Chapter 30
Sylas Has Opinions
Gavin
Three days. That's how long I get to be stupidly, disgustingly happy.
Three days of waking up with Doc drooling on my chest. Three days of him quizzing me on defensive formations while I quiz him on "tell me about yourself" answers. Three days of study breaks that aren't really about studying.
Then something changes.
At first, I tell myself I'm imagining it. He's busy. Med school prep is intense. He had the big interview, the one we've been practicing for.
But Doc is pulling away.
He has his own life. I get that.
But I notice things. It's what I do.
The texts that take longer to answer. The study sessions he cancels with vague excuses. The way he doesn't quite meet my eyes when we're together.
I give him space. That's what you do, right? When someone needs room to breathe?
A week passes. The space grows.
I start spiraling.
It's guilt, I'm staring at my phone a lot today.
His family was great, and then yours exploded all over the frat house. He feels bad.
That makes sense. That's reasonable.
Or maybe it's because he had to assault your brother. That's a lot to ask of a guy you've been dating for like a month.
Also reasonable.
Or maybe he just... doesn't feel the same way I do.
My stomach drops.
Maybe this was always temporary. The tutoring thing. Helping the clueless "straight" boy figure out he likes dick. You figured it out. Job done. Gold star. Move on.
I put my phone down. Pick it up again.
Maybe you're just too much. Too big. Too loud. Too messy. Too many family issues. Too much drama.
Maybe he's in witness protection, and his handler said his past just got too close.
Maybe he's secretly a vampire and the blood thing is getting awkward—
Okay. I'm officially losing it.
I check my phone again. Nothing. The sunset's doing that orange-pink thing over the quad, and I'm just sitting here on this bench like an idiot, spiraling about a guy who's probably just busy, and I'm reading way too much into—
"You look pathetic."
I look up. Sylas and Ethan are standing over me, both wearing expressions of mild concern. Well, Sylas is also amused.
"Thanks," I say flatly. "That helps."
"Scoot." Sylas drops onto the bench beside me. Ethan takes my other side. I'm suddenly surrounded by small gay men who I'm sure are about to give me opinions. Maybe some advice would be nice, though.
"What's wrong?" Ethan asks, gentler than Sylas.
"Nothing."
"Lies." Sylas pokes my arm. "He says you've been moping for a week. Spill."
I stare at the sunset. The sky would be romantic if I wasn't busy having a crisis.
"Doc's pulling away."
"Ah." Sylas nods like this explains everything. "And you're giving him space like a respectful adult instead of addressing it directly like a functional human being."
"...yes?"
"Terrible strategy."
"Sylas," Ethan warns.
"What! It is!" Sylas twists to face me fully. "Okay, listen. Auntie Sylas is going to give you some advice."
"Please don't call yourself that. It's weird."
"Too late, it's happening." He holds up a finger. "First: yes, give him space."
"Okay—"
"BUT." Another finger. "Not too much space. Space is good. A void is bad."
"That's... not helpful."
"I'm not done." Third finger. "Listen to him. Actually listen. Not just to what he says, but what he's not saying."
Ethan nods. "That part's important."
"Yes, listen to him," Sylas agrees.
"Okay, space but not too much, and listen. Got it."
"AND." Sylas's smile turns wicked. "If that doesn't work..."
"Oh no."
"Fuck him into the mattress."
"Sylas!”
"I'm serious! Get him boneless and pliant, and then—" Sylas mimes pinning someone down. "Use that big body of yours to hold him to the bed until he tells you what's going on. Can't run away if he's trapped under two hundred and some delicious pounds of golden retriever."
I drop my face into my hands. "I can't believe this is my life."
"It's good advice," Ethan says, and I jerk my head up to stare at him.
"You agree with this?"
Ethan shrugs, cheeks slightly pink. "I mean... it might work?"
"Post-orgasm honesty is real," Sylas says sagely. "Science."
I groan.
But beneath the embarrassment, something else is surfacing. Something I've been trying not to look at too closely.
"The thing is," I hear myself say, "I don't just want to fix this. I don't just want him to stop pulling away."
"What do you want?" Ethan asks softly.
The words sit in my chest like a physical weight. I've known for a while now. Maybe since the beginning, if I'm honest.
"I'm in love with him."
Silence.
I look up. Both of them are staring at me.
"I'm in love with Doc." Saying it out loud makes it real. Makes it terrifying because he might not be in love with me back. "I'm completely, stupidly, embarrassingly in love with him, and I don't know when it happened, but it did, and now he's pulling away, and I don't know what to do."
More silence.
Then I process what I just said. Who I said it to.
"Oh fuck." I go cold. "Oh fuck, don't tell him. Please. I should have… He should hear it from me first. I should have told him first. Please don't—"
"Gavin." Ethan grabs my arm. "Breathe."
"We won't tell him," Sylas says, and for once he's completely serious. "That's not our secret to share."
"Not even Tyler," Ethan adds. "And I don't keep any secrets from Tyler, but this isn't mine. It's yours. That's sacred."
Something in my chest unclenches. Before I can think about it, I'm pulling both of them into a hug, one arm around each, crushing them against my sides.
"Oof—Gavin—"
"Can't breathe—"
"You're squishing me—"
"Thank you," I mumble into the space between their heads. "Both of you."
"You're welcome, now let go!“
I release them. They both stumble back, gasping dramatically.
"You're a menace," Sylas wheezes, but he's smiling.
"So what now?" Ethan asks, straightening his shirt.
I look toward campus. Toward the geek house. Toward Doc.
"Now I go find him."
"That's the spirit." Sylas links his arm through Ethan's. "We're heading to the frat house. Drew opened it up for Friday night since nobody's been tagged on TikTok in a while."
"Good luck," Ethan calls as I start walking.
I'm halfway across the quad when I hear it, Sylas's voice, sing-song and gleeful, carrying on the evening air:
"Going on a twink hunt... gonna bag a small one..."
Ethan's laughter follows.
I don't look back.
I've got somewhere to be.