Those Eyes of My Roommate

One

It killed me that Nathan would have been perfectly happy with the watery drip coffee they served at the dining hall, so I'd dragged him downtown.

He was the picture of a classic preppy catalog model.

All clean-cut. Easy, square-jawed handsomeness.

But he had this hair—this foppish, long-on-top cut with these heavy bangs that were already starting to grow out shaggy.

It was the only part of him that didn't look premed.

It gave him this soft, slightly rumpled edge.

We pushed through the café doors into the golden afternoon light. I was carrying shopping bags with the few small crucial things we needed for our costumes.

Downtown Edgewood was draped in fake webs. Giant black spiders clung to the lampposts. I couldn’t decide if the city planners were being intentionally campy or if they just had bad taste.

It didn’t matter. It was Halloween on a Saturday.

Grey Cravens was going solo for the first time tonight at the Majestic, and his face was everywhere.

Flyers papered on every single telephone pole and shop window we passed.

The rumor was his new sound was moving toward something Southern Goth. Less jangly rock, more Peter Murphy.

I couldn't wait to hear it.

The tables outside on the square were packed with the "cool" people—the ones who camped out all day in rotating shifts so a seat never opened up. Posing, smoking, talking about bands nobody else had heard of yet. Usually, I’d be right there with them, calculating how to edge my way into the circle.

But today, I glanced at them and felt nothing.

No envy, no desperate urgency to claim a spot.

I wanted to get back to our room and dress Nathan in my lavender velvet jacket. It was my favorite piece. It made me feel totally invincible. I couldn't wait to see him in it. He was going to look so cool.

I also couldn’t wait to play him the Cocteau Twins EP I'd just bought—Love's Easy Tears, on vinyl, finally.

I’d had it on cassette since it came out—a miracle find in my hometown—but I'd lent it to this townie musician guy I had a pathetic crush on at the beginning of the semester. The usual type I always went for—dark eyes, vintage leather jacket, played guitar in a band I'd seen at the Echo Room.

He lived in that falling-down house on Poplar Street that everybody called the commune. It was always packed with random people coming and going to buy acid or weed. It reeked of stale bong water and cigarettes.

After he’d borrowed the tape he just completely vanished.

I'd walked past his house twice a day for a week before I finally caught him at home.

I had to practically hold him at gun point to get him to dig around in his trash pile of a room and find my tape.

And when he handed it back, it was unspooled and crinkled.

The one piece of music that mattered more to me than any other—destroyed.

He’d barely even apologized, just mumbled, “Sorry, man.”

So when I'd spotted the vinyl today, it was like Charlie finally glimpsing that corner of gold peeking from the candy wrapper.

Trumpets. It had cost thirty bucks, but I didn't think twice.

I needed it. Nathan's first time hearing it was going to be the best version possible.

And this time I'd get to share it with someone who'd actually give a shit.

Nathan took a slow sip of his cappuccino, watching me juggle the bags. “Huck, are you sure you have all the right stuff for our costumes?"

I grinned at him over the lid of my cup. "Trust me. I have exactly what we need."

The vintage store had been a total bust. It was picked over and overpriced, but we'd managed to snag the last couple of pairs of vampire teeth. That was enough to solidify the Louis and Lestat plan. I could handle the rest from my own wardrobe.

Honestly, the thought of dressing Nathan—the idea of putting my clothes on his body—buttoning that white pirate shirt over his chest, adjusting the velvet jacket on his shoulders…

We crossed the street onto Old Campus and the world shifted.

One minute we were in the middle of all that Halloween kitsch and café posing.

The next, everything was quiet and gold.

The sidewalks cut through the grass like paths made of milk.

Leaves were blown back into thick, rust-colored drifts.

The sky was so blue it looked like a Technicolor postcard someone had oversaturated on purpose.

The white antebellum buildings rose up around us like bone palaces.

Impossibly beautiful in that slanted light.

Nathan walked close beside me, our shoulders bumping every few steps. He’d positioned himself on the outside when we crossed the street, the way guys did with their girlfriends.

I wondered if people thought we were a couple. We probably looked like one.

His eyelashes were so much darker than his blond hair suggested they should be. They cast shadows on his cheeks when he blinked.

I looked away.

He wasn't my type. He was too wholesome and earnest. Too unscuffed. And he would've come out by now if he was going to.

What was with these guys, though? I knew at least two or three others in our circle who were definitely gay. I’d thought everybody used college as a chance to start over. To finally be themselves. I couldn't wait to get here and be out. Where was everybody else?

