"Score!" exclaimed Sasha, rubbing his hands with gleeful lust as he took in the retail splendour before him. "Oh, how I've been looking forward to this... Operation Wardrobe will now commence."

Casey wondered how Sasha couldn't see that the entrance to the mall was not an innocent point of access but actually a toothless cavity, luring victims into its very bowels. It was a pastel and glass monster. Staring into it, Casey had that thought that had been beating him stupid all morning: Zeke had been right.

He should have taken the pill. At the very least, he could have brought one with him for when he really needed it – but he had chosen to screw himself over instead. Right through breakfast and up until they left the apartment and it was too late, a tiny voice in his head had insisted But it will make me sleepy. It really would, and he wouldn't be able to make much of a pretense of normalcy, Mom and Dad would think he was a drooling mess and they would get even more displeased with the situation than they already were and go home thinking he was doomed.

Which he was, anyway. He was walking into the dreadful maw on his own power now, fully expecting that he would never again enjoy the perfume of the Mustang's leather seats, or Zeke's hands on him, or a movie on the colossal screen in their living room. He would never find out if a science fiction movie could win an Oscar – yet a tiny, white pill could have saved him from this demise.

Zeke had tried to warn him, he had known what would happen once Casey was out of the protected space of home. All right, be scared then. There had been real anger there, as real and physical as Zeke's clenched fists and the dismissive angle of his head. Amazing to think that it had been an entirely different sort of day until that moment when Zeke's voice and posture told him no, no, no, you fool, this is not "that" kind of day, it is "this" kind of day and you should know better. Up until that moment Casey had been nursing a slight, sickly feeling inside his chest that had been — well, he didn't dare say happy. Nice. Pleasing. Until Zeke reminded him that he had no right to feel such things. He was totally fucked up, after all, and naturally Zeke didn't like to see him scared, Zeke didn't want to be constantly managing crisis. So Zeke was right. He should have taken the pill. The pill gave him nice feelings too, feelings he was actually entitled to have.

Of course, if he had taken the pill there would have been no way to stay on track while they were at the bank, setting up his new savings account. They had gone to a bank that was in the neighbourhood and within walking distance of the apartment because his father was old-fashioned about his money; it wasn't real unless Frank Connor could see it and touch it and although he used automated tellers for various transactions, he liked to take his biweekly paycheck to his branch for deposit, always keeping some cash on hand. Casey felt no emotional imperative to keep cash. To him, money was an electronic symbol that bounced around between zero and a three-digit whole number. Interest rates and transaction fees couldn't possibly matter that much. Still, his parents had to be hopeful that this banking enterprise would usher in a new era of autonomy for him, so he made himself pay attention while the man in his little cubicle was going through the options for types of accounts – at least, sufficient attention that he could sound credible when he picked one of them at random.

When they were finished at the bank, there had been discussion about where to shop. At that point there was a consultation of The Tourist's Guide to Seattle, followed by the selection of a large mall in the suburbs. Then they were on their way, and listening to Sasha and his dad quibble over the route was almost enough to make Casey laugh out loud. His dad seemed to believe that fags were inherently without a sense of direction, and therefore could only get lost while driving even if they were driving to a shopping mall. If he could have, his father would probably have seized the wheel, but Zeke's offer of the car had been directed expressly to Sasha. Someday, presumably, Casey would have the same opportunities, but first Zeke had to finish teaching him to drive.

Once they were flying down the expressway and there was nothing left for his dad to dispute as to navigation, his mom had lured Sasha into an information session about his doctor visit, with his dad listening avidly. Casey had little to say as Sasha outlined the list of decrees from Dr. Chakri. He was trying not to dwell on his next appointment, where he would no doubt be poked and prodded a lot more than he wanted to be. His main consolation was that he would probably not make it through today alive, so he needn't get worked up about going to the doctor again just yet.

Of course it was ridiculous to fear a shopping mall, just like all of his fears were ridiculous – but knowing that he was ridiculous didn't actually help. He knew the thoughts that he was supposed to think about things; he could have recited them – as long as his mind wasn't blanking out from fear – but they weren't anything that he could believe in. Reason couldn't touch him.

The structure was like most newer malls, very spacious with plenty of air and light. Not exactly teeming with people – but busy, and the shoppers did exhibit a tendency to run in unpredictable patterns. There were no guidelines here. People could be coming up behind and in front and sideways at all once, from behind the various types of plastic foliage placed at intervals in an attempt to give the place a natural feel, and they could come from around the clothing racks and between the kiosks too. Within his first minute in the place, Casey found that every muscle in his body was clenched, his skin twitching all over like it wanted to grow eyes. Why hadn't he taken the pill? Yes, Zeke was right, he was always right and Casey wanted to run home to him and tell him, Zeke had to be right because Casey was so wrong all the time –

Sasha's hand was a warm pressure on Casey's arm. "Okay, kitten?" he asked.

Casey nodded, not trusting himself to speak. They had used the mall entrance near Penney's, not coincidentally by any means. His mom had always shopped there and she was already eyeing up the front of the store, where racks of women's clothing were assembled.

"I think I'll go check out the hardware section," his dad announced promptly. "How about I meet you somewhere in a couple of hours?"

"Fine," his mom said, accustomed to this sort of arrangement. She took one purposeful step in the direction of Penney's.

"How about we meet outside Old Navy?" Sasha suggested quickly.

Casey's dad nodded to Sasha and moved off. Casey watched him go enviously, wishing he could disappear too. Just like the hardware department for his father, there had to be somewhere that was right for Casey to hide. There had to be lots of bathrooms in this place, but he didn't know where they were just yet, he should be consulting one of the "You are here" maps before his brain short-circuited altogether – but it was too late now, his mom was in high gear, leading them into the department store and to the men's clothing section, checking over her shoulder every few seconds to make sure they were following. She began to scout the racks, absorbed in her work, while Sasha threw a pained half-smile at Casey, blatantly wanting a chance to intervene.

"What do you think of this, hon?" Casey's mom asked, holding up a striped rugby-style shirt.

Casey opened his mouth to reply, but Sasha immediately jumped in. "Allison, you can't do this to your own offspring."

"What do you mean?" she said, looking a trifle wounded.

"I mean you can't make Casey wear that."

"He always liked these sort of things before."

"He was probably just being nice to his mother."

"Casey?" his mom prompted, still waving the abominable shirt around.

"Come on, kitten," Sasha urged. "Tell her."

Both parties had appealed to Casey for judgment yet he could see that they were wanting him to get into the spirit of things just as much as they wanted him to decide in their favour.

"Mom," he said. "It's time you knew the truth." It came out a little more dire than he had intended and his mother got a look like her stomach was in her shoes. He added without delay, "I'm stylin' now."

The outbreak of laughter was gratifying. In fact, his mom was so pleased by his joke that she willingly accepted the veto on all department stores and moved on to more fashionable shops. Realizing that Casey's parents were not terribly wealthy, Sasha was quite content with The Gap and Old Navy, and while Casey had never given much thought to what he wore before Roy, he couldn't say he wasn't a bit relieved now. He still didn't care a whole lot, except that it made Sasha happy to dress him up, and he certainly didn't mind giving Zeke more reasons to look at him.

Casey spent the next hour and a half in change rooms, trying on item after item that his mom and Sasha would throw over the top of the door. The booths were just enough like a bathroom stall that he could consider them a refuge – even if, in fact, he had trapped himself in a little box surrounded by strangers. He squandered his stores of energy just not thinking about that, and it helped that he had guardians outside. Fretting about Zeke was a very useful distraction too. Still, his nerves were screaming long before they were finished. When they finally met up with his dad, Casey placed himself half inside the semi-circle of Sasha and his parents, using their bodies as barriers. Sasha understood as always, putting an arm around his shoulder, creating a buffer from the every-directional stream of people around them.

Casey's mom wasn't ready to leave yet, though. "Who wants to get a bite to eat?" she asked.

"In the food court?" Sasha remarked, with his usual sort of grimace.

"Casey?" she pressed. "We did miss lunch."

"Still full from breakfast," Casey said, and that was mostly true. It had been late, more brunch than breakfast, and completely Zeke-centric: pancakes, eggs, bacon, toast, potatoes. Now it was all lying uneasily in Casey's stomach. He wasn't exactly nauseous, but he didn't want to eat either.

"Are we done here, then?" his dad wanted to know, with a quick glance at him.

"Well... " his mom hedged. "There are still some things. He needs a heavier coat and boots, for one."

"I'm sure that can wait," his dad suggested. "It isn't exactly winter conditions out there yet."

"No..." replied his mom doubtfully. "Then there's the computer."

"I hate to be a party pooper," Sasha interjected. "But I'll need to get to work by three-thirty, four at the absolute latest."

"Okay," conceded Casey's mom. "We'll deal with the computer tomorrow, I guess."

They were leaving, Casey sang to himself as they walked out. It was the most brilliant melodic hook... leaving, leaving, leaving the mall now... leaving, leaving... going home... He had survived one more outing. There were tears of relief in his eyes as they navigated the parking lot. Fuck, but he was pathetic, and Zeke was absolutely and unconditionally right. He should have taken the pill.

Traffic was a bit heavy, so it took close to an hour to get back downtown. Sasha was getting agitated, worrying about making it to work on time; the moment the car was in its parking spot around the back of the building, he was out the door and running up to the apartment. Casey and his parents followed behind, each lugging several shopping bags up the metal stairs to the door, where they ran into Zeke, wearing his jacket and holding his keys. "I'm going to give Sasha a ride to work," he informed them.

"Two minutes!" shrieked Sasha from somewhere in the apartment. Casey's parents pushed their way past Zeke, intent on depositing the bags somewhere within, probably in Casey's room; his dad took the bags that he was holding off his hands while he remained standing in the doorway. He was blocking the way out, but his feet didn't want to move.

Whatever-It-Was from this morning was still there. Zeke would not look at Casey for more than a second at a time, and when he did, Casey felt anything but comforted. Trying to think of some neutral way to open a dialogue, Casey asked, "How was class?"

"I didn't go," Zeke said, his voice rasping. Either he had suddenly come down with a cold, or he had been smoking a lot today.

"Wh - why not?"

"I didn't feel like it."

Casey located a reserve of courage and questioned, "Why, I thought you weren't going to – "

Zeke snapped at him, "It's my money and my time, Case. I just didn't feel like going is all."

See, there was no point to trying to confront things. Trying was too much grief for too little return. It wasn't worth it to assert yourself because some people would never give you the response you needed. They wouldn't say Oh, I see, Casey, you are asserting yourself here and I will respect that... so I will now convey my own opinion in a controlled, understanding tone. I will not lash out because you are doing this thing that is so wildly out of character but rather they would say what do you think you're doing and you don't say no to me.

"Did you get everything you needed?"

Casey realized, belatedly, that Zeke was speaking to him. Casey yanked his head up and said, "Almost."

"A computer?"

"Not yet."

Now Zeke was staring at him, grinding him down under his eyes. It went on and on, until Casey was ready to do anything to make it stop.

Zeke abruptly raised a new subject. "Charly phoned a little while ago. She invited us all to her house tomorrow for dinner."

Casey blinked, trying to discern the meaning of this.

"That's all of us, your parents too," Zeke added. "I said we would go."

Zeke was trying to tell him that he'd... Casey gaped at Zeke in disbelief. "You said... we would...?"

"I did."

"S-Stan and Stokes, will they...?"

"Yes, Stan will be there."

"Where's that?" asked his mom, coming up behind Zeke.

Zeke answered over his shoulder. "Stan's Aunt Charly. She was the one who offered him a job here. She's been itching to get us all together... I guess with you guys in town it was the perfect opportunity. She invited us, and you, to her house tomorrow night."

The picture was horrendous ... Being in Charly's domain, with his parents, Stokely and Stan, and Zeke, each with their different demands, their different personalities and their different approaches to causing stress. The words I can't took hold of Casey. He tried to think of a way to say it without sounding as pitiful as he actually was, and came out with, "Zeke... I don't know if...."

Sasha came rushing down the hall, wearing his white chef's smock with a trendy scarf. "Gotta go, gotta go... bye, kitten... bye, Allison... come on, Zeke..."

"Tell me later," Zeke said to Casey. He moved Casey out of the way, careful as ever but with impersonal haste. "Okay, I won't be long."

The door shut in Casey's face, and Casey came to the horrifying realization that he was going to start crying right there in front of his parents.

There was a mountain of ash in front of Zeke when the phone rang, sounding dimly up the stairs from the kitchen and through the door to the roof. By then, his throat was paved with gravel, his lungs aching. He almost didn't make the effort to go down and answer it, but it occurred to him that it could be Sasha or Casey in a state of emergency. Zeke scurried down the stairs, trying to find the cordless phone. He answered on the seventh ring. "Hello!"

"Oh, hi, Zeke, I was about to hang up... It's Charly."

