This week's been wild, but the good kind. Amber, the guys, and I have been hanging out almost every day: sometimes grabbing beers at a bar near campus, other times losing ourselves in a club until dawn, or just chilling at the Alpha Centauri house, smashing buttons in video games. Everything's clicking, like the campus is waking up from its summer coma. Classes start Monday, and students are trickling back, filling the paths with laughter and backpacks.
The Stanford Cardinals' win, with Jackson killing it as quarterback, gave us a high we're still riding. The vibe with Joe, Jackson, Noah, and me has solidified, like we've crossed some invisible bridge. There's a connection now that used to be just a faint echo, and it feels fucking great.
Friday, Noah and I wrap up our shift at The Coffee House. We walk back to the frat house, talking about everything and nothing. The conversation flows easy, full of jabs and laughs that make me forget the chaos of work. I can't help chuckling when I think about the game, when Amber planted that kiss on me in front of Noah. It was awkward, sure, but seeing Noah's jealous face was pure gold. He's obviously crazy about her, and after all the times he's made me squirm, it felt good to watch him sweat a little.
We get to the house, and it's weirdly quiet. Closed doors, dark windows, like the place is deserted. We don't think much of it, but when we open the door, a fucking explosion hits us: confetti flying, air horns blaring, and a crowd screaming in unison, "Surprise, happy birthday, Noah!"
We jump back like we've been shot. Noah's jaw drops, but a grin breaks through, one of those he can't control. Morgan steps up, taking charge. "About time you showed up, Whitman," he says, clapping Noah's shoulder.
"When'd you guys pull this off? This morning?" Noah asks, still processing.
"You think we'd let your birthday slide without a proper rager?" Amber cuts in, her smile lighting up the room.
The crowd swarms him, showering him with hugs and cheers. Noah's in his element, grinning like he owns the world. But honestly, when doesn't he? Seeing him like this, surrounded by people, makes me smile, but there's a weird pang too, like I'm watching him from a distance.
In the chaos, I spot my friends. Jackson's there, as always, but so is Julie, who I haven't seen in weeks. Without thinking, I run to her and scoop her into a hug, lifting her off the ground. "Julie!" I say, as she laughs and hugs me back.
"Glad to see you fitting in," she says with a warm smile that reminds me why we've always clicked.
"It's been a mess at times, but… the idiot's not such an idiot," I say, nodding toward Noah across the room, where he's swarmed by college kids.
"So you like him now?" Julie asks, laughing. "I thought he was the one who pissed you off the most."
"Watching him strut around with a different girl every week got under my skin," I admit, shrugging. "But after getting to know him… he's not that bad."
"And what about the proposition?" she asks, tilting her head with curiosity.
"Nothing, we dropped it," I say, brushing it off. "Don't worry."
"We celebrating or what?" Jackson cuts in with a half-smile, holding a beer.
"Where to?" I ask, intrigued.
Before he can answer, Nichols, another frat brother, jumps in. "This isn't the party, Whitman," he says with a sly grin.
"It's not? Then what is?" Noah asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Come with us," Nichols says, smacking Noah's shoulder.
We follow the group through the house, its walls plastered with photos of past parties and Stanford pennants. We step out to the backyard, and it's straight out of a movie: the pool glows under the last rays of sunset, reflecting golden and orange hues that dance on the water. Strings of fairy lights dangle between trees, twinkling like fireflies, and tables are loaded with drinks, chips, and burgers sizzling on a grill, the smoky scent filling the air. Splashing from the pool mixes with laughter and the hum of music kicking up from speakers. It's the perfect snapshot of a California college party.
Everyone bolts to change into swimsuits, and the party kicks into gear. There's more people than I expected, like half the campus crashed the place. It's not just Delta girls but guys from other frats, despite the rivalries. Friends of friends, all mingling, laughing, and drinking under the lights.
I throw on swim trunks but keep my shirt on. I'm not quite comfortable going shirtless like the others, rocking bikinis or bare torsos. The music cranks up, with songs everyone's shouting along to, raising red plastic cups. There's a diving contest at the deep end, impromptu volleyball games in the shallow part, and a group tossing beers back and forth, splashing anyone nearby. The air smells of sunscreen, chlorine, and booze, and the backyard lights shine brighter as the sky darkens.
It's weird, because for the first time in weeks, I'm not glued to Noah. We've been practically inseparable lately, but now he's the center of the party, swarmed by people congratulating him and pulling him into games. It's his birthday—well, a few days late—and he deserves it. I watch him laugh, cannonball into the pool, and I can't help smiling. But there's also something nagging at me, a feeling I can't name as I watch him from the sidelines.
At one point, Noah catches my eye from across the yard. He winks, flashing that magnetic smile of his, and I give one back almost without thinking. That small moment, just ours, pulls me out of my head. At least everyone's happy.
"So, you're part of the crew now, Bennett," Chris says, appearing out of nowhere and snapping me out of my thoughts.
"Chris, didn't see you there," I say, surprised.
