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April 21st

"What are you trying to tell us, Reece?"

My dad's voice sounds fuzzy, I can tell that he's connected to the Bluetooth system in the car by the sound quality and the road noise.

"I didn't make the grade... I failed." I sigh.

The conversation I had with Paul still repeats in my head, over and over again. I couldn't eat anything yesterday or sleep today. I feel weak. What I want most of all is to go back to him. But I need to be strong.

"You what?!" My mother's voice from the passenger seat makes me flinch and breaks my concentration.

"I didn't pass... I won't get in next semester."

"But what about your degree? What-"

"I don't know... mom, I don't know what to do."

I'm not even going to try to explain why. I'm tired of hearing excuses, and that includes my own. I lay down on the couch and stare at my roof, concentrating on the heat of my phone pressed underneath my ear. I have no words, no exit strategy out of this conversation. I could take it even further. Wild thoughts of coming out to my mom right then and there cross my mind. But Mom is probably driving, and it'd be irresponsible of me to drop something like that on her now. I lay back and let mom and dad shower me with questions, accusatory, concerned, frustrated, sad, disappointed questions. I answer them as best as I can, but I can't bring myself to maintain a steady conversation and end up filling the breaks in the talk with uncertain silence.

"Will you be coming home? Do you need any money?" Mom asks suddenly. There's no anger, just concern. I'm forcing down tears and trying not to think about having to leave Paul behind. I can't do that. I'll think of something, I'll do anything.

"I have to make some arrangements first mom. Give me a month... I think I'll have something to show for it by then."

It's a white lie. Maybe I can resolve things with Paul inside a month. Maybe I can help him through his issues and get him to see what he needs to do within a month? Or maybe a month is what it takes for me to come around to his point of view and find a place in his life.

"Don't worry guys... Just a month. I'll come home if it doesn't work out, and then... I don't know."

"If there's anything you need to talk about, you can call whenever you want," Dad says. I know he means that I can call his phone and talk to him in private, but he says it for the benefit of mom too. I'd love to think dad would have the necessary experience in relationships to deal with an egotistical racing driver who won't tell me what's really bothering him. But I've caused them enough worry for now. I shouldn't get ahead of myself. Paul and I have almost not been apart since he wound up in hospital, I'm sure he just needs a break to think a little.

"I'm fine," I lie. "But when I call again, we can talk about that thing... you know?"

"That sounds like a good idea," Dad says. "Take care, son."

I hang up just as I hear my mom's voice start up, but the silence I'm left with is even more oppressive than the constant questioning. Sounds like a good idea? What did he mean by that? Has he already talked to mom? She clearly didn't know from the confused questions, but then again, I don't know what he's told her. Does he think she might be ready? I don't know, but an idea is starting to shape in the back of my mind. If I can't help Paul, someone else could help me help him.

Aiden doesn't pick up his phone. He's at work, probably. I really want to introduce them to each other. Knowing Aiden, he'd probably flirt outrageously with the wolf and then pretend he didn't notice. It'd be a fun experiment. But the argument is fresh in my mind still, and for some reason, I can't shift the image of him leaving me for Aiden. That'd be rich. If he thinks I stick my nose too much into his business by trying to get him to admit who he is to his nearest, then I'm sure he wouldn't like the arctic fox. The queen of the pride parade, and fiercely passionate about it too, compared to me. But even Aiden said I should let him take his time. I wonder if he'd say the same if he knew the wolf. If he saw what I saw. I text Paul instead. It might be a bad idea. But I just want to feel that I'm not the only one having a hard time. It takes a long time to think up the right words. Shakily, I type out my message, going over it several times to scan it for context and spelling mistakes.

I'm just dealing with a lot right now. Call me when you're ready to talk. I still love you.

There is no response. Not even a laconic 'okay'. Paul always responds, even when he's in the shower or asleep. He can't have much else to do with his time, so I guess he's ignoring me. I suppose I deserve it, a little. I need to take my mind off these things. I put my headset on and go out for a walk.

I wander around pretty aimlessly, or at least, I think it's aimless. I don't actually pay much attention to where my feet take me. Walking past the White Banner, I pause to reflect for a few moments. If I'd just done a few things differently, I might be somewhere else now. I might not have failed university, still on my path to some dull job concerning something I don't really care about. I wouldn't have nightmares every other night, of a dismembered, or burned, or mangled corpse in that hospital bed, holding around me with cold, bloody paws. I wouldn't constantly worry what kind of life I was getting myself into. And I'd be a more miserable person. What is it they say? Better to love and have lost, then to not have loved at all. That's what I feel like, but have I really lost him? Is that the path we're going down?

