Chapter One - Sauna Me

August 6, 2009

Schuyler

God, he was such an idiot. Kissing Gigi? Smooth move, Casanova. Now what was he supposed to do? Their friendship would limp on, mortally wounded by his eager mouth and stupid roving tongue, but it was all just a sham, wasn't it? Staying friends? They couldn't. Not after what he did. Exposing those feelings to her that were summarily shut down. Laughed at, even.

But wasn't it that easiness, that penchant of hers to take things as they came with a good-natured smile and shrug of the shoulders that drew him to her in the first place? He just never expected that he'd be one of her problems that needed shrugging off.

You're a bonehead, Joplin.

He made a vow to himself right then. If he was gonna get involved, he'd make sure the other person was not his friend. Anything but that. Because when it went south, which it would, he had no illusions about that, at least he could go back to something comfortable, like hating the other person's guts. Not this weird uneasiness where he felt like every move he made was too conspicuous, every word too loud, every look, every touch too intimate, too unwanted.

He felt all twitchy inside. That always happened to him after an encounter with Rex. What an asshole that guy was. What the hell was Gigi thinking? Maybe he shouldn't get this worked up over a girl who was stupid enough to give a guy like that another shot. Again. Hell, she couldn't have picked anyone worse if she tried. Well, maybe that dirtbag who tried to make a quick buck off her sick kid. But he was only slightly worse than Rex.

Oh, the many perils of crushing on one's friend. Schuyler snickered to himself. He'd have been better off kissing someone he hated, like Rex. And the way Rex looked at him sometimes... maybe that wasn't so out of the ballpark. He chuckled. Yeah, Gigi could really pick 'em. What he really needed, he decided, was a good work-out. Get all that frenetic energy out of him. Maybe a jog or some weights at the gym. And then a nice, long shower. The kind of shower where he just stood there forever and let the water hit his face, until he forgot everything, until his brain went white with calm and he felt like floating away.

It was the closest he ever felt to being high again.

If that was the case, maybe he should've tried enjoying it less. So, no shower. Not today. The steam room would have to do. He hoped it was a quiet day at the gym. He really didn't feel like making small talk with any chatty strangers.

Kyle

God damn it! Damn it all to hell!

What the hell was he thinking, kissing Oliver like that? Way to keep your distance, moron. Now all he was gonna do for the rest of the day was mope around like some lovesick fool, and that really wasn't what he wanted to do. He was better than that. He wasn't gonna let that jerk call him a freak and make him cry. No. Not this time. He was gonna go hit something. Hard.

He had just finished taping one fist in the locker room at Serenity Springs when he remembered. That's where they'd met. Again. That stupid punching bag brought all that grief back. He was doing fine on his own—okay, not exactly fine, he got himself caught up in some stuff that would get him kicked out of med school if Roxy or Stacy ever blabbed—and then Oliver had to go and stumble back into his life.

Why'd he have to come back to Llanview, anyway? Hadn't that little craphole town he'd gone to police been good enough for him? Didn't he realize this was Kyle's town? Kyle's whole life was here, it was all he had; Oliver didn't need to make this place his home too. Was he trying to hurt him? To rub it in his face all over again that he was with women, that Kyle didn't matter to him, that what they had wasn't real or worth anything? Because that was just... mean. And pretty fucked up.

But, no. Kyle let out a deep sigh. He doubted that anything Oliver did had anything to do with him. Oliver didn't care. Made that quite clear today, shoving him, practically telling him he belonged with the other garbage in that alley. Even after Kyle admitted that he loved him, loved him still.

Kyle began ripping the tape off his knuckles. It stung like hell and left his skin puffy and red, but he barely felt it. He was burning up inside. He had to get this out of him, all these feelings, all this anger. He didn't want to end up doing something stupid. Get himself into trouble again, and right after he just escaped the last disaster.

So, he could pound the bag and pretend it was Oliver's face, and just sink lower into his bad mood, or he could go for a run, maybe come back for a relax in the steam room. It would be more cleansing that way, getting all the toxins out of him. He had to start over. It was the only way to survive. Otherwise, he'd just... he'd do something really fucking dumb is what he'd do.

Schuyler

He clutched his towel close to his waist and pushed through the steam room door, but quickly met resistance as it banged up against a hard-ish object.

"Oof!" said the object.

