Archive of Our Own

Todd swipes his hands through his hair once more before finally giving up and sighing dejectedly at the mirror. Two strands of hair immediately fall back into his face, taunting him. He looks himself over a couple of times, fidgeting with the collar of the shirt he’d borrowed from Jeff. It’s a little baggy, making his arms look skinny, and it doesn’t bring out the color of his eyes like it does for Jeff. But it’s nice, he supposes, certainly nicer than the shirts he’d originally packed, which are now lost with the rest of his luggage, casualties of the airline.

A knock interrupts Todd’s spiral of self-criticism, making him jump. “Todd? Are you ready, man?” Jeff says through the door. “We’re running late.”

Todd sighs once more and takes a final glance in the mirror. He should’ve come up with an excuse instead of primping. He probably could have mustered a half-convincing stomach bug. Now, though, it would be too convenient, and even Jeff would be unlikely to grant Todd that much leeway. It’s just that parties aren’t Todd’s “thing,” they’re another one of Jeff’s “things,” and Todd always ends up trying to blend into the wallpaper in a corner full of loners or disappearing on his own to find someplace that isn’t so goddamn loud.

Unfortunately, Jeff had not only strongly suggested that Todd come along to the party; he’d made attendance a mandatory condition of Todd borrowing his clothes until they get his luggage back from the airline, so it was either this or living in dollar store t-shirts for the next week.

“You look nice,” Jeff comments once Todd finally steps out. “You’ve just got a – here, let me…” He brushes Todd’s hair away from his face, and it miraculously stays. Todd quells the urge to mess it up again, to find some small way to assert his autonomy in this situation. It doesn’t help that Jeff looks – well, like Jeff, like Todd but older and more toned and with straighter teeth. “Now come on; I wasn’t kidding about being late.”

“Aren’t we, like, almost an hour late?” Todd grumbles as they make their way out of Jeff’s apartment.

“Nobody shows up when these things actually start,” Jeff shoots back over his shoulder. “I told the guys we’d meet up at 10:30, and you're cuttin’ it real close.”

Todd rolls his eyes at Jeff’s back. They continue in tense silence to the parking garage, the cool end-of-summer wind whipping through Todd’s hair and undoing Jeff’s handiwork. Todd revels in the resulting satisfaction. None of this had been his idea: going to this party, sharing Jeff’s clothes, living in Jeff’s apartment, hell, coming to Columbia. He hadn’t been crazy about Balincrest, but it had been tolerable. It was smaller, cozier, and devoid of anyone who knew about Jeff. Here, though, despite the sheer size of their school, his brother already seems to be the big man on campus once more. Todd’s only saving grace is that Jeff has allowed him to avoid the other social events of this weekend, so he just has to make it through tonight.

“Look,” Jeff starts as they get into his car. “I understand that you’re not thrilled about –” he waves his hand vaguely “– all of this. And I’m sorry that our parents pushed you into it. But there are really good people here, Todd. You should give them a chance.”

Todd chews his lip for a moment, thinking of a response. As much as he wants to lash out, it really isn’t Jeff’s fault that the events of the past – well, 20 years – occurred. They’re both stuck in this situation together: Todd, the awkward tag-along; Jeff, the confident, successful eldest, reluctantly forced to incorporate Todd into everything. He wonders if Jeff has also resented their arrangement, if he’s wanted Columbia to himself the same way Todd had wanted Balincrest to himself.

“I’m not –” he hesitates, wanting to defend himself, but Jeff is kind of right that he hasn’t intended to give Columbia a chance. “I’m just, I’m not like you. I’m not good at talking and mingling and that kind of stuff.”

“You’re overthinking it.”

“That’s easy for you to –”

“No, Todd, seriously, don’t think so hard about it. Just make small talk, ask questions, move around.”

That sounds like hell, Todd thinks.

“Or just practice on the bartender. They’re a captive audience.”

“There’s going to be a bartender?”

“Yeah, this place always has one. Don’t drink, by the way.” He shoots a concerned look at Todd, clearly regretting letting the bartender secret slip. “Mom and Dad will kill me if I let you get drunk your first night here.”

“Jeff, you said this was going to be small,” Todd says, brushing off the comment about drinking. It’s not even something he’d considered, to be honest. His only prior experience with drinking had been splitting a six-pack of beer with a couple other guys in high school, and he hadn’t cared for the taste or the effect. The opportunity hasn’t really presented itself since.

“Small-ish,” Jeff shrugs. “And I’m serious about the drinking thing.” Todd rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone, pregaming for the next few hours, and Jeff takes the opportunity to turn up his insufferable bro-country playlist that he seems to reserve exclusively for car rides with Todd. He rolls the window down, which makes the car even louder, much to Todd’s chagrin.

They continue the ride without interaction – their mother hates that, had once told Todd that silent rides made her feel like a cab driver, but she’d quickly given up after they ran out of things to talk about within five minutes – until Jeff hunts down a parking spot.

“We’re gonna have to walk from here,” he says apologetically. “The parking nearby is nuts.”

So they do. The brightness of the city streets is enough that it almost feels like it isn’t really nighttime. This city really never sleeps, Todd thinks, a feeling of uneasiness spreading through his chest. It worsens when they arrive to the tallest building that he’s ever fucking seen.

Jeff enters a code at the door, and suddenly they’re inside the most elegant lobby Todd’s ever seen in his life. There are ornate light fixtures and art pieces that look like they belong in a museum, and he figures each piece of furniture is worth more than all of his organs combined. There’s a doorman – Todd didn’t even know those were real – who quickly sends them up in a sleek, modern elevator that requires another code.

“Jeff,” he says once the doors have closed. “Is your friend some kind of royalty? Or a billionaire’s illegitimate child?”

Jeff flushes a bit as he seems to notice the opulence around them for the first time. “Um – you know those guys that got rich off of the housing market collapse?” Todd nods. “Yeah, Charlie’s dad was one of those guys, and now he’s a hedge fund manager, so Charlie’s a … billionaire’s legitimate child?”

Todd just stares at him for a beat, mouth agape. There are a thousand things he wants to say, most of them variations of who are you and how the fuck is this normal to you and what am I about to walk into and how did you not prepare me for it. Before he can say any of that, though, the doors open into a large foyer. Todd can feel the music through the floor as they step into the room, and the queasiness he’s felt since they arrived doubles. Forget being resigned to the corner with his phone; he actively welcomes it at this point.

A young, well-groomed man stands at the front door, wearing a polo and blue jeans. He appears to be texting, but as he allows Todd and Jeff into the apartment, Todd notices a bulge on his hip and the way his muscles strain under his shirt. His gaze travels up to the man’s face, but the other’s eyes are elsewhere, flicking around the room. Upon closer inspection, he’s definitely older than the college crowd; Todd would place him in his late twenties. Jeff still makes no indication that any of this is out of the ordinary.

Todd can barely think as they step into the apartment itself. The floor is vibrating now with the sounds of the bass, and the lights are dim. It’s like being one step up from a nightclub, and he already regrets entering.

“C’mon, the guys are waiting for us,” Jeff yells over his shoulder as he drags Todd past the kitchen and into a room filled with old arcade games, a pool table, an air hockey table, and what he thinks might be a skee-ball machine in the corner.

They make their way to the pool table, where Jeff is met with cheers and good-natured jostling. Todd has met a couple of his friends before, but now, in the artificial light of the machines, they look even more like carbon copies of Jeff. Clean-cut. Outgoing but approachable. The kind of guys you could picture on a ski trip or in a dive bar. A couple hold beer bottles, while the others clutch less conspicuous red solo cups. Todd zones out as Jeff goes around, introducing each of them to him. They all shake his hand in a similar firm, but not overpowering motion.

Commence the polite conversation: year, major, hobbies, maybe clubs if they get that far. Todd has it down to a precise science by now, the perfect formula to remain polite while also avoiding an actual conversation. The few of Jeff’s friends who make a legitimate attempt to talk to him eventually taper off one by one, leaving Todd to recline against the wall with the Coke Jeff has provided him. It’s now just a waiting game.

“Hey, Emma’s over by the beer pong table,” one of Jeff’s friends – Sam? Sean? Seth? – finally says, and Todd could kiss him, he’s so grateful. “You should go say hi.” Even in the dim light of the room – seriously, why is everything so dark? – he can see the color spreading across Jeff’s face, the way his tongue darts out involuntarily to wet his lips. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Jeff was nervous, but “nervous” and “Jeff” might as well be antonyms.

“Uh, yeah, I should probably – I’m gonna go say hi,” Jeff stammers out. It’s bewildering, the sight of Todd’s charming, composed older brother reduced to a stuttering mess, but Todd will take bewilderment in exchange for freedom. Jeff doesn’t even glance at him when he says, “Stay here. And don’t drink,” before wandering off in pursuit of Emma. Todd waves at Jeff’s retreating back, but it doesn’t take long before Jeff’s friends return to their game and Todd dissolves into the background again. He mumbles out some excuse about needing the bathroom after a few minutes, but Jeff’s friends don’t even turn their heads.

Todd slinks out of the game room in search of somewhere more isolated, but he immediately stumbles into a room with a DJ – Jesus Christ, that’s an actual DJ – and a packed dance floor. He shuffles along the outer edge of the crowd, offering mumbled apologies and only spilling some of his drink as he makes his way to the other side of the room.

