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The few times you've seen him, he was visibly a wreck. Despite looking like he had just rolled out of bed, he was obviously exhausted, his eyes in a perpetual state of puffiness and ringed by dark circles. He didn't seem to be putting any effort into taming his hair or shaving his face, which resulted in him looking sort of homeless. Then there was the fact that his clothes just seemed to be looking looser and looser, which raised your alarm bells more than anything. 

Your concern deepened when Jason paid him a visit earlier on in the week, only to shake his head and sigh when he reported back to the rest of you. 

"Jackass isn't eating anything," he informed you, Matt, and Dian as you scarfed down your respective shitty cafeteria dinners. "He's living off fucking SlimFast. That's all. No wonder he looks like a coke addict all of the sudden." 

Deeply concerned by these new developments, the four of you worked out a plan to keep tabs on him without him immediately chasing you off. You decided that all of you would alternate dropping by his dorm throughout the week, but never together and never with an established plan in place. That way, it wouldn't look rehearsed, — because it wasn't, — and would illustrate your genuine concern in a manner that didn't seem forced… because it wasn't. Each of you would approach the situation using whatever method seemed fit at the moment. 

When you left your final class for the afternoon, you decided that the appropriate method for the day would be to bring him food. The thought of him, holed up in his dorm and depressed, choking down weight loss shake after weight loss shake, made your heart sink. He needed something substantial. Maybe not healthy, but something he could chew and swallow. 

So you went to McDonald's and ordered a couple of combo meals. It wasn't gourmet cuisine, but it was affordable. It was the same junk that you ate together back when things were okay. The image of a bunch of high, giggling college kids piling into a booth and decimating a couple baskets of fries reminded you of simpler times… Those being, the times before Trey walked in on his fiancee in a state of post coital bliss with another guy and consequently started spiraling. 

You ruminated on the reasoning for all of it as you drove back to campus, digging into your bag to angrily chomp on a fry every now and again. As much as imagining him getting married put a lump in your throat and a pit in your stomach, you weren't selfish enough to take delight in his current situation. It burned you up, really.

Trey had been the type of boyfriend and fiance that made people envious of Liane, and she fucking cheated on him. If she hadn't gotten caught, she would have kept dragging it out, all the way to the altar. She would have continued after the wedding that was going to empty their pockets, and he would have been none the wiser. Now he was fucking starving himself with graduation fast approaching, and your blood pressure was going through the fucking roof even though it technically wasn't really your problem… And your fries were already gone by the time you pulled into your parking space. Great. 

You're hoping to God that he opens the door before you can start eating his fries. Luckily, not long after this thought crosses your mind, the door swings open, only to reveal an impressively-disheveled Trey. 

He looks from your face to the brown paper bag and back again before clearing his throat. "Come in."

He doesn't have to ask you twice. You nudge the door closed behind you and reach for the lock. "I brought you dinner," you tell him as you sit your drinks down. "It's nothing special. Just a Big Mac. But I thought…"

You freeze as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into him. You are infinitely grateful that your face is being crushed into the fabric of his shirt. Otherwise, he would see that you're turning bright fucking red. 

"Thanks," he mutters, still holding onto you. He seems to be in no rush to let you go. You lean into him, soaking up the feeling of his arms around you in a way that you can totally pretend was possessive when you're letting your imagination run wild in bed tonight. 

After a while, however, you feel the need to speak up, knowing that you're still holding a bag full of McDonald's in your hand. "Trey," you speak up. "The food…" 

"Right. Sorry." He gives your waist a slight squeeze before releasing you from his grip. 

You force a smile onto your face as you take the sight of him in. He just looks so fucking tired.  

Still, you ask him the dreaded question as you take a seat on the floor: "How's it been going?" 

He doesn't hesitate to respond. "Fucking terrible," he says, rifling around in the bag for his burger. "I wish I was dead, honestly."

You frown as you reach for your own food. "She isn't worth all that," you mutter quietly. 

He laughs humorlessly. "As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I was going to marry that woman." He takes a needlessly-aggressive bite out of his burger before pulling back. "Forgive me for being a little torn up about my fiancee cheating on me." 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. The bitchiness is nothing new. The situation itself is a bit harder to deal with. "You know I didn't mean it like that," you say. 

"Yeah. I know." He looks away from the burger that he's devouring like the starved man that he is to fix you with wide blue eyes. You do your best to keep your face from bursting into flames again. 

He sighs, reaching for one of the brown paper napkins in the bag. "Sorry for being an asshole," he concedes. "I know it's not an excuse, but I've kind of forgotten how to interact with other people over the past week." 

