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The Discipline of Falling Apart

A slow-burn enemies to lovers story following my college OC's Sawyer Henderson and Harrison Whitaker. Word Count: 6,485

Link to Chapter 1 is: Here Link to Chapter 2 is: Here Link to Chapter 3 is: Here Link to Chapter 4 is: Here Link to Chapter 5 is: Here Link to Chapter 6 is: Here Link to Chapter 7 is: Here Link to Chapter 8 is: Here Link to Chapter 9 is: Here (nsfw) Link to Chapter 10 is: Here

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Chapter 11 - Harrison’s POV

Harrison had spent his whole life trying not to be an idiot. And here he was sitting in a student conduct meeting because he punched a guy at a fucking frat party.

His head was pounding. His knuckles still hurt too which was annoying because every time his hand brushed the table or he flexed his fingers he got another reminder of what he’d done. Whenever he closed his eyes he could still see Devon’s drunk face, feel the crunch of his fist hitting his jaw and then see Sawyer’s shocked eyes.

Harrison sat at a long polished table. Across from him sat the Athletic Director. Next to him was his Coach who seemed like he’d rather be anywhere else. There was also a woman from Student Conduct whose name Harrison had already forgotten. And Devon was there too looking surprisingly smug for a guy with a bruised jaw. He had this fake wounded look that made Harrison’s stomach clench.

Harrison wasn’t a fighter. He'd spent his whole life learning to keep control. On the field, it was his greatest asset. He didn’t get rattled or throw weak interceptions. He was the guy who stayed calm and made the smart play. Last night, he hadn’t made the smart play. He’d made the stupidest one possible. He could already see the headlines: NFL prospect punches guy at party.

The door opened and Sawyer walked in.

He looked like shit but it was a strangely composed version. He was wearing a clean shirt and his hair was neatly styled but his face was pale with dark circles under his eyes. He looked tired. Sawyer took the empty chair beside Harrison and he heard the faint congested whistle of his breath.

“Sorry I’m late,” Sawyer said. His voice sounded rough as hell. He didn’t look at Harrison; just placed his hands flat on the table like he was grounding himself.

Harrison had braced for chaos. He’d expected a defensive sarcastic Sawyer who made jokes to deflect the tension. But this wasn’t that Sawyer. He sniffled once and appeared steady in a way Harrison had never seen before.

“Mr. Henderson,” the Athletic Director began. “Glad you could join us.” He steepled his fingers. “Alright. Let’s all be adults here. We’ve heard several versions of what happened already. We’re here to decide how the university is going to proceed.”

“Right,” Sawyer responded. He gave a small nod of cooperation but Harrison saw his nostrils flare slightly. “I understand there was an incident.”

“There was a fight, son,” the Coach cut in bluntly. “In your fraternity house. With our quarterback.”

Harrison flinched. Sawyer didn’t.

“Yes,” Sawyer agreed calmly. He turned his gaze to Devon. “I think we can all admit that things got out of hand. Let’s back up for a second.” He paused and Harrison watched him take a careful breath through his mouth. His nostrils trembled slightly in a familiar frustrated twitch. He sniffed and pressed on. “Devon here was concerned about an interaction I had with his girlfriend Kelly.”

“I saw you hitting on her,” Devon sneered.

Sawyer’s expression didn’t change. “I was getting a bottle of water. She approached me. I politely disengaged. I was sick, I wasn’t looking for any interaction. Later, Devon found me outside. He was drunk and came looking for me.”

“I told him to leave,” Sawyer continued. His nostrils were beginning to flare with each breath, and he rubbed at the tip of his nose. Harrison had spent enough time around him lately to recognize the warning signs. Sawyer tried to keep going.

“He shoved me against the wall.” He glanced at the Athletic Director. “I was tired, I wasn’t feeling well, and I reacted poorly. I threw a punch. It was a stupid reactive thing to do, and that’s on me.”

For a second Harrison thought he was in the clear. Then Sawyer’s eyes narrowed slightly. He took a shaky breath and his nostrils began to flutter wildly.

“Hh…”

The sound escaped so quietly Harrison wasn’t even sure anybody else heard it. Sawyer turned his head a few inches and covered quickly with his fist.

“Hh’...ngktSH!...k’tshh!—kshh’ngkt!”

The sneezes were somewhat caught by whatever desperate effort Sawyer had made to suppress them but they still left him pausing for a second afterward. Then he straightened immediately and focused back at the table like nothing had happened.