Fuck Jeff, he thinks as he darts away from whoever is now wearing the sticky residue of his soda. Jeff can force him to tag along to parties and make small talk with his friends, but he can’t dictate Todd’s behavior all night. Todd won’t let him.

He passes by a kitchen which appears to have a beer pong table across the room, so he hastily moves on. Just because he’s rebelling against Jeff doesn’t mean he’s so reckless as to flaunt it. He ambles through the hallway, glancing into various rooms. There are more games, more music, a bathroom that he deduces is exclusively for women based on the scowls he receives from those in line, and much, much more drinking the further he goes. The promise of a loners’ corner slips further away with each open door he passes, his hope diminishing with each new discovery of rowdy partygoers. He can’t turn back, though. He knows what awaits him if he gives up on his search: lukewarm Coke. Awkward silence. Jeff’s frat-boy friends.

Todd pushes onwards, praying for something, anything, that could provide some solitude. Hell, he’d confront his fear of heights if he could find an empty terrace. Anything to avoid the disaster that this night is shaping up to be, the disaster that Columbia is shaping up to be.

He finally happens upon a room that appears equally packed as the others, but which seems to have a rather fast turnaround. Todd watches silently, unable to properly see through the crowd. People are pouring in and out of the room, most of them clutching similar cups. It’s way too crowded for his tastes, but Todd nevertheless pauses his hunt for a quiet space and joins the haphazard line snaking down the hallway.

For the first time tonight, he gets to catch his breath in relative privacy. He’s surrounded by other partygoers, but none of them take any notice as he takes a spot leaning against the wall and silently scrolls through Twitter. It’s – well, it’s not nice, but it’s alright, and Todd will take that for now.

The line moves quickly, and Todd suddenly finds himself in a spacious, yet cozy room with sofas and tables strewn about. Three walls of the room are lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the fourth, with massive windows that give a spectacular view of the New York City skyline. It’s breathtaking, to put it mildly.

Despite the crowd, the room is somewhat quieter, a rather drastic contrast to the raucous, painfully uncomfortable party raging just outside. There are card games scattered throughout the room, a foosball table, what Todd thinks is a karaoke area, and a spirited game of Mario Kart. A line snakes around the back of the room, steadily trickling in and out.

Todd ambles through the tables, craning his neck to see what the line is for. He worms his way in between two groups of girls who are too distracted to notice the transgression. As he shuffles closer, he can finally make out a long counter a few feet from the wall. The shelves behind it have been repurposed to hold more liquor than Todd has ever seen in his life, and a few strings of lights run along the posts framing the bar itself, casting a soft glow over the entire scene.

The end of the bar closest to him seems to be a free-for-all pickup station. Most of the crowd grab the plastic cups waiting for them as a frantic girl with curly pink hair tries to keep up the pace with refills. On the other side of the bar, though, are several occupied stools and a young man – whom, Todd notes, is distractingly pretty, with a few tattoos – armed with a Boston shaker. He makes easy conversation with the bar patrons, and Todd can see the glint of his teeth from halfway across the room.

It’s not even a choice, really, when Todd slides past the throng of people picking up beers and into one of the few available stools. He realizes once he’s already sat down that he has no idea what to do – does he wave Cute Bartender down? does he wait for him to come over? – but concludes that it would be weird if he ceded his spot already. So he sits, waiting for Cute Bartender to notice him.

He glides over to Todd promptly, a towel flung over one shoulder and a few strands of his shiny brown hair falling in his face, “Neil” neatly printed on his nametag. His friendly smile only accentuates his big, dark eyes, and Todd mentally kicks himself for getting into a position where he’ll have to actually interact with this guy.

“What’ll you be having?” Cute Bartender – Neil – asks.

“Um.” Todd glances around, seeking a menu to no avail. “What did she have?” He points to the girl who’d last ordered, a blonde who’s now laughing with the pink-haired girl.

“A blue kamikaze shot?” Neil answers, raising an eyebrow. Whatever that is sounds positively terrifying, but Todd nods nonetheless. “Sure thing. Do you have your ID on you?”

Todd flushes even deeper, and he’s sure that Neil can see it now. “Um… no. I, um, I left it at home.” It doesn’t even sound convincing to him.

Neil laughs, a short, breathy chuckle. It makes his eyes sparkle, and Todd’s heart does a stupid little backflip at the same time as his stomach. Great. He’s made a fool of himself in front of a cute guy. Even better, in front of the cute guy that’s supposed to be his last resort for socialization.

“Right. I’m messing with you, man.” Neil pulls a couple bottles from behind him and retrieves a glass from somewhere Todd can’t see. “I don’t give a shit if you have an ID.” Todd breathes a sigh of relief as Neil busies himself with the drink. He soon slides Todd a small glass filled with bright blue liquid and topped off with a lime wedge.

“Thanks,” Todd says, at the same time that he’s struck by the horrifying realization that he actually didn’t bring his wallet with him. “Uh, do you take Apple Pay? I –”

Neil waves him off before he can finish the sentence. “It’s all paid for already.”

“Oh. Cool.” He takes the lime wedge off the glass – he isn't quite sure what to do with it – and takes a sip. It's tart, a little sweet, and it burns going down. Todd is sure he pulls a face, but he tries to play it off. “Thanks.” Already said that.

Neil looks at him for a moment, squinting like he's deep in thought. He opens his mouth as if to say something but seemingly thinks better of it, gives Todd a smile and a nod, and walks off to chat with another patron.

Todd continues sipping his drink alone. It’s terrible, even with the added sweetness, and he finds himself wondering what all the hype is about alcohol. There’s an artificial warmth spreading through his gut, but he doesn’t feel any different yet. His drink is gone – thank god – after a few more sips.

Neil swiftly reappears, taking the empty glass before Todd can register his return. “How was it?” he asks, and Todd has to focus on keeping his attention away from Neil’s forearms as he begins cleaning the glass.

“Good,” Todd lies. “Could I get another? Not, um, not the shot.” Unfortunately, there are no fellow patrons that immediately jump out to him. He racks his brain for names of drinks, coming up short. There’s a smile playing at Neil’s lips, his eyebrows raised expectantly as he stares at Todd.

“You’ve never drank before, have you?” Neil breaks the silence. Todd tries to feign offence, but he knows it’s futile once Neil’s smile breaks into a grin.

“I – yes, I have –” Todd splutters, and Neil tries to hide his laughter.

“You’re not supposed to sip a shot,” Neil says, only loud enough for the two of them to hear. Todd grows even warmer, if such a thing were possible, and his eyes drop to the counter in front of him. Neil busies himself with cleaning the glass, whistling as he does so. Still, he stays in front of Todd. “D’you still want another drink?”

Todd nods, and Neil’s grin widens endearingly. “Okay. I’m Neil, by the way,” he says, extending his hand. Todd shakes it tentatively and introduces himself, and Neil pulls Todd’s arm toward him in what Todd is sure is an unconscious motion, but it awakens the butterflies in his stomach all the same.

Oh god, Todd thinks, biting back a smile. Do not do this. Do not get stupid over some random guy behind a bar.

“Any allergies?” Neil asks over his shoulder, putting the shot glass away. Todd shakes his head ‘no.’ “Flavor preferences? Sweet, dry, sour, bitter…?”

Todd doesn’t really know what those mean. “Sweet. And um, nothing strong.” Neil gives a mock salute and bursts into motion.

He fetches a bottle from the far side of the bar and another a few feet away from Todd, hidden under the counter and just out of view. Todd tries to focus on the conversations on either side of him and the 2010s pop blasting over the speakers rather than the way Neil’s jeans fit.

Neil soon slides back over, holding a glass garnished with another lime wedge. “Rum and coke,” he announces, setting the drink down in front of Todd.

“Thanks.” Neil simply nods and squeezes the lime wedge into Todd’s drink, tossing it somewhere under the bar. It’s a little too intimate for strangers, and Todd’s stomach flips. It needs to stop doing that, or he’ll puke.

“Do you go to Columbia?” Neil asks as Todd takes a sip. It’s sweet, a little tart, and not nearly as strong as the shot had been. He decides he likes it.

“Hmm? Oh, um, yeah. I just transferred.”

“Oh, where from?”

“It’s this tiny liberal arts college in Vermont.” Todd takes another drink.

“I’m from Vermont!” Neil exclaims a little too loudly, ducking his head once he hears himself. “Try me.”

“Balincrest?”

“No fucking way,” Neil says, laughing. “I went to Welton.”

Todd knows Welton, just barely. It’s a boarding school about half an hour away from Balincrest, one of those feeder schools that pumps out the next generation of Ivy League graduates and, presumably, politicians and inventors and diplomats and entrepreneurs. It makes sense that Neil would be here, then.

Todd takes a few more drinks. The heat is starting to spread, and his head feels a little cloudy, in a good way. Still, he doesn’t feel that different.

“Why’d you come here?” he asks impulsively. Neil cocks an eyebrow, and anxiety fizzles in Todd’s stomach along with the alcohol.

“‘Here’ meaning…”

“Columbia,” Todd clarifies. “I mean, that is, if you’re a student, I don’t – I don’t mean to assume –”

Neil cuts him off with a wave. “Don’t worry, I am. My dad desperately wanted me to go to Harvard; I wanted Juilliard; Columbia was a compromise. Two years later –” he spreads his hands in a ta-da gesture “– here we are.”

