In Preston's Executive Office...

Preston Tucci regarded the heap of documents at his fingertips with a grim feeling of helplessness. There was nothing he could to. The bill of sale papers for the helicopter, documents already approved by the Board of Trustees.

Technically, his signature was more a formality than anything else, just stating that he knew, and understood the chopper would be trading hands, and that the pilot's share would be bought out.

He'd tried - tried and failed - to keep the helicopter for Antoine's sake, if nothing else. There was no way though that they could justify the expense. Even doing nothing more than sitting in the hanger, the thing cost money. Maintenance, insurance, registration... nothing about owning a $1.5 million dollar machine was cheap.

Antoine's contract was somewhere in the heap, along with a photocopy of the amount that would be kicked back to his paycheck. Part of the buy-out clause.

Over the years that Antoine had worked there, a percentage of his gross salary was directly deducted and put towards the price of the helicopter over ten years, until he ultimately owned one tenth of the aircraft. If he had quit before his decade long payment period was up, he would've forfeited what he'd put into the aircraft. Same too if he'd been fired.

"Thank god for the buyout clause," Preston muttered, as he pulled the budget from the stack and regarded the numbers.

Antoine's salary was modest, and the direct seizure of his share took $15,000 per year. He'd been there over ten years. He owned his share of the chopper in full.

Naturally, the helicopter was worth less now than what it had been when he started his (forced) contributions. Preston didn't bother reading the back history. It seemed moot.

It never crossed Preston's mind to calculate what fifteen thousand times ten was.

Numbers were the last thing on his mind.

The emotional aspect dominated.

He glanced towards the shelf where he'd set his viola. It was a student model, the first full-sized viola he'd ever owned, neatly tucked in its case. Still a sound instrument, but nothing like his professional model back at their house. His 1984 Tulchinsky.

The cost of that fine instrument was more than Antoine's annual contribution to the chopper; not including the price of the bow. It was an investment he'd made and never once regretted. The sound, the colour, the way the instrument felt so natural in his hand. An extension of himself when he was playing.

Much like how Antoine felt in the air.

Though Antoine laughed, and seemed at peace with the decision, there was that look behind his eyes, a resolute sadness that would never be spoken aloud. Antoine accepted things, and moved on, but Preston could see it bothered him.

Antoine would never talk about that though, Preston knew.

There hadn't been lengthy discussions about Antoine's "Little Diva," the helicopter, and that somehow made things worse in Preston's mind. If they'd talked, if Antoine had ranted and raved, he would've at least understood that.

Instead, there had been one short conversation, with a follow-up a few days later. All Antoine had said was: This is going to happen, so I might as well get over it because it's not going to change.

And that was that.

The matter was officially over.

Preston exhaled softly, and signed his fiancé's past dream away.

Preston received a note that Antoine had left early, an email that dinged to his inbox from Sharon herself. Preston opened it and read it before Rigel even had a chance to ask. He clicked on the subject, pulled his chair closer to his desk, and reached for his tea.

It had grown cold, again. It seemed he never had the chance to finish it while it was still warm. Preston debated asking Rigel to warm it, then changed his mind. Something would call him away before it was done, and the cycle would repeat itself.

Cold lemon tea; strong from sitting on his desk all day. At the very least, it quenched his thirst. He skimmed Sharon's email to get the gist, then read it a second time in case he'd missed anything.

Sharon's memo was quick, and to the point. He could hear the annoyance through her text.

Mister Radson left early again this week. This is starting to become a trend. Ordinarily I would route this through the proper channels, rather than bringing it to your attention directly. Given that he has worked closely with you in the past, I thought Sir you might wish to speak with him before I submit a write up to Human Resources.

Preston's jaw tightened, lean and impeccably manicured fingers tightening around the handle of his mug. He closed his eyes, and counted to ten.

The entire situation irritated him. If Antoine wasn't doing his job, that was a problem; but he wasn't particularly fond of Sharon's decision to skip directly over the intermediate management level and go straight to him. It seemed out of character for her, surprisingly unprofessional.

Preston's opened his word processing program. His deft hands flew over the keyboard, writing out a sharp-toned reply. He finished, regarded the piece and it's scathing tone, then deleted it. It was a trick he'd learned years ago. It got the irritation of his system, but saved him from saying something he might later regret.

Feeling calmer, if only marginally, Preston wrote a second letter, this time into email.

