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Talon’s never been a big talker, but when they’re driving him home he’s super duper quiet, and Ezreal tries to make up for it until Sett shoots him a desperate look. Then Ezreal decides to take charge of the music instead. He picks out some of his favorite songs and he fiddles with the volume knob to make sure it's not too loud, so the music comes out just right. When he looks over at the back seat, Talon is leaning his head against the car window, his eyes closed. Ez wonders if maybe he's reminiscing. After all, they’d first listened to this song together. Ezreal remembers sitting on Talon's ratty couch—that thing’s at the dump now—and listening to music with him. Talon’s great to listen to tunes with because he’ll just hear anything and like it, since he has as much music taste as the inside of Sett’s elbow. But that means he and Ez could sit together hip to hip, Ez’s head leaning on his shoulder, and Talon blowing smoke in front of the open window. He’s always said smoking cigarettes helped his moods, but Ezreal’s really not sure how true that is, and he thinks that’s the only reason Talon kept his own apartment as long as he did, since Sett despises the smell. Ezreal likes it honestly, because it reminds him of those black and white movies where everyone’s puffing, and all the ladies have those long cigarette holders and bat their eyelashes. It’s just a little romantic, okay? Okay, anyway, the song had come on, and Talon had tilted his head up to exhale smoke, and Ezreal hooked his leg over Talon’s and had felt pretty happy. So maybe Talon’s thinking of that in the car. And if he’s not, maybe he should be.

At Sett’s apartment, Talon isn’t in the mood for much of anything except sleeping. When he sees the welcome home banner Ezreal had hung up (with Sett’s help) he barely cracks a smile. Maybe his lips twitch or something. It’s not really the reaction Ezreal was hoping for, but it's not a big deal. For the rest of the week Talon pretty much just eats and sleeps and takes long naps. It’s the med's fault. He got put on something new and he takes it in the morning with breakfast. Sleepin’ Beauty, Sett calls him, but Ezreal’s tried kissing him awake and it hasn’t worked. Between all of the sleeping, Talon slowly unpacks the last boxes in his room, and Ezreal sits on his bed and watches him sort his odds and ends. All these random little memories and not a single book, which Ezreal teases him for. Talon hunches his shoulders. I’m just messing with you, Ezreal says. I know, Talon answers, but his voice is low and prowling. Ezreal likes his voice a lot because it's raspy and slightly unsteady in a really fun way, and Ezreal wants to play with his hair or maybe get naked.

But ever since he got out of the hospital, Talon hadn't been in the mood for sex. Sett’s offered, and Ezreal’s tried to woo his ass off but Talon is definitely too out of it. It’s just not the right time. In that case it's good that he has his own, sexless room to sleep in while Sett and Ezreal get it on, but it still feels weird. They try to keep quiet, out of courtesy, but it’s not supposed to be like that. Talon’s supposed to be the quiet one, so that Ezreal and Sett can drag all the noise out with their bare hands. It feels weird knowing he's in the other room playing Sleeping Beauty. He’s moody, he’s distant, he’s trying, you can see how hard he’s trying, and you can see how hard it’s not working. He might need different meds, Sett says to him, and that bums Ezreal out for uh—an admittedly selfish reason. He just wants Talon to be better so he can pay attention to him again. He misses Talon’s attention because it’s wholly undivided. When he looks at Ezreal it’s with laser focus. Or at least it’s supposed to be. Ever since Talon’s gotten out of the hospital his gaze has been fractured or refracted like light through a tall glass of water. Ezreal takes big sips to keep from interjecting. Talon’s telling him about how he thinks they might’ve planted thoughts in his brain. Who’s they? Ezreal wants to ask, but he knows Talon won’t have a good answer.

“But like, how do you know they put them there?” he asks instead.

Talon is chewing on his fingernails, which is a universal constant like the speed of light. “I just know.”

“Maybe we should try sleepin’ again,” Sett yawns. He’s slumped over the kitchen table next to Talon, his ears on a mad tilt from staying up too late. It’s almost three in the morning.

Talon gets up out of his chair. He’s been doing that constantly. He’ll get up, pace in a circle like a dog, and then sit back down uneasily. “I don’t know,” he mumbles.

“I think it’d be a good test,” Ezreal says brightly, “to see if they’re still there in the morning.”

So they sleep together in Sett’s bed, Talon hiding under the covers and the reach of Sett’s arm, and Ezeral regretting drinking so much water because the floor is cold and the bathroom is worse. He needs Talon to get better soon, please and thank you. When he’s really bad his paranoia warps his whole world, and sometimes he doesn't even have room for Ezreal. (A total shame. Everyone should have room for Ezreal.)

The next day Talon doesn't talk about implanted thoughts or whoever they are. He struggles through breakfast, face colored by shame, and then he goes back to bed. Ezreal spends a lot of time on the couch, rearranging himself into increasingly haphazard positions and dreading going to work later. Sometimes he just can’t get himself to do anything. He sends Talon a snapchat of him hanging upside down over the couch, and then when he doesn’t get an immediate response he decides to go bother him in person. Ezreal knocks before he comes into the room, but he still comes in. He would rather be bored and brainrotting with someone else. Talon’s only got one box left in his bedroom now. He’s laying on the bed on his side, covered in a soft blue blanket that Sett’s Ma made for him.

“Hey are you awake,” Ezreal asks. Talon’s phone is facedown on his nightstand.

Talon’s eyes flutter open. He looks up at Ezreal but he doesn't move, and he looks so like, worn out. Ezreal feels bad. He crawls onto the bed next to him, worming his way closer like an annoying cat, squishing himself back against Talon until they’re pressed together, Ezreal’s back against Talon’s front. Talon makes one small grumble but otherwise doesn’t resist. In fact he hangs his arm over Ezreal’s waist, so Ezreal considers this arrangement a success. He goes back to scrolling and he feels Talon’s arm progressively tighten around him.

“Are you feeling any better?” Ezreal asks.

Talon clears his throat behind him. He presses his face against the back of Ezreal’s shirt, hiding. So that’s a no, or a maybe, or a maybe-Talon’s-being-too-hard-on-himself-again.

“No biggie,” Ezreal promises.

“Is Sett at work,” Talon mumbles. 

“Uh huh,” Ez says. “But he’ll be back before I leave.” Thinking about work makes him feel melty in a bad way. Like a popsicle on the sidewalk.

“Is he mad at me.”

“No one’s mad at you,” Ezreal laughs.

Talon’s hand has flattened itself solidly against Ez’s stomach. He’s missed that, the ways Talon would touch him. Sett is bossy and demanding with it. Talon has always been—careful.