Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3756235.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Backstreet_Boys
  Relationship:
      Nick_Carter/Howie_Dorough/Brian_Littrell/AJ_McLean/Kevin_Richardson, OT5
      -_Relationship
  Character:
      AJ_McLean, Nick_Carter, Brian_Littrell, Kevin_Richardson, Howie_Dorough,
      Original_Characters
  Additional Tags:
      Rehabilitation, Drug_Addiction, Alcohol_Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst,
      Flashbacks, Therapy, BDSM, POV_AJ, mild_breathplay, Kevin/AJ_Heavy,
      though_there_are_abundant_amounts_of_AJ/everyone_too
  Series:
      Part 2 of BSB_OT5_Verse
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-04-16 Updated: 2015-05-14 Chapters: 4/? Words: 20736
****** Five Degrees of Separation ******
by Whreflections
Summary
     In the summer of 2001 in the middle of the Black and Blue tour, AJ
     checks himself into rehab. Once he's there, he not only has to face
     his demons, but the question of whether he and Kevin will still have
     a relationship when he gets out. For years now it's been the five of
     them against the world in every way possible, but after the words
     Kevin left him with from the other side of a locked door, AJ doesn't
     know what to believe.
     It's a hard thing to question your faith in love while you're trying
     to restore your faith in yourself.
Notes
     So I started this thinking "I'll write a little something about AJ
     being fucked up over potentially losing Kevin while he's in rehab".
     10,000 words later I realized there was nothing little about this
     idea lmao
     This does take place in a larger universe, but you can read this
     without having read the other fic I'm working on in this verse,
     though obviously there are connections. Still, nothing I've posted
     for this verse as yet needs to be read in chronological order- all
     you need to know is that the boys are in an established poly
     relationship and have been for quite some time.
     At this point in time, there's also some occasional BDSM elements to
     Kevin and AJ's relationship, but you don't really need to know much
     about that yet; however, it'll give you a little deeper understanding
     of where AJ's head's at ahead of time if you already know it's there.
     Also, this AU stays pretty close to RL 'canon' dates and events and
     such, though obviously do to circumstances being different in this
     fic, some things are altered more than others. ...some are also
     possibly altered because while I try my best to do good BSB history
     research, I'm not perfect, lmao
***** Chapter 1 *****
Compared to the bags he’s used to lugging around airports, his duffle feels
light as he pulls it out of the rental car’s trunk.  Still, he holds on with
both hands because if he doesn’t he’ll reach out for Brian, and he can’t do
that here, not out in the open like this.  It’s almost funny, the sudden
reminder of how well they all learned to hold to the Rules.  When they were at
their youngest, they’d never suspected it wouldn’t be long before they’d be
modifying Lou’s ‘no girlfriends in public’ lectures to apply to each other. 
AJ shuffles, blinks against the bright Arizona sun.  He’s had nothing since
Boston; there’s already enough of a dull ache in his head that the light stabs
at him even behind his sunglasses.  All the crying he just did in the car
didn’t exactly help either.  His eyelids hurt and the thought of closing them
even for a few seconds is tempting, but to do that he’d have to stop looking at
Brian.  Given that he’ll be spending the next 30 days not looking at Brian,
it’s not worth the trade.  There’s a still, quiet part of him that’s glad he’s
sober enough to know that, remembers more with instinct than image just how
often in the last year he’s brushed them all aside.  When you’ve had the same
constants for nearly a decade, it’s easy to fool yourself into thinking them
immutable. 
Brian steps closer, busies his hands with shifting the clasp on AJ’s necklace. 
“So I’m flying back to New York, but I’ve got your mom finding us a place to
rent here quick as she can.  We’ll do the announcement, be back out here by
Wednesday night for sure.  Okay?” 
His throat’s too tight, too full, so he nods.  Honestly, he’s mostly afraid if
he opens his mouth he’ll start crying again. 
“Everyone I talked to here said no visitors first week, but next Tuesday we’ll
be here.”  Brian’s voice cracks, his hands flattening a moment against AJ’s
chest like he needs the contact to steady him.  “Be here so early to wait on
you they’ll get tired of lookin’ at us.  I promise.” 
“Yeah, I doubt that.  They never stop lookin’ at you.”  He sounds rough, but at
least he isn’t crying. 
Brian’s laugh isn’t even either.  His hand falls to tug at AJ’s fingers,
stopping him from chipping at his fingernail polish.  “Stop that; you’ll miss
it when it’s gone.” 
He hadn’t even realized he was doing it, but he’s so goddamn nervous it’s not
surprising.  Brian’s right though; he hates the way his hands look without it. 
It’s all wrong, too not him but nail polish is restricted here just like almost
every other fucking thing in the world.  If he makes it through the next 30
days, he’ll probably buy way too much shit when he gets out. 
AJ clear his throat, readjusts his grip on the bag.  “This is gonna suck.” 
“I bet they’ll let you have some if we bring it next week.  I’ll ask.” 
It’s a tiny thing; it shouldn’t feel like such a relief but everything else
about this that sucks is so far out of his control now it’s a little comforting
to find something that maybe isn’t.  It’s easier to talk about, if nothing
else. 
“Hey.”  Brian squeezes his wrist, lets go much quicker than AJ wishes he
would.  “I’m so proud of you for doing this.  You know that, right?” 
He’s so sincere, so Brian that AJ actually aches.  He doesn’t deserve that
look; he never has.  He blinks, looks down at his battered shoes and black
asphalt.  “Don’t be too proud of me yet; I haven’t done shit.”  So far, all
he’s done is run from the crushing reality of how far he’s let them all down. 
He’s not really sure he should get any points for that. 
“You will.” 
When he was younger, he wondered if Brian’s optimism could move mountains.  It
may not be a landslide, but for now it’s enough to make him pick up his feet
and walk. 
                                    -------
If he was here for any other reason, he’d think the room was beautiful. 
Then again, if he was here for any other reason, Howie’d have already flopped
down on his bed and Brian and Nick would be going around fucking with the
lights and the doors and anything else shiny and new and Kevin—
AJ turns away from the window so fast he almost loses his balance, hides it by
leaning one knee onto the bed.  Quick as he tried to cut off his train of
thought he knows them too well, can place them anywhere too vividly.  For a
second or two he can almost feel the ghost of Kevin’s arms around his waist. 
When it fades, he still feels like all the air’s been tapped out of his lungs. 
He jerks his bag toward him hard, eager for the distraction.  He’s met a
doctor, had a tour, sat down for food he mostly couldn’t eat.  For the sake of
all the travel he’s done in the last 24 hours, after that they let him have an
early night.  A few minutes ago he was grateful for that, but now that he’s
alone and not being prodded in a direction, the silence is grating.  Even
silence is never really silence for him, there’s always the sound of Brian
humming, Nick’s fingers drumming on the side of his bunk, the steady rhythm of
Howie’s breath with his head on AJ’s shoulder.  If he gets his bag open and
pulls on some pajamas, that’ll at least feel a little familiar. 
He yanks back the zipper, a strangled laugh bubbling from his throat as he
catches a glimpse of shit he knows he didn’t pack.  Two books, and a wrinkled
grey shirt folded underneath.  The first is a notebook he’s never seen, cheap
but thick, the kind stacked in grocery store aisles every few feet in
September.  There’s a picture taped to the inside cover of he and Howie in the
days before the band, two kids leaning back to back.  They’re both laughing and
the Florida sun is bright and it’s stupid to think that it feels a thousand ago
but he can’t help but think it, he can’t.  Cliché or not, it’s exactly how he
feels. 
AJ blinks, wipes furiously at his eyes before the tears can fall and blur the
words Howie’s written underneath. 
Hey, Bone
Went out and got this when I realized you’d need something to write on.  I know
you may not feel like it right now, but give it a day or two.  Write to us,
write to your mom.  Write me a song.  Hell, write to yourself and set it all on
fire when you leave, but I think it’ll help. 
You’re still here and I miss you already, but I’m proud of you.  I know you can
beat this.  And in case you need the reminder, I’ve had your back for a long
time.  I always will. 
Love you.  You’ll be home soon. 
D
Before he can bring himself to close the notebook he reads it four times,
traces the edges of the picture like he’s feeling out where Howie’s
fingerprints linger.  As soon as he looks down, he knows the book that had
rested hidden beneath it on sight. 
“Oh, man you didn’t…” 
And yet he did, because there’s no doubt that the Bible he pulls out isn’t some
spare copy bought in an airport bookstore.  It’s Brian’s, given to him by his
grandmother when he was twelve years old.  The rich brown leather’s well worn
in, creased from Brian’s hands and the way it’s been shoved in every size bag
imaginable over the last eight years.  He almost lost it once in Zurich, but
they drove back to pull it out from under the bed of a room so close to being
cleaned they’d passed the woman in the hall on the way.  It’s full of notes
scribbled in the margins, verses highlighted, pages turned down. 
If he had a minute to name Brian’s most prized possessions this’d top the list
no question; he hasn’t been without it since AJ met him and now he’s
just…handed it over.  The enormity of the gesture certainly isn’t lost on him. 
He’s so affected at first he can hardly do more than stare wide-eyed at it like
a mirage, but he finally tips the cover open.  There’s a folded sheet off a
hotel notepad just inside, and he shakes it open to reveal Brian’s scrawl, so
sharp edged and wild compared to Howie’s near perfect letters.
I don’t have to tell you I’ve found comfort here more times than I can count. 
Maybe you will too, but if all it does is sit by your bed for 30 days, it’ll
still be serving its purpose.
This, it’s important to me; it’s a symbol of faith.  I know you’ve been waiting
for us to give up on you; you don’t have to say it.  I can see it.  I need you
to know it won’t happen, not for me.  My faith in you is stronger than anything
that tries to break it.  Even you. 
Besides, I had to give you some proof of the fact that wherever you go, you
take part of me with you. 
You’ve got this. 
Love,
Brian
He’s cried so much in the last fucking day and a half he’s not sure he’s got
much more in him to give.  (His cheeks are wet, though, and he’s not quite sure
when it happened.)  AJ sets the Bible down gently, lets it rest against his
thigh as he reaches in for Nick’s crumpled note, written in silver sharpie and
bound to the shirt beneath with a thin red rubber band.
This ended up in my bag last time we got laundry back.  I’ve been meaning to
give it back to him but I kept forgetting.  I figured now you need it more than
he does. 
I’m not good at this; I don’t know what to say.  I’m scared, I miss you all the
time lately, I’m pissed you keep everything from me you possibly can but just
come home, okay?  We’ll figure it out; we always do. 
I can’t even think about not having you here, man.  30 days is long enough. 
To the side he’d added a note later, smaller and quicker and in black pen. 
You can call us; I checked.  Call me.  Love you.
He doesn’t even have to look at the shirt to know exactly what it is; the color
and the mention of the laundry tells him everything.  Kevin’s brought his Tates
Creek shirt with him on every tour they’ve been on from the old school tour
days where he picked it up the day they played Brian’s old school.  Back then
he actually wore it in public; now he wears it only when it’s just the five of
them.  The letters are cracked and it’s worn thin and the last time he’d had it
on it’d ended up in a pile with Nick and Howie’s clothes while the three of
them had sex in the back lounge of the bus. 
AJ pulls it out, holds it to his face and breathes deep.  It smells like
fucking tour detergent, lavender and some other shit but it doesn’t matter too
much; his memory is excellent.  If he squeezes his eyes shut tight enough,
thinks hard enough, he can make it smell like Kevin, heady and dark and
perfect. 
99% of the time, it’s a turn on. 
With the day he’s had, there’s absolutely nothing shocking about the fact that
this time, all he does is cry again. 
                                    -------
Long after the lights are out and the roommate he’d pretended to be asleep to
avoid is actually asleep, AJ’s still staring at the ceiling.  His head aches
and he’s a little shaky, a little too hot and cold, but the withdrawal is only
toying with him at this point.  It’s a light hint of what he’s sure he’ll start
to feel tomorrow, feeble and still easily drowned out by the pressing reminder
that he’s alone in a twin bed that feels bigger than the enormous ones they
keep at the houses they shift between.  Shit, they’ve been sleeping all over
each other so long even his bunk on the bus feels big now when he sleeps in it
alone. 
He curls back against the wall, hugs his arms to his shivering chest and lets
his mind drift back to Germany.  The present sucks; the future’s uncertain.  If
he has to think about them, the past is all he’s got. 
He was seventeen that first year out of the country, the summer they made a
record and fell in love with music again, and with each other for the first
time.  There’d been something they hadn’t tried to define going on between him
and Howie for a while, but it wasn’t until that summer that it all came
together, the four of them melding and shifting piece by piece into something
that was almost whole.  Nick, he was still just fifteen, and no matter how much
every last one of them felt things starting to change with him too, they
weren’t about to push.  He’d dealt with enough shit from his family; they were
