Entering the city of Seattle was like plunging full into chaos, sealed inside a car-shaped capsule with Zeke and Sasha at the helm. In the last hour the lights of the city had grown from an incipient glow on the horizon, gradually swelled to a haze in the night sky and then finally shaped a bright dome all around them – at which time Zeke had pulled out a folded sheet of paper with street names and directions scribbled down on it, and handed it to Sasha. The two of them began to confer in quiet tones.

"There... that's the exit."

"I know."

"Now we want Jarvis Street."

"Can you watch for it... shit, my eyes are falling out of my head."

And a little while later:

"There's Jarvis."

"Turn right or left?"

"Left. Now watch out for Langley – and you should probably be in the right lane here – "

Casey didn't recall feeling so overwhelmed when he first got to Cincinnati. That had been a little intimidating, but he had been to Cincinnati quite a few times before he went to school there. This felt like a descent into the abyss. Streets laid out in patterns that he couldn't see, peopled by thousands of complete strangers with all their layers of distorted intentions, and the brains and the limbs to carry them out.

He didn't know exactly when that thought had become so worrying to him. Memory supplied an earlier time when strangers hadn't been so strange. Then, he hadn't exactly been fond of them but at least he understood that they were merely people he didn't know. These days, though, he had to contend with a certain truth that had made itself known to him: It didn't matter if you knew them or not because the people you knew were usually the ones inflicting the majority of the hurting anyway. Get to know more people, Casey didn't make much sense then, did it? They would just be more people that he would stupidly insist on clinging to despite what they might do to him.

"I'm beat," Zeke said wearily to his passengers. It was nearly eleven o'clock, the end of twelve hours of driving and Sasha wasn't much better off than Zeke. For the hundred miles or so approaching Seattle, Sasha had dozed on and off with his head against the window frame, making sleep noises. "Can't wait to crash," Zeke added.

You couldn't tell, but Zeke had to be chafing over what had happened – was it only this morning? The morning after the first night that they were officially Sleeping Together. Zeke had to be thinking, considering, reconsidering... wondering if it was really worth doing. Not that going to bed wasn't easy. Most nights they could rely on Casey being far too worn out to make any trouble, and a lot of the time Zeke would be just about as tired. Dealing with a Casey was an exhausting way for Zeke to spend a day.

No, it was the waking up that would be the problem.

They had stopped over in Bozeman the night before and Zeke had gone to bed sated and dopey, rubbing a belly filled with a twenty-ounce Montana-bred slab of beef. He had insisted on ordering it despite, or maybe because of, all of Sasha's moral objections. So Casey and Sasha had sat across from Zeke in that restaurant almost gap-jawed with horror as Zeke worked his way through it.

"Zeke," Sasha said about twelve ounces in. "Did you ever see that episode of the Simpsons where Homer was in this steakhouse and there was a challenge to eat the world's biggest steak and Homer's competitor expired of colon cancer before he could finish?"

"Nope," Zeke answered, sawing off another piece.

"Kitten, you must have seen that one. That was funny, huh?"

"Um," Casey said, not wanting to think about Zeke dying or otherwise not being around. "Yeah."

"Did you know that they use ground up chickens for animal feed now?"

Zeke returned serenely, "Not for this cow."

Sasha rolled his eyes. "Well, enjoy. You aren't going to be getting beef every day from now on, that's for sure."

Around a mouthful, Zeke said, "Why, you think you're going to be around to cook every meal for us?"

Sasha looked deeply wounded, and Casey was abruptly shocked by Zeke's implication; he had assumed until now that Sasha was going to live with them, that it was a done deal. He had been sure that Zeke wanted that too, and apparently Sasha had the same idea. Sasha's hand patted his leg under the table for reassurance, and he grabbed onto it, wondering how to let Zeke know that he needed Sasha like he needed air.

"Okay," Zeke said matter-of-factly, laying down his fork and knife for a moment. "We haven't really discussed this yet but I guess now's as good a time as any. Better to get it done before we start the apartment hunting."

"I thought it was understood," Sasha said, levelling a calculating stare at Zeke.

"Don't get me wrong," Zeke shrugged. "I don't mind at all –"

"Your enthusiasm is overwhelming."

"– I just want to make sure that all of us are in agreement. It's not just up to me."

Sasha turned down the intensity-dial. "Ah. Well, kitten," he replied, squeezing Casey's hand as he looked to him. "What do you say, then?"

Casey held Sasha's hand and tried vainly to speak. Not that he didn't have things to say, they just got jumbled up in his head at important moments like this. Maybe someday soon he'd be able to write Sasha a letter and lay it all out... how Sasha was the only person who had never changed on him, the only person who never would, and how completely restful it was to know that Sasha was always totally and exactly Sasha. Even when Sasha had surprised him with his anger or disappointment, there was no indication that he was anyone other than Sasha.

It wasn't that Casey thought badly of people. They didn't do it on purpose. It was always by mistake, from a place they all had where words failed them, the place everyone acted from, all heart-broken and fucked-up. Casey figured that was how the aliens had gotten to people. It was supposed to be something that happened to them against their will, but the truth was that the aliens found that fucked-up place despite a person's most determined efforts to hide it and that place invited the aliens in. So they didn't do things because they meant to, and they did things to Casey because he had that place too – except there was something about his place that was different, that inflamed and agitated everyone else's, and basically made him a deviant among defectives. None of them could change or stop it.

That was why Casey loved Zeke – Zeke whose every move, even the simple acts of cutting and chewing, were discrete and comprehensible. Zeke was innocent in a way. He thought that everything could be broken down and understood – he believed it like you were supposed to believe in things you heard in church. Zeke tried with everything in him to redeem his faith, to the extent that he even appeared to be successful a lot of the time. He was absolutely confident that he could speak to that aberration within Casey that triggered all the violence and madness, and give it a voice. Casey didn't want him to find out any different. He shook with terror when he thought about how close he had come to destroying Zeke already. He still might.

When Casey wasn't getting out any words, Sasha swung their hands a little under the table where Zeke couldn't see it, and said coyly, "Do you think you could stand to have me around, Kitten? I promise to be good."

Casey nodded gratefully. "Oh – yes."

"It's settled, then," Sasha announced.

Zeke made a face – with a smile hiding in it, Casey thought. "But you're going to have to sleep in your own bedroom from now on."

"I would hope so.... gotta have someplace where I coordinate the non-stop parade of boys and men I expect to see once news of my arrival spreads throughout the city."

Zeke produced a full-fledged snort of laughter. "I wouldn't want to miss that."

Once the steak had been consumed it was late. Back in their hotel room, Sasha crashed immediately in one of the beds, while Casey and Zeke climbed into the other together and got comfortable. Casey had fallen asleep while Zeke surfed TV channels in the dark.

It was becoming a nightly event, Casey waking up in pitch black with no reason to think there was anyone else alive in the world. His ribcage was trying to evict his heart and he couldn't get a whole breath. Sitting up helped ease the situation for a moment. He pulled air...in... and out, in... and out... while running the subtext see, you're breathing, you can breathe, the lungs work, you can breathe but his head was spinning and he was afraid this was what it felt like when you had a heart attack or an aneurysm. The room was so very dark, darker than other rooms had been and he couldn't remember where he was, couldn't find any visual references. It wasn't right. Usually there was some light, something had to be wrong --

A whisper of the familiar: "Casey."

Now he remembered a few things. He was in a hotel room in Bozeman and he had forgotten that Zeke was in this bed with him. He stayed just as he was, trying desperately to regulate his air intake and not beg Zeke for help. Zeke might not like to know that even with him in the same bed Casey was waking up like this – and Zeke shouldn't have his sleep disturbed this way. Zeke spent all day managing Casey, that should be enough, he should have to be on duty all night too –

A rustling sound. Warm hands on his shoulders.

"Hey. What's going on?"

"Z-Zeke..."

"Easy, Case."

"Can't... breathe..."

"Of course you can, you're doing it right now"

"S-sorry... woke you..."

"Don't be ridiculous, I would much rather be awake than asleep." Zeke rubbed Casey's back, making his body sway a little. Casey could barely feel Zeke's touch; his hands tingled and jittered, his skin was somehow alive with nerves and numb at the same time. "Just breathe. It's okay..."

"... oh...kay..." he echoed, working at believing it.

"Yeah... that's good..." Zeke's hand came to rest on the muscles between shoulder and neck, kneading them. "Does this help?" Casey didn't answer and Zeke just kept up the massage. Casey concentrated on his breathing until he felt reasonably confident of a continuous air supply.

Now he could twist around and seek Zeke's body in the dark. Zeke made a slight noise at the thud of their bodies connecting but his arms came up around Casey lightly, not pressing or squeezing his ribcage.

"Better?" Zeke asked softly.

Casey nodded, his head sliding against Zeke's t-shirted chest.

"Your heart's going like mad."

"Why's it so dark?" he murmured to Zeke, shivering with the chill that came after fear. His own shirt was slightly damp with sweat.

"So dark –? Oh... black out curtains. There was a light right in my eyes so I closed them before I went to sleep... I didn't think..." Zeke tightened his arms just a little. "Do you wanna lie down?"

Casey went agreeably, keeping his eyes closed out of a preference for a self-inflicted darkness. Zeke let go of him just long enough for them both to get horizontal and then wrapped Casey up snugly again. Casey's head ended up tucked under Zeke's chin with one of Zeke's legs thrown over his. He was enveloped and it was just so good, so wonderful to be blanketed in Zeke.

"Does the dark... bother you?" Zeke whispered.

"No..."

"Do you want me to open the curtains?"

"No... just didn't know where I was."

"I'm sorry, Case."

He sighed, feeling quite content now. "s'okay." Already his eyelids felt heavy. He touched his mouth to Zeke's neck, not to kiss but to appreciate Zeke with his entire olfactory apparatus. "Smell good," he whispered. He decided to rest there. "Tired, Zeke."

Zeke didn't say much of anything, until: "Go to sleep then..."

Casey's eyes opened to a bright beam of sunshine as the curtains were yanked open by Sasha. At the very same time that Casey became aware of the light on his face, he comprehended that he and Zeke were still completely twined around each other and -- he supposed not entirely unexpectedly -- Zeke's rigid cock was molten hot against Casey's abdomen.

"Rise and shine!" Sasha exclaimed, oblivious to what he had caught them in. "I want to get this driving shit over with." He was a pajama-clad guru of good will with an oversized bag of personal grooming equipment tucked under his arm. As he passed by them he positioned himself at the foot of their bed momentarily. "You two are just too cute for words. I'm gonna shave." He grinned widely and sailed into the bathroom, shutting the door.

Casey peeled himself off of Zeke. It was a struggle to look at him, but when he did he found that Zeke was having a similar difficulty, staring at some point on the wall.

"So," Zeke remarked and stopped like he couldn't think of a single word to apply to the situation.

Zeke without words was Zeke in extreme distress. All Casey could think to do was to apologize. They wouldn't be in this situation if it weren't for him being so needy. He tried to say it, even while knowing it wouldn't be well-received. "Sorry – "

"Don't." Zeke turned on his side, presenting his back. "Stuff like this is going to happen. Let's just ... just...let it happen."

"I could... I could help."

"No. Even if we were going to...we have a chaperone here, anyway," Zeke finished, sounding bitter.

"Not after today," Casey noted.

He wasn't trying to be provocative, only to state a basic fact that Sasha was not going to be sleeping in the same room with them after today, but Zeke flipped over and glared at him. "Casey," he said. "Don't start." And he darted into the bathroom the moment Sasha was out.

Going to bed was easy. Waking up was going to be hell.

"...Casey."

"Hmm?"

"We're here."

The soothing hum of the Mustang's motor had ceased. Casey saw a row of older-looking brick houses but was unable to take in much more than that, fatigue narrowing his perception almost to what was right under his feet. Climbing the stairs to the second floor required all his concentration.

"Oh, my friggin' god!" Stokely's freckled, radiant face was the first thing that Casey could see after the door flew open. She hurtled herself at him, coming up short just before impact to stop and look him up and down. Finally she hugged Casey joyfully, saying, "It's just so awesome...I can't believe you guys are here!" She held onto him much longer than was really comfortable, letting go only after she realized that Casey was stiff in her embrace.

Casey could see Stan just over her shoulder. He was smiling but looked almost as awkward as Casey felt. "Hey, guys," he said. There was some warmth there, yet his eyes flickered uneasily between Casey and Zeke. Headline: "Casey Connor has converted Zeke Tyler to his way of life. No pictures yet, stay tuned for updates."

"Hey," Zeke returned, sticking out his hand. "Great to see you, buddy." Under other circumstances Stan and Zeke might have hugged, but those days were over now, weren't they? Stan didn't like fags. He had told Casey so in their third period science class when Casey was fifteen. Stan was not going to take the risk of touching Zeke even if it was usually acceptable for guys to show affection to each other on occasion.

"Yeah... great to see you, too." Stan shook Zeke's hand and turned to Casey, who had finally gotten out of range of Stokely's arms. "Casey," he acknowledged, shifting his weight, eyes flickering nervously.

Escaped mental patient on the loose!

Tottering on that precipice of sheer exhaustion, Casey couldn't prevent the giggle that escaped him – and maybe it would have been okay if it were just a giggle but it didn't stop, echoing in the small lobby, probably right up the stairs to the third floor apartment, feeding on his own horror at the sound of himself.

