Preston stood in the living room of his one-bedroom apartment, staring out the window at nothing in particular. Outside, a fire escape, and beyond that the city lights. He sighed and turned back to Antoine.

The man hadn't exactly followed him home, but that would've happened Preston assumed, if he hadn't offered a last minute invitation.

Antoine Radson.

Preston never would've imaged the blue-haired pilot would now be his closest confident. Shared trauma, Preston decided, made for unexpected bonds. And yet, there was something deeper than that. Hadn't Antoine already been encroaching into his life quiet and pervasively? Even before The Incident, even before they'd flown out to Springfield with Dimas. At some point, Antoine had become more than just another part of Preston's workday encounters.

At some point, they'd become friends.

Then, to Preston at least, something a bit more. He still didn't know much about Antoine outside of work. It felt strange to consider how much they'd endured together in the past few weeks, and how much they didn't talk about any of it.

Now, Antoine was sitting in his living room, quietly drinking in the view.

What was going on inside Antoine's head right now? Preston wished he knew. He wanted to reach out and run his fingers through Antoine's long hair, cup Antoine's face in his hand and feel the texture of Antoine's beard against his palm.

Why am I thinking of him this way? Preston asked himself.

Was this all part of the healing process? Or was it simply his own psyche crying out for an island of familiarity in the maelstrom of his damaged mind? Preston was sure he didn't know.

Why did I invite him here at all? There were a couple of ways this could end, and none of them felt right.

Preston kicked himself mentally, and gestured towards the kitchen area. "I'm sorry I don't have much food here. We could order delivery, if you're hungry."

Antoine shook his head, hair falling around his eyes. "Nah, I'm good. Thanks though."

Silence.

An awful, awkward silence.

Preston's thoughts floundered, tossed about in emotional waves. I'm an idiot-

Antoine's voice interrupted, before Preston's internal narrative had time to fully voice its doubt.

"It's a nice place you got here, Preston. Small, I guess, but it's cozy." Antoine gestured to the long foot rest that doubled as a coffee table. "Multifunctional. I like it."

Preston gave a weak smile. "Thanks. IKEA."

Antoine rapped the back of his knuckles on the top of the foot rest. "Really? It's solid. I would've thought something more... all wood."

"I didn't feel like spending too much. I'm not fully moved in yet."

Antoine snorted in surprise, looking at the photographs hung on the wall, the various curios Preston had, the feeling that Preston had been here a while. "Really? You could've fooled me. How long have you been living here?"

"Less than five years," Preston replied from the kitchen.

"It's taken you that long to feel moved in?"

Preston rummaged around the refrigerator and pulled out two bottled waters. He offered one to Antoine, who took it eagerly. Preston sat down in a chair across from Antoine, an office chair in the nook that served as his private workspace.

Preston's apartment wasn't overly small. It was an average size when one started to get closer to the Plateau City downtown. Forth floor, one bedroom, one bath, the kitchen, living, and dining area all blending into a single multi-use space.

The living room had a fold-out couch, not that he'd ever used it as a bed, nor had any guests. It had come with the apartment, thought Preston insisted it be steam-cleaned before he moved in. The rest of the furniture was stuff Preston bought, and had delivered. A small desk, rolling office chair, the TV stand that stood empty; he'd never gotten around to buying a TV. There were a few tchotchkes and a decorative vase on it instead.

He had various photographs hung on the walls, professional prints from places he'd traveled to, or scenes that were significant to him. Preston enjoyed the sense of urban-professionalism to his decor. It made him feel calm and relaxed.

Or, more accurately, it used to.

These days, nothing seemed to help.

Perhaps that is why he'd let Antoine invite himself over.

He leaned back in the chair, and stared at the plastic water bottle in his hands. "Thanks for coming over."

Antoine finished his water, and squeezed the bottle into a plastic ball. "No problem. You looked like you could use a friend, y'know?" He mashed the water bottle absentmindedly. "I know the feeling."

Preston inhaled sharply. He felt his stomach drop. Not for the first time did all the possible outcomes to the night flash through his mind. Each once was more terrifying than the next.