"Got in this morning. Had to sort some stuff on campus, but I made it in time to change for the party," he says, gesturing to his white swim trunks that pop against his tanned skin. His brown hair's a bit long, damp from the pool, and those honey-colored eyes always draw looks. Chris is the kind of guy who stands out, not just for his looks but for how he throws himself into everything. After what went down with Sarah at the hazing party, it's hard not to feel for him.
"Chris, I…" I start, hesitating. "I'm sorry about what happened."
"It's cool," he cuts me off with a soft smile. "The guys told you Sarah came clean. I'm the one who fucked up. It's all good, Ethan. We're fine."
A heavy silence settles, like the air's thickened. I don't know what to say, and he seems to sense it.
"Ethan," he says, breaking the ice, "I'm sorry about that night. The way I came at you, like I wanted to punch your face in… and especially for making you shout to the world that you're gay. That wasn't my intention. I was pissed, hurt."
"It's fine," I say, shrugging. "It was the heat of the moment. Yeah, you pushed me, but I can't stand bullshit. The only way to defend myself was to own it."
"You put a target on your back," he says, his expression serious. "This is Stanford, people are more open, but there's always rumors, prejudice. Even if you're fitting in, not everyone's chill about it."
"I know," I say calmly. "I've always dealt with that. I don't give it much thought. Better to be upfront, right? Saves me from some idiot dragging me to a double date thinking I'm into girls."
I meet his eyes and extend my hand. "So, we good?"
"We're good," he says, but instead of shaking my hand, he pulls me into a quick hug, the kind that says more than words.
****
The party at the Alpha Centauri house is a fucking whirlwind. The speakers blast songs that are everywhere: "Levitating" by Dua Lipa has a group improvising a dance routine by the pool, "Sicko Mode" by Travis Scott pulls screams and jumps, and when "Uptown Funk" by Bruno Mars hits, even the serious types belt it out, red plastic cups raised high. The backyard's alive, the pool reflecting the fairy lights' glow, the air thick with the smell of burgers sizzling on the grill.
Noah's at the center of it all, as always. He cannonballs into the pool with a clumsy dive that cracks everyone up, splashing half the crowd. Julie's dancing with some girls, her energy infectious, while Jackson bounces between joking with Joe and tossing back drinks with others, his laid-back smile practically permanent.
The vibe's pure joyful chaos: water splashing, laughter drowning in the music, impromptu toasts ending in more splashes. The frat house pulses with the night's energy.
But then Noah climbs out of the pool, hair plastered to his forehead, water dripping down his chest. A group of girls swarms him, congratulating him, hugging him. One of them, out of nowhere, plants a kiss on his lips. My cup slips from my hand, and I set it on a table, dazed. Before I can process it, another girl grabs his face and kisses him too. And there's Noah Whitman, being Noah fucking Whitman.
I take a deep breath and head inside. Seeing that hits me like a punch. Suddenly, it all clicks: that pang in my chest, the pit in my stomach, the anxiety clawing up my throat whenever he's around. Fuck, I like Noah. And it hurts like hell knowing he'll never be mine. It's like a crush that suddenly finds someone else: even if you know they don't see you, the pain's real.
I climb the stairs, needing air, but stop when I see someone sitting on a step. "Sarah?" I ask, confused.
She looks up, her eyes shimmering like she's holding back tears. "You okay?" I press, sitting beside her.
"Came to distract myself," she says, forcing a smile. "The break was a mess."
"Wanna talk?" I ask, leaning toward her.
"I'd rather not," she says, looking down.
"You here for Chris?" I try, hoping to pull her out of her silence.
"I don't know," she mumbles. "Maybe. I don't know."
"I'm sorry for what I put you through that night," she says suddenly, her voice breaking.
"It's fine," I say quickly. "It's okay."
She looks at me, like she sees right through me. "You're hurting too, aren't you?"
I sigh, caught. "Maybe."
Her hand rests on my leg, soft, trembling. "It's okay. The pain passes. Time heals."
"Time doesn't heal shit," I say, firmer than I meant. "Time just passes. If you want to heal, you've gotta do something."
She looks down, and the air between us gets heavy, like the words weigh too much. You can stay still, let things roll on, or move and change them. Doing nothing's a choice too.
"Then I've got a lot to change," Sarah says, standing. "Thanks for the advice."
She gives a weak smile and heads for the exit. I sit there for a second, staring at the empty space. Suddenly, I get it—I can't stay sunk just because Noah, a straight guy who'll never look at me the way I look at him, is kissing other people. What did I expect? That he'd pick me?
I head back to the patio, determined not to let this ruin me. The party's still raging, music pounding, people getting looser by the minute. Some dance like there's no tomorrow, others make out against the walls, and couples slip off to rooms, hand in hand. It's the usual frat party chaos, and for a moment, I feel part of it.
Then I see Jackson rush past, his face tight. "Yo, where you going? What's up?" I call, grabbing his arm.
"Just… tired," he says, barely meeting my eyes. "Got practice tomorrow. We'll talk later."
He brushes my hand off gently and leaves. I'm worried, but when I turn, I see why he bolted. Joe's kissing Julie with an intensity that cuts through the air, pinning her against the wall while she pulls him closer, one leg hooked around him. I don't get it. I thought Joe was into Jackson, but Jackson's always been into girls, or so it seemed. Maybe I imagined it, wanting to believe I wasn't the only gay guy here. Maybe I was just looking for someone who gets what it's like to carry this weight.
