TEN

 

It was so stupid. It was nothing but a chemical attraction, this thing between him and Grant. Desire, lust, that was all that it was, and the fact that it felt like more was actually cause for concern.

So then why did Tristan feel drunk, even though he hadn’t had a drink the entire time that he and Grant had been together? Why was it like he couldn’t even think about anything but Grant, about how the other man had looked under him, how triumphant Tristan had felt when he saw Grant coming for him?

Funny. Tristan would never have thought that Grant would be willing to sleep with him at all, much less bottom for him.

Early the next morning, before anyone was awake, Tristan and Grant snuck into the frat house. They probably should have been more careful, but it was a Sunday morning, and it wasn’t like most of their frat brothers were known for being particularly early risers. Grant still had his arm around Tristan, and Tristan found himself enjoying the closeness, so he didn’t pull away.

He should have, though, because as it turned out, someone was awake. Maybe the worst possible person, the man who was always looking for ways to make Grant’s life hell.

Warren was actually, for once, doing homework. It was odd, the older man never seemed to study, but he got decent enough grades to keep his football scholarship. Now, Tristan thought he knew why. Warren studied when no one else was around, just another part of his bullshit too-cool-for-you act. Tristan could remember being impressed by Warren while they were both growing up, but the last remnants of that hero worship were disappearing quickly.

Warren was just a guy, and a bit of a fragile one, too, if he needed to hide that he was studying while he was, of all things, at school.

“Where were you guys?” Warren asked, too casual about the words and about the way that he pushed his various books and binders together as though to hide them.

“Out,” Tristan replied, short and sweet and really more of an answer than Warren was entitled to. Still, he pulled away from Grant’s hand, which had been resting on the small of Tristan’s back, a possessive little touch that Tristan had rather liked until about ten seconds ago.

“Out where? It’s seven in the morning,” Warren pointed out, and there was something predatory about his gaze as he looked at the two of them. Like he had them trapped, or maybe more like his suspicions about them were being confirmed.

Or was that just his own guilty conscience? In Warren’s eyes, Tristan saw a playful malice that could ruin his life, if Warren wanted. Tristan’s parents liked Warren, Tristan was very aware of that. From a very young age, he and Warren had been pushed together by both sets of parents, as a very appropriate friendship. Warren’s family was in marketing, Tristan’s was in media, and their fathers worked together quite a lot.

“Just out,” Tristan told him, locking eyes with Warren, and he even managed not to look away for a couple of seconds. But Warren looked too amused, and Tristan found his eyes, despite all of his best efforts, sliding away. “It’s none of your business.”

Grant stirred beside him, and Tristan didn’t even dare to look at him. Grant was just watching, probably judging, but what was Tristan supposed to do? He was already telling Warren to back off, but he wanted to sound so much stronger than he did.

It was like Warren could read his guilt, like Tristan had a sign over his head. And if Warren ever knew for sure, and decided to tell Tristan’s family, it would all be over for him. He would be on his own, for the first time in his life, without the crutch of his family’s money and social connections to hold him up.

He wasn’t ready for that. Part of him wished that he could be, and he knew that Grant would be disgusted by the whole thing, but it was just the truth. So it was freaky enough for him to tell Warren off in the first place.

“Fine. Don’t tell me. I don’t give a shit,” Warren informed him, then deliberately turned away from them both. But Tristan didn’t make the mistake of believing him. Warren very much did care, and would use anything that he could, Tristan knew, to get Grant kicked out. Preferably right out of the school.

So this man potentially had the power to ruin both of their lives, and Tristan fought back a groan as he turned away from Warren. His eyes caught on Grant’s, and in them, he saw all of the judgment that he had feared to see. But Grant had every reason, just as Tristan did, to keep this a secret, didn’t he?

It was all too much and on not enough sleep. So Tristan did the only logical thing that he could do, and he walked away from both of them and right to bed.

 

* * *

 

Pranking, hazing, was a normal part of life in a fraternity, Tristan was coming to learn. Everyone was at risk, but the freshmen, the new guys, more than anyone else. It was generally all in good fun, but it could definitely sometimes get nasty, too, like when Jason, another of the new people, had been lured outside in nothing but his boxers. It had been in the front yard, too, so anyone going by could see.

It had been Grant who had let him in, of course. Grant didn’t seem to approve of a lot of the pranks, though it was oddly worse when it was against other people than against himself. Warren’s pranks, in particular, were notoriously bad, and Tristan watched as Grant, probably without even being able to help it, made more than a few people love him because he got them out of bad situations.

