Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Flick

     Adam ignited the lighter, bringing the flame to the end of his preroll. The twisted edge of the blunt lit a vibrant orange before withering to black and filling the musky apartment with a veil of smoke. As he inhaled, the burn danced on his tongue, reminiscent of his first smoke back in highschool. As always, Adam allowed his heavy head to fall backward against his shoulders as his lungs released the excess smoke back up into the ceiling fan. 

     Thirty minutes had slipped by, his eyelids resting at half-mast. His body lay relaxed, a cocoon of warmth against the old, leather sofa. The pain that had tormented his shoulder merely an hour ago now felt distant, relaxed by the gentle haze of the joint. 

     He couldn’t stand the suffocating sensation of those bandages. They were tightly wrapped around his shoulder and under his armpit, saturated in thick, red blood. The bandages felt sluggish and wet, a relentless embrace. Earlier today Adam had peeled back the previously white bandage and peaked at the wound underneath, which isn’t doing well. The time spent in the bathroom was enough for serious infections to brew. The first sign of trouble was the torn skin surrounding the bullet hole. It would continually tear if put under too much stress and felt hot to the touch. The state of the wound was an uncomfortable thought, a ghastly sight he’d rather avoid. 

     Instead, he chose to melt into his sofa, indulging in melodramatic police romances and lighting up a second joint. Daytime television offered little to cheer for, but he couldn't deny that these cheesy dramas held a curious charm. The show's protagonists, Pablo and Stacey, navigated a series of bank robberies across LA. An enemies-to-lovers dynamic played out, a race for a significant promotion driving them against each other. Adam had jumped into the series midway, the plot's trajectory unsurprising. They taunted each other, tackled challenges, brushed against danger, and eventually succumbed to love.

     The melodrama was laid on thicker than icing on a children’s cake, but Adam loved the simplicity. There's an art to the dramatics that daytime television has really bastardised, and he wouldn't have it any other way. 

     His festivities were interrupted at around noon by a sudden knock at the door. Adam’s eyes darted toward the direction of the noise, his blood running cold and his mouth hanging agape. Since he came to in his hospital room, he hasn't had a single visitor or intrigued guest. The most he’d gotten was a missed call from Scott and a voicemail asking if he’d killed anyone during his run with Jigsaw. 

     Slowly, he stood from his spot on the couch and held his half-smoked blunt firmly between his pointer and his thumb. If all else fails, he mused, the fiery joint might work as an impromptu weapon. 

     Adam peered through the small metal peephole, gazing out into the dirty apartment building’s hallway. He pursed his lips to stifle any noise. 

     Much to his surprise, there stood Lawrence patiently waiting a step back from the door. Sure, he knew Lawrence was alive. It was the first question he’d asked when he came to. The doctors had assured him that he was on the mend, but he’d assumed that's where his relations with Lawrence would end. Adam looked over his shoulder to the mess of dishes, food and clothes that coated his apartment like a landfill. He shuddered before gently cracking open the door, sorting out his arsenal of excuses, 

I just got home, the feds raided me for evidence, I was babysitting the neighbour's horse-sized dog

“Lawrence!” Adam greeted with a forced smile. 

     Lawrence adjusted himself against his crutch and held eye contact with the younger man, “Hello, lovely to see you again, Adam.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I hope you don’t mind my being here.” He explained, “You had your address listed on your hospital file and I just— I think we’re due for a talk, huh?” The doctor relaxed his face into a gentle stare. 

     Adam nodded, using the unstable door to support his weight, “Why wouldn't I wanna talk to the man who left this pretty hole in my shoulder?” He paused before adding, “And left me to die.” Adam felt the guilt rise just as he saw the look on Lawrence's face. His eyebrows softened from their usual tightly wound positions and his mouth twitched as he considered his next words, 

“Adam, look-” He began, his stomach lurching as he came to an explanation, “If I could have personally come back for you, I would have. They found me outside, passed out from blood loss and I was in and out of consciousness for days.” His voice is sincere as he recalls the prior events, “But I promise you the first thing I did when I was steadily awake was tell them about you. I told them where you were, where you were injured and why, I told them everything.”  

“Oh come on,” Adam dismissed with a crooked smile, “I’m just pulling your legs, or, leg .” He chuckled, “Besides, I’ve always wanted a piercing. Maybe it’ll pick up in the fashion industry, you think?” Lawrence's eyes flicked toward the hand bearing the smoking blunt, “Give me a minute, will you? I’ll be right back.”

“Well, alright—”

     He shut the door and pressed his back against it for a beat before embarking on a whirlwind cleanup. In a quick sweep, he brought all the dirty dishes to the sink. Still untidy, but a hell of a lot better than them being stashed between couch cushions or stacked up on window sills. His next task was the scattered clothes, strewn like casualties across the floor. Adam packed his good arm full of the bunched-up fabric and when he ran low on room, he carefully began to lift the remaining bits with his right arm. Once his floor was clean of anything noticeable, he began to stand himself up, arms still full of dirty laundry. 

     As he stood, his bad arm dangled to the side and put immense stress on his wounded shoulder. Surges of stabbing pain rushed down the right side of his torso and expanded throughout his legs and chest. He let out a sharp cry and collapsed back to the floor, dropping the heaps down onto the ground next to him. His left hand instinctively reached for the wound, clasping it as his eyes squeezed shut. 

     Outside the room, Lawrence was alarmed by the sudden clamour. He recognised it, it was akin to the noise he’d heard from Adam back in the bathroom. Without hesitation, he shuffled to the door leaving two firm knocks.

“Adam? Are you alright?”

     Adam froze, hastily stuffing the clothes, dragging himself down the hall and dumping everything on his bedroom floor. As he slammed the door shut, he leaned back and called out to Lawrence,

“Uh, Yeah! Just a minute!”

     Quickly, the young man maneuvers over to the couch, using his left arm for support as he pushes himself to a stand. The pain swelled in waves throughout his body as he reached the door and creaked it back open.

“What was that?” Lawrence immediately challenged, a look of confusion and worry drenched across his face, 

     Adam’s uneasy smile wavered before he flicked his gaze downward, “It was just the TV” he blurted, “I keep it pretty loud.” 

     The doctor leaned forward on his crutch, surveying the dark television screen. He looked back to Adam who was now anxiously picking at his chapped lips. He had decided not to push any further, it wasn't his place, and rather gave a curt nod, “Alright.” 

“You wanna come in?” Adam offered, swaying his arm to welcome the doctor, “If it's messy, blame the feds, they can't keep their hands to themselves.” 

“Right.” 

“Do you want a coffee?” Adam absentmindedly wandering through the kitchen, Lawrence in tow, 

“Do you have tea?”

“I do, you pretentious bastard.” Adam’s snip came with an undercurrent of hoarse laughter. 

     The doctor noticed Adam struggling with simple tasks as he made their drinks. Opening the fridge, carrying light objects and even letting his arm fall naturally by his side, he always kept it bent and resting against his stomach. His eyes stayed fixated on the shoulder, igniting cautionary red flags with every grunt or flinch. 

“So, what brought you here? Or were you just after my tea?” Adam laughed to himself, handing over a mug with a tea bag slung over the edge. 

“Well,” Lawrence began, “And excuse me if I’m crossing a line, but a coworker of mine let me know that you were discharged AMA?” He took a sip from the mug and watched as Adam’s face changed to a look of confusion, 

“Sorry?”

“Discharged AMA,” he twirled his hand, “against medical advice.”

“Oh! Yes.” 

     Lawrence glanced around before setting his cup down and leaning forward, “Why would you do that?”

“I wanted to go home, why else?” 

“Why else?” Lawrence’s tone hardened, “Adam, you have a bullet hole in your shoulder.”

“And who’s fault is that?” He joked,

“For the love of god-” 

“That hospital did nothing but change out my bandages and fill me with drugs, " He grumbled, “I can do all that on my own for free.”

     Lawrence sighed, sinking into his chair. “You need medical attention, Adam. It’s really not a choice.”

“I’ve been making out just fine.” 

“Alright, well, I just want to make sure.” He says matter-of-factly

     Adam chokes on his drink and raises his brow, “Pardon me?”

“Oh stop, I’m not asking you to strip naked.” He scoffs, “I want to ensure that there’s no infection or complications in your recovery.”

“Why does it matter to you? Ya’ feeling guilty?” Adam dumps the rest of his coffee into the crowded sink and leaves the cup on the counter.

“Yeah, I am. Of course I am.” 

“Well, don’t.” 

“How do you figure I do that?”

     Adam takes a sharp breath and bends over the counter to face Lawrence, “Look, Larry, I’ve been keeping tabs on my shoulder. If anything was wrong, I’d know”

“No, Adam, you wouldn’t know. You irresponsibly denied the help from your doctors and came home with a rapidly infectious bullet hole which I’m willing to bet has been regionally ignored since your discharge, correct?”

     Adam didn’t have an answer to that.

“You need real medical advice. Now, this isn’t even my place of expertise but I’m willing to put that aside to make sure you don’t die of sepsis or bleed out.” His tone is serious and stern. Adam evaluates this carefully before tapping his hands against the table and mumbling,

“Alright.” He surrenders, “You can check it out. Just— please, be careful.”

     Lawrence beamed at that and nodded quickly, “Yeah, alright.” 

     Adam settled onto the couch, instructed by Lawrence. Lawrence carefully set his crutch to the side as Adam lifted his shirt. The bandages across his shoulder are stained with blood, both old and new. Lawrence's face plunged as he saw their state. They were clearly applying little to no pressure to the wound. 

“Have you been changing these since you left the hospital?”

     Adam thought for a moment, “I didn't have any at home, so no.”

     Lawrence deadpans, then abruptly stands up, 

“What are you doing?” Adam queries,

“Going to get bandages.”

“Seriously, Lawrence?”

“Yes, seriously.” He adjusts himself onto his crutch and heads toward the door, “But you really gotta be more prepared, Adam. You didn't think to buy bandages?” 

“Stop,” He interjected, “I’ll run out and get ‘em. You wait here.”

“No. To be frank, I don't want you doing anything that involves that arm right now.” He twists the knob and limps into the hallway, “Stay here, alright? I’ll be back soon.”

“Lawrence, no! You’re crippled, I won’t have you run errands for me.”

     Lawrence cringes at the use of the word ‘cripple’ before surrendering.

“We could go together?” He suggested, “Watch over each other.” 

     Adam considers this, still preferring that Lawrence stay back, but he’s accepted that it’s not an option. He nods, conforming to this new plan.

“Sure. We go together.” 

“Alright. Let's get a move on then. I don’t wanna leave that wound any longer than we need to.”

     They take the elevator down to the lobby, Adams shoulder still aching from earlier. Lawrence notices but doesn’t intervene.

     Upon arriving at the pharmacy, Lawrence headed straight for the aisles he knew so well, Adam loosely in tow. The first thing he picked up is three boxes of bandages, he opts for the expensive brand.

“Hey hey,” Adam interrupted, stopping Lawrence’s hand before the boxes can be dropped in the cart. “Is three boxes really necessary?”

     Lawrence waves him off, “You’d be surprised how quickly these rolls run out.”

“That price is kinda steep! Why not go for the no name? It’s four dollars cheaper.”

     Lawrence drops the boxes into his cart, rolling it farther down the aisle, “It’s my money, I don’t mind.”

     He grabs a container of Vaseline and reads the label before dropping it in. 

“Vaseline?” Adam quirked a brow, looking down at the cart.

“It keeps the skin moist, helps the wound heal.” 

“Moist.” Adam cringes. “Hate that word.”

     Lawrence smirked at him, making a mental note of his new weapon. The next item he grabs is a bottle of ibuprofen. 

“It won’t be strong enough, but I’ll write a script for something stronger. Cephalosporin, maybe.”

     Adam nods, “Honestly, I’ve been getting by with a couple joints a day.”

     Lawrence dismisses him, grabbing a box of rubber surgical gloves. He drops them in with the other items and moves forward. 

“So that I can clean your wound.” He explains. The last thing he grabs is a bottle of saline solution and cotton balls. With a quick scan of the shelf, he turns to Adam and offers a tight-lipped smile, “I think that’s all.”

“Looks good.” Adam agrees. “I’m glad you're here. I wouldn’t have thought to buy any of this.”

“Yeah, I know.”

     They get to the counter and Lawrence is wrung up by an apathetic-looking teen wearing a band tee. His under eyes are red and swollen and his face is deadpanned as he scans their items. 

     Adam points to the cashier's shirt with a bright smile. “Hey, that’s my friend's band!” Adam says enthusiastically, causing the cashier to pause his work.

“No way, man! You’re friends with a W-O-T-G member?”

“Yeah, man! Known the lead singer since we were five!”

     The kid grows lively, a goofy smile across his face as he takes in this information. “I go to their shows all the time! That’s so dope!”

     Adam nods, feeling a boost in his confidence as the teenager reviles in his connections. “They’ve got a show this weekend, you know? Down at the club on Governors! You should come!” 

“I will!” 

     The teenager finishes checking them out, handing back a plastic pharmacy bag. Adam smiles. 

“Hope to see you there—” He looks down at the teen’s name tag, “—Daniel!”

     They get back to Adam's apartment and settle onto the couch. Lawrence dumps out his pharmacy bag onto the cushions and gets to work.

     He tears open a box of bandages and Vaseline before asking that Adam lift his shirt again. Once met with the dirty bandages, he steadily peels them back and feels the blood drain clean from his face as the intensity of the wound is revealed. 

     There are long, red streaks leading from the bullet hole and the skin is torn with a fiery red pigment, but that's not the worst of it. The wound is still bleeding from numerous troubled areas. The initial wound is leaking with drainage and pus indicating a more serious infection than originally believed. Lawrence wouldn't be surprised if it was under control before Adam decided to discharge himself, but that's none of his business. 

“Fuck, alright.” Lawrence never swore.

“That bad?”

“Yes, that bad , Adam. This is completely untreated!” 

     Adam tilted his head down, “Sorry.” 

     The doctor studied him and let out a lengthy, drawn-out sigh before adding, “Don’t be sorry. For the sake of time, I’m gonna get this slide, but after we’re done changing this all out I’d like you to boil some water and put it in the fridge to cool. That way you can use it to clean the wound later on. I want you to do that two to three times a day, alright? For now, I’m using the saline solution.”

“Yeah, alright.”

     Lawrence's expression was somber as he donned a pair of gloves and rubbed in some saline solution around the outer skin. He then took a dab of Vaseline on his fingers. Without warning, he applied it directly to the wound. Adam's sharp intake of breath was followed by a flinch. He'd always prided himself on enduring pain well. When his friend Scott stabbed him with a nail at six years old, he'd stifled his tears. When the crying flowed through the once unbreakable dam, all his friends had called him a pussy. This was far from a little rusty nail—this was intense. With a sudden movement, Adam pulled away, evading Lawrence's painful touch.

“Adam-”

“No.” He stayed still, panting as he struggled to steady his breath, “Just give me a minute.” 

     Lawrence nodded, retreating and letting Adam take a moment. The two sat in a stunted silence, Adam’s shoulders rising and falling as he fought to regain control. After a brief interval, he muttered, edging closer to Lawrence. “Alright, I’m ready.”

     Lawrence nodded, leaning forward to continue. Before he reached the skin, he hesitated, looking up into Adam’s eyes, “I’ll work fast. I don't want to cause you any pain, Adam.”

“I think that ship sailed a few seconds ago,” He laughed, “And when you shot me.”

“I deserve that.” Lawrence smiles, 

     He applied the Vaseline, then gently affixed the fresh bandages. Adam kept his eyes squeezed shut, taking deep breaths to endure the pulsating agony. 

     When Lawrence finished, beads of blood formed around the edges of the bandages. Adam noted, silently, that he'd replace them again when necessary. Lawrence felt an overwhelming sense of relief, knowing that Adam was finally on a path to recovery.

“There, all done.” He packs away the bandages, “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” 

“Call it what you want, doesn’t change the fact that I’m sweating like a waterfall.”

     Lawrence tilts his head sympathetically, “Well, it’s over with now.”

     The doctor stands from the couch and leans against his crutch, offering Adam a smile. 

“Alright, well, I’ll be back next to check up on that, yeah?”

     As much as Adam dreads the idea of doing this again, he can’t help but bask in having an excuse to see Lawrence again. He has no company nowadays and his shithole apartment is starting to seem more and more like captivity. This, albeit a short and painful visit, was a massive relief to Adam. 

“Yeah, alright. See you then.” He clicks the TV back on.

     Lawrence hobbles out of the apartment and heads back home, happy with the work he’d done today and happy to see Adam doing alright. 

     Things would be alright.

Chapter Text

     The next week rolled around quickly. Much to everyone’s surprise, Adam kept up with his wounds. He even went as far as to boil and cool water for cleaning, just like Lawrence had instructed. He still spent most of his time smoking and watching TV, rarely bothering to leave the house. Though, he’d been gravitating more toward pot than tobacco, which is supposedly easier on the lungs. The most he’d talked to anyone was his buddy Scott, who was less of a buddy and more of a nuisance. He’d received daily calls from him since he left the hospital begging for every grotesque detail of his trap, and Adam was sick of it. Scott even went as far as to blatantly tell Adam he admired the work of Jigsaw, disregarding how that might make him feel. Scott’s always had a blind spot for the emotions of others. Social cues were never really his this. Nonetheless, Adam’s since cut contact, leaving his calls unanswered and the voicemails to pile up. 

     When Lawrence knocks on the door for his routine check-up, Adam is quick to spring from his spot on the tattered sofa and enthusiastically welcome the doctor in. At this rate, he’d welcome a family of rats to take residence in his apartment if it meant any kind of company. 

“Lawrence! Good to see ya, pal!” He awkwardly smiles, patting him on the shoulder, “I’ve got your tea a-brewin’”  

     The older man nods with a gentle twist of the lips. “Thank you, Adam. That’s very thoughtful.”

“So, how have things been since I last saw ya’” 

     Lawrence carefully chooses his words. “Things have been alright. You know how it is these days, just soaking in any time I have with my family.”

“These days as in-” Adam prompts, 

“Since the game.” 

     He gently nods, dunking the tea bag in and out of the boiled water. “Ah.” 

“Most of my attention has gone to Diana; just helping her deal the best she can.” He takes a deep breath, “It's a lot for anyone, let alone someone of her age.” 

     Adam nods, “But she’s doing alright?”

“Oh yeah, she’s doing alright.” He repeats, “Honestly, I think me and Alison are more worried than we ought to be. She’s a tough cookie, my daughter.” Lawrence smiles proudly.

“Oh, I’m sure she is.” Adam takes a sip from his coffee and slides Lawrence’s tea across the counter, “Must take after her mother then, huh?” He snickers to himself.

     Lawrence raises his brow and allows Adam a moment to laugh to himself before he continues. “So, how have you been handling it all?”

“Oh, you know,” He sips from his coffee, “No matter how hard things get, I’ve always got a reliable friend to lean back on.”

“That’s great news! It’s important to have a support system.”

     Adam leans forward on the counter, fiddling with his thumbnail. “Yup, you might know her.” He winds up, “Her name’s Mary-Jane.”

     Lawrence deadpans, huffing out a complimentary ‘hah.’

“Ya know, she’d be a lot more help if she wasn’t so damn expensive!” 

     Lawrence takes this avoidance of the initial question as a sign to move forward with the conversation. She should never have expected Adam to be fine with Jigsaw talk so soon after their game, Lawrence himself couldn’t even say he was, but it was worth a shot. 

“How’s your shoulder doing?” 

“Well, I think you’ll be glad to hear that I’ve been doing all the shit you told me to do.” He awaits the praise he’s sure Lawrence will give him. Any moment now.

     The doctor smiles and nods, “While that’s the bare minimum for basic recovery, I’m still glad to hear you’re not neglecting your wounds.”

“Thank you, thank you.” He bows, “Please, one at a time.” 

     Lawrence chuckles, taking another sip from his tea. “You’re comfortable with me checking your shoulder again, right?” 

“Whatever you gotta do to get off, man.” 

     The doctor's face drops to a bright shade of pink, “That’s not-”

“Relax! I’m kidding!” Adam stands, “Be my guest.” 

     Lawrence nods, wiping the embarrassment from his face and making his way to the couch. Adam grabs a full pizza box off the cushion and tosses it aside to make room. The box is old, which leads Lawrence to wonder why it was left untouched. Regardless, he sits down and watches as Adam slips his shirt over his head and drapes it over the arm of the sofa. 

“Hope you don’t mind. It’s easier on the shoulder.”

“Yeah, that’s no problem.” 

     Carefully, he unwinds the bandages to check out the wound. It’s in much better condition than it had been last week, the skin around the smaller cuts beginning to scab over and repair themselves. It’s cleared of most drainage and seems to be doing much better in the recovery aspect. He looks back up to Adam, 

“Well done!”

     Adam gives a tight-lipped smile in response.

“How’s the pain been?” He asks, getting to work on cleaning the wound. 

     Adam looks away, trying his best to ignore the intense sting that the antiseptic leaves against his shoulder. “Well, it’s gotten less sharp and more achy. I’ve noticed that it’s spread to my full right side worse than before.” 

“Oh yeah?” He squints, racking his brain of why that might be. “Where would you place your pain on a scale of 1-10?”

“Well, probably resting around a six unmedicated, but it jumps to an eight when I vigorously move my arm and falls to a four after I orgasm.”

     Lawrence pauses his work, slowly meeting Adam’s gaze. He’s relieved to be met with a joking expression. “Well, it sounds like you're on the road to a healthy recovery!” He begins to lay the gauze and wrap the wound. 

“Sick.”

     Lawrence stays quiet for a beat before leaning back and tilting his head, “Would you be interested in having dinner tonight, Adam?” He proposes, “I think it would be good for the two of us to properly catch up, yeah?”

“Are you asking me on a date, Doctor?” 

     Lawrence glares across the couch at Adam.

“I’m kidding!” He holds up his hands in surrender, “I guess I can clear a slot in my calendar.” 

“Alright! How about that new diner that’s opened up on Queen’s? I’ve seen good reviews.” 

“Sounds good to me.”

     Lawrence smiled a bit, “Right, well, I’ll see you there then.” He tidy’s his belongings, carefully packing them away. “Five O’clock work for you?” 

“Five O’clock. Got it.” 

“Alright, Adam. I’ll see you then.” He stands with the help of his crutch and bids his goodbyes, quickly returning home to ready himself for that night. Adam does the same. 

-

     Lawrence arrives at the diner fifteen minutes early. Adam arrives 15 minutes late. 

     They've chosen a booth by the window, each being handed a menu and a wide option of drinks. Lawrence opts for a lemonade while Adam orders a house beer. 

“So!” Lawrence huffs, “I’m not sure how to start this.”

“Start what?” 

“The conversation.”

     Adam stares blankly ahead, looking both confused and disoriented at once as he wraps his knuckles against the table top.

     The doctor furrows his brow as his gaze locks with Adam's seemingly irritated eyes, glazed over and red. “Are you high?” He prods, leaning forward for a better look.

     Adam cracks a toothy smile.

“Guilty.” 

“Jesus.” Lawrence falls back against his booth seat, “Now why on earth did you deem it necessary to-” He lowers his voice “-Smoke before coming here?” 

“Oh, keep your voice down, Larry! If you’re not careful the police might bust down the doors and send swat teams lowering from the ceiling!” 

     It takes a moment for Lawrence to register the joke. He ignores it.

“Do you mind if I ask you some personal questions, Adam?”

“How personal are we talkin’? If you wanted know my dick size, all you gotta do is ask—”

     Lawrence waves him off, “How has your life changed since the game?” He asks.

“Well, I’ve seen myself on TV a few times, that’s been cool!” 

“No, I mean like, your day-to-day life. How has it affected work and friendships and mental well-being.” 

     Adam shrugs, “My work fired me the second I got home.”

     Lawrence’s mouth falls agape, taking in this information. “You mean, you didn’t tell them about the game?”

“No, I did! They just didn’t care. Turns out that taking a few unscheduled days off for Jigsaw recovery isn’t excuse enough. ‘Fired me on the spot.” 

“Well, it’s probably best that you don’t work right now, anyway.” He states nonchalantly.

“Huh?” A beat, “Why?”

“Well, a mental recovery period is in order for trauma this severe.”

“I’m not traumatized, man. I would’ve worked the day I was discharged if I could have.”  

     Lawrence reigns it back, peering through Adam with a look of confusion. “You don’t think you're traumatized?” 

“No?” 

     He intends to reply but is cut off by the return of the waitress. She drops off their drinks and looks back and forth between the two of them, sorrow staining her face. 

“I’ve seen you two on the news,” she says apologetically. “My condolences.”

     Adam nods, giving her a fake-looking smile. “Uh,” He uncomfortably clears his throat. “Thank you?”

     She seems satisfied with this and looks back to Lawrence. “Have you two settled on what to order?”

     Lawrence jumps into action, tapping the edge of his menu on the table top. “I’ll have the grilled chicken burger, and hold the tomato, please?” 

     She scribbles down his order on her cheap, yellow notepad before turning to Adam expectedly. 

“Oh, I’m okay with just my beer, thank you.” Lawrence shoots him a look as the waiter promises to be back with the burger quickly. 

     There’s a moment of silence before Lawrence bursts, “You’re not gonna eat anything?”

     Adam shrugs nonchalantly “Nah, not feelin’ it.” 

“You're not feeling it’ ?” 

“Nah.”

     Lawrence nods, minding his own business. That lasts a solid few seconds before he leans forward again, “You know, if it’s an issue with money, I have no problem payin—”

“It’s not that.” He interrupts, “I’m just not that hungry.” 

     Lawrence furrows his brow. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes, Lawrence! It’s not that big of a deal, alright?” He scoffs. Lawrence backs off and stacks their menus at the end of the table for the waitress to receive, 

“That was the first time someone’s recognized me as a Jigsaw survivor.” Adam admits, scratching anxiously at the crook of his neck.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t really been out of the house since I got home so there hasn’t been much of an opportunity.” 

     Lawrence nods and sips from his lemonade, “You haven't gotten out of the house?”

“No, not really.” Adam fiddles with his belt loop, “I'm due for a night out.”

“You leave for little things, though, right?” He prods, “Groceries, at least?” 

“I like to pile up on groceries like— once every other month. Just stack my cupboards with long-lasting food so I don't even have to think about it.” 

“Right.” He mumbles unsurely, as though he can’t decide on the appropriate reaction. “So, when was the last time you left your apartment?” 

“Man, I don't know!” He moaned, “Stop asking me all these boring questions! Just ask what you really wanna ask.”

    Lawrence considers protesting, but there was an obvious question that had been nagging at him since he first woke in that bleak hospital room.

“What did you do after I left the bathroom?”

“There we go!” He flares, “Some interesting shit!” 

     The doctor clasps his hands together, waiting for a response. 

“After you left and the dead dude placed out,” Lawrence recalls hearing this story on the news, “I sorta just sat there. There wasn't much to do beyond wait around and hope you’d keep your promise.” 

“But, how did you not bleed out? Or at least fall unconscious from blood loss?” 

