Chapter Text
“Dude are you going to the rush event? I heard a bunch of Tri-Delt girls are going to be there.” Emilio, Giovanni’s roommate says. They’re both Freshman at UCLA and even though Giovanni has expressed zero interest in rushing a stupid frat, Emilio won’t drop it. They’ve been kind of friends since high school- Gio didn’t even want to move across the country, away from his perfect state of New Jersey for college, but he got a really good scholarship and his father raved to all of his golf friends that his son was going to one of the best schools in the country- so he basically had to commit. He just got lucky that a guy he knew from baseball, Emilio, got in too so at least he had that. He misses Jersey though, he misses the beach trips in the summer and the trip to NYC around Christmas, he misses the bagels. He doesn’t know what it is, but bagels on the West Coast are different- in a bad way- they taste like they're trying to be healthy.
“No, I have homework to do.” He doesn’t, he already finished all his homework that's due for the next two weeks but he hopes Emilio won’t ask questions.
“I swear you’re always studying. What’s the point of going to college if you’re not going to party?”
“Maybe to get a degree?” But Gio has to admit he has a point. It’s already the third week of classes and he hasn’t gone out once- he barely leaves the dorm, his schedule consists of class, dining hall, gym, sleep, repeat. He hasn’t even made any friends yet.
Emilio sighs “I thought you’d be all over stuff like this, you were the one who threw the best parties in high school.” he throws his t-shirt on and heads out the door.
Gio thinks about what a loser he’s been. He’s worn the same pair of athletic shorts three days in a row. College is for finding who you are, making memories, and friends. “Damnit,” he grumbles. He quickly runs out the door- “Emilio! What time is the stupid party!?”
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Evan is excited, but nervous. He was never a big nerd in high school but he always got good grades. Top of his class his mom would say, he never cared about anything like that though, he’s convinced he only got into UCLA because his teachers wrote excellent recommendation letters for him- mostly because they probably pitied him, because of the bullying. You would think he wouldn’t be bullied for being bisexual in California, but it happened. It all started when he was at his first high school party- he had ditched his last period that day to go to the beach because the surf was too good to not. His hair was still wet when he showed up at the address he got sent the previous day, he wasn’t planning on even showing up and staying at the beach until the sun went down but his best friend (or who he thought was his best friend at the time) told him he just “had to be there, it's going to be the best party ever!” he said “you can’t miss it.” So he went. He showed up to the janky old house, and what he found wasn’t a party, but words- spray painted- spreading from the windows, to the door. “No one likes you gay boy” and “stupid queer” and other hateful things. Evan just stared- his first emotion wasn’t even anger, or sadness, it was confusion. How did they know? The only person he’s told- then it hit him. His best friend (who doesn’t even deserve to be named, even if this is just a memory) must have outed him. The rest of high school sucked after that, it wasn’t fair, he hadn’t even had his first real kiss and he was hated by 90% of his high school’s population (the theater, art and music kids were still nice to him) for what? Jacking off to gay porn sometimes?
But college was a fresh start. He got lucky that only two kids he went to school with committed to UCLA and they’re both Classical Music majors so he knows he’s safe. He’s changed since being 15, when he was scared to go to school everyday- he’s taller, stronger and comfortable in his own skin- and he’s far from being a virgin these days so that's a bonus. Turns out both girls and guys think 6ft2 surfers with nipple piercings are hot- who knew? But he’s not out per-se, to his roommate and close friends here on campus, yes, but to the rest of the world he’s just a slightly alternative Marketing major who parties maybe a little too much. He’s always thought he would end up marrying a woman anyways so what the point of telling his family? That’s why he decided to join a frat, parties, hot girls- maybe some guys he can become friends with (even if he never tells them the truth about his sexuality)- what's not to love?
“Hey man you good?”