Tristan himself hadn’t been hit too hard yet, and that made him nervous. Warren must have something pretty bad in mind, he figured. But as the days passed, it seemed like Warren wanted to forget about him more than anything else.

They were into October now, and gradually, Tristan was starting to calm down. He had spoken to his father the night before, and nothing had been said about Grant, or about disowning Tristan. Just some inquiries about his studies, a quick call, less than five minutes, just like normal. No mention of being proud of him, of course, but Tristan had stopped expecting that years ago.

It was better than his mother, though, who barely seemed to remember that he was alive most of the time.

Grant, on the other hand, was getting the full works. And to Tristan, it seemed like it was Warren who was not only the ringleader but pretty much the only one who was still doing it. Grant had endeared himself to everyone else, no matter how willing they had been to judge him before, but Warren remained the sole holdout.

It was juvenile stuff, most of it. Stealing Grant’s boxers and tossing them into the women’s locker room. Running every tap in the house on burning hot while Grant was in the shower so that his water turned to liquid ice as he was trying to clean himself. Petty, but generally harmless.

Or so Tristan thought until he walked into the room that he shared with Grant and saw that it had been completely rearranged.

Grant was at football practice, and Tristan had just been thinking that it might be fun to go down and see him. To watch him practice, even though it made him feel pathetically like he was back in high school, and he was one of the hordes of people who had a thing for the guys on the football team.

It didn’t feel that bad, though, because it was Grant. Maybe he was becoming a walking stereotype, but he was strangely okay with that, in this one very special situation. He was actually smiling to himself as he thought about it, or at least, he was until he pushed open the door to his room.

The beds had been pushed together, his and Grant’s, and neatly made up so that they looked like they were one big bed. There were flower petals scattered around, and even candles burning, filling the room with a delicate scent. Over the bed there was a banner stretched out that simply read Congrats, faggots.

Tristan stopped right in his tracks, and it felt to him like his face had been frozen and someone had punched him so hard in the gut that he couldn’t even draw breath for a few seconds. He just stared around the room and hated himself.

He was back in high school again. He had told his best friend, or the boy that he had thought was his best friend, that he was gay, and that he had a crush on another boy. He hadn’t even had time to tell him who it was, that the boy that Tristan liked was the one he was telling that he was gay.

He had been told to shut up back then, and things had never been the same. That had been the beginning of the end for him at that high school, because his former friend, it seemed, couldn’t keep his mouth shut. It had been all over the school soon enough, and that’s when the beatings had started.

He’d learned his lessons pretty well, and had made decisions that would, he thought, probably affect the rest of his life. First, not to let feelings be any part of his decisions. Second, not to tell people that he was interested in men, not unless they were people he was taking to bed. Third, to be okay with being alone.

Back then, his parents hadn’t even asked why he was leaving the school. Maybe they’d heard. All he really knew was that they’d both gotten much more distant, and something, some new wariness, had woken inside of him which had told him not to get into it with them.

This was a challenge to all of that. And maybe the worst part was, he had thought, for just a second, that it had been Grant who had done this incredibly romantic thing. Until he’d seen the banner, he had actually had a brief second of this swooshing feeling right in the center of his stomach, a moment of happiness, because Grant was romantic enough that he might just do something cheesy like the flowers and candles thing.

So the betrayal felt worse than ever, and for a second, Tristan’s eyes stung before he forced them to stay dry through sheer force of effort. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who had done this. There was really only one person that it could be, Warren.

Had they been found out? Or was Warren just suspicious? What would happen if Warren decided to take this a step further? His mind was whirling, and all thoughts of going to see Grant died down completely.

There was only one thing to do, and he did it. He stood on his bed and pulled down the banner, crumpling it up into the tiniest little parcel that he could manage. That was better, but then there were the beds to push back apart, and the dozens of rose petals to pick up, and the candles to blow out and bundle up.

Working feverishly, he had it undone in seconds, and everything stuffed safely into the dumpster outside. Grant would never know, and neither would anyone else who happened to glance into the room. Unless Warren had brought other people in on the cruel joke, the veiled homophobic threat.

Some people might see it as just a stupid little prank, but Tristan knew Warren, and he knew better. It was nothing less than a prank, and as he watched everything fall into the dumpster to be safely swallowed up by the other garbage, he had to face some unfortunate truths.

He knew better than to think that he could give Grant up completely, but he was going to have to be more careful. They both were.