Elliott sat down at the end of an empty table in the dining hall with a tray of eggs and toast, still damp from Aiden’s shower, his laptop bag at his feet. He chewed mechanically, eternally thankful he didn’t have to wait in line at the coffee shop near his first class or, worse, cook for himself. It made everything else that came with living in the dorms—the sleepless nights and the cramped illusion of privacy—worth it.

He’d been too busy catering to Innes’s whims to make friends to move in with after his freshman year. He also didn’t want to share rent with strangers for the same reason he shelled out a bit more extra money for a single room. Yes, he could’ve saved a few hundred bucks, but the odds he’d be questioned about his movements would be astronomically higher.

So, instead of constantly making excuses for his absence, he’d hide away in his little corner, alone.

A shout that was way too loud for pre-lunchtime pulled his attention across the hall. One of the tables was full of students who’d dragged themselves out of bed, probably with the promise of waffles.

Their smiles were wide, their eyes squinted against the sun that poured in through the tall windows. Elliott’s eyes smarted too, the students’ incandescent happiness almost painful to look at, but lovely all the same.

Egg fell off his fork with a splat. He shook his head to clear it, then picked up his book on the Minoans of Crete—the only one of his class texts that could fit in his back pocket. Matriarchal religion would be a better use of his focus than the people he lived with, not to mention was more interesting.

But he was scanning the lines without seeing them, blinking past the gunk in his eyes. The trip from Aiden’s place hadn’t been long, but he’d still had to wake up earlier than normal to make sure he was back on campus in time.

He gave up reading and headed to his class a little early.

The lecture hall wasn’t open yet, but a few other keeners milled around, like the girl who always nabbed the best seat, no matter how early he showed up.

In retaliation, he now claimed the only bench within view of the door, and just barely resisted putting his feet up on the other seat.

“Is class canceled?”

He looked to his left at the speaker and got an eyeful of bedraggled hair and candy cane-colored eyeballs.

It was Matt, one of the few people on his floor whom he shared a couple classes with. At least, it was most of Matt. The rest of him might have been left in a toilet bowl back in their dorm.

“No, the professor’s not here yet,” Elliott answered, keeping his voice library-low for Matt’s sake.

Matt’s face creased—emphasizing the red indents on his cheeks from pillows well-used—and his backpack thumped to the floor. “I thought class started at nine?”

“Nope. Nine thirty.”

After a few seconds of blank staring in the direction of the locked door, Matt claimed the empty spot on the bench, sending out a puff of deodorant that wasn’t quite hiding everything else. “Damn. I could’ve slept longer.”

“Bummer.”

Neither of them spoke for a few seconds, long enough for Elliott to wonder if he could pull out his book again and get to the end of the chapter before class started, but Matt spoke up, with a clearer, less alcohol-soaked tone.

“Hey, man, did you do the readings for today?”

Man? He hadn’t thought they were at that level of acquaintance, but maybe Matt just used it like punctuation. Or he couldn’t remember Elliott’s name.

“Yeah,” Elliott answered. There was another uneasy beat of uneasy silence during which Matt nodded and bit his lip, so Elliott took a shot in the dark. “Do you . . . want me to summarize them?”

“Oh my god, would you? I meant to do it, but then stuff happened, you know? And the professor goes so fast, I can’t keep the Apostolic and the Ante-whatever straight.”

“Ante-Nicene. Yeah, he’s a bit nuts. He also gets spitty when he’s passionate, which is always. The splash zone is why I don’t sit in the front row.”

Matt’s laugh was choked, like he was afraid their teacher was around to hear them. They weren’t in a movie from the nineties, but Elliott snuck a glance behind him anyway. Nothing.

Relieved, he kept going. “But he’s a rock star when it comes to the Achaemenid Empire, so you win some, you lose some.”

“Sure,” Matt agreed, his glazed eyes giving away his eagerness to move on.

Elliott cleared his throat and reached into his bag for his laptop, booting it up to retrieve the notes he’d already made on the chapters. “Yeah, so today, we’re talking second and third centuries.”

The recap didn’t take long, since Elliott had simplified the text to the level of someone who was probably only taking the class as a required elective.

“Thank you so much,” Matt said, picking up his backpack so none of the rapidly arriving students would trip.

“It’s nothing. Christianity really starts getting interesting around this time.”

