Welcome to the newest installment of the Like You Need it to Survive universe. Thank you so much for coming and reading this story. I am eternally grateful for reviews.

It had been almost four months since our trip to South Carolina. Cooler winter weather settled into the New York City air. In the months since our trip that ended in the plague, we'd gotten closer, settled into a coziness with each other. We worked on most projects at work together, his pictures giving breath to my words… once it became clear that we were together we got to sit through a lengthy HR lecture and sign about a million pieces of paperwork in legal jargon agreeing that we wouldn't sue the Post if shit ended badly between us or that we wouldn't fuck in the copy room, so far we'd held up one half of that agreement…hey, no one's being sued.

Most nights my apartment went unused, spending more time at John's. I'd grown closer with Lafayette and Hercules, embracing the idea of friendship as much as I could. Accepting that just maybe I was worthy of some good things, or even if I wasn't worthy of it, there'd been enough of a glitch in the Matrix for some goodness to fall into my lap.

At John's persuasion, I'd started therapy about two months ago, starting to unpack some of my shit, it was slow going and I still didn't hold out much hope, I'd put my foot down when anxiety medication was suggested, reminding the therapist that James Bonsack didn't invent a cigarette-making machine for me to take anxiety medication, pry my smokes from my cold, dead hands.

John had gotten home from South Carolina last night, he'd said it was his first time home for Thanksgiving in four years, I hadn't seen him since he'd left...I missed him. I couldn't swing the time off and grudgingly joined Hercules and Lafayette at a 'friendsgiving' at their apartment with a few of their work colleagues.

My phone rang, the ringtone John set for himself to differentiate his calls from intrusions by the rest of the world, he'd made me promise to answer my phone when he called, at least text him that I was busy, or couldn't talk, or didn't want to, said it stressed him out when he couldn't get a hold of me. I answered this time.

"Sup?" I asked, tearing my eyes away from my computer screen, the after image of staring at the glowing text for too long printing itself on the wall.

"Can I come over? I missed you."

"Missed you, too. Come on over, or well, I'm pretty close to done with what I'm doing, I can just come over."

"Nope, wanna come to you."

This was unusual, John was a creature of habit, preferred the comfort of his own place most of the time, couldn't say I blamed him as I looked at the plaster peeling in the corner of my kitchen.

"O-Okay, yeah, sure, see you soon."

He hung up and I put on the kettle for him, I own a tea kettle now. That's a thing. Tea's dumb, like fake coffee, but he likes it.

By the time he arrived, the tea was done steeping, I'd perfected the time to a science. He squeezed me tight, his taller frame melting into me, he inhaled deeply, I held him, only then realizing how much I'd missed him, the amber smell of his cologne with the clean scent of his laundry detergent, the strawberries in his hair, his warmth, how conveniently we fit together. I pulled back and offered him his tea, realizing only then how sad he looked.

"What's the matter?" I tucked my feet under his thigh, knees to my chest on the couch.

I watched his jaw muscles work as he gnawed at his cheek. He's leaving me. Wised up, spent the week with Jem telling him all the reasons I'm a piece of shit, Martha reminding him he could do better. I swallowed the panic, it was only a matter of time before it happened.

"Laf's moving out." He said it slowly, like each word caused him pain.

I dropped my head against the couch, consumed by relief that I could still claim him, "oh, thank God."

"What?"

"No-nothing, sorry, I'm sorry. I, uh, wow…that sucks."

My head spun with relief, I'm more attached to him than what makes any good sense, but I guess that's love.

"Yeah, him and Hercules finally want to get a place together. Wanna move to Hell's Kitchen, and start their lives together, I guess...We've lived together for like eight or nine years, though, except for right after my mom died. He's my best friend, so I mean, yeah, I'm happy for him, but he's my best friend and I'm never gonna see him now. No more staying up for 'just one more episode,' no more flour fights when he's trying to bake because I think it's funny that it takes him forever to get it out of his hair, no more getting drunk on Wednesday nights just because we have nothing better to do, no more reenacting Les Miserables because he likes to sing it in French and I like to make barricades out of every couch cushion and pillow in the house. No more of any of that." His eyes were swimming. As I basked in relief that he was still mine, staying with me I could understand why Lafayette wanted to move in with the man he loved, spend every possible moment together. The thought of being without him was dizzying.

I leaned over and held him to me, sliding him against my chest so he fit between my legs, kissed his hair, "querido, he's still going to be your best friend."

"I know, I'm just… scared that I'm gonna be left behind, that he's gonna move away and forget all about me, out of sight, out of mind." The tears were real now, breaking through his lashes like they were pillow-fort barricades.

"No one can forget about you, John. Especially not him, he's your best friend. Fuck, I was jealous of him for a long time because of how much he loves you."

Tears and laughter coincided into a hiccupy cacophony and John turned to look at me, tearful eyes crinkled by the smile on his lips, "you were jealous… of Laf?"

Embarrassment flushed my cheeks and I bit my lip, looking at the ground, "yeah, how could I not be? You're like each other's other half, I didn't think there was a place for me." Corny as hell.