He didn't care if she heard his irritated sigh. "Yeah?"

"I understand from Stokely that Casey's parents are in town."

"Yes."

"I'd like to invite you all to my house tomorrow night, for dinner."

"Why?"

"I've told you... Just trying to be hospitable. You just moved here, they're here for a visit, probably feeling a little anxious about leaving their son here on his own....

Leaving their son here with you was what Zeke heard. Ah, but the Connors would never know the complicated truth about their son because no one was going to volunteer to explain it to them, least of all Casey. They didn't need to know that Casey was far beyond anyone's ability to comprehend. They wouldn't know and couldn't accept that their son had been some guy's fucktoy, and would willingly be that again if he could because it was so perversely safe and familiar to him.

"– Zeke?"

"Yes, I'm here. Is Stan invited?"

"He is my nephew."

"I suppose you're trying to get everyone to play nice, then."

"That's all right, you go ahead and be difficult if it makes you happy. Yes, I am trying to mend the breach, as it were. Apart from wanting to do something nice for you all, I have a vested interest in seeing you and Stan be friends."

"Why's that?"

"Stan's been absolutely useless the last week or so. He's very upset about your disagreement or whatever it was."

"Sorry to hear that, but Stan is the one in the wrong."

"Maybe so... but he really is very miserable, Zeke. Is it possible that he needs a chance to apologize?"

"He can call me up any time."

"You know, Zeke..." Charly sounded like she was collecting her patience. "Not everyone is as strong as you. Some folks need a little help, a gesture, an opening... something."

"Okay, fine."

"Fine, what?"

"Fine, we'll come to dinner. I mean, I'll ask Casey's parents but I don't see why not."

"Excellent! Thank you, Zeke. Let me give you my address, it's 414 Chestnut. I can give you directions – "

"I'll figure it out."

"Of course you will. My mistake. See you tomorrow at about 5:00, then."

He put the phone down and just stood, staring out the front window.

Strong. He used to be strong. Before he handed over a huge chunk of himself to one of the damaged. He should have known better; his mother was one of them and he really thought he had learned his lesson there. Apparently not.

He called Wellth, assuming that Stokely was at work, and discovered that she was already finished for the day. That was odd; Stokely usually worked from ten to five- thirty and had gotten into the habit of dropping in every day either before or after. It was peculiar not to have heard from her at all, now that Zeke turned his mind to it. He called Stokely at home and initiated the conversation with, "You're not at work."

Stokely had to take a second to catch up. "Zeke? Oh, yeah, I worked an early shift. Wanted to get home earlier today so I could... well, I'm cooking something a bit special, I needed to grocery shop."

"Making up with Stan, are you?"

"Well. Trying to, anyway."

"Charly just called to invite us for supper tomorrow."

"Yeah, I know."

"She's trying to play mediator, I think. You are going to be there, right?"

"Of course... and Stan, too."

"I hope that no one gave Charly the impression that I'm going to accept Stan's crap, because I'm not."

"Why are you so hormonal today?"

"I'm not."

"Oh, yes, you are. You've been spitting words at me since I said hello."

"I just want to make sure that this isn't some great reconciliation you're trying to rope me into."

"I'm not trying to rope you into anything. As far as I know it's just a chance for Charly to meet Casey's parents and if Stan happens to apologize when he sees you, that's all good, too."

"Has he changed his views, then?"

"He's trying."

"Not good enough. I explained it to him already, he knows."

"For fuck sake, Zeke – is this what you called for? Because I'm a little busy right now. You can go to Charly's or not go to Charly's, it's up to you."

Zeke had to relent a bit; he was certainly in no position to judge Stokely for trying with Stan. It was amazing what you would consider putting up with when you were used to having a certain person around. He said, "All I wanted was to make sure that you would be there. I can't face it if it's just Stan and Charly and the rest of us."

"I'll be there, Zeke. Even if Stan and I are quits – which might happen, by the way -- I'll be there."

"Thank you," he said begrudgingly.

"Now what's up your ass?"

"Nothing," he bit off. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Shortly after hanging up, he heard the roar of the Mustang turning into the alley behind the building. Interim measures, he recited to himself. He had a sudden, paranoic worry, thinking about the pile of letters that had remained after Zeke pilfered it, the pile that had been moved from the dining table to the top of the microwave this morning to make way for breakfast. Zeke fetched them and took them to the bedroom, just in case Allison happened to glance at them and notice that one was missing. He put them on top of the dresser, where they would probably go unnoticed for some time, and headed back to the kitchen. He wanted to look busy with something.

Unexpectedly, Sasha burst through the door, crying, "Zeke, I'm running late, would you give me a ride to work, no time for the bus!" Sasha threw the keys on the kitchen counter and was off down the hall. "I'll be ready in five!"

Zeke retrieved his jacket without a word – not that it was so very cold out, but he had no intention of leaving it here unsupervised. He was in the hall, in front of the open door, when Casey and his parents came in; Casey's father's voice arrived before his mouth. Typically, Zeke didn't hear a sound from Casey. No doubt he would be sad and strained, looking for some reassurance from Zeke, and Zeke just couldn't give it now. He would use the drive with Sasha to pull himself together. If he was going to survive this weekend he would have to shore up his defences, call upon the acting skills he had perfected earlier in his life.

It turned out that he couldn't even look at Casey, who positioned himself right in the doorway as though he intended to keep Zeke from leaving. Every time Zeke dared to view Casey, to so much as glance in his direction, the terrible, weakening emotions would sap Zeke's soul, and he would engage in desperate, shameful acts to defend himself. With harsh words he let Casey know that he had been sitting on the roof all day not caring if he missed class even after he used it as an excuse to not go with them to the mall. No wonder that Casey sounded scared when he tried to ask about it, and of course Zeke couldn't stop himself from looking, getting the full brunt of that presence that made him feel so much that he didn't want to feel, and so again he lashed out, denying its power over him. He hated being so weak, hated all of it for making him ill and stupid. He found himself staring at Casey, thinking about all the things that Casey held inside, all his secrets. Zeke had never pressed him either, never asked him for an accounting, never asked him if he was thinking about Roy. He looked so innocent, so scared – but he had looked that way before, too. Until Zeke had found those marks that Roy made on his body, he would have argued to the death with anyone who had suggested that Casey could actually be carrying on with a man who had used him and left him. It seemed equally inconceivable right now, and therefore chillingly possible.

Once they were in the car and Sasha had some free minutes, he lit right into Zeke. "What is the matter with you today?"

The rage boiled up, all of it, all that Zeke had been unable to loose upon Casey – and he had restrained himself, whatever Casey might think. "‘Gee, Zeke," he parodied in a bitter voice. "‘I'm so grateful to you for giving of your time and financial resources so I won't be late for work.'"

Sasha made a disgusted face and retorted, "I'll pay you if it means that much to you. How much are we talking about here? Two bucks for the gas – and what? A dollar for the labour?"

"You know something?" Zeke returned, taking a hand off the steering wheel and running it through his hair. There was a large sedan in front of him that was proceeding along a congested city street at a snail-like pace and Zeke laid on the horn in lieu of completing his verbal complaint. He sustained the noise until he could be sure that it was having no effect whatsoever. Pounding on the wheel, he yelled, "Move your old man ass!"

"Oh, that'll work," Sasha observed.

"Keep your comments to yourself."

"What the fuck is going on?" Sasha burst out. "And whatever it is, why don't you take it out on me now and leave Casey alone?"

"I'm not angry at him," Zeke said around gritted teeth.

"Could have fooled me."

"I just got fed up for a second and he overreacted as usual."

Sasha began to glower sideways. "Yeah, he overreacts. We knew this. You knew it this morning when you were all happy and smiley – and then just like that you're fed up?"

Okay. Zeke was being irrational and he knew it. There were times when one could only be one hundred percent self-indulgent and garbled, but he didn't like to think that those times ever happened to him. Of course, he had already blown it with his wildly inconsistent behaviour today; no way would anyone believe that there was nothing bothering him. "It's major, isn't it?" Sasha guessed suddenly.

"Yeah," Zeke replied wearily, anger failing him. Suddenly, he could resign himself to travelling all the way to Sojourn at twenty miles an hour. He didn't want to go back to the apartment until he could be sure that he would not be finishing the day as a crazy-man. "It's fucking major – and you only have a few minutes to spare right now."

"Just tell me," Sasha urged.

"I wouldn't want you to injure yourself," Zeke said, meaning it. "You're going to be handling knives and hot liquids all night."

"You're scaring me, Zeke. I want to know and I want to know now."

"Okay, so... " Zeke kept his eyes trained on the red brake lights directly in front of his bumper. "Casey's mom brought him some mail that came to their house for him. And guess who wrote Casey a letter."

It took Sasha two seconds to come up with an answer, but a lot longer to get out some words. "That – unbelievable – I knew he would crawl out of his hole eventually, I knew it!"

They were at a dead stop now, waiting to make a turn. Zeke glanced sideways at Sasha and said, "Well, I guess that makes me the twit, because I really thought we wouldn't be hearing from him again."

"Zeke. You don't actually think that Casey..."

"I don't know," Zeke muttered.

Sasha got quiet. He remained quiet while Zeke negotiated a left turn onto Clarke Street, where Sojourn was located. He didn't make a sound until they were in the parking lot, at which time he delivered his opinion. "You've got a lot to learn about trust," he said.

Braking to a stop behind the restaurant, Zeke shot back, "And you don't remember me telling you how Casey would taunt me about going back to Roy every once in a while?"

"Yeah, sure, but trust is this thing that you do even when there may be a reason not to. That's why it's called trust."

"People have to earn my trust."

"You don't think that Casey has done that? You actually think he might have phoned Roy, or written him, or... what? Sent out a psychic vibe to him? I'll tell you something... You don't know Roy like I do. He'll keep coming back like an infection unless we figure out some way to stamp him out. When it comes right down to it he's incapable of thinking about anyone but himself. He's an ego-maniac, he's – just – he's – " Sasha had begun to sputter.

A young woman in a chef uniform like Sasha's popped out the back door of the restaurant, a cigarette dangling from her lips, lighter in hand. It triggered an immediate craving in Zeke, but his smokes had been left on the white metal table on their roof. "I guess you have to go," Zeke said regretfully, truly wanting to be advised, although simply bearing witness to Sasha's outrage had somehow made him feel better.

"I can spare a minute," Sasha said. He waved to the woman smoking in the parking lot and she waved back. "I take it Casey hasn't read the letter."

"Casey doesn't know about the letter."

"Well, you have to give it to him."

Zeke nodded, but didn't say anything.

"Zeke. Tell me you weren't thinking about some other course of action."

He clenched his jaw.

"You weren't intending to give it to him?"

"Not entirely," he admitted. Sasha's eyes bulged out of his head and Zeke protested, "Oh, come on! Tell me you aren't thinking about it too."

"Wishing, maybe. If I had my way I would burn it, and then I would hire someone to put that prick out of Casey's misery. But I'm not going to do that. It's Casey's letter. We can't make a decision like that for him."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" Sasha echoed incredulously.

"Don't try to say I'd be like Roy. This is a little different."

"How, exactly?"

"Okay, maybe in the abstract it would be the wrong thing to do, but I'm right here in the middle of this and I want to protect Casey -- from Roy or from himself if necessary. I don't know if I can let just that guy hurt Casey again."

"I don't think it's Casey you're thinking about protecting right now."

"That's a brilliant deduction, there. I never would have figured that out. Yeah, I'm trying to protect myself, but it's a bit late for that." He hadn't intended to say that last bit. His jaw absolutely ached. He wanted a cigarette. Hands sweating on the steering wheel, he said, "I can't stop Casey from thinking about Roy, or dreaming about Roy. But I don't want to have to discuss Roy with him – or hear him say Roy's name even if it is innocent."

"Obviously – "

"That fucker doesn't have any claim on Casey!" Zeke erupted. His eyes were stinging. "He shouldn't get a second of Casey's time – I don't want Casey's eyes touching the paper that he wrote on!"

His words reverberated around the interior of the Mustang and fell into a rather shocky silence. Zeke dared to glance at Sasha, saw his expression, and let his head fall on his steering wheel with a painful thud.

"I'm fucking losing it," Zeke moaned.

Sasha patted his shoulder. "Poor baby."

"I've never... I was sure this would never happen to me. It doesn't feel good."

"It will," Sasha replied soothingly, giving him a squeeze.

"How do you know?"

"I am the wise and powerful oracle. So when are you going to hand over the letter to him? Probably sooner is better, Allison might notice that it's missing."

Zeke lifted his head. He saw that the smoking woman was watching them with mild interest. "I put all the letters in our room, so she won't know that the pile is a little thin."

"Well, aren't you the clever boyfriend."

"I really wanted to avoid any big crisis while Casey's parents are here."

"I approve of that in theory, but are you really going to be able to act normal around Casey until Sunday night?"

