frowny x freckly // deeply troubled flannel x the sun's sweet sugar // wreo

Theo laughed at Wren’s description. “How evocative. Jesus, that sounds terrible.” 

He could relate. The sting of morning sunlight, bright and caustic against his eyelids after a night unslept. The compulsion to get up -- start your day – get a move on -- but stuck with the inability to follow through. Plans with Michael went unfulfilled and missed calls from the office buzzed throughout the day, punctuated by the flit of emails and texts lighting up the screen of his phone. It didn’t count for much when the effort of opening his eyes felt like a day’s worth of errands. 

“I would like that.” Theo said, glancing at Wren. He wasn’t sure if the offer had been hollow or not (“We should totally go for coffee sometime!”), but he didn’t think so. He didn’t really think Wren would have made the effort to lie to him. And on Theo’s part, his response had been genuine – he actually wouldn’t mind going to Seaside with Wren. It wasn’t far, and Michael thus far hadn’t shown much willingness to show him around the area, especially after Theo had botched their last attempt to go to a nearby vineyard a few weeks ago by falling asleep in the car on the way up.

Music had started playing from a stereo somewhere nearby. It sounded like the Beach Boys, which seemed a little too on the nose for his taste. He was glad nobody was attempting to speak with them, as he found himself enjoying being forgotten with Wren. It looked like most of the people here had their own little impenetrable social cliques, and Theo was glad to maintain the boundaries. The only large social gatherings he attended with any frequency were work events and the support meetings, both of which provided him with structured conversation as well as being environments where he didn’t have to disclose his disability. 

“I work mostly in Cannon Beach, actually.” Theo said, answering Wren’s question. “I guess you look at the town differently than I do, but the land value here is skyrocketing. Lots of wealthy Silicon Valley start-up types looking for something to do with all their money. Actually …” 

Theo tilted, tugging his phone out of his back pocket. He swiped through it with his thumb a few times, before pulling up a picture of a three-quarters finished generic looking McMansion situated right on the beach. 

“It’s not my design but I’m the main contact for the contractors.” He swiped to another picture. The dumbed-down neo-classical home wouldn’t have looked out of place in a wealthy Philadelphia suburb, yet there it was, with Oregon’s oil-painted skies and slate grey ocean in the background. The house itself was brick veneer with large venetian windows, and an eyesore of a portico dominated the front. Most of the sodded front lawn was composed of a large cobblestoned driveway. He swiped through a few more pictures. 

“Yeah … The neighbours are not happy about the size, but the zoning laws here are crazy lax. They called the city bylaw officers on us like five times.” Theo started to laugh, but then realized it might not be so funny to a local. 

He hadn’t been able to head a project of his own for some time. The workload was too much, and he simply didn’t have the stamina to work 18 hour days. Hell, sometimes he was lucky if he managed that much in a week. 

He watched as Wren stood, falling silent and eyeing him as he urged the fire back to life with a couple of deliberate prods. Warmth bathed Theo’s face as the embers jumped and crackled, flames licking the fresh wood. The fire lit up Wren’s face in an until-now unseen manner, bathing the typically shadowed planes of his face in a warm glow. Theo found himself thinking that the sun, the beach and the bonfire were all immensely complimentary; they all suited him. 

Over the past two weeks, he’d thought back often on that morning with Wren, and specifically why the other man had tried to drift away. Obviously, Michael’s showing up had soured what had otherwise been a far more pleasant morning than Theo would have thought possible. But his thought process halted at that. He did like spending time with Wren. He found him funny and self-deprecating. He was kind and thoughtful, intelligent and fucked up, and he hadn’t made fun of Theo for his silly cat problem. 

The idea that Wren might find anything to like about Theo, unfortunately, was beyond his comprehension. A few years ago? Sure. But now? 

He listened as Wren described his life as a lawyer, unable to stop himself from picturing how he might look in an expensive Armani suit, or how his shoulders would fill out a well-tailored jacket. He chewed on his bottom lip, gaze slipping away to rest on a particularly interesting patch of sand as his apparently vivid imagination ventured to a fictionalized Wren sitting in a Manhattan corner office, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and top three buttons undone, sunset gleaming through the golden floor to ceiling windows. 

He wanted to roll his eyes at himself. The idea that Michael might actually be right about something made him want to run into traffic with his eyes closed.

The conversation turning to his mother couldn’t have had better timing. 

“Yeah, that’s the one. She’s pretty terrifying.” 

Theo shrugged, knowing full well he’d been the one to direct the conversation to their current topic, but felt the sudden urge to end it. He loved his mother, he truly did. However, as complicated as their relationship was, the guilt he had about the slow erosion of their relationship was fairly straightforward. It didn’t require any kind of trained professional to unravel: it was completely his fault, and he didn’t like thinking about it more than he had to. 

Theo took another long draw from the vaporiser, feeling quite a bit better than when he first arrived. He felt languid, and almost relaxed. He tucked the device into his pocket. 

“Speaking of which, I promised I’d send her a picture of myself in front of … The big rock, over there. Haybale? Haystack?” Theo shaded his eyes from the sun, peering down the stretch of sand. It was difficult to say how far away it was. “When I told her I was moving here, the first thing she did was google Cannon Beach. It was the only picture that showed up. I wonder if she even knows there’s a town that goes with it.” He couldn’t help but smile at the memory of her in front of her laptop, her expression straddling the line between horrified and bemused as she clicked through whatever information about Cannon Beach existed on the web. To his mother, the idea of living more than an hour or two away from New York was absolutely inconceivable. 

“You wouldn’t mind going for a walk, would you?” Theo asked then, already going for his cane. He managed to get his feet beneath him, and eventually hauled himself up.

“That is, unless you think we’ll be missed?” He couldn’t help but add sarcastically, peering over at the otherwise occupied partygoers. A grin lit up his face, and he held out his arm to Wren.

“Shit,” said Wren. “Lisa Ronstadt.”

He was probably making this a bigger deal than it was, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt excited about something.

Six months ago, if someone had told him that he'd be lounging on a beach with Lisa Ronstadt's son, or even that Robin had taken a class with Lisa Ronstadt's son, he… well. He didn't know what he would have done. He hadn't known she had a son. (Why would he?)

She'd been one of the lawyers whose cases they'd studied back in law school, and she had a formidable reputation which had only been proven true on actually working with her. He had almost applied for an associate position at her firm before deciding to go with Deloitte, a decision he had used to regret but was now kind of thankful for. Falling apart while working for Davis Ronstadt Woods would have added another layer of humiliation to his circumstances which might have just been the breaking point.

It was tempting to treat this revelation as a new light to shine on Theo. Disappointing Lisa Ronstadt in a professional capacity was unthinkable. Adding a familial relationship into the mix must have been difficult. For a moment, Wren felt grateful for his own parents, whom he found frustrating and unbearable at times, but whom he'd never felt at risk of letting down.

It would have been unfair to make assumptions—any further ones, anyway—but he thought that maybe he might understand Theo a little better now. He definitely understood the cue for a change of subject.

“The Haystack,” he confirmed. “To be fair, it's probably more interesting than anything else in the town. We used to visit the tide pools when I was at school.” 

He hesitated. While he knew Theo had been joking about being missed, he couldn't help but glance around the crowd of people anyway. He had sort of been tasked with looking after the fire, and Robin had promised them drinks. She had probably forgotten about them, or gotten side-tracked, and he didn't think she would care if she got back and they were gone, but he kind of felt like he might, if he was in her shoes….

Then again, he thought, he wouldn't be in her shoes, because he wouldn't have forgotten, because he was actually considerate, and she was nowhere to be seen. Fuck. He'd forgotten how mad he was at her.

Fuck it. The fire would be fine. He couldn't think of anything he wanted more than to ditch this party.

He gave Theo a smile, and dropped his makeshift poker.

“If we're lucky, the tide may be low enough to check them out.”

Theo was up before he could offer him a hand, but he took his arm, and started guiding them towards the outskirts of the party, up the beach. He wasn't sure how fast to go (a part of him wanted to make a fucking run for it), so he let Theo set the pace. The further they got from the fire, the colder it got, and he kind of wished he had thought to bring a sweater too.

“It's not far,” he said. “You'll be able to see it in a couple of minutes.”

He didn't think there would be that many people on the beach this late in the day, this late in the year. Maybe at the restaurants, but not down by the shore. They'd have the place to themselves. Which kind of reminded him of the last time they'd been alone together, and of what had happened, and of what Theo had said earlier, about Michael bailing. And then there was Theo's weight on his arm, his already-aching shoulders...

Friends, he reminded himself. Just friends.

He fumbled for a safe topic. 

Have you and Michael have been together a while?

I guess your mom hasn't been up to see you yet, huh?

How long before the entire beach is turned into condos?

“So... when are you planning to release Violet back into the wild? Will I get a chance to say goodbye?”

He shrugged again, like it wasn’t a big deal. While his mother’s success brought him a great deal of pride, there was always something holding him back from basking in others unwarranted praise. His mother was his mother, and while he acknowledged that she a was brilliant and shrewd negotiator; that she was well know and exceptional at her job… That was really the extent of it. What he knew better was coming home from school to an empty house; being put to bed by Louisa, and then Petra, and then Connie. The rotation of the nannies was endless and honestly, he only remembered a handful of them. And then, finally, being sent to boarding school in Vermont at thirteen. Like he’d been too much trouble, and this was just easier for everyone. He wouldn’t stay at his childhood home for any extended period of time until his diagnosis.

Which hadn’t been good. She’d been disappointed and hopeful and optimistic and just all the wrong things at all the same time. She’d made the three hour drive from Connecticut to MassGeneral to pick him up (“I spoke to Ben this morning and he agrees you would be better off at home, with family”) and the drive back home had been painful and awkward. He’d been in the hospital for three weeks, after being scanned and poked and prodded for all sorts of syndromes and diseases. When the left side of his body had stopped working, the doctors first thought he’d had a stroke, then a brain tumour, and then finally, landed on aggressive onset relapse remitting multiple sclerosis. He remembered feeling exhausted, catatonic and unable (unwilling) to give a shit about anything else, including the crying or her promises to get him through this. Not even the erratic driving had him batting an eye. And worst of all, he was fairly sure that feeling had never truly left him. 

He knew it was a fairly unrelateable sob story. Which was why it was kept mostly to himself. 

But it didn’t matter, as Wren had smartly taken the hint. He was rising, and then Theo found himself grinning, surprised (but not really) Wren was willing to ditch the party. Wren’s smile had Theo dragging his thoughts out of the familiarly deep sinkhole of past regrets. 

“Yeah? Really?”

While he didn’t really seem to be the most social type, he did strike Theo as being particularly serious about his responsibilities. So, Wren’s smile was infectious. 

Theo looped his right arm through Wren’s, and he came in close. He left his cane behind with his bag, not wanting to drag it about with him especially since Wren seemed game to help him out. His biggest issues with walking in general was not only the weakness in his legs, but also his balance, as he was often on the receiving end of terrible bouts of vertigo. 

They began moving, Theo holding onto Wren tightly with his good arm. The going was admittedly slow, with the sand doing as sand did (shifting, sinking, tripping). Theo was fixated on his feet as they walked, ensuring his feet did as they were told (which was often not the case). 

At Wren’s question, he thought for a moment on what would become of Violet. 

“I don’t really know.” He admitted, finally. “I think the shelter hoped they could adopt her out. But I think she’s completely batshit.”

Well, he didn’t actually think so, at least not entirely. He was parroting one of Michael’s ‘diagnoses’. Maybe if he had some more time, she’d relax and begin to feel safe. She’d had a home before, maybe with a bit of patience she could find another? 

“Mike thinks she’s a lost cause, and I don’t really know enough about cats to disagree. But she and I had a nice moment a few mornings ago, where I woke up to find her asleep at the foot of my bed.”

Even to him, she’d looked very sweet, curled up at the end of his bed in a nest of his white duvet. It had almost been worth the patch of black cat hair she’d left behind. She’d been an unknown comfort to him, as he found himself asleep for longer than usual. 

“And then, as soon as she noticed I was awake she just hissed at me and then bolted.” He couldn’t help but laugh at the memory, at the yellow eyed glare she’d given him. The slink of her tail as she launched herself off the bed. He’d called out a frantic sorry! as she took off through the half shut door of his bedroom, and then recalled immediately feeling like an idiot.

“Michael said it was a one-off and that I shouldn’t get my hopes up. He thinks I should release her soon since the shelter needs my space freed up for other cats. So, I don’t know. It might be next week. It might be in a few days.” He realized he was speaking like he had no say in the matter, and wasn’t sure why that was. 

“But I want you to be able to say goodbye, if you’d like. You’re the reason she got treatment in the first place.” 

It was quiet at this point of the beach, the sounds of the party fading into the distance. He could still hear the faint bass of the music, but the voices and laughter had faded. Towards town, a few warmly lit up restaurants and pubs little the beach, the huge forms of the pine covered mountains serving as a fine backdrop. He felt himself relax, sinking into the sound of the water pulling away from the shore, the warmth from Wren’s body. Theo let himself lean into him, feeling at ease. 

