The first thing Bobby thought was, wait, that doesn't feel right. He opened his eyes and discovered he was on a carpet. He swiveled his eyes around to find more carpet, some pizza slices, four empty beer bottles, and one lonely, extremely dirty sock sticking out from under a loveseat. He raised his head. He was in front of a bed, and it came to him in a bit that he had passed out at the party. He groaned and rubbed his head; it felt like someone had been bouncing bowling balls off his temples. He went to lay back down, but after a quick glance at the carpet he decided to try to find some aspirin instead. A bolt of pain thudded through his head as he rolled over, and he took his time getting to his feet, one hand over his eyes to block the sunshine sneaking in through the window. Through his fingers, he was able to see James and EY passed out on the bed, EY's head near the floor, James' head on the pillow and his hand around EY's leg, cuddling it like a teddy bear. The sight made him smile, and he wished his head didn't ache so he could take a picture.

He meandered over to the bathroom next door and rummaged through the medicine cabinet. There was a half-full bottle of Excedrin there and he took two of them. He looked down at the sink meaning to get a drink of water and noticed a condom fitted over the faucet, its wrinkled end swinging slightly back and forth. "Ugh," he grimaced, and went downstairs to get a proper drink, slipping the pills in his back pocket as he went.

He took the stairs very slowly, leaning on the wall as he went. As he finally made it downstairs and rounded the corner, he was greeted by Tommy, who was looking through the leftover beers. Tommy looked up, and Bobby put a finger to his lips, and then tapped his head. Tommy nodded, picked out a beer, opened it and handed it to him, and Bobby tossed the pills in his mouth and took a couple of long swallows.

"Thanks, bro, appreciate it." Bobby said, his voice low and husky with sleep.

"No problem. Is, uh, is it really bad? Because I'd love to talk to you outside." Tommy had opened his own beer and had another in his pocket.

Bobby sighed. "I don't think that's a good idea even when my headache goes away."

"Please, Bobby? I really need to talk before everyone gets up. I'm trying real hard, but there are some things I can't talk to James about because he just doesn't understand. I just need a couple minutes of your time. I'm not going to hit on you or anything, for real, I just need someone to listen, someone who might relate, or something, you know? I just want to be not alone in this. I don't know. Could you help? Please?"

Bobby leaned against the wall and tried to think while his head thundered. Tommy waited patiently, taking a sip of his beer now and then. Finally, Bobby nodded. Tommy smiled and filled a plastic cup with whiskey.

"Thanks, man," he said. "I got to drink something before I start. I can't even talk about this shit sober. You know? It's crazy." He walked out to the patio and slid the door open; Bobby followed and hoped the meds would kick in soon. As soon as Tommy stepped outside the door he started laughing, and Bobby looked up.

Robbie E was passed out on the lawn. He'd apparently been in the hammock and had rolled out sometime during the night. He was face down in the grass, his hair stabbing into the dirt, one foot still wrapped in the hammock, the other splayed out behind him. A fly was washing itself on his back. Tommy whipped out his phone and took a picture, still laughing. "Look, man, his hair is still sticking straight up. That's some high powered gel, bro."

"Industrial strength," Bobby said, laughing a little himself.

Tommy tucked his phone back into his pocket and strode across the lawn, picking up two plastic chairs on the way. Bobby followed at a polite distance until Tommy stopped and put the chairs down in a patch of shade, as far away from the house as he could get. They sat down, and Tommy finished off his drink and put the cup down at his feet. They sat in silence for a while, listening to the birds sing and Robbie E snore, occasionally in concert.

"He's going to wake up mad as shit," Tommy finally said. Bobby nodded. Tommy brought his beer to his lips and took another small sip, and then turned to look at Bobby. "You know, Bobby," he said, "I don't know how to do this."

"Just say what's on your mind," replied Bobby.

"I have so much on my mind, dude, and no idea how to say it. I feel weird. Like, I'm really trying to be cool for James' sake, and also because I need this job, you know? I just don't know how to live with myself."

"How so?"

"Like, how do you live with yourself if you're, uh, well, you know...umm..."

"Curious?" Bobby prompted.

Tommy perked up. "Curious! That's it! Is that like, the official name?"

"What? No."

"Oh. Anyway, yeah. So how do you live with it, you know, not hating yourself? Because sometimes I feel so sick. I never went in for that gay shit before. I guess James told you about the, uh, the picture thing?"

"Yep."

"I'm really fucking sorry for that."

"Yeah."

