"What is that supposed to mean?" I was sharp, it was unintentional.

"You know what it means. I don't want to have to explain this, I don't want to think about this anymore. I am forced to relive this in my dreams, please don't

make me relive it now." He sighed, leaning back on the sofa. His black hair had fallen into his eyes and he made no effort to move it.

So I did.

He flinched at first, though calmed as I slowly ran my fingers through his messy hair, like a parent would to a child.

He sighed, hopefully out of relief or pleasure than boredom, and settled down onto the sofa cushions.

"Is this ok?" He said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence I had created.

"Is what ok?"

"This. Me being here. I pretty much intruded. I am in your house on your sofa moaning about my father who killed your grandfather. It's not exactly

commonplace is it?"

I laughed a little. "Is this really what you are concerned about? I would have thought you would be scared that someone would look through the window and

see to men..." I gasp theatrically "sitting within a close proximity of each other. Not to mention, one of them is touching the other. How unspeakable."

He giggled, though quickly recovered and maintained his worried look. "What if someone does see?"

"Prosecute them for trespassing." I shrugged. "Besides, we could probably pass as brothers."

"That's a point." He looked relieved.

We sat in another silence for a while, he was staring at me with a quizzical look upon his face.

"What is it?"

"What was it like for you to come out?"

"To my family?" He nodded. "I haven't. Well... my grandfather guessed. But I haven't told my family. Haven't seen them in years. I have tried to set up my own

life, away from them." I shrugged, he looked as though he were about to ask about my family, so I shrugged again.

He continued to look at me.

"What?!" His intent stares were a little off putting.

"What would you do to my father if you met him."

"You can't ask me that. You can't. I have no answer. I would not be able to control myself, I would most likely end up doing something stupid and getting hung

for it. I would lose all discipline and probably kick the bastard to death. I don't know. I just... please don't. I don't want to meet him." I paused, slowing my

breath which had sped like an engine. "It might not have even been him. I don't know. We don't know. No one knows for certain."

"Are you going to find out who it was?"

He seemed hell bent on making me angry. "I want to, yes. But then what would I do? What would I be able to do? I can't do anything. Possibly, if he was killed

for a different reason, I would go out and find the fucking murderer, but I can't. I have no rights. No chance of survival."

"You're just going to sit here then?"

"What else should I do? Do you not get it? I don't know. I don't know! I don't know!" I was screaming.

He leaned over and pressed his lips onto mine, his were cold, mine raging.

"Stay with me?" He whispered, as we lay together on the sofa.

"I can't move. I guess you're stuck with me." I grinned and he flicked me on the cheek.

"I didn't mean that."

"What did you mean then?" I acted confused, he rolled his eyes and sighed.

"I meant stay with me. Stay with me through this. Stay with me through the judgmental people and the stupid laws, the fake friends and the accusations. Stay

with me through pathetic family and horrid nightmares, stay with me through the hiding and the crying and the lying. Just stay with me."

I interlocked my fingers with his and answered "I promise."

He smiled, as if it were the first true smile he had ever had.