"Oh, sorry, man, I didn't know you were standing right—" He stopped, taking in the appearance of his victim. "You." He didn't mean to growl it out so hatefully, but, well, he was still in a bad mood, despite his lung-achingly long run through the park and 65 reps on the chest press.

Kyle Lewis scowled at him, his hair matted to his head and his body dripping with condensation. He'd already been here awhile; hopefully he was leaving.

"I am in no mood for this, Joplin."

"Great." Schuyler smacked his lips, obnoxiously, he knew, but he couldn't help it. "So, you were just leaving, then?" He held the door open with one hand while he gripped his towel with the other.

Kyle glared at him, then took a step back, settled onto one of the benches, and crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. "I'm not going anywhere, pal." Schuyler thought he might pull out the classic, I was here first! followed by a childish Neener neener!

"What're you gonna do about it?" Kyle said instead. "Assault me again?"

Schuyler instantly flashed to their previous heated encounters. Slamming Kyle over a desk, getting right up in his face, pinning him down with weights. A hot rush of blood flowed through him. That all sounded pretty good right about now. He could use that kind of release after his incredibly shit-tastic day.

He took a step toward Kyle and grinned at him, enjoying the antagonism far more than he knew he should. "I don't see your cop friend around to pull me off you this time."

"He's not—" Kyle closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath through his nose. That must've hurt; the air in the room was so thick and hot. "He's not my friend."

Woah. That stopped Schuyler in his tracks. He expected a strong reaction from Kyle, but about the implied threat—not the cop. That was... weird. It threw him off his game for a second. Damn him. An annoying little twerp, through and through. He wouldn't even let Schuyler have the satisfaction of a proper fight.

"Whatever," he muttered, slightly deflated. "You're not worth the effort."

Kyle flinched at that, though Schuyler couldn't really figure out why, and then Kyle launched up, storming toward him like that furious little chicken hawk from the old Foghorn Leghorn cartoons.

"What is your problem, dude? What gives you the right to judge me?"

Schuyler sneered. "I generally don't like people who profit on the suffering of others."'

"Like you've never made a mistake."

"I was young!" Schuyler burst out, running a hand through his quickly-dampening hair. "And stupid! But I've been clean for years now. Why won't anyone drop it?"

Kyle looked at him like he'd grown a second head.

Oh. He was probably talking about the whole Starr Manning mess. Still, Schuyler wasn't going to give up the moral high ground here. He'd never taken advantage of people who were desperate. Or, at least when he had, he'd been high, and desperate himself.

"You are such a hypocrite!" Kyle yelled, inching ever so closer.

"And you're a piece of dirt!"

Kyle shook his head, his mouth a hard line. "You want people to leave you alone, yet you're always up in my face. The charges were dropped, man. Let it go. It's done." Kyle flicked him against the chest. Hard. "You and Gigi can go off and live your happy little life and leave me the hell out of it."

Schuyler swung out his arm. "There's the door." The conversation had suddenly lost his interest.

"I was here first!"

And there it was. They'd been reduced to this. Pathetic. The both of them. Schuyler scoffed at the whole scene. Here they were, a couple of adults, squabbling like children.

"God, Kyle. What are you? Thirty?" He looked him up and down, ignoring the hot rush of blood that had suddenly returned. "You could at least try acting like it."

Kyle gasped. Audibly, comically loud. "I am not thirty!" He reached out, and Schuyler thought he was going to shove him, as if this were a schoolyard and he'd just called Kyle's mama fat, but he grabbed Schuyler by the wrist instead and brought his hand to his bare stomach. "Feel these abs! These are the abs of a twenty-something, thank you."

Now it was Schuyler's turn to gasp. He tried not to, but it escaped anyway. Kyle's skin was scorching, warmed even further by the hot steam in the room. It made his throat dry up. The heat in the room, he meant. Not—not touching Kyle.

That didn't explain why he was still doing it, why his hand hadn't retreated. Kyle had pulled himself up close, their noses almost touching, in order to facilitate Schuyler's inspection of his twenty-something abs, and Schuyler could feel each hot breath, even through the thick steam all around them, hitting his face.

His body tensed. Adrenaline rushed through every vein, setting his skin on fire. Fight or flight, his body was telling him.

