Wrote this for a friend. They know who they are. Enjoy. Don't hate me.

I nodded my head even though the customer couldn't see me doing it, scribbling down whatever crap they were saying. Just an endless stream of stupid complaints that didn't even make sense.

"I'll see what I can do, thank you, ma'am. Have a good day!" I hung up the phone and leaned back in my chair, "I'm sure you'll find it miserable."

"She sounds delightful," Alex said from the desk opposite mine, not even looking up.

"Just the best. I love it when they make it my fault, it's honestly my favourite part," I rolled my eyes.

He laughed and re-tied his hair, leaning back from his own desk, abandoning his typing. I groaned and fidgeted in the seat.

"John, is there something wrong with you?" Alex smirked.

"I've been sat in a chair all day."

Alex pretended to pout, "awh, is your poor little ass hurting?"

"Yeah, it's not as fat as yours," I retorted.

Alex scoffed, "that's brave... for a pussy."

I yawned, "yeah, well I may be a pussy, but at least I'm not a… dollop… head."

Alexander leaned forward on the desk, resting his chin on his elbows, looking amused, "that's not a real word."

"It's idiomatic."

He laughed again, "it's what?"

"You need to be more down with the kids," I crossed his arms over my chest, determined to defend myself.

"Go on then: describe 'dollophead'."

"In two words?" I bit my bottom lip to stop myself laughing.

"Yup."

"Uh, Alexander Hamilton."

Alexander mocked offence and turned back to his work, smiling. We didn't speak for another ten minutes, filling the gap with the sound of old keyboards and the particularly loud backspace. Alex pulled a box out from his top draw.

"Want one?" he offered.

"Depends, what is it?"

"Brioche."

I took it, "fuck, yes! Thanks."

I took a bite and opened a couple of emails. I couldn't wait to go home. Quiet night, food, music, chill time. Few more hours to go. I pushed back my chair and went over to the printer, waiting for the papers. Come on, no time like the present, printer. Great. No paper left.

"Are you kidding me?" I traipsed back to my desk and slumped down, twisting the swivel chair around a couple of times, sulking.

"What's up with you now? Skinny ass again?" Hamilton questioned.

"No paper." I doodled in an old notebook.

He furrowed his brows at me like I was stupid, "get some more, then?"

I huffed, "I don't have the energy."

"You just have to put the paper that's next to the printer into the tray, it's not rocket science."

"Yeah, but then you've got to open the tray and press buttons and I just want to sleep."

He laughed, "you're ridiculous."

"It's part of my charm."

"Oh, for sure."

He went back to his typing. I watched him. It wasn't like I had much else to do. Well, that wasn't true, I had work to do. But still, I watched. Watched him chewing his lip. Watched him pushing his hair out of his face even though he'd just tied it back. Watched him frown when he reread what he'd written. His skin was tanned, darker under his eyes. Did he even sleep? I doubted it. The man lived off of coffee. It was rarity to see him without it. He brushed the same strand of hair back. I wanted to just lean forward and pin it back for him, at least behind his ear. I saw it edge its way further forward, sure it was going to fall in front of his face again. The dark, coffee-coloured hair. Maybe his hair wasn't even naturally that colour. It probably looked that shade because of the amount of coffee he drank. You are what you eat… only it's what he drank. Same went for his eyes. Deep, brown eyes. Shiny and tired most of the time. Okay, all of the time. They were like bottomless pits of coffee, drawing me in. Intoxicating. But not intoxicating like super attractive intoxicating. Just nice to look at. I didn't mind looking at his eyes. They were nice. Very nice. Great. Good eyes. He looked up. Shit, I was staring. Shitshitshit.

"You good, dollophead? Look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm good. Just, feel kinda… headache. I think I'm gonna go home. Shift's basically over anyway." I grabbed my bag from under my desk and stood up, picking whatever was left up hastily, notebooks, pens, stuffing it into the bag. "Later."

"Whoa, wait. You sure you're okay?"

"Uh huh, just need to go home. See you tomorrow."

He nodded, "see you tomorrow."

"Yeah."

I threw the bag over my shoulder and walked down the stairs two at a time, finally letting the air I was holding out of my lungs. It burned, like my chest was alight; like I was being pressed with a thousand hot needles. I walked back to my apartment, tapped the back of my hand as I waited for the elevator to reach my floor. Three. Two. One. I fumbled for my key in my pocket and unlocked the door, dumping my bag on the table and going to the bathroom.

I switched the shower on and stripped, getting in before the water had a chance to warm up. I didn't care. I was too hot anyway. I leaned against the cold tiled wall and closed my eyes, water spraying my chest, bouncing into my face. Breathe, dickhead.

I pressed the sockets of my eyes into my knees, feeling the coolness of them. Few more minutes and you'll be fine. The room was making it difficult to get any air to my lungs, filling with steam from the shower. I turned it off and opened a window. Towel around my waist I wiped my face and squeezed my hair of the water. You didn't wash it, it's gonna get knotted. Later. I'd deal with it later.

I took my Prozac, pulled on some sweatpants and lay on the sofa with a can of beer. I put some classical music on - why not - for background noise. It wasn't late. Too much time to kill. I tried to nap. Didn't work. I finished the can, cracked open another and found a sketchbook to doodle in. That occupied me until I got frustrated. Why couldn't I get that part right? It wasn't round enough. That part wasn't a smooth enough line. It looked crap like that. Erase that half. Erase the other half. Annoyed, I put my things away and sat at the keyboard. Played around with a melody or two. Found my songbook full of sheet music and flipped to a random page. Queen - Love Of My Life. Naturally. Fine. Whatever. I took a swig of the can and cracked my fingers. Read the music and played. Groaned when I hit the wrong key.

I pulled out my phone and dialled her number.

"Jack?" Peggy answered.

"Hey."

"What up?" she asked.

"Nothing. I just- just wanted to talk to you. Hear your voice," I stuttered, grimaced.

"Are you drinking again? Jack, you promised-"

I cut her off, "I'm not drinking, I'm not. Not drinking. Not high. Not anything. Sober. I promise. I promised." Liar. I cringed. She could probably tell.

She sighed heavily through the phone, "what's going on, then?"

"Can you come over?" I asked.

"We're meant to be on a break, John. Time apart."

A car was doing a shit job of parking outside. I watched it reverse and brake and reverse and brake, again and again and again. God, if you looked what you were doing instead of being a fuck up, maybe you'd be able to get the car in the space. It wasn't difficult.

"John!" Peggy shouted, I jumped back.

"What?"

"I thought you'd gone, you weren't answering."

"Sorry, I didn't know you said anything," I mumbled, rubbing my ear. Jesus, she could shout, even through the phone.

"Do you really need me to come over?" she asked.

I nodded. Still can't see you doing that. "Please?"

"M'kay. I'll bring some food. I'm assuming you haven't had anything. See you soon."

She was right. I hadn't. She hung up the phone and I was left pressing random keys on the keyboard, groaning and depressingly tapping my head on it. The tune following my action wasn't pleasant in the slightest. I turned on a few lamps, it looked like a vampire was staying here. Tried to clean up the apartment before she got here. I threw away all the empty cans, took out the trash. Maybe if I was lucky she wouldn't notice that I lived like an animal. I put the music back on, fidgeting with my hands on the sofa waiting for her. She still had her key, she would let herself in. I sat up straighter every time I thought I heard the sound of footsteps outside the door. No, she wouldn't have got here that quick. My stomach twisted when I finally did hear the keys in the lock.

