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

There was something incredibly intimate about the way Wren helped him dress. It was supposed to be the other way around, he knew, but the sweet, long kiss was enough to convince him otherwise. He hadn’t even brushed his teeth yet. And in the absence of the sensation of touch, sight would suffice. The careful way Wren eased his arm through the sleeve had Theo watching the subtle flexing of tendons and muscle beneath his forearm, the jumping of the tiny bones in fingers as Wren held his wrist steady. Theo observed the way he pulled his sleeve up his arm, the slide of fabric against his skin and the way his knuckles brushed against his throat as he straightened his collar. He moved for his shirt buttons, and the slow, deliberate movement of Wren’s hands up and down his chest had Theo’s heart pounding. 

The mention of Wren’s parents wanting to meet him felt like a bucket of ice water being poured over his head, which given the situation, he supposed was for the best. 

“They want to meet me?” Theo repeated, feeling both anxiety and incredible flattery settle right at the pit of his stomach in one complicated ball of nervous energy. 

There were so many reasons to say no. The tightening band of muscle around his lungs was one, very present reason. The absence of sensation in his feet – he didn’t feel his toes rubbing against the fabric of his socks, or the creak of the hardwood floor beneath him (beyond a mildly painful pressure) as he stepped around Wren to take a shaky sip of coffee, both hands wrapped around the warm mug. 

And then there was what his parents would think when Wren introduced him; the weak, trembling man their son had decided was good enough for him, who needed help walking down a damn set of stairs. He thought about his own mother’s first opinion of Ben, how quickly she’d picked out his flaws (her assessment would turn out to be accurate, Theo would find out a year later). Well, Theo’s flaws were right out in the open, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that kind of scrutiny just yet. 

And then there were there were the really good reasons that had nothing to do with his insecurities, like the fact that this thing he had with Wren was so brand new, they didn’t have a name for it. The hadn’t even talked about it. Hell, it was so new Theo was still technically involved with someone else. He ought to break it off with Michael first, before anything major happened, right? That was the right way to do it. Maybe over dinner, when he could bring flowers or a bottle of wine, or something. 

“I, um --”, Theo began, and then hesitated, the excuse forming on his lips falling away as Wren took a step back. Any notion of leaving before breakfast died at the sight of his small, hesitant smile. He must have been nervous as hell. Instead, Theo went for Wren’s hands, fingers curling around his, trying to remember this wasn’t about him. 

“I’d love to stay,” Theo said finally, before shrugging, almost embarrassed. “Don’t worry about the sweater… I’m the genius who thought wearing cashmere to the beach was a good idea.” He said then, moving to loop his arm around Wren’s forearm as they left the safety of Wren’s bedroom. 

“I guess I just wanted to look nice.” 

He’d only ever introduced one boy to his parents, and even today, Ben stood alone among Theo’s legion of exes as the only person who’d felt important enough to subject to a dinner with his family. And while Ben hadn’t been met with open hostility per se, it hadn’t exactly gone well.

He’d been optimistic on the way up to Greenwich. His dad had gone and hired a chef since nobody in his family cooked, which Theo thought had been a little over the top though unexpectedly nice. His sister was home from boarding school for the holidays, whose presence would add a much needed intimacy buffer, and his mother would be a stabilizing presence to his father’s unpleasantness. Theo had driven them up from Boston, using the three hour drive as an opportunity to brief Ben on each of his family members. Under no circumstance was he to talk to his dad about anything other than golf or the Republican party – he was in his seventies and unused to having people disagree with him; his mother liked the New York Times and wine from the Rhone Valley; and his seventeen year old sister was chatty and outgoing. Everything would be fine. 

Theo’s confidence had wavered upon pulling up to the Ronstadt home; an imposing two acre lot with a stone driveway winding serpent-like through an expanse of a manicured lawn, dulled only by the encroaching Connecticut winter. And it became clear that any misgivings he had about this introduction were well-founded. Dinner, when it finally happened, had been tense and awkward, with his mother driving the conversation and Ben attempting to chip in an opinion here or there, his father offering a twitch of reaction whenever he dared speak. Beside Theo, Emily sulked moodily, unhappy at being home for the holidays and experiencing the existential teen angst that came with being separated from her friends. When his father did deign to speak, it was to offer an opinion on a subject (wine, politics, religion, some medical advance nobody at the table cared about) which would slowly balloon into a full-blown lecture. Eventually, even Ben had dropped his charade of attentive captivation to push a crust of something around on his plate. 

Dinner hadn’t actually been the worst part, and all things considered had pretty much followed the script Theo had in his mind. And when the drinks and desert were finished, Theo had excused himself and Ben from the table, intending to head up to bed (and to safety). His father, drunk off too much port, ended up stopping him in his tracks before going too far. 

“Hold on, you two. Lucy made a bed for Ben in the guest bedroom, since I figured you’re a bit too old for slumber parties,” Roger said, something of a smirk curling the edge of his lips, teeth purple from the wine. Was it supposed to be funny? Was he supposed to laugh? 

And to be honest, he didn’t remember much beyond his father’s laughter, his mother’s hissing reprimand (that’s enough, Roger), and the colour draining from Ben’s face. His cheeks had grown hot, his palms sweaty as he stared at his father. And maybe he’d had too much wine, too. Maybe he’d misinterpreted the joke, taken it too personally. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He remembered asking, followed by his mother telling him to drop it, that they’d both had too much to drink and that he and Ben should go to bed. The look on her face was one of tense determination to keep the peace, and told Theo all he needed to know. 

Which they had done, and Ben ended up leaving early the next morning.

It was with -- not a similar sense of dread, but like the volume dial had been turned almost all the way down -- that Theo descended the stairs; one step at a time, eyes on his feet, hand clamped around the wooden banister. Wren had him by the arm, patiently guiding him downwards, though privately he couldn’t help but wonder if Wren too was trying to drag out their descent by as much as possible. He wondered if Wren had told his parents what was wrong with him, or if they’d spend the entire meal distracted, trying to figure it out for themselves. 

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but somehow a friendly, middle-aged married couple hadn’t even cracked the top ten of his list. Wren’s parents stood up as they entered, smiling like they were actually pleased Theo was there, the idea of which somehow incompatible with Theo’s expectations. He let go of Wren’s arm as they approached the table, letting him introduce his parents. Lydia, who somehow looked simultaneously exactly like and unlike Wren, was the first to greet him. She had the same soft features: careful eyes, quiet, wry smile. She was much more animated than her son, however; the bangles and earrings and interesting textiles draped about her body added a swirling, disorienting kind of energy to the dining room, which had otherwise seemed like a serene place the night before. As she approached, the same lavender scent he’d washed with the night before wafted towards him. 

Martin (despite his nerves, Theo had to consciously stop himself from grinning like a lunatic. Another bird!?) was coming around the side of the table, and his smile and sharp features and bright eyes had him thinking of Robin. He’d thought the two were spitting images of each other, until meeting their parents. And then he was sticking his hand out and Theo shook it, at first self-conscious about his tremor and weak grip, though quickly realizing as Martin crushed his hand in his that he probably hadn’t even noticed. Wren’s father was grinning ear to ear, the mood of the room one of such simple … Joy, and excitement. Theo couldn’t help but match it. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Theo said as he withdrew his hand, and then Lydia was at his side, pulling a chair out for him, asking him if he wanted any more coffee as Martin moved off to the kitchen. He smiled gratefully at her, trying to process everything that was happening around him, and then quickly decided to give up.

It would have been easy to feel overwhelmed, but this didn’t feel quite like that. 

“Yes please, thank you. Black is fine,” He said as he sat down, answering Lydia with the small smile that seemed incapable of leaving his face, feeling like he was tripping over his manners. When Wren’s parents scurried off to the kitchen Theo looked across the table at him. He’d blanched noticeably, looking like he was waiting for a tornado to tear through the house. Beneath the table, he laid his hand on Wren’s thigh, giving it a small squeeze.

“I think I’m love with your parents,” He whispered once Martin and Lydia were out of earshot, finding his hand and squeezing it reassuringly. 

“Although, it’s probably a bad time to mention I’m vegan,” Theo added cheekily, giving him a playful shrug as Lydia approached him from behind, setting a colourful mug of coffee down before him. He let go of Wren’s hand and Martin soon followed, setting down a tray piled high with pancakes and small bowls of fruit. 

He let Wren serve him, as he wasn’t about to refuse breakfast due to his annoying dietary choices. His veganism was hardly because of any ethical concerns over the consumption of meat and animal by-products, but rather due to the presence of enough literature that suggested that even moderate consumption of saturated fats and dairy could lead to more MS activity in his brain. But, a pancake wouldn’t kill him. 

And fuck, was it was ever good. He hadn’t had butter in months and he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it. He looked around the table, at Wren, and then at his parents, and wondered what is was like to grow up here. 

“I’ve seen some of your work, Lydia.” Theo said, after everyone was served. “Your landscapes have a real dreamy, Phillip Koch-Georgia O’Keeffe flavour to them. I really enjoyed it,” He added, and then he winced a bit at the phrasing of his compliment, and was definitely not ready to admit where he’d seen her paintings.

“I’d love to see your studio sometime. Wren gave me a bit of a tour last night, but it wasn’t exhaustive. I’ve done some drawing but I never really got into painting, and never in a million years oils.” 

He looked down at his plate, awkwardly holding the fork in his right hand. He was on the last bite, despite trying to savour the last taste of butter he’d have for a while. 

“The pancakes are great, Martin. Did you use bacon grease?" He smiled, looking away. 

"That’s how my mom used to do them.”

Michael hadn’t felt all that bad, leaving Theo alone at the beach. He’d deserved all he’d gotten. 

Following their bitter parting words, Michael had driven back to Theo’s place. He didn’t feel like going back to the shared student housing, not when he knew at least Stella would be home with Ryan and eager to know why he wasn’t spending the night with his rich, older boyfriend as he had been the past few weeks. 

“Theo,” Michael would remind her, and she’d smirk at Ryan in that annoying way, like his name wasn’t really the important part. She was convinced she saw right through him. Michael wasn’t so sure. 

At least Theo had a full liquor cabinet and premium cable. 

It had been easier, earlier on in the summer when there hadn’t been any expectations on their relationship – if that’s what you could even call it. Michael hadn’t wanted a boyfriend at the time, and he was sure Theo felt the same. The first time they had met had been electric: Michael, a moneyless student, and Theo, the architect Michael had almost spilled a drink on. He’d instantly found him attractive, and afterwards had asked him for his number. 

He had fun with Theo. He was funny and smart and charming. It didn’t hurt that had money (family money, or something -- he’d never thought to ask) and had good taste and liked expensive things. They went for long drives through the mountains and along the coast, Theo at first hesitantly allowing him to drive his BMW and then relaxing as Michael proved he was a competent driver. Theo took him out shopping and on dates at expensive restaurants, and they could talk about everything from reality TV to art.

But he was also moody; he could erratically jump from talkative to listless to irritable, and then back again. He was so removed from any semblance of control over his emotions Michael thought it was pathological. Worst of all, Michael was convinced he wasn’t taking care of himself as he should, but every offer of help was soundly rejected. He just wanted to get him out of the house some more, maybe even get him to interact with people who weren’t himself or medical professionals. Hell, he was sure that just going out for a walk would do him wonders. But he was stubborn, and was gifted with the talent of making him feel like an idiot when Michael was sure he didn’t deserve it. He’d even had the idea to go to hot yoga together, finding a groupon for it and everything. He’d thought it might be funny and they could joke about it, but his proposal was met with little more than a derisive snort. 

It was fine. They didn’t have to do everything together. 

He’d only felt the need to make it official with Theo once he’d begun to feel him drifting away. He’d become much more distant (more than usual, at least), and though when asked, Theo had blamed it on some new kind of pain in his chest (or something). He wasn’t convinced, though according to Theo he was apparently in some degree of pain all the time (Michael would never admit it, but he found that kind of hard to believe). 
It had to be something else. And it didn’t take a genius to guess what that might be. 

He’d tried not to think too much about that guy -- Wren, he had to remind himself that his name was Wren, and not the various other expletives he’d been using in its place -- especially since as far as he was aware Theo hadn’t seen him or even talked to him since that day he’d appeared shirtless in the kitchen. When Theo had so innocently blamed the incident on the cat. He’d even checked Theo’s phone while he’d been asleep, and besides a new influx of texts from someone named Robin (from the way she texted, he assumed she was a woman) – there was no new activity. 

He hadn’t spent a great deal of time agonizing over whether or not Wren was a threat. He simply knew he was. It was a gut thing. The way the two of them had startled at the sound of his entrance told him enough, but it was more than that. He’d witnessed for himself the way Theo had held Wren’s hand in his. The tenderness of that single act was something Michael hadn’t experienced from Theo since … Possibly ever. 

So he’d decided to make a statement -- show Theo he meant business, that he wanted more. Because that was what he wanted. 

And maybe it had been a mistake to ask Theo to be his boyfriend, since in retrospect they’d both seemed happier without the label. But it had felt important at the time. He’d expected some resistance from him (that was to be expected), so Michael had prepared a nice dinner and had even gone out and bought a decent bottle of wine. He wished Theo had been a little perkier (he’d told him about dinner the evening before, after all) and maybe a little more grateful. He’d tried to smile as he watched Theo listlessly push a slice of red pepper around his plate for a full five minutes as he nervously nattered on about a story he was sure Theo was only half listening to (something annoying Stella had done, maybe?). He’d ended up pouring himself another glass of wine, as well as one for Theo despite his protests, hoping it would make him feel a little better. 

The extra effort had been worth it in the end, as Theo had said yes. Perhaps a bit begrudgingly, but he would take his wins as they came. And like that, all was well. 

Except, not really. 

He’d had a bad feeling about the beach party almost immediately after Theo had asked him to come, innocuously sandwiching the invitation in between two other sentences. Theo had been curled up on the couch, his favourite cream Turkish cotton blanket draped over his shoulders with his laptop sitting in his lap. It made him look hilariously elderly, a thought Michael decided to keep to himself (though he had made a joke about it once, which hadn’t gone over well).

“Oh by the way, Dunkirk is playing at the Seaside Cinema tomorrow at 7:00. I’ve been meaning to see it and I know if I don’t see it in theatres I’ll never get around to it.”

A long pause. 

“That reminds me, some friends are having a beach party next week. We should go.”

Another pause, the seconds punctuated by the click of the mouse. 

“Oh, shit. Never mind. It’s sold out.” 

Michael frowned at this bit of news: Theo didn’t have friends, he never left the house voluntarily. He’d never even heard him make anything other than work phone calls.

“What was that?” Michael had asked, though he’d heard him perfectly well. 

“I said it’s sold out.” He’d repeated, the added huff of exasperation indicating he wouldn’t be repeating himself again. 

His requests for extra information were repeatedly denied, except that the party was being held by this girl Robin. And he’d felt better, for a day or two, until Theo slipped up and revealed that she was that asshole’s sister. 

Pardon. Wren’s sister. 

But he’d agreed to go, if not begrudgingly. He hadn’t wanted to, but if Wren was going to be there he’d better be there to supervise. 

And well, of course he hadn’t actually made it. 

The drive home had been bitter. He hated fighting with Theo, but if there was one person on the planet who could really piss him off it was his boyfriend. He’d tried explaining why he’d felt uncomfortable with them going and Theo had attacked him. And it was possible Michael hadn’t worded his thoughts as well as he could have, had even been a little sarcastic himself, but Theo should have known why it was upsetting to him. 

He clearly just didn’t care. 

He parked the car in the driveway, taking care to put away the disabled parking permit in the glove box (Theo always got pissed when he found out Michael had used it without him there). He walked inside, unlocking the door with the stupid app Theo insisted on using. He flipped on the lights, starting as two green eyes shone back at him. Violet was perched on the counter, licking the plate he’d forgotten to clean up earlier. 

Violet looked up at Mike’s approach, licking her lips as an impossibly low growl emanated from her tiny body. Mike swatted at her and she hissed, running off to the bed Theo had made for her in the bathroom to sulk. 

Yeah, I feel you, Cat., he thought, moodily. 

After a quick peruse of Theo’s available liquor, he landed on a Chilean Malbec, popping the cork and pouring himself a healthy glass. He chose an HBO serial to watch and hefted himself onto the leather sectional, assuring himself that he could have a perfectly pleasant evening here by himself. 

If only it weren’t for the guilt, a slow ebb that nevertheless gnawed on him for two hours. 

There really wasn’t two ways about it, no matter how much he tried to justify it: he’d just ditched his disabled boyfriend at the beach without a ride home, with people Michael suspected he didn’t know all that well. All because of a stupid argument. And now he was at his house, drinking his wine and sitting on his couch. 

He was back on the road in minutes, deciding on a plan of action as he drove down Mountain Road. He could drive down to the beach and convince Theo to come home, where they could spend what remained of the night on the couch watching whatever vague, boring movie Theo wanted. Michael could apologize and massage his shoulders just the way he liked it (hard enough to bruise), kiss him just the way he liked it, and in the morning make him avocado on toast and coffee. Just the way he liked it. 

There were still plenty of cars in the parking lot by the time he got to the beach, and the party seemed to be swinging in full force. As he made his way to the boardwalk he brought up Theo’s number on his screen and called it, but it went straight to voicemail. You’ve reached Theo Ronstadt, please leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I’m able. 