Todd’s jaw physically drops. “You got into Juilliard?” Neil nods. “And Harvard?” Neil nods again. “Jesus Christ.”

So not only is this guy unfairly cute with the ability to make a mean rum and coke – or at least, Todd assumes his drink is up to standards; it tastes pretty good – he’s also a genius and a damn good – something.

“What’s your – specialty? Genre? I don’t know what it’s called,” Todd says. Neil laughs, vibrant and unabashed and real, and Todd is so, so fucked. He takes another drink anyway.

“I’m a theatre minor with a focus in acting. Biochem major,” Neil answers. “Dad wants me to be a doctor.”

“And you want to be an actor?” Todd asks. Neil nods.

Todd isn’t quite sure what to think of that. Neil’s more idealistic than he’s used to adults being, but it’s strangely endearing. There’s a want in Neil’s voice that Todd has heard before, mostly from little kids telling him how they’ll be an astronaut or an artist or president one day, but it’s paired with a determination that is all too intense and unfamiliar.

Todd wants to say something. He wants to pull closer to the fire in Neil’s eyes.

Woah, he thinks, pulling back. Too much.

Another patron flags Neil down, and he flashes Todd an apologetic look as he glides over to the other side of the bar, leaving Todd alone with his drink and his thoughts.

He studies the other patrons – the blonde girl, still locked deep in conversation with the pink-haired girl; a straight couple to his left, teetering on the edge of drunkenness; a pack of kids to his right, still possessing the youthful features of freshmen. Soon, though, his attention returns to the person behind the bar, his eyes tracking Neil as he drifts between the occupants, offering refills and polite chatter.

He could text Jeff. He could get up and leave, resuming his search for some peace and quiet. The longer he sips at his drink, though, the less he wants to escape. It’s an odd feeling, being in a room without constantly searching for an exit. Usually, he’d be squirming in his seat, waiting for the first opportunity to slip out unnoticed, but the fuzziness creeping into his brain keeps him fixed in place.

His eyes follow Neil, the soft lighting of the bar blurring as the brunet moves from one person to another, so quickly that it seems as if he's never stationary. He’s charming, magnetic, and Todd can see people pull in reflexively to listen better. Neil, he decides, is the type of guy that he would usually crush on from afar but would never have the courage to talk to.

That’s another unfortunate thing about Columbia. At Balincrest, he’d kind of been out, had gone on a couple dates, even. But here, in addition to his general shyness and hesitance to make the first move, there is the added obstacle of Jeff. Todd isn’t sure how Jeff would react to him being gay, but their parents would certainly have some… opinions. He doesn’t think they’d go so far as to cut him off, but there would undoubtedly be punishment in some form.

“Damn, you drank that fast.” Neil’s voice pulls Todd out of his daze. “Do you want water?” He’s pointing to Todd’s empty glass, a towel slung over his shoulder.

“Um, yeah. Thanks,” Todd says, and Neil’s sliding a glass of ice water to him before he can finish.

“What’s your major?” Neil asks, lingering.

“English.”

“Who do you have this semester?”

“Uhhh, Johnston, Coleman, Torres, Keating –”

Neil snaps his fingers, startling Todd. “Do you have Keating’s Shakespeare class?”

“No. It’s, um, it’s a Romanticism class.”

“Oh, my friend Knox took that class. He said it was good.” Neil runs out of busywork to do at the bar, and settles on leaning on his elbows next to Todd. “His Shakespeare class was the best, though. He’s really passionate about it, but in a cool way.” After Todd fails to respond, he adds, “I’m sure you’ll like it.”

Todd nods. He stirs the ice in his glass for a moment, unsure of what to say. “How’d you get into bartending?”

Neil laughs – short, breathy, intoxicating – at the question. Todd flushes, the warmth he feels spreading through his abdomen now traveling up to his face as he realizes it’s an odd question. “I’m not actually a bartender. My buddy Charlie always hires a couple for these parties, but one got sick and called out last minute. Ginny –” he gestures to the pink-haired girl “– is one of my friends from the theatre department, and she and Charlie teamed up to guilt-trip me into covering.”

Todd raises his nearly-empty glass of water. “I’d say you’re doing an alright job.”

“As if you’d know!” Neil laughs again, louder this time, and Todd really is starting to feel something – buzzed, tipsy, maybe. His phone might buzz, but he doesn’t dare check it. “More water?”

Todd regards his empty water glass. He’s kind of glad, now, that he hadn’t eaten beforehand. “I could go for another drink, actually.”

“If you insist,” Neil says, clearing the water glass and wiping the condensation from the bar in one fluid motion. “You up for another shot?”

Todd hesitates.

“Relax, I’ll walk you through it.” Neil winks, and Todd’s sure he flushes again as Neil rummages around under the bar, facing away from Todd. He soon returns with a salt shaker, two shot glasses, a bottle of tequila, and a pair of lime wedges. He’s a fan of citrus, Todd thinks offhandedly.

“Okay, so it’s salt, shot, lime,” Neil says, gesturing to each of the ingredients. “Here, lick your wrist.”

“What?”

“For the salt,” Neil explains. He demonstrates, and Todd flusters, avoiding Neil’s eyes as he sprinkles salt over his skin.

Todd copies him, and he’s sure he’s imagining Neil’s eyes flicking down to Todd’s wrist.

“You ready?” Neil asks once he’s decided they have a sufficient amount of salt.

Todd exhales. The clear liquid shouldn’t be so intimidating, but after his first experience with a shot, he’s wary. “Yeah.”

Neil clinks their glasses together. “Salud.” He licks the salt from his wrist, downs the shot, and bites into a lime wedge in rapid succession.

Todd follows him. The tequila burns as it goes down his throat, leaving behind a somewhat sweet aftertaste. He makes the mistake of inhaling sharply once he’s downed it, and Christ, he feels like he’s breathing fire.

“Oh god,” Neil laughs as Todd coughs.

Neil holds out the second lime wedge and, without thinking, Todd bites into it. The juice is acidic, sharp and yet soothing against his burning tongue. It’s only once the burning sensation has become slightly more bearable that Todd realizes Neil’s still holding the lime. His eyes are trained on Todd’s mouth, like he’s studying where his fingers meet Todd’s lips.

Todd jerks back, his teeth still sunk into the soft flesh of the lime. Neil lets go, still staring at Todd’s mouth. Todd’s face is burning, and he knows it’s the warmth of the alcohol intensifying his embarrassment. Less than a full day in New York and he’s already made a fool of himself.

“Sorry,” Neil says, his voice softer, a bit quieter than earlier. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“‘M fine,” Todd says, finally disposing of the lime. “Could I get another water?”

Neil retrieves it, still loitering next to Todd as he drinks desperately. “I feel like I should get to ask you some overly personal question.”

“Why’s that?” Todd’s head is really starting to feel fuzzy now. The lights seem brighter, the colors around him more vibrant, melting into a blur at the edges of his vision. His face is warm, but whether that’s the alcohol or a genuine blush, he can’t tell.

“Well, I mean, I don’t get into the stuff about Juilliard with just anyone,” Neil explains. “So this is just tit-for-tat.”

“Why’d you get into it with me?”

Neil shrugs. “You're a perfect stranger. And quiet, so I’ll assume you’re a good listener. And we probably won't see each other again.”

Todd's stomach drops a little at that, a ridiculous feeling which he quickly dismisses. Neil's right; they most likely won't see each other after this. Ships in the night and all that.

“So, why did you transfer?”

Todd had expected the question, but he still feels a twinge of anxiety as Neil asks. How to explain his complicated family situation? Okay, maybe it isn't that complicated – his parents wanted two outstanding sons and got one, and now they all have to suffer the consequences – but it certainly doesn't seem like something he could say to a stranger.

“My, uh, my brother goes here.” Neil makes a go on gesture. Shit. “Um, they – my parents – always planned on me going here. But my high school grades were too low, so I had to get them up at Balincrest.”

“Did you like Balincrest?”

The question catches him off guard. It’s not like anyone had cared before whether he liked Balincrest or not. He considers it; he hadn't loved Balincrest, but he hadn't hated it either. Todd tolerated it at first, and had a few warm feelings for it at various points. It was his, at least, and not Jeff's at all, which meant he had to like it somewhat. Still, Jeff's shadow proved long enough to stretch across several states. Todd had always been aware that he was on borrowed time at Balincrest, an awareness bolstered by his parents’ frequent references to how things were done at Columbia and how it would be when Todd was also at Columbia and how his grades needed to be maintained for Columbia.

Todd shrugs. “It was okay.”

Neil studies him for a moment, weighing his words. “It's not too bad here.” Todd tries to suppress the Look he wants to give Neil, but he must fail as the other continues, “I just mean that – look, Columbia's overly preppy and too full of itself sometimes, yeah; but there are good people here. Actually –” he cuts himself off, suddenly bashful.

“What?” Todd asks, playing with his straw. The fuzziness has escalated to cloudiness.

“Sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up.”

“Hey, no,” Todd says in an uncharacteristically bold move. All the blood rushes to his face as Neil's eyes snap over to him, but his mouth is moving before he can stop himself. “You can't do that. You can't tease me with some bit of information and then clam up.”

Neil holds his hands up in surrender, laughing. “Alright, alright, that's fair. But you can't laugh at me.”

Todd holds up three fingers. “Scout's honor.”

“You don't seem like the Boy Scouts type.”

“I wasn't. My brother was.”