"It's fine." You take a sip of your soda before pulling back. "I've just been worried about you." 

You don't miss the change in expression that this confession provokes. His eyes flash with something soft. Guilt? Relief? 

"I wish I could say that you don't have to," he finally says. "But, well… All you have to do is look around to see that I'm a fucking wreck."

"Anybody would be," you tell him. 

There's another pause. If the two of you were talking about literally anything else, it would probably be comfortable. You've always been the type of friends who could just do things together and not talk. His company was enough to put you at ease, and vice versa. 

But now you're looking at the shadows under his eyes and the scruff on his face, the pure dejection in his expression, and the silence feels like things that you should be saying but can't conjure into acceptable words. You worry that you'll be sitting across from each other all night, plastic straws squeaking and tension palpable. 

It gets to the point when you're itching to say something just to say it. So, without even worrying that it's the wrong thing, you do.

"I've missed you," you confess quietly.

He gives you that look again. You always feel like he doesn't just look at you, — he looks through you, searching for something. You don't know if he's found what he was looking for as he balls up the paper wrapper that his burger came with and tosses it at the trashcan. Somehow, it lands where he intended it to. 

He turns back to you and tries to smile. Though he still looks like a recently-kicked puppy, it seems a bit more genuine this time. "I missed you, too." 

Stupid as it is, your heart sinks as he stands up, leaving you sitting on the floor with your legs tucked under you. You watch as he takes a seat on the unmade double bed in the corner and settles back against the pillows. You wonder for a moment if this is some sort of silent dismissal, a wordless plea for you to go home and leave him the fuck alone to grieve, but then…

"Wanna come sit?" he beckons you. 

Okay, fuck. You have got to stop turning bright red every time he says something that could be construed as being mildly suggestive, but there's something about the fact that he wants you in his bed…

You need to get a hold of yourself. 

"Sure." You feign nonchalance as you discard the trash from your own dinner and walk towards the bed. 

The mattress squeaks, settling beneath you. There isn't much space between Trey and the wall, but he shifts to accommodate you, anyway. 

"Thanks," you mumble. He hums an acknowledgement before the two of you settle into silence.

No background music, no television. Just the two of you, silently soaking up one another's company. 

It's not as awkward as it was before, because you know that he genuinely wants you here. You feel even more sure of this when he stretches as an excuse to loop his arm around you. You take this as an invitation to lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder. 

The closeness is nice. You breathe in the scent of his laundry detergent and body wash, — he's still been showering while in this sorry state, thank God, — and wait for him to speak. 

After a while, he does. "I haven't just been laying around, you know," he tells you. "I'm scripting something for this trailer project I have coming up." 

"Yeah?" You shift, looking up at him. "Care to elaborate, or am I just gonna have to be surprised?" 

"It's a musical, actually." You try to conceal your surprise as he brushes a loose strand of hair from in front of your face, then continues running his fingers through the strands, and… He's just playing with your hair while he talks to you. Alright, then. "About all the stuff that happened with Alferd Packer. I'm thinking that if I can get Matt and Dian in on it, it could be fairly decent…" 

"That's gonna be your big comeback project?" you ask. "Eating your friends?" 

He laughs. "How do you know I'm casting myself as the lead?" 

"Because I know you," you reply easily. "Plus, you're like… made to play Alferd Packer." You cast him a mischievous grin. "You've got those crazy eyes…"

He huffs out a chuckle. "You're so nice to me." His hand stays in your hair, working out the tangles that you sustained while driving back to campus with the windows down. "Wanna hear the best part?" 

"Of course."

You can hear the smile in his voice as he continues. "So, there's this horse…" he starts. "Named Liane. She's the type to let everyone ride her, you know…"

"So that's how you're dealing with it?" you ask. "Creating a slutty horse character and naming it after her?" 

"That's one of the ways," he replies with a shrug. 

Against your better judgment, you cast your gaze to his other arm, which is now looped around your waist as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "Is this another?"

His face goes bright pink as he unthreads his fingers from your hair. You regret saying anything for a moment, worrying that he'll pull away. Somehow, he doesn't. "I guess?" he says instead. "I mean, it's kinda nice, having someone care so much…" 

You lean further back into him. "It is nice," you admit. "I kinda figured you were touch-starved, anyway. You've been all over me since I walked in…"

"Sue me for being excited to see one of my best friends." He wraps his arm back around you, pulling you closer to him. "You were like some sort of guardian angel, showing up with dinner…"

You attempt to swat at him, which isn't a very successful effort, considering he's got you in a rather-sturdy grip. "I bought you McDonald's," you say. "You shouldn't be so easy."