Dear Sharon,

As much as I appreciate you bringing this to my attention, I feel it would be inappropriate for me to use whatever outside influence I might have in shepherding the personnel in your department. If you believe employee Antoine Radson's behavior warrants disciplinary action, you are absolutely green-lighted to do whatever you feel is necessary to correct the situation.

Thank you again for making me aware of these incidents. I trust you'll handle them with the skill I know you for.

Sincerely,

P. Tucci.

The email automatically added his official signature and contact information. "I am really throwing Antoine to the wolves today," he thought morosely, and hit send.

At the Office of Doctor Elizabeth Rouse...

Antoine Radson sat in the office of Doctor Elizabeth "Liz" Rouse, and squeezed the stress ball nervously between his calloused palms. He sat hunched over, knees on elbows, head lowered, shoulders square. A defensive posture to be sure.

Her office was as he remembered it: the plush chairs, her tiny administrative corner, the books and fidget toys around. This time he'd chosen a navy blue stress ball, the kind that can be squished in one's fist, but quickly expands as soon as the pressure's released.

A tape recorder sat on the low coffee table between them, red light indicating it was recording their session.

"So, Antoine, how've you been feeling since our last sessions? I know the first week we had to wrap up before you were able to talk about your fiancé, and we've not gotten back to that. Do you want to start there?"

Antoine crushed the stress ball so hard he was afraid it might rupture, mashing it between his hands so hard his forearms ached. He tapped his feet restlessly on the floor, and shook his head.

"Nah. Maybe. I dunno. I'm fine," he replied. "It's been a bad day though."

Liz folded her hands under her chin, tilting her face gently. "Why's that?" she asked.

"The transmission dropped out of the bottom of my car. Literally. I was backing out of the driveway, then there was this horrible sound, and crunch. There it was. So that's the end of Bessie. I was late today because I had to take the bus. I think my boss is pissed at me. Oh, and today was the day they officially bought me out of the chopper, so as of five this afternoon I'll no longer be a pilot."

Liz's face didn't change much, but there was a slight deepening in the creases around her eyes. Concern.

Antoine noticed.

"Yeah, I know. Quite the way to start a Wednesday. Usually I can leave pretty close to quitting time, but because I had to take public trans over here today, I had to leave earlier than usual. My boss, Sharon, saw me walking out with my coat. She looked like she was going to say something, so I ducked around a corner and took one of the back stairwells out." Antoine sighed. "I'm beginning to have reservations," Antoine confessed, kneading the ball between his hands.

"About?"

"Everything," he replied.

Liz gave him a reassuring smile. "Well, that narrows it down a little. Let's bring it down more. If you had to pick one thing on your mind, right now that you could fix with a magic wand, what would it be?"

Antoine chuckled. "That's easy!"

Liz leaned back in her chair, set her notepad on her lap. "Is it?"

"Oh yeah. I'd want to be the sort of person Preston deserves... and I'm not." Antoine ran a hand over the back of his neck, tapped his feet on the carpet, and began.

"Preston doesn't know I'm here. I haven't told him yet. I don't want him to know because he'd think it was something he'd done. I don't want to make him worry. The more I think about it though, the more I wonder if I haven't made a huge mistake in asking him to marry me. I love him, but sometimes love's not enough. There has to be more, you know? I'm not sure I can be who he needs.

"I'm used to living alone, and only being responsible for my own happiness. When we were just living together as housemates I knew if I really wanted to, I could've told him to move out. Once we're married, well, then I don't know what would happen. I don't want a divorce. Lately I've been wondering 'what the hell have I done?' I'm not good marriage material, at least not for him. He's so smart, and sensitive, and he tends to tackle problems head on. After a traumatic experience, he took initiative to get counseling, even decided to go on medication. It's helped too! Made a world of difference! He's back to being the same old Preston he used to be. He doesn't need me like he used to.

"What was the traumatic event?" asked Liz.

Antoine glanced at the recorder nervously. "Off the record?"

Liz leaned down and turned it off. "Absolutely. Your privacy is always protected here."

Squeezing the stress ball in one hand Antoine looked away. "You gotta promise you won't talk about it, okay?"

"Antoine, I'd never betray your trust like that. As long as you're not telling me you're planning to hurt yourself or someone else, my hands are tied."

He found he couldn't meet her eyes. "Promise?" he asked.

"Absolutely."

"Okay. I've never talked to anyone about this before. This is going to be hard for me." Antoine's feet were still, his focus entirely inward. Even the stress ball sat forgotten in his relaxed palm.