bound and determined he’d get nothing but a fair deal from them, everything his
choice, every step of the way. 
His choice, but they’d meant to wait till he was older, another year or so at
least.  That sort of held, here and there, but by the fall he and Brian had
kissed.  In a way, that’s the rough point in time AJ’s always seen as their
anniversary, if they have one—November in Berlin, Brian kissing Nick in the
middle of practice in a hotel bathroom because they’d fought the day before and
he couldn’t take the way Nick was looking at him, not for another second. 
There’s a thousand memories from that year he’s held onto, and he flips through
them aimlessly now trying to find one that’ll let him sleep.  His head swirls
with images and sensation, words he can’t pronounce and the first time they
gave a show where the crowd sang along. 
The memory he catches on long enough to start drifting is a strong one, so
solid and well preserved that for a second the thought flutters to the surface
that it’s exactly this one he was looking for all along. 
The air conditioner on the bus is broken.  In the front seat Nick’s bitching,
limbs flung out like a dog sprawled on concrete, as if the more he stretches
the cooler he’ll get.  In the middle, Howie’s asleep with his head in Brian’s
lap and Brian’s listening to music, reaching out to flick the back of Nick’s
hand every now and then so he thinks he’s listening. 
In the backseat, he’s draped across Kevin’s chest, so stupid in love he doesn’t
care that it’s goddamn hot and Kevin’s making him hotter.  They had sex for the
first time last night in Munich and he fell asleep to the still rapid beat of
Kevin’s heart and it’s all still so new, overwhelming in the best way.  Every
time they look at each other they end up smiling and AJ wonders how in the hell
they’re gonna keep from doing that on stage that night, laughs as he wonders if
anyone would notice, if anyone outside this ratty old van would ever suspect. 
Kevin laughs with him though he doesn’t know the joke, smiles a little wider as
he strokes his fingers through AJ’s hair.  “Alex.  What’re you thinkin’?” 
His name sounds beautiful in Kevin’s deep bass with its hint of Southern drawl
and God, God he’s so gone for this man it’s crazy.  He remembers falling in
love with Howie, remembers thinking how incredible it’d be to hold onto that
for the rest of his life.  He never dreamed then he’d fall in love three more
times but here he is, diving headfirst into the second. 
He kisses Kevin’s chest through his shirt, shifts a little so one of his legs
slips between Kevin’s.  “Dude, you realize you’re the only person in the world
other than my grandmother who calls me Alex?”
“That’s what you were thinking?”
“Well I mean, I am now.  I thought the question was present tense.”
Kevin squeezes at the back of his neck, his hand so big and strong AJ can’t
help but shiver.  “So.  Me and your grandmother.”
“And my mom, when she’s pissed, she’s all ‘Alexander James’ this and that and—“
“Alex.” 
His heart skips, and he looks up into green eyes that take as firm a hold of
him as Kevin’s hands ever could.  He’s speechless. 
“D’you like it?”
AJ swallows.  “Yeah, I mean…yeah.  Sometimes, if—if you want.”
Kevin’s eyes sparkle, so bright he’d have been glad he said it even if he
hadn’t liked it half as much.  “Alright.  Well come here, Alex.”
He pulls hard on the back of AJ’s neck, not that he needs too much
encouragement to slide further up his body and let Kevin kiss him.  It’s about
a thousand degrees and the sweat that sticks AJ’s t-shirt to his chest and his
back is a mix of his and Kevin’s.  They can’t make a sound and they have to go
slow so the driver won’t notice, but there in the back they’re well hidden
enough that they can make out at a low burn for quite a while.  They keep at it
until they’re both so hard they have to stop or they’ll draw too much
attention; it’s already enough that they’re both breathing heavy, both trying
to hide it. 
They’re not sure if Brian knows(Brian always knows), but he starts to sing and
when he can Kevin joins him.   AJ lays there with his head over Kevin’s heart,
counting tempo in his mind and drifting somewhere between awake and asleep that
feels like just about the closest thing to heaven he could imagine. 
“…Alex?  Hey, Alex?” 
The voice is unfamiliar, high and timid.  AJ’s tangled in blankets and the
air’s cold and after the vivid memory he’d fallen asleep to, waking up feels
like a crash.  He croaks out a don’tbefore his eyes are open that doesn’t even
sound like a word to himself.   
“You awake?”
He is, though he rather wishes he wasn’t.  AJ cracks his eyes, squints over at
a guy with blonde hair nothing like Nick’s. 
“Hey, Alex, you—“
“Don’t call me that.”  Well, those words are intelligible, but he sounds like
an ass. 
The guy backpedals, even stepping back just a little from the edge of the bed. 
“Sorry, I just, it was on your nametag  on the nightstand and I wasn’t sure if
you—“
AJ forces himself to sit up, waves a hand at the air.  “ ‘s fine, I’m sorry;
it’s just AJ, okay?”
That gets him a smile, though a small one.  Maybe he’s not scared the guy off
too much.  “Okay, sorry.  You slept through the alarm, I just didn’t want you
to be late for breakfast.  If you don’t get up, they come wake you up and I
know it’s your first day so…” 
So he was trying to be nice, and AJ snapped his head off.  Making friends
already.  “Hey, you’d be surprised what I can sleep through.” 
It should be a joke, it was supposed to be a joke, and Blonde Guy must hear
that because he laughs.  AJ’s stomach just drops, and he’s reminded how very
hungry he isn’t. 
There’s his first lesson of the day, neatly packaged—Don’t try and laugh about
the discrepancy between where you are and where you should be.  You can’t. 
                                    ------
His therapist is a woman named Dr. Amy Coleman.  A little past middle aged,
graceful in her movements, deep brown skin that’s beautifully warm, a hint of
grey at her temples.  She’s got a folder on him in front of her she hasn’t even
cracked, preferring instead to study him like she’s reading all she needs off
the source.  He’s without his shades and most of his jewelry and he feels
naked, almost looks back over his shoulder for the boys before he can remind
himself they’re not there.  He’s cold and scared and terribly alone in a way
that’s usually preceded by a little over a bottle of Jack.  At this point, he
usually does a line or two and goes home, maybe buries himself against Brian’s
side until he feels better.  Here, all he can do is scrunch down a little
further in his chair and tuck his arms in over his stomach.  They’ve done
introductions already; he’s not really sure where the hell to start with
everything else. 
She smiles at him from across the desk, leans on the file.  It’s pretty thin. 
“How are you feeling this morning?”
Like shit, but he’s pretty sure it could be worse.  “A little sick.  Not so bad
yet; I’ve had worse hangovers.”  Maybe not the best thing to say, all things
considered. 
“You might not agree tomorrow, but I hope I’m wrong.  What I’d really like to
hear, though, is how you feel about being here.”  She sits back, hands resting
light on the arms of her chair.  “What brings you here, AJ?”  As he opens his
mouth, she holds out her hand.  “I don’t mean the drugs or the alcohol, I mean
your decision to do something about it.  Tell me what happened to change your
mind.” 
He’s not sure what exactly he thought they’d be talking about, but reliving
that mess is something he hadn’t planned on intentionally putting himself
through for a while.  It cycles through his mind often enough without his
consent.  He swallows, picks at the layer of polish on his thumb.  “I, ah.  I’d
been up for days, nearly slept through a baseball game I told the guys I’d be
there for.  Kevin—“  Fuck, his name hurts, like wire around his throat.  “—he
broke the damn door down.  Well, one of them.  I thought he’d…anyway, we fought
and he left and I just…I couldn’t do it anymore.  It was…”  Surreal,
horrifying, so impossible he hadn’t even been able to grasp it until he’d
finished sobbing his goddamn lungs out and tried to call Kevin.  He hadn’t
answered.  “Felt like I didn’t even recognize my life anymore.  All of it, the
way I’ve been living the last couple years, it’s not what I want, so I just
thought I have to fix it, you know, I have to make it right and then—“
AJ sucks in a sharp breath, cuts himself off quick with a laugh that’s far too
nervous.  “Can’t worry about the rest till I do the first part, right?”
“Yes and no.  It’s important to want recovery for yourself or it’ll never work;
I’ve seen that with too many patients to count.  However, no one asked you to
come here.  You choose this on your own and that’s an important step. 
Everything else, the relationships you want to rebuild, the pieces of your life
that you don’t want to lose, they’re important parts of recovery too.  You have
to look at not just where you’ve been and how you got here but where you’re
going.”
“Makes sense.”  He’s so grateful to at least have her half off the subject of
the fight with Kevin, he’d agree with just about anything. 
There’s a look in her eyes that tells him maybe she’s not quite buying it.  His
stomach twists.  “So first, we need to talk about where you’ve been, figure out
exactly how you built this life you didn’t recognize.  I’ve read the history
I’ve got here but that doesn’t tell me enough; I want to hear the way you see
it.  How did you get here?  Why did you miss that ballgame?” 
Because I’m a damn asshole probably isn’t the answer she wants.  Everything
else is a nearly incoherent mass of information, jumbled and desperate.  My
grandmother died last year and I kinda flew off the rails.  I thought I knew
what I was doing; I mean I knew what I was doing but I thought I had it, I
thought for a while maybe it even made me better because see here’s the thing,
I’m not really all that great.  Someday, maybe even the guys’ll figure that out
and it’s stupid, it’s crazy, I can hate shit about myself but I don’t want them
to hate me.  I couldn’t live with it. 
His head falls in his hands and he rubs at his temples like he can stop his
racing thoughts with the pressure of his thumbs.  “To tell you the truth, I
don’t know where the hell to start.” 
“How about you start from right there?”
He looks up, flashes her a question in his eyes she answers first with a
gesture in his direction.  “Like you said.  Just tell me the truth.” 
                                    -------
When he thinks about it, it amazes him how the five of them fit together, every
single time.  They’re a work of art that’s all intersecting lines and bleeding
colors, ten relationships and one all at once.  They each do something for him
no one else can; he’s always known that, but there’s nothing like being
reminded of it alone on a strange bathroom floor. 
Kevin’s his safest place to hide, always, but it’s Brian he wants most
desperately when he’s sick.  (For Brian, it’s Kevin.  For Kevin, it’s Howie. 
For Howie, it’s AJ.  When it comes to taking care of each other, they form a
pretty well-structured flowchart, until it comes to Nick.  They all hover over
him like damn mother hens, but if he has his choice it’s always Kevin and Brian
he wants.  Early imprinting like he did on the two of them never really
fades.) 
There’s just something so inherently comforting about him; even his presence
seems to alleviate nausea and his hands are always wonderfully just a little
cool against AJ’s forehead.  Not that it does him much good to think about that
now when Brian’s probably still thousands of miles away and utterly out of his
reach. 
AJ groans, curves his elbow protectively around the top of his head to block
out the light.  The tile feels pretty amazing against his forehead, shockingly
cold and not at all grimy like he’s used to.  He’s ended up on a lot of
bathroom floors; if he’s trying to count positives of his situation, at least
this place is insanely clean.  He’s thrown up six times and he doesn’t think
he’s done.  Every time he tries to get up he’s too shaky, too quickly dizzy.  A
nurse came by after the second, but since he’s not actually dying it seems
unless he gets a lot worse he’ll mostly be seeing himself through this one. 
There’s a point to that he knows, but there’s misery in it too. 
He misses his cell phone like a detached limb; if he had it, it’d be worth
picking his head up and dealing with the throbbing long enough to send off a
quick Rok I miss you.  He’d do it, no question, but the more he thinks about
it, the more he thinks it’s best he can’t.  It’d serve no one, not really him
and certainly not Brian because he knows the face he’d make, the tinge of
sadness that’d filter into those pretty blue eyes.  He’d skim his thumb over
the buttons on his phone before he text back because Brian is tactile like they
all are, and he’d type just fast enough that his lips could follow the words as
he brought them to the screen.  He’s like that when he’s focused on his
writing, so drawn into it his body can’t help but follow. 
He’d answer, and he’d sit there in a hotel room in New York and hurt and feel
like his inability to be where AJ is is somehow his fault and none of it, none
of this bullshit from start to finish has ever been Brian’s fault.  He just
swoops in to look after him and he never complains, never judges, never even
questioned until shit got so bad he got scared.  And AJ, he just takes and
takes and takes like Brian’s never going to run out of chances for him because
he’s Brian.  He’s a goddamn leech.
It’s right around the moment he realizes he’s miraculously managed to make
himself feel worse that he also realizes facts on how empty his stomach is
aside, he’s absolutely not done trying to throw up his organs. 
                                    -------
[from the notebook, first page]
Had group therapy this afternoon; they told us to make a list of what we’ve
learned since we got here.  Three days, so mine’s pretty short. 
-I don’t do well by myself, but I guess I’ve known that since I was three.
-No matter how many times I’ve thanked Brian, I haven’t thanked him enough.
-I think maybe never speaking to my dad again might be the way to go. I don’t
know.
-I think Howie can forgive me; hell I think he probably already has.  With Nick
there’s too much to say to know where to start. 
-I’m so fucking sick of puking I swear to God.  I think I’ve lost five pounds.
-I don’t know
 
