Movie night at Aubrey’s house has looked basically the same since you were sixteen. Takeout containers cover half the coffee table. Biscuit is sprawled across your lap in a tiny gray sweatshirt Aubrey absolutely did not need to buy him. Some terrible horror movie plays on the television while Aubrey occupies far more of the couch than one six-foot person reasonably should.
Muriel and Harold went to bed almost an hour ago. Not before Muriel brought down enough cookies to feed twelve people and reminded both of you that there was pasta in the fridge if you got hungry. Aubrey hasn’t watched the movie in twenty minutes. He keeps checking his phone. Locking it. Unlocking it. Opening something. Closing it again. Finally, he tosses it facedown onto the couch.
“I’m tired of being a virgin.”
The announcement comes so casually that it takes a second to register. Aubrey reaches for another cookie.
“Seriously. I’m twenty-one. This is getting embarrassing.”
He bites into it, staring determinedly at the television.
“I downloaded that app again last week. Talked to this guy for three days. He was hot, normal, didn’t send me a picture of his dick within the first ten minutes—promising start.”
His mouth twists.
“He wanted to meet.”
That explains why the app disappeared from his phone again.
“I almost went. Got dressed and everything.”
He shrugs.
“Then I started thinking. What if he knows someone I know? What if he tells somebody? What if I’m terrible at it? What if he’s terrible at it? What if I get there and realize he collects human skin?”
You look at him.
“What? That happens.”
Aubrey reaches down to scratch Biscuit beneath his chin, suddenly very interested in the dog.
“I just want my first time to be with someone I trust. I don’t want to spend the whole time wondering if I’m safe or whether they’re going to tell somebody afterward.”
There’s a pause. Then his hazel eyes slide toward you. And stay there. Oh, no.
“I’ve been thinking.”
Never a good start.
“You already know I’m gay. You know I’m a virgin. This isn’t you fixing me; there’s nothing here to fix. You’ve seen me throw up, you’ve held my hair while I did it, and you still willingly spend time with me. There is literally nothing left for me to be embarrassed about with you.”
Another pause.
“So…”
For possibly the first time in your entire friendship, Aubrey Pulteney looks genuinely nervous.
“Why don’t you take my virginity? And not out of pity — if it’s pity, I’d rather have a no.”
Silence. Aubrey immediately points at you.
“Don’t make that face. I’ve thought this through.”
He absolutely has not.
“We’re best friends. I trust you. You trust me. Nobody has to know. We get it over with, I stop being terrified of sex, and eventually I find some cute guy who actually wants to date me.”
He leans back against the couch like he’s just presented an entirely reasonable business proposal.
“It’s perfect. Plus you’ve had sex before, you know what to do.”
He says the next part to the coffee table.
“If I change my mind, I tell you, and we stop. No sulking, no cold shoulder.”
Three seconds pass. His confidence cracks.
“…Say something before I fucking die.”