It had been four days, only four measly days, but Peter was already feeling horrible. He felt tired and antsy and he didn't feel all that great. Being on pentamidine was worse than being on AZT, in his opinion, a realization that surprised Peter very much. But he had also noticed that he wasn't the only one who was being affected by this whole experience. Ever since Mike found out, he was irritable and snappy, as if he hadn't slept in a few days and just needed a good nap. Davy was more solemn but kept a level head and arranged everything the other two needed to do, such as trips to the pad for showers and to the cafeteria if food was not acquired another way. Micky kept joking and he had already found some comfort in reading to Peter. He read newspapers, books, science articles, the back of a little carton of milk, anything really. And Peter let him because he didn't mind. This had also been the first time he had called his sister Alison about an AIDS update and it had felt weird. More than weird, actually. It had felt alien, a foreign experience that Peter never had the pleasure to indulge in before. His sister hadn't cried, like Peter had assumed she would have, but he knew that she had been shaken. It was all in how she sounded saying goodbye. That had been about a day ago, though, and it was very distant from Peter's mind. Today, Micky was at home, taking a shower or something, and Davy was home too, although Peter couldn't remember why he had went home. Maybe to keep Micky company. That was a clear possibility. Mike had just left to go get some coffee from the cafeteria when the phone in Peter's room began to ring. With a sigh, Peter answered. It was lucky that the phone was kept so close to Peter's bedside.

"Hello?"

"Uh, hi, Peter, I… are mom and dad there yet?" Alison asked.

Peter frowned.

"Why… why would mom and dad be here?" he asked.

"Oh… oh, man," Alison groaned, "I'm so sorry, Peter, I brought up your pnemonia to one of my special friends and he freaked out. I got scared you were going to die, so I told Jack, because I couldn't tell mom and dad, but Jack freaked out. He didn't react at all the way I thought he would. And so then a little while later, I got a call from mom, who was screaming at me. She was angry I had kept a secret like that. And so she and dad decided to fly up to L.A. so that they can take you home."

As Peter sat in his hospital bed, listening to his sister explain, he felt an immense sense of dread creep over him. His parents were coming here. They knew about him being gay. His brother knew about him being gay. They knew he had AIDS, that he was dying of AIDS. They all knew. They knew all of it, every little bit of it. He felt naked and scared and so extremely vulnerable. His parents were coming here, to this hospital, to take him back to Connecticut.

"Fuck," Peter swore under his breath, screwing his eyes shut, "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

"I'm so sorry, Peter," he heard Alison say.

He forgot that she was still on the phone. A part of him wanted to yell at her, demand to know why on earth she had been so stupid. Didn't she have any respect for him? But deep down, he knew he couldn't blame her. Peter understood that Alison had been scared and she had never had to deal with something this immense on her own. She had the luxury of feeling comfortable with their parents, with Jack, about anything and everything. It hadn't been her fault, not really.

"I… it's okay, Alison," Peter informed her, "You were just doing your best. I… should go. I'll talk to you later."

"Okay," Alison sounded almost as if she were on the edge of tears.

He could only imagine the guilt she was putting herself through right now.

"Love you, Ali," Peter said, hoping she knew that he wasn't all that upset with her.

What was done was done and the only way to fix it now was to focus on the real problem. His parents. There wasn't much of a point in being angry with Alison, not at this stage in the game.

"I love you, too, Peter," Alison responded.

Peter hung up, sinking back down into his bed. Maybe his parents wouldn't show up. Maybe none of it would happen. It was possible. Their plane could have been delayed or they might just disown him without even showing up. But then a nurse named Judy entered the room. Although Peter had only been here for four days, Judy had already become a pillar to Peter's strength.

"Hey, Peter, there's a man and a woman who say they're your parents out in the waiting room," Judy explained, "Do you want me to turn them away or…?"