“But honestly, Michael isn’t as intuitive as he thinks he is. If he can’t fix a problem it must be unfixable, and that’s that. So who knows.” 

He felt alarmingly little guilt in saying this. 

The big rock came into view, eventually. And thankfully. His breathing was coming in heavily, and his legs were beginning to feel like jelly. He made a move to stop their progression, peering up at the rock, his breathing rocking his body. It was more mountainous in size, with greenery and moss clinging to its gigantic face. Behind it, the sky had turned a deep pink, indigo clouds drifting about lazily. Waves rolled inland, leaving behind seaweed and salty foam in their wake. 

“Wow. It’s a lot bigger than I thought.” He observed, rather lamely. 

He looked at Wren, in his t-shirt, and frowned. Theo separated from him and decisively but awkwardly (he had little sensation in his left arm), squirmed out of his sweater, eventually thrusting it at Wren. 

“Although you’re being very cavalier about it, you’re obviously cold. And lucky for you, I run hot. So take it.”

Theo rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows, looping his arm back through Wren’s. 

“So, I take it you spent a lot of time here as a kid? Give me the tour of the mysterious Wren Ruskin’s childhood.” Dramatically, he swept his hand out before them, indicating towards the beach as a whole. “I want to know everything. Broken limbs, first kisses, teenage rebellion. Etcetera, etcetera.”

Wren had been mostly -- not joking, exactly, but trying to keep the mood light, about Violet, but he was surprised to find that the prospect of not getting a chance to say goodbye to her did feel genuinely upsetting. He hadn't actually thought that anybody had been really thinking about releasing her. She hadn't exactly been the most friendly cat he'd ever met, but he'd figured that had been understandable, given the circumstances. He had also figured she'd probably warm up after some intensive TLC, and the news that she hadn't was kind of worrying. He knew how important personality was to getting a cat adopted out; Robin had fostered cats after they'd graduated, when she'd decided to stay in Boston and he'd moved to New York, and he'd heard all of her stories, both good and bad, many times.

Still, it had only been two weeks. That seemed a very short amount of time to make a decision on whether to let her go or not. Whatever Mike said.

"Two weeks doesn't seem like a lot of time to let her adjust," he said, doubt in his voice. "Especially after all she's been through. It doesn't seem fair."

He chewed his lip, glanced out towards the lonely sea, then back at Theo. "Is there anything I can do to help? I mean, I don't want to contradict the experts--" (Who made Mike an expert anyway?) "--but it sounds to me like she's just scared. I don't think release would be the best thing for her. You said she wasn't friendly with the other cats, right?"

He knew she could take care of herself in a pinch, but there was a difference between a pinch and being made to live outdoors with a territorial, unfriendly cat colony. The longer he thought about it, the more angry he felt. She was just a kitten, and all these people seemed so ready to condemn her, just because she needed some work. He could picture Michael, young, impatient, looking at Violet and writing her off just for being an inconvenience. It was infuriating. 

He was almost thankful for the sight of their destination, and the distraction it offered. He had almost said something he might have regretted.

Haystack Rock loomed above them, silhouetted against the pink sky, a sharp contrast to the wisps of clouds and soft light rolling behind it. It was big. That always surprised him. Photos never did it justice.

All of a sudden, Wren felt ultra-aware of where he was; the damp sand beneath his feet, the cold breeze caressing his bare arms, Theo's weight, leaning into him. He could feel the rise and fall of his shoulders, in time with his breathing, against his chest. They were so close. When had that happened?

Then Theo drew away, and for a moment Wren thought that he had done something wrong, overstepped some kind of boundary without knowing. He was about to apologise, but Theo was pulling off his sweater, not telling him off.

"Oh," he said, taking the sweater as Theo pushed it into his arms. "Thanks." He glanced down at the bundle in his arms, then, as the breeze picked up, back at Theo, and smiled. "Was it really that obvious? I thought I was hiding it pretty well."

In truth, he would probably have been okay without it, and taking it would mean wearing a sweater with shorts, which was ridiculous, even for someone whose wardrobe consisted of band t-shirts ten years out of date... but the gesture was nice and Theo looked like he wouldn't take no for an answer. He pulled the sweater on, a little quicker than Theo had taken it off, but not by much. It was a little snug, but soft, and warm, and smelt a little -- almost minty. He hadn't noticed that before.

"I don't know about the 'mysterious' Wren Ruskin," he said, watching Theo sweep his arm across the expanse of the beach. "And there's not much to it. It was a pretty normal childhood. But let's see.." He started counting off. "Broken bones, none, but... I did dislocate my shoulder once when I was maybe thirteen? I fell off my bike riding home from school. Does that count?"

He'd almost forgotten about that, even though he still got twinges of pain sometimes. He'd ended up wheeling his bike back to school, where one of the teachers had called his mom, who had tried to keep a cool exterior, except for the fact she had driven so aggressively to the hospital that he had been so worried that they were going to die that he hadn't felt any pain.

"First kisses... well, first kiss, I guess... some dance in middle school? Robin made me go with one of her friends. Uh... Lisa? Leslie? Something like that." Was it bad that he couldn't remember her name? He knew Robin was still in touch with her. She was probably back at the party, a thought which made him feel a little queasy. "Uh... anyway. I don't really remember the details, but she made me slow dance and I'm pretty sure it was to 'My Heart Will Go On', and at the end she kissed me. I guess I wasn't as... enthusiastic? As she had hoped, or something, because like three seconds later she disappeared and twenty minutes after that Robin dragged me outside to yell at me."

The memory made him cringe. He hoped Theo couldn't sense his embarrassment. This was probably the first time he'd ever told anybody the story before. Robin probably didn't even remember it happening, never mind Laura or whatever her name was. But she hadn't tried to set him up for a few years after that.

"And as for teenage rebellion," he said, eager to move on, "you're better off asking Robin. She was the one always getting into trouble." Which he'd resented, sometimes. Trouble, but no consequences, not lasting ones, anyway. She and their parents had gotten into several fights when they'd been growing up, but he couldn't remember if he'd ever even had a minor disagreement with them. They'd always been so focused on Robin that he had sometimes felt forgotten about.

He looked over at Theo. They were missing the background flavour, but it was only fair.

"Okay. It's your turn. Broken limbs, first kisses, teenage rebellion. Go."

Theo had to disagree with Wren; the last two weeks had felt like a very long time. 

It hadn’t necessarily been Violet’s fault, though the first few days in his care had been a bit difficult. She’d been equipped with a humiliating plastic cone at first, and had required drops for her infected eye twice a day. Michael would do it if he was around, but if he wasn’t it was up to Theo. It had been challenging, with Violet quick and nimble and Theo not so much. It had not resulted in the cross-species bloom of friendship that various Disney movies had promised him. 

As she started feeling better though, she’d grown bolder, and more often than not his frequent trips to the washroom involved a volley of swats and maniacal spitting. All he had to do was walk past the partially closed door to incite a low-pitched yowl from her. He usually responded with something in kind, a quick fuck off, cat or a hasty retreat if she was feeling particularly feisty that day. He knew it wasn’t constructive, but he wasn’t a horribly patient person on the best of days. 

Or, maybe it hadn’t been Violet at all. Maybe he needed to take a closer look at how his meds were working – something was going on, clearly, that his drug plan wasn’t addressing. Or maybe it was Michael’s abrupt reinsertion into his life. Maybe it had been the sleepless nights spent pushing down a very real though short lived panic as he fought to breathe against the seized up muscles in chest, forcing his lungs against his body gone too tight, with Michael soundly asleep beside him. Unaware. The dichotomy between the dreadful nights and the comfort of the late summer sun on his face as he spent another hour lazing on the deck, feet propped up on the railing and sunglasses nestled in his hair, sweet smelling vapour drifting lazily about him. A book laying forgotten in his lap along with a very silent phone, skinny branches of the pine tree forest creaking as they slid up against each other. A cat skulking about his big empty house fearfully. A boy on his couch, watching TV alone. 

However, slowly Theo picked up on Wren’s reaction, frowning and peering up at him. He hadn’t anticipated him to disagree, really. Not that he had any doubts that he had any attachment to Violet, but that he’d go so far as to make the effort to voice his disagreement with her release. And then unexpectedly, Theo felt himself grow, as he often felt around him, overwhelmingly grateful to Wren. Michael hadn’t had much patience for his reluctance to set her loose, so it was … disconcertingly nice to have someone backing up. Some kind of reassurance that he wasn’t being unreasonable. That this was important. 

“No, two weeks doesn’t seem like enough time to adjust, does it?” He conceded. 

Though, he wondered if it had been enough for Wren. 

“I think you might be right,” Theo said then as he chewed his lip, thinking it over. “Come over in the next couple days?” He asked after a moment. “You got her to eat, so who knows. Maybe she just needs a friendly face.”

The topic moved to easier fare, and he was happy to go with the flow. Theo ended up laughing outright at Wren’s story, unable to help himself. 

“I’m sorry, but I can picture the scene in my head and it’s so perfectly terrible.” He couldn’t help the smile that remained as he peered up at Wren. “I bet you let Robin get away with so much shit. You have the same look on your face as the first time I met you, like you just bit into a lemon expecting an orange.” He squeezed Wren’s arm in his, nudging him in the ribs playfully. Robin had clearly dragged him to group therapy, and Theo could picture a thirteen-year-old Wren behaving similarly. Unwilling and defensive, that same frown on his face with his arms crossed over his chest. It was endearing. 

Jokes aside, Wren had his own demands to make. Theo had to think for a moment, wondering how much he wanted to share. Then he decided that he didn’t care, especially after the ribbing he’d just given Wren. 

“Fair enough. I shattered my kneecap a few years ago, but youth wasn’t to blame for that one.” MS had been the culprit there. “No interesting story, I was leaving a coffee place with a friend and tripped on an uneven seam in the sidewalk. It was just, agonizing and really embarrassing. Such is life.” 

He’d also ruined a really good pair of jeans. 

He thought for a moment about what kind of rebel he’d been as a teenager. His main goal had really been to piss off his father at any possible opportunity, which, as a man with a short fuse and the ability to hold onto grudges for years, hadn’t been all that difficult. Theo had inherited his short fuse, but thankfully not his pettiness. 

“I was a pretty half-assed rebel, to be honest. I took my dad’s boat out in the middle of the night once when I was sixteen for a joyride with some friends. He called the cops to report the boat stolen, and I spent the night in jail.” Granted, the Greenwich, Connecticut county jail wasn’t a particularly awful place, but it still had been a shitty way to learn an unimportant lesson. Even the cops had rolled their eyes at Roger Ronstadt’s insistence that he would press charges. He never did, of course, but it had been another nail in the coffin of their relationship. 

“First kiss was with a boy at school named Gavin, in the library," Theo continued. "I must have been thirteen. Every Sunday I’d see him sitting in one of the reading nooks with a pile of old dusty novels stacked up beside him. At the time, I’d thought it was the hottest thing.” He laughed at the memory, not having any difficult recalling the finer details of that sunny afternoon. “Like basic literacy was a special skill or something. Anyway, we were found by the librarian. She called my parents almost immediately.” He laughed again, remembering Lisa Ronstadt admonishing the woman for wasting her time with the unnecessary and insulting phone call. Like any of this was news to her. “Unfortunately, he’s married now to a woman and lives in Westchester. Kissing boys was just a phase for him. Not so much for me.”

He was smiling, and it felt good. The setting sun was shining in his eyes, the cool breeze sifting through his hair. They were close enough to the rock without getting their feet wet, though a few shallow pools remained, exposed by the retreating tide. Theo fell silent, though he didn’t move away from Wren. He pursed his lips as he stared up at Haystack Rock, thinking of how to get a shot his mother would actually like.

“Would you mind coming in for a selfie? My mom would like that better than me alone,” Theo asked then, looking up at Wren. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, handing it shakily to Wren with a smile. He wondered how convincing his lie was as he perhaps unnecessarily slid his arm out from Wren's, then sliding it around his waist, coming in closer. Taking advantage of the solitude the beach offered, the calmness that his life lacked. 

“She worries I’ve turned into a hermit, so anything to prove her wrong would get her off my back.”

Theo’s laughter (musical, airy, charming) caught Wren off guard. He could feel the tips of his ears burning, and he had to look away for a second, to try to compose himself, to fight the instinct to be defensive. If it had been anyone else, maybe that instinct would have won out. But this wasn’t just anybody. It was Theo. And something about Theo brought out a different kind of embarrassment than normal. One without shame.

“You have no idea, the kind of shit I let Robin get away with,” he admitted, running his free hand through his hair. “But then again, you’ve met her. So maybe you would.”

Anybody would. He had no idea how she got away with it. Just that day she'd convinced him not only to attend this party but to ferry supplies across town multiple times, even though he hated driving, and then to carry things back and forth between the car and the beach. Never mind how she'd invited Theo, even though she knew they were fighting, and expected him to be okay with that.

