The music was shut off.
Deacon and Mark pulled apart and craned their necks to see.
They saw Blake, standing over the collapsed table. And Bengal, on the floor, drenched in punch.
“Because you’re a fucking asshole,” Blake shouted, pointing a beefy finger in Bengal’s direction. “Because you always go too fucking far, and because he was my little bro!”
“Holy fuck,” Mark squeaked.
Chris and Jackson swept in out of nowhere. Chris took Blake by the shoulder and led him away, talking to him in a low voice.
Bengal reached for Jackson to help him up.
Jackson shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away.
“Holy fuck,” Mark said again.
A bunch of girls in glittery dresses and heels descended to help Bengal to his feet, twittering sympathetically. But not a single guy. None of the Phi Sigs, who knew it was none of their business. None of the waiters, who weren’t paid enough for that shit. And none of the Alpha Delts, who had maybe discovered there was a line after all.
Jackson crossed the dance floor. He nodded at Deacon and looked at Mark. “You’re pledging again next semester.”
“I don’t think I am,” Mark said.
“You are,” Jackson told him. “For Blake.”
“Um,” said Mark. He looked at Deacon worriedly. “Maybe?”
“Bengal will be out,” Jackson said. “The process will be a lot different. I gotta go see if we’ll get our security deposit back. You need a ride home for Christmas?”
“Sure,” Mark said, his eyes too big for his face. “I’m, um… Deke and I are going to Tannersville. But if you’re still around when we get back, okay. Thanks.”
Jackson walked away.
“Deke,” Mark said, “I think I’m back in.”
“You don’t have to be,” Deacon reminded him.
“Blake just punched Bengal in the face,” Mark said. “I think that maybe I kind of do. I think that maybe I kind of want to.”
“Okay,” Deacon said. He wrapped an arm around Mark’s waist. “I’m sort of relieved.”
“Are you?”
Deacon nodded. “Sure. How could we be Romeo and Juliet if we didn’t belong to two feuding houses?”
“Both alike in dignity,” Mark added.
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Deacon said, raising his eyebrows.
“Nerd,” Mark said.
“Angry bunny.”
“What?”
Deacon pulled him closer. “Nothing.”
Mark eyed him suspiciously.
Then the DJ hit the music again, so they danced.