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Liam should have known Alex would react like this. Because Alex Claremont-Diaz has never been chill about anything, ever, in his goddamned life.
Over their two decades of friendship, Liam had spent an innumerable number of hours curbing Alex’s uncontainable energy and excitement. It was usually self-serving, an effort to keep them both out of detention, not grounded, and out of fist fights with rival lacrosse teams.
Despite occasional lost phone privileges or bruised ribs, it was never a hardship.
Because it’s that passion that makes Alex so frustratingly endearing.
Alex’s ADHD diagnosis at seventeen came as no surprise. Everyone, including Alex, thought it explained the eternal fire under his ass. Liam, however, believed it was Ellen’s headline-making law career – arguing in front of SCOTUS while seven months pregnant – baked a competitiveness and a strong sense of justice deep into Alex’s DNA.
Something that could never be medicated away.
Whatever the factors were, all of them had coalesced to give Alex twenty-five years of academic awards, Sea World filibusters, lacrosse championships and well, this.
“What is it about me? Is it the way I dress? Is it because I haven’t shaved in several days?” Alex scratches along his jaw, blunt fingers against sharp stubble.
Across the booth, Liam appraises him, the urge to poke fun long gone. After several weeks, it’s become clear how much this bothers his best friend.
Alex’s scruff is a little unruly, longer than he usually allows it to get. The third year of law school does that to a man. Just like medical school has resulted in Liam picking at his nails, leaving them chipped and brittle. He hasn’t seen his manicurist in weeks.
But no, Alex’s beard isn’t the issue here. Liam’s own full and luscious (if he does say so himself) beard is proof enough of that.
“Your facial hair has nothing to do with people assuming you're a top.”
Alex slaps a hand over the bill and flips it open, grumbling. “Then why is this the eighth time in a row someone has given me the check? Maybe even longer! Since I started tracking at least.”
Liam rolls his eyes and drains the last dregs of beer. “I regret ever telling you about that post. It was from Tumblr for fuck’s sake. You should never change your worldview because of someone with the username spicytunasmoothie42.”
It had all started last month. He and Alex were seated for their weekly Thursday night catch-up, the one night a week they set studies aside to eat a complete meal. A reprieve from power bars and the handfuls of dry cereal that get them through the six other grueling days.
Everything felt more manageable after they’d had good food, strong drinks, and a few hours debating the merits of abandoning their grandiose life plans and becoming lobster fishermen in Nova Scotia instead.
(It’s not a perfect plan. They both hate the cold. But some weeks, the idea of drafting another affidavit or working through another clinical day on zero sleep makes the risk of frostbite seem worth it.)
They take turns paying. It’s easier than trying to divide the appetizers they share or deciding who should pay for the craft beer Alex ordered but Liam finished.
Then, a few weeks ago, when the waiter at their favorite dive bar had handed Alex the check, Liam recalled the meme he’d seen while doomscrolling on his couch the night before.
“You know, they say that when friends of the same gender eat together and request one check, the waiter gives the check to the person they believe is the top in the relationship.”
Alex didn’t look up from where he was writing in the tip. “No, they don’t. You’re making shit up.”
“I don’t know,” Liam mused, popping one of the complimentary mints into his mouth. “A lot of servers admitted in the comments that this was true.”
Alex tucked his card back in his wallet with an eye roll. “Whatever. But the next time I pay, you’re not ordering the mozzarella sticks. You only eat one, then claim it's too greasy. I’m not financially supporting this weird cheese-centric form of gaslighting you have going on.”
After that night, however, the pattern became impossible to ignore.
The following week, they took an Uber to Brooklyn for sushi at some hole in the wall Alex came across while scrolling at 3 A.M. The purple-haired foodie influencer had been right, though: The unassuming storefront with its faded awning and kitschy decor served some of the best Rainbow Rolls Liam had ever eaten.
He and Alex were savoring their last bites when the waitress approached. Liam asked for the check. She nodded, pulled the little black folder from her apron, and placed it next to Alex’s elbow.
Alex’s attention, which had been on his phone, dropped to it. “Oh, I’m –”
“Thanks for treating me to dinner, babe,” Liam cut in sweetly, because sometimes it's fun to be a little shit.
He turned to the server, Alice. “He’s just the best, you know? Always taking care of me. Very protective. Very dominant. Some would even say he’s the alph–”
“Let’s not bore her, dear. I’m sure she has better things to do than listen to you gush about how amazing I am.” Somehow, Alice missed the sour glare Alex threw him.
Instead, she laughed and promised to return in a few minutes to run their payment.