Peter's stomach fell as all of his hopes came crashing down in a fiery pit of personal hell. For a moment, he considered telling Judy to tell his parents to go away. Maybe he'd use more colorful language. He didn't want to see his parents. Go away, go away, that's all he wanted to say to them. But deep down, he knew he couldn't say no. He couldn't tell them to go away, or even tell someone else to tell them to go away. There was no ounce of strength left inside of him that would allow him to turn his parents away. Plus, knowing them, they'd just waltz right in regardless of what Peter said, did, or wanted. They'd get their own way, just like the always had.

"I want to get it over with," Peter sighed, wishing for a hole to open up in the floor and swallow him whole.

"Not good news, them showing up?" Judy asked, an eyebrow arched.

Peter just nodded. Judy could just infer whatever she liked. Peter didn't particularly care. He was bracing himself for the worst.

"Well, I'll send them down, but if you need them out, just call me in here and we'll get them out," Judy informed Peter.

Again, Peter nodded, and then Judy disappeared. Where was Mike? When would Mike come back from getting coffee? Why was he getting coffee right now, of all the times he could go and get coffee? It was very inconvenient, to say the least.

"He's just in here," he heard Judy say and Peter saw his parents enter the room.

Immediately, Peter felt a pang in his chest. Regret and guilt washed over him, embracing his mind with open arms. Seeing his parents here, of all places, made Peter hate himself. For getting AIDS. For being gay. Didn't his parents deserve better? But the thoughts were quickly replaced by a slow burning realization that his parents could fuck off if they didn't approve of Peter. He was an adult, after all. For a moment, Peter wondered if maybe this was a some sort of nightmare, because for what seemed like ages, his parents simply stood near Peter's bed, looking at him. They didn't say a word. Then, they did.

"Oh, Peter, you look so skinny," his mother said.

Peter wanted to laugh at that. It was very much his mother. She'd ignore everything and just focus on how skinny Peter was. He could see the mist in her eyes. She was probably on the verge of sobbing. The look in her eyes made Peter feel just absolutely awful. How could he have done this to her?

"You don't look half bad yourself, mom," Peter replied, with a forced half-smile.

Peter's mom returned the smile, although hers seemed more natural. Less forced. Part of Peter was still on edge about them knowing he was gay now. Neither his mother, nor his father, had said a word about it, and Peter had assumed they would've come in here screaming about it. Yet they hadn't. His father turned to his mother, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Halley, dear, would you go get us some coffee?" he asked.

Peter's mother looked at her father with wide, almost unseeing eyes, and nodded.

"Of course, sweetie," she said, glancing over towards Peter, "I'll get you something to eat, Peter. What do you want?"

"I'm not that hungry, thanks mom," Peter declined the offer.

If he ate anything right now, Peter imagined he'd throw up. But by the way his mother was looking at him, she wasn't going to take no for answer. She never did.

"I'll ask that lovely nurse who showed us in here what you can eat, and I'll bring it back with the coffees," she asserted and then exited the room.

That left Peter and his father. The temperature seemed to drop and increase all at the same time. Peter had a gut feeling that now was when his sexuality was going to be brought up. Now was the moment that Peter was fearing and had feared for most of his life. Peter quietly watched as his father pulled the chair in the room over beside Peter's bed. Once he was sitting down, he rubbed a hand over his entire face. Peter didn't say anything. Tense, he waited for his father to initiate the conversation.

"How'd it get to be like this, son?" his father sighed, looking as if he himself might cry, which frightened Peter.

His father never cried, especially not in front of his children. Peter waited for his father to continue, the tension growing inside of him.

"I mean… I should have seen this coming. All my bowling buddies said, Jim if you don't get that Peter of yours straightened out, he's gonna end up a nancy boy. I laughed it off. No son of mine would turn out to be a nancy boy. Jack didn't. But then you got old enough for sports, you didn't have any interest, so you chose music instead. They all said he's turning funny, Jim, better straighten him out, before it's too late. Straighten him out, Jim. But I just…," his father's voice almost cracked then, "I knew they meant beating you. That's what discipline is for kids. Spankings and hits. But my old man hit me. And I never forgave him. So when your mother told me she was pregnant, I swore to God I wouldn't hit any child of mine. I figured you were just quiet. Shy. You'd meet a nice girl, settle down, once you had that silly music nonsense out of your system. But then your brother calls your mother and I up, saying you're…."