Though... maybe he could forgive that last one.

But he didn't want to talk about Robin, not now. For everything Theo had said about him being mysterious, he thought that it was likely Theo knew more about him than vice versa, and he was genuinely curious to hear more about his childhood.

The description of Theo shattering his knee made him cringe -- it sounded way worse than his story about dislocating his shoulder--but couldn't help but laugh when he described taking his dad's boat out for a joyride.

"No, wait, hold up. You can't stop there. This is cooler than anything I ever did. How big was the boat?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. Growing up next to a beach meant he was fairly familiar with sailing, though his family had never really been the seafaring type. He'd had a couple of friends whose parents had had boats, but they'd all been pretty small, and used more for business than pleasure. The image of Theo cruising along on a yacht made him smile, even though the immediate follow-up of him behind bars tempered his amusement a bit. He couldn't imagine his own father ever getting angry enough to let him spend a night in jail.

Given Theo's reluctance to talk about his mom, though, Wren decided not to push the matter. Which was good, because otherwise he may have missed Theo's next childhood anecdote.

"Sounds romantic," he teased, but it kind of did. "I mean, apart from being caught by the librarian, I guess, though... I don't know. I'm sure you weren't the first couple to get caught kissing in the library." There had definitely been a few similar incidents when he'd been at school, according to the rumour mill, anyway. "You should have tried the stacks instead," he added, returning Theo's earlier elbow nudge. "That's where all the real action happens. Or so I hear."

Like he was any kind of expert. The most illicit thing he'd done in a library was return a book three months late. The fee had been extortionate.

The sand was getting firmer, more damp, as they reached the edge of the water. Wren was happy to stand there in silence, his arm still looped through Theo's, as he watched the water break gently on the shore. This wasn't how he had expected to spend his evening; the party, thrumming with its crowds and thumping music, felt worlds away. Good, he thought. This was better. He would have been content to live this moment, this comfortable silence, forever.

Theo's request for a selfie broke his train of thought. "Oh, uh, sure," he said, taking the phone from Theo and glancing down at the screen. He couldn't remember the last time he'd taken a selfie, and although he knew it was silly, the thought made him feel a little underprepared. As Theo got into position, he stretched his arm out with the screen facing towards him, and tried to put on a smile that at least looked genuine, even if it didn't feel it. It was hard; aside from the fact he knew he looked awful, he was suddenly very aware of Theo's arm snaking its way around his waist, his head resting on his shoulder, dangerously close to his traitor of a heart, beating so quickly, so loudly, he was sure Theo would be able to hear it.

An unpleasant, unwanted thought floated through his head. Michael wouldn't like this. But then again, he hypothesised, if Michael did have any objections, maybe he should have turned up to voice them.

He angled the camera, trying to get in as much of the Haystack in as he could. "Okay," he said, "smile --" And he snapped a couple of photos before he lost his nerve.

Tapping on the phone's gallery, he swapped it to his other handholding it between himself and Theo so he could have a look at how the photos turned out too. A little dark, he thought, with too much backlight, and as expected, he looked like shit--scruffy, overdue a haircut and probably a shave, shoulders too stiff and Theo's sweater definitely too small... but none of that mattered. Nobody would be looking at him anyway, because Theo... Theo looked radiant. His hair had caught the pink-orange of the setting sun, casting a subtle halo, and the big grin plastered on his face set off the slope of his jaw, sharply defined against the light right behind them. The laugh lines around his eyes told a story, and his eyes, the sliver of iris he could barely see, all sparkle and warmth...

It took Wren a moment to realise he had been staring, and he looked up rapidly. Regardless of his feelings about Michael, this was treading on dangerous territory.

"Uh," he said, clearing his throat. "I don't know if your mom will really be able to tell it's the Haystack. Maybe if we try again, with me behind the camera this time, and you move around this side a bit--?"

He tried to pull back, stepping away in the direction he meant, around the right side of the rock, but the manoeuvre must have been too sudden because he could feel Theo slipping down. Instinct took over and he reached out to grab his arm, but missed, and his momentum made him lurch forwards, which in turn lost him his footing. The next thing he knew his legs slipped forwards and he found himself sitting half on the sand and half in the sea, with cold saltwater soaking through his clothes.

He sat there for a moment, stunned, before remembering Theo and scrambling to his feet. He limped the few feet between them as fast as he could, panicked that he'd hurt himself in the fall, and squatted down next to him with both arms extended, offering some help getting up.

"Oh my god," he said. "I'm so sorry. Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor? Should I go grab the car?"

And then, realising exactly why he had been able to offer Theo both of his hands -- "Shit! I dropped your phone!"

Theo had to grin, again. He knew his face would be sore tomorrow, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it. 

“Why do you think I came tonight? You think she gave me any other choice?” He asked, laughing. 

It wasn’t exactly true, and maybe it wasn’t fair. She’d said all the right things to get him to come, and saying no to Robin felt close to impossible. Besides, it seemed close enough to the truth where he didn’t really feel like correcting himself. He’d never mentioned to her that he hadn’t successfully made contact with her brother since he’d been over to his house. That first time where Wren had come over to help him. Where he’d only been kind, and capable, and strong and completely vulnerable. Where Theo had ruined everything before he’d even realized anything had been, well, a thing. Too slow to realize what would happen until Michael had walked through the door.

And maybe she’d known? In any event, he’d come because Robin had asked, because he’d wanted to see him again; the guy who made him feel human. Bringing Michael had felt like an afterthought; either a backup, or a way to ensure Theo’s innocence in this whole fiasco.

Maybe the argument they’d had in the car had been on purpose. 

“It was an forty footer,” Theo replied (bragged), with a wide, unselfconscious grin. “Honestly, the first two hours out on the ocean made the rest of the night totally worth it.” He’d been with two friends and six pack of beer, sixteen and stupid. With the lights of Greenwich behind them and only the open ocean before them, it had been hard to feel anything but invincible.

“I really miss sailing. It’s exciting and terrifying, and just totally exhilarating.”

Exhilaration wasn’t an emotion he often felt, but he felt it again now, with the sun in his eyes and the wind in his hair and his chest breathless and achy with sustained laughter. Admittedly, he was beginning to feel the heaviness of exhaustion setting in, and God, he was sure he’d pay for it tomorrow. But in Wren’s company, Theo was succumbing to that that stupid, bewitching, adolescent invincibility that would surely bite him in the ass. The one difference was that tonight wouldn’t end with his dad calling the cops. 

Maybe he should have felt guilty, but he just couldn’t make himself care to wonder if Michael had gone home, or back to his place. If he was sulkily watching HBO on Theo’s leather sofa, or if he’d invited his gaggle of friends over to his own place to smoke bad pot and drink shitty beer. He didn’t think he could care, not when Wren’s body seemed to fit into his own like a missing piece, solid beneath him, something unmoving and present and reliable against his own treacherous body. It was easy to smile when Wren lifted his up before him, and he found himself melting into his shoulder with a stupid grin on his face. 

Once upon a time, it would have taken him twenty shots to get one he liked. His freckles, though less numerous now than in the past, made his skin look blotchy and red, and sometimes his smiles forced a double chin. He didn’t care so much anymore, as his imperfections seemed to matter less as his body fucked around on him. So it was with little anxiety that he looked at the resulting pictures. 

Still, he felt his face grow warm at what he saw. 

Wren’s smile was small, but it was there. A half smile, not completely comfortable. Utterly serious, though it complemented what Theo knew of him, which was his dry, self-deprecating wit. His deep set eyes lent his features a raw expressiveness, open and honest, and completely striking. Beneath the scruff carpeting his cheeks was a hard jaw, a strong chin. That smile, which seemed forced now (understandably, selfies were rarely natural), only reminded him of that contrast from weeks ago, the breathless laughter, blood winding down his wrist like a vine. Or the first time Theo had met him, brooding and defensive beneath the fluorescent lights of the church basement, with its linoleum floors and wood panelled walls.

Now, in this moment and in the light of the setting sun, he was extraordinarily handsome. Theo felt something stir inside him, something like a deep … Ache? Something that made him anxious, agitated, impatient … And most (worst) of all, nervous. 

Michael was easy. He was simple. And worst (best?) of all, he didn’t really matter at all. 

Wren was moving away, his thumb flipping back to the camera app. Theo removed his arm from his waist, a protest reaching his lips before he even knew. 

“No -- I like it. It’s … Perfect.” 

He hadn’t realized how Wren’s presence at his shoulder had become a constant. But he was moving around him, and Theo was taking a step back. But instead of his body responding as he had hoped, it hesitated on its own accord. His ankle failed to pick up his foot, and he was sinking into a soft mound of sand. 

He felt an internal groan within him. No, not now!

He was falling, and he was going down hard. The beach tilted upwards, the darkening sky with it. And with a splash of salty ocean water and a blessedly soft impact he was meeting the soggy, sandy ocean floor, ass first. 

Theo gasped, suddenly waist deep in frigid water. 

“Fuck that’s cold!” 

His chest was seizing up from the shock, the left side of his body instantly numbing. His diaphragm seemed to freeze along with it, the wind knocked out of him, each furtive attempt to breathe like a rubber band tightening around his chest. He couldn’t get a leg beneath himself to try to stand, and Wren’s sudden and kind reaction was making it worse.

He’d felt almost normal, before. Walking arm in arm with him on the beach had felt … Romantic (just like Wren’s teasing – sweet and funny and harmless), and not like a necessity. Throwing off his shoes had felt like a spontaneous defiance, and not like something to make walking in all this fucking sand easier for him. Wrapping his arm around Wren’s waist had felt flirty, and had made it feel less like he needed help with his balance. And sure enough, he could feel ‘Bitter Theo’ emerging from the depths of his discomfort, the pull of his biting sarcasm and piss-poor attitude a decent enough defence mechanism against the unpleasant emotions washing over him. Vulnerability, frustration, and fragility, to name a few. 

Was he hurt? Did he need a doctor? 

He looked at his phone, bobbing pathetically among the waves beside him. He had it encased in one of those clunky, indestructible plastic cases. It was bright orange and hideous, but it floated and was water resistant (to a degree). Wren’s hands were held out to him, and Theo only realized now that he’d fallen too. He was sopping wet, far-too expressive brow knit together in genuine concern, and despite himself, Theo felt himself grin at the ridiculousness of the situation. 

Fuck it. 

He splashed at Wren, a quick skitter of his fingers across the surface of the water. 

“I’m fine, you idiot,” He laughed, though it was a bit tight, a little breathless. He fished his phone out of the ocean, the device a second thought. He took Wren’s hand by his right, getting him to haul him up by his left forearm, and with his help he managed to right his feet and stand up. Shakily, he shut off his phone. He’d stick it in rice later. It might be fine, it might not be, but the expense of buying a new one wasn’t really a concern. 

What was, though, was that his limbs felt like he’d sunk into cement rather than water. And the pain in his chest, an ache he’d managed to stave off all night, had returned. Every deep inhale brought a sharp, unwelcome stab. He didn’t let go of Wren’s hand, as wet and cold as it was. 

“I’m fine,” Theo repeated. He tucked his phone into his shirt pocket, which may as well have been a five pound dumbbell. His jeans hung heavily about his waist, and his shirt felt like it was two sizes too tight. But he didn’t want to call it; he didn’t want to go home. 

“Do you have anything to change into?” Theo asked, perhaps idiotically. “You’re soaking wet.”

Theo’s grin unleashed the gates, letting through a flood of relief so overwhelming it made Wren realise exactly how worried he’d been. It was only then he noticed how fast his heart was pounding, how tense his arms and shoulders had become. He allowed himself to relax a little, realising that he’d done that thing again, where he immediately imagined the worst possible outcome. Catastrophizing. He flashed back to that day two weeks ago when he’d picked up Theo’s card in the basement of the church—how he’d felt overwhelmed and isolated, then suddenly less alone.

He’d forgotten, nearly. Theo had picked up his card too. He realised, with a small jolt, that he didn’t think he’d told him that. At the time he hadn’t wanted to, but now… he kind of did.

The splash of water hit him square in the chest, and he froze, the shock of cold passing through him, before matching Theo’s grin with one of his own. He was okay; everything was going to be fine.

“Hey,” he said, bracing himself against Theo’s weight, “you’re my guest. I’m just being a good host.”

With heave, he helped to pull him up, out of the sand and back onto their feet. “Besides,” he added, “having to rush you to the hospital would have really killed the party atmosphere.”

And in spite of the creeping cold, the uncomfortable crust of saltwater and sand slowly solidifying across his body, the clinging, heavy sweater sticking to his back, he couldn’t help but think back to the last time they’d been alone together. He’d been thinking about it a lot, but his memories had always been shadowed by what happened afterwards. But now, here, with Theo gripping onto his hand, and the proximity between them ever narrowing, they were bright.

That, he realised, had been the last time—before tonight—when he had actually felt anything other than fatigue or medically-induced apathy, tempered only by bouts of despair. And now, again, here. With only one common denominator.

