The door didn't make the sound that Casey was expecting, didn't slam and shatter into a million, razor-sharp splinters, because Zeke had just left it hanging open.

Casey knew he was making plenty of sounds, though: Zeke...please don't go...Zeke... and seeing as this was his second or fifth or tenth time at this, you'd think he'd have gotten better at it by now, but he was as pathetic as ever, indeed he couldn't be any more pathetic. He could just sit here and let Zeke walk out when he should be following him, trying to explain but the problem was the explanation wouldn't help, it would just guarantee that Zeke was more in a hurry to leave.

"You should stay."

Yves. Casey wanted to tell her that if she was going to try to intervene she should do it faster and better — oh, but she was talking to him, not Zeke which made no sense, he wasn't the one who was leaving — and he comprehended that he was up and moving, he seemed to be walking towards the door except at her words he actually stopped moving, fixing his eyes nevertheless on that portal that had just seen Zeke's back.

"What?" he said, frowning, trying to fathom how an innocent, open frame could be so horrific. It looked as it ever did, a normal door surrounded by a wall — walls, a room, and the room covered in all that nondescript-ness that he despised yet somehow had come to look to as a sign of security and that was just a lie, a fucking lie that trickedhimtrappedhim into thinking he could say the things he had said —

"Don't leave yet, Casey."

"Fuck," Casey said, to no real purpose, just to say something that meant something. "Fuck. Fuck." But it felt hollow, like he was lying, like he didn't really care that Zeke had left when he knew, he knew he did care except what if he didn't, what if he no longer had a single right feeling about anything.

While he pondered that, Yves had caught up with him. She attempted a reassuring touch. Casey endured it for a nanosecond, then staggered for that yawning hole in the wall.

She said, "Casey. Stop."

Somehow, she had the power to halt him. She was all he had left, maybe, and so he paused again. "Why?" he wondered aloud.

"I can't let you go like this." Now Yves had gotten between him and the door, obscuring his view through it. She was holding out a hand that was absolutely rock steady. "Please."

"I don't want to sit down!" he blurted, aware that he was making no sense. It seemed to suit the moment

"Then stand, but let's do it over by my desk."

"I don't want to."

"What do you want to do?"

"Find Zeke."

"And do what?"

"Make it right."

"And how would you do that?"

Give him anything everything, kneel at his feet and promise him never to disobey then lay down and spread himself wide open — or no, suck his cock first, that always worked. It had worked the first time they were together, after all, it should work now.

"Casey. Look at me please."

He forced himself to see her even while the muscles in his back and all up his legs twitched and his skin crawled, trying to propel him forward, after Zeke. She appeared as calm and unconcerned as ever, and he wanted to hit her for not grasping how fucking serious this was.

"How would you do that?" she asked again.

He whispered it: "You know."

"Do you really think that would work?"

No. No, it wouldn't work because he'd fucked up too badly. So maybe he just wanted a nice quiet hole to die in. He recalled reading somewhere that animals, when they were dying, liked to slink off to some dark, quiet place to get it done. No spectacle, and he liked that concept very much. He'd more than used up his quota of spectacle in his nineteen years. It would be nice to manage things without...without...oh, yeah, but everything has to be a drama, doesn't it...doesn't it, Casey? because that was what he said, he remembered everything Zeke said, he did. See, Zeke, he was trying, he was not freaking out, he was not zoning. He was dying stoically, like a man, see?

Yves was still standing between him and the door, and she asked again, "What are you going to do, Casey?"

"Do," he echoed.

"When you leave my office. What are you going to do?"

It occurred to him that he had a problem — something even worse than his problem a moment ago because it seemed that he'd already survived Zeke's leaving him, so many times now in fact that it would be foolish and hypocritical to stage a Dying-From-Love scenario now. On the other hand, he'd made it clear so many times over that he would die if he was ever left by Zeke, it was almost a matter of credibility at this point, and the practicalities of living, like getting moved and breathing, these were things he couldn't even begin to think about.

"Tonight?" he asked, stalling.

She nodded.

"Nothing."

"Good."

He gaped at her. He didn't think she had understood what he had meant by that word. "I mean nothing," he said, almost angrily.

"Oh." She cocked her head. "I see. Are you going to break your word to me, Casey?"

They stared at each other, and he passed quickly beyond any thought of protesting the unjustness of the question to a serious consideration of it. He thought about how it would be to go out as a known liar and a trouble-making slut, and how everyone would despise him for being so wretched and deplorable. He told his boyfriend he wanted to move out and when the boyfriend obliged, he killed himself. That would be the final headline for Casey Connor, and whatever he had hoped to accomplish in that final noble act of asking for separation would be quashed because Zeke would never forgive him. And Sasha would never forgive him, not to mention Stokes and Stan and the rest of the world. And his parents would never forgive him and either, and worst of all, Yves would dismiss him as unreliable and would never trust him again.

"No," he answered.

"I'm very glad to hear it. Will you be alone?"

Alonealonealone...the word ricocheted across his internal soundscape followed by the reiteration that he didn't have to enunciate because she already knew this about him: I don't want to be alone, he'd told her, he had made that declaration, that he wouldn't let it happen because hey, he did have a will, he could choose and he could choose not to be alone, he would do whatever it took and he would not, he wouldn't...but he would, he had no choice now if he ever wanted to be not alone again. He had no choice anymore...that was the problem with becoming self- sufficient and non-codependent and all that shit. It took away all his fucking choices. He'd had so many, before.

"Casey?"

"Huh?"

"Will you be alone tonight in your apartment?"

He mouthed what she wanted to hear: "My dad...he'll be there...and Sasha."

"That's very good."

"Zeke...he might show up..."

"What will happen when you see him?"

Casey shook his head. "I don't know."

"If you can talk — and I mean talk, not argue — it might help."

It was nearly laughable, but not really. Kidnapped, attacked, arrested and later abandoned, were quite enough for one day. "Dr. Yves," he rasped. "I can't do any more today. I can't."

Her face smoothed into an unfamiliar expression; he couldn't make much sense of it. "That's okay, Casey. Just try to get a good night's sleep and I'll see you tomorrow at ten after you've had a chance to rest and let things sink in. No road trips, okay?"

Let. Things. Sink. In. The syllables were strange, unreasonably portentous. He didn't want to let things sink in...he didn't want anything to sink. What kind of psychiatrist was she, using that word with him?

But finally, she seemed willing to let him walk out, to accompany him down the hall and to the front door with a hand on his arm. Bizarrely, the receptionist was still there from that time so long ago, just that afternoon when he and Zeke had come together. He heard Yves acknowledging the receptionist, forcing Casey to acknowledge her and her to acknowledge him as though interaction with one more stranger would somehow change the day, and then Yves was saying something about how she was going to phone home and let them know he was on his way, and there was some nonsense about was-it-okay, was-it-okay...something about was it okay.

"What?" he said.

"I said," she repeated patiently, "Do you mind if I let them know that you and Zeke had a disagreement?"

"A disagreement?" he gasped, truly on the brink of laughter. "Yeah, you can tell them. Tell them whatever, I don't care."

"Casey," she said, but left it at that.

He shrugged into his jacket. It seemed that he had never really taken off his boots so he didn't have to attend to that; he just got one arm into one sleeve while staring out the glass door, then another arm...it seemed he had finished both sleeves then and there was nothing to do but go out there now. There wasn't much to see but the cement stairs that would take him to the sidewalk, where it was dusk and no doubt chilly, and wet as usual.

"You'll be okay?" she asked.

She was trusting him because she had to, because he was expected to handle these things, to prove that he could handle them. Fuck but she was diabolical, forcing him to enter into that contract with her right when it would become so inconvenient. He nodded, still staring, as though what he saw through the frame was a puzzle with a piece missing — and to think that it was merely the world outside.

"Sasha and your father will be waiting for you to come home, I'm sure," Yves added.

Of course, she knew she had spoken the magic words: Sasha, father...home. She was good. He wanted to tell her that, but he imagined she knew it already.

"Good night, then. Casey?"

"Yeah," he muttered.

"I'm proud of you."

He darted a look at her, trying to make sense of that non sequitur. She gave him a quick smile before holding the door open for him. He sensed her eyes on his back all the way down the stairs. He turned quickly and started home just to get out of her sight.

If there were any aliens around this night, he was oblivious. He felt cool moisture on his face and that was about all he felt. He heard his footfalls without feeling them. Lights and objects, some of them probably human, spun past his eyes and he tried to image they were merely ghosts or at worst imaginary but he knew they weren't. He had never been more alive, in fact, and now he was going to be alone...but on the other hand, his dad would be happy. Finally he would no longer be pining and whining over his boyfriend, which of course, his father still hated. His father would much rather he was one of those non-practicing gays. And even Sasha would be happy because he wouldn't have to monitor them anymore, he could have an actual life.

Casey turned onto his own street with only scant memories of having walked there. His pace picked up a little. Yeah, he was going to be alone, but not yet. His father was up there now, and it was warm, and Sasha and probably Jerry and they would — well, not understand, but try their best. Trying was almost as good.

The steps were slippery again. He missed his footing and nearly massacred his knees on the metal; clinging to the handrail at the last second, he managed not to land too hard, probably just avoiding a full wipe-out that would have involved blood loss and embarrassment as everyone gathered around him to give him first aid. Hanging there, he began giggling at how funny this was, how funny if he had gotten through everything only to kill himself on the stairs.

Almost at once, the door above him opened. "Casey?" his father called.

Casey held his stomach and laughed harder.

"Casey...?" There was a wait before his father came out, clad in boots and coat, easing his way down the stairs. "What's going on?"

"Nothing...no-thing," Casey tittered.

"Why are you laughing?"

"I hurt my knee."

Just above him, his father was quiet, and then he was beside him with a hand on his arm. "Let me see."

Casey shook his head. "Nah...not that bad."

"Okay, then come inside."

"I'd like to," Casey answered. "But I can't move."

He decided to look and found his father worrying his bottom lip.

"If I move, something will happen," Casey explained.

Even he, lunatic that he was, knew that there could be nothing to say to that, and his father wisely didn't try. His father simply said, "It's time to go in."

It had the quality of truth. Casey allowed himself to be encouraged, all the way up and in. It was warmer inside, just like he had anticipated, and, as usual, it smelled like Sasha's cooking, which was good even though Casey could not call that the smell of home anymore. After all, he was moving out, and that would be fair to Sasha, really. Sasha could have his bed back.

"Yves called," his father was saying, a bit breathless.

"Oh."

His father began to unbutton his jacket for him, since he himself was falling down on the job. "She told me...."

She told him, she told him — what, which part? The one where Zeke was going to fuck him whether he wanted it or not and Casey knew that he would never say no and so he told Zeke he needed to move out like a stupid twit and Zeke did what Zeke couldhaveshouldhave done months ago, did Yves tell his father that? That part?

He was giggling again, it seemed.

"Casey," his father said only, obviously unhappy, tugging at Casey's sleeve.

"Did — did I tell you I drove on the ‘spressway — Dad — did I tell you that?"

"No, you didn't. Here..."

Casey shrugged so his dad could get his jacket off. His dad then dropped it on the floor and did something amazing. He put his arms around Casey and he didn't just pat his back like he always did when he hugged, no, he smoothed his hand up and down like Sasha would do, not as easily or as thoroughly but still...it was obviously his father's best attempt at being Sasha. "Stop that now," his father murmured.

It was supposed to be comfort, and so Casey stood rigid, trembling, forcing himself not to react as his father touched him, he chanted safesafesafe it's safe, safe, okay, thisismydad, this is okay, okayokayokay... and he chattered, "Wh- where's Sasha?"

"He was missing some ingredient so he and Jerry went out to get it. That was almost an hour ago, though..."

His father had no idea how much time Sasha could spend in a grocery store, not that Casey felt anywhere near adequate to explaining it right now. In fact, he didn't think he could explain much of anything, much better to just shut up — too late — and take things in. Around his father's arm, Casey's eye fell on the pot on the stove. There was a lid on it, and a tiny trickle of steam was escaping. He couldn't take his eyes off it. It was fascinating, somehow.

He jumped hard when their doorbell rang. In fact he made a little bit of a shrieking sound that was strangely embarrassing the moment afterward. It couldn't be Zeke, though, Zeke wouldn't ring. It couldn't, couldn't, couldn't be Zeke —

His father just him go and opened the door and there was Stokely, short of breath. "Hi!" she gasped. Her gaze immediately searched out Casey. "I saw you go running by and I tried to catch you but you didn't hear me, and I thought I'd have to wait until closing time but Tara said go and it's dead anyway — " She sucked a breath. "Case...are you okay?"

He stared.

"Um...Stan called me, he told me...he told me..." She flicked a look at Casey's father. "...you and Zeke..."

His father's eyes rounded. "What about them?"

"Stan?" Casey echoed, rather than acknowledge the question. He'd thought that Yves had explained it, but it seemed that she hadn't spared him that.

"Zeke called him."

"Called him?"

"To have a beer with him."

"Oh."

"What about you and Zeke?" pressed his father.

To Casey, he sounded a little bit like a man who thought he might have just won the lottery, but didn't want to believe too much just yet.

Stokely stepped forward and, like everyone else seemed to fucking want to all the fucking time, she touched him. "Case, I'm sorry — " He quivered a bit under her hand and she immediately dropped it. "Stan said you and Zeke...that you broke up. Is it true?"

His father had drawn a hard breath.

Casey turned his head away from both of them. "Seems like," he croaked. Over his shoulder, there was a gaping quiet.

Then: "I'll make you a cup of tea," Stokely offered.

"That sounds like a good idea," his father chimed in.

They wanted to help so much, Casey figured he had better let them. He nodded, still keeping his head turned away because he couldn't bear to know if their reactions were anything less than devastated on his behalf. "Please."

Stokely's response was nearly euphoric. "You sit down," she urged, heading to the kitchen. His father, peculiarly, went in there to help her, as though making tea were a truly onerous business. Casey sat at the kitchen table and, finally, watched them working, listened to them conferring over cups and tea bags and kettles... They were not gloating, they were working to make him feel better. It was kind of nice to have this empirical demonstration of how much they seemed to appreciate him, except it made him want to cry which wouldn't do at all when they were making such an investment in his comfort. He didn't think he had done anything near as much for Stokely when she and Stan had broken up and she had showed up at their door looking for comfort and company. In fact, he was pretty sure he had sat around like a slug, feeling sorry for himself. Kind of like he was doing right now. The least he could do was try to make some conversation.

"I pumped gas today," he said.

Stokely came out from the kitchen with his cup of tea, setting it down in front of him. "Oh...really?"

"Never done it before."

"That's cool, Case."

"It made me feel good," he said in a rush, pleading with her to get it because he didn't have it in him to go into detail and he was afraid that he was beginning to sniffle. He swiped at his nose, just in case.

"I know what you mean," she said softly, watching him with an intense expression of sympathy. "You aren't sure if you're doing it right and you think everyone is watching you."

"Yeah," he said, surprised. He smiled, and she smiled, and he took a sip of the tea, which was nothing more esoteric than chamomile. "Thanks."

"No problem, Case."

With the cup halfway between his mouth and the table, he heard Sasha's voice outside the apartment, raised in a laugh, and he felt it like a jolt. Hot liquid splashed over his hand; he gritted his teeth and set down the cup as Sasha and Jerry came in from outside. A tendril of cool air brushed Casey's arm, and he shivered. He decided to fix his eyes on the table, that it was the only safe place.

"That was a helluva long time for a loaf of bread," Casey's dad commented, his tone just a little too dire. It stopped the laughter in its tracks. There was a quiet, and then an audible sigh from Jerry.

"Oh, crap," Sasha commented. He closed his eyes, opened them a moment later. "What?"

No one answered him. In due course, Casey felt Sasha's presence near his elbow but he didn't dare look. If he did, he would break apart instantly and for some reason to do that now in front of all of them was the most mortifying, horrifying spectacle he'd ever contemplated, even coming from him. He would never survive it and then if he did happen to still be breathing at the end of it, the memory of it would make him shrivel within for the rest of his life, and the worst thing was, he couldn't so much as open his mouth to explain that.

"Casey?"

He shook his head.

"What's the matter? Tell me, kitten"

Casey tapped his fingers on the table and rocked in place. His throat was burning with pain and why the fuck wasn't Sasha reading his mind like he usually did, what the fuck was the matter with him, didn't he see that Casey was about to burst out wailing in front of his female friend who had seen him break down ten too many times already, his father who hated scenes and had to leave to go back home in another day or so, and Jerry, Jerry who already thought he was a whinging leech, sucking the life out of his boyfriend? In another nanosecond he was going to bolt to the bathroom, a slightly lesser failure on his part but still a disaster.

"Hey, you know...?" Stokely commented suddenly. "I think I'll go back downstairs now...it's kind of cluttered in here." Deliberately she cleared her throat, and Casey had never loved or appreciated her as much as he did then.

"Oh," said Jerry. "Right, um...Frank, didn't you get some stain for that part of the doorframe?"

"Yeah," Casey's father said, while Casey tried not to actively clutch the end of the table.

"Well, why don't we go work on it a bit?"

"Now? It's seven o'clock, and there's always — "

It seemed like someone might have pinched Casey's father just then, but Casey wasn't going to wait for his father to clue in; he left his cup of tea behind, fleeing into the living room where he curled himself into Sasha's chair, into the smallest corner of it, and blanked out as much of this as he could. He may or may not have been successful at zoning, he didn't know. All he knew was one moment he was desperately willing himself to disappear and then next Sasha was crouched down near him, gently offering the contact of his hand with Casey's arm. It was a neutral touch, neither scary nor soothing.

"Okay," he said. "They'll do their darndest not to hear anything."

Casey made himself look at his friend; he made himself talk. He said what came out of his mouth and that was the whispered, "Sasha...'m sorry."

Sasha didn't react visibly. "Sorry for what."

"I know you wanted everything to be okay now but I didn't know what else to do."

"Meaning what, Casey?"

He didn't sound angry, or upset, just patient. Just like Sasha.

Casey gulped it out: "Toldhimgottamove."

Sasha blinked. "Huh?"

"Told Zeke..." His breath hitched. "Moving out."

"What? Moving out...who?"

"Me," Casey said, on a sob. "I'm..uh...moving...out..."

"Out where?" Sasha wondered, then answered himself. "You mean out of this apartment?" There was a pause. "Why ever would you do that?"

"Are you mad?"

"Never mind that. Why do you want to move out?"

In some miraculous way, Sasha was helping Casey get the incipient madness under control. He didn't know why but he could almost speak in sentences, and starting out, he listened to himself, marvelling that he sounded so very contained all of a sudden. "I realized...Zeke and me, we've gotta be apart for a while. I don't want it to be any more mixed up."

"Is that why you had to see Yves?"

"Yes, and I — told Zeke. I told him." He laughed to himself. "It's funny, all of a sudden I don't feel anything. Nothing. Nothing at all — " He hiccoughed the laughs, wondering the strange honks being emitted by his throat.

Sasha suddenly seized him by the upper arms; Casey shrugged a bit more violently than he intended to. "No..."

"Oh," Sasha said, removing his hands.

At his tone, Casey met his eyes, and saw sadness there. "I don't want that — no touching now," Casey explained, trying to be straightforward about it.

"Okay."

"Sorry."

"No, no..." Sasha shook his head. "Casey."

"You can have Jerry over now."

Sasha's eyes grew huge. "What the fuck...? I don't care about that."

"Jerry does."

"Jerry cares about you — oh, god, please tell me you're not moving out because of that."

"No," Casey said. God, fuck, a moment ago he had been ready to panic and now he was almost dead inside, and it was so still and easy, but of course it couldn't last. "Not..." just "...that. I was afraid I would lose Zeke from being so crazy that I fuck him up more all the time, so I said I needed to move out. And than he got mad and he said it was over. And it makes sense, you know? I mean, who says you meet the guy you're always going to be with at nineteen? It's not very realistic. Stokely and Stan didn't — oh, Stokely says he and Stan are out having a beer. He must have told Stan it was over, because Stan called Stokely and told her...so she and Stan know it's over, and now you know. Maybe you could tell my dad for me."

He astonished himself. He was dry-voiced, dry-eyed.

"You know?" he added. "I think I want to go in my room...I mean your room, of course. I think I want to write a bit in my journal, maybe...maybe have a nap."

Sasha was staring at him. He almost wanted to chuckle, because Sasha looked more shocked than Casey had ever seen him. He was so white, his eyebrows looked like they'd been painted on. His mouth was a funny shape.

"Can I go have a nap?" Casey repeated.

"Why don't you just..." Sasha whispered. "Oh, kitten, I mean...shit. I don't know what to say."

"I know it's supper and I should eat, and it's kind of late for a nap and early for bed but I'm really tired. Okay?"

Not waiting for an answer, Casey started to stand, forcing Sasha to move quickly to get out of the way. Casey had to hunch slightly to avoid touching him.

He walked to the bedroom, very impressed with how mature he was being. He discovered his father and Jerry lingering in the hallway, standing near the bathroom door looking awkward and stupid, and he grinned at them before he made a left turn into Sasha's room. He laid himself on Sasha's bed and closed his eyes —

— and an instant later he jolted awake, not quite sure and not quite remembering what he had heard but knowing all the same that Zeke is here....Zeke is here... It was like he'd slept for a second or a century, he didn't know the time and the blood foamed into his head as he leaped up and off the bed, knocking his elbows and already-bruised knees against the walls but none of it deterred him. He had to get to Zeke.

But Sasha was there in the hallway, right in his path. "Casey — "

He ignored him, knowing that in this matter Sasha was not his ally and needing to be with Zeke as soon and as perfectly as possible, it was all he knew, the entire pulse of every fucking nerve-ending but he still had those fucking short legs that despite his best efforts had gotten him moving not quite fast enough and Sasha was now holding onto him, holding him back. Keeping him from Zeke while there was conversation going on around him, meaningless stuff, his father trying to be the elder of the group and then Zeke being Zeke.

"Don't — fucking — reason with me!" Casey heard. He struggled to get free of Sasha, who was holding him so hard that it hurt. Then it was, "Casey...want to talk to you," and Casey tried to get out a reply. All he managed was a grunt.

"Let me go — " he hissed, absolutely failing to be convincing however. Tears of desperation were rising, disbelief and grief that no one understood or would even listen.

"Zeke," Jerry was saying. "Listen, pal — "

"I'm not your pal and I want to talk to him."

"That ain't gonna happen."

"Why don't you just take a flying fuck!"

"Zeke, go find a place to sleep it off."

"Ask him what he wants!"

So now Jerry was half-wrestling and half-coaxing Zeke out the door, and in another second it would too late, but Casey couldn't move. He was forbidden to move.

"Casey? Casey, listen, it's not over, do you hear? I don't want it to be, I just want you to stay here — you're not leaving, I won't let you!"

Then Casey couldn't see Zeke. He heard himself moan, or whine maybe. His voice was rather useless.

"I won't let you!" Zeke's voice insisted. "Casey — you — get out of my way!"

This time, there was a slam.

Sasha's arms were an enclosure that Casey couldn't get free from. "Trust me, kitten, please."

"Let go!"

Far too late, Sasha released him, opening a space between them but still between Casey and the door. "You're not going to do something foolish like run out after him."

"Over my dead body," added Casey's father. He was, Casey realized, just inches away. Casey knew he would never make it to that door, let alone through it.

"But it's cold out — it's not fair, Sasha. This is where he lives."

"Not when he's the way he is, Casey."

"But..." Casey began. He had an image of Zeke outside with icy rain pouring on him, while Casey and his allies were cozy and warm inside. "It's cold."

"Jerry is with him, Jerry will take him somewhere..."

"S-Stokely's?"

"Yeah, that's a good idea. Maybe you should just go to bed now, kitten."

"No."

"You're exhausted. You slept right through dinner."

"But — "

He couldn't say, Zeke is going to be back. Zeke is going to come back and I have to be ready, or he'll call, he doesn't give up easy like that. Not nearly.

"Sasha's right," his father said.

"Don't you say that!" Casey yelled. He saw them trading looks of conspiracy and he added, "You have no right to keep us apart."

"Casey..." Sasha said, obviously out of arguments.

The phone rang. Casey made a break for it and his father grabbed him around the middle. Fury and panic erupted and Casey shouted, "Let me — !" The arms about him loosened but did not obey altogether; in the meantime, Sasha had found the phone and answered it himself.

"Hello...no, I will not let you talk to him...just find someplace to sleep it off, darling...yes, I know...I know."

There was a long pause. Casey could hear Zeke's voice raised in the background, ranting in best Zeke style, full of multi-syllabic insults.

"Please, Zeke," Sasha said then. "Just let us all off the hook for tonight. We'll pick up the fighting bright and early tomorrow, I promise. I just need to catch a few winks and you need to process about fifty beers."

The tirade continued.

Sasha spoke right over him. "Zeke, sweetheart...I hope you'll remember this tomorrow. I love you and it kills me seeing you like this...no, I do. You have to believe me. Now you go find someplace to shack up and come back early tomorrow. I'll make whatever you want for breakfast...steak? A whole cow if you want...okay. Night, baby." With Zeke still raving in the background, Sasha hung up.

Casey waited to be released, and when it didn't happen he flinched his way out of his father's hold. The air seemed to have thickened, making it a challenge to find his way to a chair. Both Sasha and his father watched him; he could feel their eyes, waiting for him to freak. They were poised with their comfort, ready to deploy it at a moment's notice..

"I did this to him," he tried.

Immediately, Sasha pounced. "You did not, kitten. Zeke has — "

"Don't do that."

"What?"

"Don't…make it all his fault."

Sasha was quiet. He moved closer and squeezed Casey's hand where it lay on top of the table. He said, "It's never just one person's fault."

"No, it's not," Casey agreed.

"Except when it is."

"Oh." I should be more upset than this, he thought. He was in shock, yes. That had to be it, why he didn't feel anything even though Zeke had just been forced from his own home, drunk and raving and out of control. "He said it wasn't over," Casey muttered.

"That's true," Sasha agreed.

"But in Yves' office, he said..."

"I wouldn't try to analyze it too much, kitten."

"You remember when Roy called?"

"What?"

"To tell me it was over?"

"Oh...yes, of course."

"Did my face look the same as it does now?"

A pause, then: "I don't know, kitten."

"I felt stupid...I still feel stupid. Like…if I had just said the right thing it would…it would be different." Casey chewed on a finger and eyed the other two men, verifying that they weren't attempting an approach right now. "I want Zeke to be okay."

"He will be. You did the right thing, Casey, only I…"

"You what?"

"I don't want you to leave here," Sasha announced.

"I know...and I don't want to...I want to stay here and go to school. I don't want…" His voice caught. He put his head down on his knees. "Oh, god."

"What?" Sasha sounded mildly alarmed. "What is it?"

"Oh, fuck."

"Casey, for god's sake, what?"

"I don't want to be with Zeke. I just…I thought I did, but I don't…I don't want to be with anyone." He jerked his head up, noticed that he was hyperventilating. "I don't want to be with anyone, Sasha."

"There's nothing wrong with that, Casey."

"Nothing wrong with that," Casey's father echoed.

"But there is because... I don't know how to do it, if Zeke….I mean, I'll die without him but I — don't — know — I — "

Sasha took a step forward, confidently putting a hand on Casey's shoulder. "Maybe a Xanax would be a good idea."

Casey shook his head.

"Sure it would."

"G-gone," Casey gulped.

"Gone? When did this happen?"

"I flushed them," his father said.

Sasha huffed and said, "I wish someone had mentioned this before so I could call Dr. Chakri and — okay, never mind. Try to breathe, kitten. If we need to we can try the paper bag trick."

"Can't breathe."

"Yes, you can."

"No." Casey grabbed at Sasha, who seemed to be trying to leave him too. "No."

"It's okay…here, talk to your dad for a second, kitten." Sasha directed Casey's flailing hand to his father. "Frank, just — "

"What do I do?"

"Talk to him, try to be calm. It's fine, it will pass. Talk to your dad, kitten. I'll be right back."

"Fuck you!" Casey declared, not sure what it had to do with anything, except that there was a terrible rage in him — that black, balled-up thing, that had to be rage.

"Love you too, kitten. Hang in there."

Somebody's arm was trying to crush him. "Don't!" he cried. "Can't breathe!"

"Sorry."

Casey shot up and started to pace because it felt better to walk for some reason, if he was walking his neurons must be firing, his heart must be beating so he couldn't be dying…or he could but he wasn't dead yet. Stay on his feet and stay alive…stay on his feet and stay alive. For some reason he suddenly had the idea that if he was screaming he couldn't be dying, it took oxygen to scream for one thing, so he was pacing and screaming and it felt good to scream so he just kept doing it, and pacing. Pacing and screaming.

"Oh, god, Casey," he heard his father cry. "Stop it. Stop it!"

But he was drowning it out, not wanting to hear it, screaming still, no words just sound. It felt like he was using parts of his body that hadn't been used in years, maybe his entire life. He only heard himself, nothing else, just him, just him until he realized he was too sore and tired and tired of himself to keep on going so then he was just standing there.

Breathing.

His father and Sasha were each several feet away, staring at him, grey- faced. Sasha was holding a washcloth in his hand, and he looked a bit silly.

"I…" Sasha mumbled. "What...?"

"Casey," his father whispered.

He was utterly exhausted. He started to kneel slowly, the idea being to lower himself gradually to the floor but his knees buckled. He landed with a wince, remembering all too keenly the incident earlier on the stairs, and just sat there panting slightly.

"Can I touch you now?" Sasha asked quietly.

Casey nodded. He would, after all, need some help to get up. "I'm sorry," Casey said as Sasha gently gripped his arm. "Did I break anything?"

"Just our eardrums. What do you want to do now?"

"Sleep…please."

"You got it." Sasha almost had to drag him up, his limbs were so atrophied. It was all he could do to take a step.

"So tired…"

"I'm not surprised."

"Dad — " Casey blurted.

"Yeah, Case."

"You okay?"

"Um…well, sort of, I…I guess."

Sasha drew him along, out of the dining area, down the hall. "I think I need to get to bed, too." He laughed briefly and started down the hall as though his back were hurting him, moving far too stiffly and slowly. Stopping unexpectedly, he asked, "You are crashing with me, right, kitten?"

Casey knew a command when he heard one, not that he needed to hear it. He was more than ready to lay down with Sasha and sleep for a year, but... "What about Jerry?" he asked.

"He's going home tonight...after he drops Zeke off."

"Where...?"

"At Stokely's."

"He's not going to be going anywhere tomorrow morning," Casey's father predicted.

"Maybe not, but we'll deal with it tomorrow..."

Suddenly, the very last thing possible happened — Sasha's voice broke. Casey looked at him in horror, saw him struggling to contain some emotion, his friend Sasha who was always emotional but somehow never out of control, his friend Sasha was falling apart and Casey had done this too. He opened his mouth to plead forgiveness.

But then Sasha tossed his hair and cleared his throat. He sighed, "After all, tomorrow is another day."

It had an ominous ring to it, to Casey's mind, yet he had nothing left with which to confront it. He took another step toward the bedroom, speaking over his shoulder. "Going to sleep now, Dad, okay?"

"Maybe...you should eat something before you go to sleep."

"I'm not hungry."

His father just nodded. "Okay. I'm going to hit the hay soon myself." He clapped a hand down on Casey's shoulder, briefly, then turned back towards the living room, in complete disregard of the fact that there was one entirely empty bed in the house.

As he was directed, Casey went in Sasha's room and sat on the bed while Sasha diverged in the direction of the bathroom to do Sasha-related things and Casey found that he didn't mind waiting. He knew Sasha would probably have a few words to say to him. About how he had wrecked everything, ruined everyone's lives and driven the most poised person he knew to despair and — and offer to cook foods that he hated, that was the worst yet. He was an endless burden, he was —

— he was looking up, staring into Sasha's eyes, and astoundingly, Sasha was smiling. Casey kept looking because he figured he had to be misinterpreting what he was seeing, and he almost bolted when Sasha's hands came at him. They clasped his cheeks, gently cupping his head while his tall friend bent at the waist and kissed him on the forehead. His lips were dry and soft against Casey's skin.

"You really are my hero," he said.

Casey tried to remain absolutely immobile, out of a suspicion that this was actually a nightmare and someone was going to run him into a flagpole at any moment. Sasha released him and sat down beside him, hugging him close without really waiting for any sign that it was okay, and Casey didn't mind at all.

"Hmm," Sasha sighed, resting his face against the crown of Casey's head.

"Sasha... Are you okay?"

Sasha moved his head. "What's that, kitten?"

"I, um...I wondered...are you okay?"

"Well, sure. Of course I was a bit distressed by Zeke busting in like that..." Sasha trailed off, and shedding his expression of composure, he admitted, "Yeah, I got kind of overwhelmed there for a second, what with everything that's happened today, but I'm really all right. The romantic part of me is sad, but mostly I'm impressed and relieved and happy. Really, Casey. I don't want you laying there listing your faults because it's just not true."

"Really?" Casey whispered.

"Really." Even in the dark Sasha's smile was brilliant. "I really believe that things are looking up."

"Do you think...do you think Zeke meant what he said?"

"Which part?"

"About...not wanting it to be over?"

"I know he doesn't want to lose you, kitten." Sasha paused, heaved a breath of pure emotion. "I know I don't want to lose you."

It was cowardly, but Casey closed his eyes and pretended he hadn't heard the last. "I'm so tired, Sasha."

"Yeah...me too." Sashed flopped on his back and sighed. "It's been an unbelievable day." He chuckled, briefly. "Unbelievable week."

Casey obligingly closed his eyes but there were voices waiting in the dark, Thomas and Officer Williams and Yves and Zeke, and Sasha's trying to rise above them all with you're my hero, which made Casey smile and it was like a switch got flipped, silencing all the rest of them, at least long enough for him to lose consciousness.

He slept hard at first, waking halfway through the night, never able to get back to sleep, so he laid there until it was at last daylight and his eyes were aching in their sockets. The digital clock calculated time silently, measuring his existence second by second. His fingers itched to write, but he feared disturbing Sasha so he waited until his tall friend finally rolled from the bed with a groan.

"Uh...gotta make the donuts," Sasha muttered.

"Huh?"

"You're too young," Sasha sighed. "God, I'm tired. Didn't get much sleep."

Casey heard a scratching on skin and figured he'd better not look. He rolled onto his side. His journal that was calling to him from the floor beside the bed.

"Seems like you were doing some tossing and turning too," Sasha added. When Casey didn't have an answer, there was another sigh, and the sound of his friend ambling from the room.

Casey immediately got out his journal. For long moments he lay on his stomach, holding his pen and waiting for the jumble to sort itself out. He wondered if the phone might not ring at any second, and his heart started to race. He quickly set his hand to the page.

Zeke got so wasted last night that Sasha wouldn't let him in the house. It doesn't feel fair. It can't be, and he wanted to tell me that it wasn't over, I remember, he said that. Maybe it wasn't just booze, maybe he meant it. Maybe if he said it to me today I could take back what I said too and it would all be okay again.

But look at what I did to him.

The next bit of words seemed to be blocked, and rather than try to write them down, Casey compressed them into a black blob on the page. Somewhat relieved by the sight of the ink soaking through the paper, he continued.

This has to be the one thing I can do for him. I'm so fucking weak! And not only because of that, because I know I don't really want him, I just want to use him because I'm afraid to be alone.

I need to do this for him. I'm so glad Sasha didn't let me talk to him last night, I totally would have caved. I still might. All I want is to be brave, just for once, but I'm not like that. I'm such a

He stopped. He stared blankly at the incomplete, empty space, at that word he wasn't supposed to write, that he hadn't written and didn't need to.

Well, it was time for a shower. He hurried, hating his own obviousness, his boringness on top of everything else he was or wasn't. Poor Yves, she was never going to get him sorted out, he thought, stripping and edging under the spray, turning the cold down to the point that the water was nearly scalding, and just standing there. The heat was so fucking good.

A violent shiver was driven out of him, and then another. He picked up the soap, and suddenly flashed back on one of those times in the shower, with Zeke, Zeke with hands on his hips, holding him, forcing his way into him, sometimes with a hand on his neck but still letting him fall when he fell...and that had hurt. Not just a little sore, it had really, really hurt, a lot like the last time they had sex, a lot like when he woke up that morning and it was like he had been ripped apart...

He found himself standing there, motionless in the tub and lightheaded from the heat.

"Fuck," he whispered, washing himself quickly and shutting off the water. It couldn't have been that long that he had been zoned, or someone would have gotten worried and intervened. Still...this wasn't supposed to happen anymore even if it didn't seem to hurt anyone...apart from his regular habit of hogging all the hot water.

A failure still, he got dry and dressed. He heard the doorbell and nearly panicked, but of course it was just Jerry. Zeke wouldn't ring to be let into his own apartment — but when the phone rang just minutes later, Casey skidded down the hallway, knowing that he would be way too late all the same.

Of course, Sasha had already answered. "Yes...hi, Stokely. Un-huh...oh, poor baby..."

Now Casey was standing directly in front of Sasha, who was doing something at the kitchen counter with strawberries and blueberries; glancing at the new arrival, Sasha put down the knife he had been holding and continued to converse.

"Oh. We were hoping to see him this morning but I guess..."

Casey felt certain that he was about to do something very rude and typically crazy, such as grab for the phone, try to snatch it from Sasha's grasp, but reading him easily, Sasha put out a hand and firmly gripped his shoulder, keeping him at bay, all the while wearing a perfectly nonchalant expression.

"All right...well, have him call as soon as he feels better. Thanks, Stokely."

Sasha listened to something that Stokely said, nodded as though she could actually see it.

"What is it?" Casey begged. "What's wrong, is he okay, I need to talk to him — "

And then he did grab for the phone, seeing Sasha thumb the button that disconnected him from Zeke.

"Why did you do that?" he demanded, his voice shrill. "You have no right — "

"Casey," Sasha said, and the tone immediately settled a silence upon him.

Casey tried to be still, and to breathe, in that order.

"Zeke has a hangover, not that it's a surprise. He's in bed and he's not going anywhere today."

Casey put a hand over his mouth, containing himself until the tide had subsided and he could speak normally. "Oh." He imagined they could all, in another second, get a pretty fucking good view of him going to pieces. "I think I need a shower."

"You just had one, kitten."

"So," he muttered.

Sasha appealed openly but silently to Jerry, who had been on-hand the entire time.

"No time," put in Casey's father suddenly, his voice booming from behind. "You have an appointment."

Casey didn't see the clock but he knew his father was right, and he was far from dreading that appointment, come to think of it.

"Hey," Jerry said, his tone insanely bright. "After your appointment...how about I take us all out for brunch? I'm in the mood to celebrate."

"Cel - celebrate?" Casey echoed.

"Sasha and I have a whole two weeks off, you know."

"Why?"

"The restaurant closed. It's like our holiday, once New Year's past..." Jerry smiled. "So what do you say?"

"S-say?"

"To brunch," Jerry reiterated, with no hint of impatience.

"I have to go see Yves."

"Yes, I know...but after that...?"

"Oh...kay." Recalling that his father was somewhere in his vicinity, Casey turned a half circle, searching. "Dad?"

"Sounds good to me," his father said, and just like Jerry, sounded far too cheerful about a mere meal.

Knees trembling, Casey found a chair and sat. So this was to be his life. Full of male company but devoid of Zeke.

"Kitten? "

"I'm going in a few minutes."

"I know...just let me wash my hands."

"I can go to Yves by myself."

"Huh? No way."

"Sasha." Casey remembered to look up, to meet Sasha's eyes. "You can trust me."

"And after?"

"You can meet me outside the building...or I'll meet you at the diner or wherever we're going."

Sasha seemed to consider it. His eyes seemed to flicker in Jerry's direction once or twice as he did, but then he said, "No. I'm sorry, kitten. I believe you but you'll just have to humor me. Yesterday is too close. I'll go with you and wait in the reception area."

Casey groused, "You can't do that every day."

"No, I can't. But today I need to. Just tolerate me, all right?"

Casey did his best to quash a plethora of reactions, many of them immature and unjust. "Okay," he managed. He even managed to sound like he wasn't suffocating. Anticipating and foreclosing on Sasha, he made certain not to stomp to the front hall, to collect his jacket and put on his sneakers like someone who was almost twenty. "I'll be outside," he said mildly, daring Sasha to challenge it.

Sasha didn't react, that he saw.

The damp, mid-morning air was like a revelation of freedom; it had never smelled or tasted so good. The air felt so good, so clean and uncomplicated, except perhaps by the chemicals that he didn't see or smell that polluted him, but why dwell on that? Breathing it in, Casey stood at the bottom of the stairs eyeing the passers by on the sidewalk. They didn't inspire him with confidence in his safety, but that would be asking far too much. At least they didn't look unduly threatening.

You have nothing to fear from us,

A passing male, a large, rather stocky fellow, caught Casey's eye and smiled. Just a tiny smile in passing, a recognition of another human being. In fact, a lot of them seemed to be smiling when they saw him. We know who you are, they claimed. You are ours but we won't hurt you.

"No," he muttered. "Not yours."

Footsteps clattered behind him. "What?" Sasha said.

Casey didn't turn; he just stood and breathed. There were aliens everywhere, of course, but somehow it was okay, probably because Zeke had left him and there was nothing left to fear. Nothing really mattered all that much.

"What is it, kitten?"

"Sasha," Casey said, glancing sideways as Sasha came up alongside him. "You know what?"

"What?"

"I'm actually glad to be outside."

Sasha smiled. "I'm glad you're glad."

Ten minutes into their walk, Sasha spoke up.

"Casey."

"Yeah."

"Zeke said something last night..."

Zeke had said a lot of things. "Yeah."

"Like... he doesn't want it to be over."

"I heard."

"Well, I just wasn't sure... What are you going to tell him if he says that tomorrow?"

"I don't want it to be over, Sasha. I just can't be with him right now is all."

In profile, Sasha held his breath before asking, "May I ask why?" Casey gave him a long sideways look and he added, "I believe you're right, I just want to hear your reasons."

"Because...I don't want it to be over."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"I'm a mess, and I'm making him a mess. If I ever want to have him back, it has to be over for now."

Sasha was silent for a bit. Step. Squish. Slide. Step. "How can you be trying to get the phone from me one second and then half an hour later say things like that?"

"I don't know." Casey dodged a puddle. "I don't know...it's when he's around, I just...lose it. I'd do anything he wanted." He stopped walking. "I'd do anything."

Sasha gently urged him forward with a hand on his shoulder. "I'll keep getting between you then."

Casey nodded.

"Now you see why you should stay with me, kitten?"

Withholding his real response, Casey answered, "It's not like I want to move out."

"Then don't! I'm sure Zeke will understand."

"I can't ask him, I can't, I've been rotten enough — "

"Well, then." Sasha steered Casey right when he would have continued on straight. "Maybe someone will have a few words with him."

"Sasha, no — "

"Shush, kitten. Just let me try to fix this."

You're always trying to fix everything and I wish you'd stop, Casey didn't say. He beat a path through some slush and didn't say another word until he got all the way to the building, where fortunately he barely had to wait before he was shown into Yves' office. He did not collapse into his usual crouch, but went to stand at the window, staring out. Like it wasn't enough that Sasha pestered him into eating and sleeping and revealing things —

"Well, Casey...how are things since yesterday?"

"I wish I would disappear."

"How so?"

"Wish I could disappear like I'd never existed, then I'd never've been such a nuisance and ruined everyone's lives."

"Tell me how you've ruined everyone's lives."

He turned from the window, trying not to look as though she were an idiot because it was so very, very obvious. "Okay. I didn't ruin their lives but they'd all have been better off."

"There's this kind of famous movie — "

"It's a Wonderful Life, yeah, I know it but that movie's really just all about making George Bailey feel okay with being trapped."

"Is it?"

"Yeah, it's dressed up as this holiday movie but the point of all the spiritual crap is to make us believe that sacrifice is good."

"Okay, maybe I picked the wrong example. I thought everyone liked that movie."

"Oh, I love it." Casey rubbed his eyes. "Sorry. You were going to make a point about how everything would have been different and worse if I hadn't been born."

"Well, for one thing, I might be a part of the Borg hive by now."

He gaped. She was a grandmother, wearing pink polyester today, and then she went and said stuff like that?

"Yes, Casey, I'm familiar with the concept of the Borg," Yves said, sounding amused. "But you see my point?"

"Someone else would have gotten the job done if I hadn't."

"Are you sure?"

"What," Casey argued, "So they picked the one town in all the world with the one person who could defeat them?"

And at the same moment, in his head there was a whisper: Or maybe they just picked her successor Probably best that he didn't share that one with her, especially since he wasn't entirely sure why he was thinking it. He only knew that at some point — and he didn't know if it was weeks, months or even years ago — he'd gotten this idea that maybe he'd been more to Mary Beth than just her murderer. Not that he could have said why it was important to him. He just knew that it was, and while he'd shared it with Thomas yesterday, he doubted that any of the sane people in his life should hear about it. Only Thomas.

"Why not?" Yves had replied to him. "Anyway, it doesn't matter how it happened, the fact is that you did an amazing thing. You saved a lot of people...including Zeke."

He realized that he was crying — again. "I wasn't going to do this," he said angrily.

She didn't comment.

He lamented, "I didn't save Zeke, I fucked him over and he's — he's so hungover today he can't even — can't even — get out of bed — "

"Casey, why don't you sit down?"

He accepted the invitation, and the box of Kleenex which Yves handed to him without expression.

"Now," she said. "Did you force Zeke to drink the alcohol?"

"No, but — "

"Did you force him to like you and spend time with you?"

"Kind of — no, I mean — no — "

"Did you force him to move to Seattle with you?"

"I guess not."

"What do you say we let him be responsible for his own life...and his own hangover?"

"But..." Casey blew his noise and crumpled the tissue in his hand. "I made him miserable, and I'm still doing it."

"It sounds like you're still resolved to move out, then."

Casey abused his tissue some more. "I'm not resolved. I'd — Sasha is trying to convince me to stay — he wants Zeke to move out — and I'd give him anything — "

"You mean Zeke?"

"Yeah."

"So if he busted through the door right now and said, ‘it's not over, Casey...'"

"He already tried that last night."

"What happened?"

"I was ready to give in — they kept us apart."

"Who?"

"Sasha, Jerry...my dad."

"Are you relieved they did that...or would you rather they hadn't?"

The tissue was nearly shredded now.

"Relieved, I guess," Casey replied. "I don't know."

"Casey, what do you think is the best course of action right now?"

"Zeke and I...need to be apart for a while but I...I'm afraid, I can't say no to him and what if once we're apart I don't...I don't really want to be with him...anymore..."

He fell silent, astonished by what had fallen from his own lips.

"Say that again, Casey."

"I don't think I can."

"Sure you can."

"What if..." he whispered, and sniffed. He tried to use the tissue one last time and gave up. "What if I find out that I really don't want to be with him at all... "

"Do you think...maybe that's what you're really afraid of? That you just want to be Casey, on your own, without Zeke or anyone else?"

He stared at his hands.

"Casey?"

He put the wad of tissue on the table in front of him.

"Casey."

"Yes," he whispered.

"And...?"

"I can't stay with Zeke and fuck him up anymore. I can't use him like I've been."

"Do you think you can explain that to him?"

"I...fuck..."

"Go on."

"I can't tell him that."

"Don't you think you owe it to him?"

"Doesn't matter... I can't."

"Well...how about we try and create a strategy to help you with that. We could come up with something and write it down. You keep it with you, read it aloud to him if you have to."

"I don't...really want to."

"Why not?"

"It feels silly."

"Believe it or not, this is how we progress, Casey, by doing these silly exercises."

He held out with silence as long as he could, until he had to admit that she was still waiting for his answer. "Okay," he said, at last.

"So, Zeke is standing in front of you and you feel completely free to say whatever you need to him. What would you say?"

"I wouldn't. I would choke."

"You don't have anxiety in this scenario, Casey. Your head is completely clear and you can say just what you want to tell him."

"What I think I need to say?"

"Exactly."

"Um...okay..."

She waited, wearing a patient expression.

"I...I would tell him...I'm doing this for him..."

"Yes?"

"See, this is the part where he interrupts me with something like ‘fucking bullshit, Casey.'"

Yves smiled faintly as she replied, "But he's not saying that. He's just listening."

"Oh." Casey licked his lips. "I say...I know this situation isn't fair, but that's why we have to...not live together." His hands had formed themselves into fists, and he had to resist the desire to use them on himself. "That doesn't make any sense! I'm trying to tell him that I owe it to him to move out."

"Why do you owe it to him?"

"Because he's given me so much, he's taken care of me and if he's miserable it's because of me. I've worn him down, and so he's the one who helped me get to this point, he helped me know...like I can't stand to be touched right now, I don't want to be in a relationship at all, and that's why it's not fair...but if we stay together, it will only get worse, and I don't want it to get worse. I want Zeke to be happy, and...and...I don't know if I...I mean, I want to be able to know that what I think I feel is really what I feel, and that I'm...shit, I mean...he deserves that. So I have to do this, even if he hates me for it. And it's for me, too, because I..." He looked up at Yves, nodding slowly, reluctantly and painfully as he whispered, "I need to — to not b-be with him — for a while."

Yves considered him for what felt like a long moment before replying. "That's pretty good," she said only.

"It is?"

"Of course. It's honest."

"It feels..." Scary, like he was saying things that couldn't possibly be the truth, like they were just noises that came out and couldn't ever be taken back. "... like a big mess."

"Well, feelings don't generally come out in the form of Shakespearean soliloquies. The important thing is that you try to express them, and you can't assume that Zeke is going to hear all this and just say, ‘all right, Casey, I see now. I'm hurt but I understand.' The problem with asserting yourself is that there's no guarantee that the other person will respond just the way you want. In Zeke's case..."

Casey barked a laugh, the only response he had at the moment. "Perfect."

"I'm sorry, Casey."

"It's okay. It's not your fault."

"Now do you want to try to write down what you just said?"

"And do what with it?"

"When you see Zeke and your anxiety perhaps takes over, you read it aloud to him if you have to."

Casey didn't quite manage to keep back a scowl, and Yves chuckled.

"I can see what your opinion is of that, and maybe it feels artificial, but it's a way of ensuring that Zeke hears what you really feel, expressed in a way that's not confrontational. I'm sure you know that when two people start arguing, they get pushed into corners and — "

" — and say things we don't really mean?" Casey supplied.

"Right."

"And when I get nervous...I can't think, and then all sorts of crap comes out."

"Which is what you want to avoid."

"Or nothing comes out — Dr. Yves?"

"Yes?"

"Sometimes when it gets like that, I feel like there's this big..." Casey searched for words, and gave up. "...a big thing inside, like this feeling that's really big and weird and complicated and I think there's really no way to put it into words. I used to tell Zeke that and he'd get mad. He thinks everything can be explained in words but I don't know...what do you think?"

"What do I think?" Dr. Yves clasped her hands on her lap. "What do you think, Casey?"

Casey let himself scowl for the second time within minutes. "I just told you what I think."

She gave him the point with a nod. "Fair enough. Well, I tend to think more like Zeke. I have to, or I wouldn't be in this line of work, Casey. I think we can make a reasonable attempt to describe and express most feelings, or at least...we have to make the effort. But at the same time, I think the human heart is a marvellously complex and wonderful thing and I'm glad it is. I think I'd be pretty foolish to assume that I could ever get a complete handle on it. I'd rather think that there are parts of the human soul that aren't really my province. Does that answer your question, Casey?"

He felt something inside him relax for the first time since — well, perhaps for the first time ever but certainly since this morning when he had zoned and then outside the apartment, breathing the clean air and wondering if all the aliens wouldn't rather worship him than destroy him. He didn't want to have to tell her things that he didn't understand himself, things that he didn't particularly want to understand. Something told him that there were always going to be ideas and thoughts and moments that he wanted just to have...not to analyze.

"Yeah," he whispered.

"Were you worried that you would have to tell me absolutely everything, Casey?"

"Maybe."

"That's not my job, Casey. I'm not here to search out and destroy every last little thing that makes you unique. There may be things that you never need to tell me because they don't get in the way of you living a healthy, full life. The key is in understanding the difference. You follow me?"

"Yes," he said.

"I thought you would," she said, and smiled. "Now, having said that, can we agree to trying to explain some of Casey to Zeke?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to write down what you just explained to me and then we can go over it together? We only have about fifteen minute left."

"Okay."

Those minutes flew by as he struggled to contain the feelings in written form and in the end she had to pronounce that his statement seemed suitable. Then there was nothing for him to do but to fold it in half, then in quarters, and put it into his jeans pocket — until he recalled Sasha, waiting for him out in the reception area. And his father, waiting at home.

"Dr. Yves."

"Yes, Casey."

"I forgot to tell you before...um my dad's leaving tomorrow."

"Yes...are you going to miss him?"

"Yeah, I think so. But his plane leaves in the morning."

She nodded, looking up from her calendar and giving him her full attention. "Do you want to go to the airport with him?"

"Kinda..."

"Okay, well how about this? We'll skip tomorrow so you can go to the airport with your dad. And I think it will be good for you to have that talk with Zeke before you and I see each other again."

He shivered.

"You will handle it, Casey. You can handle it."

He wasn't so sure.

"You don't think so?"

"I...I don't even know if I can move out. And I know we don't really have any time but..."

"Yes?"

"I don't know what to do about Sasha."

"What do you mean?"

"He doesn't want me to move out."

She got on her feet, clearly preparing to show him out. "That's not surprising."

"I don't know what to do. He's such a good friend and — and I'm scared of not having him around."

"Well, Casey, I don't know what to tell you. I know Sasha feels very responsible for you but you can't control that. The only thing you can control is what you do, and Sasha will respect your choice, I'm sure."

"I'm not so sure," Casey mumbled.

"What's that?"

"I don't know what he'll do. He seems to — to need to take care of me."

"Hmm," Dr. Yves said only. "I'm sorry, Casey, but this really deserves a longer discussion. We'll try to deal with this on Friday if we can, but one thing at a time, right?"

He nodded, trying not to look glum.

Down the hall Sasha was waiting, with an oddly hopeful expression, like maybe he hoped that Yves had told Casey to give up the mad idea of moving out. Casey had nothing of the kind to offer.

They returned home, where they collected Jerry and Casey's father, then headed across the street to the Bayview. Jerry seemed like he might have wanted to debate it, to argue for something a little more upscale but after a quick glance at Casey's father, he relented without a word, and Casey was relieved. He didn't want anything else new this morning. The diner was as close to secure as any place outside the apartment could get.

Still it didn't exactly feel safe, sitting there with Sasha, Jerry and his father, and without Zeke. He tried not to dwell on it, spending most of his time watching his father, wondering if his father would really get on that plane tomorrow. A part of him said don't go and a part of him contradicted with yes, go. Mostly, yes, go had the upper hand. He wanted his father to go home now, feeling content with his part in things over the past several days.

Jerry had actually managed to persuade Casey's father to try something as exotic as a smoked salmon omelet. His father had pronounced it "decent", something of a triumph for Jerry. It was also something of a triumph that Jerry and Sasha were holding each other's hands lightly on top of the table, and the man barely seemed to notice, or at least he was working hard at not noticing. He didn't, however, fail to notice Casey watching him.

"Something the matter?" he said to Casey unexpectedly, causing Jerry and Sasha to snap looks at him.

"Nothing..." Casey cast a look at his waffles. He heard his father snort and looked up. "Dad."

"Yeah."

"It's okay."

"What's okay?" his father said, glancing at the other two men, his cheeks pinking.

"I mean, don't worry about me."

His father snorted again, a bit more forcefully this time. "Well, I am going to worry. Parents' prerogative."

Casey had no response to that. He dug out a chunk of waffle and chewed it.

"I'll worry the whole time between now and the end of the month," his father added, "when your mom and I get back here for that visit."

It was clunky, but Casey heard what his father was attempting. He nodded and smiled a little.

Eventually, there was some discussion over what to do with the day. Casey endured it for a while, then managed to drop in the suggestion that he'd like to stay home, and his father immediately concurred. Casey was rational enough to know that Zeke wouldn't show up, but the larger part of him, which was not at all rational, thank you very much, was convinced that he needed to be at home, just in case.

So while Sasha and Jerry made the daily run to their favourite grocery store — Sasha wanted to pick up items not only for supper but for the breakfast he'd promised Zeke, now postponed to tomorrow — Casey and his father went to Video Now and Then to rent some movies.

"Casey!" Dmitri greeted him when he walked in. "Long time no play game!" He examined Casey critically, no doubt noticing that he wasn't entirely healthy in overall appearance and demeanour, but he said only, "How are you?"

"I'm good."

"And your Christmas?"

"It was...an adventure." Casey shifted his body slightly to indicate his father. "Dmitri, this is my dad. He's visiting."

"Good to meet you!" The two men shook hands. "Casey and I have a little challenge going, Mr. Connor. I try to find movies he hasn't seen and we keep track...he seems to win free rentals from me every month."

"Oh," Casey's father said. "So...he's seen a lot of them, huh?"

"More than me, that's for sure." Dmitri smiled broadly. "Seriously, he's amazing, your son. I don't know how someone so young found the time."

Casey shrugged and stared at the floor.

"Okay!" Dmitri exclaimed. "I'll leave you alone, you probably want to browse, eh? Good to see you, Casey. Oh, and Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year to you too," Casey mumbled, taking a few steps away from him, towards the displays. "Um...so, Dad, what do you want to watch?"

"Oh, I don't care."

"Okay..." Casey returned, like he didn't care except that he did and before he could know he was going to do it or otherwise take steps to stop it, annoyance mingled with curiosity compelled him to say, "But Dad, aren't there any movies that you like?"

"It doesn't matter."

"But I want to know. It's your last night here, we should do something fun for you."

His father had the look of a pinned rabbit. "Casey, you know I'm kind of...well, I don't really think much about movies."

This statement drew a glance from Dmitri that Casey was careful not notice. "Oh, come on," Casey urged.

His father scowled, then looked a bit furtive, then finally ventured, "I've always kind of wanted to see..."

"Yeah?"

"There's this movie about baseball."

Casey heard Dmitri made a tiny sound. "Un-huh. More detail, Dad."

"There's a corn field — "

"You haven't seen it?" Casey blurted in disbelief, then curbed himself. "Yeah, we could get that one."

"What about — Sasha and Jerry?"

Casey shrugged. "I think they like that one."

His father raised his brows in exaggerated dismay. "Uh-oh...well, then...maybe I had better not watch it." And he grinned, and Casey realized that his father was attempting a Gay Joke. He laughed, although he would really rather have hugged him.

Dmitri excavated Field of Dreams for them and they returned to the apartment. En route, Casey managed to keep up the mood, kidding to his father that after the football game at the end of the month, his father was going to owe him at least three gay entertainments and giggling at the expression on his father's face at the word "entertainments". The man nodded agreement even though he apparently thought he was agreeing to some sort of cross-dressing cabaret.

Surreal didn't cover it.

Then there was the idea, the fact of spending the rest of the day peacefully hanging out, being enlisted by Sasha as usual in the cooking as though idle hands made for depressive thoughts and the mere prospect of pounding and rolling chicken was enough to stave it off, later sitting down to a meal of stuffed chicken breasts with a rice-shaped pasta called orzo that Casey had never seen before, plus roasted vegetables and strawberries dowsed in some sort of orange custard sauce for dessert. Sasha claimed that it was a classic but Casey didn't care, all he knew was it was delicious, and he ate half the bowl himself. Then they were sitting down to watch Field of Dreams and Casey wondered what kind of monster he was now that he could enjoy this day — ostensibly one of the worst days of his life — knowing that it was definitely one of the worst days of Zeke's life, that Zeke was at Stokely's being sick and miserable. He felt vaguely like he should be suffering too, and he could easily let himself get worked up by thinking about his imminent move from this cozy setting...but then he would remember that he really needed to put on a good show for his father. His father wouldn't feel good about leaving tomorrow if Casey was a mess.

And like Yves had said, it wasn't like Casey had sat on Zeke and poured the alcohol down his throat. In truth, whenever Casey thought about Zeke being that sick, there was a rush of emotion, stuff that seemed to fit the description of worried, disgusted and disappointed, and if he really thought about it — which he was not going to do, no. He couldn't afford to feel angry when he finally did confront Zeke, so he was not fucking angry. He was not.

Well, one thing was for sure, he was sitting down to watch this movie with entirely the wrong frame of mind. In his head was a kind of knotted up little black mess, but there was nothing he could do about it until he actually got to talk to Zeke. So Costner's good ‘ole American charm bugged him, the censorious townspeople enraged him and the whole father-son shtick was just too obvious...and that sentimental baseball crap was...just crap. He kept it to himself, though, and focussed on how much his father had seemed to enjoy it. So much, in fact, that Casey detected tears in his father's eyes as the credits rolled.

Casey didn't want to deal with those tears, which he supposed made him a selfish monster all over again. In fact, Casey wanted nothing but to retreat to bed. He made a show of yawning, not that it was difficult.

And Sasha was nothing if not predictable. "Tired, kitten?"

He nodded. "I'm going to go to bed."

"Okay..." Sasha was standing up, as though Casey needed an escort. He took a step in Casey's direction, looked down at Jerry, then stopped. "Well...good night. Sleep well."

"G'night."

Jerry and Casey's father added to the chorus. Casey waved in their direction and beat a path to the bedroom. Pulling off his clothes and slipping into sweats and a t- shirt, he threw himself on Sasha's bed. After a moment of quiet, close-lidded contemplation, he turned to his journal.

I really do love Sasha, but sometimes I get this feeling when I'm around him, like I can't breathe, I mean different from the usual. He's so sweet and good but does he always have to be in my space? I mean

I can't believe I just wrote that. I like having Sasha around and he wouldn't be so

Casey floundered for a word.

parental if I hadn't given him a reason to think I liked it. I guess I do like it. I just don't know if I can take all the cuddling right now.

I guess it's pretty obvious now that I don't want any touching for a while. They all think it's because of what Roy and Janice did but I think it started before that. It's something that's a part of me. It's that thing that makes me want whatever I can get, and it makes me trouble, everyone sees it and they have to answer, to try and make it go away and it makes them crazy too so then they start hurting me.

I know what you'd probably say now, Yves, but this is my fucking journal.

I guess I decided at some point to go with this thing but I don't remember when. I just know it's how I got Roy and Zeke to want me but after a while it hurts too much. It gets out of hand.

I'm so sorry, Zeke. I can't help it. Give me time and I'll work harder at loving you. I'll try so hard, I promise. Just let me be for now.

Casey rested his head on his journal and sighed.

"Everyone just let me be," he whispered.

Waking the next morning, he was taken aback to discover that he felt rested — a surprise considering the kind of days he was having — and not only that, he was hungry. In fact, it was the hunger that finally moved him to roll over and be awake. Even so, the bed felt so good he didn't want to move. He lay there with his hand over his eyes until he drowsed, and slept again. This time he dreamt. His father and Sasha were running away together and they were talking about what to pack.

" — him up. Casey."

Sasha wanted to pack his silk shirt and his father kept insisting that it was too gay for where they were going.

"Casey."

"Umm."

"Cay-see…"

"I'm sleeping," he mumbled.

"It's time to get up."

"No, it's not."

"But we have to leave for the airport soon."

Casey sat up immediately, making white sparks cluster in his vision for a second. "Why didn't you say so?"

"I just did."

There was a massive crust of sleep around his eyes. Casey rubbed at it, yawning. "What time is it?"

"Nine-ish."

"Did Zeke call?"

"Not yet. Are you coming to the airport?"

"Yeah. Shower?"

"It's all yours, kitten, but make it quick. We have to hit the road shortly."

"His plane's not until eleven-thirty — "

"But if we don't leave in fifteen minutes your dad will pop a vein. He's loading his luggage into the car even as we speak."

"Okay," Casey sighed. "Um...you think Zeke won't mind — ?"

"If we use his car?" Sasha looked innocent. "When has he ever minded?"

"It's... kind of different this time."

"Yeah, well...what he doesn't know won't hurt him, right? Come on, kitten...chop, chop."

Casey was dressed and showered in twelve minutes, including the few that he lost to the siren call of the hot water, to the momentary fantasy that he could dissolve and join with the flow, catching himself just as the droplets blurred. Next time, he had promised them, smiling as they ran softly over his face. After all, no one had to know what he did as long as he kept to task and to schedule. Funny, that hadn't occurred to him before. He didn't have to stop zoning if he didn't want to. If he did what was expected of him and didn't let anyone else see when he didn't, it wouldn't do him any harm. It was his, just for him.

Okay. Wash his hair, dry off, get dressed. Easy.

"Did Zeke call while I was in the shower?" he asked, joining his father and Sasha in the entranceway. His father frowned at the question.

"No," Sasha said. "Why don't you bring your cell, kitten, and phone from the car?"

"It's probably dead." He couldn't think of the last time he'd seen it in fact.

"No, it's on top of the microwave. It's been charging for about a month."

"Oh." He retrieved it, and then his shoes, jamming his feet into them as always, without untying them. "Let's go."

Sasha raised an eyebrow, for some reason. "All right, then."

They clambered down the stairs and Casey's mind was full of all the things he should but couldn't say to Zeke, nothing at all useful…but his father, there were things to be said there too. He thumbed the plastic cover on his phone all the way to the airport, reminding himself every few minutes that he had to think about his father's needs too, at least for a solid hour.

When they arrived, Sasha dropped them at departures and went to park the Mustang, leaving a deliberate and blatant opening for a father and son chat. They didn't speak until after Casey's father had gotten checked in, his luggage disposed of for the time being. "You…want to get a coffee?" his father asked then. "I have an hour before boarding."

"Um...okay."

The found a Starbucks on the concourse; Casey ordered a chai while Frank Connor told the bemused girl behind the counter, "I just want ordinary coffee...Do you have ordinary coffee?" With tight lips, the barista served him the lightest roast available, and Casey and his father found a seat.

"Well," said his father, fiddling with his cup, not drinking anything.

"Well," Casey echoed.

"I'm always early for planes. I don't know why."

"You're early for everything," Casey informed him. "You're a compulsive early guy."

"Compulsive..." His father wore a pensive expression. "Is that something you've learned...?"

"Not really."

"It doesn't matter. I was just wondering." With a cough, his father forged on. "I guess...you…I mean…are you going to be okay?"

"Sure."

"Really."

His father was staring at him strangely; Casey didn't have an interpretation for it. "I think," he answered. "Yeah."

"Because I need to know that."

Casey forced himself to look into his father's eyes. "I'm sorry, I can't go back to Herrington, Dad."

"It was wrong of me to ask."

"I don't think it was wrong." Casey sighed. "It's good to know…" He forced himself to say the frightening, exposing words. "...that you want me there."

"Well, of course I want you there!"

Now Casey felt like tears were a strong possibility and yet, for once, it was a possibility that could still be averted. "I didn't think you did…for a long time."

"I know." His father cleared his throat. "I'm sorry for that…sorry…for everything, Case."

Casey shook his head. "Not for everything."

His father offered a tentative smile in return. "Okay…not everything."

"Dad, I'm really glad you were here…you know, the other night and everything…and yesterday."

"I'm glad I was here too." His father looked up suddenly like he wanted to ask a question, then down just as quickly.

"What is it, Dad?"

"Um…"

"What?"

"I want to ask a question."

"Yeah."

"I know it's wrong, but I still want to ask it."

"Might as well, then." Casey braced himself for pain.

"If I was different…if I showed you more attention when you were small…do you think you would still be gay?"

Casey made himself gaze back at his father with composure. No anger, no laughter, he ordered himself. Just answer. "Yes, dad. I was always gay. It wasn't something you did."

His father sighed. Casey saw the other, more damning questions in his eyes and hoped that his father would never have the courage to ask them. He didn't think he could lie sufficiently to tell his father what he wanted to hear.

His father suddenly smacked the table with his open palm. "Damn!"

"Wh-what?" Casey stammered, decided that there would be no defending of his lifestyle if that was what his father wanted from him now. He saw people looking at them and the air in his throat began to thicken, labouring past his lips.

"I feel like I'm supposed to give you some piece of fatherly wisdom here but I've got nothing!" His father slammed the table again, only slightly less violent about it, and more desperate. "I've never had to...you always figured things out on your own."

Perhaps because of the urgency of the moment, Casey made a conscious effort to analyze it, not that it was difficult. His father had always been a bit of an open book, even if it was a book that Casey didn't have much affinity with. So then, all his father's doubts about himself were coming to a head, crashing in on his unimaginative head. It would have been much easier on him had he stayed at home because he would never have had to see his son cowering on the floor in the bathroom or have had to know just how bad it could get. And now he had to leave. It wasn't fair to him.

"You — you said some pretty good stuff," Casey offered.

"Oh, yeah? When?"

"Oh, at Christmas…you said I shouldn't panic every time my wheels…every time they fishtail."

His father scowled. "So? I was talking about driving."

"But it's still good advice."

"I meant it literally, Casey."

"Still."

His father shook his head, and then unexpectedly, he smiled.

Just then, Sasha came out of nowhere, his voice preceding him. "There you two are!" His long body filled the nearest plastic chair. "I thought you might have already gone through, Frank."

"Not yet."

"Ah…good." Sasha folded his hands on the table. "You'll be back at the end of the month, right?"

"Yeah. With Allison…" Casey's father looked at him. "But I'm not sure where we'll…where we'll be staying."

"Oh." Sasha looked dejected. "Right." He sent a furtive glance at Casey, and Casey recalled that he had a problem bigger — or at least equal to — Zeke's resistance to his moving out.

Being asleep had hurt, being awake had hurt. Breathing — hurt. All day he had barely moved his head and he had tried to be absolutely still for fear of vomiting for the fiftieth time. In fact, he had vomited repeatedly, and his throat was raw. He asked for water and it was brought to him by Stokely which was when he figured out that he must be at her apartment. After he'd drunk it, he had rushed to the bathroom to throw it up. It had even crossed his mind that he had alcohol poisoning and he would have considered going to the hospital if he could have moved.

One thing he knew: He was done never going to drink again. He was done with alcohol.

He heard Stokely moving about the apartment long before he was ready to admit that he was awake. It sounded like someone showering and getting dressed, ordinary things...things that Zeke thought he might like to try. He experimented first with moving, turning his head and when that passed without incident he upgraded to a full roll. No nausea threatened, and his head wasn't at risk of falling off his neck. He was, however, desperately filthy and empty. He needed water, food, a cigarette...

Casey, it was Casey he needed.

But still, a shower would be a good start, get himself clean and in reasonably decent shape with a meal in his belly and ten or so servings of nicotine, and then he would find a way to go back to the apartment, to talk to Casey, hopefully without the entire world watching.

As he sat up, the sofabed creaked. Almost on the instant, Stokely appeared. "Zeke?"

He smacked his lips. It tasted like he'd been shitting out his mouth. "Yeah."

"You okay?"

"Sorta. Need a shower."

"Right," Stokely agreed, as though it was the very least of her thoughts on the subject. Zeke knew he stank, so he didn't really feel like he should explore her comment.

He pushed with his hands to get himself out of the rather saggy sofabed, finding his feet with a bit of a sway. He found that Stokely was still there, watching him.

"Okay?" she said.

"Yup. Full steam ahead."

"You scared me yesterday, Zeke."

He nodded. "I know."

He'd scared himself. He'd never felt so awful — never. For a good part of the day, he'd been unable to keep down water.

"Um..."

"Yeah?"

"Casey called."

"When?"

"An hour or so ago. They dropped his father off at the airport."

Zeke felt a petty glow of satisfaction at that statement, at the idea that there was at least one less contender for Casey's affection.

"He said call him as soon as you're up...and cleaned up."

"He said that?"

Stokely rolled her eyes. "Okay, I added that last part."

Zeke thought he had better humour his hostess, not that it was difficult. He was offended by his own filth, so he could only imagine how bad it was for her. "Okay. I'll get clean first."

He finally took his shower, struck anew by the power of the cleansing ritual; in supernatural fashion, it was making him human again. He would have shaved too, but there was only Stokely's pink razor and girly shaving cream and it wouldn't help that his hands were shaking with more than one kind of withdrawal. He decided to wait on the shave.

Twenty minutes later, though, he presented himself for Stokely's consideration. She looked him over then nodded, handing him his own cell phone. Her eyes suggested the ritual seriousness of the moment, not that he needed anyone to tell him. He dialled home, and Casey answered.

"Zeke?" he said, foregoing any greeting.

"Yeah."

And then, true to form, Casey went silent.

"I want to talk to you," Zeke said.

"Don't."

"What — ?"

"Don't say it's over, please, I'm not that together, Zeke, I promise I'm not, I — "

Casey's voice went away.

"Zeke?" said Sasha, a second later.

"Put him back on," Zeke gritted.

"He asked me to take over if he panicked."

"Are you always going to do his talking for him?"

"No. Just when he asks." Sasha cleared his throat. "I don't want to argue, Zeke. You always get me arguing. I just wanted to do one simple thing."

"Which is?"

"Invite you over for that breakfast I promised."

"Invite me? I live there, remember?"

"Sorry, bad choice of words — cut me some slack, will you? I meant, please come home, Zeke. I'm making breakfast."

"Frank is gone, right?"

"Yes, we just drove him to the airport. And Jerry went home too, it'll just be the three of us."

"Suppose I wanted to talk to Casey alone."

"Well, if you want steak and eggs, you'll have to put up with me for a little while at least."

"All right, I'll be there shortly." Hanging up, Zeke was well aware that he was fucking up already. It did not bode well for his future happiness.

Stokely echoed his thought. "Zeke, you're being difficult," she said.

"I know, but I can't help it."

"Try."

"Why should I!?" he exploded. "I'm the one who's been fucked over!"

"I know, Zeke, we all know! But no one did it to you on purpose so try not to be such a prick!"

He blinked at her. Then he said, "You're good."

"Former champion bitch, remember?"

"You weren't a bitch. Just...misunderstood."

Stokely laughed. "Yeah, ain't we all?"

He planted a kiss on her cheek. "I'll try not to be an ass."

"Good. Um...Zeke...?"

"Yes?"

"I don't know if it helps, but — what if you moved in with me for a while?"

Careful to breathe through his nose and not snarl, he said, "I appreciate the offer, Stokes, but I'm not planning on moving anywhere...and Casey's not moving anywhere either."

"Fuck sake, Zeke — "

"He doesn't want to move, Stokely."

"Maybe, but he definitely intends to. I was going to ask him to move in with me but then I thought...well, honestly, I'm not sure I can handle it."

"And so the solution is for me to get kicked out?" he growled.

Stokely winced, shaking her head. "You don't have to take me on — or Stan, or any of us. We're your friends, you know? Friends?"

He was not in the habit of sprouting a loud, queasy feeling in his gut whenever someone tried to shame him, so he was a bit surprised when it happened now. "Just bear with me a bit," he muttered.

"We are, Zeke. We are definitely doing that."

Yeah, he knew he was a fucktard. He knew it, and now, with a little help from Stolly and Budweiser, everyone who knew him knew it.

"So... will you talk to me now?" Stan asked.

There had been a first beer, and a second, both downed in minutes, and not nearly enough but at least now Zeke was suitably lubricated that he could endure hearing some questions, maybe even deal with the anxious glances and eyebrow twitches. Stan was distressed, Zeke got that.

He shrugged.

Stan pressed, "What happened?"

Good question. It appeared that after months of Zeke being the one to coax and encourage him, Casey suddenly decided to use his mouth, not that it was anything like actually having a will and asserting it, and yeah, sure, Zeke would let Casey move out. Sure, he would let Casey parrot what that bitch Yves told him and then he would let Casey handle all his own shit, all by himself including suicide attempts, both direct and indirect. Zeke was not responsible for what Casey did and that was the whole point. The damn shrink had that much right. He was not responsible.

Stan was peering at him worriedly. "Zeke?"

"Huh?"

"I asked what happened."

"Casey told me he's moving out. Basically, he can't stand to be around me."

Now there was a typical Stan-expression, that drawing together of the eyebrows that typically meant I don't get it. "Since when?"

Zeke started to say Since this afternoon and rapidly revised that. Because of course it was not just since this afternoon. He rubbed his forehead and admitted, "Since forever, I guess."

"Zeke...I don't believe that."

Zeke looked at his friend in surprise. Stan had some balls, that was for sure. There had been a time when Stan would have rather have folded and stapled his tongue than talk about him and Casey and feelings, all in the same sentence. Feelings between two guys, for fuck sake.

"Okay, I'll give you that one," he said. "Maybe not forever, but somewhere along the way." He tried to wave down a waitress. "I need more beer...or a vodka. That would be good."

"I'll go up and get it," Stan said hurriedly.

As Stan wended his way through a medium-to-large crowd, Zeke settled a morose glare on the football game projected on the nearest television. It wasn't anywhere near interesting, though. Visually, he roved the room and inadvertently settled on some guy's ass. Nice shape. The man turned around and caught him — and Zeke waited for the threatened pounding.

The man winked.

Fuck that — Zeke looked away and rubbed his eyes. Had the entire world become gay? No, like everything else it was Casey's fault. Casey had done this to him.

"Yeah, right," Zeke muttered to himself. There had to be some lines drawn here. He'd had revelations already this week and he was an idiot if he didn't let some of them stick to him. So then, maybe he wasn't gay, but he was definitely bisexual, and that was cool by him, and fuck it all. And no, not everything was Casey's fault. Just all the miserable, rotten things, and the crap.

"Here you go!" Stan plunked a vodka down in front of him.

"Thanks, man." Zeke searched for the fellow who had winked but couldn't track him. It was probably just as well, since he was much more interested in getting shit-faced than having sex right now.

"Who's winning the game?"

"I don't know."

Stan was seated once more on his stool. "You know, Zeke...the thing is, this sucks now but maybe in the end it's a good thing. Like me and Stokes. I like the way we are together now, a lot more than I did before."

"Oh, cut the crap."

"No, really! I still dig her as a person, totally, but I'm kind of looking forward to checking out new people...you know what I mean?"

Zeke only hesitated for a second before returning, "But I'm in love with him, Stan."

His friend went a little pink. "I kinda figured that." Stan coughed a little. "But hey...he didn't say he never wanted to see you again, right?"

"What are you getting at?"

"He didn't say it was over, did he? I mean, maybe you guys just need a break from each other."

"Fuck, Stan, you're as bad as the shrink. I took steps, you know, we weren't sleeping together, we were just living together and that's it — "

"Don't piss on me, man."

"Well, you don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"No, Zeke, you don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

Zeke stared.

Stan continued, "If Stokely and me had kept living together after we broke up, I would've gone crazy."

"We weren't going to break up. The idea was that we were still together."

"So, like...what? You just live together but you don't do anything?"

"Yes! Is that so crazy?"

Stan shrugged.

"People have done it before," Zeke insisted.

Stan said nothing.

"What?" Zeke demanded. He downed his vodka all at once, letting it burn all the way to his stomach. "What do you think you know?"

"I think..." Stan bit his lip for a second, then continued, "I think you want to control him."

"Fuck, yeah! He's out of control or haven't you noticed?"

"He's not the only one," Stan muttered.

"You know, I can drink alone quite easily."

"Okay, sure...and buy your own fucking drinks too while you're at it."

Stan made motions to get up and go, and Zeke took hold of his arm. "Okay. I'm sorry, man. Sorry. I'll get the next one." Stan settled once again while Zeke leaned back, searching for a waitress. He spotted one, but couldn't catch her eye. "It's not about control," he said, keeping his eyes on his search.

"What is it then?"

Zeke struggled with the words, because he really didn't have enough booze in him yet. Saying stuff like this to your male friend — excluding Sasha — could only be justified by large quantities of alcohol.

On the other hand, fuck it.

"I don't want him to go," he said. "That's all."

When he finally looked at Stan, he saw only sympathy. "I know," Stan said. "But it's not up to you, man."

"Why not?"

"It just isn't — believe me, I know."

"Well...it should be." Finally, Zeke made eye contact with a waitress. He waved, and declared, "Loving someone should give you rights over them... because they have power over you."

Stan was shaking his head. "Zeke...come on."

"Don't tell me that. I'm just saying what lots of people think — " He broke off. "Two double shots of vodka and..." He eyed Stan. "What do you want?"

"Nothing for me. I really should be getting home soon."

"Nothing for the killjoy," Zeke finished. The woman raised her eyebrows, saying nothing, and went away.

"Don't you think you should lay off, Zeke?"

"Nope."

"Are you going home tonight?"

"It's my fucking apartment too, Stan."

"Yeah...but you could crash at my place if you wanted."

"At Charly's? No, thanks."

"Okay, then I'll bet Stokes wouldn't mind."

"What do you know about it?"

"I called her before I came here, actually, so she knows."

"Really."

"She said if you wanted to — "

"Couldn't wait to pass on the news, huh?"

"Sorry — but yeah, this is big."

"And you always knew it was going to happen."

Stan didn't reply, which was answer enough.

"Right. What was it? Casey's too fucked up, I'm too fucked up...I'm too controlling, not patient enough...? Or all of the above."

"Hey, Zeke? I know we all went to school together and fought the aliens together and all that, but there's no rule that says we all have to pair up and live happily ever after."

Zeke growled, "I don't care what the rest of you do...I just want him."

Stan appeared to give up — and about time as far as Zeke was concerned, except that the fallback position appeared to be a pitying stare.

"All I'm going to do," Zeke said, smacking the table, "is talk to him. I'm going to argue and do my best to persuade him that he's temporarily lost his fucking mind. I'm entitled to do that, at least?" When Stan didn't answer, Zeke punched him in the arm. "Right?"

"Fuck! Yeah, Zeke...you're entitled to do that." Stan rubbed his arm and glared. "And I'm entitled to go home now."

"All right." Zeke suddenly recalled that there were certain social obligations in situations like this. "Hey...thanks, man."

"No problem." Stan gave him a brief, unenthusiastic grin. "It's going to work out."

Zeke didn't think much of that statement, but he nodded. "Sure."

After Stan was gone, Zeke fortified himself with ten or so shots of vodka — the fact was that he lost track after ten and only stopped because he was cut off. It was just past nine o'clock, with many potential hours of alcohol ingestion ahead of him, and he entertained thoughts of finding another bar.

But then there was the memory of Casey's face as he said I need to move out rose in his mind and he saw the fear, the resistance. Of course, Casey didn't want to move out. This was Casey, help me, Zeke, help me, don't leave me Casey, not I'm moving out Casey. It had to be some sort of ridiculous mistake that Casey regretted now. All Zeke had to do was show up — he didn't have to persuade, just remind Casey, and everything could be okay...Winona was out of the picture, Thomas was out of the picture, everything could be so good. Casey was so much better now, he was getting on track — notwithstanding that whole suicide watch thing. That was a mistake too, and it basically meant that Casey needed Zeke. Casey needed — and Zeke needed — equalled Casey and Zeke.

On his way home he was surprised to find that he was staggering often. He was soaked, too, by the time he got there, except that the rain actually felt good on his fevered skin.

Burning with purpose, he didn't announce himself, just walked up and turned the handle. The door was unlocked. He opened it to the smell of something Asian, and Jerry and Frank right there in the kitchen washing and wiping dishes, to a background of television. His fucking television set.

"I see the gang's all here," Zeke observed.

Jerry whirled, lifting sudsy hands. "Zeke!"

"Where's Casey?" Zeke was surprised at how thick his voice sounded.

A second later he didn't have to ask. Casey appeared in the hallway, blinking sleepily but moving very fast, like adrenaline had just yanked him up out of a state of dead unconsciousness. It would have had him wide awake in another second, but at almost the same moment Sasha came hurtling from the living room area and got between them, trying to get a grip on Casey, who seemed determined not to be caught — and then Frank stepped in between his son and Zeke, and Jerry had now inserted himself as well, as though it would take all of them to keep Zeke and Casey apart. Zeke liked that idea, and he liked hearing the sounds of Casey struggling, saying no like it was him and Zeke against the rest of them.

"You didn't call me for supper," Zeke said, tearing his eyes from Casey and getting them on Sasha.

"We knew where you were," Jerry said. "We figured if you wanted to come home, you would."

"I want to talk to Casey."

Sasha moved, deliberately blocking Zeke's view.

"Just sleep it off, son," said Frank Connor.

Zeke had been planning to ignore absolutely everyone except Casey, to look through and past them, impressing them with his single-mindedness — except that upon hearing Fucking Frank call him that word, he couldn't restrain the snarling that spilled from him. "I am not your son."

"Maybe not," Sasha began. "But — "

"Don't you — fucking — don't fucking reason with me!"

Zeke saw Sasha's flinch, and well…good. He should flinch. Zeke was a scary character, after all. All should flinch and quail and flee from him, all leaving him alone to abide in his utter scariness. They should all fear him, and Casey should fear him too. The difference with Casey was that he'd given himself to Zeke, he was Zeke's and scary or not, it was a done deal. He couldn't back out now, it was that simple. No matter what had happened in the past, no matter how many reasons Casey had to be frightened...Zeke just wouldn't let him.

"Casey...I want to talk to you."

He saw Casey; he had separated himself from Sasha, trying to move up beside him while his lips moved, shaping something that was completely buried by the refrain of "No!" from the other three men in the room.

Jerry had put himself at the forefront. "Listen, pal — "

"I'm not your pal and I want to talk to him."

"That ain't gonna happen," Jerry replied peacefully.

"Why don't you just take a flying fuck!"

"Zeke, go find a place to sleep it off."

"Ask him what he wants!"

"That's beside the point, you know you would do something you'll regret."

"I would never hurt him." Zeke decided he'd had enough of trying to batter down Casey's wall of protectors. "Casey? Casey, listen, it's not over, do you hear? I don't want it to be, I just want you to stay here — you're not leaving, I won't let you!"

He tried to catch Casey's eye but he was absolutely barred.

"I won't let you!" he yelled, forsaking all attempts at the appearance of sanity. The drag of alcohol on his limbs and his mind was becoming more powerful by the second, pulling him down. "Casey — you — get out of my way!"

It seemed that Sasha had his back to him. He was talking to Casey but Zeke couldn't make it out. The world was spinning, full of white sparks and haze. He really wanted to lie down, come to think of it… just lie down with Casey. Just lie down and sleep, would that be so bad? There was nothing wrong with that. He'd done it so many times and he'd never hurt Casey, he'd never even touched him, it was Casey who had kept coming on to him and he'd been strong enough then, strong enough for everyone to trust him.

"Zeke," Jerry said. "Come on. We'll go find a place for you to crash."

"I live here."

"Zeke — just trust me, okay?"

He was too tired to formulate a strategy. Just minutes ago he had been consumed by hyperactive energy but it was gone now and there was nothing left of him. He could barely stand. He heard muttering and he couldn't bear to overhear it.

He decided that he could really use a smoke before he crashed. He headed back around and out, through the door and down the stairs and fumbled for his cigarettes. He couldn't find them. All the pockets in his clothing seemed to have been glued shut.

There was a sense of motion. Things got blank and blurred but there was him stumbling and then sitting, and he was in some car that he didn't recognize. He could barely move his head, but he managed to drag it in some direction that showed him the driver.

Jerry, of course. Sasha's delivery man. Sasha's undertaker...of things...

"Wanna talk…to Casey…" Zeke slurred.

"Yeah, I know. Tomorrow, pal."

"But….wanna talk to him." "I know, buddy."

"No, you don't know! You don't! I don't talk to Casey now and by tomorrow he's different again an it'sth too fuckin' late!"

"You know…that does make a weird kind of sense."

"Then take me back!"

"Can't."

"Yesh you can! I mean, yes, you can!"

"Sasha would kill me."

"Fuck Sasha!"

"Um…"

"No, I mean it! You don't know him like I do. He acts all swishy but he's fockin' devious, he's after Casey, been after ‘im all along!"

"Now I know that you're wasted."

"He was fuckin' Roy's motherfuckin' Roy's friend, there's your first clue, loverboy!"

"You really should shut up now, Zeke."

"Oh, yeah? Sasha's so fockin' perfect, why did he let Roy do that shit to Casey? Casey should be mad at him too but he doesn't, never, should be mad at his father but no, not him, not Frank Tef-Teflon Connor, Casey just gets mad at me an' I fucked up less than anyone he knows!"

"That's probably true, buddy."

"It ish true!"

He felt a pat on his shoulder, a hand just briefly placed there and then vanished and he thought absurdly, no way, never enough, he wanted Casey…. "…want Casey…"

"I know, buddy, I know."

Zeke's hand felt his pocket, feeling for cigarettes, but what it managed to extract instead was his cell phone. Perfect serendipity — he punched the speed dial number for home. As the happy electronic chirps sounded, Jerry turned his head and saw what he was doing.

"Oh, no, Zeke, don't — "

Even wasted, Zeke knew it was childish to curl his body away so Jerry couldn't get at him. Childish but effective.

"Hello?" said Sasha's weary voice.

"Lemme talk the fuck to Casey."

"No, I will not let you talk to him."

"You don' know, you have no fuckin' right!"

"Just find someplace to sleep it off, darling."

"Don' you fuckin' call me darling. Casey's mine y'know, he's not yours. He's not yours."

"Yes, I know."

"I love him an' he's mine!"

"I know. Please, Zeke....just let us all off the hook for tonight. We'll pick up the fighting bright and early tomorrow, I promise. I just need to catch a few winks and you need to..."

"I said put him on the fuckin' phone you fuckin' bitch!"

"...a whole cow if you want...okay. Night, baby."

Mercifully, not just for him but for all concerned, he passed out not long after Sasha hung up on him.

He hadn't been so lucky as to truly black out. To his regret, he remembered everything — what he had said and done, how Jerry had been reduced to half-dragging and half-carrying him in to Stokely's, how he had vomited in places that were neither the toilet nor the sink. He remembered punching Stan's arm without cause, and how Stan had basically left to get out of his line of fire...and worst of all, how he'd barely noticed or cared at the time. Even while being absolutely convinced of the righteousness of his quest, he was keenly embarrassed. He had been oblivious. He had crossed the line and revealed the desperate sloppiness of his emotional state, not to mention his mistreatment of people who didn't deserve it.

"I'm going to give up booze," he said.

Stokely raised her brows. "Really?"

"Yes, really." He was never going to be that out of control again.

"Well..." Stokely hemmed. "Good for you."

"It isn't that I think I have a problem," Zeke explained. "But I see how I could have one if I don't stop it now. I'm not going to be some guy who becomes an alcoholic because his boyfriend doesn't love him."

With a sigh, Stokely said, "I'm sure Casey loves you."

"You would think," Zeke returned, then stopped himself. He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry I've been...difficult."

Stokely didn't answer immediately, apparently wanting to check his face for sincerity first. "Okay," she said warily.

"I know I'm a jerk, all right? And I'm sorry. I don't want to cause anyone any trouble."

At last Stokely smiled, shaking her head with what seemed, to Zeke, to be affection. "But you're going to go ahead and cause it if you think it's necessary."

"Of course. Maybe that makes me an idiot but I don't know how else to be."

"Zeke..." Stokely bit her lip. "Just try not to hurt him. Please?"

He thought it best not to answer that, out of deference to his hostess and the desire to retain at least one friendship.

"It's just...you didn't see him the other night."

"I don't want to hear about it, Stokes."

"Then try not to hurt you too much. How about that?"

He nodded, folding his arms. "I appreciate that. Now I'm going to go...go face the steak and eggs."

Stokely scowled, just as she was supposed to. Zeke grinned and collected his phone and his smokes. He was certainly looking forward to a change of clothing when he got home — yes, to his home. Whatever else it was, it was where he lived. His stuff was there. He was not giving it or Casey up without a fight, and he hoped someone would at least give him credit for that.

He had a choice of the bus or a cab and decided to splurge on the cab — after all, his head wasn't quite right yet and he wasn't up to listening to the inanities of the public at large. He called for the cab and bid Stokely good day and thanks, going out early to catch a smoke — or maybe even two.

As it turned out, he only had time for one. He didn't hold it against the cabbie, though, and gave him a healthy tip. Indeed, he congratulated himself as he walked around to the side of Wellth and climbed his stairs, he could be magnanimous. He was a giving sort of guy, not at all a brute or bully.

He let himself in quietly, to the savoury smell of beef and fat in the frying pan, to Sasha standing at the stove tending to the fragrances — and, just moments later, to Casey rushing into his embrace just as he'd done a hundred times before, just as though nothing whatever had happened. It was a shock. It stoke his breath, made him want to cry, scream, and mostly to shove Casey away. He remained absolutely still, only gradually bringing up his hands to gently but firmly detach their two bodies.

Casey was presenting his best, limpid stare, eyes soulful and wet, pleading, and Zeke knew he had better not buy it for a second. In the next instant Casey would be cringing at his touch, or curling up in a ball or somesuch melodrama.

"Hi, sweetheart," Sasha said.

Right as always, Zeke thought sourly; before his very eyes, Casey's look was changing. It became wary, the welcome vanishing, giving way to regret and bitter fear. Casey turned and sat down at the kitchen table. He sipped from a cup of something, anxiously watching Zeke over the rim.

Hesitating, Sasha put down his fork and crossed the few feet to hug Zeke. Zeke allowed it. "Um...feeling better?"

"Yeah."

"Good...because I made the lumberjack special for you. Hope you're hungry."

"Starving," Zeke admitted.

"Have a seat then. You're just in time, too."

"I'm just going to go and change my clothes first."

"Sure thing. How do you want your eggs?"

"Over easy?"

"And how many?"

"Three."

"Coming right up." Sasha gave him a strained smile, and went to retrieve the eggs from the fridge.

It felt cowardly, but Zeke was grateful for the excuse to get away from Casey for just a few minutes. In the bedroom, he tore off his filthy clothes and threw them in the closet laundry pile, and he didn't think he'd ever quite so enjoyed pulling on a clean pair of underwear. Once dressed, he indulged in an additional minute or two of just standing with eyes closed, breathing in and out until he felt reasonably contained. Then he headed back to the kitchen table where his platter of food was waiting.

It was all Zeke could do not to shovel the food down to his gurgling, aching stomach, even while keeping watch on Casey; as usual, Casey made it easy for him by keeping his head down. Also not a surprise, he had shunned all but some toast slathered with peanut butter and jam but Sasha, for once, did not make a fuss. Zeke figured it was Casey's loss.

"So. Frank's in the air?"

"Yeah," Sasha replied.

"Did he..." Zeke glanced at Casey, wishing that he didn't want to know, that he didn't have this ridiculous jealousy of Frank Connor. Casey didn't see him looking.

"Did he what?" Sasha asked.

"Was he okay about leaving?"

"I guess."

"Hmm. Could you pass me a piece of toast?"

Sasha provided him with the plate, with its stack of four thickly buttered slices of toasted bread. Zeke had already finished two; now he disposed of two more, along with his eggs and the steak. It was just about the best thing he had ever eaten.

Checking across the table, he saw that there were now two sets of eyes on him. "What?" he mumbled.

"Did you eat anything yesterday?" Sasha sympathized.

"Not that stayed in my stomach. What's Jerry up to today?"

"He cleared out to give us some space," Sasha replied succinctly.

"Huh," Zeke grunted. Eventually, he supposed, someone would have brought it up, and seeing as someone had already acknowledged this very awkward situation — he asked, "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you going to clear out?"

Sasha drew a startled breath. "Are you going to deny that I'm a part of this family?"

"‘Family'?" Zeke echoed. "Yeah, I'll deny it." Having eaten everything on his plate, he had nothing to give his attention to now except the conversation. "There's no family here."

"I beg to differ."

"You just call it that to make it into more than it is."

"Is that what you think?"

"It's what I know." Zeke shrugged. "Maybe you're feeling a little threatened right now because Casey wants to leave you too."

"I don't want to leave," Casey broke in.

"Funny, I remember it different."

"I said... I had to..." Lowering his gaze again, Casey whispered, "And then you said...you said it was over..."

"I got pissed and I reacted, but I don't want it to be over. I told you that the other night."

Casey remained still; the only sign of movement about him was his eyes, shimmering with unspoken words.

"But you still want to move out," Zeke noted. "Don't you?"

"Yes."

"You want to leave me."

Casey opened his mouth; closed it. Zeke saw the uncertainty, the fear and denial; he saw the fact that Casey didn't want to leave, he was merely infected by a fucking shrink's bullshit. It was Yves' fault, naturally, Yves was putting Casey up to this. It had been a risk all along, but Casey knew he belonged with Zeke. Zeke just had to figure out how to make Casey remember to put that ahead of all the other garbage.

"I need to say something," Sasha interjected.

Zeke almost had to sit on his hands to control them. "Sasha," he said. "Not that I don't appreciate everything you've done...but maybe you shouldn't..."

"I shouldn't what? Speak?"

To Zeke's astonishment, Casey spoke up. "Sasha," he stammered. "Will you luh-let us t-talk... please?"

"Of course you can talk, kitten."

"I mean..." Casey swallowed convulsively, staring piteously at Sasha. "Talk alone."

"No. Out of the question."

Casey seemed out of courage for the moment. He rocked in place a little, firing desperate glances at them both.

"He asked," Zeke said, knowing that it was a bad time to volunteer anything but doing it anyway.

"Maybe so, but I can't do it." Sasha leaned in towards Casey, closing some of the distance across the table. "I can't."

"How is he ever going to stand on his own two feet," Zeke pressed, "when you're determined to be his crutch?"

"Oh, you're a fine one to talk!"

"Yeah, okay..."

"He tells you he wants to move out and you forbid it? Where do you get off?"

"And I suppose you're jumping for joy."

"No, of course not — "

"You're just going to help him pack his bags, right?"

"I don't want him to move out!"

"Neither do I! That's all I'm saying!"

"Except you're threatening him with ending it to make him change his mind — "

Their attention was drawn suddenly by a crash and rattle of tableware. Both Zeke and Sasha looked to Casey, who was standing up, holding the edge of the table as though ready to perform some half-assed magic trick on it. His plate of food was is some disarray, his fork lying somewhere in between it and Sasha. "I tried speaking," he said. His eyes were wild; his chest was heaving. "Neither of you...heard me."

Zeke began, "I was just trying — "

This time Casey raised the entire table at least half a foot off the floor and simply let it fall, upsetting everything. Stainless steel clattered on porcelain and liquid spattered. The noise gave way to a near-perfect quiet.

"I'm tired of it," he panted. "I'm sick of having someone always telling me where to go and what to do and what I need and I know you're looking at me thinking how ridiculous I am right now because tonight I'll have a dream or a panic attack and I'll be clinging to you..." This was directed at Sasha alone. "...but I just...I just..."

"Casey, I just think that you — " Sasha started.

"Don't talk, please don't talk!"

Silence.

Gripping the table, Casey appeared to be fighting to stay on his feet and in the same spot. "Sasha. I...I need you to leave me and Zeke alone now."

Sasha had been pale; now he was grey. "You don't know what you're asking, Casey."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't." Sasha pushed his chair back and stood, towering over Casey. "Let's get something straight here. This goes way past guilt. Roy taught me a lesson about responsibility and I'm applying it. I hear you loud and clear, Casey, I do. You want me to get out of the way for a bit — god, I hear you, and I want to, but I also know you're not asking because you want to have a nice chitchat with Zeke. I know that's not how it's going to go, so why would I leave? Why would I when I'm the one who has to listen to you crying in your sleep — and you don't just say Roy's name, either. You've mentioned Zeke more than a few times — "

"I had a dream with you in it a few nights ago."

Zeke felt his eyes bulge. He sat there, petrified.

"What do you mean by that?"

"A bad dream. You were hurting me."

Tears began to well visibly in Sasha's eyes. He whispered, "Why would you say something like that?"

"Because I'm tr — "

"That's just about the only cruel thing you've ever said to me."

"No, I didn't mean — I had a reason."

"What?" Sasha drifted into his chair, his shoulders falling.

"You — you lumped them, you made it sound like Roy and Zeke are the same but they're not — and you, you — you would — you would — " Casey closed his eyes again. He finished with difficulty, "You would leave me alone with Zeke all the time before."

"And I would worry."

"But Zeke isn't like Roy, he's...he's...Zeke...and I need to explain it to him and I can't do that with you here...can hardly do that as it is. I need to be able to tell him."

Zeke found that he had to turn his head away. He couldn't bear how Sasha looked right now.

"Okay," Sasha said softly. Zeke could tell from the sound that he was crying. "Message received. I'll go see if Jerry will take me in for the night." A hollow laugh. "No, of course he will. He's been telling me this would happen. ‘At some point he'll tell you to butt out, Sasha.'"

"No — " Casey protested.

"Just let me get my coat and I'll be out of here." He paused, and Zeke finally looked at him, saw him standing there with his hands open, looking helpless and bereft. "Sasha." Casey's lips formed the word, yet almost no sound came out.

"Don't backpedal now, Casey," Sasha said, holding his chin up. Suddenly he crumpled, and made haste for the door. Casey seemed about to cry out, but caught himself and twisted around, staring after Sasha. "Don't worry," Sasha choked, just before exited. "You know I'll be back. I'll phone first."

Then he was gone, the door shutting after him.

And now Casey had become completely other to Zeke. Looking at him, Zeke saw him as though he were swimming in some thick ocean of difference that made him somehow shimmer to Zeke's eyes, every twitch reduced to slow motion. He could almost see the blood pulsing under Casey's skin, the nerves firing. "Wow," was the only word he could produce. And he was truly afraid — for if Casey would kick Sasha out, there could be nothing he couldn't do.

Casey shook his head. "Don't say anything."

"I just wanted to say that I admire — "

"I said don't!" Casey cried.

"You know he'll come around."

"Zeke."

"Okay. Okay." Zeke's eye fell on the table and the floor, both strewn with the wreckage of breakfast and he said the first thing that came to mind. "How about we clean up?"

"Okay," Casey said. He began stacking plates, his hands shaking quite visibly.

It was relatively relaxing to have a task, if not in fact relaxed. Zeke washed, while Casey wiped up the mess he had made in the dining area, and then began to dry the dishes. Zeke literally had nothing to say. He was intensely conscious of Casey beside him, conscious that Casey was rigid with anxiety at his presence. He was careful not to touch Casey but they did brush hands at one point and Zeke felt Casey flinch as though he'd put his finger in an electrical socket.

"Can I just say one thing?" Zeke asked suddenly, surprising himself. He stuck to his task, though, soaping and rinsing the breakfast plates.

"Yes," Casey sighed.

"I like it when you defend my honour."

He sensed that Casey was not unduly threatened by this; his body language didn't change, at least.

"Sasha...sometimes he doesn't give you enough credit," Casey said.

"And what about you?"

Casey shifted infinitesimally away from Zeke. "What about me?"

"Can you give me some credit?"

"Of course."

"But still you won't trust me."

The absence of speech developed out of a pause into a gap, to a gaping hole, and ultimately Casey