Sam wakes up and nearly rolls off of Sage's couch. Forgets and then remembers with lethal acuity where he is and the night's events.

     He sits up stiltedly, looking down at his lap where he can almost see the massive wood he's toting. Sam's a bit affronted. Okay, he's completely affronted because he rarely gets morning wood. His dreams don't do it for him, apparently. Actually, not much does. He has to be very intentional to get himself in the mood. So this is unprecedented.

     He glances around the loft. He can see the shape of Sage in his bed. There's a door near his bed, which is probably the bathroom. But then there's a door by the kitchen, which could also be the bathroom.

     If Sage's apartment is designed like Sam's, though, the bathroom is near his bed. Sam thinks long and hard (very hard) about how he can get into that bathroom without waking Sage. He has heavy feet, so it's risky. Maybe too risky. He wonders if he could survive Sage seeing him with an erection. It's the morning, it's natural. Sage is a dude, he'd get it, but still. It's an embarrassment he doesn't think he'd be able to live down. He certainly wouldn't be able to work with Sage anymore.

     Sam doesn't consider himself sexually reserved, or perverse, doesn't really consider himself sexually at all. If it were anybody else, maybe it wouldn't matter.

     He lies there for a moment, trying to think his dick flaccid. This is something ridiculous. He's never had this problem before. He half-wonders if Sage didn't slip him a viagra as a practical joke.

     Nothing changes and it's getting uncomfortable to sit like this. He has to chance it to the bathroom. Once he pees, everything should be fine.

     Sam throws back the blanket and gawks down at himself. He's literally tenting in Sage's sweatpants. This is awful. This is the worst case scenario of his entire life.

     With his hands pressing himself down as much as he can, he waddles towards the bathroom door, moving so slow and so careful the short distance is covered in double the amount of time it should take.

     He spares a glance at Sage's sleeping form. He's knocked out, sleeping on his stomach and evidently shirtless. Fuck if that's not helping Sam's situation at all.

     The blankets fall around the small of his back, revealing shoulders and spine to Sam. Broad shoulders. Objectively nice shoulders. His one arm is up and bent on the pillow. Sage isn't huge but he's lean so what little muscle he has is very visible, and he has the perfect tear-drop above his bicep.

     Sam gets to the bathroom and eases the door shut carefully behind him. His reflection in the mirror is flushed, his cheeks nearly bright red. He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. He made it. Crisis averted. Now he just has to pee and boner be gone.

     Except. Boner not be gone, boner refuse to be gone. Sam can't even get himself to pee. He stands at the toilet, at attention, thinking of waterfalls and rivers, even going as far as sticking his hand under the running tap, but it's a lost cause. His dick is absolutely refusing to cooperate.

     He's so hard now his dick's starting to look purple. He glances at the sink. It's built into the counter with enough space for Sam to climb up on it. If he turns the shower on, it may wake Sage and Sage will wonder why he ran the shower and didn't actually shower or why he was even trying to shower in his apartment in the first place.

     His only option is the sink. Sam steps out of Sage's sweatpants and then pulls the sweatshirt off too so he doesn't get water on it. Completely naked, he climbs up onto the counter. His knees press into the ceramic top that is startlingly cool but not cool enough to provide any relief. The water's running cold and he re-positions himself so he's lying down and his dicks in the sink.

     It is awful. It is the worst thing Sam's ever experienced and he once burned himself on the stove as a child. He lasts all of four seconds before he turns the water off and lays on the counter, panting. He's still hard and now his dick's pulsating painfully. His knees are cramping, too and there's a sharp pain under his breastbone where the edge of the counter is digging in.

     Sam gets off the counter. Turns and stares at his reflection in the mirror again. He locked the bathroom door when he entered. He has as much privacy as one can get in a small loft with a bathroom that's maybe ten feet from Sage's bed.

     "Is this what you want?" he whispers to his reflection before he spits into his palm. He braces his other hand on the counter and starts jerking off with absolutely no intention of easing into it, drawing it out, making it last. He is jerking off for one goal and one goal only, and that's to ditch this erection before Sage wakes up.

     The thing is he generally does need to ease into it, draw it out, make it last. It takes some time to get out of his head. It takes some time to get his body primed and ready.

     It's not like that now, though. No, Sam's body is responding hot and fast. He's trying to make as little noise as possible, but now there's that wet skin-on-skin sound as he leaks precum into his fist and the littlest moan escapes. It's maybe too much for him to handle, doing this in Sage's space, with Sage feet away. He reasons with himself that this is the only way.