“Oh, I did! After the first couple hours I passed out and then fell into this loop of patchy consciousness. I wasn’t awake for the cops getting there, which sucks ‘cause I was so looking forward to seeing that steel door open. All I get is the shitty memory of the ambulance sirens and a prodding headache.” 

     Lawrence nods, “And was — was Zepp there the whole time?” 

“Well, he definitely didn't walk out.” He laughs, but there’s an uneasy edge to it; a sort of pain laying carefully against his tone. “But it was dark, I couldn't even see him. By the time my eyes adjusted, I was already delirious from blood loss and couldn't have cared less.” 

“Did you hallucinate?” His interests peak. He listens carefully, absorbing every word Adam spews and medically analyzing the experience.

“Yeah! Oh my god, yes. Mainly just voices, people I know either cheering me on or praying on my downfall — usually praying on my downfall.” 

     Lawrence nods.

“I heard my mother, old friends, you.” 

“You heard me ?” 

“Yeah, you made a couple cameos!” 

“What did I say?”

     He took a deep breath, collecting his memories in proper order. “Well, it was mostly just repeating the last thing you’d said to me.”

“Which was?”

“That you wouldn't lie to me.” He recalls it with little effort, as though it had been replaying in his mind since. “I kept telling myself that you were coming back, just like you said, you wouldn't lie to me.”

     This is the most vulnerable Adam’s been since the bathroom, the most honest. Lawrence basks in the younger man's sudden change in tone.

“The first thing I did when I woke up in the hospital was tell them.” Lawrence promises, reaching across the table and just barely making contact with Adam's hand. “I told them everything. I told them where you were and how you were injured. I refused any medical attention until I knew they had found you and you were safe.” 

     Adams' gaze was downshot as he listened to the doctor's story, “I know.” 

“I'm sorry I couldn't have saved you sooner. I was comatose for the first few days, but I’m telling you, the second I remembered what happened, I was making sure you were dealt with.” It was the truth.

     They sat in a comfortable silence, both struck down from the other’s end of the story. The waitress returns, dropping off Lawrence's burger, only now it didn't seem so appetizing. 

“You know, I'm not really feeling this anymore.” He pushes the plate forward a bit and scowls at it, “You still looking for a night out?” 

     Adam’s face changes to a look of confusion and curiosity, “What do you mean?”

     Lawrence points out the booth window toward the bar across the street. This gets a reaction from Adam.

“Really? Yeah, Let's do it!” He cheers enthusiastically, a grin spreading across his goofy face. 

“Alright!” Lawrence forks some cash from his wallet, leaving a tasteful tip on the table and rushing out the door with Adam in tow.

-

     The bar was packed. Each stool at the counter lined with twenty-five-year-old hipsters sipping on vodka sodas and cheap wine. While Lawrence stands at the door absorbing the room, Adam eagerly throws himself into the crowd, desperate for the human interaction. He fits right into the mid-twenties shitbag scene and almost immediately makes company. 

“Lawrence! C, mon!” He calls over the music. Neither of them had expected this sort of environment at the bar, but it was refreshing to see people living their lives without fear or discomfort. Lawrence makes his way toward Adam, the two of them sitting at the bar’s counter. Adam orders two pints of beer for himself, confidently cradling them to his chest while Lawrence gets a cup of brandy. 

-

     It’s about an hour in and it’s evident that Adam’s had a lot to drink. He’s cleaned of his sixth pint and joined a crowd of confused twenty-somethings who talk to his drunk ass like it’s an entertainment special. Lawrence was begrudgingly dragged along, apologising for Adam after nearly every sentence. 

“So, Adam, where are you from?” One of the hipsters chimes. He twirls the straw from his drink between his pointer and middle fingers as him and his friends hone in on the slurred speech.

     Adam uses both hands to point at the floor, leaning forward a bit, “Born and raised, baby!” The table nods, “You know, this city’s a total shithole, but you gotta put respect on the community!” No one bothers to respond, so he continues. “You people are what make this city whole. If these bars were empty and the streets were clean, would it really even be a city at all?” He poses as if that means anything. 

     Lawrence wraps his arm around Adams shoulders and guides him up, “Alright buddy-”

“I’m gonna go grab another drink, d’you guys want anything? It’s on me!” He points around the table, waiting for a taker. No one responds, giving each other knowing looks as Adam tramps off toward the bar.

“Do you really think thats a good idea, Adam?” Lawrence asks, struggling to keep up.

    “I’m a tank, Lawrence. I’m still waiting for this shit to hit me.” He slurs his words, knocking his hip into a table as he passes by.

“Maybe you should reconsider-”

“Take a chill pill, Larry!” He says, his eyes struggling to stay open. “Everything’s alright!” 

     He confidently orders another beer, this time being served the can. He pulls out his keys from his pocket and looks at Lawrence, a smirk growing across his face. 

“Watch this.” 

     With that, he pops a hole into the bottom of the can and begins what might be the sloppiest attempt at a shotgun Lawrence had seen. When he pops the tab, the beer starts to drizzle down his chin, at first a minimal amount and then slowly turning to a dripping puddle on the already sticky bar floor. It runs down his shirt and leaves him wet and exhilarated. The table near where they stood cheered from amusement, which was only a motivator for Adam. He quickly returned to the bar and ordered another.

“No, Adam, you’ve had enough.” Lawrence grabs a napkin and starts to carefully wipe Adams' dripping face. 

“Thank you.” Adam mumbled as he’s handed his next beer by the young, oblivious bartender. Lawrence quickly tries to grab the beer from his loose hands, but he’s dodged with slick movements a sober Adam could never muster. Before he can protest, he pops another hole, this time missing the air bubble and quickly correcting the spray of beer that erupts from the hole. Once again, he tips the can back and pops the tab, swallowing down the beer as it pours from the keyhole. 

“Adam!” 

     The table cheers again, receiving a nasty glare from the doctor as he grabs the empty can and tosses it aside. Quickly, he redirects Adam’s attention to avoid him going for a third.

     They return to their table of hipsters and Adam slops down against his seat, cuddling up the girl next to him. The two of them had been flirting since they’d met, her gently squeezing his unimpressive bicep and him wrapping his arms around her with the weak energy he’s got stored. At this point, when she stands and drags him to the bathroom, he’s got nothing to do but agree with a dazed grin on his face. 

     The next few minutes are a blur of sloppy kissing and travelling hands. While Adam weakly kisses back, she blindly searches for the opening of his shirt, sliding her hand up his chest and across his skin. He leans in further, deepening their wet kiss and grabbing hold of her chin. That’s when he felt the gurgle in his gut as a flight of butterflies made their way into his queasy stomach. This light disturbance was enough to tip the barrel as he pulled away, a look of terror in his eyes, and darted for the nearest stall. Acidic vomit spewed from his mouth as his hands held tightly onto the repulsive public toilet seat. 

     The girl quickly returned to the table, a look of mockery across her face as she sat amongst her friends. 

“Where’s the dream boy?” Provoked one of the drunk frat boys. She shrugged, “We were making out and then he ran off and started puking everywhere.” 

     Her friends burst into a fit of laughter, mocking her for how foul she must taste. Lawrence abruptly stands from his seat, making a b-line to the bathroom. 

     When he arrives, there was no mistaking which stall Adam was in. There was a mixture of dry heaving coughing erupting from the centre stall, followed by the sound of gentle crying. Lawrence’s face drops as he rushes over, 

“Adam?” He calls. 

     The weak voice replied, bridging full breakdown and pulling at Lawrence’s heart. “—yeah.” 

“Adam, are you okay?” He heard the sound of the toilet flush, followed by the stall clicking open. 

     Adams face is drenched in warm tears and his shirt is covered in bile and vomit. His heart aches seeing Adam like this, so vulnerable and disoriented. He quickly removes his button up, leaving him in just his undershirt. 

“Arms up,” he instructed, sliding off Adam's ruined shirt, careful to avoid his shoulder, and replacing it with his clean button up. Adam slides down the wall, cupping a hand over his pulsing head and stabilizing his quivering body. He can’t shake the spinning sensation he hates so much, the same sensation that threatens to choke more vomit from his throat. Lawrence crouches down next to him, avoiding the vile bathroom floor, and looks over to Adam. 

“How ya’ feelin?” 

     The younger man shakes his head a little, focusing on the floor ahead of him, “I don’t know what happened.”

“You had too much to drink, Adam.” 

“It’s not just that.” He admits, dropping his hands against his tucked knees, “It was— we were just kissing.”

     The doctor nods, listening intently,

“And I just felt disgusted. Not by her but like.. her hands. ”

“You were probably overwhelmed.” 

     He shook his head, “I don’t know. I’m just— this is all so much. I feel like shit.”

“I know, bud.” He wraps a comforting arm around Adam, “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

     Adam breaks. The tears that were resting at the edge of his eyelids flow through and come rushing down his flushed cheeks. He leans into Lawrence, soaking in his body heat and letting all his emotions fly loose.

“I don’t know what to do.” He sobs, “I don’t know anything. I have no friends, I have no family, I have nothing.”

     Lawrence doesn’t know how to respond, he tucks Adam in a little closer and squeezes him for support, “Well, you have me.” 

-

     They pull into the parking lot of Adams apartment building. Lawrence travels around the front of the car, popping Adams' door open and unbuckling him. 

“C’mon, buddy.” He helps Adam from his seat, wrapping a supportive arm around his back and under his arm. Before they reach the door, Adam hunches over and spits up some more bile into a bush. Lawrence cringes, looking around to make sure no one’s watching before lightly patting his back, 

“It’s alright. Get it out of your system.” He coos. 

     They get up to his apartment, Lawrence leading Adam to his bed and rushing off to grab a bucket. He sets it next to the mattress and holds a cold water bottle to his ringing forehead. 

“Lawrence?” Adam murmurs, looking up at him through hooded eyes, 

“What?”

“Will you stay until I fall asleep?”

     Lawrence nods, his smile warm and welcoming, “Of course.”

“Okay.” His voice is strained, the quiet from the room feeling suffocating. Lawrence twists the cap of the water bottle, gently handing it to Adam, 

“You think you can drink this?” 

“—yeah.” He tilts the bottle, spilling a little on his shirt. 

“Woah, woah.” Lawrence takes the bottle, tilting it and letting a little fall into Adam's mouth. It’s best to keep it small, we don’t want him to start choking under any means. After a few sips, he sets the bottle on his bed stand and waits for Adam to doze off. It doesn’t take long in this state. His breathing turns to gentle snoring and entire body untenses. He looks more peaceful than Lawrence had ever seen him before. He tucks the blanket safely under Adams weight and heads home. 

     He’s happy knowing Adam is safe.

Chapter Text

     A few weeks had passed since the bar. Neither of them had brought it up during their scheduled check-ups, but there was a thick ice that had been broken that night. 

     Since the bar, they’ve been much friendlier with each other. Lawrence has shed his stern doctor facade and Adam’s felt much more relaxed, albeit in brief moments, when being open. 

     Friday is Halloween. The world doesn't stop spinning for Halloween, it's rare to get any holiday perks, so it's always the best when it lands on a Friday. Adam couldn’t be more prepared, Halloween had been his favourite since childhood. His costume had been planned since late August, he was going as ghost face from Scream! The movie wasn’t new anymore, it’d been out for a few years and the initial buzz of Scream costumes had worn down, but it was one of his favourites and he couldn’t resist the creepy nature of the hood and mask combo. He even got a plastic knife with a casing that, when held upside down, oozes fake blood! 

     A few days before Halloween, Adam was invited to a party with some of his old college buddies. They were more like acquaintances, really. He spoke to them from time to time in study hall or across the caff, hardly enough interaction to warrant an invitation, but he got all that pity shit when he dropped out. He rarely spends time with them, but he agreed nonetheless. He knew how these types of parties typically went. A bunch of college graduates trying to pretend they’re still in college. There was one thing it guaranteed, he’d get shitfaced , laid and probably try some mystery drug handed out by a thirty-year-old addict. 

     He took out his phone, opening Lawrence’s contact.

Adam FS 8:12 PM

u free on halloween?

     He stared down at the screen expectedly, getting his reply only minutes later.

Lawrence Gordon 8:15 PM

I’m taking Diana trick-or-treating, why?

Adam FS 8:15 PM

how late will u be out?

Lawrence Gordon 8:16 PM

5-7ish?

Adam FS 8:18 PM

come to party with me after?

     The ominous typing bubbles appear and disappear. He sets down his phone and grabs a snack. When he returns, Lawrence is still battling with the keyboard. 

Lawrence Gordon 8:23 PM

What’s the address?

-

     It’s 11:30 PM, and the party starts at midnight. Inside the cramped bathroom, Adams was a  flurry of activity, hurriedly getting ready.

     Lawrence hesitantly opens the door after a few unanswered knocks. The living room and kitchen lights are off, leaving the house illuminated by nothing but street lights, creating a dim ambiance. Lawrence can’t help but notice the darkness of the space. 

“Adam?” His voice reverberated, its sound bouncing off the walls. He turns down the hallway, taking cautious steps. The absence of light intensifies the unease that’s settled in his stomach. Lawrence wonders if Adam abandoned their original plans and left for the party early.

“Adam? Are you here?” He calls, his steps taken with serious trepidation. He decides to send Adam a quick text letting him know he’s here. As he begins drafting the message, he feels a frigid, unsteady hand suddenly clamps around his shoulder.

     Lawrence whirls around, tightly gripping the cane as he faces the figure before him. A figure stood cloaked in the darkness with a menacing mask. In his hand was a knife that glimmered with a sinister red tint. Lawrence stumbled back, his stomach twisting at the surreal and threatening sight. 

     The mask was abruptly ripped off, revealing the familiar features of Adam. His laughter erupts from within him. A deep, belly aching sound that fills the thin hallway. He clasps at his stomach and attempts to catch his breath. Lawrence’s face turns to a cold, measured stare as he regards his friend.

“That wasn’t funny.” Lawrence stated firmly, his grip on the cane unrelenting. Adam continued to laugh, now hunched over and holding his knees for stability. “I’ll give you your moment.”

“Thank you!” Adam managed between fits of laughter. “Jeez, that was fucking great.” 

“I survived a serial killer, I don’t need this.” He gestures toward Adam, “What are you dressed as, anyways?”

“Ghost face?” He says matter-of-factly, “From Scream?” 

     The doctor shakes his head unsurely, “Never seen it.”

“You’ve never seen Scream?” He says, his tone amused and taunting. 

“Nope.”

     Adam’s astonishment intensifies, “You’re not serious.”

“Adam, I haven’t seen the movie.” 

“That’s ridiculous. That’s absolutely absurd .” He scans Lawrence before helplessly looking around, “And where is your costume?” 

“Costume?” He snorted, amused. “Adam, I’m forty-four.”

     Adam scoffed, rushing into his bedroom with pounding feet and a blank stare. He went digging through the linen closet, returning with an old white sheet. He tosses it unceremoniously over Lawrence’s head, despite his protests. 

“Hey!” He says, ruffling the sheet. Adam ignores him, fully engrossed in his task.

“Stay there!” He says, returning with a pair of scissors. He cut two jagged holes for the eyes, his movements reminiscent of a mad scientist. 

     He stepped back and crossed his arms, a look of pride and triumph spreading across his smug face. “Hah, classic.”

     Lawrence stands helplessly. “I don’t have to wear this to the party, do I?”

“You absolutely have to wear this to the party.” 

“Adam, this is completely ridic-”

     Adam silenced him, guiding him toward the door. He placed the mask back over his face, his voice muffled by the plastic.

“Just accept it, Larry.” 

-

     When they pull onto the street of the party there’s no mistaking which house it is. Through the window, you can see the flashing neon lights and the combined sound of screaming and singing pouring into the night. They share a look of trepidation before ascending up the front steps and reluctantly going in. Adam pushes his mask up to reveal his face as he enters, a precaution in case he sees anyone he knows.

     Within seconds of getting into the house, a strong arm is draped over Adam's shoulders. Off of scent, volume and body language alone, Adam could tell it was Scott. He was dressed as a zombie, AKA a bloody tear in his shirt to reveal his nipple and a touch of green under his eyes. He twists his head to make eye contact with Adam, that same douchey expression across his face. 

“Adam! Didn’t know you would be here.” Scott's words slurr, displaying his inebriation. 

     Adam squirms uncomfortably as he tries to shrug Scott off of him. Scott doesn’t budge, instead; he parades Adam around like a trophy, letting everyone know he had survived Jigsaw.

     Adams gaze darts around the room, searching for Lawrence. He can’t see him anywhere. He makes another effort to break free of Scott’s grip, but the latter is unrelenting. Instead, the shitbag tells the girl he’s flirting with about how he was ‘there’ for Adam after the game, total bullshit. 

“Look, Scott I should go find my friend-”

“Already?” He scoffs, clearly shitfaced. Adam starts furiously making his way out of the packed room, 

“Yeah, already.” 

     Scott trails behind him, his steps heavy, as he grabs Adam’s shoulder forcibly and yanks him around, “C’mon man, what’s your problem?” His breath smells like cheap beer and cigarettes.

“ You’re my problem, Scott!” Adam’s tone is sharp, his eyes steady on his so-called friend. 

“The fuck are you talking about?” He asks, eyes squinting and brow furrowed.

     Adam rolls his eyes and lulls a condescending smile, “What am I talking about?” He shoots, “What are you talking about? You go around telling people what a little princess you were after my game, what a load of shit!” 

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah, I’m serious! You’re such a fucking dick and everyone knows it!” Adam seethed as he surveyed the room, “Go bother someone else, Scott.” 

     He storms out, weaving his way through the crowd and keeping his eyes peeled for a sheet ghost. Finally, he spots him in the backyard talking to a group of drop-outs holding red solos. Adam makes his way over, still shaking and lightheaded from the screaming fit between him and Scott. 

“Ah, Adam!” Lawrence announces as he joins the group. He takes immediate notice of Adam’s state but decides to address it later.

“I—” He pauses, collecting his breath, “I couldn’t find you.”

     The group disperses and rejoins the party, taking the uncomfortable hint, as Adam and Lawrence stay put. Lawrence examines Adam, manic and overwrought, and leans forward a bit.

“Are you okay?” He sounds concerned, his voice lowered but kept loud enough to be heard over the booming music. 

     Adam nods weakly, “My douchebag friend, Scott. He’s just,” He struggles to finish his sentence, “I just don’t wanna be around him.” Adam’s eyes cautiously travel back to the house before redirecting to Lawrence.

“You wanna go home?” 

“No,” He sighs, “I wanna stay, I just don’t wanna deal with that shit right now.”

“Ah.” He sits down in an unoccupied lawn chair and gestures for Adam to join him. 

“He’s not even my friend, he’s a family friend. There’s a difference.” He explains, angrily pinching the bridge of his nose, “He’s always been an asshole but lately he’s just got this fuckin’ persona about him, thinks he’s fucking flawless.” 

“I knew some people like that.”

“He’s in a band, Wrath of the Gods, dumbass fuckin’ name.” 

     Lawrence listens intently.

“He’s always making me shoot album covers and hand out flyers for them, all for free, by the way. It’s bullshit. I missed a photo shoot during the bathroom stuff and he’s still pissed about it as if he has any right.” He scoffs, “And now he’s out here kissing the ground Jigsaw walks on, acting like he’s a goddamn saviour right to my face!” 

     Lawrence has never seen him this worked up. He nods, squinting a bit.

“Why would I wanna be around someone who’s been putting me down my whole fucking life.” 

     There's something about this moment. Maybe it's the environment or the music, but Lawrence feels compelled to wrap Adam in a consoling hug. Lawrence pulls Adam in without a second thought, something he’s never done before, and holds him there against his gentle chest. The brunette melts against this touch, it was exactly what he needed. 

     Adam moved on, putting the argument behind him. After a while of mindless drinking he found a familiar crowd of classmates and settled in with them for the night. Lawrence fit right in, though Adam was starting to think that Lawrence might fit in everywhere.  

     The weight of the alcohol started to show as his little buzz caught some wind. Catching up with old friends is something he’d never thought to do, even through all this loneliness following the game. It felt refreshing to be reminded of how things were before Jigsaw, before everything went to shit. These were people who really knew him. They asked about his photography and his parents and his ex, all things he actually felt connected to. He was sick of every conversation regarding this fucked psycho-killer. 

     He had joined the crowd of dancing people a few drinks in. Everyone was piss drunk and making out with whatever crossed their vision first. He couldn’t stand shit like that, but he’d entertain the idea if anyone was interested. The girls here were far from his type, perfect cookie-cutter women with nothing to grab his attention. He wants the thrill of someone new, someone he can learn things from. These girls only knew what he’d already learned. 

     Just when he thought things couldn’t get any more disorienting, Scott stood up on a table, his hand gripping a plastic fork, ready to capture the crowd's attention. 

“Hey, everyone!” He shouted, beginning to tap a red solo cup with his fork. He turned to the DJ, gesturing for him to turn down the music. Entertained, the rugged DJ obliged. The music cut and all eyes turned to the self-proclaimed center of attention. “I’d like to give a toast,” He announced, his eyes locking with Adams. Adam’s heart sank; he knew where this was going. “I’d like to give a toast to a good friend of mine, Adam Stanheight, or, Adam Faulkner -Stanheight, the name he earned when his Dad up and left him for a cheap hooker.” 

     A hushed gasp swept the room, eyes darting to Adam as he crumbled with a mix of anger and humiliation. Scott’s words stung, reopening wounds that had never fully healed. Scott’s face cracked to a douchey smile. “Anyway, Adam,” He continued, his voice dripping with condescension. “I think I speak for everyone here when I say things would be much better if Jigsaw had finished the fuckin’ job, maybe at your memorial someone might chalk up some eulogy about how strong and brave you are, gave you a good angle, but we all know you ain’t nothin’ but a pathetic little pansy!” A few of Scott’s band-mates erupted into drunk cheering, reviling in the cruelty of his words. He knelt down on the unsteady table, not breaking his intense eye contact. 

     Adams hands clenched into fists at his sides, his heart pounding in his ears. He can’t believe Scott would use these facts against him. Trauma they had gone through together at such a young age being thrown at his, and hundreds of drunk twenty-somethings faces. The room spun around him as anger surged through his veins.

     Everything narrowed down onto Scott, his taunting grin and cruel words echoing through Adam’s mind. “So, here’s to Adam, the biggest fuckin’ pussy I know!” Scott raised his cup triumphantly and threw his fork against the wall, “Stream ‘Wrath of the Gods’!” He shouts, gesturing for the DJ to crank the music as he hopped from the table and into a pile of his cheering friends. 

     Everyone returned to their partying as if nothing had happened, but not Adam. The room blurred as his vision focused solely on Scott. Anguish, rage and humiliation mingled in a maelstrom within him. ‘Things would be much better if Jigsaw had finished the job’ . Without thinking, he shoved his way through the crowd, lunging forward and grabbing Scott’s shoulder. 

“The fucks the matter with you, huh?” Adam’s voice trembled with a mixture of fury and hurt.

     Scott’s eyes bore into Adam with equally requited intensity, “You gonna do somethin’ about it?”

     Adam’s clenched fists shake, unable to find words that properly display his swirling emotions, “You ruined my night!” 

“Aww,” Scott mocked, “Did I ruin your night? Did I ruin your fuck sesh with your little boyfriend?”

     Adam's mouth fell agape, he’s about to release his anger, but the words die in his throat. 

“You’re such a fucking nobody.” Scott sneered, his words laced with venom. “Nobody here gives a fuck about Adam Stanheight.”

     Adams knuckles turn white under the pressure of his fists.

“Oh yeah? And you think people give a fuck about you?” 

     Scott laughs arrogantly, his gaze wavering “Uh, yeah? Half the bitches in this room are my own fuckin’ groupies. You never had that. You’ve been in my shadow since we were kids. Not like you ever did shit about it, what a pussy.”

     A surge of adrenaline courses through Adams veins, his self control teetering on edge. His nails dug deep into the palm of his hand, then, without another thought, he swung. His fist collides with Scott’s jaw. 

     The impact shocked both of them; Scott stumbling back and instinctively reaching for his jaw. The room fell into a tense silence as everyone began to crowd around them. Blood trickled from a cut on Scott’s lip. 

     Scott lunged, screaming something about trust as he held Adam’s face firmly against the disgusting floor. He began a steady stream of punches across Adam’s squinted face, leaving blotchy red marks and spraying blood. 

     Before the situation could escalate further, strong hands clamp around Adam and yank him away. He’s dragged down the hall and into the bathroom, the party music draining in from the crack.

     Of course it was Lawrence. Immediately, he scanned Adam with a look of worry and sympathy. 

     Adam’s body kept pumping that familiar adrenaline, his chest heaving. He searches for the right words, “I—”

     Lawrence interrupts with a soft, knowing smile. “I heard everything. I couldn’t find you anywhere” 

     Adam nods, avoiding eye contact. “I just—” He took a breath, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him, “I couldn’t bear to listen to Scott’s bullshit.” 

     Lawrence’s gaze was steady, his empathy a silent anchor in the midst of Adam’s storm. 

     Without another word, Lawrence ran a cloth under warm water, pressing it gently against Adam’s bleeding lip. The gesture was small, yet it spoke volumes on the comfort and support he offered. 

“You didn’t deserve that.” Lawrence said, his voice sincere and reassuring. “No one should be subject to such cruelty.”

     Adam avoided his gaze again and looked down, his throat feeling tight. “Thank you.” 

     Lawrence quietly tended to Adams wounds, the room feeling like a sanctuary separate from the party. Their connection deepened beyond the surface. Trust filled the room around them, trust unfaltering. 

     His heavy breathing soothed as he rested comfortably in this moment. Supported and loved was all he’d ever wanted to be, and here he was, feeling it all at once.  

“Thank you.” He repeated in a whisper, his voice carrying a gratitude that extended beyond that moment.

     Lawrence nodded, his mouth curling into a sweet smile. 

“Anytime.” 

-

     They stumbled through the door of Adam's apartment, their laughter punctuated by the lingering adrenaline of the night's events. 

“We survived!” Adam said, his voice breathless and triumphant. He kicked off his shoes and left them laying by the door. 

“It’s a Halloween miracle!” Lawrence laughed, steadily undoing his jacked and draping it over a counter chair. 

     They immediately took residence in the living room. Lawrence fell comfortably onto the sofa as Adam went around turning on all his decorations. Some orange string lights on the window, a stack of plastic Jack-O-lanterns and a porcelain ghost who sat atop the TV with a dim twinkling light inside his mouth. He gently flicks his lighter, setting torch to the pumpkin spice candle wick and letting the room fill with its sweet scent. 

“Your decorations really set the mood.” Lawrence says, stretching his tired muscles. 

     Adam glances at the porcelain ghost with a fond smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, they’ve been my companions all month.”

     The room fell into a comfortable silence, the only sound being the cracking of the candles flame. 

“So,” Adam began with a smile, “Wanna watch Scream?” 

     Lawrence rolls his eyes, his mouth tugging with a sweet grin as he nods, “Sure. Just— hold on a second.” 

