Chapter 1: The Drunken Revelation
The coarse fabric of Jake’s varsity jacket scratched against Dave’s cheek where it had landed, smelling of stale beer and cheap cologne. “What’s the matter, Davey?” Jake slurred, not even looking at him as he kicked his own shoes off, “Never seen a real party before?”
Dave’s fist clenched under his blanket, but his voice came out flat, carefully neutral. “Looks like you had fun.” Jake’s grin widened as he patted the empty space on his own rumpled bed.
He lobbed a half-eaten slice of pizza from a grease-stained box on the floor; it landed with a soft plop on Dave’s chest. “C’mon, tell me,” Jake drawled, his eyes glinting in the bad light, “You just sit here all night thinking about me?”
Jake patted the bed beside him, the worn mattress giving a soft, threatening thump under his palm. Dave’s own heartbeat was a frantic drum against his ribs, so loud he was sure Jake could hear it.
The pizza grease seeped through his thin t-shirt, warm and unpleasant. “I was reading,” Dave muttered, peeling the slice off and placing it on the textbook beside his bed.
Jake’s laugh was a short, sharp bark. “Sure you were.” He swung his legs up onto his bed, not breaking eye contact, his smirk deepening into something knowing and cruel. “Tell me what you really do in here when I’m gone.”
The question hung in the air, thick as the humidity. Dave’s throat tightened, his eyes darting to the door—still open a crack, a sliver of fluorescent light from the hall cutting across the floor. Jake followed his gaze, and with a slow, deliberate swing of his legs, he stood up and kicked the door shut with a hollow thud. He didn't move back to his bed, but leaned against the closed door, blocking the exit. “Well?” he said, the playful tone gone, replaced by something lower, more deliberate.
The silence stretched, punctuated only by the buzz of the faulty lamp. Jake pushed off the door and took a single step into the center of the room, his shadow swallowing Dave whole. "I heard something funny tonight," he said, his voice a conspiratorial rasp. "Sarah Miller from your chem lab said you jumped a mile when she brushed your arm passing back a test." He leaned in, his beer-heavy breath hot against Dave's ear. "She thinks you're just shy, but I told her the truth—you were probably just terrified she'd feel how hard you were getting."
Dave’s whole body went rigid, the words like a physical blow to his stomach. Jake watched the reaction, his smirk turning vicious, and he took another step closer, his shadow falling across Dave’s textbook. He nudged the greasy pizza box on the floor with his foot, the gesture slow and deliberate. "Relax," he said, his voice dropping to a mock-concerned whisper that was infinitely worse than his slurring. "I didn't tell her that part... yet."