I’m scared as shit.  I know that.  Kevin shouldn’t forgive me.  He shouldn’t,
but if he doesn’t, I don’t know if I can go home. 
 
That’s all I’ve got. 
***** Chapter 2 *****
He likes Dr. Coleman; really he does.  She’s obviously got a good heart and
she’s smart as hell and she listens well, but she also seems pretty damn good
at her job and while that’s technically a positive, it’s also enough to make
him occasionally eye her like a cat presented with water.  No one knows more
than him that there’s a lot of shit he’s got to work out; hell that’s why he’s
there and he wanted to do this, he really did, but like most things the actual
doing is proving a bit harder than he expected.  
Like now.  
He’s got no idea what she’s about to say, but the fact she’s already told him
she’d like to start with a question doesn’t bode well for the next hour. 
“You’ve been here six days now.” 
 
He nods, waits for the question.  
“We’ve talked enough about your life that it’s clear to me the support you have
of those close to you is very strong—“ 
“Yeah, absolutely, they’ve been better than I could’ve asked for, they—“  She
wasn’t done talking; he can see it in the amusement in her eyes.  AJ stops
himself, clears his throat.  “Sorry.  But yeah, yeah they’re great.” 
“And yet you haven’t called any of them.  You haven’t even bought a phone
card.”  Well, he was right.  He’s probably not going to like this hour very
much at all.  “I think we should talk about why that is, don’t you?  I mean,
you’ve told me by everything you’ve said and done in the last few days that
these are the most important people in your life, but you haven’t even looked
into getting in touch with them.  You have to see that that’s not a choice I
can fail to notice.”  
“It’s ah…it’s really complicated.”  Dr. Coleman watches him, unblinking and
undeterred.  She’s patient though, settles back into her chair like she’s only
there by the window to bask in the Arizona sun.  He thinks how much better it
is over here than at the desk, less formal, more like a conversation.  He
thinks about the cactus growing on the bookshelf behind her, of the time Nick
bought a venus fly trap and Howie tried to feed it jelly beans.  He’s stalling,
and patient as she is he knows he can only wait so long before he starts to
explain.  “See, it’s…I’m not used to talking about this, I mean outside the
band.” 
“It’s alright; take your time.  Remember, nothing you tell me ever leaves this
room, and I can only help you if you’re honest with me.  This has to be a place
you can be honest with yourself; if there’s something—“
“We’re in a relationship.”  God, he hasn’t had to explain this since he told
his mother.  The actual spitting it out hasn’t gotten any easier; if anything
his words ran together a little more this time around.  “Me and the guys, and
I’m not saying it’s a type of relationship I literally mean—“ 
“I understand what you’re saying.”  Given the lack of shock on her face, he
wouldn’t have believed it.  His shock must be showing though because she gives
him a half smile.  “You’ll find I’m very hard to shock; I can’t imagine I’d be
very good at my job if I didn’t have a very open mind.”  
“More people like you in the world would save us a lot of trouble; I’ll tell
you that.”  He says it before he thinks, so shocked by relief that she’s not
looking at him like he’s out of his mind that it just spills out.  She laughs,
and he’s not sorry he said it.  The tension that had squeezed so vise tight
around his lungs has eased up, though not half as much as he’d like. 
Relatively speaking, that admission was the easy one. 
“So the five of you are in a relationship.  How long?” 
“It’ll be six years in November.”  
“So you have relationships that seem to be built on a solid foundation, people
who love you and fully supported your decision to come here.  If anything, that
only adds weight to my original question—there’s a reason you don’t want to
speak to them.  What is it?”  
His stomach twists, and he rubs his palms hard against his jeans.  “No, I mean,
I want to talk to them, I really want to talk to them God you have no idea,
but—“  His voice catches.  He bites his cheek, dredges up the lesser of two
difficult admissions.  “The phones here are all in common areas, and I get
that.  You don’t want us calling dealers, friends we’ve been partying with and
all that shit, and hell I’m used to talking to them like they’re just my
brothers.  We do it every day, but…I’m kind of a mess right now, and I don’t
think—“  Jesus.   He has yet to burst into tears in front of her but really, it
was probably only a matter of time.  Still, he blinks, fights it.  “I don’t
think I can talk to them like that right now.  There’s too much goin’ on.”  
“What if I arranged for you to have a chance to take your phone time in
private, here in my office?  We have regulations in place for a reason and I’d
have to be present, only to ensure you don’t make any calls that would set you
back.  But if you want…”  
“Really?”  It’s strange, the way everything in him wars between hope and fear. 
His mouth is dry and he feels like his hands are probably trembling, but the
quick beat of his heart is strong enough that he can feel it in his bones.  
“Of course.  But…I have a feeling there’s more than that to your hesitation. 
You don’t seem to me the type of person to wait around when you want something;
you go after it.  As I understand it, that’s what got you where you are now,
taking audition after audition when you were still just a child.  In the
position you’re in, I’d imagine you’ve become quite accustomed to special
accommodations being made for you as a necessity.  You could have asked at any
time if you could make your calls in private, but you didn’t do it.  Maybe
because so long as you could tell yourself that you couldn’t call, you wouldn’t
have to think about what you’d say when you did?”  
He should answer, really, but he’s still working on the whole not bursting into
tears thing.  
“Here, let’s come at this another way.”  Her voice is gentle, coaxing.  He’s
not looking, and he’s almost glad.  She’s great, but he doesn’t really want to
see sympathy right now.  He’s not at all sure he deserves it.  “I’ll arrange
for you to have 20 minutes of phone time this evening, right here.  Who do you
call first?”  
“Nick.”  He doesn’t even have to think, just open his mouth.  It’s a nice
change when the answers are simple.  
“Okay.  You make your call.  Are you afraid he won’t pick up?” 
“No, no that phone’s on him like a tick, especially when we’re not all
together.  He won’t know the number but he’ll see the area code; he’ll know
it’s me, or he’ll hope it’s me or…he’ll pick up.” 
“You sound very sure.” 
“He asked me to call.”  
“He asked, and you’re still afraid to call him?”  
“You don’t understand; it’s not that simple.”
“Then make me.  He asks you to call him, and you put it off.  Do you think he’s
angry?” 
“Oh I know he’s angry, but I don’t think he’s gonna yell or anything.  The
kid’s like a volcano, he simmers for about a hundred years before he loses
it.”  And when he does, you get everything, every last bit of it all thrown so
hard it sticks.  “It’s more that…”  If he can’t say it to her, he’s not sure
how he’ll ever say it to Nick.  Not that he needs to, really, not after
everything that went down last week.  AJ sighs, does his best to square his
shoulders.  Slightly rounded is apparently the best he can do.  “I lied to
him.  A lot.  And on one hand that’s really not special—I’ve been lyin’ to
everybody, but the thing is, most of them started to doubt me.  He never did. 
It’s like how it is with my mom, only worse because I’m her child, her baby;
she puts blinders on and it’s not cause she put me on a pedestal it’s just
cause she knows I do things she doesn’t want to think about, and cause she
doesn’t see me every day.  Nick, he lives with me and he still bought it every
damn time I told him I wasn’t on drugs, pushed back on the others when they
tried to tell him he was wrong.  He wouldn’t hear a word against me.  And then
I have to stand there and tell them I’m comin’ here for alcohol and coke and—“ 
The sob ambush catches him mid-breath, drags him down while he’s knocked off
his feet by the memory of the way Nick had looked at him.  It hurts to breathe,
hurts when he doesn’t.  
“The look on his face it was this…like I’d just pulled the ground out from
under him.  I was his big brother before I was anything else, one of the first
people in his life he’s ever trusted and he just gives me his trust, absolute,
and this is the shit I do with it?”  He’s crying hard, talking too fast.  He’s
a fucking mess.  AJ leans forward, elbows on his knees so he can press his
palms against his eyes.  “ ‘m sorry, fuck, cry every time I think about them
lately I just—“ 
“No, don’t be sorry; crying has a purpose.  Let it happen.”  
It’s good she thinks so, really, because he’s not at all sure how to stop.  
                                    -------
After dinner, he walks in the desert and thinks back to Oakland in March, he
and Nick in a hotel room that looked out over the water.  
He’s fucking around with Kevin’s keyboard set up on a desk in the corner, so
out of touch he actually doesn’t notice the way Nick’s watching him. 
(Remembering, he wonders with more than little disgust how long it’d have taken
him to figure out something was wrong if Nick hadn’t spoken.  He doesn’t want
to know the answer.) 
Nick finally gets up the courage to question him while he’s still watching from
the middle of the room, chin resting on arms crossed over the back of a
chair.  
“AJ?” 
“Hmm?”  
“I ah, I heard Kevin and Brian fighting last night.”  
AJ stops his hands on the keys, though he still doesn’t look up.  “Yeah? 
Seemed okay this morning.” 
“It was about you.”  Nick’s got his attention full on with that.  When AJ looks
up, he can see the fear in Nick’s eyes and it hits him in the chest, dart
sharp.  “Look I know they didn’t want me to hear but I’m not a fucking kid; if
something’s goin’ on I’ve got a right to know.  They say you’re doing drugs,
like hard fucking shit and Brian says he thinks you can work it out but Kevin
says it’s past that and I—“  Nick shoves himself out of the chair, hard enough
to knock it over, his legs nearly tangling in it as he steps around.  “I don’t
know what to think, man, but if it’s true I wanna hear it from you.  Are you?” 
His heart’s pounding, he’s gripping onto the edge of that desk like it’s a
goddamn shield and Nick is looking at him with eyes that say they’ll believe
whatever AJ says, no matter what it is.  AJ doesn’t blink. 
“No.  God, no, of course I’m not.”  
“I mean, you’d tell me, right?  That first time we drank together, you
promised—“ 
“I know, I know; Nicky, I swear.  If I’d done something, I’d tell you.”  He’s
going straight to hell.  In that moment, he’s really fucking sure of it.  Nick
looks down like he’s unsure, maybe like he’s trying to process but either way,
AJ doesn’t give him time.  He gets to his feet quick, goes right to him to
drape his arms around Nick’s waist and pull him close.  “Hey, hey, babe, look
at me.”  He does, of course he does because with them he’s as trusting as a
fucking puppy.  Tomorrow he’s going to have to drink a lot to try and forget
this.  A hell of a lot.  “I’m okay.  Alright?  Promise.”  
Nick nods once, wraps around him so fast he’s mumbling into AJ’s shoulder while
AJ’s still shifting to take his weight.  “Just tell me you won’t, okay?  They
scared the shit out of me; Kevin was sayin’ if we didn’t do something you were
gonna die and—“  His voice breaks, a brittle sound.  Now that he’s really
listening AJ can tell how rough he sounds.  Like he’s been crying, like he’s
hardly slept.  
AJ shushes him, tries to keep his heart from pounding hard enough that Nick’ll
feel it.  “You forget about that, alright?  It‘s just Kevin being Kevin; you
know how he is.  If he’s not worryin’ about one of us he’ll get sick.  It’s a
serious condition.”  Nick’s laugh is weak, but at least it’s there.  “I’m not
goin’ anywhere, okay?  Don’t you worry about me.  I won’t touch that shit.”  
Four months past that afternoon he looks back on it all through different
eyes.  At the time, he felt sick and told himself he had to do it anyway.  Now,
he sees his excuses for what they were.  He lied, and he coaxed Nick into bed
with him to keep him distracted, keep him trusting.  That night after the show
he pulled Nick back to the room with him, and they drank whiskey from the same
bottle and danced and he made Nick come so hard grinding up against the wall
that he was pretty sure Brian heard them from the other side.  
Once Nick was asleep, he got out of bed and did three lines in the bathroom.  
The second time he overdosed, when he could feel Kevin pulling at him like he
was underwater and out of reach, there was a moment in the haze he remembered
Oakland, the feel of Nick’s breath against his shoulder as he tried his best
not to cry.  He remembered, and it spurred the fleeting thought that if he dies
he hopes there’s nothing after, no way for him to see the look on Nick’s face
when they tell him.  
He walks two miles with Nick and Oakland and overdoses spinning around and
around in his head.  When he finishes the trail he’s got about a half hour
before his phone call.  The phone card he bought weighs his pocket down like a
rock and he’s no closer to knowing what to say than he was when he started, but
he feels a little tired from something other than being sick or running out of
blow, and that’s not nothing.  
                                    -------
The phone rings three times but the wait feels interminable.  AJ leans on the
edge of the desk, wraps the cord around his fingers until it hurts.  He can’t
remember the last time he made a call on a phone that wasn’t his cell or one of
the boys and the difference is strange, unnatural but a bit of a welcome
distraction.  At least there’s something to do with his hands.  
“Hello?”  Jesus, he’s a wreck.  Just the sound of Nick’s voice has him choked
up.  
He tries to hide it behind a breath of laughter, strained and faint.  “Hey,
Nicky.”  
“Holy—“  There’s a scuffling sound, and AJ closes his eyes to see Nick better,
the way he’s probably juggling the phone against his shoulder as he sits up
straight in a chair he was probably draped across sideways.  “Guys, it’s AJ!” 
He yells with his mouth too close to the phone; he fucking alwaysdoes.  AJ only
presses the handset closer to his ear.  “It’s been fuckin’ days, man, Brian
wanted to call to check on you but Howie said maybe you just couldn’t call yet
but I fuckin’ asked, I told them—“ 
“And you’re right; you’re right about that but it’s not—“  AJ shifts against
the desk, glances up at the cracked door that leads to Dr. Coleman’s inner
office.  She told him she’s only here to monitor that he’s not talking deals
over the phone, and he believes that.  He’s just as sure, though, that it’s
pretty damn impossible not to pick up most of a conversation in a quiet room,
and she’s his freakin’ therapist.  If she’s even half assed paying attention,
he’ll probably give her enough food for thought for a week and a half off a
single phone call.  “I didn’t want to call till it was just you and me.  The
phones everybody else uses, there’s people everywhere and I just couldn’t…I
don’t think I’m up to the whole bandmates and brothers thing right now, you
know?  I mean keeping it up talking about you guys is one thing but—“ 
“Yeah, no I got it.  I got it.  It’s okay, Bone.”  There’s so much affection in
that one word it makes him shiver, his throat gone tight.  The silence after is
more comfortable than he expected any moment of this entire call to be, enough
that he can feel a rising spark of defiant hope.  Nick’s pissed, and he should
be, but AJ can’t feel any trace of the walls he half expected to have already
been thrown up against him.  So long as Nick doesn’t shut him out, they can fix
anything.  
“Yeah?  We’re okay?”  It’s only after he says it that AJ feels the full weight
of all those words could mean, trailing behind on his tongue.  “I mean I know— 
I know we’ve got a lot to talk about when I get outta here and I know I fucked
up, I know that, and we can talk about—  Fuck I just mean…”  Every time he
trips over himself he expects Nick to interrupt, come in louder and faster and
tell him that everything else between them, that’s all gonna be okay too.  It’s
pretty damn ludicrous for him to be hurt when he doesn’t, but he can’t really
do shit about the way he feels.  “I didn’t mean for everything to go down like
it did.  I was—“  I was gonna tell you, that’s what he means to say, but it’s
another lie and he just can’t get it out.  “I should’ve told you.  You
shouldn’t have had to find out like that.” 
“Damn right about that.”  He means it, that much is clear, but there’s no real
malice there.  Nick breathes deep, and there’s another rasp of fabric like he’s
settling back into his chair again.  “I mean, I feel like if you coulda gotten
away with it you wouldn’t have told me at all.  Said you were taking a fuckin’
trip or something.”  
“That’s not true.”  It’s not, it’s actually not, but his voice cracks and he’s
not sure Nick’ll believe him.  He hasn’t exactly given him ample reason to,
after all.  “Look, I know I can’t fix it; I know that.  I mean, at least I
can’t change it, and I know it’s too much to talk about right now; all I’m
asking is…”  Too much, maybe.  Shit, he’s so fucking bad at this; he hasn’t
even said he’s sorry.  “Shit, I’m so fucking sorry; I mean it.  I shouldn’t be
asking you anything; I can wait as long as you need, just…just tell me if—“ 
“You did that ass backwards, you know that, right?  Most people apologize
first.”  There’s something in his voice that’s so fucking fond it hurts, digs
into AJ’s heart like a thousand little hooks.  
“You want me to try again?”  His voice is thick, heavy in a way he knows Nick
has to hear.  If he can’t believe the words, that much just might carry.  
“I didn’t say I minded ass backwards.”  AJ chokes on the laugh that bubbles
from his throat, wraps his arm a little tighter around his stomach.  “And
you’re wrong about that middle part, some of it at least.  Ain’t nothing we
can’t fix.  So goin’ back to what should have been at the end—“  Nick talks too
fast but not like he’s rushing, not like it’s not real.  “—we’re okay.  I mean
this shit is big, I won’t say it’s not, but so long as you want to fix it—“ 
“I do.” 
“—then we can fix it.  I just want you to be okay.  ‘s all I really want.”  His
voice goes soft, wounded and a little scared.  It’s a sound AJ’s known since he
was 14, one that makes the distance hurt.  At this point, usually he throws his
arm around Nick’s neck and pulls him in all rough and playful until he laughs.
  