“Okay, so my friends and I have this… club.” He looks self-conscious, but not in the awkward way that Jeff sometimes does, like he’s not used to wearing the feeling, or in the pitiful way that Todd often does, like he’s all too used to it. Neil just looks… modest, Todd decides, and god if that doesn’t make him all the more endearing.

Todd wonders if the alcohol is making him dumber. “That doesn’t sound that weird.”

“We call ourselves the Dead Poets Society and we take turns reading poetry at our meetings.” Neil cocks an eyebrow in a told-you-so gesture while Todd processes.

Okay, that’s pretty weird. “That sounds interesting.”

“Yeah? You could come, if you wanted,” Neil says offhandedly.

“I’m not big on public speaking.”

“You wouldn’t have to read.”

Todd hates to admit that the idea sounds somewhat appealing. The whole “strangers who will never see each other again” thing is rapidly disintegrating, though. “I’ll think about it.”

He wants to talk to Neil all night. Neil has a nice voice. Neil has a nice voice and nice hands and really nice hair, and he probably wouldn't give someone like Todd the time of day were it a normal situation. But right now, they're just two strangers at a bar, and Todd is getting pulled further and further into the force that is Neil, and he finds that he doesn't mind.

His eyes drift from Neil’s face and down to his bicep, lean muscle perfectly accentuated by the tightness of his black t-shirt. Todd pushes that observation down and fixates on what appears to be a tangle of branches encircling Neil’s arm.

“Nice tattoo,” he comments, pointing at Neil’s arm.

Neil perks up immediately, glancing down at the tattoo as if he’d forgotten it was there. “Thanks; I got it my first semester, closing night of my first college play. My dad was pissed,” he explains.

“What play?” Todd asks, studying the tattoo. He doesn’t recognize it.

“‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream.’ I was Puck. It’s the crown the costume team designed.”

Todd nods along. “What’s your favorite play you’ve done?”

“When did you get so chatty?” Neil leans in, and if Todd didn’t know better, he’d think he’s flirting. But then Neil is back to talking animatedly, now maintaining a respectful distance, and Todd continues stirring the ice in his drink. “Jesus, it’s hard to choose. Like, they were all unique experiences that taught me something new. But, if I had to pick one…” he drums his fingers on the bar. “Probably Macbeth.”

“I thought that was bad luck for you guys.”

“It’s one of the greatest tragedies of all time for a reason. I’d take a curse any day if I got to do it again. I was Macduff, which was fun as hell. I mean, how often do you get to play a heroic villain?” Todd hangs onto every word, enraptured. “Ginny played Lady Macbeth. She was phenomenal. God, you should’ve seen the scene where she’s trying to get the blood off her hands, she actually sobbed onstage. Fucking genius.”

“Wow,” Todd breathes, and he knows he’s doing a terrible job of concealing his awe. “You’re – you’re really passionate about this stuff.” Todd’s never felt a passion like that. It’s simultaneously terrifying and unspeakably attractive.

Neil ducks his head. “It’s what I love.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, Todd still stirring the ice in his drink. Neil finally notices.

“You want something else?”

Todd nods.

“Okay, you pick.”

“I’m new to this, remember?” Todd snarks, earning a laugh from Neil that sparks the butterflies in his stomach.

“I’m pushing you out of the nest. How about this: you name something, and I’ll tell you if it’s shit.”

Todd can roll with that. “What’s your go-to?”

“Lemon and gin.”

“What, that’s it?”

Neil chuckles. “Yeah, that’s it. It’d probably kill you.”

“Okay.” Todd tries to remember names of cocktails. “Old Fashioned?”

Neil shakes his head. “Too strong.”

“Cosmo?”

“Despite my deep love for ‘Sex and the City,’ no,” Neil replies.

“Sex on the beach?”

“Ooh, you’re forward,” Neil winks, laughing when Todd flushes. He disappears to the other side of the bar, then returns with a bright pink drink, cold and sweet and citrusy.

“D’you have any other tattoos?” Todd asks as he takes a first sip. It tastes like fruit punch. He keeps drinking. He feels – well, great, like the world is softer somehow.

“Yeah, I got this one with Charlie on our senior trip.” Neil turns his leg so Todd can better see his inner calf. A bright red phone booth stands out on his skin. “We spent two weeks in London – it was my first trip out of the country – and it was, like, the coolest thing I’ve ever experienced, and we wanted something to remember it.”

“So you got a phone booth?”

Neil laughs. “Hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time!”

“It's not a bad tattoo.” Neil gives him an incredulous look. “Okay, it's pretty bad,” Todd chuckles, and Neil joins in. It's oddly comfortable, laughing with a stranger at a bar. If only Todd from a few hours ago could see him.

“I've always wanted to go to another country,” he confesses.

“Oh, you’ve gotta. It’s so… different, but not like it’s weird. It’s like you’re seeing things through completely new eyes.”

“Do you travel a lot?”

Neil shakes his head. “Can’t afford to. Charlie footed the entire bill for London.”

That’s a little relieving. Todd probably could travel, but his family’s schedule is dominated by his father’s business dealings, his mother’s social calendar, Jeff’s various camps and extracurriculars and awards ceremonies. Even if they found the time, Todd doubts a foreign country would make spending time with his family more bearable.

“What about you?” Todd jolts at the sound of Neil’s voice.

“Hmm?”

“Do you travel a lot?” Neil asks. He’s patient, or a good liar; he doesn’t seem the least bit frustrated in repeating himself.

“Oh, um, no. Not really.”

“You get lost in your head a lot, don’t you?” The question is abrupt, too personal for how little time they've known each other, but there’s no hesitation in Neil’s expression.

“Sorry. I just – I-I’m kind of introverted? I think too much.”

Neil nods contemplatively. “No such thing. What are you thinking right now?”

Todd doesn’t want to answer that, mainly because he’s thinking of the shape of Neil’s lips. He takes another drink, long and slow, and he’s definitely not imagining the way Neil stares at his mouth on the straw. “What’s something you don’t usually tell people?”

Neil looks like he’s caught off guard, but he soon recovers. “You’re more bold than I thought,” he says, smirking, his tone flirtatious. He drums his fingers on the countertop, thinking. “Okay, I’ll make you a deal: I’ll tell you a secret, but you have to do the same.”

Todd contemplates it for a moment. It’s not typical behavior for him, but then again, nothing he’s done tonight has been, and fuck it, what does he have to lose? “Deal.” They shake hands again, but Neil’s grip feels firmer this time.

“You can’t laugh,” Neil says once he’s let go. Todd crosses his heart. “I have one more, but I don’t usually show it to people.”

“One more what?”

“Are you tipsy, or just forgetful?” Neil teases. Strangely, it doesn’t make Todd feel embarrassed. It’s like he’s part of the joke, not just the punchline.

“It’s a secret tattoo, right?” Todd deduces, leaning in.

Neil sighs and rolls up his shirt, exposing a dark, fingerprint-like mark just above his hip. Todd tries – he really, honestly tries – not to stare at the line of Neil’s hipbone.

“What is it?”

“It’s supposed to be Neil Armstrong’s footprint on the moon.” It looks like a scribble. “I got it on my 18th birthday. I don’t know – I had this space phase when I was, like, seven, and I still kind of love the idea of this giant, mysterious universe. It’s kind of romantic, I guess.” He looks up at Todd self-consciously, but he can’t conceal the sparkle in his eyes. “Y’know, the thought that there’s something bigger than us, and that we’re always trying to reach it, to understand it?”

Todd knows. He thinks his hand might shake as he reaches for his glass again. It’s like Neil is parroting his own thoughts back to him, pulling them through the haze of years and scribbles in Todd’s journal, laying them out neatly in front of him in a different format. “Yeah. Yeah, I get what you mean.”

“Anyways, I got it for like, fifty dollars and didn't do any research. Kind of a miracle that it didn't get infected. Hold on, I need another drink.” Neil leaves Todd to contemplate, quickly making another round before fixing himself something – a lemon and gin, Todd guesses – that he sips at between customers. He slides back over to Todd, who is now nearly halfway through his drink.

That’s funny, Todd thinks. It was full a second ago.

“Your turn.” Neil says, looking over at Todd with his big, dark brown eyes.

“My turn to what?”

“A secret for a secret, dummy.”

It’s Todd’s turn to hesitate. “Um…” he thinks, hard. He's not got with secrets, and especially not with sharing them. “Uh, I have a secret tattoo, too.” It feels like he's stealing the idea, somehow, but Neil grins earnestly.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Are you gonna let me see?”

Hell no, Todd wants to say. Instead, he silently rolls up his pant leg, and Neil leans over the bar, devoid of shame as he peers at Todd’s ankle.

He’s silent for a beat, then asks tentatively, “Is it a rose?”

Todd laughs. “It’s supposed to be a carnation, but I got it from my old roommate’s sister when she was a really early tattoo apprentice, so it looks weird.”

“Oh, I can see it,” Neil says good-naturedly, returning to his original position. “Are you a florist in your spare time, or…?”

Todd laughs again, a little too loud, but Neil makes no indication that he’s put off by it, even as the people sitting next to Todd whip their heads his way. “It’s an Oscar Wilde reference. My parents and I had gotten into this huge fight right after I started college, and I wanted to do something rebellious, so I got an obscure reference to a dead gay playwright tattooed in one of the easiest places to hide it.”