Stokely and Stan made appalled faces.

Sasha was standing behind Casey and quickly slung his arms around Casey's shoulders, rubbing his face against Casey's hair and whispering "Shh... shh," in his ear. With his petting and a ragged effort of will, Casey was able to get the hectic sound contained, pulling it back gulp by gulp.

Attempting to cover for him, Stokely said, "Hi, you must be Sasha... Zeke mentioned you. I'm Stokely."

"It's great to meet you and I'm sorry to impose like this," Sasha replied, still holding Casey loosely.

"You're not imposing – well, enough standing out here like idiots, come in!"

Stokely began to give them a tour of her home, which was going to be very crowded as long as the three of them were visiting. It was part of an old house that had been converted to apartments, and therefore had a peculiar lay-out. But it seemed to match this new version of Stokely... and there was no way to miss that Stokely had changed drastically. Her hair was long and red now, and she had put on some weight, giving her a slightly plump but healthful appearance. She was wearing an embroidered peasant blouse, hippy jewellery, and no make-up. Her general state of well-being was so obvious that Casey felt defeated just looking at her.

"Living room," Stokely said, flapping a hand at it. "Kitchen... no dining room, we just eat on the couch most days. Down the hall here...there's the two bedrooms. The extra one we use as an office but it has a futon. Bathroom's right at the end. I'll show you how the shower works later... it's tricky." Stokely turned about, her excitement at having them there undiminished as yet. "So... what do you want to do now? I could make tea. Or... you're probably wiped, huh?"

"Pretty much," Zeke agreed.

"But some tea would be nice," Sasha said quickly. "Just to wind down."

Stokely looked to Casey for his preference, but he said nothing. The discomfort in the air multiplied rapidly.

"You're probably wondering where we're going to put everyone," Stokely said, trying to talk through it. "That couch opens up into a bed. Stan and I will sleep there and... Casey and Zeke, you can have the big bed in our room, and Sasha, you can have the futon in the extra room, I hope it's okay."

"More than okay," Sasha replied, at his most gracious.

"Just a sec," Zeke said with a frown. "We don't want to kick you out of your bed." He was visually nudging Casey, evidently wanting him to say something.

"The sofabed is fine," Casey mustered up.

"No," Stokes insisted. Her face was getting pink. "You're the guests, I don't want you to sleep on that thing, it's lumpy. I wouldn't feel right about it, and that's that." She went into the galley-style kitchen, so small that it could hold only one person, two if they really liked each other. "What kind of tea would you like? I have just about everything."

"I'm going to go get our stuff out of the car," Zeke said.

"I'll help you," Stan offered. "You guys stay put." He waved at Casey and Sasha.

They were left standing just outside the kitchen in the entrance to the apartment, watching Stokely rifle through a cupboard. She was reciting, "Camomile, Darjeeling, Earl Grey, Oolong, various fruit flavours, regular old Pekoe, and then there's the nettle and the burdock and the ginseng with ginger..."

"Something fruity and no caffeine please," Sasha suggested.

"Right." Without warning, Stokely stopped talking and digging in the cupboard and just studied Casey, apparently not minding that he could see her doing it. "Shit, Casey," she said. "You're so different, I just can't stop staring... " She tore her eyes away reluctantly. "And I mean that in a good way."

"You mean he wasn't always hot stuff?" Sasha cracked, trying to lighten things up. He squeezed Casey's shoulder.

"Mmm," Stokely considered. "Actually, you know... I think he was." She smiled at Casey.

He should be saying something to Stokely about how she had changed too and how amazing she looked. He thought about asking her if it was really okay that he and Zeke were taking her bed. The sounds just weren't coming.

"Go, sit," Stokely urged when it had been silent for a bit too long.

Sasha and Casey went into the living room and sat down next to each other on one of the couches. Casey knew he was going to fall asleep there, which made him not a good guest at all.

This was all too unreal. There was a Stokely that he hadn't spoken to since the summer before he left for college, someone with whom he was quite at ease, and there was this Stokely who was a budding earth mother goddess. He didn't know her, he only recognized the familiar lines and angles as she breathed and spoke and performed a simple task like bringing in cups for tea. It felt a lot like those first few days in the hospital, when he spent all his time beating his head against the clear, solid barrier between him and everything. The kicker was, as unreal as he felt, he could still get scared.

The tea kettle's whistling startled him; he was almost asleep already. He fought to get his eyes open but ended up jumping awake again when a teapot was set on the table in front of them. His vision spun slightly as he tried to focus. Sasha was right beside him but where was Zeke? Something about luggage.

"Thank you," Sasha's voice said. "Sorry to be in your hair like this."

"No problem!" exclaimed Stokely from a distant place in the room. "I'm just so jazzed that you're all here. It'll be so awesome to have friends from home living in the same city."

"So what do you do, Stokely?" Sasha asked politely.

"Right now? I just work in a health food store. It's kind of a neat place, it's been around since before health food stores really existed. I just don't know quite what I want to do with my life, too many things interest me, you know? Maybe I'll go to school. How about you?"

"I'm a cook in need of a job."

"Oh... you mean like flipping burgers? Or more like Emeril?"

Sasha sounded amused. "More like Emeril."

One thing Casey had learned: If he just let his eyes close, it would probably be easier when he woke up.

Zeke and Stan fetched the bags in almost complete silence. Discussion was limited to "This one, here" and "Geez, that's heavy...what's in there, rocks?"

Stan was a straightforward sort of guy and was not having much success at hiding his unhappiness with the sleeping arrangements. Zeke had a pretty good idea about Stan's opinions of homosexuality; he'd witnessed more than one demonstration. Most times it had been Stan snorting or laughing in agreement to some comment of Gabe's, and not a few of the comments had been directed at Casey, who had been suspected as one of those from the moment he stepped into the high school.

But Stan had shown a sincere respect for Casey after the aliens. Zeke had been present to see Stan's reaction upon learning that it had been Casey who, in the end, dispatched the alien queen: Pure wonderment, like the order of things had been turned upside down. In that last year of high school Stan had tolerated no criticism of Casey. The few times that Gabe tried to go down that road, Stan had immediately blocked his way. At the same time Stan had confided in Zeke his general uneasiness about Casey, never considering that Zeke might harbour such grotesque and distasteful feelings for him.

Zeke knew that he needed to confront Stan but he was just too tired, it would have to wait. Besides, if Zeke let it be, Stan would bring it up soon enough on his own. One of Stan's virtues was that he was incapable of hiding much of anything for very long. Zeke was fairly certain that was the main reason that Stokely liked Stan so much.

The scene when they returned to the living room inspired emotions that Zeke would sooner have died than express out loud: Casey and Sasha were on the couch, Casey dozing with his head at a very uncomfortable-looking angle, tilted up against Sasha's shoulder. There was a pot of tea and two mugs in front of them. Sasha was occasionally taking a sip, heroically attempting to keep the Casey-laden side of his body frozen and immobile. Stokely was watching them with a dismayed grin.

"Want some tea, Zeke?" Stokely asked, not taking her eyes off one half of the pair on the couch.

"Um... no, thanks."

Stan was watching Casey too. Zeke figured they needed to have their fill. It seemed that he'd had a similar reaction himself last Christmas, when Casey hadn't looked nearly as breakable as he did now. Stokes and Stan had to be wondering what they should say or do, what was off limits and what was just part of an average day.

"You have a nice place here," Zeke heard himself say, shocked to hear himself making polite small talk. Maybe Sasha was influencing him more than he knew – and there was a frightening thought if ever there was one. But he could see that Stokely had done a lot to make the place her own. She had painted every room in one earth tone or another and the walls and shelves were crusted with decorative trinkets of various cultural origins. One wall held a bookshelf full of paperbacks. The furniture – obviously used – was dressed up in colourful South American blankets.

"Thanks," Stokes said mildly.

"And you look really good," Zeke added truthfully.

"Get out, I'm just huge!" Stokely exclaimed. "But you look good too -- except for the sunburn. That must have been rough, huh, breaking down in the middle of nowhere."

"You have no idea," Zeke said.

"Are you gonna keep the Mustang?" Stan wondered.

Stokely contributed right away, "Because, you know, you don't really need it here. A car's a bit of a nuisance."

"But good to have if you want to go camping or hiking for the weekend," Stan added wistfully. "We basically stick to the public transit, Stokes and me, but I ride my bike to work a lot too."

"I dunno," Zeke mused. He was right in the middle of teaching Casey to drive, after all.

In the resounding silence that followed, Zeke could feel all the unasked questions circling the room, looking for a place to set down.

"I'm sorry, guys," Zeke said. "I'm so tired I'm stupid."

"It's okay," Stokes returned easily. "I know you've had a long day."

"Really long," Sasha agreed. Nudging Casey, he said, "He should just go to bed. Kitten? Come on, wake up..."

Stan reacted to Sasha's nickname for Casey with a sickly smirk. Zeke had had a similar reaction himself once, but he was so used to it now that normally he barely heard it. With Stan in the room, it popped in Zeke's ears like he was just hearing it for the first time.

"Cay-see..." Sasha sang. "Cay-see..." Two heavy-lidded eyes struggled open. "Time for bed, you."

Casey got to his feet, muzzily fixating on the teapot in front of him. "I fell asleep," he muttered.

"That you did," Sasha replied, also getting up.

"Where's Zeke?"

"Right here," Zeke said immediately. "Go on, I'll be there shortly, I'm just about done myself."

"Kay." Casey took a few steps, stopped. "S-Stokely... I'm sorry. Sorry... Stan."

"Nothing to be sorry for," Stokely said.

"I'll be... better... in the morning."

"No worries, Case," Stan said.

That was funny, Zeke thought. No worries. Casey would have to be dead to have no worries.

Sasha followed Casey out of the room, almost but not quite touching his arm. Zeke took the couch that had been vacated, wishing that he didn't feel obligated to stay up and talk to their friends and that he could just go and crash with Casey. It was no strain on his intuition to guess that Stan and Stokely were frantic for a full update. So far he had told Stokely very little about the nature of Casey's illness except that Casey was depressed; and he had glossed over the events that led up to the hospital.

Stan and Stokely made awkward chitchat for a bit, asking Zeke about his business and the program he was taking until Sasha returned, wearing his pajamas.

"He's out," Sasha said. "You can talk about him to your heart's content. I'm going to hit the sack too, but first can I just give his folks a quick ring to let them know we got in okay?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," Stokely said. "Where the hell did I leave it? The bathroom, I think."

"Okay," Sasha returned. "Then... good night, and thanks again." He wheeled about and disappeared. Zeke saw Stan's eyes following him with something very near disgust.

With a yawn, Zeke said, "So... shoot. What do you want to ask?"

"I guess, just..." Stokely fumbled. "How is Casey?"

"Getting better."

Stokely bit her lip. "Really? Because he looks..."

"I know," Zeke reassured. "But there's a huge difference between the start of a day and the end of a day. He starts out not bad but the day sucks the juice out of him and by suppertime he's a zombie. But every day he seems to last a little bit longer."

"So in the morning he'll be like the old Casey for a while?" Stan asked.

"He'll never be like the old Casey," Zeke snapped. "He hasn't been for a long time, and personally I wouldn't want him to be."

"Oh, don't be like that," Stokely said, narrowing her eyes. "You know what he meant."

"I suppose," Zeke grumbled. "All I can tell you is wait and see."

Stan said forthrightly, "But I don't know what to say to him."

"Are there things we should know?" Stokely chimed in. "I don't want to do anything to... make him uncomfortable."

Zeke really didn't want to do this right now, but he supposed that there were things that they deserved to be warned about. "Well... don't be surprised if he doesn't want to leave the apartment."

"Fuck, that makes me sad. But why?" Stokely asked.

Zeke yawned once again. "Let's just say everything is a bit strange to Casey these days. I'm really wiped guys, can't it wait? "

Stokely nodded. "It doesn't feel right to talk about him behind his back anyway. I'd rather he tell me himself."

"Just don't pressure him," Zeke warned, getting up.

Unexpectedly, the memory of what had happened this morning slowed his feet and brought him to a dead stop. All day he had been angry at himself for not realizing that the whole, mortifying episode had been inevitable. And not just because he was a healthy male with functioning sexual organs. No, it was mostly because Casey's proximity called to Zeke like sugar to a diabetic, in complete, obstinate defiance of his higher faculties. For the first time in his life, repression was not getting the job done.

It certainly didn't help that Casey kept doing things that appeared completely innocent but were actually calibrated to undermine Zeke's resolve. Not that it was done consciously. Casey had something that couldn't be instructed, a thing that just seethed and hummed without his knowledge or participation. It was instinctual, non-verbal, and about twenty times more enticing than anything Casey could have done to deliberately tempt Zeke – although those episodes hadn't exactly been a breeze to resist either. Bottom line: Zeke knew he was in trouble. He had spent a solid hour today considering asking Sasha to crash in a sleeping bag on the floor beside them – or maybe even with them? Yeah, sure.

Still, it had been absolutely gratifying to hold Casey last night when he woke in distress. To feel the tremors ease not because of his words but solely because of his presence... Zeke was an instant junkie. But was it really necessary that Casey nuzzle his neck that way, his mouth exciting a crackle of sensation down into Zeke's stomach? And having done that, just fall to sleep, his lips barely brushing Zeke's throat? Zeke had been paralyzed, with Casey's hair teasing the underside of his chin, Casey's lean torso sending suggestion with every breath. It couldn't have been more like seduction if it had actually been intentional. Sleeping with another person was going to be difficult enough, but this... fuck, holding Casey and sleep were mutually exclusive. It seemed like Zeke had only just drifted off early yesterday morning when Sasha woke them.