“Sorry,” he rasped. “Anyway,” Sawyer continued. His eyes finally flicked to Harrison for the first time in a quick unreadable glance, “Devon came back at me. He was winding up to swing again. Harrison..intervened.”

“He decked me!” Devon exclaimed.

“Harrison threw one punch,” Sawyer corrected firmly. “One. And the fight was over immediately. Nobody else got involved. Nobody was seriously injured. Devon was helped up and he left with friends. That was it.”

Sawyer looked around the table confidently and Harrison felt like he’d missed a step somewhere. Sawyer wasn’t exactly lying. He was simply leaving out the parts that made it sound like a big deal.

“Look,” Sawyer continued as he leaned forward slightly. The movement made him wince and he pressed a hand to his temple for a second. “This was a stupid fight between college kids. It happens. No police were called.” He looked at the woman from Student Conduct. “Making this an official university thing…what’s the point? It just creates paperwork for everyone. Nobody wants that.”

Harrison watched, mesmerized, as Sawyer subtly turned to Devon. “Right, Devon? You don’t wanna spend the next month talking to student conduct people either. You really wanna be known as the guy who tried to drag everyone’s favorite quarterback over some fight you started? It’s over. Let’s just leave it over.”

Devon scoffed weakly. “So what, he just gets away with punching people because he’s famous?”

“No,” Sawyer said simply. “He gets treated like a college kid who lost his temper for a second because he thought his friend was about to get hit by you.”

Friend. The word hit his chest wrong. Before he could dwell too much on it, Sawyer’s breath suddenly hitched and he whipped his head towards the side.

“Hhh’eshh’nghooo! Hih’ksh! Hh’kshhh!—h’kshh!—Ksshh!”

Harrison’s Coach sighed. “You sound awful Henderson.”

Sawyer gave a weak shrug without looking up. “Yeah, well. Been a long night.”

Sawyer hadn’t even meant to do that and somehow it still worked. Instead of looking like an aggressive instigator, he was now just like a sick guy running on no sleep. Sawyer sniffled softly into his fist then continued before anyone else could grab control back.

“Look Devon. It was a stupid night. You were drunk, I was sick and in a bad mood. Let’s not make this into something it isn’t. We were all idiots.”

Devon sort of deflated as Sawyer kept talking reasonably. Five minutes ago Devon had looked ready to drag this out and now he looked like he wanted to disappear. Sawyer was giving him an out.

“I..I guess,” Devon mumbled.

The university people exchanged glances. They weren’t hostile and if anything, they seemed relieved. The Rose Bowl win had put the university on the map and the NFL draft was a PR goldmine. They didn’t want a scandal. They wanted this to go away. Sawyer was giving them the perfect excuse to do exactly that.

Harrison’s Coach cleared his throat. “So we’re in agreement. An unfortunate incident. But handled internally. No further action from the university.”

Sawyer nodded. “We’ll handle things with the fraternity. We’ve all already spoken.”

Harrison doubted they had, but it was the perfect thing to say.

The meeting wrapped up ten minutes later. As they filed out of the room Harrison felt a wave of relief so intense it made his knees feel weak. They’d done it. Sawyer had saved him.

Sawyer was already walking ahead of him. “Hey,” Harrison called out.

Sawyer stopped. His face was wiped clean of whatever performance he’d given in that room. He seemed hollowed out now.

“Thanks,” Harrison said. It came out rough. “For what you did in there.”

Sawyer shrugged. “Don’t mention it.” He then hesitated. “Look..maybe we should take it easy for a while. Lay low until things cool down with the draft.”

Harrison frowned. “Take it easy how?”

“You know,” Sawyer said vaguely. “Just not be so visible together for a bit.”

Before Harrison could respond to that, Sawyer started digging through his pockets. “Do you..hhh..have a…a tissue? I don't know where mine went.” He rubbed his twitching nostrils with his knuckle. “Hh…god.”

Harrison checked his own pockets automatically even though he already knew he didn’t have anything. “Sorry, I don’t.”

Sawyer glanced over at him but Harrison wasn’t even sure he’d fully processed the answer. He lifted a hand toward his face like he was still trying to stop it but the effort barely lasted a second before he turned away sharply and folded into his elbow.

“Hh’NGKXT’tshh! Hhh’eshh’ngh! Hih…Hih’KSSHHiew!”