"Remember several years back there was that article in the paper about the rich energy tycoon Mister Burns getting kidnapped, and how the then-CEO of the nuclear plant, Thaddeus Dimas was somehow wrapped up in the mix, along with Preston and I?"

Liz nodded, indicating that yes, she'd read the short article in the paper.

"Well, here's the truth, that wasn't what happened at all." Antoine looked up, his eyes meeting hers for just a minute. "We're going on another trip down the rabbit hole. Are you okay with that?"

"Antoine, that's my job. Of course I am."

"Okay then, 'Alice,' here we go."

I'm not going to go into too much backstory, but I'll say this much. Burnsie and Mister Dimas had a business arrangement that went on for years in private. Mister Burns had a private shelter in the desert of North Tacoma, more like military doomsday bunker. He and Mister D. were out there to do business. I'd overheard Mister D. talking about it, how he was going out to Springfield to do business, and I begged him to let me come along. I have a good friend out there who I hadn't seen in a while, and it seemed like the perfect opportunity.

Little did we know we were being followed by none other than Rhodes, Mister Dimas's son, and Burns' own grandson.

Those two, they turned the bunker into a prison, locked everything down with us inside it. I spent the bulk of the time unconscious, but woke up for the grande finale.

"Which was?"

Up in the main gallery, Mister Dimas' son had him on his back. I was sneaking up with Burnsie, following his lead. There was a shoot out. Preston took a bullet to the gut, and landed next to me. I was too weak then, and still pretty much in shock. All I could do was take his hand as we lay in his own blood. At the same time, Dimas' own son executed him, ISIS-style, with a shot to the heart.

So there I am, my boss is dead, my best friend's quite possibly dead, I'm soaked in blood that's not even mine, and the rest is all a blur. I was in the hospital for a while fighting blood poisoning. My friend, Waylon stayed with me.

We talked about all sorts of things. I learned his past, and he got to learn a good chunk of mine. He had a messed up past too: abusive step dad.

"That's awful! I had no idea!"

Right? Well, the thing is, I've learned over the years in the foster system to put those bad things in a box, lock them away and bury them. It doesn't mean they're gone, it just means that I pretend they are.

I could joke about getting shot with an arrow a few weeks later, even show off the scar. A coping mechanism, I guess. To take away the seriousness of it all.

Preston? He wound up with post-traumatic stress disorder. He stopped eating much, lost a lot of weight. He looked like hell, and that's when I asked him to move in with me because I was worried about him.

Taking care of him? It helped me! It gave me someone other than myself to think about, so I could kind of ignore what I was going through.

"What were you going through?"

Mister Dimas, my boss... our boss... he might not have been perfect but he didn't deserve to die like that. He wasn't a bad man. He made mistakes, but we all do. In many ways he was like a father to me, you know?"

"Honestly, Antoine, I don't know your perspective. Could you please explain your dynamic with Mister Dimas a bit more?"

Mister Dimas, the Big D., Mister D... he looked out for me. Working at the nuclear plant as his pilot was the first important job I'd ever had. There was a lot for me to learn, and he took a personal interest in helping me.

One time, we had a formal event in New York City coming up, which he wanted me to fly him to, then attend with him. I told him I didn't have anything I could wear to that, so you know what he did?

He took me shopping! He said 'well then, Antoine, let's make sure you look the part!'

We went to this fancy department store, and he had me try on several different combinations. Finally we settled on this satiny-sheen suit coat for black tie events, a regular ensemble for the less formal, and a few blazers.

When I looked at the price tags, I almost fainted.

'Sir, there's no way I can afford this,' I told him. The next thing I know, he's whipping out his credit card and paying for everything! The suits, the shirts, pants, ties, even two pairs of cufflinks!

I'd never had anyone do that for me before!

I still have those suits, though I've had to get them let out a bit. I've put on some weight in the past ten years. I was about twenty five when I started working for him, still pretty thin. Not that you'd know that now, of course.

Mister Dimas did other things, nice things that he didn't have to do.

"Like what?"

He taught me how to golf.

As his personal pilot, I pretty much went everywhere with him. Dimas liked to travel by chopper as much as possible. It made him feel important. Looking back I wonder if some of it was to keep me busy as well. Who knows? Either way, up and down the east coast, into the eastern Midwest; a different trip almost every weekend, sometimes twice a week.