It was annoying, but not unexpected. Theo was shit about answering his phone. Anyway, he’d been to more parties like this than he could count, and this one didn’t seem to be much different aside from the fact that everybody present appeared to be at least a decade older than him. He passed an open cooler and helped himself to a beer, cracking it open and tossing the cap into the sand. He’d initially figured locating Theo wouldn’t be all that difficult, but it was loud, and everyone was drinking – a fact that proved to be extraordinarily unhelpful in his quest to find Theo. He’d tried asking a few partygoers if they’d seen him, but the only response he’d receive in return varied between a confused Who? or a shrug and a frown. 

Before long, he found himself drawn in by the bonfire. A drunk couple appeared to be tending it, throwing in driftwood and . In the sand was Theo’s cane and bag. 

Where the hell had he gone without his cane? Was he okay? Fuck – how much of this was his fault? 

Nearby, a woman was flitting about from group to group, laughing and chatting. He heard her ask a group of people if they needed anything else to drink, and Michael gravitated towards her, realizing she looked familiar but unable to place why. He followed her as she made her way to the cooler, touching her arm to get her attention. 

“Hey – I’m looking for someone named Theo. He walks with a cane and has kind of a weird limp. Have you seen him? He’s not answering his phone and I really need to track him down.” 

Maybe it wasn’t the most flattering description of Theo but it did identify him pretty distinctly. The woman stared at him for a moment, brow arched, then past towards the fire where Theo’s stuff lay abandoned. She frowned, looking towards the crowd. 

“They were there a moment ago,” She pondered, looking back towards the fire. The flames flickered across her face, distorting her features into something sinister. Something flashed briefly across her face, a brief widening of her eyes, a flicker of a smile, before she resumed what he would have to describe as her poker face. 

“I’m not really sure, but I’m sure he’s around. Sorry,” She answered, shrugging. Someone called her name, a shrieking, maniacal Robin! I haven’t seen you in forever!. She gave him a wide smile (what are you gonna do, right?!), clapping him on the shoulder and making her way back to the party. Michael frowned, unable to help the feeling that he’d been brushed off. Robin? He’d heard that name before.

He couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his gut as he watched her swing her arms around her friend’s neck, voices rising in volume and pitch almost simultaneously. Something was up. She was most definitely Wren’s sister – he recalled Theo mentioning her name, and the two of them were definitely related. Was she covering for him? He walked over to Theo’s things, only now noticing a separate set of shoes that looked like they’d come out of the nineties (or the eighties? He was born in 1996 and couldn’t tell the difference). He knew Theo well enough to know those most certainly had not come out of his closet. 

Two sets of footprints lead away from the bonfire, and slowly the pieces fell into place. 

No way. 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck!

It was hard to keep a straight face at the barrage of greetings-slash-questions Wren’s parents had started to throw at Theo, and, in all honesty, he wasn’t sure if he should be laughing or crying. A part of him felt like he ought to be stepping in, shielding him from the onslaught of words being flung his way, but Theo actually seemed to be doing okay—certainly better than Wren would be, in his shoes.

He watched as he shook his dad’s hand, called him ‘sir’ and somehow managed to make him smile even harder—listened to his gracious acceptance of his mom’s offer, and saw the look his parents gave each other before they scurried off into the kitchen. They loved him. He could tell already. And as he slid into the chair next to Theo, he felt a little like that had been inevitable. He shouldn’t have worried.

He hadn’t brought anyone home before, ever, mostly because he’d never felt like any of his relationships, whether in high school or otherwise, had ever been serious enough to warrant a formal introduction. Bringing boys home had always been Robin’s job. It hadn’t happened often—she was a serial monogamist; this was probably the longest she’d ever been single for—but when it had, she had always seemed defensive. He guessed he understood that better, now. Maybe it would have gone the same for him if he’d had more time to work himself up to an awkward, formal dinner.

But this whole thing had been unplanned, and he wasn’t a teenager, and none of Robin’s boyfriends had ever been as charming or self-assured as Theo was.

Theo’s hand on his thigh surprised him, and he shifted to face him, smiling at his whispered confession. He squeezed his hand back. “I think they’re in love with you too,” he said, and was about to add, “Should I be worried?” before thinking better of it. In spite of everything—last night, breakfast with his parents—he still wasn’t sure what this thing between them was, what to call it, whether it even had a name. Was joking about being in love too much? After all, there was still ample time for Theo to realise he had made a huge mistake.

The (dark, unsettling) fact was that everything leading up to here had happened on impulse. Ditching the party. Inviting Theo home. Kissing him. A whole series of spontaneous decisions for someone who rarely did anything on a whim. The lack of any kind of contingency made Wren nervous, especially when he rarely felt like he could trust his instincts. He was in unfamiliar territory, and, honestly, worried about fucking up.

And just like that, his worst nightmare started to unfold. “Wait—you’re vegan?” he hissed, visibly horrified. “Oh—shit, I’m so sorry—” His mom’s reappearance cut him off. He watched, his horror unfolding, as she placed not only a mug of coffee in front of Theo, but a small jug of milk too. How had he not known that Theo was vegan? Jesus fucking Christ.

“You don’t have to eat anything if you don’t want to,” he said, aiming for damage control as his dad approached with a plate of pancakes, only to be completely fucking betrayed by his stomach audibly rumbling. Defeated, he served Theo up a pancake, before serving himself and passing the plate to his father. And then he nearly choked on the first bite of food. Theo had what, now?

If his mom noticed his reaction, she completely ignored him, giving Theo a surprised, delighted smile. “Oh! That’s very kind of you,” she said, and Wren knew he’d lost her forever. “Both Koch and O’Keeffe are huge inspirations, of course, and it’s always an honour to be mentioned in the same sentence as the greats.”

Wren opened his mouth, wanting very desperately to ask where, exactly, Theo had seen some of his mom’s paintings, but his mom just carried on, leaving no room for interjection. “You’re welcome in my studio any time. I’d love to see some of your work. If you’re ever interested, there’s a group of us who meet up every couple of weeks as a social thing, to talk shop and sketch. Sometimes there’s wine, if you’re lucky.”

“You’ve never invited me to one of those,” said Wren.

His mom gave him a pitying look. “Oh, honey. You’ve never shown any interest before.”

He couldn’t really argue with that.

At Theo’s question, his dad shook his head. “Just good old-fashioned butter, but lots of it. We gave up on meat since starting to keep hens. Have you met them yet?”

“They’d been put away by the time we came back,” said Wren. “Except Isobella.”

“She’s the newest one,” said his mom to Theo. “Always getting into trouble.”

“You’ll have to go out to see them before you head home,” said his dad, and Wren almost died of embarrassment.

His mom must have finally picked up on his discomfort because she picked up the plate of pancakes again. “Seconds?” she said, already sliding another one onto Theo’s plate before he could refuse. “You know,” she continued, moving onto Wren’s plate, “we’re so glad Wren has met someone. We were worried it was never going to happen. He never did seem to have that much luck with girlfriends—or boyfriends—when he was at school, and after he started working, that’s all he had time for.”

“Mom,” said Wren, but she ignored him.

Moving onto his dad’s plate, she continued, “How many hours were you pulling a day, sweetie? Twelve? Fourteen? Sometimes it took weeks to get a hold of you. It certainly didn’t leave time for meeting new people, never mind dating and exploring what—and who—you like.”

“I always said it was unhealthy,” said his dad. “I’m just surprised you didn’t give up sooner. No point breaking your back to make other people money.”

“Dad,” said Wren, “I don’t—“

The sound of keys in the door, and a familiar voice shouting, “Hello!” interrupted him. Robin. God, he’d never been happier to see her. She nudged the door open before their mom got close enough to open it and trundled in, Theo’s bag over her shoulder, his crutches tucked under one arm, and a carrier bag in her other hand. Dropping them by the front door, she took her sunglasses off before giving their mom a hug and coming over to join them at the table.

“Theo! Hi!” she said, pulling out the free chair next to him. She looked way too fresh for someone who had slept in a tent on the sand after a night of drinking. Wren suspected she’d gone home to take a shower first. 

“Wren texted to say you’d be staying here last night,” she continued, glancing over at her brother, before turning her attention back to Theo. “I can’t believe you guys left without your shoes! Must have been some emergency.” She winked, and any goodwill Wren had felt for her immediately disappeared. “I hope he took good care of you.”

“Okay,” said Wren, making an executive decision. “Thanks for breakfast, but I think it’s time for me to take Theo home. Alone,” he said, shooting Robin a look. He stood up, then held an arm out to help Theo up, ignoring the crestfallen looks the other members of his family had suddenly adopted. As they said their goodbyes, he made sure he had his keys and phone, before fishing their shoes out of the carrier bag and slipping his on. Then he walked him to the door and helped him get reacquainted with his own shoes and crutches. 

Once they were ready, he hefted Theo’s bag and opened the door for him.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said to his parents, before following Theo out and shutting the door behind them. He could finally breathe again.

Showing Theo to the car, he said, “Fuck. I’m so sorry about my family.” And then, after a moment: “Why didn’t you tell me you were vegan?”

“Wren, it’s fine,” He whispered back with a grin, on the verge of laughter. He hadn’t expected him to freak out as much as he had, but maybe he should have suspected. A little butter wasn’t going to kill him, but fuck, going back to an existence without it might. 

He matched Lydia’s smile with one of his own when his compliment landed, and broadened when he was invited to her next gathering. The warm invitation was unexpected, though totally welcome. Drinking wine and talking about art with a group of fifty-somethings sounded amazing.

“That sounds like an absolute treat,” replied Theo. 

Then turning to Martin, said “Oh, she’s beautiful, but she definitely knows it. I had no idea chickens could have so much attitude.” 

The warmth around the Ruskin table was incredible, though he couldn’t help imagine if their situations had been reversed, and it was Wren meeting his family for the first time. But it was difficult. First of all, the Ronstadts never ate breakfast together. His mother might make a pot of coffee, but growing up there had always been meetings, lunches at the club, or early morning practices pulling them all in different directions. If there happened to be one parent or another home at the time of an impromptu introduction (which was slim), his emotionally distant mother wouldn’t have engaged much further than pleasantries, and his bigoted father wouldn’t have known what to do with himself. 

No, if it had been Wren meeting his parents, Theo would have snuck him out at five in the morning to avoid the disaster altogether. 

The ease in which the conversation flowed had Theo lulled into a false sense of security, where his replies came easily and wittily. Not only was he in his element, but he found Wren’s parents absolutely fascinating. He wanted to interrogate them on how they had managed to raise two Ivy League graduates, an area where his parents, for all their resources and connections, had roundly failed. How they had done while still maintaining good relationships with their children? He knew he didn’t know everything about the Ruskins, that the perfect family didn’t exist. But it was so easy to pretend like they were, and he was a part of it. 

That dose of reality came soon enough. 

He found himself a little thrown when the topic moved onto Wren, Lydia addressing him as she moved about the table. Theo looked up, watching her slide another pancake onto his plate, the first one already sitting like a dumbbell in the pit of his stomach. His appetite was scant on the best of days, and the breakfast was far richer than what he’d grown accustomed to eating. 

“He’s just got good taste,” Theo said, trying to lighten the conversation, a grin threatening to swallow him whole. Though it faded quickly, as he turned to look at Wren, who looked like he’d do anything to get his mother to stop talking. If his own mother had ever brought up his dating history around a new boyfriend, Theo was sure he would have had the exact same expression on his face, but for vastly opposite reasons. Although, he couldn’t help feel a little smug at the fact that Wren was picky with his affections. 

Theo recalled some of what Wren had said the night before on the topic of his depression. When it had been easy to talk about those things in the privacy of Wren’s bedroom, in the silence of the warm summer night and in the comfort they offered each other. Wren had explained how his family hadn’t had any idea how hard a time he’d been having in New York. How all he wanted was to go back to work – go back to normal. He couldn’t imagine what it was like for someone who pulled such long days to suddenly be faced with so much empty time, day after day. He wondered how he coped. 

His mind went back to the first time he’d met Wren, whose appearance suggested he hadn’t seen daylight in weeks (he was helping his parents out with their taxes, which now having met them, seemed like a very helpful thing to do). He’d been scruffy, tired, and pale. The fluorescent lights in the basement of the church probably hadn’t done much to help, but his wasn’t the appearance of a man who’d given up. There was something in his dad’s words that troubled him, but he kept quiet. 

Unsure of what to say to make the situation more bearable (his options flickered before him like a rolodex, but all the wrong things came to mind first), he smiled at Martin and Lydia, reaching for Wren’s forearm and giving it a small squeeze. 

“I’m sure you’re both happy to have him back home,” Theo said, giving Wren a smile of his own. 

The door opened and Robin burst in, the subject dropping. He felt Wren relax beside him as his mother immediately rose from her chair to help her inside, and he had to admit he felt just as relieved as Wren. The energy within the room changed as she bustled about, shooing away the offered help and setting down the bundle of objects draped about her person (though Theo was secretly relieved to see she’d remembered to bring his things, not entirely confident she would remember). He greeted Robin as she sat down next him, shrugging and grinning at her comment. He was envious at how quickly she’d rebounded after a night of drinking. 

“It seemed like a good idea at the time, I swear,” he said in defence of their evening stroll along the beach. He reached for a sip of coffee, though immediately snorted it back up through his nose at her comment. He coughed, hand over his mouth. While it sent sharp stabs through his chest (as if his body was reminding him it was time to go home), the pain helped him contain his laughter. 

“No complaints here at the level of care,” said Theo, once he’d found his voice. And then a sidelong grin at Robin. “He was a perfect gentleman.” 

He was still laughing as Wren stood up and announced that it was time to leave. He couldn’t blame him, especially with the way Robin was beaming at them. She’d probably text him later to get the details (and maybe, just maybe Theo would oblige her). Taking the hint, he took Wren’s arm and hauled himself up, standing only a little unsteadily. 

“Nice to meet you both, Martin and Lydia. Robin, I’m sure I’ll see you soon. Thanks for breakfast!” He let Wren lead him to the front door and stepped into his shoes, awkwardly twisting his ankle to slide his feet inside. He took his cane when offered, more than relieved to have it back. 

“Oh, come on. I thought they were really sweet,” Theo said in Wren’s parents’ defence once the door was closed, though he was careful not to chide him too much. He had friends enviously tell him how great his own parents seemed, to which Theo was only able to roll his eyes. “I literally don’t think I’ve ever had two people so happy to meet me.” 

It was a bright, sunny morning. He could feel the swell of humidity coming on, but so close to the ocean it felt cool and breezy. West Adams Street was already bustling with people walking down to the beach and a few of Wren’s neighbours were in their yards, chatting on the street or gardening. 

He shrugged when Wren asked him why he hadn’t told him about being vegan. Briefly, his expression turned into a tight grimace as he descended the step down from the porch, body angled sideways as he set his cane onto the pavement, carefully easing his foot downwards. In the end it didn’t matter, as the top of his thighs cramped up painfully anyway. 

“I don’t know. Why didn’t you tell me you were a workaholic?” He asked rather cheekily once he was steady. Was he deflecting? Possibly. But did either of their withheld secrets really matter in this situation? … Possibly, though probably not. Theo tried to re-evaluate. 

“It didn’t seem important,” he admitted after a moment as they made their way to the car. But how many other details of his life didn’t seem important enough to tell Wren? Most of the withheld information seemed like ordinary trivia, and not all that important to who he was. He was born in Connecticut. He went to boarding school. He was vegan. 

“Anyway, it’s not that big a deal. It’s not for any ethical reason, there’s just some studies out there that say saturated fat is bad … For people who have what I have, and it was just easier to cut out all animal products. But I’m not going to be a dick about it and refuse a meal.” 

He let Wren open the passenger’s side door for him, smiling his thanks and easing into the seat stiffly. Through the windshield, he watched Wren come around to the driver’s side, and he wondered, only somewhat anxiously, when he might get to see him again.

Wren started up the car and slowly pulled out of the drive, Theo gazing out the window in an attempt to get his thoughts in order. The leaves were turning a proper shade of gold, and he realized rather suddenly that this would be his first autumn in Cannon Beach. The thought filled him with a rare swell of excitement, and the feeling gave him enough confidence to push forward with what he wanted to tell Wren. 

“I know we haven’t really talked about this yet,” Theo began, unsure how this was going to sound. “… I just wanted to let you know that I’m ending things with Michael today. I should have done it a long time ago, but … ” Theo trailed off, and then shrugged. He didn’t have a good reason: it had seemed like too much effort, he’d never gotten around to it. He supposed the reasons didn’t really matter. 

“But, I was wondering if you’d let me take you out for a proper date sometime soon. Maybe for dinner, Monday night?

Wren hadn’t realised how much he’d needed some air.

He knew how he must have looked. The sag of relief in his shoulders, the exhalation of breath at shutting the door on his family, the instinctive and sudden relaxation that came with leaving his parents behind—it couldn’t be flattering. He must have seemed so ungrateful. Theo’s defence of his parents certainly implied that he thought so, anyway.