Had it been a few weeks ago, before their trip to Springfield, before the shootings and death, Preston wouldn't have hesitated a bit. It would be wine they'd be sharing, not water, and he, Preston, would be subtly seeing what would happen next. If it was then, the worst case scenario would be finding out Antoine was straight. But Preston was good at reading people.

Key word: was. Past-tense. Then, not now.

These days, Preston couldn't read people at all. He wasn't even sure he ever would again. He could barely pull himself out of his own head to function at work. Beyond that? It seemed so hollow. He shifted his weight and felt the familiar tearing ache in his abdomin.

No one ever talked about how long it took to heal on the inside. The surgeons had done an excellent job of repairing damage from that tiny piece of lead. Sometimes though, it felt tight. Like the muscle was healing without any elasticity. Turning a certain way brought a sensation Preston could only describe as tearing paper. The doctor assured him that was normal, and to keep up with his stretching exercises. Preston tried, but it hurt.

It hurt in more than one way.

Antoine must've noticed. He nodded in Preston's direction. "The... thing?"

Preston nodded. "Yes, Antoine, the thing."

Antoine shook his head. "Yeah, but I don't think that's all of it. Something else is on your mind. Care to dish?"

Preston slapped the armrest of his chair, half in amusement, half in frustration. "Well you just get right to the point, don't you."

"Makes life easier that way," Antoine replied. He stood up and lobbed the plastic bottle in the recycling bin by Preston's door. "Two points! Nothing but net!" He sat back down. "Look, I know enough to know when something's bothering someone. If it were just... that... you wouldn't have that look in your eyes. Talk to me Preppy, sorry, Preston. Tell me what's really on your mind."

"You're going to think it's stupid." Preston found his mouth felt uncomfortably dry. He rested his hand on the cap of his water. It was like he'd forgotten how to swallow.

Antoine laughed. "It takes a lot for someone like me to call anything stupid."

Preston coughed, trying to clear his throat.

"Ever since getting back from Springfield, it feels impossible to enjoy the things I used to-"

"-Like what?" Antoine asked, interrupting. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Sorry, didn't mean to cut you off; but if you could do one thing right now that you used to do, what would it be? What was one of your favorite things to do?"

"Honestly?"

"Absolutely."

Preston uncapped his water bottle. "I used to love to go dancing. Go to clubs. Get on the dance floor. It was fun, my way to relax. Not even for hook-ups!" He added hastily, clarifying. "It was just my thing that always made me feel good."

"So why aren't you doing it now?"

Preston gestured to himself, a head-to-toe dismissive sweep. "Do I even need to answer that?"

Antoine shrugged, he stood up and started pushing the foot rest out of the living room.

"Whoa, hey! What are you doing?" Preston leapt up. "My floor!"

"I'm being careful! I won't scuff it. Especially if you help me."

Preston started, then paused. "My doctor says I still need to be careful lifting."

"No worries. I got this." Antoine slid it the remainder of the way out of the living room. It made a bit more space in the living room. Not much, but enough. He sauntered over to Preston's stereo and started flipping through radio stations. "Nah, nah... ewww, that's not even music... Ah, here we go!" He turned up the volume.

"I really don't listen to reggae much..."

"This is Bob Marley, respect the classics!" Antoine swung his body, moving easily in time with the beat.

Slide, step, swing the hips. Antoine had a natural sense of rhythm. Pivot, snap the fingers. Antoine swung his arms and pointed at Preston. Without breaking stride he beckoned Preston to join him.

Preston felt his cheeks redden. He felt ridiculous. "Ahhh," he groaned, covering his eyes with hands. Blushing furiously, he peered between his fingers. We're doing this. Antoine's not going to let it drop. Anyhow, Preston reasoned, he was already tapping his feet. He shuffled his way into the center of the living room, and fell into an easy groove with Antoine.

Maybe it was music, maybe it was the moves. Maybe it was something he couldn't quite define. Facing each other, they moved in sync as naturally as if they'd rehearsed it. Antoine wasn't bad at dancing, Preston noted. Not trained, but he knew how to move his body.

They were closer now, about two feet apart. A comfortable distance, and yet close enough for Preston to catch a whiff of Antoine's scent. Antoine was smiling, eyes flitting between the ceiling and Preston's face.