     He hurried out of the apartment, as fast as a one-legged man can move. He makes his way back to his car and pops open the back seat. When he returns, he comes bearing a handful of fun-sized Halloween candy. Adam’s eyes widened with amusement.

“Where’d you get that?” He asked, snatching a mini Kit-Kat. 

     Lawrence’s face went a little devious as he admitted, “Diana’s trick-or-treat bag.”

     Adam gasped, dramatically clutching his chest “What! That’s like— the worst thing ever!”  

“Oh please!” He scoffed, tearing open a pack of pop rocks, “Dad tax.”

     Lawrence dumps the sweet rocks into his mouth and listens intently for the sizzling crackle of the candy, a childlike grin takes form on his face. “These were my favourite as a kid.”

“Pop rocks, really?” He questions, “They’re subpar, at best.” He heads over to the DVD display and scans the films with his pointer “You gotta go for the Twizzlers.”

     There’s a moment of silence as Lawrence looks desperately around the room.

“You’re kidding?” He asks desperately. “Right? You’re kidding?” 

“Why would I joke about such a serious topic?”

“You joke about a lot of serious topics.” 

“I digress.” 

     Adam waves Lawrence over, his face looking a little frustrated as he searches for the movie. “Do you see Scream anywhere on here?”

“Uh,” He kneels down, “Nope.”

     He groans a little, standing and making the begrudged trip to his bedroom. He feels a little lightheaded from the alcohol he’d previously downed like water, but pushes past it. Adam’s hand wraps around his drawer as he tears it open and digs around, hoping to spot the movie. No dice.

     Finally, he leans down and scans under his bed. It’s so untidy, crumpled up tee-shirts still left from the first visit Lawrence had made. The DVD box peeks out from underneath an old juice carton and his face lights up as he extends his arm to grab it.

“Bingo!” He announces, entering the living room with the DVD in hand. Lawrence cheers, still seated on the couch.

     Adam slides the disc into the slot and hits play.

     Lawrence is already timid throughout the first scene, 

“This is creepy.” He says, staring disgustedly at the screen.

“The movie?”

“No, the scene. What’s this guy thinking?” 

     Adam hits pause, turning to face Lawrence with curiosity. “I’m not following.”

“Calling your crush and claiming it's a wrong number? I mean, come on! This is such a bad approach.”

     Adam chuckles, rolling his head back a little, 

“What?”

“You’re telling me the scariest thing about this movie is the bad flirting skills?”

     Lawrence laughs, “Yes!”

“Honestly, I think I might have to agree.” Their combined laughter echoes and bounces around the room, feeling whole and safe.

     Adam hits play, letting the scene play out.

‘I wanna know who I’m looking at’ 

     Lawrence’s face drops as he turns to look at Adam. “Stalking your crush might be an even worse approach.” 

     About halfway through the film, Lawrence falls asleep. His heavy body draped all of its weight onto Adam as he sank in his seat and snored in his face. Adam feels his chest warm as he watches the sleeping doctor, peaceful and still. His hand outstretched, hovering over Lawrence’s shoulder before retreating back to his side. He draws his attention back to the movie. What was he thinking?

     Once the movie had ended, there was no more delaying the inevitable.

“Hey,” Adam whispered, nudging him. 

     His eyes fluttered before he reached up and wiped the sleep from his eyes. “Hm?”

“It’s time for you to go home, Lawrence.”

“I fell asleep?” He asked, his voice strained.

“Yeah, probably for the best. You were screaming too much.”

     This wakes him up quickly as he shoots back. “Was not!” 

“Was too!” He gives him a steady arm to help him up, “Come on.”

     He stands, adjusting his weight onto his prosthetic and drawing his cane back to his side. Slowly, he made his way to the door.

     Lawrence looks back at Adam before leaving, a thin blanket draped over his shoulders. He swallows and nods, “I enjoyed that.”

“Yeah!” Adam agrees triumphantly,

“Are you sure you're okay? After everything?”

“Oh, yeah.” He nods, smiling nervously. “This isn’t the first time Scott’s done something like this. Not the worst time either.”

     Lawrence presses his lips together, holding back his remark about how that’s not any better. Instead, he rests a comforting hand on Adam's shoulder and nods.

“See you soon, Adam.”

     Adam stays still for a moment, his eyes resting on Lawrence. They were still racked with sleep, but supporting and gentle. He furrowed his brow and looked away, “Alright, well. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight.” 

     He shut the door, but the apartment felt a little colder now. 

Chapter Text

     Adam surged through the narrow kitchen of the restaurant he worked at. He considered quitting every day, despite having landed the job only a couple of weeks ago. The uniform feels like stiff cardboard, he can’t balance plates for shit and he’s served more assholes than he could count on two hands. 

“Here you go, new guy.” The overworked chef muttered as he handed Adam a bowl of pre-made Caesar salad and some chicken parm. Adam accepted the dishes, rolling his eyes at the nickname. In the chaotic kitchen, no one bothered to learn the server’s names. He had inherited the title ‘new guy’ from Devin, who’d been hired three months ago. Since Adam's arrival and dethroning of Devin, the latter has been christened as ‘old guy.’ He’s twenty-nine. 

     Weaving through the narrow aisles, he reaches table six. Adam forces a tired smile as he distributes the plates. 

“Is there anything else I can grab you?” He politely inquires, his hands clasping around his waist. 

"I asked for no basil." The woman at the table snapped, pushing her plate away with a sour expression. 

"Oh!" Adam inspects her plate. "I'm terribly sorry. Would you like us to remake it?"

     She sighs impatiently, “Yes, I would, and I expect a full refund. I’m allergic to basil.”

“Well, ma’am, the only way I can offer a full refund is if we don’t remake your meal. If you’d like it replaced, we can offer you 50% off.” He sighs, knowing this answer won’t please her.

     The woman scoffs, her straight-cut bangs falling to the side. "Did you not hear me? I said I want a full refund."

"Again, ma’am, a refund is an option but you won’t have your meal replaced. You’ll have to pay 50% if you'd like it remade." He explains. "It's company policy, so please don't shoot the messenger." His comment is delivered with a breathy laugh as he tries to defuse the tension. 

     She gapes at him, looking offended. "This is why they shouldn't hire punks. Didn't they ever teach you 'the customer is always right'?"

"Of course, Ma'am."

"Refund my meal or bring me your manager, please."

     The situation unfolded as it always did, with Adam getting scolded for adhering to company policy. It didn't matter. He would have been scolded regardless. A new server was assigned to table six, much to Adam's relief, and he was begrudgingly sent to serve a new group, booth four.

     As he approaches the table, he immediately recognizes a familiar face seated in the booth. Lawrence sat with his shoulders tense and his hands intertwined on the surface before him. In the seat across from him was a quaint blonde woman who Adam could only assume was Alison, Lawrence’s wife. They seem to be amid an intense stare-down, neither speaking nor relaxing their tight postures. 

     Adam dreads this confrontation, especially considering he hasn’t mentioned his new job to Lawrence. Nevertheless, he carries on, stopping at the table with a strained smile.

     Lawrence looks startled, his discomfort momentarily giving away to a surprised smile. “Adam!” He exclaims, “You work here?”

“Yeah, as of a couple of weeks ago.” 

“A couple of weeks?” Lawrence is taken aback by this revelation, “You didn't mention it. Well done!” 

     Before Adam can reply, Lawrence turns to his wife and gestures between them. “Uh, Alison, this is Adam!”

     She uncomfortably nods, “Right, Adam. From the bathroom, yeah?” Her tone is strange. Adam’s uncomfortable nature shows itself in a forced laugh.

“That's me.” 

“Nice to meet you.” Alison’s expression doesn’t mirror her words. 

     Adam pulls out his notepad and holds the pen expectedly to the paper.

“Would you like drinks to start?”

“Well, I actually think we’re ready to order,” He turns back to his wife for approval, “What do you think, Ali?”

“Yeah.” She replied softly, her demeanour shifting. “I’ll have the deluxe burger with unseasoned fries, and a water.”

“Deluxe burger with unseasoned fries,” Adam repeats, jotting it down, “And would you like a complimentary lemon slice with your water?”

“Yes please.”

     Adam turns to Lawrence, directing his pen at him. “And for you?” 

     Lawrence points at his menu, “I’ll take the wedding soup, please. And to drink—”

He thinks for a moment, “Do you guys have—”

“Lemonade.” Adam interjected, scribbling it down with their order. 

“You got it!” Lawrence laughs, pointing to Adam and turning back to his wife. She seems unimpressed. 

     The atmosphere grows tense and Adam steps in, eager to escape the awkward situation. “Is there anything else I can get you two?”

“Uh, nope! I think that’s all, yeah?” He asks, again switching to Alison for confirmation. She waves her hand in dismissal, “That’s all.”

“Alright! I’ll be back shortly with your food.”

     Adam rushes off, happy to depart from the conversation. Lawrence hadn’t shared much about his home life since the game, but he could feel some thick tension in the air. He’d ask him about it later.

“Didn’t know you and Adam were so close.” Alison remarked as they waited for their food.

     Lawrence is taken aback by his wife’s sharp tone as he constructs a response. “Honey, I have to look out for him; after everything.” 

     She scoffs. “What about us?” Her frustration is evident in her tone.

“Excuse me?”

“What about us?” She raises her voice, drawing attention from the nearby booths. “Why don’t you look out for me?”

     She’s overwhelmed with emotion, pent up and exhausted. She finds her hands subconsciously curling to fists at her side. 

“Sweetheart, I do look out for you.” He says sympathetically, “Every day I look out for you.”

“That’s bullshit, Lawrence! You don’t give a damn about me.” 

     Lawrence sinks into his seat as the unwanted attention from nearby patrons absorbs him. Public humiliation was the key to Lawrence’s discomfort, and Alison was well aware of that.

“That’s not true.”

“Don’t lie!” Her voice is sharp, cutting through Lawrence like a knife, “I’m sick of it. I can’t keep going on like this!” Alison abruptly stands from the booth, grabs her coat and turns back to give him a fuming look, “Don’t come home tonight.”

     When Adam returned, the table was left with nothing but a generous tip.

-

     Adam’s shift dragged on endlessly; his mind racing with unanswered questions. As far as he’d been told, things with Alison were fine. Infact, he was led to believe their marriage was improving since the game. 

     When he finally arrived home, he wasted no time shedding his shoes and coat. He retrieved his old flip-phone from his work pocket and saw several missed calls and texts from Lawrence. Disregarding the texts for now, he redialed and put the phone on speaker, holding it close to his ear.

     Lawrence answered after the second ring, his voice trembling. It was clear he was on the verge of tears. “Hey, Adam?”

“Yeah, Lawrence! Are you okay?” Adam asks, his expression full of concern. 

“Yeah, I just—” He trails off, his voice seeping with emotion. “Can I sleep at your place tonight?”

     Adam’s stunned. He looks around, carefully considering his next words. Gently, he nods as if Lawrence can see him. “Uh, yeah! Yeah, of course. Is everything okay?”

     Lawrence seems to avoid the question. “Thank you so much. Do you mind if I head over now?”

“Sure. I’ll set up the couch, alright?”

“Alright. Thank you again, Adam.” The line goes dead, a long tone ringing over the speaker. Adam snapped his phone shut and got to work pulling out the sofa and setting up the extra pillows and blankets. Lawrence arrived shortly after.

     The first thing Adam noticed was the tear stains on Lawrence's face. He had seen him cry once before, back in the bathroom, but this time it was different. This was raw pain.

“Jesus, Lawrence, what’s wrong?” 

     He takes unsteady breaths, holding back the rest of his humiliating tears. 

“Is it about Alison?” Adam asked, despite suspecting the answer.

     Lawrence nodded. Adam carefully leads him to the pull-out, sitting down with him on the edge. This vulnerability was sacred to Lawrence, something he’d shown very few times in his life, and he felt ridiculous being this raw in front of Adam. 

“She wants a divorce.” He blurts, Lawrences arms anxiously wrapped around his own torso. 

     A heavy silence hung in the air, stifling any words that dared to break it. Adam gently placed his hand on Lawrence's back, offering what little support he could.

“I thought things were going well?” Adam manages. 

“I don’t know. I guess things have never really been good . Not since we were young.” He falters, “But, I really did think it was getting better for a while. I really did.”

“When did she tell you this?”

“She told me two days ago.” Adam takes note of Lawrence’s radio silence for the past couple days. “Tonight was our last chance. We were supposed to reconnect.” A fresh stream of warm tears wash over Lawrence’s cheeks.

     Adam's stomach twists, his mind racing to conclusions quicker than he can expel them. “Was it because of me?”

     He looks up, his confusion evident. Adam continued.

“The lemonade. Or, not just the lemonade but.. all of it. She seemed—” He struggles to find the words. “She didn’t know about me.”

“Adam, no. It’s not like that.” He justifies. “She knew we were close but— I guess she just got a bit shaken by our friendliness.” 

     Adam nods, his gaze downcast. Lawrence continues to ramble, pouring out his emotions. “I thought everything was perfect. What’s gonna happen with Diana?”

“Joint custody isn’t so bad.” Adam reassures, “You know, there were two years where my parents were split up before getting back together. It really wasn’t that bad. Two birthdays, two Christmases, two bedrooms!” 

“Did you resent your father for it?” 

     Adam chooses his words carefully. “I didn’t resent him for that.”  

“But you did resent him.” He sighs. “One way or another, he’s the bad guy.”

“No, Lawrence. A lot more goes into it than just the split.”

“Diana’s all I have.” Lawrence says, his eyes welling up. “I can’t lose her.”

     Adam stares down, wrestling his nagging question. 

“Did—” He furrows his brows, carefully stringing his words together. “Did Alison know?” 

     Lawrence wore a look of confusion as he turned back to face Adam. 

“About you cheating.” He clarifies.

“I didn’t.” He snaps back, just like he did in the bathroom. “I never cheated on her. I was disloyal and I should have never started what I did with Carla, but I swear, I never crossed that line with her. I—” His voice grows weak. “I couldn’t bring myself to. I felt nothing for Carla. I wanted to feel something for Carla but there was just— it was nothing .”

     Adam nods, not quite following. “What do you mean?”

"Me and Alison have been distant since Diana, maybe even before," Lawrence explains, his voice growing weaker. "I can't remember exactly when that romantic love turned into family love. Suddenly, I loved Alison as a companion and coworker, but there was nothing there." Lawrence's breathing trembles as he continues, recounting an age-old story. "When I met Carla, I saw it as the perfect opportunity to feel love again. I agreed with myself that I just didn't want to settle. But when it came down to it, I felt nothing for her either."

     Adam stares down at his lap, this story sounding familiar. 

"After a while, you start to think that maybe you just can't feel love," Lawrence confesses. "Maybe you were never meant to." He breaks down, his voice cracking and tears streaming down his rosy cheeks. Adam wrapped his arm around Lawrence, doing his best to provide solace.

     Despite wanting to be there for him, Adam’s at a loss for words. He coos and rubs his back, but is stuck when met with the task of truly providing support . 

     Lawrence is tired of this. He’s tired of these tears, newly shed but patiently waiting. He’s tired of this feeling. He’s tired of not loving. He’s tired of it. In one sweep, he swerves and lands against Adam’s chest. His arms wrap around him, letting the flow of tears run against Adam’s good shoulder. Finally, he’s home.

     That night, Adam lays awake in bed. Sleep had become elusive lately, visiting him in unpredictable bursts. Sometimes, he'd feel utterly exhausted, only for renewed energy to surge through him after a few hours of restless movement. Tonight, he gazed up at the popcorn ceiling. His hands rest on his stomach, tracing the rhythm of his breaths. It was a grounding technique his mother had taught him as a child. In many ways, he still felt like that same boy, though he couldn't deny how far he'd grown from the carefree kid he once was. 

     His head tilted to the side, scrutinising the blocky red numbers on his alarm clock. 3:14 AM. A sigh escaped his throat as he sat up, acknowledging that sleep wouldn't be coming to him tonight. He reached for the half-empty pack of cigarettes on his bedside table and quietly left his room. 

     Adam makes an effort to tread softly as he passes the living room, not wanting to wake Lawrence. He slips past and slides open the balcony door, closing it gently behind him. Once outside, he ignites his lighter and brings the flame to the tip of his cigarette. Inhaling deeply, he found instant relief. His racing heart slows to a gentle beat as he exhales slowly, letting the smoke dissipate into the cool night air.  

     Adam leans against the metal railing, his eyes travelling downward to the busy streets. Everything looks so small from up here. Hundreds of lives moving at once right before him. It was overwhelming. He brings the smoke back to his lips and takes another weak drag, letting most of it burn away between his fingers. 

     Behind him, he hears the sound of the glass door sliding open and shut. He turns to face the noise, being met with a half-asleep Lawrence tiredly stepping out into the cold. Adam furrows his brow, his grip subconsciously tightening around his cigarette. 

“What are you doing up?” He asks, his tone reminiscent of a worried parent. Lawrence mumbles, taking place next to Adam.

“You’re smoking at three in the morning?” He questions, resting his elbows on the metal railing. 

“I couldn’t sleep.”

     Lawrence nods. “Is that a common issue for you?” 

“I don’t know. I guess so. I used to work nights before—” he trails off. “I guess it’s just hard to get back on schedule.” 

“I’ve grown to hate the nighttime since our game.” Lawrence admits, his eyes fixed on the city below. 

“Me too.” 

     A quiet settles between them, thick and obvious. They feel no pressure to speak around each other, all they ask for is company. 

     Lawrence sucks in a sharp breath before turning to Adam abruptly, “I’ve been thinking of going into therapy.” He spills. “With Jigsaw and the divorce, I just don’t wanna lose myself.”

     Adam’s face contorted to a look of shock, his right pointer idly picking at the skin around his thumb-nail. “Really?” 

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t peg you as the therapy type.” Adam said, taking a drag from his cigarette, then turning to face Lawrence as he exhaled.

     Lawrence swats away the smoke. “I think everyone should consider therapy.”

“Not Stanheights.” His voice is laced with a faux-rugged tone. 

“Yeah, well, I don’t think it’s a bad idea for either of us.” He murmurs. “We went through a lot. There’s nothing wrong with needing a little help.”

“Yeah, if it’s what’s best for you, go nuts.”

     Lawrence nods, watching as Adam attempts to squeeze one last drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out and dropping it in the ceramic ashtray. 

“I should be getting back to sleep.” Lawrence says, stumbling back towards the door.

     Adam forces a smile and pulls another cigarette from the pack. “I’m gonna stay out here just a bit longer.”

-

     In the morning, Lawrence wakes gently, from behind him he hears the faint noise of kitchen clatter. He rolls over to see Adam in the kitchen, deftly manoeuvring something in his frying pan. 

     He sits up, wiping the sleep from his half-shut eyes. He'd fallen asleep in his prosthetic last night, partly to make things more comfortable for Adam. It had become a habit during his recovery time with Alison, who often grew quiet when reminded of Lawrence's leg.

“Well, don’t you look cute?” Adam snickers, sliding the scrambled eggs onto a fresh plate alongside some lightly buttered toast. “I’m glad you woke yourself up. I was avoiding it.” 

     Lawrence points toward the plate. “Is this for me?”

“Yup.” 

     Lawrence stands, stretching his tired muscles.

     Lawrence quickly makes his way to the kitchen, joining Adam at the counter. The plate was pushed toward him and he piled his scrambled eggs onto his toast, enjoying the simple breakfast. Ideally, he'd have added another slice to make a full sandwich, but the egg-to-bread ratio was off, and he needed to ration the toast he had.

“Thank you.” 

“No problem!” Adam absentmindedly sips at his coffee.

“You gonna make any for yourself?” 

     The younger man sighs. “Nope. I’m not all that hungry.” 

     Lately, Lawrence had noticed that Adam was never particularly hungry. In fact, he couldn't recall seeing Adam eat more than a few bites of food since they'd met. He wasn't sure why, but had a hunch.

“Did you sleep okay?” Adam asks, dumping out the remainder of his coffee. 

     Lawrence beams. “Yeah! Surprisingly comfortable.” 

“Right? Sometimes, I sleep on the pull-out so I can watch TV while I drift off.” He speaks like a child admitting bad behaviour to his parents. “It might be nicer than my bed.”

“That’s reasonable. I typically need something going in the background to fall asleep. Especially these days.” Lawrence prods. He's usually the one that drives conversations this way.

     Adam silently agrees. 

“You gonna call Alison today?” He asks, intently examining Lawrence’s body language. 

“Yeah. That’s probably a good idea.”

“It’s best to keep control of the situation.” They stay quiet for a beat before Adam adds, “But, for the record, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you’d like.” 

     A gentle smile tugs at Lawrence’s lips. “Thank you, Adam.” 

-

     Adam left for work at around 4 PM, leaving Lawrence alone in the apartment. At 4:45 hunger drove him to search for food. The kitchen was barren, having only the bleak necessities. When he opens the fridge, he’s shocked to see a drawer of rotting fruits and several jars full of unlabelled vegetables and spreads. It was a rancid sight, to say the least. The fridge shelf houses a layer of sticky spillage which just adds to the array of smells. He shut it, feeling overwhelmed by the sight. 

     Standing still, hand still gripping the fridge door, Lawrence feels his stomach churn. In a desperate attempt to feel less concerned, he fumbles open the cabinet next to the fridge and finds nothing but a box of protein bars, some plain rice cakes and other untouched snack foods. The other cabinets were the same story, a collection of odds and ends but nothing substantial. He sighs, feeling as his hunger drains away. He had noticed Adam's lack of appetite, but seeing it displayed like this was eye-opening. 

     Lawrence returns to the pull-out, feeling defeated and a little uneasy. Something was unsettling about being in someone’s home while they were away. This apartment was spilling with Adam from every drawer, picture frame and bookshelf, yet he was nowhere to be found. 

     He reached for his pocket, taking out his cell phone and loading up Alison’s contact. Their wedding photos were her set image. His fingertips buzzed as those memories flooded in. They had done everything right. They followed every rule in the book, winding up for a perfect mechanical family. Met in school, waited until marriage, had their child, doctor Dad and stay-at-home Mom. Everything was perfect. Somewhere along the line, in the midst of such a steady routine, they lost themselves. Every second of every day was scheduled, executed and repeated. I guess there’s something to desire in an imperfect life.

     His gut churns as he tucks the phone back into his pocket, not bothering to turn it off. Lawrence hunches over, resting his face in the palms of his sweaty hands. He couldn’t shake the guilt and anger he felt toward this entire shitty situation. His daughter and his wife, the only real family he’d had in years, were just barely out of reach. This sense of normalcy he’d worked so hard to build was slipping from his grip with each following day. He thought of Diana, her sweet smile. He remembers the first time she’d smiled, hell, the first time he’d held her. He remembers the feeling of being passed by his daughter, wrapped up in a cute pink blanket and ribbon on her head. He remembered the day he’d found out Alison was pregnant, the joy he’d felt knowing he’d finally be a dad. He remembered proposing and dancing and feeling what he’d thought was true love, but now seemed like nothing more than an illusion. A cheap joke fabricated to achieve the most enviable life. 

     Suddenly, he remembered everything. All those forgotten memories. Every last minute of it. Her first steps, her first words, her first brown curl sprouting from her sweet little head. Their first family vacation, fun camping trips and starry nights. He remembered the sound of Diana’s laughter and how she matured at such an early age. He remembered that feeling of laying on the bathroom floor with Adam, knowing they were in danger. The warm tears stream down his flushed cheeks and he lets out a choked sob. This is all too much. All of it. It’s just too much.

     He pulls his phone back from his pocket, rubbing the tears away from his face. The screen is dark. The phone is dead. He doesn’t have his charger, or any of his other belongings, on behalf of his sudden leave. He followed the grounding methods he’d been taught. His mind darted from end to end, collecting any sights, smells, noises and tastes. His shaking leg slows down and his breathing falls steady. After a few minutes of daunting silence as he catches his breath, his exhausted eyes travel toward the home phone. Quickly, Lawrence makes his way over to it and lifts it from the base. His fingers stumble to dial Alison’s number, but after entering the first digit he’s met with an automated recording alerting him that the voicemail box is full. He zones out as it lists his options.

“Press 7 to hear your messages.” The recording abruptly ends, leaving an open line buzzing. 

     Lawrence’s finger hovers over the seven, considering his next move. He’s sure it would be rude and invasive to listen to the messages, but his curiosity peaked and he needed a distraction from his own life. Without further consideration, his finger mashed down the ‘seven’ and he held the speaker gently to his ear. 

     The line picked up with fuzzy white noise before the voice of a worried older woman chimed in. “Adam? Baby, is that you?” Lawrence’s face softens. “Honey, I got your new number from Scott. Please, call me back, I would love to come see the new place if you’ll have me. I love you.” It ends. The line goes dead. 

     Lawrence hits seven again, starting the next message. 

“Adam, it’s me again. It’s Mom. Give me a call back, okay? I— we would love to talk. I love you.” 

Seven.

“Me again. I heard about your new job; well done! Working nights is no easy task, but I know— I know you’ll handle just fine. I love you!” 

Seven. 

“Adam, I don’t know if you’re getting these calls but I would really appreciate a reply. All the information I have about you is through Scott and I miss you, I really do.” Her voice wavers. “Call me back. I love you.”

Seven.

     This time it’s the same number, but a different person. Deeper and with more anger, a male voice jumps in. “Adam. It’s your father. It’s absolutely ridiculous to leave your Mom unanswered like this. I expect a response. I didn’t raise you to be like this.”

Seven.

     The woman’s voice returns. “Adam, are you there? Please pick up if you’re there. You’re fathers not angry anymore. We just wanna know if you’re alright.” There’s a pause where you can faintly hear a sniffle behind the recording. “Please call, honey. Goodbye.” 

Seven. 

     New number. He recognizes this voice as Adams ‘friend’ from the party. “Saw the news. You kill anybody? Ring me.” 

     His mother again. She’s crying heavily. “Adam, baby. Oh my God. I saw you on the television and I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it. Tell me it isn’t true. Please, honey, call me back. I need to hear your voice.” 

‘You’ve reached the end of your messages. To repeat your messages, hit one. To clear your messages, hit two…”

     Lawrence drops the phone back onto the base, unable to invoke a thought. Sure, Adam had never dived too deep into his family, but Lawrence hadn’t put much thought to it. These voicemails; the desperation in his mother's voice mixed with the fury in his father's. He pictured Adam listening to these messages, his heart aching at the thought. 

     With that, he waited patiently on the pull-out for Adam to get home. He browsed the TV, finding several recorded episodes of some cheesy police drama. He’d quit halfway through the first episode, finding its melodrama unbearable, but seeing why Adam would like it. 

     After what feels like ages; the door creaks open. 

“Honey, I’m home!” Adam chuckles.

     He comes bearing a pizza, juggling it between his two hands while fumbling with his shoe lace. Lawrence springs from his spot, feeling his body grow warm by the other man’s company. He’d never felt happier to see him. Lawrence makes his way toward the doorway and takes hold of the pizza, gently thanking Adam and setting it on the counter.

