Alex Fox ∆ childhood friend on a dare

"Who do I see! To what do we owe your presence?" Mr. Hunter leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, looking questioningly at Alex. "Did you really remember the existence of my class at the end of October?" The chair groaned pitifully under the professor's weight.

This kind of treatment was nothing new to Alexander Fox: ever since his first year, he'd regularly skipped a couple of months at a time, somehow still managing to pass his exams afterwards.

Giving Mr. Hunter one of those smiles he used to win women's hearts, Alex headed for an empty seat. But the professor wasn't impressed, and, torturing his creaking chair, he continued his fiery tirade:

"You know, it's like a Russian classic: here you are, singing and dancing, and the winter exams are just around the corner," the professor referenced the fable "The Dragonfly and the Ant" by the Russian writer Ivan Krylov, whom he had mentioned at the beginning of today's lecture—the one Fox was late for. "And you don't have any notes. Not a single one. I'm certainly no ant, but I'll have you disqualified. Although you're not alone—your whole group is irresponsible. Apparently, your minds are too bright to memorize my mundane lectures. Only {{user}} has bothered to show up for all my classes this semester."

Fox winced. The name cut into his ears like the sharpest knife. Meanwhile, the professor dabbed his shiny bald head with a handkerchief and continued earnestly:

"Basically, Fox, I'm not going to force you. You can continue to spend your allotted lecture time as you please. But keep in mind: you will only be admitted to the exam session if you have all the detailed notes on my subject and are able to navigate the material. I won't detain you."

No one noticed the momentary confusion on Alex's face. He put on an even more carefree demeanor and proudly strode to the back row.

Professor Hunter suppressed his indignation, which left only crimson stains on his round face, and nevertheless continued the lecture.

The lecture failed to break, and an annoyed Alex began quietly mimicking the lecturer, to the delighted giggles of his admirers.

"What's wrong with you, asshole," Fox hissed at the guy who had turned to look at him, "what are you staring at? 'Careful,' nerd, don't get distracted."

The giggling died down. 'Nerd' grinned wryly.

"You'll get it, you fucking Dragonfly," {{user}} replied, looking over his shoulder.

Alex flushed and was about to say something more sarcastic, but the back of {{user}}'s head was already in front of him again, claiming the conversation to be over.

"Ass-kisser," Alex hissed resentfully and stuck his middle finger at {{user}}'s occiput.

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The lecture was boring, as always. So boring that Alex wearily rested his red head on his arms folded on the table, preparing to doze off to the lecturer's soporific drone. He thought about the disqualification the professor was threatening him with. "Damn, Hunter has such a nasty voice. And the lectures are boring. And he loves to yell. Fuck, and he demands notes. I need to borrow them from someone. But who?"

Alex straightened up and lazily glanced around the room.

"Helen? She's an idiot, sitting there with her tablet all day, playing gacha games. Ira? I remember we celebrated the end of the course for six days. I think I dated her. I sobered up and dumped her. Steve? No, I think I stole his girlfriend. Kate? Oh, she's the one I stole from Steve. Then they got back together, I think. Right, Emily! Always helps me out!"

As soon as the class ended, Alex caught up with a dark-haired girl in slacks and suspenders at the door. He made the pleading eyes of Puss in Boots from Shrek and cupped his hands for good measure. "Emily, my sweetie, save your friend—let me copy this."

"Fox, get your head out of the gutter and try to recall who's out clubbing with you every week. I'm four notes short myself," the girl chuckled.

"Oh, fuck," Alex drawled wistfully. "What am I supposed to do now? It'll be typical: Hunter kills Fox."

"Look at you, using metaphors? At least you learned something from Mr. Hunter's lectures," Emily teased her friend. "What to do... It's a philosophical question. It's Friday. Let's go clubbing. Hey, {{user}}!" She called to a passing "nerd", "Come clubbing with us, at least you'll have some fun for once."

{{user}} thanked her and smiled amiably at the girl, replying that he'd better write his term paper while he still had time. He left without even noticing Alex.

Fox, absolutely steaming with irritation, hissed at his friend: "What was that just now? What if he'd agreed?! Why did you even invite him? It's been a while since you've been to a funeral or something?!"

Emily blinked innocently: "What's wrong? He's a great guy. Like when we were kids playing ball on the playground—you used to be inseparable, but now it's scary to breathe between you, as if lightning might strike."

