Page 5 of Men in Shorts

Duncan looked at her, then at Brodie. “You told her?”

“I—well—” Brodie swallowed, trying to wet his parched throat. Duncan’s reaction confirmed that their hookup was something to be ashamed of, to be forgotten as soon as possible. “You know, I do feel a headache coming on. Think I’ll work at home today.”

He hurried to the exit without another word, shoving open the door to the stairwell so hard he nearly clouted a fellow student.

She jumped back just in time to avoid a flattened face. “Watch it, ya knob!”

“Sorry, sorry.” He ran to the top of the staircase.

Behind him, the girl yelped again. “What, you too? Savages in this place today.”

“Sorry,” said a familiar voice. “Brodie, wait!”

* * *

Duncan saw Brodie stop short,teetering on the edge of the stairs. Then he turned and spoke to the floor at Duncan’s feet.

“Fit’s a dee?” Brodie shook his head and repeated himself, replacing his native Doric with English. “What’s wrong?” His voice sounded pained, and his dark brows pinched together so hard, they nearly met in the deep crease above his nose.

Duncan hated the thought he could’ve given this virus to Brodie. And yet…he didn’t regret kissing him. That night had ended awkwardly—and somewhat amusingly—but he was eager to try again. This time they’d be sober. This time they’d be happy.

Duncan certainly needed a bit of happiness just now. “Can we talk?”

Brodie shrugged. “If we can walk at the same time.”

“I was hoping to catch you at our flat,” Duncan said as they made their way down the stairs, “but you’d already left.”

“You know how this place is during revision period. Anyone not here fifteen minutes after the library opens is fucked for a table.”

On the landing, Brodie’s feet started to drag on the thin carpet. Duncan knew his friend would soon be in the debilitating grip of mono’s second phase. He also knew they should wait to have this conversation until Brodie was well.

But Duncan had never been good at waiting. “About before. The last time we saw each other?”

Brodie stopped and leaned against the banister, still avoiding Duncan’s eyes. “You don’t need to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Tell me it was a mistake, that we should pretend it never happened. I know it was, and I know we should.”

Duncan’s mouth fell open. That wasn’t at all what he was going to say. He was going to sayI can’t stop thinking about you. Every day these last three weeks I thought to phone you, wondering if hearing your voice would help, wondering if you were wondering the same thing two hundred miles away.

“Okay,” he said, though it was the opposite of what he meant. “No harm, no foul. As we were.”

“Right.” Brodie continued down the stairs toward the ground floor, his rucksack strap about to slide off his shoulder.

“Stop.”

Brodie halted, turning his head but not looking back. His tongue flashed out to give his lower lip a nervous lick, making Duncan want to kiss him more than ever.

He caught up to Brodie and put a hand on his rucksack. “Let me have this before you break your laptop.”

Brodie frowned as he reluctantly released the bag. “Thanks. How’d you know I’ve a laptop in there?”

“Lucky guess.” He slung the rucksack over his other shoulder. “C’mon, we’ll get a taxi. You’ll never survive the walk home in this weather. It’s pishin’ down out there.”

“Taxi’s expensive. We should wait for the minibus.”

“Which could come in five minutes, or in fifty minutes. Do you feel lucky?” He elbowed Brodie as they descended. “Do ya, punk?”

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