AJ picks up the phone base and carries it with him to rest on the floor beneath
the closest window.  It’s no proper window seat but he’s small and the space is
just wide enough to fold himself into, scrunched up against glass with phone
cord trailing over his knees.  “I’ll be okay.  I’m workin’ on it.  Getting back
to you and the fellas, that’s all I want too.”  More than anything, more than
he realized until he was lying on his hotel room floor hearing Kevin’s fists
connect against a door he wasn’t sure he wanted to hold.  It’s a terrible
feeling to realize what you want most is exactly what you used to have.  AJ
swallows hard, presses on before Nick asks him any questions.  “So you guys are
in town now, right?”  It’s stupid, maybe, but it’s comforting to think of them
in the same time zone, the same city.  He’s not used to more distance between
them than a few walls; even when they split up and divide across the country to
houses they keep separate because they have to no one’s ever completely alone,
not unless they want to be.  AJ can get enough alone time in a few hours, a day
or two at most.  
“Yeah we’re here; your mom found us a place not too far out.  Didn’t wanna have
to go far when we come see you on Tuesday.”  
He can hear Nick’s smile and it makes his stomach jump, his knees curl in a
little tighter as he leans into the glass.  He’s really, really not used to
this.  “Yeah, can’t wait for that.  How’s our boys?“  He has to ask while he
can, while he has momentum.  The answer’s going to hurt either way, but maybe
now he’ll at least get it over with quick.  
“Hey, hold on a sec, okay?”  
AJ nods though Nick can’t see him, holds his breath and listens to muffled
words he can’t place and the sound of a closing door.  He didn’t really expect
the answer to be good, but knowing Nick’s gone outside to give it makes him
wish he was outside too.  Or that this window cracked.  Fuck, he needs a
cigarette.  
“You’ve gotta call Kevin.” 
And here he thought he was done with nausea.  “I’m pretty sure that’s the last
thing I need to do.” 
“No, I’m serious; AJ, he’s fucked up.”  He is serious; that much is true. 
Serious, and talking low like even out wherever the fuck he’s gone someone
might be listening.  “He hardly spoke to us for like three days;  he’s goin’
off by himself all the time, he looks like he’s been cryin’ but we never see
it, he’s sleepin’ alone, I mean not that I care too much because he’s an ass
when he’s here but—“ 
“Whoa, hey, hey, you don’t mean that.” 
“The fuck I don’t!”  AJ pinches the bridge of his nose, tries not to flinch
away from Nick’s sudden yelling.  He wonders what the statistics would be on
how often yelling’s involved when there’s two or more of them talking these
last few months—wonders, and dismisses it.  He feels queasy enough without
picturing a goddamn pie chart.  “I mean you need us right now, we’re supposed
to fuckin’…pull together or whatever and he’s bein’ a dick to you, bein’ a dick
to us and I’m not gonna fuckin’ put up with it; I told him I was pissed he
didn’t get off his ass when you left—“ 
“Nick—“ 
“Don’t ‘Nick’ me; that was bullshit!”  There’s a tiny, tiny part of him that’s
comforted by Nick’s rage.  He should probably feel worse about that than he
does but hey, he’s got time.  He’ll probably fit all that guilt in later, when
he’s not sleeping.  “I mean we’re supposed to be a family; we take care of each
other, nothin’ like how I grew up, he promised, he’s said it to me a hundred
fucking times and he turns around and pulls this shit?  Cause I can see dad
doin’ this, straight up.” 
It’s like swallowing ice and steel, like this weight of radiating cold in the
pit of his stomach.  The chill radiates out, leaves his fingers numb.  “You
didn’t say that to Kevin.”  He hears Nick’s breath and nothing else, harsh and
quick.  He’s either more pissed than AJ thought, or he’s crying.  More than
likely, it’s both.  “Nick, please tell me you didn’t fuckin’ say that shit to
Kevin.”  
“I was pissed.” 
“Jesus Christ, Nick—“ 
“He deserved it!  You think I’m gonna watch him kick you while you’re down and
not say a goddamn thing?  What the hell kind of boyfriend would I be?  And I
mean if he gives up on you who’s to say—“  He wavers, and AJ hears a sound that
could be something hitting a metal railing.  He really hopes it’s the hand
that’s not already broken.  “—I mean how can we trust him?  If I give him too
much trouble, is he just gonna give up on me too?”  
Right there it is, fear that’s wrapped up in all the rest so thick he’s not
even sure how well Nick sees it.  He absolutely cares about the way Kevin
treated AJ; of course he does.  Nick’s rash and loyal and he does everything a
thousand miles an hour so all that anger he’s got over what Kevin’s doing now,
that’s undoubtedly real, but it’s also opened a few old doors.  Nick knows all
too well what it’s like when families fall apart, when people hurt each other
because they want to.  He knows, and now the place he’d thought was safe from
all that shit doesn’t seem so safe anymore.  Without speaking to them he’s not
sure if Brian and Howie have that particular full picture yet, but at the
moment he feels like he really should have put it together sooner.  
“Sweetheart, listen to me; I need you to listen.”  He doesn’t answer, but he
doesn’t keep yelling or bitch that AJ’s babying him either.  AJ takes it as
encouragement.  “Kevin loves you, and right now—“ 
“He loves you too!  I know he does; he’s a fuckin’ mess and I don’t know why he
won’t—“ 
“Because things with me and Kevin are complicated!  The shit I’ve done to
him—“ 
“You’ve done shit to me too; I ain’t about to walk out on you over it!”  
“And I’m really fucking grateful for that; I am, but it’s different with him,
okay?  You just gotta trust me on that.  He’s known what was up with me longer
than any of you; he’s been through shit you don’t even know about and on top of
that there’s stuff between the two of us that…I mean you know about that, man. 
It’s different.  He trusted me, and I don’t know if…I can’t blame him if he
doesn’t want to give that back.”  He won’t blame him, but he’s not sure he’ll
recover, either.  That part he’ll keep to himself.  “Just let me handle me and
Kevin when I get home.  If you really want to help me out, you make sure he’s
okay.” 
“He isn’t.” 
“I know, Nick, but if you’d just stop giving him a hard time—“ 
“If he’d stop—“ 
“No, don’t wait for him to do anything.  You love him and you’re fuckin’
worried about him or you wouldn’t have gone outside and told me to call him.” 
He knows he’s right, he knows, but Nick’s huff is still satisfying.  “Right. 
So when we get off the phone you wait till you calm down then go find him and
tell him you’re sorry—and don’t you say ‘for what’ cause you know damn well he
didn’t fucking deserve what you threw at him.”  
“Don’t I need to be sorry first?” 
“You are; you’re just too damn stubborn to admit it.” 
Nick laughs and it’s far from a happy sound, but AJ’s fingers unclench a little
on the handset all the same.  “I miss you.”  
“I miss you too.”  He feels like his veins are in knots, his skin crawling.  If
Nick was here, they’d be wrapping around each other right now, his arm around
Nick’s waist, sliding under his shirt more for the warmth than the skin. 
“C’mon, talk to me about somethin’ else; anything else.” 
“You sure you don’t want me to go get the guys?  I mean Brian and Howie—“ 
“I love Brian and Howie, but I called you and I’m not done with you yet.  We
got 20 minutes and I think we already burned through a good bit of that, so
let’s go, gimme some normal.”
This time, his laughter sounds better, more Nick-like.  “Dude, that makes it
sound like I’m your prison phone call.” 
“Under no circumstances would you be my prison phone call; you’d be too busy
laughing your ass off to come pick me up.” 
“Shit, I’d probably be in there with you.” 
“Fair point.  Alright, you’re in with me so we call Howie.  No sad Brian eyes,
no…Kevin judging.”  It’s too soon to mention Kevin, far too soon, but it’d hurt
more to leave him out.  Still, he’s quick to change the subject.  “Hey, I got
something half normal; you wanna do me a favor?” 
“Yeah, anything.  What do you need?”  
“Fingernail polish.  Mine’s almost gone and I couldn’t bring any in but I think
they’ll let you bring me a bottle or two.” 
“What color?” 
“I don’t know; surprise me.” 
***** Chapter 3 *****
If he asked Kevin when things first changed between them years ago, he knows
the answer Kevin would give wouldn’t match his.  Not that he can ask Kevin
anything right now, but it’s the kind of realization brought on by having way
too much time to think about things he’d rather not think about.  Kevin tends
to top that list.  
He knows just what Kevin would say and he wouldn’t exactly be wrong, but AJ
carries secrets around like coins in his pocket, remembers days Kevin’s
probably forgotten because at the time they didn’t seem all that important.  It
was in the later days of Europe, on a bus that still seemed an unbelievable
mark of status.  He can’t remember now what exactly brought the anxiety on but
he remembers pacing, remembers the feel of restlessness needling under his skin
right up until Kevin reached out to snag his wrist and pull him down into his
lap. 
He’d said will you stop; you’re driving me nuts but there was no real anger
there, just worry hidden under a thin veneer of irritation they’d all learned
to see through long ago.  For about half a second AJ had thought that he should
get up and out of the way but then Kevin’s hand was on the back of his neck and
AJ found himself melting into it.  It wasn’t much, just a light hold at the
nape of his neck and the drape of Kevin’s right arm around his waist, holding
him loosely in his lap like he belonged there.  At the time he couldn’t quite
articulate why he felt better, only knew that Kevin had done what he always had
far less luck doing on his own and snapped him far enough out of his nervous
energy to relax and let it go. 
He didn’t quite know how to say that, so he said nothing.  That night, he
slipped into bed with Kevin and curled up so tight against him Kevin could feel
his relief, taste it as he kissed him before Kevin asked what was wrong.  AJ
said nothing now when he should have said thank you, and it was months and
hundreds of miles before it came up again.  
The time he knows Kevin remembers, that was Stockholm, after a long show and a
longer drive.  He’d been a little off for days, a little too quiet though if
the guys had asked(and they had) he wouldn’t have been able to place exactly
why even for himself.  He was sharing with Kevin that night, or at least he’d
planned to but he almost left after they got in a stupid fight over AJ’s
missing CD player.  He can’t remember half of what they said before he got up
to leave, but everything after is crystal clear, courtesy of a thousand
repetitions.  
Kevin grabs his wrist right before he hits the door, yanks him back close. 
Kevin’s strong and AJ’s thrown off balance, not quite pissed enough to shake
him off.  He lets himself be maneuvered, though he’s still stubbornly staring
at the handle on the door like he’s ready to grab it the second Kevin lets go. 
Maybe he would have and maybe he wouldn’t; there’s no telling because Kevin
doesn’t like being ignored.  
He snaps out a “For God’s sake will you look at me?”, though he doesn’t really
give AJ any time at all to decide to do anything of the sort.  His hand fits to
AJ’s throat, just under his chin and what’s amazing, really, isn’t the force
behind the gesture but the lack of it.  He could make AJ face him, shift his
grip up to take his chin and turn it wherever he wants but this, it’s hardly
restraint at all.  It’s nothing but light pressure, like he hopes just the act
of holding on will be enough to get him what he wants. 
He’s not wrong, but that’s sure as hell not all it does.  
AJ’s a confused jumble, all over the fucking map because Kevin’s hand is
fucking enormous and it’s warm and without any real effort it’s just about
covering his entire goddamn throat and he feels like his knees are about to
give out.  He’s hot and cold, dizzy.  He shivers and realizes he’s getting hard
and he’s not sure when it happened.  
Kevin knows none of it but the shiver, feels it under his hands and strokes his
thumb gently against the side of AJ’s neck.  “Alex?” 
Shit fuck that only makes it worse.  His breath catches and he reaches out,
clings to Kevin’s shirt to draw him closer.  “Yeah I’m—‘s stupid, sorry I’m—“ 
He keeps tripping, can’t finish anything because he’s given in and looked up at
Kevin and all he can see is green eyes and worry and love and all the anger
that seemed so all encompassing a minute ago is fraying away. 
“I didn’t want you to leave like that, but if—“ 
“No, I’m— Kevin just…”  He’s horribly inarticulate, gives up and pulls at
Kevin’s collar in way that can’t be mistaken.  Kevin lets him, and then they’re
kissing.  Kevin’s hand’s still at his throat and AJ’s moaning, utterly
uncontrolled, little hungry needy sounds that have Kevin pressing against him
in record time.  He only breaks it off when Kevin’s hand starts to shift, AJ’s
hand scrabbling to keep his arm from dropping.  “Don’t, please, can you—“ 
God love him, Kevin’s quick on the uptake.  Something flashes in his eyes and
he shudders, slides his hand back up from his chest.  He squeezes gently as his
palm settles, bites down light at AJ’s lip when AJ moans like he’s falling
apart.  “Right there; you like that?”  It’s in his roughest voice, deep and low
and a little jagged like he’s so fucking turned on it’s making him crack around
the edges.  
AJ arches, whines when the movement adds just a little pressure.  “Yeah, fuck
yeah; don’t stop.”  
He doesn’t.  That first time he holds on oh so light and careful, enough that
they both feel it but not enough to change anything about the cadence of AJ’s
breath, ragged and deep.  It doesn’t matter; it’s enough.  It’s all shockingly
new, so overwhelming AJ comes faster than he has in ages, riding Kevin’s thigh
with both their pairs of sweatpants still in place.  It’s so intense he has to
cling to Kevin to keep to his feet as he comes down, trembles with a fresh wave
of heat when Kevin follows him over the edge and groans his name against AJ’s
ear.  
They’re strangely quiet after, at least at first, though the silence isn’t
uncomfortable.  They shower again though they already had after the show, kiss
slow and easy for a while under water so hot AJ can feel his skin turning
pink.  It’s only when they’re back in bed where this all started that AJ
realizes how much lighter he feels, how the tension he’d been carrying at the
base of his neck feels almost gone.  Not to mention, any separation from Kevin
feels like too much; he can’t press close enough to him.  Kevin doesn’t seem to
mind.  
He tucks AJ in tight against him, kisses his hair, the corner of his eye, the
slope of his cheek.  
“We’re gonna have to talk about this, Bone.” 
He knows, he does, but he’s warm and he feels good and he can tell that Kevin
does too.  Hell, if he was radiating any more contentment out of his chest he’d
be a damn purring cat.  Right then, AJ doesn’t want to analyze any of it; he
just wants to enjoy it.  He buries his face against Kevin’s chest, wraps his
arm an inch or two tighter around his waist.  “Tomorrow.” 
He feels Kevin’s laugh, deep and rich.  “Alright.  Tomorrow.”  He sighs,
nuzzles gently against AJ’s shoulder.  His strip of beard is scratchy, and
still AJ leans into it.  “You know how much I love you?”  
At the time, in this memory he’s relived more times than he could ever be sure
of, AJ says “Yeah, I think I do.”  He kisses Kevin’s chest, murmurs his own I
love you.  I’m sorry I was an ass. and shushes Kevin when he tries to keep
talking.  They fall asleep smiling and wake up smiling and it’s the start of
something new inside something already amazing and usually it’s not the sort of
memory that makes his chest feel like it’s cracking open. 
Lying in bed alone AJ rolls over so that the wall is against his back because
it’s the only way he ever falls asleep in this place with any measure of ease. 
It doesn’t feel anything like a person, nothing at all like any of his boys,
but it’s a step above blank space.  He leans into it, zeroes his mind in on the
end of his memory, Kevin’s do you know how much I love you? looped over and
over until he wishes he could shut himself up.  
It’s stupid, it’s so goddamn stupid because his chest is tight and he’s so
fucking anxious it hurts and all he wants is for Kevin to swoop in and take the
weight off his shoulders for a little while, only this time the weight is Kevin
