Izzy and the Right Answer

by R. Cooper

  “Agreed.” Patricio didn’t hesitate. “But you forgot the possibility that he might think, ‘I should kiss that tiny femme softboy.’”

  Iz snorted, which made him reach for his tissue again. A darting glance at Rocco was inevitable. So was the flood of warmth through his chest. He remembered thinking about Rocco’s lips.

  The group of joggers appeared to be splitting up, off to shower or eat to get to class, probably. Ronnie was shaking his head at something and Rocco was giving him a quick, teasing smile. Iz felt incandescent inside.

  He jerked his gaze down to his abandoned textbook and made sure not to look over again.

  “I think I would like him to kiss me,” he admitted after at least a minute had passed, “a lot.”

  He got a nudge in the shoulder. “Kiss you a lot or like it a lot?”

  “Yes?” Iz gestured weakly.

  “Kiss who?” Ronnie demanded, sitting down several steps below them. He cut off a shriek at the feel of the cold stone against his ass, then hopped back to his feet. “Yikes, that’s cold!”

  Iz slowly lifted his head to stare in heart-pounding trepidation at Ronnie, Rocco, and one of their jock friends who may or may not be queer. Calf tattoo boy. Patricio would be pleased.

  Iz was not pleased. Iz was frozen. His apprehension must have been on his face.

  Ronnie peered at him, then gaped. “Wait. Does Izzy want to kiss someone?”

  Iz narrowed his eyes at him. “You know better than to tease me about this, Ronnie. You know what I can do.”

  Ronnie stuttered, his gaze darting around before settling somewhere around Iz’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I wouldn’t. I was surprised. That you—that you’d want to.”

  Iz studied him, frowning at the single glance they’d shared, how brief it was. “I believe you,” he said softly and eased his posture to something less alarmed.

  Ronnie met his gaze again.

  “I’ve seen what you can do.” He put his hands up, playfully or not playfully, then turned toward Rocco and the friend watching all this with bemused expressions. “Destroyed a guy in his second year for even trying to bring up ace discourse in a class discussion. Like. I am not sure what happened, but the guy couldn’t post or make profiles online anywhere. Not to meet people or get laid or anything. And I think Iz did something to his phone, but I can’t prove it.” He sounded proud.

  “Rumors only feed my power.” Iz didn’t smile.

  “You know I accept you and all that,” Ronnie told him earnestly, showing a dimple with his shy grin. “This isn’t freshman year. I’m not confused anymore.”

  “I know.” Iz forgave him immediately. It wasn’t Ronnie’s fault that he almost spilled everything.

  “I’m tickled pink that you are feeling whatever you are feeling,” Ronnie added, so quiet and sweet that Patricio let out an “Aw!” and Iz had to fight not to smile. He turned his face up in invitation and Ronnie darted forward to bend down and kiss his cheek. He was overheated and Iz was cold and the contact sent a shiver down Iz’s back.

  “Why not just have him kiss your ring?” Rocco asked, voice hoarse. “How did no one tell me Izzy was a mafia don?”

  Iz looked up. Rocco regarded him steadily, not fleeting and flustered like Ronnie. Of course not. Iz wasn’t sure what Rocco was thinking but his silence was as full of tension as a live wire.

  “I thought everyone knew Iz was dangerous.” Patricio was amused. Iz didn’t know at what. He didn’t know a lot, but his questions and all the rest of his words were stuck in his throat, with his heart.

  “And now he has a crush?” wondered the jogger with the calf tattoo.

  “It’s not a crush,” Ronnie insisted slowly. “Not if it’s Iz. Not if it’s bad enough to make him blush this hard.”

  Iz tore his gaze from Rocco to stare at Ronnie in astonishment. He had feeling Patricio was looking at him too. Ronnie didn’t acknowledge either of them.

  “Because you’re ace,” Rocco said, a question and a flat statement together.

  The warmth in his eyes was unchanged, but his posture was stiff. He hadn’t known Iz was asexual. Iz thought everyone did. But Rocco didn’t sit alone and talk with him, didn’t text him outside the group chat. If he hadn’t asked the others about Iz, then it wouldn’t have come up.