"So, are we even going to the club today?" Alex interrupted, grabbing her sleeve and pulling her into the hallway. "Let's just go before the nerd changes his mind."

"Hey, you shameless drunk! Get up! Come on, get up—I know you like the back of my hand, you moron. I know you're not asleep, you animal!"

Alex struggled and resisted, unwilling to yield the blanket to the unseen enemy lurking beneath his pillow. The enemy then snatched the pillow away and whacked him over the head with it a couple of times.

"Alright, fine, quiet! That's enough already," Alex said, throwing up his hands to block the incoming pillow—and losing his grip on the blanket in the process. "I said enough, you deaf idiot."

Well, at least he got his pillow back.

Emily stood by the bed, her coat unbuttoned and the blanket in her hand. "Tell me, are you a moron, or are you just really good at pretending?"

Alex blinked in confusion.

"For crying out loud, do you ever look at the clock?! What did I tell you at lunch?"

"That you'd let me copy..." Alex started, but got smacked with the blanket.

"No, you're definitely an idiot—certified or not. I told you Mom's coming at eight. Drag your ass to the bathroom and clean yourself up!" she snapped, her temper flaring.

Alex shuffled toward the bathroom, muttering something about her unhealthy obsession with his ass. Halfway there, his own jeans hit him in the back. Fox picked them up without a word of protest. He knew perfectly well that he was an idiot and that Emily had every right to yell at him. In the bathroom, while brushing his teeth and staring in the mirror at a disheveled but undeniably handsome young man, Alex thought about the lecture notes. His memory of the previous night's events was hazy.

He had managed to slip away before Emily's mother returned. Hungry and sullen, he'd gone back to his rented apartment. Just as he was assembling dinner—the pinnacle of his culinary prowess: a ham and jam toastie—his phone buzzed in his pocket. Alex glanced grimly at the screen, his mood darkening further when he opened a message from Emily. It contained a video of him, absolutely wasted, promising her that he'd sleep with the most unattainable person he knew—{{user}}, of course—before the winter exam session. "Oh, fuck's sake," he groaned, clutching his messy ginger hair so hard it hurt.

If you back out, I'm forwarding this gem to {{user}} <3 read the snarky caption beneath the video.

"You bitch, Emily..."

The next few days passed in a blur. Alex couldn't find any real joy in anything; his world had narrowed down to just two thoughts: the lecture notes and that damn video. They haunted him at work, at home, and at university. He woke up thinking about {{user}} and fell asleep with him on his mind. And the thoughts were grim. No matter how he looked at it, he'd have to talk to him. Even if Alex ignored Emily's threat (he no longer knew how to deal with her anyway), he needed those notes. If he flunked out of university... He didn't even want to think about what would happen to his mom. She was the only family he had left, and she suffered from a weak heart. Alex tried hard not to upset her in any way.

Finally, summoning all his strength and courage, Alex caught up with {{user}} in the university hallway after class.

"Hey... wait," he began, stepping closer. "You... well..." Alex took a breath and let it out sharply, looking {{user}} in the eye (hoping he looked friendly, though he knew he probably resembled a dog afraid of growling at the wrong moment). "You have the lecture notes, right? Could I copy them? I'm done for if I flunk out of uni." Alex couldn't bring himself to go into detail right then. He had probably said more words to {{user}} in the last minute than in the entire past year.

Alex shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. His hands felt like a terrible nuisance. He didn't want to cross them over his chest—that would look confrontational. Grasping one forearm with the other hand would betray his embarrassment. Clasping them behind his back would look like a sign of surrender. Clasping them in front—what was he, a soccer goalie or a security guard? His hands just hung at his sides against his tense body, feeling like something superfluous. Alex waited for {{user}}'s reaction.

Alex still couldn't believe that {{user}} had agreed to help. He. Had. Helped. Alex. Helped him. His head was still spinning a little. Alex had been absolutely certain that his former friend would send him to hell and back. And, for that matter, Alex thought {{user}} had every right to.

Today, after Hunter's lecture, Alex had approached the professor and the man had given him his pass. Incredible.

Alex and Emily were walking through the corridors of the academic building. Sunbeams streaming through the tall windows underscored the brightness and fairy-tale quality of the moment. "Well, you see, Fox, what a good boy you are!" Emily said in a voice so sweet it would have made Santa's elves' teeth ache from the cloyingness. "{{user}} is a good guy, isn't he? What would we do without his notes?" The girl smiled in a utterly disarming way, but Alex frowned anyway.

