Peter stares into an empty beer bottle and wonders bitterly how long it's been since he felt normal. Certainly it was long before Claude barged into his life and his bed, with his British accent and acerbic wit, and turned his emotions inside out.

He doesn't know quite what it is that they have; it's more than sex and less than love and closer to an addiction than anything Peter's ever encountered. It's everything and it's nothing, and it means so much and so little and all the unnamed feelings in between.

Peter doesn't know how long it can go on; this insane physical and emotional rollercoaster that they've gotten caught up in. But neither one of them is willing to make it stop to get off, and it's going to keep picking up speed until it crashes, and takes them with it.

And nothing will ever be normal again.