  Iz had no right to be sad that Rocco had never asked, but he recognized the sinking in his mood this time.

  Despite that, he kept his head up. “I am, I suppose, some sort of gray or demisexual.” His tone was frosty and precise even though he was so thrown he couldn’t think of what to call himself. “And I don’t know enough about aromantics, even to know if there is a spectrum there or not, so I won’t claim that label. But ace, yes. Is that a problem?”

  Emotions were confusing on their own. But his inability to see beyond Rocco’s surface was maddening. Rocco had all the control and Iz was chattering in the cold with a runny nose and hot cheeks.

  “No.” Rocco’s voice was even. His gaze was searching. “At least it explains why I’ve never seen you date or pull despite… you.” He gestured loosely at his face as if to remind everyone that Iz was attractive.

  “Were you thinking about it?” Iz asked, brow furrowed.

  “Iz only wants someone special,” Patricio broke in smoothly. Ronnie made a small noise.

  “I have no doubt about that.” Rocco glanced to Patricio to answer, then looked back to Iz before extending his arm, his hand a fist.

  Iz reached up in a daze to bump his fist in the way jocks did to show approval and appreciation. He swallowed the lump in his throat, which may not have been his actual heart, but sure felt like it. He regretted putting his gloves on, though the contact was fleeting.

  “You—I—” Iz swallowed again, forcing the lump down, trying to breathe and speak calmly. All Rocco had done was not be repulsed or angered at being told Iz was ace. That was basic human decency, even if most people couldn’t manage it. Iz shouldn’t be this off-balance from one little fist bump.

  If only Rocco would stop looking at him.

  “Here!” he announced abruptly and lurched to his feet. “This spot is pretty warm, if you want to sit. You should sit. You just did something strenuous. It’s about time for my afternoon coffee, and I promised Giselle I would bring her some tea for her sore throat.”

  “You’re leaving?” Patricio almost fell backward trying to get out of Iz’s stumbling way.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you off,” Rocco cut in, bringing Iz’s flailing to a halt.

  “You didn’t.” Only, Iz couldn’t lift his eyes higher than Rocco’s shoulder. “I’m just freezing and thirsty.”

  “Or avoiding teasing. But he can’t avoid it forever.” Ronnie bent down to pick up Iz’s textbook and hand it to him. His hands were warm even through Iz’s gloves. “Sooner or later, we’re getting a name out of you, and then we’re all going to meet this young—man? Right?” The desire to be correct and not hurt any feelings was Ronnie’s most endearing quality. Iz raised his head, nearly shaking. Ronnie’s attention was on scrap of lavender ribbon serving as Iz’s bookmark, which he touched gently before stepping back.

  “Uh.” Iz stumbled over his words for the second time in minutes and his skin prickled with the awareness that everyone would have noticed his bungling, and that he didn’t know why he was bungling. Ronnie meant well, but Iz couldn’t speak properly. “There’s no one to meet,” he mumbled at last, and reached for his bag.

  Rocco had it, and handed it to him without a word.

  “What do you mean?” Ronnie would ask that. “Oh,” he said regretfully a second later, probably kicking himself.

  Iz focused on stuffing the book into his bag. This moment was not at all how he’d imagined it. A rare surprise, and an unpleasant one.

  “It’s not returned,” he said anyway, though Ronnie and the others had already guessed that. Ronnie especially was quiet. “The feeling—feelings, are all on my side.” Their silence stung more than the col
d. “It’s fine,” Iz went on brightly, and meant it, although his voice was strained and the words were too loud. “The experience has been eye-opening, and I wouldn’t give it up. I get to cherish something, even if it’s not mine.”

  He looked up at Patricio, which was easier, only then his eyes kept going to the dimmed sunshine of Ronnie and the silent question from Rocco.

  Rocco’s caterpillar eyebrows were knitted together in a frown. His gaze was understanding and soft and full of puzzled sympathy that Iz wanted to keep his pocket to help him stay warm. Rocco must know what it was like to want someone who didn’t want him back.

  For that, Iz smiled at him, a real smile, if wobbly, before he zipped up his bag and hefted it onto his shoulder. He gave Ronnie that smile too, or would have, but Ronnie seemed distracted and didn’t look at him.