“God, you won’t believe the day I had. Things were already so hectic and sure enough, just when I thought it couldn’t be worse, I was sent to serve Scott and his new bimbo.” He exclaims dramatically. 

“Seriously?” 

“Yes!” He kicks off his shoes and thumps down onto one of the counter stools. “He makes a big deal about me working there, which I take on the chin instead of socking him in the face.”

“Gotta stay professional.” Lawrence chimes, giving an approving nod. 

     Adam laughs. “Right. Against my better judgement. Anyway, we get to talking and, get this, he invites me to his band's stupid show tomorrow night!” He scoffs. 

“You’re not gonna go, are you?”

     Adam wavers, tearing a slice from the pizza and giving an unsure look. “I don’t know. It might be fun?”

“Really? He’s an asshole, isn’t he?”

“Well, yeah, but I’m not going for him. The festival he’s playing at is always a good time. Besides, I’m gonna have to see him anyway. Might as well bite the bullet, huh?” 

“Well, if you think it’s—”

“Will you come with me?” Adam interjects, taking another bite from his slice. 

     Lawrence tilts his head. “To the festival?”

“Yeah! I thought it’d be good to have a night out, don’t ya think?” 

     He couldn’t argue with that. “Right, yeah! Sure!” 

“Great!” He grins. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“I’m sure it will be.” 

     Adam drops his half-eaten slice into the garbage.

     The two of them finish their night with a movie. Some shitty television special that puts them both to sleep by the thirty-minute mark. Lawrence’s arm gently falls over Adam while he sleeps, holding him secure to his body and collecting their shared heat. 

Unlike the other nights this past month, Adam slept through the night.

Chapter Text

     They arrive at the music festival at around ten, before anyone is too shitfaced. Scott isn’t set to play until midnight which leaves them plenty of time to back out, if need be. For now, Lawrence manoeuvres his car through the confusing lot and twists his key from the ignition. 

“You ready?” He asks, watching as Adam rummages through his pocket to retrieve his pack of smokes. He slides one out and steadies it between his lips, fishing for a lighter.

“Hey!” Lawrence scolds, snatching the cigarette from his mouth and setting it in his palm, “Please refrain from lighting cigarettes in my car.”

     Adam disregards him, pulling down the vanity mirror and fixing his hair. 

“Don’t let me drink too much tonight, yeah? I always get wrapped up in that shit.”

     Lawrence chuckles. “I’ll try my best. What time do you wanna be outta here?”

“Not too late. We shouldn’t push twelve-thirty.” 

     He nods, resting his hand on the door handle and waiting for the brunette to finish his preening. 

“Alright!” Adam exclaims, clicking open his door and slamming it behind him. “This’ll be fun!”

“Yeah! I wonder if I’ll run into anyone I know.”

     Adam shrugs, “I doubt your eccentric doctor friends will be here. It’s mainly, like, twenty-year-old shitheads.”

“Like you?”

     Adam waves him off, stopping by a random car window and messing with the part in his hair again . Lawrence grabs his arm and drags him along. 

     The festival was brimming with life. Adam noticed that crowd had nearly doubled from the previous year, partly thanks to an advertising team that had actually done their job. Currently, a jazz-style band of barefoot hippies occupied the stage. The few people seated in front of them were either engrossed in their phones or chatting with someone. There were always one or two shitty acts at a festival like this. 

     Adam gravitates toward the food trucks, Lawrence in tow. 

“Ya’ hungry?” Adam asks.

     He considered this before nodding, if not just to see Adam have something. “I could eat.”

“How ‘bout this one?” He points to a nondescript truck. The menu is typical; burgers, hotdogs, chicken tenders, etc. 

     They approach the window, a sweaty looking teenager joining them from the other side. Lawrence steps ahead. 

“Hey! Could I just have a cheeseburger with no tomato, onion rings and—” He scans over the menu, “Just an iced tea, please.” 

     The teen nods, jotting it down before shifting his attention to Adam. 

“I’ll just have a small fry, please.”

“Nothing to drink?” Lawrence prods, keeping his voice low.

     Adam waves him off. “I’m gonna start a tab at the floating bar after this.” 

     Lawrence nods and forks over the cash, exchanging it for the food. It’s certainly not gourmet. Frozen patties and week-old fries; but it serves its purpose. They find a spot on a grassy hill facing the stage. Lawrence takes a bite from his burger, his face contorting to a sour look.

“What?” Adam asks, thrown by Lawrence’s expression.

“This is terrible.”

     He huffs, “Let me try!” 

     Lawrence hands over the burger, wiping his hands clean against the grass. Adam takes a cautious bite from the corner, carefully evaluating it before turning back to Lawrence. 

“What’s your verdict?”

     He considers this for a moment before answering. “My verdict is you’re a pretentious bastard.” He stabs, handing back the burger. “That’s what we Stanheights call fine-dining.” 

“Then take it. It’s yours.” Lawrence shoves the burger back toward Adam, who deftly evades it. 

“I don’t want your stupid burger!”

“Cause it’s awful!”

     They’re both laughing now, their tones playfully infectious. “No, because I didn’t order it!”

     He sighs, “You’re right. I dug this grave for myself.” He hesitantly forces another mouthful before erupting into gags.

“You are so dramatic!” 

     Lawrence's face dawns a grimace as he sets the burger back onto the cardboard plate. “Absolutely dreadful.”

“Are you gonna demand a refund?” He laughed, holding onto his stomach. 

     Lawrence scoffed and shook his head, “I ought to!”

“I ought to!” He mocked.

     The older man turns to Adam, a look of shock across his face at the sudden teasing. Adam only laughed harder, revelling in his own humour. 

     They finish their food, Lawrence having hesitantly forced down the rest of the burger while Adam abandoned half his fries on the lawn. Meanwhile, a new band had taken the stage, a grunge-type cover band led by a singer with an awkward stage presence. The music, while not terrible, consisted of simple guitar melodies accompanied by generic singing. Could be much worse. Paying little attention to the performance ahead, Lawrence and Adam venture toward the growing crowd of listeners.

     Adam had stopped at the floating bar on the way over, grabbing his first drink. He’d opted for a Smirnoff Ice, keeping it light. 

     As they chatted, Adam felt a hand grip his shoulder as a familiar scoff erupted from behind him. 

“Adam?” The voice chimes, “Don’t tell me that’s you!”

“Tracey!” He mumbles unenthusiastically before turning for confirmation. Sure enough, she pops into his field of few with a gaped smile and cheap beer in her hand. It’s the pretentious cruelty-free brand, of course. Her friends crowd around them.

“Hey! It’s been so long!” She’s clearly already drunk, her speech a little slurred and her stance is wavering.

     Adam nods with a tight-lipped smile, “Yeah.”

“And who’s this?” Tracey asks, her long acrylic nail pointing toward Lawrence.

“Oh!” Adam glimpsed over before settling his eyes back on Tracey, “This is my friend, Lawrence. Lawrence, this is Tracey! She’s— We’re—” He trials off, struggling to find the right words. 

     Tracey steps in, outstretching her hand. “I’m Adam's ex.” She says casually. 

     Lawrence is a little stunned, limply giving her hand a shake. “Oh! Nice to meet you!” He takes in her appearance; dark spiky hair, intense makeup, a faux-fur jacket over a skimpy crop-top and mini skirt. It’s not at all what he’d imagine Adam’s type to be.

“Nice to meet you.” She giggles, all her words sounding rehearsed and insincere. Abruptly, her hand reached for Adam’s. She tugs him a bit closer and suggests they move farther out from the crowd. Adam uncomfortably nods and glances back to Lawrence. 

“Great!” She chirps, dragging him along to the outskirts of the festival. 

     Lawrence kept to Adam’s side, giving him a series of concerned looks. 

     Tracey settled on the grass, Adam and her friends following suit. “Check it!” She exclaims, unzipping her backpack to reveal a tall glass bong, a grinder, and a ziplock bag of pot buds. Her friends react with excitement as Tracey grounds up a bud and packs the bowl tightly.

“Who’s up first?” She offered, tilting the bong toward Adam. He reluctantly accepted it, fishing his lighter from his pocket and resting his lips against the mouthpiece. Tracey’s hands shielded the wind from his flame as he torched the bowl and pulled up the smoke. 

     Once the bowl was ash, he lifted the stem and inhaled the remaining smoke, blowing it out into the circle of friends. Lawrence’s gaze is fixed on Adam, as if to decode any signals he might be sending out. 

     The bong makes its way around the group of friends, each person clearing without so much as a cough. When it returns to Adam a second time, he accepts it, lighting and smoking another full bowl.

“You’ve gotten better at this, Adam!” Tracey beams, her hand running curiously through his hair. “Have you been practising?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Well done! I remember when you used to cough after one hit of a joint.”

     He chokes out a laugh, reminiscing back to that trying time. “I’m a changed man, what can I say?” 

     The group chuckles, each collecting their own buzz.

     Tracey leans the bong toward Lawrence. “Wanna give it a try?” She asks. He studies her face for any trace of humour, but finds her to be completely serious. 

“Uh, sure?” He responds, hesitantly taking it from her hands. 

     Adam’s face twists, “You don’t have to say yes, Larry.”

     He waves him off, “No, it’s okay. I’m curious about it.” 

     He looks at him with concern, but doesn’t interject. It wasn’t his place to tell him what to do. It’d be hypocritical anyway.

“Have you ever smoked before?” Tracey asks.

“Once back in college.” 

     Adam leans a little closer to Lawrence, lowering his voice. “Are you sure about this?” 

“Yeah! Just, don’t put too much, alright?” 

“You want me to pack your bowl for you?” 

     Lawrence nods a little. Adam takes the grinder and pinches a bit between his fingers before flattening it into the bowl-piece. He doesn’t put much; in fact, he’s sure it won’t affect Lawrence at all. 

“Last chance. Seriously, okay? No one will judge you if you don’t wanna do it.”

“Adam, relax!” Lawrence smiles, taking the bong in his hand. “It’s alright!” 

“Alright.” He hums.

     Adam flicks the lighter, torching the bowl. 

“Okay, inhale.” He instructs. After he burns through enough of the weed, Adam lifts the bowl and lets Lawrence breath out the cloud of smoke. A silence hangs in the air for a brief moment before Lawrence erupts into a fit of coughing, grasping at his chest and taking shaky breaths. Adam fumbles around, grabbing the water bottle from the side compartment of Tracey’s bag. He cracks it open and hands it to Lawrence, watching as he chugs it back with ease. 

     After letting out a few more weak coughs, Lawrence turns to Adam, his face red and his eyes watering. 

“You okay, man?” Adam asks, leaning forward. 

“Yeah. That burned more than I thought it would.”

     After about an hour, Adam had gotten his hands on a few more drinks. The buzz is starting to get to him, allowing that thick wall between himself and Tracey to fade away. Suddenly, he’s not so bothered by her hand on his chest or bicep. 

     In a fit of laughter after one of Adam’s dumb remarks, she leans forward, a goofy look on her face. “God, I missed hanging out with you, Adam!” 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah! You’re funny, man.” She playfully bites her bottom lip. “I remember why I liked you so much.”

     Adam disregards her, shaking his head. “You didn’t, Tracey. That’s why you broke up with me.” His voice is a little hurt, but he coats it in a breathy laugh to diffuse the tension. 

     Her hand wanders up his chest. “Well,” She coos, “maybe I made a mistake.”

     Lawrence clears his throat in an attempt to make his presence known. Adam snaps his head in the direction of the noise.

“Adam, can I talk to you for a minute?” Lawrence asks, a look of concern evident on his face. 

     He nods, excusing himself and following Lawrence back toward the outskirts. 

“Are you okay with all this?” 

“Yeah! It’s no biggie.” Adam shrugs, his eyes flicking back to Tracey in the crowd. “She’s just drunk, that's all.”

“Yeah, well, you’re drunk too, and I don’t want you doing anything you’ll regret tomorrow.” 

“Lawrence, calm down.” He chuckles. “I can’t leave her like this. I don’t trust the guys here. If I ditch her, she’ll just move onto the next douchebag.” He pauses, his eyes sincere. “That’s dangerous.” 

     Lawrence gives an understanding look. “Okay, I just don’t wanna see you get hurt.”

“Trust me, Tracey’s completely unable to affect me.” 

     On stage, the next band struck their opening chord. Adam immediately perks up, focusing on the melody before leaning over and laughing. 

“Hey, that’s Scott’s band!” 

     Lawrence glances over, his gaze staying fixated on Scott’s angry screaming into the microphone. He didn’t understand this type of music whatsoever. 

“Let’s go!” Adam exclaims, taking Lawrence’s hand and dragging them toward the front of the crowd. The music is deafeningly loud from here, and the audience is booming. Right in front of the stage, nodding along to the beat, stood the cashier from the pharmacy they had met some time ago. Adam sprung himself toward the kid with wide arms. 

“Hey, pharmacy boy!” He calls out, grabbing the teens attention. “Daniel, right?” 

     Daniel glances over, studying Adam. He recognizes him almost immediately. “Uh, yeah! What’s up?” 

     Adam beams and points toward Daniel's arms. “I love your bracelets!” 

     He’s got on a couple mineral-style bead bracelets; one brown and one forest green.

“Oh, thanks.” He looks back to the stage before quickly reconnecting his gaze with Adam’s, “You here for W.O.T.G?” 

     Adam scoffs. “Nah. Here for a good time.” There was a moment of silence, both unsure of where to lead this conversation. “What grade are you in?” Adam asked, trying to ease the tension. The question was abrupt and awkward, but Daniel humoured him nonetheless.

“Eleventh.” He answered.

“Ah, Eleventh grade. That’s when everything went downhill.”

     Adam had meant it as a joke, but as the words hung in the air and a worried look grew across Daniel’s face, Adam cleared his throat and continued. “—But also fun! Very fun.”

“Right.” 

     Adam notices Daniel’s wavering balance, uncomfortably shifting his weight from foot to foot. His eyes travel down to the teens hands. 

“Are you drinking?” He asks, gesturing toward the can in Daniels grip.

     He shrugs.

“How old are you? Seventeen?” 

“Sixteen.”

“Even better.” Adam huffs. “You shouldn’t be drinking alone like this. Not at your age.”

     The teen nods it off, taking another sloppy sip from his beer. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Look, I’m not your dad.” He says with a breathy laugh, “I’m not gonna stop you, just don’t go being too reckless, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Alright.” Adam glances back over to where Lawrence is standing. “I’ll leave you to it.”

     He snaps his fingers, attempting a smooth exit. Instead, it leaves an awkward-feeling silence between them as he turns on his heel and walks toward Lawrence.

“Keep an eye on that one, will ya’?” Adam points toward Daniel, his eyes staying fixed on him.

     Lawrence’s brow raises as he follows Adam’s gaze to the boy from the pharmacy. “Why?”

“Just— please.” 

     There’s no time to question it as Lawrence helplessly stares over Adams shoulder, watching Tracey make a reappearance and grab his arm.

“Come back, Adam!” 

     He’s startled, but hides it beneath a cheap laugh. “Tracey, maybe I should take you home, huh?”

“What? The festival’s just getting started!”

“Right, but, you’re a little drunk and—”

     Tracey disregards him, roughly tugging at his arm. “C’mon, Adam! Let’s go!” The motion causes his barely healed shoulder to spike up with pain. With a sharp breath, he winces and helplessly trails behind her. 

     Once back in the crowd, packed in with everyone around them, Tracey begins to dance with Adam. Though, it would be more accurately defined as dancing on Adam. Her hands curiously travel as she bobs her head to the unsteady beat of the music. Adam notices her intense stare at his lips. 

“You know, I really missed you.” She slurs out, her eyes reflecting the neon festival lights. 

     Adam projects a hurt smile. “That’s sweet of you to say.” 

“I mean it. I really did.” She leans closer. “I made a mistake, letting you go.”

     His eyes waver as he avoids her unrelenting gaze. “Tracey, I—”

     Without warning, she closes the gap. Her lips press against his with that same force he used to love so much, only now it did nothing but make him stumble back and squeeze his eyes shut. Adam doesn’t bother kissing back, instead staying still and allowing her to do the work. She doesn’t give up, though. Her hands slide up his back and rest against the groove of his neck, deepening the kiss. 

     Finally, Adam finds the strength to pull back, exasperated and panting for breath. “Tracey—”

“What’s wrong?”

“This isn’t—” He fumbles for his words. “—You’re not in the right headspace to be doing this.” 

     Her gaze softens, draining her momentary bliss to a look of defeat. “You don’t like me?” 

     Adam slowly shakes his head, his eyes cast down. “I’m sorry.” 

     Tracey looks hurt. Her shaky hands push them apart, using the distance to point accusingly. “I wanna go home!” She screams. “Take me home!” Hot, angry tears built up in her eyes as Adam stares at her, unable to force a response.

     Just then, Lawrence jogs up to them, examining the situation before turning to Adam with an exasperated look. 

“Adam, can you come here for a second?” He asks, desperation clear in his voice.

“Now’s not a good time—”

“It’s urgent.” 

     Adam looks him up and down before his eyes fall back onto Tracey. “I’ll be right back, okay?” 

     She looks away. Adam offers one last empathetic look before taking off with Lawrence to an alley near the stage. 

     His gut clenches. “Jesus.” 

     In the alley, a hunched-over Daniel fixates on a puddle of vomit pooling around his feet. Adam’s mouth hangs agape, glancing over at Lawrence before tentatively speaking to the teen. “How ya’ feelin’ buddy?”

     There's a strained moment of silence before another round of puke splatters against the ground. Lawrence rushes over. “Okay!” The doctor exclaims, resting a hand on Daniel’s back. “That’s it. Get it out of your system.” He looks up at Adam with a worried expression. 

     Daniel manages to speak through his intense coughing. “I’m sorry.” 

     Lawrence shakes his head, giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze. “No need to apologise, bud.” 

     Adam watches the scene unfold, flinching with every heave coming from Daniel's direction. Gently, he made his way over to Lawrence. 

     He kept his voice low when speaking, “Look, I need to drive Tracey home.” He explains, overwhelmed from the night's events. “I don’t know what to do.”

     Lawrence offers an understanding look as he leans over to see her. She stood still in the booming crowd, her eyes fixating on the ground beneath her. “What if I drove her home? You deal with him.” He gestures toward Daniel. “Then, we meet back here at the end of the night?” 

     Adam, still visibly stressed, nods in agreement. 

“Yeah.” He mumbles. “Yeah, okay.” 

“Look, just—” Lawrence’s eyes flick back to Daniel. “Go get him some water from a food truck.” He fumbles through his wallet before handing Adam a few dollars, “Make sure he drinks it. If it seems like he might start puking, lean him over. We don’t want him choking.”

     Adam nods.

“ And don’t let him drink more. Got it?” 

     Adam offers a forced smile. “Got it.” 

“Good. I’ll go find Tracey. I’ll see you later, okay?” He pats Adams shoulder, giving the teen one last worried look before setting off in Tracey’s direction.

     Once Lawrence is gone, Adam turns to face Daniel. The poor kid looks mortified, his shirt covered in bile and his face starch white. Gently, Adam wraps an arm around his shoulder and leads him around the corner, far away from the puddle of vomit. 

“You wanna sit down, bud?” 

     Daniel nods, sliding down the brick wall and making contact with the concrete. 

“Alright, look, I’m gonna grab you some water, okay?” Adam rubs a hand over his face. “Just, stay here. Don’t go anywhere; and if you feel like you might vomit, lean over.” He recites as he rushes off toward the food trucks. 

     He returns a couple minutes later, water bottle in hand, and passes it off to Daniel. 

“There ya’ go. Drink that. It’ll help.”

     The teen nods, twisting off the lid. “Thank you.” 

“Of course, bud.” 

     A beat of silence hangs between them before Daniel breaks it. 

“This is so embarrassing.” He mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Hey, no! Don’t be embarrassed.” Adam crouches down next to Daniel. “Everyone has a night or two like this.”

“I don’t even know what happened. I felt fine and then I just—” Daniel trails off, picking at his thumb nail.

“I get it.” Adam sighs. “Just a couple weeks ago, Lawrence had to do the same thing with me at a bar downtown. It happens to the best of us.” 

“Lawrence—” He hums, “Is that the one who was just here?”

“Yeah. Level-headed doctor guy, that’s him.”

     Daniel smiles, “Are you two close?”

     Adams demeanour changes. His shoulders relax and a gentle smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah. He’s the best friend I have.” 

     Daniel nods. “He’s kind.” 

     There’s a pause before Adam nudges the untouched water bottle toward the teens chest. “Drink it!” 

     He hesitantly brings the bottle to his lips, feeling as it dribbles down his chin and soaks into his shirt. Adam jumped into action. 

“Woah! Easy.” He tilts the bottle down, “Careful, bud.” 

     Daniel looks down at the mess and grimaces, softly wiping at it with his thumb. Adam gently guides Daniels hand away from the spill.

     Quickly, Adam thinks back to when Lawrence offered his shirt back at the bar, and how much better he felt after. Without hesitation, he takes off his baggy band tee, leaving him in just his undershirt, and hands it to Daniel. 

“Here. Put this on.”

“You sure?” He asks cautiously, receiving a nod and smile from Adam. He takes off his own soiled tee, replacing it with the clean one.

“Thank you.” 

     Ten minutes later, Lawrence joins them. 

“How’d it go with Tracey?” Adam asks with a joking expression. 

    Lawrence grimaces. “It was something .” 

“It always is with her.”

     They’re quiet for a moment, Lawrence looking over Adam’s shoulder and raising a brow as his gaze falls on the teenager. 

“Should we get going? Does he need a ride home?” He asks, gesturing to Daniel. 

     Adam nods, “It’s best that we take him. I don’t want him trying to walk home or catching a ride with someone else.” 

“Yeah.” Lawrence fishes through his pocket for his keys. “Let’s get going, then.”

     They get to the car, Adam and Lawrence sitting upfront while Daniel reluctantly takes residence in the backseat. He offers vague directions of how to get to his house before leaning his pounding head against the glass window. Honestly, he looks miserable.

“How ya’ doin’ back there?” Adam calls as Lawrence gets the car going.

“My dad’s gonna kill me.” Daniel moans, dreading the impending confrontation. 

     Lawrence eyes him through the rearview mirror. “Yeah, well, if my daughter came home this drunk at sixteen, I wouldn’t be happy with her either.”

     The teen sighs, resigned to his fate. Meanwhile, Lawrence, as always, jumps on the opportunity to impend some wisdom. 

“Drinking like this at your age is dangerous. Especially with no one around.” He begins, his tone caring and fatherly. “What would you have done if we hadn’t been there?”

“I don’t know.”

     Lawrence and Adam give each other a look. 

“I won’t lecture you about drinking; that’s a discussion for you and your parents, but at least have a friend with you.” Lawrence’s voice goes hard. “Going to a festival with a bunch of adults and no ride home, then choosing to get this drunk? It’s an awful idea.”

“I know.” He admits, feeling remorseful. 

     Adam chimes in from the passenger seat. “I was the same way at your age.” He confesses with a laugh

    Lawrence rolls his eyes, focusing on the road ahead of them. “Of course you were.”

     Adam continues. “I understand the appeal of drinking, I really do. It’s fun and it can turn any event into a good time—”

“Who’s side are you on?” 

“—But, it’s still not a good idea. Not under these circumstances.”

     Lawrence glares over from the driver's seat, his annoyance evident. “You could have made that point without the alcohol praise at the start.” 

“I got it guys. I’m not gonna do this again.” Daniel groans.

“I’m glad to hear that.” The doctor pauses, unable to control the next cheap lecture from spewing out. “And it’s worthwhile to mention that you shouldn’t be trusting strangers like this either. You lucked out with us, but you never know what creeps are out there. You shouldn’t be accepting rides from pharmacy customers you briefly met one time .” 

“Then why did you offer?”

“Because I know that I’m not a creep,” Lawrence retorts. “And if I left you there, there’s a good chance you would have been scoped out by one.” 

     He drives slowly, meticulously reading the house numbers before pulling up to the right building. 

“This it?”

“Yup.” Daniel hums, popping open the door and unsteadily scooting out. “Thank you guys.” 

     Before he can leave, Adam stops him and scribbles out his number on an old receipt. 

“Keep that on you.” He explains. “If you’re ever unsafe and need a ride, don’t be scared to call, okay?” 

     Daniel stares down at it for a moment before looking back up and giving a gentle nod. 

“Thanks.” 

“Bye, kid!” Lawrence calls out, watching until he safely gets inside before pulling out of the driveway. 

     Adam sighs, “Well that was certainly not how I pictured this night going.” He blurts, fidgeting with the pen between his fingers. 

“Me neither.” He shares his exasperation.

“We did the right thing, right?”

     Lawrence gives a reassuring smile. “Absolutely. We kept everyone safe.” He affirms, his voice steady. “That’s all we can do.”

“Okay.”

     The remainder of their car ride home is shrouded in silence, both lost in their thoughts. They part ways at the front door, each quickly retreating to their beds. 

     In the solitude of his room, Adam's mind churns. He replays the evening's events over and over in his head. The memory of Tracey and her unpleasantly wet kiss weighs heavily on him. He’s troubled by his lack of reaction. It's reminiscent of that night at the bar when he stood there, immobilised, as that pretty girl made unreciprocated moves. His gut twists at the recollection, and his thoughts inevitably circle back to the conversation he had with Lawrence about not feeling love. Maybe this was just how it had to be.

     That night, sleep eludes him as he grapples with his thoughts and emotions, searching for answers that seem just out of reach.

Chapter Text

     While Lawrence is out running errands, Adam uses the time to sprawl across the couch and light a cigarette. Since Lawrence had been staying there, Adam had quit smoking indoors; but he wouldn’t deny himself the pleasure when home alone. He stares up at the apartment ceiling, marred by splotchy water damage, and closes his eyes. 

     Back in college, there were times where he couldn’t function without some kind of background noise. If he was having a smoke, he’d make sure the TV was on in the background; it was a healthy way to drown out any unwanted thoughts. He enjoyed the sound of people's voices overlapping his own thoughts. Nowadays, too much noise overwhelms him. He now prefers the quiet that envelopes his apartment in moments like these. 

     Though he hasn’t entertained his thoughts on his whole situation, they still cast shadows over his day-to-day life. Since Jigsaw's game he’s lost his appetite and found relief in questionable coping skills. These aren’t new traits, but they’re certainly more pronounced. 

     Every night, as he lays in bed, the memories come rushing through and oftentimes leave him trembling in tears from the pure unrelenting panic. That lack of sleep alone is enough to drive him mad. 

     On days like these, slouched weakly across the couch with a cigarette in hand and infection coursing through his blood, he wonders if he’ll be tested again. He hasn’t really achieved anything after all. One Jigsaw victim went on record saying she was cured as a result of her test, but Adam never felt that way. All he’d achieved was a nasty scar and a bedtime story. 

     The only silver lining was Lawrence; and when does that classify as more of a con than a pro? God, he couldn’t get him off his mind. 

