Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The coffee in the student center was disgusting. Matt knew that for sure, even though he hadn’t tried it. He could smell the burnt powder mixed with water from the machine that hadn’t been cleaned since last semester. But Foggy had insisted they needed to discuss the details of the mock trial.

The room was almost empty. A long hall with plastic tables and chairs, and a vending machine humming in the corner. Matt sat leaning back in his chair, listening to Foggy flip through his notes. They had been sitting like that for about forty minutes, exchanging arguments. The argument was peaceful, almost domestic, and Matt was starting to nod off when Foggy suddenly perked up.

- Oh, Brett! - Foggy waved at someone by the entrance. - Come over, there’s room.

Matt knew Brett Mahoney; he was in the same year as them. But Brett wasn’t alone; two more people trailed behind him: Ray, a forensics student Matt also knew, and someone else.

Matt didn’t catch the third person’s footsteps right away. The man shifted his weight carefully, and he smelled simple, of ordinary laundry detergent.

- This is Ray, you know him, - said Brett, pulling up chairs. - And this is Dex. He’s also in forensics. Ray dragged him along, said he needs to get out of his cave every once in a while.

- Ray just thinks it’s a tragedy if I don’t see sunlight for more than three hours. - said Dex.

His voice was deeper than Matt expected, with a barely noticeable rasp, as if he hadn’t spoken for a long time before this.

- That’s right, - Ray had already plopped down on a chair and was dumping some folders on the table.

Foggy laughed and started asking Brett about his internship. Ray immediately jumped in; apparently he and Brett had been arguing about something yesterday, and the argument wasn’t over. Within a minute, the three of them were hotly discussing something of their own, and Matt realized their mock trial consultation was shot.

He sighed and reached for his cup of coffee. The smell was still just as terrible.

- Don’t, - Dex suddenly said.

Matt raised an eyebrow.

- Excuse me?

- Drink the coffee. I was here last Tuesday. That’s not coffee, it’s coal dust mixed with water. Honestly, you’re better off with the soda machine.

- I know it’s awful.

- Then why are you drinking it?

- I don’t learn from my mistakes.

Dex was silent for a moment, then asked:

- Is Foggy your friend?

- For two years now. First day, he sat down next to me, said “hi,” and hasn’t left me alone since.

- That’s how it happens, - said Dex. - That’s how Ray and I met. He forgot his bag in the locker room, I caught up with him in the parking lot, and he decided that made us friends.

Matt smiled. He was starting to like this conversation.

- You’re in law school, right? - asked Dex.

- Yeah. What year are you?

- Second. I used to serve, now I’m studying.

- Ray said you’re a good shot.

- He exaggerates, - Dex answered, hesitating before continuing. - And, sorry, I don’t know how to ask this properly, but..

- What?

- How do you get around? That’s probably a stupid question. You’ve probably answered it a hundred times.

- I don’t mind. I hear more than others see. Not like a superhero from comics, just details. You, for example, have been spinning a coin for a couple of minutes.

- A habit, - Dex said, sounding slightly surprised.

- I know. It doesn’t bother me.

- That happens to me, - Dex explained. - When I’m nervous or when it’s too loud around me. I need to touch something to distract myself.

- It’s not very loud here, - Matt observed.

- Three people are arguing about baseball, and the soda machine is humming so loud my ears are clogging up.

- Yeah, - Matt agreed. - Now I hear it too.

- And how do you stand it?

- I’m used to it. Sometimes I help myself by focusing on something else. On a voice, for example, or breathing.

- I’ve tried breathing exercises, - said Dex. - It doesn’t always help. Sometimes you just need to go outside.

- There’s a back courtyard, - Matt suggested. - Through that door, behind the machine. Though it’s cold now.

- I don’t mind, - said Dex.

Matt stood up first. The cane slid forward habitually, found the edge of the table, and he moved around it, with Dex following. Matt heard him grab his jacket from the back of the chair. Another burst of laughter came from their trio; Brett seemed to be vividly describing some story about patrol, and Foggy was interrupting him. No one noticed that they had separated from the group, which suited Matt just fine.

The door was indeed behind the machine; Matt felt for the handle and pulled it toward him. It gave way with a slight creak, and October air rushed inside.

- Wow, - said Dex, stepping out after him. - It's really cold .

- I warned you.

The courtyard was small and nearly empty. A small patch of asphalt, squeezed between the east wing of the student center and a blank brick wall of the library. Along the wall stood two sickly maple trees, already half-bare. Under the nearer tree was a bench with peeling paint and cast-iron armrests. Above it, at about the second-floor level, a lamp cast a yellow cone of light. It was cozy here.

Matt walked to the bench, ran his hand over the seat, and sat down. He placed his cane beside him, leaning it against the armrest. Dex sat down at the other end, not too close, but not at the very edge either.

They were silent for a minute. Through the door from the student center came the voices of Foggy and Brett, but in the courtyard those sounds seemed so distant.

- Aren’t you afraid, - Dex suddenly said, - that your friend will be upset?