“I bet. You really get this stuff and, you know, enjoy it. As soon as I saw you, I was like, ‘Elliott will have done the reading!’”

So Matt did know his name. He must have had a good memory, since Elliott didn’t have his name written on his door anywhere, and he tended to stay quiet during floor meetings.

A selectively good memory, maybe. Early Christian History not selected. His loss.

“Man, is the prof ever going to get here?” Matt mused out loud, peering at the door down the hall. “I’m not usually so early, I guess.”

“He’ll fly in at the last minute with his briefcase half open. I think he lays on the absentminded-professor aesthetic pretty thick, honestly.”

Matt laughed again, crinkling the fading acne scars on his cheeks. “Dude. He totally does. That hair makes him look like a cartoon character.”

Out of nowhere, Elliott’s palms started to sweat, as though a timer had gone off. He’d been doing so well. Meaningless, easy conversation. It was his turn to keep their rhythm going, but his tongue was heavy with nerves. With every word he might say, he worried he’d accidentally spill something incriminating about his bank account or his odd “friendships.”

Irrational? Yes. Unshakeable? Also yes.

“Totally,” he said, then clamped his lips together.

The gods—the whole pantheon, except for Zeus, maybe—must have been looking down and taking pity, because their professor raced in just then. With five minutes to spare even, according to the clock, but speed-walking like a white rabbit.

Matt lifted his backpack and slung a strap over one shoulder, then with the casual nonchalance of someone posing a question to which they already knew the answer, asked, “See you tonight, then?”

Elliott blinked, flipping through his mental calendar and coming up empty. “Why? Is there a meeting?”

Matt’s eyes widened and he tripped over his words. “There’s, uh, a party. On the fourth floor.”

“Oh.”

A big one, then, if the engineering cabal from one floor above him was involved. Something everybody would have heard about already. Except him.

He’d be hearing it, though, while he tried to read or sleep off the weight of his decisions.

It was probably a good thing his invitation had gotten lost in the mail. Relaxation was the aim of parties like that, but as long as Elliott’s job was not-so-technically illegal, he couldn’t fully join in. He couldn’t have one too many drinks and blurt out his secrets to the wrong person.

“You should come,” Matt said, needlessly bright. “It’s Mariah’s birthday.”

Elliott forced a smile. “Thanks, but I’ve got studying to do.”

Matt’s relief was palpable. “Man, it’s the worst, right? But it’ll all be worth it when we graduate.”

“Sure.” No grad school plans for this one, apparently. Would he even make it to spring break if his enthusiasm for learning was already waning?

Matt’s red eyes sharpened, and his fingers toyed with the zipper pull on his bag. “Actually, it’s good I caught you. A couple of people from this class have been studying with me.” Ducking his head, he assumed a deservedly sheepish expression. “I’ve missed a couple of sessions. But you could join us if you want. You’re so good at all this.”

Oh, no. Elliott had been down that road before. Groups like this started with good intentions, left him alone in the library most sessions, then frantically searched him out for his immaculate study guides a couple of days before the exam.

“That’s—”

“You could tutor us,” Matt went on. “I think we could scrape together some money for your time.”

Of course. What other reason could Elliott have expected? Disappointment still made his stomach sink to his knees.

But even if he’d wanted to help Matt’s group, he couldn’t. He’d thought about tutoring, in the beginning. As far as Dad and Kevin were concerned, his tutoring side hustle was thriving. But when he’d run the numbers, he’d worked out how many clients he’d have to have and how many hours he’d have to spend to make enough money to send to his dad, and it hadn’t worked.

That, and all the reasons why he had to keep to himself, made it an impossibility.

“Sorry, I’m pretty busy already.” Elliott scratched the side of his face, then craned his neck to look at the opening doors of the lecture hall. “I could suggest a few names, if you like?” He had a list of people he didn’t avoid, since they might one day be his colleagues.

“That’s okay.” Matt stood and shuffled closer to the line of students entering the unlocked hall. “See you in there. And thanks again.”

“Yeah, for sure.”

They were both swept up in the crowding at the entrance. Matt headed up the stairs to the back, while Elliott took his usual seat in the second row, sharing a nod and a smile with Professor Handwavey McSprayerson.

He was a good guy, really. His actual name was D. Salter, and he didn’t seem to mind pestering questions or a good debate when Elliott couldn’t hold himself back.

