What a jackass.
“I was going to look through his sketchbook for a picture he drew of me and signthat, but I figured that would have been overkill.”
Jett scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Oh, jeez. You think so?”
He tried to look angry, determined not to encourage his boyfriend’s teasing of his best friend, but Harrison’s laughter was contagious. Clutching his stomach, Harrison was doubled over, his broad frame shaking as he wiped unsuccessfully at the tears streaming from his eyes.
“You’re unbelievable,” is what Jett settled on. “He’s going to be so embarrassed, and then I’ll have to hear about it.”
“No way,” Harrison said, wiping the last tears away as he straightened. “That napkin’s getting framed and hung on his wall.”
Jett wanted to argue, but he didn’t think he would be telling the truth if he did.
“Call your damn cousin,” said Jett. “I’m going to get a shower—”
Harrison’s face lit up.
“By myself. With the door locked.”
Jett hurried down the hall with Harrison’s laughter echoing behind him. He couldn’t believe he had pulled a stunt like that, but it made sense. Harrison’s teasing humour was always sharp, but Jett hadn’t expected it to extend to pranking his friends.
Harrison seemed…comfortable. And knowing that made Jett feel like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
One day at a time. That’s what he kept telling himself. This was only the beginning, and he couldn’t wait to discover the many sides of Harrison that would reveal themselves as time went on.
Harrison
Harrison was still chuckling as he tapped Arlo’s name and brought the phone to his ear. The call rang twice before going straight to voicemail, and his smile faltered.
He frowned and called again, pacing slowly around Jett’s living room, his socked feet making soft sounds against the floor. Again—two rings, then nothing.
The knot in his stomach tightened. Arlo was dodging him, and that was rarely a good sign. Harrison stood still for a moment and thumbed out a quick text:
Harrison: Pick up the damn phone.
Without waiting for a reply, he hit call for the third time, unease settling heavily in his chest.
Two rings and nothing.
Harrison: I’m not going to stop until you answer.
A check mark appeared next to his text with the wordread, so he knew Arlo was seeing this. Harrison let out a sigh of frustration as he called again, a sound that was evenly matched when Arlo answered.
“What?”
Harrison didn’t say a word. He’d learned that silence worked better with Arlo than any lecture ever could. His parents had always yelled when things got tense—when Harrison stayed quiet, it got through to him. Maybe it was the absence of judgment, or maybe it just made Arlo feel heard in a way that shouting never had.
“Sorry,”said Arlo. Then silence.
“Tell me what happened, kid.”
There was noise in the background—muffled voices, the clang of gear, and the echo of footsteps on tile. Harrison could tell Arlo was still near the locker room, but tucked away somewhere more private. A bathroom stall, maybe, judging by how the sound bounced off the walls and the slight echo in his voice.
It made it easier to hear the hitch in Arlo’s voice when he finally spoke.
“My parents called me.”
Harrison’s heart rate spiked, that familiar surge of irrational anger rising fast and hot inside. Just the thought of the people he used to call family—those selfish, toxic pieces of shit—was enough to make his hands curl into fists at his sides.