His father completely broke off, a half-hearted gesture completing his sentence, as if that was all it took to say that Peter was gay. Peter saw the tears threatening to spill over, the slight tremble of his bottom lip.

"That I'm a homosexual," Peter finished for him.

Peter watched as his father visibly flinched at the word 'homosexual'. He couldn't bring himself to look directly as his father anymore. The way he sounded, it seemed as if his father truly cared. It made it seem that, just like his mother, Peter's father would break down crying at any moment. But unlike his mother, Peter sensed an underlying anger inside of his father. Maybe not an anger at Peter but rather himself, yet it was still anger.

"Yes, that," his father slowly said after a moment.

He didn't say anything after that. Peter waited for his father to say something else, but two minutes passed and nothing happened.

"So why are you here? To yell at me or something?" Peter's voice had an edge to it.

Peter honestly couldn't take the silence anymore. This needed to be over. His father picked up on it, his muscles unconsciously tensing as a response, as if he were preparing himself to hit Peter.

"Your brother told us that you're dying of this whole faggot disease-," Peter's father trailed off slightly, as if he didn't know how to say what he wanted to say.

"I have AIDS, dad. It's called AIDS," Peter corrected him.

His father flicked his eyes towards the window. Peter wondered what he was thinking. He realized he kept holding his breath, so Peter forced himself to breath regularly. If he held his breath the whole conversation, he'd probably pass out.

"When your mother and I found out... ," again, Peter's father trailed off, his foot beginning to tap absently against the floor, "Why did you change your will?"

The question, at first, didn't make any sense to Peter. What did his will have anything to do with this? How did his father find out about this? For a moment, once more, Peter almost felt that, yes, he was in fact in a dream. How could he not be? Why else would his father bring up such a trivial thing like his will?

"Um… yeah, I, uh, did change it. What's that got to do with anything?" Peter replied, brows knitted together into a frown.

"You stated that you didn't want to be buried in the family plot," his father answered in a steady tone, one that made Peter almost shiver, "And you also stipulated that only 5% of your belongings will go to us. Your family."

Although Peter didn't exactly have to think hard to remember these changes to his will, he did find himself desperately trying to understand why his father would be upset by any of this. Why did he suddenly care where he was buried? Or how much of his junk would somehow make it's way back to his family?

"What's this got to do with anything, dad?" Peter questioned.

He watched as his father stilled his foot, rubbing a hand up and down his thigh.

"Everyone in our family has been buried in that plot. We have to be buried as a family. It's tradition," his father sounded restrained.

"When I die," the words nearly stuck in Peter's throat, "When I die, I want to be buried where I consider home. Which is here. In L.A."

"You'll upset your mother if you don't change that," his father snapped.

Peter had never seen his father act so weird. He realized, just then, that it was probably because his father was doing his best to ignore and avoid the knowledge that Peter was gay. That he was dying of a gay disease. He'd rather focus on these trivial things, harass Peter about them, and just let that little piece of knowledge slip underneath the rug. None of this mattered. Not really. Peter wondered where Mike was for the second time. He could very well use Mike's supporting presence in the room right now. How long did it get to take coffee?

"Dad, look, I want to be buried here. My…," Peter paused for a moment, trying to think of exactly what he wanted to call his friends, "My partners are here. I want them to be able to bury me. I want them to get most of my stuff when I'm gone."

Tears stung Peter's eyes, but he refused to let his father see him cry. He didn't deserve that sort of satisfaction.

"Your bandmates are not your family," his father pointed out.