Evan shakes himself from his thoughts and turns towards the voice with an accent he can’t quite place, maybe New York?- and woah is there a sight to behold. A 5ft11, maybe 6ft on a good day with dark brown hair pushed back, except a single piece of hair that falls over his eyebrow. He’s one of the handsomest guys Evan’s ever seen, with a prominent jawline and light hazel eyes, wearing a white tank top so tight you can see the cut of his abs through it, his baggy jeans cinched low on his waist with a nice brown belt. Evan quickly realizes it’s been about 3 seconds since this hot guy spoke to him and if he doesn’t respond right now it's going to get weird.
“Uh- yeah I'm okay.”
“Okay” the guy looks down at his shoes and Evan realizes he looks just as nervous as Evan feels.
“Are you going to the rush event? For Phi Gamma Delta?” Evan really hopes he is, it would make it easier to go inside with another person. He’s been working on his self-confidence but it's not quite that good yet.
“Yeah- I think they call it fiji though. I'm Giovanni by the way- you can call me Gio.”
Gio, cute. “Fiji, that's cool I guess- I'm Evan, do you want to go in together?”
“Sure, my roommate should be somewhere in there.”
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The party is… fine. Gio immediately starts sweating due to how many people are inside- it almost reminds him of the humidity of the hottest summers back home. The cup of jungle juice that was shoved into his hand by the frat guy he couldn’t catch the name of, because the music is so loud- is so strong he’s convinced the person who made it thought the juice part of the recipe was optional. He still hasn’t found Emilio and he doesn’t think he ever will with how many people are there. And to top it all off the tall blonde wearing a t-shirt for a band Gio’s never heard of has already drunk three cups of the vile liquid and is now standing so close to Gio’s side that he can smell his cologne, the closeness makes Gio’s heart pound for reasons he’s blaming on the cheap vodka in his system. And he’s had the same conversation with the past 15 brothers who want to see if he deserves a bid, this is a rush event after all.
Where are you from? “Jersey.” What's your major? “Finance.” Did you play sports? “Yes. Baseball. Team captain.” Why do you want to join fiji? “I don’t.” He doesn’t say that though- he says some variation of: “I want to put myself out there, make friends and fiji throws the best parties, blah blah blah.”
Evan’s answers are better, he asks follow up questions. It pisses Gio off- he doesn’t really know why, he doesn’t care about joining anyway. While Evan is wrapped up in a conversation about motorcycles with who Gio gathered is the pledge master- Kyle, he thinks his name is- he slips into the crowd to find his roommate, and get another drink because he’s way too fucking sober for this shit right now.
Gio wakes up past 11 the next morning with a groan. Everything hurts but his head hurts the most. He has the worst headache of his whole life, pounding with what feels like the same force as the bass from the party. He doesn’t remember anything past finally finding his roommate and making out with a Tri-Delt girl- he thinks that was after his third cup of juice- if it could even be considered that. At least he woke up in his bed, Gio thinks to himself, even if he doesn’t remember getting there.
“Good, you’re awake- I was worried you were going to choke on your vomit in your sleep.” Emilio, always the charmer. Gio squints at him from across the room because opening his eyes fully seems like too much effort right now. Emilio tosses him bottles of Advil and water. And in that moment, Gio loves him more than his own mother.
“What happened?” He finally responds- the water already making him feel slightly better. Hopefully the three Advils he just took kick in soon.
“You talked to some brothers, blacked out, made out with three girls- they were not happy about that, by the way- then you puked in a bush and fell into a different bush on our walk home. Overall, awesome fucking night!”
Gio disagrees, he did not think it was an “awesome fucking night!”
“Oh! I almost forgot- you got a bid as well,” Emilio says with a smile.
“You’re joking.” Emilio hands Gio an already opened envelope, he needs to remind himself to tell Emilio that opening other people’s mail is a felony. But he can’t find it in him to care at the moment.
“I'm not, it was slid under our door this morning.”
“How do they even know where we live? And where’s yours?” Gio isn’t the one that wants to be in a frat, Emilio is, so where’s his bid?