What did it say about him, that he talked to his professor more than he did his classmates? He didn’t care to answer himself, distracted enough by the stream of people coming in the door, chatting and settling themselves.

Elliott could hear them all as they talked about everything and nothing. This class, other classes, dates, jobs. The frightening potential of the world outside the cozy bubble of college life.

Elliott had already had a taste of it, and had decided he’d stay in academia as long as possible, burying his head in ancient stories and the smell of new textbooks. All he had to do was keep giving them tuition money without letting them know the source.

A pang of phantom panic squeezed his ribs as he imagined the fallout if the college ever did find out.

Weighing the risks and rewards of hooking was the first thing he’d done when Innes had made his offer. Despite the fear, it was worth it, so far.

A career that could potentially be ruined by his other work was better than no career at all, or one that came at the expense of thousands of dollars of crippling debt.

Right?

The beginning of the lecture helped him shake off his anxiety, and he shoved it to the back of his mind like he usually did until he could almost forget about it. The material was familiar, so he had lots to say when Salter opened up the floor for discussion.

But toward the end of the precious time with Salter’s expertise, while pointless questions were asked about chapters they were supposed to have read weeks ago, Elliott’s attention span wavered.

Did kids these days even look at the syllabus? (Yes, he thought, bitterly. Once at the end of the semester, to find the professor’s email so they could ask them if the Peloponnesian War would be on the exam. Duh.)

His phone buzzed on the top of the desk, and he swiped it into his lap before its bleating could reach anyone else’s ears.

1 New Text from Aiden (Kent)

The other Aiden in his phone had to go. There could be only One True Aiden, and the old classmate who’d switched majors after their disastrous group project because “Greeks are boring, dude” certainly wouldn’t win that battle.

Thanks for staying, the text said, and as Elliott was reading it, another one came through. And thanks for leaving too. I would’ve been useless as a host anyway.

Elliott smirked, imagining Aiden pressing the Snooze button until the last possible minute. He typed out and sent: Not a morning person?

Not really. So thanks again.

You don’t have to thank me, he sent back. That was what Aiden was paying for, after all. Cuddling with benefits, without the side of inconvenient obligation.

Aiden was quick to respond. I want to. And I’d like to thank you again, in person. Then, before Elliott could laugh at Aiden’s lack of subtlety: I spoke to my secretary today. She’s going to set up an automatic transfer of funds. 1st of every month.

Elliott breathed out a sigh and put his phone down for a minute to simply stare at the ceiling. That was great news.

He’d been taking his chances on Aiden by letting him take his time with the payment, but it was a bet he’d been sure of winning. Still, getting confirmation of a scheduled payment was a relief.

That’s awesome, Elliott texted back. When do you want to meet?

Is 3X/week too many?

Elliott raised his eyebrows. He’d been expecting to make another one-off appointment to let Aiden get used to the idea of having him there regularly.

Elliott: Not at all. I can even stay over one of those nights, every couple of weeks. Not every week, tho.

Getting too busy with his side hustle to focus on school would kind of defeat the purpose.

Aiden: Understood. W/F/Su work for you?

Elliott: Totally.

Aiden: Great. I work late most days, but I’m almost always able to get home by 7. We can plan on that.

It worked fantastically. He could stay over on the occasional Friday, have most Saturdays to himself, then round out the weekend with one last visit on Sunday evening. It would be nice to have a little time to himself on the weekend, instead of spending all of it with Aiden and getting sick of the sight of him by Sunday night. He’d had enough of that with a different Kent.

In his lap, his phone buzzed again, and he snuck a look at the professor to make sure he was still being sent on tangents by the non-history majors.

Aiden: We might have to skip a few Sundays. Not too often though.

Why? Elliott asked, brave and curious.

Aiden: I play football once a month with some friends. We’re usually done by dinnertime, but sometimes we go out for drinks if we get trounced too badly.

Elliott was treated to another mental picture of Aiden, this time in a thin, loose jersey without all the padding underneath, and those tight pants football players wore, whatever they were called . . .

Elliott’s fingers fidgeted even as he typed, Ooh should I get a cheerleader outfit and tag along?

Aiden: You could, but I don’t think the organizers would appreciate your charms.