Standing in Stokely's living room and contemplating the many nights of sensory torment that lay ahead of him, Zeke asked, "Can I take a shower?"

"Sure," Stokely replied. "Come one, I'll show you where the towels are. And the taps are tricky, I'll explain them –"

He needed a plan, and this was it: He would look after himself. Scheduled jerking off before bed. And in the morning he would wake before Casey and get in that bathroom. His obsession would not be Casey's problem, and perhaps after a few days when Casey had relaxed and settled in a bit he would be able to sleep without any anxiety and they wouldn't have to be glued together all night.

Once under the spray he only had to think about last night's whisper of Casey along the length of his throat to start getting hard. A few firm strokes and he was fully charged, dreaming freely of lambent eyes fixed entirely on him, glowing with his name... of purposeful hands holding him and a lithe tongue drizzling a delightful confection in his ear... When are you going to fuck me, Zeke? When are you going to take me? and he had those glittery eyes under him suddenly and was pounding into that body so perfectly sleek and hot and all for him and he howled out now, now, now... you're mine...mine...mine, now... Casey...

Clean and dry and wearing the chaste armour of t-shirt and boxers, Zeke later slipped into the bed where Casey was curled in a chilled, lonely lump. The sheets were fresh, fragrant and still slightly cool. The moment Zeke's warmth was available to him Casey rolled over and sought it, and yep, Zeke was fucking grateful for his time alone in the shower.

"Casey?" Zeke whispered. Casey was still, his breathing even and slow, but Zeke sensed he was awake. "Case?"

"Mmm."

"You awake?"

"I'm sleeping ..." Casey mumbled. Zeke didn't think he was trying to be funny.

"Okay..." Zeke stroked Casey's back, his fingers taking pleasure for some odd reason in discovering the knobby curve of the spine. "Case... I just want you to know... what happened this morning? Not going to happen again. I mean that – I can take care of myself. I don't want you to worry about it."

Casey didn't reply; it seemed he was fully asleep again. Hopefully he had been conscious enough to hear.

With Casey curled next to him, Zeke was able to fall asleep. But he woke to Casey pushing closer, working in as deep as he could with two fistfuls of Zeke's t-shirt. He almost had a purchase on Zeke's skin, and it hurt. Zeke pried Casey's hands open carefully. Casey made a sad little noise and renewed his grip, thankfully just cotton this time, pressing his head rather desperately into Zeke's breast... all while still asleep. Zeke gave up on sleep for himself right then and just cuddled him. Casey's body was so tense, it was like holding a bundle of sticks – but gradually, slowly, his limbs loosened and he seemed to be sleeping normally.

Early morning found Zeke staring at the wall with burning, grit-tormented eyes. He had managed a few catnaps here and there but now he knew he needed to move and try for some real sleep. He disengaged himself as carefully as possible and flopped on his back. It seemed like an instant later he felt Casey shifting beside him. He opened his eyes and saw that Casey was sitting up, facing away with arms wrapped around his knees.

"Hey," Zeke said and touched Casey's back. Casey's muscles bunched and twitched under his hand. "It's too early to be awake."

Casey's head remained as it was, turned from him. Zeke heaved a lengthy, strictly internal sigh. "You're too far away," he said. "Come here."

After a hesitation, Casey lay down, deliberately not letting Zeke see his eyes. Zeke drew him up beside him, but Casey made himself like a board, rebuffing comfort.

"What's the matter?" Zeke wondered softly.

"Nothing."

"Sorry, wrong answer. Try again."

"You don't like it," Casey said.

"Huh?"

"You don't like... sleeping together... you're not comfortable."

Zeke scrabbled frantically for a clever fix-it, gave up and said, "Casey, it isn't that I don't like to hold you. I do, I really do, I just can't sleep very well at the same time. I'll hold you until you fall asleep and when you're scared and any time you ask me, I promise. I just need to have a little space to sleep... okay?"

"Okay," Casey returned quickly. And he got up at once, almost fighting his way out of Zeke's embrace.

"Casey – "

"Want a shower."

"Don't be angry, Case, please – "

"I'm not," Casey said, standing beside the bed now. As near as Zeke could tell he was not lying. He didn't look at all angry – just completely devastated.

"Casey, this is just us adjusting to each other – "

But Casey was in a rush to get around the bed and to the door. It was quite a small bedroom and he ran into the footboard, banging his shin by the look of it but he kept on going like it hadn't happened, like he didn't even feel it.

"Watch the hot water tap," Zeke advised quickly when Casey seemed unlikely to halt his exodus. "You turn it exactly halfway – and it takes a few minutes – Casey – ?"

"I hear you," Casey said, slipping out the door.

Zeke fell onto his back again. "Fuck," he said to the ceiling.

Had he told Stokely and Stan that mornings started out good? What he should have told them was that Casey had refined the art of the ugly mood swing. Three days ago Casey had been raging, two days ago he was talking philosophically about space movies and serving up delectable nuggets of wry wit every hour. Now he was just meek and sad, one moment trying to purchase Zeke's affection, the next crying over a physical impossibility. On Planet Illogic, the place where Casey lived, it was possible to require everything and nothing at the same time, and Zeke was feeling quite weary just now.

In short order he heard Sasha go creeping to the bathroom door to call to Casey. Apart from that and the sound of the shower running, Zeke heard nothing to suggest that others were awake in the apartment. He decided to try to squeeze out a little more sleep. He closed his eyes and didn't hear the water being turned off.

The next thing he knew was a scent of coffee, and onions frying, and voices down the hall.

"Good morning – or should I say afternoon?" Stokely greeted Zeke when he appeared at the entrance to her tiny kitchen. Sasha was hovering nearby where he could look in and converse with her, and Casey rocking against the wall nearby in that way that he did. He was obviously invested big time in not looking at Zeke.

"Is it afternoon?" Zeke said. He didn't feel like letting Casey get away with his little escape act, so he went to him and smacked a kiss on the side of his face, ignoring his flinch, before turning back to their hostess.

"Just about," Stokely answered. "I'm cooking you my special veggie omelet."

Zeke said, alarmed, "Veggie?"

Sasha laughed. "Just be glad she's not a vegan or you wouldn't be getting your eggs either." He took a slurp from his mug and said, "This is the best java I've tasted in a long time, Zeke, you've got to try it."

Stokely was busily cutting up cubes of tofu. She said, "We buy it from a shop around the corner, they roast their own beans and everything." She tossed the tofu into her pan and then poured a mug of coffee for Zeke from a freshly brimming pot. "Case?" she said, offering him a refill. For a few minutes they were all occupied with getting themselves and the milk and sugar sorted out.

"Aren't you having some?" Zeke asked of Stokely.

"Nope, I've given up caffeine, it's Stan who usually drinks this."

"No caffeine?" Sasha burst in with mock horror. "Gracious."

"Where is Stan, anyway?" Zeke wondered.

"He had to go to work."

"On a Saturday?"

"He works a lot of weekends, actually."

Zeke took a sip of his coffee. "Mmm... that is good... what does Stan do again?"

"He's an intern at the Seattle Chronicle. Right now he mostly does research and verifies the scores but he's learning the ropes as he goes. He's hoping to get to write some short pieces this year."

"Stan?" Zeke said – not very diplomatic, but it had never occurred to him that Stan knew how to write a sentence, let alone a whole paragraph, even if it was a paragraph about sports.

"Don't make fun of my man. He's got potential, Charly says."

"Charly?"

Stokely seemed unusually keen to answer this question. "Stan's aunt. She's the editor of the sports section, she was the one who said she'd give him a shot at the paper – but she has told him he has to at least take a few journalism courses if he's really going to get anywhere."

"I knew he had a job offer but I forgot what it was," Zeke mused.

"You just weren't interested," Stokely corrected. She said to Sasha, "I don't know how well you know this guy, but in high school he had this whole 'I don't give a damn about anybody' thing going on."

"So did you," Zeke reminded her.

Stokely took cover by turning back to the pan on the stove and folding her omelette in half. "You've got a point there," she admitted, trying to keep in a smile.

"Zeke acting like a badass... Never would have believed that," Sasha drawled.

"Believe it. He used to sell drugs in the boy's bathroom at school."

Sasha seemed shocked, but he sniggered, "My, my, you were a troubled soul, weren't you?"

"Bite me. It wasn't hard stuff, just a little home brew of caffeine and aspirin. Anyway, it's a damn good thing I was the criminal I was, or none of us would be here now."

"What do you mean? Where would we be?" asked Sasha, puzzled.

"Um... I'll tell you about it some time."

"I take it this is one of those things."

"Yep." Zeke answered briefly. He glanced anxiously at Casey but Casey was visiting some other kitchen. Stokely followed Zeke's gaze and frowned with puzzlement and not a little sadness before returning to her eyes to the pan on the stove.

"Omelette number one," she announced. "Who wants it?"

"I'll take it," Sasha volunteered when neither Casey nor Zeke leaped up.

Once upon a time, a hot shower had been pretty damn good therapy, a discovery that had been one of the more uplifting discoveries of Casey's early teen-age years. It warmed, it massaged out the tremors, it soothed bruised flesh, and it was almost always entirely private. These days, though, it wasn't as effective as it used to be. Thanks to the miracle of modern medical science, there were getting to be just too many thoughts and feelings to be drowned.

God, fuck, he was clingy and pathetic and he put Zeke in situations that were horribly embarrassing and on top of all this he kept Zeke from getting the sleep that he was certainly entitled to after a full day of trying to fill the gaping maw of need that was Casey Connor so there should be one small thing he could do, just one little fucking gift he could give since he couldn't give anything else. He should have been able to say Okay, Zeke, of course you need to sleep and I'm fine with that calmly and maturely and then hold it together for a little while, just a while, ten minutes would have done it. But no – he knew right away that he was going to burst into tears and so had to jump up and be completely obvious about making his way to the shower to cry. It shouldn't hurt so much when Zeke said what he said, it was a perfectly reasonable request from a man who was labouring under such a tiring burden. Poor Zeke was trying to start a new life and all the while dragging this thing around his neck, quite literally around his neck. It wasn't like Casey could even look him in the eye either, he couldn't smile and mean it, he froze with terror when Zeke sought anything like a real expression of affection. He wasn't fit for Zeke, he wasn't, he didn't deserve –

"Casey?" came a soft voice. It was inside the bathroom... Sasha, he realized just before the intrusion could bring about a new epic crisis.

"Just – just a minute!" he got out. He had lost time; the water that had been hot when he started was now tepid. He turned it off, leaving nothing of course for the four other people in the apartment – because there had to be unlimited hot water for Casey and no one else, not that hot water was even getting the job done anymore.

Casey peered out from behind the shower curtain. There was no sign of Sasha, and he quickly dried himself and got dressed. In the mirror he caught an image of a face with red, swollen eyes. People had called that face beautiful but they were just confusing beauty with something freakish. He wanted to smash it.

There was no one in the hall, and no sounds of movement. It was still early of course, and Zeke was probably trying to catch a little more sleep. Sasha's door was ajar. Casey crept to it, hoping it was a welcome – and it was. Sasha gave him the royal wave and patted the spot he had all ready in front of him in the twin-sized bed. He hurried to spoon his short body with Sasha's longer one, his back to Sasha's chest. They lay in a snug bundle without speaking, at first.

"I missed having you here the last two nights," Sasha said quietly, fingers picking up their comfortable habit of playing with Casey's hair. "Maybe Zeke and I need a schedule to share the Casey-cuddles. Half the night each maybe, or we could trade off, every other night."

"Or I could stay with you," Casey muttered.

Sasha's hand stilled. "I don't think you mean that. Zeke's got to be first choice -- he's got that whole manly protector thing going on, you've gotta love that."

"You're manly."

"Kitten, I do believe that's one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me even if it is a lie. I'll give you that I'm tall and fierce...." The play with his hair resumed again. "What's Zeke done now?"

"Nothing."

"You sure?"

"No, it's... I'm the one who... did something."

"And what terrible thing did you do?"

"If I'm with him he can't sleep," Casey said miserably. "He told me."

"Ah." Sasha's playful motions traded up to a full-fledged stroking. "Is that why you were crying at 7:30 in the morning?"

"It's – stupid."

"It is not stupid, don't you dare say that."

"Sasha, I'm afraid..."

"Afraid of what?"

"I'm... I'll break him."

"Oh, kitten." Something nuzzled the top of his head. "Now listen to mama... I think Zeke would let you know if being with you got too hard for him. He is just about the toughest guy I've ever met and I suspect he's quite happy to trade a little sleep for making you feel better."

When Sasha invoked mama there was no use in arguing so Casey subsided and wallowed in Sasha's warmth, and didn't get into the other reasons why Zeke had a problem with sleeping with him. Sasha probably already knew everything as it was. Casey ended up drifting off for a little while and woke when he heard Stokely's and Stan's voices and the front door to the apartment opening and closing.

"She seems nice," murmured Sasha in his ear, sounding a little sleepy himself. "A good soul." That was true, but all the same Casey didn't feel like going out to face the prospect of interaction with the stranger-Stokely. "Not so sure about him, though."

"He's okay," Casey said. "He never bullied me."