     They’re around each other all the time; watching movies, going on walks, talking. Just thinking about it ties a knot in Adam's stomach.  

     Then there are his parents; a touchy topic. The voicemails haven’t slowed down; they’ve only grown angrier. His mothers sweet tone poisoned by the bite of his drunken fathers tongue lashings. He wants to call. Hell, he’s left about a thousand reminders around the apartment to call, but he can’t risk his dad picking up. It’s not worth it. 

     After all, he’s well aware of how his father views him. Through those eyes, he’s nothing but a worthless jackass . Just like Jigsaw said; he’s pathetic. 

     And that word alone, pathetic, ringing through his ears day-after-day. Whether it came from the mouth of Scott, his father, or some cock-sucking serial killer, it was true nonetheless. He was pathetic. 

     Angry, apathetic, pathetic. 

     The cigarette burns out. He lets it fall from his mouth and crash against the grimy apartment floors. There’s no escape from the relentless beating of his heart, thump after thump against his hollow chest cavity as his eyes grow heavy with sacks of salty tears. He gives in, allowing his breath to hitch and his hands to drop to his chest. He feels for the rise and fall of his unsteady breath.

     Part of him hopes Lawrence comes home. Part of him hopes he never does. 

     In recent times, there’s only been one quick-fix to moments like these. He pushes himself off the couch and stumbles to the kitchen. 

     His wavering hand slides a steak-knife from the wooden block. He knows exactly which one to go for. It rubs against the slit and rings throughout the room. Adam gently tucks the knife into his jean pocket and heads for the bathroom down the hall, the door slamming shut behind him. 

     His heart won’t slow. He can’t muster a small breath, let alone a full one. His eyes shut as he tries to calm himself, but the lack of oxygen causes him to waver against the tile floor. He slides down the wall, the knife slipping from his pocket and tinging against the floor. Adam focuses on it, wrapping a hand around the base and using it to slide up his tee-shirt sleeve. 

     The old cuts fill the space, some faded to brown while others swim with mucky yellow infection. He brings the knife to his shoulder, pressing hard as it glides across a clear spot of skin. The first cut never hurts anymore. At this point, it takes running over it about three or four times to feel anything.

     He circles back around, deepening the cut and feeling the waves of sharp pain melting into relief. Once it’s good and wide, blood swelling and running uncomfortably down his arm, he moves onto the next clear spot. Once again, he digs the knife into himself and repeats the cycle.

     When his mind starts to second guess these choices, he reminds himself that he deserves it. He’s pathetic, unloveable, he’s nobody’s favourite. The floor beneath him is stained and he can’t bring himself to care. His arm swells with overwhelming pain that pulses through his skin; it’s all too comforting. His hand runs over the cuts, feeling the deep impact and rush of fresh blood. 

     Adam’s hand wavers, the blade resting just above his skin, before he falters and lets it clash against the floor. Shaking, bloody hands make contact with his face, covering his eyes as his chest heaves out a pained sob. 

     The front door clicks open as Lawrence returns home, each arm bearing five heavy bags of groceries. He carefully drops them by the front door and kicks off his shoes. 

“Adam!” He calls, settling in and dragging the first bag into the kitchen to unload. After a moment, he leans over and glances down the hall, the gentle bathroom light beaming from under the door. “I’m home!” 

     Adam panics, using his hand to rub the blood from his arm before breaking and running it under the tap. “Okay!” He screams out, his chest tightening as he frantically scrubs the saturated floors with a washcloth. 

     The commotion from the bathroom echoes out to the apartment. The scrubbing, the faucet, the sudden movements. Lawrence can’t help but trail slowly down the hallway, his feet creaking against the old floorboards. 

“‘You okay in there?” 

     Adam freezes and rips his sleeve back down, tossing the bloody cloth under the sink and searching the room for anything incriminating. His eyes fall on the dirty knife, which he tucks in his pocket and uses his tee-shirt to cover the handle. Swiftly, he swings the door open, his face beat red as he meets Lawrence’s gaze. 

“Yeah.” 

     Stunned, the doctor scans the bathroom with his eyes before landing back on Adam, sweaty and awkward. Worry soaks his expression as he takes a meaningful step forward.

“Are you sure?”

     Adam sighs, nodding and stepping back. “I’m sure.” 

     Not necessarily believing, but also not wanting to prod, Lawrence submits and starts heading back toward the kitchen, “Wanna help me put everything away?” 

“Yeah.” He hums, taking hold of a bag and dumping it out. 

     As they sort through the groceries, Lawrence keeps a watchful eye on Adam. His face is blotchy and his body language is off; everything done in short, simple tasks. 

“Adam.” He raises, keeping his eyes on the cabinets. Adam hums in response from across the room. “D’you know where the sixth knife went?” 

     A beat. “What?”

“From the knife block. One of them is missing.” 

     Adam gently nods, avoiding eye contact. “I’m not sure.” 

     Lawrence squints a little, his gaze falling on Adam and holding itself there for a moment before hesitantly returning to his tasks. 

“Just keep an eye out, then.” 

-

     That night, the two of them gather for dinner. Lawrence threw together a simple meal consisting of some bow tie pasta and garlic bread. They took their seats, Adam’s bowl waiting for him at his regular spot. 

“Let me know what you think of it.” Lawrence smiles, clamping down on his fork. 

     Adam jabs a few noodles and stuffs them into his mouth, taking a moment to chew for dramatic effect. He looks back to Lawrence and gives a slow but approving nod. “Incredible,” He exclaims. “Astounding, magnificent.” 

     The older laughs, pinching the bridge of his nose, yet secretly drinking the compliments in. “Thank you.” 

“It could use some parmesan though.” He adds, reaching across the table toward the plastic container in the centre. As he outstretches his arm, a sharp pang shoots across his skin. A scar tore open. He retreats, his hand darting back to his side as he keeps his eyes fixed forward. 

“What’s wrong?” Lawrence asks, his gaze softening. 

“Nothing.” 

“Nothing?” 

     He swallows. “Yeah.” 

     He notices Lawrence’s eyes flick downward, focusing intently on something ahead. It’s not hard for Adam to track his eyeline down to his shoulder and the growing red patch that’s soaking into his tee shirt sleeve. His stomach twists. 

“Lawrence—”

“You’re bleeding.” He says matter-of-factly. 

“Yeah. I’ll go check that out, you stay here and—”

“What happened?” Lawrence questions, disregarding Adam. 

     He’s frozen, heart racing and completely lost for words. Adam unsteadily gets to his feet and teeters toward the hallway. “I’m not sure.” He mumbles. “I must have scraped it on something.” 

“Scraped it?” Lawrence’s tone is sour and accusatory. 

“Yeah. I’ll be right back.” 

     Without letting him continue, Adam turns on his heel and b-lines toward the washroom. When he gets there, he quickly shuts the door and locks it. 

     He rips up his sleeve, the fresh blood bubbling around the wound and dripping down across stained skin. His shirt is ruined, saturated completely with the dark red fluid. He takes the bloody washcloth out from under the sink and rinses it, holding the cloth intently to the wound. In time, the bleeding slows, his cut empty and bleak. The door rumbles with knocking from behind him. 

“Adam, can I come in?” 

     His hand fumbles to tear down his sleeve. “Just a second!” Adam yells, tossing the cloth back to its place and slamming the cupboard shut. After a few minutes of frantic panic, there’s another knock. 

“I just wanna see what’s going on.” The voice explains, seeping with worry and urgency. 

“Yeah!” Quickly, Adam opens and shuts the door, leaving him on the other side. 

     Lawrence’s eyes fall back onto his shoulder, still stained with blood. 

“Can I see?”

     He shrugs, feigning calmness. “I just checked. It’s not a big deal. Just a little scrape.” 

     Lawrence’s head subconsciously cocks to the side, still keeping his gaze steady. “Just let me have a look.” He reaches out his hand, his face resembling a doctor more than ever before. His grasp is swiftly dodged as Adam takes a cautious step back, eyes frantic. “It’s fine, Lawrence!” 

“Let me see—”

“No!” He’s startled to find the shout coming from himself. It was involuntary. A precaution set by his mind, not his mouth. They both stand stunned. 

“Why are you so difficult about this?” Lawrence seeths, his hand still reaching out. 

“About what?”

“Help! Medical help. Why can’t you accept it?”

“What are you talking about?” 

     He scoffs. “After Jigsaw’s game, when you discharged yourself from the hospital. Then again when I came over and offered help; which you refused until I practically begged. Now this?” He drops his hand, letting it bounce against his side as his face twists. “Helping you— It’s like pulling teeth.” 

“Just drop it.”

     Lawrence’s face softens, a look of understanding on his face. “Is that what this is about?” 

“What?”

“Your shoulder. Is it—” He searches for the right words. “Has your bullet wound reopened?” 

     The tension eases, Adam feeling almost relieved. He promptly relaxes his muscles and gives a gentle shake of the head. “No, it’s not that. Don’t worry.” 

     Lawrence nods. “Alright. Can I have a look?”

“I said no, okay?” 

“Whatever it is, I can assure you I’ve seen worse.”

“Lawrence—”

“I just wanna help you. I know what I’m doing.” 

“Seriously, I said I didn’t—”

“If you would just let me—”

“Fine!” Adam bursts, his eyes forcefully holding back tears as he rips the tattered tee-shirt sleeve up. “Ya’ happy?” His voice breaks, strained and raspy. 

     A silence hangs between them. Lawrence’s eyes are wide as he darts them around. Gently, he takes the arm, getting a closer look at the rows of wide, empty cuts. 

“Adam—” He begins, not having planned a landing to his sentence. “When did this start?”

     Adam speaks softly through tears, his mind racing to uncertain conclusions as he directs his eye contact elsewhere. “It’s been recent. The past couple weeks.” He admits.

“Is the other arm—”

“This is it.”

     Lawrence nods, turning Adam’s arm to fully examine the damage. “Do you mind if I dress these?” 

“I think I can do it on my own.”

     He sighs, shaking his head. “I’d prefer if you’d let me do it.” 

     With little protest left to give, he submits, dropping his head and accepting the guiding hand toward the bathroom. They’re silent as Lawrence retrieves the first-aid kit. Gently, he wipes the area and sets down some gauze, wrapping it tightly with the leftover bandages from Adam’s bullet wound. 

“Are you okay?” Lawrence asks as he sets down the kit. 

     Adam avoids his piercing gaze and nods. “Yeah.”

     There’s a pause, Lawrence still staring at Adam despite the avoidance. “Are you okay?” He repeats. 

“Yes!”

“Why would you do this to yourself?” Lawrence gestures to his shoulder. “There are healthier ways to cope with mental distress.” 

     Adam shrugs, “Dude, you don’t have to do this.” 

“Do what?”

“ This .” His hand waves, disregarding him. “You don’t have to care.”

“I do care.”

“But you don’t have to.” He bites. “It’s not your responsibility.”

     Lawrence sighs, his hand resting atop Adam’s knee. “I’m not letting you do this alone.” 

     Adam melts into these words, sweet and caring. Though, he doesn’t let go of his willful protest. 

“I have it under control.”

“You clearly don’t.” 

     He turns his head back, reconnecting his gaze with Lawrence’s. Fresh tears brim his eyes, daring to trickle down his face. 

“I really don’t know what to do; how to stop.” Adam admits. “When I get the urge, it’s just— I can’t replace it with anything.”

“Have you tried rubbing your arm with ice, or drawing in marker, or—”

“Those things don’t work.” 

     Lawrence teeters his hand, but doesn’t move it. “You need help, Adam.” He sucks in a sharp breath. “I think you should consider seeing a therapist.”

     Adam nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” 

     Adam can’t help but notice the softness in Lawrence's voice; the kindest it’d ever been. Without hesitation, Adam’s pulled into a strong embrace, his hand planted against his arm. 

“We don’t have to talk about it now, but just know I’m here.” 

     He nods, his tears soaking into Lawrence’s shoulder. “Okay.” 

Chapter Text

     It’s been nearly three weeks since Lawrence learned about Adam’s self harm. Three weeks of worry, tears, and difficult conversations. It was hard for Lawrence to believe just how much Adam had been hiding, about his feelings and his coping mechanisms. Looking back on every silent day; moments of struggle left unspoken. The whole thing left him feeling sick to his stomach. 

     Tonight, Adam took a step back toward normalcy. A few old college friends pity-invited him to the bar down the street, and he couldn’t deny his need to drink. Upon arrival, it was obvious his friends were already tipsy, each with a woman on their arm. He’d never found it easy to wedge himself into conversations. He could think back to elementary report cards, the big text under comments that read ‘Adam struggles with socialisation in class or during recess.’ Though, over time those comments had switched to frustrated rambles about his violence toward his classmates. Lawrence had told him to take it one step at a time, so that’s what he was doing. One step toward normalcy. He sits at the bar, tapping his fingertips against the counter and downing his fountain beer in one heavy tilt of the head. His right hand hovers over the phone-shaped bulge in his pocket, thinking about how nice it’d be to hear Lawrence’s voice, but he never gets around to it. 

     His finger rubs down the frosty beer glass, drawing a line into the dew on the side. His other hand is used to rest his tired head, too full of thoughts for his own good. 

     As he works on his beer-glass artwork, the stool next to him is taken by a woman who looks to be in her late twenties. Her dark brown hair is raggedly cut to frame her face, jagged pieces spiking up in different sleek positions. Her company goes completely unnoticed by Adam as he dissociates in the direction of the glass, until she abruptly expels a fake cough and breaks his trance.

“Sorry.” He twists in his stool. “Did you need something?” 

     The woman eyes him before timidly responding. “I just thought I’d join you, if you’re okay with that.”

     Adam pauses, feeling an uneasy wrench tug at his gut. This whole thing felt very— human-traffic-like, a term he’d heard thrown around lately on the news. Despite himself, he responds with a curt nod. “That’s fine.” 

     They’re both quiet for a moment, Adam awkwardly forcing himself back to his time-wasters while the woman carefully pieces together her next words. 

“Have we met before?” She asks, though it comes out sounding more like a statement; she knows the answer. 

“Have we?”

     She thinks for a moment before shooting out her pointer finger in an ‘aha’ sort of way. This all seems manufactured. 

“You’re that photographer—” She exclaims, “From the apartment on Governors? You took my picture!” 

     Adam absentmindedly nods along, still fiddling with his glass. “Sounds like me.” He agrees. “When was this?” 

“Back in September. You gave me a flyer for your friend's band?”

“Right! Your hair was shorter.” 

     She nods. “I’ve been growing it out.” An awkward beat. “I thought I’d try something different.” 

“Well, it looks good.”

     She mouths ‘thanks’, but it comes out more as an uncomfortable, breathy laugh, her eyes shamefully averting down-cast. 

“I have to ask—” She seems nervous. Even a tipsy Adam can see that. “—Were you on the news?” 

“Oh, so that’s why you came over here.” His tone is joking, but his words are serious. Immediately, as if a switch had been flicked, her demeanour retreats and she sinks back into her stool. The bar light seems to absorb her, casting her with a gloomy shadow.

“No! I had just seen the case pop up and— I was curious if it was you, that’s really it.”

     Adam gives her a cautious look before continuing “Yeah, well, it was me.” 

“So, you’re a Jigsaw survivor?” 

“Uhuh.” He sips at his beer, avoiding her unrelenting gaze. 

     She leans forward a little, her hands flat against the counter top as she raises her offer. “How about I buy your next drink, huh?” 

     At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if she had some intense torture kink.

“Why? Cause you pity me?” 

“No. Cause you’re an attractive man.” She tilts her head, her eyes staring passionately into Adam’s as she continues, “And I’m looking for someone to keep my bed warm tonight.” 

     Adam’s completely taken aback by this, as by the look on her face, the words have shocked her as well, almost as if she didn’t expect them from herself. Defensively, Adams hand comes crashing down against the countertop as he chokes on his drink and springs from his stool. 

“Look, lady—”

“Mandy.” She corrects. 

     Adam sighs, “Mandy.” He signals the bartender over and closes his tab “You don’t know a thing about me.” 

“I know what’s important.” Her eyes trail up and down, a look of desperation as she eagerly attempts to keep him around.

     Adam’s left feeling uneasy by the sudden change in demeanour; and it’s not just that. Despite her confidence, it sounds scripted. Everything is coated in a layer of plastic that’s visible to anyone, even someone as daft as Adam. And besides, her hands are fidgeting uncomfortably against her bobbing leg. Something just wasn’t right. 

“I think you’ve had too much to drink.” 

“Is that so?”

“That’s so.” He states, pausing his abruptive movement.

“Well—” Mandy’s hand travels curiously up his arm, “Let’s get a few more drinks in you, and then we’ll be even.” 

“I’m good, thanks.” He seethes, his face twisting to a faux-respectable look.

     Suddenly, a heavy weight is tossed around his shoulders. Adam flinches, stumbling back and using the bar counter for support, but he’s immediately relaxed when he hears the familiar, bassy chime of Justin’s voice. 

     Justin and Adam have been friends for years. They met back in highschool, both flunking out of the same advanced functions class. They attempted to keep eachother afloat, but it was no use. That being said, they stayed friends; or, acquaintances who pitifully invite each other out for drinks every few months. 

“Found yourself a lady-friend, did you Adam?” He huffs, his weight drooped over Adam's pulsing shoulder. 

     He winces, shrugging him off before glancing toward the girl. “Mandy and I were just talking.” 

“Just talking.” Justin mocks, his finger pointing accusatorily at Adam. “I see those goo-goo eyes. You’re a terrible liar, Adam Faulkner!”

     A shiver runs down his body in response to the name, ‘Adam Faulkner.’ His dad’s name. Also the name he’d exclusively gone by in highschool. As a kid, he was ‘ junior.’

-

     Adam gets home at around one-in-the-morning, having left the bar early. His stomach twists with guilt, recalling the monologue he'd performed before he left home about taking this step. He repeats to himself that this was a step. It was. He drops his jacket and boots off at the door and exhaustedly shuffles across the grimy floors. Lawrence sits awake in the living room, thumbing through some middle-aged psychology book. Today had been his first day back to working at the hospital since the game.

“Dude, you won’t believe this chick I met at the bar.” He exclaims as he discards his hoodie, leaving him in just his baggy Smashing Pumpkins tee. 

     Lawrence hums from the other room, leaning over to get a good view of Adam. “‘You interested in her?” 

“I don’t think so.” Adam scoffs mockingly.

“What happened?”

     Adam zones out, recalling the night's events in choppy, evasive order. He doesn’t add that his paranoia felt so heaving that he choked down some vomit at the mention of Jigsaw. He also didn’t mention that her nervous behaviour directly mirrored his own.

     When he’s done, Lawrence hums, “That’s nice.” His eyes continuing to scan his book.

“No, It was weird!” Adam corrects, grabbing the others attention. “Like, you had to have been there! She was so freaky, man. Something was just off about her.” 

“What was off?”

     He tries to phrase it, but can’t find the right words. “She was so nervous. Like she was speaking as if what she said was scripted. I honestly thought that she might have been wearing a wire.” 

“Hm.” He assesses the situation before giving Adam an approving nod. “That is weird.”

     Adam hums before zoning off in the direction of the book. “What is this?” He gestures toward the torn page.

“It’s bad, that’s what it is.” 

“Mm.” 

     They both fall into an uncomfortable silence. Abruptly, the book is slammed shut and Lawrence is taking the opportunity to press his regular check-in questions. 

“How’s your arm?” He asks, scripted and ready to go, like always. 

     Adam hums, manually avoiding the piercing eye contact. “It’s cool.” 

“Can I see it?” Lawrence’s brow stiffens, though it’s not worth the wasted breath. He knows the answer. 

     Adam uncomfortably shrugs and replies with a quick, “It’s doing fine.” 

     There was no point pushing further. The conversation was over before it started. 

“I’ve been looking around for apartments nearby.” Lawrence says, directing his attention back to the book. “So, I’ll be out of your hair soon.” 

“Alright.” Adam’s eyes fall down-cast. “No rush.” 

     Lawrence smiles. “How was seeing your college friend?” 

“Uneventful. He’s a douche, but I love him.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

     Adam pops out his pack of cigarettes and slides one from the cardboard, limply holding it between his lips. Like always, this receives a nasty look from Lawrence. 

“You know how bad that is for you?” He moans, “D’you know how many patients I’ve watched die over that habit?”

“Mhm.” Adam dismisses, lighting the end and inhaling the smoke. 

“I just don’t understand it.” His pointer and his thumb nervously pinch the bridge of his nose. “You’re destroying yourself.” 

“Hardly.”

“No, not hardly , you just are!” 

“Lawrence, save me the lecture please.” A long exhale of smoke trails from his lungs as he allows his heavy head to fall back. 

“I don’t mind the weed as much, but this is— well, it’s deadly.” He states, his tone firm and serious. “I’m not gonna sit here and watch you kill yourself over some silly addiction. There’s so much more for you than that.” 

      That tone, Adam thought, that’s the Lawrence he met in the bathroom.

“Right.” 

-

     The next morning, Adam heads into work after reluctantly agreeing to take the dreaded opening shift. Right off the bat, everyone’s pissing him off. The kitchen staff are being extra snippy, ordering him around like a dog and snickering as he turns his back. Morning customers always have a stick up their ass, but this batch was particularly bothered. Every dish was wrong and needed to be sent back or refunded, and more often than not it was ‘Adam’s fault.’

     He approaches a table of prestigious old people, two couples, who all order prestigious meals. There’s something about a ‘seasoned chicken salad with a squeeze of lemon and no croutons’ that makes Adam’s blood boil. 

     One bite and they’re calling him back over, the elderly man’s fingers snapping through the air as if to signal a peasant. 

     Everything that’s said in the next few minutes flows right through one ear and out the other, completely disregarded by Adam. When the ramble was done, Adam snatched the plate back and paraded toward the kitchen, but before he can make it, his feet swerve toward his manager's office where he drops his nametag on the floor and the dirty plates on the desk before proudly announcing that he’s quitting. 

-

     Lawrence comes through the door at three-thirty after having spent the day with Diana at the park. He drops his shoes off by the door and halts at the sight of Adam, sprawled across the couch with a lit joint burning away between his lips. “You’re home early.” Lawrence comments.

     Adam doesn’t bother looking over, his eyes staying fixated on the water-damaged ceiling. 

“I quit.” 

     Resting his hands on his hips and cocking his head, Lawrence lets out a gentle “huh?” 

“I quit. I quit my job.” 

“Now why on earth would you do that?”

     He shrugs. “I wanted to.” 

     There’s a stunted pause where the older gives a disapproving shake of the head before heading toward the kitchen. It’s a mess. 

“What happened in here?” Lawrence asks, beginning to tidy the clutter. 

     From the living room, the soft, shaky voice chimes in with, “I’m going on a diet.”

“So, why does that affect the state of the kitchen?” 

“I cleaned out the cupboards.” 

     Lawrence freezes, setting the utensils in his hands down on the counter before clicking open the cupboard doors and staring out at the vacant area which used to be occupied by rows of snacks and meal-ingredients; food Lawrence had helped pick out. 

“Adam, everything’s gone! What were you thinking?” His tone grows increasingly worried as he snaps open the next cupboard over, shelf after shelf of empty space. 

“They were all just temptations.” The quiet voice added.

“No— Adam! You need some sort of nutrients. You got rid of all your snack foods!” 

“Lawrence, stop—”

“Are you okay?” He frantically interrupts, his gaze locking with Adam’s through the doorway. 

“Huh?”

“Are you okay? I’m really worried about you, Adam.” Lawrence feels a sudden unease as he assesses the situation. “You quit your job, threw out all your food, and now you’re smoking inside?” In one quick motion, he grabs a wine glass from the sink and holds it up, “And— have you been drinking?” 

“Lay off, Lawrence.” 

“No, I won’t lay off. Tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Nothings wrong.” 

     They stay quiet for a second, Lawrence setting down the cup to cross his arms while Adam rubs out the end of his blunt on the side of the T.V. 

“Show me your shoulder.” 

“Wha—”

“I wanna see.”

     Adam springs up, now sitting upright to shoot Lawrence an annoyed look. “There’s nothing wrong with my shoulder.”

“I need to make sure, Adam.” 

“Why?” 

“Because, you’ve put me in this position. Now, roll up your sleeve, please.” 

     The two of them embark in a stare off, Adam growing more frustrated while Lawrence keeps his gaze firm. 

“Just piss off.” The younger shouts, shooting up from the pull out and attempting to slip past Lawrence. Before he can make it far, a firm hand wraps around his forearm and holds him in place.

“Adam.” 

“Let go of me!” He yells, fighting the grip. He’s pulled closer, a genuine look of worry across Lawrence’s face.

     Adam’s heartbeat speeds up, both with panic and anticipation. There was something about seeing Lawrence like this that made his stomach twist, but he can’t quite place the feeling. 

     Without warning, Lawrence’s hand travels out toward the loose, baggy tee shirt sleeve. Adam doesn’t bother to dodge it. Avoiding his touch would be the same as outwardly admitting what’s to come. 

“Adam—” Lawrence coo’s, staring down at the bloody mess ahead of him. “These are deep. They look like they might need stitches.” 

     Adam squirms at this, but is held tightly in place. “They don’t need stitches.” 

“They do, Adam. Jesus— I can see the fat in your arm. Would you let me do it?” 

“Do what?” 

“The stitches. I can take you to the hospital and do it myself. Nothing to be scared of.” 

“They aren’t that deep.” Lawrence gives him a look that says he’s not letting go of this, so Adam reluctantly submits. “Fine; but I’m not happy about it.” 

“Great. Are you ready now?”

     He doesn’t wait for a response, resting his hand on Adam’s back and guiding him toward the door. He’d touch on the food purge later, but for now, this needed to be dealt with. 

     They arrive at the Angel of Mercy Hospital shortly after, Lawrence manoeuvring his way through the familiar parking lot and finding himself in front of the desk in no time. 

“Doctor Gordon.” The secretary greets, rubbing the back of her neck. Lawrence nods and scans his ID. 

“Hey, Debra. I just need to get into my office, if that’s okay?”

     She hums, waving him off before glancing in Adam’s direction and giving a quick cock of the brow. Adam forces an awkward smile and follows the frantic doctor toward the elevator. 

“This’ll be quick, I promise.” He assures as they approach the office door. 

     Adam hops up on the examination table and watches as Lawrence pieces together supplies, filling a syringe with local anaesthetic and placing it out on the tray. 

“Alright.” Lawrence huffs, pushing his rolling chair to Adam’s side and hiking up his sleeve to access the wounds. “This might sting a little.” 

     He wipes down the area with an antiseptic which aches against Adam’s skin, but he holds back any resistance, allowing Lawrence continue his work. 

“This’ll numb the area.” He explains, pressing the needle gently into Adam’s arm and administering the local anaesthetic. This receives a light groan, but otherwise goes smoothly. 

     After a few minutes, Lawrence checks in to make sure he’s lost feeling. After receiving the thumbs up, he begins. 

     He works quickly, ignoring the light squirming that Adam was maintaining. The younger man avoids eye contact with the procedure as Lawrence wraps up, tying off the thread and moving to the next cut. 