"Jack? Where you at?" she called out.

"In here!" I responded.

She came through to the living room carrying some bags. Take out bags. She set them on the coffee table and left me so she could get some plates from the kitchen. I internally cringed. Had I washed the dishes? From the sigh she gave, I assumed I hadn't. I was perfectly happy to eat from the tupperware. But now she definitely knew I was living like an animal. Pale, yellow silk wrapped around her figure, complementing her features nicely. I was sure that was a new dress. I'd never seen it before. Her hair was tied up in a tight ponytail, straight in comparison to her usual curls.

"I got your usual from the corner, that good with you?"

I nodded, "more than fine, thank you."

She sat next to me and passed me my food, settling with hers. I ate little and slowly, awkwardly. Picked at the food. Not hungry. I felt her casting glances at me every so often. I hated that. Hated her subtle concern.

"So, what's wrong?" she started.

"Nothing. Just, I didn't want to be on my own. That's all."

"Really? Mr 'I don't need anyone'?" she smirked.

"Yes. I didn't want to be on my own." I put the barely eaten food back on the coffee table. "Can I get you a drink?"

She shook her head politely, "no thanks, I'm good. You not hungry?"

"Not really. Sorry. I think I'm getting sick, it's the time of year. You know what I'm like."

"I do. I hope you're looking after yourself."

I scoffed, "always."

"Liar," she laughed.

"Mhm."

She took away the leftovers, put mine in the fridge and threw hers out. Joining me by my keyboard she pulled over a stool and sat down. She asked me to play her something and I obliged, letting her sing along. She had a beautiful voice. I'd always loved that about her. Closed her eyes when she sang, felt the music. I missed another key admiring her talent. It was getting dark outside.

I stopped playing and turned to her, "do you wanna stay over… just for tonight?"

She frowned, cocked her head to the side, "John…"

"Not like that! Just, it's dark, and I don't want you to go out on your own."

"I'm perfectly fine going home on my own, I drove. Will you please tell me why you're being weird?"

"I'm not being weird… please? Stay?" I didn't want to sound desperate, but dammit I was.

She tapped her nails on the top of the keyboard a couple of times in thought. I stretched on the stool. She nodded slowly, like she wasn't sure of her decision, but nevertheless she agreed. I smiled.

"I think you still have some pyjamas here. You can have the bed, I'll sleep on the sofa."

"Don't be stupid. We can both sleep in the bed."

I made us both drinks. For her a milky tea, no sugar. For me coffee with a bit of whisky. I prayed she wouldn't notice. Didn't want her to shout at me, know I was breaking my word. We watched TV for a few hours until she was falling asleep on my shoulder. I nudged her gently, told her she could go to bed. It was close to midnight. I finished my coffee before I followed after her.

Knocking on the door, "are you decent?"

"Yeah. You can come in."

She had changed into some of my sweats, her oversized t-shirt. Sat on the edge of the bed and looking into the mirror, pulling her hair back into braid. She gestured for me to sit in front of her. I did and she started on the mop on my head. Like I'd predicted, knotted and tangled. She tutted at me but proceeded to braid it back as best as she could. I bit back any show of pain. She showed no mercy when doing hair. Never had, never would. One of her charms. I got into bed before her, on my side. She switched the lamp off and got in next to me. Like it was choreographed she nuzzled into my side, one hand on my chest. I kissed her hand, held it near my heart, and let out another difficult breath, not sure why that one was more difficult than the others up until that point. Because fuck you, John, that's why. She was warm to the touch. She always was. Little ray of sunshine.

"Night, Jack," she whispered.

"G'night."

She was out like a light. I watched the dark shapes moving around the room until my eyes grew tired. Squeezed her hand gently before letting my body relax.

"Jack? Are you getting up?"

I woke with my face in a pillow, my hand numb under my own weight. I could smell something cooking, heard the frying pan sizzle. Peggy opened the door holding my favourite coffee cup, leaving it on the bedside table. I tiredly thanked her. Wet ringlets framed her face. Already dressed. She must have showered. I felt groggy. Tired. Moody. Bad day, then.

She sat at the foot of the bed, "don't you have work today?"

I groaned, "I don't wanna go."

"You have to. Bills to pay, remember?"

"No. Not going." I pulled the covers over my head.

I heard her moving around the room, closer to where I was. It felt like she was crouching by the bed next to me. Maybe she was. I didn't have a chance to check before she was lifting the covers away from my face.

"C'mon, get up. I made you breakfast. You'll feel better after that."

"No, I won't. But thanks anyway."

"John, I don't have time to be fucking about. I have to go to work soon. I'll take you if you hurry up."

It wasn't like I had much of a choice. She pulled me by the ankles to the edge of the bed; I yelped in surprise. Clothes were thrown at me and she shut the door, giving me some privacy to change. There wasn't much point in that, I thought, it wasn't as though she'd never seen me dress before. Or undress. Same difference. I begrudgingly pulled my jeans on. They were meant to be skinny jeans but they were too big, or I'd lost weight. Either way I needed a belt. I knelt down to search through the drawers for one, underwear flying everywhere. Couldn't find one,

"Pegs!" I shouted, "have you seen my belt?"

She poked her head through the gap between the door and the frame, "is it not under the shirt I gave you?"

"I… didn't look."

She picked up the shirt and, sure enough, it was there. I shrugged. Why are you so fucking stupid?

"Use you brain next time, hmm?" She threw it at me and I ducked, not great at catching things. "How have you coped without me for the last few months?"

I gestured to myself and my room, "I haven't, obviously."

She left and I threaded the belt through my jeans, fastened the buckle. Left the bedroom in the state it was. I'd fix it later. Probably. Doubt it. Peggy passed me a plate with eggs and toast, couple sausages. I sat at the breakfast bar beside her, willing myself to eat. She slid the coffee pot toward me and I smiled.

She quirked an eyebrow at me, "aren't you forgetting something?"

"I thought I said thank you!" I replied defensively.

"No. Your shirt. Where's your shirt?" She rolled her eyes.

I looked down and sighed, "shit, yeah. You're right. Sorry."

I took a bite of the toast and went back to my room, pulling on the shirt she'd gotten out for me. Just one of my old, burgundy t-shirts. Stretched and too big, but my favourite nonetheless. When I returned to my breakfast, Peggy had disappeared to worry herself over her hair and makeup, I could hear the hairdryer. I ate what little I could and threw away the rest. Took the dishes to the pile of- wait, what happened to the- Peggy. She had washed all of the dishes in the sink and dried them for me. I washed our two plates and put them on the drying rack, drank the rest of my coffee and found my work bag. Checked everything in there, double checking I had my painkillers. You never know when a migraine wants to wreck your day.

After twenty minutes of me doing fuck all, slouching on the sofa, Peggy came out of the bathroom looking like a million bucks and grabbed her keys and bag. I stood up and followed after her, let her lock the door behind us.

She turned her head to me as we waited for the elevator, "do I look okay?"

"You make Aphrodite feel self-conscious," I said with the utmost sincerity.

She smirked and walked into the lift, pulled out her car keys ready. I rolled on my heels, nearly falling when we reached the bottom floor. Peggy caught my arm and near enough dragged me out of the building. Her car always smelt nice. Kinda like tea tree shampoo, but crossed with honey. I didn't know what it was exactly, but I knew I liked it. It was a quick drive, barely ten minutes with traffic.