A flash of anger. A stab of regret, disgust. It all happened in one short burst inside of Peter. The ignorance of his father caused Peter to bawl his hands into fists.

"They aren't just my bandmates," Peter snapped, "They're my life-partners. The people I want to spend the rest of my life with. The ones who I love."

Peter's father tensed, becoming a rigid pole in the hospital chair, at Peter's words. His eyes wouldn't look anywhere near Peter's direction. It nearly broke Peter's heart, even though Peter knew he shouldn't be bothered.

"It doesn't matter what they are," his father's tone continued to hold a restrained tinge.

For a brief moment, Peter wondered if his father was about to get up and leave the room. It looked as if he might. But as Peter waited, nothing happened. His father continued to sit in the chair.

"I'm going to make you a deal. A choice. Because I want to make your mother happy," his father said, his voice quieter now.

It made Peter shiver.

"You can be buried here, and give 64% of all your belongings to your real family," Peter's father emphasised the word real, as if it had some major significance, "Or you can be buried in Connecticut, where you belong, and give 25% of your belongings to your real family."

Again, Peter's father stressed the word real. As if the family he had with Micky, Mike, and Davy wasn't real at all. Both options were horrible. Neither one was what Peter wanted. With the way things were, when Peter died, Micky and Mike and Davy would never see any compensation for their loss. His mother and father wouldn't be saddled with the medical debt that Peter was on the verge of costing his friends. His 'real' family had only just found out about the real him in the last few days. Alison was the only 'real' family he had, in his opinion, and even then she was as ignorant as most people were. But Peter knew, deep down, that he couldn't argue with his father. Not on something like this. Despite the fact that he really wanted to.

Peter was far too tired. Immensely tired. He was in no mood to fight, no mood to argue. He just wanted this to end.

"Fine," Peter sighed, fists unclenching, "I'll change it, okay. You can bury me whenever the fuck you want."

"Don't use that sort of language, Peter," his father said.

"Or you'll do what?" Peter challenged.

He stared right at his father, waiting for him to do something in response. His father was not looking at him. He was looking towards the window. Peter studied his father's face. Jaw clenched, both hands gripping the arms of the chair. He'd lost some more hair. It shocked Peter to realize how old his father looked. And, despite his anger, he equally felt like a failure. How could his father ever love him again? Why did Peter feel so bad at the loss of his father's love and approval? Before his father could do or say anything else, Peter's mother came into the room.

"Alright, here you go," she said to his father as she handed him a small cup of coffee, "And this is for you, Peter. You better eat it."

His mother placed a cup of pudding onto his bedside table, a spoon appearing next to it a moment later. Peter smiled at his mother, wondering what she thought about all of this. Did she disapprove of Peter? His mother mirrored his smile back to him.

"I think we should go, Halley," his father announced suddenly, standing up and moving towards the door.

His mother looked surprised, motionlessly watching him head towards the door. She then looked back towards Peter.

"I'll be right out, dear," his mother said.

Peter's father hardly acknowledged her. He simply walked out of the room. Peter felt a grip of fear now that he was alone with his mother. Was it her turn to demand something of him? Exhaustion was beginning to creep up on him and he knew that he didn't have much energy left. His mother came closer to his bed and took his hand into hers.

"Oh, my baby boy," she murmured, "I never wanted this for you."

There were tears in her eyes. Peter felt a pang of guilt. He was making his mother cry.

"It's okay, mom," he said, his voice cracking a little, "I'll be alright."

His mother bit down on her bottom lip.

"I love you, Peter," she said, her voice wavering, "You… you better make sure you're eating enough."

Then, she leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. It was a simple enough act, but it filled Peter with a mixture of warmth and guilt and melancholy. It had been so long since he had seen his mother. And he had expected her to hate him for being gay. But here she was, kissing him.

"I love you, too, mom," Peter could only muster a whisper.

His mother smiled at him, said goodbye, and then exited the room. Peter watched her leave. After a moment, Peter stared up at the ceiling and, with a relative calm surrounding him, began to cry.