  “See you guys later.” Iz was already skipping down the stairs and walking quickly in any direction but back to the library.

  After a few seconds, a rush of footsteps followed him, making his nerves spike and his blood race. Then Patricio appeared at his side and pulled him into a one-armed hug.

  If he guessed that Iz had thought he was someone else, he didn’t let on.

  Chapter Three

  The text on the page in front of Iz was blurry and meaningless. He read this chapter over and over for at least an hour but it wasn’t sinking in. Or maybe he was reading it incorrectly.

  He didn’t understand this—this dry, linear, frustrating explanation, and he didn’t really care about it, and he didn’t get how anyone learned this way, and his fingers and toes were icicles, and his stomach was so beyond rumbling that it was a knot, and he was tired and miserable and he couldn’t even go home.

  Well, he could go home. But he was being nice. He was leaving the apartment to Giselle, because her girlfriend who went to another school was visiting and they were being romantic. So he was being considerate because Giselle was an angel.

  But he was cold, and so bored his brain was screaming, and he had picked at his nails despite himself and hated himself a little bit for it and that wasn’t good either. He’d messaged Ronnie and Patricio, but they were both working, and anyway, he didn’t have anything to say that wasn’t demanding or selfish. They wouldn’t want to listen to him whining.

  This was a bad night and he knew it and he couldn’t do anything about it except shove the offending book across the table and drop his head in his arms and bite down hard to keep from crying. Though it wouldn’t disturb anyone if he did. No one was at his table despite how full the library could get. Strangers rarely wanted to sit with him unless they were odd ducks or queer ducks too and didn’t want to be alone. And even if someone had been near him, a crying college student wasn’t that unusual.

  Iz closed his eyes to try to visualize being bundled up in his bed. He’d thought he would stay here a few hours, get dinner, and then sleep on someone’s couch, but everyone seemed to be at work or a study group or on some sort of athletic road trip and wouldn’t be back until later.

  He wondered now if they would want him. Iz was supposed to be so smart and yet he couldn’t follow one simple textbook. Of course, they wouldn’t want him around. It might be easier to hide in the stacks and spend the night in the library than force himself on his very busy friends.

  He let out a long, shuddering breath.

  Someone sat down in the seat across from him.

  Iz slowly raised his head enough to peek over. Then his mouth dropped open, although he quickly closed it.

  Rocco was in his usual beanie—gray, this time—and a red hoodie under his leather jacket. He didn’t have gloves, but he had a scarf draped loosely over his shoulders. It was thin fleece, not handmade or expensive, but probably very soft.

  He had the shivery look of someone who had just come in from the cold, not that this section of the library was that well-heated. And he seemed tired, though not exhausted. He’d likely been up since before dawn, and it was closer to ten than nine now.

  The surprise of seeing him knocked the horrible, intrusive thoughts to the back of Iz’s mind, and he sat there blinking at Rocco without a single word on his tongue.

  Rocco stared back, a frown winking in and out of existence on his face. His book bag was next to him, Iz belatedly noticed, stuffed to the brim. Another bag was propped against his chair. This one was long and scuffed, possibly full of some sort of sports equipment.

  “You must be so tired,” Iz said, and decided all over again that something was wrong with him.

  Rocco’s eyes softened at the corners before the smile curved his lips. “I’ll do for now.”

  Iz leaned forward, although the librarians were not around to shush them. “Are you here to study?” he asked with his chin on the table.

  Rocco shook his head. “Worked, then had to head across town for something. I took the shuttle because Ali borrowed my car and it was late. Which means I just finally stepped back on campus when I got a text.” He paused to look searchingly at Iz, and Iz realized he was still hunched over in a posture of exhausted despair. He sat up. Rocco’s attention briefly fell to his hands, then the textbook. He pushed it back toward Iz. “Text said a mutual friend was in need of rescue, and asked if I knew anyone who could come get him.” Rocco adjusted his beanie with one hand in a gesture that might have been nervous if he were the type to get nervous. “I was close.”

  Iz had messaged Patricio more out of boredom than anything else. He knew Patricio was at work. He hadn’t expected this.