It’s Neil’s turn to laugh too loudly, and god, Todd could bask in that glow. “No, no, I like it,” he says, finally, straightening up. “It’s… interesting. Multilayered.”

Todd shrugs. “I contain multitudes.”

Neil rewards him with another, quieter laugh. “Okay, you’re definitely coming to the next Society meeting. The guys are gonna love you.” He chews his lip for a moment, then asks, “So, are you…?” He gestures at Todd’s ankle as he trails off.

“What, gay?”

Neil nods.

“Oh, um, yeah. I am.” Todd's voice is just above a whisper as he answers. He hadn't even planned to tell anyone at Columbia, but Neil seems to have a knack for pulling Todd out of his shell.

“And I’m guessing your parents aren’t cool with it.”

“My parents don’t even know,” Todd admits. “But yeah, they wouldn’t exactly be welcoming.”

The words hang in the air for a moment. Finally, Neil quietly offers, “Yeah, my dad wasn’t thrilled when I came out to him either.”

Of course, because the universe hates Todd, Neil is waved down by another customer and makes a quick lap around the bar. Todd tries not to think about what Neil just said as he finishes his drink.

He feels floaty, warm. Time is moving slower, and the music seems louder, though he knows it hasn’t changed. He glances at Neil, who’s cracking a joke to Ginny while mixing a drink. It’s torturous, how good he looks in the low lighting, especially now that Todd could delude himself into thinking he has half a chance.

Todd’s phone buzzes. He checks it for the first time in – fuck, nearly an hour and a half. Two missed calls from Jeff. Several texts.

Just got back. Wya?
Sent 10:58 p.m.

Dude, you promised to give this a chance.
Sent 11:21 p.m.

You’re still at the party, right?
Sent 11:44 p.m.

It’s ok if you need some space. Just want to make sure you’re safe.
Sent 11:50 p.m.

Todd, please call me back ASAP.
Sent 12:00 a.m.

jfc
Sent 12:02 a.m.

Neil reappears with a nearly-empty drink. “Someone looking for you?” He gestures to Todd’s still-lit phone.

“It’s just Jeff,” Todd murmurs as he sends off an I’m good.

“Who?”

“My brother, sorry.” Todd places his phone face down and is met with Neil’s puzzled expression. His brows are furrowed, his lips slightly parted as his eyes flick up and down, from Todd’s hair to his face to his shirt, as if he’s piecing something together.

“What’s your last name?” he asks slowly, finally.

Here it comes. He wants to tell Neil to rip the band-aid off quickly, to stifle the realization that Todd doesn’t quite measure up to the standards set by Jeff. “Anderson.”

“And your brother is…”

“Jeffrey Anderson,” Todd sighs.

“As in, ‘President of the Chemistry Honor Society’, Jeffrey Anderson?” That’s a new one. Usually people just try to hide their surprise.

“Uh, probably,” Todd responds. He doesn’t really keep up with Jeff’s extracurriculars. “That sounds like something he’d be into.”

Neil groans. “Great. That’s great.” He buries his face in his hands, and Todd’s ears burn with embarrassment.

“He won’t care,” Todd lies. He isn’t really sure what he’s referring to: the drinking, or whatever is going on between them. Neil shoots him a look, as if to ask if he’s kidding.

“Todd, I’m one of the officers for the Chemistry Honor Society.” Of course you are, Todd wants to respond. Neil continues, “Jeff sends me emails at six a.m. What kind of college student is up at six a.m.? What kind of college student checks their email at six a.m.?” Todd starts, hoping to defend himself, but Neil holds up a hand to silence him. “You expect me to believe that guy would be fine with me supplying his underage brother with alcohol?”

Todd doesn’t really have a defense against that; his brain is moving too slow. But he doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want yet another good thing, temporary as it may be, to be ruined by Jeff and their parents and all the expectations resting atop Todd’s shoulders.

“Okay; I don’t care.” Neil’s head snaps up at this. “Look, if you’re intimidated by Jeff, I get it. If you don’t want to get dragged into my weird family shit, I get it. But I want one night – a single night – where I’m not living in his shadow. It’s already bad enough having the same last name and going to the same school and bearing the same expectations. I just –” he falters, his eyes landing on Neil’s. He’s looking at Todd cautiously, curiously, not like he’s confused by Todd’s outburst but like he understands the situation all too well. “I can’t be Jeff. Especially not in my free time.”

Neil studies the counter, wiping at a spot that Todd is almost certain he’s invented for convenience. “Okay,” he says, slowly. “Okay. Want another drink?”

Todd’s attention returns to the fuzziness in his head, the beginnings of dizziness creeping in. The shelves behind Neil blur at the edges. “I, yeah, but um, I really need to – is there a bathroom around here?”

“Yeah, but you’ll be waiting forever. Here; I’ll take you to a private one.” Neil leaves before Todd can respond, whispering something to Ginny. She glances over at Todd, then nods.

Neil returns, stashing his apron somewhere under the bar. “C’mon.” He jerks his head toward the door, and Todd stands immediately. The ground feels more solid under his feet than he’d expected, but Neil soon grabs him by the wrist and directs him to the door, making him stumble.

The crowd seems to part for Neil as he drags Todd through the room and down the crowded hallway. Todd can still feel the bass from the dancefloor thrumming through his feet, sounds and lights jumping out at him as they make their way through the packed bodies. Finally, they reach yet another door with a code, which Neil efficiently punches in.

He pulls Todd into a large room, dimly lit like the rest of the apartment. There’s an unmade bed, what looks to be a gaming station, an entertainment center, and several shelves filled with books and an impressive CD collection. The room is cluttered, with clothes strewn about and furniture jumbled. It looks lived-in, unlike the rest of the apartment, which feels more like the lovechild of a museum and a club than a home. Todd feels like he’s in a game of I Spy as he looks around: One saxophone. Five books scattered throughout the room. Two televisions. At least eight – no, nine – shirts.

“This is Charlie’s room,” Neil explains. “The bathroom’s right through there.” He points to a door on the other side of the room – it might as well be a city block away – and Todd ambles over, sidestepping the clutter dotting the floor. A Playstation controller. A katana – seriously, who owns a katana? A collection of vinyl records that he suspects are originals.

The bathroom, thankfully, is not as grandiose as the rest of the house. It’s clearly expensive – there’s a claw-foot tub peeking around a corner, for god’s sake – but there’s only so much one can alter about the basic toilet-sink-cabinets formula. It’s surprisingly clean compared to the bedroom; there are towels and stray articles of clothing on the floor, but the fixtures are practically sparkling. Todd’s never seen a maid service in action, but he’s certain this is their handiwork. He splashes his face with cold water, which helps some with the floaty feeling that he attributes to drunkenness and the flush that he attributes to – well, Neil.

As he emerges from the bathroom, Neil is looking over a series of framed photographs on the shelves that Todd hadn’t seen when they entered. He can make out several young boys as he approaches – one of them makes frequent appearances and bears a striking resemblance to Neil – who seem to age before his eyes as he takes in each photo.

“How long have you and Charlie known each other?” he asks, making Neil jump. “Fuck, sorry.” Neil just laughs, and Todd's blush is back with a vengeance.

“You apologize a lot.” It's blunt, but not mean-spirited; Neil says it offhandedly with a lopsided grin before turning back to the shelf. “Since we were kids. His grandparents live out in my hometown, and our dads kind of know each other, so we used to hang out every summer and eventually ended up at Welton together.” His eyes drift to a photo just to Todd’s left – a young Neil, triumphantly clutching a crown of branches that bears a striking resemblance to the one on his arm now, and another boy that Todd assumes is Charlie, the picture of teenage bravado as he smirks at the camera.

“That was the night of my first play,” Neil chuckles, following Todd’s gaze. “It’s a long story, but I’d lied to my dad about it and he found out that night. I felt like the world was ending right after I’d started really living.” His voice is softer now, tinged with self-consciousness. “But Charlie was fearless; he even shouted my dad down in the parking lot and then took me to Waffle House. I have no idea what I'd do without him.”

Todd worries for a brief moment that he’s horribly misread this situation, but Neil’s expression as he stares at the photo is similar to the way Jeff looks at Todd sometimes. He can’t even begin to imagine that type of friendship. He’s read about it, longed for it, even, but the emotions he can read on Neil’s face as they look over the pictures are completely foreign.

Thankfully, Neil speaks again before Todd has to come up with something to say. He’s good at that, Todd thinks, filling the silence. But he doesn’t do it like Todd’s parents or Jeff or even his friends from Balincrest, filling the space so full that there’s no room for Todd. Neil seems to know how to leave just enough space for Todd to participate, letting him weave in and out of the conversation, present but able to slip into the comfort of the background.

“Can I show you something?” he asks, a tad hesitant. Todd nods, too eagerly, but Neil doesn’t seem put off by it. He grabs Todd by the wrist again – he really needs to stop doing that – and leads him to a door on the far side of Charlie’s room.

Todd welcomes the cool night air as they step out onto a balcony, hundreds of feet off the ground. He’s hit with a wave of vertigo which brings his drunken unsteadiness back with a vengeance, and he unconsciously grips the railing and Neil to regain his balance.

“Woah,” Neil says, but he wraps an arm around Todd’s waist and pulls him in closer, steadying him. “Did I overserve you?” He laughs softly, and Todd feels like he may fall again.

Todd shakes his head. “I’ve just – I don't think I've ever been this high up.”