"Peter? What's wrong?" Mike asked as he sat down in the chair near Peter's bed.

Peter blinked in surprise, having not heard Mike enter the room. He quickly stopped his sniveling and wiped the tears away from his cheeks. Mike's face was etched with worry.

"I, uh, my parents were here," Peter explained.

"What?" Mike frowned, throwing a glance over his shoulder as if Peter's parents would magically appear from thin air like some sort of goblin monster.

"They… my sister, Alison, I told her about me having AIDS because she figured out I was gay. So when I told her about this PCP thing, she got scared, called my brother Jack, and told him I was dying or something, I guess. Then Jack told my parents and my parents came here to see me," Peter's voice kept cracking and the tears dribbled down his chin.

Why couldn't he stop crying? He wasn't a baby, he should be able to get a hold of himself.

"Wait, your sister knew? For how long?" Mike asked.

Peter took a deep breath and then explained everything to Mike, starting from when Alison found out and ending with the agreement he made with his father regarding his will. Mike didn't interrupt Peter with any questions and, as he talked, Peter observed that Mike kept fiddling with the silver bracelet he had given Mike. His three friends all wore their bracelets and it always brought a small amount of comfort to Peter. So seeing Mike unconsciously toy with the bracelet while Peter talked made Peter feel better, somehow. It didn't really make much sense to him, honestly, but he'd take anything he could get at this point. After Peter finished, Mike expressed his sympathies and said some comforting words to Peter, although Peter wasn't entirely listening. The wave of exhaustion had finally snuck up on him and soon enough Peter was asleep.

At one point he found himself half awake and distantly heard Mike talking to someone. As Peter became more awake and aware, he realized that Mike was filling Davy and Micky in on what had happened. Peter wanted to talk to them himself but sleep pulled him back into darkness. The next time Peter awoke, he felt better and more rested, although he was still tired and acknowledged the fact that he wouldn't be up for very long. The room was dimmed and none of his friends were in the room. But Coco was. She was sat next to Peter's bed in the chair, reading a book.

"Where's everyone?" Peter asked.

Coco looked up, then marked her place in her book.

"I offered to stay with you tonight, so that the guys can get some sleep in a real bed," Coco explained, "So they're at home."

"Oh," Peter said, feeling a little disappointed, "Well… thank you."

"Don't mention it, Peter, you're family," Coco instantly replied.

Family. The fact that Coco considered Peter family felt like a welcome relief after the long day Peter had suffered through.

"What are you reading?" Peter asked, trying to drum up a casual conversation.

Coco glanced down at her book, almost as if she had forgotten she'd brought it with her.

"Oh, Beth bought this for me a few days ago. Up the Down Staircase by Bel Kaufman. It's pretty interesting so far, but I only just started," Coco answered, and then gently, yet awkwardly bit down on her upper lip, just like Micky did, "Do you want me to read it to you?"

Peter considered the offer and then nodded. It wouldn't hurt, he decided. Plus it would help him go back to sleep. Or, perhaps more accurately, give him a better excuse to go back to sleep.

"Alright," Coco beamed, opening up and the book.

She began to read aloud to Peter and Peter settled down in the hospital bed. Coco had such a wonderful voice, one that was very comforting. Her voice sounded nothing like Micky's yet it had the same sweet quality. Peter felt himself drifting off in a matter of minutes.

A week passed before Peter heard from any member of his family again. During that time, Peter slept and finally was able to get himself to start writing lyrics again. They weren't anything special, but it meant that he had taken back something that AIDS had taken from him. One day, his phone rang and he picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Peter!" it was Alison.

"Hi, Ali, what's up?" Peter asked.

"Oh, nothing really. I just wanted to call you and say hello, is all," Alison replied.

But of course, since it was Alison after all, she did a lot more than just say hello. Peter did his best to keep up with her conversation, but it seemed as if she were talking a mile a minute.