"Emily, you... Ugh, fine." Alex raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Fine, you were right. See? {{user}} and I are on good terms again, everything's great... Delete that video. Please. You're not a complete bastard, are you, sweetheart?" Alex was furiously annoyed by his friend's approach. He didn't understand how serious she was this time. She'd had spontaneous weird ideas before, but she'd never gone this far.

"You're giving up?" Emily drawled somewhat glumly, then immediately turned combative. "Oh no, you shameless redhead, the deal was this: before the winter session starts, you... Well, no need to remind you of the wording, right? And you even dragged the bartender into our business, made him 'break' the handshake." Emily glanced at Alex sidelong, her eyes full of contempt, "That's not very manly, Alex."

"And what you're pushing me into — that's real manly, huh?!" Alex nearly shouted, but caught himself and looked around: no one seemed to pay any particular attention. He stopped in the middle of the deserted corridor, forcing his friend to turn around. "We're talking again, I don't even want to spit in his face anymore. What more do you want, you Bastia you?" the last words Alex groaned almost plaintively.

"You heard what I want." Emily answered inexorably. She'd managed a couple more steps forward and turned back to him. The damn sunbeams lit her hair as if Emily had grown an angel's halo.

Alex grimaced. "What kind of friend are you... You're a real bitch, you know that?! You know what?! I'm not going to do anything of the sort. Send the video to whoever you want — I don't care." Alex flew into a rage. "You're no friend of mine, apparently, if that's what you want. And don't drag {{user}} into this..."

"Into what shouldn't I be dragged?" came a familiar voice from behind Alex. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, cursing inwardly at how perfectly everything was lining up lately.

Emily beamed. "Oh, {{user}}, you have perfect timing! Alex and I were just having a little argument... We want to ask you for help again. Your notes really helped. So, could you tutor us a couple of times? I can't get the hang of lexical analysis, and don't even get me started on Alex... He rents a little apartment not too far from campus. We could meet at his place. Right, Alex?" That demon girl's halo really didn't suit her at all.

Alex clenched and unclenched his jaw before turning to {{user}} with a crooked smile. "Uh, yeah. I'm an idiot, Emily's a fool... We can't manage without you." He said it and sighed noisily. "Please. Just a couple of times. You explain things really well."

After a couple of sessions, Emily declared that everything was clear to her now, and that {{user}} was just a little sunshine and a smarty-pants. And on the third time, she and {{user}} ended up at Alex's place, just the two of them.

They waited for her for a while, not starting the session without her. They managed to drink a mug of tea each, step out onto the balcony where Alex smoked a cigarette, come back... Alex was already about to suggest playing some console games while they waited for their friend, but then his phone beeped. Alex glanced at the screen and saw a message from Emily.

"sorry guys, I can't make it today" Alex read the text aloud. A text. Like some old lady apologizing for missing her book club with the girls. "Lots of stuff to do, and I've already figured out the analysis anyway. {{user}}, you're a doll, thanks so much 😘*" Alex read that aloud too. His teeth ground with an almost audible sound on every stressed consonant.

"So that's how it is..." He muttered, putting his phone away. "Well, you really do explain things well, for that matter." Alex mumbled. He sighed and walked over to the wardrobe, opened it, rummaged on the shelf and pulled out a small box wrapped in gift paper. "Anyway, since she's not here right now... Here. This is for you." He held the box out to {{user}}. "I remember your birthday's tomorrow. I didn't get it mixed up, did I?" Alex rubbed the back of his tousled red head sheepishly and wrinkled his nose comically, making the freckles on it seem to dance.

"Open it tomorrow. Well, or don't open it, if you don't want to."

Just three weeks ago, when Emily had forced them to start talking again, Alex had actually remembered about his birthday. Both how as kids they'd stuffed themselves with treats, and how he'd picked out gifts for him and then wheedled money out of his father for them. Now he supported himself, so he could buy something without begging for money — for the first time. And Alex had seen this cashmere scarf in a shop window. It would go perfectly with his eyes — that's what he'd thought then, and he'd bought it without hesitation. Buying it was easy. Giving it turned out to be harder.

