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Max’s eyes grew wide, and Harry had the feeling that he’d be dining out on this story for weeks—which reminded him. “You can’t tell anyone I’m a bad date for hire,” he said. “It’ll wipe out my client base, and then Tristan will need another new housemate because I’ll be penniless.”
Max nodded and mimed zipping his lip. Tristan rewarded him with a kiss.
Harry looked away, vaguely uncomfortable. He’d never quite gotten the appeal of kissing. Or one-night stands. Or any night stands, really. “So, omelettes?” he said, addressing Jack.
Jack nodded. “Eggs, and cheese, tomato and spinach. Cooked with margarine, because that’s all you had.” He hesitated. “You’re not allergic to any of those are you?”
It was a fair question, Harry guessed. Jack probably thought he was one of those people who had to live on air and water and possibly kale. “Nah, just strawberries. So far, anyway.”
Jack smiled again as he slid an omelette onto a plate and handed it to him. Harry decided that, inadvertent assassination attempt notwithstanding, Jack might not be completely terrible, because breakfast looked fucking delicious.
Jack, it turned out, could move in straight away, since he was couch surfing at Mia’s. Something about losing his room at the uni because he’d dropped out—Harry’s head was still slightly fuzzy, so he hadn’t really grasped the details. He was too busy enjoying a meal that someone else had cooked that didn’t end in him getting slapped, insulted or asked to leave.
His own cooking skills were limited to add boiling water and microwave on high for three to five minutes, and Tristan wasn’t much better, but Jack had managed to tame their temperamental stovetop with the dodgy burner enough to produce food that was not only edible, but actually enjoyable. Harry thought that if Tristan hadn’t already offered, he might have invited Jack to stay on that basis alone, but it got better, because Jack was willing to pay rent in advance. He even asked them if there was a bank account he should put his rent into, as though that wasn’t what the old Milo tin in the kitchen was for. Except the old Milo tin also turned out to be for emergency groceries and beer, which probably explained why he and Tristan had spent rent day last month digging through the couch cushions looking for spare change before Tristan had managed to produce some stray cash from somewhere. Harry hadn’t been game to ask where.
Jack went to get his stuff from Mia’s, and Harry settled down on the couch to watch TV for a while. He didn’t have any tutorials today, only lectures, so he wasn’t going to bother going to uni. He’d nearly died, after all. That rated a day off. Just one, though, he decided reluctantly. He had a placement coming up next month, and he wanted to be prepared. Some people still thought he was weird for wanting to be a preschool teacher, but Harry didn’t care. He loved kids and wanted to work with them, always had, and he was happy with his choices.
Tristan left for uni and took Max with him. Harry doubted he’d see Max again. Tristan had a type, and that type was Teflon. And in all fairness to Tris, they all seemed to part as friends. They’d run into a few of his previous one-night stands before—it was statistically impossible not to, even in a city of over five million people—and it had never been uncomfortable. Harry had no idea how Tris did it, but, however it was, he did it over and over and over again.
Harry had never had a one-night stand. He’d never even had a girlfriend or a boyfriend. And when he tried to picture someone in his life, he didn’t even have a go-to gender in mind. Sex just seemed…unnecessary? To him, at least. From the way Tristan wailed and moaned some nights, it was clearly fucking vital and incredibly urgent that someone fuck him “harder, now, harder, there, oh God!”
Harry should probably get some earplugs at some point. Or a gag for Tristan. Although, judging from some of the things he’d heard through the paper-thin walls, Tristan might enjoy that.
Harry wondered if Jack was also the type to bring company home. If he was, Harry might have to invest in some of that soundproofing stuff he could stick to the walls. He wasn’t sure he could handle two Tristans in the house.
Jack didn’t seem like that sort, though. He didn’t give off that certain unmistakable vibe that Tristan did that suggested to all and sundry that he was—well, Harry hesitated to use the word slutty, even in his own head. Just because sex wasn’t his thing didn’t mean there was anything wrong with Tristan being a…hedonist. Yes, he decided. That was a suitable word for what Tristan was. And what Harry wasn’t, in any way, shape, or form.
Jack was back within two hours, and Harry watched from the couch as he went up and down the stairs a few times with boxes and bags. He wondered if Ambrose’s old house key was still in the bottom of the Milo tin and got up to check. He felt a lot better than he had yesterday, but he was still tired. He found Ambrose’s old key under the rent money in the tin and dug it out to give to Jack.
Jack joined him in the kitchen.
“So, house rules,” Harry said, handing the key over.
Jack nodded seriously.
“Um…don’t steal shit, don’t be a total dickhead, and pay the rent,” Harry said. He shrugged. “That’s it, really.”
“Is there a housework roster?”
Harry looked at the grimy floor. “Does it look like there’s a housework roster?”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “It looks like there should be.”
“Yeah, well, good luck getting the broom off the roof,” Harry said.
“Why is the broom on the roof?”
“Because we can't get it down, obviously.”
“But…why is it there?” Jack looked like someone who was seriously questioning his life choices right now.
“House party,” Harry said.
“That doesn’t answer the question though.”
“It doesn’t not answer it.” Harry shrugged. “I was drunk. I don’t remember. And it was three weeks before we missed it, so.” He shrugged again. “Clean if it makes you feel better, but you’ll only have to do it again a month later, so it seems like a waste of time to me.”
He watched Jack mouth the words a month to himself, his expression halfway between horrified and awed. It was almost endearing.