When he'd meet with his business friends, they'd go golfing.

He brought me along, and taught me to caddy. I learned the names of the different clubs, what they were used for. I thought that's all I'd ever do, but I had no regrets, I enjoyed our time together. Then one day he shows up at my hotel room on a trip and says he can't find anyone to come with, so he asks me if I'd like to join him.

I'd never played golf before in my life.

He took me out to the driving range and paid the rental for my equipment. We spent all day there. Mister Dimas was patient, helpful, showed me how to properly hold a club, the stance and swing, everything!

From that day on, whenever he couldn't find a partner, he'd take me out to the driving range. One day he told me we weren't going to the range. Instead, I'd be joining him on the actual course.

Quite a different experience, but I picked it up quickly. When I struggled, he showed me how to improve my technique, as well as basic course etiquette. Each time, he paid for all my gear rental.

One day, at the plant, he comes over to the hanger while I was doing my monthly checks on the Little Diva, the helicopter, with a full bag of clubs slung over his shoulder. He takes them off, and hands the bag to me.

'These are for you, Antoine,' he tells me. 'I bought a new set, and I don't need these anymore.' They were his old clubs, still in great shape, and by no means cheap. I didn't know what to say.

'When you and I travel, I want you to be sure to bring these along,' he told me. 'That way, we can play a few rounds together without having to pay for rentals.' He'd also bought me a pair of shoes as well. I guess he remembered my size from suit shopping.

Antoine exhaled and lapsed into silence. He folded his hands around the stress ball and stared at his shoes. After a moment, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, pushing away the hot tears that threatened to overflow.

"I never even got to go to his funeral. I was in Springfield, in the hospital, and when I got back everyone was playing the 'business as usual' game. I never even got a chance to say goodbye. He was like a father to me."

Antoine sniffed, rubbing his hand over his face and beard. He was never one to cry, though at times he came uncomfortably close. "Preston was a complete train wreck. I mean, he was utterly messed up over everything. I've seen that look before in the system. He's my friend, so I asked if he'd like to move in with me. It was supposed to just be a short-term thing, but it turned into more."

Liz nodded, thoughtfully.

Antoine noticed her eyes flick towards the recorder. "Oh, go ahead and turn it back on," he muttered, voice thick with unspoken emotion.

Without a word, Doctor Liz Rouse did just that.

Antoine looked at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but her face. He wasn't sure what to say next. It all seemed so complicated, the words jamming up before he could get them from his mouth.

"This Preston, your fiancé, you mentioned him as traveling with Mister Dimas. What was your relationship together?"

Antoine raised his face. "Preston? He was Mister Dimas' personal assistant. That man went through them fairly quickly. Preston was the fourth since I'd started there, so that's like one every three years. He was really uptight, pretty snooty... easy to annoy."

Antoine chuckled at the memory.

"I dunno why, but I liked irritating him. I liked it when he paid attention to me. So I'd do whatever I could to get his goat, within reason, of course!"

"Is that why you asked him to move in with you?" Liz asked.

Antoine shook his head. "Nah. I liked him, in my own way, and I cared about him. When I saw him suffering afterwards, I wasn't okay with that. So, I asked him if he'd like to crash in my spare room. Things kind of progressed from there, you know?"

The first few nights he slept in the spare room. I made it up for him, told him to make himself at home.

It must've been the forth night or something when I woke up with that feeling someone was in my room. He was there, and asked if he could stay with me. He looked so plaintive that I couldn't say no. I've got a king-sized bed, I said he could, just for the night. Then that kinda became a thing.

At night, sometime after we'd gone to our respective rooms he'd come in and ask to sleep next to me. Then it was at bedtime he'd start coming in. Then, next thing I know we're getting ready for bed at the same time and he's curling up next to me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn't sexual for him, not then anyhow. I'd hold him, and that seemed to make a world of difference for him.

I was usually the holder, rather than the holdee.

As he started to feel better, things changed. I don't know how to describe it, but it went from being purely platonic to something deeper. Still not a sex thing... just more meaningful. More significant.

Eventually I asked him to move in with me full time. Since he was spending so much time at my house anyway it didn't make sense for him to keep I paying rent on his apartment. That year, we took a vacation together to my timeshare in Florida, on one of the islands by Fort Meyers. Things kinda got complicated there.

"How so?" Liz asked, picking up her pencil.