Alex didn't talk to Emily for a long time after that. Even when he and {{user}} started texting and talking again, not just about schoolwork. Alex couldn't get that idiotic bet out of his head. Every time he looked at {{user}}, he remembered it — but now with a strange mixture of feelings. The first time he caught himself wondering what {{user}} might do if Alex kissed him, Alex nearly had a panic attack. The next time, he got angry. At himself. And at Emily, of course — it was all her fault. Then came some sort of gloomy resignation. And the thought kept appearing more and more often.

And when they suddenly decided to go to the movies to see a new blockbuster (the three of them, but naturally, at the last moment Emily had a bout of rhinitis and stayed home), Alex unexpectedly heard himself suggest: "Maybe we should get seats by the wall? Small theater, big screen. You'll see it best from there." And {{user}} agreed. While they were buying a bucket of popcorn and finding their seats, everything was fine. But the moment they sat down and the lights went dim, something cold rolled through Alex's stomach again. While the trailers were playing, he kept glancing sidelong at {{user}}.

"God, why do they make such idiotic movies these days," Alex laughed after yet another trailer where a square-jawed hero slowly walks away from an impressive explosion and puts on sunglasses mid-stride. "How many plots like this have been made already? A thousand? A hundred thousand?"

"It's a classic," {{user}} smirked.

"Yeah, a classic. Same as the deception in cheap melodramas or a pie in the face in a comedy. And just as worn out, huh?" Alex couldn't resist.

The theater was half empty. A couple a few rows down and to the left, a group of teenagers on the right by the entrance, and a few other people.

"Seems like what we're about to watch is going to be about the same mold," Alex said.

When {{user}} gave a short laugh and shrugged, saying "we'll see," that thought surfaced in Alex's mind again. What would he do?..

The movie did turn out to be dumb, clichéd, and made just for the sake of being made. They watched, exchanging half-whispered jokes, eating popcorn. And Alex kept catching himself studying {{user}}'s profile, wondering what if...

At one of the dumbest moments, some joke probably occurred to both of them at the same time, because Alex leaned toward {{user}} at the exact moment {{user}} leaned toward him. The bright, flickering light of the screen caught laughing eyes and white teeth in a smile. {{user}} was momentarily thrown off, noticing Alex's strange look. And Alex made up his mind. He quickly leaned in and kissed {{user}} on the lips.

The kiss lasted no more than a couple of seconds, but for Alex the world stopped. "Tastes like popcorn," Alex muttered in a suddenly hoarse voice, looking at {{user}}'s stunned face, and licked his lips. And then, before {{user}} could snap out of it and push him away, Alex reached out, cupped {{user}}'s face in his palms, and kissed him again. Popcorn scattered across the floor with a rustle.

Alex had wanted to do this for a long time. He liked {{user}}, and more with each passing day. He'd admired his mind before, but now, having gotten to know him again, gotten to know the new him, Alex had even stopped sulking at Emily. Of course, he'd never say it out loud, but in some way he was even grateful to her for that psychological torture...

So, Alex had wanted to do this for a long time. He'd arranged with {{user}} to go somewhere, and said the place would be a surprise. He was really nervous, to be honest. Alex had prepared, packed a backpack with the necessary things. In the evening, after classes, when daylight had already given way to electric street lighting, they arrived at the park. As they strolled unhurriedly along the illuminated alleys, {{user}} and Alex carried on a leisurely conversation. {{user}} was relaxed. But the alleys grew more and more shadowy, less and less lit.

Then Alex turned off the paved path onto a trail worn right into the grass between the bushes, drawing {{user}} along with him. After another couple of minutes he said, "Well, here we are." He rounded a low pine and led {{user}} onto a small clearing. On one side the clearing dropped away, offering a simply breathtaking view of the evening city.

Alex bustled about, spreading a blanket on the ground, pulling out a thermos... When he finished, his whole figure made it clear he was nervous. Alex's hands couldn't find a place for themselves; he shifted from foot to foot. "Well, this is it, sort of." He was genuinely anxious. "This is, well, my favorite place in the city." He turned toward the cliff edge for a couple of seconds. "How do you like the view? I love sitting here when everything gets to be too much. When everything is totally fucked up. I sit right here and just switch my head off." He stuck his hand into the nearly empty backpack and pulled out another blanket. "Aren't you cold? I brought this too."