Sawyer sniffed thickly and dragged his sleeve across beneath his nose before immediately looking annoyed with himself for having to do it. “Look, I’m beat. I need to crash for like..four hours. Maybe six.”

“Yeah,” Harrison said quickly. “Of course.”

Sawyer nodded. “You left your stuff at the house. Your jacket and backpack.”

“I can grab it later. You should sleep.”

“Mmm.” Sawyer finally looked at him and Harrison saw something complicated move through his eyes: exhaustion and something else he couldn’t quite place. “Swing by whenever. I’ll be there.”

Then he turned and walked away. His shoulders dropped with every step he took away from Harrison until he seemed like a different person entirely. Not the guy who’d commanded that conference room. Just someone sick trying to make it to his bed.

Harrison watched him go until he turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.

***

The frat house looked wrong in daylight. Harrison had only ever seen it at night full of string lights and red solo cups. Now it sat quiet with the paint peeling in places he hadn’t noticed before. He climbed the steps and pushed through the front door.

A few guys were sprawled on the couches watching some sports recap with the volume low. They turned when Harrison walked in.

“Whitaker?”

“Hey,” Harrison said awkwardly.

“Dude!” The guy who Harrison thought was Connor or maybe Chase, grinned and stood up. “That was fucking insane last night. You decked that guy.”

“It was-” Harrison started.

“No seriously,” cut in another guy from the kitchen. “Devon’s a dick. Everyone knows it.”

“And you stood up for Sawyer,” the first guy continued. He was nodding like Harrison had passed some kind of test. “That’s solid man. Most guys wouldn’t get involved.”

Harrison shifted his weight. He didn’t know what to do with this gratitude or approval or whatever it was.

“Is Sawyer around?” he asked. “He has some of my stuff I left here last night.”

“Upstairs,” the kitchen guy said. “Came back a few hours ago looking like death. He’s probably in his room.”

Harrison nodded thanks and headed for the stairs. The hallway upstairs was narrow and lined with doors that had names written on them. He found Sawyer’s door at the end and knocked.

“Come in,” came a muffled voice.

Harrison pushed the door open.

Sawyer’s room was smaller than he’d expected. It was definitely more cluttered than Harrison’s apartment but there was an order to it that surprised him. Not messy, exactly. Just…full. The walls were covered in posters, Polaroids and a tapestry that had probably been acquired at a music festival and never taken down. A collection of shot glasses lined the windowsill. Each one was from a different city. Chicago. New Orleans. Austin.

Sawyer was sitting on the edge of the bed wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt that said “Kiss Me I’m Irish” even though it was January and Harrison didn’t think he was even Irish. He did look slightly better than he had at the meeting though. The nap had taken some of the paleness out of his skin.

“Hey,” Sawyer greeted. He sniffled, then reached for a tissue from the box beside him. “Your jacket’s here.” He pointed to where it was draped over the back of his desk chair.

“Thanks,” Harrison said as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. There was a wastebasket next to the desk overflowing with crumpled tissues. Empty packets of cold medicine littered the nightstand that looked like they were torn open with teeth marks on the edges.

“Your backpack’s downstairs though,” Sawyer said as he stood up. He swayed slightly. “Shit. Sorry. Got up too fast.”

“You good?”

“Fine. Just dizzy.” Sawyer waved him off but his voice sounded hoarse. “I’ll grab it. Be right back.”

He shuffled past, close enough that Harrison could feel the heat coming off him and then he was gone.

Harrison stood there suddenly alone in Sawyer’s space.

He didn’t mean to snoop. That wasn’t the plan. But the room was so specific and aggressively personal. It was like being inside Sawyer’s head and Harrison found himself slowly taking it in. The books on the wall weren’t only decoration. Many of them had bookmarks sticking out. There was a bulletin board above the desk covered in layers of photos and ticket stubs and random crap; the kind of leftovers from a life that actually gets lived.

Harrison stepped closer. The photos were mostly what he expected: Sawyer with friends, Sawyer at parties, Sawyer making stupid faces at the camera. But there was one in the corner slightly tucked behind a flyer that caught his eye.

It was smaller than the others and printed on matte paper that had started to curl at the edges. Two boys stood on a golf course. One was clearly Sawyer but younger (maybe sixteen?) with softer features and hair that hadn’t been styled yet, just falling over his forehead in messy brown waves. He was wearing a polo shirt that was too big for him and he was smiling. Not the performative grin Harrison was used to but something real.