"No, I'll bet he just watched, huh? I don't like the way he looks at you. Oh, well, maybe there's more to him than I'm seeing. Shall we get up?" Sasha suggested, and pushed him slowly out of the bed, giving him just enough time to find his feet.

They found Stokely busy in the kitchen, cooking. "Good morning," she said. "I'm making omelettes." She handed them each a mug of what turned out to be extremely robust coffee.

Not long after, Zeke arrived in that hall, still in his sleeping gear. Casey couldn't look, couldn't bear to see him with tired, dark-circled eyes but he kissed Casey with no indication of ill-feeling about earlier this morning. Stokely presented them each with a plate of tofu-onion-mushroom-pepper omelette and told them to go sit in the living room to eat. Casey ended up sitting with Zeke on the couch.

Stokely plopped herself down in an Ikea armchair. Casey didn't remember the chair from last night, nor had he noticed any of the decorations in the room. Right now he did notice that they had a medium-sized TV and a VCR. Perhaps later they could watch a movie. Something he had seen about a hundred times, that would be good. The Philadelphia Story. There's a magnificence in you, Tracy... a magnificence that comes out of your eyes, that's in your voice, in the way you stand there–

Zeke elbowed him. He turned his attention to his breakfast, picturing Katherine Hepburn in the arms of Jimmy Stewart.

"So what do you all want to do today?" Stokely asked, chewing.

"I dunno," Zeke replied. He was working his way stolidly through the food on his plate.

"We could go to the university... so you could get oriented a bit, Zeke. It's a little bit too far to walk, though, so we would have to take the bus. And then – "

The bus. A long tube filled with people, driven by some stranger. Casey had used it a handful of times in Cincinnati, but only in his first few months there and in Roy's company. The very thought of it made his stomach rebel against Stokely's special breakfast – but he didn't say anything. A person in his right mind would have assumed that he would live through taking the public transit and a walk around campus. Casey was going to do his utmost to impersonate that guy.

"Why don't we drive?" Zeke proposed, no doubt for Casey's benefit, and Casey didn't have it in him to resist the suggestion. "We have the car, might as well use it."

"But," Stokely began, and stopped when Zeke directed a stern glare at her. "Okay," she conceded. "And then I thought maybe we could go downtown to see Stan."

"I'm..." Zeke began uncertainly. He angled his body to Casey and asked, "Case... what do you say?"

With that, they were all on stage – Zeke, not quite touching Casey's arm and addressing him with tender concern...O Thou Pathetic One, pray tell if we shouldst go out into the sun like normal folk?...– while Stokely looked on with sadness for the friend she had once known and Sasha made ready to spout something sarcastic to divert the tension of the moment.

"Sounds good," was Casey's line, and he made certain that he enunciated clearly. The positive note that he had intended to strike was made jagged and rough by nerves. Zeke gave him a searching look but just nodded, not challenging him – and that was a good thing. His resolve would not stand up to much probing. A single expression of caring would probably do him in.

Their little scene ended as Zeke changed the subject. "At some point we should grab a paper and check the classifieds for apartments."

"Oh, right... so you going to be living with these two, Sasha?" asked Stokely.

"Apparently, yes."

"Awesome," was Stokely's comment, not entirely heartfelt. "And how'd you happen to connect up with them, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I connected with Casey first. I was a friend of Casey's boyfriend."

"Oh... in Cincinnati?"

"Yes."

Stokely seemed about to inflict her curiosity upon Casey but suddenly her face seized with an idea and she erupted, "Oh, I know the perfect place for you three!"

"How's that?" Zeke said.

"Right above the store where I work. It's been vacant for a month. I didn't think of it until now 'cuz I thought you'd be looking for one bedroom."

"So it's – "

"Two bedrooms. I could call and get the number and see when you could drop by to look at it."

Zeke shrugged. "It couldn't hurt. What do you two say?"

"Might as well look," Sasha replied.

Casey nodded his agreement.

It only took a couple of phone calls for Stokely to arrange for them to see the apartment that afternoon. They now had a very full day ahead of them. Casey found himself thinking about his mom and how relieved and happy she would be if he reappeared at her door, how every line and corner of that house down to the rips in the bathroom wallpaper were mapped out by his memory. But he was Here now, wherever Here was, and he would keep remembering that he owed it to Zeke to not be weird. He would walk out that door and he would be the opposite of weird.

Zeke pulled him aside for a moment on the sidewalk outside Stokely's building. He had shored up his will in preparation for it so when Zeke wanted to know, "Are you okay with all this?" he could say, "yes," and sound like he meant it. Zeke was excited about his new life, so Casey was going to do this – even if he knew in his heart that he wasn't going to be alive at the end of the day.

So Casey and Stokely piled in the back seat of the Mustang, with Zeke and Sasha in their usual configuration. Casey hadn't appreciated until now how much he loved the back seat of the Mustang.

At the University of Washington campus, huge banners proclaiming Frosh 2002 were easily observed from the car as Zeke drove up and down the surrounding streets. The area was teeming with students, some obviously trying to figure out where they were going, others seeming quite comfortable and purposeful. Some were in the company of parents driving trucks or vans filled with their belongings. "Shall we have a stroll around campus?" Sasha proposed.

"I don't know," Zeke hedged, trying for a look at Casey in his mirror.

"Yes," Casey answered quickly, not meeting Zeke's reflection.

"Okay," Zeke agreed, a trifle absently while he combed the streets with his eyes. Then he asked, "Frosh?"

"You don't know what Frosh is?" Sasha said, shocked.

Zeke was caustic in reply. "No, I don't know what Frosh is."

"That's basically where all the students get shit-faced," Stokes supplied, in that way that only she could.

"Sounds fun."

"I did all that way back when," Sasha commented. "It was a huge waste although I didn't know it at the time."

"I don't drink anymore," said Stokely, a touch primly.

"Hmm," said Zeke. "No meat, no caffeine, no booze... anything else?"

"Refined sugar... no soda, of course."

"Of course."

"Not that you probably aren't healthier in the long run," Sasha held forth earnestly from the front seat to the back, "but don't you think that an absolute ban on certain things is extreme? I mean, everything in moderation and a lot of variety seems to me the way to all around well-being. And besides," and Sasha here smacked Zeke's shoulder, "you've got to have a little slice of cow once in a while."

"Or a big one," Zeke concurred.

"You should have seen this thing Zeke ate the other day, Stokely. It was like a whole roast. You would have been horrified. I was horrified."

It seemed that only Casey could see how Stokely was a little bit flushed, a little bit glum. He recalled that the friend-Stokely of two years ago had often had obsessions that would absorb much of her energy until she was done with It and moved on to something else. She would talk about It constantly and get a little down when people didn't share her interest, or worse, mocked It. Casey chanced a smile for her and she brightened a little, smiling back at him.

They had to drive the perimeter of the campus for a while, and just when Casey was beginning to hold out hope that they wouldn't be able to find a parking space and would be able to settle for a driving tour of the campus, they came across a spot at the side of the street.

Zeke had a package of information that had been mailed to him and wanted to look at the buildings he would be having classes in, not because he needed to know ahead of time, Zeke wasn't nervous like that. Perhaps Casey was the only one who knew that Zeke had always had a geek inside him that he worked really hard to keep people from seeing. He kept looking back at Casey, trying to engage him – after all, this would be Casey's school too, at some point. In theory. Casey, with Stokely beside him, was hard-pressed to keep up with his taller friends, until finally Stokely barked something about short-legged people having to work twice as hard to go half the distance and the two giants eased the pace somewhat.

Having completed their initial tour of the main campus, the four of them stopped in front of one of the larger buildings to confer. Nearby them stood a young man in big baggy shorts and a nylon shirt who was handing out flyers and hawking: "Wednesday night... pub crawl... get your Frosh Aid kit... pub crawl Wednesday..." He gave one to Zeke.

"It says here we can find out about all the orientation week goings-on at the student union," Zeke noted. He was very obviously making an appeal to Casey.

Casey was practicing the discipline of not thinking. People brushed him or jostled him and he made his mind studiously blank. He tried to force back every thought that could lead to somewhere frightening. It was okay, he was fine... okay... fine...okayfineokayfine.

"Let's go see," he forced himself to say and was amazed at how normal he sounded. He decided that being taken by aliens was a more than reasonable trade-off for the smile that Zeke gave him then.

The student union building was absolutely crusted with signs and posters proclaiming a free concert in the main concourse on Wednesday, all day. Casey didn't recognize any of the acts; they were probably local garage bands and somewhere in him was a faint glimmer of interest. A table was set up outside the building, more packages being handed out with free pens and stickers and coffee mugs. Zeke waded in to get one while Sasha, Casey and Stokely remained in a loose huddle nearby on the sidewalk.

Someone with an armload of books ran into Casey and Stokely and went on their way without an apology. "Nice manners!" Sasha shouted after the person.

"What happened?" Zeke demanded, rejoining them in full attack mode.

"Just a rude person." Sasha shrugged, visibly restraining himself from putting his entire body around Casey to shield him from any more of them. He asked Zeke, "You done?"

"Yup. Now what?"

"Aren't we going to the Chronicle?" Stokely wondered.

Sasha exchanged a look with Zeke. As before, Zeke looked to Casey. Casey could only nod, as he had set his jaw to hold back the pitiful whine that was pressing against his teeth.

The Seattle Chronicle was housed in a sleek, narrow building constructed of a pale maroon-tinted glass. They took an elevator to the thirtieth floor, but that was no worse than being in the building itself. Casey didn't particularly mind enclosed spaces, what he minded was the overall sense of being surrounded by a structure manufactured and maintained by people, people who were hidden away in rooms and closets and twisting hallways. He was that much more helpless inside it than he would be walking on the street. There, at least, he could have a hope of running away.

It wasn't what he expected of a newspaper office, though. It was quiet, filled with cubicles where a few people were working on computers, not the classic old manual typewriters that his film-informed mind told him to expect. All was very pristine and new and synthetic. The outer wall was a row of larger, more prestigious offices while the inner wall boasted enormous framed action-shots of various sports events with their original headlines from the Chronicle. Stan had a cubicle near one of the wall offices. He was wearing jeans and a dress shirt open at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves, and he looked quite professional.

"Hi!" Stan exclaimed upon seeing them. Inadvertently his eyes drifted to Casey's and he glanced away quickly, just as the night before. "This is a surprise."

"I thought they could meet Charly," Stokely said.

"Right." Stan made a grand gesture. "So this is where I work."

"It's totally you," Zeke commented.

Stan looked suspicious at the apparent compliment, but if there was sarcasm there he couldn't find it. "Yeah... I've met so many pros, it's incredible. At our last Christmas party I met Ichiro Suzuki."

"That's cool," Sasha said, as if he had some idea who Stan was talking about.

Stan turned the same expression on Sasha, like he was certain that he was being mocked by the fag. Casey braced himself for Sasha to make some sort of in-your-face statement, but none came.

"Do you want to meet my aunt?" Stan asked.

"Sure," Zeke replied. Unexpectedly, he slung a possessive arm around Casey.

The nameplate on the door read Charlotte Rosado. Stan knocked and received a curt "come in". They went into an office whose windows provided a generous view of the city, with Elliot Bay in the background. Behind the glass and stainless steel desk sat a woman who appeared to be reading the Saturday edition of the Chronicle. She was sparely built with a noticeable tight winding of sinew all over her body, like someone who ran every day. Her hair was Stan's, very tightly curled and cut extremely short. Framing an attractive face and accented by square, black glasses, it worked.

"Stan," she said without looking up, "What happened to that blurb on the Charity Bowling event, I thought – " Stan cleared his throat and the woman noticed that she had guests. "Oh. Hello. Who do we have here?"

"Charly... remember my friends I said were coming to stay with us for a while?" Stokely prompted.

"Oh, yes, of course, from Herrington." The woman's eyes latched onto Casey. "I know you," she told him. "Casey Connor. You killed the alien queen. You're smaller than I expected."

Running was out of the question. It helped that Zeke had his arm around Casey, holding him in place, and Casey pinched his left forearm with his right hand as hard as he could. He had to make it really hurt because it was either that or fly out of this particular, highly undesirable continuum.

"Charly," Stokely said anxiously.

"Well, it's not like he's anonymous," the woman returned. She had a very dry, very precise way of speaking. It was not entirely unkind, but neither was it gentle. "I have a Time magazine with his face on it at home." She came out from behind her desk and offered her hand to Casey. "I'm sorry if I shocked you... I recognized you is all. Charlotte Rosado, but you can call me Charly."

Can you not be weird... not be weird... not be weird... Casey accepted... Charlotte-Rosado-but-you-can-call-me-Charly... accepted her hand and shook it, while white foam thickened around the edges of his vision.

"Welcome to Seattle," said Charly.

Zeke interposed smoothly, "Good to meet you, Charly. I'm Zeke and this is Sasha." There was steel pressed between his generic words, essentially warning Charlotte Rosado to back off or face a Zeke who was not so polite.

"Ah. Zeke." Charly gave him the same, crisp handshake. "And – Sasha? I don't think I've heard your name before... So what are you all up to today?"

Stokely supplied, "I'm taking them to look at an apartment, but after that I don't know."

"I see." The woman sat on top of her desk. "Zeke. You're here for school, I understand."

"Yes," Zeke replied grudgingly.