himself.  Even if he were here, he’d be just as likely to walk out the damn
door as he would be to get in bed with him and— 
Hell, he’s only kidding himself.  There’s no ‘just as likely’ about it.  He’d
walk out; he made that clear enough when he wouldn’t even look up to tell him
goodbye.  There’s part of him now that wishes he’d followed through on the
crazy impulse he’d had to say will you just look at me?, though he’s mostly
glad he didn’t.  He’s not sure he wants to know how the reference would have
hit him, if he’d have noticed, if he’d have looked up or flinched or kept his
cool and turned a page in his book.  
Do you know how much I love you? 
No, he doesn’t.  He doesn’t have a goddamn clue, all he’s got are a thousand
memories good and bad and a shirt that doesn’t smell like Kevin no matter how
hard he keeps trying to imagine it does.  He doesn’t know, but if he could ask
a question of his own right now, it’d be this— 
Enough to forgive me for fucking us up?  For everything I did to you? 
When he tries to imagine how that might go, the Kevin in his head is silent.  
                                    -------
The morning of his first day of visitation rights, he doesn’t eat a damn
thing.  He can’t, he’s too high strung, but he tries to make it look like he’s
nibbled at his cinnamon roll, rips it up into tiny pieces just about right for
JD’s little mouth.  He makes it through group therapy, kills an hour wandering
the halls before he shows up ten minutes early to the room Dr. Coleman told him
he’d get to see his visitors in.  
Assuming he has visitors, that is.  (Not that he really doubts they’ll show up,
but, well…fuck, he can’t help but worry, even if it’s stupid, even if he knows
it’s stupid.  He’s put them all through a lot of crap.  He wouldn’t exactly
blame them if they needed to be away from him for a while.)  
He’s already picked the last of his nail polish off and he catches himself
doing the next best thing, tugging on the skin around the edge of his nails
like he’ll feel better if he rips it off.  He won’t, he knows, and if Howie
sees he’ll make a face and rub his fingers but he can handle that.  Given the
circumstances, he’ll cling to all the familiarity he can get, even if some of
it is Howie’s well-meaning disapproval.  
Dr. Coleman’s smiling when she opens the door.  His heart feels like it’s
kicking against his ribs, so hard and fast it’s distracting.  She’s looking at
him with enough question in her eyes that he realizes she’s already spoken and
he missed it.  Shit.  
AJ coughs, rubs his hands together.  “Sorry, what?” 
He has to give it to her, she’s patient.  She doesn’t even look irritated for a
second.  “They’ve been waiting to see you all morning.  You can come on in
now.”  
They switch places, AJ stepping through the doorway and her stepping out of
it.  As the door shuts behind him, he holds his breath, looks up and notices
three things at once—Nick is pacing, Howie’s got his arm around Brian’s
shoulder on the couch, and other than them the room is empty.  Kevin’s not
here.  
He tried so goddamn hard to prepare himself for this likely eventuality that he
can’t say he’s surprised, not in the truest since of the word, but he feels
weak anyway, out of breath like he’s been punched in the lungs.  He hates it,
hates that he feels so shaken when he should have known, dammit, and this is a
good moment because the rest of them are here, the only chance he’ll get to see
them all week.  He can’t waste it being upset when he knew—shit, he already
knew.  
He’s so lost in catching his breath and berating himself that Nick’s hug shocks
him, sudden and tight.  Nick’s hugs are all encompassing, heavy and sometimes a
little suffocating but right now it’s such a fucking relief AJ lets out a
slightly stilted laugh.  
Nick nuzzles into his neck, breath hot against his skin.  “I fuckin’ missed
you.”  
AJ latches on, clinging to Nick every bit as hard as he’s gripping AJ’s back. 
“Fucking missed you, too.”  With the pressure of Nick against him he’s starting
to feel stronger, a little less like his knees might give out on him.  The
increased stability is nice, but before he can even think of pulling back
they’re being surrounded, Howie’s hand on his shoulder and his mouth on AJ’s
cheek, Brian’s arm tucking beneath Nick’s around his waist.  
It’s almost perfect, would be perfect but his back feels cold in a way that’s
jarring, an off key reminder of exactly where Kevin isn’t.  
                                    -------
Before he ever checked into this place, one thing AJ looked into was whether or
not they let their patients smoke.  That one was a must for him; he’s given up
two vices, it’s not too much to ask that he be allowed to hold onto the one
that hurts him the least.  He can do that here but there’s less time for it, so
he tends to save his cigarettes for when he really needs them, times he feels
too antsy in his own skin or celebratory, like he’s just made progress.  
Feeling like Kevin’s just walked away from him all over again is more of a four
cigarette situation, even with his rationing.  Without, it’d probably be closer
to half a pack. 
He settles into the ledge of the terrace overlooking the pool, leans back
against the building and fumbles for his lighter.  Down below, there’s a group
gathering for a sunset swim.  Water polo or basketball or some shit, by the
looks of it.  He lights up, pulls hard on his first drag and leans into the
railing.  Out past the outbuildings and trails, the desert’s painted orange and
red, glorious in its fire.  Brian would have something to say about that.  
About Kevin, none of them had had much to say.  Almost nothing in fact, like
they feared the mention of him might make something crack.  It was only right
before they had to leave that Howie had broken that, held AJ’s hand between his
and spoke softly as he said He’s worried sick about you.  AJ, he’s miserable. 
I’m not…I’m not making excuses for him not being here.  There, he’d shot Nick a
look that told AJ this was a fight they’d had on the way out here, possibly
more than once.  All I’m saying is, you don’t fall to pieces like that over
someone you don’t care about.  I think we all just need to give him time. 
Nick’s anger was clearly too fresh; no matter how quickly he banished it to
change the subject AJ had glimpsed it on his face.  Dark and irritable,
fresher, perhaps, because he had taken AJ’s advice and been working to patch
things up with Kevin.  Out of the four of them, he’d probably been the only one
who genuinely believed Kevin’d be there.  
On that particular topic, Brian had been harder to read.  He’d stayed quiet,
gone along willingly when Nick steered the conversation away.  There was only a
slight shake of his head, something a little worryingly grim about the set of
his mouth when Howie said Kevin’s name.  He was pissed or worried, maybe both. 
It was over too quick for AJ to be sure, hidden with a smile and welcome warmth
as Brian leaned into his side, arm draping around his shoulders.  
It was easier to postpone dealing with it himself, too, so long as they were
there.  Now, they’re gone and he’s feeling their absence on top of Kevin’s,
like a scraped out wound.  He tilts his head back, breathes out and watches
smoke curl up past the silhouette of the building, toward the clouds.  Shit,
what the fuck had he really expected?  That Kevin would come and sit in the
corner?  Come, and pretend nothing ever happened?  He’s not the type; he never
has been.  Nick, he can scream that he can’t stand to fucking look at you one
minute and be crawling into your bed the next.  He throws words around more for
affect than out of honest intent and that’s okay; it’s Nick.  They’re all used
to it, but Kevin, he’s never said anything to any of them like he did to AJ in
Boston.  
I gave you a thousand chances; I’ve fucking been right here!  All you’ve done
is prove you can’t meet me halfway; you can’t meet me fucking anywhere so we’re
done!  You hear me, Alex?  You’re dead to me; we’re done. 
The cigarette slips out of his fingers, tumbles over the railing and mars the
metal with a brush of ash.  He swears under his breath, looks over to see that
it’s landed on the sidewalk and lights another.  He’s worked so hard to keep
that afternoon out of his head but it’s not done too much good.  He’s had
nightmares about it, felt it creeping around the edges of his mind while he
walks the trails, slightly hidden but never fully banished.  So long as they’ve
known him Kevin’s never talked like that to anyone, but there’s a first time
for everything.  He can’t do a damn thing now but wait it out.  Either he
reached a level of pissed that bears resemblance to Nick’s blind rage only a
longer time scale or he… 
Or. 
AJ breathes in too sharp, coughs and muffles it against the back of his hand. 
Just a month ago, he told Kevin he wants to get tattoos there, some sort of
corresponding set.  Kevin smiled, traced the fine bones in the top of his hand
with long fingers and murmured that if he did, he wanted to go with him.  He’d
heard hands hurt, but he could distract him.  He could make it easier.  
He lost his father once because he didn’t love hard enough, his grandmother
because she couldn’t stay.  It’s strange to face the prospect of loss because
he’s loved too much rather than not enough.  Out of all this mess he’s not sure
what hurts the most, but that’s a contender, no doubt.  The lingering question
of whether the proper verb tense should be was loved too much rather than is is
too much to contemplate.  He feels miserable enough already.  
He’s humming, low and a little strained, though he’s not sure when he started. 
It makes him smile, reminds him of the time his grandmother told him that cats
purr sometimes not because they’re happy but because they need to be soothed
and the sound is comforting, like a child whistling walking home after dark. 
Music is balm, the oldest medicine he knows.  
The tune is familiar, unplanned but perfect and he can’t resist singing a few
bars, though he cuts off soon to go back to his cigarette.  It’s hard to say
which he needs more.  
“I didn’t expect to hear Rent here.”  AJ blinks, turns to see a girl on a bench
to his left.  When he came out here everything was empty, but he hasn’t exactly
been paying attention.  She shrugs quick as soon as his eyes fall on her.  “I
just…Goodbye Love, right?  It’s just, not everyone knows—Though I guess I
shouldn’t be surprised you would but—“  She’s talking too fast, like she feels
guilty for speaking up at all.  
AJ sits up a little straighter.  “It’s a great show; deserves a hell of a lot
more attention than it gets.”  
Her smile is relieved.  “Yeah.  Yeah, it does.”  She gestures towards the
balcony, and his eyes catch first on her cigarette, second on the track marks
lining the inside of her arm.  “I didn’t want to bother you, but if you want
some company…” 
“Yeah, no, please, come on over here.”  He’ll be alone with his own thoughts
the rest of the goddamn night; he hadn’t intended to seek it out but a little
distraction might be exactly what he needs.  
She sits down with her back to the railing, leans against it with her elbows
hooked over the edges.  “I just figured, anyone who looks that miserable after
we get visitation doesn’t need to be sitting up here alone.  Usually, the hard
day’s tomorrow when everyone realizes they’ve got another week to go before
they see anyone outside of here again.”  
“You sound like you’ve got this down.” 
“I should; it’s my third time.  90 days this go around.”  A hard thing to admit
he’s sure, but she’s smiling even if it does look a little pained.  “I’m
Cori.” 
“Pleasure to meet you, Cori.  I’m—“ 
“An absolute mystery, though after that performance I feel like I should call
you Mimi.”  
God, it’s nice to actually laugh; he’s been so short on it lately the feeling’s
almost alien.  With the exception of Dr. Coleman everyone around this place has
been so careful with him, so distant.  It’s not that he’s not grateful for the
privacy, fuck, is heever, but he’s a social creature even at the worst of
times.  Lately, the most social interaction he’s gotten has been with group
members who he can tell tread gently.  This is easier.  
                                    -------
[from the notebook, fifth page]
Hey D  
So this isn’t a song.  I don’t know; it’s not like I’ve never written without
you guys before.  I have and I will but right now, the only music that’s coming
to me isn’t new so I’m not gonna push.  It’s not quite a letter either and I
don’t know if you’ll ever get it, but I think I’ll feel better if I write it
down.  Hell, maybe.  Let’s see, huh?  
We had this group session this afternoon, all of us talking about memories
we’ve got now because of our addictions that we wish we didn’t.  God knows I’ve
got more than enough of those, but the whole thing got me thinking too about
the other side of the coin, all the memories I should have with you guys that I
don’t.  I gave up all this shit I can’t get back for something that wasn’t
worth it, and I’ll be living with that for the rest of my life.   
I think I’ve known that a long time, I just haven’t wanted to face it.  Easier
to keep drowning it, right?  While I’m doing that, I miss something else, fuck
something else up and I tell myself I’ll turn it all around, I’ll make up it up
to you the next but the next day I feel like shit so hey, perfect excuse to put
it out of my head because I tell myself I stop thinking about it I’ll do
better; I’ll be better.   
There’s nothing better about me when I’m fucked up, but you’ve known that this
whole time, haven’t you?  
I’m thinking about Mexico, that day off when I promised you we’d go be tourists
together and I slept all day, showed up looking for you sometime right before
sundown.  I was freaked, more scared you’d be pissed than I wanted to admit but
you just kept pulling away from me, hardly saying a word until I snapped and
you said, “I’m not pissed, but there’s no point talking to you about it.  I
just want my best friend back.  I don’t know who this guy is.”   
I deserved that.  I can’t say it didn’t hurt like all hell, but I deserved it,
cause I mean that’s the whole point you were trying to make that I didn’t get. 
I was so scared you’d be angry, I wasn’t even letting myself think about the
worst part.  I hurt you, I know that, and it’d be bad enough if that was the
only time but I know it isn’t.  Fuck, I know it happened more than I even
remember, and that kills me.  Shit, it’s paralyzing because how do I fix that? 
I knew what I was doing, on some level I can’t deny that.  I put a bottle of
Jack over you and that’s a blunt truth I can’t take back.   
Fuck, I miss you so much.  I want to go see those pyramids with you, touch
stone that’s thousands of years old and press our palms so hard against I can
still feel the grit of it when we stop.  I want to walk in the jungle with you
and laugh at how fucking hopeless we both are because if the bugs out there are
half as big as Nick swears they are, we’d be screwed if we found one.  I want
to do all that shit you wanted, feed the wild parrots out of my hand even if
they break my fingers.  I just want to make you smile; baby, I just want to
make you happy.  I want you to know how happy I am when I’m with you.  I want
to have that chance all over again, spend the day with you and take you back to
the hotel a little early cause I spent too many hours not kissing you and
believe me, that’s hard to do.   
I could’ve done all that, could’ve pulled you back into that room, pushed you
up against the door and sucked you off and it’d probably still be earlier then
when I came to your door, trying to convince you to come drink with me like I
hadn’t let you down.  
I’ve fucking wasted so much time.   
God, Howie, I miss you.  Just saw you yesterday and it wasn’t enough.  I know
that’s selfish; at least, it feels selfish.  I just want you guys back.  I want
to go home, but I know I’m figuring shit out here and that’s good, that’s what
I have to do, it just sucks having to do it away from you.   
I love you so much.  I’ll call you tomorrow, sweetheart.   
***** Chapter 4 *****
Nick tried to tell him once that there are rules for knowing when you’re
dreaming.  He read an article about it, recited bits of it to AJ while hanging
his head backwards out of his bunk and eating a sucker.  You check your hands
to see if you have the same amount of fingers, pick up a book and read a page
then look up before you try again.  If you’re dreaming, the second time the
words will blur and shift, or so they claimed.  At the bottom of the list, they
suggested that you should try and levitate; if you can, you’re obviously
dreaming.
 