"Oh, my God, babe. That's, whew, that's hilarious. I mean, not-not that you were jealous, but that you thought that Lafayette could-" he choked off with laughter, but quickly composed himself seeing me still staring at the ground, "no, he's my best friend, but no, not even a little bit."

I relaxed a little bit and my mind started churning, focusing on the practical, and trying to decide how mad I was at the Frenchman for making my John - mine, not his - upset, "so when are they moving?"

"They want to by Christmas... we've spent every Christmas together."

I stroked his hair, "I'm sure you still can. He's not moving back to France or anything."

"I know, but he'll want to spend it with Herc, which I get, I'm not a selfish asshole, I just… it's weird and new and different."

"We'll spend Christmas together." I consoled him, rubbing his neck.

"Yeah?"

"I mean, if not I'm gonna be here drinking and eating Chinese takeout alone like every other year so, yeah, I figure, I don't have plans in the way." I ribbed.

"Alone on Christmas?"

"Yup."

"Every year?"

"Yup."

This made the tears start again and he leaned into me, holding tightly, comforting me, I didn't need comfort, facts are facts, and when you don't have family and don't have friends, one fact is you're alone for Christmas.

"Well, you're never gonna spend another Christmas alone again."

I smiled at him and smoothed his hair, my mind turned back to the practical, "so is your lease up next month?"

"No, why?"

"Well, it's pretty shitty of him to just bail on you. I mean, your place can't be cheap."

He shrugged, "we haven't figured out all the details yet, but I'm not worried about it, my dad's-"

"Your orphan money."

"Gah, I wish you wouldn't call it that."

"Inheritance sounds too pompous, you're so not that, I taste bile when I hear the word inheritance, or ugh, worse yet, trust fund."

"But I do have a trust fund, Alex, I get it in a couple years."

"Ack, blegh, rich people." I shuddered and pulled a face.

He rolled his eyes, "okay, my dad's life insurance policy, uh, I don't know what else to call the rest of it, it's an inheritance."

"Orphan money."

Another eye roll, "whatever, that money means I can still live there, no problem."

"Still think it's shitty of him to just bail on you."

"Well, I mean he mentioned that he could keep paying rent until the lease is up and I figure out what I'm gonna do."

"What do you think you're gonna do?"

"I don't know, I like where I live, but it's a little much for just me."

"You can make his room a studio, or a darkroom." I tried to get him excited at the prospect of more space.

His lips twitched, "that could be kind of cool, but I was thinking it could be an office."

"I mean, isn't a studio like the artist's equivalent of an office?"

"For artists, yeah, but not for writers, writers get offices, er- studies?"

"Semantics. But, John, you don't write, hell, your linguistic prowess is sending texts with spelling errors, they make autocorrect for a reason."

"Ouch, but if you shut up a minute, I think I should make it a study because I want it to be your study-"

I cut him off, "-okay, that seems a little ridiculous, don't you think? I'm over there a lot, but if anything it should be-"

It was his turn to cut me off, "-Alexander, I want it to be your study because I want it to be your home. I've got the room, Lafayette gets to live with the man he loves, I want to, too, will you move in with me?"

My mouth fell open, I closed it, but like a broken hinge it fell open again, "pause. Cigarette."

He smiled knowingly and patted my knee as I got up to go outside, "you can smoke in here, love, it smells like smoke all the time in here anyway."

"Fresh air." I explained and slipped out the door.

I crouched against the struts of the fire escape and took a steeling breath, lighting my smoke with shaky hands. In twenty minutes I'd gone from thinking he was leaving me to him asking me to live with him. The fuck do you do with that? My head cleared with the assistance of the nicotine and after the cigarette burned to the filter I took a deep breath, smoothed out my clothes and went back inside, John was just waiting on the couch, phone in hand, scrolling instagram, he smiled at me. I settled back against him.

"So what do you say?" he tucked a piece of hair behind my ear.

"I… I don't think I can pull my weight. John, your place is a little out of my tax bracket."

"Well, Laf's gonna pay until the lease is up and we'll go from there."

"I don't want you for your money." My cheeks burned as I tore at a scab on my lip with my teeth, licking away the copper taste I drew, wincing at the pain of tearing more than just the scab away.

"I never thought that, I just want to be with you. It's not about the money."

"It's easy for it to 'not be about money' when you're the one with money."

"I'm not on the other side of this, but I promise it doesn't matter to me. I just want you. So?"

"I… Okay." I licked at the bloody spot on my lip.

"Yeah?" He grinned.

"Okay, my lease isn't up till summer, though, so, logistically, I don't know how that's gonna pan out, fuck, I can barely afford this shithole."

"We can make this my studio!"

"What?"

He tucked his knees under him and started gesticulating like a drowning child, "yeah, yeah, yeah, your bedroom can be my darkroom cause it's the perfect size, and then out here I can set up a drafting table and some easels. That way we aren't wasting it, and that should make you feel better about me covering rent at our place, because you're the one paying for my studio."

I mulled it over, "that's… that's actually perfect, that seems reasonable. Fair."

He attacked me in a hug, "Alex, I'm so excited," he cupped my face, "this is good."

"It is good." I nodded and smiled, nuzzling his neck.