6
On Tuesday afternoon, I stood outside Professors Lane Caf é , tugging down my quarter-zip jumper. Lisa had bought it for my birthday and said it made me look smart, like a real university student. I liked it, but as I waited for Nick, I worried that it made me look like a fifty-year-old accountant—at least, more than usual.
Nick arrived, his backpack hanging over one shoulder. “Hey.”
“Hi,” I said. “Ready to make out?”
He stared at me.
I coughed. “I was trying to make it less awkward by cracking a joke, but, uh… I’ve just made it worse.”
“It’s okay,” Nick said. “I’m used to it. C’mon, let’s go to your fancy penthouse.”
“It’s not a penthouse,” I protested as I followed him down the path. “It’s not on the top floor.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said with a wave of his hand.
“How was your class?” I asked.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Fine,” he repeated.
“You’re so eloquent.”
He narrowed his eyes at me.
“Here I was, thinking I’d hired you to teach me to be smooth and stuff, but you’re actually a terrible conversationalist.”
“I never claimed to be ‘smooth’.”
“Okay,” I said.
“And even if I did, I never specified I was smooth with words.”
“What else—” I began, but the sight of his raised brows made me almost trip over. Him, prowling over the bed. His fingers playing with the hem of my shirt. His warm, soft skin.
“Besides,” Nick said, turning his attention forward, “you never ‘hired’ me. It’s not like you’re paying me.”
“Shit, do you want me to pay you?” Dread washed over me as I realised I’d committed a faux pax. I hadn’t even offered. I took out my phone, ready to transfer money to him, right there and then. “How much do you want? Is a bank transfer okay?”
Nick recoiled. “No,” he said, as if I’d offered to rip out his toenails. “No, don’t pay me. I wasn’t trying to imply that.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “I’m happy to. I’d pay you if you were tutoring me in maths or physics or whatever, so this is kind of like that.”
“Hayden,” he said sharply, “put your phone away. I don’t want you to pay me.”
“But—”
“ No .”
His shoulders had locked up, which was strange because everyone liked money. Everyone wanted more. But Nick looked pissed, even more pissed than all the other times he’d gotten annoyed with me.
“Sorry,” I said, feeling guilty even though he was overreacting. “You’re doing me a massive favour, and I should do something in return.”
Cars zoomed past, then clogged up at nearby traffic lights—rush hour was starting. A siren went off in the distance.
His shoulders slowly relaxed, and he waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it. I told you, I’m happy to help you out.”
Because he felt sorry for me. Because I reminded him of a pathetic, clueless little brother.
“There must be something I can do,” I said. “I’d offer to tutor you in something, but I suspect you’re already smart, and besides, you’re studying something completely different to me.”
“Unless you’re an expert in the Hessian matrix, you’re no use to me.”
“The Hessy what?”
“Point proven.”
“I could teach you to play the clarinet,” I offered.
“You know how to play the clarinet?”
“I was in my school’s orchestra until Year 10. Then I begged my dad to let me quit. Now that I’m thinking about it, I’ve probably forgotten everything and wouldn’t be a very good teacher.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t have a burning desire to play a glorified recorder.”
I gasped. “How dare you. Clarinets are amazing instruments. They are the backbone of the woodwind family.”
“If they’re so amazing, why did you quit?”
I didn’t have a response. Nick laughed, and I should’ve been upset I lost the argument, but instead I was secretly pleased I cheered him up. Nick had a nice laugh—low and soft, quiet but not restrained.
“Alright, alright, no to the clarinet,” I conceded. “What do you like?”
He made a noncommittal noise.
“You can tell me,” I said. “Don’t act like it’s some state secret.”
“I like the usual stuff,” he said.
“Like?” I prompted.
“Sex.”
I felt like I’d been slapped across the cheek, but instead of a slap, it was more a squeeze, and instead of across the cheek, it was lower in my gut.
“Drinking,” he continued. “Food. The usual stuff.”
Through a flushed haze, I clutched on that last point. “I can do food. I gave you food last time—it was good, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” he admitted, “but you don’t need to pay me in food.”