"I'll just have to do my best," Zeke said, staring out the windshield.

"No, you're going to do better than that," Sasha decreed as he unfolded his long body from the car.

"Casey?" his dad was saying. Casey had been standing with his face to the door for a while now, trying not to hear him and not having much success it seemed. "Casey, look at me."

Submitting to the inevitable, Casey turned around. So his father would have the proof before him that he had weakling and a crybaby for a son. Like he hadn't known that already, like everyone didn't know. Even his mother was giving him a look, a pitying, disappointed how could you let him do that why don't you have more self-respect haul off and give him what-for why don't you look. And they had to be thinking that if he was going to put up with this treatment, he could at least remain stoic about it. People just didn't wear everything on their face the way he did. People weren't that way.

"Ah...'m..." His dad was trying to not notice the state he was in, to preserve an iota of dignity for him. "Didn't Sasha say you're supposed to go for a walk every day?"

"Frank," his mom protested. "Do you have to now – ?"

"Why not?" his dad cut her off. "Sun's still out – there's no time like the present."

"I guess, but – " Visibly assessing his condition, his mom asked, "You okay, hon?"

Casey rubbed his nose and sniffled a bit, peering at his dad through a haze of salt water. A walk seemed slightly insurmountable right now. "I... walked at the mall."

This inspired a grin, visible amusement at Casey's resourcefulness in avoiding exercise. With a gesture at the door, his dad said, "I don't think that counts, pal. Come on, we'll take a tour of the neighbourhood."

I can't. It was really the phrase of the hour – but Casey couldn't say it this time either. Not at this moment with the tears from his most recent dissolution on his face, not when his parents had no real knowledge of certain issues. His father had always believed that Casey would be happy and healthy if he would just get out of the house and join a sports team. So short of explaining to his parents that he had this problem where he worried constantly that everyone wanted to penetrate him with long, slimy, slug-like creatures that would take over his brain, he had no choice.

"Okay," he allowed.

"I could use a walk myself." His father reached around and opened the door, the action very much a command to get moving. Casey obeyed, his feet heavy.

The day had started out quite dreary but was ending with unexpected bolt of sunshine pushing aside some of the damp without really getting a chance to warm anything. Casey tugged the zipper on his fleece up until it was brushing the underside of his chin and stuck his hands in his pockets. Emerging from narrow alley alongside their building, Casey and his father turned right and started down the sidewalk, past the vegan clothing shop, the holistic bookstore, the massage centre – places that Casey had already noted in passing but not explored. He couldn't allow himself to get curious, so he tried not to look too deeply into the interiors, or give the shop windows more than a glance. The grocery store that Sasha loved was two blocks away. Sasha had taken him there just once, dragging him enthusiastically from shelf to refrigerator to deli counter, delivering non-stop Emeril-on-speed commentary. Casey had made it through most of the trip, all the way to the check- out, and then puked on the sidewalk right outside the door. Come to think of it, that was the last time he had been at large in the neighbourhood, until now.

His dad didn't say much, shaking his head at the high percentage of flakiness surrounding him, occasionally muttering to himself. After three blocks they had already gone farther than Casey had to date, at least on foot. They discovered a small park at one corner of the intersection, really just a green patch, one block wide and one street deep with a small fountain at the centre. His dad turned into it, and Casey followed. The park held only a few people, mostly walking their dogs. There were some cement benches circling the fountain. "Let's sit for a minute," suggested his dad.

Casey sensed a paternal talk coming. He sat gingerly on the bench, fairly certain of the major themes of the discussion at least.

"Cold?" his dad asked him.

He had broken into a light sweat as they were walking and now he shivered a little in the wet air. "‘m okay."

Satisfied that Casey was not dying, his dad turned his eyes to the fountain, which was just a bare trickle into a low pool of water, dotted with fallen leaves. "I've been trying to get in a bit more activity myself," he mused. "I realized I've been sitting on my ass far too much lately. Thought I might even look for some kind of kids' league to coach..." He trailed off, finished with, "You don't need to hear about this."

"No, tell me," Casey said, hoping that it would encourage him to get more quickly to his point. Not that he didn't want to be able to converse with his father. He just needed to get home sooner rather than later because Zeke would be back very shortly.

"Nah." With this, his dad looked directly down at Casey, wearing a serious, pensive expression. This was nearly unheard of; Casey began to tremble a little harder, and not from the chill. "It's not what I... what I want to say."

Well, this day just kept on coming. It wasn't waiting for Casey to catch up or to even give some indication that he was ready for the next circumstance to unfold. The tension in his muscles wound itself tighter, from general discomfort to fully clenched, as though that could somehow prepare him.

"How... how are you doing, pal?"

It was difficult to remember who this man was sometimes. Casey squinted at him, needing a visual reminder – but this was indeed his father, the same man who had not asked him that question, apparently not wondering how he was for something like sixty-two months, a thick block of Casey's life that had begun around those first days of high school and finally ended when he came home from the hospital this summer.

"I mean, I want to know. I don't want to hear just fine or not fine." His dad cleared his throat. Gaze distant, he said uncomfortably, "I want to understand."

Casey didn't know how to answer. Which part would that be, what did his father want to understand? His being sick? Gay? Just plain abnormal? He had thought that he and his father had an unspoken accord that they would care for each other but avoid trying to understand each other. That way lay madness – but here was his father trying to wade into it.

His dad had started to ramble. "I, uh... went to Dr. Lees, made an appointment I mean, because I thought maybe he could... he could explain, so I told him a little about what was going on, and... He told me some things about depression and then he said some other things that really pissed me off but that wasn't what I wanted to understand I guess. I realize it's a disease, but I just wondered... how..."

Okay, this part was comprehensible. Frank Connor wanted to know how his son had become such a disaster, but Casey was not in possession of that information. Certain key events could be pointed to, but they wouldn't explain it. "I don't know what to say," Casey muttered.

"Well, I'm not making much sense here. I'm not used to this kind of thing, you know."

Casey couldn't not smile a little.

Glancing down at him, his dad saw the grin and emitted a half-snort, half- chuckle. "Yeah, I guess you know from a long way back that your dad is a complete loser when it comes to emotions and stuff." A shrug. "I have been trying, Casey. With your mother, too... Let's just say I've been trying."

The need-to-get-home-need-Zeke moved through Casey again; he pushed it aside for the moment. He needed this, too. He needed his father, that was one thing he had figured out. "What do you want to know, Dad?"

"Well, I..."

"You can ask."

"Honestly? I'm afraid that I'll upset you. Every time I open my mouth."

"I'm always upset, Dad. Don't let that stop you." His father gave him a startled, worried look, but Casey was absolutely sincere. If people waited for him not to be upset, they would be waiting a long time. Zeke understood that about Casey. He would snap or tell Casey off whenever he felt like it; he would talk to Casey like he was a complete, wholly intact human being. Of course, he was also insanely overprotective and Casey liked him that way... most of the time.

Let him not be mad at me, let him not hate me... Was he at home now? It had been twenty minutes at least, Zeke could be at home right now, ready to confront Casey and getting more pissed off because Casey wasn't there.

His dad took his advice and said, "Okay, well... I want to know what happened."

"Ha - happened?" Casey echoed, unable to sort through the potential interpretations of the question.

"What happened that night you went missing, Casey? What happened when you were at school and you were seeing that Roy? Is that how you... " His dad made a noise of exasperation, having trouble putting the distasteful images into words. "Or was it... Did it happen before, was it something that... that we...? There's too many things about you I don't know... and you're my kid."

His father's voice had that tight sound again. That would be the second time within a month that he had seen his father on the verge of tears. It didn't help to make this whole moment feel any more like reality.

With a shaky laugh, his father added, "Your mother wants to know too, Casey. We agreed that I would ask, because she... She was afraid she would just start crying and that wouldn't get us anywhere." His father was looking right at him, putting him in his scopes and trying to know him. "We want to know what happened to you, how did you get so... beat up?"

Casey stared at the ground, finding that easier than the alternatives. The light around him was funny right now, grey with a tinge of yellow, and maybe it was because of his eyes or maybe it was just how evening looked out here. He hadn't been outside for any length of time lately and maybe this was how outside was...

He'd had a very long day. He was tired. He needed to go home. He needed Zeke. He needed some time in the shower, and a nap. And a movie. And Zeke. He needed to be cuddled on the couch with Zeke and they were watching... watching something... something Zeke would like, what would he like... something with lots of action. Die Hard. Speed. No – Titanic. Four whole hours where no one had to talk.

"I have upset you," said his dad.

"It's... okay," Casey murmured.

"What did you say?"

He hadn't been audible. "It's... okay," he said again, louder this time. "But I can't... answer that."

"Okay," his dad said, and looked older than Casey remembered. "I won't ask again."

"No... you can ask... just can't answer... now."

"Do you want to go home, pal?"

Casey took a breath. "Yeah."

"Can I just ask one more thing?"

The light was getting darker, the grey overtaking the yellow. Casey nodded quickly.

"You seem to be settling in here, Casey. You've got a doctor and you're getting on track and your mother and I... we don't want to pull the rug out from under you but we have to ask if this is where you want to be, just to be sure, you understand?"

He would answer this one. The sooner he did, the sooner he could get away from here, get home and get warm and talk to Zeke and see how Zeke looked and talked and if he was still mad.

"I need an answer, pal. I want to hear it from you again... Do you want to stay here?"

"Yes," Casey said.

His father sighed and nodded once, seeming to accept it. "We worry about you, you know."

"I know."

"I worry. Especially..." Casey watched as his father's throat worked, like he was swallowing something that tasted bitter. "Especially when I see Zeke acting up."

Ogodogod... If his parents could see it, it must be really happening, not in his head, and not minor either. Zeke was not happy with him and he needed to get home right now. He had been gone too long, what if Zeke was back already and Casey had already missed a chance to make amends –

"I don't like it," his dad continued, "And he was doing it in front of me and your mother, and Sasha. This morning, and just now... I'm not a complete dummy. I can see what's going on and I don't like it."

"No, Dad, I... he..." Casey counted three breaths... One... two... three... Now make a sentence. "He isn't like that... usually. Something's wrong."

"I still don't like it, Casey."

He knew his dad meant well, that he was concerned, but there was still more than a hint of distaste there, a touch of why is my son this pansy who bursts into tears because his boyfriend raises his voice and why did he let himself get beaten up on every day of his life so far.

Casey got to his feet. "Can we go?"

"Yeah... sure."

His father seemed disappointed. Like he actually expected Casey to suddenly grow a backbone because he showed him some attention for a few minutes. They walked home without speaking to each other.

"I'm cooking dinner," his mom announced when they came in the door. She was in the kitchen, peeling some garlic. Sasha's extra-large pasta pot was on the stove, and a package of linguine was awaiting baptism.

"Is Zeke back?" Casey asked, ignoring the displeased sound that his dad made at this question.

"No, hon."

It was only a few steps to the dining room table. Casey melted into one of the chairs, the one where it was possible to sit and watch the door, if one wanted. His father sat across from him, still eying him like he was a frustrating puzzle to be solved.

"So have you met this Aunt Charly?" asked his mom while she chopped something.

"Yes," he answered, not taking his eyes off the door. It was a white, metal door. There was a black smudge of dirt towards the bottom that Sasha must not have noticed in his cleaning frenzy last week.

"... Casey?"

"Hmm?"

"Your mother asked you if she was nice," his dad said, a little bit sharp.

"Oh, um.... I don't know... " he stammered.

"What does she do?" asked his mom.

"She... " He thought he heard a car engine that might have been the Mustang. "Works at the newspaper... with Stan."

His mother sighed, "It does make me feel a bit better to think that there's an older adult keeping an eye on you kids."

"Mmm." Casey was making a point of not thinking about Charly and whatever it was that she wanted from him, and he was pretty sure that she did want something from him. He gnawed on a finger, caught at a bit of loose skin and tore it with his teeth, peeling it back. It didn't really hurt, and there was something deeply satisfying about it, like popping a blister or picking at a scab.

"Casey," said his father in a pained tone. "Do you have to do that?"

He dropped his hand. "Sorry."

"No, I'm talking about you sitting here like this waiting for Zeke. It's bugging the hell out of me."

Casey started working on another finger.

"Frank, I'm sure Zeke was just having a mood."

"Oh, no? How do we know that?"

"Well, he's not the only one who gets cranky, is he?"

"But he is the one living with our son. I'd like to know just what his problem is... Especially when I see Casey pining at the door for him."

This had to stop. His father didn't know Zeke, and he didn't know anything about Casey's life. "Please, don't," Casey said. He would have loved to sound serene and in control, but it wasn't coming off that way. His voice was agitated, like he was.

"Don't what? Don't tell him to clean up his act?"

"Dad... "

"If he's bold enough to act like that with us standing there, what would he do when we're not around?"

Some disconnected entity in the room was on his feet and shouting things that Casey heard with disbelieving shock: "Why are you doing this now? I'm not going back with you! I have to stay here – I want to stay here!"