He sighed, but didn’t respond. It was sweet that Theo liked his parents, and appearances aside, he was thankful that they liked him too, but he didn’t think his immediate thought would go down too well… that his parents were so pleased he’d shown some signs of having a life outside of their taxes they would have been overjoyed no matter who he’d brought home. 

He shoved his hands into his pockets. Maybe that was unfair, both to them and to Theo. They had genuinely liked him, and to their credit, they’d been on pretty good behaviour. Unfortunately that probably meant they were going to compensate for that later. He wasn’t looking forward to coming back home for the interrogation he knew was forthcoming, which would only be ten times worse if Robin stuck around to egg them on. She was probably producing a verbal dossier—rattling off everything she knew about Theo from university (as though they’d been friends rather than acquaintances), annotated by whatever she’d gleaned from him during the past two weeks they’d been texting. Which, to be fair, was almost certainly more than Wren knew himself. She’d probably known he was vegan.

Chewing on his lip, he glanced over at Theo as he answered his question, his stomach sinking a little at the reminder. It would’ve been easy to get defensive, if he was anyone else. But he thought he knew how he felt.

“Come on,” he said. “I’m pretty sure you knew I was a workaholic before you even met me.” He was joking too, mostly. Theo knowing how many hours he’d been used to pulling felt like a violation, somehow, something he’d like to have been able to confess himself, even though it was pretty trivial. Theo was the only person who knew him now, instead of before, and he didn’t think he was ready to break that wall down just yet.

It also made him a huge hypocrite. He unlocked the car, rested his hand on the passenger side door for a moment. “Nothing about you is unimportant,” he said, suddenly serious, before the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile. “I want to know everything.”

(He wondered if Theo felt the same, like knowledge was intimacy.)

Opening the door for him, he waited until Theo had gotten himself comfortable before crossing over to the driver’s side. He’d been the last person to drive the car, when he’d been tasked with ferrying drinks and firewood from the store to the beach, so the seat was in the right position, at least. Which was good, because he had enough other things to worry about. Aside from the day before, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d driven, never mind with anybody else in the car. There had been no need in New York, or even in Boston, and while he’d learned along with the rest of his peers, he’d never enjoyed it the way Robin did. At least their parents’ Corolla was bigger than her Honda Civic, even if it was from the 90’s and had a manual transmission. Kicking the car into gear, he pulled out of the driveway, making a right turn onto West Adams, then a left onto Hemlock Street. Thankfully, there didn’t seem to be much traffic, but Wren was so busy concentrating on not stalling the car that he almost didn’t realise Theo was addressing him.

He risked a glance towards him, something about his tone catching his attention. It took a few moments to process what he was saying, and another few to sort through his feelings. He’d somehow managed to avoid thinking about Michael, operating on the (maybe slightly hopeful) principle that avoiding a problem would make it go away, and if he was going to be honest with himself, he hadn’t dared to speculate on what Theo had been thinking. He’d only met Michael once, but the comparison hadn’t seemed favourable. Michael was young, handsome, and had his whole life ahead of him; Wren was nearly thirty and living with his parents. He knew who he’d have chosen.

But at the same time, he didn’t particularly care for Michael. He’d come across as aggressive and unpleasant, and Theo’s comments on the beach last night, about how he wanted to give up on Violet, had only worsened his opinion of him. As selfish as it was, if Theo hadn’t said anything, if he’d been OK with just carrying on with whatever this was, he thought he could have lived with that. This was more than he’d dared hoped for. And he thought he’d pinned it down. The feeling coursing through him, unfamiliar but good, was happiness.

He smiled. “You mean last night wasn’t a proper date?” he teased. “I’ll have to try harder.”

Maybe they could skip the whole breakfast-with-the-parents thing.

“But… yeah. I guess I can let you take me out on a date on Monday.” He sneaked a glance at Theo. (The mid-morning light shining through the window, framing his face like a halo, nearly made him lose control of the car. God, he wanted to kiss him.) “Let’s keep our shoes on until we’re inside this time, though.”

The drive to Theo’s house was pleasant and still green, though winding, and thankfully short. Wren had to apologise for a jerky stop twice, but only almost stalled once, which was another small miracle. He nearly missed the turning off the highway, but spotted it just in time.

But even having to drive couldn’t ruin his mood. He was still smiling when he pulled in to Theo’s driveway, and when he unbuckled his seatbelt, and retrieved Theo’s bag, and hopped around to the passenger door, and helped Theo out onto solid ground.

He took his free hand, though Theo probably didn’t need it, and started to lead him up to the house, only to pause by the door. “So. Monday, seven PM, Newman’s.”

His smile began to fade. Monday seemed pretty far away. “I’ll text you. Or call you. Or something...”

On impulse, he let go of Theo’s bag to pull him into a kiss, long and tender, a proclamation of how much he’d enjoyed their time together, how much he’d miss him, how much he was looking forward to seeing him again. Things he couldn’t articulate in words. When they pulled apart again, he gave Theo a sheepish grin and handed him his bag.

“Maybe I can come see Violet after dinner?” he said. “Or if she’s around now, and you don’t mind...”

He was about to add that it felt wrong, coming to see her without a gift, when the door opened.

For a single, stupid moment, Wren thought Theo had done it. But that didn’t explain the figure shadowed in the door frame, holding a cardboard box and wearing a very angry expression. His stomach sank.

“Michael,” said Wren, definitely no longer smiling. “Hi.”

Later, Wren would look back over the events of that morning, and try to work out what he should have done differently.

The facts were these:

1. He and Theo had were having something approaching a nice moment.
2. Michael interrupted by means of a sudden appearance in Theo’s door, which did seem to be his modus operandi*.
3. Theo told Wren to leave.
4. Michael looked crazy.
5. Leaving Theo alone with a crazy Michael seemed like a bad thing to do.
6. Michael proved he was crazy by throwing around wild accusations† and confessing he’d been stalking Theo‡.
7. Leaving Theo alone with a crazy Michael, when Theo lived in the middle of fucking nowhere, definitely seemed like a bad thing to do.
8. Theo broke up with Michael.
9. Michael confessed to—what? Letting Violet loose? Having her euthanised? What did ‘letting her go’ mean?
10. He almost got involved, but Theo was mad enough for the both of them§.
11. Michael shoved Theo to the floor.
12. Everything went to shit???

* Were two data points enough to draw a generalisation?
† Maybe not so wild(?), but definitely not correct.
‡ Possibly an exaggeration, in retrospect.
§ Which, even amidst the horror and fury, had made his heart swell. Angry Theo was a sight to behold.

Wren had always prided himself on being intelligent. The lowest grade he’d ever gotten was a B. In high school, he’d won a national Mathletics championship. He’d graduated with two degrees, both magna cum laude, scored a 175 on his LSAT, and all in six years instead of seven. Even when his life had fallen apart, when he couldn’t get out of bed any more or forgot to eat for a couple of days in a row, it was a truth he knew he could cling to. If nothing else, at least he was smart.

Which just made what happened next all the worse.

He wished he could have said he’d seen it coming, or he was fast enough to get out of the way. But in that moment, all of his attention had been focused on Theo, on making sure he was OK. He had—well, not forgotten about Michael, but definitely moved him down on his internal list of things which needed to be dealt with.

This is how it he’d planned it in his head: he would help Theo up, and check to make sure he wasn’t hurt. Once he was sure he was fine (or had at least established the extent of his injuries), he and Theo would turn around to face Michael, exuding an air of cool anger with a hint of disappointment. Wren would speak for the first time, and say, “I think it’s best if you leave now,” and Michael would look at him, know he was right, and disappear out of their lives forever.

This is how it actually went: he got halfway to Theo’s side before his head snapped back, and he felt a sharp stab of pain on the left side of his face, just above his eye. The next few things were unclear. He thought he remembered hearing Michael’s voice yelling at him, though he wasn’t sure what he was saying. He knew he was yelling back, though, or at least about to yell back, because his mouth was definitely open when Michael’s fist crashed into his face the second time. He didn’t remember that hurting, but he did remember the taste of blood.

Then, suddenly, Michael was gone. He must have blacked out for a few seconds, because the next thing he knew he was sitting down, with Theo hovering to one side and a stranger who looked a little like Santa Claus on a hunting trip shining a light in his eyes. He looked kind of familiar (maybe because of the Santa connection), but also awakened some kind of weird, unsettling sensation in the back of his mind (was he hallucinating?), and he felt like he should warn Theo about him, but he found he couldn’t really do much except follow instructions, so he did his best to follow the stranger’s fingers with his eyes, and that seemed to make him go away, at least, for which Wren was profoundly thankful.

Fuck, did his face hurt.

Then, Theo was next to him, holding onto his hand, providing him with an anchor, a beacon to swim towards, and everything hurt a little bit less.

“No… no,” he said, wiping at his mouth with his sleeve. “I’m fine. I just… I think I need to lie down.”

Later, when he told Robin about what had happened (only after swearing her to absolute secrecy), she would tell him that a) he had clearly been in shock, b) of course he should have gone to hospital, was he fucking stupid, and c) he must have had it bad, because the Wren she knew would have never been so irresponsible. (She would say this last bit with a smug grin.)

He stayed seated until Theo found his keys, then let him show him indoors, where he slumped on the couch before Theo ran off to go get his first aid kit. Kicking off his shoes (it took more effort than he would have liked), he tucked his feet up beneath him and gazed around the room. It was definitely a lot worse-looking than last time (in spite of the wardrobe being missing). There were a couple of dirty plates out on the coffee table, next to a laptop Wren assumed was Theo’s. He thought he could see some shards of glass on the floor near the kitchen, and there were a few empty bottles strewn on the counter, where he’d been the last time Michael had walked in on him and Theo. He couldn’t believe it had been two weeks ago. He still had a scar on his palm from Violet’s bid to escape.

Violet. He’d almost forgotten about her. Michael had said he’d let her go, whatever the hell that meant. Theo had said, when they’d been on the beach the night before, that Mike had wanted to release her. So had he just gone and done that? His heart sank a little. If Michael had driven her out somewhere and dumped her, the chances of them finding her again seemed vanishingly small. Even if he’d just kicked her out, she’d been so hard to catch the first time. What were the chances of catching her again?

He closed his eyes (and winced; his left eye was rapidly starting to swell) and settled back, resting his head on the back of the couch. Aside from the entire left side of his face hurting, he hadn’t realised how tired he was. He should probably go home, though he had no idea how he was going to explain this to his parents, or even drive back. He couldn’t even blame this on Violet this time. She was gone.

And then he heard the meowing.

At first he thought he was hallucinating again, like he had with the man outside (he made a mental note to ask Theo about him later), but then it happened again, more insistent this time, and when Wren opened his eye (singular) and craned his neck, he was pretty sure he could see a small black shape sitting on the deck just outside the sliding door. No way, he thought, but he was already getting up and gingerly making his way to the door—just in case it was her. And sure enough, there she was, sitting primly behind the glass, wearing a look like, what were you waiting for?

He fumbled with the door, and as soon as he got it open she sauntered in like she’d never left, the tip of her tail twitching. Sliding the door closed, he reached down to give her a scratch, and predictably she bolted, going for the bedroom. Wren followed her, watching her dart under the bed. Fuck. He’d never been happier to see someone run away from him before.

Leaning on the wall opposite the bedroom, he knocked on the bathroom door. “Hey, Theo,” he said, cracking it open. “Look who I found.”

It took a while to get Randy to leave. Apparently, he’d picked up a few bushels of tomatoes and had made a ketchup he was dying for Theo to come over and try, and it was very important that he relayed this information to Theo right now. In fact, Randy seemed to have a different idea of what constituted an emergency, and it took Theo repeated assurances that he’d come pick up a jar to get him to take the shot gun and make his way back home through a break in the forest. He actually really liked Randy’s preserves (the man really had a knack for chutney), but the last thing he had on his mind was ketchup. 

And they were alone. He looked at Wren, squeezing his hand in his.

“Let’s go inside.” Theo said softly, standing and pulling on Wren’s hand for him to do the same. 

He led Wren into the house, a strange role reversal that involved much of the same actions as the night before: hooking his arm through Wren’s and holding onto his forearm, coming in close and watching the ground for anything that might trip them up. Usually, this wasn’t something he had to worry about when at home. But this wasn’t a usual day. He dragged the box of Violet’s things closer to the door (the sight of it produced a tight feeling in his chest), and picked up his cane from the ground, the action producing a sharp twinge of pain in his lower back. And as he fumbled to fit the key into the lock, he hesitated. 

Even knowing how messy Michael was on a good day, how vindictive and how immature, he still wasn’t sure if he was ready to see the state of the house. He opened the door, setting his wallet down on the side table and propping his cane up against the wall. He slid out of his shoes, using the catatonic Wren for balance, and dragged the box inside, shutting the door behind him. 

Then he walked unevenly to the main room where he took it all in, his breathing growing tight.

There was glass on the floor near the kitchen sink, the shards of which looked an awful like one of his crystal rock glasses. The empty bottles littering the island bore the label of his favourite scotch (Lagavullin 16) as well as the emptied remnants of an expensive Malbec, and the dirty dishes on the coffee table looked like they’d been sitting there all night (there would probably be rings on the wood). Worst of all was how quiet it was, impressing upon him the distinct lack of a yowling cat. This on its own was bad enough, but Wren separating from him and immediately bee-lining for the couch was what did him in. The way he slumped against it in obvious pain had Theo frozen in place and biting his lip, and he had to push something down in his chest that felt an awful lot like emotion before he did something, or said something, he regretted. 

Fuck, he’d gotten so good at keeping this shit bottled up. 

“Let me get the first aid kit,” Theo said to Wren, voice tight, before heading back to the washroom. 

He shut the door behind him and braced himself against the vanity, knuckles white as he gripped the edges. He just needed a moment to pull himself together, that was it. Because just as this mess was entirely his fault, a direct result of his indecision and selfishness and shittiness, it was up to him to fix. Alone. And how could he even begin? Wren needed his help, Violet was gone, and his home was an absolute mess. His shoulder hurt, his back was twisted up into knots, and his feet felt like they were burning. He desperately needed to take his meds, along with his Copaxone injection. All he wanted was to go to bed and pull the covers over his head. Theo looked up at his reflection in the mirror, and the man who stared back looked pale, inadequate, and completely overwhelmed. He clenched his jaw and looked up at the ceiling, feeling the beginnings of something entirely unwelcome pricking at his eyes. 

There was a knock and Theo straightened with a start, immediately wiping at his eyes with his palms and heading for the door. Now what had happened? What could be worse than what had already transpired? Had Michael spray painted a dick on his bedroom wall? Or had he tossed all his clothes outside and Wren had just found them scattered all over the wet, dirty ground? A million scenarios raced through his mind, each one more unpleasant than the last. 

When he opened the door he found Wren in the hallway, peering into his bedroom (which thankfully, Theo noted, hadn’t sustained any damage from Hurricane Michael). He followed his gaze, bending slightly to look under the bed. And then he saw her. 

Two yellow eyes glared back at him. His heart jumped into his throat. 

“You found her? How? Where?” Theo asked, turning to look at Wren. Had she been waiting at the door? Relief flooded over him, and then as he stared at Wren’s poor, battered face, a surge of unexpected and intense gratitude. He didn’t deserve him: this man, who despite all the shit Theo had put him through, was still standing at his side. 

Theo screwed up his face and bit his lower lip, looking away as he tried to blink away the tears welling up in his eyes. It was too much. It was only after a moment, when he realized his efforts were in vain, did he take a step forward and wrap his arms around Wren’s waist, and buried his face into his chest. He inhaled deeply, partly to hide the fact that he’d perhaps (definitely) been crying (only a little bit), and pulled Wren tighter against him, bodies flush. He made him feel less alone, like the gigantic mess of his life was suddenly much more manageable with Wren here. He pulled away only when he felt like he’d composed himself, and looked up at him, smiling gratefully. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just that this whole mess has just been so fucked up and …” Theo paused, trying to find the right words. “I really don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Fuck. He had to stop, before he started tearing up again. He inhaled deeply, shaking his head. 

“This is her home though, right? It makes sense she came back.” The thought made Theo smile despite himself, and then he nodded in the direction of the bathroom. He had to get back to business. “Anyway, go sit down, let me take a look at your face.” 

Theo had a wooden stool beside his sink for those fun times when standing while brushing his teeth was too much effort. He directed Wren to take a seat, before handing him a washcloth to hold up to his split lip. 

“Celexa is an SSRI, right?” Theo asked as he took his keys out of his pocket and unlocked his medicine cabinet, rummaging through it. He took the glass sitting by the sink and filled it with water, surprised (but not really, if he was honest with himself) that he remembered which anti-depressant Wren was taking. He then sorted through a few of the orange bottles he kept at the back of the cabinet, reading the labels before frowning and stowing them away. He had four or five different pain medications (hence the lock on the cabinet), and back when he’d been on Zoloft he recalled his doctor telling him there were no interactions between it and Percocet. Oxycodone, however, was another story. 

“Take two, if the pain’s bad,” Theo suggested, shaking out a couple of pills into his palm and handing them to Wren, along with the glass of water. “It should help. Just let me know if you need any more.” 