“Why not? It’s the least I can do.” I nodded. “The more I think about it, the more sense it makes. You’re going to be hungry anyway.”
“Why, because of all the physical activity we’ll be doing?”
For the second time that day, I almost tripped over. “No,” I corrected, hoping my cheeks weren’t flaming red. “Because it’ll be teatime soon.”
He nodded. He was back to his normal self, taking easy, sure steps.
“Uh,” I began. “Unless there will be physical activity?”
Nick’s eyes flicked over my body. “Maybe,” he said. “But not for a while.”
I bit my tongue to stop myself from asking when exactly? Because I didn’t want to sound eager. Because I wasn’t eager. I just wanted to be prepared.
I spent the next five minutes lost in my head as I pondered what exactly physical activity would look like. After we got past kissing and foreplay, Nick would teach me to fuck, wouldn’t he? That was the agreement. But I hadn’t thought too deeply about what fucking tutorials would look like. Would I get naked in front of him? Would he get naked in front of me? Would he—
“This is your place, right?”
“Huh?”
“It is your place. I remember the fancy-ass lobby.”
He was right. We had arrived at my apartment building. I fished out my keys, more aware than usual of the picture of Mum looking back at me. Thankfully, Nick didn’t comment on it again. I let us into the lobby, and as we headed towards the elevator, I started mentally preparing myself for the lesson.
This time, we didn’t linger in the living room. We slipped our shoes off, headed to my room and dumped our bags on the floor. I started organising the random crap on my desk, more out of wanting something to do than a genuine desire to clean up.
Nick sat on the edge of my bed and pushed a hand across the covers, smoothing out the wrinkles. “Come here,” he said.
I walked over, then stood before him. Maybe my panic was clear on my face because he seemed nicer than usual. More gentle, perhaps?
“You wanna watch something?”
“Here?” I asked, looking around for a TV I didn’t own.
“We can watch something on your computer, right?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “Give me a minute.”
I slipped my laptop out of my bag and brought it over to the bed. We rearranged ourselves so we were sitting against the headboard, and I placed the laptop between us so it rested on one of his thighs and on one of mine.
“What do you want to watch?” I asked, opening up an internet browser.
“Show me something you like,” he said. “I’m happy with anything.”
I thought for a second, then typed in YouTube . The home screen loaded, filled with suggested videos, including an embarrassing number of kissing tutorials, but also various lo-fi music playlists and video essays. I clicked on a video essay—it was new and by one of my favourite creators, and settled in. Beside me, Nick didn’t say anything, just leaned his head against the headboard, so I assumed he was okay with it.
The video essay was about a number of things—AI, technology, mental health—but it basically boiled down to capitalism bad. After fifteen minutes, I paused the video.
“Are you bored out of your mind?” I asked.
“No.” He glanced at me. “It’s actually pretty interesting.”
“But?”
“The plan was to watch something to chill us out, then start the kissing lessons. But it feels wrong to start feeling you up while she’s talking about economic inequality.” He nodded at the YouTuber’s frozen face on the screen.
“Oh,” I said. “Should I play a video about socialism instead?”
He smiled, which transformed his face and made it even more gorgeous than usual. “No,” he said. “No, it’s just… usually people watch The Office or a rom-com, something easy and lighthearted.”
“Right.” I was dumb. But I tried not to feel too down—at least I was learning. I exited the video, ready to open up a streaming website, when Nick nudged my hand.
“Don’t change it. If this is what you like, let’s stick with it.”
“But you said it’s kind of weird.”
“It’s not—” he cut himself off. “I can roll with it,” he said.
“Okay,” I said. “For the record, you can, uh, feel me up and stuff. Even if she keeps talking about unemployment rates. It won’t weird me out.”
The corner of his lips lifted. “Good to know,” he murmured.
I played the video. We watched in silence, but my entire body felt tense because I knew sooner or later, Nick would start touching me. Then we’d start kissing.
The whole watch-something-to-relax plan had gone to shit, but I tried my best to pay attention, and when Nick’s elbow brushed mine, I didn’t jump ten feet into the air.