In her absence, Alex slid the check across the table with his middle finger. “I fucking hate you.”
Liam blew him a kiss.
Liam rainchecked dinner the following week, his study group running long. Instead, the two met Friday morning at the coffee shop between their apartments. It was Alex’s favorite because the baristas no longer commented on his numerous daily visits and appallingly excessive coffee consumption.
At the counter, Liam placed his order, “I’ll take a vanilla latte with almond milk and one of the banana muffins.”
At his elbow, Alex was engrossed in case notes on his phone so Liam added: “And he’ll take a black coffee with cinnamon and a blueberry muffin, please.”
“That’s $21.45,” the barista chirped.
Liam reached for his wallet before realizing the barista was staring directly at Alex.
Sensing the judgmental weight, Alex surfaced from the depths of his screen, dazed and confused. Something about the expectant look had him obediently raising his phone and tapping the machine.
As they exited the shop, his bewilderment crumbled (much like Liam’s muffin when he took a bite) and gave way to indignation. “What the fuck?”
“You know what they say,” Liam said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, but three times is a pattern."
It was at their favorite barbecue restaurant that Alex’s composure started to crack. He wasn’t even at the table when the bill was dropped off, having excused himself to use the bathroom.
In his absence, the waitress chatted with Liam as she stacked their plates. He good-naturedly boasted about the barbecue back home in Texas and how nothing in the city could compare. She quipped back about the superiority of Nashville barbecue in return. They kept up the banter even as she picked up Alex’s plate and set the slip of white receipt paper in its place.
When Alex returned, Liam waited for the inevitable swearing or loud rebuke.
Alex blinked, frowned, and then threw down some cash without comment.
Outside the tamale place, Liam stopped abruptly on the sidewalk as Alex came into view from the opposite direction.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing! I decided to put a little more effort into my appearance tonight, that’s all. You’re welcome, by the way.”
A little more effort included extra necklaces, a fresh coat of blue nail polish, probably the tightest pair of black jeans in his closet, and-
“Are you wearing eyeliner?!” Liam stepped in closer, grabbing Alex’s jaw for better inspection. The look was subtle, with enough liner along his eyes and contour across his cheekbones to accentuate but look natural. Combined with the pants and the white lace top, he looked softer and–Liam could admit easily– pretty. If nothing else, he succeeded in making Liam appear drab in his twice-worn jeans and oversized college sweatshirt.
Alex stepped back and around him toward the door. “Your complexion isn’t that flawless. Don’t act like you don’t also have a makeup routine.”
“I do,” Liam fell into step behind him, “but I also know wearing makeup has nothing to do with bedroom preferences.”
“I know that!” Alex hissed before plastering on a big smile for the hostess. Once they were seated, he fiddled with the menu. “It’s just…an experiment.”
Liam reached over and pushed the menu down, forcing Alex to look at him. “So it’s to see if our waitress plays into stereotypes.”
Alex shrugged.
At the end of their meal, Alex accepted the check with a sigh of resignation.
The pattern continued at the hoagie shop, after giant plates of pasta, and back again at their favorite bar.
Now, sitting at a cute diner that serves breakfast all day, Alex can’t let it go.
“I’m going to ask him when he comes back with your to-go coffee why he assumed I was the top.”
“For god’s sake, Alex, leave our waiter alone. It’s not his fault. You just -- you have this quality that makes people assume.”
Alex throws out his arms, nearly toppling over a glass, “What does that even mean?!”
“I don’t know! I'm just trying to prevent you from making him uncomfortable or scaring him off. Plus, I would like to come back here someday and not have to hide my face.”
Liam catches the eye of their waiter from across the small restaurant and sends him a smile. The man takes that as a cue he’s needed and makes his way over, sidestepping a chair and reassuring another table he’d be with them in a moment.
He’s cute. Blonde, soft-spoken, and attentive. Their mugs of coffee have been topped off like clockwork, and both thoroughly enjoyed the hash brown casserole on his recommendation. Not to mention the black apron that accentuated his sinfully narrow waist and the well-fitted jeans that treated them to a delicious view each time he left their table. They’d both caught the other staring.
And neither had missed the little rainbow sticker on his name badge when he’d taken their drink order.
Henry 🌈
Liam knew then it would be a race to see who asks the blonde out first.
(It’s not the first time they have vied for the same person’s attention. What can he say? They’re both competitive motherfuckers. They also know when to bow out, conceding the race. It’s a dance they’ve done for years.)
Of course, that was before Henry brought the check to the table several minutes ago. He had handed it directly to Alex before gracefully spinning away to a table motioning him over with a raised empty glass.