I catch a bus into town and walk around the streets, losing myself in the world which unfolds around me, staring into shop windows, overhearing snatches of conversation in bars and cafés and looking at the traffic moving by. Everyone look so purposeful, and here I drift around with no reason, a boat without any oars, nor a map or provisions.

Paul is so far beyond what I could hope to expect. I thought he had it all; style, money, good looks, sweet and caring, and in love with me too. He came with more baggage than I had been prepared for. I don't know why, but I thought that he was at a point in life where he'd have all this worked out, more or less. But he's stuck in the past. Somewhere where his father is still around, and his mother is still alive. Somewhere where he doesn't feel afraid of being alone. Where he is safe that he's not going to lose any more loved ones. Where he's proud of who he is, and the people around him, and not afraid to be seen with them. I retrace my steps to the park bench where it all started, and here, I have to sit down, because the thoughts I'm having are threatening to over encumber me.

Why is it so important to me that Paul comes out? It's not my business to say what he should or shouldn't do with his life. His hesitation makes sense. I've come out and had overall nice experiences every time I did. I've always had a nice, safe upbringing with two parents who loved me and had time for me, and supportive friends who helped me. He came out once and had a pretty bad experience, where he lost a friend and ended up in hospital. He had nobody who he could talk to. I want to talk to him more, I want him to tell me what is really bothering him, and talk about his mom and his dad. I want him to get it off his chest. I want to tell him that it'll be alright anyways. I want to tell him about Aiden, who got disowned by his parents, but still managed to get a degree and a good job. I want to tell him a lot of things that won't really change the facts. 'Doing well enough', 'just managing', or 'scraping by' is not what Paul is about. Paul is about winning and being the best. Not 'doing well, considering'. Winners don't want to lose anything after they've won, not fathers, not boyfriends, not their jobs, nothing. He's just lost something. Another anchor in his life. Now he's in the same boat as me, drifting helplessly. He's had to relinquish his job, and he's clinging onto his father, because it's one of the few things left which remind him of the life he had before I came in and made it complicated.

I catch myself blaming myself again for his actions. But I realise it's both our faults. He's not dealing with his sexuality in a healthy way. He's not dealing with it at all, and it's affecting me. He's associating his love for me with fear and shame, because that's what he's been taught, in the only lesson he ever had about coming out.

I'm probably pushing too hard without giving him some sort of safety net. He's not me, he's different. He takes risks on the track, but not in his life. I guess all that danger in his job means he really does need the comfort and security of a stable home, which I guess he's never had. I wish I could make him see that things would be alright. I wish I could make him see how unhappy it makes me to not feel like I can be with him. But I can't use my emotions as leverage. Perhaps I can take some of those risks away.

My aimless wandering has taken me to the industrial side of town, proving that it was not so aimless after all. Aiden works nearby. Maybe I can talk to him, if he has the time, and reassure myself, at least, that things aren't as bad as they seem. It takes a lot of convincing to make myself walk towards the large red and black sign, but this is what I've been working myself up to, and I can't turn away now.

I walk up to the offices of Courage Performance Parts, and before I can stop to second guess myself, I'm walking into the lobby. The lady behind the reception desk looks up from her work. She's a doe of some description with tannish red fur and big, friendly, brown eyes. I'm looking for Aiden. But when I open my muzzle, another name comes to mind. There's only one guy who knows Paul nearly as well as I do.

"I was wondering if Mr. Courage is available?" I ask her. She flips through some papers behind her desk before looking me up and down for a while.

"He is currently in, who should I say is asking for him?"

"Oh, I'm... a friend... Friend of Paul. Reece." Even saying it feels weird and unnatural. I just want to know how it feels to call him my boyfriend to someone else. I want to taste those words on my lips.

"Is that so?" She brightens up. "We heard about that awful crash, how is he doing? He is such a charmer, isn't he?"

"You can say that for sure," I mumble. "He's getting better, only a broken leg left to heal, and he'll be back in that seat."

I forgot that he's just lost his job, but I don't know if I should correct myself. Oh god, I walked out on him right after he'd lost his job. Just as he had the joy of his father back in his life, I took myself out of it. I try not to think about how miserable he probably feels.