As the video essay continued, Nick touched me more and more, his fingertips brushing over my hand, across my wrist and up my arm. At first I was frozen, eyes on the screen, but when he slid a hand up my T-shirt, hand flat against my belly, I looked at him. He gave me a small, encouraging look.
So I started to touch him back. I wasn’t thinking about technique or even any of the kissing tutorials I watched. It was all instinctive, probably because I was genuinely curious. I did want to find out whether his hair was as soft as it looked and whether he was warm all over.
“You can kiss me now,” he whispered, voice so quiet I wasn’t sure whether I imagined it.
But then he was looking at me, up through his lashes, and my whole body lurched.
So, I kissed him.
I didn’t think the entire time—my mind didn’t wander. I didn’t count breaths or wonder when the right time was to use tongue. It just happened. The only conscious thought I had the whole time was that Nick’s lips were soft and pliable, and for a second, I worried my lips were dry and chapped, especially after today’s windy weather.
But Nick kissed me like it didn’t matter. So.
After what felt like simultaneously five hours and five seconds, he pulled away. We were both breathing hard.
“How did I do?” I asked.
He stared at me. His lips were redder than normal. His cheeks too.
“Oh god,” I said after his extended silence. “Was I that awful?”
“No,” he said. “No, you were…” He pushed a hand through his hair. “Fine.”
“Fine,” I echoed.
“Yep. Fine.”
“‘Fine’ isn’t good enough,” I said. “Fine is a C. I want an A plus.”
“Listen, Hayden, you’re perfectly adequate,” he snapped.
The adrenaline of the kiss drained away, and I felt cold and tired, like I’d been left out in the rain after a long run. “Why are you being so pissy?”
“I’m not being pissy,” he retorted, then paused. “I…”
“Did I do something wrong?” I asked when he didn’t speak.
“No. Not at all. Sorry.”
I didn’t know what to do. Yes, we’d kissed and touched, and both of our shirts were off, but we weren’t that close. It’s not like I could hug him.
“We don’t have to do this anymore,” I said. “Not if it’s going to traumatise you.”
He huffed a laugh at that, which was somewhat of a relief. “It’s not going to traumatise me,” he said, his tone the verbal equivalent of an eye-roll. “This is just not what I expected. I thought that when we did practise, it would be stupid and funny. Like a joke.”
“Do you think this whole thing is a joke?”
“It’s ridiculous,” he said, then caught my expression. “See it from my perspective. I’m minding my own business when this random kid comes up to me, asking me to teach him how to have sex. It’s like a bad joke. It just doesn’t happen.”
The cold feeling in my bones spread and felt so much worse, because mere minutes ago, I’d been bathing in luxurious golden warmth. “First of all, I didn’t come up to you out of the blue. Second of all, I’m not a kid. We’re the same age. Third of all, I thought that you were serious about helping me. You don’t have to humour me like I’m some sort of spoiled child. If you don’t want to do this, then fine.”
“I’m sorry,” he said after a long moment. “I… I thought that when we did kiss, it’d be either silly or weird or clinical. I didn’t expect it to get so heated.”
“Heated?” I echoed.
His jaw firmed. “Forget it, okay?”
But I wasn’t going to let it go. “That means I did good, right? Heated is a good thing.”
He sighed. “Yes, you did good. Don’t let it get to your head.”
“Oh my god. I can’t believe all the studying I did really paid off.”
Nick rolled his eyes. “The fact you’re kissing a boy really doesn’t bother you?”
I shrugged. “Why would it?”
“Right.” He stared at me for such a long time that I started to get antsy under his gaze. “You’re way more chill than most guys. Most guys would freak out at the thought of kissing another guy.”
“That’s because most guys are heterosexual,” I pointed out.
“You’re not straight then?”
“I probably am.”
“Probably?”
“I haven’t thought about it too hard.”
“Right.” He was giving me his signature I-think-you’re-strange look.
“Is that the end of today’s lesson?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said, combing his hair with his fingers, because there were tufts sticking out from where I’d pulled it.