He wasn’t sure how he should be feeling about that, under the circumstances. But he knew how he did feel. Like they’d been given a second chance.

“I’m soaking wet?” he said. “You’re the one who’s soaking wet.”

As they stood there, the water lapping over their feet, the shape of Theo’s hand fitting perfectly into his, the smile started to slip off Wren’s face. In spite of his reassurances, Theo didn’t look fine. He couldn’t help but notice the tremor in his hands, or the way his breath had started catching. He couldn’t stay out here. And just like that, he knew that their night might be coming to a close.

They’d have to trudge back to the party, where Theo could call a cab to take him home. They would sit back by the fire while they waited, and Robin would see them and make everything awkward. After Theo’s ride came and left, Wren would make his excuses and walk back to his parents’ empty house, and things would go back to the same old inescapable drudgery that he’d become used to over the past few months. Because while he knew that they had made up, and were technically friends again, that it wouldn’t be the same if they parted ways now. Second chance squandered. Unless…

“We can go back to my parents’,” he suggested, a little hesitant. Not that he wanted the night to end like this, but it seemed like a big departure from where they started. Home was the furthest thing from a beach party that he could imagine. But maybe that was a good thing. 

Besides, it was practical.

“It’s probably about the same distance as back to the party, but without any sand. And my parents aren’t home. We can dry off and change then head back out. I mean, if you want to.”

He realised how it sounded as soon as he said it, and an apology-slash-clarification had already started to form on his lips, but something about the way Theo’s hand gripped his, something about the look in his eyes killed it dead. Fuck it, he thought. Maybe it was time to make up for his lack of teenage rebellion.

A problem presented itself almost immediately. As they made their way up towards the road, away from the party, every step into soft sand made it more and more apparent. They’d both ditched their shoes before leaving the campfire—sensible for a walk on the beach, but not so much if they were going to walk home. Wren was on the verge of suggesting that he run back to the party to get them, but as they reached the road he spotted something which gave him an idea.

“Wait here,” he said, before extracting himself from Theo and making sure he was okay. Then, checking for cars, he dashed across the road over to a dark shuttered up building on the left. He returned a minute later, brandishing a pair of flip flops and some battered old trainers, looking pleased with himself.

“These were the only two there,” he said, handing the trainers to Theo. “I think those’ll fit. We can swap if you need to.”

He dropped the flip flops to the floor and put them on before offering Theo his arm again. “One of my dad’s friends runs that store,” he explained. “He sells drinks and buckets and spades and things, but also runs a donation point where people can drop stuff off for charity. I’ll bring them back tomorrow.” Was it stealing? It felt a bit like stealing, even if they were in need. That’s what he’d told himself, anyway. He’d still felt guilty enough to stuff a soggy $20 bill through the letterbox.

The flip flops were a little tight (probably because of karma), but they were a hell of a lot better than walking on asphalt and concrete, although the sound of their slapping against the sidewalk every time he took a step did make him wince. He hoped Theo was faring better.

“It’s about fifteen minutes if we walk straight down Hemlock Street. Let’s go.”

Midtown was bustling, which Wren guessed he should have expected for a Friday evening. He’d been down here a lot since moving back, and every time all he could think about was how much had changed since he’d gone to college. Each time he spotted something new. At least it gave him a topic of conversation, though he wasn’t sure how much Theo cared. He kept on regardless. The further they got the more Wren was convinced that he wasn’t okay, and he hoped that his random prattling would help the time move faster.

Like: “Cannon Beach doesn’t actually have a middle or high school. We had to get the bus from there up to Seaside. After school we’d sometimes grab lunch from that deli.”

Or, “That’s new, but it’s Robin’s favourite coffee shop. They’re actually pretty good, and they’re starting to do food. Have you checked it out yet?”

Or, “If we were less damp, we could drop in on my parents. They’re at an opening at the Arts Association tonight. My mom has a few pieces up in the newest exhibition. She usually does landscapes, but I think the exhibition is on still lifes.”

Or, “That’s Newman’s. Dad always takes Mom there on their anniversary. We used to think it was the fanciest place ever, even though it’s really not. They do good food, though. We should go sometime.”

And then finally, “Left here. This is my street.”

They’d entered what passed for Cannon Beach’s suburbs maybe five minutes ago. The shops had turned to houses, and the crowds had trickled down to a person here or there. As they turned onto West Adams Street, Wren said, “The beach is straight ahead. If you walk to the end of the road, then take a left again, you’ll be back at the Haystack in no time.”

He stopped them in front of a wooden fence to unlatch the gate. After they’d gone through, he closed it behind them and gestured at the dark shape in front of them. “Well, here we are.”

The sun had set by then, so there wasn’t much to make out, but Wren started the running commentary anyway as they made their way up the drive. “So that’s my mom’s shed, to the left. That’s where she paints. To your right is the front yard. You can make your way into the back yard around the side of the house. Here’s the front porch—careful, there’s a step—and this,” he said, unlocking the door and flicking the lights on, “is where I grew up. Come on in.”

He ushered Theo inside, shutting and locking the door behind them. The front door lead to an open-plan dining room, living room and kitchen, with a wedged-open door down the far end and a staircase on the right. The place was full, all the available wall space taken up by shelving, or paintings, or hooks, or other wall ornaments—wind chimes, hanging bells. The shelves themselves were full of dusty books and ornaments his parents had collected over the years. The carpet was a plush red which matched, or clashed, depending on which Ruskin you asked, with the bright yellow curtains. All of a sudden Wren remembered why he’d been reluctant to have Theo over.

He kicked off his flip flops near a shoerack near the front door and stood there awkwardly for a moment.

“Uh, so,” he said, “sit down, make yourself at home. I’ll go get some clothes, and a towel, so you can have a shower. There’s a bathroom through there,” he said, pointing to the door in the back. “First door you see, right in front of you. And help yourself to any food or drinks or anything you want. Is that okay?”

“Yeah. That would suck, wouldn’t it?” He laughed tightly at Wren’s joke, right hand pressing against his sternum. Yes, a trip to the hospital would have ruined the night. But from experience, he knew it wouldn’t take something nearly as dramatic as that to sour the mood. Theo looked away to hide his grimace, down at the rippling ocean they stood ankle deep in. At his soaked jeans, at the dark water obscuring the numb, frigid feet he could barely feel. It was late August, and he knew the water couldn’t be all that cold. But, Fuck. It was, and he could practically feel it in his fucking bone marrow. 

It didn’t take much for his body to ruin a perfectly good night like this. 

He looked up at Wren, seeing his frown, and without having to ask Theo knew what he was thinking. He knew the story all too well. Wren would call him a cab. He’d help him back the group to grab his stuff from the party, and then he’d walk him back up to the road. Wren would wave the car off before heading back to the bonfire, where it would be easier to have a fun time without having to worry about him. Theo would be dropped off at home, where maybe the cabby wouldn’t help him to the door because without his cane he just looked like a drunk. He would swallow a fistful of muscle relaxants and a Valium and head to bed, where he would be lucky to get a scant four hours or so of actual sleep. He’d wake up exhausted at noon, to a phone free of texts or missed calls. 

It was a story he knew well, and one he was loathe to repeat tonight. But as much as the thought of heading home early felt absolutely unbearable, the last thing he wanted was for Wren feel bad about suggesting it. So he was already opening his mouth, ready to admit defeat. 

But Wren beat him to it, offering to head to his parent’s house to change. Or perhaps, bail completely. 

Theo mentally checked himself, recognizing that he was projecting only a few moments too late. Wren wasn’t the guy in that story.

“Are you serious?” Theo couldn’t help but ask, a grateful smile cracking through. His intention wasn’t to make fun of him, though the idea of sneaking into his house while his parents were out had its own sort of nostalgic appeal. He nodded, finally, feeling … Wanted, for the first time in a very long time. 

“I would like that,” He said, squeezing Wren’s hand in his. 

It didn’t take long for Theo to let go of any notion that he’d be returning to the party. With night having fully fallen, the temperature had plummeted and he was well and truly cold. His legs felt leaden, and navigating the beach had truly fucking worn him out. Catching his breath had become challenging as well, with the muscles in his chest complaining with each inhale. They finally made it to the road and Wren thankfully deposited him on a bench, where Theo nodded as Wren told him he’d be back. He had his vaporizer with him (tucked away in his dry shirt pocket, thank fuck) and a few quick draws had him praying the spasticity would ease up soon. He leaned back against the bench, tilting his head and trying to remember how to ‘mindfully’ breathe. Pull the belly button in against the spine, breathe in through the mouth, out through the nose. He wasn’t sure how much of it was bullshit, but focusing on a task usually helped. 

Through the darkness, he spied Wren jogging back across the street, pausing as a car blasting dad rock rolled by, and in his hands were two pairs of shoes. He was smiling widely, triumphantly, like a housecat with a kill. Theo took the sneakers as they were handed to him, looking at them dubiously as Wren explained where he’d gotten them. 

“I think you’d be doing the needy a favour by not returning them,” Theo couldn’t help but commenting, but bent over to put them on anyway. The act of sticking his bare, sandy feet into an old pair of sneakers someone was as unpleasant as expected, but it was better than walking through town barefoot. 

“But it’s nice to know someone with friends in high places,” Theo said teasingly as he finished tying the laces, realizing only after he was beginning to feel a bit better. 

The mean streets of Cannon Beach were busy with middle aged tourists clogging up the sidewalks outside every restaurant and screaming families lining up in front of the seasonal ice cream parlours that operated out of trailers. Theo’s jaunty, widened limp and their conspicuously dampened clothing helped to part the crowds of considerate, well-meaning vacationers, though he couldn’t help regretting leaving his cane behind on the beach. It not only helped him walk but also was a signal to people to give him space. His breathing was still shallow, legs feeling like overcooked spaghetti, and he leaned heavily against Wren’s arm as they walked. Oddly, his companion’s rambling monologue helped the journey, with Theo picking up what information he could about Wren from his anecdotes. His mother was an artist, his parents were married and presumably still in love. His taste in restaurants was upscale, as was expected for a lawyer who practised in New York. 

That he wanted to take him out for dinner sometime soon. 

They turned onto a street that was little more than a gravel road, and soon Wren was unlatching a wooden gate. He took in the house, the lawn ornaments (bird houses and small wooden sculptures he couldn’t make out), the unmanicured though well-tended front garden. Oddly, the windows didn’t match, something no contractor would ever do, and the shingles were cedar shake. Something contractors hated doing and most owners hated maintaining.

Stepping up to the porch felt like a monumental task, one he completed with a grimace. Then they were inside, and Theo couldn’t help but pause in the silence, stealing a moment to situate himself. 

“Did your parents build the house themselves?” Theo asked as he stepped out of the sneakers, peering up at the ceiling joists, and then down at the skirting boards which looked hand cut. It was charming, as many of the homes in the area were. But there was something more to it - many of the elements looked handmade, from the hardwood bannisters of the stairwell to the doorframes. 

The carpet, however, was a monstrosity. 

“It’s great, Wren. Thanks you,” Theo responded, picking up on his apprehension. He really did mean it, since the thought of a shower, though exhausting, would probably be for the best in the long run. 

“I am feeling better,” He added then, smiling in an attempt to reassure, and then redirected his gaze back to the living room as Wren dashed upstairs, the steps creaking with his movements. 

Typical of Theo to focus on the décor rather than his waterlogged phone, as trying to salvage it had completely slipped his mind. He deposited it on a table by the front door, along with his damp wallet and keys. He untucked his shirt from his jeans, the damp cotton chafing his stomach. He was feeling quite a bit better, the pot helping him to grab a full breath, and although he was dying to sit down he could feel sand clinging to his jeans. Better to stand, so as not to track it everywhere.

Unlike the walls of his parent’s house in Connecticut, these were plastered with old photographs, paintings (by Wren’s mother, he assumed), knick-knacks and other mementos. Sure, his mother had a portrait of the whole family taken every year until his eighteenth, all of which were hung in the sitting room. But there had always been something unconvincing and unsettling about the series. He and his sister tolerated each other on the best of days, and he was pretty sure he could say the same about his parent’s relationship. This discomfort came across glaringly in the photographs, and seemed to become more entrenched in their body language as the years passed. The other artwork in the house had been tasteful, expensive, and boring. 

Wren’s home was obviously different from where Theo had grown up. The pictures here were all candid snapshots that had been hand selected by his parents to frame: of the family at the beach, at an ice-cream parlour here in town, camping, or simply in what looked to be the backyard. Scattered shots of extended family and friends accompanied the family, hung in mismatched wooden frames. Wren and Robin as kids were easy to pick out – as children, their similarities had been far more pronounced than they were now. Long legged and thin, same thick brown hair, same toothy smile. A picture of an eight-year-old Robin proudly showing off to the photographer a sparrow that had landed on her hand. A picture of Wren and his dad standing on a dock, the man grasping a line of fish from one hand, his other wrapped around his son’s shoulders. 