Emilio waves him off “I didn’t get one- I kind of realized I’d rather join a professional frat anyways- networking and all. And don’t be mad but one of the brothers asked me where your room was and for your phone number.” He says it so casually that Gio almost missed that last part. Sorry, what?!
“And you gave it to them?! What if they wanted to come murder me in my sleep because I accidentally made out with his girlfriend or something?” He would say he needed a drink if just the thought didn’t churn his stomach. Is it too late to just jump out the window and end it now?
“Well that didn’t happen soo..” Emilio responds with a shrug. Gio wants to hit him but he refrains solely because he’s not ready to stand up yet.
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Evan is pretending to read. That’s the first problem. The textbook is open across his thighs, one knee bouncing absentmindedly as his highlighter hovers over the same sentence it’s been hovering over for the past five minutes. The words blur together- consumer behavior, brand perception, target demographics- but none of it is sticking. His room is too quiet, save for the faint hum of the mini fridge and the distant echo of voices drifting up from the quad below. He exhales slowly through his nose, tilting his head back against the wall. Focus. He taps the highlighter against the page once. Twice. Then his phone buzzes against his mattress. The sharp vibration cuts through the silence, making him flinch slightly. Unknown Number. His brows knit together. For a second, he considers ignoring it- letting it ring out, pretending he didn’t see it- but something in his gut twists.
He answers. “Yo?”
“Evan.”
The voice is enough. He recognizes it from the brother at the party that he argued with about whether dirt bikes or street bikes are more fun. His spine straightens, muscles tightening like he’s been caught doing something wrong. Kyle.
“Hey,” he says, tone shifting automatically- lighter, more controlled.
“House tonight. Nine. Don’t be late.” Evan’s grip on the phone tightens just slightly. Of course.
“Yeah,” he says, trying for casual, letting out a quiet breath through his nose. “Figured.” There’s a pause on the other end. Not long, but intentional. Evan shifts, sitting up fully now, elbows braced against his knees.
“What’s the vibe?” he asks, attempting to sound relaxed, like this is just another night, like he isn’t already bracing for impact. Kyle’s voice comes back lower this time.
“You’ll see.” Click. The dial tone hums softly in his ear before Evan pulls the phone away, staring at the screen like it might say more.
“…cool,” he mutters, dropping it onto the bed beside him.
He leans back again, dragging both hands down his mullet, pressing his palms into his eyes until he sees stars. Hazing. He knew it was coming. Still- his chest feels tight in a way that has nothing to do with alcohol or embarrassment or whatever stupid shit they’re going to make them do. It’s something else. A thought, unwelcome. Persistent. He hopes Gio got a bid. He wouldn’t wish hazing on his worst enemy, but still- it would be nice to have somewhere there he knows of at least an acquaintance, a particularly hot acquaintance. Evan exhales sharply, dropping his hands.
“Get a grip,” he murmurs to himself, shaking his head slightly like he can physically dislodge the thought. It’s just a frat thing- he swallows. Yeah, just that.
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The house feels wrong. Gio notices it the second he steps inside. He’s been here before- packed shoulder-to-shoulder with bodies, music rattling the walls, heat clinging to his skin- but now it’s stripped bare. The furniture is gone, pushed somewhere out of sight. The space feels bigger, emptier, colder. And every inch of it feels like it’s watching him.
The brothers line the walls, arms crossed, leaning casually like this is just another night for them- which it probably is- but their eyes are sharp, tracking. Gio’s shoulders tense automatically. He hates this, it feels like sitting at dinner with his father.
“Inside,” Kyle says to the stragglers outside. Gio’s already inside, no turning back now.
The vodka burns. Not in a subtle way, not in a “this is unpleasant but manageable” way. It hits his throat like fire, sharp and immediate, making his eyes water on the first swallow alone. The taste is harsh, chemical, sitting heavy on his tongue as he forces it down.
“Chug! Chug! Chug!”