"Well, I love him..." Antoine began, then paused. He knew what they'd done, physically, but how did he begin to describe it? Antoine ran a hand through his long hair, then shook his head as if to clear it.

"I think it's probably pretty obvious by now that you know Preston's gay, right?"

Liz jotted down a few words. "I'd gotten that distinct impression, yes."

Antoine coughed. "Okay. Well, see, the problem is, I'm not!" He looked at Liz, trying to gauge her response, waiting for her to argue that fact with him, to tell him that of course he was, and hadn't accepted it yet.

Much to his surprise, she didn't. She merely sat patiently, face friendly but neutral, listening.

"You're... not going to try to convince me I am?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Antoine, you're the only one who can define yourself. If you don't think your gay, why would I question that? How do you define yourself?"

Antoine rolled his shoulders in a shrug and looked at his shoes. "Asexual, I guess. According to the internet I'm what they call 'an aromatic demisexual.' I'm not interested in sex with anybody, man or woman. With the right person, if I loved them enough I could do it if I needed to, but it would have to be my choice. I'm not interested in sex for its own sake. It doesn't mean I can't enjoy my self, I'm not scared of myself," he added quickly, feeling his cheeks redden. "It just means I don't have any interest. I don't get that itch that normal people do, y'know?"

"Have you ever had an intimate encounter?" Liz asked, hands folded neatly on her notebook.

Antoine nodded, then shook his head. "Yes but no..." He continued, recounting the day's events.

"That trip to Florida is when I realized how much I liked Preston, and I felt something for him, but I don't know what. When he came into my room I was expecting to do something together. I wanted to, and I was a bit in the mood to try, but once we were... getting started... I panicked and told him to stop, even though I'd been the one to start things in the first place.

"It upset him, and he left. Who can blame him. I felt so awful about it.

"The next morning was awkward, but we talked, then went for a walk later. We held hands. I guess it was then I realized just how special what we had was to me. I think that's when I started falling in love with him."

He glanced up, scrutinizing Liz's face. There was a slight upturn at the edge of her mouth, a deepening in the creases of her eyes. The hint of a smile she was trying to hide. From the untrained eye probably would've succeeded, but not from Antoine. He caught the subtle change, and felt himself grinning in response.

"You realized you loved him," Liz repeated, lifting her pencil.

"Not 'loved,'" Antoine corrected. "In Love. There's a difference, at least to me. And that brings us pretty much to why I'm here."

Doctor Liz Rouse paused her writing. "And why's that, Antoine?"

Antoine threw his arms wide, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "Because I'm not perfect. Far from it! I am such a hopeless screw up, but I love the guy, and I really want to be the best I can for him!" He thumped his chest with a fist. "Me, right here. A GradeA fuck up with no sense of how to be normal or have a solid interpersonal relationship."

Antoine stood up, ran his fingers through his hair, feet restless. He shuffled, wanting to pace, then gave up and threw himself back onto the couch. Frantically he grabbed a fidget toy out of the basket and started working it in his hands.

He began to speak, words falling out, spilling anxiously across the floor.

"My last therapist said I had no sense of boundaries, attachment issues, and no interest or ability for personal relationships-"

Liz held up a hand, cutting him off. Curbing the overflow before it began.

"I don't think that's true, Antoine."

He twitched in surprise. "Huh? Why's that, Doc?"

She tapped her notepad. "Well, let's review hmm? You said you noticed Preston needed a friend, so you reached out to him. You made accommodations for him in your life, but it doesn't sound like you were trying to play martyr. It sounds like you actually came to enjoy having him so close.

"When you went to Florida, you found a boundary you weren't ready to cross, and in doing so hurt his feelings. Rather than avoid the situation, or deny it happened, -you- took initiative to speak to him the next morning. Does that really sound like someone who is incapable of interpersonal relationships to you?"

Antoine raised his eyes. "You know, that's almost exactly what Preston said to me the morning after the... thing."

The subtle smile on Liz's face became more apparent. She nodded her head, reassuring. "It sounds like he does understand... and you sound like you're more aware than you give yourself credit for." She glanced at the clock.

Antoine's eyes followed hers.

Their session, for today at least, was at an end. They shared their goodbyes, Antoine made his appointment for the following weeks, and set out into the world, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

I'm not as broken as I think I am! he mused as he bounded down to the street. It was a revelation that lit up the darkening sky. He tugged his jacket around himself, warm and deeply, deeply content.

Near a modest, ranch-style home at the edge of the pine barrens...