- Foggy? - Matt chuckled. - He won’t be upset. He probably didn’t even notice. They’re having a serious debate now; they’re baseball fans, they’ll argue until closing time.

- In the army, my fellow soldiers always talked about it, but I never managed to fit in.

Matt nodded. He didn’t pursue the topic of the army and fellow soldiers. He himself didn’t like being asked about things he didn’t want to discuss. About the accident or about his father.

Matt leaned back against the bench. The wood was hard, and the cold was starting to seep through his jacket, but he didn’t want to leave.

Dex was silent, and Matt could almost physically feel him considering his next remark.

- You know, - he finally said, - I’m not really... sociable. Ray is always dragging me somewhere, says I need to socialize. And I usually just sit and wait until I can leave.

- What about now? - asked Matt.

- Now it’s not so bad. Maybe because it’s quiet here, or because you’re not trying to make me talk.

Matt didn’t answer. He suddenly realized that he was starting to feel comfortable, and that made something inside him tighten slightly. He knew all too well that when things get good, it usually doesn’t last. People leave, or he messes it up himself. Or both at once.

- I don’t know how to maintain a friendship. Or whatever normal people do. I try to do everything like they do, but then something goes wrong, and I don’t understand what exactly.

- I don’t always understand either, - said Matt. - Sometimes it seems like I’m doing everything right, but then it turns out the person expected something else from me. More emotional involvement, for me to call first, or not disappear for three days when I’m in a bad mood.

- Strange.

- What?

- That we’re even talking. Usually with new people, I either stay silent or say something stupid, and they immediately lose interest. But with you, it feels normal.

- So far.

And again silence, but the kind where both of them feel comfortable and don’t need to say anything. He felt good, and that’s exactly what worried him. Matt wanted to get up and leave. He wanted to stay.

Then Dex stirred:

- We should go back. Your fingers are probably cold.

- A little. I forgot my gloves.

- I forgot mine too.

- Then let’s go back, - Matt reached for his cane, and it fell into his palm as usual.

- And.. - said Dex. - Thanks

- For what?

He hesitated; Matt could literally feel the words getting stuck in his throat.

- For not prying and not asking questions. Usually people ask me about the army or why I am the way I am.

Matt nodded and, laughing, said:

- Maybe next time I’ll bring some decent coffee.

- Next time? - Dex repeated. His voice was cautious, as if he wasn’t sure he had heard correctly.

- Well, if Foggy and Ray leave us alone again. It’s just like them.

- I wouldn’t mind.

They went back inside and found their friends exactly in the same state they had left them. No one even noticed they had been gone.

Matt sat back down on his chair and pulled the untouched textbook toward him. But his thoughts were not on the case. He was thinking about how he had promised a “next time.” Why had he said that? He didn’t know if he would want to repeat it. And Dex, it seemed, didn’t know either.

After that evening in the cafeteria, everything went wrong, not as Matt expected. At first there were just glances in the crowd.

Between classes, the east wing turned into an anthill. Students flowed in a continuous stream, and in that stream Matt usually felt like a fish in water. He wove, let people pass, went around, not noticing individual faces and not remembering footsteps. But now among hundreds of footsteps he could distinguish one pair. Matt recognized them before he had time to think.

And these random encounters accumulated.

On Wednesday they ran into each other in the cafeteria doorway.

On Thursday Matt was sitting in the library and suddenly realized that Dex had entered the hall. He didn't lift his head from his notes, but with the edge of his consciousness he tracked him. They sat like that for an hour, not exchanging a single word, and when Dex stood up and left, Matt exhaled. He hadn't noticed that he had been holding his breath.

On Friday Matt was walking down the corridor with Foggy, who was telling him something about the upcoming exam, and saw Dex by the soda machine.

On Monday they ran into each other in line at the dean's office. Dex stood ahead, waiting for a window to open, and as he passed him, he touched his shoulder for a second. After that Matt stood in line for another ten minutes, trying to remember why he had come.

These meetings became more frequent. Not that they were looking for each other, but somehow every time Matt went out into the corridor, the first thing he did was listen.

On Wednesday a downpour hit the city as Matt was leaving the library. To go out in such weather – to get soaked to the bone in half a minute.

He stopped and waited, leaning his shoulder against the cold brick wall, and listened to the rain either intensifying or subsiding slightly.

Then he heard footsteps. Someone was running across the square in front of the library, jumping over puddles. The footsteps were fast, a little nervous, the person was clearly in a hurry and not looking at their feet. Matt recognized them before the figure came into view. Dex.

He flew up the steps and stopped, breathing heavily. Matt heard him shake his head. Then Dex pulled off his windbreaker, wrung it out, and water began to tap on the concrete.

- Seriously? - he said, shaking his hair. - You don't have an umbrella either?

- Forgot. You, apparently, too.

- I thought it would pass.

- It didn't pass.

Dex didn't answer. He leaned against the wall next to him, and Matt moved over, giving him more room under the canopy. Now their shoulders were separated by a tiny distance.