Nick laughed hysterically over that one, leaned further out of his bunk and
said that maybe he should test it by trying to hover down to the floor.  Kevin
grabbed the collar of his shirt and hauled more of him back into his bunk just
to be safe. 
 
AJ’s never been sure how true any of those rules are; he’s not lucid in enough
of his dreams to form a fair assessment.  Here and there though he’ll hit on
moments he realizes he’s dreaming, everything him either too weird or maybe too
familiar to be anything else. 
 
This video shoot, it’s too familiar; he knows he’s done it before.  They almost
never get the chance to properly choose their own wardrobe for video shoots,
but jewelry is usually left up to them.  Brian, he wears his cross and AJ’s got
about a million rings and bracelets and shit he cycles around, but for this
shoot there’s only really one detail he cares about.  Fuck, it’s all so real,
the familiar press of leather against his neck, the way it looks when he
glances up into a mirror that reflects an image that’s just a little off. 
 
His tattoos aren’t right; they’re ill-defined at the edges, out of focus and
semi out of place.  The drama mask is too big.  Maybe that’s his key, his way
to be sure what’s happening around him can’t be real.  He should tell Nick, if
he remembers when he wakes up.  Behind all the laughter and the fake
levitation, he knows why Nick was reading that article.  He has more nightmares
than any of them; he always has. 
 
AJ presses his fingers to the choker at his neck, shifts it until it’s settled
just right, the little fine chain hanging down from the middle.  Everything
blurs and then he’s not standing in makeup anymore, he’s outside a brick
building and there are people setting up cameras and Kevin’s pulling him around
the corner, tracing the line of leather around his neck with a stroke of his
thumb so soft and careful it burns. 
 
“Are you alright?  I know we’ve got a long day today but I think—“
 
It’s so fucking strange, the way he’s trapped in this weird limbo between
present and past, part of him watching the replay with his ribs cracking open,
the rest draping his arms around Kevin’s neck and speaking the same words he
did when it really happened.  “Don’t worry about it; I’m okay.  I wore it for
you.”
 
The look on Kevin’s face is one he remembers but everything changes—they’re
kissing now and he knows this didn’t happen, he knows because he wanted it to
but they couldn’t, not on a shoot in front of all those people.  It’s intensely
bizarre, like living through a partially rewritten blurry reenactment. 
He murmurs his next lines between kisses, a little breathless.  “I know today’s
gonna be hard for you; I thought it might help a little.”  He did, and he was
right, and at the time that was an important thing to talk about.  Right now,
though, he’s dreaming, and the part of him that knows it is so fucking starved
for the taste of Kevin’s mouth he can’t help but wish he’d shut up and just
keep kissing him.  Hell it’s a dream, Kevin could fuck him right here up
against the bricks behind them for all he cares. 
 
Almost as soon as he thinks it, Kevin pulls back and AJ lets him, like the
dream and memory are trying their best to realign.  “I wish he could have known
all of you.  I’d like to think…” 
 
He doesn’t finish; he doesn’t have to.  AJ’s seen up close for years how
Kevin’s hero worshipped the man all his life, long after he’s gone.  He knows
how he remembers his dad, knows the kind of man he was sure he was—what he
doesn’t know is if that could’ve stretched far enough to accept four men in his
son’s life. 
 
AJ rakes his fingers through Kevin’s hair, quick to keep any wandering eyes
thinking he’s just mussing it to make it look better, wilder in front of the
cameras.  “Don’t doubt your memories, Kev.  You’ve been lookin’ up to him your
whole life, and I know your intuition, man, it’s good.  It always is.  Whatever
you think the answer is, I mean whatever you really think it is without
worrying over it, I think you’re right.” 
 
The love in Kevin’s eyes is overwhelming, so much so that it’s a second or two
before he notices that the color’s drained out of everything else.  He’s left
with fucking Pleasantville all around them and Kevin’s eyes, so green against
the backdrop of black and white he’s even more dazzled than he was the first
time this happened. 
 