     He looks up at his reflection again and he's a mess. The flush in his face has moved down his neck to his chest, his nipples are hard and he's started thrusting into his fist. Leave it to his body to respond the way he's wanted it to for years, here, now, in a space he can't even be comfortable in.

     His legs go rigid but his fist his moving at a brain-melting speed and at the last second, Sam turns the sink on, hinging at the hips as he does, and just manages to shove his knuckles into his mouth as he cums, biting down on his hand to keep from making a sound.

     Sam doesn't like to quantify this sort of thing but that was maybe the best orgasm he's had in his life and he's had sex a handful of times before.

     He takes a moment, waits for the spasms in his legs to ease before he washes his hands, cleans himself up, and gets redressed.

     When he exits the bathroom, he's halted by Sage's voice, "Hey, morning."

❧

     Sage wakes up not really expecting Sam to be there. Because the track record of Sam being able to confront Sage anytime anything remotely awkward occurs between them tells him he'll likely get the silent treatment for a week.

     So he's pleasantly surprised when he hears the water running in the bathroom. He sits up in bed, reaching for his phone on his bedside table. He checks his texts and is about to open his email when Sam steps out. Even after having just been asleep, Sam still has heavy bags under his eyes. His face is flushed and he freezes like he was just caught dipping into Sage's face wash or something.

     "Hey, morning," Sage says calmly wondering why Sam looks like a deer caught in headlights.

     "I should go," Sam says instead, averting his gaze as he practically runs for the door.

     "Wait, what? Sam, wait." Sage flies out of bed after him, confused by Sam and by himself for wanting to stop him from leaving. "When is Jerry even coming by?"

     Sam trips over the sweatpants that are too big for him and catches himself on the back of the couch before he rounds it, bundling his crumpled clothes into his arms.

     "What is your problem?" Sage asks raising an eyebrow at him as he frantically searches the couch cushions. "If you're looking for your phone, I put it on a charger last night. Seriously — Sam, what is the rush, here?"

     Sam stops looking, halts all movement to meet Sage's gaze, instead. His chest is moving quickly. "Did you hear me?"

     Sage cranes his neck, confused. "You didn't say anything."

     "No — in the bathroom. Before."

     "Uh, no?"

     "Don't fuck with me, Sage," he snaps.

      Sage is so confused he's not even sure that he's awake anymore. This feels like a weird, twisted dream. "I'm not—Jesus, Sam, I don't care if you were shitting or something, even if I did hear it, which I didn't. I'm an adult. I'm not going to try humiliating you over a normal bodily function."

     Sam swallows and his throat bobs. "Okay."

     Sage is sort of infuriated because he gets that he and Sam have taken cheap shots at each other but this just isn't something he'd ever make fun of anyone for. "It's really not even funny," he insists, thinking but not saying, it's rude and hurtful and its not like everybody doesn't do it.

     "Okay," Sam says again.

     Sage deflates, taking a breath. "So what time is Jerry coming by?"

     "Sometime in the afternoon."

     "Stay until he gets here," Sage commands and it's more forceful than he meant but it just makes sense, out of convenience, for Sam to wait it out here.

     And Sam goes, "Okay," so it must be, Sage thinks. Okay, that is.

     Sage offers breakfast and Sam looks at him, conflicted.

     "I'm making myself something, anyway, so speak now or forever hold your peace," he says after a moment of awkward silence.

     "Yeah, okay," Sam says quietly.

     That's how Sage ends up at the stove scrambling eggs and making toast. Or, at least, attempting to make eggs. They're coming out shittier than usual.

     Sam comes over, glances down at the frying pan for no more than a second before he shoves Sage aside.

      "Your heats too high," he says turning it down. He snatches the spatula from Sage and starts moving the eggs around. There's a layer of crusty eggs but instead of scraping it up and mixing it in the way Sage does, Sam takes care not to disturb it.

     Sage leans against the counter beside him, turning, so he's facing Sam. He glances at the eggs and then back up at him as he asks, "Are they salvageable?"

     "Barely, but I'll see what I can do," Sam says gently moving the eggs around the pan. He sends a small, teasing smile Sage's way. "How are you gonna' offer breakfast when you can't cook?"

     Sage frowns. "I can cook."

     "You cook like you don't actually want to eat what you're making," he gripes, reaching behind Sage for the platter he'd left out on the counter.