Kyle was still breathing hard. So was Schuyler. Fight or flight. Or fuc—

"Get off!" Schuyler wrenched out of Kyle's grip and roughly pushed him away. Kyle stumbled backwards. His towel had loosened, slipped down his hips, revealing a patch of dark hair crowning his pelvis. Schuyler forced himself to look up, into Kyle's eyes instead. Which were painted with more fury than he could ever remember seeing in them.

"I swear, if one more person shoves me today—!"

"You'll what, Kyle?" Schuyler sucked on an incisor and jerked his head. He realized it might've made him look a bit like a hungry wolf.

Kyle's face relaxed slightly, and he quirked an eyebrow, as if asking if that was an invitation. Oh, it was definitely an invitation. Schuyler licked his bottom lip and motioned Kyle forward, a silent you-want-summa-this? With something like anticipation in his eyes, Kyle growled. And then he lunged.

I guess that's his RSVP.

Schuyler's whole body felt charged, from his head to his toes—and every appendage in between. Every appendage. This was what he wanted. Enough with the talking. It was time to get physical.

Kyle

Kyle didn't know when it happened. When grappling turned into groping, snarling into kissing, grunting into, well... grunting. Maybe it was when both their towels slipped off in the struggle and they realized their erections were rubbing right up against each other. That may have been when the tide turned.

He hadn't planned on getting this turned on by Schuyler Joplin, of all people, but he was already all fired up, and then the yelling happened, the close-talking, the heavy breathing, the touching... Schuyler's eyes had gone ink-black, and he smelled really good, and everything was warm and wet and those hard, bare thighs had pressed up against his sides in the tussle. One little turn of the head, a recognition in those dark eyes, and then their mouths had crashed together, angry and hungry and hard and punishing. Teeth and tongue, scraping and pulling, sucking, biting, conceding, satisfying.

The kid was good. Made Kyle think maybe this wasn't his first time at the rodeo.

Mmm... Rodeo...

He ran a hand down Schuyler's slick chest, over the hard ridges of his abdomen, down to where their lower bodies were having their own struggle, grinding against one another—a bit too haphazardly for his tastes. He needed to find purchase, to exert control.

Time to employ a distraction. He grabbed hold of Schuyler, tight, around the base. Schuyler inhaled sharply, and his eyes rolled up into near total whiteness. Kyle's left arm snaked around Schuyler's neck, and using his weight he rolled them so Schuyler lay flat on his back, Kyle firmly on top of him. Then he released his grip, just slightly, and moved his fist up, slowly, ever so slowly. Schuyler groaned... and panted... and smiled. His hands moved up Kyle's chest, his sides, curling around his shoulders to his back, digging into skin, marking a trail of angry clawed flesh newly come to life.

So they were in agreement for once. Aggressive was good.

Kyle leaned in, ready to make those smiling lips his again, when he felt the room spin, watched the walls tilt, felt a small gust of air burst out of his stomach. He was on his back, Schuyler on top now, straddling him, retracing the reddened, scoured skin on his chest with hard, unyielding lips, down, down, all the way down. Kyle palmed his head, urging him on.

But Schuyler shook it off, pulled up, pinned Kyle's hips to the floor with strong hands. He moved in, deliberately slow, and pulled Kyle's lower lip into his mouth with his teeth, stretching it painfully then releasing it. Kyle's tongue darted out, inspecting, analyzing, tasting the barest flavor of blood. And then, unexpectedly, even to him, he rumbled out a low, appreciative growl. And grinned.

Aggressive was very good.

Kyle cupped his hands behind Schuyler's ears and then they were kissing again, turning again, a constant struggle for dominance that pushed his excitement higher with each shift of power.

He could chalk up his eagerness to deprivation. It had been far too long since he'd gotten any. At least since April. Since—

Well. Since April.

So he wasn't going to blame himself for jumping on the ripped naked guy in the room who was clearly hot for him, who liked to bend him over desks and press up against him and get in his face all the time. Kyle never knew he liked it a little rough like that. Must've been a new development.

He moved down, nipping at Schuyler's stomach, watching the muscles twitch. Beads of sweat and steam pooled in the little dips of his body. Kyle made a game of catching the longest rivulets with his tongue, much to Schuyler's apparent delight, if his terse moans and tense fingers gripping one of the discarded towels were any indication.