"That was what I needed tonight." He glances down at you, offering you a smile that is so much gentler than the one you usually get. The kind of smile that confronts you with the disconcerting realization that, unlike most of your exchanges up until this point, this isn't a joke. " You were what I needed tonight."

The sentiment surprises you enough to look up and meet his eyes, startling when you find that he was already looking down at you. You hold his gaze for a moment, wondering when one of you will break away and laugh it off. 

But neither of you ever do.

You just get closer and closer, slowly but surely. You keep testing the limits. Trey rests his hand against the side of your face. For a while, he just holds you there, looking into your eyes. You wait patiently, just in case he changes his mind. The warmth in the pit of your stomach spreads from the way that he's looking at you. Like he doesn't believe he should get the opportunity to even touch you, let alone...

You lose your train of thought as he suddenly presses his lips to yours. 

Your eyes stay wide open for a moment, in total shock that this is actually happening. Once your surprise wears off, however, you close your eyes and relax into his touch. He kisses you slowly, tenderly, as though he's trying to commit the moment to memory. Like he wants to preserve the feeling of your mouth on his, your hands on the back of his neck, every first touch the two of you are sharing right now. 

You moan as his tongue brushes over yours, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his hair. He gasps into your mouth as you tug on the strands, deepening the kiss even more in response to your slight tugging. 

Okay. He likes having his hair pulled. Noted. 

His mouth wanders from your lips to your jaw before trailing down further down. You lean back in satisfaction as he presses long, insistent kisses against the side of your neck. 

"Marking me up, huh?" you manage to ask breathlessly.

"Mmm-hmm." Sharp teeth scrape lightly over a fresh bruise, inspiring a gasp from you.

You throw your head back, exposing even more of your neck to him. He promptly takes the opportunity to attack every inch of the skin available.

You draw in a shaky breath. Your hands wander aimlessly across his body as he explores your neck with his mouth. "You want everybody to see, don't you?" you ask quietly. "Want them to look at me and know that you've been here?" 

He gives another affirmative hum. Only this time, it turns into a whine.

You've obviously done something there. It's hard for you to bite back the sly grin threatening to surface. "You like that?" you question. "You want everybody to know how good you are for me?" 

He halts his kisses, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he lets out an unmistakable moan.

Satisfaction consumes you. 

Oh, yeah. This is going to be fun .

"Yeah? That's good, isn't it?" Your hands travel over his back ever-so-gently, tracing circles that might be soothing in any other circumstance. "You wanna be my good boy?" 

Another whimper passes his lips as you shift against him, pressing your hips into his just slightly. "Fuck. Please."

You giggle. "Please, huh?" Abruptly, you pull away from him. He stares at you breathlessly, taking in your mussed hair and the way that you're looking back at him, eyes on fire.

His own eyes go wider as you swing your leg across his lap and straddle him. He lets out a groan as you wiggle a bit in a mock attempt to make yourself comfortable. You are immensely pleased when one of his hands wraps around your hip.

"It's a little hot in here," you comment, reaching down to tug at the hem of your T-shirt. You quickly tug the garment over your head before tossing it haphazardly to the side. 

You giggle when you look down at him, only to find him staring back up at you with a look of utter awe. 

You grin before cupping his face, pulling him in close again. "That's better." Your lips brush over his in a quick peck, followed shortly thereafter by another. When you pull back, you give him a demand. "Touch me."

His eyes are wild as he looks up at you. "Touch you where?"

You chuckle. "Wherever you want."

"Shit." Almost as soon as the words leave your mouth, he's kissing you hard again, fingers clumsily grasping to touch every inch of skin that he possibly can. Finally, he settles on a particular spot, sighing against your lips as he clumsily gropes you through your bra.

You let out a contented sigh as he kneads at you desperately. You are reminded in the fondest way possible of the movie theater shenanigans you got up to with your suitors a few years ago, — clumsy, but so passionate that it makes up for it. 

Still, you can't help trying to spur him just a bit further. You nudge him slightly, signaling for him to let you sit up before reaching for the hook on your bra. "Wanna see more?" 

Though the question is clearly rhetorical, he gives you a fervent nod, watching intently as you unclasp the article. 

You smile at him as he stares at you with that same awed expression on his face, only magnified this time. "Well?"

Blue eyes alight, he shifts restlessly beneath you. "Fuck," he curses. "C'mere." 

He wastes no time before pulling you closer to him. He plants small nips and kisses from your collarbone to your chest, trailing down until his mouth lands on your bare breast. 

For the first time since all this started, you momentarily lose your composure. You toss your head back as your fingers tangle in his hair again. "Oh, fuck. Such a good boy." 