He took out his pill organizer, flipping open the lid for SATURDAY A.M. and deposited its contents into his palm. There were six pills in total, ranging from two chalky white discs (Ampyra and Baclofen), two large green horse pills (muscle relaxants), and a few vitamin supplements (vitamin D and magnesium). He added two blue Valium to the mix and tossed the pills back in one motion, washing them down with a gulp of water from Wren’s glass and grimacing as he felt the lump travel down his throat. He still needed his injection but would do it later, preferring not to subject Wren to it just yet. 

That was two things crossed off his list. Next: clean up Wren. 

Theo took the washcloth from Wren and ran it under the warm tap, wringing out the excess and watching grim-faced as the water, swirling down the drain, ran pink. He stepped in front of Wren, only having to bend a little as he gently wiped away the blood that had dried at his temple. The cut on his eyebrow was thankfully small, and had stopped bleeding. Theo gently held Wren’s face still, his pinky at his jaw and his thumb at his cheekbone. Despite his shaking hands he managed to place a small butterfly bandage over the wound, hoping it would minimize any scarring (if it were to happen). 

“I think your lip has stopped bleeding,” He murmured then, gaze flickering over his face, to the bruise creeping up against the bridge of his nose, down to the ridge of his cheekbone, to the bright ocean blue of his one open eye. The corner of his bottom lip was split, and probably sore. Theo softly touched his chin with his thumb, and then leaned down to kiss the edge of his mouth, sweet and gently, before his hands went to hold Wren’s to help him stand.

He brought Wren to the bedroom, and once they were there reached up to unzip his sweater, carefully pulling it from his shoulders before instructing him to lie down and get comfortable. The sleeve was bloodied and needed to be washed, and he bundled the sweater in his arms before leaving the room, promising he’d be back shortly. 

And then he cleaned up.

Feeling tired, Theo marched across the hall to the laundry room, depositing Wren’s sweater into the washing machine and running it, really not needing any more of Wren’s clothing on his conscience. He noticed then that Michael had been kind enough to leave her litter box untouched, unlike the rest of her possessions. He then made his way to the kitchen, the sun streaming in through the windows like it was mocking the way he should be feeling. Hey, it’s a beautiful fall morning. Be more grateful. Go for a fucking walk.

He swept up the broken glass, using the lip of the counter to lower himself to a position where he was able to sweep the shards up into a dust pan and into the garbage, and then gathered the empty bottles, dumping them into the recycling bin beneath the sink. He searched through his freezer for a bag of something frozen, only able to come up with a bag of organic edamame, which he wrapped up into a tea towel. That done, he set up Violet’s food and water bowl, and smiled as she came running out from the bedroom, yowling at him like he was the one at fault for her hunger. Which, he supposed was fair of her. 

Finally, he sat heavily down on the couch, setting his computer on his lap and lifting it open. Immediately, the picture he’d taken with Wren the night before popped up on the screen, framed by the setting sun and Haystack Rock. Theo stared at it, seeing for the first time what him and Wren actually looked like together, and he couldn’t help but be drawn in by the small details. He noticed the way his head rested against Wren’s shoulder and his wide, uninhibited smile as hammed for the camera. The crows feet at his eyes and his messy, windblown hair. He clicked through a few of them, only realizing now how close they stood, their bodies pressed flush together, Wren’s small, affectionate smile appearing somewhat less reserved only in the pictures where he was looking at Theo. That explained a lot, he though numbly as he started through the slideshow again: Michael must have seen them as they synced up to the cloud. He would have felt angry with him for using his computer, but quite frankly, he was tapped out, and was beginning to perhaps understand why he’d been so angry. His feelings for Wren, and perhaps vice-versa, were obvious to everyone but the two parties involved. 

How cliché. 

A quick check of his email confirmed that nobody at work had been trying to reach him (thank God). After sending out a quick email to his boss asking him to email or skype him should he need to get in touch, he shut the lid and tucked the laptop under his arm, heading to his bedroom, feeling much more at ease. 

Or maybe that was just the Valium doing its job. 

Theo set the laptop and bag of edamame onto the side table and changed as quickly (and quietly) as possible into a soft white cotton t-shirt and a pair of grey cashmere blend sweats. He didn’t really like being so dressed down around company (never mind the fact that the sweatpants had a drawstring waist – quelle horreur!), and he really didn’t like having the bruises on his forearms so visible, but he was fairly confident Wren would be hard pressed to notice either. 

His suspicions were confirmed as he slid into bed next to Wren, the other man stirring only slightly (whether it was out of pain, or because the painkillers were doing their job, he couldn’t be sure). He bent forward and unfurled the soft linen blanket that sat folded at the end of the bed (Patricia had washed his sheets yesterday, thank God), draping it over himself and Wren and taking care to ensure his feet were covered. Finally, he propped up his pillows so he could sit up a little, and settled down beside Wren, exhaling slowly as he eased against the head board.

“Here, come a little closer,” Theo murmured, slipping his arm under Wren’s neck and moving in closer to him. He reached for the bag of edamame and set it on his chest, gently coaxing Wren closer until he could comfortably rest his injured face on top of the cold pack. He shifted a little himself as Wren curled into him, taking some of the pressure off his spine, slowing his breathing as he stared up at the skylight almost directly above him. The wind had picked up and the branches of the spruces swayed with it, letting in brief flickers of sunshine. It was usually pretty cool in his house, but Wren was warm, and he could feel the effects of both the muscle relaxants and Valium settling into his bones. Absently, he ran his fingers through Wren’s hair, and Theo rested his cheek against his head.

“I wanted to kiss you, you know.” Theo said, voice just above a whisper. “The first time you came over to help me with the wardrobe, and Violet ended up scratching you. I wanted to kiss you, but I didn’t. I wish I had.” He smiled. He’d been a coward, but he’d made sure to kiss him this time. 

“It feels like everyone knew how much I liked you but myself. Michael did, at least. I should have ended it sooner… I’m sorry I didn’t. I’m sorry you got hurt because of me.” 

And then, a wry smile, as he realized even if Wren let him off the hook, he had at least one other Ruskin to worry about. 

“Robin’s going to kill me when she sees your black eye.”

“She was sitting by the door to the deck, making a racket,” said Wren, angling to get a better look at her. “I just let her in.”

He glanced over at Theo and frowned—as well as he could—at the look on his face. Like he was trying not to cry. 

“Hey,” he started, about to ask what was wrong before Theo pulled him into a hug. For a moment he wasn’t sure what to do, couldn’t quite piece the situation together, make the jump from happy to see Violet to crying in the bathroom, but he found himself leaning into it, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing him close, his arms only falling away when Theo stepped back. The look on his face, his expression of gratitude made his heart melt. Not least because Theo had it backwards.

He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what to say, couldn’t put the words together in his head. So he smiled at him—as well as he could—and took a seat, pressing the proffered cloth up to his mouth, wincing as it made contact, then immediately regretting it. The entire left side of his face felt tender and too warm, and concentrating on it just made it worse.

“So I guess Violet’s decided she’s here for good,” he said instead, watching Theo filling up the glass and diving into his medicine cabinet. The collection of pill bottles looked unpleasant. Wren wondered how Theo managed it; he struggled to remember to take one pill a day, never mind several. He accepted the glass and the pills from Theo, inspecting them for a moment before popping them into his mouth and taking a long sip of water. (Later, he thought he probably should have asked what they were before taking two.)

He took another sip of water before handing the glass back, looking away, down to the floor as Theo took his own medication. Watching felt wrong, somehow. He only lifted his gaze when Theo plucked the cloth from his hand, and he tried to stay still as he hovered over him, wiping the blood off his face. The cloth was warm and Wren closed the eye he still had any control over, only opening it again when Theo’s fingers replaced it, cool and gentle and reminiscent of the last time he’d been in Theo’s house, leaning against his kitchen counter as he’d swabbed his chest with an alcohol wipe. The memory was so vivid. But, he thought, fighting the encroaching fuzziness as Theo’s lips brushed against his, this was better.

Grasping on to Theo’s hands, Wren let him lead up into the bedroom, only realising how tired he was once he was back on his feet. He watched Theo’s hands as he undid his sweater, taking in the taper of his fingers, the soft curve where they met the zip. They were beautiful. He could hear his heart thudding. If only this was happening under different circumstances. And then he remembered that now, there was nothing stopping different circumstances from happening.

Theo didn’t need to tell him to go lie down twice. Climbing into the bed, he curled up, tucking his arm up under his pillow and closing his eyes while he waited for Theo to come back. Ideally he would be here too, but he thought he could hear him around the house, opening and closing doors, starting up the washing machine, and the domesticity of it, the normalcy in the face of such a weird morning made him smile. 

He didn’t think he would fall asleep, but he must have done, because the next thing he knew there was a blanket over him, and Theo was next to him, enticing him closer, onto his chest. He shifted over until his head was resting on him, on the ice pack he’d brought with him, and he draped one arm across Theo, tucking his hand under his t-shirt.

Cold, he thought, or maybe said aloud, though he wasn’t sure if he meant Theo or himself. It didn’t matter. As Theo whispered into his ear, stilling his breath, he curled his fingers across Theo’s side and said, “Me too.”

And, in a moment of clarity, he realise that it was true. He did wish Theo had kissed him then, or that he had kissed him first. It had cost them two weeks of this.

“Don’t be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong,” he mumbled. “Robin won’t care. She’s been trying to set us up since church. So I think this is her fault.”

He stretched a little, shifting to free his trapped arm, which was starting to go numb. He angled his head to kiss Theo’s chest. “Thank you for looking after me,” he whispered.

He wondered if he should call his parents, but he didn’t know where his phone was. It would probably be okay. If that morning was anything to go by they would definitely be making assumptions about what he and Theo were up to as opposed to worrying. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“My mom and dad really like you,” he said to Theo. “Maybe more than me. Mom doesn’t invite people to her brunches usually. You should know that.” And then, a sudden thought occurred to him. Moving back a bit, so he could see Theo’s face, he said, “Where did you see her paintings, anyway?”

His bedroom, like much of his house, was quiet and airy, the windows letting in plenty of light that was naturally subdued by the thick canopy of spruces. He’d spent a lot of the past two weeks bedbound, and had never once regretted his choice in king sized bed, or the mounted TV on the far wall, or the air plants he had hanging from the windows in their little glass pods. It all made for being bedbound for days on end much less stifling and quite frankly, less depressing. 

It didn’t take much coaxing for Wren to curl into him, the other man sliding a hand under his t-shirt and over his stomach, touching the bruises and scars and pits left by his injections. He held his breath as Wren’s hand ran over his ribs, knowing perfectly well how much the ridges would be pushing against his skin. He tried not to feel too self-conscious, as much as was possible. He’d lost weight since moving to Cannon Beach, and he was sure it made him look sicker than he was actually was. 

Theo grinned up at the ceiling, his laughter at Wren’s comment catching in his chest and pulling him away from his discomfort. It wasn’t a surprise to him that Robin had been interfering, especially when he considered the facts of the last two weeks. She’d boldly volunteered Wren to come over to Theo’s to put together a wardrobe, and she’d talked him up whenever the opportunity presented itself while they had been texting (one of her comments he knew now to be a bald-faced lie, going so far as to call Wren an excellent driver, and suggesting Theo call him should he need a drive anywhere).

“Deal. We’ll blame Robin,” Theo agreed, although he doubted very much that she wouldn’t care about the black eye. He wondered, briefly, if the dosage he’d suggested to Wren had been a little high. It was significantly less than what he himself would have taken, but he couldn’t remember the dosage for somebody who hadn’t developed a tolerance to most pain meds. He’d ripped off most of the labels since growing suspicious that Michael had been pocketing a few of his painkillers when the opportunity presented itself, so he wouldn’t know if he was ingesting an OxyContin or something much less fun like a laxative. But, as long as Wren wasn’t in pain… That’s what mattered most, right? 

Speaking of which, Theo sat up a little, angling himself to check out the state of Wren’s injuries, pressed up against the bag of edamame. He tilted his chin up, and then grimaced at the creeping black eye that was developing. He decided not to tell Wren, settling back down against his pillows. 

The feeling when Wren thanked him for taking care of him was unexpected, and really wasn’t something he could describe. He wasn’t even sure if anyone had ever said that to him. Back when they’d been together, Ben hadn’t really been someone to seek out or even need much support, which worked in their favour for a time as Theo had been the one who’d needed it all: the emotional support, the physical care, the runs to the pharmacy and the multiple hospital visits. Towards the end they’d grown so far apart, the last thing Ben had wanted from Theo was any sort of intimacy from him. And Michael, well. He’d liked caring for Theo when it was convenient, and Theo had blatantly overcompensated for any feelings of vulnerability by being unpleasant and short tempered with him. 

Maybe, he and Wren could take care of each other. Maybe this was what he needed. 

“Always,” Theo finally responded, angling his head to look at Wren, before tucking his arm beneath his neck and dipping his hand beneath his t-shirt, idly touching the hard plane of his shoulder blades, the dips and ridges of his spine, the muscle shifting and tensing as he repositioned his body. He settled into a rhythm, trailing his fingers up and down Wren’s back in what he hoped was a comforting way (he was also pleased to note that the meds were doing their job and the movement to his limbs had been restored). It wasn’t completely altruistic, as he had to admit the man had a nice set of shoulders. And the added contact had him slowly growing more comfortable with Wren touching his stomach, a fact helped by the way the other man had seemed to melt into him, a much more relaxed, looser version of himself than Theo had yet seen. Maybe he had drugged him a little too much. 

Unbidden, his mind went backwards a few nights to when he’d been in bed, suffering through a migraine. He’d very carefully placed pillow beneath his neck and between his knees as he tried to will away the stubborn twisting pain that had settled at the base of his skull. The pain had been so bad he’d felt like vomiting, and almost had, caused mainly by Michael coming to bed and tugging him closer, an action that might have been sweet to someone else had the pillows not slipped loose, causing the migraine to flare back to life. 

But, Michael was gone. He was actually, truly, out of his life. 

“You’re sweet. And your parents clearly adore you, so I’m flattered.” Theo murmured, but he smiled at the sentiment. He liked Wren’s parents, and was actually excited to see more of them. He thought they were insanely interesting people.

And soon enough, he was pulled from his safe little reverie when Wren asked about the paintings. Ah, fuck. 

“I hoped you’d let me off the hook for that,” Theo said, a large, only somewhat embarrassed smile spreading across his face. He raised his forearm over his eyes, hiding however ineffectively from Wren’s inquisitive gaze. He could have lied, said he’d seen one of her paintings hung up in a coffee shop or that he’d gone to the gallery. But both of those stories presented too many problematic holes, but more importantly, he didn’t feel right lying to Wren. 

“I’m only admitting to this because I think I gave you too much Percocet and I don’t think you’ll remember. But – just remember, I promise I’m not crazy,” Theo began, removing his arm from his forehead and meeting Wren’s eyes. How could he make this sound the least like he’d been stalking him? Or was that exactly what he’d been doing? 

“Over those two weeks when we weren’t talking … I couldn’t get you off my mind. So obviously I decided Google stalking you was the best way to get you out of my system,” He grinned sheepishly. “It didn’t work, obviously. And I didn’t find much, you’ll be happy to know, besides your bio on the Deloitte website. But a lot of your mom’s paintings come up when you look up ‘Ruskin’ and ‘Cannon Beach’ together, so … Yeah, that’s pretty much it.” He did actually really enjoy her work – he wasn’t completely full of shit. 

“I do like the picture you have up on your bio. You look so young and innocent.” Theo teased. 

“The content isn’t bad, either. You attended Harvard twice over, graduated top of your class both times, and you were called to the bar in your early twenties? You’re very intimidating, Mr. Ruskin.” His voice had dropped to a husky whisper, though he was still grinning. 

He decided against going so far as to admit that he’d saved the portrait of Wren somewhere on his phone. It was funny, and incredibly endearing, and he wondered how he could get Wren to wear his glasses more often. That was for him to know only. But there had been more information on that profile that he’d hoped would have sated his interest in Wren over those two lonely two weeks, for the simple fact that they were so different. Wren’s interests had been distinctly nerdy: from his choice in degree (what the hell was Math Economics, and why would anybody voluntarily major in it?) to his extra-curriculars in school. He’d thought Wren’s foray into the Model UN had been bad enough, only to be out done by his being nationally ranked in Mathletics. 

However, to his surprise he hadn’t been bored by Wren’s (fairly weird, inaccessible) interests. No, it was even worse. He’d found him more endearing, and oddly enough, more alluring. 

He pulled Wren closer and pressed his lips to his temple, only noticing then that his one functioning eye had closed, though he couldn’t be sure if he was asleep. Time to be quiet, then. 

There was some movement by the door, Theo tearing his eyes away from the sweet, tired man in his arms to catch a glimpse of the shadow slinking under the bed. Violet liked to keep tabs on him, and tended to follow him from room to room (not that she ever let him pet her). He was happy to see that what little trust he’d established with her hadn’t been broken. 

And then to his absolute surprise, she jumped onto the bed and settled down on the other side of Wren, before lifting a paw to begin daintily grooming herself. Well, that was kind of insulting. But obviously, he wasn’t the only person who’d missed him. 

Feeling oddly … whole, Theo settled back into his pillows, reaching for the side table and grabbing the remote with his free hand, trying not to move about too much. He readjusted the blanket, draping it over Wren's shoulders, before continuing to rub his back. 