  “Got another text not long after, wondering if I could stop by the library,” Rocco added. “I was already on my way. It was no trouble.”

  Ronnie. Iz had to force down the lump in his throat.

  “You’re here for me?” Iz stared at Rocco in wonder, his eyes prickling. “You’re here to rescue me when you’re already so busy?” He didn’t know what expression was on his face. He didn’t even want to guess. Rocco couldn’t miss it unless he looked away.

  “Do you need it?” Rocco asked quietly.

  Iz nodded then held up a hand to show off his chipped Blueberry Belle nail polish. “Sometimes my mind goes after itself, and when it does, I start doing it too. This is supposed to make me feel better, so I don’t do that. It works, most of the time. I—” He sank down a bit in his seat. “It makes me feel pretty, but not like—not like model-pretty. Cared for-pretty. Which is not something you’re interested in. I—you must have so much else to do and you stopped here anyway?”

  “You don’t mind?” Rocco pressed gravely, as if the situation was serious and not Iz being ridiculous.

  “You came to get me and you don’t even like me that much.” Iz stated the situation plainly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  Rocco’s eyes went wide. “It’s hardly anything.”

  “You’re a good person,” Iz told him forcefully and someone at another table shushed them.

  Words seemed to catch in Rocco’s throat. Iz would have hugged him or held his hand if they had been closer friends. He would have done it even if Rocco didn’t send his heart hammering.

  “I try,” Rocco said at last, then gave one shake of his head as though he wanted to dismiss what he’d just said. “It’s part of having a ‘great personality.’”

  From his tone, he meant that in a sarcastic or self-deprecating way. Iz didn’t understand how, but one thing he did understand was negative thoughts. Patricio would have to excuse a small break of the rules.

  “I like you, and I like your face,” Iz whispered. “I meant it before, even if you didn’t think so.”

  Rocco pinned him to his seat with one look, although he wasn’t angry this time. His tone was calm, if slightly clipped. “No offense, but I could look like a fairy tale prince and it wouldn’t mean much to you. So I accept that you like my face, but you don’t like it the way—” He cleared his throat. “What is the situation, anyway? You’ve been sexiled?”

  Iz waited, but Rocco did not finish his previous thought. He
finally sighed. “Voluntarily sexiled. My roommate is having a long overdue date night. But… yeah. Here I am. I thought I’d have someplace to go, but everyone is busy or gone. I didn’t whine to Patricio. I wasn’t complaining. It’s only that I—” He waved a hand, his chipped, picked-at fingernails on display.

  “You’re having a bad night.” Rocco said it gently. “You look tired—and cold.” He visibly paused, then stood up and shrugged off his leather jacket.

  “What?” Iz demanded, a beat too late as he realized what Rocco was offering. “You don’t need to—oh, it’s toasty.” The leather jacket was comfortably heavy on his shoulders and impossibly warm. Iz had a coat on the back of his chair, but this was better. Rocco’s transferred body heat made him shiver, and the leather was smooth and smelled like aftershave, but only faintly. Iz pulled the jacket closer, then gave in and slipped his arms into the sleeves. Even with his shirt and sweatshirt on underneath, the fit was loose on him. His sleeves fell out of the cuffs. It was great. “I should keep insisting I’m fine, but I don’t want to. Thank you.”

  “Smart boy,” Rocco praised while Iz was zipping up the front to keep the heat in. Iz glanced up. Rocco quickly moved his gaze to the table. “I don’t know how badly you needed a rescue, but I have a question. Two questions—do you need to stay here, or do you want to come home with me for a few hours?” He jerked his head toward Iz when Iz made a confused, delighted noise. “I mean, I have some reading to do, but you can crash on the bed if you want to sleep—or the floor, but there isn’t a couch. Just some lounge chairs. Either way, my roommates won’t mind. One is on the graveyard shift at a drive-thru and the other is an athlete who has to be up early so he’s probably already in bed.” He hesitated with his hand on the strap of one of his bags. “It’s not the greatest apartment, and my room smells like ramen all the time—it smelled like that when I moved in. So if you don’t want to, that’s okay.”