The other guy had his arm around Sawyer’s shoulders. He looked like Sawyer but older and harder around the edges with the same hazel eyes and sharp jawline. He was grinning at the camera like he was challenging it and knew exactly how handsome he was and didn’t care.

Grant.

Harrison knew it immediately. He’d never seen a photo of Sawyer’s brother but there was no mistaking the resemblance or the easy familiarity of the pose. Grant’s hand was heavy on Sawyer’s shoulder and Sawyer was leaning into him looking happy in a way that made Harrison’s chest hurt.

He looked away. He felt like he’d seen something he shouldn’t have.

His gaze then dropped to the desk. It was covered in the usual mess. But underneath a pile of old concert wristbands there were papers. Printouts actually, with highlighter marks and notes.

Harrison pushed the wristbands aside.

They were court documents. Or summaries of them anyway. He recognized one on top but underneath were more unknown ones. The margins were filled with handwriting he recognized as Sawyer’s. Next to a highlighted section, Sawyer had written “This argument is insane. How did they prove this?”

Harrison frowned and picked up another stack. LSAT practice questions. It was folded hastily like someone had shoved it away. Harrison smoothed it out.

There was one section filled out and the answers were circled in pen. Harrison scanned the questions. They were the kind that made his own head hurt just looking at them. Harrison flipped to the answer key at the back. Sawyer had answered almost all of them correctly. Out of 25 questions, Sawyer had only missed two.

Harrison stared at the paper. He thought about the meeting that morning and the way Sawyer had read that room and handled those university officials and Devon like they were chess pieces. He thought about Sawyer at parties acting like nothing mattered. Making stupid jokes and getting everyone to laugh and making people underestimate him. He thought about himself, who had to study for hours to maintain his GPA and rehearse answers before interviews.

And Sawyer, who apparently aced LSAT questions for fun.

The door clicked open.

Harrison jumped and nearly dropped the paper. He shoved it back under the wristbands but not fast enough.

Sawyer stood in the doorway holding Harrison’s backpack. His attention went from Harrison’s face to the desk and his expression shifted instantly.

“Uhh,” Sawyer said. He sniffled. “Find what you were looking for?”

“I wasn’t..” Harrison started. He then stopped. There was no point in lying. “You’re studying for the LSAT or something?”

Sawyer’s grip tightened on the backpack strap. “What?? No. That’s old stuff.”

“Old stuff,” Harrison repeated. He pointed to the court case printouts. “You wrote notes in the margins.”

Sawyer immediately became uncomfortable. He walked over to the desk and started gathering the papers. “It’s not...I mean, it’s not some whole thing. This stuff is just a hobby. I listen to true crime podcasts. It’s not a big deal.”

“Bullshit,” Harrison said.

Sawyer's hands stilled. He looked up and there was something dangerous in his eyes now. “Excuse me?”

“You aced that practice sheet,” Harrison pressed. He wasn’t even sure why this was getting under his skin so much. Maybe because Harrison hated learning he had been wrong about someone. He’d spent months thinking he had Sawyer figured out and suddenly realized he’d missed something huge. “You got most of these right. That’s not a hobby. That’s potential.”

Sawyer laughed but it was sharp and wrong. “Potential? What am I, Elle Woods? Greek life turned Harvard Law?” He scooped up the LSAT papers and shoved them into a desk drawer. “It’s nothing. I do logic puzzles when I’m bored. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It does,” Harrison insisted. “I saw you this morning in that meeting. You read everyone in that room. You knew exactly what to say to make them back down. That’s not..that’s not just party tricks. That’s skill.”

Sawyer turned away to face the window. “I’m good at talking to people. So what?”

“So you could actually do it,” Harrison argued. He couldn’t let this go. It felt important, like he’d suddenly uncovered something crucial. “You’re clearly smart enough. Why are you hiding it?”

“Not hiding,” Sawyer mumbled. He brought his hand up to his face and pressed his fingers against his temples like he was trying to hold something in. “Just...not advertising.”

“Why??”

Sawyer didn’t answer. His breath hitched and Sawyer turned his head. Harrison saw his nostrils flaring and the desperate intake of breath.

“Hh’ih…” Sawyer turned away from Harrison and buried his face in the crook of his elbow just in time. “Hh’KSSHH!—Hh’ksh! K’shh! Hih...ksh!—ksh!—ih’kshh!”