“Wren,” Theo whispered, “Do you want to watch a documentary, or something really stupid but really entertaining?”

Wren’s vision felt a little fuzzy around the edges, the bright, ambient light lending a warm glow to anything in his field of view. Theo, now, framed by the sky and the spruce trees branching over his skylight, with his reddish curls and dimpled smile, looked like an angel. Wren couldn't help but think back to the day before, to the photo they’d taken together at sunset, and how heavenly he’d looked then too. Maybe he was one. Maybe that was the secret. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

“Oh no,” he said, cracking a smile at Theo’s confession. But of course he had. It made perfect sense. And honestly, was kind of flattering, even though he could feel his ears burning.

Rolling back over, he buried his face into Theo’s stomach and groaned. He’d forgotten all about his biography on the Deloitte website. They’d taken his photo the day he’d passed his probation, pulled him off some paperwork he’d been working on to show him into an empty meeting room where a colleague with a camera had told him to smile before blinding him with a flash. He’d looked at it once and then never again. On a normal day the thought of someone apart from maybe a client (certainly a crush) stumbling upon it would have been completely mortifying, but here, now, lying in Theo’s arms with his hand tracing down his back, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He shut his eye, curling his fingers against Theo’s side. “Gonna have to Google you,” he mumbled, “dig up some dirt.” Or he thought he did, anyway. And then Theo was asking him something, but he couldn’t quite make it out.

“Whatever you want,” he said. That was the last thing he remembered, before falling back into a long, deep sleep.

Robin had been looking forward to this weekend for a long time. The pieces had all fallen into place so well. Friday night, annual beach party. Saturday, lazy day in with Warren. Sunday, farewell brunch with Warren, then a relaxed afternoon catching up on work. Having an opportunity to resolve the whole Wren/Theo situation had just been an added bonus, and it had worked out better than she could’ve ever hoped for.

(It almost made up for the fact that the rest of the weekend wasn’t going to plan. Driving Warren back to Ursula’s, she’d had to stop three times to let him puke out the window. Their lazy day in was going to need a miracle hangover cure if they were going to get it back on track.)

All she’d wanted was to get them to be friends again. While she hadn’t known exactly what their fight was about, she’d known it had to be something stupid, and that if they just talked to each other it would work itself out. As it turned out, she’d been right, but she would never have dreamed that it would work out by them ditching the party and spending the night at her parents’. When she’d woken up to Wren’s text asking her to bring Theo’s stuff over, she’d made a conscious decision not to get too excited. But then, seeing them together, the way Wren smiled at Theo, the way Theo took his hand, how they’d responded to her (maybe a little mean) teasing—she’d known.

“Can you believe it?” Mom asked after they left. 

Yes, Robin thought. Yes, she could.

She ate breakfast with her parents (a single fried egg and a glass of orange juice) and helped her mom clean out the chicken coop before making her excuses to leave too. She hugged both parents, popped her sunglasses back on, and headed back out to her car. Starting it up, she switched the radio on (Classic FM), then sat back and texted Warren.

12:53 Robin
so i’m pretty sure they hooked up. 
like 80%. maybe 85
wren and theo i mean
wren def looked like he’d gotten SOME kind of action
and they left without their shoes?????? like why else would they leave their shoes behind
i’m gonna head to the store now. you wanted pepto bismol right? anything else??

Kicking the car into drive, Robin pulled out of the driveway and took a right, then another right down Hemlock Street, stopping a couple of minutes away near Theresa Family Market. Once she’d parked and climbed out, she checked her phone to find Warren’s response.

12:55 Warren
maybe a time machine
so I can go back to last night and stop myself
i want to die

13:01 Robin
i mean i’ll try but
you know
might have to settle for the pepto bismol

13:01 Warren
ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Rolling her eyes, she locked the car and popped into the grocery store. She’d been planning a casual tapas-style lunch, which didn’t look like it was going to happen now, but even if Warren couldn’t keep anything down, she still wanted to eat something, but it didn’t make any sense to get the tapas stuff any more so she’d have to figure it out on the fly.

Wandering around the store, she got her phone out again to look up potential candidates for an emergency lunch meal, but ended up checking her messages, even though she knew there was nothing there. On a whim, she flicked past Warren and Ursula and her mom to Theo, where she typed up another quick text.

13:13 Robin
so??? what happened???
give me ALL THE DEETS
maybe not too many deets but come on at least some deets

For a moment she debated texting Wren too, but there was probably no point. Even though he’d promised to explain later, trying to get information from him over text was like trying to get blood from a stone. (Better to ambush him later, when he couldn’t ignore her.)

Stowing her phone, she finished going around the shop, picking up a loaf of bread, a couple of cartons of fresh soup and some ibuprofen in addition to the pepto-bismol. Then five minutes later, she was home, pulling into the driveway outside the house she shared with Ursula, Olivia, and—for the weekend, at least—Warren. She unlocked the door and wandered into the kitchen, leaving the soup and bread on the counter before going in search of Ursula. She found her in the living room, sat on the couch with Olivia, watching some kind of cartoon that seemed very bright and very loud.

“He’s in bed,” said Ursula, before Robin could even ask the question. “Please tell me you’ve brought something that’ll make him stop complaining.”

“I think so,” said Robin, holding up the bag. “We’ll see.”

“Good luck,” said Ursula, in a tone of voice that made it sound like she’d need it.

Warren was lying in bed, wrapped up in the duvet aside from his feet which were sticking out the bottom. Robin flopped into bed next to him, dropping the grocery bag in front of his face.

“Pepto-bismol, as requested,” she said. “Theresa’s didn’t have any time machines in stock, though. Not even in the back. Sorry.”

Warren made a noise somewhere between a whimper and a groan. Robin sighed and turned over to give him a hug. At least this was better than where she’d left him, huddled over the toilet looking very sorry for himself.

“Come on,” she said. “Drink up. I’ll get you a glass of water.”

Warren groaned again, but made an attempt to sit up this time, wriggling out from under the duvet. He looked a little pale, a little sweaty, and if he’d actually been sick instead of incredibly hungover, Robin might have felt sorry for him.

“OK,” he said, steeling himself. “Thanks.” He grabbed the bottle of pepto-bismol from the bag and gave Robin a solemn look. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

She squinted at him. “Are you sure?” 

He nodded bravely. “Give me ten minutes.”

So she did. And to his credit, despite Robin’s reservations, Warren did lumber down the stairs ten minutes later, even though he did bring the duvet with him. Sitting down next to Robin, on the floor in front of Ursula and Olivia’s couch, he accepted his glass of water gratefully.

“You look better,” whispered Robin.

“I feel better,” said Warren, putting an arm around her. “Thanks.”

She shuffled up a bit closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I bought some soup, if you feel ready to eat,” she said.

“Oh, god.” He pulled a face. “One step at a time, babe.”

“Shut up!” said Olivia. “I’m trying to watch TV!”

Robin had just started preparing for dinner when she got a somewhat panicked call from her mom.

“Can you please come over? Isobella’s gone missing. You know I wouldn’t normally ask but I can’t find her and neither can your dad, and it’s almost dark..”

“What about Wren?” said Robin, putting her mom on speakerphone so she could continue to chop carrots. “He’s usually good at that stuff.”

“Oh,” said her mom. “He’s not home yet, and he’s not answering his phone, so...”

Robin set her knife down. “He’s not home yet?”

“No… he must still be at Theo’s. And you know what he’s like with his phone… anyway, will you please come help us look?”

“Of course, Mom. Give me fifteen minutes.”

Hmmm, she thought, hanging up. Wren and Theo had left their parents’ at maybe eleven, eleven thirty, which meant the last time anyone had heard from either of them had been, what, six hours ago? It seemed pretty unlike Wren to go missing for that long, no matter how much he liked Theo. He was an emotionally stunted idiot, but at least he was responsible. Usually.

And Theo hadn’t texted her back either, which… may have meant they were both preoccupied, but also may have meant they’d both gotten into an accident. She couldn’t decide which one was more plausible. Dumping the half-chopped carrots into a bowl, then sticking the bowl in the fridge, she tried texting Theo once more just in case.

5:28 Robin
????? hey you guys ok?

No response, even after briefing Ursula and Warren on the situation, getting into her car and driving the five minutes to West Adams Street. Her mom met her at the door with a flashlight, which she shoved into her hands.

“Still no news from Wren?” she asked, and her mom shook her head no. “And I guess you haven’t found Isobella yet?”

“No,” said her mom. “Your dad’s checking with Alice, to see if she might have got into her garden… I don’t think she’s in ours. We just spent half an hour combing through the hedges.”

“Have you checked inside?” asked Robin.

Her mom stared at her for a moment, then snapped her fingers. “Honey, you’re a genius,” she said, before disappearing into the back hallway.

Robin shrugged, then sat herself down at the dining table, pulling her phone out again. Still nothing from Theo. She tried texting Wren too, and then opened up Facebook just in case it provided any clues. It did better—next to Theo’s name, a little green circle. He was online.

She opened up Messenger and typed out a message to him.

Saturday 5:46
THEO
?????
i know you’re there
is everything ok? where’s wren??

For a moment she thought she’d just missed him, but then the ‘Theo is writing a message’ ellipses popped up on screen. And disappeared. And popped back up again. Just before the relief wore off and her patience ran out, his reply came up on her screen.

Theo
Oh, Robin, hi

Robin
oh
my
GOD
what happened?!?
where’s your phone??
where’s WREN’S phone??????
don’t tell me youve been making out this whole fucking time

Theo
Nothing happened
Wren is mostly ok, we just had kind of an issue coming back
He got into
an altercation
with my ex

Robin
a what
what does that mean
“an altercation”

Theo
But he’s asleep now and fine and happy and I’m taking care of him so nobody has to freak out

Robin
i’m coming over

Theo
He might not be able to drive so he can stay here tonight 

Robin
what 
theo
what the FUCK???
why can’t he drive???????
i’ll be there in ten

Shoving her phone back into her pocket, she went off in search of her mom.

“Mom?”

“In here!” Robin followed her mom’s voice into the laundry room, where she was hunched by the washing machine. Peering around the other side, Robin could just make out a tuft of feathers between the washing machine and the wall.

“She likes to hide in here,” said her mom. “I have no idea how she got in—the door’s been shut all day—but thank you so much for bringing it up. I would never have thought of it myself.”

“No problem,” said Robin. “Glad you found her. Look, I need to get going. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Okay, sweetheart,” said her mom. “See you soon. Love you!”

“Love you too, Mom,” she said, giving her a quick hug. She took a quick detour upstairs to grab some clothes for her stupid, idiot brother. There were a set of pyjamas on the bed, and a shirt on top of pile in his wardrobe. Stuffing them into a borrowed carrier bag, she hopped back downstairs and to her car, shutting the front door behind her.

An altercation, she thought. Fuck. Someone was going to get their ass kicked tonight. She just didn't know who yet.

Their parents’ Toyota was still parked in Theo’s driveway, unscathed, thank fuck, because the list of things to yell at Wren about was already getting pretty long. Pulling up behind it, Robin killed the engine and got out of her car, pulling the bag out of the passenger seat before slamming her door and stalking up to the house. (Which was still mega cool. Even if she wasn’t in the mood to appreciate it.)

She knocked on Theo’s front door a couple of times, loud and hard, and waited a few seconds, but nothing. Then she tried the handle, and to her surprise—and shock—it swung open. She could hear music playing, Sinatra, she thought, and the sounds of someone moving around. After a moment’s hesitation, she stepped inside, closing the door behind her. And once she was a few feet inside, she could see Theo, back to her, in his own world, clattering around the kitchen like he hadn’t just told her her brother had been involved in an “altercation”.

Folding her arms, Robin cleared her throat, waiting for Theo to notice her. When he didn’t, she sighed and dropped the carrier bag by the door, before walking up to the kitchen island and slamming her hands down on the counter.

“Where’s Wren?”

“The only embarrassing thing you’re going to find is a picture of me in a rowing unisuit from high school.” Theo murmured, though he made a mental note to double check later. 

He turned on the TV, going to his recorded programs and pulling up a saved Bachelor episode, setting the volume to low. Normally he’d be self-conscious and pretend to want to watch something at least mildly intellectually stimulating, but looking down at Wren, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t care. For a good ten minutes or so, he tried to provide some context, adding helpful anecdotes like “They used to be best friends until the one in the black dress betrayed the one in the strapless gold dress,” or “She’s an Aries and he’s a Taurus. Like that’s ever a good idea.” But after a few minutes Wren’s breathing had evened out, and Theo suspected he was the only one paying attention. He rested his fingers in his hair, leaning down to press his lips against his temple. Wren’s lack of reaction confirmed it: he was out cold. 

Still enduring the heavy-limbed, sluggish weight of fatigue he hadn’t been able to shake since waking up, Theo was perfectly content to spend the day in bed with Wren. Violet seemed to agree, as she curled up at the end of the bed just out of arms reach. Theo propped up his pillow a little more, knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep until his meds kicked in a little more, and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. It was an older model IPhone with his SD card from his dead phone slotted in, and he held his breath as the screen flickered on. He smiled when the lock screen appeared, the background a picture he’d taken a few months ago of his house mid construction. 

His smile quickly fell as his phone buzzed, and buzzed, and kept on buzzing. 

He had nine new texts and five missed calls. Only one text was from Robin, asking for details on what had happened last night. The rest were from Michael. 

12:05PM
Theo, im sorry. Pls pls pls pick up. I need to talk to you. 
I just got mad when I saw you with him. I didnt mean to push you. 
Pls pick up. 

12:10PM
Theo call me

12:17PM
Fine. fuck you. Fuckin cheater. You deserve each other. I’m never speaking to you again.

12:40PM
Theo pls pick up I’m losing my mind my heart hurts so much I can’t believe I acted like that. I’m so so sorry for pushing you. I forgot you’re not good on your feet sometimes... Seeing him touch you just made me so mad. Please pleas let me talk to you. I feel bad I know you’ll never forgive me I just need to know youre ok. Pls just call me and I’ll leave you alone. 

12:45PM
Theo pls call me back or text me I need to talk to you. 

1:30PM 
Fuck you. I cantt believe you’re doing this to me after everything we’ve been through. I hope he dumps you when he figures out you’re a piece of shit. I feel sorry for him.

Theo let out the breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding. Jesus Christ. The man was having a meltdown. A fleeting urge to call him came and went (he felt like he owed him something more?) but the decision was easily made for him as Wren shifted, sighing in his sleep (parted lips he wanted to kiss, that little worry line that appeared between his brows relaxed) and tilted his face towards the ceiling. His exposed black eye had Theo swallowing a thick lump of slow burning anger, and decisively he shut his phone off, setting it on his bedside table with a clatter and a wince. He repositioned the cold pack, holding it against Wren’s face so as not to disturb him.

He spent the next few hours in a bit of a daze as the Valium and muscle relaxants truly took hold. He let the nonsense of the TV show and the warmth from Wren’s embrace lull him into a state of relaxation, and he found that it was suddenly very easy to forget about checking his phone, or his email, or even worry if he’d locked the door (he had, hadn’t he? He must have). He felt like he was floating on a soft, downy cloud – how nice it was to not be in any pain. He kept a small sketchbook by his bed, something he’d bought for himself in a bid to attempt to use his time bedridden as productively as possible. He only had a few sketches, mostly uninspired ideas for single family homes scribbled out as proof to his boss he’d been working, as well as a shaky though impressively detailed (he thought so, at least) sketch of a rotting apple core that had been sitting on his bedside table for a few days too many. But as he moved the cold pack away from Wren’s face (a quick check with Google confirmed you shouldn’t over chill the injured area), he felt the sudden compulsion to pick up a sketching pencil. 

He hadn’t done a ton of drawing since moving to Cannon Beach, but Wren’s features were a pleasure to draw. He had an incredible bone structure and full, expressive brows. His line work was shaky from his continued tremor and not incredibly precise, but he ended up with something he quite liked; a sketched out impression of a sleeping Wren, serene and peaceful. The bruise was shaped out like the contour lines on a topographical map, and he’d perhaps given his lips an inordinate amount of attention (including the cut splitting his bottom lip, carefully carved out like marble). But he liked it. 

Beneath the drawing, in his tight, nearly illegible script, he wrote: 

you’re beautiful when you sleep 

Theo ripped the sketch out, laying the page on the nightstand next to Wren. He switched the TV off, feeling his eyes growing heavy, and eventually he fell asleep as well, with the sketchbook held loosely at his side and his fingers in Wren’s hair, cheek resting against his forehead. 

Theo woke up a few hours later with his chest pressed against Wren’s back, face nestled into the back of his neck and arm wrapped around his middle. He lifted his head, blearily checking the time. Four o’clock. He could easily have gone back to sleep, but he worried about messing up his sleep schedule. Fifteen hours of sleep in one day was a little excessive, even for him. With a bit of a groan Theo untangled himself from Wren, noting how he hardly stirred as he pulled away from him. He smiled, and decided to let him sleep. 

From his closet he grabbed a cardigan to pull over his t-shirt: a charcoal knit with a shawl collar, big and perfectly comfortable. Somehow, he managed to remember to switch Wren’s sweater to the dryer, before going to the bathroom to fetch the painkillers as well as a glass of water, which he deposited on the bedside table. Theo spotted the drawing he’d done of Wren, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth. He liked having Wren here, he thought to himself as he bent to gently run his fingers through his hair. It felt right. 