But that had been him.

His parents now gaped at him with two sets of stricken, round eyes, not even blinking. "Your father only wants to make sure that you're – not being hurt – " his mother faltered.

There were a lot of really mean things he could have said right then. But he didn't, because he had never been able to be truthful with these two people and he didn't expect that would change. He wouldn't say what he was thinking, that it was a bit late for them to suddenly wonder if he was being hurt, or to concern themselves about whether or not everyone was being kind and good to him.

"Where are you going, Casey?" his mom called to him as he started down the hall.

Casey let the bathroom door and the sound of the lock turning answer for him.

He was done for today, he'd had it with people who weren't Zeke or Sasha. He wanted a shower and then bed, he wanted to be warm – but there were no towels in here. Of course, he had used them both this morning; they were lying in a damp heap on his bedroom floor. He gave up on the shower and just sat down on the floor, cross-legged.

Nice things had happened this morning and it seemed such a long time ago now. He wished that the nice would not even bother to happen; it only made it tougher when the day reverted to form. Still, there had to be a really good reason why Zeke would have turned on him like that. Perhaps he had been too obvious in front of his mother when he invited Zeke to join him in the shower, and Zeke had been embarrassed. Or maybe Zeke just didn't want Casey coming on to him at all. Even though the guidelines had been getting a pretty wide interpretation lately, Zeke had not given him any official notice that they had been repealed. Or was it just about the pills – ? It had to be that. Zeke was just tired of his resisting when they were only trying to help him.

Pounding outside, on the bathroom door.

"Casey?"

That was Zeke's voice on the other side. Casey must have zoned because he hadn't heard Zeke outside in the apartment, he hadn't heard the door open or Zeke's voice in the hall as he undoubtedly would have if he were paying attention.

"Casey, unlock the frigging door!"

He scrambled to his feet and unlocked it. Zeke stood there, with his parents behind him. Their faces were three intense shades of red.

"You locked it," Zeke said, breathing hard. "You're not supposed to do that."

"I was thinking."

"The deal was you don't lock the door."

His head started shrieking. That wasn't the deal, there was no deal, there was no deal... You always tell me that but we didn't agree to it, there was no agreement and I didn't do anything, I didn't do anything but tell me what I did please so I can not do it again....

"I'm going to lie down for a while," he said, hyperventilating.

"Okay, sweetie," his mom said, too quickly and too anxiously. "But just a short one, all right? Supper will just be about half an hour.... Sasha wrote down that recipe for me, pasta cabar –"

"Carbonara," Zeke supplied, staring down at Casey.

" – Sasha said it's your favourite."

"Yes," Casey said, hollowly, starting out of the bathroom, and they parted before him easily. "It's my favourite."

Zeke didn't follow him into the bedroom, didn't even touch him. Casey curled up in the centre of the bed and closed his ears to the murmur of voices at large in the apartment.

He was up on the roof this time, afraid to go downstairs because there was something there and it occurred to him that he wasn't sure if he was asleep and dreaming nasty stuff or awake and freaking out. Someone had painted a mural of scary images on the wall of the building across from him, things that made no sense but he knew that Zeke was in on it Zeke was one of them... but the mural was actually a movie that had both of them in it as major characters and Casey was watching himself in it. Zeke kept trying to contain Casey with all these arms and Casey kept fighting not because he really wanted to or had the will to anymore but because it was what he was supposed to do but he was terrified too, he was terrified of what would happen when he surrendered, and terrified of what would happen if he didn't.

His eyes popped open and the room was almost dark and he was drowning in panic. He whimpered Zeke's name but he was not there, of course, because there was something wrong, something Casey had done or let happen or just didn't dare try to stop –

There were the precious pills, though, right beside the bed; Casey sat up, flailing at the bedside lamp until he got it on and light flooded the little bottle and by some miracle there was a glass sitting there with an inch or two of water left from yesterday or maybe it was the day before, he couldn't remember but tried to shake out just one of the pills and half the bottle came with it, his hands too unsteady to get them back in so he took one in his mouth and let the rest dribble onto the night stand. Two gulps of stale, warm water washed that little white pill down and he sat on the bed for a while clutching at his knees, waiting for it to stop.

It seemed like it took forever, and he was just thinking he should take another one because the first one must have been a dud when it occurred to him that he was able to take a comfortable breath despite all of the counterproductive messages his brain was sending. He counted ten breaths before he was satisfied that it was no fluke and he was safe to lay down. The delicious, slow feeling of comfort that had already become familiar and well-loved like his favourite blanket was stealing over him. It was a wave, smoothing the tremors out, gently patting them out of his arms and legs, making him feel like a being of soft, elastic flesh again and not bunches and cords of wires that pulled and jerked him around like a wooden puppet.

He hugged Zeke's pillow to his chest, burying his face in it. One thing about Zeke... He was picky about the products he bought, always choosing the brands that cost the most, as though that were the only way to ensure top quality. So his hair and his pillow smelled like some outrageously expensive shampoo that was reminiscent of spice and musk. It was a rare bit of vanity in Zeke and one of these days Casey was going to have to expose him to Sasha, when it could be a joke that they could all laugh about together. He loved it when the three of them were in sync. It felt good... like family... but that was not what he was getting from Zeke today. Today he was getting something else, Zeke upset, but he wasn't going to think about that now, now he was going to surrender to that lazy warmth, that lassitude that was in his head, cooing to him... Casey, come to me now... come to Xanax...

Zeke had been on the verge of blurting it out to Casey when the bathroom door opened: I need to talk to you. He didn't know how he could wait even one more day with that envelope howling in his pocket – but after he made that comment to Casey about deals and locked doors, he could more or less see the meltdown waiting to happen, and reconciled himself to waiting for a better moment. Ideally, that would be the next minute after they put the Connors on their plane back to Ohio.

Allison announced that dinner was ready; Zeke volunteered to check and see if Casey was getting up. Peering into the bedroom, he saw that Casey was completely out, unconscious. He thought about waking him and decided against it, even though it had been several hours now since he had really touched or interacted with Casey and all his senses were in withdrawal. Of course, that was his own damn fault.

Having laboured over linguine carbonara, Allison wasn't happy when Zeke reported that Casey could use sleep more than supper. It was bizarre to sit down at a table with Casey's parents, the three of them in a tableau that certainly had no precedent in Zeke's life story. The recipe hadn't turned out right because apparently Allison couldn't bring herself to believe that you could just toss raw egg yolks with pasta, thus turning the sauce into scrambled eggs and bacon. Zeke didn't dare complain, though, not after his behaviour today, and not after Casey's father wondered out loud, "This is Casey's favourite?" and got kicked under the table for it.

Afterwards, Zeke tried to demonstrate what a good boyfriend he was by washing the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen while the Connors watched the news. Then he joined them in the living room, taking the armchair adjacent to the couch, the one that had become "Sasha's chair" at some undistinguishable moment during the past week.

Frank Connor surveyed Zeke, and pointedly flicked the remote at the television, turning it off. "I take it you want to say something," Zeke stated, not wanting to prolong this interview.

"Yes," said Frank. "We do."

"I can guess."

"Oh?"

"Something about me being nicer to Casey."

"For a start."

"I can be jerk sometimes, okay? I'm not unlike other people that way. When I'm a jerk, I apologize, and I will as soon as I get the chance."

"And what about tomorrow? And the day after that?"

Zeke took his time answering, waiting until the intuitive fuck you in him had subsided and he could be a tad more diplomatic. "You'll just have to believe me, that I would never actually hurt Casey."

Frank appeared to be on the verge of detonation. He opened his mouth, preparing to bluster, his face going ruddy – and then closed it. Maybe he, like Zeke, wanted to keep things as harmonious as possible for Casey's sake. Or maybe, just maybe, he knew that if they started itemizing where others had done wrong to his son, he would be opening a ledger that would definitely not leave him in the black when they were done.

Allison seemed about to add something, when her head jerked up suddenly and she released a little scream, jumping a foot off the couch. "Casey! You scared me!"

Zeke twisted to look over his shoulder, going hot and cold in the gut. There was Casey, standing in that space just between the dining area and the living room, and even though Zeke was fairly certain he had said nothing to incriminate himself, he still felt like he had been caught doing something he shouldn't. Perhaps it was residual guilt from all of those conversations he and Sasha had carried on about Casey while he was asleep. Getting to his feet, Zeke said, "Um... hi, Case."

"Mmm," Casey said. Zeke could tell right away that he had taken a Xanax. His expression was completely flat – unless one could count the pillow crease on one cheek. He seemed to be struggling to orient himself, too, mumbling his words. "Re - membered... dinner."

"Oh," said Allison, biting her lip. "It's... we just finished up, hon, but there is a bit left in the fridge, I could probably just warm it up for you."

Casey looked disinterested but he manufactured a tiny smile for his mother. "Sure... that's great."

Then he looked at Zeke and his father, taking in the seating configuration, his father on the couch while Zeke had been in the armchair. Zeke had a ridiculous urge to plop himself on the couch, shoving Frank off the end so he could then hold out the space next to him as Casey's seat. The couch supposedly fit three, but not entirely comfortably and much less comfortably when the three were you, your lover and his father.

Fuck it. Zeke decided that Frank Connor did not exist. Zeke reached out a hand to Casey – intending to cup his cheek but somehow missing entirely and setting down on the curve of his neck, drawing Casey to him that way. It could not have looked very affectionate. Then Casey was right in front of him and Zeke made up for his possessive grab by skimming his lips along Casey's cheek to his mouth. On the way, Casey's eyes caught his, and that made everything stand at attention. Zeke drew Casey along with him, down into the armchair so Casey ended up sideways in his lap, his head against Zeke's shoulder, eyes closed, while Zeke held him near with an arm. Casey breathed a deep, contented sigh, and Zeke glanced lazily over at Frank.

He was a nice, deep, beaujolais colour.

Allison was back with her plate of food. "Here you go, hon," she said, her eyes widening at the sight of Zeke and Casey cuddling in the chair. Uncertain, she put the plate on the coffee table and returned to her place on the couch.

It was the last thing Zeke wanted to do, but he gave Casey a bit of a jostle and said, "Food."

Casey sat up a bit unwillingly, looking for the plate. He did not react noticeably to the odd appearance of his favourite dish. As he started to move over to the couch, Zeke caught him, pulling him back into the chair. The result was Casey sitting perched on the spot between Zeke's legs, his backside in tantalizing proximity to Zeke's crotch. Zeke had to concentrate on making his face impassive as he watched Casey's arm moving up and down at an irregular pace. He could almost but not quite catch Casey's profile, his jaw working as he chewed and swallowed.

"Is it good, hon?" Allison asked rather anxiously.

"Yeah, it's great," Casey replied. He shifted subtly on the pretext of making himself more comfortable and ground back against Zeke's erection. "Thanks, Mom."

"You're doped up," Frank said, accusing. "Did you take one of those... What were they called?"

"Xanax," Casey said, raising his hand and lowering it as though he moved within some temporal anomaly that made the most routine activity fascinating. Zeke had aeons to sit there and observe the languid connection of hand to mouth, skin to lips. There was a slight, unholy shine of bacon grease on Casey's lips and fingers.

Frank didn't like this whole business about drugs and medications at all; Zeke had seen it in him a month ago when Casey was in the hospital, and he could see it now – even as the greater part of Zeke's attention was on Casey's mouth. "And last night... " Connor deduced. "When you picked us up? Is this a regular occurrence, then?"

Casey put his fork down. "Well, I... I just got them...."

"They're a temporary fix," Zeke interposed, curbing his annoyance as best he could.

Connor grimaced. "Are you supposed to take them every day?"

Zeke straightened and ran his hand down Casey's arm, casting a warning stare in Frank's direction while Casey replied, "No, just when... when I need it."

"Hmmph," said Connor, averting his eyes from his son. It occurred to Zeke then that his own bad behaviour earlier hadn't been the only reason that Casey had sought chemical assistance. Not that it in any way excused him.

"So I take it this drug makes you a bit mellow?" Allison suggested.

Casey nodded. "Sleepy."

"Well, nothing wrong with that, right?" Allison addressed this to her husband, then quickly dismissed him when it did nothing to improve his sullen face. "You probably want to go back to bed, then?"

"Sorry, Mom."

"It's okay, hon. Maybe tomorrow you'll feel up to some sightseeing?"

"Um... Okay."

Only half of the pasta was gone but Zeke didn't make an issue of it when Casey got up; his greater preoccupation was the major league hard-on that was now being painfully subdued by the zipper on his jeans. Surreptitiously trying to adjust himself, Zeke was half-turned to watch Casey shuffle in the direction of bed – then Casey stopped a few feet away, turned to Zeke and said, "Come with me?"

For the benefit of Casey's parents, Zeke grinned as wolfishly as he knew how and replied, leaping out of chair with enthusiasm, "Sure, I'll tuck you in."

