Mornings with Gil typically went like this:
First, well, Gil's alarm would go off, and Barnaby would wake up with the sinking realization that he'd fallen asleep on top of him
again.
He'd be apologizing before the man was completely coherent, so the first thing to come out of Gil's mouth would be "It's fine", "Don't worry about it", or "How did you sleep?"
He'd always slept soundly with Gil.
They'd try to move around only to greet one another with the other's Morning Wood. Normally, they'd laugh it off and get up even faster, but if Barnaby was lucky, Gil would pull him close, kiss him tiredly and jerk him off under the covers.
That morning, Barnaby was lucky.
Next, Gil would get up and go straight to the bathroom. He'd try to be quick, to spare Barnaby from having to run into his next door roommates, but it'd happened more often than not that the boy would have company while brushing his teeth with Gil's toothbrush - or that he'd have to shout "Occupied!" to an opening door while on the toilet.
Returning to Gil's dorm, he'd find an outfit laid out on the bed, usually lounge pants and a hoodie. Barnaby, however, had already sported Gil's hoodie the day before - and though he wouldn't have been opposed to throwing it on again, discovered Gil was kind enough to give him something new and camo-print.
"Isn't this what you wore for Halloween?"
The raven, rolling the sleeves of his grey and black flannel, flashed him a grin. "Might be."
Barnaby smirked back but promptly found his gaze drawn to Gil's wrists. He almost got nervous for him, keeping them exposed, until the man grabbed a few bracelets from his nightstand and put them on strategically.
He'd wait until Barnaby was all dressed to ask him, "Ready to go?"
By the time they stepped outside, Barnaby's stomach would be rumbling. So they'd walk to the nearest building with a coffee counter, order some bagels and a drink, and be on their way. Barnaby would continue to ramble about the Secret Life of American Agriculture between sips of his latte, and Gil would be in control of the bagels, breaking off small pieces and passing them off to the boy at his leisure.
Time and time again, Barnaby would have to remind himself not to eat directly from his master's hand in public.
Gil would always walk Barnaby to his building first. Whether he actually had class as early as Barnaby did- the boy wasn't sure. But, then again, it was a routine he wasn't exactly eager to change.
A head taller on the steps of his building, Barnaby paused to face Gil. "When am I giving your shirt back?"
"What shirt? You're completely topless."
"
Gil
."
The man smiled wide, squinting up at him against the rising sun, and shrugged. "By Thanksgiving at least? Or don't give it back at all. Either way, it's fine."
Barnaby scoffed, grasping the straps of his backpack and tapping his foot against Gil's leg. "Does that mean you're not in a rush to see me again?"
"Absolutely not. See me with or without a shirt. I don't mind."
Of course he wouldn't.
Barnaby felt himself leaning forward, his lips already puckering. It'd be nice, he thought, to kiss Gil goodbye. They'd done it before.
But he never made contact. Instead, Barnaby rocked back on his heels.
They'd done it before - but never in front of anyone. Never in view of anyone who might have anything to assume. And more and more people were passing them on the steps.
His lips pursed, and Barnaby glanced to the door. "I should probably let you go," he told Gil. "Can I text you later?"
"You better," the man replied, handing him the last complete bagel. "Unless you want to be punished for ignoring me?"
"
What?
I-" Barnaby had to go to class, and -
perfect
- his face was probably pink. "
Never
."
"Good."
An exchange of half-hearted waves replaced the Kiss That Should've Been, and Barnaby turned to enter the building, replacing his security from Gil with security by cellphone.
A text from Jensen waited for him: 'Assuming you're not dead in a dumpster, can you do me a BIG favor?'
Barnaby grimaced, realizing he hadn't spoken to his roommate in two whole days. 'Not dead yet. What's up?'
'Dammit. Oh well. Can you go to the room and grab the pizza from the fridge? Apparently, they want me in Raritan later, not Edison.'
'They can do that?'
'They can do anything they want if they're paying me. So can you?'
'I have Stats...'
'After stats?'
Sigh
.
'To Raritan?'
'Yep'
'I'll be there.'
And so an hour later, after learning about statistics that did not directly affect the farming industry, Barnaby hopped a shuttle to their dorm, grabbed a bagged Who-Knew-How-Old pizza from the refrigerator along with the laptop from his bed, and set out for Raritan Hall.
When he arrived, he found Jensen at the reception desk, his feet up on the table. He wasn't alone. Perched on the back of the lobby sofa, a lanky young man had been speaking to him, holding a cup of ramen. Both looked to Barnaby as he approached.