Elliott slumped a bit in the uncomfortable lecture hall seat. Three dots wiggled on his phone to say that Aiden wasn’t done yet, but Elliott was still oddly disappointed.

Another buzz.

We play for charity, Aiden’s text said. We fundraise at the game, donate the profits, usually to a kid’s cancer ward.

Innes had told him once that the only thing Aiden did was work and give his time to worthy causes. The way he’d said it, with a roll of his eyes, had implied that this was somehow a bad thing. Elliott had already known Innes was an asshole before that, but if he hadn’t, that would’ve been a big clue.

That’s really cool, he replied, hoping his embarrassment wasn’t readable over text. Let me know when they’re happening.

Aiden: Maybe you could run a kissing booth? I wouldn’t mind.

Elliott: Har har.

Maybe embarrassment didn’t translate, but somehow Aiden’s humor did. Maybe a few months ago, Elliott wouldn’t have been sure Aiden was joking, but now? He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from snickering.

Elliott let the phone screen go black and refocused on what was being said. Despite his good intentions, he was distracted again when his phone lit up.

Can I ask a question? Aiden said.

Elliott: Yeah?

Aiden: On your “will do” list, you said you’re okay with barebacking. Is that still true?

Elliott was liking this bluntness Aiden was striving for, but it made him aware of every minute he spent composing his answer in a diplomatic way.

Yes, but only if we’re exclusive, he decided on. Then, Are we exclusive?

Immediately: Yes. On my side, at least. I don’t need to go out and find anyone else.

It’d taken six months for Elliott to even suggest a similar arrangement with Innes. They were both too cynical by nature to put their health in each other’s hands until there’d been a wealth of evidence that they were each too lazy to fake the official papers or deal with the inconvenience of chlamydia. (Or the life-altering shittiness of something permanent.)

Okay, Elliott texted, shielding the screen of his phone more than was probably necessary, given that the closest person was two desks away. Do you trust me enough to get you accurate test results and keep it in my pants so we don’t have to worry about protection?

Yes, if you trust me.

The funny thing was, he did. Aiden had proven to be trustworthy in every aspect so far. A true gentleman, if such people existed. It was out of character for Elliott to be putting that kind of faith in Aiden so quickly, but if he was honest with himself (and he usually was), constant vigilance was exhausting.

Elliott: K. I’ll show you mine, you show me yours. Let me know when you’ve made an appointment. I’ll reward you ;)

There was a long silence, long enough that Elliott tuned back into his class again. Finally, Aiden responded, There’s no need, and Elliott amused himself by imagining Aiden in his fancy office at the firm, fretting over what to say.

There’s EVERY need, he typed. He also sent a couple of eggplant emojis and some ambiguous droplets. That’d put a fire under Aiden’s ass.

As he’d expected, Aiden didn’t text back, and Elliott went back to struggling to pay attention. It didn’t help that they were covering the historical Jesus Christ . . . again. The story itself was rad, but he was a little too aware that he hadn’t made it home last night to get sucked into a topic he’d covered on his own in high school.

It was a purely psychological concern, that was for sure. He’d showered and changed at Aiden’s place, so he was certain he looked presentable, but he didn’t feel like his normal self. That always happened when he didn’t use his own bathroom and his own shampoo, soap, and hot water. It didn’t matter how clean he was, he always felt like he was only half-washed until he got back home.

“Elliott, could I speak to you before you go?”

Class had ended, and Elliott had been too out of it to notice, and now Professor Salter was staring right at him.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, needlessly bright and perky. While the room emptied out, he went up to the podium, his shoes squeaking on the floor.

“Your essay from last semester,” Professor Salter said, his laptop shutting down. “‘Human After All,’ right? It was good.”

“Thanks.” Elliott’s chest warmed with pride. Out of respect, he’d refrained from calling his thesis about the graffiti of Pompeii explosive, but he’d definitely knocked that essay out of the park.

“I want to submit it to our undergraduate conference in September,” Professor Salter said. “With your permission, of course, and your name on it. That sound like it’s up your alley?”

Fighting down his happy dance was truly a Herculean task. “Sure,” he said, keeping his voice artificially low to compensate. Talking about the long-dead people who wrote so-and-so was here on ancient walls in front of people who’d find it as cool as he did? Where did he sign?