In their bedroom, Casey simply shucked his jeans, converting the t-shirt from day wear to pajamas instantly. He crawled back into bed with a groan of satisfaction. Zeke stretched out next to him, lying on top of the covers. He noted a scattering of tiny white pills on the nightstand. "What happened there?" he asked, bouncing up and going around to the other side. There were a few pills on the floor too.

"Dropped them," Casey mumbled.

Zeke squatted down and picked them all up, tipping them carefully back into the bottle. Casey was lying on his side, watching him do it. "Another tough day," Zeke remarked.

Casey nodded, scrunching up to make room on that side of the bed. "Zeke...?"

He didn't have to finish the request. Zeke flopped down next to him willingly. They had to work at it, but after some tugging of blankets and squirming and adjusting of pillows, Casey was a neatly wrapped package against Zeke's side, his hand on Zeke's chest.

"Does it ever get less tough?" Zeke asked, caressing Casey's arm lightly.

"Right now it is," Casey murmured. He lifted his head like it was an incredibly heavy burden for him and peered up at Zeke. "What did I do wrong?"

Guilt rammed Zeke, rammed him hard. "Nothing, Case – you didn't do anything wrong. Fuck, I'm sorry. I think I was channelling Delilah."

"You were mad at me."

"I'm a shit sometimes, Case, you know that. You need to punch me or yell at me when I'm like that – or just ignore me."

The eyes closed, and Casey muttered, "You don't want me to ignore you."

He was nearly asleep, but he was still right. When Zeke acted up, he was like an infant caught up in the throes of his omnipotence, demanding Casey's absolute attention. Zeke had manufactured a nice little tantrum today, hadn't he, apparently over nothing but the real message was evident: Mine... mine, mine, mine! He kept feeding Casey the party line about independence and assertiveness while Casey saw right through what he said to what he actually meant.

"Not going to ignore you," Casey confirmed, snuggling closer. "But... am going to sleep."

"Oh yeah?" Zeke challenged softly. He continued to fondle Casey's bare arm, up and down, and again, and then his hair. It had that same fragrance from the day of the salon visit; Zeke put his face in it and inhaled.

"I smell good?" came Casey's drowsy voice.

"You smell delicious," Zeke declared. He slipped a greedy hand under the covers and hunted for the edge of Casey's t-shirt. The tips of his fingers brushed Casey's stomach, toying with the soft skin there, and Casey squirmed suddenly and made a noise that could have been annoyance just as easily as arousal. Determined to keep Casey awake a little longer, Zeke slid his hand all the way up the front of Casey, under his t-shirt, while tugging down the bedcovers part way. He indulged in a casual grazing of fingers over Casey's chest, deliberately missing his nipples, hoping to drive him to the more wakeful state of thwarted anticipation.

Casey merely asked him, with eyes closed, "What are you doing?"

"Trying to wake you up. Is it working?"

"No."

"Should I try harder?"

"I'm sleeping, Zeke."

"Oh, so... this doesn't have any affect on you then."

Casey didn't answer, his face relaxed, emptied. Zeke traced irregular shapes one after another on his chest, watching his face closely. Here and there, Casey's breath would stop for just an instant, the spaces around his eyes tightening slightly, and then he would sigh as he breathed out. Zeke could have watched this very entertaining exhibition for hours, but common sense or a conscience or some other killjoy still held some sway over him. He removed his hands from under Casey's shirt even though a fantasy of continuing to touch Casey while he slept was making his body into hormone soup.

Back in the living room, the Connors were once again watching his television and Zeke forced back a momentary surge of resentment at their presence. They did have a right to be here, at Casey's invitation if for no other reason. Frank visually pounced on Zeke when he returned, eyes burning with parental wrath, but Allison merely asked, "Casey's asleep?"

"Yeah, I don't think he'll be waking up this time either."

"It's so early."

"Yeah, well... It seems like those pills pretty much knock him out."

Frank grunted. "At least he'll get a good sleep."

"I was thinking," Zeke said, very careful about the tone he used. "You two shouldn't feel like you have to stay in tonight just because Casey and I are staying in." At the reactions on their faces, he added quickly, "It's not that you aren't welcome... You are, but I just thought you might like some time to yourselves, a chance to go out on the town... you know?"

Allison looked at her husband. "Well," she said uncertainly.

Zeke shrugged. "Whatever you like... I just don't want you folks to be bored. Can I get anyone a beer?"

Reluctantly, Frank said, "Yeah. Thanks."

Zeke brought a beer for himself and Frank, assuming that Allison would have said if she wanted one. Handing one to Frank, he said earnestly, "There's something I need to ask you both."

"Yes?" Allison replied, brows narrowing in a way that was suddenly reminiscent of Casey.

There were few subjects that Zeke had less desire to discuss with these two – but the Connors were Roy's point of access to Casey at the moment and Zeke needed to block that conduit immediately. Lowering his voice, he said, "There was this man that Casey was with the last two years. At school. I guess you know it didn't turn out well."

"Roy," said Frank right away.

Taken aback, Zeke said, "I – didn't know if Casey had told you about him."

"I met him."

Zeke choked on this next words. "You – you met Roy?"

"He came to our house this summer." Frank looked more ashamed than Zeke had ever imagined he could look. "He was so smooth, introducing himself to me. He wanted to talk to Casey and I... I didn't stop it."

It seemed like everyone on the planet had seen Roy in the flesh at least once. Zeke sometimes found it difficult to believe that he actually did exist in the mundane sense, because no mere person could possibly be so very monstrous as he figured in Zeke's mind. Yet Roy had to be a human being who got up and went about his day, who smiled at babies and talked goofy to animals and didn't run people down in his car. He had to possess something worthwhile for Casey to have loved him.

"He was one of these people who just know they can have anything they want," Frank went on, sounding wretched. "I knew what he was about. He talked to Casey like – like he – " The man's voice backed up, emotion clogging his throat.

It wasn't difficult to picture Roy showing up on Casey's doorstep, presenting himself to Casey's father, all smiles and smarm and apologies... Getting his hooks into wounds that he had left in Casey, playing to his vulnerabilities. That had been during the time that Zeke was jerking Casey around, leaving him unsure, exposed – fuck, Zeke couldn't have helped Roy more if he had given Casey a ride to the Best Western on Tuesdays and Thursdays and given him a push out of the Mustang for extra momentum.

"That was the only time I saw him," Frank resumed, looking at Zeke with a most peculiar and pained face, like he was wanting Zeke to absolve him. "Casey was... spending time with him, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

"So you know what happened. That night."

Zeke shook his head. "No... Casey hasn't told me, but I'm pretty sure Roy had something to do with it."

"I was sure that he would have told you."

"He keeps a lot to himself."

Frank gave a snort. "That's for sure – I can't even remember when that happened. Just all of a sudden it seemed like he had a million secrets... " He didn't finish, staring at Zeke, apparently coming to the sudden realization that he and Zeke actually could have certain feelings and ideas in common.

"We didn't come here to check up on you, you know," Allison said abruptly. "We really just wanted to help get him settled... and it just feels better to see where he's living. This is a nice place, Zeke, you've done well... You and Casey and Sasha. Of course we're going to worry, that's what we parents do."

Zeke shrugged. They had to be aware that his experience of parents was something else altogether than Casey's.

"We're not going to be intruding or judging, Zeke. We just want to be in his life... We need to work on that too, we realize we haven't done a good job of it the last few years. And... we can see that he's getting better. We know you have a lot to do with that... we appreciate it."

Zeke felt shocked to the very core of his being.

"I guess what I want to say... what we want to say, Zeke, is... We'd like for you to feel comfortable with us. Comfortable enough to come to our home for holidays, or to phone us yourself if you ever needed anything from us."

The woman had a way of talking when she was making her speeches that was over-sincere and a little bit affected, like she was reading lines from a script about somebody's mother. Her husband was squirming a little, looking off in some other direction, yet Zeke didn't think that he was going to repudiate the statement. Zeke had a feeling they had agreed to it and formulated it together, in advance of the visit.

"Thank you," he said, lacking any other response.

"We mean that, Zeke."

"I know." He tried to picture himself in the Connor home at Christmas, himself and Casey curled up in Casey's old twin-sized bed. It wasn't working – but that was a long way away. Months. First he and Casey had to survive this weekend.

"So what did you want to ask us then?" Frank said.

"Ah... well, the thing is... about Roy... I'm afraid that he hasn't given up on Casey just yet."

"What do you mean?" asked Allison.

"I mean..." Zeke was faced with a split second to decide and did, resolving not to tell them the story of the letter, how they had carried it here in ignorance. They didn't need that. "He might try to contact Casey through you. He knows where you live, right? What I wanted to ask you was to make sure Roy doesn't find out Casey's address or phone number. If he calls or shows up again."

"Of course," Frank said, just a tad scornful about it. Allison nudged her husband. He stiffened, then added unwillingly, "Sorry, I'm... still not very comfortable with this. But if this... man... comes around again, I'll make sure he understands that he's not welcome in Casey's life."

"Thank you."

"No need... " Frank levelled a steady look at Zeke. "It's not like I want history to repeat itself."

Zeke returned it without a flinch. "It won't," he answered calmly.

"Good."

"Frank...." Allison announced suddenly. "I think I would like to go out for a bit after all. Zeke's right... We should try to enjoy the city while we're here."

"Yeah?" Frank said uneasily, and Zeke comprehended that he was just a tiny bit intimidated by the big city.

"I've always wanted to see that Space Needle."

"Don't you think it's a little bit late?"

"It's only sevenish. I'll bet the view at night is spectacular, too."

"Well... How will we get there?"

Zeke heaved an inner sigh. "You can borrow my car."

"No, I think we should use the public transit," Allison said. "That way we can relax and take things in."

Zeke was liking the woman more than he ever could have thought possible. It took more prodding, but she eventually got her husband out the door. Suddenly and miraculously gifted with some time to himself, Zeke found an appropriate TV channel and let his brain rot for a while, helping the process along with six beers.

Sometimes he just really wanted to be Roy. It must be nice to act on all those feelings that Casey was able to stir up just by breathing and being. It must be nice... but meanwhile Zeke would have to fall back on self-abuse. He opened his jeans while he slouched there on the couch, slipping a hand inside his shorts, closing his eyes... It must be nice to feel that sense of entitlement and just act, just go into the bedroom and shake Casey awake, or maybe not wake him, just put his hands and mouth on him, put himself there on Casey while he slept. He would be inside when Casey opened his eyes, those two deep cavities just swallowing the dark and opening to Zeke as he started to move in a tight, hot closeness, Casey's body folded up inside Zeke's, and his eyes would be telling Zeke that there's no one else, no one but you... no I, just you... Zeke.

Zeke made a mess in his boxers. He lay there for a few minutes, just breathing hard and considering his own misery. For too long now he'd been playing the good guy – and he was a good guy, wasn't he? He just needed to be a good guy who could have what he wanted too. Somehow that had to be possible.

He took a long shower, and then returned to the living room couch, afraid of himself, of what might happen if he went to bed. Around eleven-thirty he heard the door and assumed it was Casey's parents returning, but it was Sasha, creeping without a sound into the living room. He looked startled to find Zeke there. "You're up," he noted.

"It's not that late. You're early."

"Yeah, I couldn't stand it, I asked if I could go. Told them I wasn't feeling well." Sasha jerked his head in the direction of the bedrooms. "Everyone else is asleep?"

"Casey is. His parents went out... They're not back yet."

"Really?" Sasha smirked. "Good for them."

"Good for me."

Sasha slipped his jacket off and sat. "They're okay, Zeke. Even Frank. I spent a little time with him today. The man's terrified, Zeke, but he's trying just like the rest of us."

"I know he's trying."

"As far as parents go, Casey could do a lot worse."

"I know that." Zeke tipped up his latest beer and finished it off.

"You're drunk," Sasha realized.

"A bit."

Sasha reached over and took the remote from Zeke. He lowered the volume on the TV to nothing. "Maybe you should just tell Casey about the letter. Don't wait."

"No. I don't want his parents here when I do it. It could get messy."

"It's going to be messy either way."

"They want to spend the day sightseeing tomorrow, and then we have to go to Charly's for dinner."

"Charly's –? You didn't tell me that."

"Well, now you know."

"What does she want?"

"Apparently, just to cook dinner and play aunty. So Casey already has quite enough to handle for tomorrow."

"What about you?" Sasha asked quietly.

"What about me?"

Sasha considered him and said matter-of-factly, "I'm having doubts that you're going to be able to keep it together for two days."

Zeke glared at him. "I'll keep it together, don't you worry."

"Let me rephrase that. You'll keep it together, sure, but should you? It's obvious that something is bothering you, and until you know what that damned letter says it's going to be bothering Casey too."

"It isn't what's in the letter... exactly," Zeke whispered.