"It must be difficult to stay in your home town after everything that happened." Charly's gaze landed on Casey again. "I always thought some magazine should do a follow-up piece – what it's like for the heroes who stayed. I know Stan and Stokely found it difficult at times."

"To tell the truth," Zeke said, and he was in that dangerous mode that Zeke sometimes got in, "We really would prefer to let that all go and just be like everyone else here. I'm sure Stan and Stokes enjoy their anonymity."

"Fair enough," Charly said, seeming unperturbed. "But I would love to talk to you – both of you – about it sometimes. If you feel up to it."

It was getting really bright and loud in the room now. There was a roaring in Casey's ears but still he could see that Stokely's eager expression, the one she had worn every time she mentioned Aunt Charly, was crumpling badly under Zeke's hostility. Sasha's face wore an unequivocal thumbs down and Stan's was just a fiery red. Casey tried to say, "Thank you," hoping someone would take it as an opportunity to change the subject. He stopped when he couldn't hear himself over the roar. He lifted a hand to chafe his ear, rubbed hard, and again because he didn't feel anything, not a thing, and there was still the roaring going on. He caught Zeke looking at him and let his hand fall.

He was fucking up.

Charly made a loud noise with her open palm on her desk. She said, "Tell you what? I'd love to take you all out for dinner. Sort of a welcome – and I promise not to mention aliens."

Stokely said, "Oh, Charly, that would be awesome --"

"No," Zeke refused.

"I... what?" Stokely asked, disbelieving.

"We can't do dinner tonight, I'm sorry."

"But it wouldn't be –"

"I said no, Stokes."

Stokely's mouth fell open. She closed it and said, "Still in charge, huh, Zeke?"

"You'd better hope so," Zeke retorted.

Zeke was in one of his rages; Casey could feel it in his hands when he put them on Casey's shoulders to steer them out. Zeke didn't say a word until they got back in the car, whereupon he twisted to face Stokely. She was sitting quite conveniently in the middle of the seat and got the full blast of his fury.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Zeke, I'm –"

"We came here to get away from that crap -- and then what happens? The very first person we meet!"

"I – "

"What exactly is her problem? And you, Stokely, you wanted us to meet her in the worst way –"

"Will you shut up for a second? I didn't know she was going to say that."

"Oh, right and I'm supposed to believe that you never knew how fascinated she is by our little sci-fi adventure?"

"It's not like that... She talks about it once in a while, not often. When we first moved here one day she asked me to tell her about it. Stan never talks about it and she said she was curious. She believed me, Zeke. She's just curious, that's all. It's the way she is."

Zeke breathed audibly through his nose. "Fine. But you tell her not to bring it up again." He lit up a cigarette before he started the car. "I suppose we need to look at this apartment, let's get it over with."

"You could have tried not to be so rude," Stokely muttered, sitting back in the seat and folding her arms.

Hi, my name is Zeke Tyler and I'm a fuckwit. I drove my lover to the point of meltdown so I could get a free coffee mug, but on the bright side he's still walking and almost talking and hasn't folded into a ball on the carpet yet so I guess that gets me off the hook....stupid fuck!

Zeke had been going about for the past two hours having the time of his life, enjoying the fruits of his own willful blindness. After all, Casey had agreed to the itinerary and repeatedly pressed on when given opportunities to bail, and Zeke wasn't so very blind that he didn't know why. He was grateful. He figured Casey pushing himself couldn't be a bad thing.

Then he saw Casey standing there trying to placate that woman, unable to get out two words intact, and doing that thing with his hand on the side of his face, rubbing it like he wanted to draw blood. He wasn't so far gone that he couldn't stop when Zeke noticed it, and was that supposed to make Zeke less of a fuckwit?

They should go home right now, but the whole problem was that there was no home to go to. One more errand might solve that problem, and better it was solved sooner as opposed to later. Zeke wasn't interested in a long, drawn out apartment hunt. If the place was suitable and not too pricey, he would be inclined to take it.

The store where Stokely worked was in funky neighbourhood inhabited, to all appearances, by at least three generations of hippies. A hand-painted sign, in an array of bright colours, stated its name: "Wellth". Stokely started to ask if they wanted to come in and see the store, caught herself before she was finished the question, and went in alone. She emerged with a somewhat older woman named Tara, who said that she was acting on behalf of the landlords. Tara had the key to the apartment, which was accessed by a stairway around the back of the building.

The place upstairs had a large front room that would fit all of Zeke's home entertainment equipment plus actual furniture when they got it, and a kitchen that Sasha could live with. The front window was large and afforded an interesting view of the goings-on down on the street below. Best of all, there was another door that led up to a small, private roof space. Someone had turned it into a patio; they had left behind some of their shrubs and perennials, and there were a couple of beaten up wicker chairs padded with even more beaten up but comfortable-looking cushions. Zeke didn't normally care about such things, but he was thinking that Casey might be spending most of his time at home over the next month or so at least and he wanted to know it was someplace pleasant. He didn't like to think of Casey shut up inside. He could tell Sasha was thinking along the same lines.

"So?" Stokely queried. She was half-smiling; she knew she had done good. Perhaps – although Zeke wasn't ready to say so – it would be enough to atone for the blunder with Aunt Charly.

"Would we have to fill out an application?" Zeke wondered.

"Yes, but it shouldn't be a problem if I vouch for you," Stokes said.

Tara explained, "The owners like to do things in more informal, word of mouth kind of way. They've never advertised this place and they've never had much trouble finding tenants."

"I can see why," remarked Sasha. "It's a keeper."

Zeke asked, "Will we get to meet the landlords? Or do they like to remain anonymous with you as their agent?"

"Of course you'll meet them," Tara said. "But most times you can contact me if you have plumbing problems or anything like that, I can fix most of them. I'm kinda the unofficial super."

"And who are these people?"

"Just a couple who own this building. They're retired and they spend half the year in Arizona. Actually, they'll be heading off there in about a month."

"Would we be able to move in this week?"

"I don't see why not."

"We have to find some furniture. I do have some large items arriving that I shipped to Stokes and Stan, it would be helpful if we could bring it right over here." Zeke turned to Sasha and said, "We'd have to go shopping tomorrow."

"Your words are as music," sighed Sasha facetiously.

Zeke then gave his attention to Casey, who was standing there apparently not hearing much but he responded with a blink when Zeke spoke to him and looked like he was tracking well enough. "Case. What do you think?"

Casey didn't appear to believe he had a vote on it. Zeke knew that it bothered him that he was being supported completely by Zeke and his father. Zeke couldn't figure why it had to be an issue; most students were dependent on their parents, or at best they had scholarships or grants, and Casey had been no exception in his academic career thus far. "How much... the rent?" Casey asked, probably fretting about his father's far from inexhaustible resources.

"Seven fifty a month," Tara answered. "That includes utilities, except for phone and cable of course."

Casey chewed on his lip.

Zeke said to Stokely and Tara, "Do you mind if we three have a little confab?"

"Not at all," said Tara. "Come on Stokes, let's go outside."

Once they were gone Sasha turned to Zeke right away and said, "I'll pay my share."

"You don't have a job."

"No, but I will soon, and I do have some savings."

"Why don't you let me pay two thirds until you get a job?"

"Because I would rather you didn't."

Zeke rolled his eyes. "Whatever makes you happy." He turned to Casey. "Can your dad do two-fifty?"

"Dunno," Casey muttered. "I... think so."

"You could call and ask him tonight. Whatever he can manage, I'll get the difference."

Casey just gave a brief nod, and closed his eyes.

"I think it's time to go," Sasha said, quite unnecessarily.

As they stood on the sidewalk looking up the stairs to the second floor entrance to the apartment, Stokely said, "I'm going to zip over to the store to pick up a few things for supper."

Sasha offered right away, "Can I come along? Maybe help?"

"Yeah, sure." Stokely handed her key to Zeke and urged, "Go on, make yourselves at home."

The moment they were inside the apartment Casey dove for the bathroom – and Zeke followed right after. Casey looked shocked when he turned about to shut the door and there was Zeke behind him. He started to vibrate, his eyes darting around as though looking for an escape hatch. Zeke stepped in and shut the door, careful not to slam it. "Are you going to throw up?" he asked quietly.

Casey's colour wasn't especially encouraging, but he shook his head. "I... just want... a bit of... of quiet," he pleaded. "I won't lock the door."

"I know," Zeke said. "But maybe I could do the quiet thing with you."

Casey looked him up and down, obviously doubtful but not wanting to reject Zeke outright. "I don't want to talk," Casey protested.

"Oh, well... good. I get tired of hearing myself anyway. But we could go in the bedroom. It's a little more comfy there."

Casey shook his head.

"You like it in here? Okay."

Casey didn't move. He swayed a little and his eyes started to glisten. "Don't you want a break from me?" he asked.

"No," Zeke said matter-of-factly. "In fact, I think I need a huge hug. I'm in withdrawal now, haven't had you in my arms for almost eight hours." He grinned, opening his arms with a slight flourish.

Casey's smile was a bit watery, but real. He moved in readily and for a while he just stood being circled by Zeke, his arms at his sides. Zeke didn't try to hold him any tighter than that. He could sense the tremors rippling through Casey and that there were dangerous, frightening things going on inside him. Zeke wished he could open up Casey's skull and surgically remove every thought that made him shake like this.

"Everything feels wrong," Casey whispered.

"I know," Zeke replied. "I feel it too. It's a bit weird... But that's normal too."

"I wish... I wish we could get in the car and – and go."

This was a startling bit of information. "Go where?" Zeke asked, unhappily.

Casey's breath hitched. "S-somewhere..."

"Do you want to go back?" Zeke worried. "To Herrington?"

Long silence.

"No."

"Because if you did, I would take you back, Case. You're not trapped here. But... I think if you hang in there..." Zeke winced, he hated when he sounded like the Disney channel. "It will get better. And once we're in our own place... That will help too."

The slam of the door and two chattering voices heralded the return of Sasha and Stokely. Zeke reflected on how it was easy to stop knowing the people you knew best. Casey and Stokely had been pals, but they were entirely changed people now. They might get the closeness back... But it would take some effort. Zeke figured Casey knew that too, and he wondered whether Casey felt it was worth doing right now.

While he was thinking this, Casey's hands were winding into him. "Let me," Casey breathed.

Any question of what that meant was answered as Casey sought his mouth, and Zeke had no thought of refusing him, tasting the pure essence of another person's need as their lips clung and shuddered with his jagged sobs of breath. With the taste of Casey in his mouth, Zeke teetered on an edge between giving comfort and succumbing to insentient demand, and fell. He tugged Casey's body even closer to his and used his tongue to open Casey's mouth a bit more, just enough to get a hint of a deeper flavour.

For a time he remained there, until somehow he managed to climb back up on his difficult perch. He drew back just slightly, while pressing soft caresses to the curve of Casey's mouth where lips just began to find definition in a graceful arc, and then his cheekbone, and his closed eyelids. As the space between them widened, Casey tried to find purchase on him.

"Enough," Zeke murmured. "It's enough."

"No – " Casey gasped.

"Yes... Come on now, we're in Stokely's bathroom."

Zeke exerted a gentle pressure on Casey's shoulders until he was out of kissing distance. In his more separate space, still with Zeke's hands still on him, Casey took up a slightly hunched posture, his eyes downcast and spiritless. There was no anger to be seen and that was intensely worrying somehow.

"Case... You aren't giving up on me, are you?"

The eyes fluttered, startled. "No."

"Good."

They heard the front door open again and this time Stan's call echoed down the hall: "Honey, I'm home!"

"Are you ready to go back out there?" Zeke asked, trying to sound lighthearted.

"Guess so," Casey muttered without conviction.

"I know what you did for me today, Casey. I'm very grateful, but I don't want you to drive yourself too far – just enough, okay?"

Casey looked like he was trying to smile and couldn't quite get it done. "Right," he said wanly. "Just enough."

Stokely had conceded to her guests' tastes to the extent of cooking chicken for supper. In Zeke's opinion she was very tempted to eat some of it but staunchly held off – while Stan inhaled his and told her several times that she could make chicken any time she wanted. Because no one else was saying much, Sasha was drawn into a lengthy discussion with Stokely about the vegetarian lifestyle, a discussion that became unnecessarily quite heated. Stokely patently didn't see that Sasha was trying to canvass all sides of the issue as opposed to just debating with her; she took many things he said as contradictory when they weren't intended to be. That was the obstinate Stokely that Zeke remembered with frustrated fondness, although he rather wished that Stokely might have tried harder to interact peaceably with Sasha, for Casey's sake. But then, Casey's face during the course of the argument did not suggest that he was upset or stressed about it. If anything, he kept looking at Stokely like she was some particularly complicated scientific formula he was trying to work out.

Stan bravely waded into the silence that swelled up when they were done their meal and sitting around with their empty plates. "Zeke, I was wondering... thinking maybe you'd like to go out for a few beers."

This struck Zeke as an excellent notion, but also improbable. "I'd like to..." he began, trying to think how to handle this.

"Cool," Stokely approved before Zeke could say anything further. "It'll give Casey and me a chance to talk."

Sasha was left with no guidelines as to where he was least unwanted. Looking miffed, he said, "I'm going to go out too, I think... Scout some restaurants. Or maybe I'll cruise the gay bars." He winked at Stan and appeared to enjoy the grimace that this provoked.