The chant builds around him, echoing off the walls. Gio clenches his jaw, tilting his head back further. He’s not going to hesitate. Not here. Not in front of- stupid pretty boy with the nice blonde hair and good cologne- with the perfect answers to every question they asked yesterday. Of course he got a bid, Gio is still confused as to why he got one himself. His eyes flick, just for a second. Evan’s already halfway through his bottle. Of course he is, that asshole. Gio’s chest tightens with what he wants to say is hate, jealously maybe- but he knows that's not what it is. He looks away immediately.
By the time he finishes, his throat feels raw, his stomach already protesting, heat spreading through his limbs too fast to be comfortable- the room tilts slightly. He can feel it hitting him, fast.
“Spin the bottle.”
The words land like a weight dropping in his stomach. Gio’s brows pull together. No way- this is a joke, Kyle has to be joking. He looks around the room, pointedly not looking at Evan- hoping to see the brothers laughing- but no one is.
The bottle spins, whoever it lands on has to go first. With every soft clink of glass against the wood, Gio is repeating the same thing to himself, over and over, like a mantra- a prayer. Not me, not me, not me. It slows- then stops, on him.
“Of fucking course,” he mutters under his breath.
“Spin it,” Kyle says.
Gio crouches, knees unsteady, grabbing the neck of the bottle. He feels…not quite numb, just… delayed. The bottle spins again, faster this time, the room holding its breath- It slows, slows, stops. On Evan. For a second, Gio thinks his brain is playing a sick trick on him. But no, there he is, across from him- looking right at him. Everything inside Gio goes tight- his chest, his throat, his hands. This is nothing, It’s just a kiss. Just stupid hazing.
“Get up.” Kyle’s voice cuts through whatever thought he was trying to hold onto. Gio stands, he doesn’t remember deciding to, his body just… does it. Evan steps forward too- slow and controlled- like this doesn’t matter. Which it doesn’t, so why is Gio freaking out right now?
His heart is pounding so hard it’s almost disorienting, his ears ring with it. This is stupid- It’s nothing.
“Relax,” Evan murmurs.
Gio swallows hard. “Yeah,” he says, but his voice comes out rougher than he means it to.
Then Evan kisses him. It’s supposed to be quick, something forgettable, something they’ll laugh about when they’re initiated. But the second their lips touch- Gio’s brain blanks completely. It’s not like kissing girls, It’s not rushed or sloppy or performative. Since when did he start thinking of kissing girls as performative? It’s- warm, soft, real. Evan’s hand brushes against his wrist, barely there, but grounding. And Gio- Gio leans in, just slightly. Like his body makes the decision before his brain can stop it.
“Alright, enough!”
The moment snaps, they pull apart. Gio stumbles back half a step, breath uneven, chest rising too fast. His skin feels too tight, too hot. Like something is trying to break out of it. What the fuck was that?
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Evan steps back into place like nothing happened. That’s the rule- act normal, act unaffected. act like his heart didn’t spike the second Gio leaned in. Because he felt it- He knows he felt it. Right? And that’s the problem. The room surges back to life around him- laughter, whistles, someone shouting something he doesn’t fully catch. Good, they’re distracted, no one’s paying attention to him- no one noticed. Evan drags a hand through his hair, fingers catching briefly at the ends before he lets it fall back into place. His lips still feel- no, don’t go there, because if he goes there he’s going to get a boner in this frat house and they’ll know. He glances up, Gio isn’t looking at him- his gaze is locked firmly on the floor, jaw tight, shoulders stiff, like he’s trying to pretend the last thirty seconds never happened. Okay, so that’s how it is.
“Drink.”
A cup is shoved into his hand. Evan takes it without hesitation, tilting it back in one motion. He welcomes the way the alcohol burns his throat on the way down- lets it flood his system, blur the edges of the moment. He laughs when someone says something stupid, nods when Kyle talks, moves when he’s told, the perfect pledge. But every so often- his eyes drift, just to check- Gio still isn’t looking. Evan presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek, jaw tightening slightly. If Gio wants to act like it didn’t matter- he can play that game too.
