I know Ethan's uncomfortable. I saw it in how he flinched when we walked in holding hands and the guys stared. I've never given a shit what people think—it's like a shield I've always worn. But with Ethan, it's different. I can tell it weighs on him, even if he tries to hide it. I can imagine what he's faced: homophobia, silent judgments, stares that cut. I'm here to help him carry that, I tell myself. To make sure he doesn't feel alone while we play this charade.
I decided to give him space, let him breathe for a bit, hoping he'd relax. But it didn't go unnoticed in the house. The guys gave him weird looks, especially him, like they blame him for me, the party guy, suddenly being with a man. Like Ethan "changed" me. What the fuck. If anyone messes with him, they'll deal with me.
We gather in the living room, a mess of worn couches, tables littered with plastic cups, and the stench of stale beer. Morgan's waiting, his serious face charging the air with tension. I hope this isn't a disaster. I saw Joe walk in with Ethan, but Ethan's hanging back, far off, like he wants to disappear. That stings. I don't want him to feel like this, to think being with me is a burden.
Ethan's fucking amazing, more than I admit out loud. I can't stand him feeling shitty because of me or who he is. I've gotta do something to make him feel safe—with me, with everyone. I will.
"Alright, listen up," Morgan starts, his voice cutting through the chatter. Silence drops like a curtain.
"As you know, last quarter we had issues with hazing, so we're not taking new members this time."
No one looks surprised. Some nod. Morgan goes on: "Since no one's graduating yet, we're full. But with no activities, we've gotta make up for it this semester with two big events."
"Just two?" Chris asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Two for now," Morgan snaps back, firm. "If something else comes up, we'll deal, but that's the plan."
"Makes sense," David says, scratching his neck. "Between games, training, and classes, I'm barely surviving."
That opens the floodgates. Everyone bitches at once—exams, projects, commitments. Morgan raises a hand, calling for order.
"That's exactly why," he adds. "We're all slammed. I'm not piling on. We just need these events to go well, make a good impression."
The vibe settles, but unease lingers in the glances. I look at Ethan, at the back, trying to fade into nothing. It hits me hard, an urge to go to him, to let him know he's in the right place, even if it feels like a mess.
"So," Morgan continues, voice commanding, "the events are a fundraiser and the Halloween party, which is coming up fast."
A roar of cheers erupts. The Halloween party's always a hit. Morgan raises his hands, half-smiling. "Yeah, I know, you love it. But let's focus."
He clears his throat, more serious. "The fundraiser's next week. We're teaming up with other frats. There were some clashes, but we worked it out."
I lean in, curious. "And?" I ask, flashing a grin. "What's the plan?"
Morgan looks at me, half-patient, half-amused. "Easy, Whitman," he says, dragging out the suspense. "It's… an auction."
Silence hits like a brick. "An auction?" someone repeats, skeptical.
Morgan nods. "You guys are the items. Dates with you, bought by people from other schools. Girls, guys, why not?"
Nervous laughs break the quiet. Morgan keeps going: "It's appealing. They'll be more interested than you think."
I grin. As cocky as it sounds, he's right. The plan's weird but promising. "Plus," Morgan adds, "the funds go to faculty research and Lucile Packard Children's Hospital."
A murmur of approval ripples through. No one's arguing with that.
"How do we get auctioned?" Jake asks, leaning back in his chair. "Stand on a stage and pose?"
Morgan laughs. "We'll use your best social media pics for the event page. The auction's in-person at Memorial Auditorium but also online, with digital wristbands for real-time bidding."
"That's fancy as hell," I joke, sparking laughs.
Joe raises his hand, curious but serious. "What do we do on these dates?"
Morgan shrugs, chuckling. "Go out, eat, laugh. What happens after is on you. But," he raises a finger, teasing, "use protection."
The room explodes in laughter. I laugh too, but the surrealness hits: from judgmental stares to being auctioned like cattle. I glance at Ethan. He's tense, clearly uneasy with the idea. I know, being in the house, he can't opt out. The others take it lightly, but I see discomfort on several faces.
And, of course, the bullshit comes. "If a girl bids on Ethan, they gonna paint their nails together?" Nichols sneers, with his usual asshole smirk.
"Nichols," Morgan snaps, sharp.
"What? Just saying," Nichols says, shrugging.
"What I do with my date's not your problem," Ethan fires back, standing, his glare sharp enough to cut glass.
Nichols laughs, harsh. "Maybe not, but it's theirs if they bid on you. Can't let them waste their money."
Ethan smirks, ice-cold. "Jealous?"
Murmurs grow, stifled laughs and whispers picking sides. "Jealous of you?" Nichols shoots back, stepping forward.
"Obviously," Ethan snaps. "Jealous that, even if I like sucking dick, I'll have more girls interested than you."
The room erupts in laughter and chatter. I'm fucking proud of him, how he stood his ground. "Hey, you—" Nichols starts, advancing.
"Whoa, whoa!" I jump in, standing. "Watch it, Nichols. Back off."
"Enough!" Morgan roars, silencing everyone. "Nichols, cut your bullshit or you're out. Everyone's equal here," he adds. "Anyone can bid on you, girl or guy."