Antoine climbed down the steps, heard the hydronic hiss from behind him as the bus rose up from the curb of his stop.

He tucked his hands in his coat pockets, tilted his head back and stared at the sky. Overcast, but the glow was concentrated down in the city behind him. At least it was somewhat darker here, by the edge of the pine barrens.

As he walked down the street towards home, he replayed the day's events in his mind. Their sessions, his and Doctor Liz's, had covered a good amount of ground... and yet it felt as if he were barely scratching the surface.

So much of what they were talking about was still in the distant past. However many sessions he'd had, and only now were they just starting to get to his present. He appreciated that approach. It was different from the last time he'd been in counseling as a "troubled" and "unrecoverable" youth.

That counselor hadn't been bad, he reasoned, but they'd been assigned to each other by the will of the state. There was no gradual getting to know you, nor any long term arrangement. There was a world of difference between being forced to talk to someone, and choosing to open up. He was glad he'd taken the plunge.

He was still mulling over everything as he unlocked the front door and let himself in. He tossed his coat and backpack over the back of the couch and was on his way to the kitchen when an ice cold voice cut through his thoughts.

"Ah, the prodigal son returns."

Antoine's head snapped up.

Preston was sitting in the recliner beside the window, still in his business suit, expression dark. His brown eyes, windows to his soul, were as dark and hard as ironwood.

"Have you been sitting there since you got home?" Antoine asked, floundering for words.

"I have," Preston replied interlacing his fingers. In that moment, he looked every inch the Executive he was. Proud, a touch haughty, an undercurrent of irritation in his voice. For the first time, Antoine could see the strong resemblance between Preston and his father. It was in their jaw, the hard eyes, that aura of supreme confidence.

"Gee, well you must be starving then," Antoine joked, trying to lighten the mood. He gave an innocent grin.

The thin line of Preston's mouth didn't so much as twitch, but his fingers flexed slightly, like a spider settling into its web.

"Where were you today, Antoine?" Preston asked.

The words had an ominous tone to them.

Antoine swallowed.

"I was at work."

Preston's perfectly manicured hands tightened slightly. "Ah yes, so you were. You came in late, and you left early. In fact, I got a most unseemly letter from Sharon today regarding exactly that. In fact, Antoine, she saw fit to contact me directly, rather than routing her complaint through appropriate channels. Care to explain that?"

Antoine's eyes narrowed. He leaned against the back of the couch. The wooden frame creaked slightly under the fabric. "I told her I had to leave early sometimes. And I did."

Preston leaned back, folding one leg across his lap. "Do you think, Antoine, that you somehow get special liberties because you're 'close' to me? Do you think somehow the rules don't apply to you? That you can operate on your own agenda without consequence?"

Antoine hunched his shoulders, lowering his head angrily. "I've been doing this for several weeks. And I do get in early most days. But sometimes, something comes up and I have to take care of it."

"Several weeks, yes," Preston replied, tone condescending. "That's exactly what Sharon said. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, sometimes even Friday, you'd just pack your bags and head out. She'd been hoping it was just a passing phase, but now today, coming in nearly an hour late, and leaving slightly before three? That's simply unacceptable. I gave her the green light to write you up, but I must admit I'm not at all pleased by the fact she felt she had to reach out to me concerning your behavior!"

Antoine took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair, and tried to focus himself. "Look, I just had a few things to take care of, personal things, and today got off to a rough start. These things happen, okay?"

Preston leaned back in the chair. "Will this leaving early thing happen again?"

"Maybe... yes... quite likely." Antoine strode carefully around the back of the couch and stood beside it, facing Preston square on. He hoped his voice wasn't shaking though inside his body trembled with anger. "They probably will happen again, Preston."

"Oh? Do you think these are still the Dimas days where he'd just let you come and go as you wish? You work in maintenance now, Antoine! And I am not Mister Dimas." Preston's voice rose in tone and pitch as he pushed himself forward. "What could possibly be so important that you would feel comfortable humiliating me by putting Sharon in a spot where she doesn't know how to address your behavior?!"

Antoine grabbed the arm of the couch with such force that the entire piece slid several inches. "Because I'm in therapy, OKAY!?" he bellowed, rage spilling over. "Because I'm going through a lot of stuff right now that you don't even know the half of. Stuff I have no idea how to fix. But all I know is I'm trying my damnest to make things right and get my head on straight?" He jabbed a strong hand at Preston, finger pointing, ignoring the stunned look on his housemate's face "And you know why I'm doing this, Prep? Do you have any idea?!"