She rolled down the window to talk to me, "have you taken your meds? Prozac? I left them next to your coffee this morning."

"Yeah," I lied, my face burning. Bad liar.

"Well, when you feel like shit-"

"It's one day, Pegs. It's not a big deal. Thanks for the ride."

She kissed me on the cheek and told me to call her if I needed anything or was struggling again. I told her I would. I probably wouldn't but the thought would put her mind at ease at least.

Elevator out of order. Why, universe? I traipsed up the stairs of the building, dragging my feet along the corridor like a moody toddler. I basically was a moody toddler, only taller and older and with more responsibilities. I opened the door and stopped in my tracks. He was there. Just him. No one else. I could fucking hear my heartbeat. Why was it so loud? Was I dying or something? Christ. It's just Alex. Get over yourself.

"Whoa, you're here on time? Crazy." His voice snapped me out of my- well. I'd say trance, but it was more me standing like a gawking idiot.

"I- uh, yeah. Peggy dropped me off."

"Oh." He sounded disappointed. Cast his eyes back down to his work, dropped his grin.

I walked to the coffee pot and poured myself a cup, one for him, too. His was empty. Even if it wasn't, he'd want another. Why did he sound so disappointed? Did I do something wrong? Was he disappointed to see me? That was probably it. He was used to not seeing me a lot in the day, now he had his peace destroyed. Well done, John. Ruining people's days as always.

"Did you not want me here or something-" I started, passing him his fresh cup.

"No! No, it's not that- it's just- oh, it doesn't matter. It's nothing. Forget it."

I frowned and sat down with my drink, sipping it. It burned my lips, my throat, everything. But I liked it. It felt good. Even though it really, really was too hot. The phone on my desk rang. I huffed and picked it up.

"PD Print, how can I help you?"

It was a lady's voice. I imagined her sat in a big armchair with a big, black wire phone. Probably with a couple cats sat on fancy printed cushions. The kind my grandmother would hit us for touching.

She spoke, "hi, I just wanted to call to see if my business cards were ready for collection yet?"

I held the phone in place with my shoulder and logged into my computer, "uh, I'll check. Can I get a name?"

"Freddie Rice."

I searched the name and scanned through the database.

"Eight hundred business cards for a… uh... Mrs. Frederica Rice?"

She made a sound of confirmation. I told her that they would be ready to collect later in the day and hung up the phone, making a note of it in one of the planners on my desk. The day went on like that. Phone call. Order. Write it down. Design this person's logo. Order those cards for that person. Pick up the phone again. Sketch another person's logo. In the end, only three of us showed up to work. Alex and I being two of them. He left for his lunch break, gone for at least an hour. The other guy left, too. I was on my own. I really didn't like how quiet it was, like I'd gone deaf. I needed the noise. The radio was old, here before I started working. It probably didn't work anymore, but it was worth a shot.

I plugged it in and tried to tune it. Too many buttons and twisty things. Eventually I found some random station. It would do. Anything to fill the silence. I walked aimlessly around the office, looking through the blinds every so often at the street below. It was pretty high up. Would have been a terrible fall. Probably not enough to kill you, but at least enough to make sure you'd never walk again. Enough to screw up your weekend. My chest fluttered again at the sight of a familiar messy bun. Alex. He was carrying a bag and walking up the steps to the building. I ran back to my chair and pretended to be working. Moved things around my desk, tried to make it somewhat tidier. Why are you doing that? What difference does it make? He knows you're a disgusting pig.

"Hey," I greeted him as he sat back down.

He passed me the bag he was carrying, "I got you a muffin."

"You didn't have to do-"

He cut me off, "yeah, but I did do that, so, you're welcome."

I flushed, "thanks."

I bit into it; it was a really good muffin. The lady came to pick up her business cards and I leaned back in my seat, figuring I'd done enough today. Considering I didn't want to come at all. I packed all of my stuff up.

"Going again?" Hamilton asked, looking up.

"Don't sound so happy," I laughed dryly.

He shook his head, "I don't. Hey, anyway. Do you wanna go out this weekend? Just me and a couple of friends. You've met them before."

I hesitated, "uh, not this weekend, man. I'm, uh-"

"Avoiding me and my plans as usual? C'mon, when was the last time you had fun? We used to go out all the time." He tilted his head to the side. Big puppy eyes. Again, he had really nice eyes. It wasn't fair. Kinda beautiful.

"I'm not avoiding you, it's just-"

"Just what? This is like, what, the a millionth time you've refused to go on a night out with me? And you can't use the 'staying sober' card again. No one said you had to drink."

I looked away, "that's not why- look, maybe next time. Okay?"

"Please?"

Damnit Alex. Just drop it. "I'll think about it."

"Call me when you decide?"

"Fine."

He smiled and cracked his knuckles, "success! John Laurens will 'think about it'."

I rubbed my face with one hand, bag swung over my shoulder. I left the office and walked home. It was starting to get cold. I should have brought my coat, or at least an old jacket. My hands were numb, barely able to grip my keys. Shaking as I tried to fit it in the lock. Something told me it wasn't just the cold making it so difficult.

My apartment smelled like her car, like her. Only her light had gone. Her happiness. Her good. Only me left. I dumped my stuff and opened the fridge door; the leftover food was there. Where were all the cans? Shit. I groaned and slammed the door, watched the fridge rock where it stood from the force of it. Maybe I had something else. I checked all the cupboards, rooting through every last hiding place I had in there. Nothing. She must have gotten rid of it all.

I knelt down to one of the drawers in my room, tossing all of the old clothes onto the floor. I sighed in relief when I found the box. I took it to my office, struggled with the lock. Desperate, much? But it was empty. You got rid of it all remember, dumbass? I threw the box on the floor and sank into the chair, head in my palms. I kept seeing Peggy's disappointed face. My family's disappointed faces. Alex's disappointed face. They would all hate me. They probably already did. Just pretending to tolerate me. Sometimes that was worse. I wished they would just tell it me to my face, rather than all the pretending. I was never going to be enough. Never. What was the point in trying? There wasn't a point.

My arms were pressed firmly onto the cool surface of the desk. My fingers pressed into the skin of my forearms, nails biting into the flesh, drawing beads of red to the surface. My whole body was shaking, bones rattling in constant fear, the constant foreboding nature of my mind. Heart was pounding so hard against my ribcage as my pulse pressed outward, jerking the veins within. Worthless. Pathetic. Not good enough. Pointless. Give up. The thoughts were accelerating inside my head. I wanted them to slow down so I could breathe but I knew they wouldn't. My breaths came in gasps. I was gonna pass out. Definitely was gonna pass out. My heart kept going. Faster and faster. Drumming. Hammering. Like it belonged to Peter Rabbit running from Mr. McGregor. The room was spinning and I got off the chair, sinking down to the floor, trying to make things slow down. Give my body a chance to cope. I felt sick. The dread feasting away at my vulnerability in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to call someone, but the phone was too far away, it was too far away, too far away. I didn't know who to call- what number- who to call- They wouldn't pick up. Don't care about you. Why should they? You're just a pathetic, worthless pussy. Stupid. Maybe if you weren't such a fuck up, maybe if you were like all the other kids, maybe if you were like your brothers, dated the girls, played the sports, maybe then dad would- stop! Just stop! Stop thinking. Shut up. Stop stop stop.