Through the noise of the rain, Matt heard Dex suddenly freeze, as if he had noticed something.

- You're shaking.

Matt didn't answer. He was indeed shaking, he hadn't noticed it himself until Dex spoke. His jacket was light, not for such cold, and while he stood still, his body began to lose heat. Nothing serious, not the first time, but Dex was already pulling off his hoodie.

- Here, - he said, and Matt felt cotton, still warm from someone else's body, being pushed into his hands.

Matt didn't argue. He pulled the hoodie over his head, feeling the collar touch his neck, the sleeves fall below his wrists, Dex was slightly larger. Matt caught himself holding his breath, inhaling that scent, and forced himself to exhale.

- Thanks, - he said.

- You'll give it back later.

They didn't talk. The noise of the rain was too loud for conversation, and there was no need for it. Matt was content that Dex was here.

That went on for, probably, five minutes. Or ten. The rain began to subside, the drops on the canopy became less frequent, the downspouts were still gurgling, but more quietly.

They were silent a little longer. Dex peeled himself off the wall, rolled his shoulders. His wet windbreaker squelched as he shook it out.

- I think it's stopping, - said Dex. - I'll go, before it starts pouring again

- Yeah. Run.

He ran down the steps, jumping over puddles. Matt heard his footsteps receding until they were completely lost in the noise of the downspouts and passing cars. He also headed to the dormitory. Foggy was sitting on the bed with a laptop and, hearing the door open, looked up.

- Are you wet?

- No. I waited it out under the canopy.

- Alone?

Matt hung his jacket on the back of the chair, not answering. Foggy grunted but said nothing. He was about to return to his laptop when something made him pause. Matt took off his jacket and remained in the hoodie, clearly from someone else's shoulder. Matt didn't own such things.

- What's that? - Foggy propped himself up on an elbow, nodding at the top.

- A hoodie.

- I can see it's not a spacesuit. Where from?

Matt hesitated for exactly a second, but Foggy knew him too well not to notice.

- Dex gave it. I was cold.

- Dex, - repeated Foggy. - You're standing in the rain, and Dex gives you his hoodie. Like in a bad romantic movie.

- It's just a hoodie.

Foggy looked at him for another couple of seconds, then sighed.

- Fine. But if anything, I'm watching you two.

- Watching who?

- You and Dex. The hoodie, the hangouts in the yard, the looks in the hallway... - Foggy folded his fingers, pretending to make a list. - All that's missing is candles and a confession under the moonlight.

Matt threw a pillow at him. Foggy caught it, laughed, and the tension dissipated. But when Matt lay down and turned off the light, the hoodie was still on him. He didn't take it off even at night, and in the morning he carefully folded it and put it in a drawer.

On Saturday evening Foggy dragged him to Josie's. The bar was packed, the students finally had a day off, and beer was flowing like a river.

There were about ten people. Foggy invited Marcy, they were in the same cohort, and immediately engaged her in conversation. Next to them sat Claire - a future nurse who worked the night shift and always looked a bit tired but invariably calm. She listened to Marcy, nodded, and occasionally interjected comments that made Foggy blush. Ray sipped his beer, occasionally addressing Brett.

Matt waited patiently. He didn't want to admit to himself who exactly he was waiting for. But when the door opened and he heard the familiar footsteps, something inside him stirred.

Dex didn't come alone. Next to him was a girl: a light step, laughter - open, completely uninhibited. She was laughing at something he apparently had said on the way, and in that laughter there was so much effortless warmth that Matt was distracted from his own thoughts for a moment.

When they came closer, Dex introduced her:

- This is Julie. We study together. Julie, this is Matt, Foggy, Brett, Marcy, Claire. And you already know Ray.

- I'll remember, - Julie laughed. - I hope.

She sat down next to Dex, shoulder to shoulder, and Matt heard the chair creak slightly as she moved it closer. Foggy and Marcy immediately began to question her - who, where from, what she was studying. It turned out that Julie specialized in criminal psychology and worked on a hotline at a suicide prevention center, as an intern for now, but already taking real calls.

- Wow, - Claire remarked, and there was understanding in her voice. - That's tough.

- Sometimes. But I like it. Sometimes a person just needs to be listened to.

Matt couldn't deny that she made a good impression; she had an open, disarming voice, and she said the right things.

The conversation at the table flowed as usual. Foggy and Marcy switched to Brett, who was vividly describing his civil law professor - a little old man who, according to him, "fell asleep during his own lectures and woke up exactly when someone tried to sneak out." Julie listened with interest, occasionally inserting short comments, and it was clear that she had quickly settled into the group. She didn't try to draw attention to herself, but her presence was light and pleasant.

After a while, when the general laughter had subsided a bit and everyone reached for their mugs, Foggy leaned back in his chair, looked around the table, and paused at Dex and Julie, who were sitting side by side.

- Listen, - Foggy drawled in a promising tone. - I'm looking at you two and I can't help but notice. You look great together, like a cover photo. Are you dating?