"Harry and I were talking, too, and we want to come up there with the kids sometime soon. Maybe in two or three months, so he can get off work and give you some time to get better," Alison continued to talk, "But, look, Peter, you call me if you need us to come up at any point because both Harry and I want to be there for you. I know, I know you have your friends but I don't want you to feel like your real family has all abandoned you. Because I'm here for you. And so is Harry. And the kids are as well."

Peter wanted to argue with Alison. Micky, Mike, and Davy were his family. He'd marry either of them in a heartbeat if it were legal. But he understood what Alison was trying to say and so he left the comment unspoken.

"How are the kids?" Peter asked.

"They're alright. I had a long discussion with Harry and we decided that we were going to tell them about being a homosexual, since their aunt and uncle are both homosexuals, you know. So I sat Bobby and Cindy down and told them simply that sometimes boys can like boys and girls can like girls, and that it's alright if that happens. I don't think Cindy's old enough to understand any of that, but at least she'll know, and we'll keep reminding them that, but Bobby seemed to understand. He asked if you were going to marry a boy and I fibbed a little, saying yes, I just didn't want to get into the legality of it all. He is eight after all," Alison talked a mile a minute.

Peter remembered now why he didn't often call up his sister for a chat. It wasn't that she didn't try. It was more concerned with the fact that maybe she tried too much. Still, she was doing her best.

"Well, that's nice," was the only thing Peter could think to say.

Alison talked for a while longer and Peter just tuned her out at that point. Eventually, Alison said that she had to go, so Peter said goodbye and they exchanged I love you's, and then Peter was able to hang up. He sunk down into his bed, wondering how much longer he'd have to stay here in this horrible place. Yes, this was supposed to be a place of healing, but Peter knew that coming here only meant he was one step closer to his grave. He felt horrible, with or without medicine, sometimes he even felt better without medicine. And all the medicine did for him was maybe tack on a few months more to his life. How had he gotten here, of all places?

Peter screwed his eyes shut. All he wanted to do right now was sleep. So he slept.

Dr. Cole had told them that Peter would have to be in hospital for four weeks. It was only Peter's second week now and Mike already felt as if it had been a month. He didn't want to sleep at the hospital again and he didn't want to sleep at home tonight. The pad felt empty without Peter and Mike had also noticed that Davy had started to sleep with Micky in his bed upstairs rather than the bedroom that he and Peter typically shared. So Mike knew he wasn't the only one who felt as if the pad were empty in some way. Why he didn't want to sleep at home tonight was a mystery, even to Mike, who had been thinking it over in his head the whole day. He just needed a change. An escape. And so he called up John and asked if he could sleep at John's house tonight.

John said yes, of course he said yes, and so Mike found himself sitting in John's living room, listening to a new record that John had purchased earlier that day. Since the night Mike had hooked up with Micky, the night he had gotten drunk and told John how pretty he looked, Mike had slowly noticed a slight shift in his perception of John. It wasn't all that bad, it was just moving away from a sexual basis and more towards strict friendship. Or possibly a friendship laced with romantic tendencies, Mike still wasn't sure which one fit better. They still hung out but Mike no longer felt this underlying sadness, one born from knowing Mike could never have what he wanted, which was a relief for Mike. He and John had also discussed their relationship. Mike had expressed his desire to stay friends with John but only friends. Mike remembered that he had said, "You have Annie and I have the guys."

He was quite proud of that statement. John had been a little confused, if not reluctant, at first, but as they talked, John agreed and was very happy that Mike wanted to continue to be his friend. But the term 'friend' was still elusive to Mike, and Mike guessed that John found the term equally mystifying. Yes, he felt relieved that he could be happy with his bandmates

"So, how's Peter?" John asked after he turned the record over.

"He's doin' alright, far as I can tell," Mike answered, "His family found out about him. It wasn't real pretty."

"Shame," John said.