But he could tell Schuyler was getting impatient with this tortuously slow work-up. His hips thrust into the air, firm and demanding drives that prodded Kyle's shoulder. He raised up, grabbed Schuyler firm around the waist, then tugged him forcefully down, dragging him along the wet floor until their lower bodies jammed together in a swift surge of pleasure and pain.

Schuyler grunted and arched his back.

"You like that?" Kyle growled.

"As much as you did." Schuyler grinned. "Ass."

Kyle laughed. He couldn't help it. He thought for a moment he'd lost his mind, because he glanced down at their dueling hard-ons and in a flash of whimsy said, "Looks like a sword fight down there."

He thought Schuyler might actually bust a gut laughing.

"You sound like you've never done this before."

Kyle shrugged, then started rolling his hips in a steady motion. "It's been a while. You?"

"Longer."

"Ever...?"

Schuyler's eyes narrowed. "I know what I'm doing." He reached down and with a quick tug had Kyle panting and groaning.

"That you do," he managed to breathe out, once the stars had faded from his line of sight.

He couldn't ignore that old competitive spirit, though, and decided to engage in a little round of "Who's More Adventurous?"

"You ever...?" He slid a hand down between their slick, warm bodies. His fingers ran through coarse hairs while his thumb ventured lower, rubbing up against the puckered hole it found there.

"Stacy..." Schuyler said, enigmatically.

Kyle stopped, his thumb pressing lightly against tender flesh. "What?"

Schuyler gulped, closing his eyes, still panting hard. "Had a strap-on. Knew how to use it."

Now Kyle closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. Damn. He probably wasn't gonna win the "Who's More Adventurous?" sweepstakes. He forgot that Schuyler had a whole second sex to adventure with.

"Interesting," he mused, more to himself than Schuyler. He bit his lip, pressed down with his thumb—already slippery and wet, like everything else in the balmy room—and nudged in the tip. Schuyler clenched, but the pressure slowly receded, and Kyle was able to push all the way in, flexing his knuckle to help stretch the walls.

"Mmm," Schuyler moaned. And then, "Oh God," as Kyle found a sensitive spot. The tips of his fingers stretched up and began fondling Schuyler, almost of their own accord. "Fuck," he breathed out. "Jesus... fuck." His grip around Kyle's erection tightened, and they fell into a steady rhythm, give and take, back and forth, almost like a game of tug-of-war.

Felt great. Felt amazing. All of the stress that had building and building, ever since he met Stacy Morasco, ever since Oliver snaked back into his life, into his thoughts, into his heart, ever since his sister died and left him alone in the world with nothing but a police record—it all evaporated, carried off by particles of steam, molecule by molecule, until he felt clean again, clean and light and unburdened.

Maybe that was an exaggeration. Maybe it was just that really good sex felt really fucking good, and it had just been too damn long.

Schuyler jacked him with one hand, took care of himself with the other, and the whole world really did seem to fade, covered in pure, white steam, and then he arched his back, crying out, and felt it all melt away.

And then he smiled.

Schuyler

Schuyler collapsed onto his back, panting, his arm resting on his sweaty forehead. That was... that was unexpected. He felt Kyle roll off him and lay a few inches by his side.

He glanced over at Kyle, who had the smuggest grin on his face he'd ever seen. It was a grin that was just begging to be punched out of existence. Schuyler held back. Mostly because he didn't know if he could swing his arms with any force at the moment.

He laughed instead. "What... just happened?"

Kyle folded his hands behind his head, looking every bit the self-satisfied asshole. It was kind of cute, in a way. And he kind of hated himself for thinking that.

"I just rocked your world, Joplin."

"Yeah right."

"Oh, Kyle," he mimicked in a high pitch voice. "Don't stop! You're making me crazy, Kyle! I can't get enough, Kyle!"

Schuyler laughed, and shoved him lightly on the shoulder. "In your dreams."

Kyle turned on his side, propping his head on a hand, and smirked at him. His eyes sparkled, but maybe that was just an effect of the room.

"Still can't stand you, you know," he said.

"The feeling is incredibly mutual," Schuyler replied.

Now would've been the time to get up, get a towel back around the waist, get the hell out of there and back to his empty apartment and his unfinished caseloads. But he couldn't make himself. Physically, he meant. He was completely spent. He'd never admit it, but his world did feel just the slightest bit rocked.

