Andy wasn't gay. He wasn't bi, either. He wasn't even really into guys. All of those times he'd found himself in Drew's bed were just a favor to Drew. Andy was doing his duty as a friend—a public service really—by helping his inexperienced roommate get a little action.

At least that's what he kept telling himself.

And he was having fun, which was what mattered the most. He didn't want to think about labels or identities. He didn't want to think about what it meant that he'd been hooking up with a guy for weeks now. He didn't want to think about the fact that, lately, he'd barely given a second glance to girls he normally would have flirted with.

He was just busy, Andy told himself. Between crew and school and trying to figure out whatever the hell he'd do after graduation, it was easier to just make out with the person in the bed across the room.

Even if that person was a guy.

Even if that person was his teammate.

Even if that person was his best friend.

It only had to be weird, Andy thought, if they made it weird.

* * *

The crew team's first regatta was the Head of the West Fork, which, conveniently, was located right in Linfield. The day was a perfect fall morning, cool without being cold, the air brisk and fresh.

"Wanna go up to the hill and watch Max and Finn race?" Drew said, handing Andy a granola bar. Andy nodded, pulling his sweatpants on over his rowing uni, and followed Drew down the little pathway that led to a grassy hill from which they'd be able to see the racecourse.

"What'd you think of the race?" Drew asked.

"Good," Andy said through a mouthful of granola bar. "Much better than I expected."

Drew grinned and nodded. Considering the horrendous practices they'd been having recently, the fact that they'd made it across the finish line without sinking or losing a teammate overboard seemed like a success to Andy.

"Thank god for Tina," Drew said.

"Ugh, seriously," Andy said. "If she weren't gay, I'd ask her to marry me."

"Hell, I might propose," Drew said. Tina had given them all a pep talk that morning in the chilly pre-dawn mist by the water, and it had clearly worked—that race had been the first time the eight rowers had really felt in sync for the first time all semester.

They settled onto the grass of the hill. Most of their teammates were watching the races with the other spectators from the bleachers set up along the river near the announcers, but Andy knew that Drew preferred to watch from an area that wasn't packed with people.

Andy hugged his knees up to his chest. His whole body had been slick with sweat and river water during their race, but now that he was no longer exerting himself, he was cold, his uni still damp under his sweatshirt and sweatpants.

"Want some?" Drew said, passing Andy a thermos he hadn't noticed Drew was carrying. "Coffee."

"Oh, hell yeah," Andy said. He opened the lid, eyeing the liquid suspiciously. "Nice, you put sugar and milk in it."

Drew snorted.

"I figured you'd want some, and I knew you wouldn't drink it black."

Andy took a sip, the coffee warming him instantly.

"Thanks, man," he said, handing it back.

Drew shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked out across the water.

"I think that's them," he said, pointing.

Andy squinted and a little speck on the water near the starting line resolved into the familiar shape of his friends.

"They look good out there," Andy said, and Drew nodded.

"Yeah," Drew said, taking a sip from the thermos. "They've been working super hard."

Andy and Drew watched their friends warm up for their race. Max and Finn rowed as a seamless unit, two halves of a whole, completely in tune with one another.

Andy expected himself to feel jealous. Max and Finn were the most talented rowers and the most popular people on the team. Everyone wanted to be them—or be with them. They had that rare kind of soulmate friendship, too, where they'd been attached at the hip since the day they'd met.

But Andy didn't feel jealous. He just felt happy for his friends and proud of the work they'd done. Andy didn't want to be out there, his stomach fizzing with pre-race jitters. He wanted to be right where he was, sitting on a hill in the weak autumn sun, with his best friend and a thermos of sweet, milky coffee.

"Y'know," Drew said after a while. "I thought I was going to be kind of upset today. To see them racing without us."

Andy glanced over at Drew, who was still looking out across the river. It was rare for Drew to talk about his feelings—Andy knew Drew wasn't completely devoid of emotion, but he sometimes wondered what it was like to live in Drew's head, to not be a walking human catastrophe.

"Really?" Andy asked.

"Yeah," Drew said with a casual shrug. "Last year was so great, you know? I liked rowing with them, and it was awesome when we medaled. I thought I might feel kind of shitty rowing in a less competitive boat. But… I dunno. I'm not."

"Yeah," Andy said, smiling. "It's kind of funny you say that, because I was just thinking how… I thought I'd be jealous of them. But I'm not either. I'm just excited to see them kick some ass."

Drew shot Andy a grin that made Andy feel warm and sunny inside. Andy had never been afraid to tell Drew everything, even those small, shameful thoughts like being jealous of Max and Finn.