“He would have loved you.  I know it.”  It’s such high praise, AJ didn’t know
what to say.  He still doesn’t, but that’s alright because he knows he doesn’t
have long to wait before Kevin sweeps him into a hug.  This one feels just a
little stronger, a little more lasting, but those aren’t details he’d ever
complain about.  “I love you, Alex.”  He whispers that part, his fingers
catching on the back of AJ’s choker just enough to pull on it a little, a flash
of pressure against his throat to remind them both of what it really is, what
it means. 
 
AJ breathes out a little shaky, makes himself laugh to cover the soft sound of
pleasure that slips out.  “Shit, I know.  I know.  I love you too.” 
 
The dream shifts again, a strange tilting sensation accompanying the change
like the memory’s a friggin Etch a Sketch in his head, shaken up and wiped
clean and redrawn.  Kevin’s in a chair pretending to watch footage they’ll
patch in later of him playing football with his dad and he’s trying his best
not to cry, he’s fighting it so damn hard and AJ almost goes to him no less
than fifteen times.  He remembers. 
 
Brian does go to him once, wraps himself around his shoulders from behind with
no explanation, lays his head on Kevin’s chest a minute before he walks away. 
Brian’s allowed to do that; he was Brian’s uncle too.  The rest of them, they
can only hover over him so much before it might seem weird and that’s
irritating, it’s fucking grating.  He wonders if he’s got enough control over
this dream now to turn around and go to Kevin like he wanted to, take a seat in
his lap and drape himself around Kevin because it’s not just him that’s
stabilized when Kevin holds him; it never has been. 
 
He turns to do it, and it’s all gone, the room and Kevin and everything.  He’s
still in the shoot, still in black and white but he’s in the hospital where
Brian started, looking in through a picture window at Brian’s body in a
hospital bed.  His heart’s in his throat before he reminds himself it’s not
real, it’s not remotely real because not only is he dreaming he was there when
they filmed this.  He watched Brian lay down and pretend, watched him get right
back up. 
 
It’s not real, but when he looks to the side the room’s got no door.  There’s
just the window and the bed and Brian, his hospital gown open in a way it
wasn’t for the shoot.  His scar looks like it did right after he came out of
surgery, all red and angry and freshly stitched but he’s not breathing and
there’s no one in there with him—just an empty room and glaring lights and too
little color but for that damn scar that’s bloodier than it should be. 
 
It’s not real, but he’s panicking anyway.  His heart’s pounding and he can
hardly fucking breathe and he calls out to Brian, slams his fist so hard
against the glass he’s sure it’ll break.  It doesn’t; it doesn’t even bend. 
It’s like hitting fucking concrete but he does it again, once more before his
hand hurts too much to put the kind of pressure behind it he wants.  It’s hard
to think, harder to move but he finally manages it, fights to remember that the
dream is twisting his memories, tying them up together and fucking them up and
making something new. 
 
Still, if anything of the video holds, if he turns around and goes out the
hospital doors, the boys’ll be waiting for him in the street.  He sprints, hits
the door as hard as he can because as he’s running he realizes he can’t hear a
goddamn thing, like all the sound’s leeched out right alongside the color. 
 
The bus is there, but there’s no one on it, no one anywhere.  The street’s
empty.  Everything’s dead silent, a terrifying hush that holds even when he
opens his mouth to scream for one of them, any of them, all of them.  No one’s
there and no one hears; he can’t even hear himself.  He reaches up to claw for
the leather at his neck, a last ditch search for a constant but it’s gone too. 
His fingers twitch restlessly against his neck, frantic, but there’s only bare
skin.  Maybe that’s all there ever was, maybe he dreamed the rest.  The thought
shakes him, makes him drop to his knees.
 
He screams, soundless, and wakes up with the sheets tangled around his waist,
bunched up in his fists.  He’s breathing so hard his chest’s heaving, and he
knows without a glance at his clock that it’s definitely not morning.  It
doesn’t matter so much though; he’s equally certain he won’t be sleeping
anytime soon. 
 
It’s a minute before he can even sit up, and even then he does it careful. 
He’s still breathing hard and besides that, he’s got a roommate asleep just
feet away from him.  He may be having a hell of a night, but Paul doesn’t have
to.  He sighs, pulls his knees up to rest his arms against and twists his
fingers together to keep himself from reaching for his neck.  It won’t do him
any good to feel that his collar’s not there; he knows damn well it isn’t.  It
hasn’t been there for months. 
 
Around the remnants of the dream, two memories jostle for space in his head—the
moment Kevin gave him that collar, and the moment he realized Kevin had taken
it away.  He recalls them in snatches, bursts of image and sensation and
conversation. 
 
Kevin’s a little nervous, rambling on, the black leather choker being toyed
with between his fingers.  He’s telling AJ how he doesn’t have to take it but
if he wants to they can use it as a sign, something he wears to show Kevin when
he needs him like this in case he hasn’t picked up on it just yet.  Safe in
public, and multi-use because he’s seen how much that the other collar they use
sometimes, the slightly more official one, is comforting for both of them. 
 
AJ’s eager, but he doesn’t reach out and touch it yet, just grins and remarks
that essentially, he’s being given a come-hold-me-down-and-fuck-me-Kevin bat
signal. 
 
Kevin’s laughter is beautiful, almost as beautiful as the sense memory of the
way he puts the collar on for the first time while they’re making love, the way
he kisses half on the leather and half on AJ’s skin at the side of his neck,
breathes a thank you right up against him that AJ’s barely focused enough to
question him on.  His hands tighten on AJ’s hips, and he thrusts in just a
little deeper and groans before he pants out the answer, just behind AJ’s ear. 
 
For letting me take care of you. 
 
There’s that, and there’s its inverse, the too-damn-clear morning a few months
past.  There’s a touch of grim satisfaction that comes from looking at it in
hindsight, because waking up he remembers feeling sick, full of dread and
wishing he could turn over and go back to sleep, skip the morning and whatever
comes with it.  He’s ten minutes in before he realizes the level of shit day he
can feel it creeping up to already, so he tells himself to have a drink and
find his collar. 
 
He finds a little bit of Jack in a bottle under his bed.  The collar’s nowhere,
and he spends two days thinking he’s lost it before he’s so fucking anxious and
sick and sad he tells Kevin he can’t find it. 
 
It’s a toss-up which part of the rest of the day is worse, though it’s probably
the way Kevin can’t quite look at him when he says that no, it’s safe, he’s got
it.  He’s got it, and he won’t give it back until he can trust AJ’s judgment
with it.  Other contenders include the nearly three hours he spends crying in
his car after he drives out that night, Brian’s careful lack of commentary when
he gets back that tells AJ exactly where he stands, and the realization that
for the life of him, he can’t remember what happened while the collar was on
that made Kevin doubt him. 
 
Months later, he still can’t remember.  The difference is, now he’s not sure he
wants to. 
 
He is sure that he’d do a hell of a lot to feel the pressure of leather against
his neck right now, equally sure he doesn’t deserve it.  Kevin’s always seen
that part of their lives as an honor, something almost sacred and AJ, he didn’t
just jeopardize that once, he did more damage to it than he can count.  Even if
his imagination stretches far enough to let him think Kevin’ll forgive him when
he comes home, the kind of protection from himself Kevin was willing to give
him before is probably something he’ll never get back. 
 
Never is a horribly finite word. 
 
He has a powerful need for all of it, Kevin’s hand at his throat and the
searing heat of wax on sensitive skin and the pull in his muscles when Kevin
pins his wrists over his head.  There’s so much he wants, but he aches for the
simplest pieces, the comforting weight of Kevin’s body against his, sure and
just the right amount of possessive and so full of love the intensity from it
carries into everything he does, every touch of his hand, every whisper of
you’re almost there; you can take a little more.  Kevin always knows just how
far to push him, just how much it takes from every starting point to get him as
deep as he needs to go.  Since Europe he’s been able to feel Kevin’s love like
a second skin, wrapped around him everywhere he goes.  He’s still got everyone
else and that’s wonderful, that’s great but he without Kevin he still feels
cold. 
 
The first time he told Nick about what was going on between him and Kevin years
ago he’d told him that this extra thing they had, it was just a part of their
bond that was a little different.  Not better, not more, just different. 
That’s true, but looking at it now he thinks the full truth is more
complicated, because whether it’s singing or dancing or living or loving,
they’re not at their best unless they are five.  They are five, but right now
AJ’s only got himself and three and one standing back just out of his reach; 
the instability’s driving him nuts.  He’s getting better, yeah, but the more he
opens his eyes the further into this mess he sees.  The gulf between him and
Kevin looks wider all the time.  Shit, it’s no wonder he’s having nightmares. 
 
AJ closes his eyes, tilts his head back against the wall and breathes.  It’s
standing policy that if there’s an emergency, any patient can go to the desk
and ask for their doctor and they’ll get them on the phone, but this isn’t
quite an emergency.  He’s a mess and it all feels too sharp, too real, but he
can manage it.  He’ll have to get better at calming himself down anyway if
Kevin’s help isn’t going to be an option anymore. 
 
True, but maybe not the most helpful thing to realize when he’s already hurting
enough. 
 
He swears, bites his lip and manages to sit almost still for a whole ten
seconds before he reaches for the notebook, changes his mind midair and grabs
Brian’s Bible out from under it instead.  There’s a booklight he’s been keeping
just beside the wall and he finds it by feel, almost knocks over his water
bottle while he’s doing it.  He tucks his knees up a little higher to prop the
book, scrunches down low enough that he can lay the light on his chest and turn
it on titled toward the pages.  This way, he can flip aimlessly.
 
It’s nice, comforting right from the moment he cracks the spine.  Maybe it’s
his imagination, but he’d swear the thing even smells like Brian.  He doesn’t
read much of the text itself; he’s not opposed but right now, it’s not what he
needs.  It’s Brian’s words he wants, scribbled here and there in different
colors, at different angles.  There’s even one or two he recognizes, the first
a corner note in red pen in Psalms.  They’d been waiting on a delayed flight,
curled up in a corner charging their phones.  He’d been falling asleep with his
head on Brian’s shoulder. 
 
He meanders back and forth through the pages an hour, two, almost three before
there’s sunlight starting to slant through the blinds to cast bars against his
fingers.  He falls asleep with the book on his chest, wakes up 45 minutes later
to his alarm.  If he dreamed in that little stretch, he doesn’t remember it. 
Maybe there’s something to that, though he’s not sure whether it’s exhaustion
or the memory of Brian that let him rest in peace.  Either way, even as he’s
cursing and slamming his hand down on the clock, he knows he’s calling Brian
tonight. 
 
                                    -------
It’s a lot harder to slip exhaustion past people without makeup to give you a
hand.  At least, he suspects it’s the dark circles under his eyes giving him
away, but Dr. Coleman’s obviously a student of behavior and she’s been watching
his a couple weeks now.  Maybe it’s in his hands, in his speech, in something
he can’t even think to look for. 
 
Whatever it is, she’s called him out.  He’s been making a lot of progress, but
she feels there’s something troubling him, something he’s not confronting.  His
head’s full of shit he hasn’t wanted to confront for over a year now; he’s
tempted to tell her his issues have started to take a number and stand in
line.      
 
AJ shrugs.  “No, I just, I’m not sleeping well.  It’s these dreams,
these—they’re more nightmares I guess.  I don’t know; I don’t remember all of
them.”  Not all, but still too much.  The night before last he’d dreamed he was
stuck on an empty bus, every door he tried to take leading back to the same
halls, the same bunks with no one in them.  Howie called to him from one he
could’ve sworn, but every time he pulled back the curtain there was nothing
there but a blank mattress, not even any sheets.  Howie uses flannel, except
for in the heat of summer.  He never wants to be cold.  In the dream, AJ curled
up on the empty bed and shivered. 
 
But hey, he’s telling the truth.  He doesn’t remember everything. 
 
She must have some inkling of all he’s leaving out, though, because she’s
staying quiet to let him figure out just how much he’s going to give up.  He
bites his lip and tries again.  “I’ll be somewhere familiar, the guys should be
there and maybe they even are at first but I turn around and they’re gone, like
it was all just a projection or something.  Last night was the worst, all this
shit with Kevin, Brian dead in a hospital room after his surgery…I know it’s
all just me freaking out about what comes after I get out of here but I can’t
tell myself that when I’m tryin’ to sleep.” 
 
Who’s he kidding; he can’t much tell it to himself when he’s awake either.  He
really is making progress, but at the same time it seems like the more he
thinks back on all he’s done the more miraculous it seems they haven’t all
cashed out on him.   Worse, to wonder if maybe they should have.  He’s been one
hell of a headache. 
 