I shake my head and sit at a table by the bar, ordering a beer. When I turn, I see Mike, the basketball team captain. Tall, dark, built like a sculpture, and yeah, hot as hell. Rumors say he's bi, but I've never seen him with anyone.
"Finally joining us, huh?" Mike says.
"Mike," I say, smiling. "Didn't know you were here."
"Nichols invited me," he says with a calm smile. "We're buddies from the team."
"And why're you talking to me?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
He looks at me with those brown eyes that catch the lights. "Saw you and thought you'd be good company."
"Me? Good company?" I say, laughing, though my stomach's doing flips.
"I've tried talking to you before," he says with a disarming smile. "But you're always wiped out, half-asleep in class, or vanishing."
I look down, a bit embarrassed. "Sorry. This quarter's been a shitshow. Worked so much I barely survived."
"No worries," he laughs. "You awake now?"
We laugh together, and the air feels lighter. "Hey, would you wanna…" he starts, but doesn't finish.
Noah appears out of nowhere, soaked, hair dripping. He slings an arm around my neck, splashing me. "Where you been?" he asks with that smile that drives me crazy and pisses me off at the same time.
I try to answer, but he cuts me off. "Am I interrupting something?" he says, eyeing Mike with a raised eyebrow.
"We were…" Mike starts.
"Sorry, didn't know," Noah interrupts, his tone more teasing than sorry. "Come on, Ethan. We need you for the pool team. You're too alone out here."
"What?" I stammer, but Noah grabs my arm and drags me toward the pool.
I glance back at Mike as I'm pulled away. I manage a smile, and he gives a weak one back, looking down. At the pool's edge, I shake free. "Why'd you do that?" I ask, pissed.
"Do what?" he says with that disarming grin.
"You know there was something going on," I snap, avoiding his eyes.
"Really?" he says, almost laughing. "Too bad. Another day."
Before I can fire back, the asshole pushes me into the pool. I hit the water with a splash, swallowing a gulp. I come up coughing, shoving my hair out of my face. "I didn't even take my shirt off, you idiot!" I yell.
"So what?" Noah laughs. "Everyone in!"
A bunch of guys dive in after, turning the pool into a mess of laughter and splashes. Morgan shows up, laughing harder than I've ever seen, and the party goes next-level. They start a game of chicken: girls on guys' shoulders, shoving each other until they fall. I've got Amber, Noah's got Julie, and Luisa's with another guy. Water flies with every push, laughter fills the yard, and the crowd outside cheers like it's a game.
Sometimes we knock the others down in seconds, other times we go under, laughing and swallowing chlorine. It's joyful chaos, with shouts, splashes, and raised cups. For a moment, I forget everything—the jealousy, the pain, the confusion. I'm just here, laughing, part of something bigger.
The party winds down. It's late, and the pool glows blue under the lights. I lean against the edge, feet in the water, staring at a sky where the stars are barely visible through the glow. I hear a splash and see Noah climb out, his golden hair shining.
"What're you doing here?" I ask, not moving.
"Chilling," he says, dropping down beside me, still wet.
"It's your birthday party," I say. "Shouldn't you be up there with one of those girls who couldn't keep their hands off you?"
"I'm good," he says, lying back next to me. "Don't need anyone in my room tonight. I'm where I wanna be."
I stare at the sky, feeling him next to me. Something tells me he's looking at me, but I don't dare turn. The silence between us is calm but heavy with something I can't name.
****
Classes finally started, and with them, my personal hell: salvaging this semester no matter what. Last quarter was a fucking disaster, so this time, I'm not leaving shit to chance. On Monday, before even checking my Sociology schedule, I signed up for every tutoring session the frat offered for my classes. Yeah, I'm that guy who covers his ass before the chaos swallows him again.
After dealing with the paperwork, I headed straight to The Coffee House in Tressider Memorial Union, where I shared a shift with Noah. The place is a madhouse: the smell of fresh-ground coffee hangs heavy, mixing with the hum of students dragging chairs and the constant buzz of the espresso machine. The morning's pure hell. There's way too many people, more than I expected for a Monday. The Whitman effect is in full swing: girls lining up to order coffee from Noah with flirty smiles, and even some guys coming up with dumb excuses to chat with him. Noah, as usual, moves with that electric energy, tossing out jokes and smiles that could melt anyone. I keep up, slinging lattes and cappuccinos like my life depends on it, trading quick glances and laughs when some customer orders something ridiculous, like a "decaf latte, no foam, but with extra crema." In the chaos, we've got each other's backs, like a team that doesn't need words to click.
When the crowd finally starts to thin and the counter clears, a voice cuts through like a blade. "So this is what you're doing now?" it says, low, commanding, with an edge that screams pure anger.
Noah and I freeze, like someone yanked the plug on the music. I glance at Noah, looking for a hint, but his face hardens in a way I've never seen. "Who's that?" I ask, voice low, feeling the tension in the air.
"My dad," Noah says, cold, almost sharp, his eyes locked on the man in front of us.