The receptionist dials a number into the landline phone on her desk, and holds it to her ear, studying me casually as she waits for a response.

I think about what Paul said, what made him so angry. I'm not taking my nose out of your business quite yet, Paul. Because I love you, you dumb fuck. I'm going to do what I know needs to be done, because you were never going to do it for yourself. Your dad might be a wolf, but he can't see what is right in front of him or what needs to be done.

"Reece?" a voice comes from behind me.

"Mr. Courage!" I smile at him. The sight of him keeps reminding me of Paul. "How are you doing?"

"G'day mate, It's Pierce to you," he booms and shakes my paw. "What brings you here?"

"Oh, you know," I say, "I was just in the neighbourhood and I thought I'd drop in to say hi. I never thanked you for the curry the other day."

"No worries, you're a mate of his, so you're a mate of mine!" the white wolf says, and for half a second, he is Paul in my eyes. For half a second, 'mate' means boyfriend. But then he is Pierce again, and I feel awkward and off balance.

"I'm still learning to get used to how you Aussies talk sometimes," I laugh uneasily. "Yeah, heck, let's be mates."

Pierce insist on giving me a tour. He grabs two cups of coffee for us, and takes me around the shop floor, all the while talking about the various bits and pieces they supply. As we reach the far end of the shop, I spot a smashed-up wreck of a car. I wasn't prepared for it. I freeze, as I hear the metallic shriek in my head, feel the pressure of the air going past, and smell the burnt rubber. I see the ambulance, and hear the siren. It reminds me of the howl of a wolf. Pierce looks at me, then at where I'm looking. Then he looks away.

"Paul told me what happened, aye," he mutters. "We've cut ties with Whyllis over that. That's just not how it's done, you know. Been lookin' to throw this wreck on the dump, but Paul wants to hang onto it for a little longer. Guess he's got some business with it, I don't know."

"Paul's been really bothered by that, actually," I say, with a shaky voice, desperate to distract myself from the tears welling up behind my eyes. "He worried that you might lose the contract with Whyllis after-" I have to stop myself, because I can't tell his father the real reason. "I mean after he lost his job. Have you talked to him about it?"

"That's business, you know," Pierce raises an eyebrow. "He was never really interested in talking about that sort of stuff anyways. He just has to concentrate on getting healed up, then he can find himself another team to race for. A decent team."

"Well, he worries," I say absently, "he doesn't say anything, but he worries a lot."

I run a finger over the jagged metalwork on the back of the car. The driver side door has been removed or torn off after the crash, and I can see inside the cabin. It's so much smaller than it looks from the outside. There's a square of something white on the dashboard that sticks out from the black alcantara interior lining. I can barely believe my eyes, as I blink away the tears. It's a small picture of me, barely larger than a passport picture. It's stuck to the dash where a normal car would have radio and AC controls. Nothing else sticks out from the interior, and though there are no hearts around it or anything, it's meaning is so plain to me that I start worrying if Pierce knows already. But he doesn't seem to pay the picture any mind.

"What do you mean, he worries?" Pierce ponders. "Has he told you that?"

"He tells me a lot of things. I don't think he has anyone else to talk to. He told me he cares about you. He's very happy that you've spent so much time with him lately, and that he's missed that."

I carefully scan the wolf for any reactions.

"Oh, right," He sighs and flick his ears.

"We had a fight," I say, "He said he was scared of losing you if he..." I bite my lip before the words come out. I didn't come here to out Paul to his father. "He worried he'd lose you, I guess. I don't know why. I came here because maybe you could explain what this is about. He doesn't believe... I think some of his biases are getting in the way."

Older wolves are usually very difficult to read and interpret for someone not blessed with their snout. But I'm familiar enough with wolves. I'm looking closely, and I can tell that there's guilt in his eyes.

"I've not had as much time for him as I would like," Pierce says, scratching the back of his head. "I haven't always been the father figure, you know, That's on my shoulders."

We walk around the shop for a bit in silence.

"I think you two should spend more time together," I say finally. "He needs you, and he doesn't want to admit it. He hates being reliant on others. Don't tell him I said that."

"He's lost his job and he can't walk around on his own," Pierce smiles, but it's strained. "Yet, he's managed well so far. He's just in a slump, but he'll come around soon enough."