Casey was completely expressionless, giving Zeke no sort of guidance as to what he should do. Zeke would willingly have foregone something that was merely for his own pleasure, but he also felt an urgent need to deal with Stan's little phobia so they could all get on with things. He didn't see Stokes and Stan not being in his life and he was not about to endure Stan's blatant discomfort every time he touched Casey. It had to be addressed – and it was ridiculous to worry about leaving Casey with Stokely. Stokely cared deeply for Casey, and even if she could be argumentative, she was decent and reliable.

Zeke helped with the dishes and when that was done he got out of Stokely's way so she could make tea. Sasha took Casey aside for a very brief, hushed conversation that seemed to be more about hugs and back-pats than words, and departed right after. He blew Stokely a kiss as he left, startling a smile out of her.

Then it was time for Zeke and Stan to go out. Casey silently followed Zeke to the door. It was not unlike Casey's attempt earlier to seclude himself in the bathroom; Casey gave Zeke a jolt when he turned around to say that he was leaving and found Casey right on his heels.

"Maybe I shouldn't go," Zeke waffled.

Casey said, "No. Go." His eyes said something else, though.

Zeke put his hands on Casey's shoulders, leaned in and kissed him, very conscious that Stan was nearby and scowling. He rested his forehead against Casey's for a moment. "You're okay, Case. You're safe."

Casey nodded.

"I won't be very long."

"Kay."

At Stan's suggestion, they were on foot this time. Blocks away, their street crossed a major artery lined with shops, restaurants and bars. It was a pleasant, late summer evening and the sidewalks were busy with people. Zeke allowed himself to feel the excitement of being among that bustle of activity. Just walking around was entertainment.

"So, where we going?" he asked Stan.

"I thought Joe's Sports Bar, it's down the street here. Sound okay?"

"Sure."

They walked a bit.

"I'm sorry," Stan said suddenly.

"For what?"

"That business at the office. Aunt Charly rubs a lot of people the wrong way."

"You don't say."

"She is okay, I mean, she gave me this job and all... but she's like... She doesn't know how to stop telling you what she knows. And with Stokes lately it's Charly this and Charly that." Stan sighed. "And Stokes is totally obsessed with this holistic stuff. I have to sneak out to get a steak."

Zeke smothered a laugh. "I never pictured you working for a newspaper."

"Neither did I," Stan admitted. "But Aunt Charly knew I wanted to do more than just play sports – and it's a really good opportunity for a guy like me, you know?"

"Come on, Stan..."

"Nah, I'm not intellectual like you... you and Casey..."

The spectre of that name had an immediate effect on Stan, who began to exude discomfort again. Zeke was very close to barking out a challenge – but they were nearly at the door of their destination. It was quite the typical sports bar, TV's everywhere, the waitresses all blond and slim. Zeke and Stan found themselves a table where they could both watch the Mariners' game that was in progress.

"You ever go to the games?" Zeke wondered as he got comfortable on his high stool.

"A few times, when the paper had some extra seats to give away. Tickets are hard to get unless you wanna be in the nosebleeds. I've been involved in the behind the scenes stuff a few times..."

"Can I get you boys something?" Their waitress was wearing a snug t-shirt proclaiming "Joe's Finest" and Zeke found himself smiling appreciatively.

They ordered their beers, and Zeke took advantage of the opportunity to get caught up with his cigarette intake – he hadn't asked but assumed that Stan and Stokes' apartment was a non-smoking establishment. Stan was drumming his fingers nervously and repetitively on the table. Zeke let him run with that for a while, lulling himself with three beers, using the baseball game to facilitate mindless guy talk. By the fifth inning, though, Stan was clearing his throat often and casting quick glances at Zeke -- only to look just as quickly back at the screen. Zeke couldn't bear it any longer.

"What's eating you, Stan?" he said.

Stan squirmed a bit on his stool. "Nothing."

"I really believe that, too."

"It's nothing."

"Hmm, let me guess then. It's something to do with me and Casey sharing a bed."

Stan's ruddy skin flared up to a deep burgundy. His eyes flicked around, just in case someone was listening and cared enough to judge him for sitting at a table with a fag.

"Stan, whatever you're thinking, you'd better get it out of your system because I'm not going to give you too many more chances."

Stan lowered his voice, moving a tad closer to Zeke. "Okay, then... You've gotta snap out of this."

Zeke laughed at this, just a little because it was too ridiculous for anything else. "What?"

"This thing with Casey, it's... You're not like that, Zeke. I've seen you with enough girls to know. I don't get it."

Zeke stared across the table at someone whom he had considered his friend, disbelieving. He was having trouble deciding on what he wanted to say. He sucked back on his latest smoke and drank some beer to give himself some time to think about it. Eventually he responded, "What is it you think is happening, exactly?"

"I think you're feeling sorry for Casey."

"And what makes you think that it's any of your business?"

"You're my friend, Zeke. I think you're making a mistake – and by the way, you just asked me for my opinion!"

"I wanted to know why you pull a face every time you look at Casey. Not that it was so hard to guess. What I'm asking now is what makes you think you're even entitled to have an opinion about who I sleep with."

Stan's ears were bloody crimson now. "It's wrong," he stammered. "Just wrong. You've got to... You know it is."

"And what about Casey? Are you going to have this talk with him too?"

"Casey is Casey. He's always been that way."

"So let me get this straight, as it were. Casey is doomed to be gay, but I'm not."

"I shouldn't have said –"

"Fuck that. I'm staying in your apartment and you're fixated on what we're doing in your bed. How do you think that feels, Stan?"

"Zeke..."

"Another beer?" interrupted their waitress. Her false smile cracked a little as she felt the aggression at the table. Zeke shook his head at her and she went away.

"Go on, then," he urged Stan. "Tell me how I can be saved."

"Zeke, you're a guy."

"And?"

"And... Well, you've just gotten a bit... lost is all. I could see how it could happen."

"Really."

"You and Casey... since the aliens came you've always had this way... you'd take off together and talk or whatever and no one else really counted for a damn thing. And you were just like some fucking rabid guard dog around him... nobody would be getting near him because they knew you'd hand them their liver. And now he's... sick... and I just think you've taken this protecting thing a bit too far."

Zeke's hand ached; he realized he had been clutching his empty beer bottle through this whole exchange. He loosened his grip and used his most chill voice. "That's really interesting, Stan. For a guy who's not an intellectual, you've spun yourself quite a theory. Is this Stokely's opinion too?"

"No," Stan scowled. "She thinks it's just about the most romantic thing she's ever heard. We had this huge fight when she told me. I said I can't believe she encouraged you."

"So what's your advice?"

"I don't think I should say, you're pissed at me now."

"But it's too late, isn't it? You'd better tell me exactly what you think."

"Um... okay," Stan faltered. "It's like... even I can see why you feel like.... well, you can't leave him, can you? I don't know what happened to him but he hangs on you like some sick little puppy and you just love it don't you, Zeke, you get high off it."

There was something liquid and deadly filling his body. "Mmm hmmm," Zeke said. His cigarette had burned down to ash between his fingers.

"Maybe you could end the...romantic part. It would be good for him too, I'll bet. You could keep everything... clean. Just friendly."

"Uh huh."

"I'm telling you what I think, Zeke."

"Okay. Now let me tell you what I think." Zeke slammed his empty beer bottle down on the table, and Stan jumped. "I think we're going to pack our bags tonight and go find a hotel."

"What... You don't mean that."

"I sure the fuck do mean it. I'm not going to stay where I'm not welcome, and I'm not going to subject Casey to your vibes either."

"That's crazy, Zeke! You are welcome, we want you to stay – and Stokely will kill me if you go!"

"That's not my fucking problem."

"Zeke – you're still my friend."

"Zeke the Hetero Guy is your friend. I'm not." Zeke stared full into Stan's face, speaking slowly and distinctly. "Listen up because I'm only going to say this once. You're going to have to decide if we're friends or not, Stan, because I have no friends who tell me who to be. I'll forgive you this one time but that's it. If you're going to flinch or make faces or worry about what we're getting on your sheets, then we are not friends. If you think that I'm just taking pity on Casey, then we're not friends. If you think Casey is dirty, unnatural or going to hell, then we are sure not friends. Do you hear?"

"I hear another Zeke Tyler speech," Stan replied stonily. "You always did that. Always so sure you were smarter than the rest of us."

"I am smarter. Are we friends or not, Stan?"

Stan didn't answer.

"I guess that's a no."

"I need some time," Stan muttered angrily.

"To do what? Decide if you're capable of changing your mind – because that's what's it's going to take. You're going to have to act like a normal person around Casey... and you're going to have to talk to Sasha, there's just no way around it."

"Oh, that guy, Zeke, he's... just so --"

"He's my friend. Are you, Stan?"

Their waitress interrupted them. "Excuse me – "

"We're fine, thanks," Zeke growled.

"But, there's... are you Zeke and Stan? There's a call for you. Smokey or something."

Stokely.

Zeke snatched the cordless phone from the woman's hand.

"You okay, Case?"

The voice of Stokely intruded on his latest disappearing act, pulling him back. He turned from the door that had just closed with finality behind Zeke. "Yes, just – tired."

"I... wanted to say... I didn't mean to drive your friend Sasha away. I like him, I really do, Case."

"I know."

"And I'm really sorry about what happened today, I shouldn't have assumed that going out for dinner with Charly was okay. Should have asked at least." Stokely winced. "I just get carried away, you know?"

He managed a little smile. He was still standing by the door, as if Zeke would walk back through it at any moment. Pathetic. Oh, yes, he was pathetic, okay? Sleep would probably be the best course of action now – but that wasn't going to happen just yet.

"Hey, did you want to call your folks?" Stokely asked him.

Quite unexpectedly, he did. He wanted to call them badly. He settled on the living room couch and dialed home; Stokely tactfully left him alone. His mom answered.

"Hi, Mom, it's – "

"Casey! Frank, he's on the phone!" With the initial outbursts done, his mother settled into a calmer state of mind. "Are you okay, honey?" she asked.

He had a perfect image of her standing in the kitchen, holding the phone and talking to him amidst the green that she had insisted on painting the walls, that she called "sage" and his father called "pea-soup". Those walls had been that colour since he was thirteen, and before that they were egg-yolk yellow to match the table and chairs that had been tossed around the same time to make way for a new set of furniture. The old chairs had been vinyl and the one he always sat on had a patched rip that he had made with his butter knife when he was six. He remembered telling his dad that he had wanted to see what the chair's guts looked like. Dad had made him assist in the surgical reconstruction of the chair, and then bought him a detailed colouring book of human anatomy.

"Yeah," he said.

"You sound tired."

"I am."

"Well, we don't need to talk for long, I'm just really glad you called, honey, Sasha called us last night to let us know you got in safely but I'm really really glad to hear your voice... you're sure you're okay?"

You can come home any time you want.

"Yeah."

"Are you taking care of yourself... eating and... all that?"

"Sasha and Zeke... they keep after me."

"That's good."

"Mom... can I... talk to Dad?"

"Oh. Sure."

"I need to ask him something."

"Okay, I'll talk to you soon, right?"

"Soon."

"I love you."

"Love you, too, Mom."

His dad's voice: "Hey, Casey."

Just like that, his throat got tight. "Dad."

"How is – how's Seattle?"

"It's nice." Casey tightened his grip on the phone.

"And – how was the drive?"

"Long."

"I'll bet." His father cleared his throat. "Listen, Casey, your mother and I have decided we'd like to come and visit you there – say, in two weeks or so. Just for a few days, to make sure you're settled and have everything you need. All right?"

"Okay." Casey ground the word out. He was not going to break down and cry or his parents would freak out and beg him to come home and he would probably go because right now the thought of being with them in that house was one of the most restful images he could summon up which was funny because not long ago he had dreaded every minute under that roof. But that was another time, that was not now or before.

"So you'll have to let us know where you live," his father said, trying to sound cheerful.

"We – we found an apartment today."

"Did you? Where is it?"

How to answer that question? "I don't know... it's over a store where Stokely works."

"Oh, that's... that's a bonus, huh? Is it in good condition?"

"Yes," he said, which was technically a lie because he could barely remember what the place had looked like now apart from that rooftop sort-of-garden space which had appealed to him more than the apartment itself.

"And... how much is it?"

This was where he had to find some reservoir of energy. Closing his eyes he focused on speaking clearly and with the requisite degree of detail. "It's seven-fifty a month split three ways so – "

"Three ways?"

"S-Sasha's going to –"

"– going to live with you, of course, I should have seen that coming."

Casey couldn't answer that. He couldn't even sort out what his father meant by that comment.

"But that's a good thing," his dad added then. "It'll bring the expenses down, won't it? And I can see he's a... good friend. I'm... glad... he's there."

Grateful tears closed Casey's throat up completely, while astonishment emptied his brain.

"Okay, Casey. Two-hundred and fifty a month? I think we can do that... it actually works out to less than the residence fees. You talk to Zeke and figure out how you want to work this... I can send post-dated cheques or I could... deposit the money for you and you can take care of it how you like."

"Th-thank you...Dad."

"It's fine," his dad said gruffly. "But I want you to go back to school, Casey."

"Okay."

"Don't rush things, though."

"Okay."

"Call us after you get moved to let us know your address. And we'll see you in two weeks."

After hanging up, Casey tucked his legs up and leaned against the arm of the couch. Some time later he gradually became aware that Stokely was in the room.

"Do you want some tea?" she asked him. He shook his head. "Milk? Juice? Water? A shot of scat maybe?"