"I'm not doing any fag shit," Nichols spits.
"Don't worry," I throw back, crossing my arms. "If girls don't want you, doubt guys will either."
The room loses it, laughter exploding. Nichols, red with rage, mutters something and backs off. "Enough!" Morgan orders, glaring at him. "Nichols, I'm watching you."
Then he turns to me. "Whitman, control that fucking mouth."
I raise my hands, flashing an innocent grin that draws nervous laughs. I turn to Ethan. "You okay?" I ask, voice low, searching his eyes.
"I can handle myself," he says, curt, before storming off to his room without looking back.
****
My blood's boiling over what's happening to Ethan. Somehow, I feel it's my fault. Before, no one looked at him like that, but since they saw us holding hands—even though it's all a fucking lie—things changed. There are assholes who stare at him with disgust, like his presence offends them. Are their egos so fragile they think a gay guy in the room's gonna "infect" them? Fuck, that's pathetic.
I didn't see it like this before, I'll admit. But being close to Ethan, getting his world, opened my eyes. He carries this weight every day, and I can't stand that it's because of my charade.
I finish my molecular biology class in the Gilbert Building, the cool air hitting me as I step out. I cross the path toward Green Library, its glass walls reflecting the sun. Then I see her. Amber, half-hidden behind a wooden fence near the gardens, leaning like she's spying on someone. Her stance is so suspicious I can't resist.
"Who're we stalking?" I whisper, trying to sound playful, though nerves betray me.
Amber jumps, spinning to glare at me. "What the hell are you doing here?" she hisses, a hint of anger in her voice.
"Saw you, so…" I mumble, shrugging.
"Shh! Shut up!" she snaps, slapping her hand over my mouth.
Her touch sends my pulse racing more than it should. I try to ignore it, but fuck, Amber's always driven me crazy. It's no secret, not even to me. Her perfume hits like a punch. I'm already hard as a rock.
I follow her gaze. "Lydia?" I murmur, close to her ear.
"Noah, please," she insists, her whisper tense.
"What's up with her?" I ask, confused.
Right then, Lydia turns toward us. Amber reacts instantly, shoving me behind the fence. We lose balance and crash, her landing on top of me. Shit. My body reacts like it's got a mind of its own, heart hammering. Her breasts press against me, and it's not helping, fuck, not at all. She's so focused on not being seen she doesn't notice, but for me, it's torture. Her hair brushes my face, her perfume drives me wild, and when she lifts up slightly, her eyes lock onto mine. Her breath burns my skin. I dare to lean in, just an inch, but she pushes me hard, slamming me back to the ground.
"No. No," she whispers, pulling away.
She peeks over the fence, checking if Lydia's still there. She's gone. "Why not?" I ask, dazed, my head spinning.
"Because, Noah," she says, sharp. "Aren't you dating Ethan?"
My jaw drops, speechless. "How do you know?" I manage to ask.
Amber raises an eyebrow, like it's obvious. "Because the whole fucking university knows. You were holding hands all over campus yesterday."
"It's complicated…" I stammer, scrambling for an excuse.
"Complicated?" she snaps, crossing her arms.
"It's not what it looks like. There's nothing serious with Ethan," I insist, desperate.
"Nothing serious?" she repeats, confused.
"Are you pissed?" I ask, unsure. "Is it because I'm with Ethan? Don't tell me… you like him?"
"What?" she says, almost offended, eyes blazing.
"Amber, I've been crazy about you forever," I blurt, the words spilling like a flood. "Since that football game when you and Ethan kissed in front of me, I can't get it out of my head. And now I'm thinking maybe you like him."
I take a deep breath, letting out what's burning me. "Amber, Ethan's not gonna feel the same. He's gay. No matter how many times you kiss him, you're not gonna 'fix' him."
"Fix him?" she repeats, incredulous, her eyes on fire. "You think Ethan's got a disease?"
"No… that's not what I meant…" I try to backtrack, but she cuts me off.
"Are you fucking stupid?" she snaps, her voice like a whip. "Listen, Whitman," she says, grabbing her stuff, her tone hard. "I adore you, you know that. But I have no fucking clue what you're playing at with Ethan. If you hurt him, I won't forgive you."
She turns and walks off, not looking back. I'm left on the ground, the silence heavy as lead. She's right. I got carried away with her so close, that damn perfume, her body against mine. Then Ethan popped into my head, and I spiraled. I got pissed.
I don't know if I'm mad because I imagined Amber wants Ethan, or because I thought Ethan might want her. But she's right about one thing: I don't want to hurt Ethan. He knows this is a lie, and I didn't mean to sound like an asshole with that "fix" bullshit. Fuck, I'm an idiot. I fucked up. My damn mouth fucked it up again.
****
I know Ethan's uncomfortable. I saw it in how he jumped when we walked in holding hands and the guys stared. I've never given a fuck what people think—it's like a shield I've always had. But with Ethan, it's different. I can tell it weighs on him, even if he hides it. I can imagine what he's dealt with: homophobia, silent judgments, stares that slice. I'm here to help him carry that, I tell myself. To make sure he doesn't feel alone while we play this charade.