“Here's what I'm thinking for Louis. You can wear your black dress pants. And I have this smoky lavender-gray velvet jacket that’ll be perfect. It's a little big on me but it'll fit you better—"

I stupidly attempted to gesture with the hand that was holding my coffee. It sloshed, nearly spilling everywhere, and I fumbled my bags.

Nathan lunged forward and grabbed them before I dropped everything. His hand brushed mine. "Jesus." He was laughing. "You're gonna destroy that record before we even get it home."

My face burned. "Shut up."

"I'm gonna start keeping a log. Saturday, 4:10 PM. Huck cracks brand new fifty-dollar Cocteau Twins import."

“It's not an import. And it wasn’t that much.” I rolled my eyes, but I liked it when he teased me. It was familiar. Comfortable. Like we'd known each other for years.

"Anyway," I continued, being careful with my coffee now. "I have this blousy pirate shirt. White, with an open collar. Very Adam Ant. You're gonna look so fucking hot."

The word landed between us.

Nathan just grinned. "You're really into it.” For a second something shifted in his expression—his eyes went soft and focused entirely on me. But then he looked away, like he'd caught himself.

"I mean—yeah. It's Halloween. And it's Anne Rice." I tried to play it cool. "You don't think it's too much, do you? I mean, people are probably gonna read it a certain way."

He just shrugged. "Let them. I love Interview with the Vampire. We should go to New Orleans together for Mardi Gras.”

Together.

He said it like there was an "us" that extended into the future without question.

I managed to say, “That’d be cool.” I took a sip of my mocha to hide my face. It was too sweet, syrupy and lukewarm now, but I drank it anyway.

I'd suggested the Louis and Lestat costumes earlier in the week. Tentatively. I'd been worried he would realize how obviously gay it was. I'd been ready for him to back out. But he'd been eager. He'd immediately said he wanted to be Louis. Like there wasn't even another option.

Maybe he was just being naive. I wasn't going to talk him out of it.

We walked in silence for a bit. Just our shoes scuffing through fallen leaves—my granddad's wingtips and his Tretorns. Someone shouting across the quad. A university bus rumbling by on the perimeter road.

My mind drifted back to the record store.

The guy working there—an older guy in a Pixies t-shirt—had looked me up and down when he rang me up. Like he was testing me, he'd said, "Have you heard this?"

"Yeah, it’s incredible. I only had it on cassette though. I've been looking for the vinyl."

He handed me the paper bag and smirked. "Your boyfriend's gonna love it."

"Roommate,” I’d corrected him.

The guy had just shrugged. "Sure." Like he didn't believe me.

Blood had rushed to my face. I'd glanced over at Nathan to see if he'd heard.

He had. He'd just smiled.

Not embarrassed. Not defensive. Just... unbothered. Like he didn't mind at all if people thought we were together.

We were passing the Fine Arts building when I saw these two guys walking toward us, holding hands. Just swinging them back and forth and laughing about something. When they passed us, one of them gave me a knowing smile. It was the kind that said I see you.

Nathan was talking, but I hadn't been listening. The two guys went by, and I reminded myself to breathe.

His shoulder bumped mine again. He repeated his question about the show tonight. "Who else is going?"

“Um… Alex and Kelly,” I said. “Clint and Brian. The usual crowd."

The guy at the record store. The couple holding hands.

My coffee cup was empty now, crushed in my fist.

We reached our building—the back entrance, the one the guys on our floor all used because it avoided the lobby and the RA's room.

As always, the stairwell door was propped open with a brick.

We climbed the two flights, our footsteps echoing on the concrete steps.

The metal railing smelled like pocket change.

I unlocked our door and pushed it open.

Alone together in our private world.

Big gold rectangles of sun fell through the tall paned windows, leaving everything else in shadow. The windows on two walls made the space feel larger than it was, almost deluxe for a dorm. One window overlooked the cemetery, the other faced the alley behind the football stadium.

The Smiths poster—the one from their first album with the shirtless Joe Dallesandro—dominated the wall to the right of the door.

Our room was cluttered—clothes draped over chairs, books and cassettes stacked everywhere, full ashtrays needing to be dumped. Nathan's expensive stereo system sat on top of our shared dresser, flanked by stacks of his CDs. My vinyl collection lined the baseboards in wooden crates.

He set the bags on top of the desk and toed off his shoes.

I tossed the empty coffee cup into the trash and pulled out Love’s Easy Tears. I held it up, an offering.

He moved to the window—his spot—and leaned against the broad sill. It was wide enough that he could sit up there if he wanted to. Sometimes he did.

He turned. Framed by the cemetery view, the light brought out the green in his eyes. He saw the record and smiled. "Play it for me."