He said it lightly, without any ulterior thought, and Matt felt something inside him tense up, but everyone readily chimed in:

- When I saw them, I thought the same thing. There's something between them.

- No, there's nothing... - Dex tried to object. His voice sounded even, but Matt caught a slight note of awkwardness in it.

- Oh, come on, - Brett slapped Dex on the shoulder with particular enthusiasm. - She's a nice girl. Why are you being modest? Look, someone else will take her away.

Matt sat looking at the table and felt something slowly twisting into a tight knot inside him. He looked at his cheerful friends and tried to suppress an unwelcome, burning wave rising from somewhere within.

He wasn't jealous. That would be stupid. Dex wasn't his boyfriend, not his lover, not someone he had any claim to, not even a friend . But the casual jokes hurt him more than he expected. The thought that Dex might have feelings for her caused an inexplicable disappointment in him.

Continuing to listen was unbearable. Matt stood up from the table.

- I need to go out, - he said, and even his own voice sounded strange to him.

Dex, after waiting a minute, got up and followed him outside. It was already getting dark and cold, the streetlight was flickering intermittently, plunging them into darkness, and he heard Matt standing by the wall, breathing steadily, as if trying to calm down. He approached and stood next to him.

- What's wrong? - asked Dex.

- Just in a bad mood.

- A bad mood, - repeated Dex. There was doubt in his voice. He clearly didn't believe it, but didn't know how to approach. - You left right after they started joking about me and Julie.

- It's not related.

- But you're acting weird, and I thought maybe you thought that she and I... well, that there's something between us.

Matt clenched his teeth. He suddenly wanted Dex to stop talking about Julie. Just stop. But he couldn't say that, because it would be an admission.

- I don't care, - he said, although he didn't believe himself.

- Listen. I want you to know. Julie and I are just friends. She's nice. Really nice. But she's not... - he broke off, and Matt heard his breathing become deeper. The pause lengthened. Dex seemed to be deciding whether to say it or not. And then quietly, almost in a whisper, he added: - There's someone else. Who I'm interested in. And it's not Julie.

Matt's heart skipped a beat.

"Someone else." Matt froze, feeling everything inside him drop and fall somewhere down. Dex said it so quietly, so carefully, that for a second Matt thought he had imagined it. But no, he had heard those words quite clearly.

There's someone else. And that someone is not him. Of course not him. Why would it be?

- I see, - said Matt, and his voice sounded lifeless. He heard it himself and tried to correct it, adding almost casually: - That's good. I'm happy for you.

Dex froze. Matt heard his breath catch mid-word, then resume, slightly faster than before. The silence between them became so dense that it seemed touchable.

- You're happy for me? - Dex repeated. There was something strange in his voice, something Matt couldn't decipher. Resentment or misunderstanding.

- Well, yes. You said you're interested in someone. That's good, isn't it? Means you're not alone.

- You didn't understand, - said Dex. His voice became quieter, almost a whisper.

- What didn't I understand?

Dex fell silent again. Matt could hear his heart beating fast and unevenly, and he couldn't understand what was happening. Did he say something wrong? Was he supposed to react differently? But how? He didn't know, and Dex didn't say. He just stood and looked at him in the dark, and then suddenly exhaled with a strange sound, like a stifled, utterly humorless laugh.

- Fine, - he said finally, and his voice became even again, although his heart continued to beat just as fast. - Forget it. I'm going back inside.

- Dex, wait..

But his footsteps had already faded behind the door, and Matt was left alone in the dark courtyard, where only the streetlight flickered and hummed, and the tension still hung in the air. He leaned the back of his head against the cold brick and closed his eyes.

"There's someone else."

Who? Someone from forensics? Someone Matt doesn't even know? Maybe it is Julie after all, and he just didn't want to admit it? No, Dex wouldn't lie. Who then?

Matt stood in the courtyard for a few more minutes, waiting for his own breathing to even out. He forced himself to peel away from the wall, feeling the cold brick scratch his back even through his jacket, and went inside. For a second he thought he had gone deaf, so many new sensations overwhelmed him again. Marcy's laughter somewhere to the left, Brett's bass telling another story, the clinking of mugs, and Dex's heavy heartbeat.

Matt walked to the table, trying to place his feet evenly and not bump into other people's chairs. He sensed out of the corner of his eye that several heads turned his way, but he didn't show it. He sat down in his seat, carefully, and pulled his mug of untouched beer toward him, which Foggy had kindly saved for him.

Next to him, Marcy was explaining something about her professor to Ray, and Matt forced himself to smile when Julie said something obviously funny. The smile came out tight, the muscles of his face didn't obey well, but no one noticed. He kept his back straight, slightly tilting his head to the side, and pretended to listen to the general conversation.

But with the edge of his heightened perception, he couldn't shut off the presence opposite him. Dex sat silently, his breathing was even, but Matt could hear him swallow from time to time, as if trying to push down a lump in his throat.