“Fantastic, excellent, brilliant.” Professor Salter closed the laptop with a snap and started packing it up, along with the power cord. “I’ll send you an email with all the details. I also haven’t forgotten about that reference you asked me for.”

Tension crept into Elliott’s shoulders and the flutters of ego evaporated under the embarrassing reminder. It was bad enough he’d had to ask for help in the first place.

“Great,” he squeaked. “The scholarship committee won’t start evaluating them until next month, so no rush.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get a move on.” Professor Salter hefted his bag over his shoulder and they both headed for the lecture hall door.

“Thank you,” Elliott said, before he lost the opportunity. “I really appreciate it. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

“It’s nothing,” Professor Salter called out, heading down the hall to his office. “See you next week!”

It probably would be nothing, in the end, Elliott reminded himself as he walked out into the late-morning air. Or close to it. He applied every semester for scholarships, and sometimes he was even awarded a small grant, but there was only so much to go around, and however much he appreciated it, it didn’t come close to covering all his costs.

His walk home was short, and made quicker by planning what he was going to get done that day. The list was long, so as soon as he got home and high-fived the life-size poster of Alexander the Great on his door, he jumped onto his bed to shut his eyes for a few minutes.

Naturally, that was when his phone rang.

“Hey,” he answered, throwing his free arm across his eyes. “I keep meaning to call you.”

“Great minds think alike, kiddo.”

His dad’s rasping voice warmed the sterile insides of Elliott’s dorm room more than any of the pictures and posters he’d put up. “Yeah, yeah. You should be here instead.”

“Nah, I could never get into those Romans as much as you. I did see something in the paper the other day, about those statues that get you so riled up?”

“Ugh, the Elgin marbles! It’s just more bullshit from the British Museum about why ancient Greek statues should be in England instead of, you know, Greece.”

It’d been Elliott’s mom who really cared about that sort of thing, but his dad let him go on about it, making all the right noises as Elliott relieved tension by going over arguments he’d already made or read about in books.

“You’re getting a good start to the year, then?” Elliott’s dad asked, after his ire had petered out.

“Definitely. One of my favorite TAs is running my Poetry and Prose seminar. I’m going to be watching her every move so I can figure out how to be her in a couple years.”

“Fantastic.”

“Oh, and my tutoring is picking up again for the semester. I should have enough clients to send you some money next month.”

He’d meant to sneak it in as an aside, but his news dropped like a stone in the conversation.

Dad sighed. “Elliott—”

“Can we not do this? I’m kinda tired.”

“I’m not your responsibility. I don’t like borrowing money from anyone, least of all you. It gets people into worse trouble.”

“I know, but you’re not borrowing it, and I’m not some stranger.”

“I just think you should be worrying about yourself.”

He blinked up at the ceiling, seeing his dad’s frowning face there. “But then who would worry about you?”

“You shouldn’t be racking up debt when you could be paying it off as you go, instead of taking care of me. I’m fine.”

Elliott’s stomach tightened, but he wouldn’t be put off. “What about the roof, Dad?” As expected, his dad didn’t have an answer, not even when he pressed, “Will you be fine when it caves in?”

Elliott wasn’t there at the house, in his mother’s small, beloved kitchen with its outdated cabinets, but he could still tell that they were thinking of the same things. The dollar signs that would start to build up when they tried to get a new roof. The years and years it would take to free themselves of the debt, only to probably need to make another big purchase.

“Sometimes I think this place is more trouble than it’s worth,” Dad said, quiet enough that Elliott could hear the old fridge spitting in the background.

Elliott swallowed. “I’ll send you something next month. Don’t argue.”

“Okay. But just from tutoring, right? No funny business.”

“None,” he promised, lying for the hundredth time, but not about what his dad thought.

It’d been a year since they’d argued about how Elliott could afford to send the money he did, and Elliott had “confessed” to selling essays to other students. He’d never actually done it, but the concept was unsavory enough for his dad to disapprove, but forgive. Now, he had to stick to the tutoring story.

“Tell me about your other classes,” Dad said, blustering to move them along from hard topics.

“Sure. I had Early Christian History today.”

“Ooh, sounds riveting.”

“It is, surprisingly.”

When they finally hung up, Elliott’s phone was warm from the heat of his cheek, but he stayed on it long enough to check his bank balance one more time before he put it from his mind, diving deep into the past instead.