The sneezes were violent and rapid. When Sawyer straightened up he seemed more exhausted than ever.

“Because,” Sawyer sniffed thickly. “I already have a plan. I take over the family business. Why mess with what’s already decided?”

Harrison stared at him. The room felt too small. He could see the photo of Sawyer and Grant out of the corner of his eye: a different version of Sawyer that didn’t exist anymore.

Sawyer cleared his throat and broke Harrison’s train of thought. “Your backpack’s by the door. You should probably go before you catch this.”

Harrison gazed at him for a second longer. He wanted to argue. The words were already there. That’s not your plan though. That’s your father’s plan. Or, You don’t sound like someone who wants that.

But Sawyer had gone quiet in that particular way Harrison was starting to recognize. Not silence exactly. Sawyer could still joke when he wanted to avoid something. This was different.

Sawyer cared.

He had apparently been sitting alone in this room taking LSAT practice tests and reading court cases while everyone else thought he was just screwing around.

Sawyer was rubbing tiredly at his face now. Harrison grabbed his jacket from the chair and bent to pick up his backpack by the door. Pushing him anymore felt shitty. He had the feeling that if he stayed any longer he was going to start asking questions Sawyer wasn’t ready to answer.

“I’ll see you later.” He hesitated. “Get some sleep or something.”

Harrison pulled the door open. Halfway to the stairs he stopped.

23 out of 25.

What the hell.

***

The next day, Harrison was stretched out on the couch in his apartment with a playbook open in front of him though he’d been staring at the same page for nearly 5 minutes without actually reading any of it. His phone buzzed against the cushion beside him.

Normally he would’ve let it sit there. Between reporters, boosters, alumni and random people somehow getting his number, texts had started multiplying lately. But something made him pick it up. The message was short.

Harrison, this is Richard Henderson. I'll be in town Monday evening and wanted to congratulate you properly on your season. Join Sawyer and I for dinner at 7:00 PM. I'll send the location.

Wait. What the fuck??

He found himself staring at Sawyer’s name in his contacts before pressing call. The phone rang long enough that Harrison thought he wasn’t going to answer. When Sawyer finally picked up, he sounded like he’d been asleep.

“Hello?”

Sawyer’s voice still sounded slightly congested but better than it had been before.

Harrison shifted on the couch. “Your father texted me.”

“What?” Harrison heard sheets moving around on the other end and pictured Sawyer rolling over in bed.

“Yeah. He wants to grab dinner with me and you I guess? Why would he want to do that?”

Sawyer paused. He got the feeling he was waking up and trying to catch up with the conversation. “I..I don’t know. But my father doesn’t really do things for no reason. Maybe he wants to talk football stuff. He likes connecting with prospects in the athletic department.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re there though.”

Sawyer coughed quietly and Harrison heard him clear his throat afterward.

“I bet it’s about the fight. I’m sure he heard about it.” Sawyer sounded distracted now, like he was thinking through it while he talked. “He probably wants to make sure everything’s fine.” He sniffed again. “Or make sure I’m not dragging important people into dumb shit.”

Harrison frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sawyer was quiet. Then he laughed softly. “Nothing.” Harrison could practically hear him rubbing at his face. “I don’t know. Maybe he just wants dinner. My father gets ideas sometimes.”

Harrison leaned back against the couch and stared down at the message again. For some reason the whole thing seemed stranger now than it had two minutes ago. Ever since the student conduct meeting something had shifted and Harrison couldn’t quite get his hands around it.

“I guess we’ll find out at dinner.”

***

Harrison arrived at 6:55 PM. It was one of those restaurants that didn’t have a sign out front, only a heavy oak door with a brass handle. Harrison was wearing the only suit he owned which was now slightly too tight across the shoulders from last season’s weight training. He’d shaved too close and nicked himself under the jaw. He could feel the sting every time he turned his head.

As the hostess guided Harrison towards the back, he adjusted the sleeves of his jacket and found himself wishing he’d loosened his tie before coming in. Why was he so nervous? He’d played in front of packed stadiums with thousands of people screaming at him. He straightened automatically when he spotted Mr. Henderson and Sawyer.

Sawyer was sitting with his back partially turned so Harrison saw Mr. Henderson first. And somehow the man appeared exactly the same. He seemed expensive in a way Harrison couldn’t really explain. Everything fit perfectly. Not flashy, not trying too hard. Just...certain. Like the suit had been made specifically for him.