     As Sam moves the eggs over, Sage goes to get the condiments out of the fridge. Butter and TJ's EBTB greek yogurt spread for the toast, truffle buffalo sauce and cheddar cheese for his eggs.

     He sets it on the island and says, "Do you want coffee, tea, or OJ?"

     Sam's grabbing the toast out of the toaster oven and stacking it on the platter. He glances over his shoulder at Sage and goes, "Coffee."

     "Why'd I even ask," Sage mutters with a small laugh. He sets a carafe under his Nespresso Machine and pops a pod for that size. As it brews, he get out some cutlery and mugs.

     He meets Sam at the island. They sit beside it each other, fill their plates with the extra-crispy eggs and toast. Sage smears his toast with the greek yogurt spread as Sam eyes him, critically. When he's done, he pushes the container towards him. "Try it."

     "I think I'd rather not," he mumbles.

     "You're missing out," Sage says matter-of-factly.

     Sam stares at the container where Sage's knife is balanced across it. Before Sage can react, he snatches his toast off of his plate and takes a bite.

     "Oh," he says around his mouthful. His tongue darts out to lick away a smear on his bottom lip. "That is good. Huh."

      Sometimes Sage is really convinced that Sam is flirting with him.

❧

     If Sam were to start avoiding Sage, then that would mean there's a reason to avoid Sage. And there isn't. So despite every receptor in his body screaming at him to stay away, he does not, and they spend the following weekend back in Sam's apartment, trying and failing to make sense of data that has no interest in making sense.

     And Sam's exhausted. Can barely keep his eyes open. His blood type is now Cold Brew Positive, has been for days. He's been slammed with research papers and exams and Olekev has been relentless this month. She wants to spend winter break drafting her journal, which means they have until then to get the rest of their research done for her.

     It's been many long nights and long days. Sam is feeling it. And it doesn't help that he has another issue. One he's never had before. He half-thinks he should see a doctor about it. But he's fairly certain if he went to a doc, the conversation would go something like this:

     Sam: Listen, doc I got a real issue.

     The Doc: Oh no, this sounds very serious. Tell me what's wrong.

     Sam: Well, you see I keep getting erections.

     The Doc: I see and are they painful?

     Sam: Negative.

     The Doc: Huh, okay, when you say you keep getting them, do you mean they keep coming back with very little time between each one?

     Sam: Well no, but they don't go away.

     The Doc: I see. And have you been to the ER to have them...reduce it for you?

     Sam: No, well, I can get it to go away myself

     The Doc: You did a needle compression on yourself?

     Sam: Oh god, no, I — I...you know.

     The Doc: No I don't think I do know.

     Sam [flushing]: I take care of it myself.

     The Doc: So what you're saying is... you're getting erections but they're not occurring at some unnatural pace and they don't go away unless you ejaculate. None of this sounds abnormal, Sam. What exactly is the problem?

     Sam: Doc that's the problem. Before I could think them away easy.

     The Doc: Do you think away all of your erections, Sam?

     Sam: Not all of them, just the ones I'm not in the mood for.

     The Doc: Could you explain this further? I'm fascinated now.

     Sam: Look I don't always have the time to do what my body wants, and I don't always feel compelled to do it. It's like my body's saying it's ready to go but my brain is absolutely uninterested.

     The Doc: Except now your body and your brain are both ready to go?

     Sam: Not my full brain, I don't think. It's like I — me, I don't want to do it but my body's being stubborn and there's part of my brain I can't shut up or shut off that's also kind of interested

     The Doc: It sounds like you had a low sex drive and now that's changing

     Sam: Okay, how do I make it stop?

     The Doc: You don't. You give in to what made it start.

     Sam startles and then jolts forward, confused and disoriented. He feels warmth radiating into his side and when he turns his head, Sage is there. He's asleep, his head lying back at a painful angle on the couch cushions. They somehow always end up working on the floor. It's easier to spread out their notebooks and laptops this way.

     Their laptops have been pushed aside and the screens are asleep now. He doesn't remember the last thing he was doing.

     He looks back at Sage. He dressed for comfort tonight and it's the first time Sam's seeing him in sweats all semester. He'd worn shorts to bed last week when Sam spent the night. Sage was wearing sage green sweatpants, which Sam had pointed out when he'd shown up at his door.

     "Do you do that on purpose?" he'd asked, waving a hand in his general direction.

     "Do what?" Sage had asked.

