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“Lawrence?” A soft voice whispers in his ear, and he frowns, snuggling his face further into the hotel pillow. It can’t already be morning? He shivers and draws the blanket tighter about his shoulders, curling up on his side. It’s colder than he thought it would be, sleeping alone. A hand gently curves over his shoulder and shakes him, rubbing up and down his arm as though to warm him up; he mumbles a protest and squeezes his eyes further shut, trying to chase that elusive unconscious state, but it’s too late. He’s awake. “C’mon, Lawrence, wake up.”
“Wha-” Lawrence is suddenly aware of another body laying next to him on top of the blanket, and he blinks rapidly to clear the sleep from his eyes as he rolls over, trying to see the intruder. “Who- Adam?” There on the bed, barely visible in the low light coming from the window, is a man he thought he’d never see again. “How did you- I thought you were dead!” He sits up in a rush, grabbing the smaller man by the shirt and dragging him forward into a bone-crushing hug. “I thought you were dead...”
“Oof- easy, old man,” Adam says with a quiet laugh. “Shoulder still hurts, you know.” Of course. The bullet wound. Lawrence sees himself holding the gun, sees Adam collapsing on the ground. Sees him wailing in agony as he’s cradled in Lawrence’s hands, blood pouring down his shoulder. The Adam in his arms gives him an awkward pat on the back, and he reluctantly releases him; for a moment, all he can do is stare at Adam, unable to speak. He looks the same, albeit paler, somehow. The same shit-eating grin, the same dark eyes, the same rail-thin frame hidden under baggy clothing. Lawrence knows how he must look- dark circles under his eyes from too many sleepless nights, the clearly visible hollow of his cheeks from too many uneaten meals. At least one of them is doing well.
“You escaped?” Lawrence whispers, finally, reaching out to touch Adam’s shoulder- the whole one, not the one he’d shot- then pulls his hand back, uncertain. Adam shrugs and leans back on his hands, a little smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“They let me go.” More memories race through Lawrence’s mind- John nursing him back to health, Amanda’s infrequent presence. A half-heard conversation about her returning to the bathroom where he’d been imprisoned. “Been looking for you. Went to your house but got told that you didn’t live there anymore.”
“Alie... Alison and I are taking some time to... get some things sorted out,” Lawrence admits, haltingly. He tries not to think of the D word, despite the papers in his glove compartment. He’s still hoping she’ll change her mind.
“Yeah, I figured,” Adam says, looking somber. “Sorry.” Lawrence studies him for a moment, then his lip wobbles, as all the things he’s been trying to keep shoved down and out of sight come flooding up, leaking out his eyes and constricting his throat again. “Hey, woah, don’t- it’s ok, man.” Lawrence shakes his head and covers his face with his hands, struggling to regain control of himself, but it’s too much, all at once. Alison asking for a divorce, the way he still stumbles around on his prosthetic, the nightmares he suffers from, and now Adam’s reappearance. He doesn’t know how to feel. He feels too much.
“Forgive me, I-” he gasps out, between sobs. “I wanted to go back for you, I- I didn’t know where you were, where that place was, I- and my family, my daughter-” He flinches as Adam’s skinny arms encircle him in an awkward embrace, then leans into the smaller man, wrapping an arm around his waist and the other around his shoulders, carefully avoiding the place where the bullet had pierced his flesh. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
“I know,” Adam says, shushing him. “I know.” He lets Lawrence weep into his neck for a while, smoothing out his hair in slow, calming strokes. When Lawrence’s tears finally run dry, Adam reaches behind himself, groping blindly for something on the nightstand. When Lawrence opens his eyes again, Adam is offering him a handful of tissues, which he takes, gratefully, attempting to make himself presentable again. Well, as presentable as he could, given the circumstances. He hopes Adam can’t tell that he’s been a few days without a shower.
“How are you?” he asks, as though he hasn’t spent the last half hour crying on the man. Adam snorts, amused.
“Been better,” he says. Still deflecting, Lawrence notes. “Been... lonely. Can’t sleep. People try to help but... they don’t understand.”
“You said you were looking for me... Why?” Adam fidgets, crossing his legs and resting his arms on his knees.
“I dunno, I... It sounds weird but I guess I. Missed you.” He looks uncomfortable, embarrassed. Like it was a secret.
“I missed you, too,” Lawrence blurts out, and Adam looks up at him sharply, staring at him, his eyes burning into Lawrence’s own. “I thought I’d never- that you were-” He can’t find the right words, and it frustrates him. He’s always so good at talking in every other situation, but Adam always seems to make his tongue tie itself in knots; true, half the time it had been because he had been annoyed by his flippant attitude and sarcastic responses to Lawrence’s simple questions, but that wasn’t the only reason.