     Once they’re done, Lawrence sets his hand kindly on Adam’s knee, eyes full of sympathy. 

“All done! Not so bad, was it?” He smiles. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?” 

     Adam stares painfully down at the perfect stitches, using his thumb to rub circles into the wounds. Lawrence reaches out, guiding his fingers away from the area and giving him a look. 

“No touching, Adam.”

“Sorry.”

     Lawrence shakes his head. “Nothing to be sorry about.” 

     Just then, Adam’s reminded of their first impression. He remembered that angry, screaming, hurtful man chained to the wall. The man who left him there. The man who stitched his cuts. 

“I don’t know what happened. I was fine, and then— I just didn’t feel like myself.” 

“It’s okay, Adam. You’re okay.” He coos, his finger lightly rubbing the tip of Adam’s knee. The touch alone makes his stomach flutter.

“I tried to wait until you got home; push past the urge.” He recalls, tears resting on the edge of his eyelids. “I couldn't hold out. I’m sorry.”

     On the last word, he breaks. His voice hitches and he limply falls forward, crashing into Lawrence’s chest. Immediately, he’s wrapped in a tight embrace, being rocked gently from side to side as he lets it all go.

“Just breathe, Adam. Breathe. You’re okay.” 

“And, everytime I close my eyes it’s like—” He chokes, tilting his head to look up at Lawrence. “—I can smell the bathroom, and I can hear the buzzing lights. It’s like I never left.”

     The hair at the back of his head is stroked as he talks. “I never thought I’d leave. I was stuck there for four days. At first I thought, ‘he’s coming back for me. He said he was.’” Tears erupt from his eyes as he coughs out the next words. “But then I just— gave up.”

“Oh, Adam. I wish I could have come back for you myself. I told them as soon as I was awake.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

     Lawrence pauses, his brow furrowing. “What?”

“You shouldn’t have told them. You should have let me die there.” 

“Adam, no. Don’t say that.”

“I’m serious! I’m nobody! I’m nobody.”  

     Lawrence sighs. “You’re not nobody. To me, you’re everything.” 

“I’m nobody.” 

-

     Back at home, Lawrence cooked Adam a meal. Nothing big, just something to keep him fed. Once done, the two of them parted ways for an early night's rest. 

     There was something different about tonight; it was still. The wind idly whistles from outside Adam’s window, leaving a sharp breeze against his skin. He’s cold, yet overheating; and worst of all, he swears he can hear something moving from underneath his bed. 

     Remaining calm, Adam lays on his back and stares up at the shitty ceiling panels. Every few minutes, his eyes will wander shut before being jerked back open by the familiar rustling and scratching coming from directly below him. Eventually, he works up the courage to scurry back to his door and click it open, rushing to Lawrence’s bed-side. 

“Lawrence?” He whisper-screams, only receiving a light groan in response. “Lawrence!”

“Mm?” The older man rubs sleep from his eyes as they adjust to the soft, yellow lamp light shining from the corner. Adam’s face is cast in shadows as he towers over the bed and clutches his pillow at his side.

“There’s something in my room.” He pauses, staying still but emphasising, “under my bed.”

     Lawrence pushes himself up, his blanket sliding down to his waist as he leans backward on his elbows. 

“There’s— a monster under your bed?” He mocks, Adam is quick to shake his head. 

“I didn’t say that. It’s a rat or something. I just— I can’t sleep with it moving like that.”

“You want me to go get it out?” 

     Adam teeters between feet. “Yeah, or I could just sleep here.”

     Lawrence considers his options before reconnecting their gaze and pulling back his blanket to clear an Adam-sized-spot right next to him. The brunette is quick to claim it, wrapping the blanket tight around his shoulder and rolling to his side. This felt right. 

“Thank you, Lawrence.” His small voice whispers. 

“For what?”

“For helping.”

     A gentle smile pulls at the corner of his lips as he lets his eyes fall shut. “I’ll always be there to help. That’s my job.”

“Well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Adam.”

     Once Adam’s asleep, Lawrence lets his arm hold him in a tight embrace, spooning him to the groove of his body. Gently, his own eyes shut. This felt right.

Chapter Text

December 15th, 2001

     Lawrence and Adam stare fixated at the TV screen ahead of them, yet another one of Adam’s melodramatic romances. The younger man tosses bits of bagged popcorn up into the air and attempts to catch them in his mouth, most rolling down his body and collecting in heaps between the cushions, destined to be Lawrence’s problem later. He lays with his feet kicked out on a chair which is strategically placed in front of the couch. He’s completely slumped back, head lightly supported by the cheap cushions. 

     The tranquillity of the moment is disrupted when Lawrence’s phone buzzes on the arm of the sofa. 

“Oh.” He hums. Suddenly, his hands fumble for the remote and mute the show.

     Adam reacts immediately, adjusting himself to shoot Lawrence a disgruntled look. “Hey!” 

“Just a minute.” He dismisses with a wave of his hand. Adam sulks. “Next week I’ve gotta go down to Delaware to see my family.” He mumbles, eyes scanning his small flip-phone screen.

“Delaware?” 

“Yeah. I go every year for an early-Christmas type of thing. Usually, Alison would come with me, but obviously she won’t be this year. So, I was wondering-”

“Yes!” He eagerly jumps, a bright smile across his face. 

“You didn’t let me finish!”

“Well I’m assuming you were gonna invite me. Unless you were just asking me to do the laundry in a really evasive way.” 

     Lawrence smiles, tilting his head. “So, you’ll come?”

“I mean— if your family doesn’t mind.”

“They won’t mind. Diana will be coming as well.”

“Oh.” His smile falters, “And Alison is okay with me being around her?”

“Why wouldn’t she be?” 

     He shrugs. “Random guy, no job, shitty apartment. I don’t know how much trust she has in me.”

“You’re not a random guy . If you were a random guy I wouldn’t be dragging you to another state to visit my family.” He asserts. “And besides, I’m her parent too.”

“Right.”

“We’ll be taking the train.” He continues.

“I love trains!” Adam’s eyes sparkle with enthusiasm, a goofy smile across his face. 

     Lawrence couldn’t help but be charmed by his enthusiasm, nodding along. “I’ve already got the time off work. It wasn’t too hard considering I’m only doing check-ups and consultations, but still.” 

“Who’ll be there?” 

“My parents will be there, of course. And I’m sure my siblings as well.”

“Siblings? Plural?”

“Only two.”

     Adam scoffs. “I knew you had a brother but—”

“I’ve got a sister as well.” 

“Oh my god.”

     Lawrence thinks. “My nieces will be there too.”

“Jeez, I’m outnumbered.” Adam remarks, holding up his fingers like a monocle, “Oh, fetch me the tea Gordon. Mother, may I have some caviar with my assorted meats?” 

     He rolls his eyes. “Oh please.”

“Oh please!” He shouts, erupting into a fit. 

     Lawrence dismisses him, speaking over the waves of laughter. “We’ll be there for five days, so pack accordingly.”

-

     On the day they’re set to leave, Adam slings his lightweight backpack over his good shoulder and carries it out to the waiting taxi. Meanwhile, Lawrence loads his first suitcase into the trunk, working on his second as Adam neatly tucks his bag into the corner.

     Lawrence eyes him sceptically, raising a brow. “There’s no way that’ll last you the whole trip.”

“I’ll be fine.” He states confidentially, knocking his sunglasses down his nose and leaning against the cab door.

     When they get to the train station, they wait outside for Diana to be dropped off. Alison's car is quick to swerve into the parking lot and land a spot near the entrance. The back door pops open and out runs little Diana, dashing excitedly across the parking lot.

“Daddy!” She screams, arms outstretched as Lawrence kneels to meet her. 

“Diana, my princess.” She crashes into him, making him stumble back on his prosthetic before wrapping her in a tight embrace. Alison comes miserably trailing behind, keeping a proud stance in her strict work-attire and tall high heels. She stops in front of them with only her legs in Lawrence’s view as she crosses her arms and glares down her nose at the blonde.

“You keep her safe, Lawrence. If you send her home with so much as a scrape on her knee, we’ll be having words.”

“For the love of god, Allie-”

“Alison.” She corrects. Tone hard and unrelenting. 

     He swallows back a comment before standing to meet her height. “Alison. I’m her father.”

“Then act like it.”

“I would love to, but you never let me see her.” 

     Their voices drop as they muffle their own arguing, something they’d picked up after years of practice. Behind them, Adam and Diana survey each other. She stares up at him with a child-like curiosity and he returns the favour, awkwardly towered over her. 

“I’m Adam.” He says, hoping to break the silence. 

     Her dough eyes don’t falter, keeping her steady gaze glued to his. “I know,” She replies with an innocent smile. “My mommy says you and my daddy are queers.” 

     Adam chokes, his eyes widening. “ What? ”

“She said it on the phone.” Diana says sheepishly, twirling her hair. “What does ‘ queers’ mean?”

     With perfect oblivious timing, Alison bends down and plants a kiss on her daughter's head.

“Have a good time, Diana. Be a good girl.” 

“Okay mommy!” She beams, wrapping her in a hug. 

     Alison gives Lawrence one last icy look before turning on her heel and heading back to her car, completely dismissing Adam’s presence. Maybe it’s because of his hung-jaw which refuses to pick itself back up. 

“Are you okay?” Lawrence asks, oblivious to what was said. 

     Adam helplessly nods, still in clear shock. Quickly, Diana takes the hand of her father and pulls him toward the train station, rambling on about her day so far. 

     As they board their train, Diana claims the window seat, gazing longingly out into the distance. Lawrence plops down beside her, and Adam settles across from them, digging through his backpack and pulling out his camera.

     Carefully, he brings the viewfinder to his eyes and snaps the picture of Lawrence’s bright smile, Diana just out of frame.

“What are you doing?” Lawrence questions, reacting to the flash. 

     Adam smiles, snapping another shot of his astonished expression. 

“I thought you were done taking sneaky pictures of me!”

“When did I say that?”

     Diana beams, sitting cross-legged in her train seat. “Ooh, take one of me!” 

     Adam looks to Lawrence for approval, who gives a warm nod and instructs Diana to smile towards the lense. 

     Adam positions the camera and captures her cheerful face, her toothy over-smile and her perfect upright posture. This digital camera is a lifesaver. 

“Can I see?” She curiously asks. 

     Adam tilts the screen to her. 

“Oh, you’ve gotta send me that!” Lawrence warmly chimes. “You can do that, right? Send it as a text message, or whatever.” 

     The train ride feels agonisingly long. Adam stares out the window at the blur of trees and land beside them. It’s a somewhat monotonous journey, without any particularly captivating scenery to hold his attention. His wired earbuds are plugged into the portable CD player he’d snagged from the Radio Shack near his apartment, allowing him to blast ‘Karma Police’ at full volume directly from the CD to his eardrums. 

     It was moments like these where he found his thoughts wandering back to self-harm. It was hard not to after so long of relying on it. A primal set of needs engraved in his mind after years and years of dried, flaking blood down his pale skin. He can picture how the blade looks, stashed away in a penny purse in his backpack. It was right next to him, right there. The thing about self harm is, it stops being a coping mechanism and instead becomes a routine, or even just a time killer. There were mornings where it was the first thing he’d do when he woke up. 

     It was a competitive act. Once you’ve gone deep, the next needs to be deeper. If it wasn’t as severe as the one on top of it, he’d run over it again, and again, until it was dripping blood onto the tile floor beneath him and his fat and muscle started to show through the skin. 

     As they pull into their stop, Adam breaks his trance and snaps his earbuds out of the jack to tuck the player away in his bag. He slings the light backpack over his shoulder once more and waits as Lawrence grabs his and Diana’s luggage from the overhead compartment, holding her hand as they make their way down the aisle. 

“I can’t wait to see Nana and Papa!” Diana exclaims, tugging on Lawrence’s arm. 

“Don’t pull too hard, Di. Remember, Daddy’s still getting used to his new leg!” He speaks softly, a tone Adam had come to know as his doctor-voice. 

     Diana nods, slowing her pace. “I’m gonna tell grandma about how I got an A+ in art class!”

“She’s gonna be so proud, princess.” 

     Adam walks behind them, touched by their loving relationship, though still shaken from her earlier comment, ‘ my mommy says you and my daddy are queers.’ He’s not sure how to bring it up to Lawrence, or if he should at all. 

“My brother will be picking us up and taking us back to my parents house, alright?” He says, turning his head to face Adam with a smile.

     He nods, fiddling with his thumb. “Alright.”

“You okay?”

“Mhm.” 

     Lawrence hesitates, but dismisses it and turns his attention back to his rambling daughter who skips alongside him to keep up with his growing, adult pace. 

     It was only a few minutes before a red Volkswagen came swerving into the parking lot, stopping in front of them and rolling down the window. Initially taken aback, Adam relaxes as the man speaks. 

“Wow, you look terrible.”

     Lawrence chuckles as his brother pops the trunk, signalling them to drop their luggage off in the back. 

“Hello, Christopher.” Lawrence sighs, sliding into the passenger seat and clicking his safety belt into place. Adam quietly took his place in the back alongside Diana.

“Hey, Larebear!” A snicker comes hushed from the back. “How’re you?”

“Oh, you know; same-old.” 

“You got that right.” The man slides his sleazy ray-bans down his nose and peers into the rearview mirror at Adam. “And who’s this?”

“Oh— this is my friend, Adam!” 

“Adam.” He tests, meeting the younger’s gaze. “You must be good friends, huh?” 

“Why do you say that?”

     Christopher scoffs, turning to give Lawrence a ‘no shit’ look. “Cause you’re inviting him to a family Christmas?”

“Right.” He dismisses. “Sorry, yeah. We’re close.”

“Well, it’s good to hear you’ve finally got a friend after— what, nearly fifty years?” 

“Ha-ha.” 

      Chris’s eyes fall back onto the rearview mirror. “So, Adam, what’s your deal?”

“My— deal?”

“Yeah. How old are you?”

     Adam briefly averts his gaze before settling back onto the peering blue eyes in the mirror. “I’m twenty-seven.”

“Twenty-seven!” Christopher shouts. “Woah! Quite the age-gap there.” He nudges the man next to him. “Where’d you guys meet?”

“Chris, you know this. We met back in— in my game .” Lawrence always struggles to word that. I mean, what’s the appropriate language used to depict a serial killer’s torture game in which he shot a man and sawed off his foot? Anyhow, you’d think his own brother would have watched enough news segments to recognize the other victim. 

“Right.” He says as if he’d known the whole time. He taps his forehead with his rough pointer finger, “I remember now.”

“Uh-huh.” 

     Finally, the tension is shifted from Adam and refocused onto Diana, who basks in the attention. 

“And who’s this pretty girl?” He smiles, his hand reaching back to tap her knee.

“It’s me, Uncle Chris! It’s Diana!” She screams in laughter. 

“What!” He stammers. “No, you’re— but Diana’s just a little girl! You’re a young woman, no?”

“It’s me, it’s me!” 

“Ah, you can’t trick me!”

     They pull into a long, winding driveway leading to a large brick house. The garden is huge, cast in wonderful shadows with rows of tall hedges and flowers that tower over little ceramic garden gnomes and animals. From inside, a couple girls who look to be Diana’s age come running out into the yard, jumping and screaming next to the car door. Quickly, Diana meets them there, crashing into their childish embrace. Adam stands and leans on the side of the car, watching with a warm smile. 

“Hi, girls!” Out-emerges Lawrence. 

“Hi Uncle Lawrence!” They beam; tight, ribboned braids strung through their hair. 

     Christopher gets to work unloading the car, leaving their bags out on the cement to be collected. 

     As they step inside, they’re immediately greeted by the warm, smiling face of an older woman, her hair pulled into a loose, grey bun. 

“Oh, Lawrence!” She shuffles over, taking his cheeks in her hands. “My sweet angel. How have you been?” Her eyes are solemn in the way most are when speaking to them since their game. 

     Lawrence smiles, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ve been good, Mum. It’s lovely to see you.”

“Oh, my darling.” She wraps him in a tight hug, holding on for a second longer than usual. Then, she turns her attention to Adam. 

“Adam, right?” 

     He nods, a faint smile against his tired face. She takes his hands and looks up at him with a caring expression, one he’d recognized from his own mother. 

“I’m Lynn. It’s wonderful to meet you.” Her words are strung with a type of love only achievable from a caring mother, such as herself. “I’ve been worried for you, just like I have my Lawrence. I was so happy to hear you guys kept in touch.”

“That’s really kind, thank you.”

     His grey flannel sleeve wipes any wandering tears before they become visible. 

“Come on in. Everyone’s just in the living room. Lawrence will show you to it.” 

     Adam nods, quietly thanking her and following the blonde into the next room. Before Adam can see Lawrence’s father, he can hear him. He’s angrily yelling at the football game ahead of him, slumped back in an old leather recliner and resting a hand on his wispy white hair. Next to him, on the sofa, sits two women and a man. 

     One of the women stands abruptly with a huge smile. 

     Adam takes immediate notice of her resemblance to Lawrence, mainly in the eyes and nose. She’s very hippyish, with long, wavy blonde hair, draped in a flowy sundress. She beams, excitedly running over and wrapping Lawrence in a sweet embrace. 

“Larry! Oh my god, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you! How have you been with everything?” Another quiet nod toward their game, one of many. 

     Lawrence smiles, scanning his sister's face. She’s looked the same since they were kids, only gaining one or two small wrinkles from her constant smiling. 

“I’ve been alright. How are you?”

“I’m better now that you’re here! I miss my big brother.” She keeps an arm around him, eager to feel the closeness. She, like most, keeps her eyes off of his leg. They all knew about it, there was little point in bringing it up. “And you’re Adam?”

“Yeah!” 

     Quickly, she reaches over and offers a caring side-hug. “Nice to meet you! I’m Darcy, Lawrence’s sister.”

“I can tell!”

     She nods, her eyes bright and lively. “We take after our mom.”

“Yeah, unlike Chris.” Lawrence adds, kicking his shoes off into the corner and instructing Adam to do the same. “He’s a carbon copy of our father.”

     Adam gives a courtesy laugh, feeling noticeably out of place. The siblings catch up to the side, leaving the younger standing uncomfortably in the doorway. 

“Where’d Diana run off to?” Darcy asks.

“Oh, she’s in the yard with your girls.”

     She smiles. “That’s good. I’m glad she’s doing okay.”

“Yeah, she’s doing well, all things considered. We’ve got her in therapy and she’s back to sleeping in her room, which is wonderful.” 

“Good!” She chimes. “So brave, just like her daddy.” 

“She is brave, but I don’t think she gets it from me.” He jokes

     Darcy falters, giving him a look before scanning the room. “Lawrence, you’re the bravest person I know. We’ve known since we were kids, but hell have you proved it now.”

“Well, I appreciate it, Darcy.” He holds her hand tenderly in his own. “I think you’re pretty brave as well.”

“Hm.” She quips, “‘guess it runs in the family.”

     Soon after, Lawrence leads Adam upstairs toward the room they’d be staying in. 

“It’s Chris’s old room.” He explains. “He’s claimed mine, so we’re stuck with this. I swear, the lingering smell of teenage Chris will never be stripped from these walls.” 

     Adam chuckles, scoping out the area. “I’d agree, but I’m positive my teenage room still smells like pot and Axe body spray.”

“You were an Axe kid?” 

     He reaches into his backpack, holding up a travel-size tin. “Still am.”

“Dear god. Please, be so kind as to keep that away from me.” 

“Watch it.” He teases, “I’ll tie a rubber band around the lid and toss it into your room while you’re changing.” 

“You’re literally describing my worst nightmare.”

     Adam falls back onto the mattress, a hand pressed against his forehead in mock-distress. “Oh, the horror! A day without my prime Louis Vuitton scent! What ever will I do?”

     Lawrence tosses his undershirt at him, leaving it draped over his face. “You better watch that tone!”

     Adam springs up, a fit of laughter tearing coarsely through his throat. “And you better get a shirt on.”

     Dinner is called. The two of them head down the narrow staircase and meet up with the rest of the chirping family who swarm the kitchen. On the table are plates stacked high with a variety of foods — pork, potatoes, vegetables, bread, etc. Lawrence takes the closest seat, Adam scooting in next to him. 

     Lynn leans backward, her hands cupping the sides of her mouth as she calls for the girls once more. They come running into the room, all three giddy and bouncing with energy that was borderline exhausting even just to watch. 

“Hi, sweetie.” Lawrence greets with a gentle kiss to his daughter's head. She smiles brightly up at him, hugging up to his side and watching as he gathers a plate for her and sets it down on the placemat to his right. 

“Daddy, can we eat outside?” She tests, her big, hopeful eyes focused on the task at hand. 

     Lawrence gives Darcy a look of approval, to which she nods and ushers them out the door. 

“Stay where we can see you!” She calls to no avail. 

     Adam piles his plate with a small serving of every option, not wanting to come across as rude. His fork stabs a piece of tender pork, raising it to his mouth, but he finds it difficult to keep his mind on the same page. 

“So, Adam, how long were you in the hospital?” Darcy prods. 

     Her mother nudges her arm as if reprimanding a child. “Darcy, that’s rude to ask.”

“I’m just curious. I know Lawrence was kept there for a while after he was found.”

“No, it’s alright!” Adam assures. “It wasn’t long. I was discharged early.”

“He discharged himself early.” Lawrence corrects. “AMA.” 

“Yeah.” He confirms. “AMA.” 

“You didn’t have to— cut anything off, did you?”

     The table’s quiet, stunted by her outwardness. 

“Oh—” he uncomfortably nods, his eyes flickering toward Lawrence before settling back forward. “No, I didn’t.”

“So, that was just a you-thing, huh?” Chris chimes in, pointing his fork in Lawrence’s direction. 

     Lawrence reels it in, picking nervously at this skin around his thumbnail. “Can we talk about something else?”

“I’m sorry, honey. Everyone’s been so worried for you. You’ve barely kept in contact.” Lynn adds.

“I haven’t been keeping contact with anyone lately. I’m sorry.”

“We understand, darling. Your recovery is my top priority.” She smiles.

     Everyone’s quiet for a moment, returning to their selective meals. That is until Chris sets down his fork in preparation for another impromptu question. 

     Slyly, he leans against the table, a cryptic smile across his face. “So, Adam, how long were you stuck there before the police found you?”

“Christopher—”

“A few days.” 

“That’s impressive! Some serious survival skills you got there.”

     He nods with an unamused smile. “Don’t give me all the credit. I kinda just sat there.”

     Lawrence’s dad sits at the end of the table, silently picking away at his meal without any serious contributions, aside a huff or groan every now and then. 

“Excuse them.” Lynn apologised, giving Adam a sweet smile. “Adam, how about you tell us something nice about you. What do you like to do for fun?”

“Oh, well, I’m not sure—”

“Adam’s a photographer!” Lawrence interrupts, “—And a damn good one at that!”

“A photographer?” She repeats, intrigued. “That’s really interesting, Adam. I’d love for you to show me some of your work sometime! Oh, I just love photography.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah!” Lynn smiles, “It’s a beautiful thing, if you’re good at it. I don’t know the first thing about cameras.” 

“Well, it’s really not that difficult! If I can learn it—” He trails off, his sentence fading into the ruckus of scraping forks and chewing mouths. 

     Next to Dacry, her husband sits with his hand cupping his cheek and a melancholy look across his face. 

     On the other end, Chris smirks as if veering up for another tasteful jab. He folds his arms, elbows resting on the finished tabletop as he leans forward. 

“Larry mentioned you two are rooming together?” He begins, earning a weak nod in response. “Have you got a girlfriend?” 

     The glass held to Adam’s lips wobbles as he chokes on his own breath, sputtering some water down his chin and onto the table beneath him. 

“Sorry.” He apologises, fumbling to wipe the spill from the hardwood tabletop. 

“Here.” Lawrence reaches over, helping with a folded napkin and awkward eyes. Adam leans back, using his sleeve to dry his face. 

“I’m sorry.” He reiterates. 

     Lynn is quick to jump in, excusing him with a gentle wave and swiping his glass to refill. 

“I’ll take that as a no, then?” Chris mumbles with a breathy huff. Adam smiles back, forcing out an uncomfortable laugh and nodding along. 

“I’m single by choice .” He jokes. 

“Right.” Chris’s vibrant blue eyes flicker over to Lawrence, “Unlike some people.”

     Darcy bounces back into the conversation with a chuckle. “Oh, he’s single by choice; it just wasn’t his choice.”

“It’s like eating with children.” Lawrence’s dad whines, taking a momentary pause from his food. “Call the eight-year-old girls back in here, maybe then we’ll have some mature conversation.”

“Alright, enough.” Lynn shouts, louder than she’d spoken in a long while. “Everyone, just— go. Do what you need to do.”

     His father takes no time getting to his feet and making a b-line for the recliner. Meanwhile, Darcy and her husband find their way outside.

“Mom, are you okay?” Lawrence asks in a lowered voice.

“Yes, darling. Thank you.”

     He hugs her tight, thanking her for dinner. “Do you need help with the dishes at all?”

“No, no. You have fun.”

     He nods with a smile, turning back to Adam. “Do you mind if we step out?” 

     The younger nods, loosely falling in tow as they make their way to the back door. 

     They stand behind the brick house, shielded from the peering eyes of everyone else. Adam takes a moment to collect himself. 

“Your family’s a lot.” He admits as if choking out a long-held breath. 

     Lawrence smiles, nodding toward the loose cement ground. “Yeah. This is the first time they’ve seen me since the game and they’re just— it’s a lot . For everyone .” 

“I get that. I'm sure if I gave them the chance, my family would be up my ass about everything. ” 

“It doesn’t make it okay; and I’m sorry.” 

“You shouldn't be sorry.”

“Well,” Lawrence outstretches a kind hand to Adam’s good shoulder. “I am sorry.” 

     He cracks a sheepish smile, feeling his heart race at the contact. “Thank you.” 

“Daddy!” Lawrence’s eyes dart to the wall, his hand subconsciously tucking to his side. 

     Diana, a vibrant smile on her face hidden only by her suffocating snowsuit. 

“Come play with us!” 

“Oh, princess—”

     But she’s already made up her mind. Without hesitation, she latches to his arm and drags him around the side of the house. 

“We’re gonna have a snowball fight!” She squeals. Her two cousins, the twins, begin preparing tight snowball-bullets in heaps by the corner, having already built snow-barricades strategically around the yard. 

“Honey, I don’t think it’s a great idea—” He fumbles for an excuse, “—with my leg.”

“Dad!” She whines, tugging harder on his arm. 

     He stumbles forward, a weak smile on his face as he desperately looks from to the side, landing a solid plan. “How about if Adam plays with you?”

     The girls freeze, Diana dropping her grasp on Lawrence and redirecting her attention to the newcomer. There’s a moment of stunted silence before the brunette turns to Lawrence, a plea in his eyes.

“Oh, you know— I would love to—”

“Go on!” Lawrence shoo’s.

“Come on, Larry! I’m ill-equipped!” 