Matt took a sip of beer. It was bitter and tasteless. He continued to sit and pretend to drink, to listen to the conversation, and to act as if nothing had happened. It was unbearably difficult, almost physically painful, to sit so close to someone who had just nearly turned his world upside down and pretend to be his friend. But he had to. He didn't know another way yet.

Last few weeks Matt had been spending an indecent amount of time in that courtyard. Before, he used to come there occasionally, when he needed a break from the library, or when Foggy started another argument that Matt couldn't stand for more than ten minutes. Now he caught himself walking to the back door almost automatically, his legs turning past the vending machine on their own, and only when the evening air touched his face did he realize he was here again.

It wasn't about the courtyard itself. It was still just as cramped and not too well-kept: cracked asphalt, a bench with peeling paint, a lamp that kept flickering. It was about something else. For some reason, Dex ended up here more and more often.

Matt didn't want to ask why he came. After that evening at the bar, he tried not to think about Dex more than necessary. But that wasn't working out well.

That conversation had lodged itself in his head. Matt replayed those words over and over, trying to figure out who Dex had meant, and every time he came to the same conclusion: not him. Why would it be? They just talked sometimes.

And Dex, it seemed, had also decided to pretend nothing had happened.

They ran into each other in the hallway two days after the bar, and Dex said hello as usual and asked something about school. Matt answered something neutral. No one mentioned that conversation. It was easier that way. Matt told himself that's how it should be. That if they both pretended nothing happened, then nothing would happen.

That evening, Matt arrived first. He left the library around nine, when it was already completely dark outside. The student center building was almost empty, just the guard dozing at the desk and a floor scrubber humming somewhere down the hall. Matt walked through the lobby, turned toward the vending machines, and pushed the door. The cold air stung his cheeks, and he paused for a second on the threshold, getting used to it and sniffing. It seemed like the smell of dry leaves and exhaust fumes mixed with a faint, almost imperceptible scent of laundry detergent.

Dex came a few minutes later.

- You again, - said Matt.

- Me again.

Dex walked to the bench and sat down, Matt moved over, and now their shoulders were separated by a distance no more than a hand's width. He could smell Dex's slightly changed scent; today, besides the usual laundry detergent and metal, there was something like tobacco mixed in.

- You've been smoking, - Matt noticed.

- I slip up sometimes.

- What happened?

Dex didn't answer right away. Matt heard him clench his teeth, and his fingers grip the fabric of his jeans on his knee.

- I don't know how to explain, - he said finally. - Sometimes I'm just... not okay. For no reason. I just wake up and that's it, as if something inside has burned out or broken.

Matt nodded. He knew that feeling. Not exactly, for him it showed up differently, but he knew what it was like to wake up and already feel in the morning like the whole world, and even God, is against you.

Dex turned his head. Matt felt his gaze, long and appraising. As if he were deciding whether he could say something important.

- You know, - he began, - sometimes I feel like I don't understand how to be a human being. Like, in the sense that... other people just somehow know. What's good, what's bad. When to stop. But I don't, I can't feel it.

- You need someone to tell you which way to go? - said Matt.

- Yes.

- Like the North Star.

- What?

- Well, like... sailors at sea. At night you can't see the shore, the stars are all you have. And the North Star is always north. If you see it, you know where to sail.

- I never had a star like that, - said Dex.

Matt nodded. He didn't say, "I could be your star." That would have been too fast and too much responsibility, too much like a commitment he wasn't sure he could keep.

- What about you? - asked Dex. - You said you feel something too.

Matt thought. He wasn't used to talking about himself for real, not as a joke. He could jabber with Foggy for hours, but when the conversation turned to something deeper, he tried to change the subject. Now it was harder.

- You know.. I..I'm afraid to get attached to people. I only had my father, he died when I was about 9. After that, it's hard for me to trust anyone. I felt like if I let someone in, they would leave too. I can be close, but only up to a point. When it gets too close - I immediately look for a way out, to be the first to leave.

- For me it's the opposite, - said Dex. - I don't keep distance, at all. I've tried, but I can't. If I get attached to someone - that's it. And it usually ends badly.

He fell silent, breathing heavily. Matt heard his fingers tighten on his knee.

- I just wanted you to know, - said Dex. - In case I suddenly do something wrong. I really don't want to mess things up. Especially with you.

They sat for another hour, until the cold became completely unbearable. They talked about other things - about classes, about Foggy, about the west campus closing for renovations. Ordinary things. But underneath, something else kept trying to surface, and both of them knew it. When they finally stood up, their legs were stiff from the cold. Matt fumbled for his cane, and they walked together toward the door. At the threshold, Dex held the door, and Matt, passing through, touched his shoulder for a second.

- See you? - asked Dex.

- Of course.

Dex stood and watched him go until the dark silhouette dissolved into the darkness. Inside, everything was boiling. He wanted to catch up to him and tell him that the person he had been talking about - it was him. Didn't he understand?

He went back inside when the cold became unbearable. In the room, he lay down without undressing and closed his eyes. Matt's face was still before his eyes. It wasn't enough.