“Yeah, it takes some getting used to. I should’ve warned you.” Neil turns, gazing out at the city beneath them, glittering and endless. “But isn’t it magnificent?”

Todd looks, pushing down the fear that rises in his chest at the feeling of being hundreds of feet in the air. Magnificent doesn’t even begin to cover it. Despite the hour, the city glows, from the car headlights and streetlights down below all the way up to the top floors of the buildings around them. There’s a hum, a steady pulse of life running through the streets. Todd stops and listens for a moment, losing himself in the sound.

“It’s like a giant heartbeat,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Neil replies softly. Todd turns to look at him, and that’s a mistake. The wind ruffles Neil’s hair, the glow of the city below illuminating him in soft, warm light. His eyes shine as he glances over at Todd. Something like wonder crosses his face, and Todd’s heartbeat quickens.  “I always feel so small when I’m up here.”

Todd gets that. Looking down at the vast expanse of high-rises and the grid of streets, he feels impossibly tiny. “But do you kind of feel big at the same time?”

“Yeah,” Neil sighs. They fall silent, looking out at the skyline together for a few minutes until Neil speaks again. “Keep talking.”

“Why?”

“I like the way you describe things.”

Neil doesn’t elaborate, so Todd continues. “It’s all so small. Like, when you’re in the bumper-to-bumper traffic it feels endless, but from here, it’s just a little bit of space, a blip in time. And we're above it all right now, but the rest of the time we’re just two tiny pieces of this massive puzzle.” His mind wanders to his luggage, somewhere in the skies; his classes, several days in the future; his parents, hundreds of miles away. Even Jeff is separated from him by the crush of bodies inside and the privacy of this moment. He feels transcendent.

“It makes you think about,” Neil whispers, “you know. How fleeting it all is.”

“Yeah,” Todd breathes. He looks back at Neil, his dizziness worsening, his knuckles turning white on the railing. Neil steadies him again, and Todd could melt. Their eyes lock, and Todd feels like Neil is seeing into him, looking at the very stuff he’s made of.

He’s so used to being hesitant in conversation that he surprises himself when he speaks up again, emboldened by the alcohol and the ethereal city beneath him, the words spilling out of him like they can’t escape his mouth fast enough. “Do you ever think about who you would be without your dad’s expectations?” He regains self-awareness right as he finishes asking it, and he tries to quell his nausea as he turns to stare at the skyline, at his shoes, at anything other than Neil.

“Yeah, all the time,” Neil sighs. “I mean, I know he sacrificed a lot to give me the opportunities I've had. I have privileges and experiences that other people would kill for.”

“You don't have to minimize it,” Todd interrupts quietly.

“What?”

“It's like you're apologizing just for feeling things. You don't – you don't have to.”

Todd can feel Neil retreat a bit, leaving the two of them in an oppressive silence. He mentally kicks himself; he shouldn't have said anything, he doesn't even really know Neil, it's not like Neil's looking for life advice from him or something –

“I'd be an actor,” Neil whispers. “I would've gone to Juilliard in a heartbeat if he would've let me. Y'know, I –” he pauses, as if voicing the thought is too much. “I don't even want to be a doctor. I'm like, the most squeamish person I know. I had to step out of the lab to vomit three times when we did the cat dissection.” He laughs at this last part self-deprecatingly, but Todd can see that his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“What kind of actor would you be?”

Neil blinks a couple of times, like the question is unusual. “Theatre, I think. I could maybe do film, but I love stage acting more than anything.” He sounds wistful, dreamy. “As for roles, I’d take anything. It’s like – it’s like I get to live a thousand different lives.” Even in the night, Todd can see the way Neil’s eyes brighten.

He wants to do something, anything, to keep Neil talking. A few strands of hair fall into Neil’s eyes, and Todd impulsively reaches out to brush them away. Neil turns to face him, looking from Todd’s outstretched hand to his face, his breath catching, and – Todd’s goddamn phone rings.

Todd retrieves the cursed device from his pocket, apologizing profusely. Neil steps back, eyes wide and face flushed. He fumbles for the door and Todd returns to the bedroom, wishing that he could throw his phone off the balcony.

“Yes?” he says impatiently, leaning against the closest piece of furniture for balance. Shit, it’s not just the Neil effect. He’s actually having trouble standing.

“Where are you?” Jeff shouts. The background noise is deafening.

“Umm, hanging out with N– with the bartender,” Todd answers.

“Dude, I’ve been texting you.”

Todd looks at his notifications. Jeff: 4 new messages. Fuck.

“Sorry, I just – I lost track of time.”

Jeff sighs. The background noise has died down some, but his voice is still raised. “Okay, just – just keep your phone on. Plan on meeting up in the kitchen at –” he pauses “– uh, one-thirty.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Jeff echoes, and then hangs up, the beep echoing in Todd’s ear.

He checks the time: just past twelve-thirty. He feels like Cinderella with a later curfew, desperately trying to make one night of magic last.

“Everything okay?” It’s Neil’s turn to startle Todd.

“Yeah, just Jeff checking in.” Neil’s eyebrows raise in a silent question, but Todd feigns nonchalance. “He’s fine, really.”

“Okay,” Neil doesn’t sound entirely convinced, but his phone lights up in his hand, distracting him. “Shit. It’s Ginny. We really need to get back.”

Todd’s stomach flutters at the “we,” but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it before Neil is making his way across the room. Todd follows, holding his arm out for Neil to grasp just before they open the door. Neil huffs out a laugh and grabs Todd’s hand, making him stumble.

The crowd at the bar has died down a little once they arrive, but Ginny looks disheveled. Her hair is pulled into a low ponytail, and Todd can see the sweat at her temples as he retakes his seat, now devoid of neighbors. Ginny lightly punches Neil in the arm as he reties his apron.

“I’m sorry, you’re the best, I’m sorry,” Neil says. “You too, Chris!” The blonde girl that had been talking to Ginny earlier smiles at Neil, but flips him off.

Neil makes a lap around the bar, slipping back into his role effortlessly. Todd checks his phone. No new messages. He returns to watching Neil, patiently waiting as he checks in on each of the other bar occupants.

“Y’know,” Neil starts as he slides up to Todd. “You never answered your own question.”

“Hmm?”

“You asked what I'd do if I didn’t have to live up to my dad's expectations,” Neil explains. “I think it's only fair that you return the favor.”

“Oh.” Todd feels dizzy all over again, and he grips the edge of the counter to keep from falling off his stool.

“C'mon,” Neil chuckles, leaning in so that he's just inches away from Todd. “Give up your secrets, Todd Anderson.”

Todd is either going to throw up or kiss him. Or both. Probably both.

“I'd be a writer,” he says softly. “I've always loved writing.”

“Why?” Neil asks, just above a whisper. His eyes are bright and curious as he peers at Todd.

“I don't know,” Todd shrugs. “It's kind of hard to describe. I like the feeling of creating something. I like how there are words for almost everything and you just have to find them. Did you know that English probably has the most words of any language?” Neil shakes his head ‘no’. “I mean, it's impossible to know for sure. But I just love the idea, if that makes sense? Like there's hundreds of thousands of words, more than most people on this planet will ever get, and I can still find new ways to put them together.” He stares at the bar as he finishes, tracing over the grain of the wood with his finger.

Neil comes to the rescue, filling the silence again. “What kind of writer would you be?”

Todd hesitates. “Probably a journalist. It was my minor at Balincrest. I got a couple of op-eds published, had a regular column in the school paper.” His parents had insisted on it. If Todd was going to pursue a worthless major, they’d argued, he could at least aim to do something reasonable with it.

“Yeah, but did you love it?”

“Not really,” Todd laughs, a little too loudly.

“Okay, so what kind of writer would you really want to be?” Neil doesn't break eye contact, even as Todd falters.

“A poet,” he whispers, finally. He's never even dared to admit it to another person. It never seemed worthwhile; poetry is a pipe dream confined to a shoebox hidden in his closet, filled with scribbled-on notebook paper.

“A poet?” Neil pretends to swoon. “A man after my own heart.”

Todd chuckles. “Calm down, I’m no Whitman.”

“I doubt that,” Neil retorts, and Todd actually believes him.

“Um,” Todd clears his throat, shifting his gaze to the shelves over Neil's shoulder. “I think you still owe me a drink.”

“Is that so?” Neil murmurs, still too close, still too tempting.

“Yeah, I distinctly remember you offering.” He manages to keep his voice steady for the most part, but it’s really hitting him now. The room isn’t quite spinning, but he feels like he’s underwater. He zeroes in on Neil, and briefly wishes he’d kissed him on that balcony, had actually seized his last night of freedom. Neil’s hair is still windswept from the night air, his eyes are still glittering the way they had when he told Todd about the life he’d imagined for himself.

“Well, honey,” Neil leans back, gesturing at the wall behind him, and Todd snaps out of his daydream. “Pick your poison.”

The words are out before Todd can register what he’s saying. “Can I pick you?”

Shock flashes across Neil’s face before he lets out a laugh, loud and open-mouthed and real. Todd’s face is on fire, and he’s sure he looks like it. He notices Neil’s dimple that he’d somehow missed earlier, and that doesn’t help his predicament in the slightest.

“So you are a poet,” Neil sighs, wiping away a tear as he regains his composure, “A ridiculously, unfortunately attractive poet.”

“Meaning?”

“Pick your drink first and I’ll tell you.”