     He scoffs, waving his hand dismissively. “You’re hardly ill-equipped.”

“How well do you really know me? You wanna leave me alone with your nieces and daughter?”

“I’ll be right here.” 

     Adam’s brows furrow, struggling for his next excuse. “I’m injured!” He desperately exclaims. “On the way out here, I knocked my elbow on the doorway, see?” He starts to roll up his sweater sleeve, but before he can, a sudden impact hits his back and sends freezing fragments tumbling down his collar. Adam pauses, stunned and unsure, before slowly turning to face the snickering girls, one snowball missing from their perfect stack. 

“You’re just gonna let that slide?” Lawrence teases. 

     In one swift motion, Adam fists a handful of snow and starts compacting it tightly, leaving it loose enough that it’ll disperse on impact. Using his good arm, he chucks it at one of the twins, reloading his cold hands.  

     All three girls scream, high pitched and wavering, and run from the target area. Despite their efforts, Adam runs at full speed, hands full of snow, and lets his next strike hit Diana square across the shoulder. 

     She screams in laughter, tossing a snowball from their neat pile and missing by a few metres. It leaves a perfect circle in the thick packing snow beside him, which Adam scoops to form his next mistle. This one hits the other twin, leaving all three of them compromised. The laughing girls target him, throw after throw landing with detonating crashes on the icy grounds beside him as he swings his own stream of wonky snowballs their way. 

     In the worst of it, icy mounds tunnelling through the air at astounding speeds, it goes silent. Suddenly, no snowballs are thrown and the girls huddle together, forming a plan. They stand in a circle, nondescript whispers just barely loud enough to be heard. Adam looks over to Lawrence who watches with sly amusement, arms cross and hair neat. Adam, on the other hand, was sopping wet with spikey, tampered hair and blue lips. 

     Just then, Diana leaves their huddle, stone cold face and folded arms. She approaches carefully and eyes the older man, sucking in a sharp breath.

“Adam, we have a plan.” She announces. 

     This piqued Adam’s curiosity, his own arms crossing against his chest. “What’s this plan?”

“Well—” She glances over her shoulder at her cousins before turning back. “Our plan is—” 

     She lunges forward, latching onto his legs and shoving him to the ground. He crashes fifteen inches into the thick, Delaware snow and struggles to adjust himself, but she’s got him down tight. Her little hands hold his chest with pressure as he wriggles left to right to escape his horrid doom. From a distance, he can hear Lawrence’s hoarse laughter echoing from the porch. 

“Help me, help me!” He screams, his mouth being covered by mittened hands. 

     One, two, three, four snowballs make impact with him, crumbling against the wet fabric of his crew-neck and rolling off onto the ground. Another, and another, and another until their entire pile was empty. Only then was he set free, the young girl rolling off him and allowing him to catch his hitched breath and come to a sit. His eyes are wide-set and bewildered. Slowly, he turns his head to face Lawrence, who’s borderline losing his shit just feet away from the chaos. 

“I’ve been had.” Adam admits, his voice just above a whisper. “Well played.” 

 -

    The sun dips below the horizon as Lawrence and Adam head back in. Adam was freezing, his skin turning a light blue as his sweater soaked itself in a layer of icy water, clinging to his chest. They raced up the stairs like children, laughter trailing behind them as they get back to the room they’re staying in. Immediately, Adam sheds his sweater, dropping it onto his backpack with a thud and rummaging around for something to wear. 

     Lawrence couldn't help but watch as Adam's figure moved gracefully, the gentle twist of his waist, and the beaded necklace adorning his bare chest. He found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the sight, as if drawn by some magnetic force. It was involuntary, almost instinctual.

“Shit.” Adam mumbles, lightly kicking his bag. “I only packed one sweater.”

“You only packed one sweater for a five -day trip in the middle of winter?” Lawrence raises an incredulous eyebrow.

     Adam rests his hands on his hips and shrugs. “I didn’t plan on getting in a snowball fight on the first day.” 

“ Losing a snowball fight on the first day.” Lawrence corrects.

“It was rigged.”

     He sighs, kneeling and unzipping his second suitcase. “Here.” He tosses over a rolled up knit sweater. 

“Thanks.” 

     Adam tugs the sweater over his shaking body, feeling its warmth before wrapping himself tightly in the throw blanket from the edge of the bed. 

“Would you like some tea? It’ll warm you up.” 

“I’m okay.”

     Lawrence nods, teetering at the door and calling back over his shoulder. “Hot coco?” 

     Adam cracks a smile, which is permission enough for the blonde to nod and get to work. 

-

     At around nine, Adam rolls out a blanket onto the floor, tossing his pillow at the top and flopping down onto his uncomfortable mound. 

“What are you doing?” Lawrence questions, quirking a brow.

“I’m sleeping.”

     He scoffs, gesturing to the blanket. “That’s not sleepable.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s a king-sized bed. We can just share. It’s alright .”

     Adam looks over, sleep clear in his eyes. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes! Jesus, just get off of that. You’re gonna cause permanent neck damage like that.”

     Adam crawls into the bed, being engulfed by the thick blanket. It smelt homey, like warm candles and chicken soups. Honestly, everything in this house felt oddly nostalgic. It was guttural. 

     The two get comfortable in no time, slipping away into soft sleep. Tomorrow was another day, but right now, everything was perfect. 

Chapter Text

     Adam woke early, rays of warm sunshine illuminating the corner of the bed. Lawrence snores. Adam knew this, but it was much more noticeable when it rang out just a measly few inches from his head. At least back home he could barricade himself in his room and suffocate under a pillow, or something . 

     He grabs his phone from the nightstand, two missed calls, Christ. 

     Sometime in the past few days Scott had forked Adam’s cell number over to his mom. She has a way of getting to him. It’s not the first time he’s done this either; it’s how she’d gotten his home phone’s digits too. But Jesus was it ever annoying. Quickly, he scraps the notifications and folds the blanket back across his chilled shoulders, molding against the curve of Lawrence’s stomach. 

-

     Lawrence shuffles in bed, his eyes squinting before committing to a curt open. With a thump, his hand falls against his face and rubs supple sleep from his eyes. 

     The morning light was blinding through the opaque white curtains, though the familiar sound of winter birds chirping was more than nostalgic. 

     Next to him, he sees Adam rolling on some socks at the edge of the bed. The brunette turns, his hair ruffled by sleep, and scoffs. 

“Well don’t you look cute.” 

     Lawrence runs a hand over his face and huffs out a breathy laugh. “God, I’m beat.”

“Still?” Adam quips “Jesus, man.”

     Dressed in nothing but a baggy band tee and boxers, Adam stands from the mattress, rummaging through his bag for a fresh set of clothes. The crisp winter air nips at his exposed skin as he slides Lawrence’s knit sweater back on and hops into a pair of oversized jeans. 

     Lawrence rolls from the bed fully dressed, not bothering to fix his ruffled hair or wrinkled clothes.

-

     The tension was thick over an awkward breakfast before the Gordon’s dispersed in different directions. Tonight was “Christmas.” Or, it was the night they’d chosen to celebrate. Tomorrow morning, Darcy and her family were leaving. Tonight they’d gather, largely to watch the girls open their presents and share a half-assed holiday dinner. 

     In their free time, Lawrence had set out to take Adam to the park. They packed a small lunch, bundled up, and head off toward their destination. 

     Through the quiet hum of still winter, Lawrence seizes the privacy of the moment. 

“So, how are you feeling?”

“Huh?” Adam asks, eyes snapping back from a distant place. 

     Lawrence studies him. “How are you feeling?” He repeats, a little emphasis at the edge of his words. 

“I’m fine?” 

     He nods. “That’s good.”

     A silence hangs between them, thickened by the biting winter air. “You’re freaking me out.”

“Why?” Lawrence asks, his face contorting. 

“ Because I feel like a mouse noticing the metal trap around my cheese.” 

“I'm not following.” 

“Why are you asking how I’m feeling?” 

     He clears his throat. “Adam, seriously? Can’t I just make small talk?”

“No, you can’t .” 

“Well, that was my attempt at it. I suppose we can just walk in silence if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“Oh, boohoo.” Adam mocks, his mouth creasing at the corners. “Stop guilting me.”

“I’m not guilting you.”

“Oh yes you are.”

     Lawrence turns to him, a dramatic pout across his gentle face. “I would never.”

“Stop it.” He swats Lawrence away, a laugh escaping his tightly wound maw. 

     They’re laughter fades and the familiar silence resurfaces between the two, gagging them of any worth-while words. Lawrence forces himself through the barrier, his question slipping out effortlessly. 

“Is your arm okay?”

     Adam’s eyes shoot downcast, careful not to make contact. “Yeah.”

“Just ‘yeah’?”

     He nods. 

“You’ve been changing the bandages? The stitches are in place?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Lawrence smiles, diffusing some tension. “I’d like to have a look when we get back, if that’s okay?”

     Adam’s gotten good at pinpointing the moment in a conversation when Lawrence switches to Dr. Gordon . His tone muffles to a far away concern, layered under a veneer of professional grade bullshit. 

“Sure.” 

“Good.”

      Between another stifled silence, Adam forces out a snippy interjection. 

“You know, you don’t have to keep asking about it. It’s not your problem to fix.”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to. I like helping people.”

“But it doesn’t matter. Seriously, I’ve got it under control.”

     Lawrence pauses, his fingers pinching anxiously at the bridge of his nose. “Adam, you keep saying that, but it’s clearly not true.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I caught you bleeding out, pale in the face and unable to stand, yet I still had to beg you to let me help.”

“ Because it’s not your responsi—”

“You need help, and I’m here for you.” 

     Adam’s eyes fill with warm tears, which his sleeve is quick to mop up just before they’re visible. 

“Yeah.” Is all he’s able to choke out. 

    Lawrence stares with a look of concern and heartbreak, Adam dropping his gaze back at the snowy ground beneath them.

“I just want you to be okay, Adam.”

     The younger man’s lip quivers. “Thank you.”

     They carry on forward, their bulky boots leaving divots in the glimmering packing snow. The silence is filled with the sweet song of snowbirds and the crunch of dead leaves underneath the bleakness. It’s cold, but not too cold. It’s perfect. 

     When they get to the park, Lawrence leads Adam across the field and toward the edge of the baseball diamond, proudly pointing up a tall oak tree. 

“This was my favourite tree as a kid.”

     The awkwardness of the moment is discarded, a talent they’d each picked up from each other.

     Adam tries hard to contain his laughter. “Your favourite tree? ”   

     He nods excitedly, “Sure! Perfect for climbing.” 

     Adam’s arms cross around his chest as he stares up the bark. He isn’t wrong, starting from the stump there’s thick branches spaced evenly up the tree, leading to the top. Adam smiles, striding forward and mounting the first branch. 

“Be careful.” He warns, watching with an unsure brow. 

     Adam waves him off, planting his feet and propelling himself onto the second branch, then the third. “I’m on top of the world!” He shouts, his arms widely outstretched as he stares down the bridge of his nose to the blonde. 

“Hey, watch your feet!” 

“I’m watching my feet.” He mumbles as he heaves his arms over the fourth branch. His right leg is slung over the wood, but when he tears his left from its place, his body swings out from under the branch and he plummets down to the icy ground beneath him. 

     Lawrence reflexively attempts to break his fall, but can't make it in time. The impact comes with a loud wince from Adam and the immediate response of clutching his knee. 

“Adam!” Lawrence exclaims, rushing over and getting to his level in one quick swoop. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah!” His voice comes out wavering, the lack of air in his lungs stifling his small voice. 

“You sure?”

“Yup. I’m good.” He unsteadily pushes himself up, stumbling a bit on his left knee.

     Lawrence sighs, taking a cautious step forward. 

“Can I see?” 

     Adam considers this before squeezing his eyes shut and rolling up his pant leg. The cold winter air bites against the exposed skin while Lawrence gently inspects the area. 

“It looks alright. We’ll keep an eye on it. Are you good to walk?” 

“Of course.”

     Lawrence slings the brunette's arm over his shoulders. 

“Well, humour me then. It’d make me feel better.” 

-

     When they returned home, a few gifts were under the tree, taunting the young girls who crowded the scene. They inspected their gifts, theorising about what they might be. 

“Hey!” Lynn teases, leaning through the kitchen doorway and clutching a mixing bowl. “If you keep trying to guess what they are, I’ll take all those gifts back to the store!” 

     A chorus of ‘nooo’s erupts from the tree as the girls all scurry to their feet, dramatically stomping off and honing their complaints as their exit music. Lawrence watches with a smile. 

     Adam surveys the festively adorned house, now fully decorated for the holiday. Tinsel, lights, porcelain Santa’s. It fills the home with a sense of familiarity Adam can’t quite place. 

     He reaches into his pocket, snapping open his phone to read out another missed call. When Lawrence focuses his attention toward his sister, Adam holds the speaker to his ear and plays out the voicemail at its lowest volume. 

“Hey, honey. It’s Mom— again. Just calling to see how you’re doing. If you even just hear these voicemails, I’ll be happy. I just— I never want you to forget that I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. For as long as I’m alive, I’ll always be reaching out to you, whether you like it or not. I love you sweetie. Please, call me back.” The line falls dead, a buzz ringing through the cell phone’s speaker. 

     Adam holds the phone to his ear for a moment before slamming it shut and tucking it back into his pocket, holding back the frustration that courses through him. 

“Who was that?” Lawrence asks, turning to Adam with an oblivious smile. 

     Adam sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “Just Scott.” 

“Ah. Hence the reaction?”

“Yup.” He dismisses. 

“Well, dinner’s almost ready. Wanna go help prepare the kitchen?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

-

     After an uncomfortable family ‘Christmas’ dinner, the girls excitedly stand from their seats and rush back to the decorated living room, taking residence around the tree. The family fills the space soon after, thumping down onto sofa cushions and refilling wine glasses. 

“Are you girls ready to open your gifts?” Teases Chris, leaning forward on the armchair and clutching a comically large video camera. 

     Diana’s the first to react, a childlike over-smile dancing on her face as she nods ‘yes.’ The twins, Lisa in a loose grey tee-shirt and Kristen in a purple hoodie, follow loosely in tow. 

     Lawrence pulls up a wooden chair from the kitchen, offering one to Adam who instead sits cross-legged next to him. Lawrence leans his cane against the wall as they draw out the anticipation. 

     Slowly, the gifts are opened. A few neatly wrapped toys and dolls, all of which the girls gush over. After unwrapping a toy set of Lego-like figures, Diana proudly tilts the box to Adam to show off her new gift. 

     Adam nods in approval, a faux-jealousy across his face. 

     Diana finishes her few gifts, proudly stacking them in her lap. One present remains; a huge, neatly wrapped box for the twins. 

     The girls each stand, Lawrence being handed the old video camera as Darcy’s husband crouches down next to them. 

“Go ahead, girls!” Lynn announces, letting the cannons fire as they impatiently tear into the gift. Lawrence zooms the camera to capture the first glimpse of the shimmering bike handles. 

     Once the box is shed, the girls eagerly stare ahead at their new bicycles, one pink and one purple. They’re much nicer than the ones they have back home. 

“You like ‘em?” 

“Yes!” Lisa screams, ruffling the tinsel on the handles as her sister stares in awe.

     Lawrence shifts the camera over to Diana, who watches with amazement as the twins' sample their gifts. 

“Oh, and I think we might have just one more gift for you, Di.” Lynn smiles warmly, standing up and placing her hands against her hips. “Let me go grab that for you, yeah?”

“Really?” Diana smiles.

“Really!” 

     When Lynn returns, the room of people silently waiting for the reveal, a box is placed by Diana’s feet. Just as the girl reaches for it, her little hands fiddling with the cardboard, a meow echoes from inside the box. 

     Lawrence freezes, his eyes shifting anxiously to Adam who’s jaw drops swiftly at the sound. 

“What!” Di screams, popping the top of the box off and staring down at the sweet-looking kitten inside. She reaches her hands in, scooping up the cat and holding him firmly to her chest with a look of enchantment. “You got me a kitten?” 

“You got her a kitten?” Lawrence frantically repeats, his eyebrows furrowing. 

“Oh, relax.”

     He runs a hand over his face as his daughter cradles her new pet, hands ruffling its soft brown fur. “Alison’s gonna kill me. No way is she keeping that at her place!” 

“Well, I thought you could keep him.” Lynn smiles, “Give her an incentive visit!” 

     Lawrence mumbles a comment about how seeing him should be incentive enough before his eyes focus back to his overjoyed kid, then toward Adam. 

“You know,” Adam whispers, a smile growing on his face. “My apartment allows pets. Just until you find somewhere to stay.”

“Christ, are you sure?” 

“How could I say no to that face!” He gestures toward the cat who lies nuzzled against his new owner's chest.

     Lawrence clicks off the camera and sighs a little, allowing a stressed smile to dance across his lips. “Alright. As long as Diana’s happy.” 

-

     After the gifts were finished, and the girls were put to bed, it was time for the adults to have some Christmas fun. 

     Chris brings out a bottle of Smirnoff. One he’d tucked away in his travel bag as he’d packed just days prior. Adam’s quick to mooch. 

      About two shots are added to his coke, which he sips away at before adding just a little more. He naturally migrated to the wall after getting enough to keep him comfortably tipsy, allowing the family to converse without his interjection. But, it’s not long before he’s ushered over by Lawrence and Darcy, each clutching a drink of their own. 

“Adam!” Lawrence chimes, wrapping a caring arm around a stiff Adam. “How are ya’?” 

“I’m well.” He mumbles, unsure of how to sound sophisticated and relaxed at the same time. Or , let’s be real, on their own.

“That’s great to hear. Darcy and I were just talking about you!” His finger prods lightly into the younger's chest, eyes locked on his, nervously switching between the left and right pupils. 

     Adam can’t focus on Lawrence’s awkward banter with Darcy’s gaze piercing through him, as if staring right past his skull and directly into his brain. He loosely nods along. 

“‘Ya visit Chris with that cola there, Larry?” Adam laughs, nudging the can. It’s more of a statement than a question.

     Lawrence shrugs him off, his face contorting to an exasperated smile. “I’m embarrassed. I’m such a lightweight.” 

“I’d expect nothing less.” He shrinks away from the weight across his shoulders. “I’m gonna go refill my drink.” 

     The air thickens, the three adults surveying each other as Adam backs off and dismisses himself, a subtle wave as his que. 

     Just then, Darcy takes a swig of her drink and laughs breathlessly toward Lawrence. “That wasn’t awkward, huh?”

     She stares expectedly at her brother, only finding him gazing blankly out toward the empty spot which Adam used to occupy, his fingers anxiously fiddling with each other. Darcy huffs out a light ‘ okay’ as she takes her brother by the hand and gently leads him in the direction of the empty kitchen. Everyone in the family had huddled in the living room, leaving the space clear and ready for an uncomfortable conversation. 

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” Darcy invites. 

     Lawrence nods, feeling like a scolded child. 

“Right, so— tell me about Adam.” 

     He stumbles backward, a defensive smile shooting against his skin. “What about him?” 

“Don’t act stupid. What are you two?” 

“We’re friends. We’re close friends” 

“Close enough to live together? Close enough to invite to family Christmas?” She sighs, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Lawrence, if something is going on with you two, tell me. I want to be a part of your life!” Her words are exasperated, desperately clawing at the truth. 

     Lawrence wobbles on his leg, stomach churning at his sister's words. He wanted to tell her it was nothing. They were good friends with shared trauma, that's it. But however close to the truth, there was something more. A shared sparkle in their gaze he can’t deny. His heart pumps as he pinches the bridge of his nose and frowns toward the tile floor. 

     He thinks about everything. Waking up in the bathroom, dazed and confused. As his eyes adjusted to the dark room, he saw the bathtub, the bobbing head floating against the waters edge without a sound. He remembers thinking, pleading with himself, that whoever was in the tub wasn’t dead. When Adam woke, when the lights were on, he already knew. 

     Waking up in the hospital, the first thing he asked was about Adam’s safety. When Adam was discharged AMA, he waited until he was freed and made a direct drive to the younger's apartment to make sure he was okay. 

     For months, Adam’s safety has been a priority. For months, Adam’s smile has made him sick. 

“I think I’m in love with him.” The words spill out, soaking the room in a quiet haze. He’d never spoken anything like this before. He’d never even thought it. As soon as they pour out, he wishes he could draw them back in. 

     Darcy’s smile is warm as she takes his hand in hers. “Then love him. That’s all there is to do.” 

“But I can’t. As long as I love him, I’ll never love myself.” 

“You will with time. There’s nothing wrong about it. It’s beautiful, and so are you. Never restrain your heart from doing what it was made for.” 

     He tips his cola can, pouring the mixture down the drain and dropping it against the countertop with an appropriate ting. 

“Oh Darcy, what do I do?” 

     His emotions consume him. Tears well in his eyes and for once he hopes the comforting hands he’d outstretched to everyone around him would finally return the favour. He’s absorbed in a hug, feeling his sister's warmth and love in one tight embrace. When they’re separated, she wipes a sweet thumb across his skin, collecting his tears. 

“Lawrence?”

     From the doorway, Adam stands, his hand clutching a new drink. Lawrence wipes the moisture from his face and corrects his posture, giving a non-convincing smile. 

“Adam. Hey.” 

     Darcy nudges Lawrence, a caring smile on her face as she dodges out the door and leaves the two alone. 

“Are you okay?” Adam asks, his shoulders tightly wound. 

     Lawrence is quick to nod, his face effortlessly slipping back into place. “I’m okay. I think I just— I’ve had too much to drink tonight.” He dismisses. 

     Adam nods. “Well, if you’re feeling up to it, I think we should go back out there. Your family is gearing up for a game of drunk-Monopoly and I can’t be in those trenches alone.”

“Oh!” Lawrence laughs, facing a sweet smile as he studies Adam. “Alright, then.” 

     Just as promised, the Gordon’s, with the exception of Lawrence’s father, are settled on the living room floor with the Monopoly board set carefully in the centre of their circle. Lawrence and Adam fall into place between Darcy and Chris, Adam quick to snatch the top hat game-piece while Lawrence settles for the lousy thimble. 

     Right from the start, Lawrence dominates. He wipes the board, collecting the most expensive properties early and racking in every other player's cash, leaving them bankrupt. 

“God, you’re such a cheater!” Darcy’s husband, who Adam’s come to know as ‘Rob’, exhales through a grimace. 

“How could I be cheating in Monopoly?”

“I don’t know, but you are .” 

     Adam snickers, making his poor play and setting his piece down on the board. “I agree. He’s manipulating the deck, or something . Weighted dice maybe ?” 

“Makes sense.” Lawrence hums, snatching up another boardwalk property. The entire family chimes in with simultaneous groans. 

     Darcy rolls her die, landing on a railroad and forking over Lawrence’s cash without as much as a disappointed sound. She didn’t wanna give him the satisfaction. Despite this, he still bash’s in the small win with a victorious hum as he grabs the colourful money from his sister’s tight grip. 

     When it gets back around to Adam’s turn, he rolls, landing on a chance and flipping the top card of the deck. ‘Go to jail.’ 

“Daddy?” The small voice came from the room’s doorway. Diana stands, fiddling with her nightgown and flashing dough-eyes toward her drunken father. “I had another nightmare.” 

“Oh, sweetheart. I’ll be there in just a minut—”

“I want Adam.” She interrupts. 

     Lawrence is stunned, quietly looking between the two before softening to a sweet smile. “Well, Diana, Adam’s busy with—”

“I don’t mind! I can put her to bed.” Adam cuts him off for a second time, setting his small stash of money aside. 

“Oh, are you sure?” 

“Of course! I don’t have much going for me in this game, anyways.” He gestures to his little top hat sitting in melancholy behind bars. 

“Thank you.” He mumbles below his breath. Adam only nods in response, hurrying over to Diana’s side. 

“Let’s go, yeah?”

     She takes his hand, smiling brightly as she’s led down the hall. Lawrence’s heart melts at the sight. 

     When they return to Diana’s room, she hops into bed without instruction, pulling the blanket up over herself as she props up against her pillow. 

“So, what was your nightmare?” Adam asks, partly to ease her fear, but mostly in straight curiosity. 

     Diana shrugs. “The man in my room.” She dismisses.

“Ah.” How could Adam forget that she too had been wrapped up in the game. “I’m sorry you went through that. None of it was your fault.”

“What does mommy mean when she says you and my daddy are fags?”

      God , you forget how blunt kids are when you’re not directly speaking to them. Adam coughs a bit before forcing a reply. 

“I think she’s only saying that because she’s upset. Sometimes, grown ups act irrationally when they’re hurting.” 

“Oh.” She nods. “That makes sense, I guess.” 

     The room is still for a moment before Diana points toward the shelf her grandma had collected of children’s books. 

“Can you read me one?” 

     Back in the living room, after about twenty more minutes of intense glaring, Lawrence wins Monopoly. The adults stifle an annoyed groan as he cheerfully celebrates his victory, Adam’s character still pitifully sat in jail. Darcy and Rob stand, dusting themselves off and bidding their goodnights as they head upstairs for bed. They’ve always been a sweet couple, since they were teenagers. 

     Lawrence pounds back a glass of water, as requested by his mom, and heads upstairs to meet Adam in bed. 

     On the way to their room, he stops by Diana’s, making sure she’s asleep and well. As the door creaks open, his heart melts. 

     On the bed; Diana and Adam. Adam is sleeping next to her, his legs tucked up to his chest as his hand is loosely resting atop an open children’s book. Diana is knocked out beside him, the two snoring gently in unison. Lawrence felt as though he could stand in that doorway watching them forever. 

“Hey, Adam.” He whispers, gently nudging the younger man. Adam groans in response. “Adam!” 

“Huh?” 

“You fell asleep.” He smiles down at him as his eyes flutter open and dart around the room. 

“Oh, shit.” He carefully whispers, slowly slipping his arm out from under Diana’s back and crawling off the side of the bed. “God, I think I knocked out before she did.” 

“Well, either way, you got her to sleep.” 

“I guess so.”

    They head back to their room, the look of exhaustion still evident in Adam’s eyes. Lawrence stares longingly at him, his newfound feelings resting deep within his warm chest. He’d think about it more tomorrow. Or, maybe he wouldn’t. Either way was fine with him. If he wakes up in the morning completely rid of this, he wouldn’t complain. Yet, this feeling is so rich, he can’t help but hope it never fades. 

Chapter Text

     It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon, rain gently tapping against the thin glass windows of the apartment. Adam lays sprawled across the couch. The cat, who Diana named “Sparkle” but who Adam calls “Falcor”, lays nuzzled against his chest. Lawrence sits in the armchair across the room, unfolding this week's paper. Adam couldn’t grasp this taboo routine. Who bothers to read the newspaper when there’s a perfectly fine television which sends that information straight from the speaker to your ears, no eye strain required. He slides his pack of Marlboros from his pocket and pops one in his mouth, igniting the edge. It only takes a few seconds for the judgement to kick in. 

“Must you smoke indoors?”

“Uh, yeah? Cause this is my apartment?”