Preston offered his hands meekly, palms up. "I had no idea-"

"Damn right you don't!" Antoine bellowed. "But I do! And I know exactly how fucked up I really am. I'm good at hiding that sort of stuff. But I love you Preston, and I want to be the person you deserve! If that means facing my past and my own personal demons: well then that's what I'm gonna do because you're worth it to me! Like I said, I love you, and I don't wanna fuck this up!"

Antoine was trembling now, the fury in his voice subsiding. In its place was a feeling of pure exhaustion. He threw himself down onto the couch, and put his face in his hands. He peered at Preston between his fingers for a moment before speaking again.

"You think you were the only one upset by Dimas' death? Preston, you have no idea. But I never even got a chance to grieve over it. By the time I got back, the funeral was over, you were struggling, and I did what I always do: I stuffed everything down deep inside where it would never, ever bother me, and went back to playing the 'everything's fine' game." He rolled on his back and stared at the ceiling. "I'm very good at that game, Prep. I've had years of practice."

"Antoine," Preston began, pushing himself to his feet and taking a cautious step towards the couch. "I never knew."

Antoine turned his face towards Preston, looking up at the lean man standing over him. "Yeah? Well, I didn't want to worry you, was all."

Preston gestured to the edge of the couch, next to Antoine's chest. "Can I sit?"

"I guess. There's room..." Antoine muttered, sliding back and making a space for Preston. The thin man hardly took up much space.

Perched on the edge, Preston ran his hand through Antoine's blue hair. It was a tender, loving caress.

"Antoine," Preston began. "I didn't know. Honestly. You are good at hiding things. You're like a cat, so reserved with your feelings. I never know what's going on in your mind. I thought... I assumed... well, that doesn't matter now."

"Yeah, no. It still does. I didn't want everyone to know my business. Way back I asked Sharon if sometimes I could leave a bit early. She said yes, so I never asked again. I have a doctor's note technically, but I didn't want to bring that in."

"Why did you schedule your appointments so early in the afternoon?" Preston asked, running his fingers along Antoine's neck, down his towards his chest.

Antoine reached over, gently grabbing Preston's wrist, placing Preston's hand directly above his heart. He gave a humorless chuckle. "Isn't it obvious?"

Preston shook his head. "No. It's not."

"Well, that's because I didn't want you to know, Preppy. I thought if you found out I was seeing a shrink, you'd worry it was something you'd done. You've been through so much, got so much on your mind, I didn't want to worry you."

"Remember what you said, about how we need to be honest with each other?" Preston asked softly.

Antoine nodded. "Yeah, I do now. I went and screwed it up again, didn't I."

"No," Preston replied, shaking his head. "But when it's something like this, maybe I don't need to know, but if it's affecting you, I'd want to know. It's not all about me, remember."

"I'm supposed to look out for you."

Preston slid his body down, leaned over Antoine, so they were face to face. "We look out for each other, silly. That's how this is supposed to work. You're there when I need you, yes; but don't forget I'm here for you too." He lowered his face till his forehead was even with Antoine's.

"I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to be afraid to talk to me if there's something on your mind. Honestly, I'd rather you did."

Antoine sighed, and closed his eyes. He knew he should say something, but the words weren't coming to mind. He'd almost organized a coherent sentence when he felt Preston's lips brush his forehead. A kiss, light and gentle as a spring breeze, then the couch shifting as Preston stood up.

"You will need to bring that note to Sharon, and I'd recommend you try to schedule your appointments later in the day-"

"-Now that they're not a secret anymore."

"Yes, now that they're not a secret."

Antoine took a deep breath. "Okay. I'll do that. Tomorrow. Speaking of which, can I catch a ride in with you tomorrow? Do you mind leaving a little earlier so I won't be late?"

"I can do that, yes."

"Good," Antoine replied. "Because I'm gonna need a new car too. I tell you what, Prep, this has been one hell of a day, and it's only Wednesday. Hope you don't mind, but I think I'm just gonna lie here for a bit, you know?"

He felt Preston's hand brush his ankle as his housemate and fiancé walked past. "I know the feeling all to well, Antoine. Don't worry though, I'm here for you whenever you need."

"Thanks Prep," Antoine muttered, so soft he wondered if Preston even heard. "I couldn't do without ya."