Preston hadn't realized their height difference till then. It wasn't much, just a few inches to Preston's favor. He always thought Antoine was as tall as him. A big personality, Preston thought. He closed his eyes, wrapping himself in the music, committing the moment to memory. He hadn't expected to feel this way. A weird sense of relief.

All too quickly, the song ended, and Antoine stepped back. "See," he said, putting a hand on Preston's shoulder. "You can still dance!"

Preston glanced at Antoine's hand.

Hastily Antoine withdrew it. "Sorry. You like your personal space. I kinda forgot. My bad."

Preston started to say it was okay, but Antoine was back peddling, and pulling his phone out of his pocket. "It's getting late, I should probably be going."

How had it gotten so late. It was nearly ten thirty.

"You might miss the train."

Antoine was reaching for his coat. "I can take the express bus back. It'll drop me close, and I can walk the rest of the way. It's only about two miles from that stop. The local line doesn't run this late."

Preston gestured to the couch. "You could crash here."

"I'm not great at couch camping. I thrash around a lot, and I like to stretch."

"It folds out into a hide-a-bed. And the coffee table's already out of the way." Preston hoped he didn't sound desperate. The idea of being by himself... he couldn't put the feeling to words, but at that exact instant Preston knew he didn't want to be alone that night. Just the thought of Antoine sleeping a scant room away was enough to keep the hollow mood from returning. If Antoine left now, there would be no way Preston could fall asleep.

Not that he could tell that to Antoine, of course.

He hoped somehow, Antoine would pick up on his thoughts. If he projected them loud enough, maybe the blue-haired man would hear them. Maybe God would throw him a bone. Maybe Antoine would stay.

Preston leaned against the wall, and tried to look casual.

Antoine hesitated, one arm already through the sleeve of his jacket. The other sleeve hung loosely. His face was turned towards the couch. Preston couldn't see his expression.

"I have to get up early," Antoine muttered, as if trying to convince himself.

"There's instant oatmeal in the cupboard. And breakfast bars if you prefer."

"I'd probably leave before you get up. I wouldn't want to wake you."

Preston gestured towards the ceiling, indicating the neighbors upstairs. "They work nights. I've learned to sleep through a lot."

Antoine turned his face towards Preston. "I'd say I hate to make more laundry for you..."

"I'll have to do a load soon anyhow."

Antoine gave a dry chuckle. "I'm running out of excuses, aren't I."

Preston interlaced his fingers, and hoped it appeared relaxed. "You don't have to stay here."

Antoine shook his head. "Nah, it's cool. And it'll save me a late night walk. You sure you don't mind?"

Preston was already moving towards the linen closet. "Of course not! I wouldn't have offered if I did." He pulled out a set of sheets and a thick, fleece blanket. "I'm a bit short on spare pillows, so you can have one of mine."

Antoine shrugged his coat off. "Well, okay then. Looks like I'm staying here tonight." He carefully removed the seat cushions and stacked them by the window.

"We can stay up late, swapping manly stories; and in the morning I'm making waffles."

"Eh?" Preston wrinkled his face. "What?"

Antoine laughed as he unfolded the couch. "Oh, just a line from a movie."

Preston watched as Antoine finished making himself a nest. "I appreciate the hospitality Preston. Thanks for letting me crash here tonight."

Preston paused in the doorway to his bedroom, hoping the shadows helped hide his expression. "It's fine. By the way, you might as well keep calling me 'Preppy.' You've done it for years, and you been fighting it all evening. At this point, it feels weird when you call me 'Preston.'"

"I don't want to offend you."

Preston sighed, turned and regarded Antoine softly. "You'd have to do a lot more than call me 'Preppy' to offend me. To be honest, I like it. It makes things feel normal for me again."

The look that crossed Antoine's face made Preston flinch inwardly. Preston had said too much.

Normal. What was normal anyhow? Could one ever feel normal after being shot in the gut, watching people die? Maybe not. At least with Antoine settled into the couch in the next room, it helped. Preston was fairly certain Antoine's sleep-over would not turn into a regular habit, and part of him was relived that Antoine would be gone by the time he woke up... but a larger, more fragile part hoped (perhaps against logic and reason) that this first time wouldn't also be the last.

At the very least, if nothing else in life was certain, Antoine was here now. The best way the evening could end. Exactly what Preston needed.