Chapter Text

The week after that conversation in the courtyard had been strange. Matt couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d crossed a line and now didn’t know how to get back. He told himself that everything could be fixed if he just acted like he used to, but “like he used to” was no longer possible. Words had been spoken, actions taken, and all the changes he hadn’t noticed before began to surface. For instance, when he’d recently left class later than usual — the professor had held him back — and finally made it into the hallway, it was nearly empty, except for a door slamming somewhere far ahead, the sound of footsteps receding… and a familiar heartbeat. He walked toward the exit, tapping his cane, trying to pinpoint where it was coming from. In the library, by the east entrance to the student center — at the time Matt usually passed through after his last class — behind the trees near the dean’s office, when Dex had no reason to be there, Matt kept sensing someone else’s presence. Last week — twice in four days. This week — already three times.

Maybe their schedules just coincided. And the campus wasn’t that big, people at the same university were bound to run into each other in the hallways. Right?

It felt… unsettling? No. Curious? Maybe.

Suppose Dex really was standing there, behind the trees. What did that mean? That he was stalking him? No. That was stupid. That he was just passing by? Yes. Of course. He might have his own business on campus. And if they crossed paths four times in one week, it could simply be a coincidence. Nothing surprising.

But then why did that feeling of being watched not go away? Why did it only grow stronger?

“It’s you,” a small inner voice whispered. “You’re the one doing this. You’re looking for him.”

Dex wouldn’t call it stalking. Just a way to quench the thirst, to make sure Matt was okay, that he hadn’t left. Being close to him, knowing where he was and who he was with — all of it helped. When he heard Matt’s voice or simply knew he was nearby, the world became slightly more bearable. He didn’t realize it might look strange. If someone had asked him, he probably couldn’t have explained it. And besides, he was being discreet, so what was the harm?

On Tuesday, the plaza was packed with students. Some sat on the fountain’s edge, others hurried to class. Dex wove through the crowd, absently noting familiar faces —classmates, professors, not expecting to see anyone else. So when his gaze caught on two figures by the fountain, his feet immediately rooted to the pavement, and his heart pounded so hard that for a second his vision went dark. He recognized them instantly, not even by their faces but by their postures. The way they kept that unnaturally straight spine even while squatting down — a habit drilled into them by a sergeant during basic training, one they’d never been able to shake. They hadn’t changed. Not at all. As if time had stopped for them on that very day when Dex was led out of the barracks and they watched him go. As if they were still there, and he was still that kid.

Fortunately, they didn’t notice him. Dex turned and walked back, forcing himself to maintain a normal pace, but every movement cost him enormous effort, and his ears were ringing. He crossed the plaza, ducked around a corner, and only there, leaning his shoulder against the cold brick wall, did he allow himself to breathe.

Walker and Mitchell. Here. On his campus.

He hadn’t spoken to them in over two years, not since the day he was transferred to another unit after a certain “incident.” He hadn’t let himself think about it; he’d built a wall around those memories, trying not to touch it, but now it had cracked. The memories flooded over him, the gray concrete floor of the barracks, the smell of sweat and blood. He remembered how… — what was his name? Blake? — how he’d tormented him for weeks. It had gone on for months, maybe even years, until Dex finally snapped that day. Whatever had held him back all those months broke like an overstretched string. He didn’t remember grabbing Blake by the throat, didn’t remember slamming him to the floor. He only remembered the crunch and the feeling of shattered bones under his fingers. The guy survived, but they had to put his face back together piece by piece, and he never bothered anyone again, his lips barely closed anymore. Dex was transferred to another unit. Now when he walked into the mess hall, conversations died, when he passed by, people looked away. Walker and Mitchell had probably been his biggest “fans.”

Dex forced himself to push off the wall and headed to the dorm, just as the two began to stir. He didn’t want them to see him. In his room, he locked the door, drew the curtains, and sat on the bed. He couldn’t handle this. Not now. Maybe never.

Dex opened his eyes. The room was dark, dusk had fallen outside. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there. An hour? Two? His body was stiff, his neck sore. Slowly, with effort, he got to his feet and walked to the nightstand. Under a stack of notes, a spare pair of socks, an old subway map he kept for some reason, lay a crumpled blister pack with half its tablets left. They’d been prescribed to him back in the army, after that incident, “to stabilize his mood,” the doctor had said. Dex had taken them for a while, but he didn’t want to depend on anything.

He popped out one tablet. He didn’t even remember what it was called. Dex remembered little from that period anyway. He washed it down with water, returned to the bed, and sat waiting for the longed-for relief. After a while, the ringing in his ears began to fade, and with it, all his thoughts.

He didn’t go to class the next day. Or the day after that. Ray called, came by several times, knocked on the door, Dex’s assurances that he was fine didn’t seem to convince him much. Today, he’d come again. How much time had passed, anyway?

Dex heard his voice as if through cotton wool. The words reached him muffled, blurred, like someone speaking in the next room.