"I hope so," I say, "But sometimes, he needs a bit of a push in order to take that risk. Maybe he needs to feel safe that he's not risking more than he's gaining. What I'm saying is..." Careful Reece, you don't know what you're letting out of the box here. Keep your cards close. "He needs to feel like you won't disappear. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to seem-"

"That's good advice, Reece." Pierce breaks in, smiles and pats my shoulder, and I feel a little better about myself. "I'm man enough to see my shortcomings. There are probably strangers out there who know my son better than I do, just from reading interviews, and I don't think that's right. It's been too long."

He invites me into his office, which smells of metal, engine coolant and lubrication oils like the shop outside. On the desk, there's a single picture. A wolf, as white as Paul and Pierce, but clearly smaller than both of them. She's squished between them, a paw around either of their chests. The tips of her ears reach their shoulders. About my height, I suppose. Her eyes are blue like Paul's. Pierce notice me staring at the picture, and I guess he can tell that my mood is fragile at best, because he doesn't say anything. When I meet his eyes again, he simply nods, and splays his ears. There's no doubt about the guilt in his eyes this time around.

"It was cancer," Pierce says quietly. "Long ago now. The pain is gone. Mostly."

"Not for him," I say, returning to look at the handsome wolf in the picture, the tall, but skinny wolf who has gotten his blue eyes from his mom. A constant reminder of her. No more than a cub, fourteen or fifteen, I'm guessing.

"You boys sure talk a lot." Pierce's ears fold back, but his eyes remain downcast. "I think you're right. He needs to hear some truths from his old man, too."

We sit for a while in silence as the heavy atmosphere drapes over the office. Pierce eventually gets up, but I can't stop looking at the young wolf in the picture. He is so full of life, so happy, young and carefree. And to think that he probably knew, back then, what he was. His mother might have known, but I'm guessing he probably never told her, either. With a start, I notice a paper cup being put in front of me, and the rich aroma of coffee distract me from my daydreaming.

"Has he said anything about where he means to go next?" Pierce asks, seating himself back in his office chair opposite me. I take his proffered cup of coffee and cling to it with both paws as if it's the only thing keeping me rooted in reality. The mundanity of his question informs me that we're no longer dredging up old memories anymore. We're looking ahead to the future, where I can at least be a part of the solution. I smell my cup to mask a sniffle.

"Not yet," I say, inhaling deeply of the rich, nicely made coffee, to steady my voice. I'm sure it came from a machine. "I don't even know if he has an agent. I have done some of his fan correspondence for him lately."

"He never had one," Pierce grumbles. "If he had an agent, he'd not been at Whyllis Racing at all. But for some reason, he refused to get one. I always thought it was because they paid well, but he never talked about how much he made. I mean, what kind of cub wouldn't brag about making more money than his dad?"

"I guess that makes sense," I mumble. He certainly dresses as if he's rich, and I used to admire that he didn't flaunt his money like some rich kids would. Something isn't feeling quite right. I should ask Paul about these other contract offers, and how well Whyllis pays. But what about Walt? I know Paul's going to use him as an excuse, even now that his dad cut ties with the wolf's father's company. If I could just get him to believe that Pierce is on his side, he'd have no more reason to hide away.

"You can be sure he's got a lot of offers, I'm willing to bet on it," Pierce says. "Don't you worry about him not having a place to go, at least."

I nod at Pierce and sip my coffee in silence for a while. "Well, I think it's a good idea if you ask him about racing again. I think he needs to hear it from you too."

"Yeah, I could slip it in there. His old man coming around to kick him into shape again like the old times?"

"That's not what I said but... yeah," I say, "Like the old times. I think he needs that. I think he just wants to know that you're the same old dad, you know, not just there for him because he's stuck in a cast."

Pierce nods and smiles and is about to say something, but there's one last thing I have to say.

"Don't tell him I came to you."

"No worries, mate," Pierce says and slaps my shoulder as I get up from my chair. "You're a decent bloke, got your heart in the right place. I don't think any of my friends would do something like that for me. I guess times are different now. Good. Guys have feelings too, and I'll make sure Paul knows it. I hope you guys resolve whatever you fought about. Don't let him push you around. He needs someone who can push back."

"I'll keep it in mind, mate. Thanks."

I walk out of that office, and I feel lighter than I have done in days. I'm stunned. When I met him in the bar, Pierce was foul mouthed, hard and tough. Some of that was still there when Paul and I had his initiation curry. But speaking to him one on one, he seems like a completely different person. I've been around wolves for enough to know. I check my phone. There's a new message from Paul.