I was in a ball on the floor, didn't want to move. World was too much. Didn't want to be in it right now. Shut my eyes tight. Counted in my head. Tried to distract the endless streams of insults. Were they insults if they were true? No, stop, count. Breathe. One. Two. Three. Hold. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Out. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Breathe. Again and again and again and again. My ear started ringing. I gripped my head in my arms, brought my knees up tighter into the ball. Go away. Stop it. Enough. No more. Enough. Cold. Really cold. Dark. Nothing.

Louis' house was on the other side of the city. I stuffed some money in my pocket and got a cab. Francis answered the door. I wasn't surprised. Louis never answered the door. Francis was only in a vest and jeans, despite it being almost winter, and dopily grinned at me. Definitely high. Nothing new there.

"Hey, come in, Louis is inside."

I stepped into the hallway, threw my jacket over one of the coat hooks on the wall. I hadn't been here in months, I only really spoke to Louis when I was desperate. We'd been friends in high school, drifted apart.

Francis pulled me into a hug, catching me off guard. I tensed, didn't try to stop him. He slapped my ass and guided me into the living room with his hand at the small of my back. This was a mistake. You shouldn't have come, you promised you wouldn't. Louis was lying on the sofa with a glass of water on a table by his head and a hand over his face, blocking the sunlight. I laughed. Not sure if I found it funny or was just plain nervous. Probably both. Why wouldn't he just shut the blinds? I stepped closer and took in the faint smell of beer off my old friend.

"Rough night?" I smirked.

He groaned in response and forced himself to sit up, raising a hand, gesturing for me to sit down. I shrugged and collapsed down on the sofa next to him. Francis balanced himself on the arm of a chair, bouncing his knee giddily.

Louis rubbed his forehead, his eyes were bloodshot and his shoulders drooping. "Good to see you, man. Long time no see. Where've you been?"

I cast nervous glances around the room. Really shouldn't have come. "Just around. I've been busy."

I felt both of their eyes on me. Could tell my face was getting hot, growing redder and redder. I watched Louis pull himself to his feet, rifle through pockets for a moment before grinning widely. I knew that look.

"Yes!" He pulled out two joints, relatively thin ones, rolled well. "Want some?"

Francis laughed, reached out and took one. I hesitated, stared at it. Really shouldn't. You promised. You'd already broken that promise. No need to make worse what was already a fucking disaster. But it was partly why I was there to begin with. I shook my head, furrowing my brows as though not sure with myself. I never was these days.

"I'm okay, thanks. I'll take a beer, though."

Francis flopped onto the rug on the floor and cupped a hand around the joint in his mouth and lit it carefully. Watched me. I hated the way he was looking at me. Calculating.

Louis shrugged and rubbed at his eyes, "more for me."

He disappeared into the kitchen and passed me a pint glass. It didn't look right. I smelt it. "This isn't beer, Lou. It's whisky"

"Is it? Whoops. Hold on, I'll get you a smaller glass. You'll look like you're some dangerous mafia dude and then-" he trailed off laughing at himself, went to get me a smaller glass. I decided it was pointless arguing with him. Nevermind the beer.

Francis sat up, knelt in front of me. Took a long drag and blew it in my face. I shut my eyes, pretended he wasn't there. Maybe I hadn't come here and it was all a stupid nightmare. I felt his hands on my knees and opened my eyes. Tensed every muscle inside of me. Here we go.

I looked down at him, "what are you doing?"

He laughed again, stood up and sat in my lap. My face was really burning. You're so stupid, John. When will you learn? He turned and straddled me so that his face was inches from mine. I gasped in shock, uncomfortable. He'd palmed at my crotch through my jeans. I refused to make eye contact. Could tell I was playing into what he liked. I couldn't help it. He liked to be in control; I was easy prey. Couldn't say no. Weak. Pathetic. I sat still, didn't move. Kept my eyes focus away from him. I could smell the weed on his breath.

"What's wrong, Johnny? Don't you want some?" He brushed some hair out of my face. "You used to be fun. We used to have lots of fun, remember?"

I pressed myself further back into the sofa in an attempt to get away from him. "I grew up, Fran. Don't you think it's time you did, too?"

He giggled, "if you're so 'grown up', why are you here? Ooh, I know, is it because you realised you really missed me and my cute little ass? Man, that was a really great-"

I scowled at him, pushed him back, "that was a one off. It meant nothing. I'm not- I'm not like that. Like you."

He climbed off of my lap and fell next to me, blew smoke in my face. "Gay? Sure you're not. But don't pretend you didn't love every second of it."

Louis came back with the small glass and poured some of the whisky into it. He held out his joint to me, "you seem stressed, man, have some. Just this once. Like old times."

I begrudgingly accepted it, held it between my lips and took a long drag. Every second I spent around Francis made my anxiety spike enormously. I tried so hard to impress him and simultaneously not to care what he thought. It was fucking exhausting. It had been since I met the fucker.

"That's more like you, John," Francis laughed, taking multiple consecutive puffs and holding the smoke in his throat for a few moments before exhaling. Louis stood up and threw open a window.

We passed the joints around until they were smoked down to the roach. I lay on the sofa, head on someone's lap - I didn't really notice whose - staring at the wall. I hadn't done this in a long time. Not since I was in a really bad place months ago, a year at most. I couldn't handle everything: Peggy, my dad, how utterly lost I was. Francis had told me this would help, and of course I listened to him, the idiot I was.

About five minutes later, when I started to feel my eyelids getting heavy and my concentration shifting from one thing to the next every other second, I didn't freak out like I did when I'd done this first. I stretched and sat up, crossed my legs and watched Francis, lying on the sofa - it must have been his lap I was lying on.

"Where'd you get your stuff, Louis?" I asked, trying not to let laughter creep into my voice.

He took a few seconds to respond and I started to laugh to myself, pushing hair out of my face. Whoa, I had so much fucking hair. Where did it come from? It never ended.

"A friend,, I'll hook you up if you want."

Francis nudged me in the ribs playfully, "yeah, the poor kid needs to relax a little. So tense all the time."

I shook my head, "I'm good, Lou."

We all fell silent, I played with my hair where it rested beside my cheek on the cushion, vaguely aware of Francis watching me, a small smile on his lips.

"It's grown a lot- what are you laughing at?"

My lips were sealed together tightly to hold back laughter and I shook my head, biting my lip.

"No, I- nothing," I grinned, rolling onto my side and watching Francis intently. Up until a few months ago, I pictured his face a lot, at night when I couldn't sleep, almost every time I saw Louis. We were close now, Francis and I. If I were to shift forward a little, our noses would touch.

He pushed some of my hair behind my ear, "when did you last get drunk, have a good time?"

I frowned, not wanting to delve into the whole 'staying sober' situation that I was clearly doing so well with. "Getting drunk isn't always fun," I hesitated, "you might get really sick."

Francis sighed, "but you're so boring now."

I opened my mouth to respond but paused, holding my forehead with wide eyes.

"What?" Fran was laughing at me, looking amused at my apparent suffering.

I shook my head, my eyes wide, "the entire room just spun, man. Ay, what the fuck?"

Louis burst into laughter beside us and I joined in, rolling onto my stomach and burying my face in Francis' lap. I felt light-headed, but my eyelids were heavy and my muscles relaxed. Pleasantly drowsy. Francis sat up and raised his hand to his mouth, as though to take another drag from the joint, only to remember it had been smoked.

"Louis, you got any more shit?"

He patted his pockets down and frowned, "nah, I don't think so. I have crack, though?"

I sat up, gripped the edge of the sofa. Francis smiled at me and pulled me closer to him by the waist. I tried to wriggle away but couldn't. Too tired. Sleepy. My head fell onto his shoulder.