“Alright,” I said, pulling my shirt on too. “Come to the kitchen, I’ll get food sorted.”
Ten minutes later, Nick sat on a stool at the kitchen island while I flitted around, making dinner. When I dropped two bloody steaks onto a hot pan, he said, “You didn’t buy that just for me, did you?”
I hesitated, then lied. “Nah, it was already in the fridge. You don’t mind steak, do you?”
“Who doesn’t like steak?”
I’d watched a cooking tutorial earlier that day. The chef said to cook the meat on a hot pan, but I hadn’t anticipated how smoky the room would get. I frantically opened the windows to let the billows of grey smoke escape, but I was too slow, and soon the fire alarm was blaring.
Nick climbed onto the stool and reached for the ceiling to turn the alarm off.
“Shit,” I said, waving the smoke out through the window, though I don’t think that was working. After a few minutes, though, the air in the apartment was less suffocating. I opted to leave the window open, despite it letting in the cold outside air, to get some ventilation.
I plated the steaks and used tongs to add a side of garden salad. Nick followed me from the kitchen to the dining table and slipped into his usual chair, opposite me. “You haven’t cooked steak before, have you?” he asked as he picked up his fork and knife.
“No. But I did watch a tutorial earlier,” I added, so he knew that if it tasted awful, it was the YouTube chef’s fault and not mine.
“You watched a tutorial?” His brows jumped.
“I wanted your dinner to be tasty,” I explained.
He looked down and pierced a tomato slice with his fork.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said, gaze still on the plate. “Just… don’t go to too much trouble for me, okay? You don’t have to make anything fancy.”
“Damn,” I said. “I already bought the caviar and truffles.”
He shot a look at me.
“I’m kidding,” I said.
His shoulders relaxed, and he let out a reluctant laugh. It was one of the few times his resting bored face melted away, revealing something more expressive. Like the time he freaked out when I offered to pay him for his lessons. Or when his breathing went ragged when we practised kissing.
“How’s uni been for you recently?” I asked, grabbing the opportunity to start a conversation. It would be nice to get to know each other better. Maybe, after this, we could stay friends.
“Not bad,” he said. “I have a group project, which is the worst, but I’ll manage.”
“Everyone complains about group projects but I’ve never had any trouble with them.”
“Lucky.” His lips twisted. “One of my group members called me a tyrant. All I was trying to do was ensure we get the top grade, and no one else was stepping up…” He caught sight of my expression. “What?” he demanded.
“Well,” I said, trying to stifle my smile. “You can be a bit… bossy.”
“You asked me to be your teacher. That’s asking me to be bossy.”
“I’m not complaining,” I said, then laughed, because Nick’s annoyed face was too cute and funny. What had he been like as a kid? Had he demanded the other kids in the sandpit play the game he wanted with his rules?
Nick hmmph ed.
“You’re studying to be an actuary, right?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve heard the course is really difficult.”
“Yeah, a bit.”
“But apparently actuaries make bank.”
“Mm.”
I switched to another topic. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
“When’s your birthday?”
“July.”
I was born in May. “Ha,” I said, pointing my fork at him. “I am older than you.”
He rolled his eyes.
“What’s your last name by the way?” I asked, because it felt important to know that.
“Dimitriades,” he said.
“Oh, is that Greek?”
He nodded, but he seemed… distracted. I considered being quiet and focusing on finishing my meal, but then I’d have to be alone with my thoughts, and I knew that my mind would replay what Nick and I had done on my bed.
So, I rambled on about random stuff while Nick made noises to indicate that he was at least pretending to listen. I talked about my course, and how I was thinking about becoming a pathologist, but that would mean I’d have to get into medical school first. If that didn’t work out, I’d try to do graduate research instead.
Soon, we’d both finished our meals. Nick helped me rinse the dishes and stick them in the dishwasher, and then I walked him to the door.
“Thanks for today,” I said. Now that he was leaving, I felt a bit weird.
He still looked lost in his own thoughts. “It’s nothing. Later, Hayden.”
Then he was gone.