Knox guided the door to a quiet stop, so quiet that Todd did not even think to look up. It was not as though there was really anything to look up from, he was staring at the black leather of his shoes, which had developed greyish spots of wear. His laces, however, remained completely unfrayed.

"Hey," Knox offered. Todd turned towards him, startled. His hand moved to his face as if to push up glasses that were not there. "Is this a bad time?" Todd shook his head. He straightened his back and drew his legs into what he had once called criss-cross-applesauce. Knox stood there for a few moments, sighing, and Todd could infer that he was not sure whether to sit down on Todd's bed or the empty one across from him.

"It's alright," Todd said, his voice hoarse. "I've forgotten which one was really mine to begin with."

"Really? I remember. Neil's is the empty one." Todd said nothing in response. Knox's face had a certain tightness to it, as if his mouth was physically constructed so that he could never say what it was he really meant. "I don't know why I came," he said, and sat down beside Todd. "You were the only one that really felt Neil? Do you know what I mean?" Knox put his head in his hands. "I just. I don't know. Shit. I really don't. I just felt like I needed to-"

There was enough of a pause between his words to make Todd feel slightly more prudent about interrupting. "You don't...need to say anything. Like...like Mr. Keating said. There's a time for caution, there's a time to be quiet, you know?"

Knox gave another heaving sigh. He might have been taking a puff from an imaginary cigarette. The sky outside was already pitch black and it was barely five. Todd's lamp cast an otherwordly orange light across the room. He stood up and, attempting not to think too much about it, flicked on the lamp on Neil's bedside table. Knox made a noise in his throat, but it did not grow enough to become a word. The orange glow took on a tint of gold.

There were holes in Knox's gray wool blazer. His collar was untucked and his tie was rumpled. His hair hung in stringy, oily strands. Todd sat back down at his side, trying to crack a smile for both of them.

"I can't keep seeing Chris," Knox blurted out.

"Why not?" Todd turned towards him sharply, trembling the way he always did when he had something to say and didn't know how to say it. "What the hell's the good of that, Knox? Didn't you...didn't you get her? Are you just going to l-let that go to waste?"

"She's juvenile," Knox said, sounding eerily like Charlie "Nuwanda" Dalton. "Isn't everything at this point?"

"You're crazy."

"That's exactly what she's always called me."

"Do you think Neil would want us to live that way?" Todd felt himself close to tears again. "I sure don't."

"I don't like her," Knox said. "I guess I love her but I just don't like her right now. That's all."

"You can't just give up."

"I'm not." Knox had an uncharacteristic snap in his tone. "Geez, I'm sorry, Todd," he said, this time almost a mutter. He was looking down at his clasped hands in that peculiar way that people who are ashamed look down through their eyelashes, letting them cover their eyes.

"You're upset," Todd said, almost to himself, and scooted closer to him. Everything felt so quiet just then. The heater made its dull spitting whirr but the air felt utterly still.

"I'm ruining my own life," Knox said. Todd could not explain how, but he found himself moving his hand which had before instinctively been resting at his side to lay on top of Knox's. He did not hold it, the way Chris might have, because that somehow seemed, as Knox had said...juvenile. He only touched him. He felt as though he could all of the sudden draw in everything about Knox's body, the adolescent roughness of his skin and the smell of club soda and whiskey about him.

Todd's hand rested there. He somehow could not move it away. Knox laid his head against Todd's and closed his eyes. His breath was warm against Todd's face. The heater rattled. Todd stared out into the blue dark outside his window, and after his gaze had turned glassy he swore could make out falling snow.

For whatever reason I was struck with the inspiration to put out a fanfic for the first time in, what, a hundred years?