He remembers his first real home. Mom had taken him by the hand and walked him through room by room. It had been new and the paint had been fresh, the carpet had been soft and unmarked. He had his own bedroom and he'd run into the room, throwing himself down on the bed and laughing. Mom and Dad had hugged him and told him that this was their home now.
He'd thought at the age of four that he would live there forever. When they'd all left only a year later he'd cried inconsolably, heartbroken. As he stared out the back of Dad's car he'd watched as home got smaller and smaller behind them. Mom had said that there would be another home in another place but Greg didn't understand that, home had been where his books were, and his toys and his bed. Home was gone.
He was twelve when everything changed. Sure they'd moved around more times than he could count, but he'd always known where he belonged. They was Mom, Dad and Greg. Dad could be an asshole sometimes but he was still Dad. That was his home. Then one day in a fit of temper he had screamed out at his Dad that he wasn't his son and everything had changed.
Weeks of silence had followed and even when he and Dad were talking again there was always this thing between them, this wall that couldn't be breached. Now they were Mom, the guy she was married to and Greg. It wasn't the same. Where-ever they moved to after that it never became home. He moved out of their lives as soon as he could.
He was happy with Stacy, really happy. He loved her with all his heart and couldn't wait to return to her every day. They lived in his small apartment and she fit perfectly with his books, his music and his toys. Then came the infarction. He was in the hospital and then the rehab centre for weeks. When he finally returned home he was on crutches and the place had been fitted out with cripple equipment.
Worse than the changes to the apartment was the change in their love. He still loved her with all his heart but he couldn't live with her any more. He'd known that the moment she had confessed to what she had done, while he was recovering in his hospital bed. She took longer to realise but in the end he had watched while she'd cleaned her stuff out of the apartment and then drove away.
He hadn't thought that he would ever think of Mayfield as home. He'd been terrified of the place when he'd arrived, and then couldn't wait to leave it. But as he packed his bag up to go back to his life he realised he'd miss it. He knew the routine here, he had made friends here, even if they were really whacked out friends. He'd loved here, he'd changed here, he'd felt safe here.
In here was routine, predictable. Once he left here he'd have to find his place in his world again, find a way to fight back the demons of pain and loneliness by himself. He was going to stay with Wilson, in Amber's old apartment and he didn't know how that could ever feel like home.
He knew he'd lost the battle before it had even begun. Oh, he'd put up a few preliminary skirmishes – moving the milk, stacking the dishwasher wrong, throwing banana peels in the wrong bin, but his heart just wasn't in it. After Amber he couldn't go for the jugular the way he would normally. He'd stolen Wilson's happiness from him last time, if he did it again Wilson might not just kick him out of the apartment but out of his life.
He moved the milk bottle again, as a form of silent protest more than anything and closed the door. He watched as they shared a secret smile and a laugh and then limped past them and back to his bedroom unnoticed. It would only be a matter of time before Sam was moving in, and he was damned if he was going to make Wilson choose between them, he was pretty sure he'd lose.
He'd start packing in the morning.