Chapter 6
BASH
The International Relations Department faculty lounge looked like someone had raided the clearance section of an office furniture store.
Fluorescent lighting cast an unflattering glow over mismatched chairs and tables that had probably been in use since the nineties.
Faculty members in wrinkled blazers mingled with seniors clutching plastic cups while some indeterminable jazz music played in the background.
I blew out a breath as I quickly catalogued the exits. Three big windows, a double entrance door, and an emergency exit in the right back corner.
“Well,” Eddie murmured as we paused in the doorway, “this is certainly… atmospheric.”
I had to bite back a laugh. He had such a way with words, the king of understatements. “That’s one word for it.”
Glenn would’ve said, An attempt was made, and that thought made me smile despite the ever-present stab of pain his absence always brought.
“Eddie! Bash!” Sarah practically launched herself across the room toward us. “Oh my god, you guys came together again!”
Behind her, Kolby, Jessica, and Tom from our study group made their way over as well.
“Of course they came together,” Jessica said, quirking an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t they if they’re a couple?”
My insides tightened, and I felt Eddie tense beside me. The unspoken challenge in her words was clear. This was it. This was the moment where we either committed to this charade or found ourselves fielding increasingly awkward questions about our closeness for the rest of the year.
Eddie glanced at me, something unreadable flickering across his face, then turned back to our classmates with that practiced smile I was beginning to recognize as his public persona. “Why would I not come together with my boyfriend?”
Boyfriend.
He’d said it out loud, and there was no going back now.
I plastered an equally fake smile on my face. If we had to sell this, we needed more than words, and so I reached for his hand and threaded our fingers together. “Exactly.”
The casual intimacy of it—the way my thumb brushed across his knuckles, the way he squeezed my hand for a moment in response—sent electricity straight up my arm and directly into every part of my brain responsible for making smart decisions.
This was supposed to be fake. This was supposed to be cover. This was supposed to be professional. So why did it feel like the most honest thing that had happened to me in years?
Before anyone could ask for more specifics, Professor Belk appeared at my elbow with a plate of what appeared to be cheese cubes that had seen better days.
“Mr. Puller, Mr. York,” he said with a forced enthusiasm. Maybe faculty attendance at this mixer wasn’t entirely voluntary. “So good to see you both here. Are you enjoying the refreshments?”
Eddie glanced at the sad arrangement of crackers and processed cheese. “I haven’t had the pleasure yet,” he managed diplomatically.
“Would you care for some hors d’oeuvres?” Professor Belk offered.
Eddie blinked, then looked at me, as if he didn’t understand what the man was offering.
“Thank you, Professor Belk, but we’ll start with some drinks. Please excuse us,” I said quickly, then put my hand on Eddie’s lower back and gently steered us away from the others.
“What was he offering?” Eddie asked softly.
“Hors d’oeuvres,” I repeated, pronouncing it the same way professor Belk had, like horse d’oovres. Was that not something the British were familiar with?
Eddie frowned for a moment, but then his face lit up and he snorted, the most ungentleman-like sound I’d heard him make so far. “You mean hors d’oeuvres?” he asked, pronouncing them in what was probably correct French.
“That would be my guess, but this is the only way I’ve ever heard it pronounced.”
“The French would roll around in their graves en masse.”
“I’m pretty sure they weren’t too fond of us to begin with, so we’ll survive.”
That coaxed another snort-laugh out of him, which made me strangely proud. I liked seeing him laugh. I liked making him laugh.
We made our way to the beverage table, where the options appeared to be boxed wine, beer that came in a thirty-pack, and the usual assortment of sodas.
“Good lord,” Eddie muttered as he surveyed the beer selection. “Is that… Bud Light?”
“Afraid so,” I said, grabbing one for myself. “Welcome to academic budget entertainment.”
“This is criminal.” Eddie studied it with the expression of someone handling evidence of a crime. “I mean, genuinely criminal. There should be federal laws against calling this beer.”
Despite myself, I laughed. “You’re a beer snob.”