I'm better, Spot. Come back?

I think he's calmed down, but the laconic message sounds bitter and wounded. He needs to get his mind onto something different.

Maybe tomorrow, dear. Got some things I need to sort out, soz hun.

April 22nd

It feels good being back in the old summer dress I used to flaunt around Uni last year. It's light, almost see-through fabric feels nice against my skin this summer afternoon, and helps alleviate my mood for the coming talk Paul sounds like he's got planned. Yeah, I dressed up. He said I should put on something nice, so I interpreted that in my own way. I know the hound loves it, and I want him to remember me as we met. I want him to remember who I am, and understand that he's getting all this in the deal. I might not be flawless, but I know he thinks I look good. It feels good finally being outside again with my femme outfit on. Feels good being seen, knowing I haven't had to give up on this. I wish he'd come with me, and see how fun it is to care about nothing else but your partner with all the attention I have.

As I get into his apartment, the smell of curry hits me. A familiar smell, but slightly different. Probably take-away, considering he's still stuck in a cast. I catch sight of him after I've kicked my shoes off and gone into the living room. He's hopping around in his kitchen, still not using the crutches I brought with him from the hospital. I'm about to comment on it but remember in time that I'm not here to talk, I'm here to listen.

He turns to face me as he hears the door, and only then do I notice his apron, and the pots and pans on his stove and in his sink. I can't believe it. He's cooking for me. From the scent of it, it's his father's recipe, but it smells subtly different. I've grown used to be underdressed around him, but when I look at him, I feel undergroomed too, still damp from my shower. He's freshly clipped and brushed, and looks sharp and alive, much better than he has ever done these last two weeks, he smells better too. He's gotten cleaned up, but he's not put on any perfume. He knows I have a thing for that old wolf scent. I remind myself that I have to be tough, and calm, and not moved almost to tears.

"Good morning, sweetheart," He chimes. I'm almost knocked off my feet at his jovial tone. Is he not bothered? He's not even angry with me? "Gorgeous dress, really suits you. Where did you find it?"

"Th-the mall," I tell him, uncertainly. "There was a sale... uhm... W-was there something you wanted to tell me?" I try cautiously.

"Yeah. Here goes." He takes a deep breath, sighs and bounces over to me. He touches my nose with his and licks it. "Dinner's ready, dear."

"Is... Is that what you wanted to tell me?" I ask hesitatingly. "Dinner's ready?"

"Nope. But your dinner is ready, Sit, boy, while you're still able to. I'm going to let you in on a little secret."

I find myself wishing he'd just tell me whatever it was he wanted to say. Just in case this incredibly sweet and generous gesture, and presumably future soreness under my tail, is the last nice thing I remember about him before our argument flares up again. I can't help but keep my guard raised.

"Did you make it yourself?" I ask, walking over to his neatly set table. "Smells nice."

"Sure did, tuck in."

He pushes me into a chair, does a little bow as he does so, and seats himself opposite. He does everything right, and in his dark blue shirt, matching his eyes, he reminds me of the wolf I once shared a meal with, in a cute restaurant, almost a month ago now. If he's softening me up, I don't know if I could be more softened, or I'd slide off the chair altogether, crying and proclaiming my love for him. Then I taste the curry, and I'm tempted to roll around on the floor proclaiming something very different. The meal bears resemblance to his father's 'initiation curry' only in the sense that there might be curry in there somewhere.

"God damn it, wolf!" I gasp. It burns my tongue with its intensely spiced flavours. It's downright painful. The curry doesn't even smell of spices, but the taste is so intense, I have to take a break halfway through. Paul doesn't take his eyes of me.

"You wanna know a secret?" he asks. "Today is my birthday."

I can barely work my voice out of my throat, past the burning sensation of the chilli, but the curious setting is so strange, I'm unable to look away from him.

"Sorry I didn't bring a present-"

"The sight of you is enough," he tells me with that confident smile of his, "Never mind that, you can make that up to me later." His wink, his forward cupped ears, his attentive gaze just melts me completely.

"You know why my dad made that curry?" He asks with a steady voice. "He thinks you're a friend of mine. He used to test all my friends... it's like this ritual he had. I guess that's why I didn't have too many friends."

"Yeah, you said that," I say, panting.

Paul cracks open a beer to wash down his curry with. "You're not a friend to me, Reece."