Fran shrugged, "why not?"

Louis cast me a nervous glance, knowing I didn't think it was a good idea. "I can see if there's any more weed. I might have some of that instead."

He disappeared. Francis laughed and rubbed my arm up and down. He was almost a complete contrast to Hamilton in looks. Where Alex was sharp and messy, Francis was long and graceful. Alex was all browns and black, eyes like freshly brewed coffee and hair that became indistinguishable against the sky after sundown. Deep and pure. Hopeful. He was assembled with sharp elbows and knees, giving him an almost childlike, but definitely athletic appearance.

Francis had skin like the inside of a peach with pink palms and elbows. His eyes were silver and hard, cruel, only crinkling to warm grey when something was particularly amusing, and only in front of a rare few, so that anyone who received it felt graced by something normally given away so easily by others. It was a little trick of his, to withhold such basic things like hugs and laughter, only to make them seem more loaded and precious when he gave them.

Louis re-entered the room and I started. He was holding a bag and some rolling papers and tossed them at Francis. "Roll them yourself."

Francis furrowed his brows, "this isn't crack."

Louis rolled his eyes, "we decided against that, remember?"

He burst into a fit of giggles, "oh, ha! Yeah, yeah we did. 'Cause Johnny's a pussy. Bless."

An hour later, I felt like I was made of cement. My eyes were heavy and my concentration darted back and forth between ideas, unable to stay on one thing long enough. My vision was warped and seemed disconnected from my body, as though my eyes were somewhere else in the room entirely. I was vaguely aware of Francis' arm around me, and later that my head was resting on something soft, a lap or a stomach.

"Fran, man, this is fucking-"

Louis started to laugh beside us, smacking the floor with his hand, "do you- do you know what you guys should- you should do a shotgun."

Francis joined in, holding his sides as though in pain and gasping in steadying breaths, unable to stop his laughter.

"What's a shotgun?" I asked, looking between them, bewildered.

Francis' mouth stretched back into a grin and it seemed to take him a huge effort not to burst into violent fits of laughter again. He beckoned for Louis to pass him the joint and motioned for me to move closer.

"Open your mouth," he instructed me sharply, placing the joint between his lips and taking a long hit. He held the smoke in his mouth and then, as Louis watched - half-laughing, half-looking sorry for me - grinning, Francis grabbed the back of my head, forced his lips on mine and breathed the smoke into my mouth.

I pulled back sharply, coughing on the smoke and blinking in surprise. Shock. Francis started laughing. I merely sat there, face burning more than ever. Francis laughed and crooned pityingly, taking a hit and touching my jaw with a gentle hand. I couldn't move. Just let everything around me happen. Faded away. Part of it physically, not mentally there. He prodded my lip with his thumb, opened my mouth. Francis breathed the smoke past my lips.

We must have smoked the rest of the weed over the next hour or so. I was hardly able to do more than lie on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling and watch strange shadows flit across my vision. I thought I'd had too much. I had been so sure getting as high as I could would have helped calm everything down. Help me relax. But now, when I sat up, the world swam and Louis and Francis' voices were distorted. Was that the high or just me going again? When Francis breathed another hit into my mouth, I didn't even inhale, I was too lost in swirling smoke and warbling sounds that seemed to reach me through a barrier of water.

I must have passed out after a while, because when I came around, a blanket thrown over me, it was dark out. I was aware of someone else pressed up beside me, trapping me against the couch. Francis' hair gleamed in the light of the streetlamp outside and fluttered gently when he breathed.

I groaned and pressed a hand to my forehead, my skull felt like it was going to split open. I couldn't go home on my own like this, it was late. I couldn't even think straight. But I didn't want to stay here. No way. Never again.

I dug my hand into my pocket and pulled out my phone, wincing as it turned on to full brightness. It was almost midnight. I'd turned it off until now. Hadn't been on it in weeks. I had- shit, so many missed calls and messages. Peggy. Work. Alex. The most from the latter, surprisingly to me. I wriggled my way off of the sofa without disturbing the other two and grabbed my jacket, throwing it around me and moved to leave. But then I saw the crack on the table. I shook my head. No more. Really no more. You worked so hard. No. My hand was violently shaking by my side at the temptation. The craving. I bit into my knuckle and took one or two of the small bags, stuffed into my pocket. Left. Shut the door carefully behind me. The light from the corridor hurt my eyes, they were stinging with tears. I alluded to myself that it was because of the light and weed that tears were trickling down my face. I leaned against a wall and sat down, spinning my phone around between my fingers. It started buzzing. Alex. I sent it straight to voicemail.

The tears came stronger, more powerful. Like I'd unlocked some kind of endless flow, too tired to fight against it. My body shook with each sob, shivering in the cold. I wiped my nose on my sleeve and stood up, dragged myself around the streets for what felt like hours, found myself sat outside a bar not far from my apartment, shaking on the ground. I leaned my head back and rubbed at my face. I watched people walk past me like I wasn't even there. I wished I wasn't. Felt dizzy. They think you're just a junkie looking for some cash, looking for the next fix. A wasted life. Worthless piece of shit. I pulled a small bag of the shit I'd sworn against from my pocket and fiddled with it between my hands, both of which tremoring, quivering like a frightened child. I pulled my knees to my chest and pulled the jacket tighter around my shoulders. The cement I was sat on was freezing. I let out another sob, disconnecting with everything else around me. My only thoughts were on the contents of the bag and what everyone was going to think of me when they found out I was even considering it. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly and tried to think. Logically. Think clearly. But if I thought clearly, I would think of everything else I wanted to forget. What was worse?

"John!"

Shit. I started at the sound of my name, stuffed the packet up my sleeve and looked up. Those oh so familiar pools of brown were looking down at me. I caught Alex's eyes once and couldn't again. He'd seen. I could tell he was disappointed in me, and I couldn't bare to see that look in his eyes. He crouched down in front of me, reached out a hand. I flinched, pressed back against the wall. I'd fallen off the wagon again. He would hate me for it. I was disgusting. Sleepy. So fucking sleepy. I was crying again, bit down on my hand to stop from crying out. From screaming.

"Please, give it to me?" he asked softly, like talking to a child. I was acting like a child. I could hear it in the way he spoke, his tone. Disappointed. Disappointed. Disappointed.

I breathed in short gasps. The cold was really getting to me by now. Maybe if I was lucky I'd freeze to death and not have to explain myself. I pulled the stuff from my sleeve and hesitantly put it into the palm of his hand. I watched him put it into his inside pocket. I pressed the sockets of my eyes into my knees, rocked a little forwards and back, reciting old, forgotten prayers in my head. I was too aware of his presence there.

"C'mon. You'll feel better inside." He had a hand on my shoulder. I didn't have the energy left to shake it off.

He helped me get up, I was weak on my feet. Barely able to stand on my own. He was slightly taller than me, could support my weight easily. Every step felt like Hell. Drifting in and out of reality. One minute I was out on the cold street, walking slowly with Alex's arm keeping my upright, the next I blinked and I was sat in an unfamiliar room. An apartment. A sofa. I was lying down. He had his back to me, pouring two mugs of coffee, his hair braided back. I hadn't noticed that before. My face felt sticky with a salty mixture of tears and sweat. My hair was matted. Smelt of weed and vomit. Had I been sick? I didn't remember.

"Hey," he gave me a small smile, put the mug on the coffee table.