"Yeah, so, um, so I'm like, listening to James and everything, and I really get what he's saying about not acting stupid and everything, but like, ummm, sometimes I just feel dirty. You know? Do you know?"

"I do know, yeah."

"So what should I do? Like he said, ummm, I should just accept myself and shit. But how? Do I gotta take some fucking self-esteem course or some shit?"

"No," Bobby said with a small sigh. He didn't enjoy having to go through all this again. "You just keep telling yourself there's nothing wrong with how you feel, and you tell yourself again and again every day until you believe it. There's no shortcuts."

"Oh. Aww. Shit. I was hoping...I don't know. Fuck it." Tommy lapsed into silence. Bobby stared out into space, waiting for Tommy to get up the nerve to continue. "So, uh, is that how the other guys you know deal with it too? Are there any others here you know?"

"I don't know any others for sure. There probably are, but we don't keep a database."

Tommy snorted. "Right, right. So maybe I am alone."

Bobby glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, torn between wanting to be supportive and wondering if Tommy was subtly trying to discover more names and dirt to take back to Bischoff. He patted Tommy on the shoulder and Tommy jerked.

"Tommy, let me tell you one thing - nobody needs to know who I jerk off to. That's my private thing. You can do that without worrying and get comfortable with that, you know, get comfortable with liking who you like. Then, I don't know, move up to Craigslist or something. It's not like you're famous, so you can go there. There's plenty of guys in the same boat there, and if you want, you can have fun with them. That's far in the future, of course, but it's an option. Right now, just stick to your fantasies for a while, okay?"

Tommy nodded, looked over at Bobby, and with a sly smile, he winked. Bobby frowned and said, "I'll pretend I didn't see that this one time."

"You can't expect a man to turn it off right away, right?"

"I can expect you not to be so damn obvious about it, especially after you said you wouldn't hit on me. Don't try to get cute about it."

"Sorry. You're kind of cute when you're mad."

Bobby made as if to get up and Tommy put a hand on his arm. "Sorry, man, okay? Sorry. Sit down. I got a little carried away."

"Whiskey getting to you?"

"Kinda. Please. I'm sorry. I was just being funny."

"You're not very good at it."

"I'm sorry."

"All right, all right." Bobby leaned back in his chair and swallowed more of his beer. "My bottle's almost empty, so talk a little faster."

"Want my extra?"

"Better not. Anyway, what I'm saying is, as long as you're happy doing what you do, quietly, the world can fuck off. You don't have any problems telling people to fuck off, that's for sure."

Tommy smirked. "I sure don't."

"Then you're all set, and that's all the advice I've got."

"Thanks, dude. You're good. AJ is a lucky man."

"I thought I told you yesterday about the new rule."

"My bad, bro."

"You should work on that jealousy too, while you're at it."

"Got any tips for that?" said Tommy with a wide smile.

"Sadly, not really."

"Damn."

"Just know that it's never gonna happen between us."

"Is it because of-"

Bobby stopped him with a white-hot glare. Tommy said, slowly, "my actions?"

"Yes. Also, you're not my type. Down the road, we can be friendly, but that's all that's going to happen, okay?"

"Not friends?" Tommy said, a wistful look in his eye.

"Seriously? Would you be friends with me if I did what you did?"

"Of course not, but I'm not as nice as you are."

"Surprise, I'm not that nice."

"Well, I disagree a little on that, but I get it."

"It's all good." Bobby stretched, his arms reaching up and around, his shirt tightening. His headache was dialing down a little. He saw Tommy look at him again. "Problem?"

"Shame we couldn't be more than friends. I bet it would be fun."

"I'm flattered. Good on you for taking a swing at it, even though nothing is ever gonna happen."

Tommy looked surprised, then confused, then blushed a little bit. "Yeah. It's the alcohol, I guess."

"You won't always need it." He clapped Tommy on the back and quickly got up. Tommy got up a little more slowly and grabbed the chairs before Bobby could do more than gesture. They walked back together and Tommy dumped the chairs off near the patio. Robbie E was still snoring away, and this time Bobby took a picture. He turned back to the door to find Tommy smiling at him, and braced for another comment.

But "Thanks, dude," was all he said. Bobby nodded back.

"So," Tommy said as he slid the door open, "you want breakfast?"

"Uh, no, I'm good. I wouldn't think a guy like you could cook anyway."

"I can't, but toast counts as breakfast, right?"

Bobby laughed. "Yeah, technically I guess. Eh, I'll take some toast. My stomach is kinda swimming."

"Mine too. I might even get fancy and put some butter on it. You know how we do things."

"I do. I do indeed."