And that, Andy thought, was what a true friend was—someone that had seen him not only at his best, but at his worst too, and had stayed by his side through it all.

* * *

There was a girl sitting in Andy's lap, and Andy wasn't quite sure how she'd gotten there.

They were all at a crew party to celebrate surviving Head of the West Fork. It was a crew team tradition and one of the biggest parties of the year. Even Finn, who hadn't been drinking much to make weight for the race, seemed to be having fun, and Andy watched with amusement as Finn nearly dumped his beer on Tina while he gestured wildly with his hands.

Andy turned his attention back to the girl sitting on top of him, trying to figure out who she was and where she'd come from. She definitely wasn't on the crew team—she was dressed too nicely for that. Most of the girls on the team, exhausted after such a grueling day, were just in sweatpants and rowing t-shirts.

The girl was chattering at him, and Andy realized he had no idea what she was talking about. He took a sip of his drink—some vile punch concoction that was brutally effective at creating hangovers—and tried to focus on her, but it wasn't working. She was telling some exceptionally boring story about a class project and his mind kept wandering.

Andy looked across the room. Drew was leaning against the wall, chatting with one of their teammates. Drew glanced over, and Andy saw Drew's dark eyes glance between him and the girl on his lap.

Drew caught Andy's eye, flashed a quick easy smile, then turned back to the person he was talking to.

And Andy felt… bad.

Something unpleasant jolted through him, cutting into the soft haze of drunkenness. The first word that came to mind was jealousy, but that didn't make any sense. How could Andy be jealous of Drew? Andy was the one with a cute girl sitting in his lap.

The second word Andy thought of was loss, but that wasn't right either. What, after all, had Andy lost? If he wanted to, he could go home with this girl, and judging by the look on Drew's face, Drew wouldn't care at all.

And that's when it hit him. Andy wanted Drew to care.

He wanted Drew to be jealous, to feel some flash of possessiveness when he saw Andy with someone else.

But that didn't make any sense, either. Andy wasn't into guys. He wasn't into Drew. Drew could find some guy to go home with and Andy wouldn't care. Because Drew didn't mean anything to him, beyond purely platonic friendship.

Andy heard a crunching noise and glanced down. He realized he'd been squeezing his red plastic cup so hard it had broken, and now punch was dripping down his arm.

"I, uh—gotta go," Andy said, rather unceremoniously shoving the girl off his lap and standing up. He rushed into the kitchen to wash himself off, and he realized his hands were shaking as he ran them under the warm water.

Andy didn't care about Drew—not that way, at least. Maybe, Andy told himself, he was just being shitty. Maybe he just wanted Drew to want him. Maybe it felt good, imagining himself the object of someone else's desire.

But, of course, if Drew had a crush on Andy—which Andy was sure he didn't—it certainly wasn't reciprocated.

Because Andy was definitely still straight.

"We're gonna head out," a voice said, and Andy's head snapped up. He realized he'd been staring at the water rushing down the drain for a while now, his hands now bright pink from the hot water.

He turned the tap off and looked over to see Max and Finn in the doorway. Finn's arm was draped around Max's shoulder for support, though Max didn't seem like his coordination was much better at the moment.

"Sounds good," Andy said, plastering a smile across his face. "I think we're sticking around for a while."

After Max and Finn slurred their goodbyes, Andy wandered back into the living room, where the party was in full swing now. He'd had plenty to drink that night, but at that moment he felt almost sober and very strange, as if things—the people, the noises, even his own hands—were slightly further away than usual.

He'd felt like this before, and by now he knew how to push through it. He kept his grin firmly in place and dove into a conversation with a group of the novice rowers, knowing that he just had to grit his teeth and wait for that unpleasant tingling down his spine to abate.

A little while later, though, he felt a hand on his arm and glanced over to see Drew.

"Hey," Drew said, leaning in closer so Andy would be able to hear. "Do you wanna go back?"

Andy blinked up at Drew as if he hadn't understood the question. He did want to go, he realized—he desperately wanted to be out of the house that was too hot, too loud, too bright, too much.

Andy let himself be guided outside, and once they were out of earshot of the people on the front porch, Drew turned to Andy.

"What's wrong?" Drew said.

"Nothing," Andy said with a smile. "Are you okay? Why'd you want to go?"

Drew didn't respond. He frowned, his eyes raking over Andy's expression as if there were some puzzle there to be solved.

"Seriously, Andy, what's up?" Drew said.

It was Andy's turn to frown.

"I literally have no idea what you're talking about," Andy said, and he couldn’t help feeling as if he'd disappointed Drew somehow. He started down the street towards campus but Drew still wasn't moving. The night was crisp, and Drew's profile was haloed in orange light from the streetlamp above.