Theo felt almost, consumed by the pictures on the wall, the bits of tourist tchotchkes that declared his parents’ love for Cannon Beach. The photos that showed how much they loved their kids. 

It seemed like a good place to grow up. 

He heard Wren coming down the stairs too late, quickly pulling him from his thoughts. He took a step back, embarrassed, quickly scanning the wall for a photo he’d seen earlier in an effort to deflect. Finding it, he touched the frame at its corner, a photo of an adolescent Wren proudly holding a trophy. Behind him hung a white banner in bright red letters reading “DISCTRICT 10 MATHLETICS FINALS”. 

“This can’t be you. You were a mathelete?” Theo asked, unable to help the grin forming as he looked up at Wren. He looked back at the photo, squinting at it. “And you won first place, of course. Was this the moment you decided to get into finance?” 

He was teasing him, again. He couldn’t help it, not when Wren flushed the way he did, or gave him that smile that was only a little more than a tug at the corner of his mouth. He turned his body around to face him, aware of their sudden privacy juxtaposed with the unique discomfort of being in someone’s parents’ home. His gaze flickered from Wren’s face, to his arms, to the objects held in his hands. Noticing how incredibly quiet the house was. 

“These are for me?” Theo asked finally.

There were things Wren had never liked about home; the size of the house had always felt small for four people, and the sheer amount of stuff his parents had collected made it feel all the more suffocating. But he’d never been embarrassed about it until his arrival at Harvard, where in the first week he’d learnt that half the people on his floor had trust funds, one of the guys in the adjacent suite was a legacy, all of them had attended private school, and a few of them knew each other. Even Scotty, his roommate, who had been an outsider in his own right—unashamedly black, unapologetically gay—had been able to join in with the banter, telling the others about his summers spent in the Hamptons.

He’d never felt more alienated than that first week. Everybody seemed to be circling like sharks, sizing each other up, and he’d known he’d been easy prey. Every time anybody had asked Wren where he’d been from, he’d gotten a “where?” in response to his answer. In the end it had worked out, but he’d always known in the back of his mind that he came from an entirely different world to his peers—and one they’d look down on.

One Christmas, Scotty’s family had gone on holiday and he hadn’t been able to join them because of the timing of finals. When Robin had heard, she’d invited him to theirs, and he’d accepted, and while it had been cool, Wren had felt incredibly anxious the whole flight back. They’d been friends for three years at that point, good friends, but some primal part of his brain kept telling him that the second Scotty stepped through that door he would realise Wren had been faking everything the entire time.

That feeling was back. It shouldn’t have been. He’d only known Theo for three weeks, and Theo knew he was here because he’d burnt out and probably ruined his career, so it shouldn’t have mattered at all. And yet he was all nerves as he watched Theo drink the house in, no doubt judging his weird little home that he’d always taken for granted, even though it’d had a firm hand in shaping him as he’d grown up.

So the first words out of Theo’s mouth acted like a valve turning in his chest, letting out the breath he’d been holding without realising. No laughter or disbelief or dumb jokes. Just an honest, straightforward question. He found himself relaxing.

“Right. Almost forgot you were an architect,” he said. “Yeah, my parents built the house. Is it that obvious? My dad used to be a carpenter, like his dad, so pretty much everything wooden you see is hand-carved.” He smiled. “Apparently it took, like, six months longer to finish the house because of it. My mom likes to bring that up a lot.”

His t-shirt sticking uncomfortably to his back reminded him of his priorities. “I’ll give you the tour later. Be back in a second.” And once he was sure Theo was okay, he darted up the stairs to the second floor, taking them two at a time.

Once he was at the top, he grabbed a fresh towel from the linen cupboard, then headed for the wardrobe in his room. After he’d left for Harvard, his parents had taken advantage of his inclination towards minimalism and had started using it for extra storage. Once as spartan as could be expected of a teenager, it was now full of his dad’s clothes and boxes of fuck-knew-what. All of his own stuff was back in a storage locker in New York so he’d been mostly living out of his dad’s things, which annoyed him a little because it meant he couldn’t complain about it being there in the first place. But at least there was some choice, and he couldn’t lie—age and several cycles of washing had made a lot of his dad’s clothes ridiculously comfortable.

He pulled out a set of pyjamas for himself, some shorts and a t-shirt, then a pair of jersey bottoms and a sweatshirt with an illustration of Haystack Rock on it, and the words ‘Cannon Beach’ laid out in script on top. He was sure Robin had taken it to university with her, and he wasn’t sure how it had made its way back, but he figured Theo would appreciate it.

Before making his way back downstairs, he wriggled out of Theo’s (probably ruined) sweater and slung it over his shoulder. Then he finally bundled up the towel and the clothes and trooped down the stairs, treading a little more carefully this time. Theo had moved over to the wall of photos, and, before Wren even had a chance to say anything, started quizzing him on one of the photos. And, of course, he’d gone and picked one of the most embarrassing ones there.

Wren couldn’t stop the flush creeping up his neck—Theo apparently had a real knack for pressing his buttons—but he shrugged, glancing at the photo as he joined him by the wall.

“So you’ve figured out my secret,” he said, resting his free hand on his hip. “And, hey. Mathletics got me into college, so don’t knock it.”

He smiled at Theo as he turned to face him, though it ebbed a little at the look on his face—indecipherable. And then he was back, asking about the bundle of stuff tucked under his arm.

“Oh. Yeah.” He passed the towel and clothes over, then, suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands, shoved them in his pockets and immediately regretted it. “The shower’s through here.”

He guided Theo through the door at the back of the room, then into the door opposite. The ground floor bathroom was spacious and rectangular, with a bath and shower along the left wall and a sink along the back to the right. A mirror with a mosaic border hung over the sink and it was tiled in pink. On the right was another door, which Wren nodded to as he showed Theo in.

“My parents’ room is through there,” he said, “so this is kind of their en suite. But use anything you want. They won’t mind.”

After showing Theo how to use the taps, and where to dump the clothes he was wearing, he headed back upstairs and hopped in the shower himself. It wasn’t until he’d peeled off his wet clothes and had the warm water pouring down his back that he realised how tired he was. He stood there for around ten minutes, head resting against the wall, the thrum of the water reverberating in his ears.

Behind the noise, a small voice in his head, asking, what are you doing?

Had he really asked Theo back out of altruism? Because it was easier than going back to the party?

Would he have done the same thing if his parents had been home?

He didn’t know, and he didn’t want to think about it. He focused on making sure he’d washed out all the sand he could, then dried himself off and got dressed, grabbing his sandy clothes before making his way downstairs.

By the sounds of things (or, more accurately, the lack of sounds of things), Theo had finished up before him, but Wren couldn’t see him anywhere. He added his clothes to the pile he was carrying and headed into the utility room (still no Theo). Then he tossed them into the washing machine—minus the sweater—before setting it to a gentle cycle. Then back to the kitchen/dining room, still missing his guest, until he noticed the back door was slightly ajar.

Pulling it open far enough to stick his head through, he found Theo sitting on the back patio, his vaporiser in hand, watching one of the chickens pecking around in the outdoor run. He slipped outside, padding across the patio to join him, his still-damp feet sticking a little to the wood on the deck.

“Hey,” he said, as he sat down beside him. “Sorry for taking so long.”

He followed Theo’s gaze over to the chicken run, then smiled. “Your first chicken, right? Is she everything you’ve been dreaming of?”

Wren smiled at Theo’s comment on the chicken, bowing his head to hide it. “I think that’s Isobella. She shouldn’t be out, really,” he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I’ll have to put her back into the hen house soon. They need to be locked up at night for their own protection.”

He knew he was doing that thing again, rambling about something Theo probably didn’t care about. He probably sounded like an idiot, but it was a way to keep the silence at bay, which felt important, though he couldn’t—or didn’t want to—say why. 

It wasn’t as though it was awkward, even though he wasn’t sure where they were supposed to go from here—his plan had kind of stopped after getting into clean clothes.

No. It was more the opposite.

The breeze was picking up a little, but he wasn’t cold any more, despite still being a little damp from his shower. He steepled his fingers, looking down at his hands, then past them, to his bare feet planted on the wooden deck that ran a few feet into the garden. In the sun, it was a deep, rich brown, the same wood as the skirting and door frames inside, but the moonlight turned it inky black, dark and unfathomable. If he hadn’t been able to feel the grain beneath his feet it would have felt like sitting on the edge of a cliff, waiting to be swallowed up. It still did, a little. Though maybe that was something else.

Theo’s voice, his fingers brushing against his jaw, made him look up, over his shoulder. There was something in his face, his expression, his eyes—that same unreadable quality Wren had seen before, when they’d been standing in his parents’ living room, and maybe earlier, too, on the beach, or a couple of weeks ago, back at Theo’s house, when he’d held his bleeding palm and told him he was glad that he’d come back to Cannon Beach. The air felt heavy and sweet. Theo’s gentle hand steered him closer, the gap between them vanishing in too-small increments. Before he knew it, before he was ready, Theo’s lips were pressing against his, tender and thoughtful, and then again, hungrier, this time, but still tempered.

Wren twisted around further, slipping forwards, one arm planted on the deck and the other reaching for Theo. He smelt of lavender and tasted of honey, and his hand on his neck and the proximity of his body, the slow warmth radiating between them, felt like falling. Like he’d stepped off that cliff. Exhilarating and terrifying at once.

He’d closed his eyes without realising, and as Theo pulled away again, they fluttered open. Even in the dim light he could pick out his freckles, the dark flecks in his irises, the colour in his cheeks, a million tiny things he hadn’t let himself notice until now. He knew there were a million more.

Catching Theo’s gaze made the breath stop in his chest.

He was standing on a crossroads between a mistake and a regret.

There were so many reasons this was a bad idea. Michael, for one. His own track record with relationships. His health—Theo’s health. The fact that he fucked everything up. The fact that Theo deserved better.

But, he discovered, as his hand found Theo’s cheek, his thumb running over his cheekbone, then down his jaw, he didn’t really give a shit about any of that. Not here, now, with Theo so close, when he could feel his pulse racing in time with his, when the air smelled like him, when this was all he’d never known he’d wanted.

Second chances, he thought, only came once.

He locked eyes with Theo, no longer smiling. Took a moment to ground himself. To memorise every single detail of this moment.

“So kiss me, then.”

Theo’s kiss crashed into him like a wave breaking against the shore, majestic and all-encompassing, a current sweeping him away, leaving no room for hesitation or second guesses. Not that he had any. Theo’s lips against his, sweet and sticky and entrancing, his hands grasping at his hair, his skin, felt too right for that. Turning back was no longer an option when all he was capable of was wanting more.

He found himself repositioning too, pulling his legs up onto the patio so he could face Theo properly, use both hands to cup his face and pull him closer. His hands slipped lower, to Theo’s hips, then up under the stupid yellow sweatshirt which looked better on him than it ever had on Robin. After months of numbness, emptiness, inescapable apathy, all of these sudden, swirling sensations—not just Theo’s body, but the weight of his hunger—the breaking of the dam holding back all of the desire he’d been trying to ignore since the morning they’d caught Violet overwhelmed him. Like he was drowning. But that was okay. He wanted to succumb. Theo’s skin was warm and soft and comforting as Wren kissed him back, his fingers tracing up his ribs, he thought—Christ—with the small part of his brain still capable of conscious thought, is this what it feels like to be alive?

And then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. Theo yelped and pulled back, scrambled to his feet, leaving a stinging vacuum of cold air. For a moment Wren thought that he’d done something wrong, and he was about to ask if Theo was okay, when a large black shape with incredibly bad breath planted two huge paws on his side and proceeded to slobber all over his face.

“Oh, urgh,” he said, pushing the dog off him. At the same time, a figure leant over the fence and waved at him.

“Sorry!”

The dog barked.

“Fuck,” muttered Wren, grabbing the dog by its collar and throwing Theo an incredibly apologetic glance. “Neighbour’s dog. One sec.”

He slid off the patio, stooping a little to keep a grip on the dog’s collar, and guided him back towards the fence. A few feet away he let go, and on his neighbour’s whistle, the dog ran towards her and nosed through a gap which really didn’t look big enough to fit a dog of that size. Once he was back on the right side of the fence, Wren’s neighbour grabbed him by the collar and clipped a lead onto him. “Phew!” 

Alice had lived next to the Ruskins for almost as long as Wren could remember. She had a daughter a few years younger than him and his parents had had a babysitting arrangement with her where they’d looked after each other’s children every other week so they could all get a regular night off. The dog had come later, and was apparently some kind of horrifying Great Dane/Labrador mix called Rufus. Normally he wouldn’t have minded. Alice was nice, and Wren really liked her, but good lord did she have bad timing.

“Sorry,” she said again, smiling at Wren. “I was just letting him out but he bolted before I could get the leash on. I guess he just wanted to say hello!”

Wren thought it was probably more the chickens, or maybe the fact he couldn’t have nice things, but decided to keep that to himself. “No problem. I’ll speak to Dad about fixing the fence.”

Alice waved her hand at him. “Don’t worry about that, sweetie. Though I am grateful someone was home. I thought you guys would all be down at the beach today.”