Sawyer’s hair was combed back and styled like the gala months ago. He looked presentable. Or maybe more accurately, he looked like somebody had spent time making sure he looked presentable.

Harrison had forgotten about this version of him. Maybe forgotten wasn’t the right word because he’d definitely thought about the gala afterward. He remembered seeing Sawyer that night and feeling totally thrown off by it. Sawyer usually wore hoodies and backwards hats with his hair falling into his eyes because he couldn’t be bothered to fix it. He was always effortlessly attractive, which Harrison hated acknowledging out of jealousy from how natural it seemed to be.

Sitting across from his father, Sawyer looked like he belonged there. He was wearing a dark sweater with his hair styled neatly and he seemed like he fit into the same world his father did. He could suddenly picture Sawyer ten or fifteen years from now sitting at some long conference table wearing a suit and talking to investors. The image was so clear it actually caught him off guard.

But then he got closer. And like the gala, the illusion started to break apart around the edges.

Because Sawyer was the gentler version of his father. Less controlled and polished. There was something softer in Sawyer’s face that kept him from looking intimidating in the same way. Even when Sawyer tried to look serious, Harrison always had the feeling that if you waited long enough you’d catch him smiling at something stupid.

And right now the cold wasn’t helping. His nose was still pink from constant rubbing and his skin was slightly flushed beneath the restaurant lighting. He looked like somebody trying very hard to hold himself together. Sawyer probably hadn’t wanted to be here at all. And yet he’d still fixed his hair and put on nice clothes and showed up anyway.

“Mr. Whitaker,” Mr. Henderson said as he stood in greeting. His grip was firm. “Thank you for joining us.”

“Thank you for having me, sir,” Harrison responded. His voice came out steadier than he felt.

They sat. Harrison slid into the booth opposite Sawyer so he was looking at both of them.

“So,” Mr. Henderson began. He didn’t look at Sawyer, only at Harrison. “The Rose Bowl. That final drive was something else. I was in the stands. The awareness you showed..most quarterbacks panic in that situation.”

Harrison blinked. “Thank you. I just tried to stay calm.”

“Calm,” Mr. Henderson repeated like he was tasting the word. “That’s exactly it.”

He then asked about the season and Harrison’s training. Harrison answered automatically as he fell into the rhythm of post-game interviews. Mr. Henderson wasn’t simply asking to be polite. He was listening. He nodded at the right moments and asked follow up questions that showed he actually understood football.

Harrison found himself relaxing. This was territory he knew. He could talk about this for hours, and Mr. Henderson seemed content to let him.

But after twenty minutes, Harrison realized something was wrong. Sawyer hadn’t spoken. He’d ordered the salmon when asked, but he was otherwise silent and withdrawn like a ghost. He was staring at the bread basket like it required his full attention but Harrison could see his jaw working and the muscle ticking in his cheek.

Harrison watched him from the corner of his eye while answering a question about zone coverage and noticed the subtle hitching of Sawyer’s breath and the way his nostrils flared every few minutes. He’d bring his napkin up to his face and press it there for a second, then lower it. His face was contorting into that familiar pre-sneeze expression. His father didn’t notice. His father didn’t look at him at all.

Something hot and uncomfortable settled in his chest. Harrison thought about the conference room and how Sawyer had sat there looking exhausted and sick while still getting an entire room to follow exactly where he wanted them to go. He thought about Sawyer at parties: sharp and impossible to ignore. And now he was watching him disappear. Harrison glanced over at Mr. Henderson.

Why are you more curious about me than your own son?

The thought popped into his head and Harrison pushed it down and took a sip of water. But it stayed there burning.

Sawyer’s breath hitched again more urgently this time. He was trying to hold it back but it was a losing battle. His free hand came up and pinched his nose. It didn’t work.

“Hh’ih..Hhh..h’KSSHH!!—ihh’kshoo! Hh’NGKXT!”

The three rapid sneezes exploded into his napkin and they were loud enough to cut through the restaurant’s quiet atmosphere. Sawyer bent forward with his face hidden in the white cloth as his body jerked with each one. They sounded painfully congested and desperate like they’d been building for a long time.

Sawyer lowered the napkin slowly. His eyes were watering and his face was flushed a deep embarrassed red. He wiped his nose and reached for his glass of water with a hand that trembled slightly.

“Bless you,” Harrison murmured quietly.