     "Wear sage so people can be like oh look it's Sage in sage."

     "I wear sage because I look good in sage," he'd retorted.

     "Debatable," Sam had said and had been lying. It was definitely not up for debate. Sage was Sage's color.

     Now that Sam was thinking about, and staring at a sleeping Sage, maybe every color was Sage's color. And now that Sam was really thinking about it, he was starting to get a disconcerting feeling below the belt.

     There was no way.

     Sam shoves Sage awake and Sage nearly knocks him in the face as he shoots up, startled. "What the hell?" he snaps, his voice groggy.

     "You fell asleep," Sam says neutrally.

     "Yeah because you fell asleep," Sage retorts.

    "Well, we're not going to get any work done if we're both asleep. We should just call it a night."

     Sage rubs at his forehead and mumbles, "Fine by me."

     "Great," Sam says bringing his knees up to his chest. "Get out."

     Sage turns to look at him, his expression affronted. "You're a real delight tonight, you know that."

     Sam shrugs. "I am a pretty delightful human being."

     Sage flushes, sputtering. "That's not — that wasn't what I. Whatever. Forget it." Sage has gathered his things and stands but Sam makes no move to get up. "No, it's fine I'll just see myself out. Don't worry."

❧

     Thanksgiving is fast approaching, which means Christmas is right around the corner. Sage looks forward to neither holiday, looks forward to the end of holiday season, and spends most nights plotting ways to avoid spending time at home without hurting his family's feelings. He doesn't know how to explain that even while being surrounded by all the people closest to him he still feels so lonely he could mistake the feeling for a sinkhole opening in the pit of his stomach, sucking up all his vital organs, leaving him empty.

     Sage thinks this is how he gets out of Thanksgiving.

     He's seated next to Sam in their last class before the long weekend and he says, "We're way behind on the research we need."

     Olekev's playing Wolf of Wallstreet and most of the class hasn't even shown up for it. Sage knew Sam would still go and pretend to be interested in the movie he's probably seen a bunch of times so that's why he's there.

     "I know," Sam whispers back. "It's all I can think about on top of all the other shit I need to think about."

     Sage sighs. He gets that. It's been a long, stressful month of work. He could use an actual vacation. He thinks for a second, a crazy second, what if he and Sam went to his parents house in Montauk for the holiday, holed up, and did their work for Olekev undisturbed.

     "We could FaceTime over the break," Sam says after a moment. "Or set up a google meet. Maybe that'll be easier."

     "Or," Sage says after a thoughtful moment. "I could just — I could just stay here for the break."

     "Isn't Thanksgiving a whole huge deal for you?"

     "For me?"

     "Yeah, white people."

     Sage laughs and hides it in a cough.

     Sam continues, "Don't you go out and hunt down the Turkey you're then gonna eat like some neanderthal?"

     "Nobody in my family hunts," Sage mumbles back.

     "As it stands, shouldn't you go home to be with your family?"

     "Yeah, but, we need to get this work done."

     "Hence the google meet. You don't have to miss your holiday for this."

     "But you're staying, aren't you?" Sage asks glancing at Sam.

     Sam is frowning but he quickly neutralizes his expression as he nods. "Yeah, I am."

     Class is ending and Olekev cuts the movie before she wishes everyone a safe and restful holiday. Sage can't help but wonder when he's supposed to get rest. Perhaps when he's dead.

     That's a poor joke to make and he instantly feels bad about thinking it.

     Sam gets up to leave slowly, lingering, so Sage is beside him when they start walking out. Without really thinking about it, he asks, "Why don't you come back with me for Thanksgiving and then we can work on everything?"

     Sam hums thoughtfully. "Your parents gonna be okay with that?"

     Sage shrugs. "They may not even notice, honestly. Holidays are hectic at my house."

     "Well that's not really selling it."

     He laughs quietly and they're walking close enough that he takes a step too far left and bumps his arm into Sam's. "There'll be all the food you can want for."

     "Keep talking," Sam says.

     "My parents have a robust wine cellar," he says next.

     Sam rolls his eyes at him. "Robust wine cellar," he mocks. "I really hate you sometimes."

     Is Sage fixating on the sometimes? Because he might be fixating on the sometimes.

      "I'm taking the train with my sister tomorrow at five." Sage goes, "Meet me at my place a quarter after four."

     "I haven't agreed to anything," Sam says.

      "I know," Sage responds. "But I'm not giving you a choice anymore. I'll see you tomorrow."