The noise he lets out results in a vibration against your sensitive skin, inspiring another mewl from you that totally betrays your control over the situation.

His mouth travels over your skin, leaving behind warm, wet kisses. Every now and then, he stops and sucks, leaving behind yet another mark that is sure to bruise later. You maintain your grip on his hair, reveling in the feeling of his lips against you.

You squirm in his lap as his mouth travels back up your body, stopping just above your collarbone. He groans against you, tightening his grip on your waist. 

Deep down, you know that you already have him exactly where you want him. Still, you pause for a moment before rocking your hips against him again, — slow, teasing. 

Your heartbeat picks up speed as he makes another choked sound before rolling his hips up against yours. "Please," he whimpers. 

Your only reply is a quiet chuckle as you push yourself against him with less hesitance this time. He lets out a breathy gasp at the feeling of you pressing against him before returning his attention to your neck. 

It takes you a bit to find a rhythm. Impromptu dry humping sessions aren't exactly a regular thing for you, and your uncertainty about how to position your legs makes you feel a little awkward. After a while, though, things start to come more naturally, allowing you to grind down against him at a steady pace. 

A satisfied moan escapes your lips when you feel his hard cock pressing against you through his jeans. He pulls away from your neck with a hiss as you deliberately rub against the area that you know will be the most sensitive. You bite your lip as you roll your hips. Your head spins, knowing that, if it weren't for a couple layers of fabric, you could lower yourself onto him and erase any distance between the two of you. 

Another choked, high-pitched noise meets your ears. You look down at him through heavy-lidded eyes. 

Your heart skips a beat as you take in the absolute sight underneath you. 

Trey has his head thrown back, his eyes screwed shut. His lip is caught between his teeth as he digs his fingers into the sheets. He opens his eyes when he feels you stop your movements. 

Your stomach flips. You swear that you've never had anyone look at you the way that he is now. 

Though you've never considered yourself a greedy person in the past, you're beginning to reevaluate that judgment. Two hours ago, the thought of him, hard underneath you and looking up at you like this, would have seemed like the ultimate fever dream, nothing more than something to imagine when you were getting yourself off. 

Now that it's actually happening, all you can think is that you want more. More of this. More of him. You would do this every night if you could. 

Of course, you can't. A sick feeling gnaws at the depths of your stomach, telling you that he'll probably consider this a mistake once it's all over. In the long run, this moment will probably be nothing more than a messy, opportunistic rebound in his eyes.

That's why you ought to make this time count. 

You reach for one of his hands, untangling his fingers from the sheets as you thread them through your own. You guide his palm back up to your chest. He groans, bucking up against you as he goes back to clumsily grabbing at you like your horny high school boyfriends. 

When his eyelids begin to flutter, you speak up. "Look at me," you demand, voice hoarse with utter want. 

To your shock and delight, he immediately complies. 

You stay still for a moment, staring into lust-clouded pools of deep blue, before beginning to slowly roll your hips again. 

As soon as you hear the muffled whimper that your movement elicits from Trey, you give up on maintaining eye contact. Instead, you crush your lips against his again, reveling in the thrill of having him fucking moan into your mouth. His hands wander from your tits to your ass and back up again, exploring every bit of you that he can possibly touch without either of you shedding your jeans. 

Your head spins at the thought of how real this is as his tongue brushes over yours and his thumb rubs over your hip. It's dizzying to think that you're as new to him as he is to you. For all the times that you've gone to dinner or done your homework together, gotten drunk and/or high in this very dorm room, playfully pushed one another around and made each other laugh until your ribs were sore, you've never done this. You had never known what his hands felt like, hungrily roaming over your bare skin. He's never gripped you like this, marveling at how perfect your figure had been under your loose-fitting shirts this whole time. 

His hands tighten around your waist as he comes up for air and you pick up your pace. The combination of the friction of denim against denim and the noises that he's making have left you soaking wet, inspiring you to release a few moans of your own as you move against him.

You melt into the warmth of blissful pleasure as his whimpers grow louder. As you throw your head back with a debauched moan, Trey looks up at you with pleading eyes. 

You can't find it in you to worry about the aftermath of this anymore. At this point, you're just working towards your release. You are fixated on the idea that you're so close to falling apart on top of him, that this is all real. The thought itself gives you a heady rush, which doesn't subside when you hear him let out a particularly desperate whine. 

The sound causes you to look down at him, only to find him looking back at you like you're the only thing keeping him alive. The word reverence crosses your mind as he opens his mouth. 