"If it isn't the Pizza Man," Jensen exclaimed, "Give it here."
Resisting the urge to make a face, Barnaby crossed over and placed the paperbag on Jensen's desk. "Do I get a tip?"
"Oh. Yeah." Jensen reached into his pocket like he might actually pull out some spare change - only to shoot Barnaby with a fingergun instead. "Here's a tip: learn how to wear concealer."
Barnaby realized Jensen was pointing to his neck.
Gritting his teeth, he fixed the collar of his jacket to hopefully hide most of Gil's hickeys.
Exaggerating a sigh, Jensen's attention turned to the other boy in front of him. "Wes, this is my roommate, Disaster."
There was a quick slurping of noodles before the cup was placed on the desk, and a hand jutted out to Barnaby. "How's it goin', Disaster? You can call me Loser."
One look was all it took for Barnaby to recognize him, though his face was a bit dimmer than he remembered. "I know you," he blurted, shaking his hand, "Lamp Man, right?"
Somehow, Wes a.k.a Loser a.k.a Lamp Man managed to light up all the same. "Or call me that. That works, too."
"Wait, wait, wait," Jensen interjected, chomping into cold pizza, "You nerds know each other?"
Barnaby could only open his mouth when Wes explained, "We met at the Zombie Break! He was on my team!"
Acknowledged as a teammate? Barnaby's heart might've skipped a beat.
"Is he going to-?" Wes started, then trailed off as if to erase his own words the instant he locked eyes with Jensen.
Jensen shrugged, wiping his hands on his pants. "I didn't ask yet." Obliged, he focused on Barnaby. "Asking now. Do you wanna go bowling tomorrow night?"
Barnaby blinked. He hadn't heard that question since high school. "Uhm-" Maybe if Wes hadn't proved himself to be an ally, he would've reverted to an old excuse -
'You know I'm not very coordinated'
or '
I can't throw to save my life'.
Or maybe he wouldn't have a say. Maybe Gil would want him for the night. But even if he didn't - "I have to check my work schedule. I might be on."
"So go to work 'til - what?
Nine
? We'll go after."
Barnaby shifted on his feet, tugging on the ends of his sleeves. "Who else is going?"
"You-" The decision was made for him. Okay. "Me, Wes, Wes's girl, and two of our other friends."
"Diana," Wes chimed in, "You met her."
Had he not, Barnaby likely would have made any excuse to miss out at that moment. He used to feel safe with Jensen; in high school, they shared the same social presence: none. Then college happened, Jensen joined every kind of geek squad, and Barnaby, never attuned to video games or big breasted anime women, joined those community gardens that, with all due respect, lacked a sense of community.
Sometimes, he wasn't so sure he wanted to belong to a community, though. The more people he knew, the more people he'd burden.
He already wanted to apologize to Wes for trespassing into their circle, but before Barnaby could say anything at all, it was Jensen who reiterated, "You're going."
Barnaby didn't protest. Not with Wes there, and not with time running out before his next class. Instead, he swallowed his nerves, fidgeted with the straps of his backpack, and told them he'd let them know if and when he was working. Jensen let him go without any further hassle, and Barnaby's phone stayed in his pocket until he reached his second desk that day. When he finally checked it, he noticed he'd missed a text from Gil.
' :( '
'What's wrong???'
'You walked by my class earlier and I waved at you but you didn't wave back'
'Omg I didn't know. Where?'
'We were outside. Gabriel Hall.'
'I'm sorry...I wasn't really paying attention...'
'It's fine. You looked pretty focused. Everything alright?'
'Yeah! Just thinking about stuff.' Quick subject change, 'So you had class outside?'
It was for Psychology. Studying human social behaviors. And Gil had studied him.
Oh joy.
But it certainly gave Barnaby's imagination something to play with.
His professor began a lecture on geology, but Gil's major stuck to his mind like a mystery. Was he striving for a degree in psychology? Barnaby imagined he'd make a good therapist. Or maybe even something like Criminal Justice, lending a hand in forensics or profiling.
Of course it didn't take long for Barnaby to picture Gil in a tight police uniform, coming after him with handcuffs—
He shifted to cross his legs, and when he was able to sneak it, texted back, hopeful, 'You never actually told me your major.'
It wouldn't be until later that night, when both Barnaby and Jensen were settled into their dorm, that Barnaby would see a response:
