I'd Do It All Again

The remainder of the evening passed quickly and after a bit more mindless chit chat and a round of warm hugs and thanks from Alex and Ash, and a side conversation at the DJ booth for Trick,  we were all headed home as a storm started brewing overhead, the dark sky in the distance split with blue white streaks of lightning. I left the windows down for the drive despite the storm, or maybe in spite of it, the silence comfortable past the soft strains of the music on the radio and the growing rumble of thunder overhead. Pulling into the garage just as the deluge began, I felt a weight that I hadn’t even realized I had been carrying lift as I gathered bags to head inside, following behind Trick and Pan. I settled my camera bag carefully in it’s place of honor by the door and left the rest of my mess scattered on the kitchen island, flipping on the music as I passed the stereo before flopping down on the couch, dropping my feet in Trick’s lap and resting my head on Pan’s thigh.* Well, that could have gone worse, right? “The laughter that filled the room was rich and immediate, a much needed sound that shattered any and all remaining tension that may have lingered from the few bumpy portions of the evening. Trick rested his hand on my ankle, the laughter still evident in his voice as he tossed his hat easily to the coffee table. “That is an understatement Teddy, but yes. Yes it could have.” Sticking my tongue out, I shook my head and turned back into Pan’s hands as they carded through my hair.* I’m never going to another wedding again. Don’t let me, okay? Even if I say I really want to. Too much bullshit and fake laughter. *Trick hummed in agreement, and Pan grinned, a real smile this time, his eyes dancing with mirth. “You miss real laughter, Beary?” There was a teasing note in his voice and I craned my head back to look up as his hand slipped from my hair and I felt the warmth of fingers just over my ribs.* Peter Ethan King, don’t you dare. *I tried to keep my voice stern but it was an exercise in futility because Pan was a monster. His fingers danced quickly over my highly ticklish ribs, the delicate fabric of my dress doing exactly nothing to help and I squirmed and squealed trying to get away from the playful onslaught.  Patrick, being a traitor, just laughed and copied Pan’s efforts on my feet.*  Stop, you fucking assholes, you aren’t allowed to gang up on me!  *Gasping and laughing, lighter than I had felt in a very long time, I begged for a reprieve, although the giggles may have possibly undercut the attempt at stern I was shooting for. Oops. Pan grinned down at me, just tapping his fingers over my ribs as I caught my breath. “What are the magic words, Beary?”  His voice was light and teasing, Trick’s laughter the same and the words fell from my lips before I could stop them, before I could even think.* I love you. *The words were rushed and shocking, Pan’s hands stilling in the silence that followed as Trick pulled in a deep breath in that silent, heavy moment as the lights flickered off and the music cut out before the room was lit up again, although silent . “Beary, I-” Pan tripped over himself, at a highly unusual loss for words as he pulled his hands away.* No, I just.. I do.  Both of you. *I glanced at Trick, his hand still resting heavy and warm on my ankles, his face unreadable save for a glint in his blue eyes.* I don’t- fuck. *The curse was almost instinctive and I squeezed my eyes shut against the prick of tears as I struggled to make sense of the jumble of words and emotions that had been building not only over the day but throughout the last few weeks, if not months and I kept them closed as I spoke, needing the darkness.* I don’t know how to say it, so I just didn’t. I was fucking scared of things changing, of hurt and what I’d seen but now, I just.. It’s-you, both of you, are home. You are goodness and light and every-fucking-good in my life and I love you. *The outburst was accompanied by a few tears that I couldn’t seem to hold back and my voice, as I squeezed my eyes closed, was very small, even to me, especially as the storm outside seemed to rage on.* I’m in love with you, both of you. * The silence felt almost crushing until Pete’s hands rested gently, almost carefully on my waist as he shifted me upright, pulling me into his lap. “Sweetheart.”  The word was a whisper and I finally opened my eyes, still wet with tears I couldn’t seem to will away, to meet Pan’s gaze before looking at Trick.  Their expressions were both soft, a glimmer of hope sparkling behind their eyes, both baby blue and wide-eyed brown, and there it was again, that flutter I had been ignoring and avoiding.  I’d gotten pretty used to lying to myself, although the truth felt really, really good.* I’m not sure how this all would work, if it would, or can but I want. I want, I want, I want. *It would seem that once I actually let myself talk, I couldn’t fucking stop, a fact which amused Pan to seemingly no end as he laughed softly, brushing a hand over my cheek before leaning in to . “You’re allowed to want, and you aren’t alone in that.” The quiet words were accompanied by a gentle thumb sliding back and forth over my wrist, and the tender touch of warm breath against my heated skin. Trick’s hands, calloused and warm, slid over my mostly bare shoulders, brushing my hair aside before his lips teased my neck and I could feel his smile. “It’s up to you, Teddy, whatever you want.” My throat went dry again, a shockingly familiar occurrence at this point, and I grasped Pan’s arms where my hands rested on them. The silence hung, heavy and thick in the air for an endless moment before I found my voice again.* Upstairs. *The word was a gasp as a crash of thunder rang out overhead and the three of us somehow made our way upstairs, leaning against walls and pausing on stairs before stumbling to the bed.  We never closed the goddamn door.*  #WithSmilesOnOurFaces #TheKidsArentAlright

*I hated weddings. Hated. Them.  They were right up there with feta cheese and televangelists.  They were however, a huge part of my life at one point, one of the ways of paying dues as a photographer,  but I thought I had moved past that phase of my career. Then again, when said wedding was two of my childhood friends AND in my hometown? I couldn’t say no, even if they sprung it on me, and they absolutely did. Things between Pan, Trick and I had been… not strained, really, but not as easy as they were and that kind of broke me a little, but I had no one else to blame. When the invitations from Alex and Asher had shown up a few weeks after I had arrived back in LA, it had been far from a surprise and all three of us had RSVP’d immediately, with Trick taking charge of the flight details because he was a pissy bitch about things like that. Then again, there was something to be said for first class seats and some modicum of distance, especially for a two thousand mile flight.  The tension had eased somewhat as soon as we had taken off, leaving the glitter and plastic of L.A. behind and, although it hadn’t truly dissipated by the time we walked out of O’Hare, we were home, really home, and that counted for a whole fucking lot.  We had managed, through Pan’s silver-tongued talents no doubt, to wheedle a long weekend out of Trick and his handlers and once our plane touched down Wednesday night, we were safe and sound, and more importantly HOME until Monday. It was the small things sometimes. The sights, smells and FEEL of the city that we all loved was enough to easy the last vestiges of real discomfort. By breakfast Thursday morning, a mess of pie, biscuits, candied bacon and coffee after a night of sleep at my actual house, although in separate beds, things were decidedly normal, and downright peaceful.  And then my phone rang and it all went to hell. One of Trick’s early songs blasted from the tiny device, drawing grins from both him and Pan, as well as some of the folks at surrounding tables. I glared at them over my coffee and answered the call, a panicked Asher on the other end of the line, nearly hyperventilating, her usually calm voice somehow shrill and weepy at the same time.  I couldn’t understand a word she was saying, no matter how hard I tried.* Ash. Ash. ASHER. Put Alex on the phone and get a goddamn paper bag to breathe into. Now please. I can’t understand a fucking thing you are saying.  *My language earned me a glare from the Stepford soccer mom the next table over, but an apology from Trick and a bright smile from Pete seemed to placate her for the time being. Mouthing a thank you, I turned my attention back to the phone when Alex’s voice echoed down the line. “Dora, what horrors did you tell my intended? She went positively white and wandered to the kitchen in search of a bag. Just being charming again?” I could hear the smile in his voice and couldn’t help my own in response and I quickly put the phone on speaker and plopped it in the middle of the table.* You know me, Allie Boy.  I’m positively made of charm. I’ve got you on speaker at Bang Bang.  Say hello to Trick and Pan. *I could hear Alex’s laughter, slightly mechanized through the speaker and knew he was shaking his head. “Charm. Is that what they are calling it nowadays?  Well I’ll remember that.  And what boys?  Who in the world would I know that hangs out with you?  I think I knew some guys once, hell what were their names…  they were saintly, I know that but I haven’t heard a fucking word from either of them in so long I have forgotten what they actually sound like.”  The smile was evident in his voice, and both Pan and Trick grinned, no doubt eyes rolling behind dark Ray Bans. “Yeah, yeah, yeah asshole. It’s been a while, we all suck at keeping in touch, we will do better and all that shit. You know we will see you tonight at the rehearsal dinner, right?  We came all this way…”  Trick’s words trailed off as he sipped his coffee and Pan jumped right in to pick up the slack. “I’m sorry, but I believe I am actually hosting your damn rehearsal dinner at my club, right?  Or is that someone else, I can’t quite remember. Maybe I should rearrange that..” It was my turn to roll my eyes now. “Alright, alright.  You know I have to give you assholes shit when I can. Anyway, now that that is out of the way, as you may have been able to tell from Ash’s moment earlier, we had a bit of a catastrophe which, considering the wedding is tomorrow and this is the first hiccup isn’t really that bad.”*  Get to the point please, Alex. My coffee's getting cold. *The laugh on the other end of the line was genuine, as was the shrill scream I could just barely hear from Asher in the background. “Jesus, you are persnickety today. Has Patty Boy not been fulfilling his duties of late? Cause from what we saw...” “ALEXANDER. Enough.”  The tone of Trick’s voice was final, leaving very little room for debate even through the phone. “Sorry, sorry.  I couldn’t resist. It’s all in love, you know that.  Okay. Anyway, catastrophe.  So we had this photographer lined up, fantastic work. Beautiful portfolio, everything was perfect and on schedule and…”  the wailing in the background of the call became disturbingly more pronounced and my stomach sank as the pieces clicked into place.* Shit Alex, no.  Please no. Don’t ask me that… *I dropped my head into my hands and tried, desperately, to tune out the words that were still spilling from the phone, Asher’s please now mixing with Alex’s.  The peanut gallery at the table didn’t help either; Pan was laughing out loud and Trick, who was my favorite person in Chicago in this moment, was at least trying to be subtle about it. “Please, Dora?  Come on, you know we wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency.  Just for the ceremony and the highlights of the reception.”  It wasn’t until a sound not unlike a whistle emanated from the phone and the puppy at the next table over tilted it’s head in confusion that I finally acquiesced, my head still against the table.*  Fine. *The shriek on the other end of the line was absolutely deafening, and I felt a pang of regret for any dogs in a five mile radius. “Thank you, Dora oh my god! You saved my wedding!”  A fresh round of sobs from Asher had me shaking my head and grabbing Pan’s coffee cup, my own long since gone. It was black and sweet because Pan was a monster and the reason we couldn’t have nice things.* You’re welcome, Ash, really.  It’s… the least I can do. But seriously, I am not officially working the reception. Asher, you made me a dress for fuck’s sake. I can get in touch with a few folks I know who can cover the majority of the reception for you. I’ve got a few favors I can call in still. *The babble from the other end of the line became nearly unintelligible for the duration of the call until I finally just hung up in exasperation, eying my table mate’s wearily.  They both had remarkably similar smiles on their faces and I knew, even with the dark Ray-Bans we all wore, that their eyes would be sparkling with mirth.  It was too fucking early for this. Glaring, I stole Trick’s plate, downing the last bite of his key lime pie before flipping them off and dropping my head back to the table.  Stepford mom was unamused.  Good.* *The twenty four hours after the phone call disconnected were a blur of phone calls, some impressive wheeling and dealing for free labor and, blessedly, a beautiful haze of alcohol at the rehearsal dinner. It had been, surprisingly, quite elegant which was not exactly something anyone would ever consider a forte of Pan’s, but he pulled it off exquisitely.  The wedding, as was to be expected, was stunning.  The ceremony itself had been held on the Kern Terrace at the MCA and was, aside from the photographer fiasco, was blessedly free from any and all last minute emergencies and was, even to my jaded little heart, one of the most beautiful weddings I had ever seen, even through the lens of my camera.  Once all of the requisite pictures had been taken and my duties handed over, I slipped off to the changing room Asher had been using and traded my work uniform of head to toe, utilitarian black, complete with flats and a bun for the deep blue gown Asher had designed and a pair of heels, shoved at me by the bride herself.  A bit heavier hand than usual took my work makeup to a level where I would sufficiently mingle with the well dressed elite that constituted the guest list. Fortunately, I was officially off the clock and could indulge in some of the no doubt fantastic champagne that I had seen circulating between photographs. Sometimes it was the not so simple things. Brushing my hands carefully over my hair to smooth any flyaway strands, gave a last peek at the mirror; this was about as good as it was going to get. Taking a deep breath and pulling open the door, I mumbled under my breath as I wove in between the who’s who of Chicago, searching for a familiar face, or rather a pair of them.* Once more into the breach. #EveryPrettyPrettyMiscalculation #TheKidsArentAlright

What? *The word seemed to echo off of the book and album lined shelves of the office like I had screamed it. The silence in its wake was thick, heavy and uncomfortable, oozing back into the room as soon as the sound had drifted away as though it was an actual, physical presence. Shivering at the feeling, I finally left my not exactly brilliant hiding place in the goddamn doorway and crossed the office in a few strides, stopping between Trick and Pan.  I could still feel their gazes on me even though I kept my head down, at least for the minute, my hair falling forward to hide my face as much as I could.  My mind was racing and, judging by the looks that I had seen on both of their faces as soon as I had made my presence known, it wasn’t the only one.  You would think out of three capable, successful, grown-ass adults, one of us would have heard of closing a goddamn door. Not the case, in the very least. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and mentally counted to twelve, ignoring the tinkly children's song that always seemed to pop up when I did that.  There was something to be said for being raised on Sesame Street. When I finally finished rattling off the numbers, I sighed and lifted my head, brushing my hair back behind my ears as I struggled to maintain what little composure I could manage to convincingly fake.* What did he mean, Pan? *I deliberately asked the question of Pete as opposed to Patrick because, for once, Pan hadn’t been the one with the big mouth.  “Teddy, I didn’t-” I turned on my bare heel and narrowed my eyes at Trick, twisting my fingers in the hem of my stolen shirt and cut him off quickly.* Shut the fuck up, Patrick. I didn’t ask you.  You can say your peace in a minute, but for now just shut up. *As harsh as the words were, my tone was anything but, and my voice wavered more than once. Trick looked properly chastised and snapped his mouth shut, the color still high on his cheeks and his blue eyes flashing with something foreign behind his glasses as he fiddled with his hat again. It was either a moderately good sign or a horrible one; it could have gone either way with Trick. Turning my attention back towards Pan, I crossed a few steps to stand directly in front of him, ignoring the way he almost flinched as I touched his arm.  I didn’t have to duck too much to meet his eyes, despite his head being down, but I was able to catch his gaze, finally, and it was all I could do to not move back away.  My fingers, however, shook against the stark black ink that covered a good portion of Pan’s exposed skin. His eyes, usually sparkling with mirth, were not empty, at all, but there was something in them that I couldn’t name, whether it was because I couldn’t or didn’t want to, I wasn’t exactly sure.* Is it true? *Again with the shake in my voice, Jesus. Pan, for his part, gave a small, sad smile, and shrugged, the movement not nearly enough to shake away my hand. “Do you really want to know the answer to that, Beary? Think about it for just a minute, please.” This was wrong.  Pan’s tone was wrong, almost trying too hard to be flippant and I exhaled heavily as I pushed my glasses back up from where they had slipped just a bit.* I want to know.  When have I ever said something I didn’t mean? When it mattered at least. Tell me, I won’t beg, but you know I’ll figure it out. * It was true, every word. Well, true to a degree. There was a part of me, and not a small one either, that didn’t want to know anything and just wanted to go back to bed.  That part lost.*  You know I will.  *It wasn’t a threat, not in the slightest, but more a fact; one that we had all become resigned to over the last few decades.  Pete, for his part, didn’t say anything, casting a sidelong glance at Trick before meeting my eyes again and still keeping his mouth closed. The silence was painful; palpable and almost suffocating and, not for the first time, I hated it as it stretched on for what felt like forever. Closing my eyes, I gave another count, this time only to three, before closing the small space that was still between Pan and I. I didn’t move my hand from its place on his arm, his skin warm and smooth beneath my fingers, even as my free hand rested on his chest. His eyes were questioning for the briefest of moments before I pushed up on my tiptoes and pressed my lips to his in a gentle, chaste kiss. I could feel the change almost instantly as he melted, for lack of a better word, leaning into me and brushing his fingers over my cheek but not deepening the kiss at all. It wasn’t new, quite the opposite actually. I’d noticed it before and simply chalked it up to Pan being Pan. Pulling back just enough to actually see him again, I froze when I met his eyes.* Pete, I- how long? *My voice was shaky, almost as much as my hands were, but I had given up on controlling either of them at this point. “You heard him, Beary. Twelve years.” Pan’s voice was quiet and far softer than I had ever heard it before, save for once and that was something I refused to think about right now.  My brain, traitor that it was, instead supplied me with an endless stream of moments, flickering like a tape left disconnected and seeing them like that, as it were, instead of each individual second separately that seemed to make things coalesce and make a whole fucking lot of sense.  And I felt like an idiot.  All of the moments I couldn’t place, the looks between Trick and Pan, it was all very clear now. And yet?  It wasn’t at all, not even a little bit. And then the rest of the thoughts started surfacing; stolen moments spent gasping for breath and tangled between sheets; sad smiles and slamming doors. Jesus Christ. Taking a much needed and very shaky breath, I looked back up at Pan who seemed to be studying his bare feet like they held the keys to the universe. Tugging my fingers through my hair, I shift my weight, rocking from foot to foot, and try to make some fucking sense out of my world right now.* I didn’t know. Why didn’t you say something? You had plenty of time. *It wasn’t an accusation, not at all, but a question, one spoken in a small, small voice that even I had trouble recognizing. Pan laughed, low and almost sad as his lips barely curled up into the slightest hint of a smile.. “Come on, Beary. You know why. You have to know why.” His gaze darted to Trick who still stood in the same place he had when I’d been hiding in the doorway, although his hat had been tossed on his desk and he looked almost almost ridiculously young as he shrugged his shoulders.* I don’t understand.  I mean, I understand, obviously, but it doesn’t make sense.  Why hide?  And for twelve years, that’s a long goddamn time to keep something to yourself, Pan. *That shrug came back, although the simple gesture was loaded with meaning as Pan picked at the drawstring of his borrowed pants. “I didn’t really have a choice in the matter, Sweetheart. Tell me it wouldn’t have fucked everything up if I had said something ten years ago.  Hell, five years ago! It would have changed every-fucking-thing and you know it. I couldn’t take the chance, Beary. I couldn't stand the thought of losing you. *The explanation was so matter-of-fact, so very Pete that it almost made sense.  Almost.  Except for the part where it didn’t.* So, hiding something huge from people who love you was worth it?  If I hadn’t overheard, would you have told me?  *Confusion was rapidly giving way to anger, although I wasn’t sure who exactly it was directed at. “Correction, Teddy, technically he only hid it from you. I was well aware.*  Trick earned a sideways glance for his comment, but only briefly before I leveled my gaze at Pan, yet again and waited for him to answer. “I can honestly say I would have, although not entirely through my own choice.” His eyes traveled to Trick who looked almost apologetic as he hopped up on the edge of his desk, his boots lightly bouncing off of the wood. “I’ll take the blame for that, it’s fairly appropriate in hindsight.*  Trick’s voice was dry and almost flippant, but he refused to make eye contact with either Pan or I. I blew out a long breath as I sank into the nearest chair and rested my head in my hands, my mind still reeling. In the realm of things that I had ever even imagined were possible, this whole thing wasn’t one of them, not in a million fucking years.* How long, Trick? *The words were barely a whisper as, once again, the meaning behind Pan’s words, all of them, shifted into place. Trick, for his part, just glanced up briefly from his examination of his boots. “You really want that answer, Teddy?” There was a note of caution in his voice, though I couldn’t be sure exactly why and it didn’t sit well with me.*  No, Patrick, I don’t want to know, because I always say things I don’t mean and ask questions I don’t want answered. You know me, Trick. Would I really ask if I didn’t want to know the answer?  *There was no malice in my voice at all, just a tired, quiet honesty that I knew both Trick and Pan would recognize. Nodding silently, Trick blew out a long breath and pulled his fingers back through his hair, a sure sign that he was nervous which was just confounding to me. “Beary, he’s been half in love with you since we were fifteen years old. Come on.” Pan’s voice was gentle and he received a glare and a middle finger from Trick for his statement, but he just shrugged, hopped up on the desk and leaned against the smaller man who immediately dropped his head onto Pan’s heavily inked shoulder.* I really don’t understand. *My voice was tiny and I tugged my legs up and rested my chin on my knees. “  I really don’t either, Teddy, and I don’t know that I could tell you the exact moment when things changed but it was somewhere between you walking in my door after twenty-some-odd hours of travel on no sleep and Pete punching that fucking hack. I wish I had a better answer for you, but I don’t. I’m not sorry though, not even a little bit.” Despite the exhaustion that was written on Trick’s face, his eyes were bright blue and clear as always, his voice even in that quietly self-assured way that was unique to him alone. Pulling my lower lip between my teeth, I sat still for a moment, regarding the two men that sat across from me in silence that I was, for the first time in my life, thankful for. The revelations of the evening seemed to spin through my mind on an endless loop, and I finally squeezed my eyes closed in a fruitless attempt to get them to stop. “Beary, you okay?” Pan’s voice was gentle, in the way that I know very, very few people ever heard and I nodded, ignoring the tears that pricked my eyes. “That’s probably a lie, Teddy.” The hint of a smile was evident in Trick’s voice and I looked up, wiping my fingers just under my glasses to catch the tears that had fallen without listening to me tell them otherwise. My laugh was dry and humourless as faint snippets of a chorus filtered through my head.*  I put the I in lie. *Trick shook his head at the theft of one of his lyrics and Pan hopped off the desk to drop a kiss on the top of my head. I maybe cried a little more. Maybe.* I don’t know what happens next. I can’t- I mean- I want to but… *The words were broken by quiet gasps that I struggled pointlessly to hide. “It’s okay, Sweetheart.” Pan spoke against the top of my head, his voice hitching just slightly on the endearment and another few tears slipped down my cheeks. “What happens next, Teddy, is that Pete is going to make some tea, I’m going to shower, you are going to find those ridiculous cookie pajamas that you love so much and then we are going to go to bed. I’ll even sing for you. Anything else will keep, I promise.” As much as I wanted to say no, I couldn’t bring myself to do so, I couldn’t even think of it, and instead, I followed along  just behind Pan and Trick, my limbs heavy with exhaustion and my head spinning and stuffy from, well, everything. It would be okay, Pan said so and Trick promised.  It was only as I climbed into the ridiculously big bed in my oversized flannel pajamas with a steaming, half empty mug of chamomile on the nightstand that I let myself begin to believe that. Curling up between a newly-shirted Pan and a freshly showered Trick, his messy hair still damp, I actually started to  believe it, even just for a moment before exhaustion won out and my mind went blissfully blank and quiet as I finally fell asleep to Trick’s quiet voice crooning an unconventional lullaby. It was going to be okay.* #SometimesBeforeItGetsBetter #TheKidsArentAlright

Goddamnit! *The curse broke the calm, cool, quiet of the house, followed immediately by the shattering of glass breaking and the sharp edged shards tinkling down onto tile.  It was not nearly as cathartic as it was intended, but there was still something beautiful in that fall out. For some reason, breaking glass had always been one of my favorite sounds, a fact that seemed to worry my briefly utilized therapist right after my parents had died.  My hands were still shaking when Pan’s head popped up off the couch, his recently darkened hair sticking up in all directions thanks, in no small part, to the nap I had so rudely interrupted. “S’wrong, Beary?”  His words were slurred, his voice still thick with sleep, and I couldn’t hide my smile as he swiped his hands over his eyes, looking for all the world exactly like he had two decades earlier only with far more tattoos. Ignoring the mess that lay scattered in the corner of Trick’s kitchen, I grabbed two bottles of the Filbert’s Root Beer that Trick paid through the goddamn nose to have delivered and headed to the couch without a word, plopping down beside Pan with a huff.  He didn’t say a word, just raised an eyebrow in a silent question as I popped the tops off the glass bottles and handed one over, clinking the neck of my own bottle against it before taking a long swallow. Pan, still blinking away sleep, did the same.  The soda tasted like home and childhood and nostalgia to the nth degree and it helped calm some of the anger that was still coursing through me.  Not much, however, but some, and once I settled back against Trick’s overly comfortable couch, dropping my feet into Pan’s lap. The action was rewarded with a low, slightly sleepy chuckle as he set his drink aside and his fingers started working at pulling off my ridiculous fucking boots. Dropping them to the floor with a clatter, He gave me a quick glance before working strong fingers over my sore arches in practiced, even strokes.  The man was fucking phenomenal with his hands. “So, you wanna tell me what that glass did to deserve a forced meeting with the wall? I’m gonna say it somehow relates to your decidedly un-Beary-like ensemble. And I’m assuming that was not one of Pattycake’s scotch glasses, otherwise I’m gonna clear out.” Wrinkling my nose, I stick my tongue out and brushed my bangs out from in front of my glasses before giving him a gentle nudge in the ribs with my stockinged foot .*  I’m not a complete idiot, Pan, I don’t touch Trick’s scotch glasses if I can possibly help it, not even when there is scotch in them. And the glass was just collateral damage, I suppose. It was a really shitty fucking day. Really ficking shitty.  I had a meetings at Flaunt and Los Angeles Magazine  today to drop off some freelance work I picked up for them, hence, well this. *Articulation still wasn’t exactly my strong suit and I chose, instead, to use my bottle to encompass my outfit.  Pan was dead on, though; the pale, filmy blouse tucked into a high-waisted plaid skirt in soothing, soft shades of tan and beige shot through with a deep grey and tightly fastened with a brown belt at my waist that matched the goddamn devil boots was not me at all; I was more a jeans, stolen shirt and chucks kind of girl, but sometimes professionalism won out.  Hell, I’d even scraped my hair up into something resembling neat and put on actual jewelry and my best lingerie because when the fuck else was I gonna wear stockings? I didn’t own very much of the former, and kept even less with me when I traveled, but the silver, pearl and enamel cherry blossom set with tiny diamonds had been a gift for my twenty fifth birthday from Trick and Pan and, despite my punching each of them in the arm for spending far more than they should have, I treasured it dearly and pulled it out on the rare occasions that I needed to feel like a legitimate adult. I’d even worn an actual coat in deference to the grey clouds that had hung overhead when I’d left this morning, but by the time I’d returned home, it, along with my purse and small portfolio bag, had all been tossed haphazardly onto the coat rack in the foyer. “So, the meetings didn’t go well, I take it?” Pan was almost careful with his words, the edge of caution that tinged his words as he spoke more than slightly evident. Shaking my head, I pointed my toes and winced as the bones cracked in protest, unused to actually wearing heels.* No, the meetings were great, actually, and I have a few more assignments booked with both because if I’m gonna be in this hell city, I might as well make money. * “So the problem was what, exactly?” Pan’s held my ankle in his hand and pushed up on the bottom of my foot carefully, stretching my calf. It was heavenly.* The problem was with who fucking followed me the entire goddamn day. Fucking hack. *There was pure venom in my voice and Pete’s face went dark at just the mention.  I didn’t even need to mention a name. “Didn’t fucking Chad get the hint when he got hit?”  The memories were still fresh, despite happening over three months ago, and I could still hear the shouts and the crack of Pan’s knuckles against my former classmate’s face ringing in my ears.*  Apparently he isn’t only a hack, he is a daft one. But yeah, he literally followed me from office to office.  He was at fucking Starbucks for the love of fuck. I’m sure it’s just case Trick has a single coming out and he is out of town, but jesus fucking christ,  this shit is extensive. I’m not interesting enough to warrant that kind of bullshit. At all. But still, he insists on being a fucking twatsicle. *Pan cracked a laugh, albeit a small one, at the term that he had coined and rested his hand gently on my calf. “He is a fucking asshole, and I’m sorry you have to deal with him, Beary, I really am. He’s not allowed at Neverland, ever, not even outside so, there is that.”  The words were comforting, almost as much as the familiar touch, and I had to smile as as I stretched to muss Pan’s already chaotic hair. I was rewarded with a small smile and he turned into my touch almost like a cat, pressing his cheek against my fingers.* Thank you, Peter Panda. That… I appreciate it more than you know. *There was not a single word that was anything less than true and the seldom used nickname got one of his blinding smiles; it was fucking light and went miles towards easing the anger that was still my prevalent emotion. It didn’t erase it completely, but it was a start.* Have you heard from Trick?  I know he was supposed to be home today, but last I heard he was stuck at JFK because of weather. *Patrick had been gone to do some promo shows and press for the charity compilation his latest single was a part of in New York for the last week and and half and the absence was nearly palpable at this point; if that was just a bit more prevalent than it may have been otherwise, well so be it.  And if part of the reason for that happened to be because we’d been sleeping together on and off for the better part of two and a half months, well, I wouldn’t admit it. Much. The thought had me shifting in my comfy seat, and Pan arched a brow, his hands running along my calf. “His flight was delayed a bit, but he should be in tonight, sometime around midnight. His service has been spotty as fuck.” Nodding simply, I cast a glance out the windows in a sad attempt to distract myself from, well, myself.  The sun was dipping low on the horizon, painting the sky with bright oranges, pinks and reds, shot through with streaks of pink and just the slightest hint of smoky, dusky purples. It was fucking gorgeous, and didn’t help at all. “Beary, whatcha thinkin’?”  There was a familiar, teasing lilt in Pan’s voice and when I caught his gaze, it was very, very clear what was behind that. I paused for a moment, catching my lower lip between my teeth and smiling just a bit, my eyes dating back to Pan.* I’m thinking it was a long as fuck day and I could really do with some distraction. If you’re up for it, of course. *The latter words were tacked on as an afterthought, or maybe a little bit of a tease, just kind of,  and I purposely returned my attention to the darkening sky outside the windows. Pan didn’t say anything at first, my feet were easily, almost tenderly, removed from his lap and the couch shifted as Pan moved quickly, leaning over me with his hands braced against the arm of the couch on either side of his shoulders.  He was close, close enough that I could feel his breath brushing across my ear and the warmth of his skin, even through layers of silk and cotton. “You sure, Sweetheart?”  It was more than a bit of a tease, but one that we had both perfected over the last several months; it was how things worked out in this arrangement that we had somehow developed, although the nickname was new, but not unwelcome.* You know I am, Pan.  I don’t say anything I don’t me- *My borderline bitchy diatribe was cut off quickly, the words lost against Pan’s lips.* *I’m not sure exactly what woke me up, although I hadn’t exactly been in the deepest of sleep, but it had been lovely, dreams full of whiskey colored eyes and clever, calloused fingers that I couldn’t exactly figure out. Squinting in a vain attempt to see past the hair that had fallen in riotous tangles in my face, I felt around on Pan’s nightstand until I found my glasses, folded and carefully set aside some- shit- five hours ago, according to the blue glow of the alarm clock. If it was past one, I obviously had slept far heavier than I thought. Stretching my arms over my head, I rolled over, my hands falling not onto the warm body that I had grown used to, but cold sheets. Well shit. Shaking away the last vestiges of sleep, I quickly ran over the last things I could remember in my mind after collapsing in a pile of damp limbs and heavy, hot breaths, Pan’s lips moving against the back of my neck in words that he wouldn’t repeat before he vanished for the briefest of seconds.  After the bed dipped again and his legs were tangled with mine, I tugged his arm over my waist and we both fell asleep.  Nothing any different from the other times we had fooled around. Until now, of course; this was the first time I had ever woken up alone.  Pushing myself upright, I could barely hear the voices from down the hall, and golden light spilled in through the cracked door.  Trick was home. Forcing myself out of the warmth of the bed on slightly shaky legs, I side stepped the tangle of silk, wool, lace and cotton that had been haphazardly thrown off in our haste to get to the bed, snagging a t-shirt from the laundry basket that sat on a chair by the door and pulling it on.  While there was something cheesily romantic about waking up wearing nothing but moonlight and diamonds, however small, it probably wasn’t the best attire choice for actually speaking to people, despite being seen in various states of undress by them both for the better part of three decades. I blinked against the bright lights of the hallway and smoothed my shirt over my thighs, brushing lightly over light bruises in the shape of fingerprints that were scattered over my pale skin. That was something that I got from Pan alone; Trick, while his mouth was absolutely filthy and divine, tended to be far gentler physically. Two sides of the same coin. I followed the hushed voices down the stairs,my footfalls muffled against the plush carpet. The entire floor was dark save for the nightlights in the kitchen and golden light pouring out of the half opened door. “Goddamnit, Pete! You’re gonna end up getting hurt of you don’t stop this.” Trick’s voice was exasperated and slightly worn, no doubt from both travel and more use than usual, and his posture, from what I could see from my position against the doorframe, was guarded. “I know that, Rick. Believe me, I know. But I can’t just… it’s good. And it works for now.” Pan on the other hand, sounded wrecked as he perched on the side of Trick’s desk facing the dark window, a pair of Batman pajamas that I was pretty sure didn’t belong to him slung low on his hips. “Yeah, for now. Until you fall the fuck apart. Jesus Christ, Peter. You know better.” Patrick wasn’t yelling but there was a hint of anger in his voice, and I could see his fists clenched at his sides for just a moment before his hands went to his head, fussing with his hat and running his fingers through his hair. They were both faced away from me, just enough that they obviously had no clue I was there and I worried my lip between my teeth, my own fingers twisting in the hem of my purloined shirt.  This wasn’t shaping up to be good. Pan however, as always, surprised me and threw his head back to laugh. It wasn’t a happy sound though.  There was something melancholy and dark about it; something that definitely did not belong. “Fucking christ, Patrick. You’re a goddamn hypocrite.”  Trick, for his part, had the good grace to look thoroughly surprised, his eyes widening behind his glasses. “Excuse me? What the actual fuck does that mean?”  There was an edge of danger in Trick’s voice, one that never seemed to bode well for whoever it was directed at, and I winced in spite of myself as I continued eavesdropping. Or whatever the fuck I was doing. Being a creeper, I suppose. “I mean, exactly that, Angelface. You’re a hypocrite. Tell me about your new song, huh?  What’s that about exactly, or should I say who?” Pan’s words were cold, although there was no threat behind them, and he tilted his head expectantly towards Trick, whose face had gone bright red. “Fuck you, Pete. That’s not the same at all and you know it.” “Fuck you, Patrick, it’s exactly the same.”  The retort was fired off almost instantly and the words hung in the air for a moment as Trick pulled off his glasses and wiped the lenses on the hem of his red cardigan, his head tilted downward and his voice almost frighteningly calm. “No, Pete, it isn’t even in the same realm because I haven’t been in love with Teddy for the last twelve fucking years.”* What? * The word was just above a whisper but could have just as easily been a scream with the way it shattered the deafening silence just seconds before they both turned towards me, shock written plainly on both of their faces.* #EverySongsAboutYou #TheKidsArentAlright

*The ride home was quiet save for the soft music of the stereo and the sounds of the storm as it continued to rage on outside; there was a certain peace to it despite my nerves going haywire.  My fingers danced nervously along the seat as I fought against the nerves that had once again popped up, although I couldn’t even begin to explain why, and they calmed only as Trick rested his hand over mine and gave it a small squeeze. It was a small, simple gesture, one that he had done for years and it always had the exact same result. The rain was coming down in sheets by the time the sleek, black car pulled up at the house, and the driver, a vaguely familiar man who accessorized his sharp suit with a tie decorated with skulls, gave a sympathetic smile as he pulled as close to the door as he could.  It wasn’t close enough, although really, there was no earthly way we were actually going to stay dry and so we made a run for it, getting drenched  before we were even halfway to the door.  Shrieks of laughter rang out alongside the cracks of thunder as we dashed towards the door, Trick quickly punching in the key code and pulling me inside, the door shutting with a slam against the howling wind. And then there was silence, save for the water that dripped from clothes and hair to collect on the wood floors of the foyer. The artificially cold air from the cranked AC, no doubt Pete’s doing, combined with the time spent in the pouring rain quickly had goosebumps forming on my arms and I pushed the too long sleeves of my jacket up past my wrists, for whatever good it would do, and looked up at Trick through rain spattered glasses. He was just as wet as I was, the water streaming off of the brim of his hat, his lips turned up into a soft, almost apologetic smile; it felt like forever since I’d seen it and I shook my head just slightly, my wet hair plastered to my cheeks and neck.* I’m sorry, Trick. I just… it was a lot and- *My words trailed off at the first touch of Trick’s hand on my cheek, the familiar callouses warm and just slightly rough against my cold skin. I couldn’t help myself, not even if I wanted to, and I turned into his touch with a soft sigh, my eyes drifting closed as I lost myself in the moment. “Teddy”.  My name was little more than a whisper, barely audible over the violent sounds of the storm outside and the mechanical white noise of the air conditioning and appliances in the kitchen. I took a deep, shaky breath and glanced up to meet Trick’s gaze, his eyes a dark, stormy blue that I recognized very well even as his fingers slipped down to my neck his thumb brushing tenderly over my bottom lip for just the briefest of seconds. The silence hung between us, thick and heavy, for a moment before I opened my mouth to speak.  Any conscious thought that I may have had were gone the moment Trick’s lips met mine, the words giving way to a muffled gasp as my back hit the door.  The kiss was not sweet or gentle not even in the slightest; it was rough and desperate and messy hands tugging through wet hair and pulling on sticky, stubborn clothing under a blast of arctic air conditioning. It wasn’t until Trick pulled away, his face pressed against my neck and his breath hot against my skin, that anything was actually said to break the silence aside from gasps and quiet whimpers. “Upstairs?”  It was a whisper, muffled against my already damp skin, and I nodded before speaking, swallowing thickly as Trick’s lips brushed against my neck, my pulse racing.* I can- are you sure, Patrick? *I didn’t use his full name often, and when I did we both knew things were serious.  I felt his sigh, warm and damp, before he raised his head to meet my eyes.  His hat was gone and his hair was sticking up, wet and dark, in a million different directions thanks to my impatient fingers.  Trick’s glasses were crooked, as mine were as well, his face flushed and his mouth, obscene on a regular day, looked like absolute sin. “As a heart attack, Theodora.” I held his gaze for a heartbeat that seemed to last a lifetime before leaning in and brushing my lips against his, one, two, three times, soft and sweet before smiling and lacing my fingers with his.*  In that case, lead the way. Please.  *The last word faded off into an almost embarrassing squeak as Trick tugged on my arm, pulling me farther into the darkness of the stairs, the only light coming from the storm outside.* *The feel of fingers trailing gently over my bare shoulder managed to pierce the pleasant haze of my sleep, although I refused to open my eyes, snuggling back into the warm body that I managed to wind myself around as the last night came back to me bit by bit. A storm, a long black coat, getting stuck in the rain and kissing against the goddamn door and a question before stumbling up the stairs in a tangle of twisted limbs and stubbornly wet clothes before finally, finally making it to the bedroom. I hadn’t fully known to expect, not really, mostly because I really hadn’t wanted to admit that I had put too much thought into having sex with my best friend. I absolutely had though, thanks in no small part to messing around since that damn video, but I was still surprised, somehow, despite fooling around since that afternoon in a swanky hotel room and watching him give Pan head a time or two. Or three, why lie now?  Despite looking like an angel most of the time, Trick was demanding and confident, a fact that spilled over from stage to sheets; tangled limbs, stifled moans and pretty, filthy words whispered into my ear between endearments were both a surprise and perfectly unsurprising and it wasn’t until we both collapsed against the mattress, sweat-slick and sated that I was able to focus, despite the heavy haze of lust, the impending press of sleep and a frankly fantastic couple of orgasms. My thoughts, odd as it seemed, drifted to Pete, whom I’d woken up with this morning in a very similar position, except not even at all the same. Sex with Pete had started the night that Trick had left and simply continued, an arrangement worked out somehow between desperate moments and arguments over take out, although very few words were spoken about it explicitly; screaming didn’t count.  As much as I really didn’t want to compare the two, especially while I was still cuddled and warm in bed with Trick, the rain softer but splattering against the windows in the dark of early morning, I fucking did it anyway cause I’m a masochist. They were my boys, the best friends I’d ever had, and they were, in many sense of the word, two sides of the same coin. Where Pan was dark, driving and borderline painful, in the best ways; the both of us littered with bruises and scratches, he always called me sweetheart and fucking melted when we kissed.  Trick, however, was the opposite, but not gentle in any way, but commanding in an almost tender way, even as he whispered words that would make me blush if I wasn’t so far gone.  I knew it was probably not the greatest of choices, even my sex-addled and sleep drunk mind could establish that, but at the moment I didn’t care and I snuggled into Trick as tightly as I could, forcing my leg between his and nuzzling against his neck.  I could feel his low laugh vibrating in his chest before I heard it, and couldn’t help my smile, despite the fact that I still didn’t want to open my eyes.  If I kept them closed, maybe I could sleep again. “Hey, Patrick can I-oh”  Pan’s voice rang out from the doorway just a moment before it swung open with little more than a swish. Obviously it had never clicked shut completely and that was probably my fault. Trick stirred, sitting up and blinking against the light from the hallway, and I followed suit, shaking my head to clear my blurry vision before realizing that I wasn’t wearing my glasses. Pushing my tangled, sleep dried hair out of my eyes, I turned towards the door, giving Pan a small, sleepy smile, even as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, clad in nothing but a pair of star wars boxers and exchanged a look with Trick that I couldn’t read in my blindass state. “I can go if-”* No, don’t be- come on. *My voice was husky from sleep and I watched as Pete’s gaze shot back to Trick over my shoulder while a low rumble of thunder sounded outside.* Come on, Peter Panda, please? *I hadn’t used the nickname in ages but for some reason it seemed fitting in the moment, and I patted the bed beside me. I watched as much as I could with my shitty vision, but when Pan’s shoulders finally relaxed, I knew he wouldn’t say no. Trick’s sigh was warm against my hair and I felt him give the tiniest shake of his head.  I made a mental note to ask him about it  before I lay back down stretching out and wincing just a bit at the slight ache in my protesting muscles; a bath was absolutely in my near future. But not quite yet, now I just wanted to sleep and I rested my head back on Trick’s shoulder and tugged one of Pan’s arms over my waist, basking in the warmth and familiarity of it all as I drifted back off with an overwhelming feeling of being home.* #WhenItRainsItPours #TheKidsArentAlright

*It had been seven days since a garbage truck had crashed into a van and sent six people to the hospital.  Seven days since I’d held a screaming child as she tried to grasp what had happened to her parents until she could finally get to them.  Seven days since I had acted on desperation and grief, clinging to anything I could find to hide from my fears, only to have to confront even more of them. Seven days since Trick had been home.   It shouldn’t have been weird not seeing him, not really.  When I traveled for work, months would go by without us actually setting eyes on each other without the help of skype and a laptop.  But this… this was different. When we were apart, we always talked, in some form, every day.  Even if it was just quick, meaningless texts, there was always a connection in some way.  Plus, I wasn’t living at his fucking house. But this was different. I hadn’t heard a single word from him since he had left that night, not one.  He’d talked to Pan a few times, and because Pete was a good person, he relayed the message at least, that Trick was okay.  It was small comfort, but at least it was something.   I’d spent the last week alternating between nervously pacing the kitchen, eating far too much take out, avoiding the paparazzi, trying to edit together shots for an upcoming article and having sex with Pan. Only four of those things were really planned; just two of them were enjoyable. That situation, in itself, was sticky, unintended. No strings attached was an easy policy to establish, but when you add twenty-five years of friendship in the mix, well… it was a very fucking good thing that I compartmentalized well. To say that the distraction was welcome was most likely the understatement of the year and I entertained the thought for a brief moment while, shockingly, pacing the kitchen barefoot and eating cold sesame noodles out of the carton while the wind picked up outside. “Jesus Christ, Beary.  Just fucking go see him already.”  There was an edge of irritation in Pan’s voice and I stopped my pacing and turned to face him as he perched on the island and regarded me with something akin to frustration.* I didn’t mean… fuck. I’m just worried about him, you know? *I didn’t elaborate, even though I probably should have and Pan’s expression softened as he jumped easily down from his perch and plucked the carton of spicy deliciousness from my hands before pulling me into a warm hug and pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “I know you are, so am I.  This isn’t like him, and I know he isn’t happy about it. He’s okay though, I promise.  And he wants to see you. He may not have said that, but I know that pretty asshole and he won’t be happy until it has happened. So, you know, go change.  As much as I know you don’t give a flying fuck what anyone thinks, leaving the house in my boxers and Pattycake’s shirt is probably not a great idea right now, especially with the clouds rolling in the way that they are.* Wrinkling my nose, I stuck my tongue out at Pan and glanced over my shoulder out the kitchen windows; the weak light that had been struggling to break through the clouds had finally been eclipsed and the sky was nearly black with both the impending night and storm.* You know I’m not willing to say you’re right but… *I couldn’t help my grin even as Pete’s light up his face. “When I’m right, I’m right.  And I’m right.  Now git. The show thirty minutes ago.” Pan didn’t stand for any arguments, instead choosing to smack me on the ass and start eating what was left of my dinner.  I squealed and flipped him off as I headed for the stairs, earning a laugh. “Maybe when you get home, Beary. I’m still a little worn out from this morning.”  The words were delivered around a mouthful of noodles and chicken which was entirely unsurprising and weirdly comforting at the same time. Changing was not a long process in the slightest, mostly because the vast majority of my clothes were exactly where I was not; a limited selection made things easy. As I buttoned my black jeans and shoved my feet in a pair of batter Chucks that had absolutely seen better days, their original black faded to a deep grey, with the rubber starting to crack although the words scrawled there in stark black sharpie were still legible. I twisted my hair up into a messy knot and anchored it with a stolen pen, one of Pan’s if the sparkly purple rhinestones and ink were anything to go by, and shoved my wallet in my pocket as I dashed back down to the first floor, pausing in the kitchen to steal a pack of gum from the ridiculous stash that Trick kept hidden in his pantry. “Are those shoes from that night in Brooklyn?”  Somehow, most likely do to his weird, ninja skills, Pan had snuck up behind me and his words, as well as the warm breath brushing over my ear made me jump.  I couldn’t be mad though, not even if I wanted to, and settled for glaring halfheartedly over the top of my glasses.* They absolutely are. I left them with Trick after I nearly lost them thanks to some airport fuckery. *There was far more to the story than I had time to think about in this moment, although I tucked the memory away for the drive to wherever the fuck it was that I was going. “Good. Your Uber is on the way, and here. It’s going to rain soon.”  Pan draped a jacket over my shoulders with a small smile, tweaking the collar just slightly as the garment hung over my bare arms.  It was ridiculous and far too long, but it would at least keep me somewhat dry if I needed it. Pushing up onto the balls of my feet, I brushed a kiss against his cheek.*  Thank you, Pan. I promise I’ll bring it back.  I’m not a coat thief. *The laugh I received was loud and braying, one of my absolute favorites. “No, you would never steal a coat.  Just shirts. And hats. And ties. And boxers… shall I go on?”  His tone was teasing and there was a twinkle of mischief in his whiskey eyes. * I mean, you can but it won’t make any difference. You know that. * ”I do. And I wouldn’t change it for the world.” The words were almost solemn in the unusual quiet of the pantry, and I leaned almost instinctively into Pan’s hand as he straightened my glasses. Anything else he may have been thinking was cut off by the beeping of a horn outside, and he gave me a small smile and brushed his thumb lightly over my cheek. “Be good, Sweetheart.” The words were just above a whisper and there was something heavy in them that I couldn’t seem to put my finger on, although I didn’t have time to process it in the slightest as he stepped aside and ushered me out of the pantry, shooing me towards the front door and guiding me easily out into the beginning of the storm. The storm had picked up as we wove through the streets, finally stopping in front of the venue that Pan had obviously directed the driver to. I slipped out of the vehicle with a wave and wrapped my borrowed jacket tightly around me but, despite the length, it did little to safeguard me from the now pouring rain and I was drenched in a matter of seconds.  The sidewalk and alley were scattered with whom I could only assume were fans, seeing as they were slowly filtering out of the wide open doors. I caught a quick glimpse of a ‘sold out’ sign that still hung in the now darkened box office window. A quick flash of pride welled up inside of me and I was, not for the first time, absolutely thrilled for the attention that Trick was getting for his music, no matter what may have been done to ignite that interest. The press of bodies at the barrier surrounding the white van that I knew Trick used for his equipment was already several people deep, despite the rain, and I cast a glance at the back door as I settled just out of the way of the crowd, leaning back easily against a brick building across from the club.  I kept my head down, the rain plastering loose strands of hair to my cheeks and neck before slipping down beneath the collar of my jacket. I probably would have been better off with a hoodie but hindsight was, as always, twenty-twenty. Shoving my hands in the too deep pockets, I allowed myself a little time to get lost in my thoughts, ignoring everything except for the rhythm of the rain and the roll of thunder overhead as memories of the last week, month, year, decade flooded through my mind on an endless loop.  That was brought to a halt as cries and flashes of light filled the air,  ones that were definitely not a  product of the light show overhead. My smile was immediate as I barely caught sight of a familiar fedora and just the briefest flash of a smile just past the clamoring crowd, that all seemed to be calling his name. I stood back for a bit, the rain getting steadily heavier as the time passed, and simply watched.  Trick seemed, maybe not in his element, but happy at least, his smile bright and genuine as he signed autographs and posed for pictures under an umbrella that was dutifully held by a familiar looking man in an atomic yellow raincoat, ‘security’ written on it in stark black letters. I couldn’t help the smile that passed my lips as I leaned back, staying in the shadows as much as I could.  I could pick out a few brighter flashes, ones that absolutely didn’t belong to a phone and my stomach turned at the thought of having to deal with fucking Chad again, or worse, so sticking to the shadows it was, at least for now. My happy little bubble of isolation was shattered just a few moments later when a bolt of lightning sliced through the sky and illuminated  the tiny alley followed almost immediately by a deafening roll of thunder, startling whatever creature was hiding in beneath the stacks of crates to my left, sending them tumbling to the cracked, wet asphalt with a clatter that drew the attention of everyone left at the barricade, including Trick. My cheeks flushed, very uncharacteristically, at the half whispered murmurs and I forced myself to stop studying the writing on the toe caps of my leaking shoes just in time to meet Trick’s gaze. Even with the distance that still separated us, I could see his eyes widen behind his glasses, a flash of surprise crossing his face. I raised my hand in a small, silent wave and saw his lips twitch, just slightly into a frown before he turned first to the blonde fan he was speaking with and then Mr. Umbrella, his words to both lost on me between the rain and the distance.  The latter, however, was only an issue for a few more moments before Umbrella was easily moving through the crowd, Trick following on his heels.  My stomach turned, inexplicably, the closer that he got and I shifted my weight anxiously from one foot to the other, my bottom lip securely between my teeth as I studied my shoes intently. A two fingers, warm and familiarly calloused, gently tilted my head up until I met blue eyes, dark with emotions that I couldn’t place but even then, they were safe and home and just… Trick. The truly embarrassing noise that caught in my throat was choked back as I finally stopped fighting and almost lunged forward, throwing my arms around Trick’s neck and burying my face against his shoulder.  He was literally everything good in this world, except for Pan, and I’d be a fucking hypocrite if I pretended otherwise, for even a moment. I felt his quiet laugh, the gentle vibration in his chest, as he pulled me tight against him and brushed a kiss against the top of my head. “Teddy, I’m so-”  The words were quiet, for my ears only, but I still shook my head, looking back up at him.* Don’t, you don’t- it’s okay just come home? *My voice cracked far more than I would have liked, and the words were disjointed and tears fell, unbidden, mixing with the icy rain that was still falling, but he smiled softly with a nod of his head, rain falling from the brim of his deep grey fedora.  Trick’s gaze darted to the line of fans behind him, and the photographers beyond that, all with cameras pointed in our direction.  His question was unspoken and unnecessary, as I stood back up on my toes to meet his lips in a sweet, almost chaste kiss for the cameras. Although it was a show, one that we both knew we had to put on, that didn’t take anything away from it in the slightest, and I laced my fingers with Trick’s as he draped an arm over my black clad shoulders and guided me wordlessly towards the waiting car that would finally take us home.*  #BabyComeHome #TheKidsArentAlright

Chicago, December 22th, 2005 *There is no place on earth quite like Chicago in winter.  I’d heard all of the accolades about New York being magical and, well, it was, but it just wasn’t home, and it never would be.  Chicago though, well, Evanston if you wanted to get technical, was where I had been born and raised, and would, no doubt, someday die.  My heart was entwined with the city and I loved everything about it; from the grit of the streets to the freezing lake effect winds that were currently bearing down on us. Pan, Trick and I were beyond exhausted, sleep-drunk and absolutely loopy from a day of travel as we nearly stumbled over each other, squished together on the cracked sidewalk, more out of sheer laziness than need for warmth.  It was a beautiful fucking night; the christmas lights that were strung on every house in the neighborhood twinkled off of the crisp, clean snow that was still falling lightly, the sparkling flakes catching on anything and everything.  Picture perfect, literally.*  Stop you motherfuckers, and just stand still!  *My directions were shouted against the wind, broken with laughter as I lowered my camera to wave a hand absently at the two boys that were leaning against each other, sleepy smiles on their faces. “Teddy. You have taken ninety-five goddamn pictures since we got off the plane.  Do you really need another one?”  Trick’s words may have seemed harsh, but they were laced with humour and his eyes twinkled behind his glasses; it was a valiant effort though.  Not lowering the camera, I flipped him off with a gloved finger as Pan laughed, his forehead resting on Trick’s shoulder, a blinding smile on his face just as I clicked the shutter.*  Fucking perfect. See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it? You better get used to it, Rockstar. *The easy taunt earned me a glare, although I was pretty sure the pretty pink on Trick’s cheeks wasn’t exclusively due to the bitter wind. He could deny it all he wanted, but Patrick was one of the single most talented people that I had ever known in my entire fucking life.  Yes, I may have been biased, but that sure as shit didn’t mean I was wrong. I’d been telling him for years that he should get used to the flattery, but he was humble as hell and refused to accept it.  Pan and I had, single handedly, made it our dual mission in life to knock some sense into our friend’s sweet, ginger head. It was a work in progress.  Snapping the lens cap back on my camera, I let it fall back around my neck and reached for the small, wheeled suitcase that was my only bag, aside from the Jansport that was securely on my back.  The last three days had been a whirlwind of deadlines, finals, coffee and airports to get home for the holidays.  The first stop on our grand tour of our old stomping grounds, and most likely the briefest, was my house. The dread in my stomach started welling up as the battered white porch steps came into view, despite being at least ten houses down the street. The little blue house was just barely illuminated in the streetlights, the strands of white and red lights wrapped around the banister the single concession to the holiday.  I’d spent more time out of the house growing up than I had in it, choosing to spend my hours either at Trick’s or Pan’s, simply for the sake of solace.  The atmosphere had been turbulent, to say the least, and I knew by the time I was seven that my mother wasn’t really that clumsy.  There were only so many times you could walk into an open cupboard. The torrent of angry words was indiscriminate, although the one and only time I’d been hit was the last time I had walked out the door, hours after my high school graduation. I knew the statistics, all of the facts, but when you were confronted with the reality of the situation, well, there was really only so much you could do.  I loved my mother with everything in me, she was my hero and had been for a long time, but she couldn’t leave. I had long since given up that fight.  She would leave when she could.  We still talked every day while I was gone, but there was something in her voice the last few weeks that I couldn’t seem to put my finger on.  I just wanted to see her again.  The time at my house would be brief, as it always had been, and I was actually staying at what had quickly become my unofficial room at the Dore household. My mother knew I spent my nights there even when I was still living at home; apparently we weren’t as slick as we thought we were.  Then again, teenagers always knew everything. Shaking the memories from my mind, I let out a long sigh, watching my breath in a puff of steam, clouding up into the cold night air and broken by fat, wet snowflakes. “It’ll only be a few minutes, Beary.”  Pan’s voice was quiet and close, the words ghosting over the exposed skin of my temple just below the bottom of the fuzzy, hand knit hat that I’d pulled over my ears. I gave my friend a small smile of thanks, spoken words unnecessary, as Trick dropped his arm over my shoulders and we all headed towards my family home. It was quiet as we approached and I kept a mental count of the steps in my head, counting down as we got closer.  The easy conversation had fallen away leaving only the howling wind for accompaniment as booted feet splashed in  puddles and skidded just slightly on hidden sheets of black ice. For a few moments it was perfect, a veritable winter wonderland. Perfection never lasts, and in this case, the silence was shattered by a deafening bang that seemed to echo like an explosion.  We all stopped in our tracks, frozen in the snow, despite the panic that quickly set in.  The sound had barely died away, leaving a ringing in my ears when another sounded out, seemingly louder than the first. My stomach dropped as the pieces clicked into place in my mind.* No. *The word was little more than a whisper before I twisted out from under Patrick’s arm and took off at a careful run towards my house, the counting forgotten as I focused on just fucking getting there. My lungs burned as I finally reached the porch, my gloved hand resting on the candy cane swirl of lights when I felt an arm around my waist tugging me backwards. “Teddy, don’t. Don’t.” Trick’s voice, usually so calm, was almost panicked, low and warm against my ear. I could see little more than a blur to my right as Pan dashed up the stairs, taking them two at a time before ducking behind the glass of the screen door, pausing for just a  fraction of an instant to flip the lock before disappearing into the darkness beyond.  There was a single light shining through the kitchen window but the blinds were down, blocking any view of the inside. My throat burned as I fought against Trick’s grip, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist.*  Let me fucking go, Patrick! I have to get in.  It’s my mom! I have to get in! *My words came out in a yell, although the serenity of the night was long gone as people started coming out of their houses, soft mutters of questions and slamming of doors drifting through the cold air. “Teddy. No. You can’t- wait for Pete. Just breathe for a minute. We don’t know-” Trick’s words of assurance died off before he was even done as Pete appeared back behind the fogged glass of the screen door, his face, usually lit by a grin even in the most inappropriate of times, was drawn and almost pale.  I didn’t need any more confirmation. The cry that escaped me was  foreign to my ears, anguish and grief colliding as I fought harder against Patrick’s grip, finally twisting away from him with a well placed elbow to his stomach. I scrambled forward only to be caught by Pete at the foot of the stairs.  He was stronger than Trick, but already shaken, and we both fell to the ground in a mess of flailing limbs, crashing hard against the cracked concrete, frigid, slushy water quickly soaking through layers of denim and wool.*  Lemme go, Pete. I have to, I need- that’s-  I have to see. *My words were broken by sobs as I struggled, stretching for the banister even as Pan wrapped tighter around me, his words quiet in my ear. “”Beary. Theodora, you don’t want to go in there. You don’t. I’m so sorry, Sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” His voice broke with emotion and I knew, without a doubt what lay on the other side of the door, even as I screamed, cried and begged to a God that I didn’t believe in to prove me wrong. I could still hear Pan’s soft apologies against my hair as I broke down, hot tear tracks freezing on my cheeks as everything went dark.* #AMessOfYouthfulInnocence #TheKidsArentAlright

Waking up in a bed that was not mine wasn’t exactly a rare occurance for me, but not being alone in them was a bit more uncommon, especially when I was naked.  I’d had my share of one night stands, which was almost par for the course when you rarely stayed anywhere longer than a few weeks at a time, but this was beyond different.  My vision was still blurry, my glasses obviously misplaced, but there was something more than a little familiar about the arms that were wrapped tightly around my waist, and the pillows beneath my head, so really that left exactly one option.* Trick? *My voice was wrecked, hoarse and raspy with sleep, as snippets of the night before slowly permeated my conscious which was spotty at best right now. “Not quite, Sweetheart.”  There was something heavy underlying the words, despite the voice being familiar, but I didn’t have anything even close to the cognitive reasoning needed to deduce what that was, not before an entire fucking pot of coffee.* Sorry, Pan. *Giving up on that train of thought, I snuggled closer to the very warm body beside me, closing my eyes as I rested my head on his shoulder, Pete’s fingers trailing lightly over my shoulder. “S’okay. Honest mistake.”  His voice was not at all hoarse, there wasn’t even a bit of that ‘just woke up’ confusion. It was quite the opposite, actually; Pete sounded like he’d already dumped a Red Bull into a mug of espresso. He hadn’t slept. It wasn’t an altogether unheard of practice for Pan; between insomnia and his job, he regularly went two or three days without sleeping, a habit that he’d had for as long as I could remember.  The past twenty-four hours trickled back in flashes; the bus crash, the aftermath, fighting with Trick, stumbling up the stairs with Pete, sex. Very, very good sex. My cheeks warmed uncharastically as those particular memories came back in high def technicolor, and I pressed my face against Pan’s neck, taking a deep breath and coming back to myself as much as I could while the pieces clicked into place. “You okay, Beary?” That worrying tone was gone, and my usual nickname was back as though nothing was out of place which, it wasn’t, not really. I nodded slightly, humming against warm skin and enjoying the simple solace of the moment, surreal as it was. I had a feeling that it wasn’t going to last.*  I’m good, Pan, I promise. You? *I leaned back, tilting my chin to meet his eyes and was greeted by a bright smile.  “Beary, are you really asking me that?  Cause I’m pretty sure you know the answer.” I couldn’t and didn’t hide my smile as I stuck my tongue out and received a downright filthy leer; It felt better. * I do have some manners on occasion, even if they are rare. And yes, I’m really asking. You know what they say about assumptions.   *”Beary, I’m pretty sure assumptions don’t need to be made in this case but if you want me to clarify…” the series of overly loud and exaggerated moans that followed were pure Pete, and it took everything in me not to laugh as I clamped my hand over his mouth.* I get it, I get it. It was good. Believe me, I remember, repeatedly.  But really Pan, thank you for everything. You didn’t have to. *Once the devilish gleam faded from his eyes just a little, I lowered my hand and received a kiss to the top of my head. “No thanks needed, I promise. Now, you gonna tell me what was up?  Not that I’m complaining but…” Fuck.  there was that gravity again.  Shaking my head, I lay back down, tucking my head under Pete’s chin to flat out avoid eye contact as Trick’s words echoed in my mind.  I wasn’t innocent in all of this, but shit.* Nope, still don’t want to talk about it. *I could feel Pete shrug half heartedly as he accepted my answer, although I knew that this wasn’t the end of the conversation, not by a long shot. The silence was comfortable and oddly familiar, even as it was totally out of place in Trick’s house.  There was always music with him, it was almost a physical presence, whether it was the radio in the background, the tap of a pen to some melody that only he heard or his own quiet humming; the silence was unusual but not, in this exact moment, unwelcome.* Did he come home? *Trick was never really a morning person, so the quiet could very well have been chalked up to that, but something told me that wasn’t the case today. “Yeah, he was here, not for long though.  He peeked in before he left. He slammed the door, Beary.”  There was an entire litany of unspoken truths in those simple words and I sighed as I hid my face against Pan’s chest, my breath ghosting out against the dark ink. Trick, despite having the face of a baby angel and the patience of a saint, was rather infamous in some circles for his fits of temper, rare as they were. He and Pan both, had spent a good part of our youth with perpetually scraped and bruised knuckles from fighting, more often than not with each other.  The closeness that we all shared was a bit of a double edged sword and there were more than a few times over the last thirty years that we each flat out pushed one another to the point of almost irrational anger.  It never lasted though, not really, except for those times that it did.  Even then, it was always resolved, usually after a few swings had been taken, maybe some name calling and cheap shots.  Trick was vocal when he was angry, always had been, preferring to get things out in the open, to scream and yell and fight, instead of keeping them locked inside. It was toxic, he’d explained, keeping all of that bottled up.  If he hadn’t reached that level yet, well, shit was bad.  Squeezing my eyes shut against the memories that threatened to swirl back up, I curled tighter into Pan, tangling my bare legs with his beneath the twisted sheets as he carded his fingers through my tangled hair.  He was safe, in every sense of the word and I craved that, more often than I probably should. Tilting my head just enough to press my lips against the inked thorns that circled his neck, I couldn’t help but smile at the slight catch of his breath and falter of his fingers.* Hey, Pan? *My voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper, and he responded in kind, a low murmur of acknowledgement that I could feel vibrating in his chest.* So, when two people have sex, and it’s not fucking awful, if they can do it again, they’re gonna do it again. And last night really wasn’t fucking awful… * I let my voice trail off and waited, holding my breath for some ridiculous reason that I didn’t want to consider until Pan spoke, his voice gentle. “Beary, I told you last night, whatever you need. If what you need happens to be some no strings attached sex every now and then, well, I think I could find some way to hold up my end of that bargain for you.”  I could hear the smile in his voice, and responded in kind, my lips brushing against his skin.*  The sacrifices you are willing to make never cease to amaze me, Pan, thank you. * As light as my words were, there was still a heaviness that lingered in the air as Pete tugged me tight against him, wrapping his arms tightly around me.  He’d never had much of a concept of either boundaries or personal space, at least not with Trick and I, and that constant, despite everything else, brought a bit of unexpected solace in the middle of an emotional clusterfuck. “What can I say, Beary?  I live to serve.” That earned an eye roll on it’s own, although whatever I was going for was lost in the laugh that I couldn’t seem to muffle against Pan’s chest.* You know, anything you say can and will be held against you, right?  *”So only say my name…” I could hear the smile in Pan’s voice as he quoted lyrics that were familiar as breathing, although his tone was husky with something unspoken, yet again.* Pete… *The word was a whisper, cut off quickly by a kiss that was both grounding and desperate in equal measure, and the quiet of the early morning was broken for good.* #DontTellMeYouCried #TheKidsArentAlright

*I never thought that I would actually be thankful for silence; it usually held far too much truth for my liking, but after what happened earlier, every noise seemed to be too loud, too much. The drive back to Trick’s from Neverland was far too quick and yet seemed to take forever at the same time. The quiet was uncomfortable as the three of us squeezed into the back of an uber knees and shoulders pressed together and each lost in our own thoughts. It wasn’t until we were home, or what was home in LA anyway, that any of us let our guards down even a little bit. As soon as the door clicked shut behind Pete, there was a shift in the energy, unseen and yet almost palpable, even if it wasn’t necessarily for the better. “I’m gonna take a shower.” Pete’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet and I paused on my way from the kitchen to really take him in. There were patches of dried blood visible even against the dark blue of his jeans and spattered across the stark white of his shirt, mingling with streaks of dirt like some sort of macabre Jackson Pollack painting rendered in the remnants of tragedy. I fought a shiver, shaking my head as though that would dispel the images that seemed stuck in my mind as I turned my attention towards the cabinet. My throat was ridiculously dry and the motions automatic as I grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with cool, filtered water from the fridge dispenser. That was probably a mistake. When the glass was empty, I could pretend that my hands weren’t shaking; when it was full, the telltale slosh of liquid was kind of a goddamn giveaway. “Teddy.” Trick’s voice was quiet, and his breath brushed across my ear as his fingers carefully brushed mine as the glass was easily plucked out of my hand and set down on the island. “You wanna tell me what’s in that head of yours?” It wasn’t a request, per se, but his tone was still polite enough to pretend. Letting out a heavy breath, I pulled my glasses off, wiping the lenses with the hem of my shirt, more as a way of not looking up than to actually wipe them. The action didn’t actually clean them, instead it just smeared dirt around, but it was something. Avoidance is the name of the game. Of course, my little trick didn’t work, and Patrick clucked his tongue before plucking the specs from my fingers and setting them beside the water glass on the island of abandoned distraction techniques. “Teddy. Talk to me.” Again. Not a request, but there was still the small pretense. Wrinkling my nose as I heard the dull pounding of the shower overhead, I snagged the remote from its docking station and aimlessly pressed buttons until music took the place of silence. Benji’s voice, raspy and sincere, echoed through the air. Of fucking course. Nearly huffing, I crossed my arms and blew my bangs out of my face as I tried futilely to push aside the images that wouldn’t leave my head. “Goddamnit, Theodora stop avoiding and fucking talk to me.” There was an edge of anger in Trick’s voice , but the fingers that tilted my chin up were gentle, as were the blue eyes that I had no choice but to meet. Something lingered behind that gaze, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I would though, that was just the way things were when you had known someone for your entire life. I considered lying, just for a split second, but that wouldn’t work out well. Trick could read me like a book.* I was holding their kid, Trick, when the garbage truck hit. We were right inside the doors with Jessie. They lost it, both of them, as soon as we heard the crash. Like they fucking knew, Gracie… she fucking screamed and I’ve never heard anything like that in my life. If we were a few steps quicker, she would have seen… *My voice trailed off and I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting against the onslaught of images that crashed through my mind in an endless loop. “It’s… it’s not okay, Teddy, I won’t lie, but they are all alive. That’s… it’s a goddamn miracle.” He had a point, he always did, but it didn’t really help. My foot twitched anxiously and I shook my head, bracing my hands on the island and hopping up onto the granite surface, toeing my shoes off and worrying my lower lip between my teeth. “What, Teddy? There’s something you aren’t saying. Don’t make me force it, it’s been a long day and I really don’t want to argue with you.” I couldn’t disagree with him on any point, and I brushed my hair out of my face as I regarded my friend. He was rumpled and dirt smudged, hat long gone and a fresh cut, still covered with dried, flaking blood that looked alarmingly out of place against his skin. My stomach churned as I finally allowed the thoughts that had been ghosting through my mind since the last of the emergency crews had pulled away to surface; and surface they did, with a vengeance.* What of that was you? Or Pete? It could have been. And then what? *I went numb as soon as the question was out, hanging in the air between us, heavy and almost shockingly present. I could see the emotions flicker across Trick’s face, one after another in rapid succession as he processed my verbal outburst. “Teddy, you can’t… it wasn’t.” His voice was low, quiet and almost insanely gentle, as though anything louder would cause me to break, even as he fumbled for words. “Shit.” He finally gave up, crossing the two steps between us and wrapping his arms tightly around me in a sorely needed embrace. I returned it immediately, pressing my face against his neck and letting the familiar smell of him; he was coffee and mint and the wind from Lake Michigan. He was safe. Glancing up after a far too brief moment, I met blue eyes that were darkened with something that I couldn’t quite place. “Teddy, we’re both okay. I promise, we’re okay.” Trick’s words were whispered, barely audible above the music that still played overhead, but they hit home in a way that nothing else would. Acting on pure impulse, fueled by the numbness that had somehow set in, I twisted a hand in Trick’s shirt and yanked; his quiet gasp of surprise was muffled as my lips pressed against his. The kiss was not sweet. It wasn’t gentle or caring or any of the other myriad of words that could have been used. At all. It was desperate and needed and almost violent; it was all frenzied escalation and yearning with hands pulling at clothes and teeth nipping at skin. I didn’t think, I didn’t want to, as my hand slipped from the back of Trick’s shirt down into his back pocket, my fingers grazing against the leather of his wallet as I focused, as much as I could anyway, on the feeling of his lips at my neck. “Hang on Teddy. Whatcha doin’?” His voice was breathy and low, familiar in more ways than one, and I had to make an exceedingly conscious effort to focus on what he was saying.* I’m- ah- condom. *My own words were stilted as I tripped over them in an attempt to catch my breath, biting back a frustrated whimper as Trick pulled away, my hands falling to my sides as he stepped back just outside of my reach. “No, Teddy.” While his voice was quiet, it still seemed to echo in the spacious kitchen, spoken at that exact moment between songs where there was nothing but silence. Swallowing thickly, I brushed my hair back behind my ears and looked up to meet Trick’s eyes which were stormy behind his glasses.* You… no? * I parroted his statement back to him, the question obvious even as my voice shook. “No. When this… whole thing started, you set some rules, we both did, I’m not going to break them now. Not like this. It’s not worth it to me. And before you say it, because I fucking know you, Teddy, it’s not you.” As much as I wished that I could say he was wrong, I really, really couldn’t and that did nothing to help. My cheeks flamed as I dropped my head, more in anger than embarrassment, but there was more than a tinge of that.* I know what I’m asking, Trick, I’m not that far gone. I just… I want to feel something. *I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze as I spoke, instead stealing glances through lowered lashes. “I know that, Teddy, believe me, but this isn’t the way to go about it. I’m not willing to risk what we have for what essentially amounts to grief sex. I won’t do it, and I’m not sorry for a second.” Trick’s words weren’t harsh, but there was a tone of finality to them, and a hardness that I had only heard from him a handful of times that only served to make me angry. Straightening my spine, I tilted my head up defiantly, and finally met my best friend’s eyes.* Pan would do it. *”Pan would do what?” The voice echoed from some place that was decidedly not upstairs and Trick and I both snapped our heads to look at the man in question, leaning casually against the breakfast bar, shirtless and barefoot in faded jeans, with his hair still wet from his shower. Patrick’s gaze darted between Pete and I with something that, once again, I couldn’t place and that simply pissed me off even more so. I hated not knowing what the fuck was happening. “Ask Teddy, I’ve got to go meet with Warren about damage control.” Trick’s tone was cold, and his face gave away exactly nothing as he leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear as he spoke words solely meant for me. “Try not to fuck in my bed while I’m gone, okay?” The hurt that the words carried was instant, spiking in my stomach as if I’d been punched and echoing, bright and painful in my ears. He had always been honest with me, but he had never, ever, been so mean before. My response was immediate, and I didn’t even realize what I had done until my palm stung and there was a red mark on Trick’s cheek. I held his gaze for just a moment before he turned and headed for the door, muttering something to Pete on the way by, this time not at all meant for me before the sound of the door slamming echoed through the house. Taking a deep breath, I blinked back tears that stung my eyes, silently counting to ten- a ridiculous habit I’d developed as a kid. It didn’t work then either. Opening them, I was met with Pete’s whiskey eyes, slightly blurry through the tears, but still warm and concerned. “You wanna explain what the fuck just happened there, Beary?” His voice was gentle; soothing, exactly what I needed and everything I didn’t wrapped up in a question that was far more loaded than I could even begin to explain; so I didn’t.* Nope, not even a little. *My words shook with quickly failing resolve as a tear splashed down my cheek and I swiped at it angrily. Pete didn’t say a word, quietly crossing the space between us and pulling me into a hug, his lips pressed against my temple as he gently rubbed my back. For as much shit as I gave him, Pete could, when it was needed, be an astoundingly grounding presence, however rare it may have been. Another tear slipped free and splashed on his bare shoulder, still warm from his shower; he smelled just as familiar as Trick, but in a wholly different way, like leather and spice and moonlight on the snow in the darkest months of winter. Jesus wept.* I need- fuck. *My voice cracked and I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the sob that was stuck in my throat.* You. Come upstairs with me. Please? *The words were whispered, almost a plea spoken against his neck. In an echo of Trick’s movements from earlier, Pete’s fingers gently tilted my chin up so I met his gaze, my eyes still stinging with tears. It was silent for what felt like forever, before the smallest hint of a smile, however sad, tugged at his lips. “I’ve got you, Sweetheart, whatever you need.”* #IJustNeedEnoughOfYouToDullThePain #TheKidsArentAlright