An hour later found him at his couch, bare feet propped up on the coffee table and laptop in his lap. He’d used the time to finally take his Copaxone injection (he’d tried his left arm this time, though the resulting purple blotch blooming on his forearm was evidence enough of how bad he was at injecting himself), and to get reacquainted with his sorely missed vaporizer as a reward for his troubles. His dispensary had stocked him up with a different strain of marijuana than the pot he’d shared with Wren the night before. It was much higher in THC, and was far more likely to backfire into full blown paranoia (hence why he hadn’t brought it to a large party where he hadn’t known anyone). But here, relaxed in his home, he had nothing to fear. As long as nothing weird happened. 

Feeling a little giddy, a little bit carefree and energetic, he turned on some music, landing on Sinatra. He turned up the volume a little as a way to ease Wren awake (he must be hungry by now). Then, he emailed the picture of himself and Wren to his mother. 

Hi Mom, 

Here’s the picture of Haystack Rock and myself, as promised. Decided to include a friend… Things are going well. I think I’m beginning to like it here. 

And before you ask, his name’s Wren. 

Miss you, 

Theo 

He’d only just hit send before his Messenger pinged. 

Flipping to Facebook, the message stream he had going with Robin popped up. She was freaking out. Had she found out what had happened? How could she? He paused for a few minutes, trying to sort through his somewhat jumbled thoughts. A thought occurred to him, and he checked his phone, finding not only seven more texts from Michael, but a few from Robin as well. She’d been trying to reach him since that afternoon. Shit. 

He’d thought his attempts to mollify her were working (he’d told her Wren was okay, after all?) but was quickly proven wrong as she reacted unfavourably to his thoughtfully chosen descriptor. And then she insisted on coming over, despite ‘altercation’ seeming like a safe enough word. Shit, thought Theo, typing frantically. 

THEO: 
Robin it’s fine he’s fine I’m fine please don’t worry you don’t have to come over

He waited a few seconds, then a few minutes, until he slowly realized that she must have left. Shit, shit, shit. He tried to assess how bad this was, and knew he’d be in a world of shit should she see the state of her brother's face. But Wren was still asleep and if he could keep him hidden away, as well as do his best to act normal and not like he was stoned out of his gourd, he might be able to convince Robin that everything was okay. Which it was. Everything was fine. 

So, he set about making dinner. He hadn’t bought groceries in a while and had little more than a loaf of bread, almond milk and a few cartons of berries in the fridge, along with a few takeout containers (there was miraculously a vegan place in town who delivered) and some remnants of a Tupperware of soup from Randy. If he’d been alone his dinner would have consisted only of almond butter on toast, but he was feeling a little more in the mood to cook. 

While the marijuana helped with his normally tepid appetite, it did him little good when it came to keeping track of time. He’d ended up cranking the music, pouring the almond milk into a bowl and adding to it what he could remember of the recipe: cinnamon, cardamom, sugar, cornstarch, vanilla. His decision to pretend like everything was okay was infectious, and for a few minutes he felt like it was true. He was cooking dinner for a gorgeous man asleep in his bed, his cat was back, and none of the symptoms that had been bugging him over the last couple weeks were present. In his horribly good mood singing along to the music came easily, and he put on his deeply affected crooner’s singing voice as he bustled about the kitchen, rummaging through his assorted cookware in search of a particular frying pan. 

It didn’t last, obviously. It took him a few minutes too many to notice Robin's arrival.

“'Cause I love you, just the way you look to – Fuck!” Theo yelped in surprise at the sound of palms hitting his counter top just behind him. He spun around, finally noticing the intruder standing at his kitchen island. 

“Robin! You’re going to give me a fucking heart attack! How’d you even get in here?” He asked bewildered, then almost immediately decided to drop it. He’d probably forgotten to lock the door. 

He blinked hard, realizing only then how stoned he was. This was going to be a difficult conversation. Finally, he sighed, reaching for his phone and turning down the speaker volume. 

“He’s in my bedroom. Asleep.” Theo answered, dropping the volume of his voice accordingly. Fuck, all of the Ruskins were fucking giants. Why couldn’t he have dated someone normal sized, with a normal sized family? As Robin glared at him and crossed her arms over her chest, he realized slowly that his answer wasn’t going to do. And then he sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

“Here’s … the whole story, I guess. I’m sure you’ve already figured this out, but we did hook up last night.” Against his will Theo started grinning, the memory still sweet and vivid in his mind.

“Your brother’s a really good kisser,” Theo giggled, then shut his eyes, shaking his head. Robin didn’t need to know that part. Stay focused, you fucking idiot. 

“Sorry. Anyway, it was kind of an accident because I was still involved with Michael. I wanted to break up with him as soon as possible and then when Wren dropped me off here, Michael was here and saw us together. And then … He went a little crazy on Wren and may have …” Theo winced, looking away from Robin. “… Punched him in the face. A few times.” This memory in particular was not a good one, and Theo looked away, face growing tight as he unwillingly recalled the sound of a fist smacking against skin. 

“But that’s it -- I swear he’s okay. Nothing’s broken and he’s been sleeping all day. He didn't want to go to the hospital so I've been taking care of him.” 

He shrugged, unsure of what else to say. There wasn’t much else – he already felt terrible, and he wasn’t sure there was anything Robin could say that would make him feel worse. 

“I didn’t mean to ignore your texts, I’ve just been avoiding my phone all day because of Michael blowing it up... Do you want a drink, or something? I feel bad you came all this way.”

The first thing Wren noticed on waking up was that his face was really fucking sore.

The second thing was that it was dark. And the third was that Theo wasn’t there.

“Theo?” he croaked, fighting to sit up. His limbs felt heavy and his mind felt a little fuzzy—not the pleasant haze of earlier, but a confusing and dense fog which made it hard to think. He pressed the heel of his hand up to his good eye, trying to chase it off, and when he opened it up again things seemed a little clearer. While the bedroom was dark, there was light shining down the hall, and he could hear faint music coming from the kitchen.

Throwing off the blanket, Wren twisted round, swinging his legs off the mattress one by one. The floor was cool against his bare feet, and the contrast against the warmth of the bed almost made him want to go back to sleep, but he resisted, bracing himself for a moment before pushing himself up and onto his feet. He nearly had to sit down again, he felt so wobbly, but a few second later it passed. His jeans had started to dig in uncomfortably, so he spent the next couple of minutes fumbling with the buttons before managing to pull them off. Leaving them by the side of the bed in an untidy pile, he looked around the room and frowned. What time was it?

He glanced around the room in search of his phone, and then, remembering that he'd left it in his car, a clock of any kind. He came up short on that one, but as his gaze fell to the nightstand, he found something better. Another pair of pills, a glass of water, and... a note?

Popping the pills in one, he picked up the piece of paper which had been left next to them to examine it further. It took him a moment to process what he was looking at. Not a note, not exactly, despite the sweet message scrawled underneath. His stomach fluttered as he traced the loose lines of the drawing with his thumb, marvelling at the care which had obviously gone into it. 

Nobody had ever drawn him before. He'd had no idea that something so removed could feel so tender.

Holding the drawing as carefully as he could, Wren left the bedroom. As he stepped over the threshold, something brushed against his ankles, and he looked down to see Violet winding around his legs. As soon as they made eye contact she darted off down the hall, and as he followed her he could make out voices just below the music. One of them was definitely Theo, but he couldn't quite put his finger on the other one. It sounded a lot like Robin, but why would Robin be here?

He peered out from around the corner. It was Robin, and while her back was to him, he knew her well enough to know that she was not happy.

"... no, I don't want a fucking drink," she was saying. "Jesus fucking Christ. How do you know nothing's broken if he hasn't been seen by a doctor? Why the fuck didn't you call me, or /at least/ text me to let me know?" 

She paused, and for a moment Wren thought she might have finished, but in hindsight he should have known better.

"I can't fucking believe you didn't take him to see a doctor. Of course he said he didn't want to go, he'd prefer to get run over by a fucking train if the other option meant inconveniencing someone!" she hissed. Wren would have put money on her giving Theo her trademark I'm-disappointed-in-you look, which often made appearances during a lecture.

"If this..." she added, gesticulating at Theo. "... is going to become a thing, god help me, then you need to know that. You're gonna have to look after him, because fuck knows he won't look after himself.... which also means not getting high when my brother is passed the fuck out after getting punched in the face by your ex--who I'm going to fucking murder, by the way."

She sounded like she was going to launch into another tirade. It was probably a good time to interrupt. Wren stepped around the corner, smiling as he caught Theo's eye. "I'm fine, Robin," he said, and she whirled around to look at him.

"Oh my god," she said, watching him as he rounded the corner of the island to join Theo.

"Don't sound so surprised," he joked, setting the drawing down on the counter.

"Your face," she said.

Wren's expression slackened, still smiling, but now a little bewildered. "What about it?"

"He doesn't know?" Robin glanced at Theo, then back at her brother. "Doesn't it hurt?"

"A little, I mean, Theo let me borrow some painkillers--thank you," he added, slipping him a smile, "but... why?"

Robin was already rummaging around in her purse. She pulled out a compact and passed it over to Wren, nodding at him. "Take a look."

Wren frowned at her, but popped it open anyway, and froze. For the second time in probably as many minutes, he didn't recognise himself immediately. With Theo's drawing, he'd been thrown by the delicacy of the lines, the careful, gentle intent. There was nothing delicate or gentle about the bruise blooming across his eye, a violent, dark stain on his face which looked completely out of place. 

He set the mirror down slowly, and looked at Theo's drawing again. The bruise was there too; he just hadn't seen it. He didn't know how Theo had managed to find the beauty in it, or whether he even had and had just been trying to be kind. 

"Fuck," he breathed.

Robin leaned over the counter to retrieve her mirror, looking at Wren with sympathy. "Look," she said, "there are some clothes for you by the door. Stay here tonight, get some rest. I'll cover for you with mom and dad. But tomorrow I'm taking you to the hospital."

She folded her arms in a way that Wren knew meant this was non-negotiable. "You two gonna be OK?"

Wren nodded numbly. He didn't even realise he'd been reaching for Theo's hand until his fingers grazed against it, and he took it, squeezing tightly.

It began to dawn on Theo that he was stepping into a sibling dynamic he wasn’t quite able to grasp. This epiphany, however, did not come immediately or easily, and would only really begin to dawn on him after saying some regrettable things. A good reason was that he had no point of reference. He couldn’t being to speculate what would happen If their positions were reversed and it was his own sister yelling at Wren, because him and sister didn’t care much for each other. If he’d been the one to appear with a black eye Emily would probably laugh at him and ask who he’d pissed off, and then make a comment on how the bruise made his face look weird. 

And that would be that. 

As such, he fumbled with how to react. The one thing he knew for sure was that Robin was mad at him, which he didn’t think was totally fair. 

“I didn’t think it was necessary to update you, okay? Wren’s an adult – I’m an adult. You’re not the only person capable of making decisions here.” Theo responded, exasperated. I didn’t know you were Wren’s caretaker, was a thought that passed through his mind, but one he dared not voice. He wanted to pace, but instead he braced himself against the kitchen counter, trying his hardest not to look too defensive. He didn’t like being lectured, and the way Robin had perfected that stone-faced look of disapproval had him thinking of his mother. Honestly, after the initial shock of Wren’s assault, notifying Robin or their parents hadn’t crossed his mind. Perhaps that was more telling of his own intense desire to keep his own medical issues private and he was simply projecting this onto Wren, but that wasn’t really something he felt like diving into right now. The only thing he’d wanted was to get Wren inside and to make sure he was safe and comfortable. Which he’d accomplished quite competently, thank you very much. 

Despite his internal self-congratulations and back patting, Theo really did not want to address how he knew none of Wren’s bones were broken, since something told him that informing Robin that an alcoholic hermit who lived in the woods was the one who’d examined her brother wouldn’t really strengthen his argument. Instead he clenched his jaw, trying to keep quiet. 

Which, again, he was no good at. 

“Robin, trust me when I say this: the only thing a doctor is going to tell him is to go home and get some rest. Which is exactly what he’s been doing.” Theo attempted to keep the condescending tone from his voice, but either he hadn’t tried hard enough or deep down, hadn’t really wanted to. But if there had to be an advantage to being hospitalized so often, it was being able to pretend you knew what you were talking about when it came to injuries. He tried to mimic the glare she’d so obviously perfected (God, had she learned it from his mother?), but knew he was coming up short. 

He knew he should have listened to her, and probably should have been better about reading between the lines. Wren was clinically depressed, and was undoubtedly uncomfortable with people fussing over him. Wren himself had admitted to Theo how difficult he’d found it to share with his family that he wasn’t okay, and what else had Wren done today other than deflect any sort of attention away from him, or even minimize what distress he’d been feeling? Maybe that was why Robin came on so strong, so overbearing and protective. And when it came to Wren, she would have to be, wouldn’t she? Over the course of the last two days it had been so easy to forget Wren was sick. And maybe Theo wasn’t ready to come to terms with what that really meant. 

That fact became abundantly clear as he allowed himself to scowl. When he should have been taking her words for what they were – a warning, maybe? Or just simple advice? Whatever it was, Theo fixated on the wrong thing, steamrolling past her words of caution about Wren and rolling his eyes when she chastised him for the pot. It’s medical, he wanted to say, but had a feeling she wouldn’t be sympathetic. And then he shrugged casually at Robin’s mention of murdering Michael. 

“It’ll save me the trouble of doing it myself. You think this day has been a fucking walk in the park? You think this is normal for me?” 

The sound of the bedroom door creaking open put a hold on their argument, and Violet trotted out past Robin, heralding Wren’s arrival with a flourish of her tail. Theo quieted and bit his lip in an attempt to quell his irritation with Robin, looking past her to see Wren ambling sleepily towards them in his boxers. His dark hair was messy and tousled, and the bruising on his face had spread and darkened a little more. He smiled obliviously (though sweetly) at Theo, while from across the island he heard Robin’s shocked gasp. Theo prepared himself for another verbal onslaught, but instead, Robin simply cursed and began to dig through her purse. 

Apparently, he was the only one the bruise wasn’t news to. Wren took the proffered compact from Robin and popped it open, and Theo watched the way his face fell as he took in the damage. He only noticed then that he’d brought the drawing out with him, Wren’s one functioning eye flickering from it back to his reflection like what he was seeing was beyond comprehension. For the umpteenth time that day, he felt terrible. 

He felt the barest touch against his palm and Theo looked down, watching Wren searching for his hand and feeling as he squeezed it tightly between his fingers. 

You’re gonna have to look after him, because fuck knows he won’t look after himself. 

Theo frowned, glancing at Robin before returning his gaze to Wren, who was still staring at the drawing. He looked distant, like he was slowly and deliberately pulling himself from what was going on around him. 

Maybe Robin was right. They were just two idiots who were used to dealing with shit (poorly) on their own. Maybe Theo needed the help. 

Casually, Theo pulled the drawing a few inches closer to him, wiggling it out from Wren’s grasp and retrieving a pen from the drawer at his hip. He drew a line through the words when you sleep. Setting the pen down, he looked up at Wren, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him close, settling his body agaisnt Wren’s. 

He felt for Robin, then, as she spoke (tone much kinder) of the clothes she’d brought Wren, and her promise to return in the morning to bring her brother to the hospital. He realized then she’d been looking after him for a long time, and she was just trying to prepare Theo to do the same. 

She asked them if they’d be okay, and Theo looked up at her, nodding slowly. 

“Yeah. We’ll be okay... Thanks for checking up on us.” He squeezed Wren’s hand and motioned for him to sit down at one of the barstools, before seeing Robin out. He opened the front door, but touched her arm to stop her before she could get too far. 

“Hey, Robin…” Theo began, haltingly. “I’m sorry for being an asshole. I just -- I hear you... And I do want this to become a thing.”

Theo smiled, shrugging then. “I'll take all the help I can get. Wren’s lucky to have you for a sister.” 

He bade her farewell, watching as she walked to her car and only turning away as she pulled out of the driveway. Once he could no longer see her tail lights, he shut the door and locked it behind him. He then made his way back to the kitchen, only to find it empty. It wasn’t difficult to figure out where Wren had gone, and soon enough Theo found him the bathroom, leaning over the sink and staring at himself in the mirror. His eyes still held that emptiness, like he’d purposefully removed himself from what he was seeing. Theo chewed his bottom lip, recalling Robin’s words, before approaching him. 

“How are you feeling?” Theo asked then, standing just behind him. He peered around Wren’s shoulder, staring at the mirror as well - at Wren’s black eye, the way the purple melted into a red swell at his tear duct, but also how they looked together. Wren was tall and lean, and Theo barely came up to his shoulders. Theo's hair was messy and Wren's was tousled, and between the dark circles under Theo's eyes and the bruise on Wren's, he thought they matched quite well. Theo felt compelled to apologize again, but he could predict how that might go. Wren would pretend he was okay and instead would go on to reassure Theo that it wasn’t his fault, and then Theo would smile and nod, and ask him if he wanted to eat dinner. And it would be swept under the rug. 