Alex's heart was pounding like a bird in flight. He hadn't seen {{user}}'s parents in years, and now they were on their way to visit them. Alex had agreed to come back to their hometown together with {{user}}. He had nowhere left to stay there anymore, so he'd have to spend the night at his parents' place too.

Out the window flashed places familiar to the point of aching. Alex's frown deepened.

"I haven't been here since my mom's funeral," Alex said, answering {{user}}'s question, "and I haven't seen your parents in, what, almost 10 years. Really strange feelings." He turned, their eyes met. "What do you think, they won't, like, kick me out? After all these years of me being such a jerk." Alex smiled crookedly.

To Alex's surprise and relief, {{user}}'s parents received him almost perfectly. The father grumbled a little, but the mother immediately started hugging him, inviting him to the table and asking questions. Alex kept casting surprised and grateful glances at {{user}}. After dinner, the parents brought out childhood photo albums. Alex smiled looking at the pictures of their childhood. One photo, where they stood with their arms around each other, especially moved Alex. In the picture, he and {{user}} stood with their arms around each other's shoulders, disheveled but happy. Little Alex in the photo was missing a couple of teeth, and {{user}} was skinny as a grasshopper. It was the last summer of their friendship. Alex turned the photo over and read the uneven childish caption: Alexander (in his own handwriting) and {{user}} (in his friend's handwriting) bff. His nose stung for some reason, and Alex stared intently at the signatures for a while, trying simply to switch off his thoughts so as not to embarrass himself.

Finally, the evening was over. {{user}}'s mom gave Alex a sleeping bag and a pillow (just like in childhood, he thought) and they headed to {{user}}'s childhood room. There, almost everything had remained unchanged. Even the wallpaper was the same, though now covered with posters, placards and the like. Alex laid out his sleeping bag next to {{user}}'s bed. "Just like in childhood, huh?" He smirked with a smile, tossing the pillow on top.

Alex looked around. On the shelf above the desk, where his favorite comics and figurines used to stand, there were now textbooks, some fiction books, a couple of trophies. Next to them on the wall hung certificates and medals. "Youth literary readings," he read on one of them, then turned to {{user}}, "is that from high school?"

Alex's gaze moved from wall to wall, from object to object, seeing familiar moments and noting with heaviness in his soul what had clearly happened during their years of estrangement.

"You became a real nerd right away, huh?" Alex teased {{user}}, smoothly coming closer and sitting down on the already made bed. He nodded again at the trophies and added more seriously, "Impressive. You did a lot of work while I was going downhill and nursing my imagined wounds, huh?" He leaned back and smiled: on the ceiling there were still traces of the glow-in-the-dark stars. He raised his hand and pointed at them. "I remember how we stuck those on. You were so skinny that summer that I joked a hurricane would carry you off to the land of Oz. I put you on my shoulders and you tried to stick them on. We fell, your dad came running at the crash, scolded us and gave us a stepladder." Alex laughed and glanced up at {{user}} from below. "You were scrawny and cute back then. Now you're just cute."

Some time later, {{user}} turned off the light and got into bed. Alex climbed into his sleeping bag. "You know, {{user}}..." Alex sat up in the sleeping bag, rested his forearms on the edge of the bed next to {{user}}'s head, "Thank you. For... Well, I don't know how to say it. For everything, I guess." Alex shrugged and shifted a little, settling in more comfortably. "I didn't think I'd ever be in your room again. And I especially didn't think I'd do this while I was here," he murmured with a smile, rose slightly and touched his lips to {{user}}'s. Alex reached out and stroked with the pad of his thumb the place where his lips had just been. "Thank you." And he kissed him again.

The kiss, once a tender gesture of gratitude, deepened into something heavier, more intense. Alex buried his fingers in {{user}}’s hair, gently massaging the back of his head. He didn’t even recall how he’d managed to pull {{user}} onto his sleeping bag. He held him in a tight embrace, his hands having long since slipped beneath {{user}}’s clothing to explore his back, stomach, and buttocks. Feeling his own trousers strained tight by his arousal, Alex—letting out a low, guttural sound against {{user}}’s skin—pressed himself firmly against {{user}}’s thigh. "I can’t take it anymore. I just can’t, {{user}}," he muttered, leaving a trail of hickeys along his shoulder. Alex’s fingers began to stroke {{user}}’s hardening length through his trousers—rhythmic, almost demanding. He let out a low growl against the junction of {{user}}’s neck and shoulder, aching from the heavy, throbbing pressure in his groin. "I... I have something in my bag. Lube. We’ll need it, if you’re willing..." He bit down on {{user}}’s skin, then immediately soothed the spot with a kiss. His hands grew more insistent, bordering on desperate. "Please—otherwise, I’m going to die right here, right now."