"Yeah, but he's writing songs again. So I'm takin' that sign as a good one," Mike shifted into a slightly more comfortable position on the couch.

John settled down on the floor, sitting between Mike's legs. He tilted his head back, his eyes closed.

"Glad to hear that. Always thought he was good at making up songs," John commented.

"I just hope to see him playin' again soon," Mike sighed, running a hand through John's hair.

"He'll get back to playing, you'll see. Once a musician, always a musician," John replied.

"You ain't seen him all the time, John. It takes so much of him, both it and the medicine. I wish I could shoulder all that pain for him, it just ain't fair."

Mike wasn't even paying any attention to the record that was playing. John reached a hand up to grab onto Mike's hand, the one that was resting atop John's head.

"He'll be alright, Michael. If he's writing again, he'll play again," John reassured him.

"I just… He tries… I know he will, I know he'll start playin' again," Mike wasn't sure what he was trying to say.

It felt nearly like a lost cause, trying to find the words to articulate what he wanted to say, if he wanted to say anything at all. His eyes wandered over the books on the book shelf across from the living room. There was nothing in particular that he was looking for, his eyes were just looking because they could.

"What's on your mind?" John asked after a moment, a hand briefly brushing against Mike's leg.

"I'm not sure," Mike sighed. "You know how Peter got Micky, Davy, and I the bracelets for Christmas?"

"Yes, I do."

"Well, I… I want to do something, maybe give Peter something, I don't know. I want to show him how much he's loved. So that he doesn't lose hope. Hope that he'll get better and that no matter what, he'll always have the three of us," Mike continued.

"Why don't you get rings?" John suggested.

The record player stopped and John got up to change out the record, not even asking Mike's opinion on the album. The music had now faded to the background in both of their minds at this point and there wasn't a need for any sort of discussion.

"Rings?" Mike didn't understand.

Rings were what straight couples exchanged in the eyes of God, during the ceremony of holy matrimony. And the church didn't condone men marrying men. So what was John going on about? John returned to his spot on the floor.

"Yeah, rings. Any sort you like. Four of them. And you can have a little commitment ceremony, or something, if you like," John explained.

"What? Like a fake marriage ceremony?" Mike asked.

It sounded blasphemous. Weird. They weren't heterosexual, so why try an emulate such a heterosexual ceremony?

"It doesn't have to be like that, if you don't want it to," John shrugged. "It can be just the four of you, maybe some friends if you want. Micky's family, maybe. And just… have the four of you commit, if you want to."

The thought of exchanging rings with his friends brought out two main emotions inside of Mike. One was a faint echo of disgust, although it was milder. A part of him knew that he should be disgusted or repulsed by the idea of committing himself to a man, let alone men. It wasn't right. But on the other hand, Mike also felt excitement. Bracelets were one thing, but rings meant something so much more than any bracelet could. Of course, the bracelets would not cease to be important and special, but the rings could really add something solid and tangible to their relationship with all four of them. As the bracelets stood now, it only twined three of them, since Peter did not have a bracelet of his own.

"It was just an idea, though," John said after Mike's lack of response.

"I like it," Mike responded quickly. "It's a good idea."

"Yeah?"

"Sure, I could even bring Micky and Davy in on it, and surprise Peter," Mike nodded.

They lapsed into silence then, the music becoming more of a focus suddenly. Mike felt better, content, as he sat on John's couch. Already he was thinking of ideas for rings and when they should surprise Peter. The night grew old and with the time passing, the conversation between Mike and John flowed. Around two in the morning, Mike couldn't keep his eyes open so he went up to bed and knew that John would be going to bed himself shortly.