“I think you’re right, and that fear of loss is completely natural.  You’re
coming to a place where you can fully realize the enormity of everything that’s
happened to you; that’s good, but it’s also overwhelming.  As you rebuild your
relationships, those fears will ease up.  Every step takes time.”  Dr. Coleman
shifts back in her chair, settling in.  “You’ve mentioned more than once lately
the two times you overdosed and the impact those events had not only on you but
on your relationships.  Are you ready to talk about that?”
 
Maybe, but he’s not overflowing with enthusiasm for it.  He’d like to say
that’s not connected to the nightmares at all but who is he to say it isn’t? 
If she’s drawn the connection it’s probably there and hell, it makes more sense
than he’d like to admit.  Death and hospitals and disappearance and cold empty
rooms…it’s not an outright line, but it all connects. 
 
AJ looks down, rubs the pad of his finger over the nail polish on his thumb. 
Tampa Bay Buccaneers red, thanks to Nick.   It’s been comforting; that’s
probably why he’s been chipping it off at a slightly reduced rate. 
 
“Brian was really freaked.”  An understatement, though Brian’s not here to
contradict him.  He swallows, drops his voice even softer.  “I remember…I
remember more of it than I’d think I should?  I was a mess; you know it seems
like the kinda thing that’d black out.  God knows I’ve lost enough memories but
those two…maybe it’s the fear; I don’t know.  I remember hearing them fight
over whether to take me to the hospital.  I’d told ‘em not to before but they
probably should have.  He was so pissed but he doesn’t stay angry long; he
never does and he stayed right there with me, he—“
 
The memory’s strong, cuts through everything and shuts him up.  He was still
too out of it to move, disconnected from his limbs in a way that was utterly
fucking terrifying but there was Brian, curled around him, forehead pressed to
AJ’s shoulder, one hand on his ribs to feel him breathe.  Kevin and Howie were
still going at it across the room; he could hear that, but under it were the
softer sounds of Brian crying.  Quiet, almost imperceptible, so muddied that AJ
wondered if he was hallucinating because Brian shouldn’t be crying, not over
him.  More yelling would have been better. 
 
AJ’s breath is sharp, painful.  “I’d bet money he thought I didn’t even know he
was there but he wouldn’t leave me.  That’s just Brian, you know?  He cares too
much; it’s not good for him.” 
 
“Caring’s not good for him?  Or are you afraid you’re not good for him?” 
 
The other night, Nick asked him how his therapy was going.  Next time he asks,
he’ll tell him it’s about as much fun as being kicked in the balls.   
 
                                    -------
                                        
More often than not, on the phone Brian sounds younger than he is.  Right now,
he just sounds tired.  Well, tired and fighting it; AJ knows him well enough to
hear him trying to compensate.  He called to talk to him about things he’d
rather talk about it person, or you know, never.  If right now isn’t the best
time, that makes ‘never’ look even more appealing. 
 
“You sound like you need to sleep, Bri.” 
 
“Nah, I’m alright.  It’s nothing.” 
 
It’s not, and he doesn’t like being treated like he can’t tell the difference. 
Just because he’s dealing with his own shit right now doesn’t mean he can’t
handle knowing the truth about theirs.  That’d be true regardless, though more
than likely whatever shit’s going down has something to do with him.  A pinch
of guilt goes pretty well with worry and mild irritation.  He could speak up
and say any or all of that, probably should say some of it, but he lets his
silence do it for him.  Brian’s a terrible liar; he folds like wet cardboard
the second he knows someone’s onto him. 
 
Brian sighs.  “Sorry.”  AJ smiles, pictures a box melting in the rain.  Wet
cardboard.  Works every damn time.  “Nick’s driving me crazy.” 
 
“And here I’d started to think you were immune.” 
 
Even Brian’s laugh sounds tired, but at least it’s a little more Brian-like. 
“He’s either at Kevin’s throat or he’s all over him; there’s no in between. 
He’s just so torn over how to feel about Kevin right now and you know, he’s
Nick.  He’s not only supportive, he’s touchy so when Kevin fails to make a move
with you Nick flips out on him, gives him shit until someone breaks it up, and
that someone has to be me or Howie because Kevin just lets him chew on him; I
mean he’ll snap back here and there but nothing strong enough to shut Nick up.”
 
Fuck, AJ knows that look; he’s seen Kevin give it.  Too tired and too sore to
fight back, too willing to listen because some part of him thinks whatever he’s
hearing is exactly what he deserves.  Goddammit. 
 
“So Nick spends some time brooding, during which he’s also pissed at me and
Howie for not picking Kevin to death along with him; it varies how long that
takes but when he’s done he decides he feels like crap and that Kevin’s
miserable, which he is, so he crashes and goes and finds Kevin.  They cry
together instead of separately, they have sex, everything’s on neutral ground
for a few hours until something punches Nick’s replay button.  Pretty sure
we’ve been through this whole cycle at least three times.  And I’m probably
miscounting.” 
 
“ ‘m sorry.”  His voice is smaller than he means for it to be, still honest but
a little overwhelmed.  There’s so much shit he has to apologize for; all of
this is just extra. 
 
“Hey, don’t be; this isn’t your fault, okay?  This is all Nick.”
 
“Yeah, but it’s about me.”
 
“You getting better is about you.  That’s all you need to worry about right
now; we can handle the rest.”  Something rustles, and AJ tries to picture
Brian.  Maybe he’s on the bed, tossing that little Nerf basketball he and Nick
have taken to about fifteen countries.  Brian’s always in motion.  “You sound
good, by the way.  At least you did, before I brought Nick up.” 
 
“No, don’t…I don’t want you to—“
 
“Yeah.  I know.”  He does; AJ can hear it.  Somehow, that eases the tension in
his stomach, warms him and smoothes out his nerves.  It’s just Brian; even when
he’s upset he’s still comforting. 
 
“I can try to talk to Nick again; hell this is probably partially my fault, not
just cause—“  Kevin’s name still comes out of his mouth like sandpaper dragged
through his throat.  It’s easier to cough and start over.  “First time I called
Nick I asked him to patch things up with Kevin if he could.  Maybe it was too
soon; I don’t know.” 
 
“I think he’s really tryin’, and that’s not a bad thing; it’s just hard.  He’s
still angry and you know, to be honest, I don’t blame him.  I’m not too happy
with Kevin right now myself, but I’ve got more perspective on it than Nick
does.  I can understand where he’s coming from, too.  Nick can’t, so all he
sees is what he thinks is a disproportionate reaction.”
 
“Except it isn’t.”
 
“I didn’t say that.”
 
“You didn’t have to; I did.” 
 
“AJ...”  Brian’s coaxing, a little guilty.  Fuck, this’d be so much easier in
person. 
 
“Look, I mean I’ve got to face it, right?  I brought this on myself; all the
shit I put him through, I mean what did I think?  That it wouldn’t have
consequences?”  The more he has time to think about it, the more that very
concept has started to amaze.  All the time he’s spent running from the damage
he was causing, how in the hell did he really think it was all gonna end? 
Sure, there was part of him that thought he’d die and never have to face it,
but that’s not exactly what he wants to tell Brian.  Well, not fully and not
like this at any rate. 
 
“I don’t…I don’t think you were thinking about it much at all.  I think that
was sort of the point.”  Blunt, but true.  “Have you even tried to call him?”
 
“What, since the ten fucking times I called him after he walked away in
Boston?  No, I haven’t.”  Each one of those hurt enough; he remembers them with
nauseating clarity. 
 
“I think you should.  I’m not saying he’ll answer, but I think he needs to hear
your voice.  Nick thinks he doesn’t deserve it if he won’t pick up the phone;
maybe he’s got a point.  I still think it can’t hurt.”
 
Yeah, it can, and it will, but he knows what Brian means. 
 
“He’s gonna come around, you know that, right?  He loves you so much it scares
him; that’s all this is, Bone.  He’s tired and he’s scared, but he won’t give
you up.  He wouldn’t even if it killed him; I’d bet anything on it.”
 
He’d like to hope Brian’s right, but he also really, really doesn’t want to
talk about Kevin any more right now.  If he’s going to say what he called to
say he probably won’t get a better opening, and if they keep talking about
Kevin he’ll just end up sobbing into the phone and Brian’ll comfort him and
that’s…he can’t say it wouldn’t be nice to be comforted, but that’s more weight
on Brian and that’s kind of the opposite of what he was going for, here. 
 
“I had this—“  His throat’s thick, voice wavering a little until he clears it. 
“This nightmare last night, about the video shoot for Show Me.”
 
“Yeah?”  God, he loves Brian.  He takes the change in subject without skipping
a beat, manages to put enough encouragement into just one word that AJ can feel
it.  It helps. 
 
“It was mostly like it happened, you know, shit with me and Kevin and then
watching him film but it got weird after that, it was like I was back on the
hospital set but it wasn’t…I mean it was more like it was back in ’98 and you
were…”  Yeah, no, that’s as far into that as he can go.  “And I was a mess when
I woke up, I just wanted to be with you, I wanted you where I could see you and
keep an eye on you and I kept thinking, that’s the worst nightmare I’ve ever
lived through, that time you were in the hospital.  The thought of losing you,
I couldn’t take it.  I still can’t.  And I knew that, I’ve known it for years
and then I turn around and put you through the same shit.  I just…I never
thought of it like that, but it’s true.” 
 
Brian’s quiet, so quiet AJ swears he can hear his own fucking heart beating for
a second but then there’s a breath, a little stilted, a little off.  He doesn’t
want to picture Brian crying, so he looks out the window instead.  It doesn’t
do shit to stop the mental image, but hey, at least he made the attempt. 
 
AJ licks his lips, starts again.  “I just didn’t see it; you’re right that most
of the time I wasn’t thinkin’ at all but when I did I just, I mean I didn’t see
it like that.  It’s me, you know, I mean you, you’re the heart, everybody needs
you but if—“
 
“You think we’d just recover?  That’s bullshit.”  He’s not angry, exactly, but
it’s firm, and it’s nothing he doesn’t deserve.  Still, AJ flinches. 
 
“I don’t think it anymore.  Fuck, I don’t know, Brian, maybe I never…I think I
was just scared it was true, you know?  I mean, that doesn’t excuse it.”  Not
at all, but it’s how he feels.  Or at least, how he felt.  Sometimes it all
swirls together; it’s hard to be sure. 
 
There’s silence while Brian thinks, twenty seven seconds of it.  AJ counts. 
“I’ve never been that scared in my life.  Not before the surgery, not…I just
kept thinking, this happens to other people.  It’s something you read about in
the paper, not something that happens to someone you love.” 
 
“Brian, I’m sorry.”  He is, God is he ever.  He can feel it, a sharp stabbing
pain. 
 
“I know.” 
 
“I can’t…I want to promise you that’ll never happen again, but I—“
 
“Just tell me you’ll try, honestly try, permanently.  That’s all I want to
hear.” 
 
“I will, swear to God.”  Not that he has a whole lot of faith he won’t fuck it
up, but he’s not gonna go into it expecting failure either.  Well, not
widespread failure, anyway.  Everyone relapses once at least or so he’s been
told, but the way he feels right now, he wants to fight against sliding back as
hard as he can.  Maybe that’ll hold him steady for the rest of his life; who
the hell can say? 
 
“Alright I lied, that’s not all I want to hear.”  It’s a little lighter, still
serious enough to make AJ swallow hard. 
 
“Okay.” 
 
“I wouldn’t just recover, AJ.  None of us would, Nick especially I think, but I
wouldn’t…I wouldn’t.  Tell me you understand that.” 
 
“I do.”  On one hand, more than he’d like to.  On the other, it’s still hard to
comprehend.  He’s a mess, a detriment in so many ways, and still they want
him.  That’s…he’s not sure what that is, other than overwhelming.  Beautiful,
incredible, painful as fuck.  “Hey, I ah…I wanted to tell you, I remember you
staying with me.  That second time, it’s kinda hazy in pieces but I remember
more than I’d have thought and Kevin and Howie were fighting but you wouldn’t
leave me.  Not for a second.  That…thank you, for that.  I know I didn’t say it
after all that mess was over but I was pretty fucking scared myself and—“
 
“You don’t have to thank me for that.”
 
“No, I know, I know I just…it made a difference, for me.  You always do.” 
 
“I was praying for you.”
 
“Yeah, I thought you might have been.”  Brian always prayed for him, for all of
them, really, but lately he’d taken up a disproportionate percentage of that
time.  He’d told Brian once while he was hungover that it was a good thing
Brian prayed for him more than he prayed for himself because of the two of
them, God might actually listen to Brian.  He hadn’t been too happy with that
statement so AJ has no plans to repeat it, but he hasn’t stopped believing it. 
Brian doesn’t need to know that, though.  “Don’t stop yet, okay?” 
 
“Oh don’t worry, I won’t.  You’re a permanent fixture; He expects it.”  He
laughs, little and faint but it gets a touch stronger when AJ joins him.  It’s
easy to forget sometimes, but AJ’s not the only one who doesn’t do well alone. 
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