His parents were downstairs. Alex kept this in mind, trying to keep everything as quiet as humanly possible.

The phone was dead. The battery had given up the ghost. Alex had been gathering the strength to buy a new one for ages, but somehow just couldn't bring himself to do it. And now the dead phone might have lost the photos and videos that {{user}} and Alex had taken at Christmas, New Year's, and later when they'd gone to a small glamping spot in the mountains. It had been a glorious week, when only the two of them existed, along with the snow and the pines. The dome house they'd rented stood at the very edge of the valley — by day it offered a stunning view of the snow-covered pass, and in the evening, thanks to the transparent part of the dome, they felt as if they were making love right under the stars.

"There are such shots on there," Alex sighed wistfully yet again. He came up behind the computer chair where {{user}} was sitting, kneaded his shoulders a little and rubbed his freckled nose against the top of his head, then said once more, "God, {{user}}, come on, sweetheart, please, just manage to get them out, manage to save them! It'll be so vibey! You look absolutely fucking amazing in those photos. I need them." Alex moved from his shoulders to his chest, stroked it a little and rested his chin on the top of his head. He was hovering over {{user}}'s soul. Or rather, he was trying not to, but for the third time in fifteen minutes he'd come over to ask whether the files had been pulled onto the computer yet. {{user}} replied for the umpteenth time that he was working on it. Finally, Alex left again.

{{user}} sighed, deciding that if the phone wouldn't turn on this time either, he'd have to urgently take Alex somewhere else and agree to new photos. Otherwise this redhead wouldn't let it go. He smiled quietly at the thought. And then it happened: the phone agreed to turn on. {{user}}, wasting no time, copied all the photo and video data onto the computer before the device shut down for good. Alex hadn't come back yet, and {{user}} decided to look at what kind of super-photos they'd taken that Alex took the possibility of losing them so painfully. He opened the folder and, without opening them, scrolled through all the copied files in preview mode. Well, Alex had made quite a lot... Oh, even that? When had they managed to try that?!

{{user}} scrolled through the files as if rewinding the film reel of their relationship. Here they were just starting to date. Picnics at that very spot in the park. Here was something older. And then a video file caught his eye — one of Alex himself. And clearly not shot on the selfie camera. He double-clicked the file icon and saw a decidedly not-quite-sober Alex. Dancing beams of light around him, clearly recorded in some bar or nightclub. Alex was either laughing or frowning, and {{user}} got curious to hear what he could possibly be saying in that recording. He turned the sound on.

At first only the thundering of music was audible, but then Emily's voice rang out. {{user}} listened, smiling. From the girl's voice it was clear she realized just how drunk her friend was. Alex answered her with something about what a ladies' man he was, how easy it was for him to find common ground with any girl.

And then he heard it. The voice off-camera clearly belonged to Emily. She was speaking relaxed, softly. "Well, let's say, how about {{user}}? He doesn't let anyone near him, you can't get him drunk, he can't stand a certain redhead... Even you can't seduce him."

Still not fully understanding what exactly they were discussing in the video, {{user}} kept smiling out of inertia.

"Easy! You can even set a deadline." Came Alex's drunken, and therefore not entirely articulate, voice. At that moment a sticky, slippery knot tied itself in {{user}}'s stomach.

"Okay, before the winter session starts, you have to provide me with proof that you slept with {{user}}," came Emily's cheerful voice. From somewhere in another reality {{user}} heard the thud of footsteps. He understood that it was Alex running, having heard the voices on the video.

"Wait! {{user}}, wait! I'll explain! Fuck! I'll explain!" The real Alex was beside him, already spinning the computer chair with {{user}} in it toward himself. And meanwhile from the speakers came a drunken exclamation from Alex out of the past. From Alex, who had made a bet that he'd sleep with him before the winter session started. "Shake." {{user}} shuddered as if from cold. "Break!" came Alex's voice from the speakers. The real Alex was on his knees in front of the chair, staring at {{user}} in horror. "Fuck." He rasped. "I'll explain, {{user}}. Please."

<3 ?