"I'm… Fuck, " he stumbles over himself. "I'm getting really fucking close. Can I…" 

He lets out a squeak of surprise as you dig your nails into his shoulders through his shirt. 

"Good boy," you coo, pressing your hips harder against his. "My good boy… Fucking come for me, that's it…" 

Something between your encouragement and the quick rhythm of your grinding causes him to lose control quicker. He gasps. "Baby…" he murmurs before burying his face in your neck and stilling underneath you, releasing a long, trembling moan. He melts into a shaking mess as he rides out his release with you on top of him, slightly shifting your hips until his tremors die down.

At that point, you go still on top of him. To your surprise, he shifts beneath you, straightening his posture before pulling you onto his thigh. 

"Come on, keep going," he urges you. "Wanna see you come. Come on, please."

It doesn't take you long to reach your peak with his hands against your waist and the warmth of him pressed between your legs. With a broken moan, you collapse into his arms, trembling in his grip. 

He lets out a quiet sound of awe as you shake until you eventually relax. 

Once your pulse and breathing begin to level out, you note the feeling of his hands still on your hips, thumbs rubbing gentle circles against your skin as he speaks softly to you.

"There you go," he says, still slightly breathless. "So pretty…" 

You only manage a sigh of acknowledgement as you rest your head against his chest. 

You lie there for a few moments, allowing one another's body heat to ground the both of you. 

As you predicted earlier, your mind begins to swim with worry. You wonder what will come after this, how awkward it will get, if he'll ever even want to talk about it again. Hell, you're waiting for him to kick you out as soon as the endorphins wear off and he realizes that the two of you just pretty much fucked less than two weeks after his engagement imploded. 

For now, though, he's holding you and playing with your hair again, fingers trailing over your back after running through the strands. 

Your eyes grow heavy as you fleetingly think that this is almost as good as what you just did, — the intimacy that comes in the afterglow. It's sickeningly on brand for you, — this greed, this aching desire for more. You didn't even take your pants off, and you're already worrying that no one else will ever make you feel like he did.

You guess that's what happens when you fuck around with the friend you've been in love with forever.

Trey's fingers still before he nudges you. "Hey," he says softly.

"Hmm?" you hum, dreading whatever it is he might say. 

He pats your back gently. "Can you get up for a second?" he asks. "I should probably, uh… Go clean up."

You nod, trying to act like this awkward dismissal doesn't make you want to punch yourself in the teeth. "Yeah. Go ahead." You sit up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and reaching for your discarded bra and T-shirt.

You're surprised by the feeling of his fingers threading through yours again when you begin to stand up. "You don't have to leave," he says. The hint of desperation in his voice takes you aback. "I mean, you can stay a little bit longer, if you want." 

You turn back at him, taking in his pink-tinged face. You shift uncomfortably against the bed, cringing at the wet fabric between your thighs. "I at least need to go get a change of clothes…" 

He shakes his head. "I've got some you can borrow," he says. "There's an extra toothbrush under the cabinet, too."

You blink at him. "You want me to stay the night?"

His blush deepens as he shrugs. "I mean… I don't see why not."

You can see why not. Couples spend the night at each other's places, wearing one another's clothes. The two of you don't exactly fit that bill.

Then again, you just made each other come. You're pretty sure wearing his clothes and sleeping in his dorm isn't the most glaring boundary that you've overstepped. Besides, a few more hours of confusing closeness is preferable to returning to your own dorm and worrying that he hates you now.

So you nod and take the shirt and sweatpants that he offers you. You change while listening to the shower run in the bathroom. You sigh and decide to forgo keeping your soaked underwear on, tucking them between your other clothes, folded and stacked in the corner of the room.

You settle into the change of clothes and sit back down on the bed, waiting until you hear the water stop running. Finally, the quiet washes over the room, followed shortly thereafter by the creaking of the door.

And there's Trey with wet hair and his own loosely-fitting clothes. Your heart leaps at the mere sight of him, despite the fact that you were quite literally on top of him not even twenty minutes ago.

He crosses the room and crawls into bed beside you. "C'mere," he says quietly. You look down, only to see him holding his arms out to you. Inviting you to return to the place that you were.

You oblige him, collapsing into the pillows and his warmth. 

You can't find it in you to say anything as you lay there, soaking up the feeling of his arms around you and his steady heartbeat against your ear. Once again, you don't know what to say. 

Apparently, he thinks that he does. "You're an amazing friend," he murmurs, chin resting on your shoulder. "You know that?" 

Your heart aches at that word. Friend. Because, yeah. This is what friends do. What the two of you do, anyway. Or did. Just this once. 

"Hush," you urge him weakly as your eyelids grow heavy. 

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