“Lots of people are,” said Wren, casting a quick look back at Theo. “I just… didn’t feel like it, I guess.”

She smiled at him and clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, it may be selfish, but I’m glad for that. I’ll let you boys get on.” Looking past Wren, she waved at Theo. “Nice to meet you! Have a great night!”

Hoping that a sinkhole would open up and swallow him whole, he said good night to Alice before turning around and walking back to the patio. A quick look over his shoulder confirmed Alice wasn’t eavesdropping, and he made a face as he took a place next to Theo again. “Sorry about that,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. “I should put Isobella back in her hen house. But, uh. Do you want to go inside?” He shot him a smile, then leant in to whisper in his ear. “I haven’t finished giving you the tour yet.”

Before Theo could respond, he kissed him on the cheek, then winked at him before hopping off the patio again to go catch Isobella. Putting the chickens to bed had been one of the chores he’d shared with Robin when they were kids, so this shouldn’t be too difficult, he thought, gingerly stepping over the chickenwire surrounding the run. Even if the last time he’d done this had probably been ten years ago. Most of the chickens were coop trained, but there was always a straggler or two amongst the group. He was just glad Isobella was the only one feeling rebellious that night.

It took him a couple of minutes to catch her, by sneaking up behind her then scooping her up against his chest. Thankfully she didn’t struggle too much, though she did cluck at him loudly as he walked her over to the coop.

“Oh shut up,” he said, unlatching the coop door and placing her at the entrance. For a moment he was worried she would just hop off the ramp, but after a tense few seconds, she decided it was time to turn in after all and he was able to lock it behind her. It was only after he’d climbed back out of the run that he realised Theo had been watching him the whole time.

He smiled at him, slightly self-conscious, and shrugged. “Not my best time,” he said, reaching the patio, “but I’ve been out of the game for a while.” He held the door open for Theo, gesturing for him to go in first. Once they were both inside, he shut the door and headed for the kitchen, where he wet a tea towel and started scrubbing the side of his face that Rufus had slobbered all over.

“To be honest, I think I preferred it when you were the one kissing me,” he said. Slinging the tea towel over his shoulder, he braced himself against the counter, watching Theo. Wondering if he’d take the hint. (Wondering if he’d imagined it all.)

After a moment, he added, “Anyway, uh… are you hungry? I can cook us something quick. Or… I could finish showing you around the house, if you’re feeling up to some stairs.”

It felt like it was over before it had even begun. 

Theo was smiling against Wren’s lips at the feel of his hands slipping beneath his borrowed sweatshirt. His hands were cool and dry and far bolder than he’d expected. And while he couldn’t have known, he brushed against tiny unseen bruises on his hips and stomach, bruises that he’d had forever and never seemed to fade. Wren’s touch didn’t hurt, though. It felt electric and his nerves jumped at the contact. They’d spent more than enough time being tender with one another, and Theo wanted more. 

He heard the dog before seeing it; a wet panting, foam and drool gurgling around the edges of a large, drooping mouth. He pulled away from Wren and stuttered out a short Oh, Fuck! as soon as the large, snarling hellhound came charging at them from the periphery of his vision. Theo backed away, scrabbling to his feet with more speed than he’d thought possible.

It wasn’t that he was scared of dogs. 

He just didn’t have much experience with them. His parents never kept pets, and his interactions with animals growing up hadn’t really convinced him of their merit. His aunt’s Maltese had bit him when he was five, resulting in three stitches in his palm. A few years later, he’d been snarled at and cornered by a Rottweiler at park during a classmate’s birthday party. He’d gone home early after his mom had berated the man who’d let the thing off leash, but he’d cried the whole time. In high school, a friend’s dad had taken to rehabilitating abused huskies, one of whom (after sensing Theo’s jumpiness) had cornered him in the kitchen during a house party. Those experiences had given him - what Theo believed anyway - a healthy respect for dogs, which meant leaving the damn things alone. While it was true that he particularly disliked larger breeds now that he was unsteady on his feet, he was definitely, definitely not afraid of them. 

He’d just never liked them much. 

He flinched when it barked (Theo was sure it was directed at him), and though Wren handled the dog masterfully, handily grabbing it by the collar and hauling it away, Theo still couldn’t help but back up against the wall of the house. His heart was pounding in his chest, but for a much less pleasant reason than before. Wren looked over his shoulder, glancing at him regretfully, and Theo gave him a shaky smile. He touched his bottom lip thoughtfully, watching him drag the massive dog over to its awaiting owner. It might have been polite to introduce himself to Wren’s neighbour but Theo remained where he was, unable to help but feel like they’d just been caught making out like two hormonal teenagers. 

She seemed nice, and clearly Wren had known her for some time. However, Theo still blanched, completely mortified when she smiled and waved at him, allowing them to ‘get on with it’. He cringed internally, unwilling to delve too deeply into what she may or may not have seen. Wren was walking back, and Theo was trying to hold back his laughter as he came over and kissed his cheek. 

“Do what you have to do.” Theo said, smiling after him as Wren cheekily winked. Fuck it, he felt like a hormonal teenager, and it felt good. It took him only a few minutes to catch the chicken, and Theo was more than glad to watch. Wren was a tall guy, and his first few failed attempts at grasping the chicken had Theo laughing as she artfully dodged around his feet. Finally she was captured, clucking indignantly as a lady should, and he deposited her at the door of her house. From the deck, Theo applauded him loudly, hands clapping together as Wren smiled in that self-conscious way. 

“It hardly shows.” Theo reassured him, grinning as Wren took the step back up to the patio. Theo went inside as beckoned, and soon they were back in the kitchen. 

“I suppose I should take that as a compliment.” Theo responded, leaning against the island. He watched (gratefully) as Wren scrubbed his face clean of dog slobber. He wasn’t hungry, and was trying to stop feeling felt like they’d had their moment stolen. 

Until Wren mentioned showing him around.

“The tour, please.” Theo responded almost immediately. He twisted around as an afterthought, evaluating the stairs that lead to the second floor. They looked steep and narrow, and if there was something in this world that he truly hated it was stairs. If going up them was only exhausting, heading back down was something else entirely. For someone with terrible balance and limited movement and strength in his legs, it was dangerous on a good day. But he’d risk it. 

“I can manage them,” Theo said after a moment, looking back at Wren. He lifted himself from the counter, moving towards him. Theo took Wren’s hand and wrapped his arm around his lower back, placing his hand on his hip and laying his own on top, lacing their fingers together. 

“Just keep your hand here,” Theo said, looking up at him. It was practical, and if he was going to expose his vulnerabilities he might as well use it as an opportunity to get closer to him. With Wren’s help, the trek up the stairs was relatively easy. Theo leaned into his body, his left arm crossing over his stomach to hold Wren’s hand, with his other gripping onto the railing. When they got to the top, his heart was pounding and he felt a little warm, but it went far better than usual. He disentangled himself from Wren as his host went to turn on the lights, and explain which room was which. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet as Wren led him to what he explained used to be Robin’s old room, which was now a relatively conservatively decorated guest room. It was probably the least interesting room of the house. 

Wren led him to his old bedroom, which was almost as bare as the guest room. Wren clicked on the bedside lamp and Theo furrowed his brow, taking the space in. There were some old, curling posters on the wall: Metropolis, pop art and that one of that Parisian cat that was stenciled on all sorts of tourist crap shilled by vendors along the Seine. There were plastic stars glued to the ceiling, glowing weakly in the dim light. Otherwise, his bedroom was fairly empty, which Theo thought was either a demonstration of Wren’s minimalist taste, or the fact that the room had laid empty for a few years. Maybe both.

He wondered what it was like to have to move back home after so much time away. To come back to live in the bedroom you grew up in, sleep in the bed you slept in as a kid. He wondered how bad things must had gotten for Wren in New York before he’d had to come home. Theo knew how difficult it was to ask for help, but Wren’s decision was more than he was capable of imagining. And Wren understandably was fairly tight-lipped about his whole ordeal – having to take leave from his job, admitting that it had become too much. Having to put his life on hold. 

Having to explain why to so many people, and how to justify it without seeming weak. 

“Wren,” Theo began before he’d even figured out what he wanted to say, turning to face him with a small frown on his face. He wanted to fix all that hurt him, wanted to make him feel good, and safe and happy. It was a tall order, and one he couldn’t begin to find the words for. They barely knew each other, but it had never really felt that way. 

Instead, Theo placed his hands on Wren’s waist, and with a small push lead him backwards to the bed. As Wren sat on the mattress Theo had a knee up beside him, helping him lie down as he kissed along the hard plane of his jaw, his neck, his chest. Finally, Theo kissed him deeply on the mouth, relishing the sense of real privacy… And real intimacy that had become so alien to him. 

He’d take kissing Wren under plastic stars over the real deal any day. 

Theo pulled away, sliding off Wren to lay down beside him, head propped up in his hand. He was smiling dreamily at him, the feel of his body pressed up beside him so right, so good. 

“I never really believed I’d get much out of going to group, I really saw it more as something to get me out of the house,” Theo said, voice soft as he tried to parse out his feelings from earlier. 

“But when you showed up, that day. I don’t know. I just really wanted to talk to you… You looked so unbearably miserable.” Theo smiled as he said it, brushing aside a short strand of dark hair that had fallen across his forehead. 

“I’d owe Greg a thank you, but I’m not sure this is what he had in mind.”

Wren had been hoping Theo would go for the tour.

He’d been worried things would be awkward after being interrupted. That maybe Theo had realised what he was doing, or changed his mind, or thought that he had changed his mind, or some other equally horrifying scenario. Their connection felt so fragile, here, in his parents’ kitchen, in spite of everything. 

It was easy to kiss someone in the dark. He would know.

So he’d given Theo an out. They could have dinner, and sit on the sofa, watch some Friday night TV, maybe, and pretend nothing had happened. He could bear that, he thought. It would be hard, but he could manage. 

But he hadn’t taken it. Wren’s stomach did a little flip, even as he pushed himself off the counter, dropping the tea towel onto the side. He let Theo position his arm, marvelling at how well his hand fit on the dip of his hip, at how comfortable it felt. He nodded at Theo’s instructions—the last thing he wanted was for him to fall down on his watch (again)—and braced himself as they started up the stairs. He’d thought it might be awkward, but it wasn’t. Not at all.

Once they reached the top of the stairs, Wren disentangled himself from Theo, using the light switch as an excuse to cover up the way his heart had started pounding. Nerves again, partly, like stepping over the threshold of the top stair cemented things somehow, but also something else. Part of him wanted to take him straight to his room, but another more vocal part said that maybe he should give Theo another chance to reconsider. So he pointed out the bathroom and let him have a look into Robin’s old room, which she’d scrubbed clean of all personality a few months before he’d come back, when she’d decided she was going to live with Ursula instead of their parents. Some of the stuff had gone with her, but most she’d trashed. He’d found a few things their mom had saved hidden in her studio, but most of it was gone.

It was weird—he’d never had an attachment to his possessions, but Robin getting rid of hers felt wrong, somehow. He’d never admit it, but he didn’t like coming into this room any more. It felt a bit like someone had died.

He couldn’t put it off any longer. Shutting the door to Robin’s room, he led Theo across the landing to his own room. He hadn’t really thought about what Theo might make of it, and he couldn’t deny feeling kind of self-conscious as he crossed the room to switch on his bedside lamp. Aside from the laptop tucked under his bed and the iPhone plugged into the wall, they might as well have been back in 2004. Nothing had changed since he’d left for Harvard. That felt like a lifetime ago. A time when everything had been simpler. When he hadn’t yet squandered his potential. When he’d been looking forward to the future and leaving Cannon Beach behind. Never in a million fucking years would he have imagined being here, now, twelve years later, a colossal wreck, showing a boy his childhood bedroom after making out with him on his parents’ patio.

At the sound of his name, he turned to look at Theo, his stomach plummeting at the look on his face. For another awful moment he thought something was wrong, again—that he’d done something, or the stupid embarrassing posters on his wall had turned out to be an absolute dealbreaker. (Not that he could have blamed him.) But then Theo was placing his hands on his hips and pushing him back towards the bed. His touch made him shiver, and before Wren knew it he was on his back, sinking into the mattress, just—enjoying the sensation of Theo’s hands, his lips, his thigh pressing up against him, the long, sweet kiss which made him feel like a teenager again.

He smiled at Theo as he settled down beside him, wearing that goofy grin on his face. The bed really was too small for two people, but he didn’t care as he rolled onto his side to face him.

“I was miserable,” he said. “I just… really didn’t want to be there. But I’m glad I went.”

He flashed Theo an awkward, fleeting smile, before dropping his gaze down to the bed cover. This shouldn’t have been so hard to talk about. On a whim, he slipped his hand into Theo’s, ran his thumb over his knuckles, thinking that maybe things would be different, later, in the morning, when they’d slept off whatever this was, but here, in this instant, he had never been more grateful for anything else.