"Well, what is it then?"

There seemed no way to say it without sounding like a cranky child: I want him, I'm tired of not having him, it isn't fair.

Zeke closed his eyes and concentrated on maintaining control as he said, "I'm tired of holding back. Roy never has to hold back. He does whatever he wants and fucks up whatever he wants. And here I am... not wanting to fuck up... and so I can't have what I want and Casey can't have what he wants. This whole fucking scenario just seems to get crazier and crazier and I can't help thinking... I know that Casey would feel more secure if... if I stopped holding back, and maybe if he felt more secure I could feel more secure."

After a long pause, Sasha said, sounding amused, "Only you could spin something like that."

"I have to be drunk to achieve that kind of incoherence."

"You're not incoherent." Sasha sighed deeply. "You make sense."

This brought a modicum of hope. "Are you saying... "

"I don't know the answer, Zeke. It makes sense to me right now, but then, we could both be dead wrong. We aren't mental health professionals."

"But we do have a certain expertise."

Sasha gave him that point with a nod and a grin. "You're right at that. We've got graduate degrees in the field of Casey."

"Besides, the last bit of professional advice I got was to keep my distance from Casey. I'm not going to do that."

"I wouldn't want you to."

"So what do you think?"

Sasha reached across and patted Zeke's knee. Zeke was almost undone by the gesture; the last thing he needed when trying to hold it together was some do-gooder coming along and acting nice to him. "I'm not going to give you permission, Zeke, I can't. All I can say is what I said before. I'm trusting you."

Zeke pushed his hand off. "Trust being something you do – "

"– even when there may be a good reason not to," Sasha finished. He smiled brilliantly. "You learn good."

Just for a few seconds, the emotions that Zeke had been barely holding back got away from him. He ground his hand into his face to push them back, and when he looked up... It was silly, but Zeke felt more at peace than he had in – well, hours. Yes, he remembered how he had felt at the beginning of this day. Happy. He wasn't happy now, but he was beginning to recall what it felt like to believe that he could be happy. How he was going to bring it about he had no idea, though. He supposed he would wing it as usual. He was the master of winging it.

"I'm going to bed," he announced, sitting up and stretching. At Sasha's reaction, he added, "To sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a busy day."

"Hmm... Between you and me, I can't wait to have my bed back."

"I don't think Allison realizes that you won't be coming to dinner tomorrow night. She doesn't understand that you restaurant types don't get Saturday nights off."

"Yeah, I am sorry about that. I would have liked to be there in case that Charlotte Rosado tries anything... but I will go sightseeing with you tomorrow. Where are we going anyway?"

"I have no idea... " Zeke yawned, getting unsteadily to his feet. "Good night."

Sasha waved. "Good night."

Zeke walked into the bedroom, tumbled into bed and wrapped himself around Casey. Casey shifted and twisted around to face him, digging his head in under Zeke's chin, his fingers threading into Zeke's shirtfront as usual. All of Zeke's shirts were now warped and misshapen from sleeping with Casey, but he had stopped minding a while ago. He squeezed Casey close and warm to his chest, and had absolutely no problem falling asleep.

It had to be morning yet it was not unlike what Casey remembered from drifting off the night before. Now, like then, was all about Zeke's hands, whose touch he knew completely. Except there seemed to be more of them than usual. There had to be at least six or seven; they were on his face, in his hair, under his shirt. Zeke's tongue and teeth were moving in counterpoint, nibbling, nipping at his bottom lip, dipping into his mouth and then retreating with a smile. It was absolutely Zeke, possessive and smoky and fierce and gentle all at the same time.

Pretending that he was still asleep, Casey let his lips part and move, not entirely kissing back but still participating with his eyes closed. Zeke's practiced fingers found their way delicately around Casey's face. "I know you're awake," Zeke whispered.

Opening his eyes, Casey saw that Zeke's face was hovering over him, his hair adorably mussed. As Casey's eyes travelled he realized that Zeke's chest was bare, t-shirt- less. That went against the norm – unless this was to be one of Zeke's sex therapy sessions.

Zeke was smiling down at him. "You like something you see?" he asked.

"Mmm." While he could, Casey soaked up the last of Zeke's summer tan, of the smooth, golden skin over broad muscle.

"Anything you want to touch?"

Startled, Casey turned a look up at Zeke. "Yes..." he replied uncertainly.

"Same here," Zeke whispered. "But you first."

Casey licked his lips as something got stretched and taut inside him. It was almost like desire, but now he was afraid. The guidelines were suddenly nowhere in evidence. Maybe Zeke was having some kind of attack of amnesia. Maybe he had hit his head in the shower recently.

Whatever the reasons, Casey didn't think he should remind him. He let his hands travel over Zeke's chest, just ghosting over, finding the deep groove down the centre of his torso and exploring it, and the row of neat ridges that divided abdominal muscles. Zeke's body shuddered as Casey's fingers got closer to his belly, and then lower, as far as the slight thickening of hair just above his crotch. Zeke arched a little in anticipation and then in surprise as Casey's hand turned back towards his upper chest. Casey tried not to dwell on the fear lurking in the wings, just keeping its distance for now, letting him perform. There was just a tingling, an almost-resolving into a pleasant ache in his groin, and then as he fastened his mouth on Zeke's nipple and Zeke bucked against him, driving his erection into Casey's hip, it happened, Casey was hard and he almost started to cry because it had happened so naturally and easily. He didn't know how long it would hold, how long it would be before fear obliterated it.

He let his hand creep downwards again, expecting to be stopped when he got near Zeke's crotch. But he wasn't stopped. He froze, wavering, looking up at Zeke as worry built in him.

"It's okay," Zeke whispered to him, cupping his chin and leaning in for a fresh sampling of Casey's mouth.

Nope, not okay, not. Casey withdrew and cradled his hands against his chest, thinking about the consequences of having them where they had been if that was where they were not supposed to be. "What's happening, I don't..."

A thumb stroked his jaw. "Shh... it's nothing scary."

"But – don't know what's – "

Zeke's thumb moved to his forehead, actively attempting to smooth the stress out of his skin. "I've just been thinking... we need new guidelines."

"Why... ?"

Zeke didn't reply at first. Up against Zeke's chest as he was, Casey couldn't quite see his face, he couldn't get a straight-on look into Zeke's eyes, where he might have found the answer. Zeke just kept holding him, stroking him without urgency until at last he said, "Because it's what we want... isn't it?"

Casey's mind was whirling with piecemeal half-thoughts and images and sparking with bewildered desire. His hands drifting south once more, he asked, "So... I can I make you come?"

"Is it what you want?"

"Yeah," he whispered.

Zeke's body tensed, a long shiver going through him. "There's a problem with that," he breathed.

"What?"

"I wish your parents weren't on the other side of this wall."

"Oh, shit." Casey snapped his hands back for the last time, resting them against Zeke's chest. There was no way he could do anything with his mother and father that close, even if they didn't hear a sound. It just felt too weird. "I forgot."

"I kinda figured." Zeke took one of his hands, gripping it reassuringly.

"Sorry, Zeke."

"What for? There's no rush, Case. Just think..." Zeke was touching his face again, raising goosebumps all over him. It was a thing that Zeke did, moving his fingers on Casey's skin to no real purpose. He was not trying to be expressive about it, he just wanted to touch but he was expressive, he was a fucking artist actually. "Soon they'll be on their way home and Sasha will be at work until late almost every night... hours and hours all alone, needing to get filled..."

Right on cue, Casey heard the slight creaking of the floor elsewhere in the apartment, signalling that Sasha was moving around. If Sasha was up, everyone else would be soon. Nuzzling Zeke's palm, Casey murmured, "Time's not the only thing that needs to get filled."

Zeke tightened up, freezing for a few seconds while the flush of pink and heat swept over his body. He kissed Casey's hand once again, then replaced it against his chest and said, "Hold that thought."

Like Casey could do otherwise. Like he was actually trying to convince Zeke to mount him right now. Like he was so wanton that he would beg Zeke to fuck him with his mother and father within earshot. "Until when?" he demanded. He knew how he sounded but he couldn't seem to help himself. Apparently, under the new regime he was free to suggest or offer anything as long as he expected nothing.

Zeke was withdrawing from him and his tone. "I don't know, Case, but not now. I'm going to grab a quick shower." He was out of bed and out the door before Casey could reply.

Casey sat up, resting his back against the wall, pulling up his knees and draping his arms around them. He heard Zeke and Sasha encountering each other, saying good morning, then Zeke closing the door to the bathroom. The shower was running and there was movement on the other side of the wall, his parents stirring from sleep. His dad made loud, groaning noises as he stretched out the kinks in his back, just as he did every morning.

With guilty discomfort, Casey recalled yelling at his father yesterday. He didn't like to be angry, he didn't want to be angry. Anger wasn't something real, it always went away like it never existed and then you had to mop up everything that got spilled. Better not to spill in the first place. It was a perfectly legitimate decision to make when you really weighed the pros and cons, and he was pretty sure he had done that some time back. His anger was not as important to him as that. Other things were far more important.

Casey moved to the edge of the bed, halfway determined to go next door and apologize. He thought he was going to do it, except then the bathroom door was open and his father was up and moving, making his regular morning visit to the toilet and Zeke was back in the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his hips.

Zeke dropped the towel without any apparent self-consciousness, standing naked with his back to Casey while he searched the dresser. Casey didn't want to look at him, refusing the implication that Zeke would be naked with him as long as it wasn't sexual. When he looked back Zeke was getting dressed, pulling on one of his usual pairs of jeans with a black, long-sleeved shirt of some kind of tight, stretchy ribbed fabric that left every line of his chest and shoulders on display, and then over that another shirt, a deep, deep blue that was left open and untucked. He looked over his shoulder with a smile and caught sight of Casey, sitting on the edge of the bed still in his sleep attire, watching him.

"Whatcha doing there?" he asked Casey. His eyes drifted to the shopping bags on the floor, as yet unpacked, then back to Casey. He came to Casey, sitting down on the bed and tugging Casey to him so that Casey was standing between Zeke's denim-clad knees. "Talk to me," Zeke said, arms circling him loosely

Casey shook his head.

"Thinking about today?"

It came back to him with a bit of a shock. They were to go "sightseeing", whatever that entailed, and then to Charly's house for supper and they would see Stan, and Zeke would undoubtedly end up fighting with him. Stan and Zeke would argue about whether or not it was right for Zeke to be with Casey, and meanwhile Charly would be looking at Casey with that scientific stare of assessment, trying to decide what she could get away with and maybe blurting out questions in front of his parents and the others, and at the same time his parents would be trying to turn Charly into Casey's surrogate guardian because she was the only adult of their generation on hand.

Casey took a tremulous breath that he could feel wavering in his throat, barely making it to the top of his lungs. Zeke lifted Casey's hands and draped them around his neck, basically forcing him to sit on Zeke's lap. "It's going to be a long day," Zeke commented quietly.

"Yeah," Casey agreed, wishing desperately that he could just skip the entire expedition.

"What if you just bring a Xanax with you?" Zeke proposed. "Keep it in your back pocket, so to speak."

"Okay," he said quickly. He had learned his lesson yesterday.

"You could try taking half of one, maybe that would help without making you sleepy."

"Okay – Zeke?"

"What?"

"Why?"

He hadn't intended to say anything. This seemed to happen more frequently lately. He would hear a bunch of words and realize after the fact that they were coming from his mouth and it was too late to stop them.

"Why what?"

Lifting his head off Zeke's shoulder, Casey asked, "Why – why change – the guidelines?"

He didn't know what kind of answer he wanted. He wasn't even sure which question he was asking, and now he was regretting it totally because there was That Thing in Zeke again. It was the same Thing that had been bothering Zeke yesterday, a rigidity to his posture, a knowledge of something that he did and didn't want to share.

"I just thought it was time," Zeke said.

It was definitely one of his more lame evasions. And Casey was himself too much of a coward to push for a real answer which made the two of them a perfect match.

Zeke nodded his head towards the shopping bags. "I'll bet there's something interesting in there."

Casey could play along; he did play along. "Yeah, Sasha took over yesterday."

"Of course he did – and what did your mom think about that?"

"She thinks Sasha can do no wrong."

"Not!" Zeke snorted. "Obviously she doesn't know him very well. So... why don't you get dressed and we'll see what everyone wants to do for breakfast."

Casey was left to himself for grooming. He chose a pair of tan cargo pants and a long-sleeved pseudo-suede shirt with a v-neck. Sasha had insisted on three of those, in maroon, deep blue, and tan. Casey went with the maroon, then headed to the bathroom to take his pill, brush his teeth and manipulate his hair. It felt like he was getting ready for his own funeral.

When he emerged into the kitchen, his mom seemed to be detailing to Sasha an outing that she and his dad had taken last night after Casey went to bed. Zeke was lounging against the fridge, his eyes appraising Casey, glinting with proprietary hunger now that he was in a situation where he didn't have to follow through on it. Casey let him have a good long look before turning his attention to his parents and Sasha.