“Dex? You in there? Look, I stopped by earlier, you weren’t in class. You okay?”

Dex lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He wanted to answer, but the words got stuck somewhere in his throat, and he couldn’t push them out. Instead, he just closed his eyes and waited for Ray to leave.

“Dex?” Ray knocked again, more softly. “Listen, if you need… I don’t know. If you need anything, I’m here. Just say the word.”

Ray lingered a moment longer, sighed, and his footsteps faded down the hall. Dex was alone. He sat in his room without turning on the light, staring at the wall. He hadn’t eaten, barely slept. His thoughts circled endlessly.

They could talk. What if they talked? Matt knew that Dex had served and that he’d had problems with fellow soldiers, but he didn’t know exactly what had happened, and Dex didn’t want him to find out. At least not like that, and not from them.

Sometimes he heard footsteps outside his door and froze, listening. Sometimes he thought he heard their voices, and then he’d cover his ears with his hands and sit like that until the ringing in his ears drowned out everything else.

Meanwhile, Matt began to notice Dex’s absence. Sure, everyone had days when they didn’t want to see anyone, he was like that himself, but when Tuesday passed, then Wednesday, and Dex still hadn’t appeared, he grew uneasy. On Thursday, he finally asked Ray if he’d seen Dex. He tried to keep his voice neutral, as if asking about something ordinary. Ray stopped, and Matt heard him shift his weight and inhale, choosing his words.

“He said he wasn’t feeling well. I’ve stopped by a couple of times, he doesn’t open the door. He says, ‘I’m fine.’ But…” Ray paused, and Matt could feel him shrug. “I’ve never seen him like this.”

Matt feels something tighten inside him. He nods, says goodbye to Ray, but for the rest of the day, the thought of Dex won’t leave his head. He tries to get on with things but can’t focus. That evening, Matt can’t take it anymore and steps outside the dorm. It’s cold — the November wind sneaks under his jacket — and he shivers, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. The streetlights glow at half-power, and the asphalt gleams after a recent rain. The campus is nearly empty, just a few students hurrying to the library and a car humming somewhere in the distance. Matt walks, tapping his cane, and stops as he approaches the east wing when he hears voices. Two of them. Male voices — one lazy, drawling, the other higher, with an unpleasant, grating edge.

“We’re just passing through,” one of them says. “Thought we’d drop in, see how you’re doing. And here you are. At Columbia. Forensic science, huh?” He lets out a small chuckle. “So you decided to get back into service. The FBI, I bet?”

Matt hears the faint, barely perceptible grinding of teeth. Dex is hanging on by a thread.

“We’re staying nearby, just for a couple of days. How about a drink? For old times’ sake. Well, not all times, of course. Some are better left unremembered.”

Matt doesn’t know these people, but he knows that tone — condescending, slightly mocking, the tone of people who know something shameful about you and can’t resist reminding you.

“Why so quiet?” the second one asks. “You offended? We’re being friendly.”

Matt steps out of the shadows. His cane taps against the pavement, and the men turn toward the sound. Matt can’t see their faces, but he feels the tension that had been aimed at Dex now shift toward him.

“Oh,” the second one says. “And who’s this? Your friend? Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Seriously?” The first man jumps off the railing he’d been sitting on. “Blind? You hang out with guys like this now, Dex?”

“Walker. Enough.”

“Listen,” the man Dex called Walker says, taking a cigarette out of his mouth and pointing it at Matt. “You know him, don’t you? I mean, really know him? Are you aware that he’s… he’s not right in the head. I’m just warning you,” he continues, almost solicitously. “As a friend. We’ve known him a long time—served together. Good soldier, great shot, but…” he spreads his hands, “you know. Some things can’t be fixed.”

“Shut up,” Dex says.

“Or what?” the other asks. He steps forward, right into Dex’s space. “What are you going to do? Give us the same treatment you gave Blake?”

Matt hears Dex’s heart skip one beat, then two, before pounding again, loudly, as if each contraction was difficult for him. Dex doesn’t answer. He stands perfectly still, and Matt can feel his body vibrating with tension.

“That’s what I thought. You haven’t changed a bit. Only now you’ve got yourself a…” he nods toward Matt, “a bodyguard.”

“And do you know what your friend did? Do you know why he was transferred out of the unit?” he says, addressing Matt.

“Mitch,” Walker says. There’s a warning in his voice, but Mitchell ignores him.

“He crushed a man’s face,” Mitchell continues. “In the barracks, with his bare hands. Just picked him up and…” he pauses, and Matt hears him smile, “…turned him into mincemeat. And you’re his friend. Nice choice.”

“Are you done?” Matt asks. His voice is even.

“I think you’re forgetting yourself,” Walker says, grabbing his shoulder in a “friendly” manner. He’s standing close, and Matt can feel his breath on his face. “You don’t know who you’re messing with. Your friend is a dangerous psychopath, and if you haven’t figured that out yet, you will soon enough.”

“Your hand,” Matt says.

“What?”