"You're doing that thing," Drew said, crossing his arms over his chest. His brow was still furrowed.

"What thing?" Andy said, throwing his hands up in despair. He was drunk and confused and frustrated, and he just wanted to go home. "Why are you mad at me?"

Drew uncrossed his arms immediately, and his face softened as he took a step towards Andy.

"I'm not—I'm not mad at you," Drew said gently. "I'm worried."

"I'm fi—"

"You're not fine," Drew said. "You get like this. All weird and quiet and you have that super tense fake smile."

Andy blinked again, speechless. He'd always thought no one saw these little moments he sometimes had, when the world got bright and loud and strange. But now here Drew was, looking down at him with concern written clearly across his face.

"It's just—it's just this thing that happens," Andy said. He started down the sidewalk towards campus—movement usually made him feel better—and Drew followed along. He scrambled for words, trying to explain to Drew how these moments came and went seemingly without cause, how the time became slow and syrupy, how he felt cold and a million miles away from earth.

He stopped suddenly and trailed off, looking down at the dead leaves at their feet.

"What are you anxious about?" Drew said softly.

"Anxious?" Andy said, looking up. Drew was closer than Andy realized. Andy glanced up and down the deserted street—they were completely alone and it would have been too easy to lean in and kiss him without anyone seeing.

"Yeah, like what are you worried about?" Drew said. "It sounds like an anxiety attack."

Andy made a face.

"It's not an anxiety attack—" Andy said.

"Are you sure?" Drew said. "Because I was talking with Lorraine after practice the other day and she has an anxiety disorder and—"

"I'm not… I don't have that," Andy said. That wouldn't even make any sense, he told himself. He was Andy Craig, the guy who started studying for tests the morning of, the guy who'd never been nervous for any class presentation he'd ever given, the guy who was known for being completely carefree.

He didn't have an anxiety disorder.

"I'm not saying you do," Drew said. "I'm just saying… that's kind of what it sounds like. And it's okay. Is there something that's stressing you?"

You, Andy thought immediately, which surprised him.

Because Drew didn't stress Andy out. In fact, Drew was just about the only thing that made Andy feel better in that moment. And whatever he and Drew were doing was starting to feel like something more to Andy. Something… important.

And that scared the shit out of him.

"Nah," Andy said with a casual shrug. "It's not—it passed anyway. I'm fine."

Drew pressed his lips into a thin line, and Andy could tell he wasn't fooled at all.

"C'mon," Andy said. "I'm tired. Let's go home."

They did go home. The apartment was quiet and dark—Max and Finn were already asleep. When they got into their room, Andy pulled the door shut behind him and was on top of Drew in a heartbeat, before he had time to second guess himself.

Andy didn't have anxiety. He wasn't attracted to guys. He just… needed a distraction. And Drew's body, strong and solid and hot underneath him, seemed like the best option.

Andy worked his hand underneath Drew's waistband, finding his cock there, already hard and heavy. They never got all the way undressed during these… sessions, or whatever they could be called. That had always felt too intimate, too much. Hell, they never even kissed. But tonight, as they jerked each other off, Andy felt himself wishing he could feel Drew's skin against his, Drew's mouth on his.

Andy was still laying on top of Drew, working Drew's cock between them, and Andy turned his head, brushing his lips experimentally along Drew's neck. Drew let out a low, appreciative hum, tilting his head to expose more of his neck, his fingers digging into Andy's hips where he gripped them.

Feeling bolder, Andy nipped lightly at the skin, and Drew made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, his cock twitching in Andy's hand.

Andy sat back on his heels suddenly. His body and mind seemed unpleasantly segmented—his cock, his skin, his hands were begging him to shut up and keep going, but his head spinning trying to keep up the cognitive dissonance of what he was doing.

"I—I'm straight," Andy said, looking down at Drew. In the dim light, Drew's dark eyes looked inky black, and his lips were slightly parted, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow.

"Uh—" Drew said, startled. "Y-yeah. I know that." His voice was a little breathless.

"Okay," Andy said, his hand still wrapped around Drew's cock.

"Okay," Drew said, nodding.

"Yeah," Andy said, faltering at the rare glimpse of hesitancy on Drew's face. He didn't want to make Drew think that Andy didn't want to—didn't want him—

Fuck it, Andy thought. He was still a little tipsy, and he was confused and tired and turned on. He rolled onto his side and dragged Drew's hand to his own crotch. And they lay like that, side by side, just the sound of skin on skin and ragged gasps in the darkness, jerking one another off just like every other time.

And Andy pretended he wasn't exhilarated and terrified all at once.