"... just incredible view from the observation deck, all those lights spread out... and then we took the monorail to this bar, it had a jazz band with a woman singer – " His mother broke off and took in his appearance, her eyes getting brighter.

"Ah, kitten!" Sasha exclaimed. "That's much better. Now all you need are a few accessories, and we need to get you to the salon for phase two."

Casey's dad shifted in his chair and glared at Sasha.

"What's phase two?" asked his mom.

"I can't tell you, it's classified information." Sasha made a huge smirk of his face, then added, more sedately, "Don't worry, it's nothing scary."

Casey's dad looked to him in despair. Please put a stop to this his eyes begged with Casey, not daring to comment out loud. It seemed that Casey's outburst yesterday had shaken him. That wasn't the Frank Connor that Casey knew, the guy who felt qualified to comment on any aspect of anyone's life that he happened to have an opinion about. Casey didn't really expect or require him to be any other way.

On an instant of inspiration, Casey walked up to his father. The way that his father stared at him, he might have been thinking that Casey was going to hit him. Far from that, he put a hand on the man's shoulder and bending down, kissed him on the cheek. His father reared back slightly and went red in the face. Casey figured he had better give his mom the same treatment, and so he did, leaving his two parents utterly stupified.

It was probably best to give them some space to recover their composure. Casey went to pour himself a glass of juice, displacing Zeke – who appeared almost equally pole-axed – from his recline against the fridge as he did so.

Sasha wore a face-splitting grin as he tossed some words into the chasm of silence. "So I have a question. How are we all going to get to wherever we're going? Zeke's car is a tight fit for four, never mind five." His gaze flickered in Casey's direction. "The only alternative would be public transit."

Zeke supplied, "Or a cab. We could ask them to send something that would seat five."

"Why not take the bus?" Mom wondered, already regaining some balance as the subject turned to practical matters. "We used it last night. I like it, we get to see more that way and not worry about whether we're going in the wrong direction."

"Um... well..." hemmed Sasha, looking to Casey for help.

"Is there a reason why we shouldn't?" Mom wanted to know.

Casey said, "You went out last night? Where'd you go?"

"Oh, hon, we went to the Space Needle, I always wanted to see it, I hope you don't mind – !"

"No, I don't mind." Casey jammed his hands in his pockets. "The bus sounds like a good idea, Mom."

Now Zeke and Sasha were frantically trying to message him, but he shrugged them off, trying to indicate that it was okay. Well, it was not okay, but it would have to be.

"Okay, then, sounds like a plan," Zeke said, somewhat apprehensively. "And what about breakfast?"

Sasha huffed, "Don't look at me. I didn't think it was possible but I might be experiencing culinary fatigue."

Mom said, placating, "Well, at least you don't have to cook tonight."

"Actually, I do."

"But I thought – aren't we going to Stan's aunt's place?"

"You are," Sasha broke the news gently. "But I have to work. We always work Saturdays in the fine dining biz."

"Oh. I didn't realize."

"Believe me, I wish I could go with you."

"I'd like to try that coffee place down the street," Dad suggested. "I think they have some nice baking there."

"Sounds good," Zeke said agreeably.

Casey's parents went ahead, wanting to avoid a traffic jam on the narrow metal steps from their door down to the alleyway. While the rest of them were getting their shoes on, Zeke added sotto voce, as he handed Casey his fleece, "Are you sure about this?"

Casey replied, "Yes," even as he was monitoring the usual vital signs: racing heart, dry throat, numbness down his arms and a big white-out of fear in his head.

"All right, but no coffee for you," Sasha said, holding the door open.

Casey zipped up his fleece and complained, "Just a small one?"

"Nope," Zeke confirmed. He frowned, looking like he wanted to push Casey back inside and put a deadbolt on the door to keep him in.

"Believe me," Casey said dryly as he headed for the door, wanting to put his friends at ease, "Any anxiety I'd get from caffeine would be drowned out by my general terror."

Zeke's head snapped around. For a half-second he stared at Casey, before snickering so loudly that he nearly drowned out Sasha's guffaw of laughter.

By the time they got to the coffee shop, however, Casey was long past being able to joke about anything. The shop was a lot busier than any place he'd been lately; it was sheer luck that they were able to get a table. Casey couldn't swallow a bite of his muffin for fear of gagging it back up, and even coffee held no attraction. He ate half a Xanax for breakfast, washed down by a glass of water.

Over breakfast, several prospective tourist destinations were put on the table... the art museum, the science centre, the Experience Music Project, the aquarium... Casey seized on the last, envisioning himself walking through quiet, dark caverns walled with colourful fish and cushioned with silence. The other places might have interested him if he had been at all capable of curiosity on this day. He made a pitch for the aquarium, with the art museum a close second. He was playing the sick card, expecting that whatever he asked to see would trump, and it did.

There was nothing he could do about the bus ride, though. He'd already agreed to it, it was a go. Maybe the half Xanax did help; it was distinctly possible that without it he might have begun to bang his head against the window like Mary Stuart Masterson in Benny and Joon – poor sick girl being taken away from the safe environment she knew she just couldn't cope she wasn't meant to be out there in the world – but he couldn't get anywhere near the glass. The bus had been more than half full when they got on and Casey elected to stand in the aisle rather than sit next to a stranger. Zeke had taken the free seat so Casey was safe on that side, but there were people behind and beside who would sway or stagger into him every time the bus stopped or slowed down. There were many conversations going on around him at the same time that Casey couldn't follow.... city council stupid politicians even if they were just municipal did you catch the game last night they should have more foresight try final fantasy five wicked game. Someone jostled him, and he started to flinch back just as he noticed it was Zeke, but a Zeke surrounded by a strange, flat light that seemed composed of darkness too. Zeke was moving, inobtrusively putting his arms around Casey, pushing him toward the exit because we transfer here and Casey knew he was walking but he felt like he didn't quite exist either.

Then it was another bus but at least this time he got a seat next to a window with Zeke as his seatmate. His head swam as he stared out the window, staring at the press of human beings. Dimly he was aware that Zeke had his hand and was methodically stroking a finger down his palm. His mom was sitting in front and twisted around to talk to him and when she was done he didn't know what she had said. Zeke rescued him by jumping in, acting like he was interrupting Casey on the verge of saying something.

Somehow, they arrived at the aquarium whole and intact. It took a while to complete the process of paying admission and getting a guide to the exhibits. It wasn't quite like Casey had expected, but there were some walks among enormous aquariums, mostly featuring species of marine life indigenous to the northwest. Casey could see that Zeke's acquisitive brain had taken over; he lingered over every species, reading all the information that was available. Meanwhile Casey found a place to sit and just watched. The motion of the animals underwater was as soothing as he had expected. Hypnotic, even. He wondered what it was like to always be bathed in that quiet – or was it quiet there? It must be, and there would be no sense of weight. Skin wouldn't feel like skin. Touching would be a whole other proposition with the water mediating it. He wondered if the animals had any sense of being apart from the ocean, or if they considered themselves all of one thing, this fluid moving entity.

"Hey, pal."

His dad was speaking to him, looking down at Casey with that slightly puzzled, almost cross-eyed expression he wore when Casey was doing something that really baffled him. The Xanax must have finally kicked in a bit; Casey had a somnolent appreciation of how he could have sat on this little vinyl bench all day, envying these creatures who were actually trapped inside a glass box full of cold water.

"We're moving on," his dad said, and put a hand on his shoulder.

The other exhibits weren't nearly as fascinating. Casey decided to stay on his feet to combat the tug and pull of sleepiness, and by the time they left it had passed. His stomach was starting to complain again, queasy and hungry at the same time. With perfect timing, Zeke suggested that they stop somewhere for lunch, and Sasha immediately recommended a café that was known for its exotic soups and sandwiches. It all tasted fine going down, but then they had to get on another bus, to the museum this time, and Casey began to appreciate just how his lunch would taste coming back up. It didn't help when they got back on the bus and he had some small child sitting behind him who thought it was funny to pull on his hair. The mother kept telling him to stop and apologizing but it wasn't having much effect. Casey had a wicked fantasy of turning around and barfing all over the child, which just as easily could have been reality.

Clammy sweat had glued his shirt to his back by the time they got to the museum. He wanted to lay down on the cool marble floor in the lobby and not move for the rest of the day. He must have looked as rotten as he felt; upon getting a direct look at him, his mom exclaimed, "Oh, hon, are you okay?"

The world rotated nauseatingly when he moved his head. "Lunch doesn't want to stay put," he said.

Zeke responded quickly. "Maybe a drink of something cold will help. There's a café in here, I'll take you."

"No, I'll do it," Sasha volunteered. "You folks go on, we'll catch up to you."

"But we can go with you," Mom protested.

Casey said, "No, please, Mom... Dad. I don't want you to miss anything because of me... Okay?"

His dad visibly deferred to his mom, who pressed her lips together, coercing them into a smile. "Okay, sweetie."

In the cafeteria Sasha found them a table near the back, next to the fire exit. Casey gulped down the other half Xanax with mineral water; he had been forbidden even soda unless he could be certain there was no caffeine in it.

"You still look a little green around the gills," Sasha remarked. "Maybe you should skip Charly's dinner."

Casey shook his head.

"Why not?"

He just sipped his mineral water, too tired to explain that if he didn't go, either Zeke or his parents would want to stay home with him and if that happened then whoever was left would bail and there would be no dinner, while Zeke for some reason, had wanted them to go. Besides which Casey didn't think he could keep from losing it if Zeke went to Charly's without him, with no designated return time. He probably would lose it anyway if he went to Charly's, but at least he would have Zeke nearby... Zeke who been upset and angry yesterday and decreed that they were going to Charly's like he was just wanted to spite Casey, who would have to confront Stan and all his heterosexual male reasoning again just when he wasn't feeling very happy with Casey not that Casey had any idea why.

"You look busy," Sasha broke in.

"Huh?"

"What's running around in your head, kitten?"

He looked up from the bottle he had clasped in his hands. "Sasha... something's wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"Zeke, he's... unhappy about something."

Sasha looked caught.

"He told you, didn't he?" Casey begged. Sasha had a lot of talents, but lying had never been one of them. He knew something. He knew That Thing. And it was really happening this time, really happening... Everyone knew That Thing even his parents probably knew That Thing and he didn't. "You know what it is but I don't. You know and I don't – " His gorge rose despite his best efforts to force it down.

Sasha stood when Casey did, looking panicked. "Where are you going?"

"Bathroom."

He didn't quite run; Sasha came right after him, keeping up easily with his long strides. So much for the Xanax. Sasha loomed over him, rubbing his back as he heaved again and again. It seemed like his body was trying to turn itself inside out. He was too exhausted to move when he was finished, remaining slumped on the floor. "Zeke isn't happy," he mumbled.

"What – ?" Sasha's voice said.

"It's... He isn't happy... with me."

"Casey, listen – " Sasha tugged at his shoulders, reaching over his head to flush the toilet. "I'm not going to talk to you like this. Get up at least. Please."

He obeyed, standing and leaning against the back of the stall with the door wide open. Sasha offered him a hard candy that he had dug out of one of his pockets. He took it gratefully, popping it in his mouth. Licorice. He hated licorice but anything was better than what he was tasting right now.

"Will you come out?" Sasha said.

He shook his head.

"Okay. We'll talk here." Sasha glanced over Casey's shoulder, at some other person in the bathroom, Casey realized. He hadn't noticed that there was anyone else in here when he plunged through the door a few minutes ago. "We're fine."

"Are you sure?" said a young, male voice.

"Yes. It's all right."

Casey heard the door swing and creak. Closing his eyes, he shivered and said, "You know what it is."

Sasha didn't answer.

"Sasha."

"Okay, yes – shit, Zeke's going to kill me. I can't lie to you, kitten. I suck at it. If you hadn't come out and asked like that – but who knew you were going to do that?"

"You're not helping me now."

"No, of course... I'm going to tell you, it's just that Zeke wanted to be the one..."

"It happened yesterday. Something made Zeke – I did something, he was mad at me."

"No, Casey – it wasn't you."

"But he was mad at me."

Sasha paused, then said, "Yes, but that was him being an asshole, it was nothing you actually did." But a moment of uncertainty moved across his face, and he added, "I'm sure you didn't."

"I... didn't what?" Casey whispered, looking at Sasha for the first time since he had started this and he wished he hadn't now, oh god how he wished he hadn't. He didn't like the way he was starting to just say things sometimes, it was all the Paxil's fault, it had to be. So much safer not to speak but he was in it now and there was no way to put the brakes on.

"Okay, I'll just spit it out," Sasha sighed. "Roy sent you a letter, kitten."

Casey blinked, not understanding. "A letter."

"Yes, your mom brought it, not realizing I guess that it was from him, not that it would have made any difference. He wrote it, now you get the pleasure of reading it."