In the morning, Mike woke up to scraps of memories from his dream. All he could really remember was the fact that a woman he had once dated long ago had married him and they had kissed, but the kiss itself had felt like nothing. Mike was aware that more had happened in the dream, but he could only remember those two key factors. He lay in the guest bed, staring up at the ceiling, and wanting to just stay in that bed forever. It was cozy, much like his own bed, and today was Saturday. Realistically, Mike knew he could sleep in. John wouldn't mind and the others would understand if Mike took the morning off. But Mike knew that being there for Peter and the other two wasn't a job. It was a necessity. A responsibility that he couldn't neglect. So Mike pulled himself out of bed and got dressed into the change of clothes he had brought with him before heading down into the kitchen.

John was already up and making breakfast as Mike padded in.

"Good morning," John smiled and gestured towards a cup of coffee on the counter, "How did you sleep?"

Mike picked it up and took a sip, sitting down at the oakwood table.

"I slept fine," Mike replied, watching John as he finished making scrambled eggs and checked on the bacon.

"Bet it beats sleeping at the hospital," John commented.

"Sleeping there isn't that bad," Mike admitted, but then quickly added, "But sleeping here was better."

Mike took a gulp of coffee, the liquid almost scalding his throat. John finished up breakfast, plating it out onto two plates. He handed one over to Mike, who eagerly began to scarf down the food. A small smile flashed across John's face as he sat down next to Mike at the table and began to eat his own breakfast.

"Michael, I want you to know that if you ever want to escape the city, you're welcome to come up with me to my cabin up in the Sierra Nevada mountains," John stated after a good long while, "You and the guys."

Mike scraped the last of his eggs onto his fork.

"I'll keep that in mind," Mike nodded his head, though it was just a slight tilt of his head in a forward motion.

He slowly chewed the last forkful of his eggs.

"Michael, you know that I love you, right?" John asked.

Mike swallowed his food.

"Yeah, I know," Mike answered. "I love you, too."

He was highly aware of the noise that John's fork made as it moved against John's plate. Why did Mike suddenly feel so tense? It was ridiculous, there was no need for it. He and John were friends, after all. Good friends.

"You know, had you ever asked to go steady, I would have said yes," John almost sighed.

Mike studied his face. His eyes were locked on his plate, yet he seemed relaxed. Wistful, even, as if he and Mike were just reminiscing about past times. Maybe they were. Mike wasn't entirely sure.

"Even if I had, I don't think it woulda worked," Mike admitted, "We're good friends, that fits us alright, but it ain't like anything else would… At least, I don't think it would've."

The coffee in Mike's cup was growing cold. It wasn't lukewarm quite yet, but it was getting there. Almost there.

"Yeah, I know," John agreed, a mixture of disappointment and acceptance on his face, "And I know we got this all behind us. But I just wanted you to know that I really do love you. And I want you to be able to find happiness, Michael."

"Do you really love Annie?" Mike asked.

"Yes," John nodded, "At least, I think so."

"Then stop screwin' around on her, alright," Mike said.

"I'm tryin'," John finished the last of his bacon.

For a moment, the two men just sat there at the kitchen table, finishing their coffee. Once they were both finished, Mike helped John clean up. Then Mike embraced John before pecking him on the cheek.

"Thank you for being my friend, John," Mike said to him.

"It ain't nothing. Thanks for being mine," John said in return.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Happy Holidays! I might try to publish another chapter before Christmas (or on Christmas) but no promises. But do look forward to more chapters up soon as I'll be on break for a week so school won't be around to keep me away from writing/editing. I apologize for not posting a chapter in a while, but school has kept me very busy. Hopefully you all enjoyed this chapter! Feel free to leave any reviews/concerns/comments and leave a like/kudo/fav. Any feedback is appreciated. Again, I'd like to mention that I am not a historian nor am I a medical doctor, so I do apologize for any inaccuracies one my find. It is also important to mention that I am no way trying to make light of HIV/AIDS and I urge anyone interested in knowing the real story about HIV/AIDS (or even the current HIV/AIDS situation in the world) please go out and do some personal research. This story is purely fictional despite it's basis in historical fact. I hope you all enjoyed! Have a happy winter season and hopefully you all can look forward to a new chapter up soon! :)