Theo exhaled slowly, before coming close and wrapping his arms around Wren’s middle. He pressed his chest against the curve of his spine, sliding his hands beneath his t-shirt and just under the waist of his boxers, touching soft warm skin and feeling the soft brush of fine hair just below his navel. He pressed his face against the fabric of his t-shirt, inhaling long and deep through his nose, Wren’s scent filling his senses. Like laundry detergent and the sweet smell of well slept in cotton sheets. It relaxed him better than the Valium. 

“Last night … When I said you could tell me when you weren’t doing okay. I still feel the same way,” Theo murmured, trying to stay away from words that forced any kind of obligation. He peeked out from behind Wren’s shoulder, smiling softly. 

“Also, I meant it. I think you’re beautiful awake, too. Black eye or not.”

Wren couldn’t stop looking at the drawing. He didn’t know how he’d missed it, the stark, looping contour mapping out the bruise, or how he could have been stupid enough to think he’d escaped the encounter with only a few cuts and a split lip. He couldn’t remember getting hit, but the image of Michael’s face immediately before the punch was crystal clear. He’d been so angry. And now Wren was wearing the product of that anger on his face.

He looked up as Theo tugged the piece of paper away, frowning at the intrusion, but his expression softened as Theo crossed out the latter half of his caption. He glanced from the drawing to Theo, then back down to the counter as he hugged him closer. The presence of his body, the warmth radiating from it, helped, a little. Just not enough.

Hovering by the counter while Theo showed Robin to the door, Wren crossed his arms, gaze drifting back to the drawing. It wasn’t that he cared about how he looked, or even how other people saw him. He didn’t care. Not since moving back, not any more. It was something more than that, a sudden, jarring shift in perspective he hadn’t been expecting and felt foolish for not anticipating. Two minutes ago, Robin’s lecture had seemed silly and exaggerated, an overreaction coming from an overprotective sister, something he and Theo would laugh about later.

Only nobody was laughing, and as Theo and Robin said their goodbyes, her words rang in his head. It looked like something about them had stuck with Theo too, in spite of his sarcastic response. He wasn’t eavesdropping, but it was hard not to listen in on their conversation. Harder still not to read into Theo’s apology. At ‘I’ll take all the help I can get’, Wren decided he’d heard enough.

As silently as he could, he left the kitchen, padding past Theo and the front door towards the bathroom. Shutting the door behind him, he placed his palms on the edge of the sink, leaning forwards as he searched his face in the mirror. The bruise looked worse under the stark white light, the reds and purples mottling into each other, getting darker the further out it spread. He didn’t know what he was trying to find. A sign, maybe, that he didn’t need looking after. That he wasn’t a burden. Or maybe a hint of the—happiness? Contentment? he’d grown accustomed to over the past twenty-four hours.

It wasn’t there. He wasn’t surprised. For a moment, he’d let himself get swept away by the thought that someone like Theo, charming and handsome, had been interested in him. He’d let himself forget that he was a fucking mess, too busy wrapped up in a little fantasy where someone he wanted to kiss actually wanted to kiss him back that he’d ignored any inconvenient truths like the fact he had a boyfriend. And while he didn’t care for Michael, that didn’t mean he’d had any right to get in the middle of his relationship. Who the fuck did that?

Fuck, he was a piece of shit. He deserved everything he’d gotten.

The door inched open to reveal Theo’s concerned face. Wren watched him in the mirror as he crossed the floor to stand behind him, meeting his reflection’s gaze. Theo’s arms around his waist, his body pressed up against his back, his wandering hands had him hanging his head and squeezing his eyes shut, even as his grip on the basin tightened.
“I know,” he said, looking up to meet Theo’s eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to return his smile, even though he wanted to.

Like earlier, Theo’s being there helped, but not enough. Nowhere near the same level as earlier, when they’d been curled up in bed, or the night before, when they’d been kissing on his parents’ porch. Fuck. He’d give anything to get that back.

He straightened up, placed his hand over Theo’s, intertwining his fingers with his. And he took a deep breath. And he slowly, gently, led it lower.

Turning around, he let go of Theo’s hand to cup his face, pull him closer into a hungry, desperate kiss. His fingers curled into his hair as he guided him backwards, against the back wall of the bathroom. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears, his heart hammering, every nerve in his body tingling with anxious tension—Theo’s muscles shifting beneath his skin and the warm soft of his hands, and he could have drowned himself in it, the taste of his honeyed lips and the scent of his skin, vague remnants of lavender soap still clinging to it.

He wanted to, wanted nothing more than to surrender to Theo, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t enough. (Would it ever be again?)

His hands slipped down to the hem of Theo’s sweater, and he kissed his jaw, tugging him towards the door. His lips grazed Theo’s ear as his voice dropped to a whisper.

“Come with me.”

All appearances aside, Theo had a bad habit of always saying yes to the boys he liked. 

It had always been that way. If it wasn’t his first college boyfriend Harris (the relationship – if that’s what you could call it – hadn’t lasted the first month) preparing a line of cocaine for him on the cistern of a toilet in a friend’s apartment, it was Marcus buying him his fifth shot in an hour despite Theo’s slurred, nonsensical protests. Or it was Ben, sweet and softly spoken one Sunday morning in the summer, convincing him to pose for nudes in his apartment. 

And it wasn’t just the no he had a hard time with. Much more privately, it was the afterward, the pretending like the consequences didn’t faze him. It was snorting the damn line and pretending like you liked it, like your brain wasn’t on fire and your heart wasn’t a jackhammer in your chest. It was waking up sick and hungover the next morning and going for brunch with friends and piecing together the fragments a night you couldn’t remember, having to smile when friends giggled over the awful and embarrassing things you’d said and done and couldn’t defend. It was not getting mad when one of Ben’s polaroids appeared in the window of a trendy art gallery in Davis Square a month later, blown up to the size of a poster board. Nodding in understanding when Ben lied about having asked you permission first, and then conceding that perhaps you’d just forgotten. You forgot a lot of things. 

Because it was easier than admitting you hadn’t really wanted to do it in the first place, that your burning feeling of shame was because you were weak willed and meek when it came to the boys you wished loved you. And it wasn’t like you'd felt ever forced to do the things you'd agreed to in the consequence-free realm of night and would only come to regret in the morning. But for someone who seemed to enjoy being difficult, acerbic and occasionally flat out rude, the words ‘no’ were rarely uttered if it was in response to a question posed by a guy he was seeing. He’d just wanted the relationships to work, he’d just wanted whomever he was dating to like(or love) him. Being amenable for someone had always felt like the best way to get people to stay.

If his multiple sclerosis diagnosis had been good for anything, it had helped him find the sorely needed sense of self that had been lacking in his early twenties. But it didn’t mean he was immune to falling back into old habits, especially when it came to a boy he reallyliked. 

His back was up against the wall before he’d even processed what had happened, feet almost tripping over themselves and shoulder blades pressing against the drywall. Wren’s lips were hot and wet against his, and then there were fingers at the back of his skull, thumbs at the hinge of his jaw. He could feel them there when he swallowed, muscles of his throat pulsing in reflex against his touch. He felt numb – but that wasn’t the right word at all, as his hands went to Wren’s waist, like a buoy in the ocean. He felt like a stalled computer, the spinning pinwheel of his mind processing the disconnect between the words of comfort he’d offered and this. This hard, fiery kiss. The move from his palm flat on the hard plane of Wren’s stomach to the hands in his hair and the clash of teeth and lips. He didn’t understand. Maybe he’d said the right things. Maybe Wren was showing his gratitude – showing him he was okay and that they were okay. That Wren wanted him. 

It would have felt good, but it didn’t. Nothing about this felt right. Wren’s movements were rushed and urgent, but most worryingly, all wrong. 

But he didn’t know any better to stop it. 

Ben had taken the photos the morning after his twenty-forth birthday. A hangover cured by some pretty potent pot had them wrapped up in their sheets, legs entwined and feeling silly and relaxed as the busy world carried on outside their apartment. Ben would reach over with one of his long, graceful arms to root around in the drawer next to the bed and pull out a polaroid camera. Theo had done it because it had been Ben’s birthday, and he’d said the right things, and he told him he’d always wanted them. That they would be just for him. 

In retrospect, he’d been an idiot. 

Theo still had a few of the pictures, stashed away in an envelope in one of the desk drawers in his office. He was pretty sure Ben still had one or two as he’d forgotten to ask him to destroy them. But for all his lingering anger towards Ben, he’d been a decent photographer and Theo liked how pictures had come out. His body had looked young and healthy, skin smooth and flawless besides a smattering of freckles scattered across his shoulders. A shot Ben had taken from the bed of Theo leaning against a doorframe had showed the faintest ridge of muscle in his back, a ripple in his bicep, the dip of his waist. He’d taken Ben’s directions and posed unselfconsciously and proudly, and when he looked at them now, he remembered how strong and confident he’d once felt. 

Wren’s lips were against his jaw and his hands were at his clothes, pulling, tugging, urging. Wren had to stoop to kiss him, Theo observed from what felt like miles away, and he tilted his head up, lips parted at the brush of lips against his jaw, the scratch of Wren’s scruff against his cheek. His breaths coming in hot, short bursts. A warm flush spread across his chest and up his neck and his mouth went dry, with Wren’s voice in his ear, low and husky. It had him glancing at him, the dead-eyed look from before gone and replaced with something else. He nodded hesitantly at his request, knowing it was hardly a question. Yes.

Theo followed his urging hands. Because Wren wanted him, and Theo could make him feel better. 

Wren led him to the bedroom, bed unmade and sheets bunched up. The room was dark, aside from the benign glow of the moon and the porch light he’d left on. Shadows pooled in the dips of Wren’s face, the black eye invisible and inconsequential, the knife hewn cut of his cheekbones. He pulled the sweater from his shoulders, falling discarded to the floor, and Theo kissed him in the dark, standing on his toes, hands on his chest. It was with the same urgency which Wren had kissed him before, and Theo tasted the sweetness of his breath, the saltiness as he kissed his neck. He wrapped his wrists around the shoulders he was so enamoured with and Wren’s hands circled his waist, leading him backwards until the crook of his knees met the edge of the bed and he lost his balance. 

He was on his back, his mattress and pillows embracing him and Wren settling over top of him, his hips brushing against the soft, sensitive parts of his thighs. Theo ran his hands over the hard angles of his waist and the soft swell of Wren’s ass that somehow managed to wear those ill-fitting jeans so fucking well. 

Theo craned his neck to reach his lips, but Wrens hands were sliding under his shirt, lifting it over his stomach, his ribs, his chest. He swallowed then, staring up at the ceiling as it happened. Uncomfortable, but doing what was asked of him, Theo lifted his shoulders and arms from the mattress to help with what he knew was supposed to be a romantic ritual, an erotic prelude that was supposed to make him feel loved. 

But all he felt was exposed, and deeply uncomfortable. He wasn’t ready.

He hated his body. It had failed him, betrayed him, embarrassed him. His chest was a ruin of bones and sharp angles, from the hard plane of his sternum to the sudden protrusion of his collar bones. His stomach was shaped by the valleys and hills of his ribcage and hips, which his sweatpants only just clung to without any sort of conviction. It forced him to walk with a cane like his 90 year old grandfather. It fucked with his balance, fucked with his bladder, had touched and ruined so many aspects of his life. 

And the scars: they were numerous and varied in shape and size, from the long up and down slit at his knee from surgery, to the hard dip at the bottom of his spine from a lumbar puncture gone wrong. But they were all equally ugly. Equally grotesque. The skin at the crooks of his elbows was hard and leathery from too many fat needled IVs. His stomach, thighs and the soft parts of his arms were mottled with bruising from too many badly placed needles. He looked older and frailer than he ought to, a far cry from the confident and healthy man he’d been in Ben’s pictures, only five years earlier. 

(Logically, he knew it couldn’t be as bad as he thought – he was his own worst critic. But logic had no place in body dysmorphia)

And suddenly it was too much, the way Wren's eyes seemed to drink him in, his failed lab experiment of a body. He didn’t want to see the look on his face when he realized this wasn’t what he wanted. He couldn’t bear it. 

“Wren,” Theo whispered, hands going to his chest. He felt like he was suffocating, like he couldn’t breathe. Each inhale met with that familiar sharpness, like his diaphragm had turned to stone and his lungs into leather. His face was growing hot, like there was an incredible weight pressing on his chest. 

“Wren,” A little louder, a little more strained, the hard press of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed and shut his eyes tight. Fingers pushing harder against his chest. “Can we slow down. This is -- it’s too much. I can’t do it.” A hard exhale, catching in his chest. He bit his bottom lip, looking away. 

All he tasted was Wren.

It was so easy to lose himself in Theo.

His hair was a forest, curling around his fingers like leaves on a tree. His skin shifting beneath him was the sea, salty and inviting, threatening to pull him under. He could feel the flicker of Theo’s pulse just beneath his jaw, beating out a desperate, urgent song in time with the pounding in his ears. And as Theo nodded his assent, as Wren laced his fingers through Theo’s, as he kissed his earlobe and pulled him towards the bedroom door, there was nothing else, if only for a moment.

It was easy to pretend.

Wren was used to pretending. Sometimes he felt like he’d been practising all his life. I’m okay, or Yeah, everything’s fine, or I’m doing great. It made life easier. Saying that actually, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, or that he’d spent literally all of Sunday asleep because he’d had less than four hours a night the rest of the week got people unnecessarily worried. Attention was the last thing he’d wanted.

So when family dinners got interrupted by Robin and his parents arguing, he’d acted like he didn’t care. When he found out his first boyfriend had been cheating on him, he’d shrugged and quipped that he’d been looking for a reason to break up anyway. When work tightened a deadline or piled on more tasks for him to do, he’d taken it with a smile. And like, okay, he’d ended up overextending himself (which was maybe a charitable take on what had happened), but you knew what they said about old habits.

He backed into the bedroom, his hands locked in Theo’s as he pulled him along, spinning him around as they approached the bed. Theo’s sweater dropped to the floor and he kicked it aside as he kissed him back, cupping his jaw to tilt his face upwards into a better angle. He noted the way his fingers splayed across his chest, the warm, wet stickiness of his lips on his neck, and his stomach flipped as they fell onto the bed, a knot of arms and legs and clashing teeth.

This is good, he thought, this is good, like saying it enough times would make it true, even as he shifted over to straddle Theo, even as the memory of his voice, I’ll take all the help I can get, sprang unbidden from some dark crevice in the back of his mind, as though to remind him that this still wasn’t enough. He fumbled with the hem of Theo’s shirt, tugging it up, over his stomach, his chest, his shoulders, angry and impatient and urgent, fighting against the calm, rational side of his brain which knew that everything he was doing was wrong and only making things worse. Sex wouldn’t fix this. When had it ever? It hadn’t stopped Eric from cheating. It hadn’t made him feel better on a single one of those lonely nights in New York. (If anything it had done the opposite.) As much as he told himself tonight would be different, that he actually liked Theo, that this was what loving couples did, he knew he was lying to himself. But that still didn’t stop him from pulling Theo’s shirt over his arms and wrists and onto the floor.

It was easy to lose himself in Theo. His body was the night sky, his scars and bruises a tableau of stars and constellations. Wren traced a line over his chest, his finger trailing across his soft skin, as he tried to take in this new information. He bowed his head to kiss his stomach, only to be stopped by hands pushing against his chest. Looking up, he met Theo’s gaze. Even in the dim light he could see that something wasn’t right. Then Theo turned away like he couldn’t look at him, and something inside him broke. What the fuck had he done?

He sat up, easing off Theo, any sense of desperation having evaporated at his strangled plea. He stayed there for a moment, sat at the end of the bed, before quietly crawling in next to him and lying down beside him, resting his chin on his shoulder. Taking his hand, he brought it up to his lips and kissed the tips of his fingers, squeezing it gently.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Are you okay?”

Wren felt sick. Theo wouldn’t look at him, not even after pulling the blanket up over him, or as his breathing evened out. The horrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach grew bigger and bigger with each passing second of silence. He wished he knew how to fill it. Fix what he’d broken. He was such a fuck-up. He’d been handed this fragile second chance and managed to shatter it already, like he couldn’t even pretend to be a normal human being for a full twenty-four hours.

When Theo did start to talk it only made the nausea worse. His voice sounded hollow and strangled, like getting his words out was physically painful. And it was his fault. The thought that he might have hurt him was almost too much to bear. He bit his lip as Theo spoke, staying as still as he could, with the exception of his thumb running across Theo’s knuckles in a gentle, rhythmic gesture which he hoped came across as comforting. He wouldn’t pretend he knew how Theo felt. He couldn’t even begin to imagine. But he recognised the shape of his words, felt their weight sitting on his chest, and he just wished he would look at him—right up until he pulled his hand away and rolled over to do just that.

He opened his mouth to apologise—again, profusely—but the words died in his throat at the look on Theo’s face. His fingers on his temple felt like a brand. Now Wren was the one who felt like to look away, but he couldn’t. He didn’t deserve to. Theo’s rebuke stung, sliced into him like a scalpel peeling away all the safeguards he’d put up, and he wanted to shore them back up, get defensive, and with anyone else he might have… but, as with so many other things, Theo was different. Moreover, as much as it pained him to admit it, he was right. Wren had kissed him to shut him up, because he hadn’t wanted to talk about himself or his feelings, and in the process he’d fucked up maybe the only good thing that had ever happened to him.