     Lawrence refrains from commenting on how since he’s been staying here, he’s been paying over half the rent. 

“If you knew a portion of the harmful chemicals in that garbage, you’d think twice abou—”

     He’s interrupted by a long, drawn out groan from Adam, who desperately fumbles for his headphones under the sofa. 

“I’m just saying, I’m an oncologist, I know a thing or two—”

“Lawrence!” He shouts, “just drop it!” He slides on the headphones and slams his head back against the arm of the sofa, cranking up his metal to the highest volume and bobbing along to the beat. Falcor stretches and purrs, blissfully unaware of the tension in the room. Lawrence groans, trying to tune out the ruckus and focus on his paper. 

     After about fifteen seconds of frustration, he glares over the edge of the stack and huffs out a sigh that reads pure exhaustion. 

“Adam?” He calls, waiting a few moments before shouting a little louder, “Adam!” 

     He pulls the headphones off one ear and looks expectantly over toward the blonde. 

“Mind turning that down?” 

“What’s it to you?”

     Lawrence sighs. “I can’t focus on my reading. Why not go listen to music in your bedroom?” 

“Why don’t you go read in another room?” 

“Because I’d like to sit in the armchair and rea—”

“And I’d like to lay on the couch.” He pops the ear pad back over his ear and scratches a satisfied Falcor’s forehead. 

     He drops the newspaper next to the armchair, maybe another time, and heads toward the kitchen. On the counter is a full bowl of mushy cereal. 

“Are you done with this?”

     A beat of silence hangs in the air before he leans into the living room. 

“Hey!”

“Huh?”

“I said—” Lawrence takes a deep breath, containing his frustration. “I said, are you done with this cereal?”

“Yeah. Chuck it.”  

     Lawrence grabs the bowl from the counter. “What a waste.” He grumbles under his breath.

“God, you really are up my ass today.” 

“Oh, am I?”

“Yes, you are!” He shouts, pausing his music and sitting up to demonstrate his juvenile anger. Falcor hisses and jumps from his lap, scurrying off down the hall.

     Lawrence pinches the bridge of his nose and dumps the cereal into the trash. 

“You’re the one blasting music and making the apartment smell of cigarettes.” 

“Well excuse me for not conforming to the straight-white-doctor lifestyle the second you moved in, your highness.” 

     They’re both quiet for a moment before the blonde scoffs and leans against the wall, broad arms crossed against his chest. 

“You’re acting like a child.” 

“You’re acting like a prick!” 

“Very mature.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” 

“At least I bother to—” beep came the familiar sound of his pager, clipped to the side of his belt as though it were a gun holster. His eyes flicker down to it, then back toward Adam’s frustrated gaze. 

“I’m being called into work.” He announces.

     Adam rolls his eyes, “Then go.”

     Those words sink deep into Lawrence, right back to the night he was kidnapped. The last words his wife had spoken to him were along the same lines, after a particularly bad argument. Lawrence shakes the sinking in his gut away and mumbles gently, 

“I’m sorry, Adam.” 

     After a few moments of no response, Lawrence looks up to see Adam, headphones back on and music cranked up. He sighs, slipping on his shoes and heading toward the elevator. 

-

     Lawrence is sitting at his office desk, filling out endless sheets of paperwork which have been stacked on the surface by some pizza-faced undergrad with no morality, or at least that’s how it felt. As he fills in bar after bar of doctor-code-nonsense, all he could focus on was Adam. More specifically, the juvenile behaviour he’d shown. 

     It was becoming more common for Lawrence to work late, being called in at around 2PM and working ‘till midnight, but today it was all the more agonising. The work spread out for what felt like days as he repeated those same letters over, and over, and over again. 

     By the time shift was done, wrapping things up early at around nine, he was out the door before anyone could drag him into another task. 

     As Lawrence got closer to the apartment, he dreaded the confrontation that waited for him at the door. It was guaranteed Adam hadn’t let go of their argument, however minuscule it had been. He wasn’t the kind of guy. Instead, Lawrence would likely be patronised for some slip up he’d made in the process. So, for that reason, when faced with a four way intersection, one of those roads leading him home and another leading him to the bar, the decision was easy to make. 

-

     Back at home, Adam hangs himself upside-down off the edge of the sofa, television blaring a few inches from his face. The best part of Lawrence working all the time was the freedom it allowed. He missed the evenings spent in his boxers with an anchovy pizza and a soap opera. 

     It was late. Not too late, but late enough. It wasn’t unusual for Lawrence to work after hours, but if he did, he’d usually call and check in. 

-

     Lawrence sits at the bar stool with a beer in his hand. Tonight sucked, and he wasn’t even sure why. The air was thicker, his eyes were heavier. He rests his cheek in the palm of his hand and listens to the ear piercing voices of drunk college students ringing out from behind him; kinda reminds him of Adam. 

     He thinks about that conversation with his sister, still fresh in his mind. He’d said it so effortlessly, without second thought. When posed with the question, the first answer that came to mind was yes , he loved him. 

     And since then, with the time that’s passed, it’s more and more evident that it’s the truth.  When he was younger, there were times where his mind had wandered to his male colleagues. One night in particular, at a cheap party thrown in one of the dorms, him and a student from the psychology wing had—

     What’s the point in hanging onto useless memories?

     He was losing track of his drinks.

-

     Adam’s hand hung over the phone, an inner debate racking through his mind. He could call, confirming Lawrence was okay while also confirming that he cared. Or , he could take the high horse and forget it all together. 

     Adam grabs the phone from the hook.

-

     Lawrence picks up his cell, stomach warm and eyes heavy, and holds it weakly against the side of his face. The breath on the other end is expectant for him to speak first. 

“Adam?”

     God, could he sound less sober? He waits for a response, blinking harshly to regain control of his running mind. 

“Lawrence? Where the hell are you?” He sounds angry, Lawrence thought. He looks side to side before bringing his lips back to the mic.

“I’m at the bar.” 

“Kirkwoods?” His voice is muffled on the other end, heavy breathing waiting for Lawrence’s every word. 

     Lawrence nods as though Adam can see him before quickly adding a hum of approval.

“Stay there, okay?” He states. “Are you drunk?”

“I don’t— no? I don’t think I should drive, though.” 

“You drove yourself there?”

“Yeah.”

     Adam sighs. “Okay, then I’ll walk over and we can take your car back, yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. See ya’. Stay where you are .”

-

     Adam rubs out his joint and tucks away his cellphone. The winter air is bitingly cold, pinkening his nose, cheeks and ears. The snow settled against the sidewalk sparkles with the shine of the yellow street lights. Adam’s hands burry into his pockets, searching for warmth. The bar wasn’t a far walk, but it was enough to mildly annoy him, and give him the time to carefully consider the situation. 

     Lawrence, angry from this morning, sets off to a bar with no mention and gets sloshed off— what? Vodka sodas? Adam can’t imagine him going for anything stronger than that. 

     By the time he reaches the bar, he’s shaking, teeth gently clattering as he pushes open the glass doors. 

     The scene inside is loud, people dancing and singing along to shitty modern pop. Adam’s eyes land effortlessly on Lawrence, sitting alone at the counter. Lawrence is quick to notice him as well. 

“Let’s go!” Adam calls over the music. 

-

     Once Adam arrives, everything’s a blur. A supportive arm around his back guides him to the car and into the passenger seat. When he’s sat, his head rests against the cold window as he listens intently to Adam buckling himself in, then reaching over to buckle in Lawrence. In the stillness of the moment, all Lawrence can manage is a quiet—

“I’m sorry.”

     Adam glances over as he pulls out of the parking lot, his driving rusty since he’d last been behind the wheel. “Hey man, don’t be. You’ve had to do this more times than I could count. I owe ya’ one.” 

“No but, I’m sorry for everything.” 

“What?”

“I’m sorry for leaving you there.” 

     For a moment, Adam thinks he’s referring to the apartment. He begins to shrug it off before it hits him, a chill running through his body. He means the bathroom. 

     They never talk about the bathroom. The topic is taboo to both of them. With the exception of when they’re sloshed. In that case, it’s all that comes to mind. 

“It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.” He blurts. “I should have gotten you out of there I— I could have done something, I don’t know what but— I should have helped you.” His words are rushed, fast and completely off tune for the Lawrence that Adam had come to know. 

“There was nothing you could have done. You did what you needed to do and I understand that.” He says. “I would have done the same.” 

“ No, Adam, you deserve to be saved! At that moment, I was willing to leave you there to save myself. If you had died I would have never come to know such an amazing person.” He sobs. “I would have never known anything about you.” 

“You were doing it to save your family. And seriously, Lawrence, what could you have done? You were bleeding out and the only way to save me would have been cutting me loose too.”

“Then I should have done that!” 

“You’ve had too much to drink. You’re not thinking straight.”

     They return home shortly, Adam helping Lawrence the whole way there. It seems as though the second he touches alcohol he forgets how to walk on his prosthetic. 

     Once inside, Adam sits Lawrence down on the couch and gets him a glass of water, setting it on the side table and gently taking a seat on the cushion next to him. 

“‘You feeling alright?” 

“Yeah.” 

     The truth is, Lawrence feels ridiculous. He’s always been against excessive drinking. He hadn’t been keeping track and— well, there’s no one to blame but himself. That being said, sitting here next to Adam, staring into his eyes, there’s nowhere he’d rather be. Adam’s cologne is strong— and douchey, but in an endearing kind of way. One sniff can calm Lawrence down. 

     Adam goes quiet, stunted at what to say. Lawrence’s hair is messy and his eyes are rested at half-mast. There was something about the gentleness of the moment that drew Lawrence in closer, and before he could catch himself, the gap was closed.

     For a moment, Adam leaned into the kiss before harshly pulling away with hand hands wrapped around the blondes shoulders. 

“You’re drunk.” He says, frustrated and hurt. 

     Lawrence shakes his head “I’m so sorry.” His hand clamps over his mouth to hold any words from rushing out. 

     Adam’s quiet for a moment as he stands up, his band tee engulfing him. “Get some sleep, Lawrence.” 

-

     As the morning sun rose, Lawrence laid with his eyes shut, sunlight beating against his lids. His head was pounding, and he couldn’t bring himself to face the day ahead. Last night wasn’t as blurry as he wished it was. He remembers kissing Adam, Adam. He kissed Adam. 

     He’s never felt stupider. These feelings he was having couldn’t be real. It had to be some unhealthy trauma attachment or— something . He couldn’t accept that this was his reality. 

     When he finally gets the courage to force his eyes open, uncomfortably rolling onto his side, the house is empty. Cold silence clouds the room as he scoots off the bed and scans the area. 

     Adam’s bedroom door is swung open, but the lights are off and the bathroom mirror is foggy. On the kitchen counter is a note.

‘Job interview -Adam’

-

     Adam shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his knuckles wrapping against the desktop. Just as the silence grows deafening, in walks the manager. 

“Adam Faulkner?” He asks, outstretching a hand. 

“Faulkner-Stanheight.” He corrects. After an uncomfortable pause he adds a weak, “Hyphenated.” 

“Right. My apologies. You can just call me Ryan.”

     The mood’s already dampened and suddenly Adam regrets having ever opened his mouth. 

     The manager isn’t too intimidating. Mid-thirties, somewhat informal suit, overly gelled hair. Looks like every other kid who gained consciousness a few years ago and forced themselves into conformity. 

     That being said, Adam really wants this job. It’s a teen magazine company, big colourful graphics and grunge imagery are what they’re known for, and Adam’s portfolio fit the bill. The interview had come rather fluidly, having found the position online and been scheduled in for an hour later. So, despite himself, he sits in a raggedy button down and pleads his case.

“I’ve been looking over your work.” The manager— Ryan, states. “Very impressive. You bring a stylistic technique to your photography that we’re actively seeking out in our candidates.” 

     Adam huffs out a breath of air he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, his face breaking into a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah! Adam, if you would, I’d love to know how you achieved this look.” He slides a picture out of the slot and across the table, resting in front of Adams shaking hands. 

     He lifts it up. The image is of his ex-girlfriend, Tracey, holding his hand which emerges from off frame. She faces toward the woods, her hair wild and free. Though, what’s really interesting, and what Adam knows Ryan is referring to, is the bright camera flares surrounded with rainbow highlights. 

“Oh! I took this for a photography project back in Highschool.” Adam explains, his breathing nervous and uneven. “My buddies and I thought it might be interesting to crack the camera lense, see what’d come of it. This was the result. Uh— I have more pictures from that day, if you’re interested.” He fumbles through his pocket for his phone before being stopped by the manager's waving hand. 

“That’ll be alright. I think this portrays it well.” 

“Alright.” 

     The air is thick, and Adam’s words aren’t on their usual witty flow. He adjusts himself calmly and faces back toward the mana— Ryan, with a smile. 

“Tell me Adam, what inspired you to start a career in photography?” 

“Oh, nothing in particular. I couldn’t have cared less about if it would get me into college. To be honest, at fifteen my only concern was whether or not it’d bring in the ladies.” He chuckles, running a hand through his styled hair. 

“And, did it?”

“Well, sure! A girl on each side with every camera flash, am I right?”

“I meant did it get you into college.”

      Oh. 

     Adam clears his throat and nods. “It did.”

“I don’t see a college degree on your resume, Mr. Faulkner- Stanheight.” He prods. “Why is that?” 

“Oh, I had to drop out.”

“ Had to?”

     He nods uncomfortably. “Yeah, the job I had at the time was very restricting.” 

“Right. Do you think you’ll ever revisit post-secondary?”

“Um—” He considers saying yes. Him and Lawrence had talked briefly about the subject, dancing around the idea of costs and how it would work schedule wise. But now all he can think of is Lawrence, and last night. His hands, his eyes, his lips. Fuck, what was the question? 

“I’ll just mark down no.” He mocks after an irrecoverable pause. 

“Yeah, okay.”

     The rest of the interview is awkward, Adam’s mind too preoccupied to care about something as stupid as a job, however not-stupid that may be. As it wraps up, he outstreches his hand a beat too early, hears the signature ‘we’ll give you a call’, and defeatedly walks out the door. 

-

“How’d the interview go?” Lawrence asks as soon as Adam’s inside. He’s clearly overcompensating. 

“I’m not expecting a call back.” Adam lulls, chuckling softly as he hangs his coat on the hook. “No work today?”

“Not today.” 

“Alright.” 

     The room is quiet, a little too quiet. Lawrence fills the nothing with a quick, 

“About last night—” 

“It’s fine, Lawrence. Don’t even think about it. Y’know how many people I’ve kissed while drunk?”

“No but it’s— I don’t know.” His eyes fall downcast before making their way back up to Adam’s, the space between them shrinking. “I never drink. I never do any of that. But when I did it was like— all I could think of was you. I didn’t wanna be around anyone else.”

     Adam’s lips separate, looking up at the blonde. In that moment, he knew what Lawrence was thinking, and he was thinking the same. All he could push past his sharp breath was a quiet coo of the man’s name before he leaned back in and reconnected the touch which had been lost last night. 

     This time, they held on. Lawrences hand cups the side of Adam’s face, the way it had while they bled out across the bathroom floor. Now, that touch held a whole new meaning. Adam sunk into the feeling of their lips together, desperately making up for the months of absence. And before he knew it, he was leading Lawrence toward his bedroom, hands fumbling for his ‘formal’ shirt's buttons. 

     There’s nowhere they’d rather be.

Chapter Text

     The morning sun rises, slipping through the crack in Adam’s bedroom curtains. It shines against the corner of the mattress, illuminating the forest green sheets. 

     His arms outstretch above his head, and for a moment his focus is on the song of the birds outside his window. He smiles, his eyes resting at half-mast as his torso rises in an almost weightless harmony, that is until he notices the missing weight sleeping soundly on the other side of the bed. Fuck. With that, he slips out the door and slides a full pack from his pocket. 

     As Adam descends to the foyer of his apartment complex, all that runs through his mind is one daunting sentence. ‘I fucked Lawrence. I fucked Lawrence?’ Over, and over again. When he makes it outside, he’s quick to light a cig and set it between his lips. He’s always able to find peace in the smoke that fills his lungs like a—

“FUCK!” 

“Shit!” A figure emerges from behind a bush, stumbling out and catching themselves, their bare hands scraping against the hoarse concrete. 

“Who the hell— Mandy?” Adam squints at the familiar girl, still just as unsteady as she was five shots in at the bar. “What the fuck were you doing?”

“I don’t—” she catches her breath, wiping some smudged eyeliner from under her cheeks. It only spreads the mess. “Fuck, I don’t even know anymore.”

“You don’t know anymore?”

“What are you, deaf?”

     Adam tightens his brows. “Don’t you have a scissoring appointment to catch.”

“I wish.” She lets her head fall against the brick wall of the apartment building. 

“Jesus, the hell is this about?”

“It’s my fucking job. I have this boss who just— he thinks I’m the future of the company. He has me doing this crazy shit to prove myself and it’s all starting to feel a bit phoney to me.”

“It’s starting to feel phoney? You were kneeling behind a bush.” 

“Yeah well, I really looked up to this guy for a while. I just— I need to find a way out. I shouldn’t even be telling you this shit.” 

     Adam offers Mandy a cigarette, which she dramatically hesitates on before frustratedly tearing one from the pack and burning the edge to ash. 

“This doesn’t have anything to do with that night at the bar, does it?”

     She rubs a hand down her face, ignoring his question. “What’s got you looking so shit-for-brains.” 

“I fucked my friend.”

“Oh.”

“I fucked my divorced forty-something year old straight friend.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

     Mandy looks Adam up and down before turning on her heel. “Well, good luck, and thanks for the cig.”

     Adam opens his mouth to respond, his words dying at his throat.

     God, she’s weird. 

-

     Adam slips back through the apartment door, hoping the scent of cigarettes had faded on the elevator ride up. He takes a step back when he sees Lawrence pouring a couple bowls of cereal. 

“Adam!” He chimes, his face seemingly untouched by the awkwardness in the room. “Have some breakfast.”

     Adam nods, shedding his jacket and taking a weary seat across the table from Lawrence. His spoon dips into the bowl, bringing a mouthful of cereal to his lips. 

“I think we should talk.”

     The words were somewhat dreaded between the both of them, though someone had to say it and Adam was glad it wasn’t him. He nods, humming in agreement as he continues through his breakfast. 

“Last night, when we— kissed,” Lawrence begins, starting off strong. Adam gulps back the cigarette flavoured spit that’s built up in his mouth. “It wasn’t meaningless to me. Was it— did you find it to be meaningless?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Okay.” He breathes, seemingly relieved. “This is new to me. I’ve never— I mean I hadn’t even considered the possibility that I could be—” He trails off, unsure of where to land his sentence. 

     Adam nods, nervously sloshing his cereal around in the bowl. “It’s not new to me.” He admits through gritted teeth. “I’ve been in the rave scene and experimentation is half the culture.” 

“Had you— been with a man before?” 

“I’d never dated a man.” 

“Right.” Lawrence nods in understanding, running a hand down his face. “You know, I kept telling myself that this couldn’t be real, that the feelings I was having were nothing but a trauma response. But that can’t be it. The more I think about my life moving forward, from every angle you’re there with me.” 

“I—” Adam pauses, letting these words sink in before he nods and casts his eyes downward. “Me too, I think.” 

“I don’t want to avoid this, Adam. I don’t wanna pretend these feelings aren’t there I— I want this to work.” 

     The room is quiet. Adam pushes his cereal around with his spoon in a desperate attempt to rid himself of the butterflies that swish through his queasy stomach. 

“Maybe,” Adam chimes, “we could start with a date.”

     Lawrence considers this. The idea of a first date feels juvenile, but he can’t deny the smile that pulls at his lips. His eyes flash back to Adams, creasing at the corners. 

“I think that’s a great idea.” 

-

     Adam tufts a glob of gel through his hair and faces back up at the bathroom mirror. The short brown tufts spike up and point in different directions, causing Adam to crack a douchey smile. From the countertop, he snatches his bottle of CK Be cologne and spritz two puffs on his chest and one on his neck. A bit excessive but at least it won’t wear off. 

     The maroon button up is a little baggy, but he tucks it in and waves it off as a fashion choice. Baggy shit is in, right?

      Maybe he should shave, but he’s out of time. Lawrence is going straight from work, so if Adam wants to be fashionably late, he has to leave like— five minutes ago.

     He zips his jacket up on the walk there, long strides shortening the trip. That familiar gut twist returns at the sight of the restaurant door.

“Um, I have a reservation.” He mumbles to the hostess, never having built the courage to speak in public situations. He was a known leg-hugger growing up. 

     She smiles and grabs her list. “What name is that under?”

“I think it’s probably under Gordon.” 

“Oh, yes! Party of two. Right this way.” 

     He’s led to a table in the back, where he’s immediately drawn to Lawrence in his work clothes. 

“Adam!” He chimes as soon as the brunette comes into view. Adam slides into the chair opposite to Lawrence and drapes his jacket over the back. “You look great.”

“So do you!” Adam smiles.

“Oh, you know. I would have worn something nicer, but I came from work and— y'know.” 

     The brunette shrugs and scans the doctor tediously. “I like a man in uniform.”

     Lawrence suppresses the laugh that overwhelms him. “Well, I wouldn’t call this a uniform but— I appreciate the sentiment.”

     After a few seconds of stunted silence, Adam chuckles and forces his uneasy eyes to stay on Lawrence’s. “This is unreal. I don't even know what to say.”

“Me neither. I wish I could take this naturally, but I haven't been on a first date since college and I never expected something like this.” 

“Well, after our meet-cute it was destined to happen, right?” 

     Both men laugh, cautiously keeping their gaze down at the table below them. Things were feeling unnatural and neither had an idea of how to clear that up. 

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Lawrence asks suddenly, breaking the thick air.

     Adam freezes, “We just got here?”

“Yeah, well this doesn't feel right. I'd rather do something fun. Something— Adam-like”

“Jeez, Lar. I've really changed you for the worse, huh?”

“I’d say it's for the better.”

“Me too.” His trashy smile shines through as he zips his Carhart jacket over his dress shirt and slips out the door in tow of Lawrence, feeling his gut twist at the idea of their sudden disappearance. 

     They land in a park downtown, taking a seat under a tall oak tree and staring into the busy street in front of them. 

“This might sound corny, but you really make me feel young, Adam. I've never been so enthralled by someone's charisma.”

“Hah! Well, I think you're the first love interest to say anything like that. Most chicks just called me a douche with a picture of my shit in their dumpster attached.” 

     Lawrence rolls his eyes, turning to face Adam. 

“I'm glad we sorted this out.” He admits, cheeks a rosy pink. 

     Adam nods and smiles. “Me too.” 

“Oh, and I grabbed this on the way. I wasn’t sure how the night would pan out and— it’s good to be prepared.” 

     Lawrence fumbles with his case before slipping out a bottle of Opus One red wine. Adam perks up, shouting something incoherent that follows the rhythm of a ‘fuck yeah.’ He grabs it from Lawrence’s hands and cracks it with ease, swallowing back a hearty sum. 

“Isn’t this shit like— really expensive?” 

“Yeah, so go easy!” Lawrence smiles, watching Adams demeanour shift. 

“Sorry.” 

     Adam falls back on his elbows, staring up into the towering oak above their heads. The deep blue sky casts a shadowy glow to his skin, with a twinkle in his eye left by the beaming full moon. 

“This isn’t so bad.” He huffs, taking another swig. “I might even be the happiest I’ve ever been. Isn’t that strange?”

     Lawrence cocks his head as Adam darts back up, sitting cross legged and staring out to the packed city sidewalks ahead. 

“Like— the bathroom was the worst day of my life, hands down.”

“Mhm.” Lawrence hums.

“But somehow it pushed me here, to this park, the happiest I’ve ever been.” He takes a sip and speaks through the wine, a few drops falling down his chin. “Maybe Jigsaw was onto something.” 

     Lawrence laughs, wiping the wine from Adam’s smile as he gently shakes his head. “I wouldn’t go that far, but that trap definitely changed my life. I was heading down a bad path.”

“Oh, so bad. Wife and daughter, stable job, massive apartment.”

“Right but I was stuck.” Lawrence’s eyes meet Adam’s, choking the humour from his throat with one hard glare. “Alison and I were doomed from the start. We had absolutely nothing in common and only married so she could please her money hungry father. Sure, it was comfortable.” He gestures to the sky. “But that’s not love. Love isn’t comfortable. Love is thrilling and terrifying. Love is looking into someone’s eyes and simultaneously knowing nothing and everything, like the world will crumble beneath you if you’re ever apart. The only good thing that came from Alison and I was Diana.”

     Adam nods. “Is Alison dating again?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Hm.”

     The two of them stare up, Adam babysitting the bottle as Lawrence gets drunk off the night. “I hope she’s happy. That’s all that matters to me. I hope she’s happier, and living her life.” 

     Adam takes another sip and chuckles under his breath. 

“What?” Lawrence prods. 

“Nothing.”

“What?”

     He tries to stifle a second laugh, but only huffs it out his nose, unable to dismiss the interruption. 

“Adam, if you don’t—”

“Alright, alright!” He straightens his back. “I was just reminded of back when I first met Diana. She— um.” Adam clears his throat before continuing. “She told me that Alison called us queers.” 

     A thick silence hangs between them before Lawrence’s eyes frantically meet Adam’s. “Excuse me?”

“She said she’d heard her say it on the phone.” 

“Seriously?”

‘Mhm’ 

     Lawrence stares dumbfoundead, unsure of how to feel. “Well, I take back the ‘happiness living her life’ bullshit.”

     He grabs the bottle, drinking back enough to leave his throat a little sore. 

-

     They return home about an hour later, drunkenly stumbling through the door and helping each other discard their shoes and jackets. 

“Lawrence, wanna sleep in my bed ton—”

“Yeah.” 

     The two make it to the bedroom, Adam flicking on his yellowing bedside lamp and drawing the curtains shut. Lawrence kicks off his socks and falls back onto the mattress, unable to muster the energy it takes to get out of his work clothes. Adam stands, stretching before sliding off his shirt. His darkened silhouette is lined by the moonlight beautifully, highlighting his back definition with ease. Lawrence feels a rush pass his stomach at the sight. 

     As Adam crawls into the bed, he rolls over, eyes meeting Lawrence’s in a desperate hunger. 

“Are you tired?”

“No.” Lawrence answers honestly. 

“Me neither.”

     It’s quiet for a moment, their thoughts aligning in silence before Adam huffs a breath of hitched air. 

“Wanna fuck?”

“Yes.” 

     Adam rips a condom from his drawer, sweaty hands fumbling to break the seal. Within minutes, their hands travel, desperately riding up and down each other's curves as their lips meet for the first time tonight. A pulse runs through Adam's stomach as he grinds down against the natural wave of the other man’s body. 

“You should hold off on house hunting.” Adam huffs between wet kisses.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

     Lawrence pulls from the kiss to wrap a finger around Adams waistband and tug, his previous exhaustion draining from his tight frame.

     That night, Adam and Lawrence both fell asleep feeling fulfilled, mostly because no one had to sleep on the pull out.