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The rest of the night feels… detached. Like Gio is moving through it instead of living in it, everything is slightly delayed- sounds, movement. He laughs when he’s supposed to, drinks when something is handed to him, nods along like he’s listening. But he’s not, not really.
“Yo, Jersey!” Since when did he have a nickname? A hand slams into his back, jostling him forward slightly- Gio stiffens, turning his head just enough to acknowledge it.
“Didn’t know you swung that way!” Laughter erupts around him. Loud.
Gio forces a grin onto his face, automatic. “It was a joke,” he says quickly- tone sharper than he intends.
“Relax, man- we’re kidding!”
“Yeah,” someone else adds, “you didn’t look like you hated it.” More laughter.
Something twists in Gio’s gut, sharp and uncomfortable. He laughs it off anyway- because that’s what he’s supposed to do. He doesn’t look at Evan, once, he can’t. Because if he does- he might see something in Evan, or worse- Evan might see something in him.
When they’re finally dismissed, the shift is immediate. The noise fades behind them as they spill out into the cool night air. The temperature difference hits Gio instantly, raising goosebumps along his arms. He inhales deeply, the cold air burning slightly in his lungs.
“Gio.”
His name lands heavy, freezing for half a second before turning. It’s Evan- of course.
“Hey,” Evan says- casual. Like nothing happened.
“Hey,” Gio replies- flat, controlled.
“That was… something,” Evan says, scratching the back of his neck, lifting his shirt slightly, revealing the edge of a tattoo and a trail of dirty blonde hair inching down into his-
Gio shrugs, forcing nonchalance. “Frat shit.”
“Yeah.”
The silence stretches, thick with tension. It's unbearably awkward.
“You good?” Evan asks.
Gio nods immediately- too fast. “Yeah.” A lie, a huge, huge lie.
“I’m gonna head out,” Gio adds quickly, already shifting his weight like he’s about to leave. “Early class.” Another lie, he doesn’t even have class on Fridays.
“Yeah,” Evan says. “Same.” There’s a pause. “See you around?” Evan tries.
Gio shrugs, not meeting his eyes. “Yeah. Whatever.”
The words come out harsher than he means them to, he hears it. He turns and walks away quickly like something might catch up to him if he doesn’t. He wakes up the next morning knowing he’s absolutely fucked. So he turned to his routine: class, dining hall, gym, alcohol, repeat. Well the last one is a new development but Gio isn’t ready to look too far into that yet.
It’s been a week since that night. The next party Gio stumbles into is louder, more crowded- it's perfect. A blonde girl grabs his arm, pulling him into her space.
“You’re hot,” she says, smiling up at him.
Gio smiles back automatically. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He leans in, kisses her- hard, immediate- like he’s trying to prove something. Her lips are soft, hands sliding up his chest. It should feel good, It does feel good, but it's not the same. His stomach twists. He pulls her closer, deepening the kiss, trying to force it- trying to make it feel right, but all he can think about is- stop. He pulls away abruptly.
“Sorry,” he mutters, already stepping back. “I- uh- need some air.”
He doesn’t wait for a response, just pushes through the crowd, out into the night again. He bends forward, hands braced on his knees, breathing uneven.
“What the fuck,” he whispers. “What the fuck.”
Because no matter how hard he tries to forget about it, he can still feel it. And the worst part? He wants it again.
“No,” he says out loud, straightening slowly. Firm, final. “It didn’t mean anything.” he starts walking home, probably looking insane to any onlooker seeing him talking to himself. “It was just hazing.” He repeats it until he’s almost convinced himself. “Just a joke.” Even though nothing else Kyle made them do during hell week has affected him like this. But when he finally collapses into bed- his head spinning. His body exhausted but his mind wide awake, all he can think about- is Evan. And the way he leaned in, just slightly, like it wasn’t just a game.