I croaked, "h-hi."

He looked like he had a lot to say. I was waiting for the shouting to start. For him to tell me the hundreds of reasons I wasn't good enough, and how I'd let everyone down and I was pathetic and weak. But he didn't need to. I could tell. Instead he crouched down in front of me and moved my hair out of my face. Just like Francis had done. I hated the correlation. They were completely different. Alex was so much better. So much kinder.

He frowned at me, "we'll talk later. Do you want to take a shower?"

I nodded slowly. I didn't really want to talk, but I did want to shower.

"Borrow some of my sweats. You can stay here tonight," he offered.

I shook my head, "no, that- that's not-"

"Please? I'll just worry about you if you don't."

I reluctantly accepted the offer and let him help me to the bathroom, watched him mess around with the shower and bring me sweats. They would drown me now. Maybe a few months ago they wouldn't have done. But now they would. The water was warm. Steamed up the room quickly. I let the water spray into my face. Head tilted back, back against the cool, tiled wall. I scrubbed viciously at my hair, trying to get rid of the smell. Washed the dried drool from my cheek. The steam was thick on the glass walls of the shower and I couldn't help feel as though I was trapped in some chamber, like an exhibit in a museum. Here we have a specimen of the rare species: the fuck up. They are found alone and usually break down pretty easily when put under the slightest pressure. Avoid this creature at all costs. It'll only be a burden on your life. A pathetic thing that should be cast aside.

My skin was pink with the sheer heat of the water and the confusion of everything in and around me. I could still feel the drug in me, feasting away with no mercy. I knew so many who thought of it as their equivalent of a God. Dependant on it. But it wasn't a God. It was a parasite, feeding on memories of love and loss and birth and death and joy and sorrow. Swallowing everything that made them who they were until nothing remained but an empty shell doing the only thing they knew what to do: going back to their 'God' and bowing down to their temptation. It wasn't they, it was we. It was me.

My eyelids were heavy, and my head hurt, inside my skull was thick and soupy, almost as though my thoughts were wading through strong currents. One word stood out clear. A word that had haunted me since I was a kid, hiding in my room at night, so fucking terrified of its consequences. Francis had used it so freely. He'd flirted, kissed me shamelessly, touched and teased me. I remembered it through a smoky haze, or was that actual smoke? I couldn't make sense of it. I thought I'd buried everything. I'd gotten help, I'd found the right meds, seen people, gone to groups, found new outlets, stopped acting out, got a girl. Had a girl. What was it all for? Me to fuck everything up again?

I stepped out and dried. Pulled on the sweats. I was right, they drowned me. Alex had given me a dressing gown, too. It was big and fluffy. I wrapped it around me tight and put the wet towels on the radiator to dry. I hesitated with the door handle, inhaled deeply and opened it. Alex had the cup to his lips but wasn't drinking the coffee. He appeared to be staring into space. He had his thinking face on. Normally I would sit, having admiration for that look. Now, I had dread. He was thinking about what to say to me, processing all of it.

He turned and smiled at me when I got closer, gestured for me to sit down. I did so, brought my legs up, hugged them.

"Feel any better, dollophead?" he asked.

I shrugged, "I'm just tired."

Alex's eyes were scanning over me, it made me self-conscious. I felt small and vulnerable. I didn't like to feel like that, especially not around him.

Fucking silence. Couldn't stand it. "I know that you hate me, but-"

He frowned, "hey, hey, no. I don't hate- I couldn't hate you. I'm just- I was really worried about you."

"I'm sorry," I breathed, trying not to cry like the pussy I was again.

"You don't need to be sorry. Where've you been? You kinda just… disappeared on us all."

I picked at a stray thread on the dressing gown, twisting it around my finger. "I didn't- I didn't want to face- face any of you. So I've been at home, I've been there whole time up- up until tonight, or last night. Or whatever."

"What happened?" he asked so gently. I wiped my face with my palms.

I shut my eyes, still couldn't look at him, burst into a rambling mess, cheeks dripping with tears before I'd even begun. "I went to some old friends from school. And- and I- I got- I went really bad and I knew that it- knew I shouldn't have gone, but- but I did and then we- I got- there was weed. Nothing else. But I- I refused it. I promise. At first I did. But then- I had a drink, and being with them, it- it brought back so much, and I- I wanted to relax, too much going on, I wanted to relax. But we thought we ran out of- my old… friend, he asked if there was- if there was any more. I'm not sure, and then- then crack was brought into it, and I pan- I panicked. So we found more weed, not- not crack. But I took some. And then- then you found me."

He hadn't interrupted me once. Sat and listened carefully, his face betraying no emotion. I didn't know what to think. I stood up, shaking again. Enough with the shaking. It's pitiful. "But- but maybe you shouldn't have. Because then maybe I'd- maybe I would have finally- finally OD'd- not wake up this- this time and I wouldn't have to- wouldn't have to…"

I couldn't finish the sentence. I was breathing too fast, choking on my own breath, sobbing so violently it hurt. He was quick towards me, enveloping his arms around me tightly, even as I tried to fight it. I sank to the floor; he went down with me. Holding me by the waist and rocking us gently on the floor. He smoothed my hair back, let me cry into his chest, no doubt staining his shirt. Kept whispering, "it's okay, it's all gonna be okay, I'm here, you're okay."

Eventually the convulsions slowed, became less frequent, muscles relaxed. Alex still held me, hands rubbing circles on my back. Asked me if I wanted anything to eat. Shook my head. If I wanted something to drink. Shook my head. He sighed and stayed with me on the floor.

"What's got you so worked up recently?" he said quietly and cautiously. The way he was saying everything was so out of his usual character, yet more like him than I'd ever realised.

I shook my head, closed my eyes. No more thinking. No more talking. He pulled back a little away from me.

"Bed? You can have mine tonight."

I leaned on the door frame as he made the bed up, brought me a glass of water. He hung the dressing gown I was wearing up on the back of the door as I climbed into the bed. The mattress was soft, inviting. Covers warm. He moved to leave.

"Wait!"

He turned on the spot in an instant, "what? What is it?"

"Please, stay. Please? Don't- don't leave me."

He nodded, smiled reassuringly. He turned the lamps off and climbed into the bed next to me. Ordinarily, my heart would be racing so damn fast at his presence so close to me, so intimately. But it had already run a marathon or two today. All the energy I had had plummeted, hit rock bottom. I leaned into his warmth, felt more relaxed when his arm wrapped around my waist, acting as my lifeline. I squeezed the pillow under my head until my eyes drooped again, too heavy to keep open; I twisted a strand of my hair around my finger until I could fall asleep, watched as the darkness grew deeper, casting itself across my mind.

Could hear something beeping in the background, sharp, mechanical, piercing. Too loud. Slowly speeding up. Could feel the panic seizing every muscle, entire body flooded with dread. Faster. More irregular. Frantic. Bright lights. Blinking machines. I jolted awake, sweat beading on my brow, gasping for breath. The blinds were shut so that the room was engulfed in a grey tinted shade. I wasn't at the hospital. I was- where was I? Somewhere. Not the hospital. I flinched when something touched my arm, someone. Dark hair, dark eyes. Kind. Alex. Not a nurse. Alex.

"Hey, hey, you're alright. You're safe," he cooed, putting his phone down.

I coughed, choking on the- I didn't know what I was choking on. My throat burned, each cough felt like razors scratching through me from the inside out. Alex rubbed my back until I stopped.

"Here, have some water." He stretched over and gave me the glass.