It was a good effort, but he was humourless. "No, thanks."

"What do you want, Case?"

He jerked a look at her, expecting to see anger or impatience or frustration but what he saw was an honest question.

"I mean," Stokely explained, "is there something you need, something I can do that would... make you feel more comfortable... because I feel like an idiot here."

Yep, that was the Stokely he remembered.

"Um," he said.

"Yes?"

"Could we... watch a movie?"

"Sure," Stokely said, brightening.

He and Stokely had watched a thousand movies together. They would huddle in Stokely's parents' basement to do it if they weren't going to the movie theatre. One time they'd held a 24-hour B-movie crappy creature movie marathon. They had stocked up on every known species of junk food and issued invitations to Stan, Delilah and Zeke.

Delilah had lifted her chin and said, "What a perfect geek weekend. I'm thinking... never in a million years." Stan had just shook his head and said, "I've had enough scary monsters... what's with you two?" Zeke had manfully tried to tolerate it but fell asleep halfway through the first one. When he woke up he left right away, muttering something about football practice even though it was 9:00 on a Friday night.

Stokely went on, "I don't own any tapes, though. Been wanting to get a DVD player and start collecting them when we can afford it. But I could run down the street and rent something. Or... we could go out." Stokely looked hopefully at Casey. "No pressure, though."

He actually considered it, to his own surprise – but even when he had been avoiding going out of Roy's apartment he had kept going to the movies. Still, it was always that repertory one where it was rarely full, especially during the day, and it was a very familiar place and not far from the apartment. Once he was in his seat and ideally no strangers were elbowing him, he could lose himself in the movie. He loved that theatre, everything about it right down to the smell of stale popcorn and spilled soda gumming his feet to the floor. In fact, he liked all movie theatres, old and new. And he hadn't been to one for so long – but he was so tired. And they would have to get there and back, they would either have to walk or take the bus, and what if Zeke came back and he wasn't here?

"Casey?" Stokely interrupted his ruminating. "It's okay. We don't have to go anywhere. I just thought you might want to is all."

He shifted and tucked his legs the other way. "I do," he said. "But I..."

"It's no big," Stokely grinned. "You remember when we had that B-movie festival in my basement?"

"Yes," Casey said, a bit disoriented by their remembering something in common.

"That was a great time, I'd love to do that again."

"Zeke has a home theatre."

"Oh, yes! Okay, I'm going to be living with you guys." With a sly look, Stokely scooted a little closer to Casey. "You know, I was trying to set you and Zeke up that time."

"Wh – what time?"

"The B-movie festival. I could tell you were into him... maybe you didn't say anything but I could tell. I knew Stan and Delilah would never show, but Zeke would maybe because the guy was always kind of hovering around you."

"He was?"

"Yeah. You didn't notice?"

"No," Casey replied faintly.

"Well, he was. I figured either he had to be interested or he was just uber-protective, the way he was stalking you."

Casey didn't believe Zeke had thought of him that way back then, not for a second, unless it was as some sociological curiosity... There was that time that Zeke had kissed him in the Mustang, though. He had almost forgotten that. He remembered being too shocked and nervous to do or say anything at first, and even when he did do something it wasn't much. He remembered staring at Zeke and thinking whatever was going to happen, he wanted it. And then it didn't, and Roy happened instead.

"And now here you are, the two of you," Stokely sighed. "It's so cool." Her face twisted a little, like something bothered her. "I just hope..."

"What?"

"Nothing," Stokely shrugged. But then she must have seen that her evasion was not going to help him any, and went on, "Just... Stan's taking it a little hard. He was raised churchy and he's got that whole male jock problem too." She fell to a bit of silent brooding, gnawing on a fingernail. "We had a mondo fight about it the other day."

Boiling hot fear scalded his body, erasing what slight sense of security he had been holding tight to his chest since Zeke stepped out the door.

So Zeke and Stan were talking right now, talking about him. Stan could barely find the will to talk to Casey and at this very moment Stan was telling Zeke how ridiculous he looked with Casey, how Zeke kissing Casey in public made him want to puke. Zeke had told Casey that he didn't give up, and Casey believed that, but it didn't have to mean what Casey thought it meant. It could mean that Zeke would stick by Casey as a friend but maybe he just wasn't really interested in trying so hard anymore. He'd been so angry with Casey only a few days ago, Zeke had, and he might very well have decided that it wouldn't work between them. Sleep together... just sleep was the rule although he let Casey kiss him today but he did make a point of separating them as soon as he could. Right now Zeke might be ogling a pretty waitress while he drank his beer and thinking about how much simpler it would be if he and Casey were just friends, now that Stan reminded him of all the reasons he had been keeping Casey a secret over the summer.

A long universe away, Stokely was still talking. "Casey... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. I wouldn't worry about it, if anyone can talk Stan out of being a homophobic jerk, it would be Zeke."

No, it wasn't fair to Zeke to think this way, Zeke was honest at least as far as he understood himself – but wasn't Casey almost impossible to tolerate for long? And Zeke was not a patient man it just might not be worth giving up all his other friends and his more regular identity so he could wrestle through every minute of the day with Casey –

"How about we just flick on the TV and find something to watch?" Stokely asked, obviously desperate to distract him.

He nodded, but that little bit of movement was difficult. His body was made up of heavy, dead limbs sewn together that he could see lying there but couldn't really believe were attached to him. Stokely put the TV on and began to surf rapidly, talking the whole time like she did when she was nervous.

"Pass on that... I'm thinking no to that... Seinfeld, no way... oh, wait a minute – check this guy out, Case."

It was a local newscast. There was a man on the screen with bland, even features that were vaguely reminiscent of a person Casey had known, wearing the usual sort of newscaster suit, hair perfectly sculpted into a thick wave. He spoke in a manner of affected interest while holding his body like he didn't know it... a lot like Coach Willis had done when he was... infected...

"I met this guy at the staff picnic this summer, Charly knows him," Stokely said. "He's just an unbelievable prig, he apparently throws hissy fits if his dressing room isn't stocked with hand cream. And look at him, he's so stiff, I could do a better job."

.... so it was happening, it was happening and he was alone, Zeke was gone, he wasn't coming back and Sasha gone too not coming back and – why did they leave when he tried so hard no he knew why he was weak a burden useless so it was hardly surprising.

"Casey? Case? Oh, shit."

That was a bit of a voice that he remembered but she had been taken too, she had grabbed him through the cage and tried to hold him so the queen could get to him and she was touching him now she was going to...but maybe she was who she was but even so she didn't get it didn't get that it wasn't safe here not at all. He wanted to stop seeing it seeing her or any of it and closing his eyes wouldn't help. Nothing to do but wait for it to happen, he was helpless yet he still had to watch so stupid he had to stop being here just letting it happen to him.

They hurried home, almost at a run. Stan tried to speak to Zeke a few times, but Zeke just growled, refusing to hear him. He should never have wasted his time with this twit in the first place and if it weren't for Stokes and the fact that Casey was probably not going to be up to going anywhere tonight, Zeke would have cheerfully packed them all up now and gone to a hotel and nevermind that Stan hadn't actually given him an answer yet. The guy did not do change.

Zeke took the stairs up to the apartment three at a time.

Stokely met them at the door, crying. "I didn't..." she gulped. "I didn't know what to do."

Zeke knew a moment of rage and a second of panic before it all got shut down. "What?"

"I'm so stupid," Stokely lamented.

"Just – where is he?"

Stokely led him to the living room, pointing to the big armchair. Casey was curled there, inanimate and waxen, colourless save for the smearing of red around his eyes. His skin was glacial to Zeke's touch.

"How long has he been like this?" Zeke demanded in outrage.

"I think... it was maybe twenty minutes before I called you and then it had to be like forever waiting until they got you on the phone and I hung up and called back...must be an hour almost – "

"An hour?"

"I'm sorry, I couldn't... I didn't think. I tried everything, I yelled and rubbed his face and I even slapped him. Nothing worked, I've been freaking out by myself here – "

"Okay, okay," Zeke relented. It wasn't Stokely's fault. He had been reticent about the specifics regarding Casey and that once again made him the asshole, not her.

"I didn't know what to do," came the final chorus.

"He'll come out of it," Zeke assured her.

He considered his options. It would be ideal if Casey woke up and walked to the bedroom rather than Zeke having to carry him. Even a smaller-built person like Casey was not exactly a negligible weight and balled up as he was it would be a tricky little dance.

Zeke took out his keys. He grasped Casey's hand and opened it, than ran the sharp, jagged side of one of them across Casey's open palm, with just enough pressure to let him feel the teeth. There was no response that he saw, so he did it again, this time across the back of Casey's hand. He earned himself a violent twitch. He drew a line up the inside of Casey's forearm. Casey pulled his arm into his body.

"Ah, don't like that, do you," Zeke murmured. He set about bothering Casey's other hand, then changed his mind. Casey's feet were right in front of him. White sports socks, yes, Casey wore socks when it was eighty degrees out and they were brand new like his shoes and most of the clothing he owned. Zeke peeled down one of them until he had the heel of Casey's foot exposed. He gave Casey's heel the key treatment.

Casey made a noise of protest, tucking his feet closer to his body. Two bleary eyes oriented themselves to Zeke.

"Hi," Zeke said. "Better than cold water, hmm?"

Right away Stokes got on her knees beside Zeke. "Case, I'm so sorry..."

Zeke put his hand on the chair, interposing his arm between her and Casey. He wondered what it was that she thought she had done.

"'s.. kay," Casey mumbled. He blinked a few times, slowly like his lids were far too heavy to raise and lower. "Where..."

"Stokely's apartment," Zeke supplied. "Bed?"

Casey nodded, but at the same time a deep shiver went through him, and he added, "Sh-shower."

"Okay, c'mon then. You need to get on your feet for all that to happen." Zeke offered a hand to pull Casey up.

Casey was still ice-cold, his feet working sluggishly. Zeke escorted him to the bathroom, holding his arm to keep him moving. Stokely, obviously desperate to be useful, bustled in with a stack of towels while Stan stood helplessly in the hall. Zeke nodded his thanks and said, "I'll take it from here." He closed the door on them.

He set himself to the task of helping Casey to undress, doing most of the work himself, hating that this, right now, was the first time he was going to see all of Casey. He got over it by not really looking; while Casey stood in the centre of the room, naked, he handled the arcane matter of starting up the shower. With that done he looked back, and saw Casey half-way stuck in a trance that was refusing him access, leaving him exposed, eyes dripping moisture. Zeke straightened up without a word and took him into his arms, letting those eyes take some shelter at least.

Casey was getting better. He was. Physically – yes, absolutely. Zeke had now had the opportunity to see that most of his hurts were fading scars or faint, yellowish discolourations by now, if not completely disappeared. And emotionally, too, it was just that stuff like this was going to happen after days like today, and they were going to find Casey a doctor or therapist or both if necessary, first thing on Monday – no, Monday was a holiday, it would have to be Tuesday. And they needed to establish a routine in their own space, that would help too. It would all be good.

"Let's get you in there," Zeke said out loud. "Before the water gets cold."

He shifted Casey in that direction but it didn't quite work because Casey's fingers were laced into his shirt and didn't want to come loose. Zeke gently pried them out, his mind spinning with logistics. He could strip down and get in there with Casey, but the problems associated with getting them both in and out and dry and safely to bed under the watch of their friends were just too enormous.

So he half-guided, half-prodded Casey into the shower, deflecting Casey's attempts to draw him in too. "I'm going to be standing right out here, Case. Five minutes and then we'll be done." Zeke closed the curtain most of the way, leaving a small gap he could use to monitor Casey. And Casey just stood there being a human waterfall while the water warmed his skin. Zeke pulled him out and wrapped him up in three towels. He towelled Casey's hair until it was just a little damp, then steered him to the bathroom door.

Sasha was in the dark hallway. Stan and Stokes were still there, standing behind him, the three of them in a row. "What the hell happened?" Sasha demanded fiercely.

"Just a long day," Zeke replied, and that didn't sound at all like denial, did it? He moved past Sasha, said to his hostess, "We're going to bed now. Thank you, Stokes." He didn't look at Stan. Whatever Stan might have to say or think about it, Zeke didn't give a flying fuck. He heard Sasha go into his own little bedroom and close the door; Stokes and Stan presumably headed off to their sofabed.

Zeke decided not to turn on the light in the bedroom; the illumination from the window was sufficient, and a lot gentler. When Casey seemed uninclined to do anything for himself, Zeke unwrapped him, letting the towels fall to the floor. Zeke quickly pulled the bedcovers down and turned to Casey.

In those eyes he saw nothing less than a monstrous chasm of need. Zeke could either look away or be swallowed up and so his own eyes dropped and took in all of the body before him in the part-light. Still very thin, but the shadows cast in the room blurred all the angles and ridges that cried of unhealth so what remained was smooth, slender lines of muscle, and skin carved out of the dark and glowing just enough to be believed. Parts that Zeke had once thought he'd never be able to look at or touch belonged there every bit as much as the soft, girlish mouth and ambiguous face. There was a line of jaw that was so very male, and alongside it the long, thick lashes that were just so – not male. That it was all brought together in one incarnation astounded and humbled Zeke. He was looking at all of it and there was finally no question in his mind. All of it was what he wanted.

"Come," he whispered, beckoning and the strange and wondrous being came willingly to him.