“I prefer the term ‘person with functioning taste buds’,” he replied primly, then snatched the bottle from my hand and took a sip.
He immediately grimaced. “Although I suppose when one’s palate has been trained on proper ales and stouts, anything mass-produced tastes like water with delusions of grandeur. ”
“Well, this particular water with delusions ain’t even cold,” I observed, noting the distinct lack of condensation on the bottle. “Back home, we use this for cleaning car parts.”
“Finally, someone who understands that beer should actually taste like something.”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who thinks Guinness is the height of brewing sophistication.”
“Please.” Eddie scoffed. “I may be British, but I’m not a cliché. I can appreciate a Guinness, but give me a proper IPA any day—something with enough hops to make your eyes water and enough character to stand up for itself.”
“Now you’re talking my language.” I grinned. “Though down South, we’re partial to a good wheat beer when it’s hot enough to melt asphalt.”
“I’ll have to try that sometime,” Eddie said, and something in his voice made me look at him more carefully. There was a softness there, a genuine interest that went beyond polite conversation.
“I’d be happy to introduce you to some proper Southern brewing,” I found myself saying before I could stop myself.
“I’d like that very much.”
For a moment, everything else faded away, and all I saw was him. Those green eyes focused on me, that pale skin slightly flushed, and those pink lips so soft and kissable. I wanted to…
Sarah appeared beside us. “You two are so cute,” she announced.
Eddie’s cheeks reddened even more, but he didn’t deny it.
Instead, he shifted closer to me, close enough that I could smell his aftershave and feel the warmth radiating from his arm.
I put my hand on his lower back, partly because it seemed like the kind of thing a boyfriend would do and partly because the urge to touch him was too strong to resist. The small of his back was warm through his button-down shirt, and I could feel him lean slightly into the contact.
“How did you two meet?” Sarah pressed, clearly eager for the full story.
“We were roommates,” I said easily. “Sometimes, the best relationships develop naturally from friendship.”
It was a perfect non-answer that managed to be completely honest while revealing nothing about the actual circumstances of our arrangement. But before Sarah could follow up, Professor Chen approached with someone I didn’t recognize.
“Ah, Mr. York,” he said with enthusiasm. “I was telling Professor Williams here about some of the insights you’ve brought to our discussions of European integration. Professor Williams specializes in comparative political systems.”
Professor Williams smiled with genuine interest. “I’d love to hear your thoughts on how the European model might inform other regional integration efforts.”
Eddie’s face lit up as he shifted into academic mode.
“It’s fascinating, really. The EU’s evolution from the European Coal and Steel Community demonstrates how economic integration can serve as a foundation for broader political cooperation, but the model isn’t easily replicable because it emerged from specific post-war conditions. ”
“Exactly.” Williams nodded approvingly. “Many scholars overlook those historical particularities.”
“Indeed,” Eddie said. “The challenge is that most attempts to copy the European model ignore the crucial role that shared trauma played in creating the political will for integration. ASEAN, for instance, developed along completely different lines because the regional context demanded a much more flexible approach to sovereignty.”
I couldn’t help but stare at him as he spoke.
Of course I’d known he was smart, but this was next level because I literally had no idea what he was even talking about.
Sure, I didn’t have three years prior knowledge in this field, but even so, the way Williams beamed at him showed she was impressed too.
“That’s a sophisticated analysis,” Williams said. “Are you considering graduate work in comparative politics?”
“I’m still exploring my options.” Eddie could hardly tell her that in his case, he was born into the family business, so to speak. “There’s something appealing about understanding how different systems address similar challenges.”
Williams turned to me with expectant interest. “And what about you, Mr. Puller? What draws you to International Relations?”
My blood went cold. This was the kind of conversation I’d been dreading, where my complete lack of education in this field would be exposed in front of people whose job it was to know these things.
I opened my mouth, hoping something intelligent would come out, but my mind went completely blank. International Relations? I could talk about military strategy, maybe, or law enforcement protocols, but theoretical frameworks and academic models? I had nothing.