I decided to give him space, let him chill for a minute, hoping he'd relax. But it didn't go unnoticed in the house. The guys gave him weird looks, especially him, like they blame him for me, the party guy, suddenly being with a man. Like Ethan "changed" me. What the fuck. If anyone messes with him, they'll answer to me.
We gather in the living room, a space packed with beat-up couches, tables cluttered with plastic cups, and the stink of stale beer. Morgan's waiting, his serious face loading the air with tension. I hope this isn't a shitshow. I saw Joe walk in with Ethan, but he's hanging back, trying to vanish. That hurts. I don't want him to feel like this, to think being with me is a burden.
Ethan's incredible, fuck, more than I admit out loud. I can't stand him feeling shitty because of me or who he is. I've gotta do something to make him feel safe—with me, with everyone. I will.
"Alright, listen up," Morgan kicks off, his voice slicing the chatter. Silence drops like a curtain.
"As you know, last quarter we had hazing problems, so no new members this time."
No one's shocked. Some nod. Morgan presses on: "Since no one's graduating yet, we're full. But with no activities, we've gotta make up for it this semester with two big events."
"Just two?" Chris asks, eyebrow raised.
"Two for now," Morgan says, firm. "If more come up, we'll handle it, but that's the schedule."
"Makes sense," David says, scratching his neck. "Between games, training, and classes, I'm barely surviving."
That opens the floodgates. Everyone bitches at once—exams, projects, commitments. Morgan raises a hand for order.
"That's why," he adds. "We're all slammed. I'm not overloading you. We just need these events to go well, make a good impression."
The mood calms, but unease hangs in the glances. I look at Ethan, at the back, trying to fade away. It stings, an urge to go to him, to let him know he's in the right place, even if it feels like a mess.
"So," Morgan continues, commanding, "the events are a fundraiser and the Halloween party, coming up fast."
Cheers erupt. The Halloween bash is always a banger. Morgan raises his hands, half-smiling. "Yeah, I know, you love it. But focus."
He clears his throat, more serious. "The fundraiser's next week. We're partnering with other frats. There were beefs, but we worked it out."
I lean in, curious. "And?" I ask, grinning. "What's the plan?"
Morgan eyes me, half-patient, half-amused. "Chill, Whitman," he says, dragging the suspense. "It's… an auction."
Silence slams down. "An auction?" someone echoes, skeptical.
Morgan nods. "You're the lots. Dates with you, bid on by people from other schools. Girls, guys, why not?"
Nervous laughs break out. Morgan rolls on: "It's a draw. They'll bid more than you think."
I grin. As arrogant as it sounds, he's right. The plan's odd but solid. "Plus," Morgan adds, "funds go to faculty research and Lucile Packard Children's Hospital."
Approval murmurs ripple. No one fights that.
"How do we get auctioned?" Jake asks, slouching. "Stand on stage and pose?"
Morgan laughs. "We'll use your best social media pics for the event page. Auction's in-person at Memorial Auditorium, online too, with digital wristbands for real-time bidding."
"That's high-tech," I joke, sparking laughs.
Joe raises his hand, curious but straight-faced. "What do we do on these dates?"
Morgan shrugs, chuckling. "Go out, eat, laugh. What happens after's on you. But," he raises a finger, teasing, "use protection."
The room explodes in laughter. I laugh too, but the surreal hits: from side-eyes to being auctioned like cattle. I glance at Ethan. He's tense, clearly uneasy. I know, being in the house, he can't bail. The others play it cool, but discomfort shows on some faces.
And, of course, the dumbass comments start. "If a girl bids on Ethan, they gonna paint nails?" Nichols sneers, his usual asshole smirk.
"Nichols," Morgan snaps, sharp.
"What? Just saying," Nichols shrugs.
"What I do with my date's none of your business," Ethan fires back, standing, his glare cutting glass.
Nichols laughs, rough. "Maybe, but it's theirs if they bid on you. Can't let them waste cash."
Ethan smirks, ice-cold. "Jealous?"
Murmurs swell, stifled laughs and whispers picking sides. "Jealous of you?" Nichols shoots, stepping up.
"Obviously," Ethan snaps. "Jealous that even if I like sucking dick, I'll have more girls after me than you."
The room loses it, laughter and chatter erupting. I'm fucking proud of him, how he held his ground. "Hey, you—" Nichols starts, advancing.
"Whoa, whoa!" I jump up. "Back off, Nichols."
"Enough!" Morgan bellows, silencing everyone. "Nichols, cut the bullshit or you're gone. Everyone's equal," he adds. "Anyone can bid on you, girl or guy."
"I'm not doing any fag shit," Nichols spits.
"Don't worry," I throw back, arms crossed. "If girls don't want you, guys won't either."
The room cracks up. Nichols, red-faced with rage, mutters and backs off. "Enough!" Morgan orders, glaring. "Nichols, I'm watching you."
He turns to me. "Whitman, control that fucking mouth."
I raise my hands, innocent grin drawing nervous laughs. I turn to Ethan. "You okay?" I ask, low, searching his eyes.
"I can handle myself," he says, curt, storming off to his room without a glance back.