He got Casey to lie down and covered most of him with the blankets. His eyes were still uncovered, though. They were dragging him in and he was going, helpless to stop it or to even want to stop it.

"I'm... I..." Zeke began to stammer... want you want you going to have you fuck you leave my mark on you make you real... "I'm going to brush my teeth. I'll just be a minute."

He fled that room. Instead of the bathroom, though, he found himself at Sasha's door. There was a crack of light showing from underneath, leaching out over the floor. Zeke knocked once, opened the door without invitation. Sasha was reading by the bedside lamp; he put down his book and said worriedly, "What?"

Zeke shut the door and sat on the bed, keeping his feet on the floor so he was giving Sasha only his profile, unable to face him. "I need that chaperone now," he whispered, very conscious that there was only a wall between himself and Casey and that Stan and Stokes were not very far away, just down the hall.

"Say again?"

Sasha's voice boomed; Zeke gestured frantically to lower the volume.

"I need help," Zeke whispered. "It was manageable when you were in the room but this is not manageable. He... you go and sleep with him, Sasha, please, I don't want him to be alone."

Sasha closed his book. He took a long time to answer. "You know," he said at last, very quietly. "It's truly amazing to me."

"What is?"

"How someone so brilliant can be so stupid."

Zeke jerked his head sideways to face Sasha, who appeared to be both amused and annoyed. "What are you talking about?"

"You need to get back in there. Now."

"But... didn't you hear..."

"I heard. And I know Casey needs you."

"I don't want to make another mistake."

"What makes you think you would make a mistake?"

"Because..." Zeke found he couldn't meet Sasha's eyes. I want to own him, I want to devour him and keep him inside me. "I feel completely out of control."

"Zeke." Sasha put his hand on Zeke's arm. "You're in love, you idiot. You don't go in there and fuck him. You go in there and show him how you're in love. Fucking can come later."

"But he's going to – "

"He doesn't know the difference anymore. You have to help him learn it again."

"I don't know a damn thing about it either," Zeke muttered, withdrawing his arm.

"You know more than you think." Sasha picked up his book again, opened it. He looked up briefly. "I'm trusting you, Zeke. Now get your ass back in there before I have to beat you."

Zeke had been dismissed.

He could do nothing but go back to the other room, so he went and stood just inside the door, shaking. Maybe he was having a panic attack himself. At least there was no sign of the formidable entity that had inhabited that darkened room when he bolted, only a lump in the bed that shifted when he came in. "Zeke?" it said plaintively.

"Yeah," he answered, shutting the door behind himself. He quickly stripped himself of all his clothing, with a self-consciousness that felt utterly crippling. What the fuck did he know about lovemaking? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. All he knew was he didn't want to be wrong again.

He slid under the covers. Casey immediately adhered to him, not reacting at all when everywhere was bare flesh meeting bare flesh. Of course, Casey had surely known from the moment that Zeke pinned that look on him minutes ago that Zeke's will had taken a major hit, and Casey was more than ready to press his advantage. His hands were already questing lower, reaching, while his mouth sought a target on Zeke's chest.

"Wait," Zeke whispered. "Wait – Casey – " Zeke managed to get his own hands between them and blocked one of Casey's. Not deterred, Casey's other hand kept going. It brushed against Zeke's cock which was already uncomfortably erect. Before Casey had him in his grasp Zeke got hold of Casey's wrist and forced his hand up and up, against the pillow next to his head. "Casey, stop this..."

Casey was now almost on his back with both his wrists pinned yet he wrestled with Zeke without making a sound. Fuelled by desperation and adrenalin, he was an automaton seeking gratification as he understood it. There was absolutely no sign of arousal, no interest from his penis that Zeke could detect, no warmth on his skin, only raw pain in his face.

"I don't like this, Case... calm down, please." But Casey wasn't ready to give up; he tried to grind his crotch against Zeke's. A hammer of pleasure pounded Zeke's body. His cock jerked, muscles in his groin constricted... a few more strokes and he'd explode. "Fuck – ! Casey, stop."

Casey went still, panting, his eyes closed and trailing silver.

"I just want you to be still," Zeke said. "That's what I want you to do for me. Can you lie still for me?"

Patently not liking it, Casey complied. Zeke balanced himself on one elbow and leaned down to touch his lips to Casey's in a brief, soft caress. Casey did not move, did not return the kiss, did not so much as breathe. All of his body was rigid – except for the one part of him that Zeke would have liked to see rigid.

"Case..." Zeke whispered. "I was thinking... I'd like to do a little more than sleep. But there would have to be... guidelines."

Casey's gaze shifted so he was looking up at Zeke.

Zeke set down, "I don't want you to do anything. You don't have to come. You don't have to do anything to make me come. I would just like to... to touch you. Okay?"

Casey gave a single, very faint nod, even as his eyes shimmered with liquid fear and his body began to shake with fine tremors. Zeke put his mouth on Casey's, gently kissing lips that quivered under his. "Shh..." Zeke soothed. "Shh... no fear... we won't be afraid..." It was invocation, it was meditation; not really expected to work, not this time. It didn't work either – but at least Casey's shaking eased a little and he finally returned the kiss. It was not especially deep or long, just a gentle yielding of two partially opened mouths, but it was one of the most potent things Zeke had ever felt. The tremble and movement of Casey's lips had the power to summon a hot and cold quaking in Zeke's gut. His body insisted that something hurt, yet it was a wondrous kind of hurt, it was this euphoria all through him.

Zeke said quietly, "I'm going to touch you now."

It was tough to know where to start. He decided on the join of neck and collarbone, putting his hand there and tracing the graceful line with a finger and then his thumb... then trying it with the back of his hand and the tips of his fingers, learning how silk felt under different kinds of touch. His thumb strayed into the hollow of the throat and for a while he was completely lost in tactile fascination with the shape of Casey's neck and jaw, the multitude of exquisite angles and curves drawn in human flesh.

Such pure design had to be experienced with more than one of his senses, all of them if at all possible. He delved into that same place with lips and tongue, spending a long time in that place. When he strayed from there to the snug shell of Casey's ear, Casey suddenly made a noise and moved on the bed, his neck stretching up, head arching away inviting Zeke to continue his ministrations there. Zeke explored the entire expanse of flesh from his ear down to his shoulder. There were some – mostly healed -- marks there. Zeke kissed them and smoothed them with his hand, trying to erase them the only way he could.

He returned his gaze to Casey's eyes, checking in. Casey looked shattered, he had to be needing a break from the intensity so Zeke stopped everything and just held him, lining up their bodies. He let Casey put his face against his shoulder and they stayed that way for a while. Gradually Casey's body warmed against his, and Zeke's desire to continue his sensory explorations began to clamour and shout. He didn't care what happened now as long as he could feed the hunger in all of his senses with something of Casey.

"More now," Zeke whispered. "Okay?"

He thought he got some sort of affirmative. He twisted, bringing Casey almost on top of him. In that new position Zeke was free to run his hands up and down Casey's back in broad, worshipful sweeps, plying the backs and sides of his hands to discover the different angles.... spine, shoulder blades, the depression of the lower back. His hands were dipping a little lower each time and he was holding his breath a bit because he wasn't sure what he would feel. Finally his hands were tracing the firm curve of Casey's ass.

Casey sucked a breath suddenly when Zeke made contact with his buttocks. He parted his legs a bit and undulated once against Zeke, slowly, pushing a stiffening cock against Zeke's. His mouth opened against Zeke's shoulder, wet and soft and saying something that wasn't to be heard. "Casey..." Zeke breathed in reply. "Casey... Case..." He had Casey's ass cupped firmly in both hands but did not move otherwise, luxuriating in the fact of Casey writhing against him. The sensations emanating from between his legs were all he knew --

Abruptly, Casey sat up on Zeke, his ass resting against Zeke's cock that was jutting up like a pole. He grabbed Zeke's hand and and worked three fingers one after another in his mouth, laving them generously. Each play of suction siphoned some last measure of control out of Zeke.

Zeke took his hand away from Casey. Casey looked at him in surprised hurt.

"That's against the rules," Zeke said.

"I want you to – "

"I know what you want. I'm not ready for that." He tried to soften his words, but even so, Casey began to shake again. "Come here... beside me," Zeke requested.

Casey settled next to him, pillowing his head on Zeke's right arm. Zeke caressed Casey's overgrown hair, trying to look through his eyes into his centre, and then holding Casey's eyes, he took Casey's penis in his hand. It was only semi-hard and already losing its erection. Zeke just held him at first, getting used to the idea that he was holding some else's penis, and it was surprisingly easy. Then he stroked gently, in no hurry to do anything, just absorbing the sensations in his hand. Even when Casey was completely flaccid he didn't cease his motions.

"There's no point," Casey whispered around a sob. "Stop."

"There is... I want to. Does it feel bad?"

Casey sighed dismally. "No."

"Does it feel good?"

"Yes," came the whisper.

"So."

Casey surrendered and rested his head against Zeke's chest. After a moment he turned his head and laid his cheek flat. His breath was a pleasant torment across Zeke's stomach. Zeke had never felt so aroused and at the same time content to do absolutely nothing about it. His previous encounters had always followed a predictable plot, all action, straight to climax with a brief denouement.

Time passed unmeasured and Casey had become very still, breathing slowly and evenly, his body slack. Zeke realized he had fallen asleep, his head lying on Zeke's chest while Zeke held him in his hand.

It was the single greatest achievement of Zeke's sexual career.

For the first time since leaving Herrington, Casey knew where he was when he woke up. He was with Zeke, who was lined up behind him, all along his backside, stubbly chin prickling at Casey's neck. He was with Zeke --

– Zeke who had only touched him for about an hour last night and didn't want him to do anything and didn't care if neither of them got anything out of it and Casey didn't know what had happened. He didn't understand. That couldn't be what Zeke wanted. Zeke wouldn't stick around if it was just Zeke servicing Casey – that being a waste of his time anyway.

Zeke was stirring, shifting position a little. Casey sensed the moment when he woke up, even with his back to him. He didn't know how to be face-to-face with Zeke now. He lay very still hoping Zeke would think he was asleep.

"Case," Zeke said around a yawn. "I can tell you're awake."

"H - how?"

"I can hear you thinking."

Momentarily distracted by an intriguing notion, Casey asked, "Really?"

"Kinda," came Zeke's hiss against his neck. Zeke placed the hand that was in the vicinity over Casey's chest. "You get all tense. And your heart's going. What are you thinking about?"

Casey knew he should try to be straightforward because that was what Zeke appreciated. "Could I... I'd like to do something for you?" he asked, and was careful not to make any sort of overt move even though it would have been so easy, the way they were lying together.

Zeke got still and silent. Casey thought after last night surely Zeke wouldn't turn him down –

"Thanks, but no thanks. I will take a kiss though."

"Haven't brushed my teeth," Casey muttered.

His body filled up with the mad drug that he hadn't felt for a couple of days and had thought maybe was used up. But not used up, nowhere near depleted... it was coursing through him at full strength. He wanted to scream at Zeke....You want to make me feel safe, you want to give me strength to exist in this place? Show me that you want me, just once, just fucking once. He knew that it was pointless though, just like anger about it was pointless. He was the one who was fucked-up in the head, he was supposed to take what he could get just like he took his pills every day, even if he didn't understand it and it frightened him it was supposed to be just the right prescription. He was the last person to say what was the right medicine for him.

"Neither have I," Zeke answered him. "Let's swap some morning breath." Zeke had raised himself up and was looming over Casey. Casey refused to look up at him. Zeke knuckled his cheek, making it tickle maddeningly, and Casey scrunched up his shoulders trying to brush him off. Zeke then attempted to pull him by his shoulder.

"Let me go!" he growled, hunching and scooting as close to the edge of the bed as he could get.

After a shocked pause, Zeke said in bewilderment, "Okay."

Casey let himself fall on his back so Zeke could see his face. "I don't want a kiss," he declared. "I don't want you to touch me and look at me, I want you to fuck me. I know I'm hideous and I can't feel much... but I could make you feel good if you let me." He drew a single line from Zeke's chin, straight down his chest and belly, and as his fingers brushed Zeke's protruding and yet unsatisfied erection, he demanded, very soft, "When are you going to fuck me, Zeke?"

Zeke spun away and sat on the edge of the bed with his back to Casey. "Not today," he choked.

Casey heard himself say, "Well, if you won't I'm sure someone else will."

"I'm not having this conversation. You're not yourself right now and I'm not listening."

"I am myself, have you ever thought about that? This is me, this thing right now, it feels... it feels right and there's nothing you can do to make it stop –"

Zeke stood up quickly, turning for a moment to stare at Casey. Right before Zeke walked out, Casey caught an expression on Zeke's face that he had never seen before. It was pain, not mixed with anger or outrage, nothing but pain. "I'll be in the shower," was all Zeke said.

It took only moments for the last dregs of his artificial freedom to abandon him and then he was scrambling for his travel bag, looking for clothes. He pulled on three layers, one after the other, two shirts and a sweater and jeans and he wanted to bury himself under the covers too and never rise from there.

Some things were beginning to be clear. Some things were rising up out of the muck with voices like bells. Like he was going to destroy Zeke and he somehow had to find the courage to rescue Zeke from him. He should be able to love Zeke but he couldn't, he had no idea how to. He was terrified every time Zeke tried to show him anything real. All he knew, all that was real to him, were the feelings between him and Roy. It was Roy who would take him if he offere