I sipped at it slowly, feeling its soothing coolness run down my throat, through my system. He got out of the bed and lifted one of the blinds, streaming in the light. I turned away from its painful glare, sipped more of the drink. He sighed and picked up his jeans from the floor, started to pull them on. I hadn't even noticed he had them off. I was all too aware of it now. He didn't have a fat ass, like I told him. It was small, but round, perky. Thighs were muscled, golden brown, even in the poor lighting. He had a small birthmark on the underside of his knee, a small oval shape. It was gone in an instant, his legs covered in dark navy denim. A coffee stain on his left side. He checked his phone.

"We've gotta go," he said.

I frowned, heart skipping a beat. Where did we have to go? He wasn't taking me somewhere again, was he? Because I didn't want to go back. I didn't need to. I was going to get better. I was. On my own. I didn't need help.

He caught the look on my face, "work. Come to work."

"I don't- I'm not…" I scratched the back of my neck, trying to think. "I can't work like this."

He smiled, "you don't have to work. Just come to work. Sit in. I don't want to leave you on your own."

"I'd be fine."

"Yeah, you probably would be, but I wouldn't. I'd be worrying about you all day. Just, please?"

"But my clothes stink of- and I'll just get on everyone's nerves."

He shook his head, "I washed your clothes, they're in the dryer. Probably done now, I'll check."

"Th-thanks."

Dressing proved to be more difficult than I'd anticipated. My muscles ached, every single one. It felt like a twenty minute workout just to step into the legs of my jeans. Everything was going so painstakingly slowly in comparison to the night before. But then I'd wanted everything to slow down. Never satisfied. Selfish piece of shit. I left my hair as it was, knotted, clinging to the sides of my face. I looked like Mufasa… post-stampede.

I didn't know Alex had a car. The glove box snapped shut after he put something in it. Lighter and cigarettes. I thought that was what I could smell. Coffee and cigarettes. That was his car smell. His apartment smell. He thought I hadn't caught him doing it, hiding everything for my sake. I pretended I didn't notice. But I appreciated it. Again, it was a quick drive. I hadn't realised how close together we lived. The only time I'd been to his place was after a night-out. I couldn't remember most of it. Broken images, frozen fragments, snapshots scattered across the floor of my mind. I remembered there being a few people there. His friends. We watched a game. Maybe? Or was it a movie? It didn't matter.

We walked up the stairs together. I had my hood up, the lights in the building were really bright. I sat, twisting around in the office chair at my desk. Piled with work, papers, notes. Everything I'd abandoned. I grieved for the person I used to be, or at least the person I'd pretended to be. The fun one, the happy one. The guilt was gasoline sitting in the deepest pits of my guts. My insides died slowly in the toxic atmosphere, needing no more than the tiniest spark to set it ablaze. But I'd lost the spark. Now the gasoline sat as my impending demise. I was frozen within, stuck in the cycle. Guilt frozen like ice, melting point too high. I couldn't melt it on my own. I couldn't shift from the pain at all.

I wanted to be perfect, it killed me that I wasn't. Never good enough. Ever since I was a kid. Raised to follow His word, choose the faithful path and lead a sinless life. Religious brainwash since birth. I didn't even believe any of that shit anymore. Why did it still affect me?

And there was Alex. Typing quicker than I had ever seen him before. He'd routed all my calls through to his phone, was doing all my work. That was shitty of me. He had enough on his plate without having to deal with your mess. I had never known anyone to be so kind to me. Cared for me. There was Peggy, but it felt different. It wasn't the same. My skin tingled where he touched me and my heart beat erratically in my chest. And it wasn't just my fucked up mind giving me palpitations, it had happened once before even after I'd taken my meds. It was something else, not the anxiety. Different kind of drumming. There were butterflies - no, lions - in my chest, but I liked it. It wasn't bad. It was- shit.

I felt my cheeks flush hot, and my stomach was heavy. Heart pounding again in my throat, threatening to break out. That… that was the anxiety. The dread. I knew that one. My eyes wandered around the room, it was spinning, lights fading dim and bright. Was that really happening or was it in my head?

"You alright?" he asked me. It sounded warped.

I couldn't find my voice. I just nodded and shut my eyes, held my head in my hands, leaning on the desk. The clock was ticking. Tick. Tick. I was waiting for the boom. For the bomb to go off. Overwhelmed with realisation. I pushed back the chair and stood up.

"I'll- one minute. Back in a minute," I stuttered, wincing as I spoke.

He nodded in acknowledgement. I turned on the spot and walked to the bathroom, splashed my face with water and locked myself in one of the stalls. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, hovered my thumb over the contact. I bit down my apprehension and pressed it. She picked up almost immediately.

"Jack! Jesus, are you okay?" She was still so loud.

I grimaced, "I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine. You weren't home yesterday. I came to check and you weren't-"

I cut her off, "I have to- I have to tell you something."

"John, what's wrong?"

I stared at the stall door, didn't answer. Wasn't sure I could answer. I hadn't thought this through enough.

She spoke again, "something's been wrong for a long time now. Maybe if you say it quickly? Say it."

"I- I've been thinking about it a lot. And- and the important thing is that I love you. Don't doubt that. I love you, love you so much. You're my best friend. It's just- I have to. Pegs, I think I'm- fuck, I'm g-"

I bit my lip. I couldn't say it. The word was frozen in the darkest part of my childhood. Locked away, strictly forbidden. I heard her sniff. Was she crying?

"You're gay?"

I hiccuped, sobbing. She took that as the answer. I held my temple, rested my elbow on my knee. There was a long silence.

She continued, "I- I think I've known for a while now. I love you, Jack. I'm proud of you. You're my- my best friend, too. Is this why you've been so upset?"

"You're not- not mad?"

"I could never be mad at you for that, love. You think I care for you so little that that would make me mad?"

I shrugged, wiped my nose and stood up, "I dunno."

I had a flash of panic stepping out of the stall, paranoid I hadn't checked to see if anyone else was in the bathroom, if anyone had overheard. But no one had. I was alone. No one but my reflection to torment me.

"How about we meet up for a coffee? We can talk properly then. Do you want me to come over today?" she suggested.

I leaned on the sink, "that would be nice. I miss you."

"Me, too. I was so worried. I thought maybe you might have- well, I don't know what I thought."

"It was- I was pretty bad. Weak. I let you down. I'm sorry."

She sighed sympathetically, "you haven't let me down. I'm just glad you're safe now."

I turned around and watched my reflection in the mirror. Skinny. Clothes too baggy. Sunken face. Pale. Pitiful. "Listen, I've gotta go. But you'll come see me after work?"

"I will. I'll bring some hot cocoa and we can have a movie night. How does that sound?"

"Sounds perfect."

We said our goodbyes and I cleaned myself up, washed my face clear. Alex was pouring coffee when I re-entered the office. Held up my empty mug, asking if I wanted a refill. I smiled weakly, nodded. It was as though the cloud over me had parted, though simultaneously as though I still had a huge weight pressuring me down. I'd confessed; I still felt the guilt. The fear. I only had one foot out of the cage I'd built for myself. We sat back down, he carried on with his - and my own - work. I drummed my fingers on a blank page of a notebook.

"Alex?" I started.

He hummed, typing, lifted his head, "yeah?"

"What did you do with the- you know?"