“Your hand. Take it off.”

Walker doesn’t. Instead, he squeezes — not hard, but enough for Matt to feel the pressure. At that moment, Dex runs out of patience and grabs Walker’s wrist. Matt hears the crack of a joint twisted at an unnatural angle. Walker yelps and jerks his hand back. Mitchell doesn’t hesitate; he lunges forward and throws the first punch. A precise uppercut that Dex barely manages to block, but the force of it knocks him onto the steps. Dex’s back slams into the concrete, and Matt hears the air rush out of his lungs. Matt wants to help, but then Walker comes from the side and punches him in the jaw. His head snaps to the side, his mouth fills with the taste of blood, and for a second the world blurs, sounds merging into a chaotic jumble. But his body moves before he can think: he sidesteps, feeling Walker’s fist cut through the air where his head just was, and he responds, simply letting his body do what his father and Stick taught him. His fist sinks into something soft — the stomach, he realizes — and Walker doubles over, gasping for air.

Matt can’t see what’s happening between Dex and Mitchell, but he hears Dex’s breathing stay steady even as a fist slams into his cheekbone. Dex staggers but doesn’t fall; instead, he catches Mitchell’s arm, twists it, and Mitchell howls in pain. The second punch lands on Mitch’s jaw, the third, fourth, fifth — Dex keeps hitting, and Matt hears his breathing grow more ragged, feels him losing control. Walker tries to intervene, but Matt stops him an elbow to the chest, then a knee to the thigh, and Walker retreats.

“Dex!”

Matt doesn’t recognize his own voice. It comes out sharp, and there’s something in it that makes Dex freeze. His fist, already drawn back for the next blow, stops in midair. Mitchell slumps against the wall, coughing blood, and Walker hoists him up, muttering something as he pulls him away. Matt hears them leave, and he hears blood dripping from Dex’s split knuckles onto the pavement. His own jaw throbs, and the taste of blood is still in his mouth, but he ignores it. In one swift, furious movement, he closes the distance between them, his hands grabbing the rough, sweat-damp fabric on Dex’s chest, fingers curling into fists, and he yanks hard at the still-disoriented Dex, who lets out a choked, half-strangled sound. Matt closes the gap to nothing, giving him no time to recover.

“Look at me.” And without waiting for an answer, he presses his lips to Dex’s in a kiss. Matt feels Dex still trembling, but his lips are already responding, uncertainly at first, then more hungrily, as if he’s only now realizing the fight is over. Matt deepens the kiss, threading his fingers into Dex’s hair and gripping it, not letting him pull away, and Dex’s hands, the same hands that were just around an enemy’s throat, grip Matt’s shoulders so hard they’ll surely leave bruises.

“Not here,” Dex breathes, pulling back from Matt’s lips when his lungs start to burn. His voice is low and rough, and Matt feels his own heart skip a beat.

They stumble upstairs, unable to stop touching each other, constantly pausing. Halfway there, Dex growls and shoves Matt against the cold brick wall, feeling the other’s hands frantically trying to get under his jacket, their hips grinding together in a maddening rhythm. At the door to his room, Dex fumbles with the key, his hands still shaking from the fight and from a desire he can’t control.

The moment the door closes behind them, Matt, unwilling to wait another second, pulls up the rough fabric of Dex’s sweater, and his palms finally land on bare, sweat-damp skin, feeling the muscles shift underneath. Clothes fall to the floor with a dull, hurried rustle. The room is dark, only the glow of a streetlamp filters through the blinds, painting stripes across their bodies. They move toward the bed without breaking apart, tripping over discarded things, and when Matt’s bare back touches the cool sheets, he pulls Dex down onto him, pressing their bodies together, feeling his heart hammering. There’s no strength left to wait. The desire he’s suppressed for so long, hiding it behind politeness and distance, finally erupts in full. Dex’s hands move urgently over his body, every touch soaked in an impatience and greed he no longer tries to hide. Matt slides his palms along Dex’s thighs, feeling the warmth and tremor beneath his fingers; his lips find his neck and the place where a pulse pounds wildly under the skin. He drags his tongue across the salty skin, sucking and nipping, feeling Dex go still, holding his breath. He runs his hands over Dex’s back, feeling the muscles roll under the skin and how Dex shudders at every touch, arching his spine and silently begging for more. When he finally enters him — slowly, letting him adjust to this new, impossible closeness — Dex lets out a soft, guttural moan that rolls through Matt’s body like a hot, viscous wave. He feels the pleasure building, cresting with each movement, and when the final, blinding wave finally crashes over him, he freezes, his whole body convulsing. For a second, the world goes dark; all that remains is that pulse spreading through his veins. He collapses onto Dex’s back, breathing heavily, and a moment later hears Dex, face buried in the sheets, follow him over the edge, shuddering through his own release.

They lie in the dark, their breathing gradually slowing. Matt rolls onto his side and pulls Dex against him, burying his face somewhere in his shoulder. For the first time in days, Dex falls asleep without pills.