Adventure is out there! (But I wish it were here)

"How about we try memory anchoring this time? Maybe that would work better for you, less abstract."

Specs shrugged. "If ya say so."

Bill hopped off Ford's shoulders and swirled around to inspect the hillbilly a bit closer. This was the calmest Bill had ever seen him.

There were a few different methods for entering a mind. An open invitation was the most direct and effective method. Short of that, Bill could skim a few things through the psychic barrier that separated his consciousness from another's. How much he could glean depended on the strength and rigidity of those barriers. Specs usually kept his walls up. Meditation softened most minds, made them more pliable.

Bill reached a hand for the scratchy hay bale on the hillbilly's head, only to jump back when he felt the prickling resistance before making contact.

That was alright. He could wait a little longer and let Fordsy do his job.

"Think of somewhere safe. Somewhere you've never been hurt."

Bill rolled his eye. The fact that this worked on humans was baffling.

He could still feel that burn. He reached a hand up to wipe his watering eye. 

"Somewhere familiar, some place that makes sense to you."

Pulling back revealed silver static smeared across Bill's black glove. Whatever Lulu spiked his punch with must have messed him up more than he realized. The static was briefly mesmerizing. Bill couldn’t stop staring at it, staring into it, watching the colors shift. 

His hand was shaking. Why was it shaking? When did that start?

"Do you have a place?"

"Yeah, actually..."

W̵͓͍̟̰̣̰͉̜͈̺͇̠͆̓̍̒̏͗̈́ͅh̸͎̣͗͐͛͆͝y̸̨̗͈̦͎̜̿́̄ ̴̨̡̲̭̯̩̟̤̺̤̦̙̈́̆̿͛̒̿͊̑̆̓̃̾͒d̵̈͒̄͜ȋ̵̧̦͇͎̙̙̜̳̮͒͜͠͝d̸̡̡̧̝͚͙͙͈̘̰̽̀̈́́̓͛͐̇̈̍̕͝ ̷̮͂͂̉̓̂̄̄̀̅͘͝͝ÿ̴͚́̈́̓́̓̉̆͝o̵͓͎͗̀͂̓̂͊̏̓͗̌́û̷̳̮̃́͆͒̃̅͛͆̊̚̕͝ ̷̢̢̠̫̬̠̤͔̳͚̻̈́̋͐̊́̇͑̐͠͝d̸̘̎͑̽̿̊͜ͅǫ̸̛̛̗̯̥̻͈̝̖̝͖͖̈̄̌̆̀̕͠ ̶̨̼͍͙͉͉͔͚͚̜̫͓̼̕i̴͈̰̲̽̿̋͋̇̋̈͂͘͜͝͝t̸̫̠̲̠̲͉̺̣͉̅̎̆̃́̾̎̃̓?̵̨̠̦̳͈̣̳͙͑̋͛͗̀̓͌̅́̄͊ͅ

Bill snapped out of his trailing thoughts. He shook his hand free of the sticky remnants of his own internals. The droplets faded from existence as he did so. They were little more than a fleeting memory of a body that once was. He looked back at Specs. The scrawny man was calm now. The prickling energy around him had eased.

Bill reached his hand out to touch him.

"Tell me what you can hear."

"The window unit is rattlin'. Pink Floyd is on the radio, signal's bad. It's always bad."

Bill found himself in a small room with cheap wallpaper and cheaper carpet. Each wall had a bed, though only one had any occupants. A pair of bodies were slumped together in the corner with books in their hands.

"What does this place smell like?"

"Like weed," the hillbilly chuckled. "And..."

"Sixer..."

Bill stared at the man slumped in bed beside the interloper. Not much of a man, really, barely a boy. Bill hovered closer to take in full cheeks and long lashes in greater detail. Ford's face was flushed from the heat. His sweat-stained black undershirt clung to his skin. Dark, damp curls framed his face in pretty little spirals.

"And?"

"Nothin', just BO," Specs laughed again.

Bill could smell him. Here, in this place, he could catch more than just a whisper. He could smell the sweet musk of Sixer's body as sharp as an Oregon summer.

Bill slowly tugged off a glove. He felt naked, but the need to feel something mattered so much more. He gingerly reached out a bare hand to touch Sixer's face. He was warm, and soft... so soft.... Bill smoothed his thumb over round cheeks full of hormones and baby fat. He could just barely make out the whisper of recently clean-shaven stubble. He could feel the greasy pores in his skin. His fingers danced along a strong jawline that was slowly coming into sharper and sharper focus with age. He could practically feel the bones straining for freedom against the constraints of young flesh.

Ford snorted in his sleep and drooled on his roommate's shoulder.

"How does it feel here?"

"Hot, almost too hot."

Specs shifted slightly under Ford's weight to get comfortable and rested their temples together. He turned another page in his textbook and jotted something down.

"Almost?"

"Yeah, but there's nowhere else I'd rather be."

"Is there anyone there with you?"

Specs glanced over at a framed photo on his nightstand. A picture of the scraggly twig with some afro-haired woman grinding her knuckles into his skull. Some sort of childhood sweetheart. Bill could tell that much from the disgusting saccharine emotions that radiated off the unsubtle symbolism.

Specs flipped the picture face down on their shared desk and went back to studying.

"Nah, it's just me here."

Bill couldn't help but laugh. He pulled away from his pet human as he slipped his glove back up his arm to watch this grease weasel lie like the coward he was.