He could blame it on the self-imposed abstinence of late. That was what happened when you fell in love with someone you could never, ever have. He tried to push Gigi out of his mind, to find a suitable distraction. Unfortunately, the only thing that had been able to accomplish that of late was staring at him with dark eyes and that stupid face and those pink, firm lips...

"You know," Kyle said. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth. Schuyler's own mouth twitched with a sudden jealousy. "Getting screwed by Stacy is one thing..."

"Haven't we all been, at one time or another?" he quipped. Kyle grinned, but only a little.

"But you do realize you just had sex with another man, right? I mean, you can't go pretending it never happened." His eyes went faraway, his voice scraping out through a newly formed lump of bitterness. "I mean, you can. But it'd be a total dick move."

"You speaking from experience?"

Kyle lowered his head, but he didn't answer. He looked like someone had just shot his dog out in the barn. He pulled a towel over his midsection, covering his nudity in a sudden and unexplained show of modesty. A strange, unfocused gloom washed over Schuyler. He didn't know why. He wasn't responsible for Kyle or his weird mood swings. Still... he felt like he needed to say something, anything at all, to smooth over this odd new bump they'd hit.

"You know, I did a lot of things when I needed a fix that I never thought I'd do." He shrugged a shoulder and felt a lip quirk up. "Including men."

Kyle rolled his eyes, but he wasn't frowning anymore. "I'm not carrying, if that's what you're after."

Schuyler ran a hand slowly up Kyle's thigh and smiled, suddenly feeling very seductive. "Oh, you're carrying something, Kyle."

Then he pulled back a little, but not too much. Where did that come from? Was he... flirting with Kyle Lewis? Jesus, Joplin, you just had sex with the guy. A little flirting shouldn't crack the radar of wrongness; it's already been shattered to high hell. But it felt right somehow, too, because Kyle smiled at him then, a genuine smile, and he'd never seen Kyle look that way before. He always had a scowl on his face, or a frown, or a stupid, infuriating smirk. This smile was something different, something softer, and the way it made his eyes light up, and the way he looked at Schuyler like he was suddenly the only person on the planet—it was kind of mesmerizing, even if he knew it was all a fluke. Another of Kyle's sleazy tricks.

The guy was scum. That didn't mean Schuyler wasn't attracted to him. He obviously was—had been since the first time Stacy brought him to the apartment, but that didn't mean he had to take this any further. He was just upset, still smarting from Gigi's rejection. That was all. And then Kyle was there, and he was a sparring partner, a warm body, a good laugh.

He could see Kyle's tongue working against the inside of his cheek, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Before he knew what the little sneak was up to, his shoulders were pinned to the floor, a heavy weight landing on his belly. He cried out in surprise, then quickly fell into breathless laughter as Kyle, straddling him now, leaned in and nipped at his nose, smiling. Schuyler smiled back—totally against his will. He was sure.

He brought a hand up to Kyle's neck. "Thought you couldn't stand m—?"

BANG!

The door slammed open. They both shot up, moved aside, covered themselves with towels—though there was half a second of confusion as they grabbed for the same towel, before Kyle scrambled back and found the other.

"Kyle?" the new arrival practically yelped.

Kyle stood, adjusted his towel, both hands gripped vise-like around it.

"Oliver." He spoke quietly, his voice like a threat.

Lifting himself off the wet ground, Schuyler squinted at the intruder. He wore gym shorts, a black t-shirt, and a very worried look on his face. Schuyler recognized him then. It was the cop. The one who'd been bothering Stacy a while back. Who'd stopped him from beating the crap out of Kyle at the Angel Square Hotel. Or, well, he might've now guessed their last scuffle could have ended a little differently without the interruption.

The cop stared between them, back and forth, back and forth, as if there were some secret tennis match going on that neither of them knew about. "Someone said they heard, um, noises, and then it sounded like someone was hurt... or something... So I just—" He closed his fists into tight balls. "What's going on here?"

Kyle stepped backwards, still holding his towel tight around his waist. He really didn't want this guy to see him naked. Which was weird, since he'd had no trouble letting someone he hated have a glimpse before things had gotten... interesting. There must've been something there. Something different. Not hate. Something... worse? Deeper?

"Nothing's going on," Kyle said. "Schuyler—this guy over here—fell. He slipped and I was just helping him up."

Schuyler's eyebrows shot up. Interesting.

"Naked?"