“When you came up to me, I was terrified.” The admission came out a little stilted, and he swallowed before carrying on. “I didn’t tell you, but… you got my card, that day. About the fears. I thought you’d figured it out, somehow, and were going to… I don’t even know. Interrogate me, or something. But...” He looked back up at Theo, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You told me I’d gotten your card, too. At the time I was just relieved, but now… I don’t know. That’s one hell of a coincidence, right?”

He rolled back on over to his back, looking up at the faint stars stuck to his ceiling. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I’m not sure why I didn’t.”

And then he shot Theo a quick smile. “But… I’m starting to think that maybe Greg planned this all along.”

“You were afraid of me?” Theo asked, smiling. “Was it the cane, or the limp? My bright blue eyes? My semi-permanent state of total and utter exhaustion?”

He knew that wasn’t what Wren had meant, but if he could help lighten the mood he would at least try. Wren still looked a little hesitant, a little uneasy, and Theo wasn’t sure why he wasn’t feeling the same. This wasn’t something he did ever. He wasn’t even sure himself why he’d been so damn determined tonight. Determined to come to the party despite feeling like shit, determined to stay at the party despite all the obstacles. This wasn’t really like him, but he couldn’t complain. 

In his day to day he fluctuated between two extremes. The far end was one of ambivalence and disinterest – the only two emotions exhaustion and near constant fatigue allowed. A burning, through basic desire to live in the isolation and solitude he’d built for himself. The other end, in comparison, was one of extraordinary impatience and stubbornness. He had a blind determination to get what he wanted when he could, as there was a voice in his head that reminded him that his health and current level of disability were by no means stable. Some days he would wake up feeling like one, and other days he was very much the other.

He looked down as Wren took his hand, running his thumb over his knuckles in what Theo could imagine would have been comforting, if only he could feel it. He knew his mood was largely determined by the severity of his symptoms, but this didn’t really feel like that. He looked at Wren’s hand in his, and he felt like he was something he should fight for.

He couldn’t help but frown at Wren’s admission. 

“You’re kidding. I got your card?” He repeated, furrowing his brow. He actually remembered what Wren had written, remembered reading it aloud to the group and how his voice had cracked part way through, and how much it had resonated with him. 

Wren rolled onto his back, looking away from him as he voiced his thoughts to the ceiling. Theo took his arm and eased it under his head, settling himself in closer to Wren’s body, easing into the space between his chest and shoulder. He felt overwhelmingly comfortable. He listened to Wren’s heart beating in his chest, the warmth coming from his body. The bedroom’s small window was open, the smell of the dusty screen mingling with the cool, slightly damp air blowing in from outside. He could hear the faint rumble of a car meandering along through the uneven residential streets, the high-pitched whine of a mosquito bumping up against the screen, trying its best to join them in the warm, cozy bedroom. 

“Don’t apologize. It was supposed to be anonymous,” Theo murmured against his chest. 

Theo tucked his hand up beneath Wren’s t-shirt, sliding up his stomach and resting at his waist, pulling himself closer. 

“Your card kind of fucked me up,” Theo admitted then, staring at the slip of Wren’s stomach that was visible beneath his lifted t-shirt. At the yellow sleeve of the Cannon Beach sweater that was doing his skin tone absolutely no favours. Focusing on anything other than what he was actually saying because if he went too deep, he wouldn’t be able to get out of it. He didn’t talk about his therapy with anybody, ever. Group or individual, it was something he kept extraordinarily private.

“Before I moved here, back in Boston, I was just waiting for things to go back to normal,” Theo said. He laughed, then, something quiet and just short of being bitter. “But it wasn’t going to happen. Because if my friends and family didn’t see me as something that was … Broken, they were waiting for me to get better and acting like I wasn’t trying hard enough. After a while it really screwed with my mind.” He exhaled, feeling like he’d been holding in a breath. 

“I don’t even know normal is anymore. ” He looked up at Wren, held him a bit tighter. 

“This … This feels normal. Tonight, I felt like myself for the first time in years and it just felt so good. I can’t even explain it. I just … I really like you a lot, and I’m sick and tired of waiting,” Theo said, his smile holding. It was why he’d stayed at the party, why he’d come back to the house, why he’d kissed him. He couldn’t get enough of him.

And then he thought of Wren’s card, his smile fading.

“Do you feel like that often?” Theo asked Wren, angling to look up at him. “Like, nobody will ever look at you the same?”

Wren exhaled slowly, shifting a little to allow Theo to slip his arm beneath his head. He closed his eyes, concentrating on Theo’s shifting body, the weight of his head on his chest, his fingers trailing across his stomach. It was weird, kind of, how something so alien could feel so comfortable. Even in spite of everything.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this—just laid in bed, embracing another human being. Maybe this was a first. This scene had never played out here, in his childhood bedroom, before, and the semi-anonymous dates he’d been on back in New York hadn’t exactly left room for anything he could compare to this. This was warm, tender, right. So maybe he didn’t recognise it. Maybe that was okay.

Lacing his fingers through Theo’s, he shifted a little, craning his neck to look down at him, nestled against his chest. And he frowned. He remembered Theo reading his card out, how he’d managed to verbalise everything he’d had trouble expressing, and how the breath had caught in his chest because, all of a sudden, there was somebody else who just got what he was saying. Someone real. Not Allison, with her examples and anecdotes, or Robin, with her sympathy or pity, but someone who’d felt it too. It had made him feel less alone, even if just for a few seconds.

He hadn’t known if Theo would remember. And if he had, Wren hadn’t thought it would have had this big of an impact on him. God, listening to him now, telling him about Boston, and his family, and moving, and his tone, and his small, bitter laugh, and just knowing what it was like, made Wren’s heart break. He sighed, squeezed his hand, slipped his other arm around him, wished, briefly, that they could lie here, like this, for as long as it took to make things better.

“I really like you a lot too,” he said, almost whispered. Saying it out loud felt like relief, a huge weight off his chest that he didn’t know he’d been carrying, a confession he hadn’t realised he needed to make.

His eyes met Theo’s gaze. He looked so worried, so serious, that Wren had to resist the urge to kiss him. Instead, he chewed the inside of his cheek, turning the question over in his head.

“Yeah,” he said, after a moment. “But… it’s different, I think. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like, things were bad for a while before I had to quit work, but I didn’t tell anyone. I thought it was just how things were, you know?” He paused for a couple of seconds, tried to collect his thoughts. “Whenever I spoke to Robin, or my parents, or whatever, I would say I was fine, and I guess they didn’t realise anything was up. We weren’t even speaking to each other regularly, because I was working all the time.” 

Sighing, he squeezed Theo’s hand. “So they had this idea of how I was doing, and it was wrong. But I know they can’t help but think of that when they look at me.”

It was kind of like they were mirror images, he thought. Theo’s friends and family had started seeing him differently, and he’d moved across the country to get away from them. Wren had done the exact opposite. Albeit not by choice.

“I didn’t want to leave,” he said. “Like I said, I didn’t even realise anything was wrong. I wanted to go back to work.”

It suddenly occurred to him that Theo probably didn’t know the exact circumstances behind his move. He thought about telling him, but he had a feeling that might ruin the mood, and besides, he wasn’t even sure if he could talk about it at all yet. So, instead, he settled on another truth, one he hadn’t fully realised until that evening.

He looked back down at Theo, and smiled.

“I’m glad I did, though.”

Theo felt his eyes slip shut and a smile spread across his face at Wren’s whispered words, sweet like warm honey. Wren liked him too. He hadn’t had to say it, but without realizing Theo knew he’d needed to hear it. His body hummed with something like contentmentand warmth, the rise and fall of his chest, the feel of his hand enclosed in Wren’s. He felt himself slipping off, growing more aware of sensations; the cool summer night’s breeze on his skin and the husky lowness of Wren’s voice in his ear. The house was all creaky floorboards and dusty screens; wood smoke from the neighbour’s backyard fire pit and the salty gust of the ocean. 

He wanted to kiss away all his hurt. 

“Just promise me… That you’ll tell me when you aren’t doing okay,” Theo murmured. He could have been more eloquent, could have added that he might not be able to help but he would always want to know. But he couldn’t be sure if Wren ended up responding, as it wasn’t long before he’d fallen asleep.

Nothing in particular woke him: rather, it was a drawn-out collection of noises and movements. A body disentangling from his, the up and down and wave-like sway of the mattress. Half aware as the weight of something (a blanket, probably, something woollen and heavy) draped over him. The sun shining brighter through the bedroom’s single window, the papery whisper of the page of a book being turned. The muffled sound of activity downstairs – breakfast things, most likely. Coffee being made, eggs being fried. The sound of the front door shutting as a man brought in the morning’s newspaper. 

Eventually and very slowly, Theo opened his eyes. 

Drowsily, his gaze drifted from the bedside table, the seamed floorboard, the (crocheted?) blanket clutched beneath his arm, to his clothes sitting washed and folded at the foot of his bed. Slowly, he deduced he was alone. He propped himself up on an elbow, stretching out his spine with a small crack, before peering at the digital clock on the bedside table. It took a moment for the numbers to come into focus, and he frowned when they did. 10:00 AM. Shit. 

Theo began easing his way into a sitting position. He winced as his chest tightened against his lungs, prompting him to experimentally wiggle his fingers. His thumb and index and middle fingers behaved, but his pinky and ring did little more than twitch. It felt like he’d plunged them into a bucket of ice, and unfortunately it seemed that the static numbness which usually politely confined itself to his hands and feet had spread up to his elbows and knees. 

He raised his arms and twisted his wrists, palms facing the floor as he focused on a point on the bedroom wall. His tremor had returned with a vengeance, causing Theo to frown. Without his army of drugs, he could already predict the kind of morning he was to have. 

He took his folded clothes and rose from the bed, managing to get to his feet on the second try. The walls tilted around him, and his steps were cautious as he navigated the unfamiliar space. Slowly, he made his way to the bathroom at the end of the hall, touching the wall as he went and taking care not to disturb the framed photographs, paintings and what seemed to be numerous plaster castings of children’s hand prints, each growing in size the closer he got to the bathroom. 

His morning routine was blessedly reduced to simply splashing cold water over his face and trying to do something about his hair, which had grown wild and curly after sleeping on it wet. Dressing was another matter; while squirming out of the big yellow sweater and joggers was simple enough, pulling on his underwear and jeans and socks took a bit more manipulation. He then slipped an arm through one of the sleeves of his button down, but ran into a problem when it came to finding the other sleeve, his numb, shaking fingers grasping but unable to manoeuver inside. After the third failed try Theo huffed in frustration, loathe to ask for help but unable to think of an alternative. Finally admitting defeat, he gathered the clothes he’d slept in and made his exit. 

Theo’s walk back to Wren’s bedroom was somewhat quicker, considering he was only half dressed with his shirt hanging off an arm. His desire to avoid being forced into polite conversation with Wren’s parents while half-dressed spurred him onwards, ripping open the door to the bedroom only to find Wren, sitting at his desk holding a book. Leg folded over the other, elbow bent and jaw held in his palm. Two mugs of coffee sat on the desk before him, one untouched. 

Theo smiled at the sight, unable to help himself. The morning suited Wren. The sun warmed his features, easing away the worry lines Theo was sure would reappear as the day progressed. Wren was quiet in his beauty, just as he was in the way he spoke and the way he cared. Quiet, but with such intent. Draping a blanket over him as he let him sleep in. Bringing him coffee. 

“Good morning. I hope you haven’t been up long,” Theo murmured as he bent to kiss him, Wren’s lips warmed from the coffee. He deposited the bundle of clothes on the unmade bed. He stood next to Wren then, hesitated, not sure how to ask, or how much to share.

“I’m really sorry, I don’t mean to duck out of here so quickly but none of my meds are here, and --" he grimaced, unsure of how much to share -- “I’m not that much fun unmedicated.”

That was putting it lightly. He tried not to complain too much about what was going on with his body because if he started, he’d never shut up. It always made Michael uncomfortable, so he’d grown used to keeping him in the dark when it came to most aspects of his MS. He didn’t even like asking him for help if it could be avoided. 

Fuck. Michael. He’d gone hours without thinking of him (the plus side of his shitty memory). He was going to have to deal with him today, the sooner the better. It wasn’t a conversation he was looking forward to. Breakups were never fun. 

He looked back at Wren, aware he’d trailed off. 

“I -- For example, my arms and hands have gone numb… and I need help getting into my shirt,” Theo said, expression unsure, words hesitant. Until he remembered what he’d made Wren promise him the night before.

His smile resurfaced slowly, wryly wondering how many shipping containers their collective hang-ups could fill. 

“Do you mind?”

Theo’s sleepy request drew out a long, slow smile, and Wren squeezed his hand in a silent token of gratitude. He’d heard similar things before, “let me know if you need anything”s and “I’m always here for you”s, but they’d always seemed to come from a place of obligation than a genuine sense of caring. This—like everything else Theo touched—was different.