Mr. Henderson finally looked at his son. Not with concern but with something like inconvenience. “Still sick?” he asked.

“Getting better,” Sawyer mumbled. He sounded stuffed up.

“Speaking of which. I heard there was some excitement at the fraternity last weekend.”

Sawyer stiffened. “It was nothing. A misunderstanding.”

“A fight,” Mr. Henderson corrected. He turned back to Harrison. “You’ve worked hard for where you are. One unfortunate moment can follow someone for a long time.”

Harrison opened his mouth but Mr. Henderson held up a hand. “I know young men get into arguments," he said smoothly and diplomatically. “I know alcohol and emotion can make people irrational sometimes.” He paused and swirled his wine. “I’m sure you’re aware that your reputation is everything at this level. The Athletic Department and the NFL invests millions and they want to make sure that investment is sound.” He let the weight of his words settle before continuing.

“People usually like Sawyer very quickly. He always has a tendency to be...intense. Discipline matters at your level and you can’t let other things distract you.”

Harrison felt the implication land. Sawyer’s a bad influence. Are you smart enough to distance yourself from my son?

He glanced over at Sawyer and waited for the rebuttal. The sharp sarcastic deflection or the Dad, fuck off that Sawyer would have delivered to anyone else. He expected Sawyer to straighten up and grin that crooked grin saying something cutting and clever that would put Mr. Henderson in his place.

But Sawyer just sat there. The fire Harrison was used to, the spark that made Sawyer Sawyer, was gone. He seemed like he believed everything his father was implying.

“Well Sawyer’s disciplined too,” Harrison heard himself say.

Sawyer looked up so quickly his chair shifted slightly against the floor.

Harrison hesitated but then continued. Maybe it was because Sawyer had spent the entire dinner shrinking into himself and sitting there half sick and exhausted while the conversation flowed around him like he wasn’t really part of it.

“He hides it. I saw some of his stuff the other day. Sawyer’s really smart. He’s not just..I mean, he’s got potential.”

Mr. Henderson turned his head over curiously. “What stuff exactly?”

Harrison’s heart was hammering and his palms were sweating against his suit pants. “...law things.”

Mr. Henderson glanced from Harrison to Sawyer. His expression was unreadable. “Law?” he asked. “That’s new.”

“It’s nothing,” Sawyer said quickly. His voice was strained. “Just a hobby. I like true crime podcasts. It’s stupid.”

Mr. Henderson smiled faintly. “Well, you've always enjoyed arguing.” He chuckled a low sound that made Harrison’s skin crawl. “But law school? That’s a serious commitment. And Sawyer’s path has always been clear. The family business is waiting for him when he graduates.”

He said it like it was an inevitable gift. Sawyer was staring at his hands. His knuckles were white. Harrison looked at Sawyer and then looked at Mr. Henderson; the man who had spent an hour asking Harrison about his dreams while ignoring his own son’s.

Sawyer made eye contact with Harrison and shook his head faintly in warning. Let it go.

Harrison’s jaw ached from clenching it. “Of course,” Harrison said as he forced the words out. “The family business. That makes sense.”

Mr. Henderson gave a satisfied smile. “Exactly. Now, dessert?”

The dinner continued but Harrison barely tasted his food. When the check came, Mr. Henderson paid without looking at it. He stood, shook Harrison’s hand and told him he had a bright future. He briefly touched Sawyer’s shoulder. “Keep me updated about next semester,” he said and walked away.

Sawyer stayed seated. Then slowly he brought his napkin back to his face.

“Hh’kshh!” he sneezed quietly into the cloth. Then again. “Hh’kshh! Hih…t’shh!”

Sawyer lowered the napkin. “You shouldn’t have said that,” he said. His voice was flat.

“I’m sorry,” Harrison said. “He was treating you like..”

“Like what?” Sawyer stood up. “That’s just how he treats me. It doesn’t matter.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. “Thanks for dinner. Good luck at the combine.”

Then he turned and started walking toward the front of the restaurant.

For a second Harrison stayed where he was. He realized that tonight wasn’t only a congratulatory dinner. Mr. Henderson heard about the fight and wanted to see for himself what was going on. He wanted to figure out if Harrison was the problem or if Sawyer was.

By the time Harrison pushed through the restaurant doors, the parking lot had mostly emptied out and the air outside was colder than he expected.

“Hey,” Harrison said as he hurried to catch up. “Wait up.”