The problem was, he still didn’t want to talk about it. Not really. But with each shaky syllable, he knew that as much as he might not have wanted to, as much as it would be awkward and uncomfortable, if it helped to make things better then it would be worth it. He let out a long, slow breath and shut his eyes. Fuck. It felt like he’d been holding his breath for years.

Opening his eye again, he reached up to touch Theo’s face, hesitantly brushing his thumb against the trail his tear had left on his cheek. He wanted to kiss him. Not to shut him up this time, but because he didn’t know how else to say that he wasn’t going anywhere, to show him that leaving now was inconceivable and in spite of his stupid, selfish insecurities, he never wanted to hurt Theo again. But he didn’t want to upset him further, and things had changed between them again. He didn’t know what this was any more.

He stayed silent for a heavy moment, before withdrawing his hand and sitting up to climb out of bed. He made his way around to the other side, picking up Theo’s sweater by the foot of the bed, then his t-shirt, where it still lay strewn after he’d tossed it aside. Sitting down by Theo’s feet, he passed him the bundle of clothes. A peace offering.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. His mouth felt dry, and he swallowed, glancing down at his lap. “I… fuck, I don’t know why. But I need you to know that I didn’t mean to hurt you. And I don’t plan on hurting you again.” He made himself look back at Theo. “And… for whatever it’s worth, I love your body. Even if you don’t.”

He shot Theo a half-hearted smile, then stood up, reaching for the glass he’d left on the side table earlier. “I’m just going to get some water. I’ll be back in a second.”

Heading for the door, he gave Theo a last, lingering look before slipping into the hallway. He almost turned towards the bathroom before thinking better of it. The bathroom was closer, but the kitchen didn’t have any mirrors, and he didn’t think he could face his reflection for a second time. Crossing the floor to the sink, he spotted the picture Theo had drawn out of the corner of his eye, abandoned on the counter. He frowned. Theo probably didn’t think he was beautiful any more.

He filled up his glass and took a long sip, resting his hip against the sink. While he had genuinely wanted something to drink, he had mostly wanted to give Theo some space to get dressed (and maybe, if he was being honest with himself, some time to stall while he figured out what the fuck he was going to say). Speaking of which… his gaze fell upon the bag Robin had left by the door. He carried it back to the counter to take a look, pulling out the awful yellow sweatshirt and the pair of pyjama bottoms he’d lent Theo the night before. He guessed he must have left them out on the bed, so she’d assumed he’d been wearing them. He pulled them on and took the shirt she’d brought him out as well, replacing it with the one he’d been wearing. He set the bag back down by the door and, tucking his clean shirt under his arm, he topped up his glass and headed back to the bedroom, figuring he couldn’t put this off any more.

When he peered around the door frame, he saw Theo had sat up and put his sweater on. Wren gave him a nervous smile and perched on the end of the bed again, pulling up one leg and folding it beneath him so he could angle himself towards Theo.

“Hey,” he said, then fell silent again, looking down at his glass. He ran a finger around its rim, then sighed, glancing back up again. “Sorry. I’m not good at this. It’s just...” He fumbled for the right words. “You know how you said you wanted to kiss me last time I was here? I wanted that too.” He thought Theo probably already knew that, but it felt like a confession anyway. 

He carried on. “And I think, if Michael hadn’t shown up, maybe… but he did. I didn’t answer your calls because you were with someone else, and I knew that if I saw you again I’d want to kiss you again, and I didn’t want to be that person. I didn’t want to break you up. But I did. And Michael fucking sucker-punched me for it, and now everybody can tell that’s exactly who I am.”

There it was. He exhaled, pausing a moment to gather his thoughts. “But… it happened, right? It’s not a problem any more. Michael’s not in the picture. So if you’re worried about me ghosting, I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

He set the glass down on the floor, pulling his other leg up onto the bed so he could face him fully. “You’re right, though. I’m not okay. I’m so fucking sorry, Theo. Can we start over?”

He felt miserable. 

He was sure he’d scared Wren off, and the thought was a terrible one. He was perfectly aware of how needy he was, how the constant reassurance he craved was something many people found tiring, but it wasn’t something he knew how to change. It made him look insecure and weak, which unfortunately wasn’t all that far off the mark.

He also felt like a fraud. 

Theo had been good at hiding it with Michael, his confidence little more than a costume he wore in spite of his body frequently letting him down, in spite of his frequent hospital trips and the marks they so often left on his body. It was what made him feel like he was doing a good job at being disabled. But then again, when it came to Michael, he’d never been all that fussed about him leaving. He hadn’t cared about the bruises or the scars when they’d gotten physical, and it wasn’t because Michael was someone who’d radiated kindness and compassion. Theo had been unapologetically obstinate when it came to him, as if he’d been daring Michael to say anything, to point out the marks on his skin or mention the way his bones stuck out from his back. Confrontation had been a way to break up the days, and beyond that he’d felt numb and had just wanted someone around, and hadn’t given a shit if Michael had found him repulsive or not. 

But this was different. 

He didn’t want to provoke Wren or wear that costume around him. He wished he could though, because this feeling was worse than the unapologetic obstinance he’d practiced around Michael. The dread that settled in his throat as Wren pulled away from him, at the muted sound of his feet meeting the floor, was different. His lack of response was crushing, and to Theo, telling. There was nothing to say, which to Theo felt like Wren was implicitly agreeing with his fears. Feeling defeated, Theo slowly sat up after Wren and wiped at his eyes, pulling the blanket up and wrapping it around his shoulders. He didn’t look up as Wren walked around the bed, but felt the sudden, unexpected sway of the mattress as he sat beside him, conspicuously leaving between them a gaping space that just minutes ago would haven’t seemed conceivable. Theo looked down at his lap, only to see that Wren had kindly gathered up his discarded clothing and was passing it to him. Oh. 

“Thanks,” Theo murmured, a hand emerging from beneath the blanket to receive the bundle. Despite being little more than a whisper, his voice was too loud in the silence. Until finally, Wren spoke. 

His apology was enough to have Theo looking up. But his final words, spoken with a conviction not even Theo could deny, had him stalling. 

Wren loved his body. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t believe him (but it would take more to have him convinced). It was just … unexpected. He’d watched Theo stumble along the beach, had felt his weight against his body as he’d clung onto his arm as they walked through town. And when he thought about it now, the feel of Wren taking his hand as he helped him out of the car, his arm around his waist as he led him up the stairs, Wren had never shied away from him. And though he’d yet to seen the worst parts of his disease (the thought of which, admittedly still caused him a good deal of anxiety), he still wanted him. 

And Wren stood, smiling weakly at him from the doorway and leaving. And as Theo curled his fingers into the shape of his discarded clothing, he found himself wishing that his arms were around him now. 

He listened anxiously as his footsteps extended past the bathroom, and for a split second he worried Wren was going to leave. (The knowledge that he was barely dressed somehow didn’t factor into this). It was only at the sound of the kitchen sink turning on did Theo relax, and slowly, he began to get dressed. He got his elbow stuck in the armhole of the white t-shirt but managed to free himself with only a little trouble, and as he pulled his sweater on over his arms, covering the fresh bruise from earlier in the afternoon. He was reaching over to switch on the bedside light when Wren tentatively re-entered the room.

He pulled up his sweater a little more as Wren sat beside him with more intent than he had before, flashing a barely-there, unsure smile at him. And sure enough, Theo’s unease seemed to ebb away as Wren fumbled for the right words, as he told him how much he’d wanted to kiss him the week before. 

And finally, when he promised him that he wasn’t going anywhere, Theo could literally feel the wrench of nervous anxiety that had settled in the pit of his stomach since the night before - the fear that Wren would disappear as soon as some inconvenience occurred - dissipate with his words. It had been a worry that had tugged on the edge of his consciousness every time Wren kissed him or touched his hand, as Theo felt himself unexpectedly being dragged further and further under his spell. But it was okay, because Wren wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t going to leave him. Theo let go of the shaky breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding, closing his eyes at the slow rush of relief. 

He felt himself relax at his apology, slouching a bit as his fingers ran up the length of his thigh in search of his hand. Upon locating it, he wrapped his fingers against Wren’s, and squeezed tight. 

“That means a lot to me.” Theo murmured, before looking up, meeting Wren’s gaze. He thought about telling Wren how badly he wanted him, how he wanted to know him in that way, how he’d be ready soon. But the words wouldn't reach his lips, and felt awkward and wrong. Instead, he slowly stood up from the bed, placing his hands on Wren’s thighs and moving his legs so he could settle between them. Theo took his hands and placed them on his hips, before leaning in to kiss him. It was easier with Wren seated, their height difference removed and Theo able to kiss him how he wanted to. Slow and meaningful, different from before but somehow the same. Every time they kissed it felt different, and this was no exception. Wren’s lips were warm and dry, and even after all this, Theo felt like he knew him a little better. He pulled back, resting his forehead against Wren’s. 

“You don’t always have to be okay. I’m not a lot of the time.” Theo murmured. And he stayed there for a few long moments, enjoying the feel of Wren’s thighs pressing against his legs, the weight of his hands at his hips pulling him close, before voicing a thought he knew to be true. “But, it helps. Having you here.” 

Theo pulled away then, brushing his thumb against his uninjured cheekbone as he searched his face. 

“I don’t know if this makes anything better, but Michael only asked me to be his boyfriend after meeting you.” Theo admitted, lifting his shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. 

“Before that … “ Theo paused, and then winced, unsure if this was going to help anything especially considering what had just transpired. He decided he should just put everything on the table, and maybe that way they wouldn’t ever have to talk about Michael again. 

“We were just sleeping together. It didn’t mean anything, and then suddenly when you appeared in my kitchen I guess he wanted it to because he felt threatened. And I said yes because I…” Another pause, a briefly uncomfortable look passing across his features as he tried to recall how he’d felt. Freshly rejected by Wren’s voicemail for the third time and drunk off a single glass of wine, he’d been feeling alone and sorry for himself. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think I was going to see you again.” He finally said, sounding resigned. 

“I just want you to understand that you didn’t break anyone up.” Theo said then, smiling at him. “You don’t have to be so hard on yourself.” 

They were both messes. But that was okay, Theo thought to himself, as he gazed at Wren, and he was struck once again by how bizarre and great this whole thing had been. Meeting at a depression support group, discovering their shared, complicated past just as the complicated present become more and more apparent and came to collide with it. Their normal first date stuff had been tossed aside in favour of cat-attacks, threats of hypothermia and assault. It was fucked, but felt oddly appropriate. And then Theo was struck by an idea. 

“You said you wanted to start over? Come on, then.” Theo said, tugging Wren up and away from the bed. He led him out of the bedroom, motioning for him to take a seat on the couch as he made his way to the kitchen, digging through a few rattling drawers. Eventually, Theo tossed a menu at Wren, asking him what he wanted to eat, before continuing his search as he called the restaurant to place their order. 

Finally finding what he wanted (a notepad, filled with his pages of reminders scrawled out in his shaky chicken scratch), he made his way over to the living room. He’d also ended up grabbing a bottle of wine from his liquor cabinet (a pinot noir from Oregon, appropriately) and had tucked two wine glasses between his forearm and chest. 

“I’m declaring this our first date.” Theo announced as he sat down next to Wren, automatically reaching for his hand to help him with sitting, setting the notepad pen down on the table before fumbling with the bottle opener and bottle of wine. Their knees touched as he angled his body towards Wren. 

“We can forget about everything else … this whole amazing, terrible, fucked up day, and pretend to just be two normal people. For a few hours, at least.” Theo quieted as he focused on shakily pouring wine into the two glasses (he splashed a few drops on the table, perhaps hinting at the reasoning behind the lack of carpets in his home), handing one to Wren and taking his own. His dad would chide him for not letting the tannins breathe, but fuck that. He needed a drink. 

“I’m going to write down five questions for you, and you can answer them if you like but you don’t have to. And if you like you can do the same for me.” 

Theo smiled, raising his glass. 

“Does that sound good?” He asked, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The hollow moment following Wren’s plea seemed to stretch on forever as he awaited his verdict. He couldn’t help but think back to the night before—had it really only been one day?—sat on his parents’ porch after Theo had kissed him for the first time. He’d felt like he’d been standing at a crossroads with a monumental decision to make. This felt the same, but so much worse, the outcome no longer in his control. He imagined the worst, and it seemed unpleasantly familiar, a world where his best could never be good enough, where he had nobody but himself to blame for fucking up something good which had somehow, inexplicably fallen into his lap.

And yet.

Theo’s hand slinking up his leg, reaching for his hands clasped loosely in his lap, lifted a weight whose magnitude he hadn’t fully appreciated. He wasn’t angry with him. He didn’t want him to leave. He didn’t think he’d made a huge mistake. As Wren looked up to meet Theo’s gaze, even as he squeezed his hand with such intensity, he dared to think that maybe—maybe, they’d be okay. 

He held his hand, watching him as he spoke, unable to believe his luck, that this handsome, charming, incredible man was willing to give him a third chance. He couldn’t think of what to say, how to thank him or emphasise that he would rather die than hurt him again, so he smiled at him instead, albeit a little unsure as Theo stood up and moved towards him.

Wren let him guide his hands, position him into an embrace, their thighs brushing up against each other, Theo’s forearms draped over his shoulders as he pulled him in for an unexpected, but welcome, kiss. He marvelled—relished—revelled in it, so much more intimate than anything else they’d shared in bed that evening. His body ached for Theo and he pulled him closer, angling his head upwards to better meet his lips, his hands slipping to settle in the dip of his back, thumbs hooked into his waistband, fingers cupping his butt. He felt a little lightheaded, partly, he thought, because a part of him had been bracing to never experience this again, but also likely in part because the painkillers he’d downed earlier were finally kicking in, or maybe because he hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast.

As Theo drew back to rest his forehead against Wren’s, he shut his eyes, deciding—for once in his life—to just enjoy the moment. It was easy, surprisingly so, and a smile spread across his face, though it dimmed a little as he pulled away, and fell off completely at the mention of Michael.

He didn’t know how to feel about this new information. He probably should have been relieved, if not outright pleased, to hear that he wasn’t entirely a homewrecker, but the admission that it had been purely physical didn’t exactly make him feel better. Michael was young and undeniably attractive and it was hard not to think about that in the wake of what had just happened. Furthermore, even if it hadn’t meant anything to Theo, it had meant enough to Michael to assault him over it, which wasn’t as insignificant as Theo was making it out to be.

But, God, he was sick of talking about Michael, and if Theo was willing to move on, then so was he. So he swallowed and nodded and braved another smile, resolving to put this whole nightmare behind him once and for all.

“Okay,” he said. And that was enough.

The atmosphere felt lighter, and Wren would’ve been happy to sit in bed and enjoy it for a while longer, but Theo had other plans. Normally he might have been a little cautious about cryptic statements coupled with a ‘Come on’—he had grown up around Robin, the queen of scheming—but there was something charming about the gleam in Theo’s eye and the enthusiasm in his voice, so Wren let him pull him to his feet and lead him to the living room, where he curled up on the couch as he watched Theo ransack his own kitchen.

He thought he’d found what he’d been looking for when he tossed the menu at him, but apparently he had something else up his sleeve.

“I didn’t know Sweet Basil’s delivered,” he said, flipping through the menu, eventually picking out one of their paninis. His mom was friends with the owners and sometimes held her brunches there, and he thought he would’ve heard if they’d started. He waited as Theo placed the order, then as he continued his search, his curiosity growing at each rejected drawer. 

When he returned with just a notepad and some wine, Wren shuffled up to make room, holding his hand as he sat down.

“Oh no,” he said, but he didn’t mean it. This was a crazy, wonderful idea and exactly what he needed. “Okay. But I’m going to need more notice for the second date. This is the last time I let Robin pick my outfit for me.”

He accepted the glass of wine and took a sip—he probably shouldn’t be drinking on painkillers and an empty stomach, but fuck it—before setting it back down and reaching for the notepad and one of the pens. He ripped out a sheet before handing it to Theo, then leaned back against the arm of the sofa, folding his sheet in half and propping it up on the Sweet Basil’s menu for some support.

“I love it,” he declared. “Let’s do this.”

He actually had a rough idea of what he wanted to ask already—since the vegan incident, how little he actually knew about Theo had been hovering at the back of his mind. When he’d said he wanted to know everything, he hadn’t been being facetious. The problem wasn’t going to be coming up with things to ask; it would be narrowing them down to five. 

He chewed on his pen for a moment, thinking, before putting it to paper and writing some things down. Eventually, satisfied with his selection, he set the pen down on the table, swapping it for the glass of wine.

“I’ve finished,” he said, taking another sip as he offered Theo his sheet of paper. He hoped his handwriting was legible, but he thought he’d settled on a pretty good mix of questions—some quick and easy, others a little more abstract, but all light in tone, and all things he did genuinely want to know:

• 1. When is your birthday?
• 2. Where did you grow up? (Place with no chickens??)

• 3. Have you always wanted to be an architect?

• 4. How long have you been able to draw?

• 5. What’s your favourite colour?

“Do you want to go first, or should I?”