The typing stopped, he leaned back in his chair to look at me properly. His face betrayed nothing, stoic. He looked serious; I missed his playful gaiety. But then, it was my fault he'd lost that right now. "I got rid of it. I couldn't watch you do that to yourself again, I had to be sure you wouldn't."

"Thank you. For everything. I know I've been a dick."

"I'm your friend. It's my job to look out for you when you're being a dick." He smirked, kicked me playfully under the desk.

That's what I'd missed.

"So, have you figured out what you're doing tonight? You can stay at mine again if you want."

"That's alright. I'm gonna go home tonight. Peggy's coming over so we can talk."

He nodded, looked down, "okay, cool. She was probably really worried."

I bit my lip, "but could you- maybe- I don't know. Please could you maybe walk me home and stay with me 'till then? It's just that- it's stupid, it's just, I'm not sure I trust myself… to be on my own, that is."

I expected him to refuse. I mean, it was selfish of me to ask. He'd done enough. More than enough. Way more than enough. He picked up his drink and downed it.

"Finish your coffee and I'll finish up here. I'll stay with you." He picked up a pen and started jotting a few things down.

Why was he so nice to me? I couldn't recall ever doing anything nice for him. I felt giddy. Better. Far better in comparison to the previous night. The coffee was strong, reminded me of his eyes every time I looked down to drink from it. Almost the exact same colour. Only Alex had flakes of gold. I'd noticed that watching him work. If those damned bright lights were good for anything, it was highlighting him, enhancing his features. Especially once the sun had begun its descent, the golden rays made his skin more and more beautiful.

"Ready?" he asked, logging off his computer and picking up his bag.

I stood up, walked two steps in front of him. I wasn't so sure that Alex had ever been to my apartment. Not that I could remember at least. He picked up the pace to keep up with me. We reached the lobby and- for fuck's sake! Elevators out of order. Those ones too? Why the fuck, universe, do you insist on screwing me over? I lived on the tenth floor. That was a lot of stairs. I threw my head back and groaned.

"Why does the universe hate me?" I muttered.

Alex laughed and clapped me on the back, "I'll race you."

"No, no, that's not fair. You'll win."

"That's true. I have calves of fucking steel."

That was true, I thought to myself. Face burned at the thought. I really wasn't used to this. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. Maybe I was better the way I was. Define: better - idiot. Because you were definitely the opposite. He climbed the stairs much quicker than I did, waited for me at the top of each floor. I dragged myself up the steps painstakingly slowly. My muscles were still aching from the night before. He held out his hand and pulled me up the last step onto my floor. My skin tingled under his touch, sent sparks channeling through my bloodstream. I cleared my throat and patted myself down for my keys. Found something. I reached my hand into the inside pocket. It felt like there was a lump in my throat. I'd forgot I had two bags of it. Face dropped.

Alex brought his brows together, "what is it?"

I looked over my shoulder, paranoid. I unlocked the door of my apartment, he followed inside. Shut the door behind me. Making up my mind I pulled him aside and took my jacket off, grabbed the packet. I thrust it into his palm, didn't want to give myself time to be tempted.

"Can you- will you deal with this for me, please? I can't-"

"Wait here. Sit down. I'll be back in a minute," he grimaced.

He left me alone in my apartment. It was a shithole. Pig sty. Empty pizza boxes littered around it. Empty cans, empty bottles. Thick stench of weed. I was surprised no one had called the cops on me yet. It was awful. I stacked all the boxes and put them on the counter. Threw all the bottles and cans to another side of the counter. I'd deal with it all later. At least it was out of the way. I searched through the cupboard under the sink in the bathroom. Bleach, soap, shampoo, conditioners, anti-frizz. Where- aha! Air freshener. I grabbed the bottle and sprayed my entire home, tried to get rid of the smell, cracked open a window to let fresh air in.

The door creaked open and he stepped back in, shrugged. "Sorted it."

"Thanks. You've been- why have you been so good about… all this?"

He smiled, "I told you. You're my friend."

We both sat on the sofa. The lamp on the side table was the only lighting in the room, blinds shut, main lights off. We'd been sitting in silence, leaning on each other. I kept fidgeting, probably drove him insane. I couldn't keep still. Too anxious.

"Alex?"

"Mhm?"

"Are you mad at me?" I asked. "I mean, about everything."

"No." He shook his head, rested his chin on top of my head. "I'm just sad you didn't think you could talk to me about it. It's me who failed you there. I'm mad at myself. I've been where you're at, obviously different circumstances, but same concept. Been as low. I should have been there for you."

"What did you do, when you were like that?"

He clicked his tongue in thought, "well, I guess I surrounded myself in friends. Real friends. They helped." He craned his neck down to look at me. "You look like you could use a friend."

I moved my head closer to his. Leaned in so that my forehead rested against his. We closed our eyes. Both our breaths were shaking.

"Thank you," I said in barely more than a whisper, only audible to him.

"For what?" he replied, his voice low and husky.

"For helping me. Being you." My voice wavered, exhilarated from the emotion and tension I'd been holding in all this time.

I opened my eyes at the same time as him. He looked down at my mouth, only for a moment. I thought I must have imagined it. I gently leaned in and kissed his warm lips. We pulled apart and took shaky, shallow breaths. I didn't know what to think. I felt ashamed. Scared. Worried. Excited? Lustful? But what did Alex think?

He stared at me, stoic as ever. Then he was cupping my cheek, pulling me back to him, meeting me halfway. His lips brushed mine, not innocently, like a tease but hot, fiery, passionate and demanding. A voice in the back of my head told me to pull away. My senses had been seduced and I couldn't think straight. Defenseless. I smiled against him, my heart fluttering as I clasped my hands on either side of his face. My brain was on fire and the warmth spread throughout my entire body. It was like I'd found a new addiction, gasping for more each time we pulled away to breathe. It was my salvation and torment.

I hesitantly looked up at him. The swirls of emotion I saw there made me suppress a gasp in surprise. Lust and desire.

"I- I like you, Alex," I admitted, the weight from my chest had lifted.

"John, I like you a lot."

He brushed my bottom lip with his thumb, moved to lean in again. The sound of the keys in the lock made us both jump. We put a space between us, like two teenagers caught out by their parents. Peggy appeared in the living room a moment later, balancing a bag of sugary snacks and two cups of cocoa.

"Oh, hi. Sorry, I didn't realise that you had any company. I would have got another drink."

Alex put his hand up, a faint red hue in his cheeks. "Oh, no. That's fine. I'll be going now." He turned to me, standing up, "I'm glad you're okay. Call me, yeah?"

I nodded, smiled. He left and Peggy replaced the spot he had been sat at. She cast me a curious look, passing me the drink.

"Who was that?" she asked, reaching for the TV remote.

"Uh, Alex," I flushed. "What- what do you think of him?"

She smiled sweetly, found a movie and pressed play. Leaned on my shoulder, hugged my arm, "hmm, I think he's gay."

She burst into a fit of giggles, sipped some of her cocoa and grinned at me. I couldn't help but laugh, too. Felt good. Better. We ate all the junk we could, binging crap movies until the early hours of the morning. She fell asleep on top of me, both of us snuggled up on the sofa. At last I felt like I could release some of my past, let it float away into obscurity. I let the good feeling warm my skin like the rays of an early summer sun. I grinned, the grin exploded into a radiant smile that I'd never worn before. I thought for the first time that maybe things were going to be okay. I wouldn't have to fear the darkness because I wasn't alone anymore, I didn't have to isolate myself. Didn't have to hide. Could step out of the cage. Could spread my wings. Be free.