"Does he..." Casey's voice failed him. "Does he know where I am?"

"I doubt it."

He remembered his mom saying she had brought mail, and seeing some letters in the bedroom. He hadn't even looked at them. "And Zeke... saw the letter?"

"He didn't read it, but yeah. He's very ashamed, kitten, that he acted the way he did. Don't be too mad at him, he just freaked... the guy's crazy in love with you."

A letter from Roy. He couldn't make sense of those words but he understood instantly what it meant, how Zeke must have felt when he saw it, how he had known in his heart that Casey was still thinking about Roy, that Casey would go running back to Roy in a second so he had better cut his losses. Maybe he was gone already. Maybe Sasha was even helping him by taking Casey away to the café so Zeke could make his escape and maybe Roy was on his way here to take Casey back with him, back to her even though she hadn't actually wanted him in the end and what would Roy have to say to him Roy never had to say anything he would just show up and expect things all the things that happened before because there were no limits Casey doesn't have any limits right baby so then he would have to lay down with them and let her have him finally... then quiet in his head like in one of those tanks, floating in the dark and cold...

A trio of shakes from the hand on his arm roused him. "What?"

"You were out of it, Casey."

"I... " His mouth wouldn't form words. "Where's Zeke?"

"Well, he's somewhere in this building, I guess."

"N-need him..."

"Okay, kitten." Sasha hugged Casey's numb, quaking body tightly. "We'll find him."

Somehow it had been far less stressful when Casey was just a depressive lump in a hospital bed. These days Casey's moods ranged far and wide, from one extreme to another, from asexual cuddler to pouty minx, screamingly funny to frozen with terror. It was the extremes that were going to kill Zeke.

There had been Casey's unexpected assertiveness this morning, catching Zeke so very much off guard that he stammered and ducked like an imbecile. Oh, yeah, he'd been completely true to form, hadn't he – and Casey hadn't failed to notice it. Zeke never ceased to be astounded by Casey's generosity. It was a generosity that shimmered right through the distortions of passive aggression and occasional just plain bitchiness. That performance in the kitchen this morning had been a perfect, sublime demonstration – kissing both his parents on the cheek, Casey had somehow managed to say without speaking a word that he forgave everything, without even admitting that he was pissed off about anything. And then there had been Casey's quip as they were leaving the apartment, so obviously a gift to Zeke and Sasha, a device to put them at ease. After all that, watching Casey gradually become a quivering wraith as the day went on was utter agony. There had been a terrible moment on the bus when Zeke felt certain that Casey had become catatonic in the most clinical sense of the word. He envisioned scene after terrible scene, every single one inflicting new layers of misery: Himself carrying a limp, frosty-eyed Casey out of the bus and onto the street, trying to get a cab, trying to shield him from public eyes, trying to explain it all to Casey's parents or to some doctor... Yes, we decided to take the bus... Yes, we should have known better but I really thought it would be okay...

And now here was something else again: Sasha and Casey were coming at Zeke from across a room full of paintings, drawing plenty of attention as they did. At a distance, Casey's obvious distress was worrying; close-up, it was just plain scary. Just as Casey seemed in position to launch himself into Zeke's arms, he stopped a few feet away, staring fearfully.

"Casey?"

Casey closed his eyes, while visible tremors took hold of him. He burst out, "I didn't do anything. I didn't write him, I didn't phone him... I didn't phone him, I swear it. I don't – w-want to go to him – don't want to – to be with him, I don't, really... " By the time he got to this point he was nearly babbling, shaking his hands frantically, his eyes distended and gaping. He had wound himself up right in front of Zeke, and Zeke just stood there and watched.

Zeke calmed the prattle in his own mind. He grasped Casey's shoulders, catching him in mid spin. "Casey."

"I didn't, Zeke," Casey said again.

"What the hell?" Zeke demanded, drawing Casey in towards his body and cuddling him there. He had never felt so entirely on stage as he did at this precise moment.

"I'm sorry, Zeke," Sasha answered quickly, a little wild looking. "He just asked me out of the blue what was going on and I couldn't lie."

The Connors – who had been one gallery ahead of Zeke because he was so busy contemplating the mysteries of Casey that he'd kept zoning out in front of whatever it was he was supposed to be looking at – had come back to see what was happening. "What is this?" hissed Frank, trying to stare down the curious around them. No doubt at least half his anger originated in embarrassment.

Zeke shoved all his feelings down into a teeny tiny box in the back of his head. He needed to function, to take care of Casey and get them home and safe so they could talk. He had been quite prepared to wait on this until tomorrow, but apparently, thanks to Sasha being a sentimental idiot who couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it, it was happening now.

He said, "I think Casey and I are going to take a cab home now. Don't worry, it'll be fine, we just need to talk over some things. Can you folks... if you don't mind... give us some space?"

Frank Connor passed from furious to apoplectic. He opened his mouth, but Allison dug her elbow into his gut. "Okay, Zeke," she said. "We can do that."

"I don't think we'll be going to Charly's for supper."

"We can go without you. I'd like to meet her." Allison's elbow was still wedged in her husband's belly. "We'll give her your regrets – you have the address?"

"Yes, it's... 414 Chestnut, I think. I have it written down at home, if you want to phone in a little while I can check it for you. Stokes is probably at work right now, but if you want you could hook up with her and Stan and then you won't have to worry about how to get there."

"That sounds fine."

"Thank you," Zeke said, and meant it.

"It's okay." Allison looked sadly at her son, who had evidently gone far beyond her ability to comfort with hugs and meatloaf sandwiches. After a brief, affectionate rub on Casey's arm, she led the unwilling Frank Connor away.

"I'll go back on the bus with them," Sasha said, his eyes begging for absolution.

"Sure," Zeke said. He knew it was pointless and stupid to be angry with Sasha and he wasn't really. He forced himself to say with a touch more warmth, "See you in a bit."

"Zeke, I'm – "

"It's okay."

Casey didn't say a word as Zeke guided him out of the building. He was in some other place entirely when Zeke put him in the cab and Zeke didn't do anything to bring him out of it. He kept Casey close with an arm tucked around his shoulders and talked nonsense at him, ignoring the driver's unhappy, bigoted face in the mirror, until just as they turned onto their street something in the way Casey held his body told Zeke that he had shaken off his trance.

Upstairs in their apartment, Zeke led Casey directly into the bedroom, letting him sit or lie down, whatever he preferred; Casey chose the very edge of the bed, like he was afraid even to assume that he was welcome there. He was shivering noticeably despite the fleece that he was still wearing; Zeke retrieved an extra blanket from the linen closet and draped it around him, and for a while just sat rubbing his back, helping to get warm.

It was when Zeke got up to leave the second time that Casey spoke, pulling back on Zeke's hand when he tried to detach it. "Where are you going?"

"Just to – to get the letter."

"I didn't phone him."

Zeke stood still. "I know," he said finally.

"I – I didn't – Zeke – "

"I know, Casey."

"I can't," Casey said then. "I can't read it, I... you should have just kept it. You should have burned it!"

"Case," Zeke said, just the one word.

"I don't have to read it! I won't – "

"You do have to read it," Zeke said, very softly. "I think it's important, whatever he has to say, whether it's good or bad."

"No."

"I'll sit here with you while you do it, or I'll leave you alone, whatever you want."

"But I – " Casey gulped.

"Let me go and get it," Zeke coaxed, prying his fingers out of Casey's grasp. "I'll be a second."

The cursed object was still in his jacket pocket, a bit crumpled. He loathed and detested the very sight of the handwritten D. Windle but still he brought it back, put it on bedside table along with a fresh glass of water. Still blanket-wrapped, Casey had pulled his feet onto the bed, making himself small and compact as though he could actually make himself impervious to harm that way when they both knew good and damn well that it was useless. He didn't look at the rectangle of cream-coloured paper that sat quiescent on the table.

"Do you think you should take a Xanax right now?"

Casey expressed his agreement by retrieving the already well-broken-in bottle of pills. He washed one down quickly then subsided into Zeke's hold once more. They sat that way in silence for a while, until Zeke simply had to speak. Sure, Casey was clinging to him now, but that didn't mean he wasn't furious, or that he wouldn't become furious in the very near future. Casey's emotions never came in any predictable order.

"I was a total asshole yesterday," was what Zeke said. "I saw that letter and I grabbed it, which was wrong big time. When I saw his name... I couldn't think. I completely flipped out. And then I took it out on you and there's no excuse for that."

"You thought I was still in contact with him," Casey mumbled. "Why shouldn't you, after the things I – I did."

"I'm supposed to trust you, though. I do trust you."

"Don't... I'm not..."

"You said it yourself, Case, just a few minutes ago. You didn't contact him, and you don't want to be with him."

"But I –"

"You don't want to be with him. Right?"

"Right," Casey whispered.

"You want to be with me. No matter what the letter says."

"Yes."

"So we have nothing to be afraid of."

Casey burrowed into Zeke. "But I am afraid."

"I know."

"He – he can – say things – "

"He can only have the power that you give him, Case."

"Will you – ?" Casey said. "Would you read it first? Tell me if there's anything bad in it?"

Zeke took the time to consider and form his answer very carefully.

"Casey, I have no idea what would be good or bad, really. I know very little about Roy. I don't know his style, although I have some ideas from what Sasha's told me."

"Sasha could – "

"This is for you to do, Casey."

"You don't understand."

"No, I don't, but I do know that you should read this letter."

"I can't be... don't want to."

"Casey. Open the letter and read it."

Impossibly, Casey was getting even smaller inside his arms.

"Please, Casey." Zeke was forced to take drastic measures. He let go of Casey, taking away his shelter. "Do it for me if you can't do it for yourself."

"You read it, then," Casey muttered. "You're the one who wants to know what it says."

Zeke reached over, grabbed the envelope, and put it in Casey's hand. "Read it," he said.

Of course he felt like a shit as Casey finally tore open the envelope, staring accusingly at Zeke, as though Zeke had ordered him to put his hand in an open flame. Unfolding the pages seemed a physical challenge that was almost beyond his abilities.

"Read," Zeke commanded.

Applying himself to it with no slight degree of despair, Casey read. The temporal order must have been in disarray or something because it felt like it took Casey several years to finish two pages. Once or twice Casey almost broke down, but he would grind the heel of his palm into his eye, glance at Zeke to make sure he was still under orders, and continue. Zeke watched his eyes move down the first page, watched some more as he shuffled papers.

Finally he got to the bottom of the second page and his eyes stuck there, staring unseeing at it. No silence had ever been so silent. It took only a minute or so for Zeke to break.

He asked plainly, "Can I help?"

"You want to know what it says, I suppose."

"Well, yes, but you don't have to – "

Casey barked a laugh. "Oh, now I don't have to do something."

"Are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah." Casey was making a sound that could have been a laugh, while wiping at a tear that had welled up and fallen suddenly. "I'm great."

Zeke put a hand on his arm. "Casey."

"Don't," Casey said, tearing it away.

"Case... I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I had to read it so you could know."

"Of course I want to know what he wrote – "

"Here, then." Casey shoved the papers at Zeke. "You should know what I am... there... enjoy. I'm having a nap."

"Okay, yes, but you don't – " Zeke broke off, seeing Casey turning sideways so his back was to Zeke, preparatory to lying down. Zeke tossed the letter down on the bed and grabbed Casey's shoulder. "Casey, don't hide from me."

Twisting his body around and upright, Casey turned on Zeke. "Why not? You hide from me. You always hide from me." His voice started out quiet but it was laced with rage and hurt and fear that were rising with every word. He was finding another position, a defensive almost-crouch, fists tucked under his arms and arms clenched around his chest while he pressed his upper body against his bent knees. "All you see when you look at me is alien... all the time just fucking alien."

"That's -- not true," Zeke stammered, but Casey went on, not looking at him, staring at the end of their bed.

"I'm not normal, right? I guess I don't have a choice about ordinary or not ordinary but I get so tired sometimes and I just want – to – I tried, I tried and he knew, he saw me, he wanted... I – I just wanted it to be quiet – I just wanted it to be quiet. I wanted to know what it was like."

"What what was like?" The question burst out of Zeke although he should have known better than to even try. Again Casey didn't seem to hear him. He kept talking in that voice with its terrifying, furious calm.

"... thought it would be like she said but – then I was still – I didn't – I just wanted to belong for once, just one fucking time but that wasn't enough for her even, I still wasn't good enough."

There would be no making sense of it, not now. Zeke accepted that and made a move to touch him, wanting only to make him hurt less. "Casey, please, let me – "

"No, don't!" From an almost monotone, Casey's voice suddenly went to a place of absolute frenzy. His back had straightened and with arms still tight about himself he was staring at Zeke as though he couldn't be sure that he knew a thing about him. His chest was heaving. "Don't even try!"

Zeke held up his hands. "Okay. I won't, but – please, can you talk to