I lay in bed for an unknown amount of time, becoming a human-shaped smear, not thinking or feeling anything, while John lies in bed next to me, snoring like an extra-loud trumpet. 

Now normally, most people would have been demanding earplugs and throwing a pillow over their heads to block out the lip-smacking and whistling coming from such an innocent-looking man, but I found the sound somehow comforting after living alone for so long. Combined with the creaky heater we had blowing soft, warm air in to keep out the chill from outside, my eyes began to drift closed, heavy with exhaustion.

I tumble through several short, unremarkable dreams before coming face to face with the cracked wall in the basement of Monmouth all over again. 

The lights are off in the room this time, and a pulsing green glow emits from the bricks, spilling out onto the dirty concrete floor. There are voices coming from the other side—the sound of people talking in hushed tones—so I press my face into the crack in the wall and stare through with one eyeball into the unknown. 

There's darkness, chased away by candlelight. And a room with heavy curtains drawn, leaving the question as to whether it was day or night hovering there without an answer. Several figures lounge around naked or draped in silky black robes, and a shiver goes through me when I recognize them one by one. Virgil was half-sprawled over Ovid on the carpet, both of them sharing heavy, languid kisses, the type that most likely came after a night of drinking.

Homer was seated in a large velvet chair, admiring Virgil and Ovid with a half-lidded gaze. He had a bottle of Merlot in one hand, the other shoved way down into the front of his trousers, working up and down.

I can't pull my gaze away and fix my stare on John, Beatrice, and Lucan, entangled together on the other side of the carpet as they clearly fucked each other with reckless abandon.

I gasp and quickly rip my face away from the wall.

"Dante?"

Reality comes flooding back in, along with the stale smell of the dorm and faint, woodsy cologne. My eyes creak open a second later, and John comes into view, wearing nothing but a white towel around his incredibly sculpted waist. My mouth opens on its own accord as I follow a wispy trail of dark hair to his navel (he was an outy!) and upwards towards his chest.

"Were you having a nightmare?" John inquires, scrubbing his damp hair with another towel. "You were making all kinds of weird noises. I wasn't sure what to do, so I went and showered and came back, and you had calmed down again."

"Um, no," I mumble, still half asleep as I sit up and rub my face. "Just a bunch of weird dreams. I didn't sleep very well last night."

"Could have fooled me. You didn't move an inch as soon as you hit that mattress." John replies, smirking as he goes over to his bed and starts sorting through a few stacks of clothes. "It's going to be cold today, so you might want to layer up."

I sneak a peek at the boxes still stacked next to my bed, and with a sinking realization, I remember that I hadn't brought any of my clothes inside last night except for the ones I had worn to the initiation, which had mysteriously vanished.

John pauses as if reading my thoughts and looks over, a striped sweater in one hand. "You can borrow some of my clothes until we get your stuff unpacked. My pants might be too big, but I have a belt you can use to keep them from slipping down." He tosses the sweater in my direction, then a pair of pants, and I catch them when they fly across the room. 

I stand and slip out of Virgil's jacket while John resumes picking out an outfit, both of us working in silence until he drops his towel.

Plunging into a mountain of ice-cold snow couldn't have been more effective. John's ass sat high and tight, perfect in every shape, way, and form, and he had thighs that even the finest sculptor couldn't have replicated in marble. 

I believe I exhale or gasp too loudly because John looks over in my direction as he pulls on his pants and notices the expression on my face. "Are you okay?" He asks me, scrunching his eyebrows, "You look kind of pale, Dante."

"I-I'm--" I struggle to form a complete sentence and avoid looking at his manhood, which was right there in full view. "It's kind of warm in here, isn't it?" I finally stutter.

John looks me over once, and then realization seems to strike him. "Oh," he practically purrs, "you've never seen another guy naked before, have you?"

"What?" I demand, turning from him to hide my bright red face, "That's insane! Of course I have!"

John crosses the room in a few steps. He leans in so he can meet eyes with me even though I turn my head all the way to the right. The scent wafting off of him was indescribable, woodsy, and earthy, with a hint of something spicy. "Are you gay?" He asks me.

My father's shadow comes to life in the corner of the room.

"No," I reply breathlessly, and John patiently waits. "Maybe. I suppose... I like both."

"Mhm," John's sweet breath wafts over my neck and shoulder. "Me too, and we still have some time until we have to show up for breakfast. You want to masturbate together for a few minutes?"

Stunned, I turn my eyes in his direction, and John smiles his angelic smile.