“Of course, how could you not miss this,” he gestures to himself with a self-deprecating smirk. “I’m a catch.” Lawrence laughs, which sends him into a coughing fit. Adam watches him, expression both amused and a little concerned, until he stops. “I know it was my joke, but ouch.”
“No, I wasn’t-” Lawrence waves his hands a little, denying the implication. “You’re a nice-looking guy, I wasn’t...” He flicks his eyes up to meet Adam’s, and there’s an abrupt change in the air, an electric current running through his nerves. He wonders if Adam feels it too, or if the blush spreading over his pale cheeks is unrelated.
“Yeah?” He licks his lips, and Lawrence runs a hand through his hair nervously. He should put a stop to this, he’s still married, for God’s sake. He still loves Alie. But... Alie isn’t here. And Adam... Adam is. He hates to admit it, even as a passing thought, but there’s something about the way he and Adam butt heads that makes him feel more alive than he has since before... Before his marriage. Before becoming bogged down with work and routine and responsibility that only ever seemed to increase year after year. He feels challenged by Adam in a way that he never has with his wife, in a way that has him eager to rise to the challenge and-
“Yeah,” he says, swallowing the lump in his throat. In the low light of the hotel room, in the quiet stillness, he feels he can confess, just a little. For a moment though, Lawrence wishes he could take the word back, the realization that he’s crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed sending a panic signal directly to his hammering heart. Then Adam leans forward, a little too fast, and their foreheads bump painfully into each other. Lawrence winces in pain, but Adam takes hold of his shirt collar and pulls him in, pressing a rough kiss to his lips, and he’s no longer thinking of anything else, anyone else. Adam pulls back, and starts to say something, but the words never form because Lawrence is crushing their mouths together, and the only thing that comes out of Adam’s throat is a soft whimper.
Adam’s hands are everywhere, running over his shoulders, down his back, cradling the back of his head as the kisses deepen. Lawrence’s hands stay firmly on either side of Adam’s face, cupping his jaw and keeping him from pulling back again. Adam tastes like cigarettes and the sticky sweetness of soda, but he can’t get enough of him, can’t imagine ever getting enough. Adam whimpers again, pushing Lawrence backwards until they’re both laying down on the bed, Adam straddling Lawrence’s stomach.
“Adam,” Lawrence whispers the name reverently, tangling a hand in the other’s messy hair. He knows he should be appalled at himself, even disgusted, but this feels too right, he feels too complete. The way Adam feels, the way he sounds, this is what he’s been missing. This is what he’s been needing. He thinks maybe... maybe he could love him.
Adam’s mouth turns sour, almost rancid, and Lawrence’s eyes flutter open, then widen in horror; he shouts and shoves the other man off of him, frantically scrambling backwards against the headboard and wall, rubbing his mouth. Adam looks at him, grinning, his flesh gray and his eyes all but sunken into his skull.
“What’s your problem, Lawrence? Don’t think I’m a nice-looking guy anymore?” He laughs, a hideous wheezing sound, and reaches for Lawrence with filthy damp gray hands; Lawrence starts to hyperventilate as he tries to shuffle further away, falling backwards off the side of the bed, knocking his head pretty hard against the floor. Adam’s laugh echoes as he squeezes his eyes shut, the room spinning. He stays there a moment, waiting for the pain to subside, waiting for the monster in his bed to claim him. Nothing happens.
“Adam?” Lawrence croaks out, but there is no response. Tentatively, he raises his shaking body up on his knees and peers onto the empty bed. Adam isn’t there. There’s no sign of him ever having been there. No sign, except his erection straining against the slacks he fell asleep in, aching for release. His stomach revolts, and he shambles towards the bathroom on all fours, nearly making it to the toilet before he starts to vomit. There’s not much in his stomach to come back out, and soon he’s retching up bile that makes his eyes sting and his mouth burn.
When his body stops heaving, he spits out the gathered mess in his mouth and coughs, spitting out anything else that comes up, flushing it all down. Weakly, he turns to the tub and twists one of the knobs, cupping his trembling hands under the water, letting it flow over him for a moment before he pours it into his mouth, spilling most of it down his shirtfront. He rinses his mouth then spits it out, repeating the attempt until the taste of sick has mostly faded and his hands are somewhat steadier. He shuts the water back off, looking over his shoulder at the mess he’s made on the floor, then sighs. His limbs feel like lead as he tries to stand, and he’s tempted to just crawl into the tub and spend the rest of the night in it, despite how his back would protest in the morning.
He grabs a towel and covers the vomit on the floor with it, hobbling slowly out the door, clutching the wall for support. The bed is still empty, though the blanket is partially on the ground from his fall. Despite it all, he'd been hoping that... that maybe... Standing becomes too much work, and he drops to his knees to crawl the rest of the way back to bed, gathering up the fallen covers to wrap himself in again, cocooning away from the rest of the world. He curls onto his side again, arms wrapping around a pillow as he silently sobs into it. The bed is so, so empty. And so is he.