The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity. I could feel sweat starting to form at the back of my neck as Williams waited expectantly, her scholarly interest clearly piqued. Any second now, she was going to realize I was a fake.
“Bash brings such a grounded perspective to theoretical discussions,” Eddie said smoothly.
“He’s focused on real-life applications rather than abstract models.
It’s so valuable to examine policy questions from the standpoint of how they affect actual communities instead of as mere conceptual frameworks. ”
“That’s an important viewpoint.” Williams nodded. “Theory without practical application is just that: a theory.”
Eddie patted my arm. “Bash asks the kinds of questions that force the rest of us to think beyond academic models, like do these policies actually work when they encounter real-world constraints? It’s made our study-group discussions much more dynamic.”
I couldn’t do anything else but blink and stand in absolute awe of that masterclass in diplomatic misdirection. Eddie had managed to turn my complete inability to answer a basic question into what sounded like a sophisticated methodological approach.
“Excellent,” Chen said, nodding profusely.
“Indeed.” Williams turned to me. “And what specific area are you most interested in exploring for your senior thesis?”
That one, I could answer because Eddie and I had discussed it that very morning. “We’ve been discussing focusing on the evolution of NATO expansion policy, especially how military perspectives influence civilian policy decisions.”
Jesus, I sounded a thousand times smarter than I actually was, thanks to Eddie and his ability to translate my rather concrete and practical thoughts into academic jargon.
Chen’s eyebrows went up with interest. “That’s a sophisticated angle. Are you planning to collaborate on your research?”
“We’re exploring the possibility.”
Chen gave another approving nod. “That’s exactly the kind of interdisciplinary thinking we hope to see from our seniors. I’d love to hear more about your theoretical framework as you develop it.”
They moved on, leaving me standing there with an insane amount of gratitude.
Eddie had saved my ass so smoothly that the professors had walked away thinking I was some kind of policy genius instead of a guy who’d learned everything he knew about International Relations from Wikipedia and cramming sessions.
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?” Eddie asked innocently, but there was something knowing in his green eyes.
“You know for what.”
“We’re a team,” he said simply. “That’s what partners do—they cover for each other.”
The word partners hit me harder than it should have.
Because standing there listening to him talk about NATO expansion with the kind of casual brilliance that came from a combination of intellect, dedication, and high-level education and watching him navigate academic conversations with professors while simultaneously protecting my cover, I realized how out of my league he really was.
This wasn’t about him being royal, though that was certainly part of it. This was about him being impressively intelligent in a way that made me feel like I was playing dress-up in someone else’s life.
“Where’d you learn all that?” I asked quietly.
“Oxford has rather rigorous academic standards,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. “Plus, when your family’s job involves understanding International Relations from a… practical perspective, you tend to absorb certain things.”
Right. His family’s job. The job that involved running a country and maintaining diplomatic relationships with half the world. Meanwhile, my family’s job involved fixing cars and serving in the military and making sure everybody had enough to eat.
“You’re brilliant,” I said, immediately regretting it. That had come out more reverent than I’d intended.
Eddie’s cheeks flushed pink. “Hardly. I happen to know a few things about European politics.”
“A few things?” I repeated with a laugh. “Right. Like how I know a few things about guns.”
His smile was shy and pleased and so genuinely happy that I wanted to do something stupid like tell him exactly how impressive I found him. Instead, I settled for letting my thumb trace across his knuckles where our hands were still joined.
“We should probably make the rounds,” Eddie said softly, but he didn’t move away from me.
“Probably,” I agreed, but I didn’t let go of his hand.
We spent the next hour circulating through the mixer, playing our parts with increasing ease.
Eddie charmed the faculty with his insights into European politics while I nodded along and contributed enough to seem engaged without revealing the depths of my ignorance.
When people asked about our relationship, we deflected with the kind of casual intimacy that seemed to satisfy everyone’s curiosity without inviting deeper scrutiny.
And somewhere in the middle of all that performance, I forgot we were performing at all.