“Uhh…” Todd can’t focus long enough to come up with an actual drink. He’s too focused on Neil’s lips and whatever “ridiculously and unfortunately attractive” means. “Lemon and gin.”

Neil cocks an eyebrow. “If you say so.” He disappears to the other side of the bar, quickly returning with two glasses, one of which he holds in front of Todd. “Okay, before I give this to you: this is strong, but you need to sip it. Got it?”

He picks up the glass and eyes it warily. It’s small, filled with clear liquid and a few ice cubes, garnished with a lemon peel. Neil raises his own glass, and Todd carefully clinks them together before taking a drink.

It’s fucking terrible. It burns a little, and it tastes like pine needles somehow, and it’s bitter, and there’s a hint of a sour lemon flavor underlying all of it. He coughs as he hastily sets the glass down, while Neil giggles.

“You don’t have to finish it.”

“Fuck you, I’m going to finish it,” Todd says defiantly before taking another drink. Neil eyes him over the rim of his own glass, eyebrows raised, but this drink goes down easier. It doesn’t taste as bad as the first time: the burn quickly dissipates, the sourness of the lemon seems to counteract the bitterness of the gin. “So,” Todd starts, trying to ignore how the warmth in his stomach has reignited, “what did you mean just then?”

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to,” Neil says coyly.

“You called me attractive.”

“I believe I called you ‘ridiculously and unfortunately attractive,’” Neil corrects him.

“Right.”

Neil sighs and leans in again, resting his elbows on the bar. His forearm rests against Todd's; his eyes flick over his face. He’s pretty sure Neil is checking him out, but that’s never happened to him before, so he can’t be entirely sure. “I mean I’m trying to abide by bro code right now, and you are making it very, very hard. No pun intended.”

Todd takes another drink and wills his blush down. “So what, you can’t make a move just because you know my brother?”

“I can’t make a move because I’m friends with your brother.”

“Okay,” Todd sighs, pondering that for a moment. He studies the ice cubes rattling in his drink, as if they’ll offer some direction. He knows he should probably call it – finish his drink, stumble off in search of Jeff, make peace with the fact that his social life will be colored by Jeff’s presence for the next two years. The idea of actually doing that, though, makes him feel sick. He gulps down the rest of his drink, praying that there’s some truth in the idea of liquid courage, and faces Neil head-on. “But I’m not bound by bro code.”

Neil’s definitely staring at his lips now. He leans in, just a bit – or at least Todd thinks he does, his balance isn’t the best – and Todd’s eyes dart nervously from his lips to his hair to his eyes. Neil opens his mouth like he wants to say something; Todd would welcome it, would welcome anything, and someone calls Neil’s name from across the bar.

“Fuck.” Neil’s eyes quickly meet Todd’s, more black than brown at this point. “I’ll be right back, I promise, I just really need to –”

“It’s alright,” Todd says reassuringly, and Neil flashes him an apologetic smile before dashing to the other side of the bar to deal with the other patron.

Todd’s phone buzzes, but it might as well be miles away. He feels like he’s in a dream world, everything slow and hazy as he attempts to focus on a bottle of Grey Goose, a game of Mario Kart, a conversation just to his left. The exercise proves fruitless, however, and Todd’s vision keeps snapping back to Neil.

The minutes float by. Todd people-watches instead of checking his phone, his eyes moving from Ginny and Chris to the bespectacled redhead talking to Neil to the gaggle of people he assumes to be models occupying the end of the bar. Neil floats between them, never overwhelmed, never fully present.

As hard as he tries not to, Todd rapidly succumbs to the buzzing in his brain. The bar and its guests swim before him, blurring at the edges, making it hard to focus on any specific detail. He could keep watching Neil, torturing himself with what he can’t have, or he could actually check Jeff’s messages, but both options seem like they’ll worsen his current situation.

The swimming feeling overwhelms him before he can make a decision, each sound only serving to worsen the uneasy, dizzy feeling. Todd rests his head on his forearms, breathing deeply for a moment as he waits for Neil to return. He needs a nap, or water, or to be held until he no longer feels like he’s dying.

“Todd?” Neil’s voice is soft as he returns, a gentle hand shaking Todd’s shoulder. Todd could stay like this, could keep Neil’s hand on him as long as possible until Jeff ushers him into the elevator and back to his unfamiliar apartment.

“Mmm?” Todd groans as Neil’s hand rocks him. “Don’t wanna –”

“Oh, fuck,” Neil says softly, and Todd laboriously raises his head to face him. “Are you okay?”

Todd attempts to shake his head, but the action proves too nauseating. “‘M fine.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“A few – a couple hours ago, Neil, I’m fine –”

“Define ‘a few,’” Neil says, eyes narrowing.

Todd combs through his memories, but everything from the past several hours seems to blend together. “My, um, my flight landed at 1:30, and I ate some fries before Jeff picked me up. And I had a granola bar at his place because he’s on a health kick right now, and I –” Todd thinks of his DoorDash cart, the burrito he’d meant to order before they’d left.

“So, if I have this straight, you didn’t eat for somewhere between 1:30 and – I’ll be generous – 10 p.m.?” Todd nods. “And you haven’t eaten anything since then?” Todd nods again. “Fuck. Okay. We need to get you out of here.”

Todd doesn’t have time to ask what’s happening before Neil is waving Ginny over, explaining something to her in hushed tones. Todd can’t make out what they’re saying, but Chris’s eyes flit over to him. Ginny shoves Neil’s shoulder lightly, Neil clasps his hands in a pleading motion.

“Todd,” he says, gently. It feels like someone is reading a bedtime story to him. “Todd,” Neil repeats more urgently, the sound no longer as comforting.

“Huh?”

“Come on. We gotta get back to Charlie’s room.”

It may be a second or ten minutes before Neil comes around the bar and wraps his arm around Todd’s shoulders. The room really is spinning now, as the lights fade into the ceiling and the chatter around them blends together. Todd wants to protest, but he can’t find it in himself.

They stumble towards Charlie’s room, Todd losing his balance several times. Neil ends up bearing most of Todd’s weight for him, firmly grasping his waist now. Todd finds himself clinging to Neil’s shoulders – funny, he doesn't remember moving his arm – and if he didn't feel like he was dying, he'd probably be flustered.

“I have alcohol poisoning,” he groans as they reenter Charlie's room, Neil fumbling with the light switch.

“You don't have alcohol poisoning, but you're definitely in for a rough night.”

Todd decides that the universe must really have it in for him as a wave of nausea hits him, making him lurch forward with its intensity. Neil catches him in the nick of time, wrapping both of his arms around Todd’s midsection. Unfortunately, this only makes Todd gag again.

“Shit, shit,” Neil mutters. “Bathroom. Now.”

Neil practically drags Todd into the bathroom, Todd’s legs seemingly useless as he stumbles along. He collapses to the floor, pain shooting through his knees as they hit the hard tile, but it barely registers as he empties the contents of his stomach into the toilet. Alcohol, it turns out, tastes even worse coming back up.

“Shhh, it's okay, you're okay,” Neil whispers, rubbing circles on Todd's back. It's a nice gesture, but the sheer embarrassment of a very attractive guy babysitting Todd while he pukes is enough to bring on another wave of nausea.

Neil's hand leaves Todd's back once he's finally stopped heaving. Todd risks leaning back, resting his head against the wall. The room is still spinning, and other than no longer feeling nauseous, he doesn't really feel any better. He closes his eyes and focuses on the ringing in his ears, the feel of the air against his skin. He’s pretty sure he’s melting into the floor.

“Hey, I got you a – oh, don't do that,” Neil says softly, reentering the bathroom. His hands are on Todd again, lifting him up to a sitting position – when did he lie down? – before brushing his hair back.

“Floor's cold,” Todd mumbles.

“Yeah, I know, but you don't want to sleep on it,” Neil laughs. He has a cute laugh. Even now, Todd finds himself distracted– Neil, blurry around the edges, honey-toned, handsome, close. He’s handing Todd a bottle of water. “It’s just to rinse the taste out,” he explains as Todd hesitates.

Todd obeys, rinsing his mouth out with the offered water, praying the room will feel slightly more tolerable as he takes a sip. It doesn’t.

“‘M dyin,’” he slurs, and he isn’t sure if his head is actually bobbing or if he imagines it.

“You’re not dying.” Neil’s voice is gentle as he raises the bottle to Todd’s lips once more. “You’re doing so good.” Todd retches again. “Oh, god,” Neil murmurs. “Just breathe. You’re gonna be okay.”

Todd seriously doubts that, but Neil’s hand running through his hair is pretty convincing. There’s a sound that he thinks might be his phone ringing, somewhere off in the distance – he’ll answer it eventually. Right now, though, every breath feels like its own task, the cold of the room providing a brief and merciful reprieve from Todd’s predicament.

He isn’t sure how long he spends slumped over, his arm separating him from the toilet. There’s the distant sound of Neil’s voice, he thinks, and the water in the pipes echoes in his ears as he desperately wishes to wake up, hoping against all hope that this is a dream. Or, he thinks wryly, a nightmare. It’s quiet in the bathroom, too quiet. Todd, alone, fills the space with silence. He’s never felt this uncomfortable with his own company before.

“Todd?” A new, yet familiar voice cuts through the bathroom. Todd manages to loll his head to the side, looking blearily at the doorway. There’s a figure cast harshly in the white light of the bathroom that he’s sure is Jeff – something in the disappointed set of his shoulders and the downturn of his mouth is all too revealing.