Sawyer stopped in front of his car and pulled a crumpled tissue from his pocket. He pressed it to his nose as his breath hitched.

“Hh’ngkxt! K’tschh! Hih…KSSHH!”

The sneezes were harsh and congested. He blew his nose miserably and Harrison’s chest tightened pity.

“I meant what I said Sawyer,” Harrison emphasized as his voice softened. “He’s wrong about you. You were amazing in the conference meeting that morning.”

Sawyer finally looked at him. “Yeah, well,” he rasped, “Somebody had to be. You can’t exactly afford a black mark on your record.”

“What do you mean?”

“It means I saw the headlines in my head too,” Sawyer said as his voice cracked with exhaustion. “Future NFL Star in Brawl. It wasn’t a good look.”

“So you fixed it,” Harrison countered. “You got us out of it. We’re good.”

“Are we?” Sawyer asked. He glanced away again. “I’m..I’m a complication.” He gestured at his current state. “My father’s not wrong. The fight at my fraternity kind of proved it, right? I drag you into stupid shit.”

Harrison stared at him completely lost. “What? All that night proved was that I care about you. I saw that guy coming at you and I didn’t even think. I reacted.”

“And that’s the problem!” Sawyer’s voice rose. He turned to face Harrison fully. “You didn’t think. You’re the guy who thinks about everything. You plan, you calculate and with me you lose control. You threw a punch in a backyard full of cell phones because some drunk asshole shoved me. Don’t you get how dangerous that is for you?”

Frustration tightened in Harrison’s chest. “I wasn’t going to let him hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” Sawyer let out a sound that was half laugh. “Harrison, I’ve been in fights before. I can handle myself. But you can’t. You can’t have a scandal. You have one job for the next few months, and that’s to be perfect. To be the clean cut guy every team wants to draft. You can’t have a loose cannon in your corner.”

“You’re not a loose cannon,” Harrison protested.

“Aren’t I?” Sawyer gave a short bitter laugh. “I party too much. I’m the guy who hooks up with half the campus. I’m a bad influence. That’s what they’ll call me. The guy who’s dragging the golden boy down.”

“I don’t care what they think.”

“But you should!” Sawyer’s voice cracked with emotion. “Harrison, you’ve worked your whole life for this! I’m not going to be the reason you throw it away. I can’t be.”

Harrison stared at him for a second breathing hard now too. “I think you’re overreacting. Your father doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You shouldn’t listen to him. And you’re acting like one drunk fight means we’re doomed or something.”

Sawyer rubbed his temples. “Tonight just made it obvious. My father saw this huge future with you. Then he looked at me and saw the thing that could screw it up.” He took a shaky breath.

“Harrison, in four months you’re gonna be drafted. Your life is about to become insane. Training camps, travel, endorsements, press. You barely have time for yourself now.” He swallowed. “What exactly do you think this turns into?”

“I…I don’t know. We’ll figure it out.”

“How?”

The question hit hard because Sawyer asked it so plainly.

“No seriously, how?” Sawyer pressed. “You think an NFL rookie schedule magically leaves room for a secret relationship with some guy back at your college? You gonna fly back between games? Sneak around hotel rooms? Pretend we’re just friends forever?”

Harrison had no answers.

“You don’t even know what we’re figuring out.” Sawyer sighed. “It’s better this way. To stop this before it gets harder.”

The blood drained from Harrison's face. This couldn’t be happening. How had they gotten here? He thought about the couch in his apartment and how Sawyer melted into his arms and was honest for the first time about his brother. He thought about the shower and the intimacy of it, the way Sawyer had surrendered control. How could all of that stop?

Sawyer finally looked at him and his eyes were glistening. He wasn’t quite crying, but he was close. He reached out like he wanted to touch Harrison’s arm but his hand stopped halfway and fell back to his side. “You’re going to be amazing Harrison. Truly. Go be the guy everyone knows you can be. Just..do it without me.”

He turned and got in his car, leaving Harrison in the parking lot.

Harrison stood there for a moment before he shoved his hands into his pockets and started towards his own car. His mind was reeling. Sawyer probably believed every word he’d said. That this was somehow protecting Harrison and that he would eventually look back and realize Sawyer had done him a favor. But Harrison kept thinking about the way Sawyer’s hand had lifted towards him before falling back to his side. Because people didn’t look at you like that when they were done.

Not really.

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