“I will,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

But he wasn’t sure if Theo had heard. His breathing had evened, and when Wren leant over, looking past his curls, he saw that his eyes were shut, lashes dark against his pale cheeks. He smiled and let go of Theo’s hand, reaching out to switch off the lamp. 

He closed his eyes too, and laid there, listening to Theo’s gentle breathing, the house quietly creaking, the hum of the local wildlife, distant waves breaking on the shore.

And he laid there. And laid there… for about a quarter of an hour before his arm started to go numb, and the thought that this might be a long night occurred to him. He gave it another fifteen minutes before extracting himself from Theo’s embrace as unobtrusively as possible, holding his breath as he sat upright, worried he might wake him up. He shouldn’t have; Theo seemed fast asleep, and after a moment, sure that he hadn’t disturbed him, Wren picked his phone up off the nightstand and tiptoed downstairs.

He flicked the lights on as he descended the stairs, then sat down at the dining table to dial Robin. The line rang for about thirty seconds until it hit her voicemail message, a chirpy greeting—Hi! You’ve reached Robin!—a little louder than the ringback tone. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting. It was nearing on ten. The party had been in full swing for at least three hours. There was no chance in hell Robin would be keeping an eye on her phone. Even if she hadn’t been drinking this whole time, as far as she was concerned everybody who might be calling her on a Friday night was already there. Except for him. Had she even noticed he’d left?

He did as instructed and left a message after the beep. “Uh… hey. So, Theo and I had to go home. It’s a long story, but when you come by in the morning, would you mind bringing his stuff with? There was a bag, and his cane, and shoes… oh, and my shoes too. So, yeah. Thanks. See you tomorrow, I guess.”

He hung up. Then he thought better of it and tapped out a text to her as well. And then he thought better of that and sent one to Ursula too, whom he could at least rely on to be sober. One job done, he headed into the utility room to check on the clothes. The cycle was still running, so there wasn’t much he could do, but Theo’s cashmere sweater lying on top of the washing machine made him frown. It would have to be hand washed, he thought, or maybe dry-cleaned, if he hadn’t already ruined it… which seemed likely, between stretching it out and giving it a quick saltwater bath. His mom might know what to do. Or maybe he should just buy him another sweater.

Putting that on his mental checklist, he double-checked the back door was locked before wandering back into the dining room. Someone had run the dishwasher before leaving, so he unloaded it, and was about to go back upstairs (even though he still felt twitchy and restless) when something caught his eye. Theo’s phone on the table in the hall. Ah, he thought. Well. Shit. Another thing he’d probably ruined.

He crossed the floor and picked it up, trying to switch it on. The screen flickered briefly, then died. Definitely ruined then. Wincing, he went back into the kitchen, and put it down on the counter before starting to rummage through the cupboards until he found what he was looking for—a bag of rice, hidden away behind a huge bag of flour and a packet of pasta sporting an expiry date back in 2015. The rice had probably been there for about as long, if not longer. He couldn’t remember the last time either of his parents had experimented with food they couldn’t grow themselves.

Closing the cupboard door, he made sure Theo’s phone was off before he stuck it in the bag, pushing it far enough down so that it was totally submerged. Then he carried the bag into the utility room, sticking it next to Theo’s sweater, so nobody would toss it back into a cupboard where it would get sucked into a void for another five years.

Despite being tired, he still didn’t feel ready for bed, so he hung around downstairs for a while longer, tried to Google how to clean cashmere, then watch a documentary on steam trains on PBS, before finally giving up and heading back upstairs, where he crawled back into bed with a sleeping Theo.

Wren woke up around eight thirty, bleary-eyed, tired as all fuck, arms wrapped around Theo and his face buried into his neck. He’d be lying if he said he had slept well. In spite of Theo’s presence, calming and warm, his bed was definitely too small for the both of them, and he’d had a hard time getting comfortable. He didn’t know what time he’d gotten to sleep—he vaguely remembered his parents coming home, but not them coming upstairs, and he must have slept through them getting up themselves, because he could hear them pottering around downstairs. The radio was on and his mom was singing along. Someone was frying eggs. It felt unbearably like morning.

Moving was hard, but he managed, sliding out of bed and pulling away from Theo. He sat on the edge for a moment, watching him, noting his curling hair, his parted lips, almost in disbelief. Last night had happened. This was real. Which meant, he realised, with a dawning apprehension—unless a miracle happened, it meant he was somehow going to have to get him past his parents.

His stomach sank.

It wasn’t as though he thought they would have a problem with Theo staying over. He knew he was lucky in that respect. But somehow the thought of bringing Theo downstairs, having to introduce him, watch his parents connect the dots, then have to try to handwave away the details of their evening made his stomach churn, especially when he didn’t really know where they stood. He hadn’t exactly been hiding his sexuality, but he hadn’t been all too forthcoming either, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to deal with the fallout of that—his parents coming to terms with the fact they knew less about him than they thought.

Maybe it was best to get it out of the way, instead of dragging Theo into the middle of it. He was pretty sure they would have worked out there was somebody else at home, but he didn’t know how much they knew otherwise. He definitely didn’t want their initial reaction on meeting Theo to be shock, or worse, that look-we’re-so-open-minded thing they sometimes did where they tried to prove they were well-read on the topic of the plight of insert-minority-here, which was well-intentioned, but also vaguely horrifying. (The first dinner after they’d met Scotty for the first time had been excruciating. His dad had mentioned MLK nine times. Robin and Scotty had placed a bet on it. Scotty won $25 and Robin had to drive them around for a week.) He didn’t think he could go through it again.

After brushing his teeth, taking a leak and grabbing a spare blanket from Robin’s room to throw over Theo, Wren made his way downstairs, taking careful steps. His mom was at the dining table, sipping on a mug of coffee with a half-eaten piece of toast next to her, and his dad was at the stove, cracking an egg into a frying pan. They both looked up as he rounded the corner, stepping onto the ground floor, and something about their expressions told him all he needed to know about what they knew.

His mom spoke first, swallowing the mouthful of toast she’d been eating to give him an encouraging smile. “Good morning, honey. Did you sleep well?”

“Kind of,” he lied, leaning against the banister.

His dad chimed in. “We weren’t expecting you home last night. Was everything okay at the party?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I just...” Fuck. How could he even begin to describe this? “… I was taking a walk with, uh, a friend...” (Was that what Theo was?) “… and we got caught in the tide, so we came home to dry off.”

His parents exchanged a knowing look. He sighed and sat down at the table, and his dad abandoned the eggs for a moment to hand him his own mug of coffee. Thank heavens for small mercies.

“So, Alice mentioned she saw you and your ‘friend’ out in the back garden last night,” said his mom, and Wren nearly swore. Of course she had.

“I guess we’ve never had to have the talk with you,” said his dad, turning over the eggs as his mom nodded in agreement.

Wren stared at them. “The talk?”

“Well, you know,” said his mom. “Your father and I are both very happy you’ve met someone...”

“Though you could’ve told us,” interjected his dad, winking at him.

“… and, of course, your friends are welcome any time,” continued his mom. “Though, yes, I hope you know you can tell us anything, and that we’re both here for you. Anyway, we appreciate you’re an adult now, and we can’t stop you from doing what you want, but please just make sure you’re staying safe and using protection—”

“Jesus Christ.” Wren stood up. “I’m not doing this.”

His mom’s smile fell into a frown as he picked up his mug of coffee and headed back upstairs, ignoring his dad shouting after him—“Don’t you want breakfast?”

Was this how Robin had felt, growing up? He thought that maybe he might understand her a bit more, now.

Sloping back into his room, he considered crawling back into bed, snatching a few more minutes with Theo, but the encounter with his parents had left him fidgety and restless. Setting the mug down on his desk, he sat down, then stood up, then picked up the book on his night-stand and tried to read a page, but after getting stuck on the second paragraph he gave up and grabbed his towel instead. He probably didn’t need another shower, but at least it would give him an opportunity to clear his damn head without a chance of interruption.

A quick ten minutes later he already felt better, and after drying off, decided to get dressed into actual clothes—if any of the miserable specimens making up his wardrobe could be counted. Normally he would just throw on the first set of things he could find, as long as they vaguely fit, but that didn’t feel quite right today. So he rummaged through the pile of clothes until he found a plain white t-shirt that was (miraculously) neither too small nor too large, a sweater that was a little too big but at least didn’t have any holes in it, and a pair of jeans which fit at the waist even if they were a little short. 

He’d just finished dressing when there was a quiet knock at the door, which turned out to be his mom, holding their laundry from the night before, neatly folded in a stack.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude,” she whispered, peering around the door. “Oh—still asleep. I presume some of these are his…?”

“Thanks,” said Wren, taking the clothes from her. He separated his from Theo’s and placed the latter’s at the foot of the bed. His mom paused in the doorway, looking like she desperately wanted to say something. She was still there, hovering, after he had put his own clothes away, and he sighed and said, “What is it?”

She gave him a small, sad smile. “Sweetie,” she said, and Wren braced himself, fully anticipating a guilt trip of the utmost proportions. “I hope you know that we only want what’s best for you.”

“I know,” he said, a little thrown. “I mean… I know, and we can talk later, but please just... don’t be so weird about it.”

Her smile widened. “Good. Well, whenever you’re ready for breakfast, come downstairs, both of you. Your dad’s going to make pancakes.” Before he had a chance to respond, she gave him a small wave goodbye and shut the door behind her.

Wren frowned—it sort of felt like his mom may have interpreted ‘don’t be weird’ as ‘be as weird as possible’—but sat down at his desk and picked his book back up anyway. His collection of books had mostly accompanied him to New York, and then summarily abandoned in a self-storage locker, but he’d left a few behind. The majority of them were books he’d had to read in school which he hadn’t particularly liked, though there were a few others too, including the one he was trying to power through.

It was a copy of Brideshead Revisited which someone had given it to him as a present when he’d graduated. He’d just never gotten around to reading it, but he’d picked it up a couple of weeks ago, driven by boredom and a need for a distraction. He’d been finding it challenging, difficult to concentrate on, but as he settled into his desk chair again the morning hum and Theo’s peaceful breathing made it a bit better. He managed six pages before his coffee ran out and he went back downstairs for a refill.

His parents looked at him expectantly as he rounded the corner, and he just shrugged, making his way over to the French press to brew up another batch. The coffee was just about done when a noise from upstairs sent an unexpected chill down Wren’s spine. Footsteps, and the sound of a door closing.

He poured out two cups and headed back towards the stairs. His dad raised his eyebrows at him and his mom tried very hard not to look excited. He gave them both a withering look before carrying the mugs back upstairs. It sounded like Theo was still in the bathroom, so he set both mugs down on his desk and sat back down. He only got half a page down when the door to his room burst open to reveal a half-dressed, slightly frantic-looking Theo—a very drastic transformation from the man who had managed to sleep for twelve hours that night.

And then he smiled, and Wren couldn’t help but smile back, the jittery, tense anxiety over his parents temporarily forgotten. “Not long,” he said, craning his neck to meet his lips. The sheer domesticity of the situation warmed him in a way he couldn’t really explain, and he set his book aside to stand up to join Theo by the bed.

“I don’t believe you’re ever not fun,” he said, though his smile dimmed as he watched Theo’s movements—definitely not as fluid as last night, looking almost painful. Maybe he should get him home as soon as possible. He watched him as he spoke, noting every motion, the hesitation in his voice as he described what was going on, almost like he was worried what Wren would think. It broke his heart.

He stepped a little closer, so they were almost touching, then placed his hands on Theo’s shoulders, pulling him in for a long, deep kiss.

“Of course I don’t mind,” he said, meeting Theo’s eyes, before gently reaching for his arm. Holding it steady, he grabbed his shirt with his other hand, tugging the sleeve over his wrist, then letting go of his arm to pull the shirt up to his shoulder. He straightened it out, making sure it was sitting properly, before starting on the buttons.

“So,” he said, glancing up at Theo with a smile, “I’m happy to drive you back now, but my parents are downstairs and they really want to meet you, and they’re going to ask you to stay for breakfast. Please don’t feel like you have to.”

He finished buttoning up Theo’s shirt, then stepped back to make sure it was aligned. “Um. Your sweater’s going to need to be handwashed, so I’ll get it to you later. In the meantime feel free to borrow one of mine… and. Yeah.”

Once Theo was ready, Wren helped him to the stairs. While he couldn’t see his parents, he could feel their excitement, and it took some extra concentration to make sure he didn’t trip up. As they stepped into the dining room, his parents stood up from where they’d been sitting, and both of them gave Theo a wide smile.

“Good morning!” said his mom, already rounding the table to come greet them.

“Uh… so, Theo, this is my mom and dad,” said Wren. “And mom, dad, this is Theo.”

“It’s great to meet you. Please, call us Martin and Lydia,” said his dad, hot on his mom’s heels. He held out a hand for Theo to shake.

“Sit down,” said his mom, pulling a chair out for him. “Have some breakfast! Martin’s making pancakes. Do you want some more coffee?”

Wren wished, not for the first time, that the floor would open up and swallow him whole.