There’s a tall, masculine brunet figure just over Jeff’s shoulder that Todd assumes is Neil. Another, shorter and slighter, hovers at the doorway, peering in at him. Through the haze, and the process of piecing together her face, Todd decides this must be the elusive Emma.

“Neil,” the far-off Jeff voice says. “He’s so fucked up.”

“Jeff?” Todd asks, trying to focus. Jeff flickers in and out of his vision, blond and stern and looking directly at Todd. He wants to flinch away at the sight, but he can’t bring himself to fully lift his head.

“I’m sorry,” Neil says. He shouldn’t be apologizing. “I thought he was okay until –” It’s not his fault.

“He’s vomiting, Neil,” Jeffrey interrupts. Emma gives Todd a pitiful look. Too much, it’s all too much –

“Jeff,” Todd croaks, scraping up a voice from somewhere deep inside him. “You’re – you’re ruinin’ my chances with the cute bartender.” He’s lucid enough to cringe at his accent slipping.

“Oh, god,” Jeff chokes out, pinching the bridge of his nose. Neil turns a deep shade of pink – it’s a nice pink, like a sunset or his grandmother’s zinnias or the aftermath of a long day at the beach, Todd thinks – and there’s an uncomfortable beat of silence. Jeff mumbles, more to himself than anyone else. “This is how you’re coming out to me? Seriously, I – okay.” He claps his hands together, and Neil flinches at the same time that Todd does. “I’m gonna go get my car. Neil, you’re on babysitting duty until I get back.”

“O-okay,” Neil stammers. He doesn’t look the way he has all night – confident, easygoing, collected. This Neil ducks his head, averts his eyes to the floor. Todd wishes he wouldn’t, wishes that Neil’s big brown eyes would find their way back to him again.

Jeff and Emma disappear, leaving Todd and Neil alone once more. Todd finally leans back once he’s sure his stomach is actually empty, shuffling so he can press his cheek to the glass door of the shower.

“‘M sorry,” he slurs, unable to bring himself to look at Neil.

“Don’t apologize,” Neil replies. His voice sounds like waves crashing against the shore. Todd doesn’t want to know that he only has a few more minutes left with that voice.

“I got you in trouble with Jeff.”

“I think I got you in more trouble with Jeff,” Neil laughs. The sound is enough to distract Todd from their unfortunate situation, from the fact that his brother will return in only a few minutes to take Todd and any chances he had of a normal night of reckless freedom far, far away from Neil.

“He’ll be fine,” Todd says, not believing it himself.

“You just came out to him,” Neil points out.

Oh. Right. They’ll have to talk about that. Todd decides that it can wait until the morning.

He waves his hand dismissively. “He was gonna find out eventually.”

Neil laughs again. “Oh, he was?”

Todd shrugs. “I mean, at some point. ‘S not like I could stay in the closet forever.”

Neil studies him for a moment, silent and unmoving. “You’re so…” he starts, trailing off.

Todd manages to move his head so he can actually face Neil, zeroing in on those dark, alluring eyes. Maybe it’s a mistake – something akin to nausea flutters in his stomach – but he doesn’t look away. “What?”

“You’re so honest with yourself,” Neil says, chuckling. He looks down at his hands, then back to Todd, not quite meeting his eyes. “It’s refreshing.”

“Most people don’t find me refreshing.”

“Who cares about ‘most people?’”

Todd could kiss him, if his mouth didn’t still taste like vomit. “Neil, I –” he starts, unsure of where the sentence is going. He wants to tell Neil everything, to spill out every thought and feeling from the last few hours. Neil would understand, he’s sure of it.

They’re interrupted  by Neil’s phone ringing. He flashes Todd an apologetic look and answers. Todd realises that the glass of the shower has grown warm under his skin, and shifts until it’s cold again, relishing the way the feeling grounds him.

“Hey,” Neil says. Todd can’t make out what’s being said on the other end, but the slightly mechanical voice sounds pretty similar to Jeff. “Okay. Yeah, I’ve got him.” Neil hangs up and studies Todd for a moment, chewing on his lip. “Do you think you could walk?”

“D’you think you could carry me?”

Neil rewards him with another laugh, and god, Todd wants that sound recorded on a loop. “You’re charming when you’re wasted. Come on, princess.” He lifts Todd unsteadily to his feet, slinging an arm around his waist again. “I’m not carrying you.”

Todd is a little more helpful this time, but he’s still swaying on most steps as they make their way to the door. Neil freezes just as they’re about to leave, making Todd jolt forward like he had earlier. He catches himself on the door frame, clinging to it for dear life as Neil apologizes.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” Neil says in one breath, his hand now digging into Todd’s side. Todd wonders if it will leave bruises. Part of him hopes it does, so that he has something to remember in the morning.

“Yeah, yeah,” Todd replies, lightly pushing him off.

“Sorry, I just –” Neil looks at his shoes “– could I, um, give you my number? So you can text me when you get home safe.”

Yes. Yes, please.

Neil pulls Todd’s phone from his own pocket. Right, he’d taken Jeff’s call. Todd silently wishes he hadn’t, and they’re greeted by a drained battery symbol.

“Dammit,” Neil says, sounding genuinely disappointed as he tucks the device back into Todd’s pocket.

“I could give you my number?”

“Do you remember your number right now?”

“Ummm…” Todd pilfers through his brain, but only finds a jumble of semi-familiar numbers.

“Wait.” Neil snaps, then releases Todd and begins rummaging through the sink cabinets. “I swear, Charlie had some – ah!” He produces a thin black stick and grins triumphantly at Todd.

Neil uncaps the eyeliner and neatly prints his phone number on Todd’s arm in bold, black strokes, gently blowing on it once he’s done. The hair on Todd’s arm stands up at the sensation, but he thinks he’s only imagining Neil giggling.

The party is a blur around them as Neil ushers him out of Charlie’s room and through the maze of an apartment. He waves at the security guard, who offers a polite, “Have a nice night, Neil,” in response.

Todd’s stomach lurches in as the elevator starts, and for a brief moment of panic he thinks he might throw up again, this time on Neil’s shoes. He makes it the whole way down, though, clinging to Neil like he’ll plummet all the way back to earth if he lets go.

He can see Jeff’s car through the glass of the front door, parked illegally with his hazards on. Neil hesitates for a moment, then stops a few feet back from the door, just far enough that they probably can’t be seen from outside.

“Hey, Todd?”

“Mhmm?” Todd mumbles, still feeling a little nauseous.

“Thanks for tonight.” Neil quickly pecks Todd’s cheek, so feather-light that it’s barely there, but Todd knows he lights up like a damn Christmas tree.

“Yeah, you too,” he mumbles, and although Neil doesn’t acknowledge it out loud, his hand tightens on Todd’s waist.

Emma is arguing with a valet as they shuffle out of the front doors, while Jeff stands, looking sheepish, by the passenger door. He and Neil wrangle Todd into the backseat and Emma piles in the front, still in a heated exchange with the valet.

“Jeff, I’m really sorry, man.” Neil’s voice floats in through Emma’s open window.

“Neil, it’s…” Jeff sighs. “I don’t know. It’ll be fine.”

And then Neil’s retreating back inside, leaving Todd to try to block out all the sounds – cars honking, people talking, Emma and the valet still volleying harsh, clipped sentences.

The car falls into a tense silence once Jeff pulls away, accelerating a little faster than he should. Todd decides he prefers the previous cacophony.

He ends up with his head hanging halfway out of the window, the wind rushing loudly as he desperately tries to not throw up again. He catches snippets of the bro-country playlist and Jeff’s laughter while they drive – Emma, as it turns out, is pretty funny – but the night outside is a sticky-sweet blur.

He doesn’t know how long it takes for them to reach Jeff’s apartment. Jeff wrestles him upstairs and into bed with some help from Emma and no help whatsoever from Todd. He collapses onto his bed still fully clothed, and Emma disappears while Jeff arranges Todd’s limbs into a close-enough-to-normal position.

“Todd…” he starts, sighing.

“Mmm?” Todd could sleep forever. He isn’t sure why Jeff insists on keeping him up.

“Tomorrow morning is gonna suck for you, but we’re gonna have to talk about tonight.”

“‘Kay,” Todd mumbles. Tomorrow morning seems so far off. He can’t find it in himself to be anxious about it.

Jeff sighs again and plugs in Todd’s phone. Emma appears with a bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water, both of which she leaves on the nightstand. And then the room is dark and Todd’s alone again, sleep rapidly creeping into the corners of his brain.

His phone buzzes back to life, and Todd sluggishly reaches for it, shrugging off his exhaustion. He punches in the digits on his arm, faintly smudged but still legible. 

He saves the contact and returns his phone to the nightstand. Sleep prickles at his vision again, and he tells himself that he’ll see Neil’s response in the morning.

Todd’s phone buzzes almost immediately, and he reads the notification through blurry eyes.

Cute Bartender: 1 new message

sick. sweet dreams :)
Sent 2:17 a.m.

Before Todd can respond, three floating dots appear.

dw i’ll send you advice for the monring
Sent 2:18 a.m.

*morning
Sent 2:18 a.m.

Todd laughs softly to himself and tucks his phone under his pillow before Neil can respond, quickly succumbing to sleep. When he dreams, it’s of a dazzling city and big brown eyes and lemon and gin.