"It's a steam room, Oliver. Clothing isn't exactly an option." Kyle had shrunk all the way back into the corner. Schuyler was content to let him handle this one. He crossed his arms over his chest and observed. "What are you doing here, anyway?" Kyle said. "I thought you were on duty or something."

The cop frowned. "Reduced shift. Starting a new case with McBain that's gonna pile up the overtime. He gave me the rest of the day—" He stopped suddenly, his mouth wide like a catfish, as if he'd shared too much. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, then said in a voice just shy of commanding, "I could still book you two for indecent exposure."

Kyle looked away, his eyes hard and shaded. "Do it, then."

"Wait a second!" Schuyler jumped in. He wasn't gonna let Kyle get both their asses thrown in jail over some insane pissing contest with a cop. "That's—that's totally not necessary, Officer. It's just like Kyle said. There was, uh, a tumble, and—and then Kyle here offered a helping hand..."

He thought he heard Kyle snort at that.

The cop glared, first at Kyle, then at Schuyler.

And that's when Schuyler saw it.

Jealousy.

He'd figured it out. There was something going on between Kyle and the cop. He probably should have noticed it sooner. Like Angel-Square-Hotel sooner. But, well, he'd been preoccupied then. Helping Gigi out was a full-time job sometimes.

He sighed. Gigi. The Forbidden Topic. It always came back to Gigi. He didn't want their relationship to get all tense and awkward. He didn't want to end up like Kyle and his cop friend. He'd find a way to fix it, to turn back the clock and make that kiss never happen. They could pretend. They could both pretend.

Kyle's voice cut through his thoughts. Or, the memory of Kyle's voice.

You can't go pretending it never happened... It'd be a total dick move.

"Hello? I said, are you hurt? Do you need medical attention?"

Schuyler blinked. The cop was talking to him.

"Medical attention?"

"For the fall?"

Kyle took a step forward. "He's fine, Oliver. Med student, remember? I checked him out. He's..." Kyle shot him a quick glance. And possibly the barest hint of a smile. "He's good."

Schuyler suddenly wasn't so sure about that. He thought maybe he'd hit his head, because he did something then that could not be rationally explained. He brushed past the cop and sauntered over to Kyle, relishing the confused, almost puppy-ish look on his face. Then he leaned in and captured his lips with his own. His tongue darted out, tasted dried blood from the earlier bite. Kyle froze, but didn't push him away.

"See you around, Kyle." He winked. "Thanks for the hand."

Kyle's mouth dropped open, then quickly snapped back shut.

As he strutted out of the room, Schuyler wasn't exactly sure if he'd done it because he kind of liked Kyle now, despite himself, or because he still hated his guts and wanted to see him to squirm. In either case, it was done.

It was something he talked about a lot in recovery. The choices he made were in the past. No going back. All he could do now was move forward, one day at a time.

Kyle

Kyle stroked his bottom lip with his thumb. It had started bleeding again. Oliver looked away, his mouth set in a hard line.

Damn Schuyler. Damn him.

He wrapped the towel tighter against his body. The terry cloth dug into his fingers and the skin was starting to burn. He stared at Oliver. And he waited—for something; for anything.

But Oliver just stood there, not looking at him, obviously pissed off but unable—or unwilling—to express his true feelings to Kyle.

And Kyle was goddamn sick of it. "Excuse me," he mumbled, pushing past a frozen Oliver for the door. A hand, firm around his bicep, stopped him.

"Kyle—?" Oliver finally turned, finally looked him in the eyes. Kyle's breath caught in his throat. He hated being this close to Oliver—hated being so close and unable to hold him in his arms, to smooth the worries from his face, to bring him comfort, and love, and peace. It was all an illusion, though. He wasn't sure if he'd ever really done that. And he was sure as hell never gonna get to do it again.

"What?" he croaked out.

Oliver swallowed. "I—I don't want to have to arrest you again." His voice was quiet, laced with something Kyle couldn't quite distinguish. Maybe disappointment, or distrust, or... disgust.

Kyle saw himself in the alley again, shoved toward the dumpster. Nothing more than trash in Oliver's eyes. Something to use and then throw away. Someone else's problem. Worthless.

He closed his eyes, wrenched himself out of Oliver's grip. "Go to hell, Oliver." He let the door slam shut behind him.

He wished he could do the same to his heart.

(...TBC...)