Now, Henry’s back.
And as Alex opens his mouth, Liam assumes neither is getting anything but banned from this establishment.
“Why did you assume I was the top in this relationship?” Alex demands, waggling a finger between himself and Liam before Henry fully reaches their booth. “Not that this is a relationship. He’s my best friend. I have no desire to sleep with him, even though we sort of did in high school, I guess? But that’s not the point. You handed me the check, which is basically server code for, This guy must be the top and therefore in charge and responsible for paying.”
Henry’s brows hit his hairline. His gaze flicks to Liam in alarm.
Alex continues in the same breath, “Which is completely messed up by the way, but we’ll come back to that. For now, I’m putting it on record that I am verse. I enjoy bottoming. A lot. So, it’s a little upsetting that everyone keeps making assumptions that I don’t. I want to understand why you also assume I strictly top.”
A blush rises across Henry’s cheeks, nearly as stark red as the smear of ketchup on Liam’s Corelle plate. “Oh, I erm–”
“Liam here says I have a quality, which is as helpful as a paper parasol in a hurricane. I’d love to get your observational analysis. Maybe you can give me a little insight into the minds of servers everywhere.”
“I haven’t worked here long,” Henry says, squaring his shoulders. “I hardly think I have the qualifications to be the spokesperson for the entire profession.”
Alex pins him under an expectant stare. Henry sags.
When he finally speaks, it is with the reluctance of a man who’d rather scrape gum from beneath the tables than stay in this conversation a moment longer.
“I only handed you the check because, well— actually, never mind. How about I take that back? I’ll comp your meal as an apology on behalf of all your past servers.” He hastily reaches across Alex for the check.
Before he can snatch it away, Alex stops him, tanned fingers around a pale wrist. “Wait.”
From across the table, Liam sees a flourish of ink at the bottom of the flimsy paper. A phone number.
Damn. There was no race to win here; the victor had already been selected.
“Ignore that,” Henry says. “Obviously, I made you uncomfortable. It was never my intention to imply anything about anyone’s bedroom preferences. Please believe me.”
Alex doesn’t look away from the numbers in blue ink, his tone matter-of-fact as he says, “You gave me your number.”
Henry’s eyes drop to his scrawled digits. Something flickers across his features. Probably wistfulness for an alternate timeline where Alex and Liam weren’t seated in his section. He nods. “I did.”
Pointing between himself and Liam, Alex clarifies. “And you did not give me the check because you assumed I was the top between the two of us?”
With a huff, biceps capable of carrying multiple trays of food at once cross over a broad chest.
“Well, if you must know, there was a brief fantasy of you being on top of me, hence the phone number,” Henry retorts dryly, “but the mechanics of that fantasy were not specific, no.”
“Oh,” Alex blinks. Liam hides a grin behind his hand. He can practically see Alex ticking off the boxes in his mind: competent, blonde, funny, snarky, biceps.
If Henry makes any comment about the injustices of gerrymandering, Alex might drop to his knees right in front of everyone’s pancakes.
So, it’s no surprise that between one bat of his eyelashes and the next, Alex’s stunned expression turns sultry. “Have dinner with me tomorrow. Then we can see about that fantasy of yours.”
Henry turns to Liam. “Is he always like this?”
“Worse,” Liam says. Then he transitions flawlessly into his obligatory wingman duties. “But he makes up for it with unshakable integrity, ambition, and great hair.”
“Don’t forget an ass you can bounce a quarter off of,” Alex interjects with a wink. “So, what do you say? Go out with me?”
Henry’s head tips skyward with a sigh, “You’re about to be a thistle in the tender and sensitive arse crack of my life, aren’t you?” His words are laced with amusement when he addresses Alex again. “Yes, I’ll go to dinner with you.”
Alex doesn’t whoop in celebration, but Liam knows it’s a near thing. He does, however, pay, despite it being Liam’s turn.
He leaves a 100% tip and his phone number with Alex (verse) scribbled beneath.
Late Saturday afternoon, Liam texts Alex.
Liam [Saturday, 11:37 am]
How was your date last night?
ACD [Saturday 11:38 am]
fucking awesome
hes amazing
and smart
and hilarious
and hot af obv
Liam [Saturday, 11:38 am]
I’m happy for you, dude.
ACD [Saturday 11:40 am]
we went back to his apartment after
im still here
Liam [Saturday, 11:40 am]
I do NOT need details
ACD [Saturday 11:41 am]
lets just say the waiter gave henry the check 🥵🍆💦