Page 51 of Built To Perform

I splashed cold water on my face, resisted the urge to peek in Jefferson’s bathroom cabinet, and steeled myself for whatever might happen when I walked back into the living room.

And was met, not with pitying stares - or, indeed, any stares at all - but the sound of hooting and jeering. Brayden and Carlos playing some racing game on the huge TV on the wall, trash-talking each other and trying anything they could by way of distraction, with Donny sat between them attempting not to get caught in the crossfire.

I stood in the doorway a moment, watching them. It was impossible not to smile at their antics: Brayden’s flailing attempts to knock the controller out of Carlos’ hands without taking his eyes off the screen, the blatant sabotage met with a stream of high-velocity Portuguese curses.

Jefferson looked up, catching my eye.

For a moment, all I could think of was how the face he was seeing was the same one I’d just stared down in the bathroom. Trying to project bravery and confidence, and yet I’d seen how thin that veneer was, in places. Unsure, now, whether those spots were as transparent to my big bro.

He patted the arm of his chair, encouraging.

It felt good to walk over, to perch there next to him. To feel his arm curl around my waist, casually tactile. I wasn’t used to those sort of touches, that kind of familiarity. Even with my parents, for all I was sure of their love for me, there was a sense of reserve that’d grown in line with my muscles.

Most of the time, the way Jefferson left me feeling small was motivating: encouragement to work out more, get bigger myself. Yet there were other moments, I couldn’t deny, when I craved the sense of being wrapped up in him.

“They’re always competitive,” he said. Quiet, even though he probably could’ve shouted and the three guys still wouldn’t have been distracted from the screen.

“Like you’re not,” I teased, then squeaked surprise as he dragged me down onto his lap. The heat from his body something fierce, almost physical. Every breath I took made heavy with his familiar scent.

Despite everything - all the weird, shitty, terrifying things that’d happened over the past few days - I still felt myself getting hard.

When he pushed his hand into my pocket, I thought Jefferson had spotted my erection. Only to be left hanging, as he fished out my phone and held it up.

“Tell Adam you’re staying over tonight.”

“I didn’t have plans with him,” I pointed out, frowning.

The look Jefferson gave me was very nearly withering.

“He’s your friend and he worries, lil bro.”

No way not to wince, not with the implicit criticism.

“I never meant to upset him.”

Jefferson squeezed my leg. “I know you didn’t. And nobody wants you to feel guilty; that’s not what this is about.” He frowned. “You know how in practice, or after competitions, Coach asks us to give each other feedback? The things we’ve spotted about each other: technique, weaknesses, that sort of shit?”

I nodded. It’d been daunting the first few times: being expected to list off criticisms about guys who’d been wrestling for much longer than I had. Ridiculous, even, to dream that some freshman could see something his experienced teammates couldn’t.

“Well, sometimes it takes the people you’re close to, and who know you the best, to point out your blindspots, lil bro.” Jefferson jerked his chin at the others, still caught up with the game they were playing. “And sometimes that happens out on the mats, but not always, y’know? Other times, it’s about making sure you recognize that the people in your life aren’t just hanging out with you because it’s something to do, a way to spend time. But because they actually like you, and get concerned when you’re not happy.”

“Or when you don’t turn up in your dorm room, a couple of days after some creeps try to get you drunk and grope you,” I supplied.

Jefferson nodded. “Your roommate is a tough little asshole, when he needs to be, but that doesn’t mean he’s heartless.”

“I know.”

He wasn’t scolding me, I knew that too, but it was impossible not to feel bruised by yet another life lesson. One more thing on the list of shit Eoin hadn’t figured out when everyone else did: years ago, in fact, back when they were making friends and I was making exercise routines and meal plans. I couldn’t say I regretted it, the choices I’d made, not on balance. Was pretty sure Jefferson would point out how meaningful the things I had prioritized were, too, if I complained at this latest example of what I’d missed out on. That didn’t make this newest reminder sting any less.

“I want to be a better friend,” I told him, softly.

Jefferson squeezed me. “I know, lil bro. And it’s tough sometimes, I get that.” He gestured at the others, still engrossed in the game and roughhousing as they tried to distract each other. “One of the reasons moments like this feel so special is because every one of us knows how few of them we get. You’re burning the candle at both ends, making sure you’re a kick-ass freshman wrestler and a kick-ass freshman student, too. That’s a lot.”

“But...” I started.

“No ‘buts,’” Jefferson interrupted, smiling. “I’m not telling you to ‘do better,’ I’m saying you just need to nurture what you’ve already got. Adam likes you; Clay likes you. I think it’s fair to say these guys and the rest of the team like you.” He winked, and then looked mighty entertained at my sudden blush. “So just think about it as another muscle to consider: remembering that there are people in your life who care, and want you to not only do your best, but feel amazing and have fun while you do that. Yeah?”

I nodded, slowly. Trying to tease out the strands of my anxiety, make it all something I could put into words.