"I'm-"

"He came over yesterday."

I can't concentrate on what he's saying. His penetrating blue eyes look through me, into my soul.

"Did you perhaps intend for me to come out to him?"

"N-No, Paul. I honestly didn't-"

Paul fixes me to the spot with his eyes.

"I promise, sweetie I swear..." I whisper meekly.

"Yeah, well... For whatever reason he came around," Paul says slowly. "We had a pretty long talk. Cleared up some things. Things I've waited for a long time to hear him say. I don't mind telling you that... that I appreciate it. It helped me see that you cared when I was too busy thinking about myself, I guess." He lets the smile come out then, "How is it?"

"It's strong." I manage to say, my eyes watering, I don't think that's just because of the curry.

"It needs to be," Paul explains, "Friends come and go, but you... You need to be strong if you're going to be able to deal with my bullshit. You need to be strong if you're going to take care of me when I'm so fucking blind that I can't see that you're hurting. You need to be strong to stand up and tell me when I'm being a cunt. So, I made a special boyfriend curry, just for you."

"God damn it, Paul," I sniffle, wiping my eyes.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you the other day," he sighs. "I don't mind you sticking your nose in, because you clearly do it no matter what I say. I really am thankful that you concern yourself with my life like you do. You've stuck your nose in since day one, and not a single time have I thought what you did was anything other than perfect. So, I am really sorry I said what I said. Having you help me with the mails and visiting me in hospital... That means a lot. I don't know where that anger came from. But I'm sorry, and I hope you can forgive me."

I wanted an apology, and like a typical racing driver, he goes way beyond what I hoped for and what is required. Only ever doing the best he could possibly manage. He's going to find the path he needs to be on, and when he's on it, he'll charge at it without any other cares. He doesn't need me to hover over him. I've done everything I can to make him happy. It'll work out. I just want our argument to be over, to be together again with someone who can make me as happy as he just did.

"Apology accepted," I say, nodding and blinking tears out of my eyes. "I'm sorry I walked out. For as much as I stick my nose in your business, I should've smelled that you needed me there to talk. I was frustrated, and I said some things which I shouldn't have. But I was in a bad place too, and I wanted to tell you before you got that call."

He looks questioningly at me, a searching, genuinely curious look.

"I... eh... The university... It didn't work out, in the end. I failed."

"Oh damn," He says. "How?"

"I didn't pay enough attention... these last four years." I wonder if it's strange for him, someone so used to win, to be attracted to an utter loser like me. "I'm honestly surprised it lasted this long."

"Where will you go now?" Paul asks. There's no harshness in his eyes, no reprimanding look, no ready life lessons. Unlike my parents, even dad, he knows what I really need. I need him to care about my problems in the way only he could care. I feel his toes against my ankles, brushing my feet gently.

"I haven't decided yet," I mumble, poking around the bits of curry I'm not strong enough to finish.

"Well, what did you want to become, after your degree? Why did you get it, in the first place?"

"I don't know. I didn't even know why I was there, to be honest. In the end, I just lost all the drive I ever had. Then I met you, and I let myself become distracted, because... well... That was something I did want to do." I manage to look into his eyes. "Now it's... it's all I really want to do. I know it might be soon, Paul. But I mean it. I can't imagine myself anywhere but with you."

"Fucking hell, Reece!" he exclaims, and pulls me into a hug, pulling me off my chair and into his arms, narrowly avoiding my half-eaten dish with his elbows. "You said you weren't going anywhere. Please don't leave me again."

"I'll do my best, dear," is all I can say, he's squeezing me tight, and I can hardly breathe, but I don't care. His scent is so close, and so dearly missed, that I can't bring myself to think of anything else.

"How did your parents react?" Paul asks after a long time.

"My parents... said some things." I manage to extract the words from my head, but all their questions have become a soup. "They just want to know what I plan to do with my life now. I have to get rid of the apartment, and find something to do, so that I don't mooch of them the rest of my life. I'll worry about that, in my own time-"

"Nah," he says. "We'll worry about that. You want to stick your nose in, you might as well stick your whole self in."

"I'm not sure I'm following," I say, uncertainly.

"You want to crash here?"

I can't even bring myself to pretend that I don't want that. I don't care if it's too soon, I don't care if there's a lot of unresolved issues there. I can finally lower my shoulders, breathe out, and feel safe again in his arms.